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“Daniil,” Artetmy’s voice comes as no surprise. It was bound to happen at some point or another, he at least had time to steel himself as he felt the creak of the floorboards beneath his back. “What are you doing?”
“The world looks better from down here,” is all he says. Until it becomes very apparent that will not be enough for the man still standing in the doorway off Daniil’s office, staring intently. “It's humbling. We spend our days looking down on so many things: children, animals, paperwork, your herbs. It only inflates our egos. Man must be reminded he is but a speck of dust in the grand scheme of the universe. The Polyhedron did that, way back when. But without her a man must resort to more… simple measures. Thus…”
Daniil spreads his arms out, gesturing to his prone body, before they too sink down to the ground.
Artemy's face is pulled into a tight grimace, though when he speaks it's clear -- “Oh, oynon.” -- it's only in an effort to stop himself from laughing in Dankovsky’s face.
“You're stuck down there aren't you?”
“No I am not.”
“You're totally stuck. You laid down on the ground and now you can't get back up.”
“I can stand up any time I want to.”
“So do it now,” Artemy challenges with a smirk, no longer able to contain his amusement.
“I don't want to.”
“Because you can't.”
“Not true!” Daniil snaps a bit harsher than he intended. The pounding in his ankles has greatly subsided since he first laid down, but his hips still throb and his back still aches. Three years of living in this god forsaken town and still he would never get used to the sheer amount of walking required by a man on a normal day.
The worst part was he knew this was coming. He knew he should have let Sticky run the medicine to the man in the Flank. He knew he should have taken a moment's rest before the journey back to their house. He knew he should have sat in his chair instead so maybe he could still hold some semblance of dignity.
However, the call of the floor was too great.
come, rest. realign your back. put your feet up. you deserve this.
The traitor. Sure it felt wonderful, nevermind the fact that the floor had mystical powers that zapped his remaining strength as soon as he was horizontal. Perhaps this was more of a job for Clara than Burakh.
But, Artemy is here now and in the long run that is more important. Lest, Daniil be cursed to lie on the floors for days until the young girl decided he was worthy to be graced with her presence.
Artemy is here now and he's kneeling down beside Daniil. His smirk had turned into a fond smile.
A voice from deep within wants to cry out “ Pity! We will not take such pity from this man! ” But it's a useless thought, discarded almost immediately. Because something in Artetmy's eyes undo Daniil.
He heaves a sigh, and releases the tension in his shoulders making him sink more and more into the floor.
Burakh takes that as a signal that the riff is over; he slowly starts to untie Daniil's boots. He is so careful, so meticulous -- as though it were Daniil's Lines that Artemy was untangling and not just his shoelaces.
After slipping off one boot, Artemy wraps his hand around Daniil's ankle. He can't help it, it elicits a small groan at the final relief from the pain that's been building these past couple days. Artemy does the same to the other side before beginning to squeeze softly up and down Dankovsky’s calves.
They sit like that for a while, Artemy kneading from Daniil's ankles up to his knees, back down and then up to his hips. Dankovsky isn't too sure when his eyes slip shut, but suddenly there is nothing else in the world but the soft pressure of Artemy's hands. He is but a small speck of dust in the universe dancing around another speck of dust.
Eventually, Burakh's hands still. The floor beside Daniil's head groans, and the leather of Artemy’s boots creak. Wordlessly, the man leaves the room, scuttering off to some other room in their house.
No matter, he'll return. Dankovsky is certain.
He breathes in deep, desperate to delay the inevitable resurgence of pain. He forgets to count how long Burakh is gone. Long enough that Daniil can feel the pulsing back in his ankles but not long enough that it's all consuming again.
“Come on. Brace yourself.” Artemy whispers as he slips a hand under Daniil's back, spreading it between his shoulder blades. The other plants itself firmly under Daniil's opposite elbow.
First to a sitting position. Partially to allow for blood flow regulation, partially so they can correctly line up Daniil's legs.
With Artemy's help, getting up isn't that hard. The next step, however, is torturous.
He leans a bit more pressure on each leg, testing their strength. With Artemy's hand still bracing under his elbow and the other now wrapped around his waist, Daniil dares to lift a foot.
Slowly but surely, they hobble out of Daniil's office. He sets his path to the door straight in front of him, but Burakh steers him to the left.
Nudging the door open with his foot, Artemy leads Daniil into the bathroom where he's drawn up a bath.
“What would I do without you,” Daniil chuckled softly.
“Probably die. Funny how some things never change, even after 3 years,” Artemy says. He laughs softly and places a kiss to the top of Daniil's head.
They sit Dankovsky down on the edge of the tub and get to work on unbuttoning the copious amounts of buttons on his shirt, vest, pants. Daniil finally thinks he understands why people think his clothing is so ridiculous. It's obviously all of these fucking buttons, what was he thinking?!
“Between the buttons and those boots, even I might not be able to save you, Danya.”
“The great Bachelor Dankovsky reaches his demise. His undoing? His unfortunate fashion sense,” Daniil mocks.
Finally, divested of all of his clothing, Daniil slips into the warm water.
It's heaven. Truly the greatest invention known to man, the bathtub.
Artemy sits down next to the tub. At first he just reaches for Daniil's hand, holding it as he recounts his day -- the ups and downs, his comings and goings. He was also on his feet quite a bit, but he's a bit more used to it; a bit more built for it.
After a while, Artemy reaches for the bar of soap resting on the edge of the tub. He helped Daniil wash everything, from his chest to his back to the soles of his feet. The most commonly washed areas to the hard to reach places.
And once he's done washing and rinsing Daniil's body, Artemy lifts him out of the bath, wrapping him in a warm towel. He carries Daniil to their bedroom after much protest – though it’s mostly for show, Daniil’s ego can’t stand the sustained blows even though he knows there’s no way his legs would support him on the trek back across the hall.
Artemy offers a shoulder to lean on while Dankovsky dresses. God forbid he gets this far and then passes out, that’s all he needs. But it’s a wordless agreement. He’s there should Daniil ever need him. Of all people, Burakh understands the constant pain – sure his comes from his copious amounts of prior injuries, but he understands more than most. So, he’s able to dress for bed without any mishaps.
Then and only then, does Artemy crawl into bed and pull Daniil close. Head resting on his chest, Dankovsky can hear his steady heartbeat -- a calming tune.
For the first time in months, Daniil falls into a restful sleep. No tossing and turning to find the right position, no aches keeping him up for hours; just him and Artemy and not a care in the world.
Daniil no longer has to look up to find his place in the world before him. As long as Artemy is by his side, Daniil knows he'll end up where he's supposed to be.