#wnalistair

Christopher gave a sigh, making his way over to his stubborn friend and wrapping an arm beneath his armpit. Alistair had sprained his ankle a good two hours ago during their patrol, and the damned fool had been too proud of admit it. “Hardly hurt at all,” he’d said with a wince.

It had taken everything in him to keep from rolling his eyes.

It looked like he’d finally succumbed to the pain, though, and admitted he needed some damned help. Which Christopher was more than happy to provide. The made their way in silence for a while, their pace slow, as they headed back towards The Barn.

"You should have eased up on it earlier," Christopher said. "You have probably only made it worse by pretending. And badly at that — because for all your talents, my friend, acting is certainly not one of them."

Alistair gave a small laugh. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I guess I shall have to visit with some of the actors at the Theatre, learn their tricks.”

"If you intend to try and fool anyone, yes."

Another bit of silence, one that lasted for most of their long walk. It was nice, in a way, to not feel obligated to speak. Alistair had heard all of his tall tales, all of the things he cared to share in public, so what more was there to say?

It was nice to have someone with whom you did not have to say anything.

"Do you remember what I said a few months ago?" Christopher asked.

A frown tugging at his lips, Alistair replied, “You say quite a lot of things, Christopher, you’ll have to be more specific.”

"About needing help," he answered, not quite meeting Alistair’s eyes. "I said you did not have to carry burdens upon your own shoulders. I meant that, and not just in regards to our work."

The whistling of wind was the only answer Christopher received for a while. And in truth, it was the answer he had most expected. So when Alistair finally said something as they walked up the steps to the Barn’s entrance, Christopher looked to him in surprise.

"I’m trying, Christopher. I’m trying my best."