Monty Python And The Barbados Fic (Eric/Mike/OFC)

Chapter 5

       It was before dawn when Y/N awoke. In the low blue morning light, she could just about make out the form of a side table with a lamp, a journal, and a watch - Michael’s journal, and Michael’s watch – and though she didn’t dare to look, she could hear the deep inhales of her bedfellow beside her. Whatever time it was, she had to get out of this room. Without turning to face him, she maneuvered her toes to the floor and slipped discreetly from beneath the sheet.

       Steadying herself on the side table, she looked down at the journal. What did he write about in there? Was it an idea book where he wrote down inspiration for sketches? Was it a diary? What would young men write about in their diaries? Was she in it?

       Shifting her attention away, she picked up the watch and squinted at it, tilting the face into the dim light from the window: 5:30-something. Eric should be back. What if he’s been looking for me? Or what if he’s still out? I need to get back to my bed. The watch made a soft ‘click’ when it touched the table surface again, and Y/N started for the door, only to remember the wooden floorboards. Without a floorplan, she attempted to navigate around the squeaky spots with little success.

       She managed to make it to the far corner when,

       “Good morning, creaky,” came a deep voice from the bed behind her. Michael’s morning voice, she remarked, was especially hoarse and gave him an unusually appealing sort of ruggedness.

       Y/N had to face him now.

       “Drat,” she joked, punching a fist in front of her.

       “I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl sneak out in the morning like this.”

       “I didn’t want to wake you. Go back to sleep. It’s too early.”

       Her face was becoming clearer as Michael’s eyes adjusted to the low light.  The longer he looked at her, the longer she seemed to stay, but she maintained the distance of the room between them, despite catching his eyes with hers. In his eyes was the truth, and a staunch reminder of how intimate they’d become that night. She remembered an old roommate once saying, “nothing good ever happens between 12 and 6am. It’s like a no-time time.” Maybe this Michael only existed in the pre-dawn. Hopefully. Then she could arrange to avoid such risky encounters by only meeting him in daylight.

       “I’d better get going,” she said once she realized she’d put her escape on pause. “Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea,” she tried to joke, but surprised herself when she considered being suspected. What would the others say? It was an entertaining thought: herself paired with Michael, the famously good and well-behaved member of the group.

       “Or you could stay,” he offered boldly, just as she opened the door.

       Y/N froze. No, she couldn’t stay; she had to find Eric. She gave Michael what she hoped was a grateful smile, and slipped out into the corridor, closing the door behind her as softly as possible. Her eyes darted around her, looking for any hints of someone awake, but she was alone.

       The sturdiness of the limestone floors made her route a near-silent one as she hurried for her bedroom. She praised herself for how smoothly she’d slipped out of one bed, and felt sure she would be just as swift getting into another. But when she reached the main bedroom and opened the door she saw no sign of a sleeping Eric at all. Had he stayed out all night? That wasn’t like him – not on his own. Not without her. What if he’d found the empty bed and left to find her?

       Now undoubtedly awake, Y/N decided she would do a short tour of the building in the search of her missing man.

       After some time of squinting into dawn-lit rooms, she reached the much-favoured drawing room. A pair of bony shoulders she knew very well were slumped over a typewriter in the middle of the room, and sheets of paper had slipped to the floor. She approached the familiar form and gently stroked the handsome head of golden curls.

       “Eric. Eric, love?”

       “Mmf?” replied a dreamy Eric. His blurry blue eyes were slow to open.

       “Ah. H’lo, what are you doing here?” he croaked out, this voice much more hoarse than Michael’s in the bedroom earlier. Eric’s was probably not a comfortable sleep.

       “Have you been here all night?” asked Y/N noticing that he was still in his t-shirt and denim shorts, a red print of his face was left on his forearm.

       Waking quickly, he extended an arm and held tightly to her waist.

       “I have, yeah,” he said, nuzzling into the softness of her hip, and letting out a small yawn. “Writing.”

       “More ‘Brian’?” she guessed, though as far as she was aware, the bulk of the writing was complete, and it was only edits and cuts to be made now.

       “No, I um…” Eric started. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d written, what it was for, or how to explain it. “I had a flash of inspiration last night and, uh… well, these characters are in a bit of a muddle, and I wanted to see if I can work it out for them… somehow.”

       “And have you?”

       “Not yet, no,” he laughed, “But it’s good practice.”

       “Good,” encouraged Y/N, “Well, I’m glad to hear it, but now you should come to bed, love - the sun’ll be up soon,” and she dropped a kiss onto the top of Eric’s head.

       “I’ll be right there,” he said, turning his head to face her and returning the kiss on her lips. “Keep it warm for me.”

       As Y/N left the room, Eric turned the typewriter knob to release his latest page, and scrounged for the sheets he’d typed up through the night. This was not a Python project, or even a comedy piece, but a few pages of experimental character work that he’d keep nearby and probably under wraps for good.