Behind These Wings

Preoccupation

"Give me some good news Ian, none of this miserable nonsense. I want a nice marriage proposal or news of a new baby. In fact, with the day I've had, I would settle for the forecast saying that it won't rain tomorrow." Drew finished, gazing out of the window of his study and observing the bleak clouds that completely enclosed them. It didn't look likely.

He had started the mountain of paperwork before even the birds had woken. He had proceeded to wade his way through its dreadful heights, without even stopping for lunch purely due to the harsh desire to rid himself of such a torment.

It was a disgusting thing, paperwork. Never could he understand how he ended up with so much of the blasted stuff. Everyday Paul, one of the workers at the Palace, would arrive with fresh pickings and Drew doubted that Paul believed Drew could even talk as the only utterance he ever received was an apprehensive groan.

A whole day had pasted. Over fifteen hours of his life gone thanks to paperwork.

And he wasn't even remotely near the bottom of it yet.

Honestly he knew the reason for the current problem. He had been staying in his study later to avoid arguing with Izzy and she had been becoming weaker by the day, now unable to carry out all the tasks she used to help him with.

They were a team, both of them sprinting in a three-legged race, always in perfect unison. Now Izzy had tripped and Drew was carrying her but his arms were tiring and his stamina depleting. The race could not be won if they didn't work together.

"No can do I'm afraid. The letters have not yet been found and that rebel won't talk about who paid him." Ian had quickly discovered that trying to hold a grudge over your best friend was a rather tiresome task; much too tiresome for someone with his obligations to fulfil. Consequently he had simply punched Drew in the stomach once and the pair had spoken no more about the matter. He much preferred their relationship this way, he felt like he could be honest with Drew once more. Despite the fact that he was obviously a moronic idiot, he loved the guy like his brother and he hated it when they fought.

"If it would help, I could propose to you?" Ian suggested his face perfectly serious but Drew turned around to see the mischievous glint in his animated eyes.

"Despite eloping sounding like a lovely option right now, I think I would prefer to stick with my wife if you don't mind. Feeding you would put the Palace into bankruptcy within a week." Drew grinned at his friend, glad that there was no longer a feud between them, before picking up one of the many remaining bundles of documents and striding out of the room; Ian in tow of course.

"What do you want me to do now?" Ian questioned anxiously. He couldn't help but feel like he was failing; the letters were proving elusive and that was putting it kindly and the rebel seemed to have sewn his lips together with invisible stiches.

"Leave the rebel. I can deal with death threats, this isn't my first and it will not be my last. If we leave him long enough he will talk. Boredom works wonders on the insane."

"You would know." Ian muttered, swiftly dodging Drew's hand as it sung easily towards his head as if he was swatting away a pesky fly.

"You are getting slow in your old age." Ian baited him but Drew decided not to give him the satisfaction, settling with a firm glare that only left Ian attempting to mask his laughter under a coughing fit. Rather unconvincingly, Drew may add.

"How is Isabelle?"

"She is being difficult." Ian replied, suddenly much more interested in the flecks in the fabric of his shirt that looking in his friend's eye.