1 June, late: a sleepless night

It took another minute for the world to stop spinning (or, at least, slow down) before Roux attempted a response.

"Been better," he managed. "Though, coulda been worse. Thanks."

"Rat bastard son of a--" Quentin, struggling to his feet, spat out a mouthful of blood. "--whore," he finished, glaring at Paol. "The pair o' yas. That why you're so sodding fond of these scrawny tarts? 'Cause yer mothers will cheap little sluts as well?"

Roux let out a short laugh, wheezing slightly as it jarred his ribs. For an insult it fell rather short - his mother indeed been a whore. He had long since gotten used to the names that earned him.

"Can't insult a man with his own heritage," Roux said wryly, once more braving a sitting position. He paused for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut.

Blinking, he added with a smirk: "An', it would seem a 'bastard son of a whore' has better manners than you in regards to treatin' women nicely."

"Quiet, you," said Paol, gently but firmly pressing Roux back toward the ground, but Quentin was already lurching forward. Paol pushed himself to his feet, bringing Quentin up short. The other man stood, swaying, his one remaining good eye glaring from Paol to Roux and back again. Then with a growled curse, he spat and, turning, stalked unsteadily away.

Paol sagged, letting out the breath he had been holding, and dropped back down beside Roux. That had been a near thing. "What was that all about? You an' him, I mean."

Looking down at the ground in embarrassment, Roux felt himself flush.

"Quentin was botherin' one of them English lasses," he muttered, aware that he was going to seem like an idiot for getting in a fight over one of the prisoners. "A really little one, and he wouldn't let her alone. She really wanted him to. So..."

He trailed off with a shrug.

Huddled at the edge of the group of prisoners, Janet watched the two men for some moments, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. At length, making up her mind, she smirked and pushed herself to her feet. She covered the ground quickly, dropping to her knees beside the injured man before either of them could rise. She regarded him critically for a moment, but it was almost impossible to see how badly hurt he was in the dark, so, without further consideration, she leaned forward abruptly and kissed him on the mouth. Only for a moment and then she was gone as quickly as she had come.

Roux stared after the woman for a long moment, shocked. It had happened almost too quickly for him to react. Then, a grin spread across his face. Now that was a thank you!

Paol grinned. "Looks like you've made a friend."

"Guess so," Roux responded happily. Shifting position, he stifled a small groan. He was certainly going to be feeling the effects of the evening for the next few days.

Looking up at Paol, he asked sheepishly, "Mind giving me a hand up?"

"Oh! Right—" Scrambling up, he grabbed Roux's hand and pulled him to his feet. "You sure you don't want the sawbones to take a look at you?"

Roux winced, clenching his jaw. Oh, standing was fun. He gave Paol a forced smile.

"Nah, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Aye, and I'm a maréchal." He watched Roux carefully, half expecting him to fall over. "It were good what you did, you know," he said after a moment.

Surprised, Roux glanced up sharply. "You really think so?"

"Aye." He rubbed gingerly at his jaw. "Though you might want to stay clear o' Quentin' for a bit."

"Not going to argue with that," Roux agreed wryly.

Paol smiled wearily. Gauthier's bawled invective was still ringing in his ears -- or perhaps that was just Quentin's fist -- as he slipped his pack off his shoulders and let it drop to the ground. He could not, he realized, have explained his absence to the sergeant even if he had wanted to; the past several hours were one confused and panicked blur that he did not even begin to understand. Vaindieu, but he needed a smoke.

"Bellot's wife is back," he said suddenly, recalling the single good thing that had happened that day. "She'd been with the English."

"With the English?" Roux asked, surprised. "What was she doing there? Is she alright?"

"Aye, she's alright. She got captured. Fell behind somehow." He frowned; he still felt vaguely responsible for that. "Some Portuguese got to her, but the English sent them off, thank God." Digging through his pack, he finally found what he had been looking for. "Smoke?" he asked, holding up his pipe.

Roux had actually never tried smoking before, but did not want to admit that to Paol. Particularly not after the other man had already seen him get completely beaten. His pride could only handle so many blows in one night.

"Sure," he said, smiling. Anything was worth trying, after all.

Taking some tobacco from his dwindling supply, he packed it into the pipe bowl. Lighting it without a fire nearby was an awkward process, but he'd become a fair hand at it after so many years and soon the dry leaves were smoldering. He stood, puffing experimentally, then handed the pipe to Roux.

Well, that didn't seem so hard.

Roux accepted the pipe with muffled thanks, and attempted to imitate the way Kerjean had puffed on the stem. Then, felt like his lungs were on fire.

He choked, coughing and gasping on the burning taste of smoke. "Good god," he gasped at last, giving up any pretense of practice. "Why do you do that?"

"Oh, Jesus-- Sorry! I didn't...." Paol trailed off. "I dunno. It....helps. You alright?"

"Fine," Roux said, handing the pipe back over. "Sorry about that."

He gave a slight, rueful smile. "This doesn't seem to be my night."

"No," Paol agreed, wishing there was something he could offer the other soldier. Maybe one of their cantinieres would wander past at some point. He took a long pull on the pipe, closing his eyes; the simple familiarity of the action was reassuring.

"I were sick as a dog, first time I tried it," he admitted with a lopsided grin.

Roux leaned back, settling himself into as comfortable a position as he could sitting on the ground.

"Can't imagine learning to like a habit as makes you sick," he said, before giving a short laugh. "Then again, I joined the armée. So, who knows."