I sat with Archer on the end of the bed, listening to stories, or recounts, of our childhood adventures. Most of them I didn't remember, but I was particularly interested in the one about how I saved him from drowning one summer after a tyre swing over the river snapped and he bumped his head on the bank. It was 3am, but he wasn't tired of talking yet.
"Aren't you sleepy?" I yawned and wavered a bit, making it obvious that I was on the verge of collapse.
"I would normally have been in bed-" he turned to check the digital clock on his end table, "at least 6 hours ago. I guess I'm just too excited, and I haven't even showed you my cookies!" He sprung up and trotted over to the bookshelf.
"Cookies being code for?" I questioned, though knowing grown up Archer, even for this short time, it would be something malicious.
He smiled and tilted his head to the side in an 'are you some kind of idiot' gesture. "Weapons, duh." He plucked a book from the middle shelf and threw it over his shoulder. How dare he mistreat a book. After sliding his hand in the gap, my ears picked up a faint click and the bookshelf swung in. He hand motioned for me to come peek, and I reluctantly strained to stand myself up, causing my head to spin and my vision went momentarily black. I sort of staggered over to him, being too tired and sore to walk in a straight line. I nearly fell over about a metre from him and he lurched forward to catch me, nearly falling over himself. He was holding me to him as he straightened up, and I subconsciously put my head to his chest, closing my eyes. It felt warm and comfortable and safe.
He grasped my shoulders, pushing me away and holding me at arms length. I thought about clawing at his shirt, as if to say 'put me back', but that would have been rather awkward. "What are you doing?" He eyed me curiously.
"Being tired," and totally disinterested at the present time. It was too late, and I was losing my ability for witty comebacks. I wasn't in the mind frame for displaying any signs intelligence either, although I'm usually a brilliant specimen of superior humanly intellect. I also appear to be strangely up myself...
"No time for tired. Weapons now, dreamland momentarily," he turned me sideways to look at his collection of malicious, old fashioned weapons: a harpoon-like spear, a bow with a quiver full of arrows, a particularly fancy sword and several very thin, very sharp looking knifes.
I pointed at the knives. "What are these?"
"The knives? They're F-S daggers. Easy to conceal, and deadly sharp. The British Commando were issued this dagger, which is actually called a Fairbairn-Sykes Fighting Knife. Very popular with the commandos because it made quick and quiet work of any sentries."
I could tell he studied his weapons. I'd be surprised if he didn't take any to bed with him.
"Impressive?" He asked.
I nodded. "Impressive." Impressive and scary. I had so many questions to ask, but for now I was on the brink of collapse. "Might thyself visit aforementioned dreamland?" Archer's face screwed up, suppressing a smile, and trying his best to replace it with a serious expression.
He raised a finger at me. "Only if you promise to pay full attention and act interested in the morning."
"Archer, it is the morning, and very early if I must say so." His shoulders drooped slightly and he closed his eyes. "But yes. I will pretend, just for you."
Eyes flitting open, he held an upward facing, open palm in the direction of the bed. "You may take the bed. I shall get a blanket and a pillow and sleep on the floor."
It was cold down here and the carpet had no underlay. "Couldn't you sleep on that mini lounge?" I asked. He walked over and put his butt on the arm of the seat and fell backwards. I walked around the front to check his position. His legs were still hanging over the arm, and to the opposite end his neck was at a severe angle.
