Chapter Text
Being called into HQ was always a roll of the dice. It could be good news, like getting an all-expenses paid trip back to Blighty, or bad news, like getting an all-expenses paid trip over the top. Blackadder, as he waited outside of Melchett's office, prepared himself for whatever the blubbery, drunken old wreck was about to throw at him.
"Enter!" Blackadder entered with a grand sweep to find Melchett sitting at his desk, and Darling standing beside him. As safe and cosy as always, the utter arse. "Ah, Blackadder!" Melchett paused. "Why are you here?"
"You wanted to tell him about your latest plan, sir."
"Did I? Oh, yes!" Getting up from his chair with an 'oof,' Melchett continued. "Now, I've been hearing a lot recently about morale being low."
"Really? I can't see why people aren't excited to be shot at." Darling glared at him, but Melchett nodded approvingly.
"You're damned right, Blackadder! There's a real lack of esprit de corps! Why, it's like everyone's turned into pathetic, weedy wet blankets like Darling here!" Darling winced, although why, he wasn't sure. Melchett was merely telling the truth. "We've got to do something to raise everyone's spirits!"
"How about some home leave?" Blackadder suggested. Ending the war was a suggestion he would work up to.
"Absolutely not! That sounds like no-good, namby-pamby, would rather give up and go home than charge at Jerry with bayonet and tackle out, talk to me!" Melchett gave him a squinty look. "Not the kind of thing I'd expect from a brave chap like you."
"You said you had a plan, sir?" Blackadder asked, quickly changing the subject before Melchett could get any bright ideas about raising morale by having him executed.
"Oh, yes. What do you think of soulmates, Blackadder?" The question, even by Melchett standards, was bonkers. He glanced at Darling instinctively, who merely narrowed his eyes, not looking even the slightest bit surprised by the rubbish coming out of Melchett's mouth. Clearly, he was, once again, surrounded by loonies.
"They're complete and utter cobblers. Only an idiot who was entirely devoid of all sense, and as witless as Matthew Wilde, Oscar's significantly less successful younger brother, would believe in that crap. Soulmates," he sneered dismissively. "Next you'll be asking me if I believe in fairies, and our final victory."
"Oh. Well, that's a bit of a shame. In order to raise morale, the general staff has been tasked with finding soldiers their soulmates. Give them something to fight for and stop their belly aching about all the mud and bullets. Really, I think we should just shoot the worst whingers, that would get them to buck up, but orders are orders. So, I need a chap to help me run a match-making service for the lonely hearts of your regiment, but it sounds like that wouldn't be your sort of thing at all. There would be a lot of paperwork," Blackadder scoffed, "done forty miles behind the line in a rather nice Château. If it's a success, they might even send the man to London to start a central bureau there. Oh, well! Can't be helped."
"As I was about to say, sir, that would be exactly what the man you wouldn't want to do the job would say. I, of course, believe in soulmates, fairies, and that God is rooting for us to win the war," Blackadder lied quickly. He would believe in any old rubbish if it meant getting forty miles behind the lines.
"Really," Darling butted in. "It sounded to me like you thought it was a load of old hogwash." Blackadder staggered back in shock, affronted.
"How dare you, Darling! I've always been dedicated to finding my soulmate, my true love. My desire is so sincere, in fact, that I couldn't share it until I was sure I was amongst those I could trust."
"Oh, really? Why don't you tell us all about your mark, then."
"I don't see how that's any of your business," Blackadder replied pertly. It really wasn't. It wouldn't be even if his so-called soul mark wasn't on his bottom. "You see, I swore that I would only ever show it to my soulmate, and I simply can't break that promise."
"So, it's somewhere embarrassing," Darling irritatingly and correctly concluded. Blackadder sneered at him. He sneered back. "Really, sir, I don't think Blackadder is right for the—"
"How can you say that after hearing such a touching story?" Melchett bellowed, looking suspiciously teary. "Just because you're a cynical, cold-hearted, dead fish-eyed monster without a single sentiment in his body, doesn't mean you can tar everyone with the same grotty brush! Blackadder, you've got the job."
"Excellent."
"Or that's what I would say, if you didn't need to first prove you've got the mettle for it! You must successfully match a pair of soulmates in," Melchett glanced at the clock, "forty-eight hours. Otherwise, the whole thing is off."
"Forty-eight hours?"
"That's right, forty-eight hours."
"True love can't be rushed," he tried. "How about a month?"
"A month? Good God man, we're fighting a war here! We don't have time to waste. No, forty-eight hours it is. And you better not just pick two random men and shove them together," he warned, cutting off at the knees Blackadder's plan to do just that, "because if you do, I'll have you shot. Dismissed!"
"Oh dear," Darling commented snidely as he showed him out. "Looks like you're in a spot of bother, Mr Matchmaker. It would be a terrible shame if you couldn't do it." Blackadder narrowed his eyes.
"Where's your soul mark, Darling?"
"That's none of your business," he snapped, in a manner that confirmed his suspicions that Darling's own mark was somewhere as embarrassing as his own. No wonder he'd guessed so quickly, it was projection. "Now off you pop, go see if you can convince anybody that they're madly in love with each other."
"Hardly the attitude that a professional suck-up ought to have for such an important task." Darling, looking him dead in the eyes, smirked.
"Oh, come on, I don't believe in that crap any more than you do, Blackadder. But don't you worry, I'll prove that it's all complete bollocks, and you will be going...absolutely nowhere." With that, Darling slammed the door in his face.
If he wasn't already determined to succeed to get out of here, after that display of unwarranted self-importance, he would get two so-called soulmates to make an absolute, sick-making display of soppiness right in front of Darling's stupid, smug, git face, then rub it in said face.
Blackadder stormed into the dug-out. On his way back, he'd decided he would convince Baldrick and George they were in love with each other, and that would be his ticket out of here.
"So, you idiots believe in soulmates, don't you?" George nodded enthusiastically, while Baldrick looked baffled, as if he'd never heard of the concept before.
"Oh, rather! Gosh, I can't wait to meet mine. We'll talk about art, tiddly-winks and cricket until the sun rises."
"What's a soul?" Baldrick asked.
"Something that I doubt you even have, Baldrick, seeing as you're more like a piece of sentient furniture."
"Now come on, sir! Everyone's got a soul," George interrupted. "It's invisible, so you can't see it, but it's always there with you."
"Even when you go to the latrines?" George nodded sagely.
"Oh, yes—"
"Shut up! What is this, a seminary? Neither of you have souls, as that would require you to be human, and you," he pointed at George, "lost your membership card to the human race down the back of the sofa years ago, while your family," he pointed at Baldrick, "were never invited to join in the first place." They both looked as confused as a quail that was about to be gobbled up by a fox. George opened his mouth, and if he was about to ask how many angels could dance on the head of a pin, Blackadder would kill him so he could go ask one personally, so he cut him off. "Forget that philosophical crap. What do your marks look like?"
"Mine's on the back of my knee, and it looks like an octopus." Baldrick looked gormless even after a nudge from George to encourage him.
"I don't know what mine looks like, sir," he replied forlornly after a minute of trying to remember.
"It's on your forearm!" George prompted. That didn't seem to help, so George leaned over and rolled up his sleeve for him.
"That's right, sir. Mine looks just like a little sausage!" Blackadder looked at the silver mark on his forearm, which just looked like a line to him.
"So, it looks a lot like George's, then."
"Oh, no, sir. See, mine really does look like an octopus. We've compared them before, and it was very clear that our marks don't look anything alike!"
"It isn't that literal. Maybe the octopus would like to meet a…sausage," Blackadder tried.
"No, no, it's very literal! My parents, you see, they have matching marks, and they're exactly the same!"
"Tell me, lieutenant, do you still believe in Santa Claus? Do you know where babies really come from? Or do you still believe that you were dropped down a chimney by an overworked stork that had to be put down afterwards from the strain of carrying around such a ginormous idiot?"
"I know about the birds and the bees," George said carefully, "but what's all this about good old Saint Nick?"
"What birds?"
"No," he cut George off before he could start, "shut up. I've got enough to deal without needing to explain the facts of life to Baldrick. His species probably has different customs, and even if they don't, it's better for everyone if he doesn't reproduce." Well, he could probably force George to say that Baldrick was his soulmate, if he couldn't come up with anything better, but it wasn't much. He'd have to try something else. "George, go gather up the company. I've got a special mission for them, direct from Melchett..."
Standing outside of Melchett's office, flanked by two total idiots who'd refused to help him at all—he hoped there would be two volunteers needed for something incredibly fatal—Blackadder tried to come up with something.
How, out of his whole company, had he been unable to find two idiots who believed in soulmates and were prepared to fall in love with each other? The speed dating had been a miserable failure. Half of his company insisted they'd already found their soulmates—yeah, right—and refused to participate. The other half who had yet to find their soulmates, clearly hadn't for good reason. Either because their other halves hadn't yet finished evolving into human beings and were still at the amoeba stage, or because they took one look at their so-called true love and thought 'sod this for a game of soldiers.'
(Blackadder wished they had just sodded the soldier, though. It would have made his life so much easier.)
The closest he'd got was with one pair who had hit it off, until they realised that they were on opposite sides of the Millwall-West Ham divide and instead of considering themselves star-crossed lovers, went straight to fisticuffs.
Useless. Absolutely, bloody useless. He could feel the opportunity to escape slipping out of his fingers. The door opened and there was Darling, looking as smug as a cat that'd just drowned a canary in cream. It didn't bode well. That look never did.
"I'm looking forward to hearing how your matchmaking went, I'm sure it was a roaring success." Blackadder refused to rise to the bait, he had more important things to worry about. Standing in front of Melchett's desk, he forced himself to think as hard as he bloody could. There must be something. That nice Château far away was calling him, it was his soulmate, it needed him as much as he needed it.
"So," Melchett said when he put his pen down and looked up. "You've had forty-eight hours. Did you manage to find a pair of soulmates?" Blackadder considered it. As he did, Darling crept up behind Melchett's chair to watch his failure.
Ah ha. Now there was a plan...
"Yes," he said, looking at Darling. "I have."
"Really?" George blurted out.
"I didn't give you permission to speak, lieutenant."
"Whoops, sorry sir. It was just so exciting—"
"Shut up," he barked, which George did. "It was unexpected, but I did find someone their soulmate."
"Who?"
"Me."
"You?" Melchett asked. "That's most irregular."
"Yes, sir, but true love can't be stopped. I was trying to find someone else their happiness, and yet I found my own instead." He looked at Melchett, and saw his lies were hitting the spot. Perfect.
"Well then, who is it?"
"Yes, who is it, Blackadder?" Darling asked. "Who's your soulmate?"
"Why, it's quite simple." Looking Darling dead in the eyes, Blackadder said, "it's you." Darling froze, his smugness fleeing for the hills.
"Me?" Melchett asked in shock. "Well, I don't think that's it, Blackadder."
"Not you, sir. I mean Darling. Yes, it turns out that my soulmate in fact was right in front of me the whole time." Watching all the colour drain out of Darling's face, Blackadder felt incredibly smug. Ha ha ha, he thought, I sodding well got you, you bastard.
"Well, this is most unexpected," Melchett commented as he stroked his moustache. "How the devil did you work that out?"
"It's quite simple, sir," Blackadder said politely. Now the shock was wearing off, he could see Darling start to panic. It was so, so enjoyable to see him on the back foot like this. "He's always had a high level of interest in me."
"That's because you're untrustworthy!" Darling snapped.
"In fact, you could even say he's obsessed with me. He finds me irresistible and thinks of me all the time."
"I do not!" he squawked. It wasn't very convincing.
"The final clue only appeared this week. Like me, Darling also has his soul mark in an embarrassing place. On his..." Blackadder had to guess here, "male organ?"
"Ah ha! Wrong! You know nothing, it's on my bottom." Darling blinked, the realisation he'd said that aloud cutting through his excitement at catching Blackadder out, but even as Darling flushed, his eyes were wild, certain he'd got him.
"Oh, see, that's curious. Very curious, indeed, because that's just where my soul mark is, too." Leaning back as he went pale, Darling cleared his throat before replying, trying for certainty but sounding wobbly instead.
"I don't believe you."
"I'll show you. In private," he added because it was bad enough that he needed to show Darling, never mind any other lookie-loos. Darling was about to refuse when Melchett interrupted.
"Well, you better go take a look, Darling." With a sigh, Darling gestured for Blackadder to join him behind the folded screen on the other side of the room. As soon as he did, Darling exploded on him in barely suppressed, hissy rage.
"What the hell are you playing at?"
"That's no way to talk to your soulmate, Darling. I know you've been dying to look at my bottom for years—"
"I have not, you conceited git! You're not my sodding soulmate, because soulmates aren't real, and even if they were, you would not be mine! You're lying, anyway. I bet it's not even there." Blackadder sighed. This was a set of circumstances he had never wanted to find himself in, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Looking away, he reluctantly gave Darling the show of his miserable life by undoing his trous and dropping them just enough that he could see his mark and not everything else.
"You bastard," Darling whispered. "That's not real." He glanced into the free-standing mirror behind him, and rubbed at his mark to prove that it was indeed real. Despite the claims of several delusional idiots who said it looked like a setting sun, it was just a blob. A blob that might get him out of here, but still, just a blob.
He saw Darling's hand reach out, as if to touch it, and he spun around to slap his hand away.
"Absolutely not. If you dare touch it, your hand will rue the day you were born, and then the day that I removed it from the rest of your body." Pulling his trousers up sharpish, he snapped, "there you go, you pervert. Happy?" Darling was silent, which was promising, but he couldn't count on him staying silent once they returned to face Melchett. When Blackadder gave him an expectant, yet threatening, look, like he knew the most painful way to remove all his organs if he made a scene, Darling looked up, face a little red and refusing to meet his eyes.
"Why does this always happen to me?" Darling asked the heavens before storming out.
"Does it match your soul mark, Captain Darling?" George asked excitedly. Looking incredibly miffed, Darling glanced over to Melchett, who gestured for him to speak.
"It is very similar to my mark, yes, but really, sir, he's not my soulmate," he pleaded.
"Sounds like a good enough start to me. I don't know why you're making such a fuss about it."
"Yes, it's almost like you don't want to be my soulmate. It's starting to hurt my feelings." Darling glared at him before turning back to Melchett.
"I don't think we need to—"
"To test it out? No, no! Indeed, I think it's even more important if you're so uncertain!"
"It really isn't necessary, sir, he's not my soulmate." Melchett ignored him to turn to Blackadder.
"He insisted on it, you see. Wanted to make sure you hadn't just shoved two random men together. I thought, yes! Jolly good idea. So, you will both live together, as a couple, for three weeks!" There was only one question Blackadder had about this arrangement.
"Living together...at HQ?"
"Yes, at HQ."
"Fine by me. Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of each other, then, Darling," he said casually as he joined Darling. Darling looked incredibly pissed off, which was normal, but there was fear under it that wasn't. "Don't worry, I'm a perfect house guest. In fact, you'll hardly notice I'm here." Narrowing his eyes, Darling turned away with an attitude that could only be described as snotty. While Blackadder had hoped that he could just shove two idiots together, this alternative scheme could work out quite nicely. All he had to do was make Darling agree at the end of the three weeks that they were soulmates.
Wouldn't be that hard to force him to agree, he thought as he looked Darling over. It wasn't like he'd be beating away rivals for Darling's fair, unaccustomed to even the faintest hint of anything that wasn't paperwork, hand. Well, some curious stoats who were looking for a mate might show up, but he could dispatch those with ease. This would be no trouble at all.
Flopping back onto the double bed, Blackadder let out a highly satisfied sigh and stretched out. Finally, things were working out like they hadn't since the day that one lone Bosnian decided to ruin his summer holidays, and then his life, by assassinating some numbskull that nobody had even liked when he was alive. His current circumstances were cushy. Sure, there was the unfortunate side-effect of having to spend more time with Darling than he ever wanted, which was none, but even that was tolerable if he also got the joy of eating a dinner that hadn't been cooked by Baldrick, and having a bath that didn't get interrupted by gunfire, the idiots in his company, or both. Besides, Darling had, beyond when he was forced to share the table with him at dinner, avoided him all evening.
Having a big, nice, comfortable bed all to himself was a joy, too. The room itself was nothing special. In fact, the decoration was hideous. Whoever had chosen such an unappealing shade of puce was either colourblind or inspired by one of those modernist artists to make the room as ugly as possible. They had failed, because it was still the most beautiful room in the world by being miles behind the line and for him alone.
Turning over, Blackadder picked up his watch from the nightstand. It was earlier than he'd usually turn in, but it was rare that he even had the luxury of choosing when to go to bed, rather than collapsing from exhaustion after a twenty-four-hour watch. Tomorrow he'd start looking for a way to keep this comfortable little number, but that was for tomorrow's Blackadder to worry about. Who knows, he might even get a lie-in in the morning. The thought, combined with being fresh, clean, and not smelling like the bottom of a trench, was wonderful. Even the clean pyjamas left neatly folded on the bed for him, if just a little too long in the leg, enough to require him to turn the cuff half an inch up, were comfortable.
Yes, Blackadder thought as he put his watch down, he would make the most of this sojourn. He reached over to the electric light by the bed, only to recoil when a shock zapped him as he hit the switch. Cursing under his breath, Blackadder shook his hand in the darkness that fell over the room. Bloody electricity. Not only had it ruined the fine art of skullduggery, but it was now also trying to kill him before bed.
Still, dodgy wiring, or hanging on the old barbed wire? No contest. He knew which side of his bread was buttered. Settling down under the covers, he shut his eyes with a satisfied sigh. Now this was the life. After a lifetime in the army, he could fall asleep practically anywhere, at any time. In a nice, cosy bed like this one, he would be out in seconds.
Unless, of course, someone woke him up.
Someone woke him up.
The sound of someone loudly stubbing their toe on something, then hopping around on one foot as they cursed loudly under their breath before crashing into something else, was enough to eject Blackadder out of even his deepest dreams. Really, his first peaceful night's sleep for months and he was being woken up by the world's most incompetent burglar? It was outrageous. If they had to steal anything from the Château, couldn't they steal Melchett? They would get the Victoria Cross for their contribution to the war effort.
Despite the fact he was now sitting up in the bed, the intruder was still hopping around like a maniacal Easter Bunny gone rogue. Blackadder clicked his tongue in irritation, then hit the light switch quickly enough that the shock was minimal.
The glare of the electric light revealed the culprit. Darling, still holding onto his foot, glared at him like a furious, spitting ferret. Blackadder frowned.
"What are you doing here?" Darling showing up in his bedroom late at night would be suspicious in any circumstances. After spending the whole evening glowering at him whenever they were forced into proximity with each other, it was so suspicious that even a Lesser-Spotted-Gullible-Bird would think it was a bit dodgy.
"What do you think I'm doing, you idiot," Darling spat out. "I'm going to bed."
"You're going to bed," he repeated, as if to check that Darling had heard what he'd just said to him.
"Yes."
"Not here you're not. You've got your own bedroom, and while you might want to sneak into my bed, I would rather snog the local dung-collector repeatedly and then make him my dungy, smelly bride than have you in it." Letting go of his foot, Darling gave Blackadder a look of pure and utter loathing.
"I knew it! I knew you weren't listening to me earlier, you worthless, conceited arse!"
"Of course I wasn't. Listening to you would surely be a sign of insanity."
"If you had listened for once in your bloody life, you would know that thanks to this stupid, ridiculous plot of yours, we have to share a bed too."
"What?" Blackadder asked in disbelief. "Why?"
"Because, you dullard, we're living as a couple for three weeks."
"So? Can't you just sod off to your own bed? Are you so desperate for my attention that you'll make up any excuse to climb into my bed? Darling, I'm flattered, but I'd rather visit the Kaiser and ask him to use me for his personal bayonet practice than let you anywhere near me."
"You better get your skates on and sod off to Berlin, then." With a loud huff Darling started to look around for something. It looked like he was serious about this sharing a bed business, and Blackadder, alarmed by the thought, tried a different tact.
"Look, if you bugger off to your own bed, I won't tell Melchett."
"Oh, sure you won't," Darling interrupted, still busily looking for whatever he'd lost, "and then the sky overhead will be filled with flying pigs. Give over, Blackadder, I'm not an idiot. If I go and sleep in my own bed, which believe you me, I dearly want to, you'll just use it as another excuse to extend your unwelcomed stay even longer. I am not giving you the chance to argue I didn't take this seriously and so you need four more weeks to make up your mind."
"Four weeks? More like four years, even if I would do less for manslaughter. Sharing a prison cell with Jack 'Touchy' McKill, the notorious cellmate killer, would be better than sharing with you."
"If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to admit you're lying about this 'soulmate' business and bugger off back to the trenches. I won't stop you."
"You'd be delighted to get rid of me, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would," Darling snapped, still rifling through the room to find whatever he'd lost. It was strange to see Darling misplace something, usually he was so organised. He probably even filed his shirts in alphabetical order. "Now put up or push off. I'm going to bed...once I can find my bloody pyjamas." Blackadder paused, then looked down at the pyjamas he was wearing. Hmm. He had thought the service here was very good to provide him with fresh clothes, but he was now realising there might have been another reason behind their presence. Darling, as if sensing where his train of thought was heading, looked at him and then clocked what he was wearing. "You stole my pyjamas?" he shrieked in outrage.
"I didn't know they were yours! If I had, I would have burnt them instead." Darling spun away, putting his head in his hands like Blackadder was testing him before letting out a huge, frustrated noise.
"Who the hell else would they belong to?"
"I thought you were at least somewhat capable of hospitality!" Darling shook his head before angrily pulling out a drawer and rifling through it.
"Great, that's all I need, you nicking my pyjamas. Ugh, I'm too tired to argue about this. Don't you dare stretch the neck out, those are my best pair." Pulling out another pair of pyjamas, he looked at them and sighed deeply, like he really didn't want to wear them. That was an unusual pattern on them. In fact, it looked like...
"Are those tiny filing cabinets?" he asked with glee. If looks could kill, he wouldn't be dead from the one Darling gave him, but it would have given him a nasty nip like a hysterical Chihuahua. "My God, you really are the most boring man alive."
"Shut up," Darling snapped with what suspiciously looked like a blush on his cheeks as he slammed the drawer shut. The print on the pyjamas wasn't just of filing cabinets, there were also stacks of paper, pens, and even little desks, ready to be slaved over. "They were a gift."
"From the second most boring person in the known universe, in admiration and respect to you beating them to the title of most boring?"
"Just shut your eyes so I can get changed."
"Why, are your pants even more embarrassing?" Darling balled up his fists, as if despite his earlier insistence that he was too tired to fight, he was now starting to reconsider his choice. That probably meant that they were, but Blackadder didn't want to see them, so he laid back and shut his eyes. After several minutes of shuffling around—really, how long did it take to get changed—he heard the covers lift and the creaky protest of the mattress as Darling joined him in bed.
The situation made Blackadder feel itchy. It was a truly bizarre set of circumstances to have Darling as his bunkmate, but even that, as horrible as it was, was still better than sleeping in a dug-out. Just. Opening his eyes, he saw that Darling was firmly on his side of the bed and turned away from him. The line of his shoulders was pointed, even in those ridiculous pyjamas, clearly saying 'leave me alone'. Which was exactly what Blackadder was going to do. Bracing himself, he turned over to hit the light switch again as quickly as possible. The electric shock still stung his fingers, and as he turned onto his side too, facing away from Darling, he rubbed them.
Perhaps this wouldn't be quite as cushy as he'd expected, but he never gave up at the first sign of trouble when the reward was worth it. The Château far behind the lines, then the bureau in London, he thought as he settled down to sleep. That would be worth all this.