Work Text:
"Arthur, we need to be quick about this. We shouldn’t even be here…”
“Yes, yes, I know, just… just look for anything that might be useful. I could have sworn I had some cash stashed in here somewhere…”
Arthur leant his cane against the desk and flicked their lighter open. John started with the top drawer of the desk. Arthur’s desk, that had luckily for them been moved to the basement of his and Parker's old office building rather than thrown out.
“I don’t see how the risk we’re taking is worth anything that could be in here,” John grumbled. He rifled through a mess of old, tattered notepads and loose papers sliding free of their manilla filing folders. There were a few pencils clattering around, in various states of use. All of them had teeth marks at the ends. He pocketed one. “This one’s just full of old papers. It looks like your case notes.”
“Probably, yes,” Arthur agreed impatiently. He set the lighter on the edge of the desk and pulled open the top drawer on the other side, conducting his own search by touch. John sighed to himself and let him without comment. When Arthur frustratedly slammed the top drawer and moved on to the bottom one, John did the same on his side. Inside he found a half-empty, dusty brown bottle badly hidden behind a folded pile of clothes. They could do with another change of clothes. He wouldn’t mention the bottle.
“But unless you find a case file about escaping the pursuit of a cult attempting to venerate the voice in a client’s head to godhood, I don't think old case notes are particularly- oh.”
“Oh?” John waited for Arthur to elaborate. He didn’t. “Arthur, what…” John turned his attention back to Arthur’s haphazard searching. Or rather, the lack thereof. Arthur was still, his hand and ostensibly whatever had made him pause so abruptly were still hidden from John’s view inside the drawer.
“Arthur, what is it?”
Nothing. He could feel how tense Arthur had drawn.
“God damn it, Arthur, turn your head so I can see.”
“No, it’s, um… it’s only…”
“Arthur.”
Arthur huffed and then paused again, seeming to gather himself before turning his head to finally let John see what was in the fucking drawer.
“Oh,” he remarked, “it’s…”
It wasn’t anything that John had been expecting, with how Arthur was acting. It seemed so out of place here among Arthur’s things, in a dark, dusty basement, that he was having trouble processing what to do with it.
“It’s... a small stuffed rabbit. Its body is long and floppy, with ears to match. Its fur is… it’s hard to tell in this lighting, but it’s brown, I think, and soft-looking. Tattered and threadbare in a few places, but it’s clear that it’s been worn down as a result of being handled frequently, rather than carelessness or mistreatment. There’s a pink satin ribbon tied in a small bow around its neck, lightly frayed at the edges.” John caught the ribbon between two fingers.
“Yes, “ Arthur said. And that was all.
He watched as Arthur hesitantly rubbed a thumb over the rabbit’s fur. He could feel Arthur’s mind start to drift, and his eyes go soft and unfocused. He felt suddenly, for the first time in a long time, that he was intruding on something sacred and vulnerable in Arthur’s life. That he’d seen something that Arthur wouldn’t want him to see.
But they didn’t have time to dwell on it here.
“Arthur…?” he prodded, carefully. This was like patching Arthur up after a run-in. Like he was pressing on a bruise, trying to assess how bad it was without making Arthur swear at him for it.
Arthur said nothing, and John wasn’t sure if the sting in his eyes was a result of impending tears, or all the fucking dust in this basement.
“Arthur,” he pressed a little harder, wincing internally in sympathy. “we need to-”
“Yes.” Arthur suddenly snapped back to himself and sprang to his full height, almost overbalancing with the momentum. John slammed a hand down on the desktop to steady them as Arthur hastily shoved the rabbit into his inner breast pocket. “We should take a quick look through the file boxes and then get out of here. I really don’t want to be taken in for breaking and entering at the scene of the probably two murder cases that we’re suspects in. Ah…'' he felt around the edge of the desktop, “my cane is…”
“Leaning against the side of the desk,” John sighed, “just to your right.”
"Perfect.” He snatched it up. “We’ll be out of here and back home in no time.”
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
The small apartment was theirs and it had been theirs for almost a month now. John didn’t need to tell Arthur where to find the mat to toe his shoes off, or the umbrella stand to put his cane in. He didn’t need to guide Arthur to the desk, and he wouldn’t need to guide Arthur to the bedroom later. It was familiar, and it was safe, and it was far enough away from the storage space in the basement of Arthur’s old apartment building that if they hadn’t been caught by now, they wouldn’t be.
Together, he and Arthur dug through their bag, their coat pockets, their trousers, and laid out everything they’d salvaged on the desk. It wasn’t much, but Arthur seemed satisfied with the trip. Arthur had indeed stashed an envelope of cash that they’d found (emergency funds, Arthur had said cagily, when John had asked why he’d had it hidden there). It was enough to cover almost a full-month’s rent, so John supposed it was worth having. They’d taken the change of clothes John had found, along with a few other personal items of Arthur’s. His old contact book, which Arthur said would be useful for finding leads and help in any future cases as well as their own predicament. A few old journals that Arthur wouldn’t let John read, which John thought was stupid, because how would Arthur be able to reread what was in them otherwise. He thought about asking Arthur for a journal for himself, as he fingered the teeth-marks on pencil in their pocket. Later, maybe.
Right now though, he couldn’t stop thinking about that fucking rabbit.
It didn’t matter that John couldn’t feel where it sat tucked in close to Arthur's chest. Its obvious significance to Arthur made it the heaviest thing they’d lugged home. Especially because Arthur was deliberately ignoring that it was there. He left it there while they compiled everything else, and alright. It was clearly something very personal to Arthur. John knew how to tell when that was the case. And he wasn’t going to pry, he wasn’t.
But something seized inside him when Arthur hung their coat on the hook and started to turn away, the rabbit still huddled inside. Alone.
“Wait! ” and Arthur froze with a hand still grasping the coat, clearly startled by John’s sudden outburst.
When John wasn’t more forthcoming, Arthur asked, carefully, “John? What’s wrong?”
What was wrong was that the thought of the rabbit sitting in their coat all alone - the thought that it had been all alone in an abandoned drawer in a cold, dark basement, for who knows how long - was for some reason unbearable to him.
“It’s… it’s nothing Arthur. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s… it’s just that you forgot about the rabbit. In your jacket.”
He knew Arthur hadn’t forgotten. He knew Arthur didn’t want to acknowledge it, and he didn’t want to push Arthur, because that never went anywhere helpful. But he couldn’t drop it. Surely they could just take it into the bedroom with them. They didn’t have to talk about it.
“It’s fine, John.” he was trying to sound nonchalant. He was doing a piss-poor job at it, in John’s opinion. “It’s just a rabbit. We can deal with it later. I’m frankly exhausted after all that running around, and anyways, it’s not important,” which was a fucking lie. Please leave it alone. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Is what he meant.
“Well…” John searched frantically for some way to push without going to hard. “Well maybe we could just, just take it into the bedroom with us. Put it with our things so we don’t forget it’s in our coat and accidentally lose it.”
Arthur hadn’t moved. He rubbed the fabric of their coat collar where he still held it between his thumb and finger. John could feel him turning over in their head, restlessly.
“Why do you care, John?” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded slightly exasperated, the way he did when John refused to let go of something Arthur wished he would. He sounded tired. He sounded afraid.
“ I don’t know, Arthur, I just-'' No. Softer. It’s just a bruise, be gentle. “I just think they shouldn't be alone. Now that we’ve found them.”
Arthur's grip tightened on the coat.
John was sure that would be it for the night. Arthur would tell him to drop it, and he would have to if he wanted any kind of closure to the issue. There would be nothing else he could do.
But instead he felt Arthur sigh and soften, all the fight going out of him. “Yes.” he said, so quietly that John was sure no one else in the world could have heard him. “Alright. You’re right.”
Arthur took the rabbit from their coat. In the bedroom, he hesitated, clearly unsure what to do with it. He hovered beside the bed as if thinking of laying it there before setting it on the bedside table. He opened the drawer as if thinking of putting it inside, then closed it again without doing so, before quickly turning away to go change and wash up for the night. John watched him in the bathroom mirror above the sink, and didn’t say anything except to let him know where he had missed a smudge of dust on his cheek.
Arthur stretched his arm above his head and yawned as he headed back to bed. “Radio, John?”
John hummed distractedly. “What? Oh, not tonight.” The rabbit had fallen over on its side. He wanted to tell Arthur. He didn’t.
Arthur was already falling into bed in the way he always did, like all his strings had been cut. He laid on his back, and with his head turned the way it was John had a perfect view of their bedside table. When Arthur seemed to realize this, he turned over and curled up on his left side. John settled his hand over Arthur’s chest, when he thought Arthur was done situating himself. There was nothing else but a “Goodnight, Arthur,” and a “Goodnight, John,” in return before John felt him fall into sleep like a sinking stone.
He rubbed a thumb over the worn cotton of Arthur’s nightshirt, and Arthur sighed contentedly. He thought about the way Arthur had done the same to the soft velveteen of the rabbit, and wondered if he had done it searching for comfort the same way John did.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
Arthur woke himself up crying a few hours later.
This wasn’t an unusual occurrence. John liked to think that Arthur had gotten better with sleep since they had first met, but the nighttime terrors were still a regular event. He was familiar with Arthur waking up startled, panicked, gasping, the wet sting of tears and blurred vision if it wasn’t too dark to see.
John knew how to calm him, how to ground him back in their body, how to talk him back to sleep, or talk him through making a cup of tea if sleep wasn't yet back in his grasp.
It was different this time. This was… softer, quieter, almost as if Arthur were trying to escape John’s notice, as if that were even possible. As if crying in this body wasn’t something they were made to share, always.
John felt the hot gush of tears, felt the tremble of Arthur’s body, and prepared for Arthur to burst awake at any moment. When he didn’t, he contemplated whether he should wake him.
He could usually tell when Arthur went from sleeping to waking. He could feel him, where their consciousnesses brushed against each other, become alert and aware. But something about this time eluded John. He didn’t realize Arthur was already awake until he reached up suddenly to clap a hand over his mouth and stifle a small whimper.
Fuck. Something was wrong here.
“Arthur?” he asked, gently, carefully.
Arthur flinched, his shoulders bunching, body curling in on itself, and whimpered into his hand again, eyes screwing shut. He still felt soft along the edges, the way he did when he wasn’t entirely lucid, but it was clear he was awake.
“Arthur, is something wrong? Does something hurt? What’s wrong?” he could hear the panic seeping into his own voice.
Arthur sobbed behind his hand before pleading quietly through heaving breaths. “‘m sorry, sorry, I didn’t want to... I don’t want to… ’m sorry, John, sorry.” He clutched his hand over his mouth again to muffle another sob.
“Sorry? Arthur, what are you sorry for?” Surely they were past the point where Arthur felt he had to be so profusely apologetic about having a rough night.
“I didn’t want to bother you, I’m sorry, I just can’t… I didn’t mean to…” he sat up and pressed his hand to his mouth again. His voice was small and trembling. All of him felt small and trembling.
“Arthur,” John interrupted him. “You’re not bothering me. It’s not as if I were asleep anyway.”
Arthur continued to cry, his breath hitching.
“It’s alright, Arthur.” John put a hand flat on Arthur’s heaving chest. “Take a few deep breaths for me. Can you do that?”
Arthur nodded.
“Alright. Just breathe. Good, that’s good. You’re alright. We’re safe, in our bed, in our apartment. Nothing is going to hurt us here. It’s just me and you. Good.”
When Arthur quieted, John pulled Arthur’s hand from his mouth and took it, rubbing circles into his palm with his thumb. He was still crying, silently.
“Can you talk to me now? Slow. Tell me what’s happening.”
Arthur hesitated and shook his head.
“Arthur, It's okay. Tell me what I can do.”
“I- “ Arthur sniffled. “I can’t see her, John. I don’t know where she is. And you said,” he hiccuped, “you said she shouldn’t be alone. And I left her alone again and now I don’t know where she is, and I didn’t mean to leave her alone, I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry.” Arthur’s voice was soft around the edges, like he had to work around each word as if it were made of cotton.
“She?” Maybe he was wrong and Arthur wasn’t awake. Maybe he was still dreaming and this was an elaborate sleeptalking episode. “Arthur,” he asked very carefully, dreading the answer, “who are you talking about?“ John wasn’t sure he was equipped to deal with the particular hallucination he thought Arthur might be having.
“She… I… I put her… I put her on the table but I don’t know where and now… and now I can’t see her…”
Oh.
“The rabbit?”
“I don’t want her to be alone, John.” He sounded so small.
“Oh, Arthur…” Okay. He could handle this, and it was fine. Even if Arthur was acting a little odd (and what else was new?), John could give him what he needed.
“Where- “ Arthur sniffled, “where is she?”
“Turn your head to the right… there. She’s right there, on the bedside table. Right where you left her, she’s just slouched over a bit. If you reach out you can touch her.”
“Oh.” Arthur whimpered. He felt around for the table, his searching much more fumbling and unsure than it usually was, especially in such a familiar space.
“Back a little,” John supplied, “There.” It made him uneasy to see Arthur so lost.
As soon as Arthur’s hand brushed the soft velveteen of the rabbit, he snatched her up and curled her fiercely to his chest.
“‘M sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled through his tears.
John got the sense that Arthur wasn’t talking to him. He felt the need to console him anyway. “It’s okay, Arthur. It’s alright.” He ran a hand through Arthur’s hair. “Everything’s alright.”
Arthur nodded and buried his face in the rabbit’s belly.
“Do you want to lie down?” he continued stroking through Arthur’s hair.
Arthur nodded again.
“Okay, let’s lie down then.”
Arthur did, turning on his side and cuddling the rabbit close. John felt around for the blanket and pulled it up around their shoulders. He reached for Arthur’s cheek and tried to wipe away the remnants of his tears. Arthur let him. His face would be rough with the salt of them in the morning without a wash, but they could deal with it then. “Good, Arthur. Do you feel better now?”
Arthur fidgeted nervously. “...John?“
“What is it?”
“Just,” Arthur sniffed, “please don’t leave.”
“I… what?” That hadn’t been what he was expecting.
“I don’t want to be alone,” Arthur babbled on. “Please don’t leave John, please .” He was starting to sound upset again.
“Oh…” John wasn’t sure what to do with that. Why would Arthur think he was leaving? That he was even capable of leaving? “Arthur, I’m… I’m not going anywhere.” Arthur’s earnestness took him aback a bit. “I’m a little stuck here, if you haven’t noticed,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.
“But- “Arthur’s voice wavered, and John felt the threat of more tears burn in his eyes. “But if you could… please don’t. I don’t want you to. I don’t want to be alone, please-. ”
He sounded so small, so afraid. John wasn’t used to him being so bare with his feelings. He felt like he might break Arthur if he said the wrong thing.
“Okay, Arthur.” he consoled. “I’m not going anywhere. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. I wouldn’t leave you.”
Arthur sniffled. “Promise?”
“Yes,” John brushed his hand through Arthur’s hair again. “I promise.”
Arthur nodded and curled tighter around the rabbit. John could feel his eyelids drooping, heavy with exhaustion.
“Go to sleep now. You’re tired. I’m here”
Arthur yawned and mumbled, “ M‘kay. Night, John.”
“Goodnight, Arthur.”
Arthur’s eyelids fell closed, leaving John in darkness for the rest of the night. He continued petting through Arthur’s hair and listened to his breathing become slow and even, his mind turning to the impenetrable fuzz of sleep again.
Well. That had been... odd. Hadn't it? Not that Arthur had cried or needed his help, but the way he'd cried, the way he'd pleaded, the way he'd sounded so helpless and unsure, scared and small. His bright, loud, headstrong, lovely Arthur.
He supposed it didn't matter much right then. He had been able to help and had gotten him back to sleep, and that was a victory in John's book. The rest could wait until tomorrow.
John's heart hurt.
✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦
The next morning was a Sunday, which meant they didn’t have anywhere to be, so John let Arthur sleep until the sun poked in through the curtains and woke him itself. John was just starting to get antsy when Arthur finally stirred. This time, John caught the moment he went from asleep to waking, felt his consciousness turning over softly and spreading out slow and syrupy to the rest of his body. He let Arthur have a moment to wake up properly. Arthur stretched, yawned, and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. John could feel how they were still puffy from last night.
“Goodmorning, Arthur.” he tried, carefully, waiting to see how Arthur would react when he remembered what had happened last night. John wasn’t sure what it was that had happened, exactly, but Arthur was often… skittish… after an emotional episode. He didn’t like confronting his own vulnerability after the fact. John didn’t want to scare him off before he got some answers.
“Morning, John,” Arthur returned around another yawn. He scratched a hand through his hair before sitting up again with another stretch. He went to lean back on his hand. “Oh, what’s…” John felt him dig around the bedding. The rabbit had ended up halfway shoved underneath their pillow. When Arthur unearthed her, he went still. “Ah. Right.”
“It’s your rabbit, Arthur.” John said, because he felt like he should say something.
“Yes.” Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, tiredly wiping at the salt left in their eyes. “Christ.”
“Arthur it’s okay- “
“No, John, let me-” Arthur cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. John waited as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m sorry I… I’m sorry you had to deal with me. Like that. I wouldn’t ever want to put you in that position.”
“Arthur…” What the fuck are you talking about , is what he wanted to say. Deal with him like what, exactly? Like he always did, because he cared about him? Did Arthur think his suffering meant nothing to him, after all this time?
No. That wasn’t what this was. That wasn’t what Arthur was saying. He tried to rein in his offense.
“Arthur, I’m not exactly sure what I was dealing with, other than talking you through a rough night like I’ve done a hundred times before-'' he felt Arthur furrow his brow and open his mouth to interject, “ -and like I’ll do a hundred times more, gladly,” he pressed on, not giving Arthur time to argue, “but I thought we were past apologizing for this kind of thing. So… what? Dealing with you like what?”
Arthur was quiet. John could practically feel him pacing restlessly in their head. If he were more awake, John knows he would be pacing for real. Instead he brought the rabbit to their lap and fiddled nervously with the pink ribbon around her neck.
“I was being childish. Crying over a fucking… child’s toy. I was a little out of my head. I didn’t mean to let myself slip like that, but I suppose having it again... and you, saying that… that she shouldn’t be alone… it triggered something in me to feel… odd. Small. Like I was a child myself, I suppose. I don’t know. It’s never a pleasant experience, to feel that way, and I imagine it’s not pleasant to deal with from the outside, either. So I’m sorry you had to.”
John wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t understand, and wasn’t sure he could. He didn’t know what it felt like to be a child, but it must have been frightening. Lonely. To make Arthur cry and plead with him the way he had.
“It’s alright, Arthur. I’m just glad I could help in the way you needed.”
“Yes, well. Thank you. For that.” Arthur said quietly. He rubbed the inside of one of the rabbit’s ears.
“Of course, Arthur. You’re my friend. You would have done it for me.”
Arthur made a sort of hmph sound that meant you’re right, but I don’t want to say it. “Be that as it may, I’m alright now. A bit embarrassed, frankly. But thank you, Friend.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” John tentatively reached to rub a thumb over the inside of the rabbit’s other ear. It was so soft. “Clearly she affected me as well.”
Arthur chuckled softly. They sat in silence for a long moment. It was comfortable. John could feel Arthur relaxing and knew, in the strange way that he sometimes just knew things about Arthur, that he was enjoying being in a soft, sunwarmed bed, and that he was happy to not be enjoying it alone.
And John had to bring it up.
“Last night, you said… you said that you didn't want to be alone. You asked me not to leave.”
Arthur sighed. “Yes. I did.” It was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate.
“Do you think that I would?”
“No, of course not… Maybe? I don’t know, John, It’s. It’s complicated.”
“Complicated.” John stated flatly.
“It is.” Arthur insisted. “Look, it’s… it’s not about you, not really. You know how it is for me. Since I was young people have always… left.”
“Oh. Your parents.” The child’s toy. John was starting to get enough pieces to see the whole of the puzzle
“Yes, my parents, but not just… It’s just hard for me to believe, sometimes, that you’ll stay. That you won’t leave or… or be taken away.” He felt for John’s hand, searching, and John gave it to him.
“I wouldn’t, Arthur,” he insisted.
“I know, John, but… but I’m afraid of it all the same. I try not to let it take hold in me too deeply, but I woke up feeling… small. And I was suddenly overwhelmed with it. It’s hard to keep my emotions in check, to… reason out my fears, when in my head I feel so small. Everything else feels so big.”
“Hm.” John rubbed this thumb over Arthur’s. His skin was sunwarm. “Well. You’re not in the habit of letting bigger things get the better of you, Friend.”
Arthur hummed thoughtfully. John could hear his smile. “Neither are you.”
“Neither are we.”
Arthur fidgeted with the rabbit. John could tell the sincerity was getting to him, but he knew Arthur had taken his words to heart. It was time to move on.
“What’s her name, then?”
“Hm? Oh, uh,” his voice went shy, “Flopsy. Her name is Flopsy.”
“Flopsy?”
Arthur laughed, loud and musical. “Yes, ah… Faroe named her that.” His voice was all honey-warm and fond now. “I must have called her something else when I was a child, before her. But there was a book I would read to her, with these rabbits, and one was called Flopsy, and wore a pink cape. Faroe would never call her anything else after that.” Some of that uninhibited babbling was creeping back into Arthur's voice, excited and joyful now, rather than scared and apologetic. John loved him.
And he supposed the name was acceptable, in that case. Fitting, even. “Flopsy, then. I’m glad we have her back.”
“Me too.” John felt Arthur tug at himself like he did when deciding whether or not to say something. “John? Thank you. For…” Arthur waved his hand in a gesture that John understood to mean “everything”. He didn’t want to pick up that argument again (though he itched to, why Arthur was so obstinate about thanking him for things like this- but he was letting it go. For today.)
“Of course, Arthur. Coffee?”
“Oh.” Arthur sighed indecently. “Yes, please .”
John chuckled. “Alright then. Let’s make breakfast.”