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"Something like that," he mumbles. His elbows rests on his thighs as he huddles over for a moment, bracing his chin on his right hand and staring sightlessly at the floor a few feet ahead. "I've had... I've been thinking about things, a-a lot. Stuff that won't stop racing through my mind, demanding attention."

John's own hand reaches up to touch the center of Arthur's chest; the mention of 'racing' worrying him just a little.

[You don't say.

Something... troubling?]

His heart is steady, as John brushes over it, but Arthur realising the warmth of it there makes it pick up a little.

"More or less. I'm... I-I keep thinking about the future, still."

[The future here or... ]

He doesn't want to assume. He also doesn't want to name it if it's just going to upset him worse and he's wrong.

"Home, still. If we hadn't come here."

He lifts his head so he can look at his hand again as he rubs his fingers together again.

"...I owe you an apology, John."

[ Wait, what? Why? ]

Not terribly alarmed, just confused and surprised.

"I've just..." He sits up straighter, a little awkwardly. "I would have thought that knowing the future would- that it'd prepare us in some way. Be ready for if we return against our will for what's to come, but."

He gestures vaguely with his hand. "All I've done with it half the time is hurt you when I'm upset. Not even at you, a-and it's certainly not your fault, I know- objectively you're-- you will be as unprepared for any of it as I am. And the rest of the time I'm- fucking paralyzed by fear whenever I think about what's going to happen, even besides the pit."

John's quiet for a moment, because this is- well, it's new is what it is. Arthur just... opening up to tell him about his fears and doubts. Usually they have to have just nearly died for anything even close to this.

[ Oh.

Well...

I imagine it was... much like the papers in the hotel. Made you feel... powerless, the conclusions inevitable. Hope-

Hope struggles against such knowledge.

And we've had precious little other advantage beyond this place. ]

"We have each other," he says softly. "Through everything I have had you, even if we- we came into this arrangement... as we did."

Learning he had been tricked into it still... hurt, in a strange way. Not that it made a functional difference, but it certainly explained a lot of how John treated him earlier on, as so utterly disposable. Just the echoes of knowing it would, he supposed, in the heat of the moment.

"And I..." There's silence for a few moments, and then a weak chuckle. "God, John. It feels like you've done nothing but grow here, you're- coming into your own, as a person. As John Doe. But I feel like all I've done is... flounder. Try and keep my head above water with all these new memories."

And softly, almost more to himself. "Like I'm the one dragging you down."

[ Never. ]

Vehement, but not harsh. Just... firm. So very firm on that point. He doesn't say anything else, because he needs to find the words, find the right things to say what he means and not something clumsy or wrong-footed.

[ The only reason I ever became more than a tattered scrap of someone else is because of you, Arthur. All that I am came from- from what we share. No.

From all you've given me, including the chance to be partners, real partners. You aren't dragging me down, Arthur. You- you keep me grounded, give me purpose, goals, dreams...

You're my anchor, Arthur. I need you. Not just as a body, not just as eyes or a hand or- or even toes.] And that comes with a wry, always-a-little-evil-sounding chuckle. [ But you. The person you are. My better half. Never doubt that.

Even when you flounder. We flounder together. ]

It was always hard, hearing John practically sing his praises, to be able to accept them. At least when they were barking insults at each other, even if they stung he knew they were always true. He was always going to pull the rope up, open the door, read the book, pursue the way forward no matter how bloodied he was by the time he got there.

Kindness was something he always struggled to accept. Always would, perhaps. But with John, at least... he can feel the warmth of his companion's sincerity thrum through his chest, can imagine it like a shield around his heart. And knowing, knowing John, that he wouldn't lie to him - he lifts his hand, pressing it lightly over John's, feels the pulse point of their wrist under his fingers as it settles in time with his heart beneath their hands

"I need you too, John. At this point- l-like I need air. You are more than my friend, or my conscience, I- I cannot and refuse to imagine a world where you aren't by my side, no matter where we go. Even if I'm going to be--" he huffs softly, a smile ghosting across his face. "Even if I'm myself, a-a stubborn old mule that refuses to be lead by hook or crook. I want you to be there to help me survive it. To- to thrive with me."

John is always so amused and even a little confounded by the way that Arthur resists his words. A part of him knows it to be his own stringent honesty, the way he judges himself so harshly, beyond reason. It is that part that finds the amusement: Arthur can't think he has an overly rosy idea of who he is and what kind of a person he can be, any more than he believes that Arthur has anything like a soft-hearted idea about him, given everything that's gone between them. But if he wasn't a difficult son of a bitch who couldn't be led 'by hook or crook' then he wouldn't be Arthur. And that is who he loves, ugly moments and all.

[I will be.]

That is a promise, given with the solemnity of one.

[Even after I have a body of my own.]

That comes with a wry little chuckle.

[You aren't about to get rid of me that easily.]

Arthur's smile solidifies on his face a little more, and there's a soft huff, almost a chuckle of his own as he relaxes a little, letting the stiffness in his shoulders ease and sliding his hand down to brush along John's forearm.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he says, his gaze drifting down as he lets his head tip a little, like he could see his hand if he just got the angle right. "I just..."

He swallows quietly, and his voice steadies, the cool determination of knowing it's a decision to make. "I either need to accept these memories properly, no- no matter how I feel about them, knowing that we will get through them, together. O-or-- I should accept that they're just one possibility - one horrific, exhausting possibility - but that by being here we are finding something else - a better path. So-- I don't have to accept these as fact, just. Potential. A too-vivid nightmare."

Feeling that smile is-

Well, it's reassuring. And the brush to his forearm feels surprisingly nice for how small a gesture it is. Again, Arthur teaches him the joys of life, of limited existence. Of caring.

[In truth, I suspect it is both: an Arthur Lester lived through those events. Whether that timeline is the one that we will live through is yet to be seen. Hopefully, by the time we've left this place, our path will lead us far away from that series of events.

Every choice we make that is different should, in theory, bring us to a different timeline. But this place makes it hard to be certain.]

Edited 2023-02-15 03:00 (UTC)

"Yeah. We've... I mean, for all that we can, we've basically confirmed that the Barge does not exist in a meaningful way in relation to our home universe, so." He sits back, letting him fall against the back of the couch in a tired slump. "For the time being, we should work under the assumption that what we do here can cause meaningful change."

Because he's not sure what he's going to do, short of go fucking mental, if that's not the case.

"And I'll..." He takes a bracing breath, breathing it out slowly. "Try, I guess. I'll fucking try. To just- sit with these memories, when I can, try an-and learn from them. Whatever else it is, that's still new information. About- ourselves, the beings in our world, Kayne and Larson, and--" and Yellow, he almost says, but he holds back on that one. "And what to do with them in future, to prepare ourselves."

[Perhaps we can spend a few nights working on it.]

A small huff of a noise.

[We've got fuck all else to do for the moment, given Natalie's coma and the current situation. Unless you wanted to go and try to check on Mandrake.]

That gets a quiet groan out of Arthur, and he releases John so he can lift his hand and rub his face instead.

"Christ, Mandrake," he mumbles. "I don't think he's going to do anything that ought to require me checking in right now, but I'll have to be damn thorough about that later."

John takes a moment to move himself into a pocket for the time being. Of all the things, he'd asked for a kettle before his ability to stick to!

Fucking annoying.

[Of course. I just wasn't sure-

You're protective of him. If you wanted to go and check on him, I'd understand.]

When he feels his jacket shift, he pulls it open for John to make the whole affair a bit easier.

"I don't think there's anything I should bother him about at this hour, anyway." He'll push himself to his feet, still. "But I'm not doing anything else before a cup of tea, mind you."

And he tucks his mask back into place before settling his hand back at his side.

[Not at this hour, of course. Really, Arthur.]

But best they get Arthur his tea.

"Fuck off," he says, fond and dry.

At least he feels like he's getting the hang of Natalie's room; his hand reaches out to brush at a chair he remembers being out, and is quietly pleased at the gentle brush against his fingertips, rather than the sharp crack he's accustomed to.

"Now, where are the cups again?" he asks, resting his hand flat on the bench without prompting when he reaches it.

[Oh, now he wants to know where the cups are. What happened to me fucking off?]

Grumpy, but with absolutely no real bite to it and just as obviously fond. It's even clearer when he says, after a moment-

[Off to the left, a few inches up from the counter.]

"Thanks."

And he reaches for it unerringly, finding the handle easily and bringing it down carefully. There's an ease of motion to his movements, as he goes through them to make his tea, that John will certainly notice; not just familiar habit, but almost a sort of awareness, meeting some of John's directions before he can even finish them.

How in sync the are is one of those unspoken comforts (or irritations) that hasn't come up nearly so often on the barge but John can feel himself settling significantly when he feels how smooth their integration is.

[Cho ought to be by tomorrow with some food and some books. I explained why we weren't going much of anywhere.]

That gets a haggard sigh out of him, as he picks up his finished tea and turns to lean against the counter. "Thank you, John," he says still, but John will be able to tell that the exasperation in his voice is directed inwards, not at his partner.

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