Chapter Five

Arthur blinked and struggled to reopen his eyes. They felt like they were full of grit. He tried to focus on the newest message on his screen, but the letters were beginning to swim. There was another ping and another line appeared in his inbox with a flag marked urgent. He couldn't be the only analyst who specialized in the region. Yes, things had been a little unstable the last few weeks but they were still months away from a shooting war, by his own analysis. Did all the field agents forget about everyone else? Was there a problem with the filtering system and it was all coming to him? And half of the messages shouldn’t have even been red flagged, but there they were.

There were another two pings, each making him jump and each new line was flagged red.

Then a hand gently touched his shoulder. He would have leapt out of his skin in fright if he wasn't so tired.

He turned and looked up at Martin, who looked both rested and put together. "What are you doing here?" Arthur cringed at the slight slur in his voice. "Why haven't you gone home yet?"

"I have gone home. I reheated a serving of the lamb stew for dinner, read a little, slept, and have returned. It is 8:15 in the morning." Arthur turned back to the computer and squinted at the clock. Martin continued, "You have been awake for twenty-six hours."

Arthur wanted to laugh but the sound that came out was more like a short, sharp, sob. There was another ping.

"I just have a few more of these to go through."

Martin gave him a small smile. "I will make you some tea."

Arthur nodded and blinked.

He opened his eyes with his whole body jerking upright. He'd been asleep. He looked around his cubicle. Someone had pushed his keyboard to the side, lowered his chair, and neatly folded a dark gray, almost black, suit jacket into a pillow. There was also a plain white mug of tea. He picked it up with unsteady hands and took a sip. It was oolong and stone cold. He wiggled his mouse.

His computer sprang to life asking for a twenty-character password but also showing the time in the corner.

11:37

Shit!

Arthur typed in his password and got a beep as his shaking hands missed a keystroke.

Okay, breathe. You were not woken by your supervisor yelling at you. You might not get fired.

He started typing again, but in a careful hunt and peck rhythm to ensure accuracy. His inbox had five messages. They were flagged urgent like the rest, but there were only five.

"That can't be right," Arthur muttered to himself. The field reports had been coming fast and thick when he passed out. The last one was marked 8:32. Maybe they started sending the work to other analysts when he stopped responding. He was never sure how those things worked.

He blinked a few more times, then began to read. It wasn't easy, but it was easier. He reached for his cup of cold tea then jerked his hand back. It hadn't burnt him but the cup was warm. He jumped again as he noticed someone standing next to him.

"Hey." His throat felt rough.

"You should drink your tea." Martin's voice was as soft and gentle as he'd ever heard it.

He picked up the fresh cup. It was oolong again. The smell drove some of the cobwebs from his mind. He closed his eyes and took a sip. "Oh, I love you."

He opened his eyes again and Martin was gone.

He tried to run back the last few seconds in his head. Had he said that out loud? Had he ever said that out loud? Did Martin hear him?

He took another sip of tea. He was too tired, and he could feel his autopilot kicking in before he started spinning out into some emotional crisis. Finish work, go home, sleep, wake up, then talk to Martin.

Yep, that was going to have to be the game plan. He drained his cup of tea and got back to work.

It was close to six by the time Arthur hit send on his last report. His typing had slowed to glacial levels as he tried to avoid exhaustion-driven mistakes that could have repercussions down the line.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, but he was too tired to even startle properly. It was more of a twitch that ran through his body.

He looked up at Martin. "I will drive us home."

Arthur nodded. He was aware enough to know that he was in absolutely no shape to drive, and trying to get the Agency to reimburse cab fare was a pain in the ass.

"Yeah," was all Arthur said. He quickly logged out and gathered up his stuff while Martin waited. His legs felt wobbly and his head hurt as he followed Martin out of the building. He was asleep, his face pressed against the cool glass of the car window, before they were even out of the parking lot.

It was Martin who put the food in front of him. He had to blink at it a few times, his higher brain functions still running behind everything else. It was a BLT and the smell sent his stomach growling.

"Eat something, then sleep."

That was the plan, eat, sleep, then something? His brain skittered to a halt at anything past eat and sleep.

He picked up the sandwich. A little burnt, a little too much mayo, not quite enough lettuce. It tasted glorious. He managed to mark that Martin was eating a sandwich of his own.

Good.

He felt himself beginning to list forward as he got down to the last bit of crust.

"Time for sleep."

Sleep.

That was the last coherent thought he had before the autopilot fully took over.

This time Arthur woke slowly. He was warm, actually laying down in his own bed, his neck not twisted at an unnatural angle. As his brain slowly turned back on, his awareness grew. His head was only partly on a pillow. Mostly his face was pressed against a hip. He heard a page turn, then felt thin fingers gently comb through his hair. He smiled. Martin almost certainly knew he was awake by the change in his breathing but was willing to let him lay there and drift.

They had the library later, but it couldn't be late enough in the morning yet to justify any rush if Martin was still reading in bed.

A strange tingling thought fluttered around the back of his head. Maybe more memory than thought, but it was proving as ephemeral as a quickly fading dream. He frowned a little and tried to rewind the previous two days in his head. Burnt bacon. Falling asleep in the car. Warm cup of tea cutting through the fog.

Oh.

Arthur opened his eyes and wiggled his way up until he was sitting next to Martin.

Martin finished his page, then looked at him. "Good morning."

Arthur blinked a few times. "I love you." There it was, not grand and romantic but a statement of fact. Something he had known for a while but, like so much of their relationship, never said out loud.

Martin smiled at him. "I know."

"Good. Just wanted to make sure." Martin continued to smile and gave his hand a small squeeze. For Arthur that was enough. He understood the way Martin communicated, at least to an extent. They had said I love you months ago, sitting on a floor, staring at a painting of a cancan dancer. They had just said it in their own way. "Is there any more bacon?" Arthur finally asked, knowing he could waste the day, given half the chance, sitting here next to Martin, but there were children to read to.

"There are six slices left."

"I'll make us some breakfast."

"Thank you."

Some small part of Martin had been half convinced that Arthur was addressing his cup of tea when he muttered the words, "I love you." He had known how Arthur felt about him for some time now. Known it through a thousand kind actions that Arthur didn't always understand. Known it through patience that few others had ever had for him. Martin had tried to say the words himself before being sent on that disastrous assignment, but they were still too new and there was still too much of himself he had yet to show Arthur, too much he still had to try to explain.

And after, Arthur had given those words back to him and there was no more that needed to be said. And yet, half delirious with exhaustion muttering into a cup of tea, when Arthur said "I love you" Martin jerked as if he'd been struck in the sternum, and for a moment his very breath faltered. He stepped out of the cubicle quickly and returned to his own work with as much focus as he could manage.

His sleep that night was restless and, in the end, he decided to simply read while Arthur caught up on his own rest. Then Arthur had woken up and said those words again. This time it was not a blow. Instead, a warmth seemed to begin in that spot and spread through his body. He knew society expected him to say those words back, but linking the exact words with the right emotions had never been his strong suit.

He'd squeezed Arthur's hand and Arthur got up and made bacon, perfectly even and crispy. Apparently, it requires cooking it a long time on a lower heat.

"I am finalizing my plans for the holidays. Would you still like to join me in New York?"

Arthur smiled. "If you're willing to have me tag along."

"I would… I would enjoy that very much." His annual trip to New York consisted of a day spent in his lawyer’s office and a second day attending to some personal matters. Occasionally a third day buying art. Before that, before the Agency, his explorations of what might loosely be described as his home city were limited primarily to school field trips. "Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to see?"

"Oh, I've got a list of 50 restaurants that have two-year long reservation lists which I can't afford, but the Met, that would be a nice start. Central Park. I sort of want to ice skate at Rockefeller Center, just to say I did."

"I do not know how to ice skate."

"I can show you if you like."

Martin tried to picture them gliding over ice together. "That sounds… interesting."

"After spending Christmas with his mother, Arthur will be joining me in New York for a week."

Dr. Francis smiled, bright and honest. She never tried to hide or school her emotions. If anything, Martin thought she might even be telegraphing them a bit for his sake. "That's wonderful."

"He wants to teach me how to ice skate."

"That sounds like fun. Mind your bad leg, however."

"I will."

"Are the two of you going to exchange gifts?"

Martin sighed. He knew he was forgetting something.