InsaneJournal

Who: Ariadne, Arthur and Eames
When: Backdated to Saturday night, after these texts.
Where: Ariadne and Arthur's apartment
What: Let's play "Who had the worst day?" No matter who wins, everybody loses!
Rating/Status: PG-13 for language, complete


Ariadne's text had unnerved Arthur in such a way that when the first one arrived he'd begun to put Phillipa to bed. The last thing the poor girl needed after losing her mother would be to see someone walking into the apartment covered in blood. So doing the "right thing", Arthur put the young girl to bed before texting his friend back.

Thinking ahead, Arthur moved to the wash room, cleaning out anything that might have been in the washer and moved it quickly into the dryer. Looking through the fridge he was less than pleased when there wasn't a bottle of seltzer water or club soda to be found. He would have to run out and get some after she got there. It wouldn't be the best idea to have her walking herself, blood soaked, into a convenience store to grab a bottle or two.

Now pacing the living room, Arthur chewed at the inside of his cheek, going through all the things he'd need to do once she arrived. He'd managed to push out the more pressing question of how this all came to be from his mind. That could be answered after a bit of clean up.

This had been a hell of a day. It wasn't until Ariadne had been relieved at the clinic that she even started to think about what she had gone through. Kreacher was still following orders from her and had brought her back to Regulus' apartment, where she picked up her bag and coat and held them gingerly away from her. It felt like her hands were the only parts of her that were clean, scrubbed at the clinic while she waited. But it wasn't far from Regulus's building to her own. Just long enough to make her shiver in just her shirt-sleeves. She would have run if she didn't feel so utterly drained and exhausted by the day's events. Two adrenaline surges in one day was more than enough.

The stairs seemed insurmountable, so she took the elevator up to the sixth floor. Ariadne hadn't even looked at the network or the waiting messages when she'd opened her PDA, just texted everyone who she could remember Regulus having talked to and sent one to Arthur. So she wasn't expecting to see a few of Phillipa's toys and crayons scattered across the living room floor and coffee table.

"Arthur?" she called softly, realizing that maybe she'd missed something and shouldn't raise her voice. And here she'd thought today couldn't get worse.

Just having ducked down the bedroom hall, Arthur took a few quick strides back to find a surprisingly bloody Ariadne standing in the living area.

"That.." he blinked a few times as he walked over, examining her visually for a few moments, "That's more blood than I expected." Letting out a small sigh, Arthur began to remove his vest, tie and shirt. They were the only ones he had and he wasn't going to be taking any chances in getting them completely bloody. His pants could live with a stain or two.

Arthur didn't bother folding his clothes as he moved over to her. Instead he took her bag from her outstretched hand and nodded to the hallway bathroom where the light was on down the hallway, "Phillipa's sleeping in my room so try and be quiet. I want you to go get in the shower and take your clothes off."

"It's not mine," she said, handing him her coat as well. Perhaps it was a sign of just how shocked she was that she barely registered Arthur's sudden undressing. Well, okay, it registered, she just couldn't understand it for a minute. "Why is Phil here?" She leaned down to pull off her boots, frowning at the flakes of dried blood that came off her clothes, and padded into the bathroom. Any other time she might have reacted to his order with a saucy grin or a sarcastic comment. Instead she did as he said, undressing and wrapping her clothes in a towel before dropping the bundle outside the door and starting the shower.

The water washed away the coppery stink of the blood and pounded at the knots of tension in her shoulders. It felt like hours later that she was leaving the steamy bathroom and shivering, wet hair coiled over her neck and a towel wrapped around her.

Arthur simply watched as the caked blood drifted onto the clean carpet. Yes, he knew he had a problem with being a neat freak at times, but he had to do his best right now not to thunk her on the back of the head for not taking it all into the bathroom. So a few calming breaths later, Arthur walked the boots over to the washing machine and stuck them in. He’d probably need to do an initial soak for everything.

After rinsing off his hands, Arthur headed down the hall, thankful that Ariadne had wrapped everything up for him. He quickly took that bundle and tossed in. Removing the shoes, he wrapped those up in the extra towel and walked those into the kitchen, tossing them in the sink, “Exactly how I wanted to spend my summer vacation.”

Moving back down the hall he spotted Ariadne walking out into the hall wrapped in her towel. Still looking a bit bothered, he noted how she seemed chilly and walked toward her. Pressing a hand to her lower back, Arthur guided her toward her room, “Come on, bedroom. Go.”

Eames froze where he stood by the front door of the flat. Years of... well, sneaking about and generally being a thief, really... had meant that he habitually opened doors as quietly as possible. The fact that Ariadne had given him a copy of her key a while back ("it's easier than you picking the lock whenever you want to come over") only made it even easier. He'd got his breath back as the lift had taken him up to the top floor, so he was pretty much silent as he stood there and watched Arthur (shirtless Arthur) put his hand to Ariadne's back (Ariadne wearing nothing but a towel) before telling her to go to her bedroom. He blinked once or twice and then slipped back out through the still-open front door and shut it after him, still moving silently.

Leaning back against the wall, he reached into his pocket and grabbed hold of his totem. He checked it twice, just in case. Real. Shit. He tilted his aching head back and let himself slide down the wall until he was resting on his hunkers, and covered his face with his hands. It wasn't what it looked like, it couldn't be what it looked like, oh fucking hell, he was so close to actually praying that it wasn't that at all. The man he loved and his best friend. Oh. Oh, fuck.

Well, there was only one way to find out for sure. Groaning as he stood up straight again, and the thudding pulse in his head threatened to squeeze his brain out through his right eye-socket, he took a moment to wait for the knives that were stabbing through his temple to die down from "Frenzied hacking" to "Minor mutilation", and then let himself back into the flat. This time, he made enough noise that Arthur was bound to hear, and played up the effects of the headache as an unspoken explanation for the noise.

"Ariadne? Arthur?" he asked, shutting his eyes as his hearing faded in and out with his pulse and waiting to see what the response was.

Ariadne let Arthur push her into her room, and was halfway through getting dressed when she heard Eames come in and call her name. Normally she would have just put on a shirt - one she'd actually stolen from her former roommate and more like a nightgown on her - and gone to bed. But given the supreme awkwardness between them and the fact that she probably owed both men explanations, Ariadne opted instead to pull on some pants before leaving her room. She twisted her wet hair into a knot to get it out of the way and came back into the living room, wholly unaware of Eames's previous entrance.

"You would not believe the afternoon I had," she told him, then stopped when she got a good look at his face. The creases in his forehead and tightly shut eyes told her Eames had one of his terrible headaches. They didn't happen often, but when they did he was more or less useless. "And I bet yours sucked too. Lie down, I'll get you water and painkillers." She stepped over and gave him a hug, tight and wordless, then headed into the kitchen. At least Eames wasn't also covered in blood, so Sirius had to be doing marginally better. Not that she particularly cared.

Arthur had let himself hang back a bit while Ariadne took the lead in taking care of Eames. Instead, he busied himself with checking on her clothes for a few moments and then moving to the sink to start on her shoes, "I think you've both had shit days."

There was a slight smile on his face as he watched Ariadne. Despite whatever she'd gone through, the girl had no problem bouncing back just as quickly. Especially when someone needed help. It faded though when he finally took a look over his shoulder at Eames. He'd seen that face before, and he could remember the several times he'd tried to ease it.

Steeling himself, he turned back to the bloody boots, "You should sit down, Eames. It's not going to do you much good standing."

Eames blinked as Ariadne hugged him, frowning as he finally discovered where one of his tee-shirts had vanished to. And people thought she was sweetness and innocence personified. Hah.

He made an attempt at hugging her in return, but then she was telling him to lie down and offering drugs, and that was possibly the best thing anyone had said to him all day. Covering his sore eye with his hand, he looked at her blearily and nodded once. "Tell me about what happened later," he said softly, before walking slowly towards the couch.

He paused as he walked past Arthur and looked in at what he was doing. "...Why are Ariadne's boots covered in blood? And where's Phils? Is she okay? I only saw your message about twenty-five minutes ago, I was busy giving Sirius a bollocking. Whose blood is that?" He kept talking softly, unwilling to speak at even his normal volume, since it would probably cause his brain to implode.

All he wanted was for Arthur to help him over to the couch and then let him lie down with his head in the pointman's lap. He might as well wish for the moon on a silver platter, though, and so he kept his distance and stayed where he was, watching Arthur.

Ariadne retrieved a bottle of naproxen and filled a glass of water and was heading back when she heard Eames's questions. "It's Regulus's," she said, coming over and handing him the glass. He didn't look in any shape to fumble with a childproof cap, so she opened it and shook a few tablets into his palm. Once Eames had swallowed the pills she led him over to the couch, trying to shake off the echoes of leading Regulus around earlier. The likelihood of Eames deciding to cut one of his tattoos out of his skin was much, much lower, thankfully.

She wasn't aware of what the forger had been wishing for, since mindreading was well outside her skill set, as she sat down on the couch and pulled Eames to lie down with his head in her lap. It was just what seemed right. This way she could trace over his forehead and rub gently at his temples, which felt like he'd been trying to tow a car with his eyebrows. Explanations could wait till he was feeling slightly less wretched and Arthur had joined them.

Arthur let Ariadne lead off Eames without answers, he could explain things later. Right now getting Eames back into peak form was their concern.

Coming back not knowing anything had its benefits. The people both of them were talking about Arthur didn't know. At least not real well. He'd spoken off-handedly to both of them, but that was the extent of their conversations. Either way, he was certain he'd probably be getting to know them soon enough.

Arthur cleaned up Ariadne's boots carefully, making sure not to damage too much of the leather that he could. Taking them over to the door, now at least somewhat cleaned, he looked back to the pair. And something in his chest clenched up.

He wasn't sure how long he stood staring, but he did his best to shake it off. Even more so was the effort he put into not looking at them for now at least. "So, what now?" He moved back into the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water and possibly a shot of something containing alcohol.

Ariadne was running her fingers through Eames' hair, and he couldn't help but close his eyes as she did so. It was vaguely relaxing, something he desperately needed right now when he could barely string two thoughts together. He could hear Arthur moving about in the kitchen, and the quiet sounds coupled with whatever Ariadne was doing gradually helped the pounding in his head to die down until it was almost bearable. Perhaps the painkillers helped a bit, too.

Eventually, he could cope with the outside world again, so he reached up and put his hand on Ariadne's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thanks, sweetheart," he murmured, but didn't try lifting his head just yet. Then Arthur was speaking, so he started pulling his thoughts together in order to start piecing together the day that was in a three-way tie for Worst Day In Colligo (the other two being the day he had to kill himself, and the day he found out that Arthur had left). He levered himself up rather gingerly, and ended up leaning forward with his head held in his hands.

"What now is discussing what we do for Phils now that Mal's gone, and I want to know why your boots were doused in Reg's blood," he said, the last bit obviously directed at Ariadne. "I shouted at Sirius, he explained a few things, then Remus showed up and for all I know, he's still going through Sirius for a shortcut."

Ariadne had started to lean against Eames, still craving the reassurance of physical contact, when his comment made her stiffen. "Mal's gone?" she asked, looking over at Arthur for confirmation. "Is that why Phillipa's here?" Apparently today had sucked for everybody in the city. She pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees.

"Regulus had some kind of breakdown," she said finally, voice very quiet. "I was cleaning him up and touched his back and he freaked out, and - I got locked out of the bathroom. He... he broke the mirror and tried to cut the Mark - the tattoo - out of his arm. At least, I think that's what happened. It was a mess. And Kreacher brought us to the clinic. He's still there. Regulus, I mean. Merlin came to stay with him, that other redhead might show up too. I couldn't stay." She let out a shaky sigh and closed her eyes. "That's why my everything was doused in blood." It was a good thing Phillipa was already in bed when she'd come back.

Eames had listened while she explained things, but not everything made sense despite what Sirius had told him. “I don’t... Sirius explained things like ‘Pureblood Fanatics’ and he talked about a war and three unforgivable curses, but he didn’t mention anything about tattoos or Marks.”

Sometimes Ariadne was tempted to force Eames to read the books, just so he would know what the hell was going on. "Yeah... Regulus was in a group known as the Death Eaters, who believed that anybody who wasn't a wizard whose parents were wizards was automatically inferior. They all got the Dark Mark to prove their loyalty. A tattoo on their forearms." She held out her arm to demonstrate. "And Sirius was on the other side of that war."

He nodded once, wincing when it set his headache off again. “He said as much. He came here from the middle of the war. Fucking hell, no wonder the pair of them have issues, if that war’s still going on in their heads. Although...” and he trailed off, wondering what it was that had caused Reg to start making friends with non-wizards (because Muggle was a fucking stupid word and he was going to refuse to use it whenever possible). Fuck it, he was going to read those stupid bloody books. And check on Reg.

At the wince, Ariadne reached over to put a hand on his shoulder. "Pretty much. It's kind of Shakespearean. Regulus repented before he died, which happened before he was sent here. And Sirius... well, you can imagine how much he believes that." She let her feet thump back on the floor and leaned into Eames this time, going quiet.

Arthur wasn’t much paying attention to the conversation once it stopped involving Phillipa, the rest didn’t concern him much. What did, however, was that Ariadne and Eames were safe and unharmed. Finishing with everything in the kitchen, Arthur moved back into the living area, picking up his undershirt.

Quietly slipping it on over his head, he readjusted it at the bottom before he spoke, “I’m taking Phillipa.” He felt it was all he really needed to add to his conversation as he sat down carefully on the edge of the coffee table. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to take care of her."

"Of course you are, you're her Godfather. And you'll be fine. After all, it's not like we're going to just abandon the two of you, is it?" Eames said, careful to keep his voice low. The pain was ramping up in his head again, and it was all he could do to keep from curling up once more. As it was, he ended up keeping his head down and his eyes shut and doing his best to not slump against Ariadne. He hadn't even looked up at Shirtless Arthur. Clearly, he was deathly ill.

What he'd said was true, though. Cobb might have been one of the biggest dicks to walk the planet, but Mal had always been one of his best friends, and since it was practically impossible to not love Phillipa, there was no way he would just walk away.

Ariadne moved her hand up to rub the back of Eames's neck and winced in sympathy. The tendons were tense, hard as rocks. "Lie down," she said, pushing on his shoulders till his head was back in her lap, "and keep quiet. I know that'll be difficult." Once her fingers were moving lightly over his forehead and scalp again, she looked back over at Arthur. "He's right. We'll both help. And with three reasonably intelligent adults we shouldn't do too badly." In reality, she saw the situation as far more daunting. But making Arthur feel worse wouldn't help things, and Eames felt quite badly enough at the moment.

Arthur had just started to look over at Ariadne when she pulled Eames’ head back down into her lap. His eyes shut tight as soon as he saw it, and the last thing he wanted to do was make people feel uncomfortable. Knowing that Phillipa was safe and sound, tucked away in his bed, Arthur stood up and started dressing. This whole clusterfuck might be harder than he thought it could be. So much for dreams of a fresh start.

Finally fixing his tie, he grabbed up his set of keys, slipping them into his pocket, “I need to go take care of a few things. You think you two can keep an eye on Phillipa? She’s sleeping and I doubt she’ll be up.”

"I can hold down the fort," Ariadne said, watching him. She'd glanced over soon enough to see his eyes shut tightly, and that started an interesting chain of questions and associations in her mind. Like why exactly he couldn't bear to look at them. And which half of the equation bothered him more. "I doubt Eames will be up to much anyway. You'll be back soon?" Because if anything did happen, Ariadne was pretty sure she was going to lose her shit and start crying uncontrollably.

“I’m not sure. Text me though if you need anything.” He didn’t bother lacing up his shoes all the way as he moved to the door. He needed air as the apartment had started to suffocate him with a number of things. The smell of blood hung by the door and figured he’d need to clean the whole place up sometime tomorrow, “I’ll crash on the couch when I get back.”

Opening the door, Arthur headed out, leaving the door unlocked behind him as he hurried down the hall.