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As date nights go, Monday wasn’t particularly ambitious to begin with. That didn’t mean the low bar couldn’t be missed.
Linus had been the one to suggest it. After a few weeks back on the island, just as things were settling into a delightful normalcy, he was suddenly struck by a dismaying realization.
He and Arthur had never, not once, been on a date.
That wasn’t how things like this were supposed to go. Oh, he knew they were already well outside of the ordinary, as far as developing romantic relationships went. And that ordinary wasn’t something he needed or wanted to be. But, as much as his bubble had been popped, Linus was still Linus. He worried. He fretted. And he had barely any previous experience to fall back on, when it came to this brand new pretty thing he and Arthur were doing. Expectation seemed to be the only thing to guide him, when his instincts started to get all tangled up.
So. Date night. Arthur had seemed charmed by the idea, at any rate. If nothing else, that was a win.
It didn’t fill in for Linus’s continued lack of experience, though, and so he’d had to scramble to think of something they could actually do for date night. Left to the whims of normalcy, he’d been left with two basic options: dinner, or a movie.
Dinner was complicated. Evenings on Marsyas were hectic to begin with, as they are in all houses with children, and by the time they’d be able to leave once everyone was in bed, it would be hours past dinner time. Zoe could keep an eye out while they slept, of course, but to Linus it didn’t seem fair to leave all six of them to her for the entire evening, just so they could go out.
Going to the movies, on the other hand, seemed like it could work. The theater in the village did late night showings a few times a week, and that way they could eat dinner with everyone else, make sure the evening routine would go smoothly, and then be on their way. Except then Linus made the mistake of considering film options with Arthur out in the living room, which meant Theodore heard from under the couch, which meant all the children knew within the quarter hour, which meant before they’d even narrowed their options down, there were six other people voicing their opinions of what movies they wanted to see.
They scheduled a movie theater outing for the following Saturday, with plans to get Sal a set of noise-muffling headphones ahead of it. They scheduled their own movie night for the upcoming Monday, with plans to rent a DVD in town when Linus went with Zoe to do the shopping.
He had always tended to prefer his own familiar chair, anyway.
Thus began a new part of the Marsyas Island weekly routine. Just as Saturdays were adventure days and the sixth of the month was Linus, Phee, and Zoe’s day in the woods, every other Monday evening was date night. It was on the calendar in the kitchen. Someone had drawn little red hearts next to the words in every single square.
They made Linus happy, even if he tsked at them.
“Did you see that?” Linus said, frowning at the screen. The television was quite small, and usually lived tucked away in a cabinet. They only pulled it out for special occasions or the occasional educational documentary. There was far too much else to do on the island for it to take much precedence.
But still, there had been a very pronounced flicker just as Ingrid Bergman stepped onto the screen.
“I’ll bet the DVD’s scratched,” he sighed when it happened again. “I thought the movie rental store seemed iffy.”
“Probably,” Arthur agreed. He passed Linus the bowl of popcorn on the side table. Linus only briefly hesitated before taking it. It was much easier to forget—or simply cease to care about—his spare tire with Arthur pressed against his side, one long arm draped warmly over his shoulders. Just being in the house made him forget, sometimes. The couch had plenty of room for all of him. It could very nearly fit all of the house’s occupants, actually, if they squeezed and a few of the smaller members sat on laps. They’d taken a photo like that a few days ago, for a mysterious project Chauncey was working on.
Anyway, he was starting to come around to the idea that this was much nicer than going all the way out to the theater. Linus was Linus, and Linus was at heart a homebody. Just because his home had changed didn’t change that.
The movie went on for a while uninterrupted, classic Hollywood stars meandering around the city of Casablanca. Linus had seen the film before, more than once. It had the same kind of comfort his favorite music did. So it was all the more jarring when Ingrid Bergman said to “play it, Sam, for old times’ sake,” and instead of the beginning of “As Time Goes By,” the band began to blast “Beyond the Sea.”
“What the—”
While Linus scrambled for the remote to turn the volume down and figure out what on earth was going on, Arthur only cocked his head. He appeared to be listening closely, to more than just the television speakers. “You and Lucy were listening to this record earlier, weren’t you?”
“Were we?” Linus tried to remember. There had been a lot of record listening, the last few weeks. “I know—oh, yes, this morning. With the sticky buns. But why is it…? Oh!” He turned to look at Arthur, already moving to stand. “Do you think it’s Lucy? Is he having a nightmare? I’ll check on him—”
Arthur caught his arm before he could go anywhere. “It’s alright, Linus. It’s not a nightmare. We’d know if it was.”
Linus sat back down slowly. “Yes, I suppose we would.”
“A more regular dream, I’d guess. One of those very odd vivid ones you remember in the morning.”
“Does this happen often?” He looked skeptically at the television screen, where Humphrey Bogart had just entered the cafe for the third time in a row.
“I haven’t had the television out during one before, but things have been known to get a bit strange at night. The night lights in the hall change color sometimes. Once, all the laundry in a basket in Lucy’s room turned itself inside out. We found it the next morning, all folded and neat, but every item the wrong way out.”
“I suppose he’s just better about doing his chores when he’s asleep.”
“Apparently,” Arthur chuckled.
On screen, a scattering of the costumes suddenly became colorized. It seemed to be getting worse.
“We’re never going to finish it, at this rate. We’ll be watching an entirely different movie by the end.”
“We’ve got the rental for a few more nights. We can try again.”
“I suppose.” Linus sighed. So much for date night, he thought, but didn’t say it. He knew Arthur would look at him Like That if he did.
Arthur did it anyway, because he could read Linus like a book. “I wouldn’t call half a movie and an hour sitting with you a loss.”
Linus felt himself soften like melted butter. “Not at all. Of course not.”
The television screen went blank, briefly fuzzed, then started to play the last scene in reverse.
Linus’s head started to hurt just watching it. “I think I’ll go to bed, given…” he gestured at the screen. “If you’re sure Lucy is alright.”
“I am sure. And I know you’ll come running if that changes.”
Linus nodded. There had only been one nightmare in the time since he’d returned to the island, and he had indeed come running, despite his certainty that he was not built for anything more than a brisk walk.
Arthur walked him to the door, and kissed him softly on the front step, because that was what they did now. That was what they had now. “Goodnight, my dear Linus.”
“Goodnight, Arthur. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “And I look forward to our next Monday. It’s nice to have a second adventure day on the calendar.”
Linus flushed, though it was probably dark enough it couldn’t be seen. Then again, Arthur.
The nights had turned truly chilly as autumn crept in, but the walk to the guest house was short, and well lit by the porch light and the soft glow of downstairs windows. And he knew he was being watched over until he was safely inside.
“Probably a good thing we didn’t make it thought the whole movie,” he commented to Calliope as he put on his pajamas, already yawning. “Mornings come far too early here to be up so late.”
If Calliope agreed, she left it unsaid. Linus climbed into bed, and, like Lucy, his dreams were gentle, if odd.
So. Technology, it seemed, was not to be depended on. That was alright. There was plenty else to do without it.
What, Linus didn’t immediately know, but he kept a close eye out for any clever ideas in the days after their unsuccessful Casablanca attempt.
Movie night in town was still theoretically on the table, though truth be told he’d enjoyed sitting with Arthur at home too much to really like the idea of going to all the effort of going out. He briefly considered staging a romantic dinner on the island, but nixed the idea the next time he wandered through the kitchen while Lucy and Talia were assisting with lunch. If Lucy asleep had caused too much chaos, he didn’t want to think about Lucy and Talia and all the other children actively helping. It would be well intentioned, he knew. The only shovel talks he’d gotten since that first night back had been the entirely ordinary Talia-flavored ones. But date night was supposed to be special, and he and Arthur got so little time alone. That was important to him, at the moment.
A few other ideas popped through his head during the week, and were either dismissed or written down in a private little list for further consideration. Board game night seemed like a strong contender until he poked his head into the games cabinet and found it distinctly lacking in two player options, except for chess, which he rejected on principal. He loved the idea of sitting and listening to music together, but if Lucy’s dreams could send the television awry, there was no reason they couldn’t do the same to the record player, and as much as he still sighed dreamily over the handful of times they’d danced together, it wasn’t a night’s worth of entertainment. He’d start to worry he was boring Arthur, if nothing else.
He was still pondering his options when he went with Zoe into town for groceries. And he found his answer, of all places, in the Marsyas weekly newsletter stacked near the checkout.
There were a number of old blankets stashed in the hall closet in the guest house, and he picked out the warmest and least-musty smelling ones on Sunday night, so they could air out a little hung over various pieces of furniture. He’d also had the foresight while they were in the village to pick up a few treats and, most specially, a bottle of wine.
On Monday night at dinner, he deflected as many questions about date night as he could. Arthur and Zoe helped, once they picked up on the fact that he wanted it a secret. Both of them looked at him funny when they thought none of the children were watching, though they were very different sorts of funny respectively. Linus was very proud of how well he kept mum through the evening routine, as they wrapped up the night with clearing dishes and a few games and making sure everyone had brushed their teeth before the lights went out. Only then, when it was quiet behind each bedroom door and Zoe had gone home (not without a few pointed looks), did he lead Arthur outside into the garden.
“Do I get to know what we’re doing tonight?” he asked as Linus brought him to a clear stretch of lawn well clear of the apple tree’s boughs. He had been very amiable about the secretiveness all night, but Linus could see he was itching with curiosity.
“Yes,” Linus said, and refused to elaborate. He had to turn away when Arthur raised both eyebrows at him, he couldn’t help smiling to himself. “Wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”
Arthur made a noise a bit like a huff and a bit like a laugh, and stayed obediently standing where Linus had put him while he ran back to the guest house to get everything he’d prepared. He was still standing there, tall and lovely in the moonlight, when he came back, and he would have stopped and just gazed at him for quite some time if Arthur hadn’t come to help as soon as he saw Linus’s hands were full.
He helped Linus lay out the biggest blanket, still looking like he was fighting the urge both to laugh and to badger him with questions until he explained already, and Linus finally took pity on him. “Here,” he said, handing him the page he’d cut out of the newsletter. Arthur read, squinting a little in the moonlight, but Linus could see the moment he saw it, because his eyebrows shot back up, and he immediately turned his eyes to the sky.
“It won’t be for another half hour or so. Maybe longer.”
“Will we be able to see? With the moon almost full?”
Linus carefully settled himself on the blanket and began to wrap a second around his shoulders. “I suppose we’ll find out.” When Arthur didn’t move, still locked on the sky like he thought if he blinked he’d miss the whole meteor shower, Linus reached up and touched his hand. Arthur startled, he’d been so absorbed. “Come down here already,” Linus chided lightly, and Arthur finally smiled and let himself be helped down. Feeling particularly brave from how well his idea seemed to have gone over, Linus barely hesitated at all before he stretched the blanket over Arthur’s shoulders, as well. Arthur scootched obligingly closer, and drew up a second blanket to share over their laps.
“This is quite special,” he said, once they were settled in, leaning against each others’ sides and enjoying the warmth of being so close out in the nighttime cold.
“I’m not even finished yet,” Linus said, quite pleased with himself. He reached for the bag of goodies he’d brought out, and revealed the wine first, which earned him a happy surprised sound from Arthur.
“Let me rephrase, then.” Arthur caught his hand before he went for the glasses, and lifted it to softly kiss his knuckles. “You’re quite special, dear Linus.”
Linus’s face flamed. “N—er, yes, I mean, I—um—”
Arthur saved him with a hand on the back of his neck and an even softer kiss on his lips. “Yes,” he said firmly.
“Yes,” Linus repeated. “I, er. Suppose.”
Arthur, because he was Arthur, didn’t sigh at him. He knew full well what a step that was in Linus’s halting journey to self-confidence, and celebrated accordingly with another kiss and a full glass of wine.
It was a little while to wait before the show began, but neither Arthur nor Linus were the sort to pass up a bit of quiet time. Especially, as they had recently discovered, when it was quiet time together. They’d spent a shocking amount of their limited free time sitting and reading together in Arthur’s room. (A handful of days after Linus had returned, a second armchair had appeared between the first and Lucy’s chair. No one had yet admitted to moving it up from the living room.) This wasn’t so different, only they were even closer, and holding hands, and talking about mostly nothing and a little bit everything. Linus checked the newsletter a few times to make sure he remembered the time correctly and they weren’t about to miss the meteors, but for the most part, they spent their time just sitting together.
The first flash of light was dim, and barely longer than the twinkle of one of the regular stars that had emerged in full force in the time they’d been waiting. It was so faint, in fact, that Linus missed it entirely, as would almost anyone, but Arthur’s keen eyes spotted it. “Look,” he breathed, pointing to where it had been. “There was one. I think it’s started.”
It had. A few minutes later, a second shooting star graced the sky, and it only picked up pace from there.
“It’s beautiful,” Linus said, once he’d finally managed to be looking at the right patch of sky at the right moment and seen one. “Oh—I didn’t really know, it just sounded good, but this is…”
“It is,” Arthur agreed.
It was so dark by then, minus the moon, which was already fairly well sunk, that when a light suddenly blared on in the house they were both briefly blinded. “What the—”
They were both scrambling to their feet already, of course, but by the time they’d untangled themselves from the blankets, the front door had audibly been thrown open, and a scattering of voices was running towards them at the back. Chauncey was the first around the corner of the house.
“Look!” he was shouting. “Look, there’s another! I said I saw one!”
“I didn’t see anything,” Talia objected.
“No, he’s right,” Sal said. “Look over towards the mainland.”
Five small heads immediately turned towards where the bulk of the meteors had been falling.
“Is everyone alright?” Linus said, still frantically trying to get out of the blanket tangled around his ankles. He tripped instead and fell into Arthur, who caught him with one arm while still scanning over each of his charges for any sign of injury or distress. Even without any supernatural perception or experience, though, Linus could see no one was upset.
Phee was the next to gasp. “I saw one! There!”
Theodore chirped agreement from Sal’s shoulder.
“I didn’t see it,” Talia complained.
“I could make more of them,” Lucy offered. “We’d be able to see them better if they were closer. I could just—”
“Lucy, what have we discussed about disrupting astral bodies?”
The little boy smiled hopefully. “Only a little bit and always under supervision?”
Arthur arched an eyebrow.
“Fine,” Lucy grumbled. “But you’re the one who assigned practical science experiments. I’d just be reviewing the dinosaur unit again.”
“Let’s not,” Linus suggested.
Lucy opened his mouth, whether to argue further or simply say something creatively disturbing, but instead his eyes widened and turned to look past Linus’s head. “Linus! Linus, did you see it? There was one right there!” He ran up, like he’d be able to see them closer that way, and—almost automatically—took Linus’s hand. “They’re so pretty.”
Talia grumbled from behind them.
“As happy as I am that we’re all getting a chance to see this, I do have to ask why we’re all out of bed at this hour,” Arthur said mildly. There was a chorus of halfhearted shuffling, but mostly everyone was too fixed on the sky to manage more.
Except for Talia.
“Chauncey woke us up,” she complained. “He said he saw a shooting star. But I think I’d be better off getting my beauty rest.”
Arthur put a calming hand on her pajamaed shoulder. “Chauncey? Any reason you were up so late?”
Chauncey squirmed slightly, though the motion was hard to differentiate from his usual locomotion. “I was, um. Doing homework?”
The arched brow again. Chauncey squirmed harder. Only for a moment, though, before he sighed loudly and stopped pretending. “I was looking out the window at the lights in the village. They’re really pretty at night. And if it’s clear enough, and there’s no wind to get the flags on the ice cream parlor’s roof flying, you can see the very very top of the hotel.” He sighed again, this time dreamily. “I wonder if the bellhops ever have to go up there? I wish they would. Then I could see them from all the way out here.”
“You could probably see a lot more of it if you were higher up,” Lucy considered. “And maybe get a little practice being on roofs, since you’re—”
“Lucy,” Linus said warningly.
“Fine.”
“You’ve all given me enough of a fright tonight without me worrying you’re going to tumble off the roof, please.”
“We wouldn’t tumble,” Talia argued. “I have lots of rope. We could tie ourselves to the windows in Theodore’s room.”
Theodore gave an unconvinced chirp. Phee, Talia, and Lucy immediately jumped in to convince him, until Sal said “I don’t know if I like heights that much,” and the idea was dropped immediately.
Arthur met Linus’s eye over the children’s heads. His eyes were sparkling in the starlight, and Linus felt the now familiar ballooning of warmth and sheer, glittering love in his chest.
Suddenly, there was a gasp from within the huddle of children, and one of them dashed forward into the garden. “I saw one!” Talia cried. “They’re real! They’re real!”
“I told you!”
“Oh, good! Now I don’t have to make one veer dangerously close to orbit for you to see!”
“There’s another one!”
“Whoa.”
Linus stepped close to Arthur’s side as the children ran around the garden, exclaiming as the meteor shower hit its zenith. “This wasn’t quite part of the plan,” he said softly.
Arthur immediately took his hand in his. “It’s a bit lovely, though. Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Linus said. “Yes.”
He had vague hopes they might be able to finish date night after the children went back to bed. It didn’t quite work; by the time the shower had slowed and he and Arthur started to herd everyone back inside, they were all thoroughly chilled from being out in only their pajamas, and the whole troop needed to make a stop in the kitchen for some warming hot chocolate before going upstairs again. Linus sat with Theodore on his shoulder, holding a mug up for him every so often, while Arthur chatted with Chauncey at the other end of the table about the importance of bedtime and when it was and was not appropriate to stretch that particular rule. It was universally determined that it had been an alright decision tonight.
Linus agreed, mostly. He was a little sad when he found the mostly full bottle of wine lying in the grass the next morning, though.
There was really no good reason why plants shooting up to block the gazebo entrance should have startled Linus at this point, all things considered.
And yet.
“Sorry, Linus!” Phee called from outside.
“Are you alive?” Talia shouted. “Arthur, is Linus dead? Was that a death scream?”
“I didn’t scream,” Linus snapped. Arthur rubbed his shoulder soothingly and helped him upright again. He may have slipped out of his seat a little.
Said seat was only a cushion on a blanket on the floor, because it was supposed to be a picnic, damn it, even if his back wasn’t quite up for supporting him completely after tramping around the woods on a particularly long, arduous adventure just two days before. They had compromised by sitting against the gazebo railing, so Linus could sit up easier, and Arthur had snuck an old couch cushion out while Linus wasn’t watching, so he couldn’t fuss over being fussed over.
Zoe had helped Linus make dinner, mostly easy finger foods, and Arthur had, on top of the cushion, surprised him with a fresh bottle of wine for the night. One Linus had mentioned, only in passing, having been an old favorite of his. Because Arthur was Arthur, and Linus loved him so very much.
It was lovely. The gazebo was quiet, and they could hear the sea, and it was still early enough that they’d caught a little bit of the sunset. The children were going to spend the evening with Zoe, inside the house, tonight. Arthur had been the one to suggest they make their own night of it, with board games and a sleepover in the living room after dinner. Linus would never have thought sleeping on the floor in the house they always slept in would qualify for any kind of excitement, but then, he was still quite new to this parenting business.
And then the vines choking the gazebo walls, and the shriek—not a scream—and slipping off the cushion.
“Oh, good,” Talia said when she heard his voice. “I’ve just gotten my plan for the spring garden finished, and I didn’t leave room for a grave.”
Linus took a very deep breath.
“Girls,” Arthur called, still holding Linus against his side, “did you need anything?”
There was a sudden, distinct silence from outside the—now fully obscured—gazebo. Linus could very distinctly hear the sound of scuffed feet.
“We just wanted to see something,” Phee mumbled. “With the soil, and some new magic, is all. I didn’t mean for it to happen over here. There’s just good roots under the gazebo. It took over, a little.”
“Mm,” Arthur hummed consideringly.
“But I can undo it.” A pause. “I think.”
“Maybe we should get Zoe to help,” Linus said faintly.
“A good idea,” Arthur agreed. Then he leaned closer to whisper to him. “We could always leave it for a little, though.”
Linus stared up at him. “Stay trapped in the gazebo?”
Arthur’s eye twinkled. “It’s certainly a bit more private than I had hoped for.”
Linus didn’t get a chance to decide whether he was going to be flustered by that or not. Before he could respond, there was a flurry of noise outside, and suddenly a section of new greenery peeled away, and Phee peeked her head through.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” Arthur and Linus said, in unison.
Phee made a face. “Were you about to kiss?”
This was immediately followed by loud and exaggerated gagging noises from Talia’s direction.
“And that is exactly why you were all to stay inside the house tonight,” Linus sighed.
“Oh.”
Arthur made the noise that happened when he tried to cover a laugh but didn’t quite get there in time.
“Might we save further gardening experiments for tomorrow?”
Phee considered, at length.
“There is a correct answer to that one.”
She immediately shrugged. “Okay.”
And with that, she disappeared. They could hear her and Talia racing back to the house, giggling to each other the whole way. Linus thumped his head against the railing once or twice.
Arthur, once he’d gotten his near-silent laughing fit under control, pulled him close again. “Look, my dear,” he said, still chuckling, and pointed through the little window Phee had made in the vines. “We even get the moonlight in here. It’s perfect.”
“I suppose.”
Arthur turned to look at him. “Mm.”
“I wonder when Zoe will come rescue us.”
“No way of knowing. She may decide it’s funnier like it is.” Arthur frowned suddenly. “You aren’t claustrophobic, are you?”
“No, no. I’m fine,” Linus insisted. “Really, I’m fine.”
By this point, Linus was starting to get just a little bit desperate. And desperate times called for desperate—or at least creative—measures.
He called Helen.
For the most part, the childrens’ living room sleepover with Zoe had gone well. They had all vastly enjoyed the little break from routine, and he and Arthur were regaled with many semi-coherent stories about late night escapades that were sure to become unintelligible inside jokes. It had certainly been enough of a success to do it again, minus the previous expectation that the children wouldn’t wander outside.
Which, as Linus had considered his options, seemed a little unreasonable an expectation. The island was the children’s home, and he wanted them to be as comfortable there as they were, even if the outward effects of that comfort were inconvenient to him. Of course his two little gardeners would get into a discussion about soil quality and want to run an immediate experiment. Of course Theodore might need to stretch his wings properly, or Chauncey might have one of his less secure moments and find his way under Linus’s bed. That was how it was, and that was alright.
Helen had excellent detailed reviews of all the restaurants in town, anyway.
They decided to make an entire evening of it, because generally when they went to the effort of going into the village it seemed the thing to do. Linus booked them in for a table at one of the nicer—and well rated by Helen for the owner’s open mindedness—restaurants, and for tickets to a new showing at the tiny art gallery squished between the record store and a new florist. The artist was a naiad. She was the first magical person to head an exhibition there. And her watercolor paintings were supposed to be stunning.
They decided not to use the ferry. Outwardly, Linus said it was because he didn’t want Merle to spoil the mood of the evening. Privately, he was hoping that if they weren’t rushed to head back, they might be able to fit in a nighttime walk along the beach.
On Monday night, well before the island’s usual dinner time, Linus got dressed up. He still had his slacks from his days at DICOMY, because pants were pants, but other than that, his outfit was all new since his return to the island. He had a pale pink dress shirt, and a nice, soft grey jacket he had a suspicion Zoe had made and not just bought for him as a gift, and, best of it all, a bowtie. Old Linus would never have considered such a thing. Sal had found a little display of them when Arthur and Linus took him out one day to look for some new clothes, because the boy was growing taller every day, and ought to have things he liked and had picked out himself, after spending so long stuck with whatever he was given with no say in it.
Sal had been uncertain about whether or not he should get one of the ties on top of the stack of other new things they were getting for him. But Linus had seen how much he liked the idea of it, and how he kept coming back to a burnished gold colored one with tiny, tiny letters that only looked like squiggly polka dots from a distance. So he had asked Sal if he thought any of them would look good on him, too.
Sal had worn his, along with a dapper new shirt and suspender set he couldn’t seem to stop admiring, when Chauncey requested a fancy dress party for his turn to choose the Saturday adventure. Linus had stood next to him, beaming, in his own off-white seashell pattered tie. It was his favorite thing that he owned, besides his now worn-in adventuring clothes and the spare glass that lived on his desk, full of found things Theodore had gifted to him.
Arthur was as lovely to look at as always, in a shirt and waistcoat and dress pants that still managed to be short enough Linus could see the purple socks underneath. He had a small satchel bag over his shoulder, as he nearly always did when they went into the village, just full of all the random things you never think about until you suddenly need them, like tissues and band-aids and spare change for parking. Usually a book, too. Linus had, once, seen Arthur pull a full size collapsible umbrella from it, despite looking too small to hold one.
“All set?” Arthur asked as they met on the front steps. The living room curtain twitched. A few giggling faces were unstealthily peeking out the window.
Linus smiled and reached for Arthur’s hand. “All set. Everyone alright inside?”
“Perfectly. Zoe’s making breakfast for dinner, or so I heard.”
“That should be a bit of excitement.”
“It already is. She’s got so much help in there I think they’ll be done before we so much as reach the village.”
“Best get moving, then.”
They climbed into Zoe’s convertible, and Linus began the drive down to the water. His grip on the steering wheel tightened reflexively as they approached the shore, but Arthur put a calming hand on his knee, and with a deep breath and a focused bit of faith, he drove on. The salt bridge came up to meet them, as it had the handful of other times they’d used it since Linus had been back. With the need to placate the village no longer allowed to be a major concern, they had taken to making use of Zoe’s magic a bit more frequently.
That didn’t mean there weren’t stares as the car pulled up onto the beach and made its way up a boat ramp onto the street, but they both steadfastly ignored them. It might be different when the summer season started up and there were more strangers around, but for now they only had the locals to reckon with, and there was more progress being made with them every visit.
Linus parked in one of the beach front lots, not far from the gallery. He fussed over straightening his tie before getting out of the car until Arthur reached over and did it for him. Linus swallowed. There was no good reason for him still to get so flustered over being close, but he did.
It was privately enjoyable, though. And then, as soon as he’d gotten his blushing under control, Arthur came around and held the door open for him, and all his hard work was for naught.
The sun was approaching the water as they made their way up the sidewalk toward the familiar record shop sign and the cramped little gallery beyond. Linus was a little disappointed to leave a promising sunset behind. But as they entered the gallery and Linus handed over their tickets, the real world sunset was forgotten. A good third of the artworks lining the walls were sunrises and moonrises and their respective sets, over rivers and lakes and a handful of distant cityscapes. Linus was captivated immediately.
They split up for a little while to wander the artwork. Linus had never been to an art showing like this; he had liked the occasional trip to the big art museum in the city, but that was all old, historical sorts of art, categorized by movement or era or epoch. And probably none of it had ever been made by magical hands. There was a mesmerizing movement to each of the paintings here he’d never seen anywhere else.
When he finally turned away from a stunning sketch of a tree lined riverbank spotted with hidden figures in the water and branches, he found Arthur standing towards the back of the room, talking to someone. As he wandered closer, he saw it was an ageless sort of woman in a loose, gauzy dress. Her hair was a rich black, and shone, almost as though it were still wet from a bath.
Linus gasped. It had never occurred to him, somehow, that one might be able to talk to the artist whose work you were admiring. He hurried over to join Arthur, slipping into the spot at his side effortlessly.
They were very nearly late for their dinner reservation.
“That was wonderful,” Linus was still gushing as they were seated. “Those paintings. And Marie! I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so lovely!”
Arthur smiled at him across the table, some deep unreadable emotion in it. “It was lovely, Linus. Thank you for organizing it.”
“I wonder if we could get the children out to see it before the exhibit closes? Theodore especially, he’s been doing those finger painting—claw painting?—pieces during free time and they’re getting quite ambitious, and really any adult nature spirit role models we can give Phee are good steps, she looks up to Zoe so much but expanding her boundaries can only be good. And some of those garden settings! Talia would—”
“Critique, probably.”
“Yes, and learn from it.”
“How long is Marie’s work there?”
“I’m not sure. Helen told me about it, but I didn’t ask about the dates when I called.”
“We should look. I think it’s a wonderful idea, and we’re about due for another group outing soon.”
The waiter came then and asked about drinks, which neither of them had an answer for, having forgotten about their menus as soon as they sat down. With only one slightly suspicious look at Arthur, which was steadfastly ignored, the waiter left them to think it over.
“Has Theodore shown you his paintings, then?” Arthur asked as they finally began perusing the menu. He frowned suddenly, and looked down at his side.
“Yes.” Linus frowned. “Has he not shown you?”
“Some of them. I think he—what? Hold on.”
Linus watched, concerned both about Theodore and the face Arthur was making as he took his satchel bag off the chair behind him and set it on his lap. He lifted the flap and looked inside.
“Ah,” Arthur said. “That would explain it.”
Linus leaned over the table, trying to see. “Explain what?”
“Why my bag seemed a bit heavier than I expected when I went out the door. Theodore?”
To Linus’s bemusement, and someone at a nearby table’s audible shock, a sleepy-eyed wyvern head poked up out of the satchel. Theodore chirped a question, to which Arthur stroked his head and suggested he curl back up in the bag. Apparently unaware or unbothered by his change of location, Theodore chirped again and disappeared, rustling around for a moment before the bag stilled again.
“Was he…” Linus said faintly.
“There the whole time? It would seem so.” Arthur closed the satchel’s flap again, though he didn’t secure it. He sighed. “It’s my fault for not looking. He hasn’t done this since he was much smaller. Though I don’t think falling asleep in my bag has ever led to an actual stowaway incident before.”
“Ah.”
Arthur glanced around the restaurant. Other than the table two over to their right, where the woman who had gasped was hastily trying to get her partner’s attention, no one seemed to have noticed the appearance of a young wyvern in their midst. But Linus could see the tightness that had suddenly come across Arthur’s shoulders, and the way he held the bag securely close to him, ready to protect it at the drop of a hat. Linus could feel the same tension in his own body.
“I think maybe we’d better go home early,” he said quietly.
Arthur nodded. Though to someone who didn’t know him as well as Linus he may have looked casual, he was still scanning the room, waiting to see if anyone would try to make a scene. Linus stood, and took his coat from the back of his chair. “Here,” he said, reaching for the satchel. Arthur passed it over. He was careful with it, of course, but he didn’t so much as pause before giving its precious cargo into Linus’s hands. Coats on, Arthur gingerly put the satchel back on, and they left the restaurant, with a brief word at the hostess stand that there had been a minor emergency and they would have to reschedule their reservation, please. The woman at the desk was very kind and understanding. Helen knew her town and its inhabitants very well, after all.
It was nearly full dark out by now, and the street lamps lent a silvery glow to a dark blue world. The sun seemed to set faster and faster with each passing week. Back in the city, by this time of year, Linus would only ever see the sun on weekends, assuming he didn’t get called into the office anyway. Going to and leaving work in the dark was one of the things he hadn’t even realized he was leaving behind until he’d gone and done it, and like most everything else, it was a wonderful realization.
They were most of the way back to the car when Linus gasped. “Oh, dear. I hope they aren’t missing him back home. I mean, of course I hope they realize he’s gone, my goodness, what if they haven’t? What if he were really missing and they didn’t—”
Arthur put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure they’ve realized. Zoe will know he’s not on the island, anyway. She may even know he’s with us. Her power reaches farther than I expect, sometimes.”
“Are you sure?”
Arthur squeezed his shoulder and offered him a tight smile. “She’ll know as soon as we’re back on the water, anyway.”
Linus began walking a little bit faster.
He breathed half a sigh of relief once they were in the car, though the other half would have to wait until they were all safely home. Arthur held the satchel in his lap, as he had on the way over, though his arms hadn’t been quite so secure around it earlier. Linus saw him seriously consider adjusting the placement of his seatbelt, but, presumably to avoid alerting Theodore to the situation and frightening him, he kept him where he was.
“I’ll drive slowly,” Linus promised. Arthur smiled tiredly, but leaned over for an appreciative kiss on the cheek.
Zoe was waiting for them when they reached the beach. Not herself—there were still five children to keep safe on the island, of course—but there was already nearly a yard of hardened salt extending from the sand. It shifted slightly as Linus watched, little grains skittering across the surface and changing position nervously. The moment the first tire touched the sand, the whole structure seemed to freeze, and then with a surge of motion the salt road was unfurling ahead of them by the mile. Usually it only popped up a few yards in front of the car as it went. Tonight it very nearly reached the island in one shot. It seemed Zoe was anxious to get them home.
“Oh, heavens,” Linus breathed to himself as he started the convertible back across the sea. Arthur let out a heavy breath of agreement.
There was no one at the dock on the island, which Linus told himself was a good thing, because it meant they’d be properly home before having to deal with everything that was about to unfold. He had to spend another several minutes feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, though. A small little scare with just Theodore, and still he felt like he wouldn’t be able to breathe until he saw all of his children safe at home.
Most of the lights were on in the house, including the turret where Theodore’s nest was. There had been a search, it seemed. As soon as the car pulled into sight, there was a distant shout, and the front door flew open. Linus had to brake quickly as Sal ran straight for the car.
“He’s alright, he’s here,” Arthur was saying, already half out of the car and striding over to put one arm around the boy’s shoulders and hold the satchel secure in the other. “I’ve got him, Sal, we’re all alright.”
At that moment the other half of the door swung open as well, and the rest of the household poured out, all yelling questions. By the time Linus had gotten out of the car and disentangled himself from Chauncey, who had gotten a bit confused in the chaos, most of the group’s worry had been eased by Theodore once again popping his head out of the bag and asking sleepily what was going on. Arthur gently pulled a still-shaking Sal towards the door, murmuring to him as they went. Theodore climbed out of the bag and onto Sal’s shoulder, which in and of itself made Sal’s shoulders drop a few inches.
Linus herded everyone else inside behind them as efficiently as he could. He was suddenly exhausted. He had counted heads seven times by the time they made it up the steps.
Zoe met them at the door. “Kitchen, please, everyone. Do we want dessert or don’t we?”
“Zoe—”
“I knew where he was.” She smiled kindly. Then she checked over her shoulder to make sure all of the children were out of the hall. “I called the restaurant to let you know. They said your reservation wasn’t until later.”
“We went to a gallery first. Oh, for someone’s sake, I knew I should have written it all down, I forgot to tell you…”
“It’s alright, Linus,” she said. It took him a moment to realize she was using the gentle voice she only very occasionally used with Phee or Lucy when they were too tired to keep up with their fun and didn’t realize it yet. “I knew you’d keep him safe. Sal went to get him for dinner, though, and panicked when he couldn’t find him. I tried to call again, so he could hear you say Theodore was safe, but you still hadn’t gotten there. We made it through most of dinner before you got back to the beach.”
“And then you knew we had him?”
“I knew already.”
“Yes, but—the bridge, it was a bit… anxious?”
Zoe checked over her shoulder again. “They may have been a bit contagious at that point.”
“Ah.” Linus had been the victim of such catching emotions before. Six—or even five—people who all felt things very strongly and had mostly been lucky enough not to be taught to constrain those feelings could make even a fully confident adult start to waver.
The living room door opened. Linus hadn’t realized Arthur and Sal and Theodore were there, but they must have ducked in before the others got inside. Sal looked much better for it. His eyes were a little puffy, but his shoulders were back and easy, and he was already laughing at something Theodore had said.
“Come on, Mister Stowaway,” Zoe said as they made their way to the kitchen. “You’re going to have to catch up. You haven’t even had your dinner yet, and we’re all on dessert.”
Theodore chirped indignantly. He seemed no worse for wear from his adventure.
Linus didn’t know if his nervous system would ever recover.
He slumped against the wall, where Arthur immediately joined him.
“So,” Arthur said.
“Yes.”
They stood there for a moment. Linus was just focusing on his breathing, which was suddenly making up for all the panic it hadn’t subjected him to while he was in the midst of the thing.
Suddenly Arthur was in his arms. Linus fumbled to catch him, but was instantly soothed. He smelled right. And he was leaning Linus against the wall in just the right way, so the weight of him seemed to ease most of the worry right out of him. “How do you know me so well?” Linus asked. Only to realize he had, instinctively, started to rub Arthur’s shoulders the way he knew made him feel better after a hard day. “Oh.”
Arthur laughed into his shoulder. Linus held him closer.
A tiny set of talons alighted on Linus’s shoulder, startling him. “Theodore!” he chided lightly.
Theodore only pulled lightly at Linus’s collar and reminded him that neither of them had had their dinner, either, and it was getting cold.
“Ah. Thank you, Theodore. We’ll be right there.” Arthur sent him off with a gentle—and possibly more tender than usual—stroke down his snout. Theodore flew happily back to the kitchen, where the more usual sort of chaos had retaken command of the house.
Before they could join it, Arthur hugged Linus again. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to finish our evening. It was perfect, Linus, it really was.”
Linus swallowed. His throat suddenly felt a little tight again. “It’s alright. Really.” He laughed. “Nothing to be done about it, anyway. Next time. We’ll try again.”
“Next time,” Arthur promised, “I’ll double check my bag before we leave.”
“And I’ll leave a detailed itinerary with Zoe. I can’t begin to think of what we’d have done if it had been an emergency here and she couldn’t reach us.”
“She’d have found a way.”
“I don’t want her to have to.”
Arthur pulled him in and kissed him firmly on the top of his head. “I know you don’t, my darling. I know.”
Linus took a shuddering breath. He felt a bone deep calling to collapse into his bed. He was equally loathe to leave the house. The guest house had never felt farther away. “We should go eat.”
Arthur nodded. “We can still have what’s left of the evening here. You could come up and sit in my room for a while, if you like. We could bring dinner up.”
And, despite the horror of the staircase he’d have to face to go that way, Linus had never wanted anything more in his life.
Arthur kissed him again before he let him go. “Go on. I’ll bring your plate up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Go, Linus. I’ll be right there.”
“…alright.”
“Alright.”
It wasn’t very long after they settled in before Lucy came up to get ready for bed. They were still eating, sat in their armchairs by the fireplace. He mostly ignored, them, very deliberately; it seemed Zoe had impressed upon them that despite Theodore’s unplanned adventure, it was still technically date night, and they were to be given space. Lucy didn’t say a word to them as he went back and forth from the bathroom to brush his teeth, and only shouted goodnight through his door afterward.
Then, a minute or so later, his door cracked open. “Linus?”
“Yes, Lucy?”
“Are you staying here tonight?”
He very specifically did not look at Arthur then, because if he had he would have flushed to his ears and been unable to speak clearly. “No. I’m going back to the guest house in a little while.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The door closed.
It cracked open again.
“Cause you can, if you want. I wouldn’t mind. Y’know. If you have a bad dream or whatever, I’d be here to stop it. I can do that. I think.”
Linus felt his heart swell. “Thank you, Lucy.”
“Although for all we know it might just make the dream worse. Does fighting fire with fire actually work? What if it’s hellfire?”
“I think we’ll save these excellent questions for tomorrow’s session, Lucy.”
Lucy sighed loudly. “Okay.”
“Goodnight, Lucy.”
“Goodnight, Linus! Don’t get lost on the way to the guest house!”
The door closed again. It stayed that way this time.
He did not get lost on the way to the guest house. He made it safely into his pajamas and his warmest nighttime socks and his bed safe and sound.
He did have an odd urge, though, just before he faded into sleep. He wished, momentarily, that he were at home.
Odd, then, that the wish didn’t have anything to do with sunflowers, and everything to do with a familiar bedroom.
Unexpectedly, Arthur was the one to suggest the plan for the following date night.
Linus had, admittedly, been a little more high strung for a few days after Theodore’s stowaway incident. It was fine when they were in the house—mostly—and more fine when they were all in the same room, like during meals or the children’s lessons—also mostly—but he’d been counting to six like a preschooler determined to get his numbers down. It was probably obvious he wouldn’t be comfortable leaving them all behind on the island again just yet.
So Arthur proposed a different arrangement. They needed a little space to themselves, without the children immediately present; they also needed the children in a safe, easily reachable place, in case something should happen. Solution: give Linus and Arthur the house, and send the children for a sleepover with Zoe for the night.
“But—” Linus had said, when the idea was presented to him. “I—but—” His mouth snapped closed, and he thought for a minute. “Oh. Well. I suppose that’d be alright.”
So they made their plans. Arthur went into town to shop with Zoe this time, and rented another DVD as well as picking out what they’d need for a nice dinner at home. The children were more than enthused about the idea of a sleepover with Zoe, and there had been a fun afternoon spent searching the corners of Theodore’s tower for the sleeping bags Arthur knew were up there somewhere in storage. There were only four, but Phee immediately volunteered to go without, saying she had a Plan. Linus had raised his eyebrow at her. It hadn’t worked as well as when Arthur did it—he was still practicing—but she did eventually admit she wanted to try making herself a hammock out of some of the vines that lined Zoe’s walls.
“It’ll be good to know how to do,” she insisted. “So if I’m ever stuck out in the wilderness I can make myself a safe place to sleep way up high in the trees.”
Linus didn’t point out that it was unlikely a forest sprite should ever get truly lost in the woods, or be in danger from most of its inhabitants. He did, however, make a note to check the village library for any books on treehouse making. He’d had a sudden epiphany that the pair of oaks just on the edge of where the garden met the woods would make for an excellent—and likely quite ambitious, if he knew his kids—hideaway.
For Theodore, who of course was much too small for any of the sleeping bags, they found another solution. With the help of a pillowcase, a salvageable section of an old quilt, and a few buttons hesitantly surrendered from his horde, Zoe made him a sleeping bag of his own, in just the right size. Theodore had perched on her shoulder or the arm of her chair the whole time, keeping a very close eye on his buttons, but also taking in the motion of the needle and the way the pieces of fabric slowly came together. In the end, he had not just been in love with his sleeping bag, but had come to find Linus and Arthur one day with a button in one claw and a bit of fabric in the other, and asked if they thought he could learn to make things like Zoe did. They had, of course, been wholly encouraging of this new interest, and immediately set about figuring out how to rig the sewing machine so he would be able to use the pedal despite his small size.
In other words, all in all it had been a very successful endeavor, and especially excitingly, one that promised repeat occurrences. It would be nice not to have to plan so much every single date night, Linus thought.
And then, in the very small hours of Saturday morning, Linus was woken by someone shaking his shoulder.
“Arthur?” he said blearily. The bedside lamp was still off, though he could see the light on in the guest house hallway. Arthur was still in his pajamas, with only his pea coat thrown over top. Immediately he sat up, nearly crashing his head into Arthur’s in his haste. “What’s wrong? What are you doing here?”
Arthur hushed him gently and sat on the side of the bed. His calmness was blessedly contagious. “It’s alright. Sal’s not feeling well. He asked if you would come sit with him for a while, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Linus sat for a moment to let his heart slow. “Alright. Of course I’ll come. Just let me—yes, one moment.”
Arthur helped him out of bed, and had his coat in hand at the door by the time Linus had stumbled his way into his shoes. They walked back to the house arm in arm, walking with purpose, though not rush.
“What happened?” Linus asked as they rounded the corner. He knew Arthur wouldn’t be nearly so unhurried if it were anything serious—he wouldn’t have left the house to begin with—but he also wouldn’t have woken Linus up if it weren’t important.
“He came to my room, maybe half an hour or so ago. Upset stomach. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but I think it may be a matter of time.”
“Oh, poor thing.” Linus hurried up the steps into the house. He was surprised to see the living room door open and the light on.
“I’ve set him up in here,” Arthur said quietly. “If he can’t sleep, the television may be a good distraction.”
“Good idea. A little more privacy in the bathroom down here, as well.”
Just as they stepped in, Sal appeared from behind the back of the couch. Arthur had set him up with pillows and quilts so he could lean up a little against the armrest and still have a chance of falling back asleep. “Hi, Linus,” he said weakly.
“Hello. I hear you aren’t feeling well.”
Sal just shook his head, looking mildly miserable. Linus sat on the edge of the sofa next to him and touched the back of his hand against his forehead. The action was so instinctive he didn’t realize he had no idea what a normal temperature was or how to tell if it was too high until he’d already done it.
“No temperature,” Arthur rescued him, leaning over the back of the couch and putting a comforting hand on Sal’s shoulder. “For now, we’re just going to try lots of fluids and rest, and a little food when you feel like you can manage it.”
Sal nodded again, settling back against his pillow. He turned to Linus, chewing on his lip. “Will you stay here for a little?” he asked quietly.
“Of course I will.” Pulling Sal’s blankets up snug to his chin, Linus then stood and traded out his coat for the pullover sweater he’d taken to leaving in the house. He toed off his shoes, found a spare throw blanket, and pulled one of the old, faded armchairs up a little closer to Sal’s spot. “I’ll be right here, alright? If you need anything.”
Sal nodded. He already looked sleepier than he had when Linus came in, and curled up as comfortably as he could to try and sleep again. Despite the lack of color in his cheeks, he didn’t look too awful. Hopefully whatever it was would pass quickly.
Arthur came to perch on the arm of Linus’s chair a moment later, bringing him a mug of still-steeping tea and a book. He had his own set in his other hand. “We’ve been lucky. As much as I sometimes hate them being so isolated, it does save us from a lot of the usual bugs and viruses.”
Linus hummed into his tea. “It is lucky. I don’t want to imagine what it would be like to have all of them sick at once.”
“It’s certainly interesting,” Arthur agreed.
It certainly was. And by the morning, it was clear Linus wasn’t going to have to imagine.
Zoe arrived much earlier than she usually did to help with breakfast that day. Linus opened the door for her without a word, already tired. By that point they had Talia curled up in the living room as well, scowling into a mug of mint tea while a dull but moderately distracting gardening show droned on on the television. The other four slept through the night, thankfully, but Phee woke up already feeling off, and Lucy took one look at breakfast before slinking down off his chair and saying he thought he’d join the others, looking green around the gills. When Chauncey, who to everyone’s memory had never so much as sniffled when the rest had a cold, suddenly turned a violent shade of orange and dashed for the bathroom, it was clear there was going to be no escaping it.
Linus spent the day between making tea and toast and broth in the kitchen and trying to be comforting in the living room. Everyone had packed in, despite assurances they could go and rest in their own rooms if they preferred. It seemed they were all taking comfort from their shared misery. Linus just kept careful notes on who had taken what types of medicine when and did a round of temperature checks every hour or so. The diligence made him feel a little less useless, in a situation that just needed to be waited out.
He slept in the house that night. They had herded everyone up to their rooms to sleep in their own beds, but other than Sal, who finally looked a touch less ashy and had successfully managed a few crackers before bed, all the children were still miserably ill. They made up the sofa downstairs with clean blankets, so if anyone came down, Linus would be there ready to help.
Needless to say, he didn’t sleep very well that night.
Sunday improved. It did appear to be something close to a twenty-four hour bug, though everyone, both those who had been sick and their caretakers, was too exhausted to do much even after they had recovered. Theodore was the worst off by the end of the day. He slept downstairs that night, curled up on Linus’s chest where it was warm and safe. But he woke up on Monday morning much more chipper, and to Linus’s immense relief, a sense of humor had returned to the house by breakfast, as had the children’s appetites.
That still didn’t mean they were up for much.
That afternoon, Linus found himself still on the couch in the living room, Arthur to one side and Talia to the other. Arthur was reading, and absentmindedly tracing patterns on Linus’s shoulder, while Talia poked slowly through Garden Tools Bi-Monthly. Linus just sat with his feet up on an ottoman, watching Phee chat quietly with a potted fern on the windowsill and Lucy lying on the floor with a coloring book.
He realized belatedly that Arthur had said something to him. “Hm?” he said, blinking out of his quiet contemplation. “What was that?”
“How are you feeling?” Arthur repeated, all patience. The hand draped across Linus’s shoulders shifted so Arthur could feel his forehead. Linus scoffed lightheartedly and nudged him away.
“I’m fine. Really,” he insisted when Arthur’s expression didn’t change. “I feel alright. Just tired.”
Arthur hummed, though he stopped trying to check Linus’s temperature. He himself looked no worse for wear, minus slight shadows under his eyes. “How do you feel about tonight, then?”
“Tonight? What’s tonight?”
Arthur smiled, unbearably softly. “It’s date night.”
Linus stared straight ahead for a minute. The scratching of Lucy’s colored pencils was an odd sort of white noise. “I don’t think I want to,” he finally whispered. Immediately, Arthur had his arm around him again, holding him tight.
“That’s alright. That’s perfectly alright, Linus. It’s been quite a weekend.”
Linus leaned into his side. “I don’t want to send them off to Zoe’s after this. They should get to sleep in their own beds tonight.”
“Of course.”
“You could go to Zoe’s.” Linus looked down to find Talia squinting up at him, clearly trying to read him. He didn’t think it would be very hard, he was much too tired to hide anything.
He smiled ruefully at her. “I think I want to sleep in my own bed, too.”
“Oh. I guess that’s alright.”
Linus snorted. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Without further ado, Talia pressed her magazine at him. “Do you think these paving stones are too much? I think they’re too much. I want them.”
Linus settled in to discuss paving stones with a relief he hadn’t expected. As much as he’d truly forgotten, in the midst of everything, that that night was date night, it was still a freer breath to know it wasn’t something he had to think about now. All he really wanted to do, once the day was done and all the children were safely asleep, was collapse into bed himself.
Like everyone who’s too tired to think straight, all he wanted to do was go home. He was still too done in to consider quite where, exactly, that longing was directed. All he knew was, he was happy right there, sitting quietly on the sofa in Arthur’s arms watching the children go about their own activities. If that moment could go on forever, he’d have let it.
The house was drafty in the rain. Linus knew it was just a matter of an old structure exposed to the elements for a very long time, but he still always wondered if there was something they could do about it. Arthur promised him the heating was still perfectly adequate in the winter. It was just the wind that found its way between all the cracks in the wood and the window frames.
Luckily, there were a lot of blankets fresh out of the wash to go around. The laundry room behind the stairs had looked like a war zone for a few days after the bug, as Linus and Arthur tried to convince the old washing machine and dryer to manage nearly all the house’s linens in a very short span of time. The machines had survived the ordeal, with only a minimum of misbehavior. Linus’s back very nearly hadn’t, but that was what partners with supernaturally warm hands were for. Arthur’s backrubs were unmatchable.
They were both upstairs in Arther’s room, reading quietly to the backdrop of rain pattering against the windows and drumming on the roof. It was Saturday. Usually adventure day went on unhindered rain or shine, but the children had done a vote, and announced over breakfast that actually they’d rather not today. While everyone had recovered from the stomach bug by now, the weekly routine hadn’t quite managed it. There was schoolwork to be caught up on, and a few chores lingering, as well as a whole weekend’s worth of personal time no one had been up for. Arthur had checked to make sure everyone was really okay with the new plan, and then agreed to postpone that week’s adventure to another day. Perhaps they’d even do a double sometime soon. It hadn’t taken very much convincing from there for him to get Linus upstairs and settled in comfortably.
Linus was aware Arthur had been fussing over him a little the past few days. He couldn’t really think of why he hadn’t put his foot down about it, only… for once in his life, it didn’t feel like he had to. He was allowed to want help. And it was a lot easier to accept it when, for one thing, there were people who wanted to help, and for another, did it without the barest hint of being patronizing. Even when that help came in the form of simple coddling.
He had let Arthur smooth a blanket across his lap, and had let him bring him tea, with a kiss on the cheek as a thank you. And then they sat and read, listening to the rain and the sounds of the children and Zoe going about their free day elsewhere around the house.
Talia and Chauncey joined them briefly around midmorning for help with a homework assignment. Linus was happy to put down his book and assist; he had found most of them liked to come to him for help outside of their lessons. Arthur merely shrugged and pointed out that they spent all of their time in the classroom with him. He was only happy they had the option for a change of pace and someone new to learn from.
Shortly after Talia and Chauncey left, Lucy came in and collapsed on the floor for a bit of help talking through the maze of his mind. This time Linus mostly watched while Arthur took the lead. Linus was alright at it, but there were so many pitfalls and traps in Lucy’s thought processes, he always seemed to stumble into something. And—a bit like Arthur, he expected—he liked to watch his partner work.
By the time Lucy had worked through the latest tangle in his psyche, it was time for lunch. Everyone seemed perfectly cheerful about their day in, and Linus was comforted with the knowledge that despite taking a day off himself, more or less, everything was going smoothly. After their meal, the children vehemently insisted he and Arthur go back upstairs and keep on as they had. When Arthur raised an eyebrow at Zoe in question, she only shrugged. Linus, by now incorporated into these wordless conversations, wondered with a tilt of the head if they weren’t all enjoying a little extra time unsupervised. They were growing children, after all. They were going to want more privacy and personal time as they grew up, and their guardians saw no need to inhibit that.
Arthur agreed with a shrug, and Zoe motioned that she had work she wanted to do around the kitchen, and would keep an eye out downstairs if they held down the second floor. And with that, and a simultaneous nod from all of them, the plan for the afternoon was set.
The rain drumming down outside was soothing, and combined with a hot drink and the familiar, subtle smells of Arthur’s space, Linus was quickly urged back into a dozy afternoon. He wasn’t sure if he actually napped or if he just pleasantly zoned out in his chair, but it was a nice rest all the same. He lost track of time, something generally difficult to do on the island, where the routine was flexible but well established. He also lost track of the sounds of the children moving about around the rest of the house, which he didn’t realize until a harsher gout of rain started beating against the window and startled him.
Arthur looked unbothered, nose still in his book, his free hand draped loosely over Linus’s and tracing occasional shapes over the back of his wrist. Linus listened for the usual creaking floorboards and muffled conversation that generally filled the house, and was surprised to find it very, very quiet. Minus the weather, he couldn’t hear anything.
Frowning, he sat up a little. “What are the children up to?”
“Hm?” Arthur finally stirred from his reading, blinking at him. The afternoon seemed to have lulled him out of his usual perceptionary vigilance. He’d still have noticed if anything bad happened, but the children may have been even more unsupervised than they expected, if Arthur hadn’t been paying his usual attention.
“It’s too quiet,” Linus said. “I can’t hear anyone downstairs. Either they’ve all decided to take a nap—”
“Ah. I see. You’re right.” Arthur’s book snapped shut. He listened for a moment, and then his head tilted in interest. “That’s not what I expected.” He stood and went to the window, though he was craning his neck like they were on the wrong side of the house for wherever he was looking. Despite that, Linus joined him, and craned his head, too.
Just as they did so, they heard the distinct sound of the front door opening and quickly slamming shut. The rain was coming down in buckets now, and given the volume of footsteps in the hall downstairs, it seemed only one or two people had come in.
“Are they really all out in this?” Linus sighed. “It’s freezing! We’ve just gotten them all well again, and now they’re going to come in with terrible colds.”
The footsteps pattered around downstairs for a minute, accompanied by a few more slamming doors, before exiting through the front again. Linus sighed loudly and went to go collect some towels and put them in the dryer so they’d be warm when the children came in and needed drying off. He figured he might as well get a set of hot chocolate mugs ready as well. And think about gathering blankets and setting up a fire in the living room. Arthur could light it, no kindling required, but it was nicer when they had the firewood set up properly, so the fire lasted longer.
Just as he reached the door, though, another set of footsteps, apparently not having left with the other, came running up the steps. Linus met Arthur’s gaze, and both of their eyebrows raised. The footsteps came to a sudden, slightly stumbled stop behind their door. There was a moment of quiet, just long enough for someone to catch their breath, and then came a sharp, polite knock.
Linus felt the corner of his lips twitch. “Yes?” he called.
There was a pause. Then another, less confident knock. This was followed by a stage whisper through the door. “You have to open it,” Lucy hissed.
“Oh! Well, you know, you should really never open the door for someone you don’t know.”
There was a very loud, put-upon sigh from the hall. “It’s me, Linus. Arthur, he’s not doing it right.”
“I don’t believe either of us is sure what that’s supposed to be at the moment. Would you let us in on the secret?”
“Open the door when I knock!”
“Ah.”
A thunk, exactly the timbre of a small head hitting the wood. “This is, like, preschool level cause and effect.”
“And having passed preschool level stranger danger, I think my solution was perfectly reasonable.”
“I think you did beautifully, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
Lucy resumed knocking on the door, very loudly and at length.
Trying to laugh only on his face and not out loud, Linus played along now. “Oh my, who could that be?”
He couldn’t quite hold back his smile when he opened the door. Lucy was there, hand still poised to keep on knocking if the adults persisted in being ridiculous. He was dressed, to Linus’s combined relief and chagrin, in a bright red raincoat, which had kept him somewhat dry but was now dripping enthusiastically on the floor. He had taken off his rainboots, at least, and had instead run upstairs in mismatched socks with a hole in one toe. Linus made a note to pick up some new ones on the next shopping trip.
As soon as the door opened, Lucy drew himself up as tall as he could go, and linked his hands behind his back in a posture of importance. “Arthur Parnassus and Linus Baker,” he recited, “you are cordially invited to a very important event.”
“Oh?” they said at the same time, eyebrows jumping in unison.
Lucy, understandably, rolled his eyes at them, before returning to his herald’s posture. “This very important event will take place at four—” The grandfather clock downstairs chimed the hour. “Well. Now. Come on, then.”
Linus and Arthur shared a look, but followed Lucy without hesitation.
“What sort of important event might this be?” Arthur wondered aloud.
“The very special kind,” Lucy said proudly.
“I imagine it’s the secret kind, as well.”
“Yes. So much secret.”
Lucy paraded them down the stairs and through the hall. Linus followed fondly with one hand in Arthur’s arm, but he stopped when Lucy approached the front door and began fumbling into his boots.
“Oh, dear,” he muttered. “I’ve left my umbrella in the guest house again.”
But before Arthur could so much as offer his raincoat or hat, Lucy announced that they wouldn’t need an umbrella. Linus looked pointedly out the window at the downpour. “Just trust me.” Lucy sounded equal parts smug and unrestrainably excited.
Linus sighed. “I do, my dear. Here, let me help.” Lucy had gotten one rainboot halfway on, but was hopping around trying to get his heel all the way in. Linus came over and crouched down to steady him before he fell over or crashed into a wall. He got soaked from Lucy’s raincoat in the process, but it seemed he was about to get soaked either way. Meanwhile, Arthur moved to the window to peer out at the dark sky.
“Do you think it’ll let up any time soon?” Linus hoped while he absently tucked the hem of Lucy’s jeans into his boot so they would stay a little drier.
“Not soon, no. It’s dark all the way to the horizon.” He turned to look quizzically at Lucy. “I’m very interested to see what you all have come up with in this.”
“Then come on already!” And, boots successfully on, Lucy took each of their hands and started pulling them towards the door. He was slowed only briefly by his guardians’ insistence that they both put on shoes themselves, but as soon as Arthur was in his boots and Linus in his poor, soon-to-be-muddied sneakers, he yanked them out into the rain.
Only, it didn’t seem to be raining. There was no sudden chill or dampness, though the air around them was much chillier than inside. When he looked up, he didn’t see anything unusual. The rain simply wasn’t reaching them on the ground.
Lucy was still getting wet. He ran happily to a large puddle forming in the driveway, and then jumped back to them to take Linus’s hand again and keep pulling.
Arthur tucked his arm around Linus, letting himself be pulled along. “It seems they got Zoe involved.”
“Must have.” Linus peered up again. He still couldn’t make out the barrier or clear patch Zoe had formed over them, but it seemed to move with them as they walked. Deciding to just be thankful he wasn’t getting soaked, he slipped his own arm around Arthur’s waist, and let Lucy lead them around the house towards the garden.
As soon as they rounded the corner, though, Linus stopped in his tracks. Lucy turned and grinned at his reaction before running ahead. Beside him Arthur breathed a little gasp, and then started to chuckle.
The gazebo was lit up brighter than a department store at Christmas. The usual lanterns were there, but accompanied by strings and strings of fairy lights woven around each other to illuminate the whole little building. There were candles, too, scattered around the floor and the railings, seemingly unaffected by the rain pounding all around. As they started to step slowly closer, Linus saw why: up across the roof and hanging over the sides to protect the open walls were thick, natural vines, forming an extra ledge to keep the rain from splashing in. They were Phee’s vines, the same ones that had choked the gazebo shut a few weeks back. She had spent several days afterwards coaxing them back to a more manageable amount. It seemed she’d learned more about controlling them than Linus thought.
As they approached, they could see that the lights and vines weren’t the only changes to the gazebo. There was a pile of blankets and pillows in the center, and two large baskets near them. And as soon as Lucy ran up the steps, all the other children jumped up and ran to the entrance, as well. There were all there. So was Zoe, standing near the back. Linus knew without asking that she had only helped where the children needed it. This had all been their own idea.
The rain cover followed them all the way under the cover of the vines, and the sudden returned volume of the rain on the roof was momentarily deafening. Once they climbed up the steps and stood fully under the roof, however, it seemed to quiet slightly. And they could finally hear the music, playing from Lucy’s portable record player. There was a crate of extra records next to it, and it had been placed within easy reach of the pile of blankets, so they could change the music at their leisure. Because the whole operation had, clearly, been made for them.
Linus felt his eyes start to burn.
“My goodness,” Arthur said, in his usual contented calm. “You all have certainly been busy.”
Theodore, perched on one of the light strings above their heads, waved one of his wings around and chirped.
“Did you really? It’s absolutely wonderful, my friends. Completely perfect.”
“We know it’s not technically date night,” Sal said, “but we thought you deserved one anyway. Since you didn’t go on one this week because we were all sick.”
“And because Theodore stowed away the time before that.”
“And the time with the shooting stars.”
“And the vines. Do you like how I fixed them, though? And I can make window curtains out of them, too! I have to be here to do it, though, so you can’t use that tonight.”
Every single one of them looked delighted with their efforts. Lucy, semi-successfully sneakily, leaned down to set a specific record from the crate next to the player as an obvious hint of what to play next. Talia, draped in an oversized poncho, produced a small bouquet with moderately more success hiding it, and brought it over to Linus.
“This is for Arthur,” she whispered. “But it’s for you, first. To give to him. Because it’s date night and Chauncey says it’s romantic.”
Linus swallowed. He didn’t seem able to form words, his throat felt so tight.
“It would be better if it weren’t almost winter,” Talia continued, inspecting the bouquet with a slightly frustrated critical eye. “There’s not a lot left in the garden. Just wait till the spring, then I can drown you in flowers, and—oof!”
Talia squirmed and complained as she was embraced. Unable to stand it anymore, Linus had had to kneel down and pull her into a tight hug. It didn’t take very long at all though before Talia slumped and let herself be held.
“Arthur,” she complained over his shoulder. “I think Linus is broken.”
“Oh dear.” A familiarly over-warm hand settled on Linus’s shoulder, smoothing away a wrinkle in his shirt or just caressing him. Arthur appeared on the floor next to him, on the other side from Talia, and leaned close to talk to him quietly. “Alright, darling?”
Linus could only nod and sniffle a little. Talia flailed briefly, but when he moved to let her go, he only found himself weighed down further. Phee had draped herself over his back, hugging him from behind, and Chauncey squished himself into the empty space next to him. He felt a hand on his other shoulder, and knew Sal was there, while Theodore found a tiny bit of free space to perch on his arm. Lucy crowded in between him and Arthur.
It was difficult to get his arms around all of them, especially because he first had to disentangle them from Talia and somehow find spaces between them all, but he managed it, mostly. He knew Arthur would make sure those he couldn’t reach were tucked into the hug, too.
“Thank you,” he said, barely above a shaky whisper. “Thank you so much. It’s so—thank you.”
“Yep. We broke Linus,” Lucy declared triumphantly.
“I didn’t even do a decent bouquet. What going to happen when it’s right?”
“I think we might kill him.”
“I think you might,” Linus laughed. He pulled away enough to wipe his eyes on his sleeve and take another look around the magically decorated gazebo. “It’s perfect. Better than I ever could have done.”
Chauncey’s eye stalks bounced in excitement. “Does that mean we can help next time?”
Linus considered. Part of him was still determined that he should be able to pull off a damn date on his own. But he was not to be stuck in his ways anymore. That was the whole point.
And it was really lovely to have something so beautiful done for him.
“I suppose I don’t see why not. Depending on the plan.”
Arthur nodded. “There will be no more accompanying us into town, I think, unless Zoe agrees to take you on your own.”
All eyes turned over Linus’s shoulder, where he realized Zoe had joined the group hug as well. Her eyebrow arched, but he could see her lips twitching towards a smile. “We’ll see,” she said, and the children cheered at their obvious win.
“For now, though, I think it’s time we went inside. Let the lovebirds enjoy what you’ve set up for them.
Linus expected grumbling, or at least a little whining, and was surprised when everyone stood up and made their way out of the gazebo without complaint. Chauncey paused to give him another hug, and Theodore nipped his ear in goodbye, but they all tramped back into the rain. Lucy was the last one out. He had run back to the record player, to double check that the record he’d set out for them would be seen. Then he dashed out after the others, calling goodbye and good luck—with far too much wiggled eyebrows—on his way.
Zoe turned at the steps. “It really was all them. Theodore and Chauncey came and asked me if I’d help them make the food, but they’d already started decorating out here. It was Sal’s idea, I think.”
“Thank you,” Linus said earnestly. “And for keeping an eye on them, too.”
“Always. And, as it were, I don’t have anything else to do tonight. Take your time.”
Arthur coughed somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Linus flushed to his ears.
Zoe laughed, and turned to go follow the children inside, leaving them alone in the gazebo. Linus watched the kitchen lights in the house turn on, though the curtains were pulled against the chill. The whole world was a grey haze through the rain, which still showed no signs of letting up, though it wasn’t as loud in the gazebo as it should have been. It left them to enjoy the music. And each other.
Before he could forget, Linus went to the record player. The envelope Lucy had set out was, oddly, blank. Linus turned it back and forth, frowning.
“Perhaps we should put it on,” Arthur suggested.
“Yes, I suppose. I wonder what he’s up to.” Lifting the needle and shutting the player off, Linus carefully put the first record away in its own sleeve, which had been put on top of the crate for them. Then he switched it out for the new one, which was as blank as its sleeve.
Immediately a familiar piano line sounded, followed by Sinatra asking you to fly him to the moon.
“I didn’t know we had this one,” Linus said, examining the envelope again for any hints.
“There. Look.” Arthur pointed, a smile in his voice. In the thorough but unusual light of the various lanterns and candles in the gazebo, Linus had missed a little note in pencil at the bottom of the sleeve.
For Arthur and Linus, was all it said, with a tiny smiley face drawn next to it.
“A gift.”
“Oh.” Linus had to swallow down a rising wave of emotion again. He resisted the urge to hug the envelope to his chest, and instead set it down reverentially next to the player.
Arthur put a hand on his arm and turned him. He only had to step closer for Linus’s arms to find their way around his waist. They had danced together enough times by now that they fell into step easily. Not fancy, not practiced, per say, but polished down by simple time and care. They swayed together, in the lovingly decorated gazebo, while the rain poured down around them, and Sinatra wondered what spring would be like on Jupiter or Mars.
In other words, please be true, Arthur hummed along.
In other words,
I love you.