Chapter Text
The morning after his return to Marsyas, Linus woke from the most restful sleep he could remember having. Stretching his arms up above his head, he glanced down to the foot of the bed.
"Morning, Calliope," he yawned.
The fluffy black cat resting by his feet meowed in response and leapt from the bed, running towards her food bowl.
"I’m coming, I’m coming," Linus chuckled, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs out of bed with the vim of a much younger man.
He barely noticed the creak of his knees as he stood and slid on his slippers. He poured out some kibble and patted Calliope on the head before sauntering back over to the bed. To its right was a small window framed with heavy dark green curtains. Linus pulled them back to reveal dazzling rays of winter sun caressing the landscape before him. Ahead, tall trees and manicured gardens gave way to steep cliffs hugging a bright cerulean sea, and to his left Linus could see the large red brick house standing tall and proud. Linus sighed happily and sank down onto the edge of the bed. A soft thud marked the return of Calliope at his side, and he reached out to tickle her under the chin as she purred contentedly.
"Are you happy to be home too?"
Despite the sun, the November air was cool, and as Linus made his way up the path to the main house, he was pleased that he had thought to bring a wider selection of clothes with him this time. He had ummed and aahed in front of the mirror for longer than he thought was quite proper — it was only breakfast, after all — before deciding on a pair of brown corduroy slacks and a soft blue jumper.
As he reached the front steps, Linus could feel his heart begin to thrum, and he took a moment to gather himself. The previous evening had passed in a blur. After spending what felt like hours reuniting in Arthur’s warm embrace, Zoe had called them both inside for dinner, wherein the children bombarded Linus with questions about the city before regaling him with stories of everything he missed in his absence. He had felt full, he had felt loved, but here, now, about to see them all again in the light of day, a pang of guilt began to curl in his chest — had they really forgiven his leaving that easily?
As he reached for the brass handle, the door suddenly swung back on its hinges, causing Linus to leap back in surprise.
"Good morning, Mr Baker," Chauncey grinned from the doorway. He was wearing a neat red hat perched on top of his head, eyestalks waving with excitement. "This way for breakfast," he announced, gesturing towards the kitchen.
Linus blinked fast, trying to recover himself.
"Thank you, Chauncey, but please do call me Linus."
"A proper bellhop always greets his guests by their title unless asked otherwise… which I suppose you have…" He looked flustered. "Let me start again. Good morning, Linus! Welc—"
A chuckle from behind him caused Chauncey to pause his greeting. Arthur was stood at the top of the staircase, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. Linus’s insides did a tiny somersault.
"Sorry, Chauncey, to have interrupted your impeccable service. I’m sure Linus feels appropriately welcomed."
Linus stepped over the threshold into the foyer.
"Err, y-es. Very much so," he replied, patting his trouser pockets. "Although I’m afraid I’ve left my change in my other slacks."
Chauncey deflated slightly, but recovered quickly, pasting on his most professional smile. "Not to worry, you can tip me later!"
Arthur laughed again and patted Chauncey affectionately on the head.
"Yes, I’m sure you and Linus can work it out later on. For now, why don’t you gather everyone in the kitchen?"
As Chauncey hurried away, calling out at the top of his voice that breakfast was ready, Linus muttered to himself that he’d have to take out a small loan to keep up with these tip requests now he was here long term. But what a nice problem to have, he thought.
"Good morning, my dear Linus." Arthur had moved to stand in front of him, and Linus tipped his head back to look up at him. "Did you sleep well?"
Linus flushed and nodded. He seemed to have momentarily lost the ability to speak. Arthur’s responding smile was warm.
"Good." He placed a soft kiss on the top of Linus’s head. "So did I."
Linus felt his cheeks grow hotter, sure they were approaching a bright cherry red. He needed to get a hold of himself, but he and Arthur were in uncharted territory now, and Linus no longer had his Caseworker title to hide behind. That part of him — Linus Baker, Caseworker — was gone. In his place stood Linus Baker: man, partner… father? That part still felt a little premature, perhaps, but not entirely wrong.
Not that he and Arthur had upheld a strictly professional relationship for very long. Linus could see now that the lines had blurred almost from the start. But just a few weeks ago, there had at least been a pretence to cling to. He was a consummate professional, after all. That pleasant twist in his stomach whenever Arthur smiled? Pure coincidence. And the fact that Arthur’s presence seemed to fill up some quiet, empty space inside him? Not something Linus had any intention of thinking too hard about.
Except now, Linus allowed himself to see it for what it was. The pretence had been stripped away, and what remained was something far more terrifying, and far more wonderful.
He stood before Arthur now, soul exposed, and Arthur continued to gaze down at him, lips twitching with amusement at Linus’s apparent loss for words.
"My dear, you are delightful. Shall we?" Arthur held out his hand.
Managing just a small, "Mhmm," Linus took hold of it, revelling in the warmth that washed over him as their palms slid together, and allowed Arthur to lead him to the kitchen.
Evidently Zoe had prepared enough food to feed them twice over. The table was laden with dishes of eggs and bacon, sausages and hash browns. There were racks of lightly browned toast and bowls filled with strawberries, blueberries and a purple fruit Linus didn’t recognise. The centrepiece: an impressively tall stack of pancakes dripping with syrup.
As Arthur set about making tea — peppermint for Linus, to ease his nervous stomach — Zoe appeared at Linus’s side, removing her apron and untying her hair.
"Still here then?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Linus looked down at his feet, shuffling from one to the other. Zoe elbowed his side. He didn’t miss her quick glance over at Arthur as she said, "We’re very glad you’re back," and popped a brief kiss on his cheek.
Linus blushed. "Thank you, Zoe."
So, he thought as he took his old familiar seat at the table, he clearly had Zoe’s forgiveness. That just left the children…
"This is awesome!" cried Lucy, grabbing for his sixth pancake. "Linus, can you go away more often so we can have welcome back feasts all the time?"
Linus swallowed. "That is something I wanted to talk about, actually."
"You’re not leaving again?!" cried Talia.
The room fell silent, bar the whistling of the kettle. Linus saw Arthur freeze.
"Oh dear," said Linus. "Sorry, no— I’m very much staying here. I just… I—I wanted to say again how very sorry I am for leaving. I—I should never have gone, and whilst I’m so glad to be back, I—"
Linus felt a gentle hand on his arm. To his surprise, he looked around to see it was Sal who had reached across the table.
"It’s okay, Linus. We forgive you."
Linus stumbled. "Thank you, Sal. That’s very nice of you to say, but—"
"Really," Phee said. "We meant what we said last night… There are conditions—"
"Yeah," said Talia, drawing a finger across her throat and glancing pointedly toward the window, where Linus knew the grave she had dug still lay.
Phee smirked. "—but it’s okay."
Linus looked around the table at each of them in turn.
"It is, Linus," said Chauncey. "We talked about it."
"You did what you had to do," said Sal.
Theodore chirruped agreement.
"Lucy?" asked Linus.
The boy took a moment to finish his exceptionally large mouthful, then, "Yeah, I needed you to come back anyway. One of my records fell off the wall again, even though I wasn’t jumping on the bed like Arthur told me not to, so I need you to help me glue it back together again."
"I can certainly help with that," said Linus.
"I think we’re all in agreement then," said Arthur brightly, walking round the table and placing a cup of tea in front of Linus.
A gentle chorus of, "Yeah, welcome back, Linus," echoed around the table before the happy sounds of eating and chatter continued once more. Arthur stood behind Linus, hands on his shoulders, and bent down so his mouth was close to Linus’s ear. "They talked about it last night," he murmured. "They thought I was asleep, but I could hear them in Sal’s room. They really are glad that you’re back. As am I."
Linus felt the brief warmth of lips against his temple.
"As am I," he whispered.
After breakfast Linus headed back to the guest house to begin work sorting through the many files he had liberated from DICOMY. He promised himself that he’d uphold his regular working hours until it was done, and that meant it was straight to work.
The papers covered the small table in the living room. There was one for every orphanage he’d visited, plus many more investigated by his colleagues - neatly labelled folders containing the files of hundreds of children alongside incident reports, maintenance logs, safety evaluations, and inspection reports.
With a shaky exhale, Linus picked a folder from the top of the pile and turned the first page. A Polaroid photograph was clipped to the top showing a young Broonie boy, eyes screwed shut against the flash.
He remembered that child. Spirited. Creative.
The last entry in his record stated that, in response to an inspection conducted the week previous, he had been transferred to a DICOMY-managed school to better control his ‘troublesome behaviour’.
Linus flicked to the back and found the inspection report.
At the bottom of the page, a signature. Linus Baker.
He closed his eyes.
Seventeen years as a caseworker.
Seventeen years of ignorance.
It ends here, he thought. It has to.
Just after 5 o’clock, Linus was startled from a particularly harrowing report by a knock at the door. “Come in!” he called, sliding the file back into its folder.
No one appeared.
“It’s open!” he called out a little louder this time.
Nothing.
Unsure now, Linus slowly pushed back the chair and headed to the front door. “Lucy, if this is your idea of welcome-back hazing, just know your tricks don’t work on me anymo— oh!”
He opened the door to see Arthur standing on the porch smiling sheepishly, two mugs in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other.
Arthur shrugged, gesturing to his full hands. “Couldn’t open the door.”
Linus smiled at the sight of him. For someone usually so graceful he looked oddly unbalanced.
“I can see that. Sorry. Come in, come in,” said Linus, taking the plate of cookies and ushering Arthur inside. Linus watched as Arthur removed his shoes and walked through to the living room, his gaze passing over the piles of paperwork scattered across the table. When he turned around, Linus thought he saw a strange look on his face, but it was gone before he could identify it.
“You’re not with Lucy this afternoon?” he asked.
“Not today. I thought you could do with this,” Arthur said, handing Linus a steaming mug of tea.
“Oh, thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
They settled into a comfortable silence seated in the armchairs in front of the fire.
It was not lost on Linus that the last time they sat here, toe to toe, had been under very different circumstances. He had not allowed himself to think too much about it at the time, but now his cheeks began to colour at he thought.
Arthur tapped a toe against Linus’. He had was wearing his purple socks. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Linus was mildly startled from his reverie. “Oh I—what?”
Arthur chuckled. “You were smiling into your tea cup…”
Linus’ cheeks flushed deeper as Arthur began stroking circles around his foot with his own. “I was remembering the last time we sat here together actually.”
“Ah.” A knowing smile spread across Arthur’s face. “I do believe you still owe me a dance…”
“Yes I—I suppose I do”
Arthur stood, holding a hand towards Linus.
“What, now?” Linus asked, taking the proffered hand and rising to his feet. “There’s no music playing.”
“You remain as observant as ever,” Arthur teased. “Does that matter?”
“You know I am a firm believer in doing things the proper way,” Linus said releasing Arthur’s hand and moving over to the record player. He flicked through the stack of records before landing on the one he wanted. “Ah, here it is,” he said, pulling an apparently blank vinyl from its sleeve and placing it on the turntable. The sounds of Sam Cooke singing darlin’ you send me crackled through the speakers and Linus felt a warm hand on his waist.
“Lucy’s record,” Arthur murmured.
Linus allowed himself to be gently turned, Arthur’s gaze locking to his. “It felt appropriate.” He flushed.
Arthur reached up, this time not stopping himself, and cupped Linus’ face, his thumb stroking along his reddened cheek. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
“I certainly wouldn—”
His protest was thwarted by warm lips on his. The kiss was soft and gentle, then deep and hard. When it broke, Linus blinked slowly, dazed.
“Beautiful,” Arthur said again.
Linus wasn’t sure if he’d ever believe that, but if Arthur thought it to be true then maybe that was enough for now.
They danced slowly until the light faded and the last song on the record crackled to a close. Linus’ stomach broke the silence with a rumbled reminder that it was time for dinner, and with shared laughter they headed back to the main house.
That night, as he lay in bed, Linus hummed a tune about you and I knowing true love ways. He thought of long fingers interlaced, warm bodies pressed together and dark eyes flickering with fire before it all faded to black.