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Milord had found a card game in town. It was odd playing with people who didn't know by reputation that they should be afraid of him, but not the worst way to pass a few hours. Ruben was off doing something. Looking at books, or maybe talking to people, Ruben knew many ways to keep himself entertained.
When he heard a man approaching behind him he noted it, but hadn't been a concern.
The man put his hand on Milord's shoulder. "Excuse me," he said, "you're Ruben Crowe's William, aren't you?"
Ruben returned just in time to see Milord break the man's wrist.
As soon as Milord saw Ruben he turned around and started walking home. He had no desire, at the moment, to be told by Ruben that he should go home.
Milord went home and waited. Waiting turned into napping.
He slept a lot these days. It had scared Ruben when they first moved here. Milord hadn't slept nearly as much onboard Shadowless. It could have been his dustlung getting worse, he knew that's what gave Ruben that little crease between his eyebrows when Milord slept all day, but maybe it was just that he had less to occupy his time.
One day that little crease was gone. Ruben had come to a decision. His voice soft and proud, he'd told Milord, "I think it must be because you know it's safe to rest now."
Their home isn't safe. Nowhere is. It's comfortable, but it isn't safe. Ruben doesn't know the difference between the two, not in his heart, so Milord has to remember. Ruben looks at Milord sleeping and thinks, I've made him feel safe, but Ruben also locks their doors at night because he doesn't understand that if someone wants to get in they will.
"It must be because you know it's safe to rest now," he'd said with the same kind of pride that colored his voice when he noticed Milord's accent slipping. As though every display of weakness must be a gift to him. Maybe they were. It made Milord want to slit his throat, it made Milord want to pleasure him. He was chained to a wall the first time Ruben Crowe told him that he was safe. He'd escaped that place, but perhaps he just traded it for another prison made of Ruben Crowe's safety.
When he woke Ruben was already at his desk writing letters. Possibly had been for some time.
Letters were another of Ruben's favorite ways to pass the time. Often he would try and include Milord in it. He'd ask him if there was anyone he'd like to write to, knowing there wasn't, or ask if Milord would like to have his greetings included, knowing he wouldn't.
Milord is never quite sure if it's a joke, a small piece of cruelty or simply habitual politeness. It could be all three.
"Ah," says Ruben, "you're awake. Let me make us some tea. Don't worry, I explained to him that you haven't taken well to being startled since that unfortunate run in we had with a kraken."
Milord didn't care for lies, but he could admit there was something incredible about Ruben's faculty with them.
Milord had seen men like the ones Ruben described him to be. The way he'd hurt this man had been nothing like them. All of his movements had been careful, deliberate and slow.
Somehow Ruben had transformed that man's memory. Turned the punishment he'd received into something frenzied and accidental. Filled this man with enough sympathy that it pushed out his anger.
"We live here now. You can't go around breaking people's bones whenever you feel like it."
"Why are you telling people my name is William?"
"So that's what this was all about. Surely you didn't think I went around telling people that your name is Milord?"
He should have considered it, but he hadn't. It was his name, he had no other.
"Next time you see him you'll have to correct him."
"That should be easy; I've invited him over for dinner with us tonight. Always nice to run into another Englishman."
For a moment Milord is tempted to call his bluff and stay. But he doesn't.
He wanders until late, not wanting to chance coming home before Ruben's guest leaves. The idea of disrupting this broken-wristed Englishman doesn't bother him particularly, but it was clear enough that Ruben didn't want him around that evening.
He wonders idly what would happen if he had to kill Ruben's dinner guest. He couldn't take a few fingers or cut up his face. After all, as Ruben had reminded him, they were planning to stay here.
Which means if he insulted Milord again the only choice would be to kill him. Probably Ruben would stay even if he did. Or if he left he'd come back. Milord likes thinking about this. It makes any disrespect seem smaller, less dangerous. After all, no one here knows him as anything other than the man who is loved by Ruben Crowe. As far as reputations go it doesn't seem as though that one is particularly difficult to protect.
By the time he comes home Ruben is already in their bed. Milord strips and crawls next to him. They fuck violently.
****
Milord sleeps through most of the next day. When he awakes it's with coughing. It's especially bad. There's blood. He hopes that Ruben isn't home to see it, but here is Ruben rushing to him.
There's no use when he gets like this. Ruben will treat him gently for days. No matter how much Milord claws or bites, no matter whose wrist he breaks, there will be no rousing Ruben to fight back. Kind words, soft touches. There are so many things in the world that Ruben Crowe makes an effort to treat gently. It's always been a point of pride for Milord not to be one of them.
Before they came here Ruben never bought him anything. If he had Milord never would have accepted it. However, when you are living off another man's money entirely it would be foolish to act as though it meant anything to refuse his gifts. There had never been any agreement about what their situation was to be in Italy. At least, not between Ruben and Milord. Presumably Ruben had discussed it with the Captain at some point or how else would the Shadowless have dropped them off here. Milord was going to protest, but Ruben had accepted all of him; accepting Ruben's money seemed a fair enough trade.
Now, often when Ruben goes out alone he comes home with something for him. He says, "I saw this and thought of you," and Milord ignores the part of him that wonders what Ruben looked at that made him think of anything else.
Out of the corner of his eye Milord sees that something small and wrapped sits on the table. Since Ruben hasn't mentioned it, he doesn't ask, but his fingers are already itching for it. Another weakness to feed Ruben's pride.
***
Ruben sits cross-legged, Milord's head in his lap. He can feel Ruben start to get restless. Milord could lay here forever. Just the comfort of their bed and the feeling of Ruben's hands in his hair. However patience is a skill Ruben has never truly learned, nor is stillness. Neither has ever been a necessity for him. His legs shift under Milord's head.
"What would I ever do without you," Ruben says. Running a thumb gently down Milord's cheek. They both know this is a will, not a would. Neither says so.
Milord also knows that Ruben will be fine. Ruben will always be fine. If he wanted to he could probably return to the Shadowless, receive a warm welcome, and steal the captain's boy right out from under them. Milord is fairly certain that he won't, that he doesn't want to, but he could. After all, he once saw Ruben talk Byron Kae into letting the crime prince of Gaslight onto their ship.
Ruben will be fine. He'll weep over Milord's grave some, but he'll be fine. Milord has made him promise not to pray for him while he's alive, but once he's dead it won't matter so Ruben probably will do some of that too.
He pictures it now: Ruben with his knees in the dirt, speaking with God on his behalf. It's not the worst thing he's ever thought of. Even so, Ruben surely won't be alone for long.
The idea of Ruben with someone else used to hurt. Not a bad hurt, not one that would bleed out, but a constant irritation. Now there's a strange comfort to it. Even if it’s only the comfort that comes from knowing something Ruben doesn't.