Archive of Our Own

Guilty.

Bitter enough on the tongue, it settled somehow worse within one’s stomach, plummeting along with the final fall of a gavel. Words had never been such heavy things, before. He hadn’t expected that.

He should have. All things considered, he should have. All things considered, this was nothing more than exactly what he had asked for. Wasn’t that right? Guilty – he’d said it himself, certain in some addled part of his mind that it was true, at least to some extent.

Even if he hadn’t intended to take Mr. Asman’s life – it was still true, wasn’t it? Although – right, right, they’d kept going on about possibilities that someone else had been responsible – had killed him intentionally – where Albert’s experiment had been nothing more than a farce, a failure, and if he were a failure he couldn’t possibly be a killer –

As if that made it better, somehow. As if that were easier to process. As if, even if that reality were true, it would somehow absolve him of fault. Despite what others may have thought of him – a background commentary he’d long since learned to drown out – Albert wasn’t a fool. No, he hadn’t stabbed Mr. Asman, but what did that matter?

When the rest of all that had transpired – successful by an operational definition or not – had been no more than the by-product of his own experiment?

Even if he had allowed them to pull the curtain back in search of a reality where his hypothesis had failed, what would it have mattered? How could they say it was really any better, for him to have played the role of an idiot, a charlatan, if not out of malice than out of a deep and profound ignorance that was just as unforgivable, at least in Albert’s eyes, as the alternative.

Not – oh, not that he wasn’t grateful for Mr. Naruhodou’s attempt to help, of course. No – no, it wasn’t his fault. He never should have had to take on a case like this to begin with, hopeless from the very beginning.

Albert had done him a favor by confessing. Of that, he was certain, even as the young man’s expression of wide-eyed horror continued to flash behind his eyelids, squeezed tightly shut and buried against his knees as he made himself as small as possible in the darkness of his cell.

I never meant to hurt anybody . . .

Not the lawyer, nor his kind assistant, and not Mr. Asman. Not any of the people who had believed in him enough to try and assist in the pursuit of a dream he somehow always managed to be too inept to come anywhere near, regardless of effort, regardless, even of optimism – something that came to him so easily, so well-practiced, but in the darkness of this prison had now entirely abandoned him.

It didn’t matter. Not anymore. None of it did.

All that mattered was the final sound of that gavel, and the guilty verdict which it had carried.

If objective truth, or the closest approximation, was something one could strive for, then surely that sound was its mouthpiece. No more arguments – no more evidence – no more anything. It was settled, it was certain . . .

“I’m sorry . . .”

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until the words reached his ears, carried back by breath that hitched and grew stagnant in the little space between his face and clothing. There was no one around who could have heard, but what did that matter? He wasn’t even certain if there was anyone in particular they were meant for.

The world, perhaps. The people he’d hurt. The horrified faces behind the defense’s bench . . .

The far less expected, but equally affected visage on the opposite side of the room.

Oh, that was something he’d tried very hard not to think about.

It should have been easy to do – the shattered expression he’d found upon the prosecution shouldn’t have been there. Right? That’s how it worked. He should have been happy, or at least content, right?

Eyes wide and jaw clenched so tight Albert was certain it must have ached, the wide-open countenance was something that should have belonged to the kind young man Albert had known a decade before – not the apparently bloodthirsty Reaper it seemed Barok had become.

I wonder if he’ll come to see me again . . . against what would have been far easier to believe, Albert couldn’t help but hope, couldn’t help but believe in the person he was certain he’d seen behind that hardened face even in that courtroom, even when he’d last faced it from between the bars of his prison. At least once . . . before . . . before they . . .

Suppressing a shudder, he tightened his arms around his knees and fought to think of anything else. He’d made his decision, and there was nothing left to do but await the terrible consequence he’d convinced himself he deserved, even as the very thought caused his shoulders to shake and his stomach to turn in knots.

The cell was lonelier, somehow, than it had been before his trial. Now, it seemed, devoid even of the company of hope.

How long he sat there, in the undisturbed dark, Albert wasn’t certain. There was no point in attempting to count the minutes anymore – what did it matter? What was the point in pretending there was anything at all useful he could do in what little time he had left?

Though it felt wrong to be still – against his very nature – he had no other choice. So he did so, alone with racing thoughts and heart, until at last the sound of footsteps on stone broke through his reverie.

All at once, faster than he’d ever have expected it to manage, his heart found its way into his throat, carried there for once by something other than fear. Ignoring the ache in his neck as he did so, he looked up quickly, eyes wide and hopeful as they fought to peer through the darkness and catch sight of something familiar.

“B –”

The name died upon his lips as he realized the shadow beyond the bars was far too small to be the one he longed to see. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected otherwise – had he been paying attention, he’d have put together faster how the footsteps sounded nothing like the man’s familiar, heavy stride.

Mouth open, Albert could only stare as the cloaked figure resolved itself into something vaguely resembling a human form. The blackness of its cloak nearly rendered it entirely invisible, and had it not been so tangible compared to the gloom he’d been left in for hours now, he might not have seen it at all.

Save, of course, for the part which seemed to hover, nearly glowing pale-white against its dark background. At first, he thought it part of the figure’s face, and only after an initial moment of dissonant terror did he realize it was a mask.

Though he could not make out anything behind the eyes, Albert’s skin began to prickle as he felt their gaze hold him. When he remembered to close his mouth, he swallowed, fighting for a moment to find any sort of words and failing, before all at once being overtaken by too many.

“Sorry, I didn’t – didn’t see you there, at first. Y-yes? That is – ah – can I help you?”

Being condemned was no excuse to neglect politeness, he supposed.

The figure did not share his sentiment, only continuing to stand still and silent for several awkward breaths. For a single, incredibly unscientific moment, Albert’s addled mind suggested they might actually have been some sort of spirit, or else a statue that had somehow manifested before him.

Then, at last, they moved, head tilting quickly and bird-like down and to the side. As they drew closer, Albert reflexively withdrew further into his corner, watching unblinking and with rapt attention as they drew something from within the depths of their cloak and turned their attention to the door of his cell.

Only once the door was open did he realize just what they’d been doing. A single, unexpectedly quiet creak, and his prison had been opened, the figure remaining stock-still just outside after taking a step back.

Confused, he looked from the open space back to the cloaked form, swallowing and slowly beginning to untangle himself from the ball he’d been curled into for hours. “. . . Do you . . . want me to come out?” he finally managed to stammer, feet reaching the floor and hands braced at his sides.

When no protest came, he began to stand, then shuffle closer to the door, step by arduous step. The figure continued to look at him, then finally bowed their head before looking off down the hall.

“. . . I . . .” following their gaze, Albert moved closer, hovering just inside the doorway. “. . .Do . . . do you want me to go with you. . . ?”

Once more, they looked in his direction, another slight inclination of the head the only answer that he received. Hesitating a moment more, Albert swallowed, then slowly and painfully brought first one foot, then the other, across the barrier separating the inside of his prison from out.

Of course, there was no true difference in his captivity, but it was something else that sent a shiver down his spine and his every step to feel as heavy as if his legs were tied to blocks of cement.

The question of his visitor’s identity was a large one, and as far as he could see one with only one conceivable answer. Try as he might to think of anything else, the only people he could think of who regularly visited condemned prisoners to pull them from their cells, somber and hiding their faces beneath masks . . .

I hadn’t thought that it would happen so soon.

Then again, what reason would they have to wait? It was better for a sentence be carried out quickly. Efficient, right – there was no point in delaying things or drawing them out, considering as how the case was over and he’d already confessed.

Tearing at his thumb nail between his teeth, Albert hugged himself around the waist with his free arm. Neither action did anything to mitigate the trepidation thrumming through every cell in his body, no matter his attempts to remind himself that this had been the right decision –

Or, if not the right one, then at least it had been his own.

The figure Albert had interpreted as his executioner began to move, attention fixed ahead and movements almost too graceful to be that of a human being. Perhaps that was only Albert’s mind playing tricks on him, but if so he couldn’t find it within him to spare a thought towards the matter. Those still racing in his mind were busy enough, impossibly loud despite the oppressive silence outside his body.

As it always seemed to happen, the thoughts refused to stay contained for long. They simmered, then boiled, bubbling through his stomach, chest, and throat, until finally they found their way out of his mouth.

“. . . It’s – I thought it would be. Different. I don’t know. More of an. . . event. But that’s conceited of me, isn’t it?” he rambled, uncertain if the figure was even listening. “I suppose – really, if you think about it, it isn’t anything that – that special or unusual. Is it? Oh, no . . .”

Breath hitching, he stumbled over a crack in the stone floor, only barely managing to refrain from catching himself on his guide’s cloak. They hadn’t looked back at him once, nor had they acknowledged his existence. Nevertheless, and even though they’d come to deliver him to damnation, a twisted sense of comfort remained in being in the presence of another living being, no matter how detached.

“. . .You’re used to this sort of thing, I’d imagine. Nothing special to you. I can’t – I can’t imagine. It must be difficult . . .Ah!” Blinking, only paying half attention to the words spilling, anxiety-riddled, from his lips, he shook his head. “Not that – not that it’s any judgment on your part. It must . . must be a very difficult job to do. But of course, I’d imagine you’d . . . get quite . . .quite good at it after a while. . .”

Oh, no. No, no no no no –

A sudden wave of lightheadedness stilled his tongue, causing whatever he might have said next to stick painfully and sideways in his throat. Distantly, he was aware of his expression twisting from a pained sort of smile, flickering and finally falling as he began to chew on his thumb once more, for the next few moments choosing to follow along in silence.

Finally, looking with shining eyes towards his guide and not expecting a response, he whispered a final question. “. . Do . . .do you think it will hurt terribly?”

All at once, the figure stilled.

Only once Albert had somewhat crashed into their back did he realize they’d arrived at the end of some sort of corridor. His guide had turned their attention to the handle of a door Albert had hardly noticed, blending in as well as it did to the wall, but in a matter of moments it was unbarred, and in the next it creaked open to allow Albert his first breath of fresh – if damp and foggy – air in what felt like centuries.

All at once, they were outdoors, though the chill of the wind was a better informant of that than the gloom. It was dark out – perhaps Albert shouldn’t have been surprised, seeing as how he’d managed to thoroughly lose track of time.

Arms wrapped even tighter around himself, he blinked and followed his guide through the doorway into what appeared to be some sort of courtyard. As the figure behind him stepped off to the side and fell still, he began to look around, fearful of what he might see but compelled to do so, regardless.

To his surprise, there was no gallows to be found. In fact, the courtyard was far from what he would have expected for any sort of execution grounds, altogether rather small, empty, and more . . . open than made sense.

What it was not, however, was empty, and as he squinted through the fog, a silhouette began to materialize. Just across from where he and his guide stood was a tall figure – again, so still it might very well have been a statue, had everything about its very shape not been painfully, inexplicably familiar.

He was different, now: both body and face hardened from countless battles, the lines of his face sharper, eyes distant and hollow.  But those eyes were the same shade, and just as deep. Hair curled to frame his face in just the same gentle motion, moving to surround and brush against features as fingers as had always longed to.

“Barok –”

Though Albert’s startled exclamation had come out in little more than a whisper, it nonetheless shook the stoic figure from his stillness. Closing the distance between them in a matter of moments, Barok pressed a finger to his lips, which were already pursed in a tight, white line. As Albert stared up at him in complete befuddlement, Barok didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking first over his shoulder, then towards Albert’s guide where they stood off a few paces.

Then allowing his hand to fall, Albert was surprised to find it settling – surprisingly warm, even through Barok’s thick glove – upon his shoulder. Though his heart leapt in his throat in response to the touch, it held just a bit too tight to offer comfort.

“We have to move.” Barok’s voice was low, his words directed only partially at Albert – if at all – and primarily to the masked figure beside them. After speaking, he turned away, though the hand on Albert’s shoulder remained, succeeding entirely in its purpose of drawing him along behind it as easily as one might have done a kitten with a string.

For once, despite or perhaps in response to the sudden wave of uncertainty and confusion under which he’d been drawn, no words came to his lips. Or, perhaps, they’d been silenced by that single, simple gesture of Barok’s, as compelling an order as if he’d pleaded on bent knee.

As he fell into place at his side, Albert found his gaze frequently moving up to Barok’s face to trace the tense line of his jaw and the manner in which his eyes had locked dead ahead. Not once did he look back, but Albert didn’t mind.

Not with that hand on his shoulder, still holding tightly.

The masked stranger at their heels, they continued down a small pathway leading between a few high fences and gradually out of the courtyard, then through an alley, until at last Albert realized that the world around them had opened up. Though still surrounded by London’s heavy fog, they now appeared to have thoroughly left the prison grounds and have reached a normal street.

At first, the realization caused something in his chest to lighten, the first taste of freedom he’d felt in far too long nearly impossible to bear. The feeling did not last, however, as in the next instant something ice-cold and heavy pierced through it like a blade, settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

Despite it all – despite the hand, despite his own desires – Albert’s feet stilled. Though Barok could have easily dragged him along, he slowed to stop himself a moment later, looking back and down at Albert for the first time since he’d appeared.

“I –” Frozen beneath the gaze that fixed upon him, Albert paused with his mouth open.

I’m not supposed to be out here.

The war between guilt and longing could have torn him apart, had something in those eyes not calmed his pounding heart even as they caused it to skip a beat. Swallowing, Albert forced a breath. “. . . I’m sorry. I don’t mean to – um –”

He hesitated, searching the face before him and not once realizing that to anyone else it would have been unreadable. Just as if interpreting the most complex of equations turned simple through expertise, he searched familiar lines and found there all manner of things he couldn’t begin to describe, and even less accept.

Faltering, he swallowed and looked away. “. . Where are we going . . .?”

The world grew colder for a moment as Barok’s hand fell away from his shoulder, but he wasn’t given long to mourn. The arm which withdrew moved, instead, back underneath his cloak, which was then swept easily around Albert in a single, graceful motion.

Beneath the shelter of fabric, he was left pressed far closer to Barok’s side than he’d ever have expected, jerking for a moment as a startled reflex before settling down. Still, his face remained hot despite the goosebumps that continued to raise across his skin.

Nevertheless, it took every bit of self control not to melt even closer to his companion’s warmth.

“. . . Soon.” When he spoke, Barok was looking away again, eyes darting warily across the empty street. He spared a longer glance towards the masked figure, who had initially continued on ahead, only to pause and patiently wait for the halted pair. “. . . But not now. We don’t have much time. Albert . . .”

Once more, his eyes met Albert’s, though it looked like the action caused him pain; pain which spread outward like a web to his other features as Albert looked on while biting the inside of his lip and awaiting the response with bated breath.

“. . . Forgive the necessity of silence and secrecy. It will not persist for much longer,” he finally murmured. “In the meantime, I am afraid I must ask that you find it within you to trust me. . . Please.”

Find it within him? What a strange request.

As if it were hidden. As if it were at all difficult to find. Time, distance, even all that had transpired in that awful trial – none of it had really mattered, no matter how illogical it may have been.

Albert’s trust for Barok remained gently, perpetually, on the surface within reach.

Biting his lip now more out of an effort not to speak than nerves – which had managed to calm down a significant and inexplicable amount over the past several minutes, even if his anxieties hadn’t completely dissipated – Albert nodded. Just once, in complete agreement, then fell back into step at Barok’s side, still tucked away under the protection of his cloak.

Uncertain they were headed and half-blind, he could do nothing but allow himself to be led. Barok moved quickly, his strides long, and it took enough of his focus to try and keep up without stumbling over his own feet. How their silent, masked companion was managing to do so was entirely beyond him.

Eventually, after what could have been hours or mere seconds, their journey came to an end. All at once, Barok’s presence at his side – to which he’d already seemed to grow accustomed – withdrew, and though it was immediately replaced by that of their masked companion, Albert couldn’t help shuffling in discomfort and looking over his shoulder.

Immediately, he recognized just where it was they’d arrived. Though it felt like a lifetime ago, he’d just been here, himself – a very different person, then, full of dreams not yet tarnished and enthusiasm for the shining world that had opened before him.

The train station was different, now. It was empty, devoid entirely of the bustle and cheer it had held when Albert had last passed through. Grayer, somehow, and wide-open in a way that was as terrifying as it was free.

When Barok returned, it was to immediately bustle Albert off again like some sort of luggage, down towards the only train which lingered in the building like a slumbering beast. An attendant awaited there, and though Albert’s heart leapt in his throat as he attempted to hide himself behind Barok’s back, the tired man appeared to pay them little mind as he looked over the papers Barok handed him before taking his leave.

Unable to help it, Albert quietly mumbled “What are we –?” cutting himself off halfway through the question in fear he wouldn’t receive an answer, or else would have somehow broken his earlier promise of doing whatever Barok bade him.

To his surprise, the man beside him let out a heavy breath, and when he reached up to rub wearily at his brow Albert was surprised to note that the hand that did so was shaking. “. . . This is the last opportunity to turn back . . .” Barok said quietly, perhaps to no one in particular.

The next moment, however, he looked back to Albert with that same pained expression as earlier, and something in the tense line of his shoulders seemed to fall. “. . . I will not enforce that you come with me,” he said, “much as I would like to offer no explanation until we are long gone. I had thought it would be simpler to carry out, devoid of impediments our progress has been, and yet it is my heart which seems to have become our final barrier . . .”

“What . . . what do you mean?” Frowning, Albert shifted closer, keeping his voice low as possible to match Barok’s. Perhaps he needn’t have bothered, as it seemed the only person in the station with them was the masked figure, who had once again stilled several feet away as if awaiting their next order.

When Barok hesitated to reply, Albert forced a breath and finally allowed his mind to put together all the little bits of the equation he’d been mulling over since the moment he’d emerged into the courtyard. With dread and excitement weighing down his tongue, he allowed it to take form.

“. . . Barok, are you – are you sending me away?”

Barok’s lips pressed into a hard line as he released a shaking breath. He’d looked off again to the side, but closed his eyes while turning his head back in Albert’s direction. When next he forced his eyes open, there was something more within them Albert hadn’t been at all prepared for.

Something, he could have sworn, that seemed almost frightened.

“. . . I will not force you. Though I must beg your forgiveness for failing to acquire permission before this point – It was necessary to move quickly, lest we be found out, and I . . .”

He trailed off, swallowing heavily, and somehow managed to lower his voice even further. “. . . I could not bear the thought of leaving you to face a sentence you did not deserve. If you insist, I will take you back, or else take my leave immediately and allow you to either board or depart as you wish.”

The pressured nature of his voice betrayed that the thought alone was unthinkable, and would take an extreme amount of willpower to carry out. Stunned, Albert could only look on for a moment, breath stilled and heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of emotions that were far too much to bear.

Guilty. He was guilty. By his own operational definition, Albert was certain of it, and the court had agreed. By all accounts, he did not deserve to be out of his cell, let alone on a train bound for freedom. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen . . .

Oh, oh – but what was he to do? Though the guilt of accepting undeserved salvation was bitter on the back of his tongue, it was almost overshadowed by the sheer desire for the very same. If that desire only strengthened the guilt, Albert having proven to be a failure even in terms of accepting his fate, then how was he to bear it? How was he to make any decision at all? It was selfish, it was wrong, he shouldn’t have. . . he shouldn’t . . . he didn’t . . .

Albert didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to go back to his prison awaiting his final demise, all alone and in the dark. If he should have, that was in contradiction to the truth of what his every heartbeat told him, not only speaking of what he didn’t want, but what he very much did.

Albert wanted to live. He wanted to board the train and take flight, no matter how frightening it was, and he wanted to do so with the precious company he’d managed to grow accustomed to far too quickly, which all at once made the thought of bearing anything – even fear, even crushing guilt – entirely possible.

“. . .Will you . . . will you come with me?”

Barok had frozen, but in response to the question he bowed his head. “. . .If that is what you wish –” he began, then hesitated and shook his head. “No – if you will allow me to do so. I have given my apprentice orders to cover our tracks as much as possible in order to prevent our being found, but I am certain it is only a matter of time until they discover what happened and my own responsibility. Were I to stay, I am certain I would . . .”

That had been enough for Albert, who hadn’t hesitated before reaching out to grab ahold of one of Barok’s hands. When he managed to persuade it out of the fist into which it had been formed, he laced their fingers together and managed a shaky, if terrified, smile.

“Of course, I wouldn’t let you bear that – couldn’t leave you alone. That is, well. . . I’d be happy if you would. Come with me, I mean.”

The next breath Barok took was that of a man who had briefly forgotten how, and though those eyes remained haunted at least a bit of that awful fear seemed to flee him. Still for a moment in Albert’s grasp, he hesitated, then gave the hand in his own a squeeze.

“. . . Then allow us to depart. One final moment, please. . .”

Though it hurt to allow his hand to fall after having built the courage to take it, Albert allowed him to slip away and approach the masked figure – his apprentice, Barok had said. They spoke for several moments – or at least, Barok did, and the apprentice nodded along. Finally, Barok stepped away, offering what Albert presumed to be a final order, or perhaps a word of thanks.

The apprentice bowed, then turned to depart. As Albert watched, initially happy enough to watch Barok return to him, he couldn’t help looking past him to where the masked figure was leaving.

As he watched, they stilled, then paused briefly to look over a shoulder with the hollow eyes of their mask. Looking directly at him – or perhaps through him – they stood for several moments.

Then, just as quickly, they looked away, and in the next instant were gone.

“. . . You’re – you’re certain of their silence. . .?” The thought of such secrecy didn’t sit well with Albert to begin with, but the thought of something going wrong somehow was even worse, and the hairs on the back of his neck refused to settle down.

Looking briefly in the direction the figure had disappeared, Barok spoke slowly. “. . . I have not given details as to our final destination. Only orders to assist in our escape,” he confessed. “Should anything come out, it will be. . . long after we are gone, and without the necessary information to locate us.”

Clearly, it wasn’t the full story, and clearly far too much thought and preparation had gone into this plan. To have refused it would have made him guilty in a far different way, wouldn’t it? A betrayal of something strange and precious, refusal of something rare and even coveted. . .

So Albert smiled. “. . .Alright. Let’s get going, then.”

As if it were a simple trip, perhaps a vacation, they boarded the train together and tucked away within a private compartment. Only once they’d settled down and the train began to slowly rumble to life, chugging off and out and away, did it truly begin to settle in just what exactly they had done.

Nibbling on his thumb, Albert looked out the window at his side, acutely aware of Barok’s presence on the seat across from him. As he watched, the station departed and the city before them opened up, soon to fade away, replaced itself by open countryside. . .

And then, who knew?

“So . . .can I ask, now?” he finally spoke, breaking a silence that had grown heavy. “Just where is it that we’re going. . .?”

Barok was quiet for a moment. “. . . Out of the country, first and foremost,” he finally said. “Beyond the reach of Reaper and law. Beyond that. . .”

To Albert’s surprise, he laughed, the sound quiet, strangled, and devoid of humor. “. . . We shall have to figure that out. The possibilities are numerous. I had not the time to thoroughly plan beyond our initial . . . flight, nor did I wish to do so without knowing. . . what exactly you would have wanted. I was not certain even if . . .”

As he trailed off, Albert looked back to him to find his gaze fixed beyond the window. “. . .You didn’t know if I’d go? Or if I’d let you accompany me?” he prompted.

Slowly, Barok nodded. “. . . There was also the chance that I would fail, and we’d have never made it this far,” he confessed. “Truth be told, part of me is surprised that we managed, even as careful as I was.”

Shifting in his seat, which suddenly felt far too big for him, Albert scratched at his neck. “. . . I never – never would have, you know,” he said after a moment. “. . . Said no. Or that you couldn’t come with me. It isn’t as if I had any other choice, really, and – and – it would have been ungrateful, really . . .”

“Ungrateful?'' The strange laugh passed Barok’s lips again, though at the end Albert could have sworn it transformed into something more akin to a sob. “What gratitude could you possibly owe the one whose fault it is that you were condemned?”

“What – I –” Surprised, floundering for several moments for words, Albert simply stared at him. Barok hadn’t yet looked back, which for some reason caused Albert to grow even more uncomfortable in his place, fingers fiddling idly with the sleeves of his coat.

Did Barok not understand? Not once had it ever occurred to Albert to blame him, of all possible people, for his fate. For him to say so – the weight of guilt and blame that Albert knew so well showing clearly in his face – almost caused Albert to feel as if he’d been struck.

“. . . It isn’t your fault. That I was. . . you know. I confessed. And . . . for a reason. So, I really don’t deserve to be helped as much as you have . . .” he whispered.

It was a new sort of guilt, and one which grew stronger the further they drew away from the station. It was too late to turn back, now – too late to do anything but press forward into an unknown and terrifying future.

For Albert, there hadn’t really been any choice. What had he left behind other than an empty gallows and a cell of broken dreams?

The guilt and trepidation running through his body came from an entirely different place, and one which was even harder to bear.

“I’m sorry –” voice cracking, he spluttered out the words and looked down at his hands, shoulders hunching up around his ears. “You’ve – you’ve really done far too much for me, Barok. Haven’t – haven’t you got so much left behind you in London? Your. . . your entire career. Your home. I’ve . . . I’ve taken you away from it, haven’t I? I’m the one who should apologize, and – and absolutely give you all the gratitude I have, which even then isn’t really enough, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying – ever, ever really –”

The sight of his hands had begun to blur by the time Albert found them suddenly covered by one of Barok’s own. It was warm, and even bare, Barok having apparently removed his gloves and laid them to the side. Reflexively, he hissed in a little, hitching breath before looking up with watery eyes and finally, finally, meeting his best friend’s eyes.

“. . . Please. . .” Barok said quietly, then hesitated with his lips parted and face open and vulnerable. “. . . Never apologize to me. Not for this. Not for anything.”

He was leaning forward and on the edge of his seat to close the distance between them, drawn so close that Albert could almost feel his breath. Perhaps having surprised himself, he hesitated before continuing while giving the hands beneath his own a gentle squeeze.

“. . .This was my decision. I will not deny that it was difficult to make, and that I was initially rather terrified of what may become of all I have left behind. I have never known anything else. . . my work, my estate. . . but I thought. . .”

Once more, he looked away, which made Albert wish to cry harder. Seeking the comfort of that strangely gentle touch, he inched just a bit closer, shifting his hands enough to be able to run a thumb along the back of Barok’s knuckles.

“. . . You thought . . .?” he prompted gently. “You . . . you can tell me, you know. Considering the circumstances, I don’t . . . think there’s really any need for us to be keeping things hidden.”

Though he sniffled, he managed a shaky smile, warm and bright as he could make it. In response, Barok’s expression melted from those hard lines back into something more familiar, and he nodded while holding tight to Albert’s hands.

“. . .I have . . . questioned my place in my work for some time,” he admitted. “And I . . . had already never been fond of . . .people being put to death.”

As he carefully spoke, his hand began to shake, holding tighter for a moment. Stroking his skin once more, Albert quietly waited for him to continue, even as thoughts fought to find their way to his lips.

“. . .To think of . . . you, of all people in such a position. . . Innocent and condemned –”

Innocent.

Albert swallowed around the painful lump within his throat.

“. . . I could not allow it to happen. Regardless of . . . anything else. I know my actions go against the law, and everything that I have always promised to be. I knew . . . if I acted as I began to plan for . . . that I would lose everything I had ever known.

“But . . . thinking further, what all am I leaving? I will not lie that I am frightened, bereft of everything save for what of our possessions I managed to get on board before coming to retrieve you. But what have I left? What have I lost?

“An empty estate, having become a graveyard full of ghosts. Work that I have grown to despise. A curse, a title, I never wished to bear, and which has followed me for far too long. What is any of that? What does it matter when compared to something more precious? When the scales of justice are truly weighed, how does any of it measure against this – against innocence – against my Albert’s life –”

As he’d spoken, his voice had grown more pressured, breath coming short and eventually beginning to hitch. By the end, his jaw had clenched tightly, eyes squeezing shut against a sudden influx of emotion.

Still, his hand held firm, and Albert willingly clung back.

“Your Albert . . .?”

Barok’s eyes snapped open, a faint flush stealing over pale skin. Hesitating, he swallowed, perhaps in search of explanation, and instead only managed to hold Albert’s gaze and realize just how close together they’d become over the course of the past several minutes.

Perhaps it was the smile that persuaded him to continue, or else the sudden expression of pure joy in Albert’s still teary eyes. There was nothing to be found in either Albert’s expression or heart which encouraged anything else, try as he might not to give in too completely to the sudden rebirth of hope.

“. . . If he will have me,” Barok whispered, something that may one day be nourished into a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Nodding so fast he thought it might have snapped something in his neck, Albert stammered “. . . Yes. That is, I – never could really say no, could I? Not after . . . after everything, that is, considering the . . .”

Blinking, he coughed and managed to cut off his rambling with a final, somewhat sheepish “. . . Yes. Please.”

How was it possible to mourn the life they’d left behind when they had this one? Small and unformed as it was, it as of yet consisted only of a gentle kiss in an empty train car. Already, it was worth far more than anything that had once been shining, now crumbled into dust and sacrificed.

The fear would persist, perhaps, for quite some time, but it stood no chance at all of victory against the powerful relief. Relief of freedom, from prisons both real and imagined, of steel and society, and relief of requited affection.

What lay before them remained uncertain, perhaps, in terms of practical matters, but not at all in terms of all that was truly important. What had been left behind paled, becoming little more than a wisp of smoke in the face of all that was bright – all that was real, frightening and wonderful all at once.

No more prisons, tangible or otherwise. The future would be built on love, alone.