Chapter Text
Bumping into individuals, regardless of their class, is a common but widely considered unpleasant experience in the streets of the city. It is already far too crowded for one to sustain appropriate breathing room, much less the shared physical space.
And so, when Fitz brushed shoulders with a man dressed in almost all white, Tubbo found it difficult not to simply stare. Thankfully for him, his good friend Fitz had done enough non-staring for the both of them to prove courteous in a situation like this. But what Tubbo did not immediately notice is the polite conversation the two engaged in.
“I’m quite sorry—”
“It is fine,” The man in white started, then paused and looked up right in time to see the expression on Fitz’s face take shape.
“You are…your name escapes me, but you’re that detective, is that right?”
“You may not be wrong. I am afraid I cannot recall yours either.”
“Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald Thomas.”
“Walter.” It doesn’t suit him, Tubbo thought. The name was far too soft and felt far too old for a young man like him, one around their age as well.
“That’s who! A pleasure to see you again, Detective Walter. Before I forget myself,” Fitz turned now, all the spotlight on Tubbo as he blinked to pretend no staring was done beforehand or during the interaction, “I must introduce—”
“Tobias Scott. Or Toby. Everyone calls me that.” Tubbo did not notice himself stumble, overcome with curiosity, a smile, and the enthusiasm he often has for most things in life.
Tubbo extended his hand. Walter was slow to shake his hand, but once he did, Tubbo was met with leather gloves. It was cold on his hands, and Walter’s grip was strong. He was in various shades of light colours, and as Tubbo moved in closer, it was beiges and creams, not only white. Walter was taller too, by a few inches. It was noticeable once it was a more appropriate time to make eye contact and Tubbo had to crane his neck upwards.
“We met for a bit while I was chatting with Pascal at the station.” Fitz looked like he had more to say, whether if it was about their friend Pac or the detective himself, Tubbo wasn’t sure.
“Right.” Walter’s eyes darted away, but his expression remained neutral.
“How goes the latest cases, detective?”
“Good. It is…ongoing.”
His eyes continued the motion, to far more places than just the sides. His mouth opened ever so slightly, but before whatever situation-appropriate small talk he was about to utter ever left him, Tubbo interrupted.
“Does everyone call you Detective Walter?”
“Pardon me?” Walter blinked, which would have been the only small observable change had his eyes not been scrambling to find words in the lines between brick sidewalks.
“Your name. Walter. Surely you have a family name.”
“I do, yes. I’m known better as Walter though.”
“Let’s hear it then,” Tubbo let out a laugh, the kind that crinkled just underneath his eyes, “I’m sure it’s not something so horrible that you’d run us out of town once you speak it into existence.”
Walter hesitated. Eventually, he said, “It’s Frederick.” His voice was softer than before, but still with the same tenacity his voice held when he spoke.
“It suits you, detective.” Tubbo smiled, and he watched as Frederick and the air around them sank into silence. He then became far too aware of such a fragile thing and was stuck in wondering whether he wished to break it or grew afraid to do so.
“A job like that must bring a lot of variety, I’d think.” Tubbo broke it regardless, in this way, unsure of what such fragility meant as it faded away while they continued.
“Half right. The rest is paperwork.”
“Half? No, that’s too much of a shame. ‘Detective’ is too unique a title to be given such monotonous tasks. You must be sent onto the field most days.”
“I do, but less than you’d think.”
“Truly? No intense chases on horseback? No gunshots to stop the perpetrator from escaping your clutches? No fainting maidens at your feet?” Tubbo heard Fitz hold back a chuckle at his demeanour in front of practically a stranger, but who was thankfully, technically an acquaintance.
“I’d be a liar if I denied it, though…it is not as you make out most of it to be.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but you may have to continue this conversation another time. We’ve got a reservation and we’re already running late as we speak.” Fitzgerald shot a pointed glance at Tubbo as he spoke, and Tubbo narrowed his eyes. They would be fine, their time of dining wasn't as big of a deal as Fitz made it out to be.
“Of course. I would hate to be the cause of tardiness.”
“Oh, we must continue. You wouldn’t be opposed to me writing to you, would you?”
Frederick’s silence revealed too much and too little at the same time. “No, I am not. I am stationed in this neighbourhood’s Federation office…if you are so inclined.”
“Perfect! A good day to you, detective.” Tubbo bid him goodbye with a nod and a fraction of a smile that neither Frederick nor Fitz noticed.
As the pair of them set off toward their destination, Fitz perked up, “He’s a little off-putting, isn’t he? Last time we met it was the same.”
“Don’t tell me you say such things because of his fashion, Fitz. You’ve worn worse.”
“No, no. I know that. His speech. It felt as though he didn't want to continue the conversation. A little rude, don’t you think?”
“Rude?” Tubbo raised a brow.
“But it isn’t as though I am not used to such behaviours from our friends. Including you. So I do not mind, really. It is simply…odd. Most gentlemen have better manners, Tubbo.”
“I suppose,” Tubbo shrugged, and replayed back the conversation and how starkly bright Frederick was compared to the rest of the London background, “but he wasn’t horrible. Perhaps he had something urgent to attend to, like us. Or he does not have much to say. Which is odd, given he’s a detective, Ftiz. You should’ve told me about him sooner!”
“It slipped my mind! I have other things to tend to aside from thinking about which gentlemen Tubbo would get along best with, you know.”
With the roll of Tubbo’s eyes, the two of them arrived shortly and got on with the rest of their day. Light colours stood out a little too much for Tubbo’s liking, but eventually, there was nothing he could do to stop it. When things are out of your control, sometimes the best course of action is to follow along.
And follow along he did—eyes lingering on beige and the pop of blue that he only registered by the end of their conversation. His eyes led him to pale ceilings, bright yellow candlelight which would’ve been softer had Frederick chosen to wear it, and gold accents that the man adorned too. Frederick had to know he stood out as much as a lion would in the streets of London, right? Did he care? Or is that what life as a detective has made him? Uncaring about the opinions of others, and simply wore and acted as he wished.
What an exciting world he must live in, especially in contrast to not only Tubbo’s but to the rest of London. There was no doubt that Tubbo would write to the man. He would be an idiot not to.
On the morning of the second Tuesday of August in the year 1872, a pristine cream envelope arrived atop the desk of Detective Frederick Walter within the Metropolitan Federation Office. It is sealed with red wax, with the monogrammed initials ‘TJS’.
Frederick did not notice the letter right away. He did not expect any new letters any time soon, and so it did not cross his mind to check. There were things to attend to, anyway. But he was a man of precision, and every lunch break before he went to eat, he made sure that his desk was organised as it should be.
The letter was tossed on top of other letters with already broken seals, where it was inappropriately piled. Frederick let out an inward sigh, filled with an emotion that he let pass through him with no problem, and picked up the newest letter. Addressed to him. Odd, he thought.
Frederick thought it odd no longer, or at least less odd than it should have been, once he glimpsed from which individual sent it.
Frederick was quick with his hands. A broken seal and a read letter later, and it was placed on a separate existing pile for letters he needed to answer but was not quite as urgent compared to other matters. He would tend to it later with a formally written reply that matched most of his other social correspondences. Red seal of formality, business, and all. Once he'd reply to it, he'd tuck it away in its own separate file, which he did not expect to grow any time soon.
And if he did not receive a reply from Mr. Scott specifically, he would understand. Most acquaintances he made whittled into the same routine of nods and casual small talk on coincidental meetings after all.
208 Willowcreek Estate, London,
Saturday, Aug. 10, 1872.Detective, Mr. Frederick Walter,
67 Chancery Lane,
The Metropolitan Federation Office, London.Dear Sir,
It has been quite some time since we last spoke, by the corner of the street Il Chiosco Dell'unto resides upon, whilst I was within the company of a mutual acquaintance.
I write to you in hopes of satisfying a brief promise which need not be accomplished on account of your best wishes and availability.
While my interest has been piqued in light of your occupation as detective, do not doubt that it is the sole reason I seek contact with you, good sir. Horrible light would be shed on my character if that were the case.
If no reply arrives in my estate, please reassure yourself that there will be no grudge of any kind nor length that will be held against you, as I am sure this manner of introduction, despite its adequacy, is foreign to most men of your standing.
Kindest wishes should fall upon you and all of your affairs.
Yours Truly,
Tobias J. Scott.
The Metropolitan Federation Office, London,
Aug. 21, 1872.Mr. Tobias J. Scott,
208 Willow Street,
Willowcreek Estate, London.Sir,
It seems I have made you wait a long time. I have thoroughly disregarded, not on purpose, not with my conscious mind, the social quota of the week.
Understand it was not my intention to ignore you.
Instead, you may direct your attention and understanding to the administrative duties that occupy over three-fourths of my time. I may apologise for the passage of time, yet still hold the reasons for it with no regret.
I carry no particular interest in your intentions of our newfound acquaintance, thus you need not worry yourself, sir.
You may proceed with future correspondence if that is to your preference, although my responses will certainly be sparse.
Respectfully,
Walter.
208 Willowcreek Estate, London,
Thursday, Aug. 22, 1872.Detective, Mr. Frederick Walter,
67 Chancery Lane,
The Metropolitan Federation Office, London.Dear Sir,
There is no world in which a grudge towards an acquaintance is kept indefinitely due to a disproportionate span of time between letters. You speak of social quota, perhaps must you keep track of such a mundane part of one’s day in part of your employment?
Your apology is accepted, and very much should be accepted by other parties privy to such treatment.
The letter you have given me leaves me with the impression that you currently are not in possession of the ideal hours in your occupation, or at the very least, I assume that you, good sir, should be given such a reward. Previously mentioned details of detective work, courtesy of our meeting, have left me with grand expectations and further impressionable thoughts in relation to the subject.
I had imagined perhaps too flamboyant of a lifestyle, though from your description, albeit succinct and absent from vivid details, it appeared to me that you must be given much honour and recognition for your efforts. It is my deepest wish to be proven wrong.
It is good of you to be incredibly understanding and impart on my worries such a kindness.
Any reply from you is a delight, as time will always pass as it does.
Rather than dwell on letters, it would be unfortunate if I do not take this opportunity to inquire for any day that we may dine, at your very convenience. I bid you great success on any current cases you must tend to.
Yours Truly,
Tobias J. Scott.
The Metropolitan Federation Office, London,
Friday, Sept. 6, 1872.Mr. Tobias J. Scott,
208 Willow Street,
Willowcreek Estate, London.Sir,
Your letter and words are kind, Mr. Scott. I appreciate all of it—from the absence of resentment to your idolisation of my work, and for your desire of plentiful rewards for the menial work I do.
My employment does indeed require great care and a great sum of my time. Often the company I keep berates me for my failure to bid them visits outside of office hours. I refer to this as my social quota, yes.
You are once more correct with the latest presumptions concerning my position. I thank you for your wishes, even if they will likely continue to be broken. It would be remiss of me not to expel your colourful view of my day-to-day life.
As mentioned, I am taken by work most days. Nevertheless, upon your insistence, you may try to stumble upon me during lunch at three in the afternoon. Those are unlikely. A full day I am off-duty would be next week, Sunday, Sept. 15.
Good day.
Respectfully,
Walter.
“...would be next week, Sunday,” Tubbo mumbled to himself, reading the letter, and in turn built up excitement as he realised that he'd been given a day. A day! “Sunday!” He yelped aloud, unbeknownst to himself. Lucky for him, he was often always within his study when reading letters.
“Good, good.” He gave himself a nod and his eyes lit up despite the sunset clouds that carved gold streaks into his floors, desk, and walls. “Fitz can suck it.” He let the vulgarity his close friends are used to flow openly into his room, somehow plenty self-satisfied in arranging a meeting that truthfully, may not even be fully confirmed.
Tubbo wondered if he could, on a slim chance, as Frederick had informed him, catch the man during his lunch break. He was unfamiliar with restaurants near Frederick's office, so it would be a good chance to get familiar. It would have to be Frederick leading the way, as it was he who had little time to spare. His time, described in his letters, felt like a precious stone one would not find littering any simple beach or outskirts of caves.
Before he could get ahead of himself, Tubbo took a deep breath and got up to carry on with the rest of his day. There were other matters to get on with, and he should not let himself get too occupied with his little letter exchange with a real detective. He left the most recent letter atop his piles of other opened ones. He really should either throw those away or at the very least, organise them.
Tubbo quickly wrote a reply and sent it within the day to notify Frederick of a confirmation.
208 Willowcreek Estate, London,
Saturday, Sept. 7, 1872.Detective, Mr. Frederick Walter,
67 Chancery Lane,
The Metropolitan Federation Office, London.Dear
Mr.Sir,You should be glad to note that your acceptance of my invitation is received with much joy! I thank you, and must reiterate further gratefulness for your sparing paper and ink for our correspondences for previous instances and the future.
I am unaware of your personal lodgings, and shall therefore request for us to meet outside Il Chiosco Dell'unto on Sunday, Sept. 15, in the afternoon at one. Safe travels and I am nothing but exhilarated to speak with you in person in the upcoming days.
Yours Truly,
Tobias J. Scott.