Chapter Text
John should hate it more, he thinks.
He should hate the way Aaron's eyes naturally slide over to Robert, wherever they are. Aaron does it unconsciously, and John gets a perverse sort of pleasure of watching Aaron's body tense up suddenly when he realizes he's watching Robert again.
The annoyance that comes with knowing Aaron still holds Robert in any sort of regard is usually outranked by John's love for the way Aaron desperately tries to deny it.
He loves watching as Aaron retreats into himself further, becoming quieter, more distant from his friends, his family, from Robert, in order to please John and hold onto their marriage. Aaron's fire, the one that burned so bright when they first met, has slowly dimmed as their relationship has flourished, and John would be a liar if he said he hated it.
Truth be told, the smaller Aaron makes himself, the bigger John becomes.
And yet, John, as much as he loves watching Aaron deny his feelings toward Robert (and as much as he loves watching Robert's face crumble at Aaron's apparent disinterest), is starting to grow restless with it.
John's winning on the outside looking in – he's married to Aaron, has Victoria ever by his side, and the love and admiration of most in the village, but personally? He knows he's slowly losing to Robert and his undeniable charm. The charm that oozes out of every pore of Robert Sugden, even when he's not trying. It's disgusting, how with one flash of a crooked smile, one wink of an eye, the deep timbre of his voice, and Robert has people falling to their knees to appease him, to help him.
And the more Robert settles back into the quiet life, and the more he pulls away from Aaron, giving John's husband exactly what he wants, the more he sees Aaron getting sucked back into Robert. John has been slowly watching over the last couple of weeks how Aaron's eyes will track Robert, how his breath hitches when he hears Robert's laugh, how he angles his body toward wherever Robert is, hoping to steal a glance with him.
When their eyes do meet, John feels the moment, too. He can feel the air become charged with electricity – that spark – as Robert had once said to him. Eleven years of pain, resentment, misery, passion, joy, love pass between them, and it's like the world stops for the three of them.
Aaron and Robert, in their own little world, and John, the sad little moon orbiting around them.
And tonight isn't any different, except for it is, because enough is enough. John isn't an egotistical man, nor a megalomaniac, (according to his brother), but his ego is starting to take a hit. Like many things in his marriage to his husband, Aaron’s pull toward Robert isn't mentioned. Or rather, John hasn't had to mention it, because Aaron is still loyal to him.
Aaron would avert his eyes as soon as he noticed himself staring. He'd bite down on his bottom lip to keep a smile from creeping up at Robert's laugh or a stupid joke he'd make. Aaron's eyes would then fall back on John, guilty and adoring (a heady combination, in John's opinion), and he'd spend the rest of their time out forcing himself to give his undivided attention to John.
But over the last few weeks, Aaron's resolve has started to split, especially as Victoria has been dragging Robert to family events as of late, or when he shares drinks with Mack or with Matty. Aaron's getting sloppy, forgetting himself, forgetting who he's actually married to, and John's finding himself slipping, too.
He's desperate to keep Aaron by his side, to keep his husband's eyes on him, to want and need him, and he can feel Aaron slipping away further.
Which is why tonight is perfect.
It's been a few weeks since the last time he and Aaron had a night to themselves just to go out and have a pint. And for a while, it was perfect between them – sat right next to each other, close enough for their thighs to touch, quietly sharing a drink, people-watching mostly. John likes the quiet between them, likes it when Aaron is quiet.
And then the moment breaks when Robert and Victoria come in, and after a simple nod in their direction, and an enthusiastic wave from Vic, they sit at the bar, in the perfect view for Aaron and John.
At once, John feels Aaron's thigh flex and then tense, the way he straightens up, the way he takes a sip of his beer and how his eyes peek over the rim of his cup, staring right at Robert. Aaron's barely trying to hide it at this point, and John's annoyance only grows when Robert glances back at Aaron.
It's like an invisible string was holding Robert up, holding him together, and as soon as he looked at Aaron, it was cut. John can almost feel the breath (Of love? Relief?) Robert lets out, the tension practically melting off of his body just from that shared look. Aaron swallows hard in response, his grip tightening on the glass, and it feels like the two of them are suspended in the universe, together, for one breathless moment and then –
The moment is over.
Charity brings Vic her drink, and John can feel Aaron tense up again, can feel his eyes on John, but when John looks at Aaron, shares a small, insincere smile with him, that surge of possession, of power, that John usually feels isn't there. Maybe Aaron can't feel it, but John can feel a new tension between them, as they continue to quietly sip their drinks. Aaron won't dare to look at Robert again, at least, not so soon after he just did, but John allows himself to, and he likes what he sees.
Robert looks worse for wear tonight – dark smudges under his eyes, face looking a little more haunted than usual, a little more gaunt, eyes glassy and slightly red-rimmed. Victoria, bless her, doesn't seem to notice, prattling on in the way she always does, but it's clear to John how Robert is struggling tonight, and he delights in it.
Charity seems to notice, too. “Ya alright?” She asks Robert, voice loud enough to carry over the din of the pub. She sets down his drink just a touch too harsh, enough to make Robert jump just the tiniest bit.
John bites down a smirk. Whatever Robert says gets lost in the noise, his voice quieter than usual. Charity accepts the answer and turns away from them, attending another patron, and when she does, John watches as Robert's face drops back into that tired, haunted look, one John knows too well from having seen it in the mirror one too many times.
He knows what it's like to lose sleep, and what it's like to have a noise or a sudden touch rip you out of reality. To rip you out of what you know is safe and good and trap you in a nightmare you thought you've left behind. That look Robert's wearing — the slight tremor of his hands, the thousand-yard-stare — it's a look John's learned (and forced himself) to shed.
It makes you weak, makes you a victim and John is anything but.
Watching Robert, John is reminded of a Robbie Burn's poem: Sleek, timid, cowering little guy, Oh, what panic is in your eye! He tries not to be as charmed by the comparison as he feels.
John slides his gaze away from Robert, back to Aaron, and the charmed feeling slips away as fast as it came on. Aaron's watching Robert again, a crease between his brow, a frown pulling at the ends of his mouth. John would love that sad, worried look more if it wasn't directed at his brother.
Aaron rips his eyes away from Robert, taking another sip of his beer, avoiding John's expectant gaze.
Oh, no. That won't do at all.
Swallowing his pride, John takes a breath and lays a gentle hand on Aaron's forearm. “He looks worse for the wear.” He prides himself in the way his voice sounds soft, even a touch concerned.
Aaron must hear it, too, the way his brows climb up. “I – yeah, I s'pose.” He mumbles, taking another drink.
“It's alright to be concerned, Aaron.” John says gently, swallowing around the lie. “I'm not keen on him, but even I can see he's having a tough night.”
Aaron searches John's eyes for a beat, then two, searching for what, John's not entirely sure, but then he nods, seeming to deflate, and slides his gaze back to Robert. “Never seen 'im look so lost.” Aaron comments absently as if John isn't next to him anymore.
Perhaps he isn't, with the way Aaron's eyes roam all over Robert, checking him head to toe, face growing more concerned as the seconds tick by. If one didn't know Aaron, they probably wouldn't be able to spot Aaron's worry, not with the way his husband has become so good at schooling his expressions when it came to Robert.
But John isn't just anyone – he's Aaron's husband and he knows what genuine concern looks like on him. He knows what it looks like when all Aaron wants to do is reach out and settle Robert's shaking hands, rest his forehead against Robert's and breathe in his air, gentle the storm brewing in Robert's mind.
“But, not our problem, eh?” Aaron says suddenly, much too loud in their quiet bubble, turning his back on Robert and Vic.
John wants to count this as a win, but he can't because it's not. Yes, Aaron's looking at John, wanting to talk to him, but only to distract him from Robert. And so, John can do nothing but plow forward, and continue with the act he started.
John squeezes Aaron's arm gently. “It's okay to be worried about him.”
Aaron looks doubtful, and rightfully so. Even though Aaron has been blinded by John's love (or blinded himself – John thinks it might be a little of both), he feels a little charmed by Aaron's perceptiveness here. It keeps things interesting for him. “Really? You're okay with it?”
John allows himself to smile softly here and he watches as it melts a tiny bit of that doubt off of Aaron. “As much as he wants to deny it, he's my brother,” John says with a shrug, “and that means something to me, even if it doesn’t for him.”
Aaron melts even further at that sentence, and John can feel a bloom of warmth in his chest as Aaron's eyes go glassy in admiration for John. “Besides, I think it shows what a truly good person you are that you still worry for a man who broke your heart the way he did.”
That gives Aaron pause, as he considers John's words, and he takes it as a small victory for momentarily blocking Aaron's concern with what Robert did to him. He takes a look back at Robert, and he can tell his brother is barely holding it together, eyes far away, leg bouncing so fast it's a blur. He can tell even Victoria is starting to notice, with the way her eyes linger on her brother, tentatively laying a slow-going hand on top of Robert's.
They're going to leave soon, John can tell. They're going to leave, and Robert is going to break down at home, and Victoria will deal with it the way she has for the past several months, and John can tell that it's starting to take a toll on her too. And that leaves his husband, who is still lost in his own thoughts, a finger tapping on his sweaty glass.
You need not run so hasty! The poem plays out in his head, as if Robert is his little mouse.
John knows how this is going to play out. Robert and Vic will make a hasty exit, probably not even throw a glance at Aaron and John before they leave, but John will get an apologetic message in the morning from her, he knows. Aaron's gaze will stay on the door, on where Robert was stewing for a long time after they leave, and images of Robert – scared, jumpy Robert, will stay burned in Aaron's mind for the rest of the night.
They'll quickly drain their pints and leave, going home in silence – contemplative for Aaron, restless and annoyed for John, they'll share a chaste kiss, and go to bed. And John will fall asleep next to his husband, sure, but next to his husband who has another man on his mind.
No. Not tonight.
Mind made up, John makes quick work of his drink, not that Aaron notices, and catches Charity's gaze, making a signal for a new round. He's not going to lose Aaron tonight, he's not going to let Robert win this fight, even if it's a fight he's not aware he's in. This might piss John off even more than when Robert is trying to wind him up.
John can handle it when Robert does something big, like disrupting his wedding or barging into his flat and making fun of it. He can give it back, verbally (and sometimes physically) spar with Robert, because he has a reason to. But now, when Robert is barely even aware of anyone's presence when he's locked away in a cage of his own making, it gets under John's skin.
Without even trying, Robert has captured Aaron's attention, his worry, his concern, and there's nothing John can do about it, because, technically, Robert hasn't done anything wrong besides exist.
No, there's nothing he can do, nothing except brush his foot against Charity's leg as she brings their drinks over, startling her. When she fumbles their drinks, he makes quick work of trying to “help” her, but instead, tips the tray over, sending it and their glasses on the floor with a loud, devastating crash.
It happens all at once.
Everybody clamors at the same time, trying to clean the mess, warning the others to stay back, trying to help as best as they can. And as Charity is waving people off and John is absently apologizing (he's barely aware of what he's saying) and Aaron is cleaning shards of glass off the floor, he's got an ear out for what he knows is coming.
“Rob! Robert, you're alright!”
Ah, there it is.
John and Aaron straighten up at almost the same time, whipping their heads to the end of the bar where Robert and Vic are, Robert's chair tipped over, and Victoria in front of him, but giving him a wide berth. There, but not crowding him, not while he's wearing that wild, cagey look in his eyes. Not when his hands are shaking violently by his sides, his breathing loud and choppy, eyes searching rapidly – looking, but not seeing.
If Robert were any other man, anyone else in the world, John would actually feel bad for him right now. He would sympathize with the panic Robert is feeling and the tension that's pouring off of him. But, as it is, John only feels a sick sense of glee at watching his brother fall apart, watching as he jerks away from Victoria when she reaches out again. He takes pride in the curious, worried, and slightly scared looks on the other patron's faces.
He doesn't dare look at Aaron, not yet. Not until what he needs to do is done.
John slips by Charity and the mess on the floor quickly, and ignores Aaron's whispered “John!” and makes his way toward his siblings. He feels himself morph his face into a look of concern, slopes his eyebrows down just enough, ratchets his breathing up before he puts a gentle hand on Victoria's shoulder.
Vic turns suddenly, but her face softens when she sees it's John. At least there's one person that's always looked up to John, for better or for worse. “John, I-I dunno what to do.” She says mournfully. “He's never been this bad!”
John nods along, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “He looked bad earlier, Aaron and I noticed. Did he have a nightmare last night?”
“Yeah, couple of them, I reckon. He was up early this morning and never seemed to settle.”
Robert doesn't seem to notice them, his eyes glossy and trained on the floor, looking far away. It's eerie to see a man like Robert, who's always moving, always having something smart to say, standing almost entirely still, deathly quiet.
“Alright, let me help him.” John says, gently pushing Vic behind him. He basks in the grateful look Vic shoots him, the admiration clear in her eyes, and then turns to face Robert head-on.
Come here, little mouse. I've got you. He thinks, entirely too amused given the situation.
He steps toward Robert slowly, each step measured and purposeful. Robert doesn't seem to even register that John is there, eyes still unfocused. John can hear how quiet the Woolpack is now – quiet enough for a pin to drop, yet he's only focused on his brother in front of him and the presence of his sister and his husband behind him.
“Robert,” John starts, dropping his voice into something soft and lulling (and feeling disgusted with directing that voice to his brother, no matter how traumatized he is), “do you know where you are?” Robert, as expected, doesn't answer him, and John doesn't dare try to touch him. As much as he would love to tackle his brother and lord his combat skills over him, it wouldn't win him any favors, so he tries again. “Robert?”
“No,” Robert says, voice reedy, weak. “No, leave me alone.”
Not for the first time, John finds himself more than a little curious of what exactly plagued his brother in prison, but as quickly as the curiosity comes, it dies out just as fast. “Hey, it's me, it's John.” A pause. “It's me, your brother.”
That statement, as ludicrous as it is, is enough to have Robert's eyes snap up to John's, looking bewildered, but a little more focused. He's still much too tense, hands clenched at his sides, nostrils flaring, breathing hard.
“There ya are,” John says kindly. There ya are, right where I want you. “Do you know where you are?” A jerky nod. “That's good. Can you tell me?”
Robert lets out a breath, then two, three. “Woolpack.” He mumbles.
John nods, encouraging. “Good. Can you name three things you can see?”
John's sure if Robert was in a better mindset, the annoyance at John's soft (patronizing) tone would be showing, but Robert answers him slowly. “You. Vic.” There's a beat, and for a moment, Robert's eyes slide away from his, they go far away, and John thinks he's lost him, until: “Aaron.”
He clenches his jaw against the sharp inhale of breath he knows what taken by Aaron, but keeps going. “Can you tell me two things you can hear?”
Robert's gaze returns to him, and John can see he looks much more focused, more aware than he had been. He has sweat beaded on his forehead, his cheeks were flushed, but his hands weren't shaking nearly as much, his breathing starting to slow.
“Music, your voice.” Robert's voice is stronger now, steadier, and John hates the sound of it. He much prefers the weak, shaky quality it had earlier.
“Can you name me one thing you feel?”
Robert swallows. “Embarrassed. And knackered.”
Vic lets out a breathy, relieved laugh at that behind John, and he nods, forcing a smile on his face. He hears a loud, shuddering breath be released and he knows, down to his bones, that it's Aaron. He refuses to turn around, refuses to see whatever may lay on his husband's face – worry, relief, maybe even tears – and instead keeps his focus on Robert.
“That's not what I meant, but I'm glad you're back,” John says with a smile.
And Robert's eyes, which he's sure were locked with Aaron's, slide back to John's, and ah. He's back. He can see that shrewd look in Robert's gaze, the one that won't let John pull the wool over his eyes. His brother is far too clever and bitter to see in John what the others see and John is equally impressed and annoyed by it.
He can see the war Robert's fighting in himself, the way his lips flatten, his jaw clenches, as he looks at John. “Yeah, thanks mate, for that.” Robert finally settles on, not sounding the least bit grateful, but John doesn't mind.
He doesn't need Robert's praise or worship, not like how he does from the others. No, the resigned tone in Robert's voice and the annoyance on his face, the humiliation...that's more than enough for him.
To drive the knife in further, John starts forward, and pulls Robert in for a quick hug, reveling in the way his brother's body stiffens, his heart still beating fast. They stand there in a loose embrace for a moment or two, before John hides his smirk in Robert's ear as he whispers: “Ya might want to be a bit more thankful, brother.” He advises.
He feels Robert snake his arms around his shoulders and hugs John back, squeezing a little too tight to be friendly or brotherly, it only makes John more delighted, knowing how angry Robert must be feeling. He feels Robert tuck his head toward his ear, hissing: “I dunno how, but I know you caused this.”
John gives Robert's back a hard pat, one that knocks the air out of Robert. “I'd love to see how you plan to prove it.” He gloats, then pulls away, giving Robert another smile (self-satisfied as it might be) and a clap on the shoulder. “I'm just glad I could help you since I've dealt with PTSD myself,” John says to Robert, but loudly enough for the rest of the crowd that cropped up to watch them.
Vic sniffles behind them, and John turns, keeping his gaze firmly on her. Her eyes, swimming with tears, red around the edges, lip quivering, but looking at John like he saved them all from a terrible fate. “John, thank you,” She gasps, reaching forward to squeeze his hands. “I'm so glad he had you.”
John swallows against the sudden rush the words give him, feeling his heartbeat pick up and his blood pulsing. “Of course,” He says gently. “You should take him home, make sure he gets some rest.” She nods gratefully at the advice and goes to Robert, murmuring softly to him.
It's then that John dares to glance at Aaron, afraid to see the look on his husband's face. Afraid to see if his blue eyes are still trained on Robert – only on Robert, always on Robert – and afraid to see if that little display was all for naught. He can still feel the adrenaline from Vic's praise coursing through him, and that will be enough for tonight, but Aaron's would be enough for days, maybe even weeks to come.
“John,” Aaron breathes, and John's eyes snap to Aaron, at his tone, and that high floods him. Aaron, with watery eyes, cheeks flushed, breathing fast, looking only at John. Looking at John like he hung the moon and the stars. “John, you're amazing.”
There's a hitch in someone's breathing behind him, Robert, no doubt, but John can't find it within himself to gloat about it, not when Aaron only has eyes for him. Not when there's so much admiration in Aaron's eyes, John can feel himself start to drown in it. Aaron hasn't looked at him like this in so long, and John's nearly forgotten how good it feels. How he can get drunk on this look of Aaron's far faster than he could from any amount of beer.
Nothing else matters right now. Not Robert or Victoria or his victory. Nothing but Aaron and John, and Aaron looking at John – only John – needing John.
“It was nothing.” John deflects, taking a small step toward Aaron. He hopes his tone is bashful because all he wants to do is bask in this feeling forever.
“That wasn't nothing,” Aaron says with a shake of his head, eyes still blown wide. “Ya hate 'im, but ya still went out of your way to help 'im.”
John shrugs one shoulder with a small smile. “He's my brother, no matter how I feel about him.”
I will be blessed with what remains. Indeed, Robbie.
John can't help but feel nothing but blessed with what he has and what Robert lost. He left behind Aaron and came back with nightmares and PTSD, and what Robert has lost, John is left to gain. And here he is, with the fruits of his labor: a pub full of witnesses to John's olive branch to his brother, his sister's gratitude, and his husband's admiration and unwavering attention.
Even as Victoria ushers Robert to go, even as he can feel his brother's eyes on him, feels his brother looking at Aaron, Aaron is only looking at him, overcome with so much emotion, John feels positively drunk off of it.
John wraps Aaron in a hug, squeezing his husband possessively to his chest, resting his cheek against the crown of his head. He turns them, so John is facing the door, watching as Robert turns back to look at John one last time. He still looks off-kilter, so tired, but no longer lost or passive in his own body.
No, there's a dangerous fire in Robert's eyes, a knowing glint, an anger that excites John just as much as having Aaron's arms around him. John lifts his chin, a small smirk tugging on his lips that only grows bigger when Robert averts his glare, shoving his hands in his pockets and following after their sister into the night.
Checkmate, little mouse.