Chapter Text
"Do you remember how you got here?"
"Yes. I was at work.... I called my husband and asked him to take me to the hospital. I was admitted… and from there, they sent me here."
"Why did you call your husband? Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember. It was because," Arthur's speech faltered, as he recalled what he had seen, "well- uhm- I was covered blood."
"Whose blood?"
"I don't know."
"Are you still covered in blood?"
Arthur glanced down at his hands. The sight, smell, and feel of the blood was gone, only his memory of it remained.
"No."
I have to do this right or they won't let me out of here.
"Do you normally see blood that isn't there?"
"No... That was the first time."
"Was that your first time seeing things that are not really there?"
"No, but-"
Why did I just say that? What is wrong with me.
The psychiatrist waited for Arthur to continue, and when he did not, instead asked, "What do you normally see?"
"What do I normally see?" Arthur tugged on his collar. "Well, they're harmless..." he met the psychiatrist's eyes with his own before quickly adding, "and I know they're not real."
I am so tired.
"What are?"
"Right," Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. It was feeling increasingly difficult for him to think, to recall, let alone come up with a clever enough lie to get him out of this mess. Or maybe, enough was enough. Maybe this was the wake-up call that he needed, that he could not do this alone after all. "I see a variety of mythical creatures. Fairies and gnomes and…" Arthur could feel the psychiatrist looking at him, analyzing him, and it made him feel ill. "Probably because I grew up reading all sorts of fantasy books." For a brief moment, he wondered if any of his brothers were experiencing the same issues that he was. He had not spoken to them for almost the same amount of time he had been having his visions. Time…
How long have I been here?
"And are your hallucinations typically malicious?"
"Malicious? No. They've always been rather kind, and even helpful, sometimes."
Where are my kids?
The psychiatrist scribbled away into his notebook again. "How so?"
Did Francis leave to pick them up from daycare?
"Pardon?"
FOCUS!
"How are they helpful?"
"Ah, well, sometimes they remind me of things that I forget about. Or they motivate me by saying kind things." It occurred to Arthur that the room was noticeably absent of his usual entourage. "Today was the first time I have ever seen anything disturbing."
It's so quiet now.
"How long have you been experiencing these hallucinations?"
What am I supposed to tell my kids?
"Since I was a teen." What am I supposed to tell my husband? "They started slowly at first." I was supposed to be stronger than this. "They would be around once or twice a month. But, recently they were around all the time."
"Have there been any new stressors? A change in employment, big changes at home?"
Better than this.
"No," Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think, but it proved too much of a struggle. "I can't think of anything."
"Maybe not brand new, but even within the last few months or years."
My job. I am going to lose my job.
"We adopted twin boys a few years ago... but no… I don't know…"
Francis doesn't make enough money to afford to take care of the kids and me. I told him I would take care of them. I failed my family. At least... at least the boys don't share my genetics. I have to do this right. I have to go home. For them.
"Mister Kirkland?"
"Hm?" Spacing out was not helping his case. "My apologies. Could you repeat your question?"
"What were you thinking about just now?"
Keep it together, Kirkland!
"I was thinking about my family is all."
The psychiatrist wrote something down in his notepad.
Not good.
"Can you tell me your age?"
Arthur adjusted his collar again, "Twenty-seven, sir."
The psychiatrist wrote a few more things down in his notebook, and closed it before standing from his chair.
"If you could please hang tight, I'll be back in just a few minutes."
"Take your time." With that, the psychiatrist left, and Arthur was alone with his thoughts.
This is probably some sort of test. He is probably observing me through a camera in a different room. If I can just act normal until he gets back... then maybe I can go home. All things considered, I've kept a fairly level head. That should count for something. Arthur dusted off his trousers. What if you're saying all of this out loud and don't realize it? He touched a hand to his lips, they were not moving. Okay, probably not saying any of this out loud. I hope the boys are alright. I hope Francis is okay... I hope I didn't scare him. Where is he? There was nothing Arthur wanted more in that moment than to be with his husband. Francis had this way about him that made it feel like everything would be okay. Arthur truly believed everything would be okay when he was with Francis. He turned to peer at the door, though the unusual heaviness of his limbs made it difficult. The nurses had given him something when they got to the hospital, not quite a sedative, more likely an antipsychotic, but it did make his body feel heavy and slow, and his mind foggy.
"Where are you?" He muttered. He almost regretted asking Francis to take him here. If it was not for how scared Francis looked when he realized that everything, was in fact, not okay, Arthur would have fought against going altogether.
Arthur had been sitting at his computer, when his hands suddenly felt warm and wet. They were covered in blood. There was blood on his keyboard and desk. It was all he could do not to scream. Arthur had no idea where the blood had come from. He was not in any pain. Arthur was paralyzed in his chair with fear. The room spun around him, amplifying the queasy feeling in his stomach. Had he blacked out? Whose blood was this? The only person he could think to ask for help was his husband. His hands still did as they were told, despite their horrid condition, and Arthur was able to call Francis. With the phone pressed to his cheek, Arthur could smell the metallic scent of the blood and had to fight the urge to gag.
The phone rang once, then twice, then, "Bonjour~"
"Where are the boys?" Arthur had asked into the phone, skipping the greeting and diving directly into business, doing his best to keep his voice steady.
"They are at daycare. What's going on? Are you okay?"
"I-" Arthur was not sure what to say, "I need you to come get me."
"Where are you? Are you hurt?"
"I'm at my office. Francis," Arthur pleaded into the phone, "Please."
"I'll be right there. I love you."
Arthur felt a knot twist in his throat, just barely managing to make out an, "I love you too."
So he waited at his desk, eyes locked on the smears of blood on his phone screen, praying that no coworker would pass by and take notice of the mess he was in. Arthur was not sure how long he had sat there, waiting for Francis to rescue him, all he knew was that Francis did come to his rescue. He rushed into Arthur's office like a bat out of hell, completely unfazed by the gory scene before him. It was not until Francis tried to gently take hold of Arthur's hands, that Arthur realized he was shaking.
"What is wrong, mon amour?" Francis asked as Arthur pulled his hands off the desk and into his lap. Blood soaked into his clothes. Why was there so much of it?
Arthur tried to hold his shaky voice steady as he replied, "I don't want you to get blood on your clothes."
"Blood?" Francis kneeled beside his husband, gently taking Arthur's blood covered hands into his own and examining them. "What blood? Are you hurt?"
"You... you don't see it?"
"See what? Mon amour, you are worrying me." Francis pressed a comforting kiss onto the back of Arthur's hand, and when he pulled away a smear of thick red liquid remained on his lips, and dripped from Arthur's hands into his own. The sight made Arthur feel faint. He pulled away again, shaking worse than before.
"D-don't. You'll stain your shirt."
"Arthur, you're not making any sense."
"H-h-how do y-you not see it?" His hands, the desk, his keyboard and phone were all covered in blood. His eyes flickered from each item until his gaze returned to his husband's bloody and concerned face. "T-T-The b-blood..." he stuttered.
"I do not see any blood," Francis tried once again to hold his husband's hand, only for Arthur to pull back further, as if trying to hide in his chair.
"I-I think I need you t-to t-take me to the em-emergency room."
"Mon amour," Francis started to say, before trailing off. Anything he wanted to say was extinguished by the sight of his usually confident and independent husband cowering in fear of, as far as Francis could tell, nothing. "Do you need me to grab anything for you?" Arthur shook his head. "D'accord, allons-y," Francis stood from his spot on the floor and held an unsure hand out to Arthur, who did not take it.
"My hands..." Arthur hung his head in shame. It felt pointless trying to explain himself. Francis could not see what he saw, could not feel the blood on his own hands, could not taste it on his lips.
"Would locking elbows be okay? I'm worried you'll fall over if I let you walk on your own."
Arthur nodded, still avoiding eye contact, still staring at his own bloodied hands. Where did it come from? If Francis could not see it, did that mean it was all in his head? It was all too real to just be in his head, though. He could smell it, he could feel the wetness, and it spread to whatever he touched. "Mon amour?"
"Huh?"
"I asked if you were ready."
"Oh- yes." Arthur cautiously lifted his arm and placed it in Francis' waiting hand. He rose to a stand and the world around him swirled and pulsed. Arthur was grateful for the stability Francis provided, as he swayed on his feet. "I'm sorry," he managed to say, "I don't know what's wrong with me."
Francis tutted, "do not worry, it will be okay." Though his voice was confident, worry seeped into his expression. "Who do we need to inform that you're leaving for the day?" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to recall the name of the secretary, a woman he had been greeting five days a week for several years. He knew her name, but for some reason he could not find it in his mind.
"Uhm... fuck," Arthur hissed, "She sits at the front desk."
"Elizabeta?" Arthur nodded. "Just Elizabeta?"
"Yes, just, t-tell her you're taking me home. T-that I'm not f-feeling well."
"Oui, mon amour," Francis tried to place a kiss on Arthur's cheek, only to have his husband flinch away from him. "Arthur?"
"I'm sorry... there's... b-blood on your m-mouth... from k-kissing my hand..."
"Oh," Francis thought for a moment. "I must look pretty scary," he chuckled to himself, before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is that better?" Arthur shook his head. "Ah..."
"It's not- it's stained. It's not behaving properly." Arthur stared down where Francis was holding onto his arm, watching the blood stain spread into his sleeve, climbing slowly upwards. "It's not wiping off." Even though he was looking away, Arthur could still feel the worry radiating off of Francis. He must think I am crazy. Arthur thought, and he could not blame him. The pair made their way to the front of the building, stopping by the desk where Elizabeta was stationed.
"Bonjour," Francis sung, his false bravado was capable carrying him through any situation.
Elizabeta looked up from her monitor, "you found him! I figured he was still in his office."
"Oui, but he is feeling a little under the weather." Elizabeta eyed Arthur, who was leaning heavily onto Francis and tightly gripping his arm.
"He does look... worse for wear." She tacked on a warm smile to the end of her sentence, adding, "take good care of him."
"I will," Francis gave a nonchalant wave before guiding Arthur to their car.
The drive was miserable, Arthur kept his his eyes squeezed shut, holding onto himself tightly, attempting to avoid touching anything, though the natural bumps and turns made that nigh impossible. By the time they got to the hospital he was visibly panicked. Even with his eyes held shut and hands clasped tight, he could still feel the gore spreading, the blood spreading up his body, heading towards his mouth and nose. Even with Francis' reassuring words that it was not real, panic was winning over logic. Arthur was going to drown in blood in the waiting room.
"Mister Kirkland?" Arthur's eyes snapped open. He had been so lost in thought that he had not noticed the psychiatrist return to the room. "I've just spoken to your husband. He's going to take you home. The medication you were given upon admittance will likely make you feel drowsy, but this should go away in a day or two. I've scheduled a follow-up appointment in two days. It is likely that you will be formally diagnosed at that appointment."
"Diagnosed?"
"Yes."
"With what?"
"Based off your answers to my questions, I suspect you are schizophrenic. Your psychiatrist will be the one to discern if that is accurate or not. In the meantime, go home and get some rest. And of course, come back if you experience more hallucinations."
"I get to go home?"
I get to go home!
"Yes. You responded positively to the medication, and you're not a threat to yourself or others. You can wait with your husband while I prepare the discharge paperwork." Arthur looked at the door, then stood slowly, with uncertainty. "Have a good night," the psychiatrist said without looking up from his desk.
Arthur navigated the somewhat familiar corridors, following blue arrows on taped up printer paper that pointed him towards the waiting room. He had hardly made it several steps into the room before he was met with a familiar embrace.
"Tu es revenu vers moi, mon petit lapin," Francis said, holding tight onto his husband. Arthur looked past him, past the windows, where it was dark outside. It was late.
"Where are Matt and Al?"
"You are a concerned dad as always. They are spending the night at Antonio's." Francis pulled back from their hug, and guided his husband to where he had been sitting. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," Arthur said, taking hold of Francis's hand and resting his head on Francis's shoulder. "Antonio is going to feed them a bunch of sugar."
"That'll be the daycare's problem, not ours. And maybe they deserve some extra sugar today."
"Still… why didn't you ask Gilbert?"
"He was busy. And anyway, Antonio is great with kids!"
"I am sure he is, the kids go cr-crazy for him." Arthur smirked taking a jab at Antonio's significantly younger Italian boyfriend, " I can- I can think of one kid in particular."
"You are such a gossip!" Francis chided his husband playfully, happy he was behaving somewhat like his usual self. "Anyway, Lorenzo is not that young."
"Isn't he still in school?"
"University!"
"For how… for how long?" Francis looked closely at Arthur, and decided to abandon this topic, noticing that his quick witted husband was struggling to stay awake and hold a conversation with him. That and, Francis did not feel like fighting a losing battle over his friend's sex life.
"It doesn't matter," Francis began rubbing circles into Arthur's hand with his thumb. "All that matters right now is getting you home."
The two men sat together, waiting for the discharge papers to be ready, accompanied by the ambient sounds of the television and pagers. When the nurse called Arthur's name, it was Francis, who went to fill out the paperwork, insisting his husband stay put, perhaps a bit too forcefully. Even through the brain fog and the exhaustion, Arthur felt that something about Francis was not quite right. But, he chalked it up to the stress of the day, and tucked the worry into the back of his mind.
Francis returned, extending a hand to his husband. "Ready to go?" He asked for the second time that day.
"I am," Arthur said, gladly taking hold of Francis's hand. They reached their car, and Arthur was surprised to find the hybrid not covered in blood as he last remembered it. He hesitated, before opening the door and getting into the passenger seat. He was confident Francis had noticed his hesitation, but had chosen not to say anything, as he started driving them home. They rode in silence for a few minutes, before Francis suddenly spoke up.
"There is one thing that the doctor told me that I just can't quite shake." Arthur raised his head from where he had been resting it against the window to look at Francis.
"What is that?"
"He told me that you said that this has been going on since you were a teenager." Arthur felt his stomach drop. "But," Francis wagged a finger in the air, "I told him that there was no way that you would have lied to me about something this important for so long." Francis adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "But then I thought about it more. I thought about all the times that I would catch you talking to yourself. I figured that you were just quirky. You're a writer, writers are weird like that, but now," Francis snuck a glance at Arthur, who had curled in on himself, "now I'm not so sure. I've known you since we were kids. Why wouldn't you tell me?" Arthur stared out the window, his eyes tracking each passing street light. "Arthur?"
"Hm?"
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because…" why hadn't Arthur told him sooner? "I don't know. It never came up. And it happened so infrequently at first…" Arthur thought back, trying to recall his reasoning for why he never told Francis, but in light of him now knowing, the reasons for hiding it had all but vanished. "It got worse after we adopted the boys… but I figured that was because of sleep deprivation. Once they got older… Once they got older I assumed it would get better." Arthur tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. "I didn't need you worrying about me on top of everything else."
"I am your husband, it is my job to worry about you," Francis's voice wavered slightly as he spoke. "I thought I lost you today. I was so scared… I had no idea what was happening, or if you were going to be okay!" Francis realized he was yelling, and paused to take a deep breath. Arthur said nothing. "You have to be honest with me," all of the harshness in his voice had morphed into softness. "Please, you have to talk to me about it. I can't lose you. I can't do this on my own."
"I know… I'm sorry."
"I love you," Francis said, holding his hand out towards his husband, which was gratefully accepted.
"I love you too."
The car pulled the driveway and Francis turned off the engine. They sat in the dark, embracing the stillness and the silence, hands entwined. It was the first time since Arthur had called Francis that they both felt normal.
"It's been a long day," Francis said after a few minutes, "let's head inside." Arthur nodded, and the two men parted ways as they exited the car, rejoining by the hood, to enter their home together.
Arthur had never been more grateful to step into their toy filled living room than he was that night. Without Matt and Al the house was eerily quiet, and without needing to take care of the twins, Arthur found himself at a loss of what to do next. Francis had made his way into the kitchen, looking for leftovers in the fridge. Despite being just in the other room, he sounded miles away, and Arthur could not focus on his words. Instead he sat on the floor, picking through the various toys. A monster truck for Alfred, a teddy bear for Matthew. Crayons stacked next to an abandoned drawing. This was the mess that had made during the brief free time that morning, but the hours between then and now felt like an eternity. In that moment, the mess of toys was all that Arthur had of his sons. He turned the plush bear over in his hands, examining the stitches. Whatever medication they had given him was still working in force, because in the quiet moments like this, he would have taken note of the all too familiar creatures around him. Instead, there was no one.
Just Arthur and the bear.
A voice spoke from the darkness, "They will be back tomorrow." Arthur flinched, Francis had made his way into the living room and sat down beside him without Arthur noticing.
"It's so quiet without them," Arthur stroked the plush hair on the bear's head.
"Antonio texted me," Francis held up his phone, showing off a photo of the twins peacefully asleep, encompassed by blankets and pillows. "Look at our little monsters." The screen shone brightly, and Arthur had to squint to see the photo.
"Did… do you think they missed us?"
"Maybe," Francis drummed his fingers on the wood floor, "or maybe they had too much fun and forgot all about us." He waited for a clever retort, for any sign of the bickering they engaged in daily, but was greeted with nothing. "You should eat, my love. Eat and shower and rest." Arthur placed the bear delicately where he had found it.
"You're right."
"I always am~"
Arthur rose precariously to his feet. "No… not always."
"Oh?" Francis got up quickly, worried he would have to keep his husband from toppling over, but that worry was dimmed by his delight that Arthur took the bait. "I have no idea what you could possibly mean~" The kitchen lights shone like a beacon in the dark house, guiding Arthur unsteadily towards them.
"The kids being full of sugar is our problem," he said matter of factly, sitting at their just-big-enough kitchen table. "It will make them cranky tomorrow."
"Not if they wear themselves out at daycare. Then they will come home missing us, ready to cuddle and watch movies." Francis placed an already warmed plate of food in front of Arthur.
"When did you…" Concern flashed across Francis' expression, though he tried to bury it.
"I got that ready while you were sitting alone in the dark…" Francis placed his hand over Arthur's, "We have been home for a while now." Francis waited for a response, but was met with silence, again. "That medicine did a number on you," he muttered, kissing his husband's forehead, "but at least you're not scared anymore." See, that's where you're wrong. Francis sat down next to Arthur, and as if having read Arthur's mind said, "Or perhaps, a different kind of scared." Arthur picked at the plate of food with his fork. Though he had not eaten since before lunch, he found he had no appetite. He could not stop worrying about Alfred and Matthew.
"Do you think…" Francis perked up, "are you worried about… me… with the boys?"
"Non. Not at all." Francis' answer caught Arthur by surprise. "When you called me, you asked about them before anything else. In fact, every time I have seen you, you have asked about them. Even at your worst, you were putting them first."
"Maybe that wasn't the worst it will get."
"If that is the case, we will handle together. For now, eat, please." Arthur forced down a few bites to ease Francis' mind. After a while he could feel himself starting to doze off at the table. Heavy eyelids were accompanied by the sensation of the world slipping away around him. Arthur shook his head, trying to ward off sleep.
"Je pense qu'il est temps de dormir, petit lapin." Francis helped Arthur up, guiding him to their bedroom. "Showering can wait," Francis said, ushering Arthur into their bed.
"Don't go," Arthur mumbled into the pillow.
"I am right here," Francis said, before sitting on the edge and rubbing Arthur's back. He stayed until his husband started snoring. Francis carefully snuck out of the room, taking the opportunity to tidy and to think. When he woke up that morning he had planned to make eggplant parmesan, and now the ingredients sat untouched in the fridge. However grateful he was to Antonio for taking the twins for the night, Francis was upset they were not home. He knew it was the right thing to do, that it was better they did not see their dad like this, but the empty space where they normally were was haunting. With the toys put away, Francis made his way to clean the kitchen, putting the smaller than usual number of dishes in the sink. He poured himself a glass of wine and sat down at the table.
"What are we going to do?" He wondered aloud. If Arthur had been more open with him, would they have been able to prevent this? Was there anyone to blame? His husband was still in there, underneath the medication. "It'll wear off… we will go to his appointment and they'll try something new, not as strong…" Francis said, trying to soothe his own nerves. "He has to be okay…" Francis dropped his head into his hands, "I can't do this on my own." The weight of the day came pushing down onto him. Ignored messages asking for updates remained unanswered, as Francis tried to fend off their permanence.
"Schizophrenia," the word hung in the air. Francis' first impulse was to think the worst, but the doctor had warned him against that. He had said that with treatment and support Arthur would be just fine. "He's already been experiencing symptoms for a decade, and in that time he's held a job, gotten married, been a parent. He's the same person that he's always been, it's just now there's a name for what he's been struggling with. And with that, come support, and tools." That had made Francis feel better. Today had just been a bad day. Everybody gets a bad day sometimes. Francis looked at the clock on his phone, and then to the empty wine glass. It was pretty late. And he missed his husband. Francis traversed the halls to their room, painfully aware of how devoid they were of their usual life. Even with the kids asleep, Francis almost always went to bed before Arthur, as he was often up late writing and editing. "Could that be related?" He wondered. Carefully, he opened the door to their room, and upon seeing Arthur still asleep in their bed, let out of breath that he did not know he had been holding. A quick shower was all he could handle, as Francis's own exhaustion begin to sink in. He crawled into bed beside his husband, taking the opportunity to study Arthur's face once more, as he had done so many times in their lives together.
"You must have been so scared," Francis whispered, reaching a hand up to brush a few stray hairs off Arthur's face. "We will figure this out." Francis wrapped a protective arm around his sleeping husband. "I love you."