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She could feel him before her eyes even laid upon him. There was a faint pulsing that she could feel behind the eyes; soft and weak- not painful (it was never painful). But it was most certainly present. She follows Colombina’s gaze and… there he is. Wiry, gaunt, and looking more like a ghost of himself than he already was. With how he loomed at the doorway, he certainly behaved like one. Not letting himself go further past the threshold until he got Italia’s silent approval. She of course welcomes him, not exactly with open arms but more so out of grace and sympathy. Italia feels the way the house seems to chill when he’s inside it, and if she had half a mind she’d oust him from this place. She’d curse and hiss at him for ever thinking that he could possibly beg for her forgiveness. To force himself into this haven she worked so hard for.
But as she steps closer, she sees something within Arthur’s eyes. There was always something so distant about them, how they would always search for the things not meant for human eyes. But as she sees him now, there’s something grounded to his gaze. He looks away not because he’s searching for something, but because he’s all too present. Like he’s truly seeing the world around him for the first time and it’s almost painful for him. And Italia realizes what Arthur was holding in that gaze, he was humbled. His eyes used to hold such defiance. Not curious, but hungry for answers. Eyes that blazed with a fervent audacity that only the living can display. His eyes… had finally seen enough. For they asked a question to the spirits within those tombs and they gave him the most honest of answers.
Italia eases at the sight, and if she were more cruel she’d tease Arthur endlessly (she was right after all). But she squashed that cruel part of her for the moment, for it wasn’t the time. Instead- she speaks. Hoping that the words that come out convey all the anger, frustration, and understanding that she held towards the foolish Englishman.
“You found us.”
She has to force her mouth closed from letting the next words spill out.
Of course you did.
-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-
For the first time in a long time, Arthur was well and truly lost. Even when his life was turned upside down after being sent to prison (and then getting subsequently bailed), he still felt guided even then. Following the call of the land, looking for treasures in hopes of finding the other half of his heart. Naively thinking that the Etruscans would take pity on his mortal soul and pave a path to the world that his hollow heart so dearly pined for.
As he sat upon that cobblestone road, he felt so unmoored. At first he thought it was just lingering sorrow from losing the closest thing he had to a home- but as he closed his eyes to listen for the pulsing that sat between his eyes (a ritual of comfort that he adopted since he was a child) he realized why he felt so alone. Because he was alone. Completely. Arthur could no longer feel that pulsing rhythm of death that had defined him for so long. No… that was a tie he severed by throwing that head back into the darkness that it wished to reside in. He had to wonder- was this punishment or forgiveness from the Etruscans? Did they sever ties because he dug too far? Because Arthur and the others witnessed an ancient beauty that they perverted for their own desires?
Or did Arthur absolve himself by tossing away the penultimate memory of the spirits? Did their way of thanking him mean that his mind was no longer plagued with the clamor that was held deep within the soil? Did they wish to free him so that he could go out and fully be human again…? His eyes drift over to see his former “tombarolis.” All of them trying and failing to pretend that he wasn’t there. Their eyes held so much contempt and… maybe pity? A part of Arthur foolishly thought that maybe for a moment- they’d at least speak to him. But one of them mutters to the other and their backs all turn away from him.
Another snap. Another sever.
What was he now? What was he in the first place? If you’re someone who’s been a drifter their whole life, never quite in the present but also not caring enough to the past, what does that make you when neither wants you? Does death happen when our organs fail? Or does death happen when the world willfully rejects your very being?
Either way, Arthur swears he can feel his hollow heart weaken just that much more.
His body seems to move on its own, wanting to get away from the scrutinizing gaze of the living. He shambles down the street, nerves only vaguely sensing the cool wind that passed through his ribs. It was then that he heard someone shouting from a passing car. “Mister! Mister!” They said, and Arthur stops to listen. He vaguely remembers them- other grave robbers- rivals of his old family one could say, but that doesn’t particularly matter now. Either way, he’s barely paying attention to the conversation cause he knows what they want. They want The Dowser- the mythical man that’ll bring them riches beyond their comprehension. How could Arthur tell them that that man didn’t exist anymore? That he was no longer myth or mortal?
Hell- maybe he’d just take the job anyway if they paid well enough. Fake it ‘til you make it. Right?
But as he’s about to answer, he feels that familiar tug. It’s faint, but it’s there. That guiding pulse. His eyes dart around to find… well- not exactly who he was expecting. He couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, but he remembered those eyes. Wary, untrusting, but challenging all the same. So similar to those eyes that he’d seen a lifetime ago (or was it only a few months? Does it even matter anymore?).
He knew he should leave them be. He’d caused enough trouble, and they deserved to live a life without someone as frayed as he was. But as he watched her walk away, there was that divine force that just seemed to compel him. To reach once more for the treasures that he let slip through his fingers.
“Okay?” Arthur hears the man say, and the world comes back into focus as he glances down at them. They all look to him expectantly, but Arthur can’t help the way his eyes get drawn back to the direction of that guiding pulse.
God damn it.
-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-
Italia was waiting. Waiting for the inevitable. She knew what men were like. She knew what Arthur was like. This clarity of his would only last for so long; inevitably he'd go back to chasing those shadows that he fruitlessly clung to. Inevitably his pain would drag her down with him, because he’d refuse to truly change for anyone. It was a liability she couldn’t afford. She had a home, a family- a real family. And Arthur didn't belong in any of it. It didn’t matter that he seemed more at peace than Italia had ever seen him, it didn’t matter that her friends jokingly suggested for him to become a maid for them. Even if he made an earnest effort, Italia knew he’d grow tired of it and move on. She couldn’t bear to put her children through that again.
They simply observed each other those first few hours. Italia looked at him across from the dinner table with a gaze that hid none of the distaste that she held for the man. As Arthur made polite conversation he’d occasionally catch her gaze, and he’d open his mouth as if to say something but ultimately he'd decide against the action. Opting instead to speak with someone else, or- shyly avert his eyes as he squirmed in his seat. This dance continued throughout the rest of the meal. Arthur hiding his true intentions behind polite smiles and small talk, and Italia practically trying to will the man out of the house with her fierce glare.
But no matter how much she made Arthur squirm, he stayed. Like a fucking barnacle on a boat, he stayed. Even when dinner finished, instead of leaving, he helped with the dishes. And as they both stood in that kitchen; Arthur’s gaze fixed on the sink- Italia’s fixed on him- she found herself strangely uncertain. She felt like a volcano. Her throat was tight with all of the anger and sorrow that was still left over from that night on the beach.
She lightly clinks a glass to get his attention, worried that somehow words would ruin the fragility of whatever this moment was. And as Arthur turns to look at her with that unfairly soft look in his eyes, there’s another surge of emotion that she feels in her chest. A tenderness that terrifies her and tangles in her throat. So instead, she lets her hands speak for her.
“What do you want?”
Arthur sighs, a sad smile playing on his lips as he signs back, “Nothing.” And oh- she so badly wants to call him a liar, but there is nothing in his expression that betrays any sort of insincerity and god damn it she can’t help the smile that plays on her lips. God damn this man. Italia’s jaw tightens as her lips press together, trying her best to school her expression as she replies, “I don’t care. Go away.” He lets out a small sigh from his nose, seemingly not surprised by her response. And yet that smile of his remains as he replies with, “What a bore…” As he turns back to finish up the dishes.
Italia debates with herself for a moment, standing dumbly behind him before finally picking up some dishes from the table and going over to the sink with them. Arthur tries to shoo her off and insist he do them, but she shoots him a glare and suddenly Arthur grows very quiet as he ducks his head back down towards the sink. The silence they find themselves in is a little less awkward than it was before. Still tense, but not as fragile as it started. There’s still so much they both want to say, but it’s like time has slowed for them in this small domestic moment. Time that allows them to appreciate the presence that the other gives them. Time to find the right words.
Italia’s brown eyes meet with Arthur’s blue eyes for the briefest of moments as she passes another clean dish for Arthur to dry.
Time to say the right words.
As Arthur puts away the last dish, Italia playfully bumps her shoulder against his to get his attention. She signs, “What do you want?”
Arthur looks so scared- fearful of the question, the answer, and whatever could come after it. But despite himself, his hand traces over the edge of the sink and never once does his gaze leave Italia’s. Wanting to make sure that he wasn’t yet again making the wrong decision. But she doesn’t move, she instead waits with curious eyes as his hand inches closer. Arthur’s hand finally stops just shy of hers, and he reaches out his pinky to gently stroke her hand with it. It’s simple, it’s tender, and it holds no other intention than to just… be.
Italia feels her heart flutter a little and she ends up giggling from the absurdity of such a fact. Arthur laughs with her and the last vestiges of that tension melt away with it. As their laughter dies down, their eyes catch once again. And Italia once again feels that pulsing behind her eyes, the pull that naturally guided her to the Englishman. Presumably- the same pull that guided him to her. She tilts her chin up a little, silently challenging the man. Arthur steps a little closer and Italia swears she can hear the racing of his heart. His hands move to say, “You… me…” he pauses slightly. Perhaps a little nervous as he smiles coyly before finally signing, “Secret liaison.”
She lets out an amused scoff before looking up at him and nodding.
She’s the one who initiates it. Chaste and soft at first. But suddenly his arms hold her waist and her hands go to gently hold the back of his neck. Fingers brushing up against the curls that have grown just a little too long. His lips are a little chapped due to the cold, but Italia can’t find it in herself to care. One of her hands cups his cheek to feel the stubble on his cheek. Then… they pull away. Not fully though. They pull away only to lean into one another. The bridges of their noses connect with one another as they breathe in the other’s air. Italia finds that she can’t feel that pulsing behind her eyes. Instead, her body seems to tingle. Like she was enveloped by this bubble that was Arthur’s presence. Her other hand goes to touch his chest, and she feels Arthur’s breath stutter a little as his heart pounds under her touch.
Yet again, they are pulled to one another.
The next morning Arthur lays next to Italia. Watching as the blue light of the morning graces over her features and makes her look like a fae creature that he distantly remembers being told stories of as a child. He can still feel that itching in his skin. The inherent wrongness that he felt being here. He wasn’t someone that really had a home. His body and mind desired movement at all times. Movement was survival, movement was necessary. But as he hears the quiet birdsong of the morning, and Italia’s eyes open- surprised to find him still there… he can’t find it in him to move even an inch.
They both stare at one another- like they were both surprised that last night wasn’t some shared dream.
Italia’s hand reaches out to Arthur’s chest and his breath stutters as yet again- his heart comes to life under her touch.
Italia smiles, and Arthur can’t help the tears that well up a little in his eyes.
And they stay there. Because they have the time to do so.
-ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ-
Things still aren’t perfect. The kids are still a handful, their home still needs plenty of work, and sometimes it’s hard to come by enough money to cover for food for everyone, but they make it work. Some days Italia heads out to get repair supplies for the house, or food depending on the day of the week. Arthur stays with the other women to help fix up the house and take care of the kids, which is a role he takes to surprisingly well. His accent makes the kids giggle and they always beg to be carried on his shoulders. Despite being able to just barely hold them up, he obliges them every time. Sometimes Italia comes home to Arthur fixing up another part of the house. Or- being distracted by whatever current task he was on because the kids decided to torment him that day.
They’d have dinner, and Italia and Arthur would bicker about something stupid while the other women would tease him endlessly. He’d laugh and Italia would always be struck with how alive he was. No longer looming and shy, but beaming and absolutely reveling in the love and joy that their paradise held.
And some days would start like this.
Arthur jolts awake with a gasp. Body in a cold sweat as the memories of his nightmare slowly fade away. He doesn’t need to remember it to know who it was about though. Arthur can feel Italia’s bleary eyes on him and he mumbles something along the lines of ‘I’ll be back’ before practically rushing out of the house.
Once Arthur is outside, he lets out a long sigh as he sinks against the wall of the house. Closing his eyes as he tries to focus on anything else other than the aching of his heart. He takes a deep breath as he curls in on himself, trying to tether himself back to the world around him. A part of him wants to try and look- but he knows how fruitless that would be. How betrayed Italia would feel if he ever tried to do something like that again. But despite it all, something still feels like it’s missing and everything inside of Arthur is screaming at him to look, to try and look. She’s still out there and waiting for him he just needs to find her-
A presence settles beside him. Arthur for a moment is worried as to what it is. But he slowly realizes that the chill isn’t from the presence, but from the morning air. Hesitantly he lifts his head to find Italia sitting beside him. Looking towards the horizon, Arthur can’t help but think that maybe his initial instincts were right. They all had enough to worry about. Italia didn’t need any of this- didn’t need him-
“What’s it like?”
Her words pierce through his thoughts like a pin. Sticking to his mind as his brows furrow a little in confusion. Italia doesn’t even need to look at him to know she needs to elaborate. “That night on the beach… when I first saw it. You looked so overwhelmed. Like… the weight of the world pressed in on you so much that you physically couldn’t take it anymore. Does it still feel like that?”
Arthur shakes his head. He breathes deeply to try and collect himself before replying, “No- and even then it didn’t always feel like that. I don’t really feel much now… but sometimes it feels like something’s missing. Like there’s a part of myself out there that I need to find.”
She nods. Some birds flit above them high in the sky as she speaks. “I used to feel like that. Still do sometimes. It’s cruel isn’t it? We’re given something so… perfect without asking. And then the world, or- people- decide to take that away from us, and then call us selfish for wanting it back.”
Arthur doesn’t know what to say as she looks at him. A sorrowful smile on her face as she scoots closer so that her shoulder leans against his. Her fingertips go to gently caress his knee, and he appreciates the contact. He doesn’t know why he asks, especially since he knew she hated talking about it. But something about the moment just felt right for him to ask, “What was he like?”
She’s quiet for a while. Her face is deceptively blank but Arthur knows that there is a storm of things happening inside her. Sometimes he wished that she let herself feel it all more (though he would be called a hypocrite for thinking so).
“Perfect… for a while.” Her voice is quiet as it carries out onto the wind, but somehow it still is able to convey all of the weight that those words hold. “What was she like?” Arthur’s head leans against her shoulder as he replies, “Perfect. For a while…” Italia hums and she doesn’t dare to ask any more on the subject.
Arthur lets himself unfurl a little, wrapping an arm around Italia’s waist as she now leans against his shoulder. They watch as the sun slowly crawls over the horizon. As the golden light hits them Arthur sees how Italia’s warm brown eyes gain that gorgeous honey color to them and he finds himself so scared. Because this here is perfect and… and Italia looks up at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking, because she’s just as scared as he is. Which brings him more comfort than he can even convey.
He wants to say the words. But the words he wants to say would make this all too real and he wants to keep living in this paradise for a little longer. So instead he says, “I’m glad I found you.” And he knows she knows what he means. Cause she replies with,
“I always knew you would.”