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It takes a solid ten minutes of walking for him to realize it, but a thought occurs to Arlo nonetheless: John is flirting with him.
Well. Calling it flirting is generous—if anything, he’s pulling on Arlo’s pigtails. From teasing him over the blood on his face to refusing to let go of him for no reason; they were swatting at each other for minutes before the Chief woke up because of that. It was a relief that Kass and the others were more focused on the matter at hand than Arlo dealing with this oversized child. John hasn’t failed to make himself a nuisance to Arlo specifically at every turn.
As soon as the idea takes shape—no, sooner, before it can become anything more than an amorphous whisper, he crushes it into subconscious noise. There’s no way that a criminal like one of the Wellston escapees would be flirting with him. Even considering it is absurd.
Except that John’s been… well, nice. Comparatively so, anyway. He snaps like a feral dog when any of the other agents even look at him too long. Seraphina appears to be the one holding his leash, and with an almost comical ease to boot, but the fact remains that the vitriol he holds towards every other government agent present is nowhere to be found when his attention is on Arlo alone. And he swears that while they were bickering, he heard Seraphina say something about John ‘missing him’.
…He’s thinking about it again. Why is he thinking about it again? Whether a damn criminal is flirting with him isn’t of any concern right now. Especially not when it’s no stretch so say that his future hangs in the balance of this mission.
(“Listen, Arlo. This is your chance to prove you belong.”)
He can’t afford any more mistakes. Not at all, but especially not now. All he needs to worry about right now is capturing Orrin.
And not getting tripped by a wanted felon, apparently, because for the second time in as many minutes, John’s managed to step on the heel of his shoe.
The glare on Arlo’s face when he turns around does nothing whatsoever to deter the smirk on John’s. He really doesn’t have the patience for a third iteration of this right now, so, with a quick glance ahead to watch the others’ pace, he stops walking and puts his attention on John, who seems to have no qualms with that development at all.
“What are you doing?” Arlo hisses, keeping his voice low enough that the other agents won’t hear. An outburst would be a bad look, however annoying the cause of it is. “You can’t possibly think this is a good time for childish pranks, can you?”
“We’ve been wondering what the hell happened to you since the raid, and you’ve been sitting pretty with your Bureau job this whole time. A little payback is due in my book,” John says simply, shrugging like he's been caught sneaking food off of someone else's plate. “You even got new earrings, huh?”
‘Sitting pretty’ is not how Arlo would put it. Much closer to sitting in the trenches and trying not to hit a landmine, actually, but that’s something he’s not telling anyone. Let alone John Doe.
“How exactly would I have contacted literal fugitives?” Arlo asks, dutifully ignoring the comment about his earrings (which are new). It’s loose enough to not warrant suspicion, he thinks.
“I’m sure you could’ve found a way.”
“Believe me when I say I absolutely couldn’t,” Arlo says matter-of-factly, hoping this will be the end of the conversation.
John’s brow furrows, but ultimately he simply sighs. “Still don’t buy that, but either way, you’re putting up with me ‘til we have to split.”
“No need to remind me.”
“You seemed more gung-ho about Sera and me working with you before. Something something ‘the best allies’?” Arlo groans through John’s preening. “I mean, we know it’s true, but I never thought you’d actually say it.”
“I said strongest allies, not best. And I wouldn’t have said that either if I knew you were going to be like this.”
John rolls his eyes, but the expression is fond. “Whatever. You love me anyway.”
Arlo pauses. The tension goes blessedly unnoticed as John glances past him, further up the hill. “Shit, we’re falling behind. C’mon.”
Suddenly, the casual hand John places on his arm as they walk ahead feels very, very different. And it shouldn't, because that's just something people say, and it doesn't really mean all that much, but... Arlo has never been close enough with anyone for something like that. Not even casually. When he pulls his arm back quickly and John laughs without looking back, he can’t decide if that’s for the best or not.
“You know none of them are looking, right?” John says.
“And that means?” It comes out steadier than Arlo feels.
"Ugh, fine. Hands to myself," John sulks. Something about the response is... uncanny, almost. Like witnessing an isolated scene of a long running show and not understanding the joke that's been used every episode since it first aired.
With all the precise clarity of a nail being driven into a coffin, Arlo becomes certain that they really did know each other. A thought struck him earlier, but it comes again now, leagues more urgent—what was my relationship with them?
What was my relationship with—
No. No, no, no, he absolutely doesn’t have the time for this. His priorities have to be Orrin and the mission, not—not whatever this was. Was, because whatever John knew of Arlo before is no longer true. He isn’t going to be swayed by criminals again.
Don’t overthink—
A finger bumps against his knuckle. Arlo startles slightly, surprise quickly settling into a wonderfully easy-to-understand frustration as he meets John’s eyes again.
“Yeah, yeah, I know what I said.” Despite the casual words, his demeanor has changed. He seems oddly… sheepish isn’t the word, but Arlo thinks it's close as John hooks their index fingers together. “But… for luck?”
Arlo doesn’t know what he’s talking about, although he has a feeling that as far as John knows, he’s supposed to.
(And maybe he has an inkling, knows a silly practice people like to indulge in ‘for luck’, mostly in the movies, and that would be the real killer for him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt what they must have been—)
He should say no. He should say no, but something terribly warm curls in his stomach at the sight of the way John’s face has softened. Was that the word he was looking for? Yes, he thinks it is. John is looking at him softly.
John is looking at him softly, and Arlo knows he should say no, but for some unfathomable reason, he doesn't.
He nods. Once, wordlessly.
John casts a quick look ahead to see if anyone is looking, and then he's looking only at Arlo as he draws his hand closer. There's a gentleness to him now that Arlo wouldn’t believe a violent fugitive could possess if he weren’t on the receiving end of it, that he finds himself struggling to come to grips with even as calloused hands are treating him like something precious.
Chapped lips brush softly against Arlo’s skin, rough and irrefutable. It feels equal parts condemnation and an act of care. "I'm glad you're okay," John murmurs, still cradling Arlo’s hand. His breath is still warm over Arlo’s fingers. “But try to let me know that sooner next time, Asslo."
Arlo can’t keep it together no matter how hard he tries after that, so he’s glad that John simply shoots him a content smile before resuming the trek uphill as normal. The past few moments stick in Arlo's mind like frames on a roll of film, painstakingly captured into something as close to perfect as it can get. He doubts anyone would believe him if he said one of the Bureau's most wanted could just be an angry boy with a pretty smile, able to hold someone's hand so tenderly.
Moments later, when it occurs to Arlo that these thoughts are poison, he tries to purge them as such. This doesn't mean anything, I don't care. He’s just a criminal and whatever past we had was a mistake. He repeats it like a mantra. And above all else, he remembers his goal. The reason why he's doing this at all.
We have to capture Orrin as soon as possible, Arlo thinks, cupping his chin with his newly released hand. It does little to hide the still-rising flush in his cheeks.