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It’s an accident.
The lighter isn’t supposed to have any fluid in it, isn’t supposed to work. It’s supposed to be one of those fake ones from a party store, a dressing up accessory, overly large and showy to make a point. She uses petrol because it’s more realistic, because of the smell, but she doesn’t mean—
The police try to take Chrissie’s statement as the firemen douse the last of the flames, the ambulance already gone, Lachlan pale as a sheet as he grips his phone hard enough to crack the case.
It’s an accident.
The sirens finally stop.
It catches so fast, old wood and hay and decades of dust.
He knows he’s shouting, begging, pleading. Can hear Chrissie’s stuttering for only a few seconds before there’s nothing but the roar of fire cracking at the beams.
Robert knows fear intimately. He’s spent his entire life afraid — afraid to stop running, afraid of being alone, of never being enough, of people leaving, of being a disappointment, of being unwanted, of being himself — but at fourteen he learnt to be afraid of fire.
This isn’t fear. Fear he knows. He can feel the heat, smell the acrid smoke, but it’s somewhere far away. His heart’s drumming too fast, the staccato piercing his eardrums. He wonders if this is what his mum felt, locked inside a different barn, petrol poured out by someone who loved her. Robert remembers that night so clearly, and he hears it now, her screaming alongside him, like she’s right there. Two Sugdens burning at once.
He’s fourteen and terrified. He’s twenty-nine and burning.
He’s so far passed afraid he’s not sure he exists anymore.
When he was younger he’d briefly gone out with a girl who was part of some church. She had one of those old fashioned names like Gladys or Margot or something, and he’d gone to a couple of services with her before deliberately losing her number. The part that stuck with him was the preacher standing on stage, looking mostly normal in his jeans and t-shirt, talking about cleansing yourself in fire. He’d had a glint in his eye as he’d said it, religious fervour swallowing the room. Purify yourself, he’d cried, Cleanse yourself in the flame. Robert had gone cold, the hall feeling too close, the girl at his side a stranger, wondering what the hell these people knew about fire anyway.
The roof caves in somewhere above him.
Robert doesn’t feel cleansed. Doesn’t feel purified.
His mum screams and Robert screams with her.
Aaron’s been nursing the same pint for the last hour.
He knows his mum and Paddy are loitering, unsure themselves exactly what they’re worried about but fussing all the same. It’s not like they need to now that Chrissie’s taking Robert back, the two of ‘em probably recreating their joke of a marriage right now, Robert swilling all the same nonsense he’s said to Aaron at one time or another about messing up and love and doing better.
Well good riddance.
His pint’s gone warm but who cares. Everything in Aaron’s life is lukewarm right now except his anger anyway.
Or— his anger and his love, and that’s the worst part. That’s the fucking worst part because his mum and Paddy are right to be nervous, are right to hover, because Aaron wants to chuck his glass at the wall and chase after them, find Chrissie and Robert wherever they are and fall to his knees, plead Robert yet again to choose him, all shame chucked aside in favour of not letting go.
Aaron loves Robert despite everything, and yeah, he hates himself for it — hates Robert more — but it’s too late to start pretending otherwise now, not to himself, not when all he can think about is how grey life looks without him.
Loving Robert hurts, but it’s like a loose tooth or a bruise, sweet to press against. Addictive.
Aaron loves him and it’s awful and brilliant and the only thing that’s ever really made him feel alive, and he knows — he knows — that under all those layers of fear and control and denial, Robert loves him too. Actually loves him, not whatever nonsense he parrots at Chrissie.
Love and anger, hand in hand.
He downs the last of his lukewarm pint just as the sirens go by.
Vic’s been crying. Adam’d called him from the hospital, confusion and horror fighting for first place as he said sommat about Robert and a fire and surgery—
Aaron was out his seat in an instant, driving too fast and abandoning his car in the nearest space before he even thought about it. He thinks he hears his mum shouting after him, but it’s all white noise until he’s in the too-familiar waiting room and Adam’s looking at him in surprise and Aaron realises Vic’s been crying.
“Diane’s not even here yet,” Adam says, wrapping his arms around Aaron’s shoulders. Probably thinks he’s there to support him and Vic, and he should be, that’s exactly why he should be stood here shaking in Hotten General. Would be if he were a better person.
“What happened?” he asks eventually, when he’s sure his voice won’t betray him.
“We don’t know,” Vic wails, eyes wild with it. “No one can tell us. Just that there was a fire at Home Farm and Robert was caught in it. Oh my God—”
She’s thinking of her mum, Aaron realises. She’d have been too young to see it, but she knows the stories.
Robert saw it.
Robert watched his mum burn alive. He’d whispered the awful truth of it to Aaron one night in some anonymous hotel bed, the moon lighting strips across the crisp white bedding and Robert’s hands clenched in his pillow. Afterwards, Aaron had kissed his temple and held him close as Robert shook, no tears, just old, empty fear.
And now—
God.
He’s gonna be sick.
“Vic, love…” Diane calls, Doug on her trail, and Aaron steps back on shaking legs and tries to keep it together.
The Whites arrive en masse, Chrissie still smelling of smoke, her hair dishevelled and her eyes wild.
Aaron wants to feel bad for her, wants to feel that empathy that should be sitting at the front of his ribs, but mostly he just hates her the way he’s always hated her.
People come and go with no definitive answers, and Diane and Vic are begging Chrissie to tell them what happened, and Lachlan’s crossing and uncrossing his arms, looking like the kid he is for maybe the first time since he came to the village, and something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.
Lawrence holds Chrissie to his chest as someone finally appears, keeping her head turned away.
“Robert Sugden’s family?”
Aaron only hears some of it: smoke inhalation, severe burns across his right arm and hand that require surgery, possible nerve damage, dislocated shoulder, worryingly a chance his heart gave out — they’re not certain, but the tests are showing cardiac inconsistencies…
You could hear a pin drop as she leaves, promising further updates soon.
“I’m sorry,” Chrissie bursts out eventually as Lawrence shushes her and Lachlan looks pale as a sheet. She looks feral, Aaron realises. Completely gone. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean— It wasn’t suppose to— I was just so angry, and it all went wrong, it all went so wrong, I’m so sorry!”
Diane’s making soothing noises, asking in a soft tone what went wrong. Vic just looks confused.
Aaron gets it though.
“You started the fire,” he says, and doesn’t recognise his own voice. “You did this.”
Chrissie’s sobbing, a hand with perfectly painted nails pressed to her lips. Lawrence is darting looks around like he’s worried someone will overhear — like that’s what he should be scared of right now — and Lachlan’s looking at his mum like he doesn’t know her.
“The lighter wasn’t supposed to be real,” Chrissie chokes. Her shoes are sodden through from the hoses, hundreds of pounds worth of leather ruined. “I just wanted to scare him like he scared Dad. It wasn’t meant to be real.”
The others have caught up now and the shouting starts. Vic’s finger’s in Chrissie’s face, all her tears turned to spitting fury, and Doug’s holding Diane back to stop her slapping Chrissie like she so clearly wants to. Medical staff are starting to look uneasy, ready to call security and kick them all out until they behave, and Aaron knows the actual police will be here soon to see what the damage is, see if Robert can give a statement.
He wonders what Chrissie’s already told them. Not the truth if she’s here.
“Get out,” Aaron says. He’s not shouting, barely raises his voice, but the ice in it scares even him. Chrissie’s eyes fix on his and he thinks maybe the first real moment of truth passes between them.
“You—” she starts to say, breath huffing up, but he cuts her indignation off at the knees.
“Get out,” he says again, lets her see whatever she wants to in it. “Come back here again and I will make sure you really know what suffering feels like, d’you understand? You come near him, and I’ll tear your world apart with my bare hands.”
The Sugdens are staring at him like he’s crazy. Adam’s staring like he’s finally putting the pieces together.
Aaron doesn’t care.
“You can’t just…” Lawrence stutters, puffed up and red, looking every inch the old fool he is. No wonder Robert’s always been able to eat him for breakfast.
“Dad,” Chrissie whispers, and Aaron knows she understands, finally. Knows she believes him. Knows that the anger inside him isn’t for show.
If he sees her within a hundred feet of Robert right now he will leave her world a bloody wreck.
When they leave, Aaron prays for their own sake they stay gone.
Robert wakes up and all he smells is smoke. He knows there’s pain, too, but it’s buried, sweet and dull beneath whatever drip they’ve got him on.
He survived then.
(Unlike his mum, still screaming, still burning, still—)
There’s bandages on his arm, covering his shoulder to his fingers, and Robert doesn’t dare try to move them. The machine he’s hooked up to is beeping in a way that’ll get annoying as soon as he’s with it, and oh, there’s a mask on his face, that’s why breathing feels weird. Oxygen to combat the soot in his lungs.
The pain might be numbed but the fear’s still there, and it only takes a few moments before his heart rate rockets and he’s stuck again, he can’t move, he’s back there with the walls collapsing around him and the echo of screams and everything’s too much—
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, shhh, you’re okay, yeah? The doctor’s on her way. You’re okay.”
Robert knows that voice.
Aaron’s here, hushing him gently, the scrape of chair legs next to him and fingers wrapping around his unbandaged hand.
“You’re okay, Robert. No one’s gonna hurt you.”
He tries to catch his breath, squeezes Aaron’s fingers and stares at the fluorescent lights overhead until the beeping on the machine steadies out and he’s back in his body.
“No one’s gonna hurt you again,” Aaron’s saying, repeating it like a mantra.
It’s a nice thought.
Robert almost lets himself believe it as everything goes dark again.
The Doctor’s pleased with his progress for the most part. The burns will heal with time, though they may need a skin graft down the line. His lungs are holding up, though he’ll be sent home with oxygen just in case. It’s his heart they’re worried about.
Heart attack, she says, and isn’t that ironic.
Vic’s the one holding his hand when she says it and her nails cut half moons into his palm.
“You’re young,” the doctor says, trying to look encouraging, “we’re hoping you’ll bounce back, but there’s a chance the damage will cause some long lasting repercussions.”
Story of Robert’s life, really.
The police come by and take his statement. In another life Robert would lie, make up some story about an accident so that the Whites would owe him, loyalty repaid in kind. In this life all he feels is the heat of the flames and the fear killing him faster than the burns ever would.
(Hears his mum’s screams, sees his dad washing Andy down with a hose like the smell of her wasn’t still on the air—)
There’s always someone in the room with him. Diane and Vic, but mostly Aaron.
Robert should tell him to leave, ask what the hell he’s doing there in the first place, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to.
No one’s gonna hurt you again, Aaron’d said, and Robert clings to it as the fear threatens to pull him back into the fire.
It’s Aaron that’s there, half dozing on as he scrolls through his phone, when Chrissie shows her face, and they all freeze in surprise for a second before Aaron’s expression goes cold and Chrissie’s breath stutters.
Her eyes dart to Robert and he flinches before he can stop himself.
It doesn’t go unmissed by either of them.
“I told you—” Aaron says, and his voice is as sharp as ice. Robert’s never heard him sound like that before, not even at his angriest. It should scare him but instead it just makes him feel safe.
No one’s gonna hurt you.
Chrissie’s not gonna hurt him.
It’s a strange thought, to be scared of Chrissie of all people. Not that he’s ever thought of her as weak, but she has her soft spots like everyone else. He loves her, no matter what Aaron thinks, and yeah it’s complicated but it is love.
Or, it was.
Now the smoke’s back, suffocating him from the inside out, and all he can see is Chrissie’s sardonic smile as she’d flicked the lighter before dropping it in surprise.
“I know,” Chrissie says, hands raised in surrender. She doesn’t seem to find it odd that Aaron’s here keeping vigil at Robert’s bedside, and maybe Robert should be concerned about that. He can’t find the energy to care though, especially when Aaron stands to put himself between them. “I just came to— Robert, I’m so sorry. I had to tell you that. It doesn’t matter why I did it, you didn’t deserve…”
She runs a nervous hand through her hair, tucks her jacket closer around her.
Aarons stands his ground like she’s any kind of threat.
(Smoke filling Robert’s lungs, screaming pain as he tries to jam the door with his arm, reality sinking in that he’s going to die like his mum, a Sugden curse passed down through generations—)
“I told the police everything. I’m on my way to the station now to give a formal interview. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry. I— Robert, for all of it, I do love you, and I never meant…”
Aaron shifts slightly and her gaze flicks to him, uneasy.
“If you need anything,” she says, and she means money. She means private healthcare and work backpay and probably a massive settlement to keep him from making this any worse for her. She clearly feels guilty — guilty enough to turn herself in, anyway — but that doesn’t mean she won’t push the accident angle. Won’t drag Robert’s indiscretions out into the public eye if it means getting a lighter sentence. He knows her too well, the woman he married.
Or, he thought he did.
“He won’t,” Aaron growls, before Robert has to think of an answer, and Robert blinks at him even as Chrissie nods.
She leaves as quietly as she came, but Aaron doesn’t move for a good few minutes.
When he turns, he looks like himself again.
“Sorry,” he says. “You, uh. You should know they’ve all figured it out. You and me. I was so angry when she told us what she’d done, and then I wouldn’t leave ya, and I know I shouldn’t’ve, I know it’s not what you— God, and now I’ve outed ya and all. I swear, Robert, I didn’t mean to. But she hurt ya, she almost killed ya, and all I could think of was your mum and how scared you must’ve been, and how she almost took ya from me in the same way, and I couldn’t let her in here. I’d have ripped her apart before she got within five feet. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The monitor keeps beeping.
They all know.
Everyone knows.
Robert’s gonna have to figure out how to say the words himself before they can make up ones for him.
God.
He should be so angry.
“S’okay,” he says, because he thinks maybe it is. Or— it will be. Probably. Even if it’s not, Aaron had stood like a guard dog between him and the world and dared them to take a step closer. Aaron had remembered his mum. “S’okay.”
“Yeah?” Aaron asks, small and teary eyed and so beautiful it makes Robert’s heart ache.
Everything would’ve been so much easier if he never fell in love with him.
It’s easy for people to look at Robert and think that all he wants is money. They don’t understand that money means security. It means a roof over his head and food on the table and never being stranded and alone without anything to his name.
Robert’s never felt safe.
He feels safe now.
He thinks maybe that’s what love really is, for him.
“So, you and Aaron?” Vic whispers later. She’s brought home-cooked food and comfy clothes with their tags still on because Robert’s not worn anything like them in years, and she’s wearing a cautious smile, like she doesn’t want to upset him.
Aaron’s curled up in his usual seat, fingers still wrapped around Robert’s good hand even though it makes his arm stretch out at a weird angle.
“Yeah,” Robert whispers back, knows he sounds too gentle and cares less than he thought he would.
He’s still scared. Of fire, yeah, more than ever, but also of this. Of being vulnerable. Or everyone seeing the soft parts they can use against him. Of facing the world without a million masks on and knowing he’s exactly the disappointment his dad always knew he was.
He’s terrified.
But it could be worse. He’s come out the victim in this story; everyone’s surprised, yeah, but what Chrissie did trumps an affair by a country mile, and at the end of the day they all love Aaron.
Chas and Paddy are a different story, and Robert had watched mother and son fight from his side of the hospital window, reading their words through body language and loving Aaron all the more when he’d walked right back into the room and his usual chair, telling Robert not to worry about it.
They’re gonna get a place, the two of ‘em. The Whites shoved a ton of money in Robert’s account, guilt he shouldn’t want but is gonna take anyway, and Aaron had only scoffed and said it was the least they could do, so. They’re gonna get a place. It won’t be big or showy or anything, and they might just rent for a while, but Aaron had admitted quietly that he loved his mum but she wouldn’t make it easy for them, and Robert had known he couldn’t live in Vic’s box room.
It’d been Aaron’s idea, and he’d lit up when Robert agreed.
“Happy for ya,” Vic says, smile turning into a full-watt grin as she nudges him gently. He’s not sure she would’ve been a few weeks ago, and can’t believe he has the burns to thank for softening her and everyone else.
He’s doing better. They’re talking about releasing him soon, though he’ll have to come back for tests practically weekly. They’re still mostly worried about his heart, and Aaron’s been listening seriously to everything they say, making notes on his phone and scolding Robert when he tells him he’s overreacting.
The part Robert’s dreading is the therapy. His doctor had made it clear it wasn’t voluntary, not after such a traumatic event, and he knows she’s right. Knows the nightmares are getting worse, and that it’s dug up things he’d rather leave buried, but he’s not ready to lay his soul bare like that. Doesn’t get a choice either way.
“Vic?” Aaron murmurs, coming to with a squeeze of Robert’s hand. Robert squeezes back just because he can. “What time s’it?”
“Tea time,” Vic says, laughing when Aaron sits up quickly.
“Y’alright?” Aaron asks quietly as she starts digging around for the paper plates she’s tucked away, the smell of lasagne comforting on the air. It’s their mum’s recipe, Robert knows, dug out of the attic and kept in pride of place on her kitchen counter. It’s a nicer memory than the one Robert’s been living with.
“Yeah,” Robert says and thinks he means it.
Or— thinks he will mean it.
Maybe that’s enough.