He tries to go without telling her for as long as he can. It's easy to begin with, because she doesn't let him back into the bedroom for the first two weeks, and he sleeps in the spare room on the third floor at the end of the hallway so that he's out of earshot. He gets up at the crack of dawn, and has breakfast and coffee ready for her every morning before she even wakes up. Every morning, she leaves it there and lets it go cold, leaving for work. He's lost count of how many plates of bacon he's thrown away, how many mugs of caffeine he's chucked down the sink; but he still makes it anyway, in the hope that one morning, she'll sit and consume it.
Then he takes his phone calls, makes a few of them as well, goes to the village and yells at a few executives whilst he drinks his Americano and watches the café door, waiting to get even the smallest glances of Aaron, to see that he's okay, that he's doing alright. Then he downs another three shots of expresso, and tries to ignore why he's finding it so difficult to stay awake behind the wheel as he drives into Leeds ready to make the business rounds.
He packs his day full of work and errands, trying to knacker himself out with the hope that tonight he'll be able to sleep for more than a few hours without waking up in a pool of sweat, screaming, the licks of hot flames still burning at the corners of his consciousness, the image of his mother's charred corpse staring at him barely fading from his mind's eye. He tries to stay out of Chrissie's way. Mostly because she's still furious with him and reluctant to forgive, but also because every time he looks at her he feels the flames closing in on him again, and hears the empty echo of her bitter laugh.
He loves her. He truly, honestly, deeply loves her. But… there's just something about her steely silences and hard glare that makes him want to eject the contents of his stomach. Something about her heels clicking on the tiles that makes him feel as though he's coming apart at the seams.
But then one night, she leaves her bedroom door open, and calls his name as he moves along the hallway. He feels her back pressed against his, and listens for the sounds of her breathing steadying, her soft body relaxing, the luxury of peaceful sleep washing over her. But he can't keep his eyes open for more than an hour after, and the next thing he registers is Chrissie's fingers on his arms shaking him awake, and the hot panic gripping at his limps, dragging them out of bed as he scrambles desperately to get away from her.
"Robert," she breathes as she gently edges off of the bed and gets down on the floor in front of him, the eyes he used to love so much wide and filled with unshed tears. She reaches her slender hand out to touch his sweaty forearm and he flinches away "Robert, it's me," she says softly, her mouth opening and closing as she swallows heavily and blinks, the tears spilling over and rolling down her cheeks "it's Chrissie. Its okay, you're at home. It was just a nightmare"
He's still shaking and whimpering against the corner that he's curled himself into, and her other hand rests gently on his knee this time, her silk nightgown shining in the moonlight streaming through the window.
And he knows that he deserves it. He knows that he deserves every second of this burning, one for each of the seconds that he's put the people he loves through hell; but it hurts so much, and it's so terrifying. And if he'd been afraid of being alone, his fears have been realised, because he's never felt so frightened and lonely in his life.
"What were you dreaming about?" she asks quietly, and he's still shivering, his nails digging into his own skin, parts of his mind still trying to find their way out of the dream.
"The barn," he manages "my mother," he adds, his teeth chattering so hard that he almost bites his tongue in half "Chrissie, it – it doesn't matter-"
"I think it really sort of does," she says brokenly, a terribly sad frown creasing her shaped brow "what else?" she demands, squeezing his knee to encourage him.
"You," he eventually sighs "I dream about you. Setting me on fire. My mother is there, how – how she was when they found her; after they put the fire out"
"You – you dream about me?" she asks, the beginnings of sobs growing in her voice as she sits back on her knees numbly.
"I can't help it," he says "I can't make it stop. The fire… it's just so – fuck, it just burns"
"R-Robert, I can't feel sorry for you, I'm still angry-"
"I know," he interrupts her, still quivering, hot tears still running down his cheekbones "I know. I deserve whatever's coming to me. You shouldn't have let me back in here," he tells her "I'll – I'll go and sleep on the sofa"
"Don't be silly," she says, still crying "you can barely move"
"I'll just-"
"Rob," she cuts across him, taking her hand away, placing it over her mouth as her body begins to shudder with sobs "did I really scare you that much?"
"Chrissie, you don't have to feel guilty-"
"I shouldn't – I should never have done this to you. You're a mess"
"So are you," he points out, his limbs starting to still slightly, his breath coming back to him "our family is a mess"
"Maybe – maybe we're making a mistake here," she says, pursing her lips together and wiping her face with the back of her hand, only for more tears to spill out "maybe we're just too far gone. Do – do you even still love me?"
"Yes," he says simply, his voice more solid this time, but croaky and tired, his body slumping now, taking on a defeated demeanour "but I don't think that's the question you should be asking"
"What, then?" she whimpers, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue and sniffing.
"Do you still love me?" he asks, pursing his lips together now, the emotion gathering in his throat again, tears stinging his tear ducts once more "are you still in love with me, Chrissie?" he repeats, petrified and heartbroken by what he thinks the answer might be "can you ever forgive me?"
"I – I want to love you," she insists as his larger hand slides into her's again, more secure this time "I want to make this work. I just – I just want things to be like they were. I want this to never have happened"
"But," he says, blinking fresh tears.
"B-but I don't – they never will be," she admits finally "you – you've ruined everything, and I – I traumatised you, Robert," she tells him, gasping slightly "I gave you nightmares and made you scared of me"
"I did the same thing to you-"
"Exactly!" she exclaims, pulling her hand back "I stooped to your level, and I made myself just as awful as you. That hasn't achieved anything. I still feel like my world is falling apart, and I'm still so furious with you. It didn't change anything, and it made my son suicidal and my husband afraid to touch me"
"Chrissie-"
"No, Robert," she says, her voice cracking "I – I think we're done here. I'll get you some water and some sleeping pills. When I wake up in the morning, I don't think you should still be here"
Robert feels the last remnants of his marriage slipping away from him, and feels his heart contracting and throbbing painfully in his chest. His body is drained from the nightmare and as much as it hurts, he just can't find the fight left in him to try and change her mind. There's nothing left, and it makes him want to scream.
Instead, Chrissie helps him to his feet, and guides him shakily to the bed. She comes back a moment later, hands him the water and the pills, and curls up tightly on her side of the mattress. He lays on his back and stares at the ceiling, and when sleep finally fucking comes, it offers him absolutely no relief. And the worst part, is that he knows it's nobody's fault but his own.
"Thirty quid a night bed and breaky," Val tells him around seven the following morning. He rubs the tenseness out of his scratchy forehead and blinks a few times, feeling himself swaying slightly on the spot "you alright, pet? I can call Diane-"
"No," he says immediately, smiling that famous Robert smile, and taking his aunt's hand "no, I don't want to go back there; it – it puts too much pressure on her. Chas doesn't like me, and I don't want to cause any trouble. Just book me in for every night this week, and if I need longer I'll let you know"
"Alright, lad, if you're sure you're okay. I'll get you booked in as fast as possible, y'look as if ya could do with a nice long kip"
"Chrissie told me I had to be gone before she woke up," he sighs, signing where she pointed to and handing her "I'm not good with the early mornings"
"Okay, pet," she says, clearly not buying it, but not pressing it further anyways "room number 14, second floor. Its en-suit, and breakfast is served at eight"
"I won't be down for breakfast," he tells her "I'm going to sleep for a few hours. If I'm not awake my lunchtime-"
"I'll get Tracy to blast her Katy Perry album, that'll get you going"
"Thanks, Val," he says, smiling again and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She pets the side of his face affectionately and hands him the key. He nods at Eric on his way up the stairs, and doesn't waste any time kicking his shoes off, dropping his suitcase near the chest of drawers, collapsing on the bed and curling in on himself under the covers, too exhausted, finally, to dream.
Aaron feels his chest jolt when Robert approaches, resisting the urge to wince at how awful he looks. He's walking slightly sluggishly, and is dressed in a grey hoodie that he's pretty sure – actually, yes, the bastard has actually knicked it out of Aaron's wardrobe, probably before he left a couple of weeks ago to move back in with his wife.
"Well you look like shit," Aaron comments with raised eyebrows, sucking on his cigarette and leaning back against the wall of the woolpack garden further. Robert slumps against it beside him, their arms pressed together slightly, his hands in his pockets, dark lines under his blue eyes, two days stubble on his cut jawline, red rims around his eyelids where – yes, the dickbag has been crying as well.
"Charming, as ever," Robert sighs, tipping his head back against the granite and closing his eyes, breathing out deeply as if trying to push off a panic attack, neck exposed to the spray of misty rain around them.
"You smell like you're sleeping rough, have you even showered?"
"I'm living in the B&B for the moment," he says dully "so you don't need to worry about me invading the pub again. And I haven't had the chance to shower properly," he replies "Chrissie chucked me out again last night, I had to be out before she got up, so I just smell of sweat"
"How did I ever resist you?" Aaron snorts, curling his tongue and blowing out smoke rings in the dank air.
"Uh, you didn't," Rob points out "that's why we're in this mess"
"Takes two to tango, mate. You tell her about us?"
"Nah," Robert huffs tiredly "I'll tell her later though, when I go up to get the rest of my things. She deserves to know, especially now we're officially over"
"That's it then?" Aaron frowns "you're giving up? No manipulating or trying to get her to take you back?"
"Nope," Robert pops out the last syllable with his lips "I think I'm done with her as well"
"How come?" Aaron asks, confused "you were desperate to sort it out a fortnight ago. What's changed?"
"I think I might have post-traumatic stress disorder," Robert remarked, his brow furrowing as though they were simply discussing the weather "I keep having these catatonic nightmares about her setting me on fire"
"Shit, Rob," Aaron says, eyes widening, turning to him properly, pushing off the wall "you should've said something, we could have got you some sort of help-"
"There's no point," he tells him, shrugging "it's over now anyway. I'm done with her, she's done with me. She doesn't love me anymore, and I don't think I have the strength to be around her every day when just looking at her makes me want to run in the opposite direction"
"Seriously?" Aaron asks, one hand reaching out to squeeze his arm "are you okay, mate?"
"No," Robert says, although he manages a small, exhausted smile as he covers Aaron's hand with his own "but – I think I might be, eventually. I just need to sort my head out"
"Well," Aaron says "I want to punch you in the fuckin face half the time, but you know I love you; so, anything you need," Robert smirks slightly and Aaron rolls his eyes "not that," he insists, nudging him playfully.
"I could use a mate?" Robert asks "if you want. I know I don't deserve anything from you, but I – fuck, I do miss you, Aaron"
"Wow, was that almost an apology?" Aaron says, feigning shock. Robert chuckles croakily and nudges him back.
"Shut up, asshole. I apologise all the time"
"Exactly," Aaron grins shaking his head in exasperation "that's the problem. Stop doing shit that you have to apologise for"
"So is that a yes then? We can be mates?"
"Sure," Aaron rolls his eyes again and stands in front of Robert, placing a warm hand on the side of his neck, winking at him affectionately "just don't make me regret it"
"I always do," Robert says, ducking his chin to his chest.
"Well then change," Aaron says, pressing a kiss between his eyebrows "cause I know it aint all rotten apples and evil scheming in there. You've just got to work at it"
And then he flicks his cigarette to the ground and steps away, going back inside to start changing the barrels for his mother. As he heaves the large wooden crate of alcohol, he thinks about how accepting Rob's friendship will either be the stupidest, or the best decision he's ever made. But then again, he curses as he almost drops the barrel on his foot and gets a slap up the back of the head from Diane for his bad language, he's never really been one for playing it safe.
"She's not gonna kick off, is she?"
"I don't know," Robert says truthfully as he sips at his lemonade on the benches outside the pub. Aaron is sitting opposite him, drinking his pint and smoking, listening to him talk "she was livid. I nearly freaked out – it was weird, I felt like I couldn't breathe. She threw a lot of things and shouted a lot"
"She's a scary bird when she's pissed off," Aaron remarks, swigging his beer "you sure she's not going to come after us?"
"She'll probably make a scene later, let the whole village know I'm queer as the fourth of July. I don't know whether we're actually in danger though. I'm pretty sure she's got a couple of mafia members on the far side of her mother's family; but," Rob says, his voice more solid as he draws in a deep breath "she won't touch you. I promise," he insists.
"How do you know she aint going to try and do me over?" Aaron frowns "you can't guarantee"
"Yes, I bloody well can," Rob scoffs "she lays a single perfectly manicured finger on you and I'll kill her, simple as that"
"Rob, be realistic," Aaron tells him, raising his eyebrows.
"I am being realistic. She can do whatever the fuck she wants to me, but if she goes for you, I ruin her"
"Look, I know you fancy yourself as the big scary businessman, and I know you think you're capable of shit like that," Aaron lowered his voice "but you didn't actually kill Katie, you just pushed her. You're not capable of murder. And it won't get that far anyway," Aaron says "I can look after myself. I just wanted a bit of a picture of what to expect"
"Expect her to lash out," Rob huffed and dropped his head on the table, the hood of his borrowed jumper dropping over his head, shielding it from view.
"Okay," Aaron nods "and if all else fails, I'll just set scrappy on her"
"Now who's not being realistic," Robert snorts, his voice muffled by the hoodie and the bench.
"Scrappy likes you," Aaron chuckles "he'll protect you"
"Fuckin dirty mutt," Robert grumbles, but Aaron just continues to laugh, smoking and dropping his free hand on Robert's covered head and nodding at Cain as he walked past.
It goes smoother than expected, and Robert doesn't really know how he feels when he drives up to Home Farm to check in on Lachlan, only to find builders up there already starting construction on the empty manor house. He doesn't cry, or shout, or ask any questions; he just stands on the gravel and stares up at his old home, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, rain wetting his face and hair, cheeks reddened by the cold.
He gets a call from Chrissie's solicitor a week later, filing for a divorce; a settlement of £1,000000 for him and a no-contact deal. It takes about three months, but he cries when he signs the decree absolute, half-tempted to rip it up and refuse to cooperate. But he knows that he's had the easy way out, and comes out of it with a lot more than he'd ever expected. He suspects the generous split is partially down to Chrissie feeling guilty about the whole ptsd thing, which he gets counselling for, and barely has nightmares at all once a whole year has passed.
"I suppose a cheer up blow job is out of the question?" Robert teases Aaron, who pours him a pint and leans against the bar as Rob sits down, a million pound richer and feeling tired and hollow.
"Nah mate, sorry," he says "that ship sailed. You could ask Finn though, I hear he's having a bit of a dry patch too"
"I'd have to get past his guard dog of a big brother first," Rob remarks, quirking one eyebrow and swigging his pint of Guinness "besides, he's not my type"
"Right, you like 'em more chavvy, don't you?" Aaron tuts, rolling his eyes. Robert laughs, shrugging.
"You said it, not me," Robert says "what about if I buy you a slap up take out first?"
"Ooh, you drive a tough deal there, mate," he says "throw in a million pounds and I'll think about it"
"Don't be difficult," Robert whines quietly, pouting and leaning in closer over the bar, batting his eyelids "c'mon, I miss my dirty little greasemonkey"
"Shame he don't miss you then, aint it, rich boy?"
"Stop flirting and chuck me a packet of walkers, greasemonkey," Ross drawls, and Aaron grins, tutting and flipping the bird to him, reaching for a packet of cheese and onion.
"You two back on then?" Ross asks casually, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he orders three more pints and a glass of wine for Emma.
"No chance," Aaron scoffs.
"Your blush says something different," he says gesturing to Aaron's neck. Aaron glares at him and demands the twenty quid he's owed "do us all a favour and stop skirting around each other already," he remarks as he gives him the money, along with a self-satisfied smirk and a wink.
"It's a shame that he's an asshole," Robert sighs as Aaron joins him around the corner of the bar again "he's so pretty"
"You can't say much," Aaron retorts, snorting again. Robert narrows his eyes at him and looks offended, but Aaron laughs and leans in close, deciding that he's really fucking fed up of keeping him at arm's length "but I will suck your dick later, if you behave; it would only be the bro thing to do"
"Platonic dick sucking," Robert says, suddenly slightly red faced himself, and shifting on his bar stool "I like it"
"You will," Aaron continues to grin, dropping their foreheads together, resisting the urge to laugh at how Rob's teeth were nibbling his bottom lip slightly.
"I hate you sometimes," he says breathily, and Aaron bumps their noses together.
"Mate, that's bullshit," he tells him in a quiet, self-assured voice "you've been head over heels in love with me since I broke my ankle last year"
"Touche," Robert grins, and Aaron presses a peck to the tip of Rob's nose, before going to serve someone gain. Robert relaxes against the wall to the left of him, and deflates slightly, watching his best friend pouring another five pints for a young woman with her friends waiting in a booth near the toilets. He still feels lost and guilty and broken, but he has Aaron, and for now, he thinks, plus the million pounds he has in his bank account, that's all he really needs.