Fear Makes you Numb

Francis moved into the home voluntarily three years ago, aged 86. Having no children and being an only child himself, he knew that he'd have little option in regards to his welfare should his health become worse. Although his neighbours he spoke to were friendly and willing to help him, and as much as he loved his house and town, the stairs were becoming difficult to manage and household jobs were starting to fall to the wayside. After his wife had died suddenly and peacefully ten years previous, when he was 76, the concept of his own mortality started to become more stark and important than ever. He wanted to remain independent for as long as possible, but he promised himself that, once the time came, he would make the planned decision to go into a nursing home; the decision being his and his alone of healthy mind. He hoped that because it would be his own decision he'd tolerate and accept the help as well as his increasing dependency on others. What scared him most was the thought of dying alone at home, where no one would find him. He consoled himself that at least he'd first walk away from independence and into a home, rather than be wheeled into a hospice.

He had a cleaner at first eight years ago, a little help around the house here and there who was also happy to help him with shopping, and then, three years after, a part time home carer three times a week who'd make sure his pills were topped up, that he was healthy and that he was eating okay. He was also fond of going to the local community centre which put on events and classes for older people, giving him a chance to paint sculpt and bake where at home it was either too messy, dangerous or both to do alone.

Although he knew what the most logical and safest thing to do would be, the first time that he failed to walk up the stairs in one go three years ago scared him more than anything else he could remember. His wife Marie didn't have time to really grow old and weak, or feel ill or tired more often than normal. She just said she'd take a small nap before dinner, kissed him on the cheek and fell into a wakeless, comfortable sleep. He didn't have time to fear for her, or worry about her. It was the slow decline he himself feared, the drip drop of vitality and mobility slipping away unnoticed, the suspense of waiting for the day to come.

After fifteen minutes and almost three quarters of the way up the stairs, his chest was so tight that he couldn't get enough air in his lungs to take another step. He slid down the step and, in the middle of the stairway, he cried.

It took ten more minutes and a vice-like grip on the banister before he got the top; heart beat fast out of combined effort and fear. After a week of thorough searching through books and the internet, and recommendations from his nurse, he paid a visit to his doctor who gave him the consent he'd been dreading. Although he was still healthy for now, his lungs were straining under the pressure of anything too strenuous and his heart was becoming weak. It was cheaper and better for Francis mentally to go into a home for older people willingly, rather than pay for a stair lift or buy a new house and extend the inevitable.

It took a while to settle and get used to things, but all in all he didn't mind the home. They allowed him to take more things from his house than he'd expected and seemed like a pleasant and relaxing place. Broken into four 'stages', ranging from the healthy and able to the terminal house that Francis refused to look at, it covered all types of aged caring. He'd chosen it specifically because of the location, but also because it would cover him fully as he aged into either a slow decline or a quick jump from stage one to four. Moving into to one home bad enough, Francis didn't know how he'd cope if someone deemed him too high a risk to care for and needed to be shuttled off to a hospice; him being too far gone to say anything against it. Here he knew he'd be until he died. As it was a place he'd chosen, it was easier to deal with. Even though he'd be dying, he'd made the decision where to die. The last independent choice he'd make.

The staff were, for the most part, friendly. And then there was Arthur.

Francis knew, from the moment he introduced himself to him, that Arthur already had an opinion about Francis and it probably wasn't a pleasant one. He had no idea how he came to have this or what he'd heard, but at first he seemed to avoid interacting with Francis at all costs or regarded him with a cool, yet polite, indifference, so he could suppose that it was nothing good. He had a nice face and was well built body wise and thus Francis assumed he would respond well to some charm and teasing. Although he didn't manage to butter Arthur up, he did manage to extract genuine reactions that Francis hadn't had the pleasure of seeing for a while. Arthur was fun. Far removed from his polite manners and charming smile which he showed his patients and colleagues, Arthur would eventually snap back or scowl at him, or insult him back. Arthur would look flustered when caught unawares or go red around the ears when trying to resist throttling Francis when others were about. He'd turn into a bad winner or a sore loser when challenged to games of chess because he was so competitive that he'd never manage to say no, especially when taunted. Arthur was a real person in this god forsaken happy home for the elderly and Francis didn't know what he would have done if Arthur hadn't started just over a year ago. Didn't mean that he actually liked him though.

As communicating with Arthur politely wasn't one of his preferred pastimes, he therefore didn't know why he, an Englishman, was working as a care home nurse near the middle of France. Or, why a man as young as he was, had decided to go into this profession in the first place. As a private home it wasn't cheap and Francis could only assume that the pay was reasonable for the higher than average care that they received; although there never seemed to be enough staff there were far more than for a state owned one. Francis didn't know whether Arthur had any family or whether he was close with them. He had no idea of his social life or where he lived when not working or even what his hobbies were. The other orderlies, especially a rather flamboyant man Jacques, seemed to love to talk about themselves and their lives; maybe to make them more relatable to patients and help them to fit in. Francis himself learnt more about random strangers in his first month than he ever knew about some of his neighbours after living next to them for decades. Arthur, however, never divulged anything, and if asked he'd try to find a way to worm his way out of the question or he'd offhandedly mention a vague fact about this family member there or that friend here. So, Francis had never asked about his reasons for being here and Arthur neither offered an explanation nor asked anything about him in return. He rather liked it that way.

A stocky middle aged nurse disturbed Francis in the morning. Known as Annette, she was a forty something year old divorcee who had been doing her job for far too long and was Arthur's partner orderly who, impossibly, was more than a grump than he was. They got on well.

'Good morning, Mr Bonnefoy, I trust you slept decently.' She marched in and flung open the curtains to reveal a grey and dreary day. 'I guess you won't be wandering about outside today, the report mentions rain and I'll not have you getting ill on my watch. Now,' she turned on her heel and fixed him with a hard stare, 'I heard we had a little nightmare last night. Anything more afterwards? Did you get back to sleep?'

Francis said nothing, but shook his head, effectively answering both. All of the orderlies knew about his issue with sleeping drugs, but they seemed to like trying him on new ones every once and a while. His sleeping had been getting worse as he aged.

'Well, I'll have to let Julia know; this isn't good, Mr Bonnefoy.' Part of his mind twisted with the urge to inform her that it was hardly his fault drugs induced hallucinatory nightmares, but his jaw felt stiff and he still didn't feel in control of his breathing enough to answer her without croaking or wheezing, which would ruin the intended effect entirely.

Arthur had left him with the slight incline in his bed, so his breathing was so far normal and easier, yet he hoped fervently that Annette would help him out of bed soon; he needed to get out of his room. The briefcase was still where it had been left; in the corner of the room and now jutting out slightly. His books were also left where they were dumped on the floor.

Francis hadn't managed to go back to sleep again last night. Fear and paranoia had drained any traces of the narcotic from his system and kept him alert and tense under his covers; eyes fixed on the door and window of the room. Since he'd been awoken he'd not heard anyone try and attempt to come into his bedroom, but he tensed every time soft footsteps fell outside his door, then relaxed again when they didn't stop. After the initial panic, his mind had raced trying to think up anything which could explain the situation and what on earth it could possibly mean. What reason would anyone have to try and break into or steal his old briefcase, which was probably empty or full of old tat? Though, he thought to himself drily, there must be something of value in there if it was worth someone trying to see inside.

After a while, he logically concluded that perhaps someone was curious and wanted to see for themselves what was in there, either doubting his word that he himself wasn't aware of the contents or simple curiosity on their part. However, if they were innocently curious, why not ask him if they could attempt to open it, rather than conduct their efforts suspiciously in the dead of night? Therefore it was either this, or someone mistook his case for their own which could have been lost or missing and wanted to check. Or, lastly and least probable, someone knew what was inside and wanted whatever was there; although, considering how long it had been in Francis' possession and how long it had been sat safe with him in the home, he doubted it. How many people could have been responsible? He had ruled out the possibility of it being the action of anyone not connected in some way to the home, but why would anyone have an interest in an old case, the contents of which were unknown even to him? Without the amount of staff available, each member was only required to do one night shift per week, further confusing Francis' option of people who could have possible tried to tamper with his case. There was no schedule for him to go by; staff could pick and choose any day they wished to. The only person he could think to be responsible in any way was Amélie who had only just been told about the case. Yet, as it was her first shift, she wouldn't have been left alone, especially if Arthur was lurking about with her.

It terrified him slightly to think, but someone physically close to him had broken in to his room, and walked past him sleeping. What comforted, however, him was that if they wanted to, they could have targeted him or hurt him that night but hadn't, meaning that he was probably safe for now and it was probably more of an act of suspicious curiosity. It was also possible that he imagined the whole thing; the suitcase was shrouded in a dark corner of the room and after his nightmare, it was easy to conclude that he'd jumped to the case and connected the fear from his dream and it hadn't moved at all. Yet, as the sun rose and Francis stayed awake, it became more apparent that it had indeed shifted forwards slightly and the books were shifted from the top of the case into a scattered pile besides it.

Despite the irrationality of the whole thing, what actually scared him was the why; why on earth would some try and open his case in the middle of the night if not for suspicious intentions?

Annette gave him a hard stare. 'Are you feeling alright, Mr Bonnefoy?'

Francs cleared his throat. 'Yes, I'm just still a little tired, that's all.'

She stood akimbo and raised an eyebrow. 'I'm sure, Mr Bonnefoy. Time to get you up and dressed then.' She checked his temperature and pulse, and once satisfied, helped him to get up, dressed and ready for breakfast.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The staff from last night seemed to have informed those in the morning which meant, of course, that now everyone knew. Mrs Dubois, upon meeting him in the living area in the morning huffed and haughtily informed him that he'd woken her last night. 'It's happening more often more these days Francis, you really ought to be used to all of this by now. I don't see why you have to keep fussing.'

Francis gave a cruel smile. 'Believe me Madame, it is hardly my intention to rouse you each and every time, yet whilst we're on the subject, I'd like to helpfully inform you that your snoring is also increasing in volume. For one who likes undisturbed sleep, you seem to be quite the master at disturbing others.'

After Mrs Dubois had turned an interesting shade of puce and stormed (or, Francis happily noted, waddled) off in indignation, Francis had been forcefully guided away by Annette and under her watchful eye, made to eat some breakfast which he didn't really want whilst she scolded him on expected resident behaviour. The rest of the day was spent wandering about inside either watching television or reading when not pondering about what happened last night. The other residents continued on with life as usual.

After a time it became apparent that was he was going to need to talk to someone. He needed to go over everything his mind had been buzzing over and he needed to have someone tell him harshly that he was being a stupid idiot and that there was an obvious explanation for everything. Unfortunately for him, the only person he knew of whom was still willing to provide him those services was Arthur, who, due to the nightshift last night, wouldn't be back in until tomorrow morning. Asides from him, there was always the possibility of confiding in the other residents.

Even though he was good friends with many he wouldn't call them ideal in matters of discussing a personal issue. Most of them were, like himself, sat in the clinically clean and comfortable chairs which were dotted around the room; either in clumps by tables of bookcases or congregated about the television. The chairs were movable, with wheels, which made them convenient for the carers to shuffle their charges about as needed. He knew that although a few would love a scandal they'd either try too hard to help, and risk exposing it to the whole building, or panic about it unduly and inform an orderly, who'd do exactly the same thing whilst also treating him like an infantile old man. Francis shook his head sadly; it was going to have to be that English speaking arsehole who was gone for at least another 24 hours. He'd have to suffer alone until then.

A slight distraction from his mental ramblings came in the form of Julia herself, who visited him after lunch. Like the rest of the staff, she'd been bustling about all day, looking slightly harried, trying to make everything run on time and smoothly.

Francis was still in his chair and thus was denied any quick means of escape.

'Francis, we need to have a talk.' She was a kindly, yet strict woman with an open face and deep olive skin who carried her responsibility as head nurse very well. She laid her hand gently on his arm, effectively trapping his attention. Francis interrupted before she'd even started talking.

'I don't want any more sleeping pills.'

'Now Francis-'

'No.' He cut her off quickly. 'I don't want any more. I've had this problem all of my life and as many different types I've tried, my reaction to sleeping medicine has not got any better.' He decided it was best to leave out that they'd started to become progressively worse.

She looked at him sympathetically, or something he defensively interpreted as pity before answering gently. 'Modern medicine gets better every day, the methods you tried in the past have been improved now; there's a high chance there's many new pills that you're not tried that could be prefect for you, we've just go to find the right mix or dose.'

Francis was surprised by the sudden tightness of his throat and the burn in his eyes. He would not be affected this much by something so trivial, he refused to break now.

'I don't-' he swallowed. 'I don't want any more. I'm happy to try anything else, even some hypnotherapy if I really can't sleep, but I don't want to use any more narcotics. At all.'

He stared straight at her and refused to look away. She had a sad look in her eyes and gave him a weak smile. 'I can't promise you anything, Francis. I can give you my word that I'll try, and I'll give you my word that I will only use them as a last resort, but this is a problem that's not going to go away. You need to sleep in order to remain healthy and that is my primary concern. And I'm afraid that's my decision to make.'

Francis turned away and stared pointedly at the television until she gave his arm one last pat and went away.

That night Francis lay there silently in bed, half of him alert and listening for footsteps stalling at his door or the creak of a handle being turned, and the other half willing himself to fall asleep naturally. It did happen sometimes, but lately it was becoming more and more difficult to drop off. Tonight, it seemed he was lucky; the events of the night previous, and the tension he'd been carrying all day had drained him, and he dropped off into an uneasy, fitful sleep.

He dreamt of apple orchards and the smell of rain, and looking for someone whom he could never find.

He was awoken by the sun shining onto his face from that stupid chink in the curtains. He had lain on his side, which explained the stiffness he was now feeling in his spine, so he carefully and slowly rolled over to lay flat on his back. It was early, the time read a quarter past six and he was content to lay there and doze until either Arthur came to get him out of bed or someone else did. A quick and hasty glance in the direct of the case relaxed him; it had neither been moved, nor touched during the night.

He lay undisturbed with his eyes shut and contentedly napping until twenty past seven. The door clicked and his eyes swiftly opened to see Arthur pulling open the curtains to let in more light. He stretched his arms above his head.

'Morning my dear, you're late this morning.'

'I saw to Mrs Dubois first, sorry for the delay.'

Arthur's accent was thicker than usual today. Francis opened his mouth to comment when he caught a glimpse of Arthur's face. He looked awful. In the time he'd known him, he'd never seen Arthur look so stressed; his face was pale and his eyes looked incredibly tired.

'What on earth happened to you?'

Arthur sighed. 'I missed you too Francis.'

He stared intently out of the window at something for a moment before coming across the room to tilt Francis up; then moved across to get him some clothes from the drawer and a glass of water.

Francis accepted the cup, took a sip and placed it on the bedside table. 'I thought your appearance was terrible before, but this is a grand new accomplishment.'

Arthur sighed but answered him. 'I haven't slept since the night before I last saw you.'

'That was three days ago.'

'That, I am well aware of, thank you for your oh so helpful observation.'

'I do aim to please.' Francis looked at the clothes. 'You're not going to really make me wear that, are you?'

Arthur growled at him and huffily threw the clothes back into the drawer before retrieving new ones. Francis wasn't too worried about him.

Arthur held up and shirt to Francis, who considered it before nodding. 'Better.'

'They're all your clothes, you know. If you don't like something it's your own fault.'

Francis gave him a disgusted look. 'It's not my clothes which are the problem, you foolish man, it's the combination you put them in.'

Either Arthur was too tired to care, or he found the argument too below him to rise to, because he remained silent and put the new clothes on the bed, shaking his head slightly.

As Francis unbuttoned his shirt and started to put in on, Arthur reached over back towards the counter and grabbed his clip board. 'How have you slept since I last saw you?'

'Better.' Francis was staring at the buttons of the shirt with deep concentration contorting his features. Arthur made no move to assist him. 'I manage to fall asleep naturally last night and slept the whole way through.'

Arthur nodded and made a note. 'Fits every other time, hopefully the sleep you managed to get from the medicine broke the pattern of insomnia; for a while at least.'

'I hope so.' Francis had finished with his shirt and stared at Arthur expectedly. Moving closer Arthur helped him put his legs in his trousers and then left him to it.

There was a brief, comfortable silence before Arthur rudely broke it.

'Julia spoke to me as I started this morning.' Francis winced as he finished buckling his belt and averted his eyes to look out of the window. 'Just so that you know, I don't agree with her.'

Francis felt a swell of relief that was dampened slightly by his companion's next words. 'But I'm afraid, as you know, there's nothing much I can do.' Noticing Francis' despondent look, he added, 'I've given my opinion, so that should count for something but she's got the final say in the matter. Perhaps she'll consider non-medicinal means before trying another narcotic, but I can't promise you that you'll never have to try another type again.'

Francis sighed. 'Well, I appreciate you trying.'

Arthur nodded and came forward to sit him on the bed to put on his shoes. Once finished, he stood and got ready to help the other up. As Francis placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder to steady him up, he pushed a bit of his shirt sleeve up to reveal a slight red tinge to his skin just above the elbow. He felt a prick of desperation catch in his throat.

'Did I do that?'

Arthur looked down at him arm and smoothed his sleeve back down to cover it. 'It doesn't matter Francis.'

'I did, didn't I?'

'It wasn't your fault.' Francis bit his lip and looked away, guilt licking at his stomach. 'Francis, it's- look at me. Francis.' He looked back. 'I know you didn't mean it; you were hallucinating and it's okay.'

Francis nodded. As Arthur moved to stand back a bit, his sleeve moved and exposed the bottom part slightly. Francis, with every fibre of his being, hated sleeping pills and swore that he was going to refuse to swallow any others they tried to give him; he couldn't take this any more, especially if he was now starting to lose control of himself. The helplessness, and the loss of control that they caused, disgusted him.

Arthur broke any further building awkwardness between them by dipping his head and hesitating, before opening the bedroom door. 'Right, well. Let's get you some frog fuel; there's no point in moping in here all day.'

'I don't miss you at all when you leave, you cretin.'

The morning's conversation led the topic of the case and what he wanted to discuss slip from his mind. Francis didn't get another chance to talk to Arthur until mid-morning. There were a few members of staff off sick and those remaining had to pick up the slack, so apart from taking a cup of coffee Jean all but forced upon him, Arthur wouldn't stay still or free long enough for Francis to grab him and pull him aside. The longer he went without talking about it, the less serious the situation was becoming and the more foolish he was feeling for his panic. If he didn't tell Arthur soon, he knew he was going to be tempted to say nothing at all and hope the problem would go away, which, although probable, was logically unwise.

After making sure that everyone had something to eat, Arthur slipped out quietly from the room without telling anyone where he was going. As all residents were currently eating in the communal area, Francis knew for one that they'd be alone and two, that Arthur wasn't supposed to be leaving. With the knowledge that a moment like this may not come around again for the rest of the day and the curiosity helping him along, he made up his mind to follow before quickly made his move. Getting up fast proved to be a problem, but as he'd be waiting for a chance to go, he managed to pull himself up on a well-placed table he'd rationally chosen to sit next to after eating. Tracing the direction Arthur took, Francis was about to walk down the corridor leading to the staff room when he caught the sound of Arthur talking softly from the other direction.

Peeking around the other corridor, Francis saw Arthur out of the large French windows in the patio courtyard on his phone. His voice was muffled from this far away, but he was holding his head tiredly in one hand and leaning heavily against the wall. Upon edging closer, he discovered that the conversation, much to his irritation, was being held in English. His pride and the lack necessity for it meant that during his youth and later years he never had a reason to learn English at all. He knew the odd word from shows and films, but apart from hello and goodbye and a few other basics, Francis had no idea what was going on.

His words varied, from his usual abruptness, like the tone he used when talking to Francis, to soft, tired garbles of complicated English syllables. Whatever it was, it was obvious he was talking with someone he knew. Soon after Francis' arrival, Arthur cut the call with a soft 'bye' and opened the door and called from outside. 'Once you're content with abandoning your morals to eavesdrop, Francis, you can come and join me.'

Francis sniffed in disdain. 'I couldn't understand any word of your barbarian language anyway.'

'Your reward for eavesdropping on a private conversation.' Arthur held the door open for him as he stepped out and then shut it gently behind him.

'I didn't know that sneaking out to make personal calls on shift was allowed, especially a carer of such a high calibre like yourself.'

Arthur looked away. 'It was important, sadly.'

Francis continued to stare at him.

'I'm not telling you any more, it was a personal issue.'

Francis sighed through his nose but didn't press any further.

'So?' Arthur looked at him. 'What brought you out here to impose on me?'

Francis looked uncomfortable. 'I need to talk to you about something.'

Arthur gave him a look that asked for more information but patiently waited for him to continue.

It had started to rain lightly, so after a few seconds of silence, Arthur gave a small nod and pushed himself off the wall. 'Let's get it over with inside then, shall we?'

Arthur led him back to his room and helped Francis into a chair. He himself then backed away and leant against the counter. He looked at him and gave him a nod, as if to signify that he was now allowed to speak, a rile that Francis wouldn't allow himself to rise to.

All of a sudden, Francis couldn't think of where to begin.

After a moment of silence, Arthur opened his mouth and Francis held up a hand to quickly stop him. 'The night-' Then, in a flash, he realised that Arthur was the last person he saw before he fell back asleep and the person who was last meant to check on his room; in all possibility, it could have even been Arthur. He could be about to voice his worries to the very person that had tampered with his case in the first place. Not only that, but it didn't really seem to be a big issue any more. Okay, someone moved his case about a bit; there wasn't anything necessarily wrong with that? It wasn't dangerous; it wasn't anything he should feel as though he had to confide in someone. Someone could have even knocked it during the night whilst they all came in when he woke from his nightmare. It all seemed so stupid now and he felt foolish and unsure of how to continue.

'Francis? Are you okay?' Francis made up his mind, it wasn't worth it; he was just being stupid.

He pulled himself up and looked Arthur in the eye. 'I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry; about your arm.'

Arthur raised his eyebrows and moved a hand, probably subconsciously, to rub just above his elbow. 'Francis-'

'No, please let me explain.' He breathed out deeply through his nose. 'Just because I was hallucinatory, and yes, I am aware that it wasn't really my fault, I still managed to grip you hard enough to leave a mark after two days, and, intentional or not, I want to apologise properly.'

Arthur reddened, but Francis had to commend him for not looking away. He gave him a sad smile instead. 'Well, thank you, but it's really nothing to worry about; I hold nothing against you… are you sure that was all?'

Francis cursed inwardly at Arthur's habit of attempting prying further than he needed to. 'I'm sure.'

Arthur moved forwards to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder before moving to help him up. 'Okay then, but if there is anything else, please, um… don't hesitate to talk to me, okay?'

Francis stood and waved him off with irritation. 'Yes, yes, I'll make sure I leap to cry at your feet. Now, go away to do your job, goodness knows I don't wish to be around you longer than I have to be and you're almost certainly expected to be somewhere else.'

Arthur scowled at him. 'Of course, your Highness. Pardon me for doing my job.' He responded in English, which reasonably made Francis angry because he although he couldn't understand the meaning, he could guess it wasn't a cheery and uplifting compliment for him. He huffed at him and watched as Arthur stalked away.

Although he hadn't intended to, apologising had at least eased some of the guilt he didn't realise he'd been carrying about with him all morning until it had ceased to twist in his stomach. He sighed and glanced at the case before moving over to inspect it. During breakfast, someone had made his bed and the day before his books had been collected from off the floor and had stacked none too neatly back on top of the scuffed leather. With his foot, he carefully, and with a depressing amount of effort on his part, he slid the briefcase back to its original position. Picking up the first book on top, he eased himself into his chair slowly using a wall frame, and read the morning away.

AN: Hello!

Sorry that I've been gone for so long, but I'm hoping to be back and ready to go again for the summer! I also apologise for the shorter length; the other part is already written and they were originally one chapter, but they're too long all in one go. Thanks for bearing with me!

Thank you very much for reading~