Paranoia Builds Distrust

One of Francis' first memories was from when he was maybe about five or six years old. His parents had taken him for a day trip to the beach whilst on holiday in Northern France.

He remembers staring out across the ocean, watching the glint of the water and enjoying the smell of the sea whilst waiting for his dad to come back with ice creams, when he became aware that he was being watched.

He remembers freezing, locking himself still as his muscles froze against his will and his ears muted his surroundings. Humans still have an innate ability, left over from far more dangerous days, of sensing another's gaze on them. Evil intentions or no, people are intrinsically able to sense, most of the time, that they are being studied and this goes hand in hand with the feeling that something is not quite right. No matter the age, the personality or the circumstances, the creeping feeling that something is wrong is always the same- everything seems to sharpen and focus as the senses strain to single out the reason for the trigger.

Gingerly, Francis turned his head to scan the beach but found no one who stood out, no one with their eyes trained his way and no one lurking menacingly in the clumps of parents and children near him. Yet, the feeling remained and he started to grow scared and anxious.

Then, as swiftly as it appeared, the spell was broken by his father reappearing; the world crashed back into real time, background noise returned and Francis quickly concentrated on his new priority.

Throughout his life, for some reason, Francis was never able to forget the memory and, as time subdued and blurred his life, those banal 5 seconds remained crystal clear.

The first thing Francis became aware of was that he was moving. Within milliseconds after realising this, his lungs remembered their trauma and he gave a great gasp, throwing his head back against something and hands lurching to scrabble for his face.

'Jesus fucking Christ!' The movement swerved sharply, with it his head lolling uselessly left, before stabilising again but Francis could register little else; his eyes hadn't yet wrestled back control and remained screwed tightly shut with panic pounding through him.

'Francis! Francis for fuck's sake, breathe! Can you hear me? Deep breath in for me. Shit.'

Absentmindedly, Francis realised it was Arthur speaking and after a few harsh, desperate breaths in, he was calm enough to open his eyes and slump forward slightly, tucking his chin into his chest. He was in a car, his face hurt and it was no longer night-time but early morning; the light was dim and blue but enough for him to see that he was being driven along a motorway, once he had the presence of mind to glance up again.

'Are you alright now?' Arthur's voice came, surprisingly, from his right.

'What the hell happened.' He managed to croak out, ignoring the question and glancing over at Arthur.

The Englishman had his mouth pulled into a thin tense line and hesitated a bit before answering. 'Well, for one I told you to guard the damn case.' He shook his head. 'I didn't realise falling asleep was another denotation of 'guard', but when you look at French military history it makes a bit more sen-.'

'Arthur, I'm being serious!' Francis voice couldn't get much higher than a croak and the louder he tried to go the more he sounded like a half-deflated balloon being sat on.

'I'm sorry, I'm-,' Arthur sighed and slumped his shoulders, 'I'm just cross with myself.'

'Why? What have you done?' Francis tried to catch Arthur's eye but his gaze was fixed straight ahead, unmoving.

Arthur gave a small, humourless laugh as a response. 'It's not so much what I did; it's what I failed to do.' He took one hand from the wheel and gave it a slight wave as it to bat away the conversation. 'Anyway, what do you remember?'

'I sat in my room all day after I rang you; I stayed awake until at least half 11, I think.' Francis brought a hand to his face and gingerly began to explore the damage. His nose, whilst very tender, thankfully wasn't broken. Although it hurt to take breathe too deeply and his face was a bit bruised, he was otherwise unharmed. 'The last thing I remember is being woken by the sound of a crash, like a window, and someone smothering me with a pillow.'

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arthur give a slight nod. 'Yes, that's what I arrived to.'

Sudden, irrational anger rose in Francis' chest. 'And, where were you? You said you wouldn't be long but you were nearly three hours late! Do you have any idea how-,' even now, Francis' pride wouldn't let him admit that he was scared; a better word would be petrified, really, but Francis was even less likely to admit to that, 'how on edge you made me? Sitting there alone all day, paranoid about God knows what or who with nothing to go on other than "guard a God damn case"!?' His voice broke far too often for his liking but his previous terror gave him more volume than he thought he was able to produce.

Arthur scowled but still didn't turn to look at him, instead flicking his eyes upwards at the rear-view mirror and changing lanes, speeding them up slightly. 'Well, I was right, wasn't I? It's not as though I warned you unnecessarily. And I was getting there as fast as I could; I was caught in this huge traffic jam that brought us to a standstill for hours because a lorry had overturned.'

Francis felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise up in his throat and escape from him in a quick burst before he could contain himself. 'Oh, well that's all right then, isn't it.'

He heard Arthur give a deep, long sigh through his nose as though trying to calm himself. 'Look I- Francis, I got there as fast as I could and I'm sorry that I couldn't prevent you from being attacked but seeing as you're still breathing, I don't think I did too bad a job, overall.' He gave a huff and allowed what could be interpreted as an expression of worry on his face before settling back into impassiveness.

A thick silence settled on the car while Francis' mind caught up with him.

He hated to, but Francis was the first to break it. 'Thank you, then. For coming and for saving me; I'm grateful.' Arthur, whilst being later than Francis was expecting, did turn up and did save him from being murdered.

Instead of the furious downgrade of thanks or an insult on Francis' behalf to deflect the comment, Arthur remained stoically silent. His eyebrows moved and the skin around his eyes tightened to form a brief look of what seemed to be regret or denial and he opened his mouth slightly before closing it again, looking sad. A small pause. 'No problem.'

Silence fell between them and as much as Francis looked at him Arthur didn't take his eyes off the road or change expression, remaining melancholy and even slightly small; back leaning heavily in his seat rather than ram-rod straight and shoulders still slumped but tight. Astonishingly, he looked conflicted between guilty, of all things, and regretful; two things Francis couldn't ever imagine the proud and stubborn Arthur being.

Francis, ashamed and also guilty about his outburst and the effect that it had, waited for an Arthur he could recognise to return and produce the reaction he was looking for, but when it became apparent that none would be forthcoming, he broke the silence again. 'So', he slid his eyes from the younger man to glance at the windshield. 'Would you mind filling me in a bit more on happened after you arrived?'

Arthur said nothing straight away but settled his hand on the gear stick, drumming fingers lightly on the top and seemingly trying to settle on the best way to answer. Eventually, he did and revealed that it was a night fuller of odd occurrences than any other. For starters, there had been very little staff on duty.

'It was actually extremely easy to slip in;' Arthur explained, 'I knew I had to be quiet and not make a fuss in case there was someone dangerous prowling about or it turned out to be a false alarm, but there wasn't much need; the corridors were basically deserted.' The security features had also been turned off and Arthur hadn't needed to use his door card or password to access the main gates or doors of the resident's building where Francis stayed.

'Of all the things, it was that which worries me the most.' The sun had risen slightly now as they travelled through the French main roads north; the sky was full of clouds promising rain but it was bright allowing Francis, with his deteriorating eyesight, to see his companion more clearly. Arthur was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt; obviously grabbed and dressed in a hurry if his hair and general harried appearance were anything to go by. Although Francis realised a while ago that Arthur must be driving a British car, it was still strange to think of the wheel of the car in a different place from what he was used to. 'It means that this wasn't an outside attack but someone inside who knows the buildings and security systems well; who or how many, though, God only knows.'

Francis was surprised about how much feeling this evoked from him; how sad and betrayed this made him feel. Although he'd known that the most logical suspect would have to have been an employee of the home, he found he'd been hoping for someone or something else instead, anything for it not to be the people he had begrudgingly grown fond of.

Arthur had therefore, after arriving at around 2 and nearly five hours later than he'd expected, parked his car out of sight of security cameras and had walked his way casually to the main gate, before driving his car inside to the staff car park cautiously after finding it unlocked. Then, he tried to sneak his way to the main doors, before breaking into a run upon finding them completely open and unprotected.

In one of the corridors, Arthur had hidden in a store cupboard after hearing footsteps. But, after seeing that it was the uniform of a residential orderly, he'd relaxed; hoping that perhaps the security systems or electricity had merely malfunctioned and someone had popped out to call an electrician; leaving the doors electronically open. Thus, he ended up after a quick walk through the dimly lit corridors to Francis' room where he entered just in time to see someone masked slam the pillow, hastily grabbed from the foot of Francis' bed, onto his face and attempt to smother him.

'What happened then?' Arthur had paused and opened his mouth as if to speak before shutting it closed again. He glanced at Francis, the first time Francis himself had seen him do so since he'd regained consciousness, and looked him dead in the eye before looking back to the road, almost as if he'd had to visibly judge whether he was ready for the answer. His face was controlled and calm, as though the stress and panic had completely wiped away the old Arthur and now allowed him to wear a mask of calm, apathetic rationality; a stranger.

'I shot him.'

A mix of what felt like rage, fear and suspicion moved his tongue and formed the basis of Francis' next few words. 'Yo- shot?! You shot him? Dead?' These fears grew in intensity when Arthur allowed himself a small shrug of, in Francis' opinion, dismissal.

'There was nothing else I could do, Francis; he was attacking you and I couldn't jump him and try to restrain him in case he had accomplices and the noise alerted them. I'd brought a gun just in case there was real danger to protect myself and as soon as I saw what was going on I just did it; automatically.' Arthur was pressing his fingers hard on the steering wheel; a small, white knuckled gesture which served as the only indication of emotion, the rest heavily hidden in a staunch deadlock. 'After that I just grabbed you and the case before running out to the car. We've been driving ever since.'

Francis felt a quick surge of sick relief to know that not only were his fears of danger justified but that the person who had been causing them was no longer a threat. He was now instead afraid of how emotionless Arthur was being about the whole thing.

'Are- are they dead?'

Arthur worried his lip. 'I don't know. I didn't really think about my aim, I just,' he indicated with his head uselessly, 'did it. Maybe. I don't honestly know, it happened too fast.'

They sat in silence for a little while which allowed Francis to mull things over. Their situation, at the moment, seemed to be the worst it could be. There was not only the factor that Arthur may be wanted for possible murder, but there was also the matter that there could now be others wishing to do them both harm. Their goal must have extended from 'grab the case and go,' to kill both of them to silence them, especially seeing as they were willing to kill Francis in the first place even before all of this.

Suddenly, the relief of their momentary safety and worry over their immediate future was soon overridden by his mind latching on to what Arthur had just said.

The case.

Arthur had also taken the case.

It was enough that he was willing to come all the way back to Fouras from Calais just to ensure its safety, but for that to be something he focused on after having witnessed attempted murder and then committing the act himself meant that he was either aware of the contents, or at least the importance of the case. He must be, somehow, involved as well.

All at once, Francis' mind went blank as he struggled to make sense of this and try to figure out where this put him. If Arthur was also involved, did this not mean that Francis was still in danger? Terror momentarily stalled his thoughts but one glance at Arthur calmed him slightly.

Arthur had saved not only the case from being stolen but Francis from being murdered, meaning that surely Arthur was on his side; he wouldn't hurt him now. If he wished him harm then he could have left him there. But if people were willing to kill over this thing then no matter whose side Francis was on, he was certainly going to be in danger. As for Arthur himself, he could indeed have only saved Francis as an automatic response, or because Francis knew too much, but he'd worked at the home for more than a year; if he wanted to steal it, surely, he would have done so previously.

Arthur had noticed him glancing at him and raised an eyebrow, looking his way. 'Francis?' His voice pulled Francis out of the swirling monologue his mind was creating for him.

He let out a deep, soul weary sigh and resigned himself to his situation. No matter what, this is where he was now and he was going to have to accept it. But that didn't mean he had to accept it quietly. 'Arthur, what the hell is going on here?'

Arthur frowned and glanced at him again out the corner of his eye.

'Please,' Francis heard the desperation leaking into his voice and tried to rein it in a bit, 'please don't lie to me, just tell me what's going on. What the hell is in that case? And what the hell does it have to do with me?'

'Francis, I promise,' Arthur's voice was serious and level, body language calm and controlled, 'I promise that you are in no danger with me and that I will explain everything else as soon as we can get to somewhere safe.' He held up a finger as Francis opened his mouth to protest, 'not because I'm trying to put off telling you, but because it's a long story that will a lot easier to tell you when we're both sitting down and when I'm not trying to flee the country and get through customs with a captured OAP in my car. Fair?'

Francis considered his options and crossed his arms before folding his body away; looking out the window at the passing open fields. 'I suppose I have no choice, do I?'

Arthur hummed and the corner of his mouth twitched, 'No, not really.'

For just a second, the floor felt cold and solid against Francis' back.

His vision was gone but the smell of blood was strong and it overpowered his nose, however the only thing he could focus on was the panic fluttering in his heart, panic not for himself but for something else.

His arms twitched once.

It was safe. It was safe and that was more important.

He died almost instantly.

Francis only managed to nap for what must have been only a few moments when he jolted awake again, brain quickly tearing itself away from his dreams.

The rest of the ride, for the most part, had continued in silence with just the radio playing quietly for background noise. They were heading towards the north, into England, at a pace just under the speed limit in order to appear as casual and as unsuspecting as possible to avoid alerting the authorities. Arthur had decided that the safest place for them both to go was out of the country; as the security systems were down in the home and it was mostly deserted; there was a high chance the CCTV cameras also weren't working. This meant that Arthur himself may not have been seen by anyone and may be able to avoid repercussions for what had happened, or at least avoid Francis' attackers.

As he explained to Francis, if this was orchestrated by someone from within the home then they probably would have turned all systems off to protect themselves from being caught. In the same way, this luckily also protected Arthur if it were true. Even if he had been seen by someone there that night, it was probably by someone in connection to Francis' attempted murder and therefore not someone who would be willing to go running to the police anytime soon. Therefore, maybe there was a chance they could escape from this mess, for a while at least.

This obviously left leaving a lot to chance, so they were bypassing Arthur's home near Fouras and were heading to his family's holiday home in the south of England in the hope that, if Arthur was seen and reported, the authorities in France wouldn't be able to react in time to stop him getting out and to relative safety. Francis had pointed out that there was always the high possibility of the British authorities getting involved as well but, although Arthur disagreed, he refused to elaborate further. Thus, they were now aiming to get to the port of Calais before the French police were alerted on the off chance that Arthur was right.

Despite attempting to flee the country, however, they were trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which meant that Arthur was driving them at what felt like a dangerously constant and slow speed for two people fleeing a murder scene.

The good thing about staying at a constant speed was that they didn't look very suspicious. Arthur's car, a ten-year-old ford, was of a medium size; nothing flashy or expensive looking and didn't catch the eye. Their constant speed didn't indicate panic and also meant that the car ate fuel slower.

The bad thing about driving at a constant, but slow, speed meant that eventually the car was going to run out of petrol and so probably was Arthur before they got very far at all.

He had, after all, taken time off for being unable to get enough rest in the first place and combined with the fact that he'd been driving for around 15 hours going up and down France meant that, despite his stubborn protests, Arthur was going to have to stop somewhere before they got to England or else there was going to be a very messy ending to their pathetic excuse for an escape attempt.

The issue was, Arthur really didn't want to stop and it was only after Francis had briefly drifted off himself that he realised that this may be a major issue. Blinking away the tiredness resting heavy in his eyes, Francis' attention was caught by a flashing on the dashboard.

'The petrol light's flashing.'

'I'm aware, Francis.' Arthur spoke through gritted teeth.

'Well, I thought you mayn't know, considering you seem to be ignoring it.'

'I'm looking for the right place to pull ove-'

'We're in the middle of the God forsaken countryside! Your options are limited!'

'I wanted a service off the motorway! If we're going to stop somewhere, at least it'll be somewhere out of sight.'

'Out of sight?' Francis gave a loud, condescending snap of laughter and stretched his arms in front of him, trying to loosen his stiff joints. 'Sorry, my dear, but now it's the morning and mid-week, everywhere you go there'll be people or cameras. Just do it and get it over with; all we need to do is fill the tank and swap drivers-'

'No! Oh no no, we are NOT swapping drivers.' Arthur was scowling, eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. 'Francis, you can barely see.'

'Well, if you're not going to stop and rest somewhere then you're just as likely to crash as I am.'

'For the last damn time, Francis,' Arthur run his hand through his hair in frustration, 'I do not need to stop, I'll be fine but if we can get some caffeine I'll be even better. We're over half way. Once we get through customs it'll be a doddle. Oh, how much I liked you better unconscious.'

As always, Francis was irritated by both the use of English and his inability to understand it. Regardless, he could sense Arthur probably hadn't complimented him and chose to respond accordingly. Before the argument could escalate further, however, Arthur gave a quick cry of surprise.

'There's a service station on the next turn off! And thank God, it serves coffee.'

Francis hadn't even seen the sign initially and when he looked it all amassed into a smear of colours. Unwilling to concede, even to himself, that Arthur was right about him being completely unfit to drive, Francis sat up a little straighter and started inspecting his night shirt.

He could feel Arthur's gaze on him. 'What are you doing?'

Francis tutted and stiffly folded his collar the right way up. 'No matter how you act or make this seem, I'm still a near ninety-year-old man dressed in bedclothes in the middle of the day in a petrol station abandoned in a field. Maybe in England this could pass for usual, but in France this is not an everyday occurrence.'

Arthur said nothing and Francis began considering his trousers. 'Do you think these would pass off as unassuming?'

Arthur indicated right and pulled into the outside lane. 'The trousers, luckily, are a dark blue; from a distance hopefully no one will notice how thin they are and your age will help answer the most obvious questions.'

Francis took the time to feel slightly offended.

'Speaking of light; aren't you cold?' Arthur reached out a hand to press it on Francis' arm, but Francis drew back.

'I'm fine in here; it's outside we'll have to worry about.'

'True...' Arthur nodded and left him alone, taking the time to observe Francis' top.

'The shirt though...' Arthur tapped a finger on the wheel, 'the fact that it's the same colour makes it obvious. We're more likely to find something to cover your top half than bottom so I say we try to find you a jumper or something; maybe this place sells clothes?'

Francis thought this highly unlikely but he had a more pressing concern. 'My cabbage, the thing you're forgetting is that I have no shoes on. No matter how you dress me, no shoes will be noticed, especially if we make it to the ferry.'

Arthur glanced quickly at Francis' bare feet, before cursing under his breath in English and indicated again; ready to pull into the service station. 'There's nothing much we can do; I'm just going to have to see what they sell. Not only that though, if we don't get to the UK soon your face will start to bruise where he's pushed hard on your cheekbones or nose; clothes we can try to hide but bruises will get us instantly called on. We'll be so damn lucky if we even see the water, let alone cross it.'

The service station was quiet, but not completely deserted. Cars were dotted about the car park, either close to the shop or closer to the toilets, and a mini-Starbucks at the other end. A little road pulled off to the left leading to a petrol station and this is where Arthur drove them first before then nosing the car into the shopping area. Whilst he was paying in each, Francis tried his best to look as relaxed and casual as he possibly could to avoid gaining unwanted attention. Thankfully he managed to remain ignored by everyone and was successfully un-harassed by the time Arthur returned with his purchases.

'We must be on a tourist route,' he said, quickly dumping two shopping bags into the back of the car, 'lucky for us, really; they not only sold clothes but it didn't feel out of place for me to buy them.' Before Francis could say anything in response he was leaving again, slamming the door behind him. He came back next from behind the car; hair slightly damp from presumably washing his face in the toilets' sink and carrying a disposable cup of what deliciously smelt like coffee. The cup he passed to Francis before dropping himself into the driver's seat and starting the engine, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the car park, around and up the slip road. From there they entered onto the motorway again and once they were driving straight at a comfortable speed, he took the cup back from Francis and took small sip, wincing as the heat scalded his tongue.

'Serves you right for not getting me any.'

Arthur pressed his burnt tongue tip across his front top teeth. 'We both know that you're not allowed caffeine.'

Francis tutted. 'We're hardly living by Julia's rules now, are we?'

Arthur managed to work the lid off with one hand still on the wheel and blew on his drink. 'Doesn't matter, if you start seeing toilets for you to use every 15 minutes then I'll let you have some. Until then, you're going to have to go without.' He blew a few more times before taking a long drink and sighing. 'Good Lord, I needed that.'

Francis made a noise of agreement. 'You certainly needed it if Starbucks coffee is anything close to drinkable.'

Arthur gave a short laugh and took another drink. 'Black coffee tastes terrible regardless of where it's from.'

Francis sniffed disdainfully. 'Careful my dear, your uncultured side is showing.'

Arthur smirked, 'Hmm, 2 years of no caffeine at all must really be hurting you.'

Francis said nothing and gave him the cold shoulder, turning to gaze out his window at the flat, northern French countryside. It was becoming apparent that they were heading closer to Calais now.

After nearly ten minutes of driving at the speed limit, Arthur pulled off another slip road onto a country lane, where he pulled over once more in a small layby.

'And we are here because...?' Francis watched Arthur with a seed of envy as he unclipped his seatbelt and stretched himself easily around his headrest to reach for the bags in the back seat.

'Well,' Arthur grabbed the bags and dumped them in Francis' lap before opening his door to get out, 'I didn't exactly want to dress you in the car park, and I thought it'd be a bit alarming to take you to the toilets looking like that.'

Francis had to admit that it made the most sense. 'So,' Arthur continued, opening Francis' door, 'I'm afraid you're going to have to deal with getting dressed in a field. I was looking for a toilet on its own somewhere but I think changing out here is probably better.'

Francis wasn't really listening anymore; instead, he gave an indignant cry as he reached into the carrier bag to examine his new wardrobe. 'You drove us here because you knew I would make you take this back, you heinous man!' He lifted out a bright orange T-shirt adorned with a sunglasses clad yellow sun, undisguised horror on every part of his face. 'I can't wear this! I'm supposed to be inconspicuous, you uncultured idiot; why on earth did you think that this monstrosity would be of any use?!'

Arthur, the giant child, looked as though he was trying very hard, but ultimately failing miserably, to contain a smirk. 'I'm afraid that there was nothing else; you had the choice of a pink one with a bucket, spade and a large orange crab, a lovely light blue one that said 'young, fun, and ready for sun!' or a bottle green one with a sun lounger and a pool.' He gave a laugh disguised as a cough; when he next spoke his voice was tight, as though he was trying not to burst out laughing. 'I looked for a frog one but sadly they were lacking. The tourist track we're on must be used by beach goers.'

Francis looked up to shoot him a look of complete and utter disgust which prompted Arthur to attempt to pacify him. 'Oh, come on now Francis, if anything, now you just look a cheerful granddad going on holiday.'

Francis dropped the shirt back in the bag with a great show of disdain. 'How perfect.' Further inspection of its contents revealed some socks, some over-the-toe sandals, (the two combined convinced Francis finally that Arthur had actually gone out of this way to make Francis look the most hideous he possible could), some fruit bars and a few water bottles. The second bag contained a large, floppy hat and some sunglasses ('to hide the bruising whilst it's developing' supplied Arthur, still looking annoyingly pleased with himself) some painkillers, a neck pillow Francis was actually rather grateful for, and a small, bagged raincoat which, from far away enough, could pass for the same colour as his pyjama trousers. Francis gave a deep sigh through his nose. At least he could cover up the shirt with the coat on the boat. 'You are never to go shopping for me again.'

Arthur huffed and crossed his arms. 'Gladly. Though I think I did quite well with a shop full of bobbing dogs and palm trees. Not to mention the lack of any other shops in the middle of the country side; you'd think the government would be more considerate to runaway OAPs, really.'

Francis snarled and threw the sandals at Arthur, which he sadly caught. 'Just get this over with.'

Arthur flashed him a cheerful, yet malicious looking smile. 'Of course.' He piled all of the clothes out of the bags and onto Francis' lap and, after emptying the dregs on the floor, scrunched up his coffee cup from earlier and placed it inside. Francis resisted the urge to cause hassle and tip the clothes on top of the coffee puddle and dirt, but my God how he wanted to.

Instead, he voiced a worry he had been pondering over for a while. 'I know that I have been away from the world of independent travel for a while now, but in my day, one had to book to get on ferries across the channel.' Francis eyed him as Arthur leant down to undo his buttons.

'Hopefully it's sorted.'

'Hopefully?'

Arthur nodded and helped his arms out of the sleeves. 'My brother was visiting me yesterday and I asked him to book my car in on one before I left. He messaged me a few hours ago to say that he found us room on one departing at 11:15am, so we should get there in enough time; we've only got three more hours to go, if the traffic remains as good as this.'

Frustratingly, the top Arthur bought, while baggy, didn't have buttons. Francis' arms were stiff, more so after two years of relative inactivity with anything strenuous and the conversation stalled whilst Arthur fought to redress Francis as gently as was possible.

Finally, the top was on and Francis rolled his sore shoulders as much as he could to ease the pain and Arthur moved onto the job of putting on his socks. 'You know, I had a feeling something was going on.'

Francis' comment about his shoulders died in his throat and Arthur looked up at him. 'Again, something I will explain in full once we're safe. But, I had the feeling that something wasn't quite right there,' he moved onto the other sock and after that slipped the sandals on, 'little did I know how late I'd left it to do anything about it.'

Ignoring Francis' shocked gaze, Arthur advised him to try standing to stretch his legs for a bit; they'd been driving for a while and Arthur was growing concerned with how stiff he was starting to get. He helped him out the car and held onto his arm whilst Francis got his balance and collected his thoughts enough to form his own part of the conversation. 'How late you'd left it? Arthur, this has been going on for only about a week! No? Or is there more that you're not telling me?'

Arthur frowned, 'A week? You'd noticed something? Why on earth didn't you say so earlier?'

'Me?' Francis cried incredulously as he stepped away from Arthur a few paces. 'How about you? You knew something was going to happen and you let it? What the hell is wrong with you?!'

Arthur held up a hand, 'Hey, wait a minute! I only had suspicions; I didn't see anything solid enough to warrant action but just enough for me to know that something odd was going on. I never thought anything would actually happen-'

'So, you were just waiting for something to happen to me before you decided to do anything?'

Arthur shook his head and looked angry, 'No! God Francis-' he run his hands through his hair and rubbed his eyes, 'Christ, this is becoming ridiculous; you should have told me.'

Francis walked a few more paces away from the Englishman and felt the crisp morning wind ruffle his new shirt. 'And tell you what? That my case may have moved forward slightly? That my ornaments looked as though they had been pushed aside? That nothing was touched or taken but I felt as though my room and been rifled through?' Francis gave a dry laugh. 'You'd just started me on new pills, my sweet, that and I'd been having trouble sleeping, also with night terrors. How was I to know you would have even listened to me? What would have been the chance you'd have believed me? How was I to know that there was even something going on at all?'

Francis turned to look behind for Arthur, who had propped himself with his back against the car and was regarding his shoes with crossed arms. 'Quite high actually, I kept getting the strange feeling there was someone watching you; when you were alone on the bench the other day, I thought I saw someone in the bushes.'

Arthur pursed his lips and scowled before continuing. 'I also kept seeing someone out of the corner of my eye, but never long enough for me actually catch them. I've not been sleeping either so I could have been imagining things; but this is what I was there for, Francis, to watch for that sort of thing. I knew someone was wrong but blamed my suspicions on lack of sleep or caused by the tedium of the home and, rather than investigate, I hoped it would go away.' He gave a dry laugh and straightened up.

He looked over to where Francis stood and considered him for a moment before giving a nod. 'But I'm sorry; you weren't to know any of that. Why on earth would you have told me anything anyway?' He looked away quickly but not before Francis caught a strange look in his eyes.

'Come on, let's get going. We've got a way to go yet.'

Having no wiser option to go for, Francis walked back towards him and allowed himself to be helped into the car.

They stopped only once more. After yawning more than three times within two minutes Francis had finally had enough and had continued with his badgering.

'Arthur, you look worse than I do, and that's including the bags under my eyes.'

Arthur huffed, 'Cheers.'

Francis slapped him on the shoulder and Arthur gave a small yelp of surprise. 'I mean it, you're nearing 16 hours stuck in a car now and I've just survived one brush with death, I certainly don't want to chance my luck with another.'

'I'm not going to crash, for fuck sake.'

Francis narrowed his eyes, mentally acknowledging the fact that Arthur seemed to swear a lot more often now than he ever had done before. 'Your driving is bad enough; tiredness will only make it worse the longer we go on.'

'My driving isn't bad!' Arthur retorted, sounding offended, 'I'll have you know that I have no points at all on my- don't shrug at me!'

Francis raised a still well-maintained eyebrow. 'I really don't care, you either find somewhere now or I'll find some way to attract attention.'

For a moment their eyes locked and Arthur seriously considered whether or not Francis was bluffing. He broke the stand-off first though by placing his attention back on the road.

'I'm not going to a hotel, Francis.'

'I cannot believe you're being this stubborn-' he was broken off by Arthur trying to smother another yawn. 'Arthur! My Lord, pull over now, just sleep in the car by the side of the road if you insist; it doesn't matter.'

'Fine! Fine, let me just look for something, but I'm only doing this to stop you from whingeing.'

Silence fell between them for a mile or so as Arthur skimmed the road for a turn off or another service station. Eventually, after coming off a slip road and then down a small B road, he found a small turn off with a block of toilets and a small park which allowed him to park up.*

He stopped the car and put it in neutral before leaning back against the headrest and rubbing his eyes. Francis silently thought to himself that Arthur probably didn't want to let on how tired he was feeling in order to get them out of France faster, but they were just under two hours away from Calais and four-ish hours until their ferry; they could afford to stop and rest for a while.

Smiling smugly, proud of himself for winning this particular argument regardless of what Arthur said, Francis passed him a bottle of water which was taken with a glare.

'Shut up.'

'I didn't say anything.'

'Shut up.'

Francis grinned wider.

Arthur shook his head and gulped down some water before passing the bottle back to Francis and getting out of the car only to get in again in the back. Shutting the door behind him he laid himself curled up on the back seats and unfolded Francis' new raincoat to drape over his torso as a make-do blanket. 'Pass us your neck pillow?'

'But I'm using it.'

Arthur propped himself higher up on one arm. 'You need to keep watch; you don't need it.'

'Admitting you want to sleep?' Francis cooed from the front.

'Admitting that your neck is too old to hold up your fat head?'

With a snarl, Francis conceded and twisted as far as he could go to throw it at Arthur who caught it quickly before laying his head down, giving an audible sigh of relief as he shut his eyes.

Francis grinned again.

'Shut up.'

'I didn't say anything, dear.'

'I can feel you gloating.'

Arthur rolled onto his side and cracked open and eye to stare at Francis. 'Keep an eye out and wake me in an hour.'

'An hour?'

Arthur shut his eye and nodded. 'It'll give us about an hour and a half to play with in case of traffic.'

Francis huffed and turned back to look out of the windows. 'We don't need that much time; you're being overly cautious.'

After a while of silence and no argumentative response Francis glanced in the rear-view mirror to see that Arthur had quickly fallen fast asleep; breaths deep and even and face finally relaxed. He hadn't realised how young Arthur looked, he acted so much older but he couldn't be older than his mid-twenties.

Already sure that he wasn't going to wake Arthur up before at least an hour and a half had passed, Francis settled further down in his seat and trained his eyes on the road in the wing mirrors and front windows.

AN:

Why, hello! Yes, I am still alive! This chapter took so long because there's so much important stuff to write but in a very boring and unexciting location. Capturing the scene itself and the characters' emotions was also quite hard; the two combined together meant that this whole thing took ages just to produce even a few lines at a time sometimes. I also had a dissertation of 10,000 words to write and research for my final year at uni, so the thought of writing this before such an important essay made me guilty enough to do some real work and not get distracted. So, I'm sorry for the relative dullness.

But! I did manage to write it in the end and I wrote so much that I've actually had to break it into two chapters where the most exciting part happens in the next chapter. Please stick around and trust me!

As always, thanks very much for reading! Please let me know what you think,

Heroes

*These places do exist, I stopped at many during a drive through France when I was younger. The ones with parks were always the best, but usually they were just a car park, a few benches with tables and a building for the toilets. We don't really have them in England; here they're usually accompanied by a petrol station with a shop or shopping centre and some even have huge food courst with KFC, Costa and other such glorious places, rather than just a toilet.