Your Life is Never Truly your own

He was wet and cold; he felt as though he'd never been this cold before, even though he knew it probably wasn't true. He could feel the bone biting chill seep right into his bones and trickle down to settle in his very soul so that he felt numb all over- a tin man made of leaden limbs who couldn't remember ever feeling the warmth of the sun. He turned his head automatically at the approaching sound of squelching mud and was met by another man, slightly taller than he who came to stand next to him, brushing his shoulder with his bit-too-big-coat.

It had fitten him once, he had filled it completely. Now it sagged and gapped with the loss of him.

Francis felt the mud that was trapped in his boots sift between his toes as he shifted weight from one foot to another and turned his gaze forwards again, across desolate, murky fields. The lighting was so dim, and encompassed so much, that he could hardly make out the other's features when he had glanced at him, but had seen the sorry state of his long hair shrouding tired eyes and it saddened him. Odd, how out of all things it is that which brings him back towards something resembling humanity.

'How can you all do this so much?' The other asked in a quiet whisper, as if he were afraid to break the silence. Francis could understand. It was very rarely silent anymore.

The Quebec French made Francis long for something unnameable. 'Ah, but that's the thing,' the words are dragged out of his lips slowly and in one, long breath; he scarcely had the energy to breathe any more, 'this is something completely new.'

The other man said nothing in reply and together they surveyed the pot-holed field before them, peering over a wall of packed earth.

Silence covered the land like a thick and restricting blanket but they both knew better than to take it for granted; Francis' ears still rang with the roar of guns and his hands shook from something worse than cold.

Before them, the top of the sun scraped the horizon, a small brush of light gracing the clouds. The sight caused Francis' heart to quicken and a weight lift as he focused on the pale glow and the normalcy of the whole thing. It could be any day, any morning.

It lasted but a few minutes; soon shouts called alerts and boots began to run.

They broke apart wordlessly and moved onwards.

Francis woke up when the car stopped. They'd been driving almost continuously since Arthur's nap and they'd progressed with the rest of their journey uninterrupted, allowing Francis to doze off again on his reclaimed neck pillow.

'Are we there?' He groggily lifted his head from where it was rested, pillow slung around his shoulders. His chest felt terribly tight and he shifted about, trying to ease the pressure.

Arthur must have noticed because an arm slipped around his back and helped him right himself. 'If by there, you mean Calais.' Arthur helped Francis sit up more and the minimal relief it gave his lungs was a comfort nonetheless. Francis looked about to see that they were parked in a queue of cars, waiting for their turn to board the ferry. 'Customs?'

Arthur gave a derisive laugh that denoted previous bad experiences. 'We've got to go there in a bit. Or, I will, in any case; I'll try to bring someone out to you.'

Francis bristled. 'I can walk you know.'

Arthur propped his elbow on the window of his door and rested his head on his hand. 'You can indeed; then if you're up to it we'll go together.'

Francis slipped the pillow from around his neck and smoothed down his hair. 'I need to stretch my legs anyway; I'm going to have to get out and be near people soon on the boat.'

Arthur looked at the clock on the dashboard. 'We're an hour early; we've got lots of time so we can always go for a short walk now. There'll be more security checks in Dover that will be more thorough anyway, so we can relax a bit here.' Despite his anger at being woken up later than he'd wanted, they'd apparently still made it with plenty of time to spare and Francis tried not to look too proud that his risk of a better rested Arthur had paid off.

Arthur put on a serious expression and went quiet for a few moments, one thumb massaging his temple. 'There was a news announcement about us whilst you were asleep.'

Francis felt as though a large amount of freezing cold water had just washed through his stomach. 'And? What did they say?'

Arthur signed through his nose and tipped his head back to rest on his headrest. 'Luckily, I wasn't mentioned. Yet.' he added, eyes focused upwards and staring at the sky through the windscreen. 'They only mentioned that a residential home in Fouras had been broken into and that one of the residents was now missing. The person who tried to kill you wasn't mentioned; dead or otherwise. Police are now searching for any leads and are encouraging members of the public to come forward with more information.'

Francis stared at his fingers which had unconsciously began to grip the material bunched around his knees.

'If he were dead, the body must have been moved and the evidence cleared away before the police got there. If he's alive, then there's no mention of blood or a shooting. There wasn't even a description of me given out at all,' Arthur continued, 'so we can safely say that the cameras were off and that it was most defiantly another care worker who had planned the attack; no one else would know the systems or have been able to cover their tracks that well. If I was seen by a worker, they've proven their guilt by not speaking to the police; the whole shift that night could have been involved for all we know.'

'Or,' Francis found himself speaking in a voice that sounded far too small to be his own, 'maybe no one saw you at all and the cameras were turned off by someone outside who had been spying on the system's pass codes. Maybe, the body wasn't mentioned because the police don't wish to worry the public. The whole thing could have been planned by someone from the outside.' He gave a small jump as he felt a hand settle on his shoulder, which then gripped his shoulder in a comforting squeeze. He looked up to find Arthur looking at him; a sad expression settled in his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Francis.'

Francis felt the small part of him, which he hadn't realised was still there, the part that somehow had remained hopeful and trusting and unwilling to believe that the people he cared about and had lived with, melt away. Faces of carers flitted across his mind's eye and he gave a shaky breath out before focusing back on his fingers. He entwined them in a grip, trying not to let his watery eyes spill over.

Arthur rubbed his back and said nothing.

They finally arrived in Dover at 12:45, before then driving for a further three and a half hours to reach Arthur's house in the middle of the Kent countryside. There wasn't much English ground for them to cover, but the small and narrow country lanes kept slowing them down and Arthur had to drive at what felt like a crawl to get there.

They had got through okay on the French customs. There was the small issue of Francis not having a passport but for reasons Francis couldn't figure out Arthur managed to wangle their way through without it. Whilst they went to have their (Arthur's) passport verified, Arthur left him momentarily on a bench to talk to a guard and was led away for a little while before returning triumphant but mum. To make matters easier for them both as well, they stayed inside the boat, not venturing to the upper decks and on the closest floor they could to the car level. There were fewer fellow passengers there and they could get from and to their car quickly if needs be, but despite being stared at, Francis' wardrobe didn't gain any direct questions and they were left alone.

On tatty chairs stained with years of sticky little fingers, lost chewing gum and spilt drinks, Francis found out that despite his deep centred irritation towards him at the best of times, he and Arthur actually had a lot in common. They discussed politics together happily and he was pleasantly surprised that Arthur could match him for historical as well as contemporary actions and figures. They also shared a love of old cars and of being outdoors, although Arthur disapproved of his tastes in literature and lifestyle. Francis couldn't really blame him however; it was only during his later years that Francis himself had started to become more concerned with how he looked; daily maintenance was never something that bothered him below the age of 50.

Their chatting helped pass the time and blend in better as mere tourists.

British customs were more tedious and time consuming than their French counterpart in Calais. Francis was placed in a wheelchair, quite against his will, by Arthur who had to remain standing for twenty odd minutes whilst they went through the British passport checks and more metal detectors. Word must have been passed ahead, because Francis' lack of passport and their lack of proper luggage were not questioned and Arthur was allowed to push him out and back to their car, where they quickly left.

Francis found England unexpectedly interesting. He'd only visited once when he was very young, and to London at that, and found himself enjoying the countryside along the way. Unlike the northern French roads, the English motorways directly from Dover were often enclosed by hills of grass and trees on both sides which occasionally opened up to wide rolling, chalky hills. Francis could see, briefly, for miles before they were once again swallowed up by a valley.

Arthur's house was also...different. It looked something like a pepper pot with a spout on top and a side building attached. Arthur, when he caught him looking from the car window with undisguised confusion, called it a converted oast house* and informed him that they were actually quite common in this county.

Francis huffed, 'no matter what it's called, it looks ridiculous.' And also, rather unlived in; the whole place had an air of abandonment to it.

Arthur just glared at him. 'Well, sadly for you it's where you're going to have to stay for a while.' He got out of the car quickly, leaving Francis to lament upon his living conditions, and emptied the boot of their meagre possessions, dumping them near the front door before going back to collect Francis.

The house inside confirmed Francis' suspicions. It was dark and smelt musty and unused. There were sheets on the sofas and Francis hovered in the hallway, propped up against a timbered wall, whilst Arthur set about throwing open windows and cleaning the sheets away so that Francis could sit down. At the first available chance to sit on an old sofa he took it, leaning back gingerly against the backrest and glancing about at his surroundings whilst Arthur dashed about trying to make things presentable.

The house they were in was of a medium size, from what he could see on the sofa, and was decorated in a comfortable, rustic style. Wooden floors were covered by rugs and large timbers were set in white walls that bulged and stretched their way across the ceiling. The furniture was relatively modern and was clustered around a good sized, yet outdated TV, which Arthur flicked on as he passed by it and chucked the remote to Francis. However, aside from a couple of landscape paintings on the walls and the odd ornament, the room was mostly bare of personal possessions. A few books lay on the shelves and in the bookcase, but they looked as though they were thrown on higgledy-piggledy or left behind, and there were no family photos or personal touches that gave an indication to who lived there. For some reason, Francis kept imagining that he could catch snatches of knowledge that told him the house's true potential, and he somehow knew for sure that it had only recently been left empty.

Arthur's hurried preparations of his house continued for the next few hours; there was nothing useful there for them, no food, no clean bedding and a whole lot to do before they could begin to relax or at least plan what they were going to do next. Arthur ordered them some food quickly from his phone on a rare break with Francis on the sofa, before disappearing off again into different rooms, sometimes returning with armfuls of bedding to wash and then carry to the tumble dryer. It was nearly 7 in the evening by the time there were two beds made up and the house liveable and warm. Arthur had stopped for the pizza he had ordered but left most of it to Francis before grabbing an old laptop with an even older wireless dongle from upstairs and ordering food and essentials to be delivered from a supermarket online.

Francis' past few hours had been quite boring; between watching Arthur rush about the house and staring blankly at the English language TV programmes, he had napped; something his body seemed incredibly ready to do.

'I'll pop into town tomorrow to get you some proper clothes; I'll need some new ones myself.' Arthur spoke from over his laptop, eyes on the screen and face illuminated, distracting Francis from his eyes' wandering. 'There's nothing here for either of us to wear so we'll have to deal with what we've got for tonight.'

He placed the laptop on the coffee table, collected the dirty plates and vanished into the kitchen to wash up, but not before taking the remote from where it lay on Francis' armchair and changed the TV to a news station, issuing instructions for Francis to keep an eye out for a mention of them in the news. As he made his way back into the living room, Francis caught him.

'Arthur...' Francis was tired and his bones ached after spending a whole day squashed in a car without any way of stretching himself out. He also hadn't taken any medication for his heart but he knew that his curiosity would keep him awake and restless all night; he needed answers more than anything else.

Arthur glanced down at him from the doorway and nodded, understanding his unspoken question right away. 'I know.' He crossed back into the kitchen and opened a cupboard to reveal an old bottle of red wine. Grabbing two glasses, he came back to the living room and pushed the coffee table back so that he could sit right in front of Francis.

Francis fidgeted in agitation at being kept waiting and Arthur shot him a look which warned him to be patient before glancing down to the wine bottle, serving Francis a generous portion and passing it to him.

'I never liked wine when I was younger.' Francis offered as small talk when he accepted the glass.

Arthur gave a small smile before he sat straight backed with hands clasped on one crossed leg, attention fully on Francis. 'Now, ask away.'

The first question was the one he had thought about for most of his life and it was not difficult to bring to mind. 'What is in that case?'

Arthur considered him seriously for a moment before flicking his eyes briefly at the case which rested on the sofa rest to Francis, untouched from when it had first been placed there. 'I don't know for sure, only that it's extremely important for the French government and must remain in safe hands.'

This easily led Francis to his next question. 'Why on earth is that person me? How on earth did it end up in my possession, and why leave it in my house for me to find if it's so important?'

'Again, I don't know the full details as I wasn't around at the time,' Arthur tried to give a small laugh but it sounded as though he'd choked. He poured himself some wine with practised ease. 'You weren't chosen by anyone, as far as I'm aware; you volunteered.' He said, eyes on his task and seemingly avoiding eye contact.

Francis stared at him questioningly; mouth slightly open and his face morphed into a look of confusion. 'But, that's not possible-'

'-When you were younger,' Arthur interrupted and bent forward slightly so he rested more on his knees, wine glass balanced in his hand and speaking to Francis directly, 'you were stopped by someone who offered you some small change money to do a government issued personality survey, which you filled out and sent off, and then received about 20 Euros in your account later. As far as you know, that's the last you heard of it. What you actually did, was to fill in a personality questionnaire and not read the terms and conditions.' Arthur gave a rueful smile and swirled the wine in his glass. 'You signed up for the survey but were considered an ideal candidate so you were progressed further, as you must have said that they could do with your data.' Arthur shifted on the coffee table and paused to take a sip of wine. He made a face at the taste, but drank more anyway before elaborating further.

'What's in the case is too important to be guarded anywhere high risk, thus the French government's beautiful, and not at all stupid, idea was to leave it with an unsuspecting member of their public.'

Francis made to speak and Arthur raised an eyebrow and continued, ignoring his attempted interruption, 'I'm not saying I agree, mind you. They didn't choose anyone known, or any of their agents involved with it directly, because the contents was, and is, deemed too alluring; anyone aware about it, anyone too close to the government's inner circle, or anyone with any sort of power, really, could use the contents against the case's owner. The best thing to do, therefore, was loan it to a citizen of no status, no power, no possible way to attack the government or learn about what it is he's guarding.' Arthur finished off his glass and made to refill it. 'And that's where you come into this.'

Francis shook his head and gave a nervous laugh. 'Now really, Arthur, this- I can't be! Listen to yourself! This is ridiculous, surely? I mean,' Francis indicated to himself, 'look at me! This is too much of a risk, no? And all that hassle for a single case? I found it in my loft, the previous owner had left it behind.' Francis gripped his glass and looked at Arthur beseechingly, but the other man avoided his gaze. 'Please, be serious. If it's truly important then perhaps the old owner of my house chose to leave it behind as the job was too much for him. I just found it; I most certainly was not given it.'

Arthur shook his head dismissively, a gesture Francis found annoying. 'Francis, I'm sorry but I can't tell you anything different; you were young and jobless which is what they were looking for; you didn't travel much abroad, knew no other foreign languages, had no connections with anyone in the government of any particular country and you had no criminal record and no high ambition. You were an only child with elderly parents from a small family contained in a small area. You came along at the right time and they chose you. It was chance.'

Francis shook his head again in insistent denial, rejecting the growing fear that stemmed from Arthur hitting every nail on the head about his life. 'No, Arthur, it makes no sense! I could have got a job later; I could have moved away and I could have opened the case or something! There was no way for them to kno-'

'Francis, listen to me.' Arthur sounded frustrated and when Francis glanced at him, he looked on the verge of allowing irritation to show on his face; ears were red and his eyebrows were starting to look stern. Arthur usually varied between being completely devoid of any visible emotion, to being extremely expressive and then to being unable to contain how he felt. He was a person who could chose; he could be emotional, or he could not. This half and half was strange; the fact that Arthur was struggling to remain impassive gave Francis the impression that he was trying too hard to act a part.

'You asked me to be truthful, and I'm trying to be. The whole thing managed to work so well because they took your decisions out of the plan; they managed your life for you to ensure both yours and your charge's safety. Like it or not, that's the truth.' A thick, tension filled silence fell between them and Francis found himself being unable to tune out the babbling of the TV in the background, which had faded to an incomprehensible buzz; anything to offer an escape to this conversation. He stared at it and he sipped at his wine, trying to hold back the hysterical rage building up within him. How dare he….

After a few moments Arthur broke the silence again, voice calm and authoritative and emotions settled back into control. 'I'm not deceiving you; I'm informing you. You asked, and this is the answer. You, Francis Bonnefoy, had no control in any of these decisions, which is why this has worked so well for so many years. You don't believe it's you who was chosen, and thus nor does, or did, anybody else.'

Arthur waited for a response but, upon Francis' refusal to add more to this ridiculous discussion, he tried again to make him see sense. 'You were the first to fit the profile they were looking for; it was done as simply as that. The plan worked, and worked well, for many years! What I need to work out now is how and why it stopped working; who actually managed to track the case down and what they know about it.'

He run the hand not holding his glass through his hair and muttered, almost more to himself than to Francis, 'This has never happened before; it's always worked perfectly and now I'm stuc-'

'Oh poor you,' Francis spat, finally breaking his silence, 'poor you, sitting here with your tiny dilemma. What on earth are you to do now?'

Arthur gave a small grimace. 'Francis...'

Francis fixed his eyes back on him and glared, 'I'm sorry, am I being difficult? Am I not making this easy for you? Oh, do forgive me.'

'Francis, I didn't mean it like that, I meant that I-'

'I don't care what you meant!' Heat coursed through his chest and ignited the voice in his throat. He put the glass down. 'What I mean is that you're telling me my life was controlled by the government? How on earth do you expect me to believe that? How did I go my entire life not realising that I was the pawn on the republic?'

Arthur tried to quickly explain, 'It's not what you're thinking of; it worked because it was subtle. Certain things were arranged to ensure you were in the right place at the right time and options were presented to you which they hoped you'd take. Like your house, they found a house in the area you were searching to live in and knocked down the price, changed the lease and dismissed the landlord. Things were manipulated to make it more appealing yes, but it was your choice to go.'

The anger helped adrenaline run through his body and allowed him to raise his voice to cover Arthur's own; probably to the loudest he'd gone in years. 'And that makes it okay?!' He stared at Arthur, disbelieving and astounded, 'You really want me to believe this don't you?'

He shook his head in denial whilst Arthur tried very hard to calm him down, speaking again in a more soothing voice, 'Francis, I don't want you to believe anything, it's just-'

'It's just?' Francis sat back more, away from Arthur now. If he were young enough, he would have walked away by now, either that or thrown a punch at Arthur just to make him shut up. 'Just…what? Just a small thing; just that my life was controlled, apparently, by my government for more than 50 years and I knew nothing about this until today? It's just that I'm being told all this by you- how do you know this anyway? Why are you even here?'

'It's been a long job, I'm just the next in line to make sure the case-'

Francis held up a hand and shot angrily, 'Does it look like I care about that damned thing?!'

Arthur fell silent and Francis could see the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth in his vow to remain unruffled and controlled. How long had he practised for this? Or had he hoped to never have this conversation? Francis didn't want to allow himself to dwell upon those issues as that would mean admitting to himself that this whole charade was true.

Arthur placed his glass down as well, finally giving up the pretence that this was only a nice little chat and tried to elaborate. 'Your life was not controlled; it's not what you're thinking. Yes, I admit that certain variables were controlled to you to keep you where you were wanted, but that was the worst of it.' He leant further forwards and tried to look reasonable, face calm and hands upturned and spread apart. 'Francis, being chosen for the job wasn't your choice but originally you-'

'No! No, you will not do this to me.' Francis jabbed a shaking finger in Arthur's direction furiously. 'I have not come all this way; I have not suffered through attempted murder, and waited for answers this whole time just to have you tell me that I signed up for this willingly. I will not!'

His chest felt tight, like it was being squashed, and found that he had drawn his left hand to his chest as he began gasping for a breath. Arthur saw him realise this and made to stand to help him but Francis shot him a look that dared him to even try.

'My whole life is mine!' he managed to hiss at the younger man, 'I chose it, I am in charge of it; no one else! I did not chose to look after that- that thing, and I will not have you'- Francis struggled to carry enough air in his lungs to continue, 'I will not have you of all people tell me otherwise.' Arthur had inched towards him more on the table and bent towards him, trying to take his hand away from his chest before speaking to him in a placating voice, 'Okay Francis, just-'

Francis angrily hit his hands away and Arthur recoiled, seemingly shocked by his unexpected refusal. 'I trusted you!' His voice could barely go higher than speaking level and he wheezed between every other word; his chest hurt. 'I called you back because I thought you could help me! I thought-' he tried to laugh but the air caught in his lungs and his throat tightened around nothing, 'I thought that you would understand; I thought you would take me seriously but, instead-,' he gasped, 'instead you-' he couldn't continue; his heart wouldn't stop beating, slamming into his rib cage, and his lungs felt as though they had shrunk in his chest. He dimly heard Arthur mention something like 'water' over the pounding of his own blood in his ears before his mind shut down and his vision went black, the burn in his chest distracting him from everything else.

Francis had another memory from when he was around 12. His parents were fond of travelling and ever since Francis had been old enough to reliably sit on an aeroplane without causing severe harm to other passengers' stress levels, himself and his parents had taken to holidaying in Spain or Portugal. This particular year, his parents had taken him to explore a small village in Spain which boasted impressive walks and an old castle on a hilltop.

His mother had taken a fancy to a small gift shop strategically placed by the train station towards the end of the visit and had pulled his father inside with her, leaving Francis to dawdle unimpressed by the front entrance after stubbornly refusing to accompany them inside. He looked up from a small rock he was rolling under his trainer and, by happenstance, his gaze landed on a young man crossing the road in front of him.

He was well dressed, more suited to the city than a village, but seemed to be heading away from the station rather that to it. Francis quickly deduced that he must work there but live here; nowhere in this small place required that smart a dress, surely. Halfway through crossing the man must have felt Francis' stare as he glanced up and locked eyes with him. His step faltered momentarily but he carried on his way, offering Francis a smile and a wave as he crossed to the other side, brown head getting harder to see between the bobbing of people, before disappearing behind a house.

The memory is so banal that Francis always wondered why it's one of the ones he remembers the most.

He awoke in a bed. He was propped on what felt like a mountain of pillows, under a good number of blankets, to alleviate any pressure from his chest. He woke up slowly, one part of him regaining life at a time; his body felt loose and refreshed after what felt like a long, deep sleep in a soft, warm bed. As he slowly focused in on the world, he made the comparison to how much better this was than sleeping screwed up on himself in the car filled with tension.

This then, of course, led on to why he had been in a car for so long in the first place.

Francis sighed and turned his head slightly to stare at the window. Arthur had drawn the windows with thick, dark curtains that completely blocked out the light and cutting off his only means of determining the time, which meant he had no idea how long he'd been asleep or what part of the day it was. He felt perfectly awake and refreshed, however, and thus assumed that he'd at least slept the equivalent of a whole night. The other benefit of sleeping, other than allowing the body to recuperate and relax into better health, was the positive effect it had on the mental state. Francis had always been of the opinion that any problem could be solved after it had been slept on; the mind could better focus on the logical issues rather than the accompanying emotions.

After a full good night's sleep, then, Francis felt better. Although he didn't agree with Arthur's delivery, his ludicrous story could have grounds to be true. However, there was so much that needed to be explained in order for Francis to even give him the slightest benefit of the doubt. He also still felt angry; it burned strong in his chest and made his stomach clench, but it was more towards his situation and his utter helplessness than at Arthur himself.

He closed his eyes, focusing on steadying his breathing and trying to make himself relax. He stayed that way for a while, sorting through all of the previous day's events and trying to make sense of them all. Arthur seemed sincere, at least in his efforts to help Francis to safety and to keep him alive. And his explanation was just probable enough to be possible; Francis had heard horror stories about governments covering up what they didn't want the general public to know for the supposed greater good, no matter the cost. It was possible, he supposed, but Francis didn't want it to be true, he didn't want to consider the possibility that his whole life was someone else's construct. It was soul destroying and thinking about it in full, even briefly, made him feel numb and his heart race with the terror of being manipulated so seamlessly for so long.

But...

Despite its ring of truth, Arthur's story didn't seem wholly correct. For some reason, Francis knew that Arthur was either lying about parts of it, or he wasn't telling the whole truth, just by the way everything felt too convenient almost. He reached up a hand to brush back his hair and made a face at the feel; he needed a wash. Preferably a bath but really anything that had clean, warm water, although for that he'd need Arthur's help.

It was strange; Arthur had been helping him bathe for a few years now, yet Francis now felt... almost uncomfortable by the thought of it. Almost as if he was embarrassed for Arthur to see him, which was a ridiculous thing to be shy about now, but there seemed to be something about him Francis now felt almost wary of. Although wary didn't seem like quite the right word.

He opened his eyes and stared again at the curtains, trying to guess the time to see if it was worth attempting to get up. Something just didn't feel right about Arthur's involvement in all of this, aside from the total absurdity of it all, but now that he was a lot calmer and more prepared Francis was now ready to hear the whole story again in full; ready to listen carefully and start picking apart the threads to find the truth.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. After half an hour of Francis mulling things over to himself, he heard a small knock at the door before Arthur poked his head through.

'Ah good, you're awake.'

He opened the door fully to reveal himself fully and carrying a glass of water.

'How long have I been asleep?' Arthur crossed the room to the bed and placed the glass down on the bedside table without answering. He then helped Francis to sit up and handed him the water before responding. 'About 10 hours or so, it's 6 am now; a rather good sleep for you, really.'

Francis ignored the sarcastic comment and accepted the water gratefully before drinking most of it quickly in a few gulps.

'What are you doing awake this early?'

The other man paused for a second. 'I've got a lot of things to sort out now that we're here.' He supplied in response, and then eyed Francis carefully. 'How are you feeling?'

Francis avoided eye contact and moved his hand away slightly when Arthur reached to take the glass back; only looking up after Arthur had retracted his hand and had taken the unspoken request to give him some space. 'Better; I don't feel tired or as highly strung, anyway.'

Arthur gave a crooked smile. He looked guarded, as if trying to read Francis for a way to proceed but getting nothing helpful. Francis realised he'd have to make the offer before Arthur was to do anything and so decided to say what he made up his mind on during the time he'd been awake.

'I'd like you to tell me again; from the beginning. I want to hear it all, and I want you to answer all of my questions without any excuses, just the bare, detailed facts. Please, Arthur,' Francis leant forward and grabbed a hold of Arthur's hand, catching the other man by surprise and breaking the tension between them slightly, 'I don't want justification and I don't want a rose-tinted version of anything. Nor do I want a cover up missing crucial detail. This is my life you were talking about, not some story.'

For a second, Francis imagined that Arthur had given his hand a quick squeeze but, before he could focus on the sensation properly, he had gently slipped his hand from Francis' grasp and had placed it on his hip. 'Okay. I admit I was a bit short with describing it to you yesterday; I'll start afresh slower. I didn't take the time to consider that this obviously means a lot more to you than to me and I didn't account for your feelings properly when explaining for that I apologise.' Arthur looked away awkwardly and Francis was comforted that this, at least, felt familiar. Arthur was always terrible at admitting fault.

Francis sighed. 'No, it's not only you; I got angry at you, when I shouldn't have done.' If Arthur was willing to admit to his bad behaviour, then it was only right that Francis cleared the air on his side as well. 'It's not your fault, for whatever's happened. You weren't even born when this started, if what you said last night is true.' Did Arthur just look guilty then? Francis dismissed it as, upon a second observation, Arthur's expression hadn't changed. But there was something...in his body language maybe? In his presence?

'But please, consider this from my point of view,' Francis's heart skipped a beat as he spoke, the possibility of this being the truth staring him right in the face, 'What would you do, if you suddenly realised that the life you'd lived was never truly your own? If what you told me is true...' He took a deep, steadying breath and tried to continue without the waver threatening to break through his voice. 'If what you've told me is true, then my life hasn't really been mine, has it?'

Arthur reached out a hand to grab Francis' shoulder with a look on his face that Francis couldn't quite give a name to, but stopped at the last moment, leaving his hand dangling there redundantly. He reclaimed it slowly and considered him for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed silently, alert green eyes focusing on him.

'Before we go through this again, just answer me this,' this was the question that had been nagging him yesterday and all of the time he'd been awake today, the little whisper tugging at his heart that he couldn't quite tune out. It was the one that meant the most.

'How much of it has been a lie?'

Arthur stared back at him; unmoving with a face frozen between emotions from being finally caught off guard.

'And by a lie...' Francis continued, hesitantly, 'I mean how much of my life have I actually been in control of?'

Arthur tightened his lips but his eyes softened, as if trying to stop himself from saying something too comforting but being unable to wish the sentiment away.

'I told you yesterday, Francis. I know this is hard for you, and by "know" of course I can't even begin to understand how you feel,' He seemed to place a little too much emphasis on the 'begin', either that or the intonation just seemed off, 'but it's not as bad as it sounds. You made all the decisions and you chose and changed every aspect of your life according to what was available to you. So, while yes some of those options were laid out for you, there was never a point where you were not in control of what was going on.'

'But my life itself was still planned, no? It still had an end goal, designed by someone else.'

'Well...'

'And I merely selected my desired cards from an incomplete deck that another hand intentionally drew; the outcome was always fixed wasn't it?'

Arthur said nothing and Francis continued; questions tumbling from his lips as his mind latched onto what it finally realised was the puzzle piece that never fit properly in Arthur's story.

'You say this was a random selection of a citizen who willingly and unknowingly signed himself up for this whole business, but how on earth would they know me so well? If my life was as much my own as you say, then how could anyone factor in so much, like my personality or habits, and then plan that it would all go according to plan? Would one quiz show them so much? If so, then I surely would remember such intrusive questions.'

He breathed in, collected his thoughts and arranged them. He continued, 'How do you know this? Why do you know this? If, as you said, I was a free man all along, why were you in the care home in the first place; were you guarding me or the case? And why you, an Englishman, of all people? Why not a member of the French government?'

Their conversation had shifted, Arthur had gone from supportive and comforting to guarded and tense, whilst Francis had gone from willing and accepting to eager to pick fault, eager to gain back some of the control he'd not realised he'd lost from their relationship. Since all this started, he'd never even considered the two of them to be anything but equals both caught in a random event. But now...

But now so much seemed to be built on shaky ground. All that Francis knew about the case, and even the attempt on his life, he knew from what Arthur had told him. None of it he knew for himself by his own seeing. The escape from the home, the security cameras being conveniently off and the place empty with open gates; too much felt wrong. Why would the place be empty? How could all of the residents be hidden; the staff be coerced into either leaving for the night or joining in? And no resistance? Furthermore, it wasn't possible to change shifts unless there was a good reason, more so for almost an entire shift change. And if the other workers were responsible for all of this, didn't that also mean that Arthur could be intricately involved in all of this, playing the 'good cop' in a 'bad cop' play?

'It's not so much what I did, it's what I failed to do.' Arthur's words from yesterday came to the front of his thoughts. What had he failed to do? Why was he in France? And involved in all of this? Just how long had Arthur been involved, been a part of this plan to somehow shape and direct Francis' life? Where did Arthur's position in this lie, if he was protecting Francis and the case then that meant he would have had to have been involved beforehand, but when? When Francis got his first home help nurse? When his wife had died? When and why did Arthur suddenly appear in all of this?

How many years had he been watched?

Looking back, he had been led by Arthur all along, none of what had happened to them had been Francis' idea; none of it was of his choosing but it was he who was the most affected by it all. Arthur was too calm, too planned out and his reactions too perfect. Francis was alone in a strange country where he couldn't speak the language, had no currency and thus no way of getting back again. He couldn't walk far or go and get food unaided and he couldn't survive for long without medication that he'd need someone else to order for him.

He was trapped here.

His thoughts flashed through his brain and he focused onto and processed each one before jumping to the next. The whirl in his brain was finally brought to a stop by Arthur, who had gently laid a hand on Francis' arm and was gripping it softy.

'Francis, please, you're going to have to trust me and let me explain. I'm not trying to deceive you.'

Francis gave a sad laugh and Arthur tried to not show any traces of exasperation, although Francis could sense it building anyway. Instead, the younger man tried to look more cheerful and forced a smile, mouth still tight and eyes unreadable. 'But first let's both get some food in us and freshen up a little, it'll be easier to talk once you're up properly and I've had some more caffeine. Can't have you 'croaking' on me, eh?' He patted Francis' arm cordially and rose from the bed before looking down at him with a smile.

Francis recognised Arthur's attempt at their old banter as a way of him trying to move the conversation off an apparently difficult subject. After all, if it was as clear cut and simple as Arthur was trying to make it out to be, he wouldn't be so irked by Francis questions. A simple answer was usually the truth; avoidance indicated a lie. What was the difference between talking now or later? If he had nothing to hide, why delay answering?

Something clicked in his head that he'd unintentionally asked the wrong question to start with, or, in his case, the right question. What if he had gone downstairs when first asked and let the matter drop? He could have easily been talked into accepting something Arthur had thought over long and hard, but by asking the right question, by luck, he'd broken enough holes in the explanation before Arthur had even had a change to plan a counter-attack.

Forcing himself to make eye contact with the other man, Francis shook his head. 'I'm not going anywhere until you answer me with the whole truth. And I mean it.'

Arthur stared back at him, eyes calculating, and said nothing.

'After all, upon what grounds can I trust you when you're not telling me something?' He said imploringly, desperate now that Arthur would do or say something that would break this horrid new image Francis was building of him.

'I'm sure you mean well, but I want to know now. Now point in delaying, my dear, if you have nothing to hide.' He attempted a smile but leant away from Arthur, resting more against the headboard of the bed and making obvious his intentions to stay.

Arthur stayed silent for a while, holding eye contact with him and considering him carefully. Finally, he nodded. 'Okay then Francis. We can do that.'

Francis gave a sign of relief and sat up again happily. 'Arthur, I'm really glad you said that-'

All of a sudden, Arthur lunged forward. Francis' dull reflexes worked enough to register hands on his cheeks, the feeling of panic in his heart and the force of his head being twisted to the side.

He died quickly.

Arthur took the shower curtains off from around the bath before carrying them downstairs to the kitchen, where he left them. The old tiled floor was freezing his bare feet, so he made his way as quickly and as light-footedly as possible into the living room, throwing open the old curtains before making his way across to the armchair in the corner where the briefcase sat atop their meagre luggage. He picked it up before holding it in his hands, bouncing it slightly to test its weight.

'Well then, finally time to return this.'

AN:

Woah Nelly Nora, I'm still here and this is still going! Hope you're all still okay following this along through the many months between updates; if there are any inconsistencies that you've spotted when reading any of the chapters please let me know, i'm packing in a lot of detail and I know know I'm going to let one slip by wihtout noticing that it isn't tied up.

*Oast houses are wonderful things. Found mainly in the county of Kent (a hop growing region) oast houses are a common sight dotted about and are charmingly odd. Many, if not most, of the ones remaining have now been converted into houses, but they used to make up a large part of Kentish economy (hop picking was a summer tradition that went on for hundreds of generations before only very recently dying out around the 1960s). I grew up thinking these crazy fuckers were totally normal buildings, only to leave Kent and find them...nowhere else. No one else I know has even heard of them, but there you go. Do go and look them up!

This chapter was originally part of the previous one, but then the whole thing grew so long that I had to break it into two pieces; it turned out to be a good thing as I then expanded them into more detail that made it feel a bit more like a narrative than a description.

Many thanks as well for all of your kind comments!

I hope you enjoy the newest chapter and thank you very much for sticking with me thus far; see you soon!