"You can't bring the Xbox," Arthur muttered, sitting on his suitcase in an effort to shut it. "I don't think we'll even have a television where we're going. Put it back. Put back the medical pack."
Gilbert looked at the Xbox. Her name was Gloria. He hugged her closer to his chest and shook his head. "No. I'm already leaving Gilfred, I'm not leaving Gloria."
They were leaving everything. They had packed up a decade's worth of living into three suitcases. Gilbert's collection of weights lay scattered around the apartment like gravestones, Arthur's books had been sorted and resorted down to the one bag. The DVDs lay stacked, but they too were going to be abandoned.
At the back of his mind, Gilbert thought it was a little unfair. He liked this apartment. He liked the lazy Saturdays in bed with Arthur, watching rain run down the windows. He liked the stereo system, the neighbor with too many cats, the stuffy man who baked down the hall.
"Gilfred?" Arthur asked distractedly, trying to zip the suitcase. "Are you talking about the DVD player?"
"The Blu-ray player!" Gilbert said, offended Arthur had forgotten. "It took me forever to update all the DVDs, and now we're leaving him! I can't leave Gloria, too!"
"Well, we can't not bring a first aid kit!" Arthur let out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat and stood, opening the bag and looking between his books. "Do you think I need pants? No, of course I need pants…" He took out a large Shakespeare book, movements painful and slow.
"We… Don't have to leave." Gilbert set Gloria down on the coffee table, patting her gently.
Arthur sighed. "Yes, we do. The investigation has already begun, most likely. We need to visit your friend in—where ever we're going. You booked the tickets, haven't you? You have." His hands hovered over the books. "I don't want to," Arthur muttered, more to himself.
There was a knock at the door, and they both froze. A second later, there was another pounding of palm on wood. Arthur looked at the door and Gilbert, taking a step forward before Gilbert quickly waved him away.
Gilbert's foot caught on the coffee table and he fell before he could even approach the door. The pounding increased, and Arthur hissed for him to get up.
Gilbert hopped up and opened the door. He began to say something, but he froze.
"Who is it?" Arthur asked, coming up behind him. "Tell them we're…"
The words died on his tongue. Alfred stood there, looking between them. He wouldn't look at Gilbert, and the expression of pure anger that crossed his face as he stood there made Gilbert want to sink into the ground. So, he did the opposite.
"You need something?" Gilbert asked, opening the door slightly so Arthur could stand next to him. Arthur didn't move. "I said, did you need—"
"Arthur." Alfred's voice was practically buzzing with emotions. They swirled like currents underneath the name. "What the fuck are you doing?"
No one spoke. Down the hall, classical music played. Someone laughed, the response muffled through the walls. Alfred clenched his fists, and Gilbert tensed, ready to slam into Alfred. But Alfred only shook his head.
"You killed people. You could have killed me." Alfred laughed, and it was a sharp laugh, a pointed laugh. "Do you even care?" His eyes found Gilbert. "I guess not."
Gilbert heard Arthur retreat into the apartment and braced one arm against the doorframe. Alfred gave him a look, a sneer of anger, and Gilbert had the urge to punch him in the face. He gritted his teeth.
"Sorry, bud, you need to leave, right now." Gilbert stepped forward, but Alfred didn't step away or cringe back in fear. Alfred looked him in the eye. Not a flinch, not at all, and only Arthur didn't flinch. It made Gilbert want to slam the door shut. "Leave."
"I covered for you, you know," Alfred said, eyes flicking past Gilbert into the apartment. "You don't have to run away. I didn't tell them you killed a bunch of people. I—"
"He didn't kill anyone," Gilbert snapped, stretching his legs so he was standing at his full height.
"I swear to God, if you talk to me one more time, I'm going to fucking kill you, again." Alfred's voice almost broke, the anger edging onto something darker, something more fragile. "You killed people, too. You hurt people." His voice turned sharp. "And I covered for you!"
"Alfred, leave," Arthur sighed from inside.
And Alfred looked at Gilbert, looked at the apartment, shook his head, and left. He took something with him, too, some peace-of-mind that made Gilbert restless and edgy. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave their apartment, fly somewhere far away, where rainy hillsides were nowhere to be seen.
Arthur was throwing his books around, snarling when his suitcase still wouldn't shut. "Shut the fucking door," he snapped, picking up the Shakespeare book and tossing it back down. "He covered for me, like I asked him, like it was a bloody fucking favor! Shut the fucking door, Gilbert," Arthur said again, "that's an order."
The door clicked shut, but Gilbert didn't turn around.
"He's a fucking idiot," Arthur muttered, and Gilbert heard more books thump down on the table. "Gil, would you help me—"
"We can turn ourselves in, Arthur."
Gilbert could practically hear the gears turning in in Arthur head. The witch cleared his throat, and the suitcase finally zipped shut. Gilbert heard another muted laugh, and he forced himself to turn around.
Arthur looked at him, bent over his suitcase. "Please don't make me… Don't make me order your to be compliant. You can bring the Xbox. Please, let's back, out flight leaves soon."