Robert's definition of fraternisation is apparently broad enough that it encompasses basic politeness, because for the past couple of weeks, he has acted as though Aaron has ceased to exist.
Even when they'd found themselves seated next to each other at the pub's bar, or Aaron unwittingly interrupted the precarious temporary ceasefire of a Sugden family dinner in its back room, Robert didn't react to the sound of his voice and his gaze glided straight over him, as if there's now just a blank spot in his world in place of the one Aaron used to inhabit.
It's been surprisingly irritating, to not even be granted the common decency of eye contact and the mutual acknowledgement that they're two people momentarily sharing the same space, but as Robert has also held up his end of the bargain as regards laying off the arching for the time being, Aaron hasn't really felt as though he's got much room to complain about his behaviour.
It does, however, render the text Aaron has just received somewhat puzzling. It's from an unfamiliar number, signed with Robert's name, and claims that his car's broken down and he needs a Mechanic. The capitalisation seems deliberate given that he hasn't used any anywhere else in the message.
That, even more than the fact that it's Aaron's day off and he shouldn't have to be dealing with breakdowns – whether they're imaginary or not – inclines him towards ignoring it, as it smacks of the super-crap he'd been promised a holiday from.
His phone trills again as he's sliding it back into his pocket.
i promise its not a trap :)
The emoticon is hardly reassuring.
Aaron's in the midst of writing a reply informing Robert that he should piss off and get in touch with Cain if he really is having car trouble when a third text arrives; an all caps assertion that Robert's straits are very dire, his situation extremely urgent, and only Aaron can possibly help him.
Aaron stares down at the words, anticipating a fourth text, maybe even a call, because it seems pretty much inevitable. Robert's clearly determined to try and push on with whatever the hell it is he's planning.
He should probably just turn his phone off. (He doesn't.)
He shouldn't be intrigued. (He is.)
Telling himself he's just sparing himself a future headache, Aaron sets off to pick the tow truck up from the garage.
-
-
It isn't the white Audi that Aaron's seen Robert driving around the village that's pulled up in a lay-by along the narrow road that runs through the wood- and farmland between the village and Hotten, but a long, low-slung, and sleek black car that looks like overcompensation given physical form.
Aaron studies it closely as he eases the truck past, because he's never seen one quite like it before. There's a malevolent red light emanating out of the boot and protrusions with a disconcerting resemblance to blades at the centre of the hubcaps. The badge on the bonnet is the Guild's world-hopping dragon in chrome.
"This your work car?" Aaron says as he approaches Robert after parking the truck.
Robert nods. "It was an early wedding present from Chrissie," he says. "Custom build. All the extras."
He looks insufferably pleased about that, proud, and is doubtless poised to boast about those extras at length should Aaron give him the tiniest hint of encouragement.
"What's wrong with it, then?" Aaron asks instead, because he thinks it's better for his peace of mind if he doesn't find out what extras supervillains find worthwhile additions to their vehicles. Those probably are blades on the wheels.
Robert's head droops a little despondently, but he is quick to rally himself again, and say, "The engine's started making this... really weird noise. Like it's screaming."
He starts the car to demonstrate, and the engine purrs into well-tuned life at first, but a moment later it starts emitting a grating, high-pitched screeching that sets Aaron's teeth on edge, and prompts him to clamp his hands over his ears.
"Shut it off," he urges Robert, "and pop the bonnet. I'll take a look."
Robert nods again, the screaming abruptly cuts out, and once Aaron's ears have stopped ringing, he props open the bonnet and peers inside.
There's absolutely nothing there that he recognises, just a Gordian knot tangle of pipework, wide vents spewing forth hissing clouds of steam, and a series of black cubes that look very much like the one Robert had used to knock him out, though on a much larger scale. At the centre of it all sits a Y-shaped glass tube filled with glowing blue liquid, which is hooked up to a spiderweb of thin wires.
Robert leans up against the front bumper beside Aaron, close enough that Aaron is enveloped in the pungent cloud of his aftershave once more and their arms brush together briefly when Robert stretches his out to point at the tube. "I think that might be the flux capacitor," he says, one corner of his mouth curling up into a crooked smile.
He taps at the glass, and something deep in the bowels of the car makes an angry buzzing noise, like he's just stirred a jar of bees into flight. From the looks of the rest of the engine, it's not beyond the bounds of possibility that he has done.
"I can't help you," Aaron says, taking a step back from the car and away from Robert. "I've never seen anything like this before."
"It's okay," Robert says. "There's nothing wrong with it, anyway. It's just one of the extras. The 'Tortured Soul' setting, which I—"
"So this was a trap, then?" Aaron growls, folding his fingers in towards his palms. Readying himself to throw a punch.
"No, not a trap." Robert holds his own hands up, fingers spread wide, in what is obviously meant to be a placating gesture; a demonstration that they're empty. "But I admit I did ask you here under false pretences. I just wanted to speak to you alone, and, well, you know that's against the rules."
"What the hell would we need to talk about?"
"The letter you saw Ross give me." Robert reaches slowly into one of his jacket pockets. Aaron watches him carefully and keeps his fists clenched. "I think you should look at it."
Aaron relaxes only when Robert draws out nothing more than that familiar envelope, shakes out his hands and takes it from him. It contains a single sheet of paper, covered on both sides by a continuous string of seemingly random letters and numbers.
"It's some sort of code?" Aaron guesses. "I can't read this."
"Neither can I. I've got someone working on it, but I know..." Robert looks around himself warily, and then sidles closer again, his voice dropping low as he continues with: "I know it's important. I think Lawrence is planning something big. Something dangerous, and definitely not Guild-approved. I haven't been able to figure out what yet, but, hopefully, that's going to help me."
"Okay, but what's it got to do with me?"
Robert takes a deep breath in and then sighs it out slowly. "With Lawrence and Chrissie backing me, I could have had my pick of any of the arching jobs on offer around here. I could have chosen one of the heavy hitters, someone with powers, and been on my way to level two in a matter of months, but I went with you instead. Do you want to know why?"
"Not particularly," Aaron says. "You're going to tell me anyway, though, aren't you."
Robert flashes his teeth in something that bears only superficial resemblance to a grin. "Because you were based in Emmerdale. It was a stroke of luck, that; a level one hero practically on my doorstep who hadn't been assigned an arch yet." Robert glances sidelong at Aaron. "Someone who could help me."
"I thought we were supposed to archenemies. Why would I do that?"
Robert lifts his shoulders in a loose shrug. "Because you're one of the good guys."
"Right." Aaron snorts derisively. "Sorry to break it to you, mate, but I don't really take the whole 'superhero' thing all that seriously. I just—"
"That wasn't what I meant," Robert says, the tense line of his mouth softening slightly. "Look, Aaron, when I say dangerous, I really do mean dangerous. This isn't proportionate violence, and it isn't a game. People could get killed. They already might have been."
"And how can I help you, then? You know I don't have powers, or weapons, or any of that crap. What use would I be against a... a level ten supervillain or whatever?"
"You've already helped me," Robert says.
Aaron blinks at him, puzzled. "I have?"
"The other day at Home Farm; distracting everyone so Ross could sneak in and steal that letter for me."
And anything else he could get his hands on, judging by the bulging bag he'd been clutching when he met up with Robert.
"I never heard anything about a break in," Aaron says, frowning. Normally, that sort of gossip would have spread through the village like wildfire; been chewed over in The Woolpack before Lawrence had even got off the phone to the police to report it.
"You wouldn't," Robert says. "If word ever got out that Lawrence's lair got robbed by a non-Guild thief, he'd be demoted to at least a level eight so fast his head would still be spinning." He chuckles dryly at the thought. "Anyway, that's all you'd need to do. Provide a distraction. Be my alibi, occasionally."
"More arching," Aaron says morosely.
"Yeah, I might have been a bit premature in putting an stop to that for the time being," Robert admits, swiftly adding when Aaron opens his mouth to protest, "But it'll be just the same as the last time. Completely for show, and neither of us gets hurt. Much. I'll do all of the dirty work."
"And we'll really be saving people's lives doing this?"
"We will."
Robert meets Aaron's eyes steadily, and his expression is relaxed and open, giving every appearance of honesty. Aaron doesn't trust him enough yet to really believe he's telling the full truth, but, on balance, the risk of being wrong on that score – of telling him to piss off as he hadn't earlier and walking away – seems as though it might be too great to chance it.
He sighs in resignation. "Just let me know when you need me."