Angus was on mailroom duty. Like Jack, he'd been taught to read by Bert. Unlike Jack, Angus rather preferred mailroom duty. The mailroom was a warm place to be in the winter, cool enough in the summer, allowed for the slaves to be sitting (inbetween delivering the mail, of course, a rather less pleasant task which involved a lot of stairs and looking quick or being called lazy). This morning, Angus appreciated the second half of the job more than he usually did. Because it meant running all over the bank and it was only a matter of time before he tracked down Jack.
It had only taken Angus half the morning to use his head and, instead of trying to chase Jack all over the bank, potentially getting caught idling and getting himself, or worse, the both of them in trouble, Angus went to a place he knew Jack would have to go at some point and it was unlikely for any free Citizen employee to wander: the closet where the cleaning supplies were kept.
It had its risks; if anyone cared to check in on the slaves, and it did happen from time to time, they might notice if one slave was gone over long. It was a small risk, though. Angus had a legitimate reason to wander the halls of the bank and the other slave in the mail room would cover for him if need be. And in the end, Angus didn't need to wait longer than fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes where he pretended to relax and enjoy his break all the while fretting inwardly because he still hadn't gotten to see Jack and see for himself what 'soap' Jack had gotten himself into.
Jack stepped in, whistling softly but cheerfully, a sound which did a lot to ease some of Angus's tension. Jack liked to sing while he worked and did so whenever he could get away with it. Where he couldn't get away with singing, he'd often whistle, and if not that, then hum softly under his breath. A whistle suggested they were more or less alone and that Jack was in a relaxed frame of mind. Angus breathed in and breathed out and let go of some of the worst-case scenarios that were swimming in his head.
The whistle stopped when Jack saw Angus. Jack startled, his expression showing panicked fear (because being caught whistling by the wrong person could lead to trouble, and at any rate, Angus had been hiding in a closet to ambush the man; anyone would be startled from that). Angus could tell the exact moment Jack recognized who had caught him out because the fear left, to be replaced by something almost comically complicated. Pleasure, because Jack was always pleased to see Angus. Trepidation, because Jack doubtless knew why Angus was seeking him out in cleaning closets in the middle of the day. And if it wasn't because Angus knew about the beads, he soon would know. Resignation because he'd known all along this was coming. Guilt, because it was Jack, and he hated upsetting his friends.
The pleasure won in the end, more or less, and it was with a smile that Jack allowed the closet door to close on them, light on of course, and half whispered, "Angus!" as he offered him a hug in greeting. Angus hugged back carefully, as if Jack were made of glass, but even so he felt the wince when Jack then remembered why hugging might be a bad idea.
"Teak?" Angus said, a world of questions in that one word.
'Teak' was a nickname Angus (and only Angus) used specifically with Jack that wasn't exactly slave speak but halfway was (Angus always said it was short for tea kettle, a reference to Jack's habit of whistling and because 'teak' slant rhymed with 'Jack'. It was left unsaid that it could also be a slantwise shorthand for tea cart, a word that was slave speak for another term that rhymed). Jack in turn liked to call Angus 'Kinglet' when Angus was acting particularly cocky, or 'Wren' in softer moments. Connecting it to the name 'Angus' was even more of a stretch than 'Teak' to 'Jack', but any slave would recognize the reference to a coin bearing that bird. It was a bit ironic, but while most of the world would view the 'farthing' as something valueless, to slaves any money is a forbidden treasure, and the word that rhymed with 'farthing' seemed apt for referring to one's love.
"I'm fine," Jack said, a tad too quickly, and then amended it to, "Mostly fine. Funny story, really. You'd laugh."
Angus very much doubted that, unless laughter was what Jack needed from him, in which case he'd laugh until it hurt. At any rate, it was the wrong time for the story. Too raw for Jack and too exposed a location for Angus. Instead of demanding the tale, all he did was first, gently, run his fingers over the collar at Jack's neck, over the beads, swallow down all the dark feelings that had haunted him all morning with a firm, internal reminder that Jack hated a fuss made over him but at the same time needing to know, and asked for the only part of the whole ordeal he could face in the moment. "Show me?"
Jack wrinkled up his nose, obviously against it, but he started unbuttoning his vest anyway. He looked resigned more than accepting, but at least he wasn't going to push Angus away.
"Not as bad as it looks," Jack said, which was somewhat alarming as a preamble. It was going to look bad then. Probably be bad, only Jack wouldn't want Angus to make a big deal over it.
Even knowing this, Angus couldn't help the stream of curses that came out of his mouth when he finally saw Jack's bare back. He had to smother his own reaction in his sleeve, because being caught in a cleaning closet in the middle of their duties (and one of them with their top off, at that) would just make all of everything worse.
"Told you…looks worse than it feels," Jack said, voice a bit muffled too as he spoke softly towards the ground, his back still to Angus.
"…Teak," Angus said even as he reached out a hand, wanting to create some warm form of human connection in a place that wouldn't hurt, but unsure if that was what Jack needed or what Angus needed, and the hand fell short, fingers curling over nothing, eyes still taking in the kaleidoscope of colors across the entirety of Jack's back.
Angus wanted to swear more. He wanted to point out that there was no way all of that was from three hits, and if it was, there was no way the implement used was legal. He wanted medicines that would soothe away any pain and promote healing. He wanted to have some way to go back in time and come between Jack and the one who hurt him. He wanted to have the power to be able to stop it ever happening again in the future to either of them. He wanted the world to be different than what it was.
Angus had no medicine and he had no time machine and he had no power. But he did know Jack, so he pushed down and down and down what Angus needed and searched for what would make things just that bit less horrible for Jack. He reached out again a gentle hand to help him put his shirt back on, careful but firm in his movements, letting Jack feel him solidly, not something hesitant and flighty but an anchor. And he didn't curse and he didn't cry and he kept his tone as light as he could.
"Bad morning, then?"
The laugh Jack responded with was half relief, because he of course knew how upset Angus must be over the matter, but knowing Angus wasn't going to blow up over it allowed Jack to push past it too.
"I've had better," he answered, voice equally light. And then, "Had worse too." And that was all too true. "And anyway, my day is looking up. Now that's behind me, the rest of my day will be brilliant."
Angus would get the full story later. He had what he needed, the knowing (even if it confirmed his fears, in an odd way it also assuaged them, because sometimes a good imagination was the worst of enemies, and now he wouldn't have to wonder and wait and not know). Of course he still didn't know all; if something more traumatizing but less visible had occurred, was still lurking in the untold story, but Jack's own ability to be himself went a long way towards reassuring Angus. Jack had had an awful morning, and maybe he wasn't as fine as he liked to believe, but he would be.
Or he would be if they could make sure he didn't fall afoul of Jones before the day was over. And that was a big if.
They left the closet separately, because of course it would look very strange to be caught coming out together. Assumptions would be made, and that they were skiving off work together was the least likely conclusion. Jack left whistling because he had real reason to have been in the closet and he could warn Angus if anyone was about. Angus waited until the whistling had gone on unimpeded almost out of hearing before he slipped out himself and half ran back to the mail room.
"You find your boy Cheshire?" asked Fred, his current partner in the mailroom. Angus had not actually told Fred his purpose but Fred had been in the break room before they had all made their way to the taskmaster and slaves talked to each other. Angus hadn't needed to say anything for everyone to know Angus would be tracking down Jack if he could.
And Angus was riled enough (and there was only so much shoving things down a man could do before they bubbled up again) that he didn't even bother to deny any part of the question. Jack needed Angus to be solid and untouched because for Jack to be 'fine' everyone else had to play along. But Fred wasn't Jack, and they were more or less alone. So Fred heard probably a lot more than Jack would have liked him to hear on how Angus had found Jack.
Meanwhile, Michael Banks was checking notes for forgeries, which was as close to being an artist in a bank as one could get, and trying to work out how to send his coworker away early so Michael could go on his own break and do what he had come to the bank to do. He had already mostly forgotten about Jack; he wasn't a friend and was barely a coworker and, in fairness, Michael did have a lot to think about. The future of his three children, for one. So he did his work, because losing his job would help nothing, but as often happened with Michael, his mind still wandered. To his worries, but also to vaguer daydreams. He found himself, midmorning, wishing he could still be a child himself and not be the one who had to fix everything. He was a good father, but like many adults he had half forgotten what being a child was like.
For instance, Georgie Banks was at school. And anyone who thinks Georgie must have an easy time of it, seeing as all school could possibly mean for his age is basic ABCs and 123s and drawing pictures and playing games has obviously forgotten what it is really like to be at the bottom rung of one's education. In the first place, learning reading and maths from nothing is difficult, and no amount of 'it's very basic' can get around this fact. And anyone who thinks otherwise has only to travel to some unknown country and try to learn their language, and their writing system, and their number system, and even then that person probably has more of a foundation than a child learning it all the first time.
And school is not really about learning reading and writing and arithmetic, no matter what adults may fool themselves into thinking. It is about learning how to survive in the world. One learns how to interact with one's peers, and with those who are above or below. One learns how to find the information one needs. One learns how to lie, and how to tell the truth, and both of those things are important to know. One learns how society works.
For instance, when the teacher wants the class to draw their families, there are certain inclusions in such pictures that are bound to incite ridicule from one's peers, and that is an important lesson, which is why it continues to be included in lessons even in modern times, though in the really good schools it is a lesson in celebrating differences and tolerance, rather than a lesson in what is acceptable and what is not.
"Why are you drawing people with wings?" demanded a boy named Artie, whose own drawing was somewhat telling in the way the adults loomed, ominous but distant, above his older sisters.
"That is my mother," Georgie answered, not truly picking up on the hostile nature of the question and just happy to share his drawing with someone. "She's an angel in heaven so I gave her wings. And that is Grandpa George and Grandpa William and Grandma Wini, and Grandma Lizzy. I thought she might be lonely if she was the only angel so I drew more family to be with her."
"Angels aren't family," Artie answered rudely and then, with about as much tact as one might expect from a boy of Archie's age, (though Georgie would have known better, so perhaps one shouldn't allow his youth to excuse him), Artie said, "And if she is dead then who are those women next to your dad? A wicked stepmother?"
Secretly, Artie actually hoped that to be the case. He had a fondness for stories and thought it might be interesting to know a boy who was part of one. Never mind that the boy in question might find that uncomfortable.
"No," Georgie answered, his eagerness in sharing somewhat dimmed as even the most forgiving of boys couldn't help but notice how rude Artie was being, but he nonetheless explained in a still kindly tone, "That one is my aunt Jane, and that one is Ellen."
And Artie might not have much noticed a pertinent detail about Ellen considering he wasn't really interested and was only half listening; he'd likely have assumed her a second aunt. Only Georgie had been particularly meticulous in details and, more importantly, had inherited enough of his dad's skill that said details were identifiable by Artie.
"She has a collar," he said, and then, with all the superiority and disdain he could muster, "You put your slave in your family drawing. Slaves aren't family."
So all in all, the fight that followed could not be said to be Georgie's fault, no matter what the teacher or the headmaster had to say on the matter. It was just unlucky that it happened when they were outside for break and some of the older classes also had break. And when Georgie's older brother and sister got involved, so did Archie's older sisters. So what could have been a minor spat with maybe a bit of pushing or name calling rather devolved into what more resembled an all-out brawl.
All three Banks children were brought before the headmaster in disgrace, Georgie unhurt but rather dirty, John with a bloody nose but somehow otherwise pristine, and Annabel both dirty and with a torn blouse and a skinned elbow and a fierce scowl on her face.
Of course, the Gilding children were also brought to face the headmaster looking much the same, but that was little consolation when the headmaster is looking down his nose at you and saying things like, 'I should call your father about this'. It didn't help when the shamed picture was brought forth as part of evidence and the headmaster simply didn't understand why Georgie would want to include the house slave in a family portrait or why he'd be so upset at Artie for asking about it. All that really saved the three of them from having their father be disturbed at the bank were the angels also in the drawing.
"I understand you have had a…trying time," the headmaster had said, with an unexpected and rather awkward approach at empathy. "But fighting is not the answer." He seemed to have decided that the entire argument couldn't really be about a house slave, and that it was about their dead mother instead, which was uncomfortable to say the least, particularly when they didn't dare correct him because then he might change his mind and call their father after all.
He sent them home instead, with a note. That was almost as bad as calling.
"We should just stay away until school let out," John said, quietly, as they started in the direction of home. He thought they could just hide the entire ordeal, and that their father had enough to worry over, and, above all, none of them wanted Ellen to know what the brawl had started over. So John thought they could avoid it by just showing up at their usual time.
He was wrong, of course. In the first place, it would have all come out eventually, and hiding would only have made things worse. In the second place, things were in motion that needed the children to be at a specific place at a specific time. It was just as well, then, that Annabel was the voice of reason and had all three of them walking slowly towards the park. Though perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. If there was one thing a certain nanny was good at, it was finding wayward children.