you could have my heart (and i would break it for you)
-or-
be gay do crime
By: Aviantei
[Shibuya Operation - Story Storm]
Those Jade Green Eyes, Act Three:
"maybe i could hold you (in the dark)"
It just so happened that on the day that Jameson's new wardrobe was complete, William had a full schedule of lectures to attend to, so he couldn't escort Jameson to Eden's. Though Jameson had asked to join their cause, it was fair enough that they were still suspicious of him—and Jameson had to admit that he didn't quite feel ready to leave the Moriarty manor on his own. Stratford may have been dead, but his ghost was not gone from Jameson's mind, and he didn't wish to deal with the outside world without any sort of backup. It didn't feel safe, and—if nothing else—his new bedroom and William's office were becoming safe havens from outside threats.
But in the week since Stratford's funeral, Jameson had come to form a long list of things that he knew he didn't want to do. Living the rest of his life trapped inside a cage—even if it would be a cage of his own making now—was not what he wanted to do, and that would also limit his ability to help in crime consultant cases. So, following William's logic before him, Jameson had but to go ahead and act in a way that didn't keep himself trapped in the house.
Thus: making the trip to pick up his new wardrobe in the company of Albert.
Maybe Jameson had a bias due to the sorts of nobles he tended to consort with, but Albert did not fit his image of an Earl whatsoever. Yes, he dressed the part, and his manners were impeccable, but he was casual around the house. He had no issues helping to clean up after meals, and he would even brew tea whenever Louis was not around to do so. He did leave the house to attend to work, but he didn't seem bothered by the far less extravagant lifestyle he lived. Of course, those were observations made after a limited amount of time in his presence, but Jameson couldn't deny that Albert felt…different than any other Earl he'd ever met. He might have thought it a trait of the Moriarty family as a whole were it not for what William had mentioned before.
In short, when I was young, my family at the time was a rather narrow-minded sort—the very type of people that would take advantage of the lower classes without hesitation. Whatever had happened to make the Moriarty brothers different from their family, Jameson couldn't say, but it also wasn't the biggest mystery in his eyes.
Sitting across from him in the carriage, Albert offered a kind smile. "Something on your mind?"
That was something else Jameson had noticed: the Moriarty brothers were sharp, keen in a way that couldn't be taught to you through textbooks and lessons. Jameson hadn't the slightest chance of keeping his thoughts hidden around them, though they did always give him the choice of how much he wished to divulge. Well, might as well get it out in the open while he still had the courage to do so. "Begging your pardon if this seems too out of line, Albert," Jameson said, still having to bite back the formal Lord that should have proceeded Albert's name, "but I can't quite figure out why you chose to offer to adopt someone like me into your family with no hesitation."
It was a stretch in the best of circumstances. Maybe it would have made more sense if Jameson had had a prior connection with the Moriartys, but, even then, there was little need. For all intents and purposes, Jameson had inherited the money and power of a viscount, a rags-to-riches story in the truest sense. He didn't need anyone to take care of him anymore, and even changing his name would have been a simple affair with that much capital at his disposal. Becoming the ward of another family didn't serve much purpose other than indebting him to the Moriartys, which he could have supposed was the answer if it weren't for one essential detail:
Jameson was a whore, through and through, and taking that sort of liability onto their family wasn't anywhere near worth gaining the favour of a viscount who already owed them on the principle of saving him.
It wasn't a surprise that Albert seemed to understand where Jameson was coming from; one didn't get thrust into the upper echelons of society at a young age and maintain their status without learning to play the game. Even Jameson, who had been a trophy to show off in most cases, understood the intricacies of high society well enough to tell which nobles presented before him were weak links, primed for successful seduction attempts.
Clenching his teeth tight, Jameson focused hard on studying the design of Albert's tiepin to keep the memories at bay.
"I presume you're talking about your sexual exploits," Albert said without so much as appearing flustered. Jameson found that he wasn't surprised at all that Albert could discuss such taboo topics as if he were complimenting a well-aged glass of wine. Since there wasn't much need to clarify, Jameson nodded. "I don't expect you to believe me, but I see no point in judging you for such things. Even if you weren't forced into your position and you chose to behave in such a way, I don't think it's worth determining the value of someone's character by whether or not they seek out a little pleasure." There was that smile again, and it added the faintest crinkle to his eyes. "Considering that your patron gave William an invitation to his party and not me, I assume you were at least aware of my own behaviour?"
Jameson knew just what Albert was referring to. Yes, in most cases, going after the direct head of the family or at least the heir was the most effective strategy to make the most bankroll; after all, such things caused much bigger scandals than going after second sons that didn't have as much social capital. That Albert was so much younger than most of his peers would have also made him a prime choice, considering that youth were more inclined to make foolish decisions. However, there was just one small detail that had influenced Stratford's decision to invite William instead.
That being that it was rumoured that Albert James Moriarty was a frequent bed hopper, so much that one little tryst with Jameson wouldn't have done a thing to his reputation in the slightest. The second son, who was regarded as an academic prodigy, would be a much wiser choice, and so it had gone.
"…I assumed those rumours were little more than hearsay," Jameson said to be polite. He had had no way of verifying one way or another the truth of the situation, and Stratford was the one who made the calls on who to invite, so he hadn't thought about it much more than that. He also hadn't expected Albert to admit to such a thing with such brazen confidence, but there they were.
Albert chuckled, but he also didn't deny it, either. "I'll admit that some things are a bit exaggerated, but I have enjoyed my fair share of other's beds, yes," he said. "Of course, I am upfront in my intentions, but I enjoy a bit of carnal pleasure just as much as the next person, with men and women alike. I think it would be a bit hypocritical for me to judge you for such things, yes?" Jameson opened his mouth, but Albert talked over him with a practiced grace: "And, again, you were forced into what you did. So as far as I'm concerned, this is a non-issue."
Jameson had any number of counterarguments he could make to that, but he doubted it would do much good. Albert may have been well spoken, but that eloquence seemed to obscure a craftiness that it didn't seem worth to argue against. "Let's say that you don't have a reason to judge me, then. That doesn't explain why you'd still invite me into your family."
"Well, you wouldn't have been happy remaining attached to the Viscount Aldborough's house, would you?" Jameson winced at the name, the very concept of remaining in his patron's family feeling like a noose around his neck—not enough to snap it or strangle, but a slow, steady impediment on his ability to breathe as it pulled him deep under the waters to wait for him to drown. Albert's expression took on a tinge of sadness. "Perhaps I am overstepping. But I can understand not wanting to be attached to a name." He was looking straight forward, but Jameson got the impression that Albert was seeing something different than the carriage seats and windows. "Of course, our situations are different. I was born into my family, while you were forced into it by someone who hurt you. But my family's behaviour…I wanted nothing to do with it. If it weren't for William promising that we could use the Moriarty name to make a better world, I would have left it all behind a long time ago."
Unable to shake the impression that he'd just learned something he wasn't meant to hear, Jameson traced his eyes over the seams of his gloves and didn't say a thing.
"The point being," Albert said, seeming to come back to himself, "I wanted to offer you an alternative, Jameson. And, while it may be overstepping, I wanted to help you break free of whatever shackles you may still be under." The sharp observation prevented Jameson from saying anything, but he at least had the sense of mind left to snap his mouth shut from its gaping. "If it does bother you, I can arrange things so you're stable on your own. But this way the Moriarty family can give you protection, and you can assist us with much more ease. Not to mention you're the first person that William's ever brought home, so I can't help but express a little bit of interest in you for that." It must have been a misleading turn of phrase on purpose, but Jameson flushed red anyways. Albert made a sound of heightened interest. "I take it from your reaction that your interest is mutual?"
Jameson cleared his throat. "He's a very good bed partner," he managed to say without stuttering. Not to mention the beauty of William's smile, the way he'd accepted Jameson's body without a moment's hesitation, the way he'd pulled him out of the cage and urged him towards freedom—Jameson didn't deserve to feel such things at all, but he couldn't deny that William made his heart race and set him at ease all at once. "I must say, your open-mindedness is rather generous, Albert."
Albert's chuckle blossomed into a full laugh. "Well, I can't say much for what's going on in William's head. But if he trusts you enough to welcome you into the plan, I shan't object to it at all. Not to mention that if he's found someone to enjoy himself with, I'm inclined to support that as his older brother."
The worst of it all was that Jameson couldn't even deny that, not with the way William had descended upon Jameson in his office without hesitation. It might have been special circumstances, but that it took nothing but a few words to earn that attention was gratifying. Jameson gave a smile tinted with self-depreciation. "If nothing else, I can at least provide a bit of entertainment."
Albert's expression flickered, and there was something in those deep green eyes that Jameson couldn't identify. Ah, no, that was pity; of course it was; Jameson was pitiful, after all. "I'm certain that you're worth much more than that, Jameson," Albert said, and Jameson gave a noncommittal nod. He had offered to help with William's cases, so he supposed he could add that to the list of his useful qualities, though it was yet to be determined just how useful he would even be in that field. "That being said, I would encourage that you find other ways to pass the time as well. Since you're going to be staying a while, I'll be happy to help rearrange your home whatever way you like. In fact, I have plenty of time today, so I was planning on taking you shopping to pick out decorations to better fit your tastes." Jameson blinked; that had not been what he'd been planning to spend his afternoon on, albeit that was because he hadn't been planning on doing anything but waiting for William to return home. "William and Louis don't let me shop for them enough. If you're so concerned about imposing on us, you won't deny me the opportunity to entertain myself, now would you?"
And when Albert put it like that, there wasn't anything that Jameson could do to refuse.
The procurement of a full wardrobe of suits and winter gear prepared for him gave Jameson an unprecedented burst of energy that he hadn't the slightest place to direct. Sure, he lingered in front of Mr Eden's mirror for far longer than necessary and had thanked the man to an extensive degree, but that could do no more than take up the span of half an hour. William had been right in trusting the tailor's judgement: the cut of the upper garments betrayed no trace of the slight bulge of Jameson's chest, nor the curves that lead into his hips, and yet nothing felt the slightest bit baggy. Albert paid him a fair number of compliments, too, even without knowing what Jameson's biggest concerns were, and that elevated his mood all the higher.
However, that mood did little more than make the ensuing shopping escapade less exhausting. It was nice to be able to go out in public without being mistaken for a woman, yes, but Albert hadn't been joking whenever he'd expressed an interest in shopping. They went to every shop imaginable, even ones that Jameson had already been in with William earlier in the week ("I've already gotten a new cane, Albert, I do not need a second one."). What didn't help was that, while Jameson had a hard time deciding on anything at all, Albert seemed insistent on picking out any item Jameson had the slightest interest in, by way of providing welcome gifts.
"There's nothing wrong with my giving a member of my own household presents is there?" he'd said, and, seeing that Albert was the Earl Moriarty, Jameson didn't have a reason to stop him.
It was just whenever there were questions about anything he'd like to pass the time with that Jameson had to admit he hadn't the slightest idea. All of his time had been spent on the pursuits that Stratford had deemed appropriate for him, on hobbies that noble ladies could use to show off and studies that made Jameson useful in conversation. It was always learning more about this noble's business or that noble's interest in theatre or the latest fashions, and Jameson had paid attention enough to make his performances acceptable and nothing else.
He may have had a name, an opportunity to redefine himself, but Jameson Liam Verity hadn't the slightest idea of who he wished to be beyond being a help to William's ambitions, and Albert's insistence made it clear that wasn't all that Jameson should be spending his time on.
If nothing else, Albert didn't press on through Jameson's uncertainty, instead offering suggestions but not loading Jameson up with trinkets. He did, however, provide Jameson with a brown paper-wrapped package on the carriage ride home that Jameson hadn't even seen him purchase. Jameson raised an eyebrow, but Albert gave him a smile and said, "You'll have to open it to find out."
Curiosity getting the better of him, Jameson undid the ribbon with care and unfolded the wrapping all the same. What he found was a leather-bound book with a deep red cover, a beautiful pattern etched into the surface. The lack of a title on the cover or spine meant Jameson could guess what it was, and, sure enough, the inner pages were the blank paper of a journal.
"So you can take your time and work out those thoughts in your head," Albert said by way of explanation. "William suggested that I should get one for you. This way, you'll have a concrete record of who you're becoming. That should make it easier for you to figure out what you want to do, instead of just avoiding the things you don't want." Feeling touched, Jameson ran his fingers over the paper, the thick parchment cool, smooth, and inviting, even through the fabric of his gloves. "You do have the ability to find yourself again, so long as you put in the effort. And William and I have chosen to support you however we can." In the back cover was a small pocket, and Jameson thought of the photo of his mother tucked up against his chest. "If there's anything I can help you with, Jameson, do just let me know."
"Thank you," Jameson whispered, not having the words to express anything but that.
But he couldn't help but notice that Albert had omitted Louis's name from his promise of support.
It was a rare occasion that Jameson awoke to a chilled room and didn't want to stay in bed, but it had happened, nonetheless. He was already trying to forget the details, but the contents of his dream had been such that they left a sick feeling churning in his stomach and crawling across his skin. It wouldn't be accurate to say that his dreams were memories, but they were often informed by such, and Jameson had nothing if not a collection of very unpleasant memories to draw on. Back whenever he'd been kept in Stratford's bed, he hadn't been able to do a thing besides stay put should he wake up in the middle of the night, lest he earn a scolding. But now, though the bed he was in had never seen such things, the plush of the mattress beneath him was too much, and he could see a shadow above him in the dark. Jameson remained frozen for several minutes, trying to talk himself into getting up. Somehow, he wrenched himself back into his body and threw off the covers, the cold air shocking him back to proper awareness.
It was still dark outside, but Jameson knew there was little point in trying to sleep again—nor did he want to, not whenever nightmares could swallow him up. And if he didn't want to sleep, then the best option was to start his day and stay awake. The fleeting thought that he could go and wake up William crossed his mind, but, no matter how much he would have wanted such a thing, it would be improper to do so, so he focused on getting dressed instead.
The fact that he had a full wardrobe of male attire still stunned him, and it was thanks to the cold causing him to shiver that Jameson selected an outfit and began to put it on instead of standing and marvelling at it all. He hadn't needed any adjustments after his initial fitting, but it still felt like a fresh experience. With a lamp sending its warm light across the room, Jameson looked over himself in the mirror. Mr Eden had recommended a charcoal grey for the main pieces, but the thick stripe down the centre of the double-breasted vest added a depth of darker colour to the ensemble. Rather than a tie, he'd opted for a looser ribbon-style around his neck, for which Albert had insisted on purchasing him a peridot pin, though the colour was lost in the low light. Still, Jameson felt giddy upon seeing his reflection, more than glad for the new look to separate the past from the present.
My, don't we look wonderful tonight.
The shudder of revulsion raced through him, and Jameson almost hunched down to the floor to make himself smaller. He tore his eyes away from the mirror, then checked the room, though no one else had entered, nor had there been anyone to speak. No, standing still wasn't going to do him any good; in fact, it was the worst he could do. He needed to keep his hands and mind as busy as possible until the others woke up, and then the company would help, though the idea of wanting others to be around was still strange. But, so far, the Moriartys were safe, and Jameson had no desire to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Tea sounded nice. A good cup would help him stay awake at any rate, plus Jameson had never been allowed into the kitchen before. That would be a clear reminder of where he was, or at least where he wasn't. Plus the late (or perhaps it was early) hour meant that it was cold, and Jameson would do whatever he could to erase the chill. Fetching his new robe, Jameson tied it up and did his best not to run from the guest room and all the way down the stairs, choosing to bring his lamp along with him for the light.
So it was to his great surprise that he found a light on in the kitchen when he made it to the first floor. The agonizing prospect of being alone was too much to make him return upstairs, so Jameson pressed onward, wondering if perhaps William or Albert was having a late night, but instead he found Louis already dressed for the day and arranging things in the kitchen in what Jameson assumed was preparation for breakfast.
He can't fault me if I don't disturb him, right? I can just stay out of the way… Oh, or maybe it's better to just leave? While Jameson had had one-on-one sessions with the elder two Moriarty brothers, he had yet to do so with the youngest, and it was Louis that intimidated him the most.
So of course whenever Jameson went to retreat, Louis said, "If you're just going to hover there, then come in already," without so much as pausing in his work at the cutting board or looking over his shoulder.
Jameson flinched, but he figured it would be much more trouble to retreat, so he pressed onward. It may have been unearned, but Jameson was now a ward of the Moriarty family, so he had a right to use its kitchen, right? "I just wanted to make some tea for myself, so don't mind me," he said, though speaking the thought out loud made him realize he didn't know where anything in the kitchen was.
Louis knew that well enough, for he let out a sigh. "The kettle's already on the stove, but you'll need to start it. The leaves are in the second cabinet to the left of that. You can use whatever chinaware you like, but do clean up after yourself afterwards."
The instructions were sharp and precise, but that had been much better than Jameson had been expecting. "Of course. Thank you." Though it had been years, Jameson knew well enough how to turn on a simple stove, and Stratford's etiquette lessons had been enough to teach him how to serve tea for even the highest-ranking of nobles. He could handle not breaking any of the Moriartys' expensive dishware, no matter how rattled he still felt inside. The silence that followed couldn't be called companionable nor comfortable, but it also wasn't frigid. Perhaps that was why Jameson didn't stop himself from saying, "You're up rather early."
He regretted it the moment he let it out of his mouth, and Jameson hoped that Louis would just ignore him. However, that hope was not to come to pass. "Albert has to leave early today, so he needs breakfast to be ready. Brother said he would be working in his office most of today, so I need to take stock of what shopping I'll need to do for lunch and dinner. Not to mention all the other chores that are due to be taken care of. Waking up at this hour is necessary for me." While Jameson had noted the smaller size of the Moriarty manor several times, for the first time he considered that it might also be for the practical purpose of making things possible for one person to manage most of the time. And here Jameson was, imposing himself on Louis's already busy schedule. "You're up rather early yourself."
That was much more pointed of a statement than those that had come before it, and Jameson realized how he looked: a recent guest wandering the halls at night, during which time he'd have the opportunity to poke his nose in anywhere he pleased without anyone being aware of it. "I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep," he said, because it was close to the truth. Jameson had the feeling that Louis wouldn't be sympathetic at all to the reasons why, but that also suited him just fine.
If Louis thought that was a flimsy excuse, Jameson wouldn't have blamed him. On the stove, the kettle started to bubble, and Jameson retrieved a nearby towel so he could grab the handle without burning himself when the time came. Louis, seeming to have finished with the knife and cutting board, dropped his chopped ingredients into a waiting bowl. "Let's just make this clear," Louis said, his voice even and controlled, "that William and Albert may trust you, but I don't."
The kettle whistled, and Jameson waited but a moment before he lifted it up and added the water to the teapot he'd already prepared without missing a beat. "All things considered, I'd be rather concerned if you did," he said as he topped off the teapot and checked the clock to see when it would finish steeping. Louis hadn't seemed to expect that answer, because he looked at Jameson, eyes wide. Like William, they were a shade of red, but they were closer to a garnet than that vivid scarlet. Turning down the heat of the stove, Jameson offered a smile. "I tried to seduce your brother, then the next thing you know I end up a permanent resident of your home. Not to mention all the blackmail I was involved with. If I were you, I'd be suspicious of me, too." The fact that William and Albert were both so encouraging was strange whenever you looked at it; Louis's suspicion was much more justified.
His face might've been soft, but Louis had a glare as sharp as a knife. "You're not doing much to improve my opinion of you right now."
"What good would it do? If I promised I wasn't up to anything, I doubt you'd believe that, either." More than used to icy reactions whenever his targets realized the trap he'd dragged them into, Jameson didn't let Louis's fierce look stop him from preparing the sugar for his tea in advance. "All I can do is prove myself through actions, but I doubt that would satisfy you, either. So I should just go ahead and act as I would anyways, yes?" Louis didn't seem to have a counterargument, so Jameson pressed on. "As I told William, I am here to help with his plans so that I can help people the way he helped me. I don't expect it to make up for my past behaviour, but I'd rather save whomever I can from situations like mine. And in the meantime, if that means doing work around the house, I don't mind." Come to think of it, that would be a perfect solution; if he had chores, Jameson could keep his thoughts on the task at hand, and the relative novelty of it all would make it much more distracting.
Louis's grimace was rather out of place on a member of an Earldom, fourth adopted son or not. It was refreshing. "You won't get yourself on my good side by doing that."
"I don't expect to. But I'd much rather help where I can than sit around and let you all take care of me." The Moriartys had done more than enough, and keeping Jameson under their care was going to indebt him to them even more. "I was adopted into my former position, you know. I don't consider housework to be beneath me in the slightest. Besides, wouldn't it satisfy you, being able to confirm that I'm keeping myself occupied in a way that you can control?"
While Jameson had used it for the most part to convince men to follow him into bed, negotiation was a skill he was decent at, so he felt he'd presented a rather compelling argument. Not to mention that the benefit to him seemed obvious in that it would keep suspicion off of him. Louis need not know Jameson's true motivation was to hide from the ghosts of his past, to pretend that he still wasn't shackled down by it all. Besides, if need be, he could appeal to Albert or William to let him help; Jameson was certain they wouldn't object to his help, seeing as he was now a family member rather than a guest.
Louis had yet to move, the knife and cutting board still in his hand. Doublechecking the clock, Jameson at last poured his cup of tea and settled down at the small worktable. Waiting for a response wouldn't bother him at all, nor would not receiving one, and he risked a fresh sip at the expense of burning the tip of his tongue.
And then Louis went to put his items in the sink, turning before Jameson could read his expression. "I'll be dusting the parlour today," he said. "If you're helping, join me there after we're done cleaning up after breakfast."
Louis had not let up in the slightest at Jameson's offer to help around the house, but that was just fine by him. Whether it was helping move furniture around to clean under it, helping set the table, and even mopping the floors, Jameson didn't complain once. Oh, he wasn't efficient at it (it had been almost a decade since he'd had to do such things, and the standards were much higher in a noble household than a brothel, no matter how relaxed the Moriartys were for an Earldom), but Jameson hadn't had a spare minute to think, and that had been just what he wanted.
The problem was that he had also hoped all the activity would be enough to wear him out for a restful sleep, but that was not to be the case.
It was not to say that Jameson had never been called upon for his services during the daytime—both Stratford's whims and repeat customers could be fickle things—but the night had always been a guarantee that he'd be sleeping in his patron's bed, listening to the cooing over his mother with or without intercourse involved. And while Jameson had lit the fireplace to keep his room warm and changed into his pyjamas, he could not bring himself to crawl into bed.
He was no stranger to sleepless nights, so he resigned himself to one. It was just a matter of passing the time until daybreak, which was much harder than it seemed. Jameson doubted that Louis would appreciate his unasked-for assistance in tidying up the house, not to mention that would seem all the more suspicious after their earlier conversation that morning. Well, if he worked very hard at not thinking about anything, he could settle in the armchair by the fire and watch the flames instead?
It was as good of an idea as any, and so Jameson added a throw blanket atop his robe and went to take a seat, passing by his worktable in the process. Albert's insistence had furnished it with a collection of stationary that presumed Jameson would even have anyone he would want to write to in the first place. Anyone he had met during his time under Stratford's roof was someone he didn't wish to associate with ever again, and he didn't have any other blood relatives or friends left. Well, he supposed he wouldn't have minded seeing the other women at the brothel who had taken care of him in the handful of years between his mother's death and his adoption, but, with how life in the slums could be—and all the more so for prostitutes—there was no guarantee any of them were still around. The one thing that could see any use was the red leather journal, but Jameson had done little more than open the cover and stare at the cream-coloured pages within.
Though it had been purchased just for that, it seemed like such a waste to ruin a pristine book like that with the innermost thoughts of someone like him.
Even so, Jameson picked up the volume anyways, feeling the weight in his hands. Though he wouldn't have chosen it for himself, it was still the first gift in years that he'd received for his own sake, rather than the receiver's. That thought brought a chain of other unpleasant thoughts with it, and Jameson tampered them down, instead focusing on the deep scarlet of the leather. Albert likely had done so to tease him, but Jameson couldn't say that he minded; there was every chance he would have chosen the exact same colour himself, had he known it was an option.
William did say he was going to do a bit more work tonight, and it's not too late. Maybe he's still awake? Well, the worst-case scenario was that Jameson went to knock on his office door to find that William had already retired. And since William had encouraged him to do as he liked, William wouldn't fault him for just asking. Such encouragements in mind, Jameson wrapped up the journal in his blanket shawl and padded the growing familiar pathway through the halls. Somehow, walking through the manor in the dark made it feel as if he were sneaking about, something he hadn't done since he was a child on the streets of Whitechapel, when his mother was still alive.
The pain throbbed deep in his chest, but Jameson would rather have that than the other memories that threatened to assault him in the dark. Even without the photograph he'd obtained, Jameson could still remember his mother's smile in full clarity, the warmth of her tight embrace, the softness as she kissed his forehead and hummed him to sleep. Between the poverty and the prostitution, it had not been perfect, but it had been enough.
Once he arrived, it took at least half as long as the journey there for Jameson to muster the courage to knock on the door. Judging by the faint bit of light sneaking out through the crack between the door and the floor, William was still in—and it wasn't all that long before he had opened the door. "Jameson," he said. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I…wasn't tired enough to go to sleep, but I didn't want to stay awake alone." Just voicing the request made him feel all the more like a child, and mortification rushed through him in a wave. Just past William, he managed to see the spread of written upon papers and open books across the desk. "I know you're still working, so I shan't disturb you, but if I could stay up with you until you're ready to retire, I'd appreciate it." And now that he'd said that, Jameson couldn't help but worry the words sounded like a veiled request to slip into William's bed.
But William's expression softened, and he stepped aside, gesturing for Jameson to enter. "Of course. I can't guarantee that I'll make for good conversation, but you're more than welcome." Jameson murmured his thanks and made his way to the couch, tucking his knees up to his chest and burrowing deeper into the blankets. "Do you often have troubles sleeping?"
"Some nights are better than others," Jameson said, not seeing any point in hiding the truth. William was sharp enough to see through it anyways, so might as well skip the hassle. "I haven't had trouble since I got here, but today was…" Not ready to admit any of that yet, Jameson swallowed it down, and William waited but didn't prod him forward. "I promise I don't want to interrupt you, William. Please go back to your thesis. I'll be fine on my own."
Having long since finished shutting the door, William returned to his desk, though his gaze was all on Jameson. Jameson tried not to be too conscious of the fact that he'd been straddled on William's lap in the same exact spot not even a full week ago. He was too exhausted to feel any sort of desire, but the memory was crystal clear enough. "If being here will help, I don't mind your company," William said. "I tend to burn the midnight oil myself, so know that if I'm awake, you're more than welcome to come here should you need it."
"I appreciate it." Almost more than Jameson could even put into words, but he didn't follow up with that. Feeling a slight draft to his side, Jameson tucked the blanket deeper under his hip. Neither of them said anything else, and then there was nothing but the sounds of the fire crackling and the scribble of pen on paper, interspersed with the occasional fluttering of pages in a book. On occasion, William stood up to pull another thick volume down from the shelves, but those moments were rare, and Jameson eased into the atmosphere, warm and comforting and the precise antithesis to the feeling that had been festering inside him since the morning hours.
And then there was the faint rattle of glassware, and Jameson blinked back to awareness. He hadn't been asleep, but it seemed that an hour and a half had passed while he wasn't paying attention. The rattling had been from William placing down a cup of tea on the table before him, and Jameson was torn between the drink and staying cosy inside the nest he'd made for himself.
"I thought we could both use a drink," William said. "It's a good thing you were here, else I would have kept going and worked myself into a wall."
"I have a hard time imagine you getting stuck on doing anything," Jameson said. William was efficient and brilliant; that much was obvious by being in his presence for even a short amount of time.
William chuckled. "Well, I can't deny that a lot of things come to me with ease. However, even I run into my challenges. Learning about already established topics is one thing to comprehend, but whenever you're trying to put together the solutions to new problems on your own, it becomes much more complicated. Even mathematics, which reaches its desired solution through following clear steps, still requires someone to test the waters and make sure the steps they propose work in as many situations as possible. Of course, I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't enjoy the challenge, so perhaps I have no one but myself to blame?"
It was subtle, but Jameson could tell that William's smile was a bit more light-hearted than even when he was talking with his brothers. "I don't think there's anything to blame. I mean, that you have something you're interested in enough to pursue like that…" It was almost enough to make Jameson envious that William had such a passion in the first place.
"I suppose I am fortunate that I can indulge myself in such a way." That was also fair; folks scrambling to survive on the streets didn't have the opportunity to pursue such things, provided they even received enough of an education to find interest in an academic subject in the first place. "I don't mean any offence by this, but based on what you've said before, would it be safe to assume that you don't have any interests like that, Jameson?"
The question was unfortunate to hear, but avoiding it wouldn't help anything, so Jameson shook his head. "I… I was taught a lot of things, but I didn't get to pick and choose." He reached for his teacup, swirling the liquid and watching the surface catch the glint of the firelight. "I did what was expected of me. And, after a while, it took everything I had to keep myself to together, so I didn't have the wherewithal to find what I liked doing."
"Mm, that's not uncommon in situations like yours, so you shouldn't feel any fault for that." William might say that, but Jameson felt plenty of fault regardless. How was it that he couldn't even be able to function as a person, to know something as simple as his own preferences? "I see that you brought the journal I asked Albert to get you along. Have you decided how you're going to use it yet?"
Jameson had forgotten he had the book with him, and he was glad the low light made it difficult to tell that he was blushing. "No, I haven't." In fact, he hadn't even decided that he was going to use it in the first place, but that was a rude thing to admit.
"Then may I propose a use?" Jameson nodded, and William inclined his head towards the book. "Why don't you use it as a record of what you enjoy and what you don't?" Uncertain of what that would look like, Jameson remained at attention. "You can log what you do in a day and your thoughts on it. That way you have easy access to everything you've tried and what you haven't. If there's something you want to attempt, you can write it down, too. Even if it's something as simple as enjoying what we had for dinner, it would be a record of what makes you you, not what anyone else expects you to be. Of course, for it to be effective, you'd also have to make an effort to try new things on a regular basis, but I could make suggestions if you need them, and I'm sure that Albert would be glad to help as well. That being said, you don't need to do so if you don't like, but I thought it might help."
"No, it's not a bad idea…" It was a much better idea than letting the world pass him by. What was the point of having freedom if he didn't exercise any of it? "But," he said, and William's patient smile urged him on, "what if I'm bad at it?"
"Why should that be a problem?" It felt unfair for someone who had accomplished so much at such a young age to say something like that, but William's voice was so soothing that Jameson couldn't even feel upset. "Like I said, even I struggle sometimes. But if I run into a difficult problem, working hard and finding the solution in the end is one of the most gratifying experiences." It sounded like a beautiful concept, if nothing else. "Besides, Jameson, the idea is to discover what you enjoy. You cannot be bad at being yourself, no matter who that may be." It was a lot to chew on, and Jameson at last took a drink from his tea, finding it much sweeter than he'd expected. "Ah, was that too much sugar this time? The last time it seemed like it wasn't enough."
"No, no, it's perfect." That was why he'd been so surprised, after all; William had made him tea just the once, and Jameson hadn't even commented on its sweetness, then. "It seems your skills at discerning people's preferences aren't just in the bedroom."
William's mouth quirked into that pretty smile, and Jameson busied himself with his cup. The pattern on it was an intricate flower bouquet design, painted by a steady and skilled hand. "A natural consequence of observing others, I'm afraid," William said, and then he chuckled, the sound perfect in every possible way. "But, there, you do know things about yourself, like your preferences in food. You're not as bad at this as you might think. If you have a sweet tooth, there are a few places near here you might enjoy."
Jameson had never considered it, but William was right. A "sweet tooth" was more than an apt description. "I…I think I would like to visit more places if I can." If nothing else, he wanted to try it and see how it felt. "I never got to go out much, and whenever I did, it was to show me off as a woman, so…" Jameson grimaced, able to feel the tickle of lace petticoats and the tightness of the frilled collars against his skin. Stratford and others would compliment him, not even caring in the slightest that their words were weapons, a reminder of everything Jameson wanted to be but wasn't.
"Then we can replace those memories with new ones." Having finished his tea already, William set the cup and saucer down on the low table, and Jameson went to sip more at his. "We could go out tomorrow, even. I don't have any lectures to attend to, so it wouldn't be much trouble to visit somewhere else for lunch. It would do you good to become more familiar with the area as well."
He may not have thought of the idea on his own, but Jameson found that he liked the idea the moment he heard it. The trip itself sounded appealing, but all the more so for the fact that William would be the one accompanying him. And while the past week had proven that a few happy memories wouldn't erase everything in his past, that didn't mean he shouldn't pursue them whenever he could. "I think I would like that, William."
"Understood. We can sort out the rest tomorrow." William's gaze landed on the clock, and he sighed. "If we're going to do so, it would be best to retire, then. I believe I've exhausted my ability to make any worthwhile progress. You can leave the cups here. I'll take care of them in the morning." Jameson nodded, not hesitating to finish the rest of his drink before hugging the journal to his chest and standing. "Give me a minute to organize my desk, and I'll walk you back to your room."
Jameson nodded, sorting the throw pillow he'd disrupted back into place. William had said not to worry about it, but he helped organize their dishes back onto the tea cart, and it wasn't all that long before William had finished scribbling out a few last notes to himself. Though Jameson couldn't account for a significant chunk of the time, it had been pleasant company, and he felt a bit more at peace, though the prospect of going back to his room alone in the dark was still an awful one.
"Alright, that should do it." The moment William was in range, Jameson grabbed onto the other man's sleeve, his chest feeling tight. "Jameson. Is something wrong?"
"You said…I was free to do what I wanted, right?" Jameson asked, and it was a miracle he had the voice to speak at all. William nodded, and Jameson swallowed down the lump in his throat. William had already indulged him once, so wasn't it worth making the request, just in case? He couldn't bring himself to look into those scarlet eyes, but Jameson steeled himself and spoke his wish with conviction:
"I want to sleep with you tonight."
It wasn't often that William could say he felt refreshed whenever he woke up, and not even the occasional recovery nap mandated by his body was any different. But on that morning William felt well-rested in a way he couldn't remember doing, not with the past months of working on his doctoral thesis and the occasional case in between. He was not complaining about it by any means, but it would be nice if he could recreate the conditions for future use.
And then he recognised that his bed felt much warmer than it should have for a January morning, though the cause of that was obvious. Jameson was tucked up against William's side, a hand holding onto the front of William's pyjamas as he snoozed away. While he wasn't in such positions often, it was not the first time that William had awoken to sharing a bed with someone else.
It was, however, the first time that he'd ever awoken to sharing a bed with someone he hadn't made love to the night before, excluding the times when he and brothers had fallen asleep together as children.
Whenever Jameson had made his request the night before, William hadn't been able to find a reason to object. It was more than clear that Jameson wasn't in a position to be on his own, and, while intercourse wasn't the best solution to that problem, William could provide that much if it helped. But Jameson had made no such indication that had been his intention, and it hadn't been all that long before the two of them fell asleep, the exhaustion of a long day claiming them both. William was also fine with that, though it would have been nice if he could do more to help Jameson expel the darkness that still clouded his heart.
In most cases, William would help such people out by helping them get vengeance on those who hurt them. It wasn't a perfect solution by any means, but it did get the desired results. However, in Jameson's case, Stratford was already dead, and William couldn't just hand Jameson a knife and let him work out his issues that way. Even then, some scars still lingered; vengeance was just a way to speed along the process.
If nothing else, sharing a bed seemed to have done some good. William couldn't say for certain without Jameson confirming it, but he wouldn't have been surprised if the man had nightmares about what he'd gone through. Being used to such a thorough extent and being treated as something he wasn't the whole time—such things would stick to a person. It may not have felt like enough, but if it took sharing a bed and late nights of being in each other's company to help Jameson recover, then William would do it.
It was the least he could do for taking away Jameson's chance to claim his revenge with his own hands, though a part of him was relieved that he'd made it through another case without having to let someone else spill the blood. The Baron Braybrooke's son was too young to receive an invitation to one of Stratford's parties, nor had he expressed any desire to carry out the act himself. That meant the sin was William's and William's alone to bear.
He pushed the concern away as deep down as he could. If he continued to have such thoughts, he would hesitate and be unable to do what he needed to do. He had come too far to stop, but he hadn't gone far enough to bring his dream to fruition, to destroy the broken society they lived in.
Harden yourself as you always have. You won't be able to achieve what you wish if you don't.
For the time being, he needed to use whatever resource he could. And if that meant allowing Jameson to dirty his hands as well in future cases, then he would. That addition would make it easier to keep Louis from being dragged in deeper if necessary; Louis, if no one else, deserved to live in the new world they were striving for.
William had to admit, though, Jameson was nice to have around for more reasons than that. The more time he spent around him, the more William found appealing about the other man's appearance. The grin he'd donned after retrieving his new wardrobe made Jameson even more attractive, and William wouldn't have minded stripping Jameson out of every new piece of clothing he'd obtained. He hadn't gone farther the previous week because it had been clear Jameson hadn't been in a state of mind to do so, but the moment the opportunity to bed him again arose, William couldn't promise that he'd be able to resist.
But for now, he'd let Jameson sleep, reclaiming whatever rest he'd lost. There would be no harm in letting Jameson stay in his bed, but William at least wanted to get started on his day, and all the more so since he had an excursion to plan. Albert, who socialised the most of them, would know the best places to dine at. With every intention to leave as slow as he could so as not to disturb Jameson, William took hold of the man's hand to detach it from his clothes.
Jameson awoke with a harsh flinch, his eyes snapping open in fear. He gasped for air, terror clear on his expression before he attempted to school it into something more neutral, more receptive. Remembering that Jameson had spent most of his nights in the Viscount Aldborough's bed, it wasn't that difficult to surmise what Jameson expected to happen next, and William kept himself stock still, not wanting to trigger any further of a reaction.
"Jameson," he said, keeping his voice gentle. "Jameson, it's alright. I was just trying to get out of bed." Jameson didn't respond, but he was still breathing, and his gaze seemed to be steady. "I don't have to do anything if you need me to stay put. Take all the time you need."
Jameson's expression twisted, but several breaths later, he seemed to be calmer—or at least he moved enough to scoot back a couple of inches and sit up. He was still watching William with a wary expression, and there was the slightest tremble to his body, but he hadn't launched into a full-blown bout of panic, so that was good something. William stayed true to his word, not budging in the slightest, observing as Jameson's expression almost glassed over.
"Jameson," he said again, and Jameson blinked back to attention. "Do you know who I am? Do you remember where you are?"
"…Liam," Jameson said after another long pause. "No, William. This is…Moriarty Manor." He sucked in another breath, dragging a hand over his face. "I invited myself to your room last night."
"Correct." That was good; Jameson hadn't disconnected enough from the present to forget where he was. "Would you be alright if I sat up? I promise not to touch you." Jameson's nod was small but noticeable, and William took care in pulling himself up, attempting to minimize how much he was shifting the mattress. It was different circumstances, no doubt, but William recognized such reactions well enough from the earliest days of knowing Moran, so he could act with the appropriate level of caution.
"I'm sorry. I said I wanted to come here, and yet…" Jameson swallowed loud enough that William could hear it, even with the distance between them. "I wasn't always a light sleeper," he said, and that explained more than enough then and there.
William had just enough self-control as to restrain his frown. Jameson may not have been looking up at the moment, but William did not wish to make him believe William was upset at him. No, his ire was directed at a target that could no longer be reached, and there was no sense in continuing to dwell upon it. "You don't have to explain if you do not wish to." Talking could help, but it could also hurt, and William had no intentions of forcing Jameson through something he was not ready to handle. "I should be the one to apologise. If I had known, I would have waited."
Jameson shook his head. "You couldn't have known." Well, William knew now, and he'd make use of that knowledge should such a situation ever arise again—which assumed Jameson would even want to share a bed with anyone else ever again at that. "I…I'm alright," Jameson said, which sounded like a lie, but William chose not to push that, either. Dropping his hand from his face, Jameson at last looked up. "Is it too late to say good morning?"
"It is a bit later in the morning than usual for me, but that's my own fault for keeping us both up so late last night." If such things were to become common place, William would need to be more considerate for Jameson's need to rest in the future. "Not that it matters since I have the day off anyways." As if those words were permission enough, Jameson shuffled himself back down into the blankets. "Not a fan of the cold, are we?"
"It's not that; I just prefer to be warm when there's a choice." William chuckled, glad to see Jameson looking more comfortable. There was a beat, and Jameson reached out to take hold of William's pyjama sleeve again. Was he looking for a tether to the present or something else? "You're not upset, are you?"
Implying that Stratford would have been rather upset had Jameson responded that way towards him. "I'm not upset in the slightest, I promise." William would have patted Jameson's shoulder as reassurance, but he thought better of making any uninvited physical contact for the moment. "You've been through a lot, and I shan't blame you for how you react while you're still adjusting to your new life."
Jameson nodded, but he didn't look convinced. Well, William had no issue with saying it as many times as he needed. "Can you…lie down with me a bit longer? I want…to try and replace those memories, too." Considering that William had used the same logic the night before, he didn't have much reason to object, and offering a peaceful morning wasn't that difficult, either. William shuffled himself down into the blankets again and allowed Jameson to rest his head upon William's chest, one arm curling around William's side. "I thought so before, but you're nice to hold onto."
"I could say the same about you." For a moment, William thought the words might have been too much, but Jameson didn't seem to be too bothered by them. "Would you like me to hold onto you as well?" Jameson nodded against his chest, and William pulled his arm around Jameson's middle, his palm resting on the other man's side. Up close, Jameson smelled of sugar and the slightest plant-like traces of lotus flower, and William had no choice but to admit he enjoyed it, though saying so out loud wouldn't have been for the best.
Not knowing how long Jameson would need, William started to sort out plans for the day in his mind. Louis would need to know they would be absent for lunch, at the very least. Not to mention it would be a good opportunity to help Jameson brainstorm new ideas that he wanted to try so he could learn more about himself. William had more than enough suggestions, but the trick would be wording such things in a way that they were just options, not requirements. Yes, it would be better for Jameson to try new things, but not to force him in any particular direction.
And then William's thoughts ground to a halt as a palm slid down his side all the way to his hip.
Jameson had shifted, propping himself up onto one arm to get a better vantage point, and it was more than clear what he was aiming for—and all the more so as he shifted to straddle William, landing with practiced grace right atop the morning erection he hadn't even realized he had. The blankets slipped down Jameson's shoulders, and it was such a pretty picture to have Jameson atop him that William almost forgot how to speak. There was a roll of Jameson's hips, and then he slid a bit lower, undoing the tie of William's pants and dipping his head—
William moved faster than he should have, catching onto Jameson's wrists quick enough to make him jerk in surprise. He looked to William, and those jade green eyes were near clouded over. William had seen that face the night before and a handful of other times, but now he was certain: Jameson was not aware whenever he was in that state. "Jameson," William said. "Jameson, listen to me: You do not have to do that."
There was a long pause, and William was worried for a bit that it wouldn't be enough, but it seemed that Jameson still had enough wherewithal to speak. "But you're hard?"
"That is my problem to deal with, not yours." He wasn't against the idea of Jameson dealing with it for him, but it didn't seem appropriate given the reasons they were in bed together in the first place.
"But I can help." Jameson attempted to move again, but he frowned whenever William kept his plans in place. "Sorry, did you want to take initiative instead? I shouldn't have acted out of line; I apologise. I can lie down if you—"
"Stop." Jameson did, though his consternation was growing more and more visible by the moment. "Let me make this clear: I don't need you to do anything at all about this, Jameson."
Jameson digested it a moment longer, his brow furrowing, and William would have given anything to see inside the other man's head so he could be certain he was giving the correct responses. "I'm confused," Jameson said. "Did you not invite me into your home so you could keep sleeping with me?" Jameson trembled harder, his head dipping. "If I don't do that much, how else am I supposed to repay you?"
Oh, dear. William had been able to tell Jameson had a skewed opinion of himself, but it was also worse than he thought. The worst part was that William couldn't pretend the chance to indulge in Jameson again hadn't been a part of his motivation; why wouldn't he want to enjoy such a good match for his tastes again? And what if Jameson were to feel that that first night had been nothing more than an obligation, a step in the larger plan? It would no doubt make him feel used, and he'd doubtless had enough of others toying with him in his life.
William considered his words with care, and paid close attention to Jameson's responses as he began to speak. "I can't deny that I am interested in you in such a manner."
"So then I can—"
"However," he said, not wanting Jameson to complete that thought, "I have no desire to create a repeat of the situation you were in before." Jameson fell silent, his expression crumbling, and William had to resist the urge to cup that face in his hands. "If you wish to bed me again, I would be happy to indulge you and myself alike. But I do not want you to ever feel like you owe sex to me. It does not matter how aroused I may be, Jameson; that is not your responsibility to tend to unless you want to." Jameson sniffed once, a sign of impending tears, and William hoped that meant his words were having even the slightest of impacts. "I will never make you do anything you do not wish to, Jameson. The freedom of when and whom you give yourself to will always be with you."
Feeling confident that Jameson wouldn't make any drastic moves, William released the other man's wrists. Jameson's hands remained clutched around William's waistband, but he didn't attempt to pull it down again. "Do you mean that?" Jameson asked, his voice shaking. "You promise that I don't have to?"
"I promise. And should anyone try to take that freedom away from you, they will be met with a swift retribution." Moving with the same care he would take while handling a delicate book, William pressed his hand to Jameson's cheek, making the other man look to him. Though those jade eyes were shedding tears, Jameson didn't pull away. "So let me ask you, and take your time to give me your answer: Do you want to do this right now?"
"I…" Jameson bit his lip, and William gave him the time to think. So long as Jameson gave it due consideration, William would respect it. "…No," Jameson whispered, almost too quiet to hear, and even more difficult by the sob that ripped out of his throat the next second. "I don't want to, I don't—" He hunched over and let out a wail that was impossible to tell if it was from relief or sorrow, but either way, William's response was the same:
"Then you don't have to do anything of the sort, Jameson."
So, once again, William allowed Jameson to cry into his chest until all his tears were gone.
Jameson was coming to discover a new desire of his: to have a conversation with William did not end in Jameson breaking down in sobs.
He had not cried so much since he was a child, and nowadays it felt as if the slightest thing would set him off. He knew well enough that he'd kept himself from crying for years now, as a way to keep himself safe, so perhaps now all that pent-up emotion was releasing. Perhaps it was a good thing, even. But Jameson would have liked it if he could have such breakdowns in private so that William didn't think of him as nothing but a fragile, broken thing.
Which he was, so maybe that was a pointless want, but Jameson wished for it, nonetheless.
But even with him breaking down from the sheer relief of not having to force himself to bring someone else to pleasure—a right Jameson had never dared to imagine he could have—William wasn't saying anything to judge him. He waited through all of Jameson's sobs, offered him a handkerchief, and provided a reassuring smile along with an offer to take Jameson back to his room so he could prepare for his breakfast—should he so want to come.
Because Jameson was in such a state that he couldn't stand to be by himself, he was grateful for said offers. So while William assembled himself into his full dress, Jameson tidied up his robe and assisted with making the bed. It still felt surreal that he could be allowed the freedom to choose how and when to give himself. It was almost ironic that such an offer was enough for Jameson to wish to have William in full again, though the idea of anyone touching him right now was enough to make his skin crawl.
Another time, Jameson thought, making that promise to himself. William is interested in me, so he would say yes, wouldn't he? Whenever I feel as if I won't fall apart…
It would be his choice, it would be a reflection of his freedom, and Jameson would take that option with his own hands.
"Apologies for the wait," William said, pulling Jameson from his thoughts. It seemed the ensemble for the day included a striped tie that Jameson found he was a fan of. "Are you certain you're ready to go?" Jameson nodded, eager to move on from his embarrassing display, and, with that request given, they set out. "In which case, I suppose I should ask if you're willing to go out today or not."
"I should be okay." Having William at his side—William, who had proven to be respectful so far—made the outside world seem much more bearable. "I have to confess that since you suggested it, I am interested in trying out someplace new to eat…" That was a manageable task, something that would differentiate Jameson's past from his present without too much effort involved.
"But of course." William's smile was a lovely thing in all its iterations, and Jameson didn't feel worthy of receiving that much kindness, but he couldn't bring himself to push it away, either, not whenever he craved it so. William went about closing the bedroom door behind him, nothing but the latch making a sound as it clicked back into place. "I believe I'll spend some time on work in the morning, but we can go out and about in the afternoon. While I can't promise more company than last night, you're still welcome to join me in my office if you like. Ah, good morning, Louis."
The change in address was so smooth that Jameson didn't register the implications until it was far too late. Whenever his mind caught up to reality, Jameson tucked his ears down to his shoulders and took a step behind William, as if that would hide him from view. But, no, it was too late for anything like that to be helpful at all, for Louis was coming up the stairs, and the sight the two of them made was obvious enough:
Jameson and William together, coming from the direction of William's room with Jameson still in his nightclothes. Yes, Jameson would have reached the same exact conclusion Louis must have in that moment, too.
"Good morning, Brother. Jameson." The latter address had that flinty edge to it as always, though perhaps it was even more blunt than usual. Jameson was too dizzy to make a proper assessment of the matter. If nothing else, Louis seemed to be ignoring Jameson in favour of William, which was preferable, all things considered. "I just caught the tail-end of the conversation, but are you planning on going out today, William?"
"Yes. In fact I was planning to tell you that—"
"—that he was hoping to give you a break and go out with you for lunch today, Louis," Jameson said. In comparison to acting as if he enjoyed bedding those who would come for him, claiming such a lie with a straight face was easy. Louis blinked once in surprise, and even William seemed stunned enough that Jameson had an opening to keep spinning his tale. "I was telling William that helping you yesterday made it clear that you work so very hard, and that perhaps going out together would be a nice reprieve. I'll be happy to help with whatever you need this morning to make that possible, and if you leave me to the same chores as yesterday, I should be able to manage. And Lord Albert is home today, so you won't have to worry about leaving me alone." Of course, none of that was a proper excuse for why Jameson had come from William's room, still dressed for bed, but he doubted that there would be anything he could say that would lessen Louis's ire towards him on that front, so there wasn't much need to bother. "Though I suppose I don't seem very ready to assist when I'm not even ready for the day. Don't mind me; I'll go change, and then I'll join you all for breakfast."
And then, flashing an artificial smile, Jameson turned on his heel and retreated up the stairs before either brother left behind could call his bluff.
An official ward of the family or not, Jameson was just an intruder there, and he needed to remember that.
It was very much a process of luck that allowed Jameson to not have his bluff called in the slightest. Furthermore, for whatever reason, William had followed through with Jameson's story, and he and Louis left at a little before noon to enjoy a meal together. For himself and Albert, Jameson had put together a simple salad for lunch (all such preparations taken care of due to Louis's insight), and then he went about the list of chores that had been left behind for him.
Jameson had expected his tasks to be just as numerous as the day before, but the note in Louis's tight, well-practiced hand was a rather simple checklist of items that didn't require much thought. It didn't seem to be out of a sense of gratitude, but rather that letting Jameson handle too much without ample supervision was unacceptable—a point to which Jameson could agree, considering that his experience in doing housework was buried deep under years of pampering, and what little did exist was meagre at best.
Still, that didn't stop him from handling each job with ample care, ensuring that he put his best foot forward. Yes, there was just so much one could do to sweep and mop the floors, to wash up the dishes, to wipe down the shelves in the family library, but he didn't dare leave a single speck of dust or dirt behind, double- and triple-checking his work.
Yet even with all that effort, Jameson was but a few hours into the afternoon with little else to occupy himself, and with no sign of William and Louis yet to return, either. While he'd joined Jameson for lunch, Albert seemed to be occupying himself in his own study for the day, and Jameson didn't wish to intrude anymore than the clear imposition that morning had reaffirmed him as.
Funny how the freedom to be alone could be both liberating and overwhelming all at once. The majority of Jameson's time prior had been filled either with playacting as his mother with Stratford or in bed with another person, be it regular or target alike. That was not to say that he never had a free moment to himself, but most of those times were spent doing nothing, his mind floating hundreds of miles away in nothingness as the few tiny and unshattered pieces of him left tried to ensure that he didn't break even further, for what little it would do.
I do not want to spend my days praying for a victory consisting of nothing bad happening. That was no way to live, no way to use the life he'd been lucky enough to get back, no way to enjoy the freedom he now had access to.
Why don't you use it as a record of what you enjoy and what you don't?
It would be a record of what makes you you, not what anyone else expects you to be.
Remembering William's words, Jameson let out a long breath and went to retrieve the journal from where he'd returned it to his worktable, and thank the heavens that he'd had enough sense of mind to bring it with him, rather than leave it in William's bedroom. He may have been permitted entry the night before, but there was no guarantee that consent extended to the day after, and Jameson didn't want to breach upon that space without permission. Having enjoyed the general atmosphere in the library while dusting it, Jameson chose that as his location, bringing along one of his new pens and an inkwell for good measure.
Resting on the ground floor, the library did not let as much natural light into it at that hour, but it was still welcoming, nonetheless. It was one of the few larger rooms that Jameson had seen in the Moriarty manor, and it had a slight nip to the air as such. But it seemed the place saw frequent enough use, what with a worktable, chairs, and several blankets set up in a spacious area, and Jameson could imagine it easy enough, William, Albert, and Louis alike enjoying tea while tucked into their respective volumes, the occasional quiet murmur of conversation passing their lips, the scene filled with nothing but contentment.
Yet another place Jameson was intruding upon without permission.
Hoping to banish the thought from his mind, Jameson placed his journal and pen on the table with much more force than necessary, just to feel bad about it the next second. These were gifts, given to him with care and concern, and he shouldn't abuse them. No, instead, he should make full use of them. With some trepidation, Jameson settled down in the one chair without a blanket, busying his hands with assembling his pen and assuring that it worked. His fingers were clumsy, and a bit of ink spilt out, but it got on his hands rather than the table or his sleeves, so that was a victory he would take.
Then came the difficult situation of convincing himself to write, to mark the pages with his own hand. Again, the pure, cream coloured parchment inside seemed far too good for someone like him—but Jameson forced himself to drop the pen nib to the paper, leaving a dot. Just like that it was no longer clean, and that somehow made it all the easier, though Jameson's hands still shook as he wrote the letters and words into existence:
I am Jameson Liam Verity.
Just the sight of the words made Jameson shudder, even if that sensation of awe seemed undeserved. It was a ramshackle name, pieced together from others he wanted to be, but it still meant something because he had chosen it for his own. And William had accepted that name, too, had spoken every last syllable of it, affirming Jameson's worth.
Right under that opening sentence, he wrote: What do I want to do with my freedom?
From there, it was much simpler to get to work, to empty the thoughts in his mind and turn them into words on the page. They were scattered things, ranging across all manner of ideas, and sometimes veering off the topic altogether. But they were still words, still Jameson's, and he wrote his rambling list without pause until his hand began to cramp and beyond, not stopping until his mind came to a standstill that, unlike so many times before it, wasn't the result of his mind slipping away to protect itself.
No, it felt like peace.
By some miracle, Jameson did not feel as if he were to break down in tears again, though perhaps that was because he had none left after making a spectacle of himself that morning. Regardless, Jameson relished in the satisfaction, flipping through the handful of pages he had written, more admiring the words for their shapes than their meanings. It was clear, however, that sitting for so long had resulted in more cramps than just the ones plaguing his fingers, and Jameson stretched his arms up before standing, hoping to return some semblance of normalcy to his spine.
I should get a cup of tea, he thought, finding now that he wasn't lost in emptying his thoughts from his head that it was a bit chillier than he thought, even when taking the thick fabric of his suit jacket into account. A warm drink would be a good respite, and then he could review his scattered thoughts, perhaps even organize them into something much more presentable to share with William whenever he at last returned home. It wasn't imposing, was it, if William had offered his assistance beforehand and Jameson was just taking him up on his generosity? I'm sure that if I told William I wished for his help, he wouldn't mind at all. The possibility of that alone was enough for Jameson's mouth to quirk into a smile as he set his course for the library's doorway.
Thus, as what seemed to be his new norm, he managed to cross paths with Albert along the way.
The Earl Moriarty wasn't in a spot that Jameson couldn't avoid, but it also seemed pointless to do so. If Jameson were to retreat at the slightest sign of either of William's brothers showing up when he wasn't expecting them, he would have a difficult time indeed in his new living accommodations. Besides, crossing paths didn't mean the interaction had to extend into a full conversation, either, and Albert seemed to be absorbed in reorganizing the bookshelf regardless.
So Jameson was able to retreat to the kitchen without much issue, which then left him with the conundrum of needing to return to the library again. Since Albert had been the one to agree to bring Jameson into the family with such ease, it didn't seem probable that he would have an objection to Jameson doing what he wanted with his time—but wasn't that kindness something that Jameson should acknowledge and show his gratitude to? He pondered such thoughts while filling the kettle and setting it upon the stove, and then, his body acting on the idea before he could decide to do so in his conscious mind, Jameson had set up a tea tray for two and was wheeling it back to the library whilst the tea steeped.
"Excuse me," Jameson said, keeping his voice quiet half out of respect for the usual manners of a library, half in the hope that Albert wouldn't hear him, "it still needs a few minutes, but if you'd like some tea, I made some."
Given that the room was otherwise silent, Albert turned in acknowledgement of Jameson's presence, eliminating any possibility of retreat—or at least retreat without questions asked later. "Oh, Jameson. I hope you didn't go out of your way to find me."
Jameson shook his head. "I was using one of the tables, and I saw you when I went to make myself a drink. It wasn't any trouble at all." Noticing that several more books had been taken down from the shelves than what seemed to have been put back on in the time that he was gone, Jameson asked, "Are you reorganising, then?"
"Yes. Keeping things organised in here is one of my jobs. I find putting things back in their places relaxing, so it's a chore I'm happy to do." Albert seemed to notice Jameson's gaze, and he chuckled. "We've picked up quite a few extra volumes as of late, so I needed to adjust some of the shelves. That and I was trying to make space on a shelf for you, so it's turned into much more of a project than I expected."
"For me?" The most books that Jameson had laid hands on were the ones he'd needed to study to be at an acceptable level for society—and, even then, given the time that it had taken Jameson to learn to read and write proper after his adoption, he'd absorbed most of his knowledge through the verbal lectures given by his various tutors. "You don't need to—" —go through the hassle, he'd been about to finish before remembering just who he was talking to. Changing tack, Jameson cleared his throat. "Given the collection that you have here, I doubt I'll find need to have my own space to bring more books in, Albert."
Noting Jameson's redirection of the topic, Albert's broad smile came into full force—it was the kind of smile that knew things, Jameson decided. "Perhaps," he said. "That being said, we have a system for lending books to each other and adding them to the collection. Though I should admit it's through my stubbornness more than the others." He gestured across the room, to a shelf near the entrance—one of the few places where the bookcases were not packed to the brim. "In short, those are mine, Will's, and Louis's, from top to bottom. I'm in the process of emptying the shelf below it for your use. You can put anything there and we'll leave it be so you can find it at your leisure, and we often leave books for the others to read. Anything you're done with can go on the shelf beside it, and I'll take care of organizing it. I tried to make it simple enough."
Jameson nodded. It felt strange to have a place that was his and his alone in this house, one that matched with the rest of the family. His room, being a smaller guest residence, didn't quite count. "I appreciate it," he said, since he needed to at least express that much. "I can't guarantee that I'll use it much, since I don't know how much reading suits my tastes, but I'll try not to put anything out of place."
"When in doubt, put it on the return shelf. I can handle the rest from there." Albert went to reach for a stack of books beside him, though he paused before picking them up. "But I do believe you invited me for tea, yes? We wouldn't want to waste the brew, now would we?" Remembering that more than enough time had passed for the tea to be ready, Jameson tried not to appear frantic as he tended to the teapot. Albert took the lead in procuring a place to sit, and Jameson followed, though it just put him back at the same table he'd been using for the day. Albert settled into a seat with practiced familiarity, and he tapped the table next to Jameson's journal. "Have you been using it, then?"
"Yes." Having navigated the teacart without any incident, Jameson brought over the steaming cups. "William said I should list out what new things I try and how I feel about them. That way, I can get a better idea of who I am instead of…" Jameson didn't bother to finish the sentence. Even if Albert knew some of the details of his past, Jameson didn't feel like putting it into words. "It's just ideas for now, but it's better than leaving it as a blank slate."
Having added a bit of cream to his tea, Albert took a long sip, which at least meant it didn't taste awful. "I think that's a wonderful idea. Will did mention that he wanted to try taking you out to get used to the area." Mid his own drink, Jameson had to muster all his willpower not to cough as he almost swallowed his mouthful down the wrong pipe. "And yet you went ahead and waived that right to Louis instead, despite seeming willing beforehand."
Jameson thought he deserved some sort of recognition for returning his cup to its saucer without even the slightest sound. "I didn't realize he had time to share that much with you."
"He shared some, and I picked up on the rest myself." Albert leaned a bit back in his seat, the picture of nonchalance despite controlling the pace of the conversation. "Having a hard time adjusting to Louis, then?"
It was such a precise guess that Jameson couldn't help but feel as if Albert had peered inside his head. "I think his attitude towards me makes the most sense out of all of you, to be honest," Jameson said, not bothering to hold anything back. Likewise, Albert didn't bother to look bothered. "But even if you've welcomed me here, I still feel like an outsider. I don't blame Louis for any ill will he may have for me, but I also don't wish to intrude on his life more than I already have." Taking up William's time that had until now been much more open to his family did not, by any means, seem necessary.
Albert digested those words, and Jameson almost felt bad for saying them out loud. Perhaps it could have been Albert's responsibility as the head of house to ensure that everyone got along, but it also shouldn't have been his problem. If Louis took issue with him, Jameson felt no need to object whatsoever. And yet Albert had an amused glint to his eye, one that made him look the slightest bit mischievous. "Would it help you to know that Louis didn't care for me either whenever we first met?"
Given that Louis had been adopted, it wasn't all that surprising to think of him being rather prickly in his new home, depending on the circumstances. Given what Jameson had been told about the now deceased members of the Moriarty family having looked down on the lower classes, he thought that was just cause enough, even if Albert didn't seem to share their view. However, there was one little detail that caught Jameson's attention: "Just you and not William?"
Jameson had seen enough to know that Louis cared for both his brothers, though perhaps William was his favourite? Even so, forming close allegiances would make sense after years of living together, but to have such an attachment to one adopted brother and not the other?
The look on Albert's face suggested that Jameson had hit the nail on the head. "Though you are adjusting to many things right now, there are a lot of things about us that we haven't told you yet," Albert said. "For instance, the William you know now is not my biological brother, but instead Louis's." The gears in Jameson's mind whirred to life, but it seemed a futile effort to try and comprehend all the implications of that statement. "The Moriarty house adopted the both of them. And then, when I asked for help in making the world a better place and erasing the rest of my family, Will became the second son, William James Moriarty, taking the original's place."
"That's…" Jameson said, but he didn't have anywhere close to the right words to describe what he heard. "How would you even get away with something like that?" It wasn't impossible for people to trade identities, but to pull something off as a child…
"Will's been brilliant ever since he was young. It was partway because of that that I wished to bring him into my family in the first place." Albert's expression seemed to be teetering on the edge between pure fondness and the faintest traces of melancholy. "I'd intended to ask him for such help from the start, but it took me some time to get around to it. But even before I said anything, he'd already been masquerading as 'William' in public, doing good deeds for the commonfolk, like he'd seen the entire game before the rest of us had started playing. Since my brother had yet to enter college or make his debut in society, there were very few people left who would know the difference." The thought must have been clear on Jameson's face, because Albert said, "He was ten when we adopted him, and we burnt down the manor the next year."
So William was not just a mathematics prodigy, but a prodigy in general, his mind sharp enough to pull off such an elaborate scheme without issue. If Jameson hadn't felt outclassed before, then he would have upon hearing such a thing. "Ah, forgive me if I'm wrong, then in that case he's…"
"Two years younger than his legal age, yes." A fact that made all of William's already lengthy list of incredible accomplishments even more impressive. A fact that also meant that William was younger than Jameson by a year, which just made their first meeting feel all the worse. Having no other way to hide the colour bombarding his cheeks. Jameson buried his face in his hands. Albert couldn't have known what was racing through Jameson's mind, but he chuckled, nonetheless. "Well, as his older brother, I'd be more than happy to tell you stories about Will all day long, but the point was to let you understand that there are very few people Louis is willing to trust based on first impressions alone."
It did make sense, yes, that Louis would care very much for William's wellbeing, if they had been orphans together beforehand—Jameson did not have any siblings, but he'd had other children he'd treasured, nonetheless, so he could relate. It just so happened that because that made sense, it must have made the encounter from the morning all the worse.
"I have the inkling," Jameson said, his voice somewhat muffled by his palms, "that you didn't have to deal with the suspicion that you were attempting to seduce William for some nefarious purpose."
Albert's laugh spluttered out, but it was still a warm thing, like the comforting embrace of a woollen blanket. "No, I'll admit to not having such an issue. But I do not think that such a thing is impossible to overcome." Jameson took a long inhale and an exhale, at last correcting his posture. "Will is more than capable of taking care of himself, so I've chosen to trust his judgement. At least know that, no matter how much time Louis may need until he trusts you as well, I'll still be on your side, Jameson."
"I…I'll strive to be worthy of that trust." That was all he could do. Jameson did not have any ill intent towards the Moriarty family at all—instead, he thought they were well worth his loyalty and appreciation. "If it's not too much trouble, Albert, could I bother you for a blanket of my own for the library? If I am to spend more time here."
"Yes, of course." Albert looked rather pleased to have such a request of him. "How about if after we've both finished what we're working on, we go and shop for one?" Jameson tried to find a protest, but he should have seen that one coming, given what his previous experiences with Albert had been like so far. "You already turned down an invitation to go out for Louis's sake. But if you wish to go somewhere, I'll be glad to take you." Having finished with his tea, Albert stood up, taking his cup and saucer to the teacart. "Think about it, Jameson. You can give me an answer later. Though for the time being…" Albert returned to the tableside, picking up one of the blankets and draping it over Jameson's shoulders. "This one is mine. Feel free to use it anytime you like."
And leaving Jameson with both a warmth in his face and his heart, Albert retreated back into the bookcases to continue his work.
[Author's Notes]
Excuse me as I dump all my fucking headcanons on the table and make a mess with them. Most of them in this chapter happen to be about Albert: bi, giving gifts is his love language, a giant flirt that def fucks, have you seen this man...
Thanks go out to pf48531 for the fav and follow! Welcome to the ride.
My other major headcanon that I fuck around with is taking a liberal interpretation of the timeline. Like, I very much feel as if William's been going around with OG William's age, despite being younger, and everyone's like "wow look at this prodigy he's so amazing" despite not knowing he's even more impressive lol. Of course, this leads to some trickier bits when it comes to William starting as a professor, but I'm choosing to go with the route of he teaches in London first before working at Durham University, but that's stuff that won't be way relevant until later.
With all that said, I woke up today feeling like a sore throat might be on the horizon for me, so I'm gonna go relax this weekend.
Title of the chapter is from Halsey's "Bells in Santa Fe."
Next time: Those Jade Green Eyes, Act Four. Please look forward to it!
-Avi
[01.28.2022]