After a day that had stretched the limits of both their endurance, Darling finally found himself at the door of Trench's apartment. The Oldest House had a way of distorting time and space, making even a short journey feel like a trek across endless thresholds. When Darling knocked, it was tentative, almost hesitant. The lateness of the hour and the weight of everything that had transpired gnawed at his nerves.
The door opened swiftly, revealing Director Trench. His usual stoic expression softened when he saw Darling standing there, his frame visibly weary, his movements slower than usual. Trench stepped aside without a word, motioning for Darling to come in.
"Sorry for coming so late," Darling said quietly as he stepped inside. His voice carried a note of apology that wasn't just about the hour.
Trench closed the door behind him and shook his head. "It's not a problem," he said simply. "You're always welcome here, Casper."
The apartment was dimly lit, the muted glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. It was a stark contrast to the harsh, clinical environment of the Bureau's halls. The air smelled faintly of Trench's ever-present cigarettes, but there was also a hint of something warmer, more inviting—coffee, perhaps, or tea. A stack of files lay on the coffee table, abandoned for the night.
They settled into the quiet of the space without much ceremony. Trench guided Darling to the couch, where he sank down with a sigh, the weight of the day finally catching up with him. Trench sat beside him, close but not crowding, offering his presence as a steadying force. For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't oppressive; it was a shared understanding, a moment to breathe.
Eventually, Trench broke the quiet. "How's the injury?" he asked, his tone even but laced with concern.
Darling's hand drifted instinctively to his side, where a hastily wrapped bandage, replacing the ones he'd gotten after the initial injury, hid the worst of it. "Manageable," he said, though the wince that followed betrayed him. "I… I think I might need some help with it, though."
Trench nodded and stood, disappearing briefly into another room. He returned with a small first-aid kit, his movements deliberate and precise. "Let me take a look," he said, settling back down beside Darling.
Darling hesitated for a moment before lifting his shirt, exposing the bloodied bandage wrapped around his torso. The injury wasn't life-threatening, but it was nasty, a jagged reminder of the chaos they'd barely survived. Trench's hands were steady as he worked, carefully unwrapping the old bandage and cleaning the wound with practiced efficiency from doing the same thing during his field agent days.
"You should have come to me sooner," Trench murmured, his brow furrowing as he assessed the damage.
"I didn't want to bother you," Darling admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've already got enough on your plate."
Trench glanced up, his eyes meeting Darling's. "Casper, you're not a bother. Don't ever think that." His tone was firm but not unkind, carrying the weight of a promise.
The rest of the task passed in silence, Trench's hands moving with careful precision as he applied a fresh bandage. When he was finished, he leaned back, studying Darling for a moment. "There. That should hold for now. But you'll let me know if it gets worse, won't you?"
Darling nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. "I will. Thank you."
With the immediate task done, they settled back into the quiet. Trench retrieved a blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over Darling, who looked like he might fall asleep where he sat. The weight of the day, the pain, and the sheer exhaustion of everything they'd been through seemed to finally catch up with him.
Trench leaned back against the couch, his eyes fixed on a distant point in the room. "We've been through hell lately," he said quietly, more to himself than to Darling. "But we'll get through it. One way or another."
Darling's head tipped back against the couch, his eyes drifting closed. "As long as we're together," he murmured, his words slurred with the edge of sleep.
Trench glanced at him, his expression softening. "Always," he said, the word barely audible.
The rest of the night passed in a haze of quiet companionship. No grand plans were made, no heavy conversations had. It was enough, for now, to simply be. When Darling finally fell asleep, Trench stayed beside him, his presence a silent promise in the stillness of the room.