𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓

his   training   kicks   in,   calling   out   for   the   weapon   he   sees   in   the   hand   of   the   stranger   that   is   walking   towards   arthur.   unable   to   think,   his   legs   carry   him   towards   them   without   his   input.   why   are   you   doing   this   ?   stop,   stop,   stop   !   he   wishes   he   could   yell   but   his   mouth   has   gone   dry.   all   he   can   think   about   is   stopping   this   —   but   the   gunshot   echoes   before   he's   made   it   to   him.   blood   rushes   his   ears   and   his   chest   constricts   as   he   watches   arthur,   eyebrows   knitted   in   confusion,   stagger   and   fall.   no.   no   !

with   all   he   has,   he   forces   himself   to   run   faster.   viciously,   he   tackles   the   one   who   dared   to   hurt   arthur   and,   clouded   with   rage,   doesn't   even   stop   to   check   if   the   gun   is   still   in   his   hand   before   punching.   his   fist   pounds   again   and   again,   a   satisfying   crack   fueling   his   bloodlust.   he   feels   like   a   feral   beast,   starving   and   ready   to   shred   its   prey   to   pieces.   laws   and   protocols   and   righteousness,   be   damned.   nothing   can   stop   him,   he   thinks   .   .   .   until   a   pained   cry   penetrates   the   dark   cloud   that   has   engulfed   him.

eyes   snap   in   arthur's   direction.   god,   arthur   .   .   .   the   biting   anger   leaves   his   body   in   an   instant,   replaced   by   gnawing   worry.   without   another   look   for   the   stranger,   he   rushes   to   his   husband's   side.   blood   has   already   stained   his   white   t-shirt   and   his   face   is   so   pale,   it   makes   faron   sick.   “   baby,   can   you   hear   me   ?   ”   his   only   response   is   a   whimper   that   tears   the   heart   right   out   of   his   chest.   “   okay,   okay,   stay   with   me.   i'm   gonna   —   i   —   ”   shame   bubbles   under   the   surface;   he   doesn't   know   what   to   do.   he   should   know.   he   should   handle   this   but,   afraid   of   worsening   his   injury,   he's   just   frozen.

then,   he   feels   hands   tugging   on   his   shoulders, forcing   him   to   his   feet.   he   hears   voices   but   he   cannot   comprehend   words   as   nurses   suddenly   swarm   arthur.   the   world   feels   like   it's   gone   in   slow   motion,   dreadfully   quiet   and   grey.   there's   so   many   cars.   people   must   have   seen,   they   must   have   rushed   to   get   nurses   and   call   the   police   while   all   he   did   was   let   his   anger   overwhelm   him.   oh   god,   did   he   kill   arthur   ?

he   swallows   back   the   bile   that   rises   in   his   throat.   a   firm   hand   grips   his   arm,   drawing   his   attention   away   from   arthur's   face.   "what   happened   ?"   a   nurse   asks.   he   only   barely   hears   her   through   the   blood   still   rushing   in   his   ears.   “   he   got   shot.   ”   even   his   own   voice   sounds   distant   to   his   ears.   "just   once   ?"   “   yeah,   just   one   shot.   ”   just   one   shot   .   .   .   was   one   not   enough   ?   he's   disgusted   with   himself.

finally,   after   what   feels   like   an   eternity,   arthur   is   hoisted   into   a   stretcher   and   rushed   to   the   emergency   room.   like   a   ghost,   faron   can   only   follow   and   be   ushered   into   a   waiting   room.

suddenly   alone,   he   draws   in   a   sharp   breath.   immediately,   the   taste   of   blood   coats   his   mouth.   he   stands   for   a   long   minute,   staring   at   the   ugly   white   wall,   until   it   hits   him:   he   has   to   call   everyone.   reaching   for   his   phone,   he   notices   for   the   first   time  his   bloody   knuckles, the   throbbing   pain   in   his   hand   and   arthur's   blood   coated   on   his   palms.   with   a   hard   swallow,   he   wipes   them   down   on   his   shirt.  at   that   gesture,   his   gut   wrenches   and   he   gags.   with   his   forearm   covering   his   mouth,   it   takes   him   longer   than   he   would   care   to   admit   to   regain   his   composure.   shaking,   he   calls   emma   first,   then   claire,   then   morgane.   he   decides   to   let   them   spread   the   news   out   further.   the   pounding   of   his   heart   already   threatens   to   break   his   rib   cage   in   two.   he   doesn't   know   if   he   can   take   the   cries   of   any   more   people.

lisa   tells   him   arthur   is   being   rushed   to   surgery   and,   even   with   a   part   of   him   knowing   it   would   happen,   it   still   makes   him   nearly   keel   over.   they   were   supposed   to   be   going   home.   they   were   meant   to   be   enjoying   a   good   meal,   laughing   about   something   silly   in   their   kitchen.   arthur   with   his   bright   smile   in   his   arms,   and   the   world,   quiet.   instead,   the   world   is   at   a   standstill.   his   world.   arthur's   life.   same   thing.   "you   should   wash   your   hands."   lisa's   voice   breaks   through   the   silence.   he   glances   down.   he   already   forgot   about   the   blood.   “   right,   yeah.   ”   he's   grateful   that   she   goes   another   direction   when   they   exit   the   room.   mechanically,   he   washes   his   hands   in   the   bathroom   sink.   nothing   he   can   do   about   his   shirt   though   .   .   .   

when   he   returns   to   the   waiting   room,   he's   alone   again   but   the   choking   quiet   doesn't   last   long.   soon,   the   room   fills   with   arthur's   family   and   friends   and   he's   bombarded   with   questions.   "what   happened   ?"   "why   ?"   "who   ?"   "is   he   okay   ?"   "is   he   gonna   be   okay   ?"   he   stammers   trying   to   answer   every   question,   uncertain   who   to   turn   to   first.   he   feels   overwhelmed   .   .   .   so   overwhelmed,   he   feels   himself   shutting   down.   quickly,   he   falls   into   apathy.   with   the   world   tuned   out,   he   sits   down   while   everyone   speaks   and   goes   silent.   all   he   wants   is   to   hear   back   from   arthur,   to   know   he's   alive.  at   some   point   during   the   wait,   claire   sits   by   him   and   lays   her   head   on   his   shoulder.   he   can't   find   it   in   him   to   feel   comforted   or   comforting.   in   fact,   her   head   feels   like   a   brick   and   he   slouches   down   at   the   contact.

he's   not   sure   how   long   into   the   waiting   it   is   when   one   of   his   colleagues   enters   the   room.   he's   slow   to   react   to   his   name   being   called   but   follows   him   outside.   he   knows   what's   coming.   "looks   like   it   hurts."   the   officer   says,   pointing   to   his   bruised   hand.   “   just   ask   your   questions.   ”   he   doesn't   want   to   miss   any   news   or   think   of   what   he   did.   he's   still   not   sure   whether   he   regrets   it   or   not.   what   he   knows   is,   if   arthur   doesn't   make   it,   he'll   regret   stopping.

the   interview   doesn't   take   long.   there   isn't   much   to   say   after   all   but,   when   it   ends,   his   fellow   officer   sighs.   "listen...   i   get   it.   i'm   sympathetic,   we   all   are   but   —"   faron   frowns.   how   can   there   be   a   but   in   a   situation   like   this   ?   "they   asked   me   for   your   badge   and   gun.   you're   suspended   until   further   notice."   he   notices   the   officer   looking   at   his   hand   as   he   delivers   the   news   and   sputters.   is   he   afraid   or   simply   uncomfortable   with   having   to   be   the   one   to   tell   him   ?   either   way,   faron   can't   find   it   in   him  to   care.   if   he   loses   his   job   over   this,   then   he's   okay   with   that.   “   i'm   not   in   service.   they're   back   home.   i'll   bring   them   over   later.   or   tomorrow.   ”   he's   already   turning   away   and   walking   back   to   the   waiting   room.   he   hears   the   officer   protest   but   doesn't   stick   around   to   listen.

the   sky   is   almost   dark   by   the   time   lisa   walks   into   the   room.   she's   been   crying.   she   never   cries.   his   heart   drops   into   his   stomach   as   he   braces   for   the   news,   hands   gripping   the   armrests.   "he's   pulled   through   surgery   but...   he's   still   out   and   it's   not   looking...   too   good."   he   hears   a   gasp   in   the   room   but   can't   tell   who   it   is.   morgane,   probably,   emma,   maybe   .   .   .   he   lets   go   on   the   chair   slowly,   his   battered   bones   aching,   and   rises.   "can   we   go   see   him   ?"   claire   asks   before   he   can,   and   he   feels   the   collective   relief   when   lisa   nods   and   walks   them   to   arthur's   side.

the   room   is   small.   too   small   for   all   of   them.   without   a   word,   he   watches   as   emma,   lucy,   lisa   and   morgane   rush   inside.   he   can't   see   arthur   from   where   he's   standing   and,   maybe,   he's   a   little   bit   grateful.   he   doesn't   know   if   he   can   bear   to   see   him   in   that   state   when   he   could've   done   more   to   help   him.   should've   done   more.   if   he'd   paid   more   attention,   he   would've   noticed   the   gun   earlier.   if   he'd   been   quicker,   he   could've   stopped   arthur   from   getting   hurt.   if   he'd   not   been   so   angry,   he   could've   gotten   arthur   help   faster.   he   failed.   repeatedly.   the   ring   on   his   finger   begins   to   burn   from   the   strength   of   his   guilt.   it's   a   sham.   he   doesn't   deserve   that   ring.   he   flexes   the   fingers   of   his   left   hand,   itching   to   take   just   take.   it.   off.   at   least,   he   didn't   hit   that   man   with   it.

"you   should   be   in   there."   claire's   voice   cuts   through   his   guilt-ridden   thoughts.   it   takes   him   a   second   to   tear   his   eyes   from   the   door.   “   what   ?   ”

"you   should   be   in   there.   he'd   want   you   in   there   more   than   anyone   else."   the   thought   stings.   he   doesn't   deserve   it.   “   not   after   what   i   did.   ”   he   mutters   under   his   breath,   shameful.   "faron   —   "   he   doesn't   let   her   finish   and   starts   to   walk   towards   the   cafeteria.   “   i'm   getting   everyone   some   coffees   and   water.   ”   he   hurries   his   step   to   disappear   from   her   view   as   quickly   as   he   can.   at   least,   she   didn't   call   him   dad.   that,   he   really   wouldn't   deserve   today.

the   line   at   the   cafeteria   is   long   enough   for   him   to   ruminate.   he   never   really   thought   about   what   it   would   be   like   to   be   here.   he   always   figured   he   would   be   the   one   in   a   hospital   bed   if   it   came   to   it,   not   arthur.   never   arthur.   how   could   it   be   arthur   ?   who   could   want   to   hurt   him   ?   he   never   hurt   anyone,   he   only   ever   did   all   he   could   to   save   people.   he   regrets   not   asking   the   officer   if   the   man   had   explained   his   reasoning.

"they're   kicking   us   out   for   today."   his   hands   full   with   the   tray,   he   can   only   look   at   emma   and   nod.   it   was   inevitable.   he's   almost   relieved.   he's   not   gonna   get   any   sleep   either   way   but,   in   a   way,   he   doesn't   want   to   look   at   arthur   for   too   long.   he   still   hasn't   looked   .   .   .   "but   we   all   agreed   you   should   stay."   his   blood   runs   cold.   he   almost   protests,   insists   emma   should   be   by   her   child's   side,   but   he   can't.   he   doesn't   have   it   in   him   to   speak   any   longer   and   he   can't   disappoint   them.   he   has   to   be   strong.   “   okay.   ”

too   many   hands   are   on   him   as   they   say   goodbye.   he   feels   nauseous   but   powers   through.   claire   and   morgane   promise   him   to   spend   the   night   at   the   house   so   corvus   isn't   alone   and   he   feels   guilty   all   over   again   for   not   even   thinking   of   poor   corvus.   hopelessly,   he   watches   them   walk   out   of   the   room,   the   last   ones   of   the   group.   there's   only   him   and   arthur   now.   he's   gonna   have   to   look   eventually.

slowly,   he   turns   towards   the   bed.   his   legs   falter   for   a   second,   only   just   managing   to   steady   themselves   before   he   falls.   arthur   is   still   pale,   his   body   hooked   to   an   iv   and   a   monitor,   the   excruciatingly   slow   beeping   of   the   machine   doing   nothing   to   alleviate   the   feeling   of   dread   in   faron's   chest.   he   feels   the   burn   of   tears   in   the   corner   of   his   eyes.   he   wants   to   sob,   to   fall   to   his   knees   in   front   of   arthur   and   beg   for   forgiveness.   but   he   doesn't.   he   wipes   the   tears   away   and   swallows   the   lump   in   his   throat.   he   doesn't   deserve   this   and   he   has   to   be   strong.   so   instead,   he   sits   by   his   bedside   and   holds   vigil.   hour   after   hour,   he   looks   on.   sometimes,   for   just   a   few   minutes,   he   lets   his   eyes   close   but   always   wakes   up   suddenly   shortly   after.   by   the   time   morning   arrives,   he   stopped   feeling   hope   when   arthur's   muscles   spasmed   and   he's   gotten   used   to   seeing   him   like   that.

"god,   faron...   i'm   not   even   gonna   ask   about   sleep   but   did   you   eat   anything   ?"   lucy's   voice   shakes   him   from   the   catatonic   state   he's   been   in.   bleary   eyes   turn   towards   her.   she   looks   better   rested   than   him   but,   like   all   the   sternbachs,   wears   her   heart   on   her   sleeve   and   she   is   not   any   less   worried   than   him.   "do   you   have   any   news?"   he   only   shakes   his   head   in   response.   his   doctor   came   by   and   the   nurses   made   their   regular   rounds   but   arthur's   state   never   changed.   he   didn't   want   to   leave   arthur   alone   but   with   his   sister   there,   he's   glad   for   the   opportunity   to   exit   the   room —   still   feeling   stifled   by   the   atmosphere   and   racked   with   guilt.

it's   midday   when   claire   makes   it   to   the   room.   she   brought   him   a   change   of   clothes.   he's   glad   to   be   rid   of   the   blood   that   stained   his   shirt   like   a   mark   of   his   guilt.   she   forces   him   to   the   cafeteria   for   lunch,   calls   him   dad   with   that   fed   up   teenager   pout   and   for   the   first   time   ever,   he   lets   himself   be   guilted   into   doing   what   she   wants.   so   he   doesn't   protest.   his   throat   hurts   anyway.   she   talks   all   throughout   lunch,   only   requiring   him   to   hum   and   nod   at   appropriate   times.   he's   grateful   for   her   stories   and   the   gentle   tone   of   her   voice   providing   a   soothing   sound   to   quiet   the   ever - buzzing   accusatory   voice   in   the   back   of   his   mind.   "did   your   mom   come   by ?"   the   question   is   innocent,   certainly   one   she   just   expected   a   nod   in   response   to,   but   instead,   his   whole   body   stiffens.

he   didn't   call   her,   didn't   even   think   about   it.   he   sets   the   fork   down.   he   wasn't   hungry   anyway,   and   only   entertained   the   meal   for   claire's   sake   but,   now,   he   feels   ill.   another   layer   of   guilt   forms   in   his   chest   before   he   shakes   it   off.   no,   think   of   the   last   time.   he   shakes   his   head.   “   she   doesn't   need   to   see   this.   ”   he   can   see   claire's   eyes   turn   sad.   "that's   ridiculous.   your   mom   would   want   to   know.   she'd   want   to   be   there   for   you."   it   frustrates   him   that   she's   right.   rosália   won't   be   happy   if   he   calls   her   now,   let   alone   if   he   never   does   until   it's   over.

rosália   does   him   the   favor   of   not   chastising   him   for   not   calling   sooner.   she   just   tells   him   she'll   be   right   over   and   hangs   up,   showing   up   at   the   hospital   so   quickly   afterwards   that   he   suspects   she   didn't   respect   the   speed   limit.   her   arms   encapsulate   him   and   he   feels   fourteen   again.   the   beeping   of   the   machines,   his   mother's   perfume,   the   man   he   loves   most   in   the   world   laying   between   life   and   death   .   .   .   it's   almost   enough   to   make   his   mask   crumble.   as   they   sit   by   the   bed,   the   same   way   they   did   all   these   years   ago   in   this   same   hospital,   rosália   cries,   the   same   way   she   did   all   these   years   ago   in   this   same   hospital.   except,   this   time,   he   holds   her   hand   tight   and   doesn't   let   go,   doesn't   cry   himself,   doesn't   beg   .   .   .   he's   strong   enough.

when   emma   arrives,   they   cry   into   each   other's   arms   and   he   wonders   if   he   made   a   mistake   calling   his   mother.   if,   maybe,   this   is   all   too   close   to   what   happened   with   his   father   for   her.   at   least,   he   can   support   now   and   they   can   support   each   other.   he   excuses   himself   as   they   sit   together,   just   long   enough   to   go   shower   at   home   and   pick   up   his   gun   and   badge,   dropping   them   off   at   the   station's   reception   on   his   way   back.   he   knows   he   won't   be   able   to   dodge   his   boss   forever,   but   right   now,   he   doesn't   care.

he   sleeps   more   that   night.   he   can't   stop   it   even   as   he   fights   against   it,   not   wanting   arthur   to   be   alone.   he   should've   had   emma   stay.   she   would   have   been   better   than   him   at   this.   at   three   a.m.,   he   almost   reaches   for   arthur's   hand   but   stops   himself.   he   doesn't   deserve   to,   not   until   he   knows   he   forgives   him   for   his   weakness. that's   why   he   needs   to   be   strong   now,   to   prove   he   can   be.   he   failed   his   father   and   mother,   he   failed   arthur   in   the   parking   lot   but   he   won't   fail   again.   he   can't.   if   he   fails   again   .   .   .   maybe,   it   doesn't   even   matter.   the   thought   that   he   might   never   wake   up   at   all   chokes   him   up   again   and   his   throat   strains   to   stop   the   crying.   he   would   rather   arthur   hate   him   but   be   alive   than   lose   him   completely.  his   hands   ball   into   fists   on   his   lap   and   his   eyes   fall   upon   his   wedding   ring.   the   weight   of   it   has   become   impossible   to   bear   for   as   long   as   arthur   isn't   awake.   he   takes   it   off   and   is   almost   surprised   to   see   the   skin   underneath   isn't   blistered.   he   could   swear   it's   been   burning   him.  

the   second   morning,   the   room   is   full   again.   it's   the   weekend   and   everyone   came   to   see   arthur,   but   he   barely   hears   them.   the   guilt   piled   up   high   enough   to   swallow   him   completely.   sat   in   his   chair   with   only   his   broken   heart   as   a   companion,   he   stares   endlessly   at   arthur's   face,   his   wedding   ring   hidden   in   his   jeans   pocket.   sometimes,   his   view   is   obstructed   by   someone   coming   to   hold   arthur's   hand   but   he   never   looks   away   from   where   his   face   lay.   he   couldn't   even   if   he   wanted   to.   he   lost   control   of   his   body,   of   his   senses.   all   that   remains   is   the   pain,   and   arthur.

he   doesn't   know   how   long   he's   been   sat   there,   staring,   when   he   feels   a   hand   on   his   shoulder,   the   sensation   so   jarring   that   he   jumps   in   his   seat.   he's   disoriented   but   the   dryness   of   his   mouth   lets   him   know   it's   been   hours   since   he   had   some   water.   as   he   reconnects   with   his   body,   he's   surprised   to   find   tears   have   filled   his   eyes.   they   haven't   shed   but   they   burn.   he   wishes   he   could   swallow   them   back.

"hey.   i   think   they'll   be   gone   for   awhile.   are   you   okay   ?   you've   been   kind   of   quiet."   he   finally   notices   him   and   claire   are   alone.   when   did   they   all   leave   ?   his   eyes   fall   back   on   her   and,   although   he   tries,   his   body   has   finally   had   enough   of   the   battering   he's   forced   it   to   endure,   and   the   tears   finally   spill.   he   so   desperately   wishes   they   didn't,   not   now,   not   here,   not   like   this,   not   in   front   of   her   .   .   .   but   it's   out   of   his   hands.

claire   wraps   herself   around   him   and   all   he   can   do   is   hug   her   back.   “   i'm   sorry,   ”   he   manages   to   choke   out.   he   doesn't   recognise   his   own   voice.   "oh,   faron...   he   loves   you,   you   know.   he   loves   you   so   much."   instead   of   comforting,   it's   like   a   dagger   to   the   heart.     she   pulls   away   and   wipes   away   her   own   tears.   "i'll   let   you   be   alone   with   him,   but   before   i   do...   you’re   one   of   us,   okay   ?   i   know   you   want   to   give   us   our   space   to   grieve,   but   you   deserve   some   of   that   space   too.   i   won’t   force   you   to   do   this,   especially   since   i   know   you’re   not...   like   that,   but   don’t   let   any   of   us   stop   you   from   wanting   to   touch   him   or   talk   to   him   or   cry   over   him...   you’re   part   of   our   family   too."   and   with   one   last   kiss   to   the   top   of   his   head,   she   leaves.

a   part   of   him   wants   to   scream.   he   doesn't   deserve   any   of   that   space,   doesn't   deserve   to   cry   and   certainly   not   to   touch   arthur.   and   yet   .   .   .   he   wants   nothing   more.   turning   towards   him,   he   hesitates   before   finally,   at   long   last,   reaching   for   his   hand.   his   skin   is   rough,   familiar.   this   simple   act   draws   more   tears   from   him.   “   arthur   .   .   .   baby,   ”   the   nickname   feels   dirty   on   his   tongue,   like   it   doesn't   deserve   to   be   there.   “   please,   you   can't   go   yet.   you   have   to   wake   up.   ”   defeated,   he   lets   his   head   fall   onto   the   hospital   bed   and   the   tears   flow   freely.   he's   so   tired,   so   afraid,   and   his   heart   aches.   “   i   can't   do   this   without   you,   and   i   know   i   don't   deserve   to   even   say   that   right   now   —   fuck.   i   love   you   and   i'm   sorry.   please,   don't   give   up.   ”

the   tears   have   dried   on   faron's   cheeks   when   arthur   suddenly   jolts.   he   can   hear   the   machine's   accelerated   beeping   as   arthur   continues   to   stir.   for   a   moment,   he's   frozen   in   place,   not   knowing   if   he   can   trust   his   own   eyes,   even   as   he   sees   arthur's   hand   reach   out,   until   nurses   rush   in   and   send   him   out.   he   notices   claire   and   emma   run   towards   him   from   the   hallway   but   keeps   his   eyes   on   the   bed.   "what's   going   on?   is   he   okay?"   he's   quiet   long   enough   for   emma's   face   to   go   pale.   “   he's   awake,   ”   he   forces   himself   to   say.   relief   washes   over   him   as   his   own   words   sink   in.   he   is   awake.   he's   happy,  yet   dreads   what   arthur   might   say.

it's   only   a   short   moment   before   the   nurses   come   out   of   the   room   and   invite   them   back   in.   without   a   second   thought,   emma   rushes   to   arthur's   side   while   faron   stays   frozen   in   place.   he's   afraid.   afraid   to   lose   it,   afraid   to   lose   arthur   .   .   .   and   what   if   he   makes   it   worse   for   him   ?   he's   already   weak.   "he's   waiting   for   you."   claire   encourages   him.   he   swallows   the   lump   in   his   throat   and   whispers.   “   i   don't   know   if   i   can   do   this.   ”   she   gives   his   arm   a   gentle   squeeze.   "i   know   he's   been   waiting   for   you   since   the   second   he   woke   up."   the   words   aren't   enough;   his   feet   feel   too   heavy   to   move.   softly,   claire   takes   his   hand   and   pulls   him   into   the   room.   to   his   surprise,   his   feet   follow   until   he's   by   arthur's   side.   they   exchange   quick   words   before   claire   and   emma   exit   the   room,   leaving   them   alone.