Arthur pushed his wrist further into Malachi's touch and turned to look at him.  He couldn't see his face clearly, but he could see that the street was empty.

London.  How far was London from Whitby?  Apparently very far, but distance had obviously not made Malachi any fonder of the woman.

The hand not in Malachi's reached up to the mans face, pulling him down for a quick and bruising kiss.

"Bring me along, if you ever go to London," he whispered as he pulled away.  "I'll help you.  If you want help."

He held Malachi's gaze for another moment before turning back to the road and continuing their journey.  He seemed to try very hard not to look at Malachi again.

"Come on, we're just around the corner now.  If you take any longer, you'll have to carry me the rest of the way there, and no one wants that."

The windowsills were still broken, and the steps up to the door were still dirty, and it was still one of Arthur's favorite places in Whitby.  He waited outside the door for Malachi to catch up, giving the man a fleeting look up and down before struggling the lock open and leading the way inside.

Blood still decorated the ceiling, but it was only noticeable if you knew to look for it.  The spatter on the wall had been cleaned, and papers and boxes and books that had been dirtied were relocated to a far corner of the office.  The couch was still empty.  Arthur motioned to it.

"Sit, I'll get the supplies.  You know how to suture a wound?"