[CW: implications of child abuse, abduction; references to murder, injuries; racism; awful rich people]

Malachi did, as it turned out, know his way around fairly well. It did not take him long to navigate the once-familiar city with Arthur at his side, quick though he was to leave the matter to several cab drivers throughout their outing for the sake of a few minutes of privacy.

What took longer was, of course, making a decision regarding what things to get. Had they been less pressed for time, he might have taken even longer, and by the end of it all he was certain he would have just bought everything, storage on the train car be damned.

The lingering threat of dinner loomed over him, however. If he wanted a seat at the table, they would have to be punctual – arrive early, even, lest his mother’s temper flare before the table was even set.

So, with that in mind, Malachi cut himself off and saw to it that they returned to the estate with a bit of time to spare.

“Arthur,” he addressed once they’d returned to the room, after he’d set his new purchases aside for their return to Whitby. He had grabbed a simple jacket from the other room, and fiddled with straightening out his twisted sleeves as he spoke.

“Would you care to walk with me?”

Malachi would have preferred to stay in the room all evening and not bother with any of it at all, but it was too late now. And with it hanging over his head, he could not stand to sit still, his limbs infused with a similar tension to the night before.

The exhaustion Arthur felt after a day out shopping in a busy, unfamiliar town was a unique one.  The streets of London were larger than what he was used to, and busier, and by the time they neared the end of the day, hunger pangs wracked through Arthur's body without mercy.

Another reason for him to look forward to dinner.

What did not help was the weight in Arthur's back pocket.  A short outing, independent of Malachi, had the doctor spending most of the money he'd brought out with him.  But it was well worth it, he was certain.

He just hoped the ring would fit Malachi's finger.

Back in their room, he was careful not to take out the piece of jewelry for fear of ruining the surprise of it, instead busying himself with removing his day jacket and replacing it with the cleaner of the two vests he'd packed.  Malachi's words brought his attention to his lover, and his question was met with a small smile.

"I would love to," he said, stepping closer to Malachi to press a kiss to his cheek.  All day long, he's rarely had the opportunity to do so.  "Where are we going?"

Oh. As soon as Arthur stepped closer and kissed his cheek, Malachi was distracted, his own twisted sleeves forgotten. His hands found the edges of the doctor’s vest at his shoulders, idly rubbing the material between his index fingers and his thumbs.

Without lifting his gaze from the vest and how lovely it looked on Arthur’s body, he reminded himself to speak.

“The gardens?”

It sounded like a question, given the upward intonation of his voice, but it was not meant to be.

Smoothing down the vest across his shoulders, Malachi gave them a pat and then let his arms rest back at his sides.

“Ah- yes. The gardens,” he said, decisive this time. “Come along then. Shall I show you where I grew up?”

Despite knowing he would have to let go once they’d passed through the door, Malachi reached for Arthur’s hand on his way to it.

Arthur could not understand what it was about such a simple thing like his vest that captured Malachi's attention so completely - not that he was complaining about it, though.  He basked under the attention, under Malachi's touch.  His expression only fell when it registered where they were going.

Where he grew up?  In the gardens?  What, like a dog?

His hand gravitated to Malachi's without much thought, which was good for Arthur, because most of his attention was being used to smooth out the look on his face.

Really, it was good he saw it now, before dinner.  He needed to know what all to do to Miriam before she perished.

"Darling," he said, squeezing Malachi's hand in his just before he'd have to release it, "lead the way.  I will follow you everywhere."

For good measure, just before he opened the bedroom door, Malachi leaned in closer to kiss him one last time. Then, reluctant as he was to do so, he opened the door and released Arthur’s hand.

Evening light cast a warm, golden glow through the tall windows, throwing shadows long across the floor. Malachi had always thought the house felt suspended in time, stuck in the hour before darkness. Too early, too late, caught in-between in a moment that felt as wrong and out of place as Malachi always had.

He led Arthur through the winding corridors and back to the front doors. Outside, then, into the warm evening sun. Dark clouds loomed in the distance, rolling in too slowly to catch them yet.

Getting to the back of the house was a more complicated task than it should have been. There were no doors that let out to the back, and instead one had to wander through the increasingly narrow garden paths to get there. The air gradually grew cooler as Malachi led them through, shielded from sunlight by the house.

The halls inside might have been reminiscent of a maze – this was one. But it was a path Malachi knew well, and it was not long before they arrived at a wider clearing at the back of the house. A little pond sat in the center, with multicolored rocks all around it and fish swimming happily beneath the surface. Malachi ignored it in favor of pulling Arthur closer to the house itself.

Tucked away in a variety of overgrown plant life, there were two small cellar doors, painted over and peeling with age.

“…As you can see, I haven’t visited in a while,” Malachi noted, already bending down to open the lock that looked older than the man himself. Once it was off, he threw the tiny doors open with a puff of dust.

“Ah. Shit,” he cursed, peering down into the darkness. The air below was colder still. “Hold on, love. I’ll get the ladder for you.”

Without further warning, Malachi pushed himself and fell into the dark. A shuffling sound, a scrape of old wood against the floor, and then the top of a ladder met the edge of the narrow entrance into the ground.

Arthur did not doubt Malachi's sense of direction, but he did have some doubt about the path he was lead down.  Already, the amount of turns they went through in the house was completely unreasonable for the doctor, and he had trouble knowing which way they faced even with the sun bleeding in through extravagant windows.  Outside should have been some reprieve for that, but it was not.  No, in fact, it was the opposite.  It was worse.

Going in and out of the mansion gave Arthur a good idea of the ludicrous amount of property the Brennan's had to their name, or so he thought.  Behind the massive house was somehow more garden, enough so that Arthur felt like Theseus in a labyrinth.  Lucky that he had Malachi to lead him through it; if he didn't, the doctor would surely perish here.

Finally, they made it to a clearing - what Arthur guessed was the middle - but his horror continued to grow.  Malachi lead him to cellar doors, with locks on them.  The space beyond was bathed in pure shadow blackness.  Malachi, obviously unfazed, jumped in.

Arthur felt to be sick.

With no small amount of hesitation, he began descending the ladder Malachi set up for him.  Once he was on the floor within the cellar, his hand reached out for Malachi's own.

What could he even say to this?  There was nothing that could make this better, especially not now, but silence felt cruel.

Using their linked hands, Arthur pulled Malachi closer to his side.  They touched from shoulder down to their fingers.  The look in his eyes was not pity, but pain.

"My love," he whispered, glancing through the dark to what surrounded him.  "Is there more?"

In the cold, stale air below ground, Malachi felt more awake than he had been since he’d awoken that morning. Could see all of the details of Arthur’s beautiful, bruised, bitten features, while the sun above merely muted them without the added help of his glasses.

“More?” he repeated, intertwining their fingers. “We aren’t there yet.”

Rather, as the light slowly adjusted, what could be seen all around them were the remnants of an old wine cellar. It looked to have been connected at some point to the inside of the house – likely through some connection to the servants’ doors – but the entry had long ago been filled in.

Arthur seemed… tense. Perhaps this had not been a good idea. Throwing a glance back up to the narrow gap of light, Malachi debated playing it off as some sort of joke, if only to save his lover the discomfort of being there any longer.

“I’m sorry,” Malachi offered then, unwilling to lie, but unsure of what else to say.

“Do you want to go back up?”

They weren't even there yet.  They weren't even there yet.

Arthur did not think it possible, that he could hate the Brennan's more than he already did, but somehow he managed.  Wide green eyes adjusted to the dark cellar, decrepit wooden shelves and webs think enough to make sweaters.

Hatred was the easiest thing in the world, here.

"No, he said, soft but decisive.  "I'm sorry.  I don't want to go back, I want to see it.  If you're still willing to show me."

His fingers were tight around Malachi's.

"Please."

Malachi was quiet for another moment longer. Aware as he was of his own distance from it all, after nearly sixteen years away – he reminded himself that ordinary children did not grow up like this.

No. If he had been allowed an ordinary childhood, he would have spent it climbing the hill in his village every evening, watching the sun slowly set behind the border wall.

“Alright,” he said, and stepped forward to lead him through the darkness.

The corridor down here was long, and the air was thick, but gone were the modern mazes built into the structure of the house itself. One door stood at the end, dark and heavy. Malachi stopped once they reached it and, with considerable effort, shouldered it open.

Old, but overpowering, the smell of lavender smothered all else.

The room was small, comprised of a stone floor and similarly stone walls. Half the size of the bedrooms, about, but devoid of furnishings and knickknacks and the rest of the clutter that filled the rest of the house. Malachi released Arthur’s hand only to grab an ancient-looking candleholder from the floor, and struck a match to light the half-burned candle and provide them with some light.

Stalks of dried lavender found themselves scattered about the floor, liable to turn to dust at the slightest touch. Towards the opposite side, just as ragged and thread-bare, there was a pile of fabric that might have been a blanket for a bed, and that was it for the room’s amenities.

In the corner, bones. It was difficult to tell from their broken shapes what, exactly, they belonged to.

“I stayed here until my father made me join the priesthood, when I was twenty-two,” Malachi explained, walking the short distance to the other end of the room, casting light over the few items within.

“I suppose looking back on it now, it was a blessing. At the time, though, I could not have been more upset to leave. Ah! Look,” he leaned down to grab what appeared to be a longer scrap of fabric, but it fell apart between his fingers.

“…Well, perhaps that is for the best.”

Arthur couldn't tell if the difficulty he felt breathing was due to anxiety, or because of the density of dust in the air.  Both were very real possibilities.  Between breathes, as the smell of lavender he so adored on Malachi got stronger, darkness swallowed more and more light.  Very soon, Arthur was walking down the corridor blind, only relying on Malachi's guidance to move forward.

The flicker of candle light when it finally came felt as burning as the sun.  Arthur squinting against it for a few long seconds, the hand that had been abandoned pressed to the wall to stabilize himself.  The stone stole away the warmth Malachi had given him.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Arthur wished they hadn't.  The utter lack of anything in the room - if it could be called that - was abysmal.  It was just stone, lavender, and sadness.  For maybe twenty-two years, Malachi had stayed here.

Twenty-two years.

Oh.  Arthur's first glance around had been wrong, it seemed.  There was more in this room indeed; rags, and bones.

Malachi's words did not seem to register to Arthur as he stepped closer, returning to his side.  The doctor was cautious to keep his foot steps quiet, as if hearing the echo from them off of these walls would cause them to collapse around them.

"Darling," his voice was similarly quiet, barely a whisper.  He paused there for a long moment, unsure of what to say.

This was - this was Hell.  It was the only word Arthur felt encapsulated the cruelty, the evil it would take for someone to lock a child here.  For twenty-two years.

"No wonder you killed your father," he managed.  "I hope you made him suffer.  He deserves to have suffered for - for making you live here.  Malachi."  He caught a glance at the fabric Malachi had tried to pick up.  He couldn't quite tell what it was, less so now that it was practically dust.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sure for what and still meaning it with every inch of his being.  "What was that?"