Chapter Text
John smoothed out his coat and squared his shoulders letting them sink slowly to a seemingly casual resting position. It grounded him, an old ritual he would put on like a coat before business meetings. This would be fine. It was a neighborhood of semi-well-off people, though not well-off enough to be sensible about these sorts of things. What he was doing was fairly harmless anyhow, he was sure. It would be ten dollars from any given house. Nothing greedy, just enough to let him get a place to sleep tonight.
Besides he had all the items to make it all seem very official. He had sprung for a less worn-out coat from the thrift store and had envelopes in which to place the money so that it seemed as though he was stocking it away for each individual "subscriber". There was no reason to think that he would be caught, and it was as honest of money as he'd be able to make until he was able to leave this town. The bus he’d been on had stopped in Arkham. And a ticket that went all the way out towards Harper's Hill or beyond was nearly double the cost. He needed to get as far away from New York as possible but the budget was tight.
So here he was. Working.
The houses along this street were narrow things, the brick all a dull red that spoke to the age of the home. The buildings all had two stories, and each house was pressed together wall to wall six or seven at a time. The tall triangular roofs rising on either side of him brought to mind teeth. As though these houses would close in together and keep him here.
The steps at the front of them led to doors where the paint was in varying levels of disarray, some freshly redone in the past few years, others chipped and peeling with time. The first one he knocked on had a mailbox at the front, engraved on it was the name "Lester".
He adjusted his grip on the briefcase and knocked.
After barely a moment the door swung open revealing a bedraggled-looking man with a newborn cradled in one arm awkwardly as he rested the bottle, which was nearing empty, against his neck to hold it steady and used his free hand to open the door. As his eyes landed on John he brightened with obvious relief.
"Oh good," he said, "good, you're here. Please, please, come in. Yes just through to here- here's the sitting room. I've nearly got her down for a nap, and she should be asleep for at least a little while. Here, just a moment, just give me a second please, wait here
In his surprise, John allowed himself to be conveyed to the living room and gestured onto a small orange sofa as the man bustled out of the room and up the narrow stairs. He didn't even get so much as a word out about the supposed magazine he was selling subscriptions to before the man and child were gone. Just as well, John mused, with these sorts of things the hardest part was getting your foot in the door. They would have a much harder time getting him to leave once he was in.
He sat quietly adjusting his case in his lap. It was scratched up, and the latch barely held it closed, but it was just good enough that he'd been able to fish it out of a dumpster and hatch this plan. After a few minutes, footsteps approached from the top of the stairs coming down and a call came from the bottom.
"Do you take tea or do you prefer coffee?"
John startled at the noise but began thinking quickly. If he took coffee he would be able to ask for cream which would be at least something in his stomach
"Coffee please."
"Cream? Sugar?" The voice called from what was rapidly becoming apparent was the kitchen, from the rush of a faucet and the clinking of dishes.
"Yes a little of both, please. I'm not picky about the amounts," John said back, trying to keep himself steady. Was this normal? He had never done sales work before, not that this was exactly sales.
"I'll just bring out the tray. I already had a pot on," The man approached from the doorway carrying a small platter with two cups and a dish of sugar, and a container of hazelnut creamer. He set it down and sat in the high-backed green chair across from John. John began to wonder if he even had a shot here. Sitting now with his eyes scanning John, appraising and unreadable, the man was… formidable.
Not physically, he was tall enough but narrow and clearly run ragged. But there was something about the way he carried himself that spoke of stubbornness. Despite his exhaustion, his eyes were focused, analytical, and a warm disarming brown.
John tore his eyes away, instead busying himself with the coffee. The moment’s silence had been filled with the clink of the man's own spoon stirring his seemingly black coffee.
"Right well," He was smiling at him, John realized, tired but friendly, "you must be from the agency. This is good you're even early! Thanks so much fo–" A knock sounded at the door cutting off the man's words he frowned a moment but waved it off, "Don’t worry about it, I'm not expecting anyone else. They'd call if it was important. Besides we have business to discuss!"
John felt wrongfooted and tried to course correct, "Yes, you must be Mr. Lester?" He confirmed reaching for his case hoping that he could redirect this conversation onto whatever path he originally meant it to be on.
"Yes but please it's Arthur. And the little one that you saw would be your charge, Faroe. I can't thank you enough for coming on such short notice. I will admit, I was surprised to see you at the door. I didn't know that the agency employed any men."
"I…" John began.
"God sorry that was rude and probably fairly misogynist. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend. Really, I'm sure you’re excellent at what you do. Please, remind me of your name?"
Shit shit fake name quick.
"John," he spat out unthinking, fuck- no, that was his name. Fake last name, Quicker.
"John Doe." Oh god fucking damn it What? John Doe?? John furiously bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood.
“Oh, that makes sense I suppose. They wouldn’t use that name as a place holder if there weren’t people called that,” The man smiled, "Good. John, wonderful to meet you, so yes Faroe is about a month old. She's rather small for her age, and while I can care for her I find that my time may be better used paying the bills so I need a little more ability to focus on my music than would be allowed for a parent in my position. My… wife, she passed away in childbirth."
The man's face was strained at this, "and I am looking for some assistance around here. Now the position would be live-in. We would of course negotiate the specifics of your duties, but overall your main focus would be caring for Faroe with a day off a week for yourself and evenings off after she is asleep for the night or after seven if she isn't asleep by then. If you need extra days off of course we could discuss it and it would be about $500 a week food and board included. Chores and division of housework can be discussed."
John felt frozen. This man had completely misinterpreted John's reason for being here. John hadn’t even mentioned a magazine subscription. Arthur had moved so fast that he hadn't gotten to cut in.
But… a place to stay.
Something quiet. Where he could keep his head down. Make a little extra money. In a month or two he could easily afford to get out of Arkham. Be ready to set up a life somewhere else. More than that it was a roof and hot meal tonight.
In the end, it wasn't really much of a choice at all.
"All of that sounds perfect. Of course, I am admittedly not at a professional level when it comes to housework as I am not trained as a housekeeper," John said trying to put on an air as though he were an experienced caregiver for children was it a nursemaid? Was it a nanny? Were those only terms for women? "but I am able to keep up as much as you might expect for a household."
Arthur Lester smiled widely and said, "Wonderful. Now tell me about yourself, John. I obviously need to get to know you a little before I allow you to move in, and have free reign over my daughter."
"Of course, well growing up I was the eldest child of my siblings," he said smoothly, grasping for a believable story that would lead a man like him to become a caregiver, "my mother was unwell much of my childhood until she eventually passed when I was still fairly young. My siblings still need to be cared for so when we weren't in school I cared for them."
The story was nigh on laughable when John thought of his real relationship with Yellow.
"I see, so you really sort of fell into it."
"Yes," John said with an acknowledging tilt of the head, "but I found my calling. I believe there's a lot of fulfillment in taking care of such tiny creatures."
John winced at his own use of the word 'creature' to imply that Arthur's daughter was one of them but Arthur merely let out a bright clear laugh.
John continued while he was on a winning streak, "I have been looking for a position for some time because it's important to me that the family and I understand each other. I would never want to go against anything that the parents might want through my own lack of knowledge so I'll be asking many questions."
"Wonderful," Arthur smiled, "what do you do in your spare time? If you don't mind me asking?"
"Oh I uh write," John said
"You're a writer?" Arthur’s eyes were bright and curious.
"No, I journal. Make notes of my experiences, what I've seen during the day, my plans for the next day."
"Oh, that sounds very relaxing. I will admit, it may be hypocritical of me but I'm glad you don't a have passion for barroom pool or something."
Arthur laughed and John got the sense that he ought to laugh too, "Yes I can imagine that wouldn’t be ideal for someone applying for this position."
"Quite, well I will say, John, the agency spoke highly of you and you seem like the man for the job. However, I'm afraid it’s not really up to me in the end."
"No?"
"No. You see Faroe is… opinionated. She has especially sensitive ears, I think? She'll sleep soundly in nearly anyone's arms but when they speak… she fusses or starts crying. Other than myself, there was only one nurse in the hospital that she seemed pleased with. When I saw her react similarly to the sound of cars I realized she just can't stand some sounds. Many people's voices fall into that category. In the end, it will be her decision."
Fuck. His ability to land this would be dependent on how sonically pleasing a one-month-old found him.
He didn't let on the nerves that began brewing at that, "I completely understand."
"She usually isn't down for long during her afternoon nap. I could give you a tour of the place in the meantime. Assuming you have no other plans of course?"
"Feel free, I'm not busy this afternoon," John said, rising to join Arthur on his feet.
And so Lester led him through the house.
The bottom floor consisted of three rooms. A decently sized kitchen, tiled blue and white. There was a table in the corner that had a vase with dry dead flowers peering over the edge. The living room that he had already been in, had shelves crammed floor to ceiling with books, movies, and CDs. Towards the back of the house down a hallway was a small bedroom with a high Square window. It smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals as though it had just been scrubbed down. Inside was a bed with a bare mattress, an empty dresser, and a desk and chair, huddled directly beneath the window as though searching for light.
“Assuming this all works out, this room would be yours. The back door is just there. And if you follow me up this way,” They climbed the stairs and Arthur gestured to the small Landing.
“That is the bathroom,” he continued voice lower, “That’s Faroe’s room, and that is my room where I will be working from.”
“Oh, you work from home?” John clarified as Arthur took the first step back down the stairs.
Arthur stopped and turned to look at him, “Oh yes I apologize. I realize that I don't know how much the agency told you. I'm a musician, a composer, I suppose. I do much of my work from my bedroom until concert season at which point I am out most nights playing.”
“Right, that makes sense.” John said with a nod, then, hoping it wasn't now “What time of year is concert season for you?”
“Oh,” Arthur said, “typically summer will be when I see the bulk of my work. Even if it’s not my own pieces, there are more music festivals and things of that sort that happen during that time period. Many times I can pick up some work, even if it's just being a spare set of hands on the keys for some band that's debuting their most recent Cabaret album.”
“That must be exciting,” John commented, friendly enough.
“It can be. Most often, I don't get to choose what I play. So often summertime drags by, but it does supply me with the means to live for the majority of the year so I can't really complain. I’m lucky I can even do this professionally.”
A noise sounded from the bedroom door that Arthur had pointed to as being the child's.
“Damn, I'm afraid we've gone and woken her,” Arthur said with a weary sigh. The past few weeks clearly weighed on him though he seemed to be holding up shockingly well for someone who had just lost his wife.
“My apologies,” John offered in regard to the now-crying baby.
“No need,” Arthur reassured him, “I'll do my best to calm her down before we pass her over to you. No need to start you off on the wrong foot.”
“Much obliged,” John said somewhat deadpan and it earned him a small laugh from Arthur. It was a strange thing, being able to pull a laugh from someone so readily.
Arthur turned and opened the door, making his way across the room to a small crib. The room was dimly lit, with the late afternoon sun shining through the light pink curtains. Two of the walls were painted with rainbow butterflies, but the trail of them stopped abruptly partway across the second wall, as though the task had been abandoned unfinished.
Arthur made his way to the crib, voice going soft the way a blanket does after enough nights of sleeping and washing.
“Oh hello,” he said “There's my little girl. Yes hello. I'm sorry, did I leave you for even a moment? Yes, hello, Hi, how are you, hello.”
The borderline nonsensical cooing went on for a moment as Arthur pulled the child up into his arms and cradled her close to his chest. She seemed to quiet as he continued softly saying nonsense phrases to her, shifting her weight from side to side gently as though moved by some unseen tide.
“Yes hello. There you are. Hi! Look at you, going to be so strong very soon. You'll be too big for this onesie and we will need to go shopping for you all over again won't we?” Arthur turned John's direction and made a move toward him though he didn't look up from his daughter.
“Now Faroe,” he said, “this is John. If it's all right by you I'm thinking of bringing him in to take care of you. I'm going to pass you to him now all right? It's going to be okay, he's going to talk to you a bit.”
Now he met John's eyes and gently motioned him forward with a hand that wasn't being used to support Faroe, and moved her away from his body as though ready to hand her off. John felt his hands shaking a bit. Had he ever held a baby? How fragile were they?
He couldn't afford to hesitate though. He was playing the role of a well-experienced older brother who had carried many children in his life now was not the time to falter. The fact that this little girl would hold his future and her hands was not lost on him. If he did this poorly enough, Arthur might start looking into how exactly someone like him got a job at that agency, and it wouldn't take long to figure out that someone like him had not, and then the police would be sure to follow soon.
He brought his arms up mimicking the shape of Arthur's and reached out doing his best to start taking her weight as Arthur shifted her into his arms. John faintly remembered hearing people mention the importance of supporting the head, and so he made sure that her neck was cradled in his elbow with her head resting against the joint.
She was so small.
She was even quiet in his arms for a moment blinking around as though she wasn't really sure where she was then her eyes seemed to land on his face and looked up at him.
“All right go on, John,” Arthur encouraged, “She seems happy enough with you holding her, try saying something.”
Instinctively, John tried to mimic the register that Arthur had talked in. That soft slightly heightened tone that he had used to murmur over her and began saying, “Hello Faroe” In an awkward stilted tone that even he could hear.
“How are you?” he tried, “I like your outfit, it seems soft.”
She began to shift restlessly in his arms oh God making a noise that could easily give way to a wail. Her little brow was furrowed intensely.
The panic immediately set in and his voice dropped out of that register right back into his regular one as he began hushing her, “No no it's alright, I’m sorry, I hate small talk too. Let’s start again, I’m John.”
The noises quieted. He continued speaking normally, “Yeah it's all right you and me will be friends won't we, Miss Faroe? Do you have any thoughts on the lack of light rail system in this country?”
She did not reply but she was looking at John again, eyes wide.
“I believe it to be a failing of infrastructure,” He elaborated.
"Did… you just apologize to my baby for making small talk?"
John looked up at Arthur, face warming.
"Just because she's small doesn’t mean she doesn't appreciate deep conversation," John said defensively.
Arthur stared at him dumbfounded and let out a laugh, "Yes, alright well the job is yours I believe. If you are interested?"
"I can start right now."