Chapter Text
John Doe is standing in an apartment that he doesn’t own and it infuriates him.
He lives here. The reason he doesn’t own, or otherwise pay for, the apartment is because he doesn’t have any money. Despite that, Arthur “I’m better than you” Lester has once again decided to be a saint and pay for John's lease. That fucking asshole.
It’s not that John is mad that he has a roof over his head. It’s everything else about the situation.
It’s the fact that Arthur didn’t trust him enough to be able to support himself. It’s the fact that no one wanted to hire newly human John Doe, which means Arthur might have been right. It’s the fact that Arthur picked out the place for both of them.
It’s the fact that Arthur left.
It’s mostly the fact that Arthur left.
Arthur punched him before he walked out. Him being blind hadn’t softened the force of his right hook, but John already knew that. It was almost a novelty, being on the receiving end of a blow like that. But it mostly just served to make John yell louder.
So now John is alone. He’s been alone for days, actually. Rotating their last fight in his head. When Arthur made it clear that he wasn’t coming back, John tried to call his bluff. Saying he’d be back. What about the apartment, that he oh so graciously didn’t let John even try to contribute to, he asked. He said John could have it. He’d figure something out. You always do, John had said, somehow making the sentiment sound like an insult instead of the testament to Arthur’s spirit that it usually was.
John was angry. Then he was crying. Now, he’s swung back around to being angry again, which is nice. It doesn’t feel as pathetic.
He’s hungry, but he doesn’t want to eat. It’s one of the worst things he’s experienced since becoming human. He’s tired, but sleep just brings visions from a point of view that isn’t his. He hates his couch.
It’s while pondering all of these things that there is a knock at the door.
That pathetic feeling returns when John rushes to swing the door open only to be met by someone other than Arthur. He feels his shoulders drop. But then he recognizes the figure.
“Charlie?” John says. The man whistles.
“Well that sure is odd to hear coming out of the mouth of a man I’ve never met, but I guess that proves it.” John is so shocked he almost doesn’t know how to respond.
“Sorry. Noel.” The detective just shakes his head and sidles John into the entryway. John can see a scar on the side of his neck.
“Don’t worry about it. I mean, don’t go shouting it to any papers. Let’s stick with Noel for now.”
“How did you find me?”
“Arthur told me where you were.” John lets the door slam shut.
“He did?” Noel nods. John frowns. “How did he find you? You’ve been missing—“
“Yeah, that uh… friend of yours sent me on a bit of a trip. Luckily European nurses are kind to older soldier types,” Noel winks toward him when he says this. John stares at him. Noel coughs. “Regardless, I’ve been back for a few weeks. Lost my job at the precinct, but you know, that’s what happens when your life is upended by an alien entity. Still got a roof over my head. I think I’m mostly just lucky.” John can hear what Noel isn’t saying. I’m used to this. Don’t push it.
“But enough about me! What about you! Newly human John Doe, how does it feel?” Noel motions like he’s elbowing John, but keeps his distance.
Bad. “It’s fine.”
Noel laughs. “Fine? I almost feel offended on behalf of the human race. Sorry that your new fangled flesh and blood form isn’t living up to expectations.” Noel says it like he’s teasing, but John still feels his hackles rise.
“It’s not like that. What else did Arthur say?” Noel’s eyes shift slightly.
“He said that you two had separated, and that you were living on your own. I wanted to come make sure you weren’t having any trouble handling appliances by yourself.” Noel makes a show of looking around the room like he’s checking for fires.
“Where is he?” John isn’t the best at always recognizing emotions, especially since separating from Arthur, but he immediately understands the look of guilt that crosses over Noel’s face.
“I don’t think I should tell you that.”
John can’t help the slight growl that escapes, “Noel.” Luckily for John and his own guilt, Noel doesn’t back down or flinch. His next words are apologetic, but firm.
”I’m sorry John. I care about both of you, and no offense but you aren’t exactly screaming ‘pinnacle of stability’ right now. You look half dead— when was the last time you slept?” John responds by huffing and spinning on his heel, walking over towards that stupid fucking couch. He barely catches Noel rolling his eyes. “See, this is what I mean. I don’t think you’re in the right head space for any big discussions. Neither of you.” Noel adds the last bit as John opens his mouth to offer a scathing retort regarding Arthur’s own childishness. John breathes out of his nose.
”That’s never stopped us before.”
”Yes, but before, you literally couldn’t avoid it. You had to deal with things with each other or risk... I don’t know, actually. But I can imagine. Getting killed. Eaten.”
“Arrested.” It slips out and Noel grins in response.
“I’d love to hear that story.”
“It was early on.”
“Do you even remember what got you so upset?”
”Me upset? He’s the one who lost his mind for no reason!”
“Uh huh.” Noel starts removing his coat, “why don’t you brew me a coffee, doll, and we can talk all about you getting Arthur arrested and whatever other fun things you kids got up to when I wasn’t around.” John mutters what he thinks of that idea under his breath, but then Noel’s giving him a pat on the shoulder and he’s walking into the kitchen and suddenly there’s more warmth in his little apartment than there has been in days. He realizes vaguely that he hates the couch less with someone else sitting on it.
Noel left hours ago. The sun has set. Their conversation plays on loop in John’s head. It did help, John thinks. Not much, but it did help. He’s still angry, but it isn’t the bubbling roiling rage that was making him feel like needles were covering his skin that morning.
It was fun, talking to Noel about things that had happened in the past. Some of the bad stuff, like the boat, though not the very bad stuff; not the things that John would give a thousand lifetimes to forget or undo. John focused on the nice things, the things that always made him smile. Poems and daring escapes and funny little sayings that popped into his head. It helped. Talking to Noel left him feeling lighter than he’d felt in days.
What their conversation didn’t do was get Arthur out of his head. All of those little happy moments, little bits of laughter, most of them had snippets of Arthur filtering through John’s mind. His hands, his hair falling in front of their eyes, the sound of his laughter. Noel had seen Arthur, and he was clearly still upset. “And I thought I could hold a grudge,” Noel had said lightly at one point when the conversation had turned towards darker times for Arthur. John heard a knowing in Noel’s voice, like he’d had a front row seat to Arthur’s stubborn anger recently. But it’s been days, John reasons, and Arthur has more experience being a person, unlike John. So surely if John can admit that maybe he was harsher than he should’ve been, and talking to Noel made him remember how terrible it is to be alone, then surely Arthur has already come to the same conclusion. They need to talk, John needs to talk. It can’t wait.
John is standing in the rain three blocks from his apartment before he realizes he doesn’t know where he’s going. But a plan is already forming in his head.
Noel had refused to tell John where Arthur was staying, but he had given John his own address, and a phone number. And John has a theory.
There’s a phone box next to the diner four blocks north of their apartment.
It’s another one of those nice moments. Arthur showing John how to work the buttons. He only knew one number, and a childish part of him is almost giddy to dial a new one.
Noel answers the phone on the third ring. “Hello?” God, John doesn’t know how he does that— manages to put so much charm behind the saying of one simple word. But he doesn’t react. He waits.
”Hello,” Noel repeats, “Finley residence, can I ask who’s calling?” There’s a lilt to his voice, and John thinks that maybe Noel has figured out his game. But it’s too late.
In the background, muffled but still easily understood, a deeply familiar voice calls out “Who is it?”
John has hung up before Noel can finish saying “I don’t know.”
He thinks back to the guilt on Noel’s face when John had asked him where Arthur was.
Oh those assholes.