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Part 2 of the HMRT fic about them falling in love after the war. [Words: 5,919] Part 1 Here

Robert had barely slept when he woke at dawn. The rest of the house was quiet and he was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep. If he were the type he would have, telling himself that he had resisted enough temptation the day before and could afford a little. Instead, he forced himself out of bed and got dressed.

As quietly as he could he lit a fire in the kitchen stove and lingered a minute to warm up his hands before he went outside. A thin layer of frost covered everything, making it sparkle in the early morning light and the grass crunch under his steps. “Good morning,” he said to the animals as he opened the barn. They all shuffled around in answer, knowing exactly what came next. With the same methodical process that he did every morning, he fed each animal. First the pigs, then the goats, then the horses. He fetched them each water from the well, taking special care not to splash any on his breeches. Because it was cold, not because there was a high society tailor with a smile that made his heart beat faster in the house. No, that was unrelated.

Once the animals were fed and watered Robert took the time to look them each over. He liked to watch the animals, to check on them, and make sure they were as happy as they could be. They were peaceful and watching them brought him a little bit of peace. His father to be up soon but he likely had a few more minutes before anyone missed him too terribly and could take the time to appreciate his morning.

He stood at the stall where Mulligan’s horse was happily drinking its water, unaware of the larger problems of the world. All it thought about was food and water and when someone familiar would come see it. It didn’t know or care how much the hay it ate cost and Robert loved it for that. It must have noticed Robert watching because it looked up at him with its big black eyes, licking the water off its chomps. Robert held out his hand slowly, unreasonably pleased when it nosed at his hands.

“Loves attention that one.”

Robert startled hard, whirling around to see Mulligan laughing at him. He hoped his glare at Mulligan would cover some of his embarrassment. “I can’t imagine who that reminds me of.”

Mulligan laughed loudly as he came forward to pat his horse, which did seem pleased at the attention. “Maybe that’s why she’s my favorite.”

“You prefer those who like attention as much as you?” Robert heard himself ask before he’d decided to. It gave away too much, Mulligan would surely see exactly what Robert was actually asking.

Mulligan cocked his head to one side, his smile softening and his eyes just a touch warmer than before. It made Robert warmer too. “What I appreciate about a horse is different than what I like in a,” Mulligan paused making a show of looking Robert up and down, “person.”

Robert swallowed hard, looking away to the rafters. They offered no help. “Are you leaving so soon?” Robert asked when he had recovered the ability to speak.

“Not yet. Your father sent me to find you for breakfast.”

“Then we should go back inside before it gets cold.” Robert didn’t move, and for a moment neither did Mulligan. They just stared at each other, barely a foot apart.

But then Mulligan clapped him on the arm with a smile. “You’re probably right. I’m starved.”

Robert followed him out of the barn, pausing long enough to grab a scoop of grain for the chickens that had already started to gather at the door. He’d expected Mulligan to continue on without him, but instead when he looked up Mulligan was just standing there on the porch with a soft smile on his face, watching him.

“What?” Robert asked as he left the chickens behind to go inside.

“You have a beautiful smile. I wish you didn’t save it just for the chickens,” Mulligan whispered following Robert close enough that he could feel his breath on the back of his neck.

Robert didn’t have a good answer for that so he just walked a little faster to the kitchen to join his father who was already sitting and eating.

He must have made some face because Samuel looked up at him and shrugged. “What? Just because you two enjoy eating cold eggs doesn’t mean I do.”

Robert sat, sighed, and rolled his eyes while Mulligan laughed loudly. Robert focused on a silent prayer over his food before he started to eat. The eggs were cold.

“So,” Samuel said so casually that it set Robert on edge. “I want to extend another invitation. We would love to have you come visit us again.”

“I would be honored,” Mulligan said. “Robert and I were just discussing it actually.”

“Were you?” Samuel asked, turning to Robert with a smile.

“Yes,” Robert said, forcing himself not to blush. He felt as if he’d been caught doing something horribly embarrassing when really he’d just invited a friend to come back for dinner if he liked. That’s all Mulligan was, he reminded himself, a friend.

Samuel turned back to Mulligan with a frown. “We do understand that it’s a long ride out though.”

“Oh, it does me good. Fresh air can be hard to come by in the city.”

Samuel laughed, patting Mulligan on the shoulder as he stood to get something to drink. “That I won’t argue with.” The moment made Robert’s heart warm. He loved his father and to see him take so quickly to Mulligan and Mulligan to take to him felt like a relief. Friends Robert reminded himself. He was happy because he didn’t have a lot of friends and he wanted his father to like his friends. Nothing more.

“I’ll have to make sure the shop survived my absence before I make any plans or promises but I am happy to return as long as I am welcome,” Mulligan said, winking at Robert.

“We aren’t in the habit of rescinding invitations,” Robert said evenly, like it was a challenge.

Mulligan continued to grin. “Lucky me.” He held his gaze for a moment longer before he turned back to Samuel who was sitting back down with a fresh cup. “After all, your father owes me a game of draughts. Someone has to show me how to beat you if I’m ever to stand a chance.”

Samuel put his hands up. “I’m afraid that chance has passed. His mother taught him and I never won a game against her that she didn’t let me win.” He was laughing and smiling but Robert could see that he was remembering the same moments he was. She had taught him how to play at that very table, at least one game a day all the way right up until the end. She’d laughed the first time he won, high pitched and delighted. Robert looked to his father who was smiling sadly at him.

“Perhaps you can ask Mr. Rivington,” Robert said, trying to salvage the morning and escape that sad smile. “He won one or two games.”

“And how many games did you two play together?” Mulligan asked, his own smile a little strained as well.

“More than two.”

Samuel and Mulligan both laughed. “I’ll have to take any help I can get.”

**

A week later a letter arrived, addressed to Robert.

Dearest Robert,

I’m sure you’ll detest the greeting of dearest but I couldn’t resist. Forgive me.

All is well here. The shop managed to survive. I think my new assistant Johnathan preferred when I was away. I’m likely a menace to the poor child but he has too much to learn. He’ll have to suffer me. All this to say I would love to visit again next Thursday. I’ll have to leave early since I have a meeting with a vendor on Friday in the afternoon for some new cloth. I’d love to see you both before the Christmas season starts and I’m unable to leave the shop for anything that isn’t a party filled with people far less interesting than you.

Write to me and tell me if you can spare the evening to spend with the likes of me.

Give your father my best.

- Hercules

P.S. I did talk to James and I think I’ll have you in our next game.

Robert wrote back immediately, much to his embarrassment.

Mr. Mulligan,

I forgive you for your choice of greeting. It seems very in character for you to pick one such as that. You seem to enjoy pushing just to see what you can get away with.

I’m happy to hear that the shop survived. I had no doubt as it seems unlikely to burn just because your back is turned. Training an apprentice is hard work, be patient with him.

We’d be delighted to have you over again on Thursday.

My father says to tell you he found the book of poetry that you were discussing last week.

If you are so confident in the advice James gave you maybe you should decide the stakes of our next game.

Your Friend,

Robert Townsend

***

Robert flexed his numb fingers, trying to get some feeling back in them as he piled more logs into the basket. He was anxious to get back inside but they’d been running low on firewood and it was barely nightfall and needs must. He’d heard Mulligan ride up a few minutes before and his father helping to show him out to the barn.

Finally, the basket was full and Robert was able to go back inside.

In the house, Mulligan was standing by the fire warming up his fingers. He smiled wide and bright when he saw Robert. Samuel was humming in the kitchen.

“Mr. Mulligan,” Robert said, crossing the room to set the wood next to the fireplace, coincidentally bringing him close to Mulligan.

“What am I going to have to do to get you to call me Hercules? Even in your letter you were so formal. That wounded me, Robert. Would you prefer I call you Mr. Townsend?” Mulligan said with a laugh, taking his hand just long enough to make Robert’s heart stop before he let it go.

Robert narrowed his eyes. “Very well, Hercules.”

Instead of smiling as expected, Mulligan’s eyes went wide and he coughed. “Wasn’t so hard was it?”

“There you are,” Samuel interrupted before Robert could answer. He was carrying the roast he’d spent most of the week fretting over.

“Yes. I was getting firewood as you asked,” Robert said, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his father who made it sound as if he’d been lost at sea.

“Yes, yes. Dinner’s read. Come, sit,” Samuel said as he set the platter down on the table. He sat at the head of the table with Robert and Mulligan finding their places on either side. They all joined hands for grace and bowed their heads. Samuel led the prayer as he had the last dinner they had shared.

Robert’s eyes shot open when he felt Mulligan’s thumb brush over his knuckles softly. He kept his head down and managed not to kick Mulligan under the table, mostly out of fear that he’d hit his father on accident. Instead, he squeezed Mulligan’s hand tighter and hoped that the message was clear. Mulligan did stop and instead squeezed Robert’s hand back in acknowledgment.

Finally, Samuel said “Amen” and Robert was able to take his hand back. He could still feel where Mulligan’s thumb had run over his knuckles. It felt like he was on fire. When he looked back up at him Mulligan smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. Apologetic even.

Robert decided to forgive him. It wasn’t like he had meant anything by it. It was a mindless gesture. It wasn’t Mulligan’s fault Robert struggled to breathe anytime he touched him.

“How have you been these past weeks, Samuel? Robert was very short on the details in his letter,” Mulligan asked suddenly, turning to Samuel as they ate.

“Robert,” his father scolded, though he was laughing.

“What? Nothing of note had happened,” he defended.

His father tsked. “Well, not particularly. But…” his father continued weaving a story about the neighbors who had visited last Sunday. Robert found it quite boring and would have been embarrassed about Samuel showing how boring they were compared to Mulligan’s own vibrant life if the man himself weren’t joking and listening as if he really was enjoying himself. Occasionally, he’d cast a glance at Robert as if making a silent comment, only for Robert.

Robert found himself watching Mulligan, waiting for the next smirk or wink or arch of an eyebrow that was just for Robert. Each one made him feel warm and special and filled him with a want for something he couldn’t identify. It was also dangerous and selfish. Unfortunately, the shame wasn’t able to smother the pleasant warmth, try as Robert might.

After dinner, Samuel disappeared to go find the book he and Mulligan had been discussing. It hadn’t sounded urgent to Robert that the book be found immediately but Samuel had been long gone before Robert could question him. Mulligan just shrugged and helped carry the dishes into the kitchen.

Robert put a pot of water on the stove to heat up and put the little bit of food that was leftover into the icebox, likely to be used in a stew the next day. He turned to see that Mulligan had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

The sight brought Robert up short and the room was suddenly hotter. He had to cough twice to get rid of the lump that had formed in his throat as he removed his own jacket and tried to get his heartbeat back under control. Mulligan did a much more graceful job of staring as Robert rolled up his sleeves, still unable to look at Mulligan.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, Robert scrubbing the dishes in the hot water and then handing them to Mulligan to be dried. It was silent and peaceful as they worked, though Robert strained to hear where in the house his father had hidden himself.

“James sends his regards,” Mulligan said after a long while of silence.

“Does he?” Robert asked. He supposed Rivington couldn't exactly tell Mulligan why it was that he no longer liked Robert and acting friendly might have just been the easiest thing to do. Still, it seemed odd.

“He doesn’t hate you as much as you seem to assume he does,” Mulligan said softly. “He’s a man of principle. You did what you did because of your own principles. He understands that.”

Robert sighed, tired down to his bones. “He did nothing but try to be my friend and I betrayed his trust.”

“James is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. I’d wager he knew; some part of him at least.”

“That’s worse,” Robert ground out, his jaw clenched tight. “That means he suspected me and yet he chose to believe I was his friend. And I betrayed that choice to trust me instead of blind foolishness.”

Mulligan sighed. “I don’t think he thinks that. For a while he might have but not after the soldiers came.”

“So they did come for him,” Robert said quietly.

“You knew they would. It’s why you broke that window. Oh, he ranted and raved about ‘hooligans’ who had broken his window in the dead of night the whole day. He was furious.” Mulligan laughed, put the rag over his shoulder, and brushed his hair out of his face. “But the soldiers arrived and he had everyone in the bar as a witness that the basement had been broken into. Everyone remembered because he was so damn obnoxious about that window. It was blamed on spies, not on him. He knows what you did. He knows that you did what you could to protect both of you.”

“I could have been doing it only to protect myself,” Robert argued.

“Did you?”

Robert didn’t have an answer for that. The problem was that Robert didn’t know. When he’d done it it’d been a half-formed thought, just a hope that it would keep the English looking elsewhere. He didn’t know if he had done it to protect his father, or himself, or James. He was just relieved it had worked.

“It can be both,” Mulligan said, whisper-quiet.

“No, it can’t.”

“But you don’t have a single answer,” Mulligan shot back, clearly pleased that he had bested Robert with his own logic. “You have three answers.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Are you always this obstinate?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Robert turned back to the wash pot, suddenly realizing that he’d been so wrapped up in his conversation with Mulligan that he’d lost track of what he had been meant to be doing. It seemed like that was becoming a bit of a pattern.

“Maybe you can afford yourself a bit of forgiveness. He’s already forgiven you.” Robert could still feel his gaze, hot and unwavering.

“Has he told you that he forgives me?” Robert asked.

Mulligan sighed, clearly hearing what was coming next. “To be fair as far as he’s concerned I don’t know that you need forgiving.”

“So no. He hasn’t.”

“I think I know my friend well enough to know when he’s holding a grudge or not.”

“Not really the same thing is it?” Robert asked, handing Mulligan the last dish to be dried.

Mulligan just stared at him for a moment, looking disappointed and maybe a little sad. “I suppose not.”

They finished working in silence. Robert almost felt bad. Mulligan had just been trying to make him feel better, maybe even heal a wound that Robert hid from everyone, a wound he pretended didn’t exist. But Robert had shut him down and now Mulligan kept his head down and his mouth shut.

When they were done they went back to the living room where Samuel was sitting in his chair with a candle next to him, flipping through the book of poems he had disappeared to find half an hour ago. The second before they passed into Samuel’s line of sight though, Mulligan plastered on a smile and shook his head. “Did you know your son is a menace to debate with?”

Samuel laughed. “Why do you think I enjoy having you here? That way he can debate with you and I can enjoy it from the sidelines!” They laughed together and Robert rolled his eyes to cover the swelling fondness in his chest. He settled on the end of the couch closest to the fire so he could read by the light, just as he had the last time Mulligan was there.

Mulligan settled into the chair next to Samuel, producing a pouch and started to pull thread and a round bit of wood out. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s just something to keep my hands busy,” Mulligan said, holding the items up for Samuel to see.

“Of course not! Are you making buttons?

“Yes,” Mulligan said with a sigh, shaking his head. “With Christmas coming I have many orders for new jackets so that everyone may be dressed in their finest at the first parties of the first Christmas season since the war. And they all require buttons,” Mulligan explained as he started to wrap the thread around the mold, his head bent and his eyes fixed down intently. He was frowning just a touch and his hair was tucked behind one ear to keep it out of his face. He was breathtakingly beautiful, Robert thought wildly, he couldn’t help but stare. Mulligan’s hands moved smoothly, sure and in perfect harmony with each other and the materials. It was mesmerizing.

Without warning, Mulligan’s eyes flickered up to Robert and the focused frown turned into a soft smile, barely there. Robert would have blamed it on a trick of the light if it hadn't been for the wink before he turned to Samuel.

Robert burned. He stared down at the book in front of him with his jaw clenched tight, willing himself to focus. His hands were shaking slightly and he gripped the book tighter to hide it. He was a fool; a fool with no self-control. Hercules showed a bit of quiet focus and all of his carefully crafted walls just vanished? They didn’t even crumble or fall, as Hercules had an annoying habit of making happen. No, they had vanished as if they’d never been there. As if they hadn’t been keeping him safe for years.

He focused on the book and after a while, he was able to breathe again. The conversation around him flitted in and out of his mind. Shame still burned hot in the back of his mind but he managed to focus on the book and right then that was important. If he could make himself focus on the book right then he could sort himself out later.

Hours passed, Robert relaxed, and the conversation around him and turned mostly into the two men reciting their favorite poems back and forth. Most were about the war but every once in a while one of them would recite one about breathtaking landscape or the goodness of God. Robert sometimes stopped and listened but mostly he let it filter by, the voices becoming a soothing background noise.

“Tell me, my heart, if this be love?”

Robert tuned in as Mulligan was in the middle of reciting another poem. He was starting another button and his eyes were fixed down. Robert looked back down at the book but didn’t bother trying to read it, he just listened.

“Whene’er she speaks, my ravish’d ear. No other voice than hers can hear, no other wit but hers approve. Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

“If she some other youth commend, though I was once his fondest friend, his instant enemy I prove. Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

“When she is absent, I no more delight in all that pleased before the clearest spring or shadiest grove: tell me my heart if this be love?

“When fond of power, of beauty vain her nets she spread for every swain, I strove to hate but vainly strove: tell me, my heart, if this be love?”

For a moment, the house was still. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds. Samuel broke the silence.

“It’s beautiful, but melancholy. It’s almost sad.”

“How so?” Mulligan asked.

“To have that dedication and still be unsure. Being so lost in your own feelings and yet feeling them so deeply. It’s sad,” Samuel explained.

“Not necessarily,” Robert said before he could stop himself. When he looked up both men were watching him, waiting. “It might not be confusion, but reluctance. It’s a love they wish they didn’t feel. They aren’t confused they just wish they didn’t feel this way. It frightens them.”

Samuel was frowning at Robert, not angry just deeply sad. Robert didn’t have the courage to look at Mulligan. He was too unsure of what he’d see.

“That’s sadder,” Mulligan said. “It seems more to be a person that does know their own feelings but they don’t know how the other would react to such a strong declaration. They cover it with the questions to give themselves that deniability.”

“How is that any less sad than what I said?” Robert shot back. “To be afraid of the one you love would be dreadful.”

“The fear comes not from the person themselves but from the uncertainty. And uncertainly has room for hope.” Mulligan waved one hand as if clearing the air. “Fear of your own emotions and desires is a fear of one's self and that leaves no room for hope.”

Robert opened his mouth to argue but stopped short when Samuel stood. “Where are you going?”

“To bed. This is a young man’s debate,” Samuel said with a laugh. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

He grabbed the candle that had been between him and Mulligan and started up the stairs. They each sat still until the door shut upstairs, then Mulligan leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Did I misstep?”

“No. Why would you think that?” Robert asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What he said about it being a young man's debate I worry I may have brought up some unpleasant feelings regarding your mother. I didn’t mean to, of course. I had reread the poem recently and-”

Robert shook his head and cut him off. “No, no. He’s fine, I’m sure. He’s likely just -” Robert cut himself off when he realized he couldn't tell Mulligan his true suspicions. He’d never see Mulligan if he did.

“Just what?”

Robert waved his hand to try and make it clear how absurd he found it. “He likely hopes that you’ll win this debate and convince me to fall in love with the next person who smiles at me.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mulligan laughed and looked to the button half-finished in his hand, squinting at it in the low light. He was quite far from the fire now.

“You can come sit next to me...for the light...if you like,” Robert said, trying desperately not to show his nervousness. He was just offering to let his friend sit next to him for the light of the fire. There wasn’t anything to be nervous over.

Mulligan smiled and gathered the pouch together, and moved. “Thank you.” He settled close to Robert, close enough that their elbows brushed with every movement and Robert had to angle his knees away to keep them from knocking into Mulligan’s. Mulligan went back to wrapping the thread around the wooden disk.

Robert tried to focus on his book but his eyes kept drifting back to Mulligan’s hands. He tried to be subtle and even turned the page once before reading it just to cover his fascination.

“I can teach you, if you like,” Mulligan said. Robert flushed but when Mulligan looked up at him he looked genuinely pleased.

“I’d hate to ruin your work or waste your thread. No doubt your customers expect the best, not the work of an amateur.”

“Nonsense. If you’re so concerned with supplies though, I can inspect your work before you cut the thread. If it’s terrible, which I sincerely doubt, I can unravel it and you can try again. No harm done.”

Robert opened his mouth to say no but instead “Very well, show me,” came out.

Mulligan’s answering smile could have lit whole cities. He pulled out a pink roll of thick thread and a smaller round of wood that he handed to Robert. Then came the beeswax and the pencil. Mulligan continued digging around, muttering “I think I still have the guide. I haven’t used it in a while, but if I’m honest. It’s been a while since I’ve made my own buttons at all. AH!” He held up another little wooden circle with 4 marks on each side. He handed it to Robert. “Use the guide to mark the 4 sides so they are evenly placed.” He waited while Robert did. He felt silly, like a child, but even as Mulligan explained each step and its importance he didn't seem to lose his patience or his smile.

“Here,” Hercules said, wrapping his hands around Roberts’. “This is what the tension should feel like. Too loose or too tight and it will unravel before you get done.” He looked up at Robert; maybe to see if he understood, or maybe to see if he was listening, or maybe to check on him since he must have noticed that Robert had stopped breathing.

The problem was, now that he’d turned his head to look up at Robert, still leaning over and holding Robert’s hands at the right tension, he was even closer. Robert could see the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling. He could make out faint freckles on his nose. He could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes that made them sparkle even more than normal. He could see the slight part of his lips that made Robert’s mouth dry.

Mulligan’s smile had faded, his eyes just flitting across Robert’s face like he was searching or waiting. The thought of what he could be waiting for frightened Robert out of his stupor. “I see,” Robert said with a tiny nod.

Mulligan pulled back and nodded, clearing his throat. “Good.” He picked up his own button that he had abandoned when he had started teaching Robert. “Wrap it in that square twice more and then you can insert the pin to help hold it together. Just be careful not to go through any of the threads.”

Robert nodded and focused on the button. It was meditative and he tried not to notice or be embarrassed by how much more quickly Mulligan worked through his. It helped that every once in a while Mulligan would look over and say he was doing well or correct some small thing and then laugh about how many times he’d made that same mistake and he’d had to start over. All in all, it was nice.

“I never had the opportunity to ask. How did you get wrapped up in spy-work? Aren’t you Quakers supposed to stay out of the war?”

“It is a long story.”

Mulligan hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to tell it if you don’t want to.”

Robert shook his head. “I don’t mind. The short version is I met Abraham who was already a spy and he tried to convince me to join his cause. When I refused he enlisted the help of Lieutenant Brewster to burn down our barn and attack my father while pretending to be Queen’s Rangers. By the time we learned it had actually been Continentals who had attacked us we were already involved.”

Mulligan just hummed and kept his head down.

Mulligan didn’t usually respond so quietly and it made him self-conscious. “It’s not a terribly interesting story,” Robert said quietly. He was never known for his storytelling ability.

“No, it’s not that. It’s fascinating and someday you’ll have to tell me the long version, it seems as if there are more than a few parts of that story that you have left out,” Mulligan said with a smile that for some reason didn’t seem quite right.

“Then what?”

“I don’t have anything to say that you would be particularly interested in hearing.” Mulligan shrugged.

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

Mulligan’s hands stopped moving and his whole body seemed to tense. Robert wasn’t as polite as Mulligan, though, so instead of giving him an opportunity not to tell the story, he waited. “I don’t believe Caleb Brewster is a bad man. What he participated in, yes that was bad, but I don’t believe it is indicative of his larger truth.”

Robert felt his blood go hot. He thought he’d buried that anger long ago when he had rejoined the ring. The rage felt fresh though, as if it had just been lying in wait. “What makes you so sure?” He spat out, no small amount of venom in his tone.

Mulligan sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Caleb Brewster was the right hand to the head of intelligence and yet you and I are alive. He was captured by Arnold at the same time I was. And Arnold... he let this monster, John Simcoe, carve him up. My father-in-law’s word. Carved. And yet you and I are alive. It was awful there, Robert. And someone was coming for me. My father-in-law was never going to let his son-in-law rot in jail an accused spy, taken by a turncoat so-called General. For that same reason, they didn’t inflict the damage on me that they did to the others and it was still awful. I…” Mulligan trailed off. His eyes were distant and his face was twisted like he was in pain. Robert set down his button, slowly, and reached out to place his hand over Mulligans’ which had begun to shake.

Mulligan’s head snapped to the side and he stared at Robert for a moment. “I doubt Brewster thought anyone was coming for him. He’d probably thought he’d die in the basement of that prison.

“Carved. Carved and alone and yet he never told anyone about us just to make it stop. Just for a single moment of respite.” Mulligan took a deep shaking breath. “He may have done bad things but I cannot condemn him for them. Not when I’m uncertain about whether I would have done the same.”

Robert didn’t know what to say. He didn't know what to do. Mulligan was clearly hurting and upset and Robert just wanted to make it stop. “You...make a compelling argument. I suppose that is a strong show of character. Having met John Simcoe I can only imagine the pain he inflicted. And even without such a man around it sound like a terrible ordeal. An ordeal that you survived without giving up me or Cato.” Robert squeezed his hand and hoped he'd said the right thing. Tact had never been his strong suit and he wasn’t sure he’d ever managed to successfully comfort his own father let alone someone else.

“Not really the thing same, is it?” Mulligan asked, shaking his head.

Robert suppressed his disappointment in himself. That was to be dealt with later. “I suppose not,” Robert conceded, taking his hand back.

They finished their buttons together in near silence, the easy camaraderie gone now. Mulligan helped him tie off the thread and was very polite about the button despite even Robert being able to see the flaws. They both agreed to go to bed then. They didn’t say it had been a long night but Robert could feel it dragging on them both.

Mulligan packed away the button supplies while Robert dealt with the fire and checked that all the doors were latched. He’d expected Mulligan to be halfway up the stairs by the time he was done but instead Mulligan was standing in the middle of the living room, waiting.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night with my trip down memory lane,” he said with a laugh that felt wrong.

“Don’t be absurd. You didn’t ruin anything. You being here is a gift that I greatly appreciate. You couldn't ruin it just by being honest. That’s ridiculous.” Robert started up the stairs without waiting for Mulligan to respond. Mulligan followed behind him, his footsteps softer than Robert’s up the stairs in the silent house.

Robert stopped for a moment outside his door, waiting for Mulligan so that he could say goodnight properly. It reminded him of the last time Mulligan had visited. It reminded him of the way Mulligan had smiled at him that night. It reminded him of what he’d wanted that night; of what had left him breathless that night.

“Goodnight, Robert. You’re a good friend,” Mulligan said, already opening his door.

“Goodnight, Hercules. So are you.”

Mulligan’s door clicked shut and Robert was alone and breathless again.

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