Cause and Effect

Chapter 21

succiduous [suk-sid′ū-us]

(adj). on the point of falling; ready to fall; falling

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They hadn't come for them, and Arthur had been left with John in that room for a few hours before he realized that Milton was just leaving him in there with him. He groaned quietly, jamming his hands along the hard ground, and shifting himself to a more comfortable position. 

John glanced over at him; his head buried under his arms. Arthur caught a glimpse of the bruising red blossoming around his eyes and cringed a little. "Hey," he said softly. John didn't say anything, not too unusual for the man, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Marston."

John started and glared at him. That felt a little more normal, and Arthur distantly wondered when John's idiosyncrasies were starting to feel like normal to him. 

"Was jus' wonderin' how your eye was feelin'." He pointed at John's face, and John touched the swollen socket subconsciously. "Sorry 'bout that." He offered abashed. 

John shrugged, hands falling away and buried himself again under his arms. "'s nothin'." He said finally, and Arthur leaned against the wall. He'd figured he say that. 

"You sleep some?" He offered again, when John took to staring down at the tips of his shoes. John nodded slowly. "Good, that's good."

John didn't say anything, and Arthur found his silence unnerving. He examined his own shoes, scuffing them up against the floor, and felt slightly amused when the soles of his boots marred the floor in dark black marks. His arm was smarting again, but he'd spent some of his long empty days, picking out the gravel from it, and then used some of his precious water to clean it. It had stung but it was preferable to a fever and now he was carefully unwrapping it, hissing as the fabric from his shirt sleeve clung to the still torn skin. 

"Y'okay?" John. He glanced over at him, not expecting John to have even noticed his stifled grunts of pain. He nodded jerkily once, before sighing and motioning to his arm. 

"Jus' my arm," he confessed. "Got some road back there when I wiped out, my jacket got most of the damage, but I tore some of my arm up."

John nodded, before turning back to stare at the wall. He continued in silence, one hand clumsily wrapping his torn home-made bandages over his arm, before he was interrupted again. 

"Need help, or..." John still wasn't looking at him, and his question sounded awkward, as if he wasn't used to offering his help. Still, Arthur wasn't picky, and he waved the man over. John crouched next to him, hands still manacled in front of him and offered him a half-hearted shrug as if to say sorry, before taking the strips out of Arthur's hand and winding it around his arm. Arthur craned his head to watch him. 

"Why they got you in handcuffs, huh?" It had been bothering him the entire time he'd been in here. They hadn't bothered to put a pair on him, and he didn't really see a reason to put a pair on John. 

A tiny smile edged its way on John's face as he carefully tied off the end of the strip of cloth. "Punched a guy."

Arthur sighed, glancing over at him. "John, man, you can't do shit like that."

John sat down next to him, gazing down at his hands, inspecting the cuffs. "Sure, but it sure felt good. 'Sides, ain't got a whole lot goin' for me, might as well make someone else's day feel like shit too." 

"Well, if that's your philosophy," Arthur murmured, raising his injured arm slowly, and wincing at the movement. "No wonder you ain't got a lot goin' for you."