Falling for Crime

Chapter 10

Daybreak.

Five official months had flown by since Alfred F. Jones' entry in the prison.

Arthur could barely get up in the morning anymore. It seemed useless, had no purpose. And each morning was the same — most days he didn't even eat breakfast. He just wasn't hungry.

Every drive by to the prison was black and white for him. Once vibrant green trees and bushes lost their glow, and songs on the radio turned to static.

As little as he'd admit it, Arthur severely regretted the last words he left behind to Alfred.

He lazily tossed the finished off cigarette out his car window as he drove, giving a short sigh. His tobacco use had increased significantly since that day, softly but barely numbing the stinging heartache burrowed in his chest. But Arthur never cried, he couldn't. Final tears were shed the day he parted from Alfred's cell. His body had completely adapted to the feeling of pain. Whether that be from his past or his naturally hard exterior, who knew, but all Kirkland knew was that crying away his pain was replaced with tobacco and rum.

Even if Arthur had a pounding headache from the previous nights reckless drinking, it was nothing compared to the numbing of his brain and emotion.

He pulled up and parked in front of the prison with little to no thought, pulling out his key card and entering the prison quietly.

Contrary to his current mental state, the prison was once again bustling with energy and activity. People smiled, how did people do that again? It was strange, foreign, kind of creepy. Who could smile at a time like this?

Arthur had to remind himself that this was all in his head.

No one turned to greet Arthur Kirkland anymore. They gave him solemn nods, and then turned back to talk or do whatever with other cheerier employees and cops. Officer Kiku has once tried snapping Arthur out of his constant deadpanned state, with a 'Want to go out for lunch later?' Only to be met with a solemn and neutralized 'I'm fine, thanks.'

At some points, Officer Carriedo and Officer Yao worried for the poor brit. Now and then they'd have to poke him to get him to stop staring into space, would ask if he's okay, but Arthur would just brush them away with a more-than-insincere 'I'm fine, leave me be'. And all of this nonsense just raised General Bielschmidts suspicions of the odd British man.

Shutting his locker and clicking it softly, Arthur turned to go back to his post.

"Kirkland."

He knew that voice. Kiku.

Turning back to look at the japanese officer, Arthur hummed in question. His eyes looked dead, and he had visible bags under his unusually dead green eyes. His hair was tussled and perked in all sorts of directions. Arthur forgot the last time he properly showered. He hadn't been bothered to.

"Can I...can I talk to you?"

Arthur just gave a half-assed shrug as Kiku approached him.

"So...everyone has been noticing your current state. And I mean...everyone." The black-haired man started mostly in a whisper.

"I know they have. Who cares?"

"The General," Kiku said, slightly worried. "I heard him murmur the words 'Kirkland' and 'Fire' under the same breath in his office earlier, and I'm worried you're going to lose your job. Though, nothing's official yet, still...are you sure you don't need to take a short leave?"

Hah. If Arthur got fired, he wouldn't care. "Why would I? I'm fine."

Kiku looked at him with a 'Yeah, right' look. "Is that why your breath always smells like rum and regret?"