Man on the Inside

32

When the kids are at Debbie's, Art and Neil are planning how they're going to make their way up to Sydney, slide in through the cracks in Anastasia's heavy, oppressive reign, and break the concrete from the inside out. But that takes time, and it's Saturday morning, so for right now Neil finds Art sitting on the floor of Charlie's room, trying out different shades of eyeshadow on her hand.

Charlie looks up as they walk in. "Hey, Dad. Art's helping me get ready for Jenna's."

Jenna's birthday, which Neil is obviously required to drive her to. Considering his job these days is, essentially, stay-at-home-dad and supporting Art's criminal empire- most directly the newly launching plans to take down his mother- it's not like it's a problem. "You're wearing makeup?"

She looks away and covers her mouth, and he hopes his tone wasn't too incredulous. Art looks up at Neil through his fringe. "We're seeing how we feel about it," he says.

Neil sits himself down in the doorframe, just to get on their level. "My only possible objection was just that I don't want you ever feeling like you have to do things, Charlie. I think you're good at determining what you want for yourself, though, so I'm not worried."

Charlie nods, still not looking just yet. "I know. I'm not- I'm not good at this, though. And, uh- Art's good at makeup, so."

Art puts the brush he was holding down, lightly patting Charlie's hand. "Play around with some colours and see what shades you like together. I've gotta talk to your dad for a moment."

He sits up, gesturing for Neil to follow him into their bedroom. Neil's bedroom, technically, but it's theirs. Art's clothes are in some of the drawers; his toothbrush is sitting on the ensuite sink. It smells like his cologne in there every morning after he showers, and the king bed never feels lonely anymore. They'll spend some days in Art's studio above the whiskey den, during the week, but spending time apart just... hasn't really happened. It could. But it hasn't.

"So, um. Fuck." Art tics as he walks into the room. "Real quick. I wanted to show you that I made these, but- I don't expect you to, you know, think it's a good idea, necessarily. It's kinda just- um. Fuck."

He's pulling out a folder as he talks, laying it out on the bed, and Neil sits on the other side of it. "What is it, love? Don't be nervous. I'm sure it's fine."

Art pulls a few pieces of paper out of this folder, looking at them in the light, squinting slightly. "I just- you know how we talked about, when we take my mother down, it might be a good idea to fake my death? That got me thinking."

"Oh?"

In the sunlight streaming through the window, Art's golden hair lights up as it shines through from behind; like a halo, like the sun bursting through a storm cloud. "I'd need- fuck- I'd need a new identity, right? And this- I can destroy these, easy. Or if, down the line, we change our mind after I've already used them, I could just as easily fake divorce papers, if- if you don't mind another."

Neil raises an eyebrow. "Are you- did you make...?"

"Look, there's a lot of stuff here I'll probably end up using anyway, you know? Birth certificate, change of name, the expired documents that would've been from before. But, um. I'd need you to, at least, sign off on this before I ever went and used it for anything. I'm not going to use it for anything, for a while yet, but, um..."

Art hands Neil one of the pieces of paper he's holding, and it's familiar enough- Neil has another, with Debbie's name, somewhere in the bottom of a drawer. This isn't the formal certificate of marriage, but the one that would've been signed at the ceremony, the one that a couple would have framed in their home. The couple declared on it is Neil and Arthur Brontë, but there's only one signature, and Art is holding a pen.

"Arthur?" Neil asks, before he remembers the more pressing question. "Wait- are you proposing to me right now?"

Art shrugs. "Fuck. I go by Art anyway, so if Artemy Volkov is going to be dead, why not be Arthur Brontë? If- if you're okay with that, of course."

Neil stands up and makes his way around the bed, moving so fast that Art can only blink in surprise before he's pushed back by Neil kissing him.

"It's-" Art raises a hand to Neil's face, biting his lip as he tries to form words. "It's not too much?"

Neil knows something he could never imagine he'd know every time he looks into Art's eyes. In retrospect, he should've known it from the moment they met; it's nothing but an oversight, a drastic mistake, believing what the outside world told him instead of what he felt, that Neil couldn't have said it any sooner.

"Of course it's not too much." It's unreasonable to be giddy about this. Unfortunately, they have always been different, and they will always be different. Neil's committed to unreasonable a long time ago. "You know if we do this, we can't get married in some beautiful garden, or some church, or have a long stupid honeymoon or in-law drama? You'll never be able to see our mothers at the same wedding."

Art grins, silly, giddy too at the fact that Neil's not saying no. Giddy that Neil's taking the pen out of his hands. "Who says we can't? Sure, we should probably give that some time, but who says we can't have the paper signed whenever we feel like it? It's just paper, after all, and I can change it any time you want me to."

It's true, that they're different like that, that it's far easier to break apart, that it's meaningless. But it wouldn't matter. Neil's answer would be the same regardless.

"You're insane," he grins. What does it matter that this was made by Art, and not some government entity? It's true, more real than the one with Debbie's name on it ever was. Neil can see that as clear as anything. It's just paper, but it's paper that says I love you, I trust you, and I'll love and trust you forever. "And now you're my husband."

Neil signs it.