Archive of Our Own

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The city is loud, and Jon hates it. All the sounds of too many people, carriage wheels dragging over brick roads, grating at Jon’s nerves. Lampposts buzzing, their light bleeding in through the window, into Jon’s tired eyes.

Jon misses his home. He misses the stars, the trees, the quietdark calm of the forest. He misses soft dirt beneath his paws. He misses his paws, although he hasn’t had paws in a very long time. That thought twists his stomach whenever he thinks of it, but not as much as the realization that even if he managed to find his paws, they would be too soft for the unyielding ground here.

Jon misses a lot of things. Freedom. Solitude.

Someone shouts, far in the distance, jolting Jon from the shallow rest he’d managed. He groans, rolls over, pushing his head beneath his pillow, trying to drown the noise. He wants to sleep.

He wants to be back in the forest, where steady cicada hums and cricket chirps would lull him easily to sleep every night.

The pillow does dishearteningly little to block out the noise, and the position he’s found is rather uncomfortable. He rolls over again, his head dropping back on top of the pillow with a thump. Beside him, Elias stirs, and Jon rolls over again, facing away from him, curling up small beneath the blanket.

“Settle down, Jon,” Elias murmurs, stilling Jon with a hand on his flank. His voice is soft with sleep, but serious.

“It’s too loud,” Jon says, and his voice comes out too much like a whimper. He’s tired, frustrated almost to the point of tears. He hates it here.

“Oh, darling,” Elias says, putting his arms around Jon, pulling him close.

Jon wants to chase him off, to bite and snap at him. Elias is the one that brought him here in the first place, that abducted him from his home, that has kept him prisoner for long enough now that Jon has lost count of the days.

But he misses his home so badly it hurts, and as much as he detests Elias, he is an easy source of comfort.

Jon rolls over, burrowing closer to Elias’ chest, finding the steady thump of his heart, trying to focus on that above the cacophony of noise outside.

Elias’ hand snakes up to Jon’s hair, petting over his scalp. “There you are,” he says, his voice heartbreakingly gentle. “It’s okay. You’ll get used to it here, even the noise. I promise.” He presses a kiss to Jon’s head, and then he starts singing, a soft lullaby slightly muffled in Jon’s hair.

Jon takes a shaky breath. It isn’t real, this tenderness, this love. It isn’t real, but he wraps himself in it anyway, and eventually he finds sleep.

***

Jon had protested the move. He hadn’t wanted to leave the forest, hadn’t wanted to leave the prison-cabin that was still much more his home than this distant city. No matter how he begged and snapped and dug in his heels, Elias simply clicked his tongue and said, “It will help your recovery.”

Elias’ townhouse in the city is bigger than the cabin, but the garden is smaller, a pitiful, fenced-in thing ringed by decorative shrubs. The garden at the cabin had tomato plants and overgrown wildflowers. In the city, the garden has a distinctly artificial feeling, obsessively landscaped beyond any recognition of wilderness.

It’s still the only tolerable place in the entire house.

“Jon!” he hears Elias calling him, and he curls up tighter, wedged beneath the low branches of the shrubs. He doesn’t fool himself that Elias won’t find him here, but he relishes the chance to inconvenience him.

To his surprise, he hears two pairs of footsteps coming towards him. His curiosity spikes, as does his anxiety. Elias had mentioned that he had associates in the city, but Jon hadn’t met any of them yet. He’s not sure he wants to meet anyone who would willingly spend time in Elias’ presence.

A moment passes, and then he hears Elias sigh. A pair of shoes stop just beside the shrub, and then Elias squats down. “Honestly, Jon. What are you doing down there?”

Jon growls at him, as best as he’s able. His new mouth wasn’t made for such sounds, and it doesn’t sound nearly as intimidating as he’d like it to. Elias just rolls his eyes. He looks away, over his shoulder at the mysterious second person. “I’m sorry about this. He’s been quite a bit worse since we moved here.”

Jon grins, baring his teeth. “This morning you told me we’d always lived here. Liar.”

It doesn’t get under Elias’ skin the way he hopes it will. Elias just lets out a disappointed-sounding sigh. “Jon, I did not.”

Jon narrows his eyes, and doesn’t say anything else. This is how it always goes, with Elias. He lies and lies and lies, and when Jon finds an inconsistency, he lies some more.

“Come out from there,” Elias says. “There’s someone you should meet.”

Jon sticks out his chin defiantly, and rolls onto his back, picking at the tangle of twigs and branches above him. He recognizes that he’s acting like an insolent child, ignoring Elias like this, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to be here in the first place.

“Why don’t you go inside, Elias?” The second person says, bringing a hand to rest on Elias’ shoulder. “Let me handle this.” Her voice is calm, stately, with a touch of humor in it.

Elias hesitates a moment, then stands, walks away. Despite himself, Jon wishes Elias wouldn’t leave. He doesn’t know this person, and he’s suddenly overcome with instinctual fear.

He swallows it back, but keeps a wary eye on her as she gets down on her knees. She’s quite old—grey hair, wrinkled face. “Hello, Jon,” she says. “Are you comfortable in there?”

“Yes,” Jon says immediately. There are hard roots digging into his ribs and spine. “Who are you?”

The woman extends her hand towards him. “Gertrude Robinson,” she says.

Jon very nearly growls at the hand, but instead he just stares, making no move to take it.

Gertrude doesn’t seem offended. She just withdraws her hand, settles it back in her lap. “I’m a psychologist. I help people who have illnesses of the mind.”

“I’m not crazy,” Jon says, anger flaring. This again, of course.

“I didn’t say you were,” Gertrude says. “But if what your husband has told me is true, you are very ill.”

“Elias is a liar,” Jon spits.

“Okay,” Gertrude says. “What has he lied about?”

“Everything!” Jon wraps his arms tightly around himself. “We aren’t married, he—he kidnapped me, and he’s holding me prisoner!”

“Kidnapped you from your life as a fox?” she says. Elias told her that, of course he did. Lied to her about Jon’s ‘delusions.’ Her eyes are full of pity, the kind of pity that doesn’t believe him.

Jon digs his nails into his arms. He says, “I am a fox."

“You don’t look like a fox,” Gertrude says mildly.

“Elias did something to me,” Jon says. “I don’t know what. Something that made me look like this instead.”

Gertrude sighs. “Well,” she says. “I won’t argue with you. I simply came here to introduce myself, and to let you know that we’ll be working together until you’re well again. We’ll have sessions every other day at my office, if that’s amenable to you.”

Jon laughs at that, the idea that his opinion matters in the slightest. “What if I don’t want to?” he asks.

Gertrude is silent for a long moment, looking at him. “You should want to,” is all she says. “Elias tries so very, very hard for you.”

Jon rolls his eyes, and turns away from her, facing the hard fence.

“Our first appointment is tomorrow,” Getrude says. “I will see you then.”

***

Jon stays under the bush for a long time, after Gertrude leaves. Unfortunately, his respite can’t last forever. Hunger wins out in the end, and he goes back inside as the afternoon light is starting to darken to evening.

Elias, of course, doesn’t have the grace to be upstairs where Jon doesn’t have to look at him. Instead, he’s standing in the kitchen, and sees Jon as soon as he comes in.

“You’re absolutely filthy,” he says, a pained expression on his face.

Jon looks down at himself. There are a patches of dirt on his shirt and trousers, a few leaves sticking to him here and there, but it’s nothing too bad. Jon shrugs. “You’re the one who married a wild animal.”

“Jon, you aren’t an animal,” Elias says. He wets a dishrag in the sink, then takes a few steps towards Jon. “Come here.”

“Yes, I am,” Jon says. He considers ignoring Elias’ command, instead going upstairs and spreading his dirt onto the bed. But he’s hungry, and starting a fight with Elias would delay any dinner plan by an hour at least. Instead, he lets Elias pull him close and wipe at his face.

The rag is warm and Elias is gentle. The expression on his face is unbearably soft, no trace of his earlier annoyance. “Good enough for now,” Elias pronounces, kissing Jon’s cheek. “Are you hungry?”

Jon nods, and Elias smiles, and drops the rag on top of Jon’s head. “Then I’ll get dinner ready.”

Jon sputters a bit as he pulls the rag away. “I have proof that I’m a fox,” he says as he sits down at the table. He’s been thinking about it for days, now, since they moved here to this bigger house with its bigger library. “I don’t know how to read,” he says. “If I were human, I would know how to read.”

Elias looks at him, an expression on his face that almost looks like sadness. It clears into a smile, and Elias says with strained humor. “You get the oddest ideas, sometimes.”

“It isn’t—odd,” Jon snaps. “You have all these books, and if we’ve actually been married for years and years, I find it a little unlikely that I don’t know how to read.”

“You’ve been sick for a long time, Jon,” Elias says, sounding sad, sounding… exhausted. “Your illness made it impossible to teach you.”

Jon clenches his fists, but bites his tongue. He isn’t going to give Elias any more ammunition to prove he’s delusional.

***

They go to Gertrude’s office the next day. Jon wants to maintain his cold indifference, but he can’t hide his curiosity as their carriage clatters through the city streets. This is his first time really seeing it, seeing how Elias’ house fits into the body of the city. Seeing how all the other people move along the sidewalks, passing in and out of shops and houses. Living.

The carriage comes to a halt, and Jon jumps out before Elias can move to help him. They are parked immediately in front of a building with a sign that announces: GERTRUDE ROBINSON, Psy.D, LICENSED CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGIST, and Jon immediately starts towards the front door, not waiting for Elias.

He’s unprepared for the cold, clean atmosphere within the building. It feels like the opposite of home, and Jon shivers, looking at the generic chairs lined up against the walls, the drab blue carpet, the bookshelf that seems far too empty to be real. For the first time, he hesitates, unsure of himself.

Elias steps up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Just sit down, Jon. Gertrude will call you when she’s ready for you.”

He leads Jon to one of the chairs and sits beside him as Jon perches nervously on the edge of his seat. He can’t quite identify what about this place makes him so nervous, just that it feels… wrong. It reminds him more than anything of dangerous territory in the forest, the scent of other foxes serving as a warning.

He wonders if other foxes have been here, have sat where he’s sitting, confused and homesick and alone. It doesn’t matter, he decides. There aren’t any here now.

A door opens, and Gertrude takes a step out. “Jon,” she says, beckoning him over. “Come in.”

Elias stands, so Jon stands as well, all of his proud independence of the last day leaving him. He doesn’t know what to do in this situation, and he’d much rather follow Elias’ lead, avoid making a misstep and getting eaten by predators.

Elias is a predator, he thinks. It’s a strange thought, but true. All humans are predators, and Jon is surrounded by them.

They enter Gertrude’s office, where there are yet more chairs. A small desk is pushed against one wall, along with some filing cabinets. Gertrude shuts the door behind them with a quiet click.

“Alright,” Gertrude says. “Jon, go ahead and have a seat.”

Jon obeys. What else is he going to do? Flee?

“Thank you,” Gertrude says. “Now then, just so you’re aware, Elias is not usually going to join us here. Since this is our first real session, Elias and I agreed it would be good to have him here to help you feel more at ease. But if you want him to leave, he will.”

Jon swallows. He does want Elias to be here, in spite of himself. He feels like he’d shake apart without Elias’ presence here. “Elias can stay,” he says quietly.

“Good,” Gertrude says. “Let’s get started, then. To begin, would you mind telling me about your relationship with Elias?”

“I told you yesterday,” Jon says. “You didn’t believe me.”

“It’s important to have these things on record,” Gertrude says, pen poised over her notepad. “Go ahead.”

Jon stays silent.

After a moment, Gertrude looks up. “Jon,” Elias nudges him.

“I don’t want to tell you just so you can say I’m wrong,” Jon mutters.

“Jon, no one is saying—,” Elias starts.

“It’s alright,” Gertrude cuts in. “Elias, why don’t you tell me about your history with Jon, then.”

“Of course,” Elias says, twisting the ring on his finger. “Jon and I were married nine years ago, when we were both quite young.”

“Last week, you told me we’d been married five years,” Jon says viciously.

“No, I didn’t,” Elias says firmly.

“Jon,” Gertrude says. “Don’t interrupt. I gave you the chance to talk, and you didn’t want it.”

Jon bites his tongue, still glaring at Elias.

“Elias,” Gertrude says. “Continue.”

Elias thinks for a moment. “A few years ago, Jon started displaying this kind of—” He sighs. “—erratic behavior. It was very occasional at first, and rarely concerned matters of any importance. Jon would forget conversations that we’d had, or invent plans that we hadn’t made. We tried to just ignore it for a long time. Probably too long.

“The first time Jon accused me of attacking him was…” Elias trails off, his eyes distant. He lets out a little laugh. “Horrible. I was terrified he was right, that I’d simply blocked it out of my memory. But eventually, we worked out that it was connected to Jon’s memory problems, and we started seeing doctors.

“None of them knew what to do for it, though, and Jon’s condition was deteriorating quickly. Then, about a year ago, I took the advice of some friends and moved us out into the country. I figured the fresh air would help, if nothing else. But it just made things worse. Jon began spending more and more time in the woods. He’d get lost, and I’d spend hours looking for him. When I found him, he would be very confused, sometimes resisting my attempts to bring him back inside. That’s when he came up with the fox idea.

“Eventually, he forgot who I was entirely. He forgot our entire marriage, started being upset by my very presence. I realized he wouldn’t get better without help, so I brought him back here, hoping that someone would have an idea for treating him.”

Elias goes quiet. Jon shivers. “None of that is true,” he says, and his voice sounds quiet, feeble compared to Elias’.

Beside him, Elias sighs.

Gertrude smiles at him. “So what do you think happened?”

“I—” She doesn’t believe him, she isn’t going to believe him, but he needs to speak his story. Elias’ tale hangs heavy in the air, invading his mind with doubt even though he knows it’s a lie. “I was born four summers ago in the forest with the sun-dappled river. I was a solitary creature, steering clear of other fox groups as they steered clear of me. I don’t—most of my memories of being a fox are—hard to understand, now. I remember being tempted with scraps of meat late in the winter. I think that’s how he drew me in. I was hungry, and so I ate, and I kept returning despite his presence.” Jon's voice wavers, remembering.

“One day, I woke up, and I looked like this. Elias had me locked inside his house, and I wasn’t allowed to go outside unless he was there to keep a close eye on me. He kept telling me that I was sick, that we were married, that he cared about me and was just trying to keep me safe, but—” Jon stops, realizing how thin and false his story sounds.

Gertrude looks up from writing on her notepad. “Anything else, Jon?” Her tone isn’t hostile, but it’s clear she doesn’t remotely believe him.

Jon takes a shuddering breath. “I was a fox,” he says, a note of desperate pleading creeping into his voice.

Gertrude clicks her pen. When she speaks, her voice is gentle. “It sounds like the last few months have been very frightening for you. Based on what you and Elias have told me, I believe you have a severe persecutory delusion disorder alongside dissociative amnesia.”

Jon doesn’t know what those words mean, and he doesn’t care to. He just looks away, out the window at the overcast day, at the hard stone streets and the people. He thinks about going back to Elias’ apartment, lying in the small patches of grass in his garden.

“Jon, are you listening?” Gertrude says. “Your recovery will go more smoothly if you pay attention.”

Jon snaps, “I don’t need to recover! I don’t have delusions!”.

“Calm down, Jon,” Elias says, reaching out to take Jon’s wrist, rubbing his thumb gently over the pulse point.

Jon snatches his hand away with a growl. “Don’t touch me!”

Gertrude watches impassively. “This disorder clearly causes the both of you quite a bit of distress. That’s understandable, given its severity. Hopefully our work here will help mitigate that stress.” She takes a breath, looks at Jon. “My goal, which I hope will become your goal as well, is to teach you how to recognize and manage your delusions. Your delusions make you fearful of Elias, which causes you to lash out at him. I’m going to teach you to recognize your delusions for what they are, so you won’t be so fearful all the time.”

“I’m not afraid, I’m angry!” Jon says. “He kidnapped me, I miss my home, and—”

“Lets start there,” Gertrude says. “You say you were a fox, before?”

It’s a trap, Jon knows it’s a trap. Jon nods anyway.

“You certainly speak English well, for a fox,” Gertrude says, a note of humor in her voice. Jon bristles, and she continues, “How could Elias have turned you from a fox into a human? Such things just aren’t possible anymore.”

“I—I don’t—” Jon doesn’t know. But it happened. It did.

The session goes on like that for what feels like hours, Gertrude insisting that Jon’s version of events can’t be real, can’t be true. She has Elias go over his version of events another time, highlighting how much better Elias’ story holds up to scrutiny, how much more detailed and coherent it is. By the time she releases him, Jon’s feelings have reached a boiling point. He’s so confused, so angry. Elias is lying to him, he knows Elias is lying to him. He knows he and Elias aren’t really married. He knows that he’s Elias’ prisoner. He knows that he is a fox.

He thinks he knows that he is a fox.

“I know that was hard for you,” Elias says, wrapping his arms around Jon’s shoulders when they’re alone again, back in the waiting room. “But I’m very proud of you. I love you.”

“If you love me so much,” Jon says, shaking him off. “Why not let me leave?”

“Jon, we’ve talked about this before. You’re very sick. If you were out on your own—I don’t want to think about what would happen.”

“Fine,” Jon says. “I’m sick.” His voice is trembling. “But why does it make any sense that I should stay with someone I don’t trust? You have plenty of money; couldn’t you hire someone to look after me?”

“You wouldn’t trust anyone you lived with,” Elias says, like he’s explaining this to a particularly dense child. “Your condition would make sure of it. Better that you stay with me. I have far more patience for you than most would.”

Jon’s hands curl into fists. How dare Elias act like he’s some saint for keeping Jon here, against his will. “I don’t want to stay here,” he says.

Elias looks at him, and the sadness in his eyes seems so genuine. He’s a good actor. “Darling, you don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it,” Jon snaps, staying firm.

Elias sighs. “Jon.”

“I hate it here,” Jon says. “I hate you. I don’t care if it’s all in my head. I hate you.”

Elias looks deeply, truly pained for a moment. “Well,” he says finally. “I don’t see that you have any other options. I refuse to have you institutionalized.”

“It would be better than here,” Jon mutters viciously. It isn’t real, none of it is real. This petty little argument does nothing to hurt Elias, but at least it makes Jon feel like he has some modicum of power.

Elias closes his eyes, takes a breath.

Then he hits Jon, a hard slap across the face.

Jon isn’t expecting it, isn’t prepared for any kind of attack. He falls to the floor, scrambling away as Elias looms over him. Elias kneels beside him, stilling him with a hand over his wrist.

“This doesn’t have to be unpleasant for you,” Elias says, his voice a cruel whisper. “But I do hope you continue to make things difficult.”

Jon blinks at Elias, this new face that he’s never seen. This is his true face. Cruel, hard eyes. Jon can’t think of what to say in response to it, can only think, frantically, I’m not crazy, I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.

Then Elias blinks, and the hardness disappears, replaced by the soft concern that has become so familiar. “Are you alright?” he asks, releasing Jon’s wrist and reaching for his face, where Jon can feel a bruise rising.

Jon scrambles away. “You hit me,” he says.

Elias looks confused for a second, then deeply sad. “Jon, I would never do that. You fell.”

“No,” Jon says. “You’re lying.” Jon knows he’s lying, it just happened. Elias can’t honestly expect him to believe that he’s misremembering something that just happened!

“Try to calm down,” Elias says, and he’s back to gentle pity, his disguise sliding perfectly into place. “You’re panicking. Just take deep breaths.”

Jon is panicking. Of course he’s panicking, he’s seen Elias’ true face and it is—

—cold dark malicious—

—dangerous. Elias is dangerous, and Jon is trapped with him.

Jon runs.

***

There’s nowhere to run to, of course. He makes it to the sidewalk outside before he pauses, overwhelmed by all the noise, all the people. He has no idea where to go, what he’s doing, and before he can decide to just run in a random direction, Elias has caught up to him.

“Help!” Jon yells, as loud as he can as Elias lifts him off his feet. He thrashes against Elias’ hold and looks desperately at the people passing by them. They avoid looking at Jon, and in another moment, Jon is back inside, far from anywhere help could reach him.

“Jon, please,” Elias says, as Jon starts trying to snap at his hands, to force him to let go. Alas, Elias has long since learned that lesson, and keeps his hands well out of reach. Jon is left with nothing but to growl, long and low in his throat.

Gertrude comes out of her office, looks over the scene. “What is going on here?” she asks.

“Jon had a fall, and it triggered an attack,” Elias says.

Jon kicks out, managing to connect his heel to Elias’ shin. Elias cries out and loosens his hold enough for Jon to struggle free, panting. His brain is running in circles, thinking about the look he’d seen on Elias’ face for that single moment, and he struggles for words. “I—He hit me,” Jon says. Even as he says it, Jon knows how this must look. Himself barely articulate, Elias the picture of a perfect, worried husband.

“Hmm,” Gertrude steps closer, looking closely at Jon’s face. Jon lets out a small whine as she raises a hand to the bruise that must be forming on his cheek, but he doesn’t let himself flinch away. “Gertrude,” he says, looking her in the eye. “He did hit me. He did.”

“If he fell, where did the bruise come from?” Gertrude says, looking at Elias, and he feels hope begin to rise in his stomach, hope that she will finally, finally believe him.

“One of the chairs,” Elias says, pointing to the hard wooden chairs that line the waiting room. “He tripped as we were coming out of your office, hit his cheek on the arm.”

“I see,” Gertrude says. She looks back at Jon. “Does that sound familiar?”

“No!” Jon says. “That isn’t what happened. He hit me!”

“I’m not going to be able to show you solid proof that events didn’t happen like Elias said. Some things you just have to take on trust.”

“On trust?” Jon says. “But—”

“Shh,” Gertrude says. “I’m going to teach you something that I think will be very useful for you. Whenever you have an attack like this, don’t get stuck on the assertion that Elias hit you, or that you used to be a fox, or whatever ideas take hold of you. Instead say, ‘I remember Elias hitting me.’ Can you do that?”

“But Elias did hit me,” Jon says, feeling a bit like he’s talking to a brick wall.

Gertrude gives him a look. “Now try it the way I just taught you,” she says.

“No!” Jon says, frustration giving way to panic. He can feel Elias still looming, the specter of Elias’ true face. “I’m not delusional, I didn’t make this up! Elias hit me, and he’s going to do worse!”

“Look at him,” Gertrude says, turning Jon slightly. Elias is standing a few feet away, silently weeping, wiping at his eyes. As Jon looks at him, he covers his face with his hand. “No, no,” he says, voice thick with tears. “I’m quite alright.”

“You think it doesn’t break his heart, hearing all of the terrible things you say about him?” Gertrude says. “And here you are, not even trying to get better.”

Jon swallows, pushing back the guilt he feels rising in his stomach. “It isn’t real,” he says. “He’s just pretending. He—He hit me. He did.”

He did. Jon knows he did. Even as Gertrude berates him for throwing such horrible accusations at a man who does so much for him, Jon buries that one fact in his heart. Elias hit him. Elias is dangerous.

***

Jon doesn’t speak to Elias for the rest of the day. He doesn’t eat dinner with him, and ignores the meal that Elias leaves out for him, instead picking through the cabinets for something half-filling. He ends up eating a bowl of strawberries and raw sugar. It’s the kind of meal that would annoy Elias, which only makes it taste sweeter.

Hunger sated, Jon doesn’t go up to bed with Elias. The very thought makes him feel slightly ill. Instead, he goes out into the garden and curls up beneath his bush. The night air is cold, but he’s fine. He’s weathered entire winters outside before, and this is mid-spring. He’ll be fine.

He wakes up shivering in the early hours of the morning, nose running and numb from cold. There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him, Elias’ hand. Jon startles when he realizes it, suddenly feeling wide awake and very, very cold.

“What are you doing out here?” Elias says, dragging Jon out from under the bush. Before Jon can flinch away, Elias has picked him up, looking down at him with concern in his eyes. “This is ridiculous,” he says, sounding more exhausted than angry. “You’re going to make yourself sick like this.”

“I don’t care,” Jon says, his voice hoarse from breathing the chilly air. He doesn’t lean into Elias, even though Elias is warm. He wraps his arms around himself and doesn’t say anything more as Elias carries him inside.

Elias drops him on the couch, brings him a blanket that Jon grudgingly takes. He gets a kettle going on the stovetop, then lights a fire in the fireplace. Wrapped up, with the fire burning in front of him, Jon is already feeling much better. Then Elias leans over the back of the sofa, pressing a mug of tea into Jon’s cold hands. “There you are,” he says, his voice gentle. He kisses Jon’s cheek, then pulls away.

Jon keeps a wary eye on him as he moves about the kitchen, about the house. He watches for any signs of aggression or hostility. Any hint of the face he’d seen yesterday.

He isn’t crazy. He didn’t imagine it.

When the sun is rising over the sky, Elias makes breakfast. Jon still doesn’t speak as they eat. Finally, as Elias is clearing the plates and things away, he says, “Would you like to go on a trip today? We could walk around the marketplace downtown.”

Jon doesn’t trust the offer, but he imagines there will be quite a few people downtown. Plenty of opportunities to slip free of Elias’ grip and disappear. Find help. “Okay,” he says.

***

The marketplace is crowded and noisy and chaotic. Ordinarily, Jon would hate this environment, but today he rejoices in it. Elias is holding to his hand and keeping a close, suspicious eye on him, but it’s only a matter of time before an opportunity presents itself for escape.

They near the farmer’s markets, and the environment gets noticeably more chaotic.

Elias pulls up short. “We should probably stay away from there. I wouldn’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

Jon has been feeling overwhelmed since they moved to this city. “I want to see,” he says, giving Elias a look that he hopes will register as earnest.

“Alright,” Elias says with a sigh. “But stay close, okay?”

Jon nods. The farmer’s market is full of people haggling, sorting through vegetables. Vendors shout from every direction, trying to garner attention for their goods. One of them yells something at Elias, and keeps yelling as Elias continues to ignore him. Finally, Elias turns to look—

—And Jon wrenches his hand out of Elias’ grip and takes off, dodging through the crowd as fast as he can. He hears Elias yell his name behind him and grits his teeth, absolutely determined to make his escape.

He flees the farmer’s market district and is tempted to duck into the very first shop he sees, but he knows it would be all too easy for Elias to find him. Instead, he keeps running, ducking through alleyways, confusing his path wherever he can.

When he starts to run out of breath is when he finally ducks into a shop and risks looking over his shoulder, terrified that he will see Elias right behind him. He isn’t. Jon lets out a breath. He’s bought himself a few minutes, at least.

“Can I help you?” comes a voice from behind the counter. She’s a small woman, about the same height as Jon himself, with short-cropped black hair.

“I—” Jon pants, trying to catch his breath. “I need help.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the woman says cheerily. “Are you lost? Do you need directions? We do offer guided tours, but you’d need to book that a day in advance. Or are you looking for souvenirs? We’ve got plenty!”

Jon blinks at her. “No,” he says, hardly understanding any of her words. “I—I’m not—I’ve been kidnapped,” he says, finally.

The woman starts. “What? Oh my god, are you okay?” She pushes back from the counter and dithers for a couple of seconds, as if she can’t decide where to move. “Georgie!” she yells finally.

“What?” a voice comes from the top of the stairs.

“Emergency!” the woman shouts. “Here, come into the back room.” She opens the door for Jon, waves him inside. A moment later, another woman comes in, taller than the first one, skin several shades darker than Jon’s.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“He says he’s been kidnapped.”

“O-Oh,” the second woman says, looking Jon over with something like panic in her eyes. “Okay. Okay. Here, why don’t you sit down?” she points Jon towards a chair that he sinks into. “Melanie, can you—I don’t know. Close the shop, probably.”

“On it,” Melanie says, going back into the main storefront, closing the door behind her.

The second woman lets out a long breath. “Okay. First things first, I guess. What’s your name?”

“Um—Jon.”

“I’m Georgie,” the woman says. She points at the closed door. “That was Melanie.” She rubs a hand over her face. “Are you alright? Do you need—medical attention?”

“No,” Jon says. “The person who kidnapped me—he might come by here. We weren’t very far from here when I slipped away.”

“Don’t worry about that, okay?” Georgie says, putting a hand over his. “We’ll protect you. You’re safe here.”

Jon nods, for the first time feeling something like relief unfurling in his stomach.

Then Melanie slips back into the room. “Georgie,” she says, “Can I talk to you?”

“What is it?” Georgie asks.

Melanie glances at Jon, then waves Georgie towards her. The two of them have a whispered conversation, too quiet for Jon to hear, much as he strains to make it out.

Georgie comes back over to him, kneeling on the ground. “Jon,” she says. “Can you tell me more about how you were kidnapped?”

“I—” Something about the way she says the question puts Jon on edge. “I don’t remember it well.”

“Just try,” Melanie says, a bit of hostility creeping into her voice.

Jon swallows. “I woke up, and I was inside a strange house with a man I’d never met. And he wouldn’t let me leave. He forced me to come to the city with him.”

Georgie and Melanie glance at each other.

“What about your life before?” Georgie asks. “Do you have relatives we could call, any friends?”

Slowly, Jon shakes his head. “I don’t have any relatives.”

“What about your home? Where did you live before this?” Melanie asks.

“I—I don’t remember,” Jon says. “What’s the point of these questions?”

Georgie flashes him a tight smile. “We just want to make sure you’re alright,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

She and Melanie have another whispered conversation, at the end of which, Melanie once again leaves the room. Georgie busies herself in the cabinets, not looking at Jon.

Before Jon can ask what's going on, Melanie comes back in, and behind her is Elias.

His gaze lights up when he sees Jon. “I was so worried!” he says, sweeping Jon up in his arms and setting him on his feet. “You can’t wander off like that,” he says, like Jon is a child he’s scolding. “Anything could have happened to you.”

Jon feels like crying. “I didn’t wander off. I ran.” He looks accusingly at Georgie, but doesn’t say anything. He knows the kind of lies they heard, and he can’t entirely blame them for believing them.

Jon almost believes them himself.

Georgie just shrugs apologetically. They both look at him with that deep, intense pity in their eyes as Elias leads him away.

Elias keeps a firm grasp on Jon’s arm all the way back to their carriage. Jon feels like a wound spring, preparing himself for the weight of Elias’ anger. Elias is going to hit him again, he knows it.

“Darling?” Elias says when they are settled inside the carriage, Jon pressed against Elias’ side because Elias won’t allow more distance between them. “Are you alright?”

Jon is trembling. Fear mixed with excess adrenaline. He nods.

Elias kisses the top of his head. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he says.

Jon nearly laughs. He’s not safe. How can he be safe, with Elias so close?

They arrive at Elias’ house, and Jon braces himself. But Elias’ anger never manifests. He fusses over Jon the rest of the evening. Jon tries not to cringe away whenever Elias gets close, but he can’t help himself. Elias notices, his expression falling, and Jon is sure the moment has arrived, that now the mask will slip and Elias will be monstrous.

Instead, Elias keeps his distance, moving around Jon slowly, clearly telegraphing his movements to put him more at ease. He sits down in the armchair several feet from Jon, a book in his lap to occupy his attention.

Slowly, Jon stands, planning to retreat to the guest bedroom, heart pounding in expectation for Elias to finally strike out at him.

Elias doesn’t stop him.

***

It rains, a few days later. Jon wants to go outside, to lay beneath his bush and feel the steady drip drip of water onto his face. But ever since Jon’s adventure sleeping outside, Elias has taken to locking the back door whenever he wants Jon to stay in.

Instead, Jon sits by the window in the library, chin resting on the windowsill, watching the rain streaking down outside. He sighs, deeply, endlessly bored.

He hears a door open behind him, and tenses. He would much prefer boredom to dealing with Elias.

“Oh, good,” Elias says, “I was looking for you.”

“Not many places to hide in here,” Jon says, but there’s no bite to the words.

Elias walks over, crouches beside him, looking out the window from the same eye level. “I’ve always enjoyed watching the rain.”

Jon enjoys being in the rain, feeling the moisture-soaked air, raindrops sliding off his fur as he runs. Frogs come out, when it rains, and Jon has spent many afternoons chasing (and sometimes eating) them. Watching the rain from inside hurts, reminds him only of how much he misses his life before.

He doesn’t say anything. He lets his icy silence speak for itself.

“I know you’re upset with me for locking you inside,” Elias says. “I’m going to make it up to you. Would you like to learn how to read?”

Jon looks quickly at Elias, not expecting this at all. “You—You’ll teach me?”

Elias nods. “You mentioned it the other day, and I thought—I thought it would help. I won’t force you, of course, if you’d rather not, but—”

“Yes!” Jon says, not bothering for once to treat Elias with icy distance. “Yes. Please.”

***

Jon doesn’t pick it up as quickly as he’d like. The letters twist around in his brain whenever he tries to pin them down. Words he knows take on unfamiliar forms in the pages of Elias’ books, and when he tries to read them aloud, Elias laughs before he corrects him. Writing is an even worse trial, Jon’s hands unused to the work of holding a pen, his letters coming out ill-formed.

But Jon practices, day in and day out. He doesn’t have much else to do, trapped as he is. Gradually, he learns the shape of the letters, the look of words becoming instinctual. His handwriting improves along with his spelling, and his writing becomes half-legible.

Elias watches his progress with pride, praising him for every little improvement. Jon allows the warmth, and even starts to respond in kind.

Elias still lies. About small things, and large things. He’ll claim he never locked Jon inside the house, or he’ll bring some unexpected friends over and claim he’d already told Jon to expect them. He’ll tell Jon that they’ve known each other since they were children, and then the next day claim that they met at university, and then again claim that they were given to each other in an arranged marriage. He’ll claim that they’ve always lived in the city and Jon invented the forest entirely. He’ll claim that Jon has always been delusional, then claim that Jon only developed his delusions very recently.

Jon watches closely for more signs of the hateful version of Elias, the person who wants to hurt him, but he doesn’t make an appearance. He starts to wonder if he was wrong about Elias, if Elias does truly care about him, in his own way.

Privately, while Jon does ‘I remember’ statements with Gertrude, he starts to wonder if Elias might be suffering exactly the kind of memory disorder he claims Jon is afflicted by. The thought awakens a kind of angry pity in Jon. Pity that Elias might be afflicted by such confusion, anger that Elias’ social power allowed him to wrench Jon’s life so thoroughly out of his control.

Overall, though, the lies don’t bother Jon so much, now that he knows how to write. He figured out early on that he could tear pieces of paper from notepads in Elias’ office and make private notes for himself. He writes down what happens every day, the claims Elias has made about his and Jon’s past together. He hides his notes in one of the dustiest books in Elias’ library, where he can easily retrieve and re-read them every day. It’s easy to hold onto the truth, when he has this record to return to.

***

One day, when Jon is finally starting to get the hang of reading, Elias takes him to the city library.

“Is it bigger than your library?” Jon asks on the carriage ride there. Elias laughs at the question, which Jon thinks is rather annoying. How is he supposed to know?

“Yes, Jon,” he says. “It is quite a bit larger than my library.”

Jon isn’t quite prepared for the truth of that statement. The library is enormous, rows upon rows of bookshelves, multiple levels. Jon had no idea there were so many books, and he’s a bit stunned by the magnitude of it all.

“Excuse me,” Elias says to one of the employees, starting a conversation with her, voices too low for Jon to hear. Explaining to her, no doubt, that Jon is crazy and that she shouldn’t take anything he says seriously. Directing her to keep an eye on the door, in case Jon tries to escape.

Jon rolls his eyes and starts to wander deeper into the library, away from them. He’s looking forward to being on his own, for once. He’s looking forward to exploring.

“Jon, wait,” Elias says, placing a hand on his arm. “This is Sasha. She’s going to show you around today.”

Jon looks back and forth between Elias and Sasha, who is smiling pleasantly at him. For some reason, that only makes Jon more annoyed. “I’m not a child,” Jon snaps. “I don’t need an escort.”

“It’s just a precaution, Jon,” Elias says placatingly. “This is a new environment for you, and it could be very overwhelming.”

Jon growls and jerks away, stalking off into the shelves, choosing a direction at random. He hears Sasha’s hurried footsteps behind him as she catches up. Jon grits his teeth, keeps walking as she falls in step beside him.

“Sorry about this,” Sasha says, after a moment or two has passed.

Jon doesn’t answer.

“I know how annoying it is to have someone follow you around when you’d rather just be alone,” Sasha says. “Especially when you’re looking for books, yeesh. I’d have told your husband to piss off back there, but—He’s got the kind of connections that mean you listen to him.”

“He’s not my husband,” Jon mutters.

Sasha is silent for a moment. “Let’s not talk about that.”

Jon doesn’t say anything.

“As long as we’re stuck together, would you like to hear about the library? Or do you want to keep wandering at random, hoping that somehow you’ll outpace me with your short little legs?”

Jon rolls his eyes, but stops. “Fine. Tell me about the library.”

Sasha smiles cheerily. “Right! Well, at the moment we’re deep in nonfiction.” She glances at the spines of the books around them. “Oceanography, to be specific. That’s very exciting. This level holds all of our general nonfiction. Upstairs is fiction, and downstairs is our special collections department—that’s old newspapers, fancy rare collector’s editions, obscure and esoteric texts, et cetera. Is there anything in particular you like to read?” Sasha asks.

Jon finds himself at a loss with that question, but Sasha is unfazed. She leads him through section after section, helping him find books on mathematics and stargazing and nature. He finds a book about forests, with full-color paintings of forest scenes. Trees and rivers, sunlight gleaming through the leaves, shining in a dappled pattern on the water. Little trails and animal burrows. Berry bushes. Flowers. An acute longing blossoms in his chest. He wants to be home, so, so badly.

“Are you alright?” Sasha asks, noticing his expression.

Jon snaps the book shut, swallows back tears, composes himself. He clutches the book firmly to his chest. “I’m fine.”

***

“Wait,” Jon says, when they are upstairs, Sasha telling him all about her favorite novels. “Does the library have any books on magic?”

“Yes!” Sasha says, excited. “Are you interested in magic?”

Jon doesn’t have words, can only nod.

“Oh, in that case, you should really see our extensive collection of medieval spellbooks,” Sasha says. “Unfortunately, you need official permission to access the special collections, which is a form that needs a couple of days to be approved. But we have plenty of general nonfiction about magic, right over…” Sasha trails off, walking hurriedly away, presumably towards the magic books.

It occurs to Jon that he could run off in the other direction, finally ditch Sasha

Instead, he follows her down the stairs, winding through the shelves back the way they came, then heading in a different direction entirely. Finally, Sasha comes to a stop, gesturing to an entire shelf, dozens upon dozens of books.

“These are all about magic?” Jon says, looking at them with something approaching awe.

“Yep!” Sasha says. “What are you interested in? Histories? Folktales? Illusions?”

It doesn’t make any sense. If magic is this well-documented, why would Gertrude tell him it was impossible for him to be a fox? Why would Georgie and Melanie have acted like the idea was patently absurd, instantly marking him as delusional? “Do you have anything about… recent uses of magic around here?”

Sasha purses her lips. “You don’t know much about magic, do you?”

Jon shakes his head.

Sasha sighs. “Right. Everyone hears, ‘Oh, they brought back magic!’ and assumes it means all of the old folktales are happening again.” She shakes her head. “Are you in the mood for a lecture? Because this is a bit of a lecture.”

“Okay,” Jon says.

Sasha nods, then sits on the ground, gesturing for Jon to sit beside her. “So,” she says. “Hundreds of years ago, this land was full of wild magic, what people usually call the Old Magic. It was unpredictable and uncontrollable. Some people were blessed with the ability to manipulate it, others fell victim to curses that seemed to strike at random. In that time, the line between our world and the world of the Fae was permeable, and we often received visitors from their lands. But eventually, the Old Magic faded. It didn’t disappear, but we stopped being able to access it as easily as before. No more wizards, or witches, or Fae visitors.

“But thirty years ago, something changed. A group of scholars developed a way to manipulate the physical world. They created the New Magic, used it to build a bright, fancy city in the sky, and immediately locked their secrets away. They occasionally choose people to be taught to use the New Magic, but they rarely grace us mere mortals with their presence.” Sasha sounds resentful, but it’s a tired kind of resentment. Resigned, like this is an old disappointment for her.

“But… It could happen,” Jon says. “If, if someone who knew how to use the New Magic came here, they could use it to, to—transform an animal into a human?”

Sasha shrugs. “Probably not. The Order of Wizards keep their secrets close, but what reports we have suggest that their kind of magic is more of the, ‘Look, we technically broke the laws of thermodynamics!’ variety. Which, yes, is still very impressive, but it can hardly hold a candle to what the Fae could do.”

“It must be possible, though,” Jon says, his voice fast, panicked. He needs, needs Sasha to believe him. “Listen. I—I used to be a fox. And I know that sounds improbable, but it’s true. It’s true, and Elias turned me into a person, and the only way he could have done that is with magic, right?”

Sasha looks very uncomfortable, all of a sudden.

“Please,” Jon says. “Please, you have to believe me.”

Sasha lets out a deep breath, places her hands on his shoulders. She looks at him for a moment, thinking. “Okay,” she says, taking his hand between hers. She takes another breath. “You know you have an illness, right?”

Actually, Jon can’t deal with this. He can’t deal with the gentle pity in her tone, the way she doesn’t quite meet his eyes as she talks. He pushes himself up, stalks away, back towards the front desk, the library entrance.

“Jon,” Sasha says behind him, jogging after him. “Jon, I’m sorry.”

He knows she’s sorry, everyone is always so sorry. Sorry he’s ill, sorry he’s delusional. They pity him, but heaven forbid any of them actually believe him. Honestly, what did he expect?

He forces himself to stop, take a breath. He doesn’t want Sasha to get in trouble for upsetting him. “It’s alright,” he says. He keeps walking, and Sasha hesitantly follows beside him.

***

Elias meets Jon at the front, kisses his forehead, asks him if he enjoyed himself. Jon is numb to it, but tries to be appropriately enthusiastic when he talks about the library. He doesn’t want Elias to think he hates the place and never bring him back.

Then Elias goes through his selections, and Jon looks away, feeling oddly judged. Elias doesn’t comment on most of the books, just hands them to the man behind the counter for stamping. Then he reaches the folio, the bright book of forest paintings, the book Jon wants most desperately to spend hours paging through. Elias shakes his head. “No,” he says, placing the book off to the side, away from Jon.

“Why not?” Jon says, reaching for it.

Elias picks up the book before Jon can, and hands it to Sasha. “Would you mind putting this one back?” Elias asks.

Sasha looks at Elias, looks at Jon. “I, uh—sure,” she says, going away, taking the forest book with her.

Elias looks at Jon. “You know a book like that isn’t good for you. The last thing you need is encouragement for your delusions.”

Jon clenches his fists, feeling a bit like Elias is taking his home from him all over again. It isn’t fair that Elias can just take whatever he wants from Jon, and everyone will just follow what he says. It isn’t fair.

He can’t do anything about it, though. If he causes a scene, everyone will just shake their heads, look at him with that too-familiar, unwanted, unneeded pity. Either way, he’d still be with Elias.

Instead, he stares down at the floor, even as he follows Elias to the carriage, holding tight to his other books, ones that he wants to read less now that they’ve apparently got Elias’ stamp of approval. When they get home, he brings his books upstairs and sits on the floor in the corner of the guest bedroom, occupying himself with reading.

Elias comes up to try to talk to him, to touch him, to apologize. Jon steadfastly ignores him, burying his face into his book, staring at the words, hoping Elias will take the hint and go away. A battle of wills, of patience, but unlike Elias, Jon has nothing else to do, nowhere else to go.

To Jon’s satisfaction, Elias breaks first.

***

Elias Bouchard has close connections to the library board, which means there are policies about Jon in place long before he actually visits the library. He must be accompanied at all times. He is not allowed to leave the library, except in the company of his husband.

After he visits the library for the first time, a new rule is added to the list: Jon is not allowed to view materials dealing with magic, forests, or foxes.

It eats at Sasha. “You don’t think I made his condition worse?” she asks. “I was very clear that complex transformation magic simply doesn’t exist anymore, but I don’t think he believed me. And his face when he was looking at that forest book, I—I wish I’d have known, I could have—avoided such sensitive subjects!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Tim reassures her. “You didn’t know.”

Inwardly, he nurses his own guilt, returning often to the way Jon had looked at Bouchard when the forest book was taken from him. Such acute sadness, quickly fading to resignation.

There was nothing Tim could have done, but still he wishes he had intervened.

Jon returns to the library a week later, accompanied, of course, by Bouchard. Seeing them together makes Tim’s hackles rise. Bouchard looks at Jon with open affection. Jon doesn’t look at Bouchard, even when he steps closer and kisses Jon’s forehead. Jon goes all stiff and steps away as soon as Bouchard releases him. When Bouchard departs to his own corner of the library, Jon relaxes, just a bit.

Then Tim feels a crash of guilt all over again when Jon looks at him and says, “I’d like to apply for permission to see the spellbooks in the special collections.”

Tim sucks in a breath. “You’re not allowed. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean I’m not allowed?”

“There are restrictions on what materials you can view, and it includes anything that has to do with magic.”

Jon looks away, but even with his face partly obscured Tim can see Jon battling for control of his emotions. “What else?” Jon asks.

“Forests,” Tim says. “And foxes.”

“Of course. Can’t risk feeding my delusions,” Jon snaps.

Tim sighs. “Yeah. Basically.”

Jon is silent for a moment, then suddenly starts walking, not looking at Tim.

Tim follows, vaguely wondering if Jon knows where he’s going.

After a few turns, a few pauses here and there, Jon stops in the psychology section. He scans the titles carefully, then chooses one. He glances at Tim briefly before he sits down and starts reading.

Researching his alleged illness, Tim assumes. He wonders if Bouchard would have a problem with this, add ‘psychology’ to the list of banned subjects. Probably, if he found out. Tim doesn’t intend to tell him.

Tim settles down on the floor, watching Jon, wondering what the odds are of encountering a second magical incident in his lifetime. Unlikely, at the very least. Nigh-impossible, probably. It’s far more likely that Jon is exactly what Bouchard says he is: deeply ill and in need of help.

But likely doesn’t mean true, Tim knows all too well.

He’s biased, of course. When he looks at Jon, ge can’t help thinking of Danny. He’s seen magic happen, knows it’s incredible and terrifying and utterly devastating. He wants to help Jon.

He doesn’t know that Jon even needs help.

A couple of hours pass, Jon apparently losing himself entirely in his reading as Tim turns the problem over and over in his mind. If Bouchard is telling the truth, the worst consequence of Tim supporting Jon would be that Jon’s illness might get worse. A bad outcome, but nowhere near as bad as the alternative, that Jon is a victim of magic, shut down and ignored at every turn.

And it isn’t as if Tim is planning to do anything drastic. With Bouchard lurking around the library, there’s only so much Tim can do. He can’t risk his job, and he won’t risk Jon’s safety. All he can really do for Jon is neglect to enforce the rules as stringently as he probably should.

And he can help keep his research secret from Bouchard.

“Stay here,” Tim says, standing and stretching. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Jon looks at him, shock in his eyes. He opens his mouth, clearly intending to ask a question, but Tim doesn’t stay to hear it. He’ll only be gone a few minutes.

Bouchard will want to take Jon home soon, and Jon needs some books to take with him, to avoid any probing questions about what Jon has been doing for two hours. Tim selects a few of his favorites in varied genres: a romance novel, a book on whales and ocean ecology, and a poetry collection.

He returns to Jon ten minutes later and hands over the stack. “I think you’ll enjoy these,” he says. “Bouchard is probably looking for you about now.”

Jon’s eyes widen in understanding. “O-oh,” he says, taking the books. “I—Thank you.”

Tim walks beside Jon back to the front, chatting with him about the day-to-day runnings of the library. Bouchard is already there, and the tension returns to Jon when he sees him. It causes a wave of protectiveness to wash over Tim. He wants to grab Jon tight, keep him away from Bouchard at all costs. He can’t, though. He can’t protect Jon.

The amount he can do for Jon is painfully tiny.

***

When Reynard the Fox heard the wolf challenge him to fight, he felt afraid. “He is ever so much stronger than I am,” he thought. “I shall never be able to stand against him in open battle, and it does not seem to me as if my cunning will be of very much use.”

To refuse the challenge, however, would, of course, be to turn the king against him, so he had no choice but to accept it with the best grace he could muster.

Then the king bade the two choose their attendants. Reynard chose Grimbert the Badger and the young ape Betelas, son of Dame Rukenaw. Isegrim chose Bruin the Bear and Tybert the Cat. The battle was fixed for the next day, and both sides went away at once to get ready.

That same evening Dame Rukenaw came to Reynard and asked him how he felt. He looked at her dolefully, and shook his head. “The wolf is very strong,” said he.

“Come now,” said Dame Rukenaw. “Keep up your heart. You are a long way from dead yet. I have made up my mind that you shall win tomorrow, and I am going to help you.”

“What are you reading, there?” Tim asks, poking his head into Jon’s hiding place. Jon is sitting in one of the shelter-shaped reading chairs, having ditched Tim some time before.

It’s been weeks since Elias first brought him to the library, and he’s gotten quite good at losing Tim in the winding shelves. He doesn’t do it always. He likes Tim, likes the quiet company he provides when Jon is researching memory disorders, trying to build up a case that Elias is the crazy one. Sometimes, though, he wants to be alone, the closest thing to freedom he can get.

He can never hide for very long, though.

With a sigh, Jon hands over his book. It’s the story of a fox who escapes from all sorts of trouble with just his wits and cleverness, with nice little woodcut illustrations scattered throughout the book that Jon stares at longingly. It’s not a book Jon is allowed to read.

Tim flips through the book with a skeptical expression on his face. “You ever think your husband is a little uptight with his rules?”

“He’s not my husband,” Jon mutters.

“Bouchard, then,” Tim says. “I’m just saying, I don’t think you’re going to be especially harmed by reading folktales.”

“Mmm,” Jon leans back in the little chair, looking up at the green-colored canopy above him. He’s thinking about the story, about Reynard the Fox and wits-as-a-weapon. “Do you think foxes are clever?”

Tim blinks. “I… I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Jon says. It’s only a story. “It was a silly question.”

Tim lets out a breath. “As a literary device, foxes are usually depicted as tricksters or liars. Whether they’re particularly clever is up to the narrative itself, but they usually at least think of themselves as such.”

Jon had used to think of himself as clever. Now it’s become very obvious that that idea was nothing more than a naive dream. He isn’t clever. He isn’t a liar.

He’s not even a fox anymore.

He feels tears pricking in his eyes, homesickness, frustration, hopelessness. If he were smarter, he could find a way out of this. He could convince someone to listen to him, at the very least.

“Jon,” Tim says. Jon looks up, trying to keep his face emotionless. Tim passes him the book. “Go ahead and read,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye out for Bouchard, okay?”

Jon takes the book, clutches it to his chest. It feels warm in his arms, its weight settling him, just a little. He still feels like crying, but he can’t read with tears in his eyes. So he just nods, cracks the book open once more, flipping through to find his place, quickly losing himself once again in the story.

A wise man wrote down these tales of a fox nearly a thousand years ago. He wanted to tell how a cunning guy may become a nobleman and rule over dullards. Who is most ruthless may rise to power—and honour follows power as night follows day.

***

Gertrude has an assistant named Gerry, and the first time Jon sees him, his first thought is, Wait, I know him.

Which is, actually, patently ridiculous. Jon has only met a handful of people, and none of them look remotely like this. Gerry is tall, almost lanky, with dyed-black hair that is growing out blonde. His ears are pierced, along with his lip and nose and eyebrow. Beneath the cuffs of his shirt, Jon can see the colorful edges of a tattoo.

He is, in a word, distinctive.

Jon, his head resting on Elias’ shoulder, can’t help staring at him, trying to understand what he finds so familiar about him. Luckily, the assistant doesn’t notice. His back is turned away from them, and he is apparently totally absorbed in the task of replacing the magazines on Gertrude’s sad bookshelf. There are headphones over his ears, and Jon can faintly hear tinny music blasting from them.

Jon wants to talk to him.

Which is, again, patently ridiculous. He doesn’t like meeting new people. What would he even say, anyway? ‘Hello, I know I’m here because you’re all convinced I suffer from delusions, but I can’t shake the feeling that I recognize you from somewhere’? No.

Still, the thought… excites Jon, somehow. Staring at Gertrude’s assistant, he doesn’t feel quite as alone as he usually does. He feels… connected. Like this is a person that would care about Jon, if they ever actually talked.

Then the man turns around, sees Jon staring at him, and he goes completely tense. do not talk to me I do not want to talk to you.

Jon feels rather like he’s been kicked in the chest. He drops his eyes, trying to focus instead on the texture of Elias’ jacket against his cheek, but it does little to distract him from the look of absolute disgust he’d seen on Gerry’s face.

Gertrude opens her door, calls Jon inside.

Jon doesn’t look up as he goes in, and his heart feels heavy all the rest of the day.

***

After that, everything starts to fall apart.

Not that it was holding together all that well to begin with, to be unraveled so easily with nothing more than bad luck.

Jon has grown used to the routine between him and Elias, the ebb and flow of movement between them, morning, afternoon, evening. Jon takes to writing his notes in the early evening, during which time Elias is usually occupied with his own correspondences. Around 7:00pm, Elias will retrieve Jon from the library for dinner.

Jon makes sure to get his notes hidden away well before then.

It comes unraveling as easily as Elias breaking his schedule, coming into the library at 6:00 instead of 7:00. There’s no real reason for it. He isn’t suspicious of anything Jon has done. Jon has nothing to do with it at all, actually. Elias has simply found himself in need of a particular book, and he finds Jon laying on the floor, frozen, his many meticulous notes scattered around him.

“What are you doing?” Elias asks, coming closer.

Jon tries to act nonchalant as he gathers up his notes, as quickly as he can. “Nothing important,” he says. “Just… practicing.”

“Practicing what?” Elias says, picking up a stray note that Jon isn’t quick enough to grab. He glances at it, and his eyebrows furrow, features falling into a flat expression. “Jon, what is this?”

“It’s—” Jon clutches his notes tight to his chest, panic fluttering in his heart. “They’re—the truth.”

“Give them to me,” Elias says, holding out his hand.

“No,” Jon says, shying away, holding them tighter. The notes are the only thing he has, he won’t let Elias take them away.

“Jon.” Elias’ voice has a hard edge to it, a warning.

Jon gets to his feet, looking for a way out, but there is no exit. He tries to make a run for it, but Elias grabs him, trying to force the notes out of his hands. Jon holds on tightly to the stack, kicking out, trying to land a blow, to make Elias drop him. A few pages rip. Most of the notes fall to the floor.

Elias sets Jon back on his feet, and Jon goes to his knees, scrambling to gather up the scattered papers. Elias kicks the stack away from him. “Don’t!” he says. “Jon, don’t you see that you’re only making your condition worse?”

“I’m not the delusional one!” Jon says. He scrambles through his notes, looking for evidence, examples. “Look—” he says, holding up two scraps. “You change your story about us virtually every single day. You constantly forget conversations we had, or think we’ve had conversations that we haven’t. Everything that you said was afflicting me, I observed in you during these past months.”

Elias blinks, looking down at the pieces of paper. “Jon, this is insane,” he says, shuffling through them. “I thought you were getting better.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Jon says. “Look, I wrote these all down, day by day as they happened. My memories of these events haven’t changed! You’re the ones whose memories constantly change! I—I really think you have a problem.”

Elias laughs, an utterly humorless noise. “Okay,” he says, gathering up the notes from the floor. “You need to see Gertrude. Right now.”

“What?” Jon says, reaching for his notes. Elias keeps them firmly away from him. “No, I don’t! This is evidence that—”

“This isn’t evidence of anything!” Elias says. “All this proves is that, instead of letting your delusions slip past you like Gertrude’s been teaching you, you’ve been… obsessing over them.”

“I’ve been keeping track of the truth!” Jon insists. There are tear tracks on his face now, and when Elias looks at him, there is pain in his eyes.

“Jon…” Elias says. He lets out a long sigh, leaning his head back. Finally, he shakes his head, looking absolutely exhausted. “Stay here. I’ll call Gertrude and have her come to us.”

“No—” Jon starts, but Elias is already leaving, taking Jon’s notes with him. He closes the door firmly behind him, and Jon hears the lock slide into place.

Jon wants to bang on the door. He wants to scream in frustration. He wants to lay on the floor and cry until he feels blessedly empty.

He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he pulls a blank sheet of paper from his pocket. June 23, he writes. Elias discovered my notes. He claims they are simply evidence of my delusions, but I know better. Those notes were proof that my memory has never failed me.

Jon scribbles the note quickly and tucks it back inside his book, afraid of being caught with it. Then there’s nothing to do but pace, waiting anxiously for Elias and Gertrude.

***

It takes half an hour for Elias to come back. Gertrude is with him, flicking through the stack of Jon’s notes. She looks at Jon with a tired expression. “Sit down, Jon,” she says, her voice tolerating no disobedience.

Jon sits, and Gertrude has a seat across from him. “Elias, I’d like to talk to Jon alone, if it’s alright.”

Elias nods and leaves with a final pained look at Jon.

“Gertrude,” Jon says when he is gone. “I think Elias is the one suffering delusions. I’ve been doing some reading, and I think he has some kind of memory disorder, or maybe schizophrenia.”

Gertrude gives him a look, and there is anger in her eyes now, something Jon has never seen from her. “Oh, do you?” she says. “Based on what, Jon? On these?”

“Yes!” Jon says. “I’ve—I’ve kept meticulous notes, of everything that has happened in the past three months, and Elias—”

Gertrude cuts him off, reading aloud from one of the scraps of paper. “May 11, Elias claims I was sick yesterday, which is why I didn’t leave our bedroom. Compare with note from May 10, I was not sick or otherwise bed-ridden. I didn’t leave the room because Elias locked me inside.”

Gertrude looks at Jon, grabs another note at random. “June 6, Today I asked Elias if we would have any more reading lessons. He claims I’ve always known how to read. I think the state of my handwriting is evidence enough that isn’t the case. I’m clearly very new to this ‘having fingers’ business.”

She grabs another. “April 29, Elias has never been able to decide what my family looks like. When we first moved here, he claimed I had no relatives to look after me. Today, he told me my parents live a few towns over, but find it too painful to speak to me since I’ve forgotten them. Technically this isn’t a contradiction to Elias’ earlier claim, but it does contradict reality. My parents are dead, both during my first summer. My father was killed in a steel hunter’s trap, my mother from an illness that wracked her body until she was too weak to move.”

“Yes, these seem very rational and logical indeed,” Gertrude says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“They—Stop it,” Jon says, frustrated, slightly embarrassed. He reaches for the pile of notes, but Gertrude snatches them away from him.

“I think not,” she says. “These have done enough damage to you.” She tears them up, ripping through the stack once, twice, three times. Then she dumps the small pieces into her tea mug. “No, no—” Jon says, reaching out, as if he could save them. His head feels numb, empty. The core of his reality, gone just like that.

He leans back heavily in his chair.

“That’s better,” Gertrude says.

Jon doesn’t say anything, still staring blankly ahead.

Gertrude gets up, calls in Elias. “I want to make sure you hear this,” she says. “Clearly, keeping an unmonitored diary has only worked to feed Jon’s delusions. Therefore, I think it prudent that such a thing be forbidden, at least for now. Jon, you can still keep a journal if you’d like, but anything you write must be overseen by Elias.”

“This isn’t fair,” Jon says, curling his arms around himself. He’d worked so hard, kept such meticulous notes, and he still isn’t being listened to.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Gertrude says, her voice infinitely patient. “But I can’t allow you to sabotage your own recovery.”

***

Elias enforces the writing ban far more stringently than Jon expects. He gathers up all the pens in the house, along with all the blank sheets of paper, and locks them in a drawer in his office, far out of Jon’s reach.

Jon takes a few days, trying to think of a solution. Then, although it pains him, he asks Elias if he can write.

Elias watches him the entire time. No chance to surreptitiously pocket a pen or rip out a few pages. Instead, Jon sits at the kitchen counter, nose close to the paper, and writes, slowly and carefully, thinking over every word.

He finishes just as Elias is about to start dinner. Elias reads over it and tilts his head. “Poetry?”

Jon nods. “I’ve been reading a bit of poetry—from the library.”

“It’s rather abstract,” Elias says. “What is it about?”

It’s the amalgamation of about six different codes, below which Jon has talked about the reality of his day, the lies he remembers being told. “Me,” Jon says, the first thing he can think of. “My—delusions.”

“Hmm,” Elias sets the journal down, looks at Jon. “I’m not actually an idiot, you know.”

“What?” Jon says, eyes wide.

Elias holds up the journal entry. “I can tell you’ve hidden something here. It’s rather obvious.”

Jon stares at the page, considers for the first time that perhaps it would have been better to make his entry look as unassuming as possible. “No, I didn’t!”

“Jon,” Elias says, a patronizing smile on his lips. And then he goes to strike him.

Jon is ready for it, leaping to his feet as Elias moves, avoiding the blow. Not for long, though. Elias grabs him, pushes him up against the counter, crushing him against it. He presses one hand down on the back of Jon’s neck, pushing his chest flat against the surface.

Elias pulls a knife from the holder, and Jon goes utterly still. He can’t take his eyes off the thing. It’s just an ordinary kitchen knife, not particularly large. The blade is sharp, though.

“Elias—” he says, his voice coming out in a strangled plea.

“I could kill you right now,” Elias says. His voice is calm, laced with humor. He’s enjoying himself, and Jon knows with a sudden clarity that Elias isn’t simply threatening him, that Elias would get enjoyment from killing him.

He lets out a shuddering breath. “Elias, please—”

“Hush, Jon,” Elias says, leaning in close beside him. He presses a kiss to Jon’s ear, and Jon flinches at the horrible crinkling saliva noise.

He runs the blunt back of the knife up Jon’s side, rucking up his shirt and letting Jon feel the cold steel against his bare skin. His free hand finds Jon’s, lacing their fingers together, pulling Jon’s arm out and away from him.

Jon is trembling now, his ears ringing with panic as Elias brings the knife to Jon’s neck, tracing just beneath his jawline. “Such a lovely thing,” Elias says.

He pulls the knife away, and Jon, panicked, tries once more to escape, attempting to slip out of Elias’s grip. It does him no good. Elias hardly seems bothered as Jon wriggles, keeping his grip firmly on Jon’s wrist, his hips keeping Jon pinned fast against the counter.

When Jon exhausts himself, Elias lets out a sigh of satisfaction. He leans over Jon, pushing his chest flush to the counter, and presses his lips to the tender flesh at Jon’s wrist. He does it again, and again, working his way up Jon’s arm, getting deeper and deeper with his kisses until he leaves a dark mark at the tender skin just below Jon’s elbow.

“Please, please,” Jon is saying, hardly registering the words as they pour quietly from his mouth. “Stop.”

“Oh, Jon,” Elias says. “You know I can’t do that.”

Then he brings the sharp edge of the knife to Jon’s arm, the mark he just sucked into it, slicing deep into the flesh.

“Hahh…” Jon exhales, feeling faint. He hardly registers the pain, but he sees the blood. Bright red, pooling in the crease of his elbow, flowing over his arm, staining the countertop.

Elias cuts him again, and this time Jon tries to avoid it, tries to jerk away. Elias makes a forbidding noise and presses the knife deeper. This time, Jon cries out. Tears spring to his eyes, which fall as Elias softly kisses his cheek.

Elias cuts him once more, and the pain is sharp and deep. Jon sobs with it, going limp against the countertop.

“Hm,” Elias puts down the knife, runs a hand through Jon’s hair. Then he steps back, freeing him.

Jon immediately slumps to the floor, scrambling to put distance between himself and Elias. But—no—he focuses his attention on his wounds, pressing his arm against his shirt, trying to stop the bleeding. He feels light-headed. Is he losing enough blood to actually kill him?

He’s breathing fast, much too fast, and tries to force himself to slow down, but—but—

God, there’s so much blood.

Elias is leaning over him again, too close, and Jon can do nothing but cringe away, his back pressed against a row of cabinets. He cradles his injured arm close to himself, protecting it, and makes a high whine in the back of his throat. A plea for mercy.

“Jon, I need to see!” Elias is saying, and Jon tries to kick at him, to keep him away, but Elias is so much stronger than him. Jon sobs in terror and pain as Elias closes his hand around Jon’s wrist and pulls his arm away from his chest, studying the damage. His eyes flick over Jon, the blood that has quite soaked his shirt.

“Leave me alone,” Jon says, tugging at his arm. Elias releases him, and he curls up again, tucking his head down, as if that will offer him any protection at all.

“Jon, we need to go to the hospital,” Elias says. “These cuts are deep. You’ll probably need stitches.”

Jon just shakes his head. He doesn’t want to move from this spot, doesn’t want to go anywhere with Elias. The thought of dying terrifies him, but he almost wishes he would die, just to put an end to this nightmare.

Elias comes back into his space. “Stop touching me!” Jon screams as Elias once again takes his arm in his hands. Jon tries to tug his arm away, but Elias’ grip is firm. A sob bubbles up in Jon’s throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Elias has a warm washcloth, and he uses it to wipe the blood from Jon’s arms. The wounds are still bleeding, but they look much cleaner as Elias wraps Jon’s arm in gauze. His movements are gentle, caring, wrong.

Jon tries to push Elias away as Elias picks him up. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Elias keeps saying, as if he didn’t just slice into Jon, set his blood flowing out of him. The carriage ride to the hospital is long and bumpy, and Elias holds tight to him the entire time. Jon can’t stop sobbing, wanting to be far away, wanting to curl up and be alone.

He’s exhausted by the time they reach urgent care, hardly able to fight Elias at all as he carries him inside. Jon is admitted, and forced to listen as Elias starts to explain to the doctors: “I found him on the floor bleeding, blood all over the counter and a knife—”

“No!” Jon says, his voice very loud in the small room. “That isn’t what happened!” His voice is shaky through his crying, and it’s hard to get the words out. “He cut me!”

“I’m sorry,” Elias says, looking pained. “My husband suffers severe delusions.”

“I’m not delusional!” Jon says. The doctors hardly even glance at him. “I’m not!”

Jon starts to get up, and Elias immediately moves to push him back down. “Jon, you need to stay in bed, okay? You—”

“Don’t touch me!” Jon yells.

“Jon, calm down,” Elias says, holding up his hands placatingly.

“No!” Jon says. He looks at the doctors. “Listen to me! I am not delusional! He—” Jon takes several breaths, all too fast. “He tells everyone I’m delusional, and no one listens to me, but—He cut me!”

The doctors whisper among themselves for a few seconds. One of them walks over to Elias and says something to him, too quiet for Jon to hear. Elias nods.

“What are you telling him?” Jon says. He moves to stand up again, but Elias holds him down.

“Let—go!” Jon says, kicking and struggling. It does no good, exhausted as he is, weak as he is. He feels a sudden, yawning sense of hopelessness overcome him.

Then he feels a brief, sharp pain in his arm, and his eyes feel very heavy. “No, no,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, and then he’s gone.

***

Jon wakes up in a sterile hospital room. His clothes are gone, replaced by a thin hospital gown. His arm is bandaged, slightly sore.

The room is dark. Elias is seated beside the bed, fast asleep. His neck is twisted at an angle that will probably give him pain in the morning, and Jon feels a twist of satisfaction at that. It doesn’t last long, replaced by fear.

Quietly, Jon levers himself out of bed. He stumbles a bit as he stands, slightly woozy, but Elias doesn’t wake at the noise.

There’s a bag on the floor beside Elias, and Jon painstakingly reaches for it, pulling it across the floor towards him. To his relief, there are replacement clothes inside, thankfully un-bloodstained. Jon pulls out a shirt and a pair of trousers and quickly pulls them on, biting his lip in fear that any small noise will wake Elias.

When he’s dressed, he walks to the door, eases it open and closes it softly behind him.

The light in the hallway is dim, and the hallway itself is quiet. Jon expects to be stopped—by one of the nurses, by someone at the front desk—but he is mostly ignored as he walks through the hospital and out into the chill night air.

He isn’t wearing shoes, he realizes too late, and the hard asphalt hurts his feet. Oh well. Nothing for it now. He isn’t sure where he is, so he just picks a direction and starts walking, aiming for nothing but to get himself far away from here.

He’s been walking for ten minutes, or maybe an hour, when he hears a carriage approach, clattering up the road behind him. Without really thinking about it, he hides, ducking off the side of the road. The carriage passes, and Jon stays in his hiding place for a moment, heart pounding.

He’s learned by now that he can’t trust people to help with his escape.

He starts to get back on the road, but then turns, looking around him. He’s in a forest, albeit a small one. He can’t see well in the low light, but it feels familiar, inviting. He swallows, takes a step further into the forest. He doesn’t fit as well as he once had, when he was fox-formed, but that’s okay. His feet find a path, and he follows it to a large, hollowed-out den at the base of a tree.

Jon’s nose isn’t strong enough to tell what kind of den it is, or if it’s still inhabited. It’s mid-summer, though, which means it’s likely been abandoned. Jon is exhausted, in need of a place to rest, to hide.

He crawls inside. It’s a tight fit, and dark, and it reminds him of nothing so much as being squashed between his mother and siblings when he was very young. The den was warmer, then. Warm with the scent of his mother, of family. Dens like this weren’t built to be slept in all alone, but—there’s no one.

Jon wraps his arms around himself, curling into his own warmth, and sleeps.

***

He wakes to a bright light in his face.

“I found him,” a voice says, and a wave of fear ripples through Jon. They’ve found him.

Only one person could have sent them. Why had he slept? Why hadn’t he just—run, as fast and as far as he could?

“What’s he doing in there?” A second voice says. Jon can’t make out either of their shapes behind the light nearly blinding him. He startles as one of them starts to grab at him, panics, and bites.

“Fuck!” The first speaker says, dropping the light. Jon’s vision goes deep red, his eyes unadjusted to the darkness.

“What happened?” the second speaker says

“Little freak bit me!”

Jon curls up tighter into himself, trying somehow to hide within the hard-packed dirt walls of the den. There’s nowhere to flee to, nothing but to hope that the anger he hears in the first woman’s voice will cool quickly.

“Right,” the second speaker says, shining her flashlight into the den. “Come out!” she commands.

Jon doesn’t want to come out. He wants to stay here, curled up in this little hole in the ground forever. He wants to turn into a stone, to sink into the dirt and just be left alone. He wants to be a fox again, beneath the notice of creatures such as these.

“Come out!” the second speaker repeats. Her voice is so loud.

“You don’t want to know what happens if we have to ask again,” the first speaker growls.

Jon is so tired of being cornered prey.

He crawls out slowly and stands, hugging himself. Both of the speakers are bigger than him, could chase him down easily. His arm aches beneath the mud-stained bandages.

The first speaker approaches slowly. “Hands behind your back,” she says, stepping behind him, causing him to freeze with fear. When he takes a moment too long to comply, she grabs him with roughstrong hands, forcing his arms behind his back. She clicks handcuffs over his wrists, and pushes him ahead of her, back up the path he’d followed to get here. The second speaker follows behind, and the sound of their footsteps, following, chasing, makes his heart pound.

In the light of their flashlights, Jon sees the clear outline of his own footprints, a perfect trail straight to him. Stupid.

He’s too tired to feel fully annoyed with himself, too afraid of what awaits him when he’s back with Elias.

They make it back to the road, to their car, and the two women shove Jon into the backseat. He stares numbly out the window, listens to them on the drive. Listening to their conversation, he learns that they are police officers, that their names are Daisy and Basira, that Elias reported him missing an hour and a half ago.

He wonders if they’re taking him back to the hospital or back to Elias’ house.

He wonders if Elias will be angry, if Elias will cut him again. It seems almost funny to think about, an endless loop of Elias cutting slashes into Jon and taking him to be stitched up at the hospital. “Sorry to bother, but my crazy husband has done it again!”

It’s funny, but it makes Jon’s chest feel tight, and he barely manages to swallow the high whine that forms in his throat at the idea.

He hopes Elias isn’t angry.

Basira and Daisy end up driving him back to the police station. Jon feels a brief moment of hope, like maybe someone within the police station might listen to him. Jon quickly drowns the thought. No one is going to help him.

Elias is already at the police station by the time they arrive, coming outside as Basira pulls into a parking space. Daisy pulls Jon roughly from the backseat.

“Jon!” Elias says, rushing over. Jon stays close to Daisy, trying to hide behind her as much as he can. He doubts she’ll be any help, but the illusion of an ally helps settle some of his anxiety.

To Jon’s relief, Basira steps in front of Elias before he can reach Jon. “Not so fast,” she says.

“What is the meaning of this?” Elias says, staring her down. “Why is he handcuffed?” He looks at Jon, and Jon drops his eyes, staring pointedly at the ground. “Jon, are you alright?”

Jon doesn’t answer. Basira keeps talking. “We’ll need to ask you a few questions before we hand over custody.”

Elias waves her off. “I already cleared it with your superiors.”

“I’m afraid whoever you talked to in there didn’t have that authority. There are procedures—”

Elias smiles thinly, starting to look angry now. Jon drifts even closer to Daisy. “Officer Hussain,” he says. “I’m sure you understand this has been a very long night for me. Quite frankly, I do not care about your procedures. My only concern is the well-being of my husband, who you have elected, for reasons I cannot fathom, to treat like a criminal.”

“He assaulted my partner,” Basira explains. “We made a judgement call for both of our safety.”

“I’m sure you were absolutely terrified,” Elias says. “And if you release him to me immediately, I might reconsider filing a complaint against you.”

Daisy shifts beside Jon. “Just do what he says, Basira. It’s not worth it.”

Basira hesitates a moment longer. “Fine,” she says, turning to Jon, undoing his cuffs. “Take him,” she says, walking back towards the police station.

Jon briefly considers begging for their help. Begging for them to keep Elias away from him. But what would it accomplish? Elias would simply apologize, tell them that Jon was very sick and confused. Jon would humiliate himself, and get the same end result.

“Jon,” Elias says, reaching for him. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

Jon steps away, pushing away Elias’ hands. He knows, now, that Elias can overpower him easily, but Elias doesn’t force it. He just steps back, staring at Jon for a long moment with a hurt expression. Jon doesn’t meet his eyes.

After a moment, Elias says, “Let’s go home,” and leads the way to his carriage.

***

The ride to Elias’ house isn’t long, but it feels like forever. Elias starts talking, and refuses to stop, no matter how much Jon tries to project that he isn’t interested.

“The afternoon was stressful enough, having to get you to the emergency room while you were panicking worse than I’ve ever seen. And then you had to be anesthetized, and the doctors didn’t want to send you home until after you woke up, and it was so late already, but I couldn’t just leave you there, and then you were gone, and—

“Why would you run off like that? I’ve told you before, the streets are dangerous, especially at night! You could have been seriously hurt, or—or kidnapped, or—I don’t even want to think what could have happened.”

Which is when Jon’s anger at the whole situation bubbles up to the surface. “I ran away because you are dangerous.”

Elias sighs. “I would never hurt you, Jon.”

“Yes, you would!” Jon says. “I know you think you love me and everything, but if you really cared, you would listen to me. You wouldn’t just assume that you know best.”

“Jon, you are very ill. Today more than anything proves that, don’t you think?”

“No! I don’t!” Jon says. “You held me down and cut me! And you’ll probably do it again, but here I am, still trapped with you because no one will listen to me!”

“Jon,” Elias sounds tired and desperately sad. “That isn’t what happened.”

It is, though. With every single fiber of his being, Jon knows that it is the truth.

He lapses into silence again, staring stonily out the window. He doesn’t speak to Elias the rest of the night, ignores him at dinner, sleeps on the couch downstairs because Elias has locked all the exterior doors.

Elias brings him a blanket from upstairs, the thick comforter with the cool texture that Jon likes. An olive branch. He wants Jon to talk to him, if only to thank him for the blanket.

Jon takes the blanket silently, turns away from Elias as he curls up in it.

“I love you, Jon,” Elias says finally, before clicking off the light and heading back upstairs.

***

Elias takes Jon to see Gertrude the next day, and Jon still isn’t speaking to him. He stares at the window on the drive over, summarily ignoring Elias’ presence.

When they reach Gertrude’s office, Jon gets out as soon as the car is stopped, walking inside, finding a seat in the waiting room. Gerry is there, slumped in one of the other chairs, reading a magazine. I’m angry. He doesn’t look up when Jon comes in.

Elias comes in a moment later, sitting down beside Jon with an annoyed sigh. Jon doesn’t look at him, just gets up and moves to the other side of the room, sitting down beside Gerry.

Elias sighs again, then stands. “I guess I’ll just leave, then,” he says, annoyance clear in his voice.

Elias hesitates another moment, waiting for Jon’s reaction. Jon doesn’t say anything, just basks in having struck a nerve. “Gerard,” Elias says finally, exhaustion evident in his voice. “Keep an eye out?”

Gerry looks at Elias, then at Jon. I’m angry I hate him I want to bite him. He looks back at Elias, smiling thinly. “Right, of course.”

Elias leaves, and Jon pulls his legs up onto his seat, resting his chin on his knees, watching Gerry. “Why don’t you like Elias?” Jon asks.

Gerry glances at him. I’m annoyed don’t talk to me I don’t want to talk to you. “Maybe I just don’t appreciate being treated like a babysitter.”

It annoys Jon, that this rejection hurts so much. “Sorry if I’m inconveniencing you,” he spits, crossing his arms, looking anywhere else.

The heavy silence lasts a few seconds, during which Jon tries not to think about how absolutely unlikeable he is. He doesn’t care about Gerry’s opinion of him. He has bigger worries, like how to protect himself from Elias.

God, how is he going to protect himself from Elias?

He hears a sigh. “I’m sorry,” Gerry says. Jon looks at him. I feel guilty I don’t want you to be sad. “That was rude of me.” I want you to be okay.

“Oh,” Jon says. He can’t help the slight smile that comes to his face, the way his heart sort of… settles, looking at Gerry. “Th-thank you.”

The two of them sit in awkward silence for a moment. I feel guilty I don’t want you to be hurt. Then Gerry says, “I heard you got arrested,” a small teasing smile on his face. I don’t want you to be sad.

“Yeah.” Jon winces. “It wasn’t… exactly pleasant.”

“That’s the cops,” Gerry says. I want you to be safe I don’t want you to be hurt. “Are you alright?”

Jon nods.

Gerry hesitates a moment. “Are you really alright?” I feel guilty you aren’t alright please I don’t want you to be sad.

“I…” Jon hesitates, wrapping his arms around himself, picking at the bandages wrapped around his elbow. “I don’t really know how I can be.”

Gerry bites his lip. “I’m sorry,” he says. I feel guilty.

“You didn’t do anything,” Jon says.

“Well,” Gerry says. “I’m sorry it happened.” I don’t want you to be hurt.

“Thanks,” Jon says. “No one else…” Jon stops, looking at Gerry.

Gerry is sitting sideways in his chair, head propped up on his arm, listening. I like you I feel guilty.

Jon swallows. “Everyone else acts like it’s my fault, like I asked for any of this to happen, and… I know the popular story is that I just imagine things and hurt myself and freak out. I know you probably think that too, but… I appreciate the concern.”

I feel guilty I feel guilty.

“Sorry,” Jon says. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s not your fault.”

I feel guilty. “It’s fine,” Gerry says. “I know you don’t have many people to talk to.”

“No,” Jon agrees. He laughs, a little. “I suppose crazy people rarely have broad social networks.” Elias does, Jon thinks, then dismisses the thought.

Gerry looks away. “I suppose not.” You aren’t crazy.

Jon blinks, focusing on Gerry. “Do you… do you believe me?”

Gerry looks utterly taken off-guard for a moment. I’m afraid I’m confused I feel guilty you aren’t ill. “I mean,” he says, returning to his default self-assuredness. “I’m not your psychologist. It’s not my place to make those kinds of judgements.”

“But—”

Gertrude’s door opens. “Jon,” she calls.

Jon looks back at Gerry, but he’s already walking away. Don’t talk to me I don’t want to talk to you I’m angry I’m sad I feel guilty.

Jon sighs, goes in for his meeting with Gertrude, but he can hardly focus, his attention utterly occupied replaying that conversation with Gerry.

***

“Gerry doesn’t think I’m delusional,” Jon says when they sit down for breakfast the next morning. Jon sits as far away from Elias as he can get, wary. It hurts Elias’ feelings, but what else can Jon do? Elias is dangerous.

He’d thought for a long time about having this conversation with Elias. There’s every chance Gerry might get in trouble for disagreeing with Gertrude’s opinion, but—Gertrude and Elias are far more likely to listen to Gerry than to Jon. They aren’t convinced that Gerry is delusional, after all. If it frees Jon from this prison, and gets Elias the help he needs, then it’s well worth it.

“Who’s Gerry?” Elias asks.

Jon blinks at him. “He’s—Gertrude’s assistant.”

Elias gives him a pitying look, and Jon braces himself. He knows what’s coming. “Gertrude doesn’t have an assistant.”

“Yes, she does,” Jon says. “You spoke to him just yesterday. He’s at the office all the time.”

Elias sighs, picking at his eggs. “And he told you that you’re right, and Gertrude and I are just lying to you? That’s rather convenient.”

“No!” Jon says. “He just, he said—” What had he said? “He said that he doesn’t think I’m delusional. And I think you and Gertrude should ask him what he thinks, because I really think that you—”

“Jon,” Elias interrupts. “Can we please not do this today?”

Jon wants to growl, to kick something. “Fine,” he says, lapsing into sullen silence. Fine. He’ll bring it up with Gertrude tomorrow.

***

“Elias tells me that you started talking about Gerry again,” Gertrude says, notepad poised and prepped in front of her.

“Again?” Jon says. “I’ve never… The first time I even spoke to Gerry was two days ago.”

“Mmhmm,” Gertrude says, writing on her pad. “And remind me who Gerry is?”

Jon stares at her. “He’s your assistant!” Jon says.

“Right,” Gertrude sighs. “Jon, I don’t have an assistant.”

Jon blinks at her. “No. That—No. I’ve been seeing him around here for—for months! I spoke to him two days ago, and he said—”

“He said that you aren’t ill?” Gertrude says, a leading tone in her voice.

“He—” Jon pauses, thinking back over their conversation. Had Gerry said that? “Yes,” Jon says. “Yes, he did.”

“Of course he did,” Gertrude says. “He said the same the last time you brought him up.”

“What are you talking about?” Jon says. “The first time I spoke to him was—”

“Jon, two months ago, you told me that you’d spoken to my assistant,” Gertrude says. “We had this exact conversation. I can show you my notes, if you like.”

Jon blinks. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I want to see your notes.”

Gertrude flips through her notepad, eventually handing over a single sheet of paper. It’s dated May 13, and says: A new character has appeared in Jon’s delusions. Jon calls him Gerry, and he is evidently my assistant. Of course, he believes that everything Jon says is true. Jon seemed distressed when I informed him I do not have any assistants, and promptly dropped the subject.

The development of this character in Jon’s psyche is unsurprising, and perhaps is even a sign that Jon is making real progress for recovery. I will keep a close eye on this development.

Jon reads the words once, twice. He thinks of the odd quality of his conversation with Gerry, the strange recognition he’d felt when he saw him for the first time. Jon doesn’t remember ever speaking to Gerry before yesterday.

But here it is, black and white in Gertrude’s notes.

Jon’s hands shake as he hands the paper back to Gertrude. “Gerry isn’t your assistant?” he asks.

“No,” Gertrude says. “As far as I can tell, he’s an invention of your imagination.”

Jon swallows, hard. He feels numb. He feels like screaming. Finally, he has his hands on some real, solid evidence and all it proves is that Elias was right the entire time.

Oh god. Elias.

“Gertrude,” Jon says, his eyes wide and terrified. “Is Elias my husband?”

“Yes, Jon, as we’ve been telling you,” Gertrude says, preoccupied with rearranging her notes.

“No, I mean really. He is, and I just—I don’t remember it? And everything you’ve been telling me, that you’ve both been—telling me. It’s all true?”

Gertrude looks at him. “Yes.”

Jon presses a hand to his mouth, heart pounding. “Oh God.”

“Jon, this is wonderful,” Gertrude says. “For you to recognize your delusions for what they are is a massive step forward.”

Jon’s ears are ringing. He stands up. “I need to talk to Elias.” He doesn’t wait for Gertrude’s response, just goes back out into the waiting room, where Elias is sitting calmly, as usual.

Here, in Elias’ presence, Jon finds himself frozen. He can’t help thinking of Elias hitting him, cutting him, the gleeful cruelty in his eyes as he held Jon down and hurt him.

But Gerry isn’t real, and the fear isn’t either.

Jon is all at once struck by the overwhelming weight of Elias’ love for him. It feels undeserved, after all of the awful things Jon has said about him, after all of the worry and stress he’s put Elias through.

“Jon?” Elias says, standing.

Jon’s breath catches in his throat. Elias shouldn’t be looking at him with such softness in his eyes.

“Why are you still here?” Jon asks quietly.

“What do you mean?” Elias asks.

“You should have—gone,” Jon says. “Abandoned me. Elias, why—” Jon tries not to cry, tries not to force Elias to comfort him. But he was wrong. His memories were wrong, his mind was wrong, and he’s absolutely terrified, and Elias is still here.

“Oh, darling, darling,” Elias says, sweeping Jon into his arms, and suddenly Jon is sobbing. Elias’ arms have always been warm and welcoming, safe. Jon shouldn’t have this, not anymore, not after everything he’s said and done and thought. But Elias is still here.

“I’m sorry,” is all Jon can think to say. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Jon, it’s alright,” Elias is saying in return, an answering chorus, his hand rubbing soothing circles into Jon’s back.

“We had quite a breakthrough today,” Gertrude says, just on the edge of Jon’s awareness. “Major progress like this can sometimes come with greater mental distress, so keep a close eye.”

“I will,” Elias says, squeezing Jon tighter, pressing a kiss to his head.

“I’m sure there will be more setbacks up ahead, but this could be the beginning of the road to real recovery.”

“That’s excellent news,” Elias says. Jon barely hears the words, focused instead on burrowing as close to Elias as possible. He lets Elias lead him away, back outside, to their carriage.

Somewhere on the carriage ride home, Jon calms down enough to stop sobbing in Elias’ arms. He pulls himself away as much as he can stand to, wipes at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “Sorry,” he says, one more time, as if that will fix anything, as if any of his apologies will fix things

“Jon,” Elias says, putting a hand on his knee. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

That almost sets Jon off all over again, but he swallows back the tears. There’s something he should say here, but he can’t think of any words to encompass, ‘I can’t handle the thought of you not being here.’

“Tell me about this breakthrough,” Elias says.

Jon swallows, shrugs. “I was wrong. I was—I—They all felt so real, the—the delusions. But I was wrong. All those things I said about you, I—” Jon’s breath catches. “I don’t know how you could stick around for all of that.”

Elias is silent for a moment, then pulls Jon back into his arms, a firm embrace. “I love you,” he says. “I always will love you.”

“You should hate me,” Jon says. “You should have given up on me, left me to—to fend for myself.”

“How could I do that?” Elias says, tilting Jon’s chin up towards him. “Do you think I blame you for being ill?”

“I should have—”

“You should have what? Not had delusions?” Elias laughs sardonically. “Brilliant solution, you should tell Gertrude.”

“You’re my husband,” Jon says. “Doesn’t it hurt that I forgot you? I still don’t remember anything from before.”

Elias kisses Jon then, a soft press of his lips against Jon’s. Jon loves the closeness, the warmth. He thinks about years and years of marriage, of family, of togetherness. Elias pulls away, brushes a stray hair from Jon’s face. “Of course it hurt,” Elias said. “It hurt that you were hurting. It hurt that your fear and pain were so often centered on me.” Elias smiles, a little sadly. “And yes, it does hurt that you don’t remember so many things, but—It would hurt far more to lose you.”

Jon’s heart flips, with guilt, with affection. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, burying his face in Elias’ shoulder.

Elias wraps his arms around him, kisses the top of his head. “I always will be,” he says.

***

Gerry sits on Gertrude’s desk, doodling on a stray file while Gertrude fills him in on everyone’s cases. He’s only half-listening; by policy, they only take one truly active case at a time, barring emergencies. Everyone else is just maintenance.

“Simon reported that Mike’s nervous tics have been getting worse,” Gertrude says. “Personally, I think Simon has just turned the page from finding them entertaining to finding them annoying.”

“Oh no,” Gerry mutters sarcastically.

“Either way,” Gertrude says. “I scheduled Mike for double appointments for the next month. Take him through some more coping strategies.” She taps her pen on the desk. “Do you think you can find a polite way to tell Simon to avoid treating Mike as his personal plaything, at least for the next few weeks?”

“Polite? Probably not,” Gerry says. “But I’ll tell him to lay off, next time he’s here.”

“Right,” Gertrude says, flipping through the next few files. “Agnes is fine, Evan is fine, Oliver is fine.” She reaches the last file on her stack. “Jon,” she says, opening the file.

Gerry, in spite of himself, perks up to listen. He likes Jon. He shouldn’t like Jon, should feel nothing for him but professional disinterest. The only way to stay sane, in their line of work. But Jon is a fox, which apparently means Gerry’s soul feels at ease whenever he sees him.

Not to mention that Jon is the most interesting active case they’ve had in years.

“We had quite a breakthrough today, did you know?” Gertrude says, reading through the file.

“Really?” Gerry says, heart sinking, a feeling that he resoundingly ignores. Sentimentality is no benefit at all.

Gertrude nods. “Before we get into the details—did you tell him you believe him? That you don’t think he’s delusional?”

Gerry blinks. “Why would I do that?” he asks.

“Hmm,” Gertrude says, clicking her pen and looking back at the file.

This is important. “Gertrude,” Gerry says. He isn’t afraid, he just needs to make sure she understands. “I didn’t. You know that I didn’t, right? I would never.”

“I know, Gerard,” Gertrude says absently. She makes a note in the file. “Jon claimed that you did. Lying. Imagine that.”

“Why would he lie?” Gerry says, leaning over to look at the file, the words Gertrude had copied down.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps he thought it would get me to take him seriously on his theory that Elias is suffering delusions.” She says the words with a smile, as if they’re funny, so Gerry smiles, like it doesn’t turn his stomach.

“Anyway,” Gertrude says, “we handled it. Although, you will have to make yourself scarce during Jon’s appointments, at least for the near future.”

“Why?” Gerry asks.

“We told him that he invented you,” Gertrude says.

“You—” Gerry stops, swallows the part of him that knows how fucked this all is. “How did he respond to that?”

“Like I said: breakthrough.” Gertrude’s eyes sparkle with pride. “It’s only temporary, of course. Eventually, we’ll have to reveal the truth to him, and he’ll likely have a relapse when that happens, but—You should have seen him. Wide-eyed and vulnerable, utterly destabilized and ready to accept anything Elias told him as truth. Elias was so pleased.”

Gerry needs to say something, some kind of congratulations for Gertrude’s expertise, but he can’t force the words from his mouth.

He hopes Jon is alright.