Title: Two Ways to Mend
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Rating: PG-13
Length: 929 words
Content notes: none
Summary: Modern AU Wellancey. William is trying to keep his relationship with Arthur low key, but a broken boiler calls for a change of plans.



"Can't it just be mended?" William asks, clinging to his last hope.

The boiler repair man sucks air between his teeth in a way that is not reassuring in the slightest. "Afraid not, mate. They just don't make the parts for this type of boiler now. I'll let the landlord know, get him a quote to replace it.  Shouldn't take more than a couple of days." He smiles sympathetically as he leaves.

The flat is freezing already. William had spent last night in a huddle beneath the blankets, determined to stick it out despite Arthur's offer of a warm bed. The relationship is still supposed to be low key, at least until William starts his new job, which in his head means spending some of his nights at home, and not giving up just because it's a bit cold.

He contemplates the washing up he hasn't done, hoping there would be hot water again by tonight, and the laundry he knew wouldn't dry with the flat so cold. The bedroom seems particularly bleak: the sheets almost feel damp along with the chill. He'd really like a proper shower, not just washing with a kettle's worth of hot water.

He texts: 'boiler's dead - no heating for a while'. The reply is swift: 'come over then. What do you want for dinner?'


Later, basking in the warmth of Arthur's house, he leans his head on Arthur's thigh and congratulates himself on a decision well made. He has been fed, taken the hottest shower he could stand, and then sprawled on the sofa with a Poirot borrowed from Arthur's bookcase. The fact that Arthur is using him as a human desk, balancing journal articles on him as he lies there, doesn't bother him in the slightest.
He fidgets, just because he can.

"Stop that," Arthur says around the pen in his mouth. "I'm nearly done."

William hums his contentment and settles again. He doesn't mind waiting to go to bed. Poirot is gathering his suspects together and Captain Hastings suspects the red herring. 

"Too obvious," he mutters to himself.

Arthur makes an enquiring noise, scribbling something in irate red ink on the paper. William holds up his book.

“The red herring – she’s too obvious to be the murderer.”

"Ah. Unlike this then. I've no idea what he's trying to conclude and it's my bloody research."

William is momentarily glad that he's not one of Arthur's post docs. "Am I distracting you? I know you said you had to work tonight. If it hadn't been for the boiler..."

"I was hardly going to let you freeze to death. And you don't distract me. I like you being here."

"High praise indeed."

Arthur swats him lightly on the backside.

"I like being here," William says more seriously. There's a pause.

"So stay here," Arthur says, "don't go back to your flat. Just stay."

"You mean... until the boiler’s fixed?”

There’s a rather awkward silence. William looks at Arthur, who looks away.

“Yes… that’s what I meant. Until they mend the boiler.” Arthur puts down the draft paper, circles the last paragraph and adds ‘REWRITE’ in large, red letters.

William returns to his book. Arthur puts the TV on to catch the news. There’s something rather wrong though: the previously comfortable silence feels fractured. Although Arthur has his hand tucked under the edge of William’s t-shirt, thumb running over the skin there, William gets the feeling he isn’t happy. He has his own feelings of disappointment, thinking for a moment that Arthur had been suggesting more than a temporary arrangement. He wonders if Arthur is annoyed at him for assuming that he had.

Poirot concludes that Hasting’s chosen suspect couldn’t possibly be the murderer. William sighs.

“Will,” Arthur says quietly.

“Yes?”

“That wasn’t what I meant earlier. About staying until your boiler is sorted. I meant permanently. And I know you wanted to wait until your new job started but… the offer’s there. If you want it. I understand if you don’t.”

“Arthur…”

“Or if you want we could look for somewhere else. You don’t have to move in with me, we could find somewhere to live together.”

“Arthur…”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but…”

William kisses him. It seems the only thing to do in the circumstances.


Afterwards, when William is draped possessively over Arthur in bed, Arthur sighs contentedly and says, “does that mean yes, then?”

“Mmm… I think so.”

“I meant it, about choosing somewhere else if you prefer. I don’t want you to feel that this isn’t your space.”

William wriggles into a more comfortable position. “I like this house though. It’s got space. And your bed is much nicer than mine. You also have heating.”

“Think about it.”

“I’m thinking. I mean it. But I do like this house, and I like being here with you. Although you might have to give up some space on the bookcase.”

“We can buy another bookcase.” Arthur is smiling: William can hear it in his voice.

“True.”

“And you’ll stay here for now? Until your landlord fixes the heating?”

William listens to the rain outside and thinks of his cold flat with a shiver. “Definitely.”

“Good. I didn’t like to think of you there, being cold.”

William kisses him on the shoulder. “I’m not cold now.” It’s true, and the memory of being cold makes the warmth even more welcome. “You know,” he says, “of all the ways to fix the boiler problem, this wasn’t one I’d thought of.”

“And that,” Arthur says, smug but half asleep, “is why you need me.”