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Chapter Text

AJ Raffles, the notorious gentleman thief, was safely in the ground, that was to be sure.

He had died a heroic, and ultimately just death on the fields of the Boer war– the final adventure on which he had dragged his faithful and anonymous companion who now wrote of their former crimes in the pages of the London magazines.

After all, everyone knew if your death was just or heroic, you wouldn’t just come back to life. Doubly sure if it was both.

Arthur J. R—– was, however, enjoying a cigarette and paper in his London hotel room that afternoon.

His companion paced back and forth and back and forth by the window. Every now and again, a glance out towards the street yielded no real results, and it was right back to the pacing about.

A drink– whiskey, as was customary for his visits, even so early in the day– was held clutched between the fingers of Bunny Manders as a pensive expression crossed his face.

Even the war, hard fought and rugged as it was…hadn’t caused him to have much in the way of facial hair…and he’d been led to damn it all for an impossibility and remain as clean shaven as he had as a schoolboy.

The former Raffles looked up from his newspaper, giving the other man a look of rather condescending concern. “You’re deucedly out of sorts this morning, unless I miss my guess. What have you got to fret over?”

“What have I got to fret over.” Bunny huffed with a tired smile. “Raffles….Arthur.” He took a sip of his whiskey as he looked out and over the London street. “Aren’t you frightened the men of Scotland Yard might get to *suspecting*?”

“When I’m so gloriously and luridly dead, old boy?” He smiled beatifically at him, and patted the magazine sitting beside the sofa. “I shouldn’t think so. Besides, I don’t much resemble that old villain Raffles any more, do I? Not after you went on and on about how my hair had gone shock white, and I had aged twenty years, especially.”

‘Arthur’, on the other hand, was a little handsomely gray at the temples, and had taken to wearing a pair of rather smart silver half moon spectacles on a chain. Admittedly, the spectacles didn’t look like anything the famous cricketer would have worn.

Bunny half turned to him with another little huff, his glass balancing on his lips “Well. *no*. I did try to paint a certain picture…and the public of course fell quite enamored with the image of you I presented– but the Inspectors aren’t so *easily charmed* by words on a page!”

Raffles beam softened a little and he motioned for Bunny to come sit down. “You’re right, you’re right of course. It won’t do to stay in London long term. Eventually we’ll get nostalgic for our old haunts again, and the game will be up.”

Bunny hesitated but a moment before he walked over and settled down on the nearest chair with a wan smile. “And knowing you, my friend…that itch will come sooner rather than later! Don’t think I’ve not seen you glancing about on our days out and about!”

“Well, my dear friend, I keep my hands to myself for your benefit, but I can do nothing of my eyes I’m afraid save pluck them out.” He leaned toward where Bunny was sitting. “We shall have to get out of London, more’s the pity, but you’re right, you’re right. Only– what do you say to one last hurrah?”

Bunny looked at him with his soulful and watery eyes.

“One last hurrah, Raffles?” he asked , with his usual mix of enthusiasm and trepidation. Of course Raffles had suggested such a thing. He leaned just a little closer. “You do know that if we do…and if things go awry…the jig is up in spectacular fashion.”

“That’s why we’ll have to make it spectacular enough to be worth the risk, don’t you think?” The debonair sparkle came back into his smile. “And a sure thing too, if we can manage it.”

Bunny flushed a bit, his head tilting to the side with an incredulous chuckle. “What? Do you mean to steal the crown jewels off the Queen’s throat or somesuch madness?”

“Maybe not quite *that* spectacular,” he laughed– though he appeared to consider it for a moment, before shaking his head. “Besides, I wouldn;t want to go down as the one who killed the poor dear with shock. But– look here.”

He offered the paper he’d been reading. Bunny took it in his un-whiskey laden hand and gave it a quick perusal.

It was folded to the bottom article of the front page of the paper– what amounted to an advertisement, at the end of the day. For a great exhibition being held at the center of London one week from that day.

“The–” Bunny’s eyes widened in surprise *”The Great Exhibition, Raffles?”*

A grand display of technological and social prowess, development, and grand ideas. Experiments on a massive scale, displayed before all to show what the future *could become* with a little funding and work.

“The coppers will have a jolly hard time picking us out of that crowd, don’t you think?” he said. “And there’s a few exhibits that might take our interest besides the scientific ones. You’ll notice there’s a museum.”

Bunny’s eye had indeed fallen on the museum listed among the attractions. All manner of expensive works of art, and the spoils of countless enterprises all there for the viewing by the general public–or the taking, by skilled enough hands.

He nodded slowly, “that they will…or at least *they should*.”

“We can make a day of it on opening,” Raffles suggested, in the familiar, excited and cajoling tone. Bunny could see that he was once again getting himself all worked up. “See the sights and what they have to offer. If it’s a bad job, no harm done, we can come back and pack our things and start our journey as expats on hardscrabble. But–” his eyes really lit up then, “Should opportunity knock, my dear fellow…”

Raffles’ face was the absolute picture of gleeful devilry.

Bunny felt his face flush. Raffles’ energy always had been infectious. His boundless excitement for criminal enterprise and mischief was one of his dearest charms… “Then…we could garner some capital to start new lives on better footing?”

“Exactly, Bunny, exactly! Leave London behind with a real bang and a flourish, and onward to greener pastures, where no one will recognize my face or yours.” He put his hand on the arm of the sofa, which was quite near the arm of Bunny’s chair. “Will you miss it?”

Bunny reached out, tentatively laying his hand over the man’s wrist. “In some ways, dreadfully so. I’ve hardly spent a summer abroad in all my years, aside from those times with you, Raffles…and the war.” He shook his head “there’s something about the streets of London I fear I may never quite find…but I suppose, what’s to say there’s not something better?”

“Supposing there is or isn’t,” he said, giving him a soft look, his voice dropping. Bunny could feel his hand shift just slightly under his own, closer. “Wherever we end up, it will be you and I. And you know I’m a fiend for excitement, but I keep growing more cautious of losing certain spoils I have left.”

The younger man felt his face warm at that, and he raised his glass to his lips to cover the slight reddening of his face. Perhaps it could be blamed, easily enough, on the alcohol.

He smiled though, and his fingers curled against Raffles’ skin “Especially after the horrors of the war…” he closed his eyes. “But if you say it’s worth the risk, Raffles. As always, I’m your man.”

“As always,” Raffles repeated warmly. He squeezed Bunny’s hand.

 

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Of course, a week was a long time to strut and fret a man’s way about the stage of London, and there were always goings on, even as they made their preparations for perhaps, their quickest exit yet.

Raffles– Arthur– of course betrayed no outward hint of nerves or maudlin sentiment, and seemed eager to gad about for the last time, but Bunny guessed there was some façade in that. They eschewed even the most distantly connected of old haunts, and one night, Bunny noticed a stack of souvenir postcards of the city that Raffles must have purchased from somewhere.

Of course, being a man of deep curiosities, especially when it came to his longtime companion Raffles…

Bunny had flipped through them by the light of the window, one after the other.

Sentimental to the last one, all illustrations or photographs, of local landmarks, some more famous than others. Here, the tower of London, there Kellers restaurant where they’d dined the first night the two of them had been reunited after Raffles first ‘death’.

But the curious thing was that they were all addressed, stamped, and indeed, posted already.

“…” It did tug upon the strings of Bunny’s heart. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of deep emotion as he flipped through them…taking note, in his curiosity however, of the addresses upon each one.

They were, in fact, addressed to the very rooms in which they were staying, and to the name by which Raffles now went– and one even in Bunny’s mother-given name! And curiouser still, not a one of them bore any trace of a message.

It took him all rather for a loop. Obviously Raffles had a reason for it. The man had a reason for everything, down to the very last detail. But he couldn’t fathom exactly *why*. Perhaps to leave a paper trail…or as a reminder of the good times they had. But why not simply keep them and spare the postage?

He felt a hand on his shoulders as he gazed down at them in puzzlement. “I see you’ve found my little souvenirs.”

“Ah!!” Bunny jolted with a start at the sudden presence of a hand…but soon willed himself to relax with a self conscious chuckle “I have. I admit, I was a bit curious about the address.”

Raffles chuckled along, deep in his throat, as Bunny relaxed. “Yes, a bit of a puzzle, isn’t it, I hope?”

“A bit of one, I’d say! If you just wanted to savor the memories, you could have saved pounds in postage!” He turned them over again. “I can only imagine it’s creating a paper trail of sorts?”

“You’re too clever by half, Bunny. I’ll admit I only at first got them for the memories. But I’ve been reading those magazines you’ve been bringing home lately, with all their stories of criminal wits and great detectives, and I thought– wouldn’t it be handy to have some dated correspondence lying around which might happen to say anything I should need it to, later?”

“*Very* clever, Raffles!” Bunny exclaimed with a broadening grin, “Surely even the great Sherlock Holmes would be fooled by such a plan, I think!” He placed it down. “…it gives legitimacy to your identity, and all that, while serving as pleasant memories all the same!’

Raffles beamed, squeezing Bunny’s shoulder. “You’re too kind, my dear Bunny, but that was the very thought. The very thought. And if we never need them for that, they shall still be a lovely remembrance.”

“they certainly shall be!” He tapped his finger on the postcard of the Kellers restaurant “And what grand memories they are…I remember that night well.”

“And so do I,” Raffles chuckled. “Quite a nice time, and a funny little caper to top it off. Just like this exhibition should be.”

“Should things not go awry.” Bunny looked over his shoulder at his companion with a half smile “And you don’t go off faking your bloody death again.”

Raffles grimaced. “My dear Bunny if I am every to be put into the ground again, it is my dearest wish that you come with me.” He paused. “Well that sounds morbid, but I stand by it.”

“Dreadfully morbid.” Bunny agreed, “but the sentiment is shared. The first time I had half a mind to follow you, thinking you’d actually done it!”

“I’m glad you had not,” Raffles said with a rueful scoff. “I think we have better in us than to merely imitate the classics.”

“My Juliet to your Romeo, then?” Bunny asked in amusement.

“I think perhaps you have the tale turned on its head, my dear fellow, but I’ll take it nonetheless and just as forbidden.” Raffles thumb traced the bare flesh over Bunny’s collar in a familiar gesture.

Bunny leaned into his touch with a small smile, still shy after all these years.

“Just as forbidden indeed.” he said with a laugh, “but I’m hardly a Romeo, Raffles.”

“It’s true, you make a much more charming Juliet,” he agreed, gazing softly at Bunny. “Which is why I need to stop faking my death. We’ve confused the metaphor enough as it is.”

Bunny laughed, looking up to meet his gaze with a fond little smile “if it gets any more confused it may turn into Hamlet, or jump all the way to Beowulf at this rate.” He shifted, and let his hand rest on Raffles’ shoulder. “We shall have to try and find a *new* way of eluding Scotland Yard.”

“Indeed we shall, Bunny. And I think perhaps I have a few ideas.”

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