You and Arthur always hated eachother, always bickering and fighting and even hurting eachother. Though, recently, in a robbery gone wrong, your leg had.. essentially been.. well ass-fucked. It was infected, and Grimshaw was struggling to fix it.

Unexpectedly, Arthur had been the most supportive through the whole situation. Bringing you food, your medicine, whiskey.

“..Here, sit up.”

He mumbled, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that rang through him when he saw the dried blood.