Long days. Long nights. Mondays were not usually his late shifts, but this one was and he was already feeling tired despite the rest he'd got from Saturday and Sunday. What he really wanted to do right now was to go and have a smoke while the wards remained quiet and the solution in the cauldron simmered away. It wouldn't be ready for the next two hours, and he couldn't just sit there and listen to the creak of the water pipes.

There was nowhere he could stand for a smoke, could he? No, unless he stood outside the door of St Mungo's. Shaking his head, he took off the outer layer of the healer robes and pulled on his coat instead. As much as he liked the robes, it wouldn't do good for anyone at this time of the morning - even this late - to see an oddly-dressed person outside an abandoned building. He made sure his wand was up his sleeve as usual and his cigarettes in one pocket, and headed down the stairs.

He was crossing the lobby floor when a voice spoke up. "Heya son, where you come from? Hiding up in a room to make sure you keep someone company later?"

After he was sure that his heart hadn't taken the opportunity to leap out of his chest, he turned around. One of St Mungo's resident janitors was leaning against his mop, watching him intently. He didn't seem like he was going to leap at him at every moment, despite the occasion of mistaken identity. The man seemed to realise his mistake even before Arc could say anything, however.

"Oh, it's you, Hollingbury." He straightened up. "Where you been? I haven't seen you for a while."

"Six months, Lancaster." Arc nodded at the janitor. "They should be paying you more. I heard a whole lot went down here while I was away."

"Nah, I'm comfy where I am. At least I've got a job, and I'm thankful for that." Lancaster carefully put his mop aside. "People come and go, things happen...I don't pay much attention to all o' that. When you're my age, you learn to prioritise. Why are you going outside for a smoke? I've never seen one of you healers actually leaving the building through the visitors' entrance ever."

Arc looked down at the cigarette pack in his hand. "Don't know where else to go." He felt a little sad for saying that. He'd spent two weeks feeling that way, but at least he knew where to be to stave away the feelings for a while. Not here.

Lancaster beckoned. "I got a place better than the visitors' entrance. Tearoom staff know it, but not many of the healers. I guess you all don't really smoke that much."

The healer was very much puzzled by this, but followed the janitor as they went up the stairs, back from where he'd come from. They passed the third floor, and soon reached fifth.

"Wouldn't have put you as someone who smoked, Holling," he said, as they headed towards an area of the fifth floor even Arc was surprised to see. "You okay? Smoking's not usually something that people, you know, take up unless something's been bothering them."

"I've had a lot bothering me lately," Arc replied. "I really don't want to talk about it, though."

"Got you. No worries." Lancaster gestured ahead of him. "You good with narrow spaces?"

Arc looked up the dark, dank, narrow flight of stairs, and shrugged. "As long as it doesn't span the width of an abyss leading to some monster's gut, I'm fine. Oh, and has handrails."

Lancaster chuckled. "Well, handrails I can confirm."

The stairs were indeed dark and narrow. The steps sloped downward ever so slightly and were a height that had Arc breathless by the time they reached the top. "Is this it? Oh, no..."

"Rite of passage, this," the janitor said, grasping the sides of the ladder. "Tests your resolve and perseverance, and whether you're willing to step into the gaping maws of your greatest fears--"

"I'm a healer, Lancaster, my job doesn't get much more rite of passage-y than that." Arc was slightly apprehensive about the bent rung, but it held his weight. The janitor's amused chuckle floated down from above.

The sight that met his eyes once they were through the door at the top was enchanting. Arc stood there, gazing up at the buildings around them with their lights still on in the early hours of the morning. He walked towards one side of the roof and leaned over the railings. The street below was a lot further down than he expected.

"Don't do that too long, it gives people vertigo." Lancaster had brought out his own cigarettes - homemade, from the looks of it. He took out one and lit it with a match. "Need a light?"

"Yeah, sure." Arc felt too lazy to take his wand out. Once the smoke was curling in the air, he took a pull and felt the smoke wash into his lungs. It was always accompanied by a small jab of doubt, but honestly when he was feeling so tightly knotted up in his chest a cigarette would prove some small respite by allowing him to relax, and this it did.

He leaned against the railings and blew out a stream of smoke into the cold night air. The breeze took it away, furling and unfurling until it dissipated into nothingness. That was probably why he smoked - just for a little while, his worries and troubles fled into thin air, and he felt at peace.

The two men stood, the night breeze blowing past them, as white smoke continued to curl away and the embers at the end of their cigarettes glowed and faded in time to their pulls. They didn't talk for the time Arc was up there, until he had to leave to check on his experiment, but there wasn't any need to.