1b - 'cause i know that time has numbered my days
~*~
He stares at the red number in the upper right corner. It's 43. It's 43 new e-mails that he hasn't checked. At least one of them is from University of Camelot. Probably more. He hovers over the purple envelope icon, hesitating. It's just an e-mail, he tells himself.
It turns out that there are two. One is signed by Helena Sheppard, the dean who Arthur remembers from his own days at university; the other by Gaius Greenaway, the professor whose lectures he will be covering (4, over the course of 5 days, first week of October). Arthur remembers him as well.
~*~
Arthur had never been as grateful for his mother's insisting that he go to a public school as he was when time came for Morgana to start school herself. She'd been home-schooled up until then, but her father enrolled her in a private school not too far from their home. He said Morgana needed to feel secure, to be in an environment that was more strictly controlled than public school. Arthur's mother didn't seem thrilled by this, but Arthur was just happy to have a place where he could run away from Morgana's seemingly constant irritating presence.
He took his usual seat, next to Lance, feeling light with freedom of being away from home. He grinned at Lance who was bemused for a moment, then caught on.
“Morgana goes to a different school,” he said.
“Yep.” Arthur took out his notebook and a pen and put them neatly on the desk. He felt like there was something he was forgetting, but he brushed it off, too happy to pay attention to anything that could dampen his mood.
“Well, I'm glad you're in a good mood,” Lance told him, nudging him with an elbow. Chloe sat in front of Lance, knocking her chair back as she put her bag down. Lance caught the chair by the back before it could fall to the floor.
“Oh, thanks,” Chloe said, turning around and righting the chair back up. Lance, against all Arthur's expectations and previous experiences, didn't reply. Arthur looked at his face and found his cheeks were flushed. He resisted the urge to laugh, but he did poke Lance in the ribs with a pencil. Lance weaseled away from him. Arthur let him have that small victory, but made a mental note to tease Lance mercilessly about Chloe later.
“You're far too happy for someone who hasn't done the required reading,” Lance remarked with a lopsided smirk and there it was, Arthur knew he was forgetting something.
“Fuck,” he cursed before he even thought about the fact that the entire class could probably hear him.
Lance's eyes widened. “Did I just hear that right? Did the posh and annoyingly prim prince just curse?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Arthur replied, this time very deliberately cursing; he tasted the word, tried it out, and he found he liked it. It rolled off the tongue easily and it made him sound more grown up, cooler, more like someone people wanted to hang out with and less like a stuck up brat.
“Oh god, please don't become one of those preppy jocks who hides behind the school to smoke and ogle girls, “ Lance whined. He looked like he was about to complain some more but then Ms. Ross walked in, her heels clicking on the polished floor, so Lance shut up and turned around.
“Who even says ogle anymore,” Arthur muttered under his breath. He knew better than to draw attention to himself though, so he slid back in his seat and tried to look as bored as possible, hoping that would be enough to discourage Ms. Ross from asking him about the homework.
He cursed in his own head, first because he'd always been more or less a conscientious student and he should've known better than to avoid schoolwork, then at the very existence of schoolwork and finally just because. There was something extremely satisfying about swearing. Arthur found it fascinating how in just one word, he could pack so many emotions he couldn't even name them all, and not only express them but feel better for having done so.
It occurred to him that his parents wouldn't approve of his cursing, especially his father. He would've expected that to put him off, but somehow the desire to use fuck in every form he could think of became even stronger, the word even sweeter when he thought about the shocked faces his father would make at hearing them fall from Arthur's lips.
He smiled to himself, picked up a pen and started scribbling on his notebook, pretending he was paying attention to the lecture.
~*~
“How long will you be gone, Daddy?” Mordred asks, his light blue eyes innocently wide.
“A week or so,” Arthur replies. It was Gwen's turn to cook, but there was an emergency at work and she called a few hours ago, said she wouldn't be home until late. Arthur had to call Morgana and ask her to pick the kids up from school. And really, he was just lucky Mithian could cover for him at work so he could get home sooner. They ordered Thai. He put a container away for Gwen in the fridge. He's thinking about hijacking it, though.
“Is Mommy going with you?” Mordred asks again. Arthur almost cringes watching him stab a piece of pineapple with his chopsticks. He has Gwen's voice in his head, he's just a kid, Arthur, let him be, so he swallows the complaint. He's not comfortable teaching his children to disrespect other cultures, though, however young they may be (his recent fascination with all things Asian may or may not have something to do with the fact that Pac, his new colleague, is Korean).
“No, she's not,” Arthur says after a moment's pause. He hasn't actually spoken to Gwen, now that he thinks about it, and perhaps it would be smart to have her with him (she certainly makes his life easier), but something about this whole trip feels so intensely personal that he doesn't want to share it. Not even with Gwen.
“Didn't she go to the same university as you?” Morgause asks, swallowing a mouthful of rice, always polite. Arthur is glad she decided to use the fork instead of playing with chopsticks.
“Yeah, she did. Aunt Morgana did, too.” Arthur twirls his noodles around with his chopsticks. For some reason, even just thinking about going back and talking about it makes him lose his appetite.
“How come you never tell us about that?” Morgause questions, her eyes bright. She's always been a little too smart. Arthur can see why Morgana's been trying to get her claws in her.
“It was a long time ago, it doesn't really matter.”
“Daaaaad,” Morgause whines. She's about to make a great argument for why Arthur should tell them more about himself, Arthur can already see it, but then the doorbell rings and Arthur has never been so grateful to see a Jehovah's witness in his entire life.
~*~
Arthur sat down on the stairs and leaned back against the wall behind him. He hadn't expected Lance to be there, not really, and yet, he couldn't help but be a little bit disappointed to be there alone. Lance had told him he wouldn't be skipping the test, but somehow Arthur had hoped maybe Lance would change his mind. They'd been doing things together for so long it was weird to do something without him now. But then, Lance had been getting more and more unhappy with Arthur's behavior lately.
Arthur shrugged to himself. He didn't really need Lance, he told himself. He was making new friends now anyway. And besides, there was no way he could possibly pass that test if he'd gone to it. He leaned his head back on the concrete. He was tired. He wished he could've stayed in bed, but his father had taken the day off so he had to at least pretend he was going to class regularly.
He didn't notice someone was sitting with him until they spoke.
“So what are you ditching?”
Arthur turned to his left side. He knew the girl sitting there only from seeing her around the hallways a couple of times, she was a year or two older than him and they didn't have any classes together. She was at some of the parties he'd gone to and he was pretty sure her name was Allison, but they hadn't spoken before.
“Chemistry,” he replied, smiling at her. A couple of months ago he would probably have stumbled over his own words (but then, a few months ago he wouldn't have been there in the first place) and he still wasn't quite sure what he was doing, so he imagined he was one of the popular kids in some teen rom-com and did what he thought popular rom-com kids did. Then he remembered that he was one of the popular kids now, that this girl started talking to him because she wanted to, that he was receiving attention because people thought he was interesting. It was a heady high, to be accepted.
“I hate chemistry,” she said, grinning at him. She rummaged a little through her pockets, then took out a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to him. He was tempted to take it, his fingers itched to reach out, to pull out a cigarette and accidentally on purpose let their hands touch, to light the cigarette and take a pull. He could imagine himself doing it, could see himself through the eyes of others - sitting behind the school building, smoking with an attractive girl, obviously avoiding classes. He'd never smoked before, but he'd thought about it. Eventually he shook his head no - he didn't want to embarrass himself by coughing and choking on his first smoke in front of someone.
“Yeah, me too.” He didn't actually. Chemistry was quite interesting to him, but it was one of those universally hated subjects in their school and Arthur felt like he should hate it.
“You coming over to Tim's?” she asked, light grey smoke curling out of the corners of her mouth.
“Friday, right?”
“Yep.”
Arthur thought about it. His mother was having friends over for dinner on Friday. He figured he could probably sneak out unnoticed. “Yeah, I'll be there,” he said, casually inclining his head towards Allison.
“Good,” she replied with a smile he couldn't quite figure out. She finished her cigarette in silence and he resisted looking at his watch. The silence made him nervous. When the bell finally rang, he was relieved to have an excuse to leave. Allison stood up with him. “Well, I'll see you on Friday then,” she said. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his.
He didn't know what possessed him, but instead of letting it end there, Arthur held her close with a hand on the back of her neck. She smiled against his mouth and then her tongue was pressing into his mouth he wanted to turn back time, just for those few seconds because he had no idea what to do. He followed her lead and hoped he didn't screw up to badly. When she pulled back and left she mostly just looked amused. She waved at him as she entered the school from the side door. The skirt she was wearing was just that tiny bit too short for the school dress code and it swayed around her legs as she walked, revealing her long legs. She really was attractive. And Arthur really was getting used to his new role.
~*~
Gwen gently takes the tumbler from him. Arthur stirs awake. His neck is sore. He didn't even notice he was drifting off. The glass clinks on the dark wood of the coffee table.
“Long day?” Gwen asks gently. She sits on the coffee table, her finger caressing the rim of the glass. She looks like she's considering taking a sip. Arthur knows how much she hates whiskey.
“Clearly not as bad as yours,” he replies.
She gives him a small smile. “I told you about Jessica, didn't I?” She picks the glass up and swirls the amber liquid around.
“It's warm,” Arthur warns in lieu of a response. Gwen has told him about Jessica. A 6-year-old with a practically inoperable brain tumor. Sometimes Arthur hates Gwen is the best at what she does.
“She had a seizure this morning,” Gwen sighs, knocking back the remainders of Arthur's whiskey. She makes a face at the taste (Arthur shrugs, mouthing I warned you, didn't I?) and shakes her head. “Pretty bad. She went into cardiac arrest.”
Arthur leans forward in his chair. He touches Gwen's shoulder with an open palm, runs the tips of his fingers down her arm. Her skin is soft and smells like honey. She takes his hand.
“Took us 20 minutes to bring her back,” she says, quietly, to their joint hands. Arthur brushes the back of her hand with his thumb. “Oh, Arthur,” she sighs. Arthur pulls her closer until she's sitting on his lap. He hugs her tightly. “We had to move the operation. We weren't prepared.” Arthur rubs her back. “She died.”
“I'm sorry,” Arthur says, almost automatic by now. It's not the first patient Gwen's lost and it won't be the last. Arthur's never really known how to deal with it. This is as good as he gets.
“It's not that we didn't expect it,” Gwen replies, hiding her face in Arthur's neck. “But it was still...” She sighs. “Tell me about your day? It has to have been better, and I... need a distraction.”
Arthur thinks about how unfocused he's been at work, how Mithian's had to literally put out fires for him, about how he's been panicking over something that seems so inconsequential compared to what Gwen's dealing with. “Yeah, yeah, my day's been fine.”
~*~
“Where are you going?” Morgana asked as Arthur shrugged into a jacket. He snorted.
“None of your business?”
From the corner of his eye he could see her leaning on the doorframe of his room. The light was coming from behind her so he couldn't really see her face very clearly, but her arms were crossed over her chest making her night gown pleat and fall unevenly. She looked older than she was, more serious and more menacing than she had a right to look. Arthur grabbed his key from his desk and put it in his inside pocket.
“You're not supposed to be going out. Father expressly forbade it,” Morgana hissed at him, not budging an inch when he tried to push past her and through the door.
“So what are you gonna do? Wake him up and tell him? Go ahead,” he challenged with more certainty in his voice than he really felt. She'd never told on him before but then, there was a first time for everything, and he couldn't really trust Morgana of all people, especially not when it came to predictability.
“I could, you know,” she said, raising one dark eyebrow. Arthur was suddenly grateful for the growth spur he'd experienced earlier that year, because that look would be a lot more menacing if he wasn't a whole head taller than her.
“Then either do it right now, or get the fuck out of my way.”
Morgana stared at him for another long moment before she sighed and stepped away. Arthur hid the relief he actually felt behind a condescending smirk.
“Thought so,” he murmured as he walked past her, “you're too much of a coward to actually do it.”
He ran down the stairs and through the front door before she could react to the insult. He knew he'd pushed a little too much with that last comment, but he just hadn't been able to resist it - riling Morgana up was always fulfilling, like he was winning this game they were both playing without fully understanding the rules or the goals.
He snuck out the door, closing it slowly so it wouldn't creak, and locked the house behind him. The light in his mother's room was still on, but he was pretty sure she was asleep, so he wasn't worried. In fact, he wasn't sure why it made him so twitchy to see the dim light of her reading lamp shining through the curtains; he sped up towards the street corner where he could see Lance waiting for him.
With every step farther from the house, he felt less and less nervous. When he was near the corner he could see the discomfort on Lance's face, he took a deep breath. He was far enough away that even if someone looked out of the window from his house, they wouldn't see him. The worst part of the night was over - he'd managed to get away. Now was when the excitement really began, when his hands started sweating a little and his legs got restless and he just wanted to do things. That was always his favorite part of sneaking out, the initial buzz of freedom. He grinned.
“I don't like that face,” Lance said. He looked even less certain about their night out up close than he did when Arthur first saw him from down the street. His hands were in the pockets of his jacket and his foot was tapping a quick rhythm on the pavement. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him forward.
“Oh come on, it's just one little party! Even you need to relax sometimes.”
Lance didn't look convinced, but he obligingly followed Arthur down two left turns and one right and then there was no need to follow anyone anymore because they could hear the heavy bass coming from the two story house ahead of them. Arthur's hand automatically reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, like it was conditioned to that reaction when around people. Lance scowled at him, but Arthur knew he'd long given up on trying to talk sense into him.
Things didn't improve when they were inside either, where everyone was drinking and dancing and Lance looked completely out of place. Arthur, on the other hand, had long learnt what to do. He picked up a plastic cup of something that smelled like Coke and rum and drained it immediately. A little bit of alcohol, he'd quickly found out, went a long way for his confidence and made him just relaxed enough not to care about anything but living in the present moment.
~*~
“Are you ready?” Gwen asks, looking at him over the paperback she's reading. It's a crime novel, Two Little Girls in Blue by Mary Higgins Clark, which Arthur only know because Gwen has been complaining about it for days. She says it's boring and unrealistic and given how fast of a reader she is and how long she's been reading it, he tends to take her word for it.
“Well,” he says, “I've packed.”
“For two months it would seem,” she replies, pushing her reading glasses up her nose. She turns the page.
“Just in case,” Arthur allows.
He takes his toothbrush, puts some paste on it and is about to start brushing his teeth when Gwen calls from the room, “That's not what I meant and you know it.”
He sighs deeply then decides not to answer. Brushing his teeth buys him some time. By the time he's managed to get on the bed (Gwen doesn't help him, she knows he hates it), Gwen's given up and put the book away. She's cleaning her glasses with the bed sheet, and checking them on the night light.
“I still don't know what I'm gonna talk about,” he finally admits. He throws the blanket over his legs and fluffs his pillows before he leans against them. “There are so many things I could talk about, so many projects we've done or started, things we've found that work or don't work... I don't know where I want to start.”
Gwen snuggles closer to him. “I think you're missing the point of teaching.”
“What do you mean?” Arthur frowns, confused. “I plan on telling them about any relevant progress we've made and how we got there. They'll know things even their regular lecturers don't!”
Gwen chuckles. “You know we get new interns every year, right? They observe for a while and then they work with us and yes, they learn from the experience and that's part of it, but you know what's actually the point?” He hums in response. He thinks he should, by now, be at least halfway to figuring out what she's getting at, but he's not. So he waits for her to continue. “They need to decide what they want to be doing for the rest of their lives. And we get to be part of that decision.”
Arthur nods. “That's all great, but I don't really see what it has to do with me holding a class or two.”
“That's because you didn't let me finish,” she replies, swatting his stomach lightly. “See, the point of teaching, at least in my opinion, is not to make your students know, but to make them want to know. Interest them in what you do, let them see you diagnose a rare disease or remove a tumor or save a kid's life, show them the drive and the consequences, the whole story that's not in the textbooks... and they'll want to be part of it too.”
Arthur loves Gwen's optimistic altruism, he does, it's one of the things that he admires most about her, but he really hopes it doesn't transfer on to him. It seems like a hell of a lot of responsibility to be carrying, believing that you can make better all the lives you get involved in. he shakes his head. “Gwen...”
“No, no, hear me out,” she interrupts. “Do you remember when we were in university? We all started before you, but you got your PhD first by a mile.” Arthur is simultaneously growing with pride and wanting to hide his face somewhere at the compliment. “Because you had the kind of drive that we didn't. Arthur, if there's something that no one but you can teach these kids, it's the passion for your research. Tell them how you started.”
Arthur tenses, then shakes his head. “You know I don't like to talk about that.” He turns away from her and stares at the wall. It needs repainting. “I don't talk about that to you, I don't talk about it to my friends. What makes you think I would share something so... personal with a bunch of frat boys and party loving girls!?”
“Is that how you remember it?”
“I'm exaggerating to prove a point!” Arthur snaps. He regrets it immediately because he feels Gwen pull away from him until they're not even touching anymore and it reminds him of all the other times his pushed her away, of how rarely he's been open with her about things like this. He feels guilty. But he doesn't take anything back.
“Well, it was just a suggestion,” she finally says. It sounds like she turned away from him too. Arthur doesn't look over to check. “Obviously they're your lectures after all. You should handle them any way you think is right. I just feel you have more to offer than dry facts and fascinating progress towards the world of humanoid machine hybrids.”
She turns the light off. In the dark, Arthur crosses his arms over his chest and sighs.
~*~
The club was dark and loud and it smelled funny. Arthur didn't think he'd been missing out much not coming here before. He scanned the dance floor, looking for Percy, but the club was way too crowded to find a single person, no matter how tall they were. He took his phone out and texted Percy instead. In no time, Percy, his brother and his girlfriend were joining him by the door and pulling him towards the dance floor. They were saying something but Arthur couldn't hear them over the music. It didn't really matter anyway.
Someone put a drink in his hand. He didn't know what it was, but when he knocked it back, he figured it was something pretty strong. Before he could even think about getting another, though, someone had already refilled his glass. Percy had led him to the very edge of the dance floor, where the colorful, flashing neon lights didn't quite reach and the music was just a bit quieter, enough to allow for some shouted conversation.
“You're late,” Percy's girlfriend yelled in his ear.
“Uther was there for dinner, I hadn't expected that,” he replied, shrugging. The alcohol he'd had was starting to take effect and he was beginning to feel that pleasant, light buzz that came with a few drinks.
“Well, never mind, you're here now!” Percy grinned at him. He put one arm around Arthur's shoulders and guided him back to the dance floor.
Arthur had never been much of a dancer, but when he started going out to clubs, he realized dancing wasn't really what they were for. Mostly it was just jumping around and grinding together. And Arthur could do that. A drink or two and a cigarette or two and he could even enjoy doing it.
Percy, Tom and Jackie were already jumping up and down and he joined them easily enough. They danced standing close together until Tom was dragged away by some girl in a silver top whose face Arthur wouldn't be able to recognize if he saw it again. He hardly thought he'd have to; he wasn't new to Tom picking up girls in clubs and it never lasted long. Arthur had picked up girls like that himself, had even noticed a few guys giving him interested looks. He liked to think he was only flattered by it, and not actually interested.
The songs melted together until he was no longer sure how long he'd been there. Jackie had gone to get them all another round of drinks; Arthur was beginning to get tired. He slowly back away from the dance floor until his back was against the back wall of the club and he was just an observer. A group of girls, maybe two years older than him, was dancing to his right; one of them was looking at him openly. He smiled. She was blonde and petite and not really his type, but she looked old enough to drive and he did need a ride seeing how Percy was definitely too drunk to be behind a wheel.
Arthur ran a hand through his hair and turned his body towards the girl. He tilted his hips in what he knew was a very inviting pose and she ran her eyes over his body. He enjoyed the attention.
“You're getting really good at that,” Percy said directly in his ear. Arthur felt a shiver run through him, though he didn't want to examine what exactly caused it - he told himself it was the surprise. Percy's put a large hand on his hip, his thumb easily sliding under Arthur's t-shirt.
“I've had practice,” Arthur murmured, his own words sticky in his throat. He could feel Percy's breath on the side of his neck. He leaned back into Percy without really thinking about it. He figured he'd blame the alcohol later.
“I know,” Percy replied and Arthur was already lost on the conversation they were having. He turned around to face Percy, still not sure if he wanted to push him away or pull him closer. It was weird looking up at someone as they leaned in for a kiss.
Kissing Percy was definitely different from kissing a girl. For starters, Percy was taller, bigger and stronger. He was also more aggressive. He was pushing Arthur against the wall with his hands on Arthur's hips and his chest was pressing against Arthur's until Arthur could barely breathe and so help him, but Arthur liked it. He waited for the panic of an identity crisis to hit him, but it didn't come and eventually, Arthur just stopped waiting. He let his body work on auto-pilot; his hands were squeezing Percy's shoulders and when Percy pressed a knee between Arthur's thighs, Arthur let him. There was something comforting about feeling so much strength under his hands, on his body, between his legs. It felt like Arthur was exactly where he wanted to be.
It was easy for Arthur to tune out the music and the other people and the smell of the stuffy club when he had something else to focus on. It wasn't that easy to ignore the hurt look on Jackie's face when Arthur opened his eyes and found her staring at them, but he convinced himself he didn't actually care. She disappeared into the crowd and Arthur didn't see her for the rest of the night.
“We could go to my place. My parents are on a vacation,” Percy mumbled into Arthur's ear eventually, when Arthur's legs were already threatening to give out and Arthur thought he might pass out from the heat he could feel crawling over his skin.
“You're drunk,” Arthur replied. It wasn't a no, but it was a fact and there were some lines Arthur wasn't ready to cross yet; risking his life in a metal box controlled by someone who probably could walk in a straight line was one of them.
“Killjoy,” Percy commented, but he didn't stop biting Arthur's neck so Arthur figured he wasn't actually mad. “So how do you plan to get home if you're not gonna let me drive you?”
Arthur hadn't really thought about it. He considered walking but quickly decided against it, since he wanted to get home before his thirtieth birthday. He had some money, but he didn't think it was enough for a cab. Hitchhiking wasn't the smartest thing to do that late at night either.
His fingers brushed over the pocket of his jeans where he could feel the square shape of his phone. He could call his mother. He'd long suspected she knew where he went when he wasn't home at night, but neither of them ever brought it up, so he couldn't be sure. His mother wasn't stupid though, she had to have noticed what was going on with him.
He sighed, his mind made up. It wasn't the most fortunate solution, but it'd have to do just that once. He decided to give himself some more time before he had to face his mother's reaction, though, and moved his hand back to Percy's chest.
“I'll figure something out,” he said before he dove in for another kiss.
~*~
It's cold and dark. It's cold and windy. A flash of light and a moment of heat and Arthur is holding a lit cigarette. The bitter taste in his mouth is familiar. The smoke doesn't smell like tobacco. It smells of something sweet, like a female perfume.
It's still cold. Arthur puts out his cigarette on the wall behind him. He slides his hands in his pockets. They're not any warmer than the outside. There's a set of keys in his right pocket. He takes it out. They're familiar, but they don't feel like they're his. He presses the button on the key ring. Somewhere in the dark a car beeps.
He finds it around the corner. It's large and comfortable, a metallic silver color, German make. The back could easily fit a stroller or a few large suitcases. Or a wheelchair. It's not the kind of car Arthur would prefer.
He sits behind the wheel. The chair is moved too far to the front. He adjusts it until it fits him. The inside of the car is unusually dark. When he turns the key and starts the car, the dashboard doesn't light up. He tries turning on the headlights. They're not working.
The hum of the motor is steady and quiet, though, and the car moves easily under his command. The road is empty, or so Arthur thinks, not that he really sees the road, dark as the night is. He thinks, foggily, that he can't actually drive, but the movement comes naturally and the road, so far, has gone without a hitch, so he doesn't stop. The streets are empty, or so Arthur thinks, not that he can see anything around him, dark as the night is.
He doesn't know exactly where he's going. He's not even sure where he left from. There is, however, a certain sense of urgency, a feeling that he must make it to his destination in time or something bad will happen.
Something is nagging at him in the back of his mind, there is something he's missing, something he's forgetting. Something just doesn't feel right.
He takes a turn to the left. He's getting close, he can feel it, but close to what, he doesn't know. Not close to where he's going, no, the anxious tingling of hurry is still there. But close to something.
Suddenly the car stops. It has nothing to do with Arthur, who hasn't moved his feet at all. It has nothing to do with the road, because the concrete under him felt smooth and flat while he was moving. He turns the key. Nothing. He turns it again.
Suddenly, all the colorful dots and shapes on his dash light up, the air-conditioning whirrs into life and the radio starts blaring static. The motor doesn't start.
The world around him is still pitch black, except for two dots of white light somewhere in the distance. He tries to start the car again.
No, you don’t get to apologize, you don’t get to say a few words and make yourself feel better, you don’t get to carry on like this and think it’s okay because you apologized, he hears faintly over the static on the radio. He shivers. You don’t get to apologize, you don’t get to say a few words and make yourself feel better, you don’t get to carry on like this and think it’s okay because you apologized, the radio repeats.
Arthur puts his hands on the wheel. They're shaking. His anxiety is getting worse and the bright white spots on his right are getting bigger. They're headlights, he realizes, they're headlights of another car and they're going straight for him, frozen in the middle of a crossroad somewhere in the dark with no one there to save him.
It's your fault, the radio says, the static almost gone. It's a female voice, familiar and warm and soft and Arthur knows it from somewhere but he can't place it. It's your fault. She doesn't sound angry or accusing or scared, she doesn't sound disappointed. She doesn't sound like anything. She sounds mechanic. She sounds automatic. She sounds dead. You did this, it's your fault.
Arthur grips the wheel, panicking. He wishes with all his might that the car will finally start, that he'll get the hell out of there, away from the light that is getting blindingly bright and away from the voice that's booming in his ears despite being as quiet as a whisper. Then the light swallows him.
Arthur wakes up with a start. He's covered in sweat and he's breathing heavily. The lamp on the other side of the bed is on. Gwen is sitting with her back leaning against the headboard, her purple nightgown unbuttoned to reveal one soft breast. She's stroking his hair with a gentle hand.
“I'll make you some tea,” she says, when his breathing calms. He nods weakly.
The door closes behind her and he is alone. Yes, there are other people in the house, he can hear Gwen moving around the kitchen and he's pretty sure that's Morgause's alarm clock that he hears in the room above him, but he feels alone. It's strange.
He looks at the large suitcase leaning against the far wall of the room. Only one. He's thought about asking Gwen to come with him, but this feels like something he needs to do alone. Still, he can't help but wonder who will make him tea when he wakes up from a nightmare halfway across the country.
~*~
part 2: i cry babel, babel, look at me now
~*~