Reprise
Title: Reprise
Theme and/or Prompt/s 9. (strawberry in glass), 8. “Love is a serious mental disease.”- Plato, 1. drowning
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,961
Characters/Pairings: Arthur, Guinevere, Arthur/Guinevere
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. BBC owns “Merlin”.
Summary: Dr. Jennifer LeGrance's night takes an interesting turn once she saves a man from drowning. Instead of simply thanking her he insists that this was the second time in which she has saved him. However, Jen can't remember ever meeting him. Or does she? His insistence that they are the famed Arthur and Guinevere of legend doesn't help. Yet over time she begins to question her own memory and the possibility that the seemingly 'mad' man is correct.'
AN: My entry for ag_fics girl saves boy ficathon. I love the banner!
The best that society could offer milled around the expansive hall, filling the formerly empty air with their equally empty chatter. Men and women in expensive designer clothing commented on who was wearing what, who was sleeping with whom, and who had been caught cheating with their lover. Everything was discussed, it seemed, but the purpose of that night's festivities: The 8th Annual Avalon Retreat Gala.
The guests' clear disregard for the patients that their hefty wallets were going to help made Dr. Jennifer LeGrance feel disgusted.
Her freshly manicured hand tightened slightly around the stem of her champagne glass as she watched an empty headed heiress giggle drunkenly beside a smug looking politician. Had it not been for the photographs taken throughout the evening, she really thought that most of the guests would have not even bothered to attend.
She sipped carefully from her glass as her brown eyes scanned the room, spotting a few of her new colleagues scattered throughout the crowd. She mused that perhaps she and the rest of the staff were truly the only ones in the entire hall that cared about the patients resting floors above the perfectly coiffed heads of the guests. Although such ignorance would normally be upsetting, it was the fact that some of the guests in the hall had relatives being treated at the high-end mental institution that angered her further.
Yet without them the institute could no longer hold itself up.
Avalon Retreat was not your normal mental institution, but one that was more 'high end'. It was, if anything, a private place for those with the monetary backing to send their loved ones to receive mental help. The former castle, fully restored, along with the chosen name of 'retreat' was the perfect place for the wealthy to cloister their less than stable family members.
It was, really, something of a dream job for her; barely a year out of uni and she had managed to score a spot on the staff. She supposed her semi-fluency in Welsh, after spending summers there with her mother's family, had help to bolster her desirability to the Wales based hospital. She had broken her back at university over her work and, to her pleasure, the fruit of her labor had finally emerged in this job. It truly was everything she could hope for, plus the satisfaction of helping those plagued by their disorders. It always gave her a sense of euphoria whenever a positive change, whether small or large, occurred in her patients. She sincerely hoped that the sensation never faded throughout her career.
A particularly shrill laugh from the heiress previously mentioned had the young doctor biting her lip. She carefully plucked a strawberry from an elaborately stacked tray of fruit before ducking out of the hall. The soft click of her heels replaced the meaningless chatter of the guests. She stepped into another corridor, mentally mapping out the institute's floor plans in her mind. The door on her left would lead to the courtyard, while following the hall would eventually lead to a small balcony overlooking the moat. She idly dunked her strawberry into her champagne as she meandered down the corridor, taking a bite of the fruit afterward. She withheld a moan of appreciation at the taste of the liquid covered strawberry, instead settling for a pleasant hum in the back of her throat. Strawberries were by far her favorite fruit, and added with a splash of champagne the flavor was only intensified.
Absentmindedly she shouldered open the door to the balcony, feeling the glass slide coolly against the bare skin of her shoulder. She cringed as she stepped into the early spring air, internally kicking herself for not bringing her wrap.
“Oof!”
Not having seen where she was going in the dim light, she found herself colliding with another person. The man, having been leaning over the low stone railing that lined the balcony, fell forward slightly from her accidental push.
Had he not been staring at her in shocked disbelief he might have been able to keep himself from falling over the side of the balcony.
But alas, luck was not on his side.
The man disappeared over the low balcony to the moat below as Jennifer watched horrified. She instantly kicked herself into action as she hastened to where he had fallen from. Her champagne glass clattered to the floor where it broke into tiny fragments amid a puddle of the liquid. She leaned far over the railing, trying to judge the distance. It must have been at least a five foot drop to the frigid water below.
The young doctor held her breath as she waited for the man's blond head to resurface. Yet the seconds ticked and she could make no sight of him. Without a second thought she kicked off her heels, heaving herself over the railing to fall into the water below. The water of the moat caused her skin to erupt into goose flesh as she swan lower and lower. She pushed aside any discomfort as she kicked her legs. Had she the time to think she would have realized that choosing this particular dress, resting at her mid-calf, was the better choice compared to a tangling-prone, floor length gown. Her right hand, swinging wildly in the water, smacked into the man's jacket clad arm.
She propelled herself closer to him,wrapping her arms around his chest as she began the journey upward. Her lungs burned from the effort of holding her breath for so long while she struggled to raise the man. After some effort she withdrew one arm from his broad chest, using it to propel them upward. Finally the pair broke the surface of the water. The sound of her gasps pounded in her ears.
Jennifer treaded water for a moment as she tried to get her mind in order, holding tightly to the stranger before kicking to the bank of the moat. She landed roughly upon the muddy shore, ignoring the ruined state of her lavender dress as she dragged the man along with her. Her curls, carefully clipped above her head only minutes before, clung to her face from her unexpected dip in the moat.
She instantly placed her ear above his heart. With relief she heard the sound of his heartbeat although it was very faint.
He was alive yet if he continued to breathe so shallowly she knew he wouldn't last long. Jennifer gave the bruise on his head a fleeting glance. He must have hit his head perhaps on a rock in the moat, or perhaps the balcony ledge.. His injury must have knocked him out or else she would have figured that he could have gotten out of the moat himself.
She lifted her head as she tilted his own back. Her now freezing hands opened his mouth before resting on his nose, where she pinched it closed. She inhaled quickly before dipping her head toward his mouth, trying to perform a textbook mouth to mouth resuscitation as she had been taught. Yet the difference between a dummy and an actual human being was more than she had considered. She lifted her head once more, placing her ear over his chest.
“Come on!” she urged, finding that his heartbeat had not increased.
Angrily she inhaled once more before repeating the process, slamming her ear onto his chest again afterward.
Panic rose up in her own chest as she moved to place her mouth on his again. Yet before she had a chance to attempt the resuscitation again she found his lips locking onto hers. Puzzled for a moment- trying to sort out exactly what had just happened- she did not move until he attempted to cup her head with his cold hand.
Quickly she brought her head back, separating herself from the supposed victim. The blond shifted forward slightly, coughing to clear his lungs as he propped himself up. He finally glanced over at her, a dazed look in his eye.
“I've missed that, Gwen,” he commented.
She was about to correct him on her name- had he said Jen?- when she realized that he must have become confused. He had hit his head, right?
He held one hand out to her, beckoning her toward him as he smiled shakily.
“You are rather good at saving me from the water; I fear this wasn't the first time.”
Confused she scrambled backward as he rose to his feet, still coughing from the water he had swallowed. Bewilderment was clear on his features as he watched her move.
“I didn't know it was a crime to kiss one's wife.”
Her own eyes widened at the term of endearment.
“I don't know who you are buddy,” she began, crossing her arms as he came to stand before her.
“But you obviously have me confused for someone else.”
She had never saved this man before, let alone spoke to him.
He laughed, as if she had told him that she was a fairy princess or something equally ridiculous.
“I would be able to tell you apart from anyone,” he insisted, his mirth slowly fading.
“You mean you don't recognize me?”
Faces flew in her mind as she tried to place the one of the man before her. He wasn't a colleague, or one of her patients. Other than the two groups mentioned, along with her extended family, she didn't know many other people in Wales.
She continued to look at him as if he had two heads.
“Arthur,” he prompted, searching her features for some form of recognition.
Some form of acknowledgment registered in her eyes.
“Arthur Penn?”
Had his face lifted for a moment? Or had the moonlight been playing a trick on her eyes. For as soon as she thought she saw him grin, his features were schooled into a somber expression.
“Yes...and no.”
She furrowed her eyebrows, not noticing that he had taken a step closer to her.
“Arthur Penn.... You're on the board of directors. I know you...or rather, I've heard of you.”
She had seen his name countless times, whether on the back of the pamphlets advertising the institution or on the list of donor’s names hung proudly in the lobby.
He nodded slowly, taking another small step.
“But what else? Think...where else do you remember me from?”
She felt almost naked under his intrusive gaze, causing her to squirm uncomfortably. There was a slight prickling at the back of her mind, something like recognition. Did she know him? Maybe she had seen him in the halls of the institute, but had not realized who he was at the time.
Yet the prickling in her mind kept her from considering the idea for too long. She wanted to tell him that there was something about him that seemed familiar: whether it was his smile, his bright eyes, or the feeling of his lips upon hers. Yet the thoughts scared her, effectively keeping her from admitting anything.
“I have no clue what you are talking about, Mr. Penn. I think we really should go inside and get that bruise checked out....”
He growled in frustration, taking up her hands in both of his.
“Guinevere, it's me. Can't you see?”
She tried to tug her hands back to her sides yet his grip was unrelenting.
“I've been looking for you for years.... I thought you had been a vision, an illusion come to torment me on the balcony; I couldn't believe it was you. I had hoped that you too, were looking for me.”
The stranger's crestfallen appearance pulled at her heart, yet his declaration sent a shiver down her back.
“Look, I'm sorry that you're confused,” she said, lightly trying to extract her hands. Still, to her annoyance, his stronger ones did not budge.
“And my name is Jennifer; Dr. Jennifer LeGrance.”
She finally tugged hard enough causing him to drop his grip. She stumbled backward a step or two from the momentum but recovered quickly. She watched him in confused fascination as emotions flew across his face.
He finally settled on a slight smile, like one would give a child when humoring them.
“Jennifer.... You know that Jennifer is the modern English equivalent to Guinevere, don't you?” he questioned, watching as a flash of apprehension lit up her chocolate colored eyes.
“It's a coincidence,” she insisted, stepping backward as he took a step forward.
He shook his head, turning his attention from her to the institute before them.
“Arthur and Guinevere.... At Avalon together once more,” he murmured, a wistful expression on his face.
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry out for help.
“What?” she nearly whispered, knowing that her eyes must be as round as saucers.
“You can't be insinuating...really...”
Yet his confident grin supported her preposterous accusations.
Her? Guinevere?
But it was just a legend.
People aren't reborn as other people....it was just in stories.
Suddenly she felt as if someone had poured a gallon of ice water into her chest.
He was Arthur then, wasn't he?
He had called her wife.
“Mr. Penn,” she began, ignoring the disgruntled look he gave her at the title. “I...I can get you help. Really I just think that you knocked your head a bit too hard on your fall.”
She was slowly starting to back toward the paved concrete bridge, the former drawbridge, where the path would lead back into the building.
Did Mr. Penn have a history of mental issues? Or was this just from the bump forming at his temples? She would have no way of knowing yet his behavior obviously pointed toward something of that nature.
He was slowly following her, something of an amused smirk on his lips.
His lips.
His embrace, although fleeting, had sent her heart racing. Why? It had felt....right.
“Dr. LeGrance?”
Jennifer half turned to see one of her colleagues with a lit cigarette halfway to her mouth, staring openly at the two sopping wet guests.
“Are you alright?” the woman asked, her cigarette momentarily forgotten.
Jennifer felt herself gaping and, had she been the other doctor, she would have found herself laughing at her fish-like expression.
“Dr. LeGrance and I stepped outside for some fresh air,” Arthur piped up, coming to stand just behind the confused young doctor. “I'm afraid that I tripped in the dark and fell into the moat.”
His laugh, so lighthearted, sent heat racing down Jennifer's back.
“ She, er, had to jump in after me.”
Jennifer was about to ask the woman to go inside to get someone to look over Mr. Penn's bruise, yet his heavy hand on her bare shoulder kept her from speaking.
The doctor laughed along with the man, bringing the smoking stick to her lips. She exhaled a cloud of smoke a moment later, gesturing toward the side entrance.
“Best not go through the main entrance,” she suggested, tapping the cigarette with her fingertip to clear it of its ashes.
“Might raise some eyebrows.”
Jennifer felt a blush paint her cheeks as she mumbled a quick thanks to her colleague, ducking into the side entrance to leave the amused Arthur behind.
---------
Jennifer closed the door of Mr. Pellinore's room quietly before glancing down at her notes. Pellinore was coming along quite nicely with his recent counseling and had been more talkative than normal. Although he had only been admitted to the institute about two months earlier he was making excellent progress. She smiled softly as she closed her notebook, dropping her pen into the pocket of her lab coat.
“Jen?”
Gwen
She turned sharply, finding one of the nurses flagging her down.
“You have a visitor in your office. He's been there for a bit of time now, so I got Dr. Green to see to your next patient.”
Jennifer's smile faltered for a moment.
A man waiting for her?
For a moment her heart jumped into her throat.
She gratefully hadn't heard or seen Arthur since the fundraiser nearly a month earlier. Was it him? She chided herself for jumping to conclusions. There were other men than Arthur in Wales after all.
She nodded to the nurse, turning on her heel to head to the opposite wing that she had been intending to travel to.
Absentmindedly she patted the mass of dark curls knotted at the nape of her neck, pausing in her work once she realized what she was doing. Was she really making sure that she looked alright? She flushed, knowing that the small attempt at tidying herself was just in case the blonde was resting in her office.
His ardor scared her, that was true. But the feel of his hand on hers, his lips, his very being....it was almost like meeting up with an old friend from primary school; somehow you knew them but couldn't remember the particulars of your relationship.
Anyway, if he did suffer from some type of mental illness, it was her responsibility as a trained psychiatrist to help him.
She stepped inside her office, closing the door softly behind herself as her brown eyes zeroed in on the very subject of her warring thoughts.
Arthur turned in his seat, already having made himself comfortable in her office.
“They said you were busy,” he commented, shrugging lightly.
She stepped around her desk before falling into her chair in slight disbelief that he was actually sitting before her.
“But I can wait.”
He smiled, somewhat wistfully.
“I've done quite a bit of waiting.”
She shuffled her papers on her desk as she tried to regain her composure, finally glancing up at him once she had regained some professionalism.
“Mr. Penn,” she began, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
“I would like to help you, if you would let me.”
Confusion danced in his eyes for a moment before realization dawned on his face.
“You want to treat me, you mean?” he asked, his tone a mix of annoyance and a bit of amusement.
He sighed, shifting in his chair as he watched her take out a fresh sheet of paper.
“I don't have a disorder, if that is what you are thinking,” he commented, snatching her pen from her hands. She frowned, yet he continued. “And it isn't from that bump. It's barely there now, see?” He pushed back his bangs for a fraction of a second. “I've known of my true identity far before our little tumble into the moat.”
“Anyway, just because I'm involved in this institution doesn't mean that I myself have suffered as your patients have.”
“Then why, Arthur, do you continue to play such a large role in the institute? I would have thought that the heir to Penn Planes would be perhaps more involved in his father's company than a group of people that society deems 'crazy'?”
She had used his first name but, to her relief, he seemed to have not noticed. Instead he clicked her pen, staring at the point that appeared.
“My sister suffered from a disorder as a child. It got so bad that we had to have her
institutionalized....here, actually.”
Jennifer's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“We have no patients with the last name 'Penn',” she insisted, thinking that perhaps this 'sister' was a creation of his imagination.
Yet the man before her shook his head.
“She wouldn't be under my father's last name; she is my half sister through my mother. Morgan has been here for about....just about fifteen years now.”
He tossed the pen lightly onto Jennifer's desk.
“Morgan Cornwallis.”
Jen picked up the discarded pen, resting it gently on the paper.
“And as you're Arthur, is she Morgan Le Fay?”
She had simply been assuming yet his silence showed her that she had guessed correctly.
“Who is to say that you too do not have the same illness that she has?” the doctor suggested, scribbling something on the paper before her.
To her surprise the sheet disappeared underneath her hand as he ripped it from her desk.
“Could you please move past the whole 'mental illness' idea? Could you consider, for a moment, that I'm actually telling the truth?”
He had not increased his volume yet she could easily see the threat that was thinly veiled by his restraint.
Jen closed her notebook slowly, unclicking her pen in an attempt at making peace with him.
“Then just tell me why Morgan is a patient here, yet you aren't.”
She folded her hands in her lap, waiting for his explanation. She guessed, although she hadn't seen his medical records yet, that he had been rather good at hiding his schizophrenia. Apparently no one had caught onto it, perhaps only until this moment.
“Because Morgan realized who she was at an earlier age than I,” he explained, standing up from his chair. His hand came to rest on the edge of her filing cabinet before switching to the back of his forgotten seat; his very aura radiated nervousness.
“She didn't know how to handle it. Had I too realized earlier....”
He cut himself off, trying to hide the uncomfortable look threatening his features.
“Being on the board is the best way that I can help her. My father will not allow her to leave until she is 'normal' again and no matter what I tell him will change his mind. She just has to remain here until I can change things.”
He straightened up, a mask falling over his face.
“You want to know what I have? I'll tell you; it's love sickness. You, wife, are driving me near crazy with your refusals of who you are.”
Jennifer stood up quickly from her desk, her chair scraping the stone floor at her sudden movement.
“Mr. Penn, you have to understand that I am not Guinevere from the legends, nor are you Arthur from them. I'm willing to help you understand this if you would please just cooperate with me.”
Again, the look of cool calmness fell across his face.
“You'll understand Gwen,” he said lightly, opening the door to the corridor while keeping eye contact with her.
“You'll understand.”
He left the young doctor shaking before her desk, her mind and heart racing as she contemplated the man's words.
------
“That's the third bouquet this week Dr. LeGrance.”
The secretary stationed in the lobby of the institute watched as Jennifer searched through the arrangement of wildflowers- her favorite blooms- to find the small card attached. She didn't need to read it to know who it was from, and the simple 'A' found inside along with a mobile number only confirmed her thoughts.
She smiled stiffly, sweeping up the bouquet and hurrying away as politely as possible in order to not arouse the suspicion of the secretary. She really didn't need talk going around the staff room about who was sending her these strange gifts. The doctor stepped out into the cool evening air, heading down to the village below the old castle where most of the staff rented apartments.
The first bouquet had arrived about a week after his visit. She had been genuinely surprised then and, grudgingly, a bit pleased. His card had held more than his first initial and number:
“Remember shortly after Amhar's birth we went for a hunt and were ambushed? I was knocked unconscious into the lake we were resting by and would have drowned if it hadn't been for you. You had been picking flowers...not too unlike these. Do you remember?”
A pang had shot through her chest at reading the name yet she couldn't understand why the word would cause such emotion in her.
Since then Arthur had not included anything other than his initial in the cards accompanying her bouquets.
But his gifts had not stopped there.
She had arrived at her flat after a morning shift to find a disgruntled delivery man waiting for her with a fruit arrangement. After unwrapping the various layers of cellophane she had found, to her delight, an array of strawberries.
Her favorite fruit.
She tried to convince herself that anyone could have guessed her favorite flower and fruit; she found it easier to believe this during the day.
But nighttime proved difficult to back her denial.
Ever since her first meeting with Arthur her dreams had taken a strange turn, particularly after their meeting in her office. At first she had seen bits and pieces of what seemed almost like a film reel, most often where she was taking part in the action. The night following her first bouquet had been the most vivid: she had been sitting beside a lake next to Arthur. Vaguely she could hear other men talking around them but her eyes didn't stray from his for one moment. They were talking about something that Jennifer could not remember upon waking, although a few words had stood out for her: child, kingdom, Guinevere.
The frightening thing had been that the scene had not felt like a dream, but a memory.
Since then she had been confronted with such 'memories' nearly every night following the arrival of his gifts. As much as they frightened her she craved the insight that they brought. More than once she had thought perhaps that she herself was falling into madness.
It was easier to think of herself as crazy than begin to believe Arthur's claim.
Jen tried the door of her flat, finding it to have been left unlocked by her flatmate, and stepped inside.
“Lover boy sent you another gift,” the woman commented, grinning as Jen blushed.
“Whoever he is he must have the wrong person,” she insisted while Dr. Mercia laughed.
She shook her head, turning her attention back to the television as Jen picked up the small packing box resting atop the kitchen table. Her address was written in the same script as the bouquet cards, alerting her to who the actual sender was.
As if she needed to guess.
She withdrew a small velvet pouch from the cardboard, gingerly pulling the drawstring before sticking a hesitant hand inside.
Her fist emerged a moment later wrapped around the contents of the bag. Carefully she unfolded her hand, staring down at the simple gold band resting in her palm. Numbly she reached for the slip of paper that rested beneath the ring.
“It isn't the exact same but I think it is quite close, isn't it?”
The note fluttered from her hand to the floor below.
Even without the assistance of her dreams she could remember the memory that the ring prompted:
“-and he smiled! I really think he has your smile, actually.”
Jennifer idly picked wildflowers beside the cape they were sitting upon, placing the blooms in her lap.
“I can't wait until he starts speaking! Can you imagine?”
Without warning Arthur reached for her left hand, kissing her knuckles tenderly before resting his lips upon her wedding ring.
“You really don't realize how much I love you, do you?” he asked, watching as she blushed. The two held each others' gazes until the sound of an arrow flying through the air broke the moment.
Before she knew what was happening she was pushed to the ground as her husband drew his sword along with the small retinue of guards that had accompanied them. A well aimed smack to the head by a hilt sent the king tumbling backward to the lake. Without thinking Jennifer ran to the lake's edge, ignoring the fighting going on around her as she dove into the water. With her fingertips she latched onto his arm and tugged, not liking the feeling of his dead weight not responding to her. She finally broke the surface to see the three ruffians dead while the remaining guards crowded the bank of the lake. She fought to catch her breath as one of the men dragged Arthur further from the water.
“Arthur!” she cried, watching as he did not respond to her. She tried to push him onto his side and succeeded after one of the guards closest to her helped prop the man up.
She smacked at his back until he coughed, spewing excess lake water.
It took him a moment to realize where he was as he looked around at the group, dazed.
Finally a smile broke out onto his face as he spotted Jennifer, leaning forward to kiss her.
“Guinevere.”
Quickly she reached into her handbag, still resting on her shoulder, and took out her mobile. Without an explanation she darted from the flat, leaving her flatmate staring after her in confusion as Jennifer hastily punched in the memorized number into the phone.
------
She could hear the click of his alarm as he exited his car. She kept her gaze focused on the moat mere steps from where she was standing, keeping quiet as he stopped a few feet behind her. Had it really been such a short time since she had saved him from that water? She lifted her face to the setting sun before turning to face the blonde.
His expression was guarded as she took the few steps that would place her right before him. With a gentle touch she rested her left hand against his cheek allowing the sun to dance off the gold on her finger.
Guinevere smiled before leaning up to kiss her husband.