i'm not coming home

[impetuous]

He knows.

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[impetuous]

[ Despite himself, he closes his eyes and leans into her touch. He focuses on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. His eyes blink open, search her. ]

Because I couldn't stay away. I love you too damn much.

[scinlae]

You-- [ She expected something else, something different, not this. Never this. I love you too damn much. I love you. The world stops and she forgets how to breathe. With everything he knows, how could he say that? How could he love her? Of all people. ]

You damned yourself loving me. [ Even at a whisper her voice breaks. Why? This hurts too much. She doesn't want to feel. ]

[impetuous]

I know. [ A faint shrug. ] Still do.

[ Wishing for a glass, he fills it—and drains it. ]

[scinlae]

Stop. [ It is unclear if she means he should stop loving her or drinking, she doesn't bother to clarify. ]

[impetuous]

[ His laughter rings hollow. It's not evident which point he addresses. ]

I started a while ago. I can't just stop.

[scinlae]

[ Good thing it works for the both, then.

The invisible blade within her hair continues to twist; it adds to the pressure in her chest, the overwhelming pain years of ignored guilt has accumulated. ]

I... [ She rests a hand on top of his, weakly attempt to wrestle the glass for him. ] I am sorry.

[impetuous]

[ He lets her. His hand flexes open so she can take it. It is an odd feeling. Like he is outside his body and watching it move on its own.

It is an odder feeling as he maps the shape of her belly through her dress. Only during moments like this does she appear frail. Usually, she is all heavy dark hair and flashing eyes and barbed words. Frail is a word he would not lob at her even ironically. Yet frail is what she seems. Easily overcome.

It would be so easy to wrap his hands around her slender, slender neck and squeeze.

Horror follows swiftly. Stumbling to his feet, he barely manages to catch himself on the edge of the table and avoid a painful meeting with the floor. The jolt upsets the bottle and it falls. It rolls to the edge and pauses there, teetering, teetering. ]

You should go. [ He corrects himself. ] You need to go.

[scinlae]

[ At this moment she wouldn't even fight back, if it meant release from it all. Death would be a mercy.

How pathetic. She should not be like this; so weak and frail, at the mercy of her emotions. Her heart. She wishes it remained buried, she wishes it remained dead. Things were easier when it was, simpler.

She follows him up, almost tripping over her shirts as she does. ]

No. [ Stubborn, foolish, call her whatever you like. Leaving is the last thing she wants to do right now. ]

[impetuous]

I'm not fit to receive anyone right now.

[ Gwaine continues trying to draw away while masking his attempt. His temper, volatile at best, eats away the shreds of self-control left to him. He shouldn't have told her where he was, he shouldn't have told Arthur, he shouldn't have continued seeking her out. (His life is a series of portraits detailing all he shouldn't have done.)

He wants to hit something. He wants to break something. He wants to make something hurt. (She's so close. It would be so easy.) Held stiffly at his sides, his hands shake. ]

Morgana. Go.

[scinlae]

I do not care.

[ Which is a surprise. Morgana is a creature of self preservation (most of the time), someone who will do whatever it takes to keep herself alive. But right now? When it is obvious to her staying may not be good for her, all sense of self preservation dissipates like the water on a rock underneath the blazing sun.

(she deserves it, after all she has done)

She stands tall, chin raised. Every inch of her body and her face sharpened with that Pendragon stubbornness. If she leaves she will regret it, if she leaves she will have to deal with the pressure all on her own, if she leaves-- ]

I will not. No matter what you do.

1/2

[impetuous]

[ The unease drifting heavily in his veins ferments into anger. ]

Can none of you Pendragons listen?!

[ He does not notice he has slammed her against the wall until after the fact. ]

[impetuous]

[ He freezes. His hands still grasp her by the shoulders, fingertips blanching her skin. Eyes wide, pupils dilated so wide, he remains frozen. For a moment (too long for how short it is), his mind is a blessed blank. When comprehension rakes its thin nails across him (I did—I could have—I didn't mean—I wouldn't have—I—), his hands drop limply aside. ]

[scinlae]

[ Her vision explodes white hot from the impact, within seconds everything begins to hurt. Her head, her shoulders, her back. She resist the instinct to fight back. She deserves it doesn't she? After everything.

She remains there when his hands drop, body tense ready to spring away despite her intent not to. ]

Apparently not... [ Keeping her voice level is a struggle, but she is nothing but determined. ] You should have learned that by now.

[ Hands clench into fists, then relax, repeating the motion over and over. ]

[impetuous]

I…

[ Shame slips between his heaving muscles. He takes a step back. And another. His voice scrapes out of his throat, low and rough. ]

I—

[ The rest of the words crowd at the back of his mouth, die. He takes another step away from her, turns around, walks to the opposite end. His hands fist in his hair. Why did he— How could he— He wasn't going to— He wouldn't have really hurt her. He stopped. He stopped. He could have-he could have… ]

[scinlae]

[ Some bitter part of her is disappointed that he stopped, disappointed that he couldn't go through with it. Whatever it was going to be. He could have avenged the pain she brought to his 'brothers', to the innocent people of Camelot she put to death.

When he turns she inhales, finally allowing pain to color her face. She is lucky, in some way, he didn't go further. But she doesn't feel it, not by a long shot. It is far more cruel letting her like this. Perceptually drowning. ]

[impetuous]

[ He tightens his grip so he can feel a few hairs give way. Raising his head, he scrubs at his face. He doesn't turn around to face her. He can't. ]

I apologise for— I don't know what came over me. I didn't...I'm sorry.

[ God, what's happening to him. ]

[scinlae]

[ Her laugh is as hollow as his had been only moments before. ]

Do not apologize. We both know I deserve more than that for the things I have done. [ She shakes her head, gripping the wall with one hand as she pushes herself away from it. ]

You're angry, are you not? Because of me your king denounce you.

[impetuous]

[ He looks for her over his shoulder. ]

You ought not think so highly of yourself. What I did and didn't do was my choice.

[scinlae]

[ She curses him silently, he gave her not time to erase the pain from her face. ]

That hardly changes the facts. [ She had a hand in it, she didn't stop them before this happened. They both should have stopped themselves. ]

[impetuous]

Do you want me to blame you for this? Hate you for it?

[scinlae]

[ Had he hated her after her return none of this would have happened. ]

Would you if I did? [ She doesn't, his hatred now would only serve to drown her further. ]

[impetuous]

[ He has every reason in the world to hate her. What she did has no excuse. Never has he seen her display any regret for her actions. The easy way she admitted to torturing Elyan and making him fight for her own pleasure… She's a monster. He should despise her. He shouldn't have stopped at the wall. He should have continued. A lovely present to give Arthur later, the head of his enemy.

But— ]

No.

[scinlae]

Of course. [ His answer doesn't surprise her or sadden her, if he was going to hate her he would have done it already. If he was going to hate her he wouldn't have said those words to her.

Free from the wall she crosses the distance between them, only stopping when she is in front of him. She searches his face, as realization flashes across her own. ]

Although I do not blame you if you want me dead, nor would I blame if you acted on it. [ She really does not care right now. ] But allow me to impart on you a gift-- [ She rises on her toes, hands going to the sides of his face and tugging him close. ] I hope it haunts you as much as it has haunted me. [ Her voice drops to a whisper. ] I love you too.

[impetuous]

[ His first instinct is to laugh.

It says something about them, he muses, that a phrase that brings others joy feels so much like condemnation. A barbed wire constricting his heart and lungs until he cannot breathe for fear of them bursting. Hysteria bubbles up his windpipe.

It is hilarious how much the declaration frightens him.

And he has to laugh. He has to laugh because he just confessed and had his feelings returned and it is everything he never wanted.

So he laughs and laughs as he grabs her by the sides of her head and drops his forehead to hers. And he is still laughing as his legs finally give out and he sinks to his knees before her, hiding his face against her belly.

And still he laughs even though there is nothing funny at all. ]

[scinlae]

[ Understandable the laughter confuses her, her hands drop from him and she stares bewildered. This not how she picture her admittance to go, it annoys her. He is laughing at something she did not want to please him. It certainly didn't please her when the pieces clicked, when realization her. She hates it, wishes she could rid herself of the feelings while at the same time wants to etch them into her very soul. ]

Stop laughing. [ She says finally, staring down at him with a halfhearted glare. ]