Content Warnings: Brief questioning of reality. Family problems, discussion of a neglectful/abusive father with implications of him also being an abusive husband.
Note: I originally posted a rougher version of this as a fill on the CP Fic Meme on DreamWidth.
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Carolyn spends a good chunk of her time in Helsinki thinking out exactly what she is going to say to Arthur when they get home, if only because it is a slightly more pleasant way to occupy her mind than paying any attention to her sister.
Then Arthur throws a bowl of – apparently – cake at said sister, and most of what Carolyn has planned goes out the window, replaced by a burning sort of pride.
Still. She has to say something.
She waits until they are finally home, in the kitchen, Phillip having been safely packed away into a spare room until he can catch a flight or a ride.
She makes tea, sets a cup in front of Arthur, and stands across him at the table with her arms crossed. "Arthur."
"Yeah, Mum?"
"Today turned out much better than it could have. You realize that, do you not?"
"...Yeah, Mum. Sorry, Mum." Arthur toys with his mug, but doesn't lift it.
Carolyn sighs. "I appreciate what you wanted to do, Arthur, but it was never going to work."
"I'm... I just thought – you know, she's your sister, and... I dunno."
"She is that, yes. It means less than you might think. Arthur, listen to me – there are some things that can't be forgiven just because the person who did them happens to be related to you. I accepted the fact that Ruth and I would never be close again a long time ago, and she accepted the same thing. Probably. I don't particularly care. Some things just aren't fixable."
Arthur nods. Carolyn doesn't believe for a moment that he understands, because the very notion of unforgivable transgressions goes against his entire philosophy, but she is satisfied that he at least won't try to contact Ruth again.
She sits down and smiles tiredly at him. "Thank you for the cake, anyway."
"Which one?"
"Both of them. Drink your tea."
Carolyn is not quite convinced she is awake. Her aeroplane is full of gold, her business is going to survive, her aeroplane is full of gold, the open piloting job is being filled by someone she won't terribly mind seeing a bit more of, and her aeroplane is full of gold.
These things do not happen. Not outside of fairytales. Not in real life, and especially not hers. She thinks she could probably laugh for a week straight. Into her phone, on Gordon's answering machine.
Now there's a thought.
She would have known Gordon got Arthur alone even if Douglas hadn't pulled her aside to tell her as much. It's Gordon's way, and Arthur has been shaky and too quiet for the past two days, even considering Martin's decision to leave. He's thrilled about the gold, of course, but not nearly as vocally so as she knows he should be.
So it's not really a surprise to find him slumped at the kitchen table, staring at a full cup of tea.
She pours one for herself and sits across from him.
He doesn't look at her, but he doesn't hide his face: his eyes are empty, his cheeks a sickly sort of pale. He looks like he hasn't slept a wink since it all happened.
"Arthur," she says gently, wishing suddenly that she'd done this two days ago instead of giving him time to open up to her on his own. "Whatever your father said to you –"
"I'm sorry I tricked you into flying to Helsinki with Aunt Ruth," Arthur says flatly, and Carolyn is so startled by the fact that he interrupted her that it takes her a moment to process what he's actually said.
Some things just aren't fixable.
She bites the inside of her mouth. "Arthur..."
"He tried to tell me his mum's name was Gertrude," Arthur presses on, and he sounds so tired. "He didn't even remember I met my own grandmother. He took me to meet her! I mean, it's – it's one thing if I don't remember stuff like that, I'm – I'm me, but Dad – Dad remembers everything, he remembers everything important, everything he thinks is important, and he didn't remember that. He's remembered to call on the same day for thirteen years trying to buy G-ERTI back, but he couldn't remember driving to Gran's house when I was nine. We spent the whole day together!"
Arthur does not look or sound the way he usually looks or sounds when he talks about his father. There is no panic, no fear, no desperation for affection or approval. His voice shakes but he does not – he can't seem to move at all, except to talk. Carolyn wonders how long he's been sitting here.
She lets him keep going. He needs to talk this out. Interrupting will only distract him, which won't help – it will all still be there and he won't fully understand it. Not until he's said it out loud.
"I'm not important to him," Arthur says quietly, with a definite lack of question mark. "He's never called or written when it wasn't about the plane. He's never asked me to come and visit him. He was always so nice to me on the phone, until I said something wrong, and in St. Petersburg, until I gave him cheap gin, but – but he was just being nice because... Because he didn't care. It wasn't... It wasn't worth it to be mean until I gave him a reason to, and – and as long as he was nice to me, he thought... he thought I might... He thought he could use me. He was so nice when he lied about his mum's name! He – he said it was – he said we'd have a nice chat, f-father and son. But it was just so he could... so I might... so he might be able to trick me. He really doesn't care. He doesn't care about me, he doesn't care that I'm his son, except that it – except that he thought he could use it. Use me. To get his money. And to – to destroy MJN. To hurt you. To hurt Martin and Douglas. To..."
Arthur's eyes well up and tears slide down his face. He takes a trembling breath. "To hurt me. Because I was in his way. Because we were all in his way."
Carolyn reaches out and places her hand over his. "Yes," she says, quietly. "That's what Gordon does, Arthur. He uses people. He hurts people."
Arthur nods, then shakes his head, then wipes his eyes with the hand Carolyn isn't holding. "I – I know. I just. I guess I thought. Because he's my dad."
"He doesn't deserve to be."
Arthur gives her a watery smile. "He doesn't want to be."
"And he doesn't have to be."
"I... I kind of think... He's not. Anymore. He doesn't get to be. I... I'm not ever gonna call him. Not even on his birthday. He's never called on mine. I won't answer if he calls. And if – if we see him, I won't – I won't... it won't be like he's my dad. It'll be like he's just... a pilot."
Carolyn hears the truth of it in the sudden steel of his voice; she sees it in his eyes, red-rimmed and still shining with tears but no less determined for it under a deeply furrowed brow.
Arthur has learned something she has always wished he would, and it's breaking her heart. She can see his perspective shifting even as they sit here, his world tilting the wrong way and becoming significantly less brilliant.
"I hate him," Arthur whispers. For half a second he looks frightened by the thought, but his face sets again into hard lines that look wrong. "I really, really hate him. I didn't even know I could do that."
Carolyn's fright lasts a little longer, because those lines that look so wrong also look familiar. "If you're going to hate anyone," she says calmly, "it really ought to be him. Just... Don't make a habit of it."
Arthur blinks at her. His face rearranges, the cold rage gone as quickly as it had come. "Oh, no, of course not, Mum! I mean, if it took this long to hate D– to hate Gordon – oh, that's weird – imagine how bad anyone else would have to be!"
Carolyn breathes a sigh of relief.
Of course not, she repeats to herself, and pats her son's hand. Of course not.
Arthur has never taken after his father in any way that counts. That was her own anger on a face that just happened to look a bit... a bit like him. She won't mention it. Arthur will panic.
The tea is cold. Arthur makes some more and starts pitching ideas at her about what she should do with all the gold. Most of them are terrible, and he barely stops to listen to her answers, and Carolyn smiles quietly - genuinely - into her cup and thinks about fairytales.