Disclaimer- King Arthur belongs to Antoine Fuqua, Jerry Bruckheimer Films, and Touchstone Pictures. I only own the story and all the original characters presented throughout the duration of this fic.

Pulse: The Future

Chapter Eight

The kids had kept her busy most of the morning; they had been particularly… rambunctious, and she hadn't been able to leave them alone to go apologize to Tom or to call Professor Brinkley. She supposed it was because it was a Monday; the kids always had less than perfect behavior, a nice way of putting it, on Monday… or on Fridays, but she shook her head—that wasn't the point; today was, and she should stay focused. It wouldn't be good to do something she often called her kids upon when they were dazed and not paying attention or doing their work.

She looked at the clock—only five more minutes until her planning period, and then she could hopefully do what she needed to do, i.e. call Professor Brinkley and apologize to Tom. She sighed, leaning back in her chair and stretching, looking over at her students as they continued to read the assignment she had given them. Normally, she would have given them the last five minutes free, but with the way they had acted… That wasn't going to be happening today, especially not after she had had to yell at them. It was bad when she had to repeatedly call them down in a calm voice, but it was even worse when she yelled. She hardly yelled, or at least at her students, and they knew when she did it was smart if they listened and settled down.

Sometime you just haveto be the Wicked Witch, she thought just as the bell went off. She didn't say anything, still peeved at them, only watched them as they gathered their things and hurriedly left the room, talking in muffled voices. Apparently, they weren't comfortable talking in their "outside" voices until after they had left her classroom.

Good.

She stretched one last time before getting up out of her chair, walking around her desk, and picking up a piece of paper one of the students hadn't bothered to pick up. She shook her head, turned, and threw it away in the trashcan beside her large desk that was nice and tidy. Call her anal, but she couldn't stand being messy; it just drove her crazy, and constantly she had to clean up after her students. She loved each and every one of them, but after countless times telling them to put everything back nice and neat, and to pick up after themselves, she would have thought they would be capable of that. But then, she thought back to her years in high school and junior high, and thought of how she had been, as well as her other classmates. Pretty much the same as now…

She continued to straighten up around the classroom, contemplating randomly how it needed color to help make it feel homey or to liven it up. The school/subject-related posters and other assignments she had posted around the room just weren't really cutting it. Megan shook her, though, putting a final book in the large book shelve that spanned almost the entire back wall, and walked back up to the front of the room. She stood there for a minute; should she call Brinkley first or go to Tom? Brinkley, Tom, Brinkley Tom, Brinkley, Tom…?

"I should probably call Brinkley first. I know where I can find Tom," she muttered to herself, walked around and grabbed her beige tote bag, put her grading book and other such stuff into it, shouldered it, and walked out of her classroom, flicking the light off as she went. She went into the office first, telling them she'd be gone for a while to do something before her next class, and asked if they needed her for anything. When she had the go-ahead she walked out the school doors, making her way to Teacher Parking.

The school wasn't that big—only two floors (the second primarily used for the younger students, and the bottom primarily for the older kids), but long—so neither was the parking lot. In maybe less than a minute, she was at the Jeep Liberty, getting in and putting her stuff in the passenger side. She sighed, looking at it for a second. A few days ago, Lancelot had been sitting in that same seat. She made a bemused "hmm" sound, feeling a little alone for the first time in a long time. She shook her head. She was going crazy, had been since she found Lancelot and discovered he thought he was from the Dark Ages… and she believed him. What exactly did that say about her? She snorted—that she was crazy, or going crazy, though she thought she was probably all ready there given the obvious.

She shook her head, started the ignition, put it in reverse, turned to look behind her, and then pulled out, driving out of the parking lot. In all honesty, she really had nothing to do before her next class, only to call Brinkley, and she hadn't been about to do that at the school. There was no way she wanted any of the people there—or anyone at all really—to know what she was about to confess to Brinkley, or that she had a strange man living with her. If they didn't think she was all ready weird, they would certainly think she was after hearing that conversation. Besides, she didn't want anything to get back to Tom, which she was sure it would.

Working at the same place meant most all of them knew what had happened between the two of them, and that also meant not everyone was too happy with her. In fact, some that were close with Tom or just wanted him to notice them (that would come from a few of the ladies they worked with) didn't like her anymore. It didn't matter that Tom still did; in their opinion she was still the wicked bitch, and they wouldn't hesitate to spread any dirt they could find on her back to Tom or anyone else. It was petty, but that was how they were. Of course, not every one was like that. However, it didn't matter, if they heard what she was about to tell her old professor, they were sure to talk to someone, and then that would travel and everyone would know. Also, it would reach Tom, and she really didn't want to have to deal with him because, she knew, he would come to her and demand an explanation, while exclaiming his perplexity for her believing such a ludicrous story.

So that was why she pulled into Haven Park, killed the ignition, but didn't get out. She wasn't going to conduct her business outside; it was cold again, and she wasn't going to freeze her ass off while getting input from the Professor. Instead, she dug her cell phone out of her bag along with her little planner book she had his number scribbled in, and started to dial, going through the motions until, finally, she reached the person she wanted.

"Hello, Professor Brinkley speaking," he said in that friendly, distinct voice of his that always reminded her of the Sultan from Aladdin.

"Professor Brinkley, this is Megan Stratford," she said, and she knew he would remember who she was. It hadn't been that long since she had last spoken to him.

"Megan," he said jovially, "what a pleasant surprise!"

She smiled slightly, but getting back into business, said, "It's good to talk to you again too, Professor. I'm calling because… well, I need you help."

She could practically see him raise his bushy white eyebrows, frowning in curiosity. "Well, of course, of course… What can I do for you?"

"I know this is going to sound crazy," Megan began, and then proceeded to tell him exactly what she had called him for, leaving out absolutely nothing. She was sure that by the time she finished, he was going to tell her how utterly crazy that was, and how much of a gullible idiot she was for believing it in the first place. At least then, though, she would… she didn't know… have something… But what if the Professor really did think she was a nutter, and Lancelot was a fake, what would she do then? Would she completely abandon him and perhaps call professional help like Felicia had suggested, and maybe even the Professor? Would she do that just because the Professor, whom she highly respected, didn't believe what Lancelot said was the truth?

The answer, she knew, was no. She believed him, and somewhere deep inside of her, felt like he was telling the absolute truth. And, if the Professor wouldn't help and Felicia was keeping her distance and protecting Aiden and her unborn twins, then she would figure it all out by herself—her and Lancelot. Maybe they wouldn't get anywhere, and maybe they would, but she wasn't going to just leave him despite what anyone else thought. Lancelot needed her, needed her help, and she was going to give it to him. And if they couldn't figure any of it out, how Lancelot come to be in the twenty-first century or how to get him back to his time, then she would just help him live in her century and in her modern world. She would help him get a job, get a life, introduce him to people, and eventually help find him a place because he couldn't just live with her forever. That would just cause… complications.

And then, Professor Brinkley uttered two words, saying amazedly, "Oh… my…"

Megan bit her lip, and then rushed to explain. "Professor, I know it sounds completely ludicrous, but I honestly believe that he is telling the truth. And… and… and…" She sighed in defeat. "You think I'm just as crazy, don't you?"

"Oh, no, child," Professor Brinkley breathed out. "Quite the opposite. This is… Well, it definitely isn't an everyday occurrence, now is it?" he asked in humor, chuckling slightly.

Megan was shocked. Her eyes were wide, and she swallowed. "So, you… you believe me? You believe Lancelot?" She just couldn't believe it. Professor Brinkley, an intelligent man grounded by facts, albeit a lot kooky, believed her! It was just… shocking, because if she were truthful, she would admit that when she had decided to call him, she had expected him to think it was all hogwash. And now…

"Believe him, quite right," he told her, and then added, gently, but in the wise old man/teacher way he always had, "And you should, too. Never doubt anything he tells you, Megan, always believe. Because if he is here, then it is for a reason. Everything done in the galaxy has a reason, whether big or small, or what we humans call "normal" or a supernatural phenomenon. Believe him, Megan, and don't push him away."

Megan bit her lip, digesting what he had just told her. Believe what Lancelot told her, and never push him away—she hadn't pushed him away, and she didn't plan on doing it anytime soon, especially after this little talk with the Professor. Maybe after this, she could convince Felicia to believe him as well, or maybe Professor Brinkley could talk to her, and help convince him. But no, she would just think they were both loony then; Fel would have to learn to believe and accept Lancelot on her own. It wasn't something Megan could help her with…

However, she was curious as to why the Professor just believed Lancelot and didn't think her crazy for believing him either. She wondered about what he had said: if he is here, then it is for a reason. She had never doubted the man's intelligence, and she didn't now, however she wondered how he could know that. Was it just a natural belief or observation of his, of all his years living in this world? She shook her head. Did she honestly care; she had someone that believed her and Lancelot, she didn't need to question that. However, still, she wondered…

"I would like to ask something, if you wouldn't mind," Professor Brinkley said, interrupting Megan's thoughts.

She blinked out of her reverie, and said, "Of course."

"I would like to… come, and see… Look at his belongings he brought with him. As a history fanatic, this is something—"

"Too great to pass up," Megan finished for him, smiling slightly, fondly. "Of course, Professor."

She heard the excitement in his voice, like a little kid at Christmas time, as he exclaimed, "Excellent, just excellent! How about… Oh, this weekend? Is that good?"

Megan thought briefly, decided she didn't have any other obligations or anything pressing, and agreed. After a few more amazed comments, they gave their partings and hung up, Megan with a lighter heart and not as much doubt, and the Professor, she knew, with a spring in his step as he bubbled with excitement. She sat there in the front seat, looking at the phone, and smiled, glad that someone other than herself finally believed Lancelot. It was refreshing in so many ways, and helped her not feel like she may be making a mistake. But now… now, she had no doubts, and she couldn't wait to inform Lancelot about any of it. In fact, she wanted to rush home right then, and tell him the good news.

And then, her mood deflated, and she frowned, brow furrowing. She couldn't do that, though. She still had school, and an apology she had to give. It was the apology that had her frowning.

Tom.

She still had to apologize to him for yesterday, and try to make things right. Usually, he didn't stay mad at her for long; however, given that yesterday was the first time it had been over another man, especially one staying at her house, she didn't quite know how long Tom was prepared to stay angry. He had always been protective over her, and add that with a quick, hot temper, and a streak of jealousy—it just didn't add up well. However, she loved Tom, and was going to do what she had to do to make things right between them. She had said it before, and she would say it again: Tom's friendship wasn't one she was willing to lose, especially over something as frivolous as yesterday.

She sighed, turned the Jeep on, and pulled out of Haven Park, heading back to the High School/Middle School—yeah, the town was just that small, most of the residents being retired citizens. The only reason they didn't combine the elementary school with it was because they didn't want to have smaller kids around the older and hormonal ones—she just thought they didn't want to corrupt the younger kids. She reached the school in no time, and just sat there for a minute after she had parked, thinking. She knew she couldn't explain the truth about Lancelot, so she would just have to make up something. What was it she told Tom yesterday? He was an old friend that was staying with her for a while? Yes, that was right. However, would Tom buy that? She had always been very strong when it came to her morals and values and personal rules, and one of them had been not living with men that weren't her father or family until marriage, regardless of their status. Tom knew this, probably one reason he had gotten so infuriated yesterday, but would he believe her? She didn't know, but she was going to have to make her story good—really good.

She sighed, grabbed her bag, and opened the door, getting out. Before she started walking to the building, she stopped, turning to the window and staring at her reflection to make sure her appearance was okay. Her hair was still pulled back in a tight, severe ponytail and looked fine, and the light application of makeup was still looking good and fresh. She took a deep breath, and started for the building, all the while trying to concoct a story that would sound plausible enough that Tom would believe it. They may not have been a couple anymore, but they were still close friends, and Tom still knew her better than a lot of people. Why she was trying so hard to get Tom to believe her wasn't quite a mystery to her, but she knew she shouldn't feel like she had to make Tom believe her. Everything that wasn't friendship was over between them, was done so because of her, so… That was exactly why, because she didn't want to lose his friendship.

She shook her head slightly, entered the school, and veered toward the stairwell entrance, going upstairs where his science lab and classroom were located. At that current moment, he would also be in his planning period, though, unlike hers, his lasted an hour; he only taught high school, whereas she split her time up with the high school and middle school. It could be confusing and frustrating at times, but it was the only system the school could cook up, and she really didn't mind. Still, though, she wasn't worried about interrupting a class; if that were the case, she would just wait until the end of school or at lunch. The only thing she was worried about was if someone else was "visiting" him. She shook her head, and reached his room.

She stopped before knocking on the door, taking a deep, calming breath. She touched her hair lightly, making sure it was still in place, and smoothed her blouse and full-length purple stretch skirt, as well as making sure her black tights were straight before taking another deep breath, and rapping quickly on the door. She heard his deep voice, granting her entrance, and opened the door, sticking her head in and saying:

"Hey."

He looked at her, no expression, and then back down at the papers he was looking over, no doubt grading. She came through the door all the way, shutting it, and leaning against it, hands behind her. A feeling of awkwardness settled over her, and she bit her lip. He was still angry with her.

She took a deep breath, and asked, "How are you?"

Tom didn't look up at her, only marked something on the paper with his red pen, and answered, "Fine."

This wasn't going to be easy, especially when he was still angry. Though, she supposed if her face was livid and discolored from bruises and she had a nasty cut above her eye, as well as on her lip, then she'd be pretty pissed off, too. At least his nose wasn't broken, though; she had thought for sure that it would be… Still, she felt responsible for what had happened, especially since it had happened at her house. It didn't help that he had been coming to see her, or that afterwards they had gotten into a fight. If she really thought about it, and was going to make a choice about who had been in the wrong, she'd probably have to say Lancelot. However, she wasn't going to pinpoint the blame on anyone, and was just as content with claiming some of it herself.

"Tom," she began, and still, he didn't look her. She bit her lip, sighed, and pushed away from the door, walking toward him. Still, he didn't say anything or look at her, remained dutifully fixated on the papers he was grading. "Tom," she tried again, trying to get him to open up. "How's your—"

"What do you want, Megan?" he asked, still grading papers.

She swallowed, looking down and picking at her thumb. She looked back up at him, and said, "I wanted to apologize."

"Don't worry about it. It's fine."

Except it wasn't, and she knew it. Tom's pride had been hurt, as well as something else on a more emotional, personal level. It was a slap in the face to him to find a man staying with her after everything they'd been through, after everything he was still doing to try and get her back. And not to mention jealousy… Mustn't forget jealousy, and just anger for having another egotistical male demand answers from him.

Men. Honestly.

"No, it's not, Tom, and you know it," she told him firmly. "Can we please just talk about it?"

Finally, Tom looked up at her, and let his pen drop to his desk. He raised an eyebrow, and said, "Talk about what, Megan? We talked enough yesterday."

Megan glared just a tad, and countered, "No, we argued, and now I've come to apologize for what I said, but you're being an ass about it." Something about Tom always made her lose her cool quicker than usual—she wasn't sure if it was good or bad, but it had caused a lot of heat between them in the past, both good and bad.

Tom glared back at her, green eyes blazing. "So sorry if I'm still a little pissed about some jerkoff thinking I was hurting you, and then attacking me, especially when he starts running the damn show like he's the one who owns the damn place."

So, it wasn't just that he had gotten his ass kicked that Tom was angry. It was also because he had been accused of wanting to hurt her. If she thought about it, it was made sense.

She made a noise in her throat. "Fine, be pissed, but we could at least try to resolve what happened yesterday."

Tom sighed, got up out of his chair, and walked away, rifling through papers on a desk. "Fine, it's resolved. You're sorry, I'm sorry; we're both sorry. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have papers to grade."

She was outright glaring, annoyance growing. "No, it's not resolved either, Thomas Hanover. If it was, you wouldn't be acting like an ass."

"And I suppose you're acting like an angel?"

"Stop being a child," snapped Megan. She took a deep breath, said, "Look, Tom, I didn't come here to argue. Can we please just talk? I don't want things to be bad between us because of some stupid argument yesterday."

Tom looked at her, saw something in her expression, and sighed, running a hand over his chin. "Fine, Megan. Let's talk." And he walked toward her, sitting on the top of a student's desk directly in front of her.

Megan crossed her arms over her chest, and said, "Thank you." Tom didn't say anything. "Now, about yesterday…" Tom laced his fingers, and let her lead the way in their conversation that was very likely to turn into a heated argument. It wasn't unusual. "Lancelot's just a family friend that needs help and doesn't have anywhere else to go or stay. Otherwise, he wouldn't be staying with me." And why did she feel like she was explaining her actions to him?

Maybe because you are, dumbass.

"What kind of trouble?" Tom asked.

Her mouth twisted in a grimace. "I can't tell you. It's his to tell." Not exactly a lie.

Tom frowned. "It's not going to get you into trouble or worse, right?"

So far, so good. He wasn't shouting about how it was all a bunch of bull crap. Maybe he would believe it now that adrenaline wasn't high, as well as tempers, and he wasn't near Lancelot. Maybe… hopefully… How to answer his question, though? Was it going to get her into trouble? She didn't think so, at least she hoped not… Besides, how would it…?

"No, he's just… a lot's going on right now, and… personal stuff…" No kidding it was personal.

Tom continued to frown, and finally nodded. "Okay, but if he does anything—"

Megan's lips twitched, wanting to smile as she interrupted gently with, "I know. Thanks."

Tom nodded, and then raised an eyebrow. "So, I got from Felicia that she doesn't really like him." Oh… Now that could definitely be a factor in his hostility. If Felicia didn't like someone, then why should Tom like the person around Megan? She cursed her sister then; she would definitely have to have a talk with her. She knew she had had it hard, but damn it. A little kindness toward Lancelot wouldn't kill her.

Instead, she replied with a light, "Ahh, no, not really. Old prank, bad grudge. You know how that goes."

Tom nodded, and silence stretched between them. Megan balanced on the heel of her heeled loafers, before setting back down. She bit her lip, looked toward the window, and then, unable to take the silence, said, "Sorry about," and she gestured toward his face.

Tom shrugged. "Can't say I wasn't angry, but it's not your fault, so don't apologize. Though, you weren't my favorite person when I came to work and Dave caught sight of me."

Megan snorted. Dave, one those in the "Megan's a bitch" hate club, was one of the guys that liked booze, sports, bars, and women with nice "assets"—never mind he was married or how old they were. It had never stopped him before, why should it stop him now? Safe to say, though, he wasn't a favorite of Megan's, but was a friend of Tom's. If he knew what had happened, no doubt he was all ready spreading dirt about her, and had been relentless when he had seen Tom. She wondered about what other people had said, and the students… She winced.

"Bad, huh?"

"Yeah," Tom answered. "I didn't tell him what happened, though, so you don't have to worry about him coming and giving you a hard time."

She gave Tom a grateful look. "I imagine the students gave you a hard time, too?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "They're nosy teenagers that enjoy prying and trying to make their teachers squirm, what do you think?"

"Point taken." And silence. There wasn't anger, but things definitely weren't back to normal. There was still an awkwardness there that shouldn't be, and Megan wasn't sure how to fix it. Though she wasn't looking at Tom, she could feel him staring at her as he sat, perched on the desk, hands laced. "Look, Tom, about what I said yesterday… about you looking for a reason to come over… I didn't mean it. You don't have to have a reason… Just… tempers and …"

Tom stared at her, and reached out, grasping her hand and giving it a light, meaningful squeeze. She stared at it, and then looked at his face, a weird feeling developing in her stomach. "I know." And he still had a hold of her hand as he answered, staring at her meaningfully.

His thumb had started to trace patterns over her skin, and she only stared at him, wondering what was happening. She let him continue his tracing, even using her own thumb to run over his. She swallowed, looking into Tom's intense eyes, an age-old feeling coiling in her stomach. He got up off the desk, and came toward her, stopping when there was only a small space between them. She looked up at him, wondering… And knowing she should stop whatever was about to happen before it did. It would only complicate matters, and…

"Tom," she said, almost shaky, almost breathy.

He touched her cheek gently, running his other up her arm. "I've missed you, you know," he told her quietly.

She swallowed hard, looking up at him. "Tom…"

What could she say? They'd done this same thing numerous times, went through this numerous times, and… Then, he was drawing her body against his, holding her close, kissing her and utterly ravishing her mouth with need. Her eyes closed, and a moan escaped her involuntarily. God, could this man kiss… Her arms wrapped around his neck, and his run up and down her back, one dipping further down the curve of her ass tantalizingly before trailing back up. Pressed tightly between the desk and him, Megan could feel just how much Tom had missed her and just how much he was happy to "see" her again, and she had to admit it was pretty big. And she couldn't say she minded, or that she wasn't enjoying it, or that warmth was pooling in her center without lying a little.

In fact, the only thing she minded was that they were at school on the job… She pulled back, face flushed, lips swollen, eyes heavy. Tom's eyes were glazed, and he went to kiss her again, but she stopped him, putting her hand against her chest and chuckling, almost nervously.

"School… students," she croaked out. Tom swallowed, but her meaning got through to him. He nodded, unable to resist dipping down and giving her a searing kiss that left her on her tiptoes as they pulled apart, moving farther away from each other so as not to be tempted to go back to each other. "I… I should go," Megan said, swallowing and looking at Tom with the same heated look that was a bit dazed. She took a few steps sideways, to the door, touching her mouth with the side of her hand, heart racing.

"Yeah," he agreed.

She nodded, still walking half backwards, half sideways as she looked at him. She made it to the door, head clearing, and remembered something. She asked, "What did you need when you called Thursday?"

Tom blinked, swallowed. "Town fair…" and he trailed off, but she knew he had been wondering if she would go with him, bring Fel and Aiden, too.

"Maybe," she said.

She turned to leave, and he called out, "Megan!" She looked back at him, nerves still hot and on end. "There's a new restaurant they opened a week or so ago, Italian." She knew; it was the biggest and ritziest place Halls had. "Let me take you there, as an apology for yesterday." And he saw her uneasy look, and added, "With Felicia and Aiden, even your friend… just as an apology. Please?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know, Tom…" For many reasons, and only a couple had to do with Lancelot. Especially after what had just happened…

"Just to make up yesterday to you, and make things… mutual with your friend." Could she really crush him? She could, for both of their sakes in the very end, but…

"Okay…" she consented.

Tom smiled brightly, sincerely, and she smiled back, wondering if she was doing the right thing. "Friday night, good?" She nodded, not able to think of prior engagements. He smiled, she smiled, and then she left, late for her next class by a few minutes, all the while still wondering if she was doing the right thing. She hoped so.

Megan sighed—men.


A/N—So thing aren't as strictly platonic between the ex-lovebirds after all… Hmm… Anyways, anyone readying, feedback appreciated. Thanks for the reviews. Forgive the typos.

SatiricalPhilosophy