Note: Ahh, hello! How long did this take to finish, haha! I am so sorry. Anyway, basically this chapter is to get more of a feel for the two as they start communicating more. I mean, we can't just rush into anything, right ;). No, but seriously, some character development hopefully, which is the point of my dreadful chapters. Well, here it is, finally. I would just like to thank those who reviewed, and thoughrally encourage others to continue doing so! It means a lot, but also it allows me to make parts of it better for your enjoyment

Cathal had been walking on eggshells ever since he'd made the deal. 500€ borrowed from a Tom, or was it Jim? It didn't matter, Cathal just knew he owed somebody money, and the crowd he'd fallen into since his Da has thrown him out weren't the forgive and forget kind of folk. No.

He HAD needed it. Well, the majority of the money he'd spent on basic supplies- food, water, and all that crap. But there were the drugs. Okay, so maybe these people weren't a great influence on him… And that was part of the reason he was living in his car. Broke his mother's heart and it was his fault she'd passed away.

Right.

Still he wondered if it actually was his fault, and that his Dad was right. But overall, he just missed his Mum.

As Cathal walked the sandy slope down the beach, he turned, quickly glimpsing at that guy, Arthur, he'd been talking too. He seemed okay- as far as people around here went, anyway, and his English accent was amusing to listen too. Cathal had to admit, he was slightly happy he'd met someone who wasn't permanently high for a change, but that was just a first impression. And it could be all wrong. He knew that.

He fumbled around with the zippo in his pocket as he made his way to the bonfire, greeting the person who'd shouted him over before. There were four other people around the fire, two blondes, a skin head and a guy with scraggly brown hair that looked like it could do with a good wash.

Shit. It was the guy he owed money too. The knot in Cathals stomach tightened and the realisation of who the little group were made him nervous as fuck. It wasn't everyday people just walked away if they had certain agreements with these four, especially the main one . These guys would fall at nothing to get their money back.

But they didn't do anything. In fact they just looked relaxed, and this made him even more unsettled. There was no way that he'd be an exception.

But the group talked to each other with no mention of any money even being owed, even if a sly look was passed at Cathal every now and again. He chewed his lip nervously, looking into the fire as if concentrating on that would take away this situation and how much crap he was actually in.

What was he even doing here anyway? This company was unwanted, but what else really did he have to do? Besides, this was like a basic routine of sorts: a bunch of strangers, some drugs, alcohol, and it made his life feel like it might as well of happened to someone else.

Cathal took a pre-prepared joint from the makeshift packet he kept in his jeans pocket. He lit it with his trusty zippo, the familiar feelings and smell calmed him quickly, and he blew the smoke into the night sky.

What the fuck had he been so worried about?

The next hour or so seemed to pass relatively quickly and without incident, but before he knew it, the guy who desperately needed a wash had him by his shirt, a fist raised, ready to attack.

"Where the fuck's my money?" the guy spat, the smell of alcohol was hard to miss.

Cathal laughed slightly, partially due to the reaction of being cornered so fast, partially due to the fact he was too high to think straight. It felt like a dream, no a nightmare, either way, it didn't feel real at all.

"What's so fucking funny?" the guy was mad, seriously mad, his face had turned a dark shade of red and he was practically shaking Cathal because of his intoxicated rage. But this only made him laugh more.

"I don't have your money." He said casually, shrugging slightly, unable to at least stop acting like a fool even for a second until the man calmed down. But he didn't, instead the guy sent a hard shove at Cathal, and he slipped, the sand offering no grip or resistance to stop him from falling.

That's when the blows started. The heavy blows of feet, the kind that knock the wind out of a person, make their eyes water and give them a sort of dull pain that make them like even every breath is a struggle. Cathal pulled his knees up around him, trying to protect the tiniest bit of him, trying to catch his breath which was coming in hitches as he struggled against the pain the group had caused in his chest, back and just about everywhere they'd been able to damage. But the guy just laughed, and said something threatening about 'his money,' before slinking off with the group, leaving Cathal alone on the wet sand, shivering against the cold and the pain.

Heavy rain droplets splashed on the car windows, creating unpredictable lines and patterns that streaked along with the added wind. Arthur peered out of the window, it was grey and wet and miserable. He yawned, trying to shake some of the tiredness he felt off. Remembering last night, and the friend he sort of hope he'd made, he looked out of the back window- checking to see that it wasn't a dream. But there it was, that yellow car, shrouded by a thin layer of fog. But still there.

His car's dashboard clock read 9:07am and Arthur rubbed his hands over his face, trying to will himself to get out and do something that didn't involve sleeping.

9:08

9:09

9:10

"Fine." He said to himself, bracing himself for the depressing weather he was about to face, and swung the door open. Miserable had been an understatement. Anincredible understatement. The cold chilled him to his core, and the rain felt like pellets of ice against his skin. Arthur groaned with displeasure, shivering even beneath the thick hoody he wore. Racing around to the boot, he opened it with haste, pulling out the old raincoat he kept exactly for weather like this.

The cold of the morning had clung to Arthur, and as he walked the short distance to the closest Café he could find, he wondered why he'd even bothered getting up. The grungy door of the small place squeaked as he pushed it open and the layer of water on the linoleum flooring almost caused him to slip. The Café wasn't very big; there were only a few tables and a small counter at the back, but the smell of frying bacon and the sound of clashing pans and cooking, and the fact that it was filled with happy sounding people, made it seem like the best place in the world.

Arthur surveyed the place quickly for an available seat, but a familiar face in the corner drew his attention. It was Cathal, and he seemed even more worn down than he had last night, the red around his eyes a clear indication of that. There was a watch in his hand, and the way his thumb kept wiping over the face of it, suggested to Arthur that it held some sentimental value.

Arthur made his was to Cathals table, sliding into the seat directly opposite. Cathals hand automatically clutched the watch he was holding, as if preventing it from being stolen, only relaxing upon looking at Arthur and realising who it was.

"Just thought I'd come over and say hello," Arthur commented, clearing up, or attempting to clear up, any curiosity Cathal had about him joining his table. He smiled, and for a moment the guy looked genuinely pleased to see him, or pleased to have some sort of company, but it soon faded, and a solemn look replaced it.

"Thought you would've found better company than me by now."

"In such a short amount of time? I think you're stuck with me."

He let out a small laugh, but the way Cathal grimaced and shifted in his seat made Arthur frown slightly. Arthur could definitely see it now, how different Cathal actually had been yesterday, and he wondered if this was a usual occurrence for him to look this… frail. His breathing was broken and he looked like overnight he'd completely changed into something which didn't know where it was and exactly what it was doing.

"You okay, mate?"

"Mm," His brow creased slightly with pain again, "just… slept funny last night 'tis all."

There was a moment of silence following this. It wasn't awkward silence, but it wasn't comfortable

Silence either. It was the sort where one participant knows the other is lying, not quite sure what about, but is waiting for them to confess none the less. The background noise of the Café and the sounds of passing cars filled the gap before either of them spoke again.

"So what brings ya to this neck o' the woods, Arthur?" Cathal was looking out of the window, the harsh, pale sunlight just made him appear even iller, and his question sounded bitter. But it also sounded wary.

Arthur leant back in the Café chair, resting his hands flatly on the table. He didn't want to go into much detail regarding his family or what exactly had broken them apart. The last time him and his father had 'spoken' had been a row to end all rows, obviously. And he had no intention of changing that, or setting anything straight, for now at least.

Arthur couldn't even remember what it'd been over, what had started the argument which had changed his life completely. He just remembered that after the final word had been said; he'd packed some clothes, some other bare essentials, and his money, before slamming the door on his old life.

But there had always been something about him which would set off his father's rage, and once started, nothing could stop it. And then he'd have to deal with the consequences and bear with them unless he wanted yet another speech of disappointment. It'd all start with something tiny and insignificant, before spiralling out of control, and all of the blame and anger would land in Arthur's direction. But what could he have done really, besides leave? There was nothing he could've done to stop his father's views, no way he could change or make himself into someone else. Besides, his father would always be an angry, opinionated man until the day he died.

"Family issues." Arthur responded, trying to block out any sign of recognisable emotion.

Cathal turned back towards Arthur at his reply, and for a moment that familiar look of remembrance appeared in the other man's eyes.

"Had my fair share 'o them, too"

Cathal looked down at the watch in his hand. It was silver, tainted slightly with age and use. The clock face was yellow, and it looked like it had stopped working a long time ago.

"When I was younger, me Mum died. My Da said it was because I broke her heart, the people I hang around with aren't exactly model citizens, if you know what I mean. And what I did… I, I guess I just stopped being the son she knew. But she got ill, all frail looking and pale. The doctors couldn't explain it, but they said she'd get better- so I had hope. But she didn't. It's been a few months now, nearly half a year. I miss her. But my Da, he wouldn't even look at me when she passed away. Didn't even talk to me after that, except when he told me to get out. Still won't. I tried to make it better, but I've given up now."

Cathal continued to look down at his watch, and as Arthur digested this new information, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty for him. It was partially due to the fact that he'd been forced to live like this, it wasn't a choice. And partly because Arthur could tell Cathal still felt his father's blame for being supposedly responsible for his mother's death, and even blamed himself a little too.

And it was possibly the worst burden any man could ever carry.

But before Arthur could give any sort of response, Cathal looked up, crooking his head slightly to the left.

"Say, Arthur, I forgot to ask yesterday, but you look slightly familiar. Somewhere I know you from?"

"Unless you know the name Pendragon."

Cathal gawped at him from across the table, before a look of confusion and then slight amusement crossed his face.

"You mean from that big business corporation who does all sortas a' stuff worldwide and all that? But whatcha doing all the way over here?"

"Leading my own life."

"But wouldn't you rather have everything you could every want or- or even need, than live in this shithole?" Cathal commented, gesturing around at the place slightly as if to emphasis his point.

"Not if it meant letting my parents make me into some sort of version of themselves. What they have, that is not a life, not a proper one. It is constant work, constant bullshit. I just wanted something different. So I left. I know, I know, you probably think I'm crazy for leaving, but it got to the point where my father no longer saw me as a son, but as a way of continuing on the 'family business' regardless of what I wanted."

Arthur knew that his personal life wasn't as bad as Cathals, there was no death or self-torture. But it isn't his story, and his personal efforts to get out of a family whose goals were to gain power and wealth had succeeded, and he was out. Fair enough if people thought he was crazy for leaving such a prosperous life, but he would gladly give someone else his family if they wanted it, for even a day with a family who wanted nothing but his wellbeing and to know he was happy. How is that so hard to understand?