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 Four

She sat there in a chair in front of the fitting rooms, her mind racing as she waited for Lancelot to come model another outfit for her. It just didn't make sense—none of it. In fact, it just kept getting weirder and weirder. She knew, had resolved it after her little Lancelot-language discovery, that as soon as she got home she would give Professor Brinkley a call… or considering the time it would probably be, she would just wait until tomorrow. Then she would explain the situation to the professor, the whole situation, and see what he thought about it. Then, hopefully, he would make a trip down to Maine and look at Lancelot's belongings, hopefully even bring his friend. That would surely get her somewhere, though where she wasn't sure.

Suppose his stuff wasn't the genuine stuff from Dark Ages, and come to find out he had been lying to her the entire time, what then? She didn't know, but if she thought about it, really thought about it, some part that she wouldn't admit to anyone—the part that everyone had, the little kid side of a person, the dreamer in everyone—sincerely hoped that Lancelot was telling the truth. Because if he wasn't… she knew that nothing she could say would convince Felicia to let him stay, even though it was Megan's house—would she even want him to stay? She would think not, but she wasn't so sure…

But why did she want it to be true so bad, too?

She didn't know that either. He had only been awake a day, and she was already hoping she'd get to keep him. She snorted at that—get to keep him, she sounded like she was referring to one of the many strays she and Fel would bring home and beg their mother to let them keep when they were children. No, Lancelot was a living, breathing man, and Megan… she sighed…

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she had taken care of him when he was incapacitated. Sure, Fel was his nurse, but for the most part, Megan was one the one that took care of him—at least when she wasn't working that is. Maybe those two weeks that she had cared for him, listened to him mummer in his sleep and sometimes, before Doc Barnes had said he had lapsed in a coma, let him hold her hand and whisper odd things to her in Latin so soft she couldn't discern them, maybe that had something to do with it. Perhaps the attachment she was feeling was because she had cared for him for the past two weeks, and to find out after all that he had lied to her… She was a person that considered trust of the utmost importance; that said enough.

Or maybe you want him to be real because he's Lancelot, your favorite legend of them all.

She grimaced. It was true. The character Lancelot had always intrigued her, probably because it was said he to be the best out of them all, or just whatever made a character favorable to a person. It still stood, though, that the character Lancelot was her favorite knight of them all when she had read the stories of Arthur and the Round Table, and maybe she was hoping he was the real deal simply because of that reason alone. She knew Felicia found it amusing because her sister knew about her little… thing. But it wasn't like Fel didn't have some weird fantasy about some mythical, fictional character—think Jean-Claude, the sexy vampire from the popular Anita Blake novels.

At least my fantasy guy is human, she though amusedly. Then, though, someone was clearing their throat, drawing her out of her spaced-out daze. She blinked, and looked up to find Lancelot standing there in the third outfit. It was a simple black button-down dress shirt with a white shirt underneath it and a pair of fashionable dark blue jeans. She smirked, and motioned for him to turn around. He rolled his eyes, playfully, of course, because he was used to this, and modeled for her like all the other times as she flicked her eyes up and down appraising him. He turned back to her, and she continued her scrutiny.

In all honestly he looked as good as he did in the last one and the one before that one and so on. She was just putting up the show, because really it was what was comfortable to him.

Finally she shrugged. "I approve. Do you like it?"

Lancelot just put on a little half-smile, and replied, "Clothes are clothes. I've learned to not be picky about such things."

She nodded slowly. "Because of the whole knight and Dark Ages thing, right? I imagine times were increasingly difficult, and the people took what they got."

"Mostly, yes."

Megan bit her lip, a gleam entering her eyes as a thought occurred to her, and she felt almost guilty for it. However, her guilt didn't stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. "You know, you would be an excellent guest speaker for my class." And then she almost blushed, and said, "I'm sorry. Teacher in me."

"And what is it you teach?" asked Lancelot, genuinely curious.

Megan shrugged. "History and English. I've got a degree in both, and because there's a serious lack of teachers at the school, they've got me teaching both subjects. Safe to say it can be hectic at times."

"You like history?"

"I find it fascinating, yeah."

Lancelot frowned. "Why? It is full of nothing but bloodshed and war," he said. "And anyways, why concentrate on the past when there is so little time in the future?"

She frowned. "To learn from our mistakes," she answered, almost asking it. "Lancelot, there's more than just bad things in the past; there's a lot of good things in it, too. Just like now."

Lancelot's face was closed off, eyes hard. "Then maybe I am blind, because I do not see it."

Megan looked at him a little remorsefully. "Lancelot…"

He turned. "I will try on the next outfit." And then he left, leaving Megan to look after him sadly, wondering how anyone could get so bitter.

He's had a hard life. Always fighting, and now this… No wonder…

Megan sighed. Of course, but still, she didn't like it. She hated seeing people with no hope, hated seeing anyone—well, not everyone—despair and loose any hope of the future. And she was sure that was what had happened to Lancelot. She wasn't sure of his story; all she knew was the legend Lancelot in literature. This one that found she found herself opening her house and trust to probably had a story far different that the mythical Lancelot. Maybe one day he'd tell her, but for now what she knew was enough. The man had lost everything; hell, he had lost even his life, literally, and then woke to find himself in her home, in her time without any knowledge of he had gotten there. No wonder he was so pessimistic and bitter. She was sure if she was in his position, if she had endured whatever he had endured, she would have just given up by now. But Lancelot, despite the odds, was still pushing forward.

So bitter he was; he hadn't given up yet.

A good sign.

And then she was again thinking of the mystery that was Lancelot, or better yet the mystery that got Lancelot in her backyard. It. Just. Didn't. Make. Sense. It would make more sense if he didn't know English period, but as it was he just could read or write it. What was up with that? That was the part that made the lest amount sense to her. He could speak it, understood English verbally, but when written… Just didn't make sense, and she couldn't figure it out. Wasn't even close to figuring it out, and it was annoying her that the answers kept eluding her, not to mention giving her a big, uber-mega headache.

She sighed, and leaned back in the chair, resting her head on the back of it—just absolutely no sense whatsoever. She heard Lancelot walk out, and without moving her head, flicked her eyes down to look at him. Again, he looked good, and again she gave him the thumbs up, and again and again and again they repeated the process, all the while her headache grew as she continued to ponder. Finally, though, Lancelot was finished, and selected what he wanted and what he didn't, and then Megan pulled him the shoes.

She advised him to get three pairs—one for comfort and casual, one for dressy occasions, and one for in-between. He listened, thinking she knew best in this matter, and together they picked out shoes and then socks and then underwear for him. And that was both an amusing and awkward situation that Megan hoped never to repeat again, though Lancelot seemed amused at her discomfort in an entirely masculine way. She would have said something witty to him, but seeing him amused and not sullen was enough to still her tongue and make easy of the situation.

"Is that it? Is that all you need?" she asked, biting her lip as she thought about it. Then she exclaimed, "No! Toiletries. We can get that, though, at Mar's."

Lancelot's brow furrowed. "Mar's?"

Megan nodded, and explained, "Yeah, Mar's Super Center. It's this big supermarket where you can get everything else."

Lancelot just went "ahh," and then Megan beckoned Lancelot to follow her as she went to pay for Lancelot's clothes, explaining quietly what a cash register was and whatnot as she went. Then, after everything was paid for, they left the mall, Lancelot carrying the bags, while Megan just looked on surprised. What guy carried bags for the ladies anymore? She hadn't met many. Oh, sure, she'd had guys that carried bags while she did, too. However, a guy that insisted on carrying the bags all by himself—it made her almost miss chivalry. Then, though, she pushed the thoughts away and pressed the button to unlock the doors to the forest green Jeep Liberty, telling Lancelot to just put them in the backseat. Then, after they had buckled up, Megan started the ignition, backed up, and pulled out of the parking lot.

It didn't take long to get to Mar's Super Center. The whole drive, Megan noticed that Lancelot had watched the town with avid attention. He had asked her a question or two, but mostly the drive to the store had been one of silence. Now, Megan unbuckled and got out, Lancelot following her example. They walked to the doors together, and when they slid open by themselves, Lancelot stopped suddenly, looking at them with marvel, and again, shock.

"It's okay, Lancelot. They're supposed to do that," Megan said, grabbing his arm, and pulling him through the doors. Lancelot turned his head back, looking at the doors that slid closed as they continued in the store, and Megan couldn't help but find it amusing.

"Your world is indeed a strange one," Lancelot said, and Megan smirked.

"Trust me, it can get stranger." And then she led the way to the hygiene and healthcare section of the store. "So, what do we need?" she asked, more to herself than to Lancelot.

Besides her father she hadn't even lived with a male before, and having to by male products now seemed weird to her. Maybe she should have brought Fel with her. Felicia could help Lancelot out a lot more than she could when it came to male essentials. The woman had been married for years for Christ sakes; if she didn't know what to get, then something was wrong. But then she shook herself mentally, telling herself that she was twenty-five years old, and if she couldn't figure out what essentials to get just because the person in question had a penis, then she should be striped of her adult title. Honestly. Thus, she and her knightly companion set off to get the necessary items he would need for his stay in the twenty-first century.

Surprisingly it only took them a little less than an hour. Though, Megan supposed, that was probably because he hadn't asked much questions, instead just trusting her judgment and what she told him. Or maybe he just had so much on his mind already that he was numb to any more surprising shocks. It made Megan grimace internally, thinking that wasn't a good sign and that it was probably time to go home. The knight had had enough cultural shock for the day; it was time for him to rest now, let him process everything he had learnt and discovered about the new world.

"Megan."

Megan stopped and turned at the familiar voice, looking at Aiden with furrowed brows. He stood a little ways from her, alone, and just staring at her with those intense eyes of his, expressionlessly. Megan scanned the area, and wondered what in the hell Aiden was doing wandering the store alone. Felicia didn't let Aiden out her sight, and Megan didn't either when he was under her charge, so what the hell…

"Aiden?" she asked surprised. The child started to walk toward her, and Megan walked toward him. "What? Where's your mother?" She looked around again, and still there wasn't any sign of the blonde haired, green-eyed female anywhere.

Aiden stopped when there was only a foot between them, looking at up her with those same eerie eyes and blank expression. He turned and pointed in the opposite direction. Megan followed where he was pointing; frowned, turning her eyes back to her eight-year-old nephew. She met his gaze with her own, and was tempted to redirect her.

She bent down, balanced on her toes, and said, "Aiden, you know you're not supposed to wander off."

Aiden just stared at her, nothing about his composure changing—it was still that same aloof, detached, cold demeanor that sometimes unnerved her. It just wasn't right; a child that never smiled or had sparkles in there eyes. She supposed though, with everything he had went through, he probably did have a few scars, and not the kind of scars that were visible. It made her wonder about her sister then, wondering just how much damage she had that Megan couldn't see, that she didn't know about. Then he turned and looked at Lancelot; Megan continued to frown, watching as Aiden just stared at Lancelot and vice versa.

"Aiden!"

Megan looked up in the direction Aiden had pointed seconds ago, where she heard Felicia's worried, concern-filled voice coming from. Seconds later the blonde appeared, and upon seeing Aiden a relieved look crossed her face. Megan straightened up, and watched as Aiden turned toward his mother as she drew up to them.

"Aiden, honey, what are you doing?" Felicia asked. "I've told you countless times not to wander off. Do you know how worried I was when I turned around and you weren't there?"

Aiden stared at her blankly, and said,"Sorry, Mommy."

Felicia sighed; brow furrowed as she looked at her son, and then up at Megan and Lancelot who stood there watching the display. Megan raised an eyebrow, and Felicia sighed again.

"Get everything you needed?" Felicia asked.

Megan nodded. "Yeah, pretty sure."

Felicia nodded, and silently they made their way to the cash registers—Megan, Lancelot, Felicia, and Aiden. Lancelot watched with avid attention as the cashier rang up the products, something he had done back at the mall, too. Megan thought it was amusing, and Felicia apparently did as well, because Megan could see amusement in her eyes, though cold wariness dominated much of it. Then though, the cashier was finished, Lancelot was frowning, and Megan could tell he was itching to touch the electronics. That would definitely not go over easy.

Megan paid, and turned to her sister. "See you back at the house. Come on, Lancelot. Let's go." And then they were leaving, Lancelot watching the doors open and close on their own with that same shocked fascination he had the first time.

­-8-8-8-

Night had fallen, and Megan sat in one of the kitchen chairs grading papers, scratching her golden retriever's head as she went. After helping put Lancelot's new clothes and toiletries away, and explaining the shower and toilet and other such things, she had left him to shower. She had been pleased to note that it went without incident, and she was pretty sure Felicia was, too.

She sighed, setting back in the chair and taking off her rectangular reading glasses. Felicia was against what she was doing, she knew. She didn't trust Lancelot and had already informed Megan that she thought he was lying. Felicia's mistrust for him had only grown when Megan had told her about the language incident, how he could speak English but couldn't read or spell it, but knew Latin. She was convinced it was a fraud, that Lancelot was a fraud, and he was just pulling Megan along, milking her for what she was worth. Megan, though, couldn't help but disagree with her sister, and first thing tomorrow morning she was going to call Professor Brinkley and get his opinion on the whole matter.

However, despite Felicia's obvious doubt in Lancelot and Megan's judgment, Megan wasn't angry with her. It wasn't easy for Felicia to trust, especially after her husband, and for a man to wake up after being found in the backyard claiming for be a legend from the Dark Ages… there was just simply no way Felicia was going to believe that. Not without rock hard proof first, anyways. Megan sighed again, knowing that was what she was going to have to do. Because even though Felicia wouldn't be out right rude to Lancelot, she wouldn't be warm and welcoming either.

She ran a hand through her hair, and looked down at the dog as he whined, resting his chin and paw on her thigh. She smiled softly, whispered, "You like him, don't you?" He lifted his head, barked, and wagged his tail. Megan laughed. "Shhh, everyone's in bed." Then she looked at the clock, groaned, and stood up. "Which is where we ought to be. Come on, Barney."

She left the kitchen, Barney on her heels, and a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed knight on her mind. And as she curled up under her covers, falling asleep almost instantly with Barney a warmth against her stomach, her dark knight followed her in her dreams.

A/N- Okay, if you don't like this chapter, that's fair because I don't either. I kept wanting to write from Lancelot's prospective, and it just wasn't working for me. However, it was either produce this, or what until my muse was working properly which could take a while. Thus, I figured a crappy chapter was better than no chapter at all… As always, forgive any remaining typos. Anyways, review if you read please. Suggestions and whatnot welcomed.

Lancelot's Love: Yeah, at first I wasn't going to approach the language issue at all, but it kept bugging me and I didn't feel like going back and trying to add it in. Thus, I just came up with a new idea. It personally works for me. Anyways, thank you for the review. Much appreciated.

SatiricalPhilosophy