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 Six

Shock.

It coursed through her as she blinked, trying to figure out just exactly what was happening. First, she had just been lounging on the grass, waiting for Lancelot to come back, then someone had come up and grabbed her, startling her and making her cry out, and then, before she could even really get a grasp on things, Lancelot had suddenly appeared, and pulled him off of her before promptly attacking him. And now, Megan watched as Lancelot pummeled and fought with the man below him who just so happened to be—

Shit!

Megan's eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock, before she pushed herself to her feet, and rushed forward, stopping a little ways away from Lancelot and Tom so as not to accidentally get caught in the fray.

"Lancelot, stop!" she screamed, but Lancelot seemed not to hear her, too enraged as he wailed on Tom, not that Tom wasn't fighting back, because he was… He was just losing.

She yelled again, and when her cry of urgency still failed to reach Lancelot, she cursed and did the only thing left to do. Carefully she went up to the two fighting men, hesitating while thinking she was a complete idiot, but knowing she had to before Tom ended up in the morgue, and touched Lancelot's shoulder, yelling his name at the same time. And for one split second when he turned, she thought he would attack her, his eyes blazing and more alive than she had ever seen them. Then, in an even quicker second, recognition dawned on him, and Tom punched him in the jaw—hard. It got him off of Tom, but didn't seem to faze him, and Megan saw Lancelot about to lunge again, and quickly placed herself in the middle, yelling at them to stop.

Tom listened, though grudgingly and probably because he'd have to hit Megan to get to Lancelot, glaring and bleeding, but retaining his distance, though Megan knew he wanted to have a go at Lancelot. As for the latter… His muscles were taunt and tight and ready for action beneath her hands as she pushed against his chest, yelling at him to stop. A murderous look filled his eyes, and she wondered if her words were even fazing him, half tempted to smack him to see if that would work, but thought better of it, afraid he would turn on her before he realized it.

"Lancelot, stop! Just stop! Both you!" she shouted again, and she heard Felicia coming out the door, asking what the hell was going on. Megan didn't answer, busy with Lancelot. She grabbed his cheek and chin in a firm hand, and, with difficulty, yanked so he was forced to look at her, though he was trying his best to glare murderously at Tom. She gave him a small shake, voice firm as she said, "Lancelot, listen to me. Stop. He's friend. Just stop—calm down."

"What the hell happened?" she heard Felicia question, but whether to her or Tom she didn't know, wasn't paying attention. She was completely focused on Lancelot, knowing he wasn't placated yet—far from it, and would attack as soon as he could.

His eyes were glued to her as she held him in firm hands, fierce and fiery and hateful and utterly cold. She'd never seen such a look, and hoped that Lancelot never directed it or his rage toward her, because the small portion she had seen just a minute ago had been enough.

"He's a friend, Lancelot. Just calm down, okay?"

Lancelot swallowed. "He attacked you."

Megan shook her head. "No, he didn't. He's a friend. Tom wouldn't ever hurt me. Trust me. Do you trust me?"

His jaw clenched, and Megan waited with almost abated breath for his answer. Did he trust her? If the situation weren't as it was, she'd almost be surprised how much his answer meant to her. She wanted him to trust her, truly and honestly wanted and hoped he trusted her. She trusted him, though some people would argue that wasn't such a surprise—she tended to trust a lot of people, so her trust wasn't the biggest of deals. But did he, a battle-weary, war-hardened knight trust her? Gray-blue on dark brown, intense and waiting… hoping and searching.

"Yes."

She almost breathed out in relief, and stifled a smile, instead saying, "Then trust me, okay? And calm down. Can you do that?"

Lancelot clenched his fist, and she knew that he really, really didn't want to. He wanted to go over there to Tom and finish what he had started, but for her sake, she knew, he wouldn't. He would try to be civil and compliant, for however long he was capable of. And he did. His hard muscles were still taunt and ready to spring into violent action under her soft hands, but one small move and he stood down, and she could breathe easily again—or at least easier, because she didn't know how long it would be before Lancelot tried to kill Tom again, if he did. Though knowing Tom, the moron would say something that would set Lancelot off. He was good at that; always had been.

Definitely wasn't one of Tom's finer points.

Megan glanced over her shoulder to assess the situation. Felicia had taken Tom a ways away, far enough that he was out of earshot without yelling, which was good. It would keep him from saying anything snide or anything that would set the knight off again, and vice versa. Even from the distance, though, Megan could see the blood on him—his nose was gushing the dark crimson liquid, as was his lip. His usually handsome face was starting to bruise, and she could make out a bloody cut above his eye. The thick, gray wool turtleneck sweater hugging his broad shoulders was covered splatters of blood as well, and Megan was sure that the only thing that didn't have blood on it was his pants and his dark, brown-auburn hair.

Looking back at Lancelot, however, there was barely a scratch on him. In fact, the worst Tom had probably done the entire duration of the fight was when he hit Lancelot when she had been trying to get him away from Tom, and that left only a cut on his jaw from the big class ring Tom always wore. She doubted he would bruise, and if he did, then not much. But she assumed fighting for your life probably every other day, if not everyday made a person tough… like Lancelot. Thinking upon that, good thing she had pulled Lancelot away—a veteran knight fighting a high school biology teacher/part time "lumberjack" whose only experience in fighting were in controlled settings and the occasional brawl with peers when he was in high school or at the bar.

Yeah, it had definitely been a losing fight—for Tom that is.

Megan sighed, running a hand through her hair. Though she could probably guess the answer, she asked anyways. "Are you okay?"

"You ask if I am okay when I have just attacked your supposed friend." He almost lifted a brow, but was still too stony and angry for much facial expression yet.

Megan shrugged. "Yeah… Apparently you were just trying to protect me. I can hardly be angry for that."

"I saw him, and thought he was attacking you. I didn't think, only wanted to protect you and to kill him."

She looked at him intently, studying him almost. "And you would have, wouldn't you?"

Face blank, eyes cold. "Yes." It was the truth. She had known it all along.

She sighed, reached out and gave his hand a little squeeze. "Come on, I'll introduce you. And if he says anything, just ignore him, okay?"

"I won't promise you anything I can not keep."

She sighed again, said, "Okay, good enough. Come on. Are you sure you're okay, though?"

Lancelot raised an eyebrow in a "you're seriously asking that" way, and said, "I've fought countless of battles, have received wounds that could have been fatal. That boy could not have hurt me if he tried."

And apparently manly egotism was still very much alive in the Dark Ages as it was in the twenty-first century.

Men.

"Well, that boy is the same age as my sister, maybe you as well… or what you would be… if you were, you know, from the twenty-first century, and all. "

Lancelot snorted. "Age matters not in battle, Megan. Armies recruit children if their need is desperate enough, perhaps even when it is not—you do not need to be a certain age before you can kill."

Megan looked up at him, swallowed, brow furrowed slightly. His words chilled her for some reason, and she found herself asking, "How old were you?"

A moments pause, then: "Fifteen when the Romans came, and took me from my homeland to fight for a cause not my own, nor any other knights'."

She stared up at him, he down at her, and didn't know what to say. Fifteen? He had only been fifteen when he was pushed into a life apparently he had never wanted, fifteen when he first had to kill a human being to survive. Only fifteen when he was taken from his family… Dear God… She couldn't imagine it. Fifteen. Oh, she could imagine it for that period in history, but she wasn't thinking about that right now, only thinking… Fifteen… She couldn't imagine being ripped away from her family at the age of fifteen. Even now with her mother sick in a nursing home, and her father there with her, helping take care of her even when a lot of the time she didn't even remember him, it was hard. Her family was the most important thing to her, and to imagine ever being ripped away from them… especially at the young age of fifteen… It was impossible to imagine, especially if she had been forced to endure the horrors and the hardship Lancelot had been forced to live…

Lancelot touched her cheek lightly, said, "Do not pity me."

Megan shook her head slightly, slowly, said softly, "I don't pity you."

He pushed a lock of hair back from her face, responded with, "No, but your heart bleeds for me. I can see it in your eyes… They show what you are thinking, what you feel…"

Megan didn't say anything, only continued to look him. She didn't know what to say, and he didn't want her to pity him. However, she didn't pity him. She did, however… "I'm sorry."

It was his turn to squeeze her hand, which he did, and she returned the pressure. "Don't be. It—"

"Hope we're not interrupting anything."

It was angry and biting and full of… something… It successfully broke the moment, though, and had Lancelot glaring hatefully at Tom. Apparently, while Megan and Lancelot had been busy chatting, Felicia had been tending to Tom, cleaning him up and assessing him for damage. Nothing too bad, probably a broken nose judging by the way it looked and the way Felicia had doctored it up. Nothing time would heal—good thing they hadn't been fighting longer than they had. Or better yet, good thing Lancelot hadn't hit him any longer or any more than he had.

"Not at all," Megan said pleasantly, trying to keep the peace and hoping it would hold. She could feel the tension tight in the air, and feel the thick animosity surging between the two men—almost electric. Felicia stood back a little ways, safe if Tom and Lancelot decided to start brawling again. "Maybe we should all go in, and—"

"Why did you come here?" Lancelot demanded, and Tom's eyes widened in outrage and shock. Great, they weren't going to play nice.

Tom's green eyes were blazing with anger; he always had been hotheaded, why should now have been different. It shouldn't, of course; Megan was almost tempted to roll her eyes in annoyance, but kept calm. If she could deal with teenagers and pre-teens all day, five days a week, then she could deal with two grown men with nasty tempers. It was Fel that was the impatient, temperamental one, not her. Even now, looking at her sister, Megan could tell she was extremely displeased about the situation. Joy.

"Why did I come here? I'm a damn friend. Now, just who the hell are you? No one I know," Tom growled out.

Lancelot glared at him coldly. "That's not of any importance."

Tom's green eyes sparked, and Megan sighed, looking heavenward. "The hell it isn't. I want to know who the hell you are and why the hell you're here in Megan's house. She doesn't let men stay at her house, let alone strangers."

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, almost condescendingly. Megan looked at her sister, and Felicia gave her a look, asking just who was in charge here. Megan sighed, and before anything else could be said, jumped in, exclaiming loudly, "Okay, people, you know what, this is my house, and I can let whoever I want stay in it, so just be quiet!"

They listened, and she breathed in deeply. Good. Much better. "Now, Tom, this is Lancelot. He's an… uh, old friend. He's staying with Fel and I for a while—ahh, quiet." And she gave Tom a stern glare, effectively shutting him up. "Lancelot, this is Tom Hanover. Say hi."

Of course, he didn't, but they weren't yelling at each other anymore, so it was okay. Except Tom had to open his mouth, and sneer, "Lancelot? Are—"

"Tom," Megan interrupted. "Don't antagonize him, or next time I probably won't be able to get him off you, okay?" Tom glared, sniffed, and Megan turned to Lancelot. "And you're going to play nice as well, correct?" Lancelot frowned, clearly not happen. "Good, now, everyone go into the house, and we can try to have a civilized conversation."

Megan met Felicia's eyes. "I'll get coffee or something started."

Megan nodded in thanks, and then began to usher everyone in—Tom after Felicia, then her in between Tom and Lancelot, with Lancelot bring up the rear. Megan rubbed her head, a headache forming. She was about to go inside when she noticed Lancelot had stopped, and looked back at him. Tom stopped as well, and looked back from inside the doorway. Megan looked at Lancelot questionably, wondering what was wrong now.

"Lancelot…?"

"Go on in. I will follow shortly. There is something I must do first?"

Again with Megan's questioning, confused look. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait."

"Um, no. It must be done now. Besides, what of your dogs? Do you not want them in? I will go and fetch them."

"Yeah, you do that," Tom sneered.

Megan sent him a glare, and then looked back at Lancelot. "The dogs will be fine. They probably want to play for a bit anyways."

"I will be in shortly. I promise." He was unrelenting, and Megan frowned, wondering…

"Okay, then… Do you want me to come?"

Lancelot sent her a tense, reassuring smile that was half sneer as he said, "No, go and entertain your guest." And anyone could tell Lancelot hated Tom.

Megan's frowned deepened, but finally, slowly, she agreed. She turned and started in the house, watching as Lancelot went down the yard where he had went to check on the dogs earlier before the Tom incident. Hmm, something was up. She would have to ask him about it later, but for now she had other matters to attend. Matters such as the twenty-eight-year-old male she was walking into her kitchen with, and that was still bristling with anger.

"I don't like him, whoever is he," was the first thing Tom said when the kitchen door closed.

Megan sighed exasperatedly, rolled eyes, and said, "His name is Lancelot. He's a good guy."

Tom's face was hard and unrelenting. "I don't like him. He seems too shady."

Megan looked at him with annoyance, and said, "Shady? Tom, you don't like him because you just got your ass handed down to you by him. That's why you don't like him."

"Bullshit. Do you even know the guy?"

She sent him a "look." "Of course I do. I told you he's an old friend come to stay with Fel and I awhile." So she lied a little, what was she supposed to do, though? Tell him the truth? Oh, yes, she could see that going over so well. "No, Tom, actually Lancelot is a knight of the Round Table from the Dark Ages, under King Arthur's command. He landed in my back yard a couple of weeks ago, and now we're trying to find out why and how to get him back." Oh, yeah, that would go over wonderfully.

"And is that all he is. An "old friend?""

Megan sent him a scathing look, not liking what he was implying. That was positively ridiculous for so many reasons, and just the fact that Tom had implied it. It irked her, pulled on the right strings to get her annoyed very fast. "Don't even think about implying what I think you're implying, Thomas Hanover. Why do you even care, anyways?"

Tom made a noise in the back of his throat. "Gee, I don't know, maybe because I know you don't let men stay with you. You never had. You sure as hell didn't with us, or has things suddenly changed and I just not realize it?"

Now, she really was annoyed. "I can't believe you. Is this what this is all about? Jealousy? I can't believe that." He glared, and she scoffed. "For Christ sakes, Tom…" And she trailed off, breathing deeply to get her calm back and her annoyance under control. "Tom, why exactly are you here?"

"You never called me back when I called Thursday, and I got worried."

Megan raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that you called."

"Yeah, Felicia answered, said she would relay the message."

Megan glanced at Felicia who was staying well out of their little spat. Felicia shrugged. "I must have forgotten with… all the excitement going on." Megan knew what she meant, but it had Tom narrowing his eyes suspiciously, looking from her and then Megan.

"See, there you have it. And why didn't you just talk to me at the school if you were so worried?"

Tom frowned. "I took a personal day Friday; you were probably too busy to notice, though. With your little friend and all."

Megan narrowed her eyes, and retorted, "Are you sure you weren't just looking for a reason to come here?"

Tom looked at her frostily, said, "I wasn't aware that I needed a "reason" to come see you, Megan. Guess I was wrong." And then he stomped past her, going out the door, and slamming it.

Megan sighed loudly, and looked skyward—wonderful. She got up and rushed after him, calling out, "Tom, wait!" But he didn't listen, only stalked out of her backyard, and disappeared out of sight. Seconds later she could hear him starting the class mustang he had restored, and spinning out of her yard. She let her head drop back, and she cursed silently—herself and Tom. She sighed, resolving to apologize tomorrow at work. Tom was hothead with a bad temper, but with a better situation and circumstances, he should be willing to forgive her. At least she hoped so; Tom was a good friend, and one she wasn't willing to loose over some stupid misunderstanding and dispute.

"Your friend left?"

Megan turned, and looked at Lancelot. He stood near the kitchen door, and she was pretty sure he had probably listened to most of the fight. She nodded, though, saying, "Yeah."

Lancelot nodded, was a silent for a second, and then said to her, "Because of me?"

Megan shrugged, walking back over to him. "Partly. Most of it was me, though, so don't worry about it." Not that she really thought he would. He was probably happy Tom was gone.

Honestly, men.

"What happened, if I am not prying?"

Megan shook her head, and smiled slightly. "Don't play dumb. I'm sure you heard the entire thing." And she smirked up at him.

Lancelot, she could tell, restrained a smirk, and said, "But you are wrong, lady. I did not hear all of it, only part of it."

Megan snorted. "Smartass. Come on." She dragged him into the house, asking, "I take it you finished whatever it was that you needed to do?"

"Aye," he replied, and sat down at the table with Megan. The coffee was finished, and Felicia had left the room. They were alone once again.

"What exactly did you have to do anyways?"

Lancelot shook his head. "Nothing important." And she knew he was deliberately not telling her. She frowned, went to ask again, but he beat her, saying, "Do not fret, Megan, it was nothing to concern yourself over. Trust me." And she looked at him, in his eyes, and slowly nodded.

Trust.

If he said to trust him, then she would—she did. He had proven to her today that he would protect her if he thought she was in harm, even if it meant murder. She wondered if he even considered it murder, killing for survival. Was that even what it truly was? She wasn't quite sure. Maybe she should just consider it self-defense and leave it at that, but was self-defense still murder? You could get charged for manslaughter for it, so…

"What thoughts have you so thoroughly absorbed?" he asked, causing her to glance up at him.

Could she tell him? Or would that offend him. She shook her head, finally settling for, "Just thinking what you told me out there."

Nothing else needed to be said; he knew exactly what she meant. He drew in a breath, and sat back, looking away from her and at nothing, thinking—remembering.

"I promised her I would return, promised them all I would when the Romans came. Fifteen years, I served, waiting for the day I would be able to fulfill my promise, and then…" He looked at her, and smiled, but it wasn't a happy or good thing. "I told Arthur before we left to bring Marius and his family to the Wall before the Saxons could reach them, that I would die in battle, and that I hoped it would be one of my choosing… And I did… against the Saxons. They came, and we fought, and I died a free man, but I never fulfilled my promise. Never went back."

Megan swallowed, and Lancelot smiled that smile of his again. "Lancelot…" Her voice was soft. What could she say? The man had obviously experienced more heartache than anyone ever should, more than she had, and she obviously didn't know how he felt or anything else, so what could she possibly say to console him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But maybe words weren't the answer to this particular equation, just maybe, and she prayed he didn't reject her as she reached across the table and grasped his hand in her smaller one. And then, after a moment, he closed his hand around hers, held on tightly.

She swallowed hard, and a determination, a deep resolve settled in her, and she said, softly, but with conviction, "I'm going to find a way to get you back, Lancelot. And you will see you family again… I promise."

And he just smiled, a bitter, utterly heartbreaking smile that made her hurt. He tightened his hold on her hand, brought it up, and placed a gently kiss on her knuckles. Then he said, "Thank you, but do not promise things you cannot possibly give." And he tightened his hold on her hand, and looked out the window on the kitchen door, and they sat there, in silence, letting their thoughts drift.

A/N—Yeah, so Megan wasn't in any actual danger, but that's how it was planned all along from the beginning. That's not to say there isn't danger to come… Not the best chapter, but a chapter, yeah? Anyways, review if you read, you know the rest.

Alex: Hey, thanks for the review. No cliffhanger in this one, and not sure if this was the exciting you were hoping for, but here it is—the next chapter. Enjoy. Thanks a bunch for the review. Always appreciated and loved.

SatiricalPhilosophy