The title for this chapter is a line from the song Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift featuring The Civil Wars.

Scientific Soul Mates

Chapter 8:
Just close your eyes

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"You can't be too surprised," Morgana said, lips drawn down into a small frown as she helped Arthur load up the dishwasher, the plates cleared, half empty wine glasses sitting on the counter near them, the remnants of both dinner and the conversation Arthur had with their father clinging to him.

Arthur's forehead was creased with it all, the too fresh memory like that of Morgana's lipstick stain on the glass she was reaching for; she took a small sip as she gave Arthur a sympathetic sort of look, handing him the final plate before he shut the dishwasher and pushed the necessary buttons, the machine humming to life quietly and beginning its task as he leaned against it, reaching for his own glass and taking a long drink.

The conversation with his father had been… exactly what he'd expected it to be. They'd enjoyed their meal for a total of fifteen minutes, idle chit-chat and work related anecdotes and jokes being traded before his father had finally broken down and asked what the occasion was, what the big news that warranted a family dinner was and whether it was going to affect the firm.

And then it had been… exactly what Arthur and Morgana had expected it would be: insults and yelling and hurt feelings all around, with Morgana chiming in on Arthur's behalf—"He's almost thirty, Daddy, he can make his own decisions now; he doesn't need to be coddled!"—where she could. And at the end of the meal… Uther had stormed off to his office, promising Arthur that he would not be attending the wedding, and all but threatening to disown him if he went through with the ceremony. And Arthur knew he didn't mean it—knew there were a lot of things he'd sooner do before disowning his son, the last remaining physical piece of his wife that existed in the world—but… that didn't make it hurt any less.

And the fact that his father wasn't going to be at his wedding—even if it was to a total stranger—made it hurt even more. Because this was his wedding, damnit, and he should have wanted to be there to support him in this completely idiotic decision he was making.

He should have, but Arthur had always known that he wouldn't be.

"I'm not," Arthur sighed, finishing the rest of his wine and setting the glass down on the counter next to him, eyes downcast, bottom lip resting between his teeth. "I just… I guess I was hoping…" he trailed off, shrugged, looked back up to his sister. "I don't know, that he would… surprise us. Be supportive of any decisions I made on my own for a change—that was stupid of me though, wasn't it?"

"Only a little," Morgana said, small smile on her face, wine glass still in her hand. "But… he'll come around—not to the wedding," she told him, as though he needed to be reminded of that. "But after you're married, come back from the honeymoon, get settled into married life—I think if you're happy with whoever you're marrying… he'll come around, Arthur. Remember when you first came out to him? How it took him ages to come around and accept you for who you are?" She asked, tilting her glass back to finish her wine, placing her glass on the counter next to Arthur's, before she reached out to give his hand a squeeze, reassuring and gentle in the way she only ever was when she had a decent bit of wine in her.

"Coming out and getting married are two completely different things and you know it," Arthur shot at her, tongue sharp with what he was feeling towards his father, the hostility in his tone lost to Morgana, who was used to such a thing already and knew better than anyone how frustrating their father could be; she knew what it was like to need to take that frustration and agitation out on someone who wouldn't cut them off every chance they got and then storm off to their office when they decided the argument was over—because Pendragon arguments could get heated if they could be anything, and that love of arguing, of being so damn good at it, made each and every one of them damn good lawyers. It did not, however, make them a good family.

Morgana knew, and she understood; she wouldn't hold it against him.

"Yes, of course they are," Morgana said, offering him another small smile. "But, to Uther, they're not so different, not really."

And how could Arthur argue with that, really, when their father was having the same reaction that he'd had when Arthur had first come out of the closet to him, had sprung the news on him at dinner one night that he liked men too and oh by the way he'd been dating his good friend Leon for some months now?

But Arthur didn't want to dwell on that night any longer, how hurt he'd been at the obscenities and misconceptions leaving Uther's mouth that he argued against as hard as he could without crying. Suddenly, he was all too aware of the facts and truths and lies and hurtful sentences that took shape in memory form that took to bouncing around the room and off furniture that had scratches and dings from a childhood that included far too much time alone with himself and Morgana and their imagination and trouble, and God, those memories should not all have been swirling together in that moment—it shouldn't have been hide and seek mixing with hateful words, and giggled stories tangling with insults—not the sort that his father had been spewing that night so long ago, anyway.

Uther did come around, of course, came to accept and understand Arthur and who he was, and Arthur was sure that he would come around to this in time as well, just as Morgana had said. But that didn't take the sting out of any of this, didn't change anything, didn't take away from the way he would replay those memories and fall into a fitful sleep, jaw clenching in an angry sort of way that would paint it sore with hostility that would linger for days.

"You should go home," Morgana said suddenly, interrupting Arthur's thoughts, looking at him again. "Get some rest. It's… been a stressful few days."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, nodding, numb, suddenly, from everything that'd been happening, feelinh close to cracking, to something breaking. It was just stress, he knew. Just stress. "I should," he sighed, pushing off from the dishwasher, checking his pockets automatically for his phone, his keys, his sanity.

"And sleep in tomorrow," she added, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him, his own arms coming up to return the gesture, holding her close in that familiar way, her sisterly embrace comforting and quelling just a bit of the stress. Because at least he had her. Their father probably wouldn't be speaking to him for a while now, and whatever he did say would be work related and delivered with a hard edge to his voice and a judgmental sort of look that would fade as time wore on, and that was a hard pill he could only half swallow right now.

"I will."

"Good. Now get," she commanded when she pulled back, leaning close to peck him on the cheek before waving him off, turning around to move their soiled wine glasses from the counter—or rather, to move Arthur's, and to get herself refill before heading back to her own office.

Or would she go to bed, Arthur wondered, letting himself out of the house that was much too stifling, trying to shake off the hostility and the dreadful taste in his mouth as he crossed the threshold and was met with the cool night breeze. Would Morgana even be able to focus on work now, would their father? Would it be easier for him to push all of this out of his mind, would falling back into work after such a discussion and spat be much too easy for him, too much like second-nature?

And was it really fair to bring an entirely unsuspecting person into the madness that was the Pendragon family without at least a little heads-up for it?

*.*.*.*.*