He stiffened. His brow furrowed slightly. Sensing the tender spot and fueled by his reaction, Vera pounced, just as she had with Arthur.
“Oh, that’s not it,” she said with saccharine sweetness. She hated herself right now. “So, what was it? Why is it that my only memory of you from before is looking at you and being disgusted?”
Lancelot recoiled like she’d slapped him. The line of his mouth went thin. He wasn’t going to answer.
“Un-fucking-believable!” Vera shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. “You’re still keeping secrets from me. This isn’t friendship! You don’t get to sit there high and mighty and try to tell me about who I am and who I love when you can’t even be honest about yourself. Too terrible to name, is it? What rotten thing did you do that you’d rather I forget forever?”
He trained his stare across the room, away from her, as red blotches bloomed on his neck. There was nothing Vera could dream up that might make her hate Lancelot, but her words struck a nerve, and she would not yield.
“If you can’t tell me the truth, then get the fuck out,” she said.
Vera’s brutal façade nearly broke at the hurt she found in his expression.
He rose and walked to the door. She only had to last a few more seconds, and then she could collapse into the puddle of her agony. But the sound of the door’s latch never came. She chanced a look. Lancelot’s hand was poised above the knob.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, swiftly turning to her. “I know what this is.”
There was that cocky sense of knowing. “Fuck off,” Vera said.
“No.” He shook his head and strode back to her. “I’m not going to fuck off.”
“Why? Want to come back for more insult hurling—”
“Shut up,” Lancelot said.
“Excuse me, did you just—”
“Yes, I did.” He came very close to her, so Vera had nowhere to look but at him as he said emphatically, “Shut. Up. You’re not going to push me away. You’re my best mate.”
Vera snorted. “Arthur’s your best mate.” It sounded childish.
“Shut up,” he said for the third time in half a minute. “I see what you’re doing—trying to make it easier when you’re gone, that it? Pushing us away to soften the blow? Make yourself less worthy of existing?” Vera clenched her teeth to keep from reacting. “Well, guess what, Guinna? You are fucking worthy.”
It broke her. Her breath hitched as the rage disrobed for what it truly was: fear. “I’m not. I betrayed him. I betrayed all of you. I was saved to remember so that I can make this right. If my life continuing is at the expense of all of you—”
“You don’t know that it will be!”
“I can’t risk that. I am not worth risking that! How can you not understand this? This is my purpose. Remembering is all that I’m good for.”
“No,” he said, taking her hands and holding them to his chest. “It is not.”
There was a knock at the door with barely time to register it had happened before Merlin’s muffled voice said, “Guinevere? Are you ready yet?”
Lancelot gaped at her. “You have got to be kidding.” He stalked over to the door and flung it open. “Fuck you, Merlin,” he said with the deepest, most ardent sincerity. He slammed the door shut and turned back to Vera. “I will not allow this.”
“It’s not your choice!” she said. She made for the door, but Lancelot stepped in front of her and blocked her way. Vera shoved him hard in the chest. It didn’t even cause him to stumble. The sound of the door opening drew her attention as Merlin entered.
Lancelot hadn’t looked away from her, hadn’t so much as blinked. “If you were in my place,” she said more gently, appealing to his sense of duty, “if the answer to all this suffering was in your mind, you would do it in a heartbeat.”
“No. I wouldn’t,” he said stubbornly.
A scornful laugh burst from Vera. “This is my life—my body. This is not your choice!”
“You’re right,” Merlin interjected. “And it is a courageous one that you are making.”
Lancelot gritted his teeth and breathed heavily through his nose. “Fine,” he said as he turned to face the mage. “And here’s my choice.” He drew his sword. “You want to do this? Fine. But not while there’s breath in my body.”
Oh fuck.
