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“Oh hell, Arthur, I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! Really, I’m so sorry,” Ariadne was saying again and again. She was sitting on the armrest of Arthur’s deck chair and was cradling his head in her arms, against her shoulder.
“So sorry, Arthur.”
It was becoming ridiculous. Yes, it had probably been one of his less necessary deaths, and certainly one of his most absurd ones. But Arthur really did not understand why she should apologise for something that had let to this precious moment. The fingers of one of her slender hands were stroking his brow while those of the other were, unintentionally, ghosting over the tip of Arthur’s right ear in a manner that sent currents of electricity down his spine. If not for the heaviness of his limbs, the reverberation of pain in his chest and the echo of terror in Ariadne’s voice, it would have been pure bliss.
Why was she so distraught? From his point of view, lying in her arms, everything was perfect!
“I didn’t foresee his, I – I didn’t think it would folg in on itself like that in the collapse! I should have paid more attention to the statics! Oh God, Arthur, when that castle gate came down and you were trapped – and the walls began to move in! Your face, Arthur!" She shuddered. "I’m so sorry! I shot myself, like you taught me, to get here to you sooner - I didn’t deserve such a quick way out! I’m sorry Arthur! It must have been so painful!”
“Ugh…”
Arthur felt dazed. Which was odd.
Painful it had been, yes. But Arthur had experienced his fair share of painful deaths over the years, and they had never left him that stunned. He was the pointman! It was his job not to be impressed by a minor setback like being squeezed to pulp like an orange. He had been trained to cope with stuff like that.
He had not, however, been trained to waking up in the arms of a cute-nosed pixie with such nimble fingers and a voice like a warm blanket. Nobody had taught him how to cope with that.
“I should have been more careful! I’m an idiot, Arthur. And you’ve been so patient with me – I don’t deserve it!”
“Hmm?”
Patient? Him? With her?! Since she had come into their lives, he had not had time to be patient. How could he have been patient when, for only their second training session she had created a lofty labyrinth of pipes and ladders and rope bridges that would have caused Daedalus to bow his head in shame? When, at the end of the third day, Arthur, who thought he had seen just about everything, had felt like a two-dimensional stick figure on a sheet of paper must feel if it suddenly discovered the existence of the third dimension.
But all of that was dull compared to the wonder that was her. Arthur would gladly die in any way that was required of him, however slow and painful, as long as it meant that he could watch her do what she did: conceive, create, and enjoy with wonder in her caramel eyes.
Ariadne let go a long, shaky breath that tingled on his cheek and made her hair flutter against his temple like a hummingbird’s feathers, and Arthur, who had been on the way to recovery, felt as if he could die yet again.
“Damn, I’m such a dumb-ass, aren’t I?!”
“Huh? What are you talking about, Ariadne? You’re the best freaking genius of an architect I’ve ever met and believe me, we’ve only worked with the best of them. If I haven’t told you so before, it’s just because, you know, you’ve blown my mind and left me speechless with your brilliance – and also with that beautiful glowing smile in your eyes when you marvel at your beautiful mind’s creations.”
Well, that was what Arthur would have liked to say. But – fortunately, perhaps, for his easily embarrassed self-consciousness – the meaning got somewhat lost between his heart and his mouth in the persistent fog that continued to daze him.
“Hungh…”
Ariadne released his head and got up. The involuntary grunt of complaint got stuck in Arthur’s throat when she took his face in his hands and, bending down, came very close. “Are you okay? You’re not mad at me, are you? I’m really sorry!”
Her breath tickled his nose pleasantly.
“Hingh”, Arthur managed. “… ‘kay…”
He was relieved that that at least came out more or less how he had meant to say it, and not as a Freudian slip somehwere along the lines of “Marry me!”.
Ariadne straightened up. “Let’s call it a day, okay? I've bothered you enough for one day. I promise to be more careful tomorrow.”
Arthur nodded feebly. He had no honest desire to spend the rest of the day, or even an hour, without her company, but the inarticulate grunts that were all the speech he was able to produce at the moment would hardly persuade her to continue their sophisticated work.
Ariadne looked rather crestfallen herself. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore, Arthur? I'm really sorry.” And she turned and walked away with slumped shoulders. Arthur could only watch in silent misery as she walked away, with her mind probably already in the error analysis she would do at home. She was writing in her pocket notebook on her way out, undoubtedly sketching the improved rollercoaster ride that would await Arthur the next day.
She hesitated in the doorway. Turning back to him, she smiled apologetically once more. Her hair caught the afternoon sunlight, and Arthur forgot that he wanted to wave goodbye.
Then she was gone, and the sunlight with her.
Arthur took a deep breath, and another one, and determined that, if he ever regained his wits, he would get himself that girl that was able to unsettle him more than a pair of granite walls crushing him slowly to death.