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Guinevere pulls her hat low over her eyes and leans back in her chair. She’s been working on this dumb navigation system all day and she’s definitely not an engineer. For every bit of progress she makes, it feels like something new goes wrong. She thought she was close, but then something else went on the fritz and it won’t even power up. She can feel the light in this room - or maybe it’s frustration - pushing at her headache again. Either way, she’s taking a break.
It’s only been a couple days since she woke up but it feels like centuries since she’s seen her husbands. The gnawing pit in her stomach grows a little at the thought of them. There’s this loneliness pulling at her from the inside that she can’t even fathom, like her heart knows something she doesn’t.
Lancelot is alive. At least she knows that, and he knows she’s alive. She can talk to him, she can see what he’s up to. But there’s something so impersonal about it that it doesn’t really relieve any of the worry. She knows he’s having a hard time with all of this too, but how is she supposed to encourage him, or comfort him, or even ask him how he’s doing really if every single one of that strange pirate crew can see everything they say? And who knows who else is reading? Even if she could, there’s nothing she could say to him that would really help. They’re both missing Arthur.
Arthur - gods she can barely think about Arthur without that gnawing feeling eating her up. If she and Lancelot are back… where is he? They all died together. What was so different about Arthur’s death that he’s not here? She tries not to let the thought that she’ll never see him again creep in.
She thinks back to that last night they spent together on Galfridian. She thinks about Lance sitting against her knee while she braids his hair and Art leaning on her shoulder, the comforting smell of whiskey clinging to his clothes. She would give anything to go back to that night, now; to be with the both of them and ignorant of what the next day would bring. Before they were separated, before this stupid ship and this damn headache, before Arthur was… gone.
She starts a little as a transmission dings through on the comms system. It’s a message from an anonymous source asking her about Mordred, and another about something called a cat? She answers them both, then sighs and gets back to work on the machine. She’s intermittently checking the system as she does - that Marius is still mad at Lance it seems.
A loud thud sounds from the engine room just as she’s replacing one of the screws she took out. Damn sprats. I’ll have to go check on that in a bit. She turns back to her work as another ding sounds.
“ Anonymous: magic anons you into gwens ship. have fun :)
Lancelot : Oh. Fuck. Oh fuck. Gwen? Oh fuck. ”
If any rational part of her brain could function at this moment, she wouldn’t have taken the time to type out a response. As soon as she hits send she’s out of her chair and bolting for the engine room door, sliding it open with as much force as she possibly can.
And there he is. She barely even registers his appearance before they’re embracing. She squeezes him so tight she thinks she might snap him in two, afraid to let go, like he’ll disappear again in a dream if she does. But he’s really here - he’s warm, and smells like smoke, gunpowder, and whiskey, the way he always does. She knows she’s crying all over his jacket, but she doesn’t care and she’s sure he doesn’t either.
They hold each other for as long as they possibly can before Lancelot droops and stumbles, pulling back to press his hands to his eyes. “Sorry Gwen, I think I need to sit down.”
“Oh love, your eyes.” She helps him slide to the floor before she places a hand on each of his cheeks and turns his face to get a good look at him. His eyes are different - bright and mechanical. “They’re still hurtin’?”
“Like hell.” He grimaces a bit, looking up at her. “Less when I look at you,” He says, a small, playful smile curling up the sides of his mouth.
She rolls her eyes and pushes him away gently, laughing at his dumb flirting. “They look good, Lance. Real mysterious.” She takes his hand gently, squeezing it. “Alright, let's get you to the bedroom. You need some rest. Place’s a bit cramped, but we can make it work.”
Slowly but surely, the gnawing pit recedes halfway.