Of Rhinos & Griffins

It's funny, I thought if you could hear me, I could hang on, somehow. Silly me. Silly old Doctor. When you wake up, you'll have a mum and dad, and you won't even remember me. Well, you'll remember me a little. I'll be a story in your head. But that's okay. We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? Because it was, you know, it was the best: a daft old man who stole a magic box and ran away. Did I ever tell you I stole it? Well, I borrowed it; I was always going to take it back. Oh, that box, Amy, you'll dream about that box. It'll never leave you. Big and little at the same time, brand-new and ancient, and the bluest blue, ever. And the times we had, eh? Would've had. Never had. In your dreams, they'll still be there. The Doctor and Amy Pond, and the days that never came.
-The Doctor



“No, no, no,” Merryn declares, shaking her head firmly. “Steven Moffat is a much better writer than Russell T Davies. Rusty was all angst angst angst every single bloody episode and that got really dull really quickly.”

“That’s not very fair,” Nikesh argues, his eyes narrowing. “He brought back the series after all, set off the revival. You have to give him some credit for that.”

It’s Friday after school, and the four of them are at Merryn and Rhys’s house. It’s kind of a tradition for the end of the first week that they all hang out together and watch films and play computer games and basically geek out all evening, and since Nikesh has sort of wormed his way into their little group, he practically invited himself along. (Not that they weren’t already intending to ask him to come before he announced that he was, of course.)

Rhys suggested they watch an episode from the most recent series of Doctor Who, and he is now thoroughly regretting it. He didn’t think anyone could get into as heated an argument about something as admittedly trivial as a TV show like him and Merryn, but apparently he has competition.

“Yeah, okay, there’s no denying the first series of New Who was pretty incredible,” Merryn concedes, cocking her head slightly, “but it was getting so repetitive and predictable, seriously.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe it was, but there’s definitely something missing this series,” Nikesh fires back, eyes fierce. “It’s just not as emotional as before, doesn’t pack the same kind of punch. Don’t get me wrong, Eleven is great and I like him, honestly I do, but there’s no beating Ten when it comes to the emotional scenes.” He pauses, clears his throat, and looks a little pink in the cheeks when he continues, “I like a good cry now and then.”

Benedict giggles, biting down hard on his lower lip to swallow his laughter when Nikesh tosses a half-hearted glare in his direction. Merryn snorts derisively and Rhys shakes his head at the lot of them, wondering why on earth he doesn’t have better friends.

“I’m sure you do,” Merryn says, voice drier than the Saharan Desert, “but that’s part of why last series was so painfully insipid. The only way Ten could’ve gotten more emo is if he got himself a sweeping side fringe, lined his eyes with kohl and abandoned his suit for skinny jeans.”

Rhys’s mouth falls open and he tears himself away from the television screen where Karen Gillan and her fantastic legs are flouncing around the TARDIS. “Take that back, Merryn Rhianon Griffiths. Take that back.”

“Rhianon?” Nikesh splutters, but both of them ignore him in favour of glaring at each other, all intense-like. “Seriously?”

“Griff, I know David Tennant is kind of officially the love of your life,” Merryn says, rolling her eyes, “but you cannot deny that he was verging on intolerable by the end of last series.”

Rhys growls low in his throat, and Benedict catches him by the sleeve before he can leap out of his chair, propel himself across the room and tear his sister into shreds. Merryn doesn’t even flinch.

“Maybe we should leave them to it,” Benedict suggests, not bothering to wait for a reply before tugging Rhys to his feet. (He remembers all too well what happened last time the twins got into a fight over this show and it’s not something he wants a repeat of, thank you very much.)

Merryn waves them away, turning back to Nikesh as Benedict all but drags Rhys out of the room. They don’t hear what Merryn says next, but it must be pretty bad because it prompts Nikesh to yell, “Fuck you, Moffat couldn’t write a tear-jerking scene if his life depended on it! Case in point: Rory Williams’ deaths. Both of them. Both of them.”

Benedict has to shove his whole fist in his mouth to stifle his giggles as he and Rhys head up the stairs. Rhys flops down on his bed, pillow plumped up behind his head, and Benedict lies down next to him, arranging himself beside the other boy. They just lie there for a few minutes, not saying anything, not needing to say anything, but then Benedict props himself up on his elbow and looks thoughtfully down at Rhys.

“What?” Rhys asks, shifting self-consciously when the intensity of his gaze becomes uncomfortable.

Benedict just shrugs and chews his lower lip, inadvertently drawing Rhys’s gaze to his mouth. Nikesh hasn’t tried to talk to him about their supposed Epic Gay Love since yesterday, and Rhys kind of thought he’d forgotten about the whole thing too.

Apparently not. Especially when they’re sitting so close together... on Rhys’s bed.

Rhys forces himself to look away, blinking probably a little harder than is really necessary to clear his head, and shift on the blanket as subtly as he can without making it look like he’s actively moving away from Benedict.

“Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, and everything you do, yeah they were all yellow,” he sings. (Singing is his natural defence mechanism when things get awkward and, thanks to bloody Nikesh putting bloody thoughts in his head, things are definitely awkward.) “I came along, I wrote a song for you, and all the things you do, and it was called yellow. So then I took my turn, oh what a thing to have done, and it was all yellow. Your skin, oh yeah your skin unfolds, turn into something beautiful, you know, you know I love you so, you know I love you so...” He trails off, realising too late that this maybe wasn’t the best idea, considering the song that popped into his head the instant he opened his mouth.

Benedict smiles, slow and steady on his lips. His eyes seem to shine in the twitterlight, almost iridescent in its glow, and something in Rhys’s chest unfurls. “I didn’t know you liked Coldplay.”

Rhys shrugs. “I don’t. It’s just been stuck in my head all week,” he grumbles good-naturedly, and the air seems to clear a little at his admission. “Damn you for liking catchy music.”

Benedict grins then. “I like good music.”

Rhys shakes his head at him. “Sure you do, cariad. Coldplay just isn’t it.”

“David Tennant likes Coldplay,” Benedict reminds him, like David Tennant is the ultimate authority on whether a band sucks or not. Rhys might be helplessly in lust with him and think the sun shines out of his extremely fine arse, but that doesn’t mean he has to approve of his taste in music. “Besides, you can’t talk, you like Taylor Swift.”

“I don’t like her!” Rhys protests, his face hot. “I just think she has a good voice. And, I kind of maybe like a couple of her songs, just a couple.”

“It’s a love story, baby just say yes,” Benedict warbles, prompting Rhys to wince. “Sorry. We can’t all have a voice like an angel’s.”

Rhys rolls his eyes at that, mutters, “Don’t you know it. You planning on getting an iPod of your own any time soon or will me and Merryn have to scrounge up to get you one for your birthday?”

“If I had an iPod then you wouldn’t have to have music I like on yours so you wouldn’t be able to blame the Taylor Swift on me,” Benedict reasons, giving him an evil grin. Or, well, as close to evil as Benedict can be, which in all honesty is not that much. His face is entirely too innocent to be even remotely evil.

“Like I’d let something as inconsequential as that get in my way,” Rhys scoffs, but before Benedict can reply, the door is flung open and Merryn stalks in, Nikesh trailing behind her.

He raises his eyebrows at Rhys as he kicks the door shut, looking pointedly between him and Benedict, and Rhys flushes and sits up abruptly. “So have you two finished arguing yet?” he asks, wary.

Merryn wrinkles her nose. “We kind of agreed to disagree and left it at that.”

Nikesh rolls his eyes. “I’m totally right, though, you know I am.”

“You are not!” Merryn protests, outraged.

Before it can spiral into another full-on argument, though, Rhys holds up his hands. “Hey, hey, calm down,” he tells them, gaze flickering between both of them. “Neither of you are right and neither of you are wrong. It’s just your opinion. Okay?”

“Okay,” Merryn says begrudgingly. Nikesh nods his reluctant agreement. “I suppose I can accept that.”

“He is right, though,” Rhys says, grinning when Merryn leans over to whack him round the back of his head. “I’m joking, I’m joking!” he protests, even though he kind of isn’t. “God, can you just forget about this already?”

Nikesh grunts, a vague noise of assent, and him and Merryn squeeze onto the end of Rhys’s bed on opposite sides. They’re not glaring at each other any more, though, so he counts it as a victory.

“So,” Rhys says, when he’s certain they’re not about to jump back into the argument, “what do you guys want to do?”

Merryn and Nikesh both shrug. “We could just hang out,” Nikesh suggests. “Watch some telly, maybe?”

“Because that worked out so well last time,” Rhys mutters, lounging back against the headboard of the bed.

Benedict’s face lights up as something occurs to him. “We could go hang out in the TARDIS!”

Nikesh looks confused. “Wait, what? You have a TARDIS? Seriously?”

Rhys can’t help the grin that spreads onto his face. “Yeah, seriously. We stole it... well, borrowed it. We were always going to give it back.”

Nikesh gapes at him, speechless, and the three of them promptly burst out laughing.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his reddened cheeks, but he’s smiling too.

“It’s a model,” Merryn informs him, “in the attic. It was our playroom when we were younger, but we haven’t been up there in ages. Do you want to go and see it?”

“Do I want to go see it?” Nikesh exclaims, grin stretched from ear to ear. “Of course I want to fucking go and see it, are you serious?”

“Okay then,” Rhys says, rolling off the bed. “Let’s go.”



“Wow,” Nikesh breathes, his eyes perfect grey spheres as he gazes in open-mouthed wonder at the TARDIS. It sits in the centre of the room and stretches right up to the skylight on the sloping ceiling, towering over the four of them. It’s bright blue, bluer than anything Nikesh has ever seen, and beautiful. “This is... wow.”

Rhys smiles. “Yeah. S’pose it is.”

“Our mum used to do carpentry in her spare time,” Merryn puts in, smiling with pride. “She made all the different parts and put them together.”

Nikesh turns, a curious look on his face. “Used to? Why not any more?”

Rhys stiffens, and Benedict steps forward to touch his arm. Merryn looks away, then says in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “She’s dead. Cancer, seven years ago.”

Nikesh’s eyes widen. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Merryn says quickly, even though it’s not. “It was a long time ago. It’s fine.”

“Shit,” he repeats. “You were nine years old, shit. I don’t know what I’d do without my mum.”

Merryn just shrugs, gaze pointed in the opposite direction. She’s never been comfortable with people’s pity, however genuine or deserved.

“We do just fine,” she says, voice steely and hard and unwavering. Rhys nods listlessly, leaning into Benedict’s touch. “Do you want to go inside? The TARDIS, I mean.”

Nikesh looks back at the TARDIS, bites his lip. “Could I?”

Merryn turns to look at him, eyebrows drawn up in an incredulous expression which suggests she thinks he’s lost his marbles. “Um, duh? That’s kind of why we brought you up here, so you could see it and stuff.”

“Really?” Nikesh whispers, and he sounds so awed that Rhys can’t hold back a chuckle, but there’s still a tightness around his mouth, and Benedict hasn’t let go of his arm.

“Go on, go in,” Rhys says, giving Nikesh an encouraging shove forward.

He watches the boy stumble towards the TARDIS, pauses, hand on the door, then haul it open quickly without giving himself time to think about it. As he stares inside, his mouth falls open, and the look on his face is priceless.

“It’s not quite bigger on the inside, but it’s close enough,” Rhys says, smiling.

Nikesh bursts out laughing, his eyes wide and sparkling with childlike glee. “This is amazing!” he exclaims, falling back against the door. “I can’t believe you don’t spend all your time up here!”

Merryn shrugs. “We used to. But after Mum died-” She catches herself, forces a smile onto her lips. “It wasn’t really the same any more.”

Nikesh nods, more subdued than before. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I get that.” He slides to the ground and the three of them join him, clustering around the TARDIS. “This is fucking awesome, though,” he declares, and they all crack up. “Seriously, we’re sitting outside the TARDIS.”

“Indeed we are.” Merryn waggles her eyebrows, a grin spreading across her face. “So if the Doctor were to jump out of it right now-” They all turn to look at it in unison, almost expectantly. “-where would you want to go first?”

Rhys is the first to reply. “Sixteenth century England. I’d want to talk to Shakespeare, find out where he got his inspiration from, what he thought his plays meant when he wrote them, what he thinks of what people think of them today.” His eyes are glazed when he says, “It’d be fascinating.”

Merryn rolls her eyes but really, she hadn’t been expecting anything else. “That’s been done already.”

“And?”

“And no offence, mate, but it’s kind of lame,” Nikesh informs him, shaking his head.

Rhys glares at him, folding his arms across his chest. “Where would you go, then?”

“Fifty first century,” Nikesh says immediately. “I hear the people there are pretty flexible when it comes to, uh, ‘dancing’.”

Merryn promptly bends to the ground, fumbling around for a moment before closing her fingers around thin air. She holds her cupped hands out to Nikesh with a mock-earnest expression. “Here,” she says, smiling sweetly. “I found this in the gutter. I think it’s your mind.”

“Ha-ha-ha very funny,” Nikesh retorts, sticking his tongue out at her. “Where would you go?”

Merryn suddenly looks furtive before she mutters, “Gallifrey.”

“But it’s time locked,” Rhys reminds her, “so that kind of rules it out.”

Merryn looks defiant. “This isn’t real, I can go anywhere I want. And besides, if it’s anyone before Nine then Gallifrey’s not time-locked because the Time War hasn’t happened yet.”

“No, wait, that can’t be right,” Nikesh says, shaking his head. “It can never be accessed, ever. It’s time locked,” he repeats, like that explains everything, which, really, it kind of does. “It’s lost, forever. It’s like the temporal-spatial equivalent of a 404 error.”

“But it only got time locked after the time war happened,” Merryn argues, knowing she’s being unreasonable but not caring because, dammit, she wants to go to Gallifrey like a six-year-old wants to go to Disneyland. “Therefore, if we’re chronologically before that point in the show’s history, it’s not.”

“But-”

“WIBBLY WOBBLY TIMEY WIMEY!” Benedict yells suddenly, and all three of them jump. Merryn gapes at him and he shrinks back, looking defensive. “What? I thought it was relevant,” he mumbles, his ears reddening at the tips.

Rhys shakes his head a little before adding, “If you two don’t stop arguing about this show I will have to kill you both, seriously,” and levelling the two of them a narrow glare. “Where’d you want to go, Ben?”

The boy shrugs, not looking up from where his gaze is now fixed on the floor. “Nowhere,” he says eventually, voice tiny and quiet.

“Come on, there must be somewhere you’d want to go,” Merryn insists, a tad impatiently.

Benedict shrugs again. “Not really. I like where I am now.”

Rhys stares at him. “So you’re saying if the Doctor was to appear out of nowhere-”

“Were,” Merryn corrects him. “If the Doctor were to appear out of nowhere. Conditional clause.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Fine, if the Doctor were to appear out of nowhere and take your hand and tell you to run, you’d just- what, stare at him and say no?” he asks, looking bemused.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Benedict says carefully, “I’d love to go travelling with the Doctor. Who wouldn’t? He’s the Doctor. He has a TARDIS. He’s kind of the definition of awesome.” He shrugs, nibbling at his lower lip. “I just don’t know where I’d want to go, specifically.” He looks up at them then, something unrecognisable in his eyes. “I guess I’d want to go everywhere,” he says honestly, his gaze wandering over to where Rhys is sitting, “but only if I could take you all with me.”

Nikesh coughs, darting a meaningful glance at Merryn. Rhys frowns, confused, but only shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says, and Merryn puts her face in her hands.

“Dense,” she mumbles, shaking her head sadly. “So, so dense.”

Rhys’s frown deepens. “What-”

Distinctly, there is the sound of a key turning in a lock and Rhys stiffens, cutting himself short. The front door slams shut and heavy footsteps ascend the stairs, accompanied by a light whistled tune that’s familiar to them all in a vague sort of way.

And then the attic door’s pushed open and Merryn and Rhys’s dad is ducking in, shutting it gently behind him.

“Hello,” he says, smiling at each of them in turn. He frowns when he reaches Nikesh. “Ah. I assume you’re Nikesh?”

The boy nods, a pleased smile on his lips. “Nice to meet you, Mr Griffiths,” he says politely, and it’s so different to his usual tone of voice that Merryn snorts. Nikesh narrows his eyes at her.

“Likewise,” Mr Griffiths replies, nodding back. “So how was your day? Merryn?”

“Fine,” Merryn says, smiling at him. “We talked about virtual particles in Physics today, and discussed the theoretical possibility of time travel. It was fascinating. How was work?”

“Fine,” Mr Griffiths says, head still bobbing. “We reconstructed a murder scene today. It was very... interesting.” He fidgets with his tie, stares at something between the wall and the sloping ceiling. “Rhys?”

Rhys determinedly does not look up. “Fine,” he repeats. “It was just fine.”

Mr Griffiths looks almost relieved, then. “Ah,” he says. “Right. Benedict?”

Benedict shrugs, pulling his knees into his chest, and Mr Griffiths nods.

Nikesh shifts, uncomfortable. Something feels off about this, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“My day was fine too,” he says, deciding to spare the twins’ dad any more embarrassment.

“Great,” Mr Griffiths says. His head looks about ready to snap off his neck with the amount of exercise it’s getting. “So, are you all having fun up here?”

“We were,” Rhys mutters, ignoring the glare Merryn shoots in his direction.

“It’s the first Friday of the term,” she reminds her dad. “We’re celebrating. We do it every year. Remember?”

“Ah, of course it is, how could I forget?” Mr Griffiths laughs, high-pitched and nervous. “You’ll be staying the night then, I assume, Nikesh?”

Nikesh looks to Merryn uncertainly, who only shrugs. “I suppose,” he replies. “I’ll just need to ask my parents.”

“Great,” Mr Griffiths says. “That’s just great. Since you’re all, um, hanging out up here, I’ll order you a pizza or something, yeah?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Merryn says quickly. “I was just going to heat up some of that lasagne we’ve got left over.”

Mr Griffiths waves a hand. “You deserve a treat, after getting through the first week unscathed,” he says, smiling. “Besides, I don’t want to tear you away from your friends.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Merryn says, but there’s something strained about her smile. “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

Rhys mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but it’s evident from the look on his face that it isn’t anything good. Merryn glares at him. Nikesh frowns. Benedict rests his chin on the tops of his knees and stares at the wall.

Mr Griffiths coughs, makes an aborted hand gesture then mumbles, “I’ll leave you to it, then,” and flees the room.

“Well that was awkward,” Nikesh remarks, once the door’s shut behind Merryn and Rhys’s dad. He’s largely ignored.

“You don’t have to be so nice to him,” Rhys mutters, glaring at the floor.

“You don’t have to be so mean to him,” Merryn says sharply. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“Exactly.”

“Rhys.” Merryn looks exasperated and her mouth is open like she’s about to say something else but Benedict just murmurs, “Merryn,” and she closes it reluctantly. “You should call your parents,” she says instead, turning to Nikesh. “We could either sleep in mine or Rhys’s room, probably mine ‘cause it’s bigger, or up here, whatever.”

“Up here would be good,” Nikesh says, nodding. He wants to say something funny, something clever, something to break the sudden tension in half and cut it all away, but he doesn’t know what. He can’t stop staring at Rhys’s hard, closed-off face, so cold and emotionless it almost hurts to behold.

“Okay.” Merryn looks contemplative for a few moments. “Yeah, that’s probably the best course of action to undertake.”

Rhys jumps to his feet. “Great. I’ll get the sleeping bags and stuff,” he says without looking at any of them.

“I’ll help, if you want,” Benedict offers, getting up.

“No,” Rhys says, and Benedict flinches from the harshness of his tone. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Okay,” Benedict mumbles, sinking back down to the ground. “Okay.”

Rhys doesn’t even look at him before stalking out of the room. Merryn winces when the door slams shut behind him.

“Don’t ask,” she says tonelessly, when Nikesh opens his mouth to speak. “Just don’t. You should call your parents.”

Nikesh tugs his phone out of his pocket and dials his home number, making a face when the other end picks up. “Hey Prat,” he says. “Is Pappa there? Yeah, I really need to talk to him. Come on, this is important. Is he there or not?” Nikesh makes a face. “Okay, is Ma there? Can you put her on? Pratibha, seriously. No, don’t-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “What’s up, Vijay? Yeah, I just need to talk to Mum. No, Veej, don’t get-” He sighs heavily. “Namaste, Dadi-ji. Yeah, I need to talk to Ma if she’s around. Okay, dhanyavad.” He closes his eyes, shakes his head, then mutters, “You want to talk to one person in my house and you get the whole damn clan. Fucking hell.”

“Nikesh Anniruddha Sandeep, that kind of language is unacceptable!” comes a shrill voice from the other end. Nikesh winces.

“Sorry Ma,” he says contritely. “Hey, is it okay if I stay at a friend’s house tonight? Yeah, Rhys and Merryn’s.” He nods, makes a few vague humming noises, then holds out the phone to Merryn and says, “She wants to talk to you.”

Merryn takes the phone somewhat warily. “Mrs Sandeep? Yes, this is Merryn Griffiths. Um, a friend?” She glances at Nikesh. “Yes, I’ll make sure he eats properly. Yes, I’ll make sure he doesn’t engage in any illicit activity.” She bites her lip, eyes sparkling. “Yes, I’ll make sure he has a night-light to help him sleep.” Nikesh makes a sound that’s probably only audible to Einstein next door. “Yes, I’ll make sure your son is safe and well in my house. You have nothing to worry about, Mrs Sandeep.”

When Merryn hands the phone back to Nikesh, she’s smirking. “A night-light? How old are you, again?”

Nikesh glares at her before taking the phone and stuffing it back in his pocket. “Shut up,” he mutters, crossing his arms.

“I’m scared of the dark too,” Benedict offers. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Nikesh’s cheeks redden. “I’m not scared of the dark,” he says defensively. “I like to watch the shadows. It helps me get to sleep.”

Merryn snorts, but then Rhys returns with the sleeping bags, thrown over one shoulder, and they fall silent as they watch him set them down in the corner and sit down too.

“I’m sorry,” Rhys says quietly, staring into his lap. “I just- he just- I can’t-”

“Yeah,” Merryn says, nodding, “I know.”

Rhys looks up at her, lip caught between his teeth, and something unspoken passes between them before he smiles, weary and resigned, and looks away.



Their pizza arrives about an hour later, and by the time Mr Griffiths makes his way upstairs to set it down in front of them, Rhys has loosened up enough that he manages a civil smile at his father before the man scuttles out of the room. Merryn’s closest to the box and as such gets the first slice, but Nikesh isn’t too far behind her.

“You couldn’t pass me a slice of pizza, could you?” Rhys asks, eyes wide and beseeching. “I’ll be your best friend?”

Merryn just looks at him. “Rhys,” she says, “it’s right there.”

Rhys sticks out a hand, pretending to strain towards it for a second or two before giving up and flopping back down. “Too far,” he says mournfully. “Please?”

“One day, Rhys,” Merryn says, slowly, “they're going to find your body just inches away from a pile of food. The coroner will declare starvation as your cause of death. No one will believe me when I tell them you were too lazy to move and feed yourself. I'll bring sandwiches to your funeral.”

Rhys narrows his eyes. “So can I have some pizza or not?”

Sighing heavily, Merryn shakes her head at him. Benedict crawls across the floor on his hands and knees, ignoring Merryn’s frustrated, “Benedict, don’t,” and picks out a slice of pizza before crawling back to Rhys and holding it out to him.

“Thanks, Ben,” Rhys says, genuine smile of gratitude on his lips. “You are so my best friend, seriously.”

Nikesh snickers. Merryn snorts. Benedict flushes.

“Um. Thanks,” he mumbles, rocking back on his heels. “And, uh, you’re welcome. It wasn’t any trouble.”

Rhys smiles at him before taking a massive bite of the pizza and swallowing it whole.

“Hakuna matata!” he sings once he’s finished, bouncing around on the spot a little bit. “What a wonderful phrase! Hakuna matata! Ain’t no passing craze! It means no worries, for the rest of your-”

Merryn grits her teeth together. “If you don’t stop singing right this instant, I will show you my version of ‘hakuna matata’,” she warns him, eyebrows narrowed in a threatening manner.

“Hakuna matata!”

Merryn lifts her hand, curled up into a fist, and glares at him. Rhys just looks wounded.

“Hey, hey, weren’t you listening? I said ‘hakuna matata’. It means no worries-”

“For the rest of your days, yeah, I know,” Merryn mutters, but Rhys is beaming at her and his mood seems to have lifted so she can’t really stay pissed off for long. “Could you maybe celebrate your problem-free philosophy more quietly, though?”

Grinning, Rhys mimes zipping his mouth shut and reaches for another piece of pizza.

“The Lion King was my childhood, seriously,” Nikesh remarks, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen it in ages, though. Pratibha, my little sister, she taped over the video with The Tweenies or Hannah Montana or some shit.”

Rhys’s entire face lights up at his admission. “Okay, that’s it, we’re watching it,” he declares, sitting up straight. “Don’t even think about arguing, Merryn; we are doing this.”

Merryn rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but doesn’t protest. (Truthfully, though she’d never admit it, she loves The Lion King nearly as much as Rhys does. She’ll take that secret to the grave, though.)

The old TV in the corner’s hooked up to their VCR, so after Rhys goes on an epic quest for the video and manages to locate it at the bottom of one of the boxes shoved under his bed, they put it in, settle in front of the television and lie back on their sleeping bags to watch.

Rhys has seen the film so many times he knows all the lines by heart; he mouths the words as they’re said, silently because he knows how much Merryn hates it when people talk during films.

(When Nikesh opens his mouth to comment five minutes in, she elbows him, glares meaningfully at the screen and shakes her head. He doesn’t try speaking again.)

They sing along to all the songs, though – Merryn can’t begrudge them that – including and especially Hakuna Matata. Merryn may or may not have mumbled a few of the words – quietly, of course, so none of the others would notice.

Benedict’s hand finds itself in Rhys’s when Mufasa’s trying to climb out of the gorge, and he gives Rhys’s fingers a gentle squeeze. When Simba finds his lifeless body, Rhys swallows, blinks hard and grips Benedict’s hand tightly, but neither of them say anything. Glancing over at them, Merryn thumbs away the tear tracks forming on her cheeks. Beside her, Nikesh coughs. None of them say a word.

By the time the credits roll, there is not a single dry eye left in the room. Merryn gets up without a word, grabs a wad of kitchen roll and tears off bits of tissue to hand to each of them in turn.

“Fuck,” Nikesh says, succinctly, as he dabs at his eyes. “This fucking film, jeez.”

Merryn just nods, not even rolling her eyes at his excessive use of expletives.

“Adorable,” Rhys says hoarsely. He clears his throat, tries again. “It’s so adorable it’s ridiculous. I mean, seriously.”

“Seriously,” Nikesh echoes, nodding.

Benedict bites his lip, blinking away the tears re-pooling in his eyes. “It all ended up okay in the end,” he says, voice soft. “Things should always end up okay in the end.”

“Amen,” Nikesh murmurs and Merryn sighs a vague sort of agreement. Rhys lets his head drop to Benedict’s shoulder, staring off into the distance, and thinks that, naïve as he is, Benedict’s kind of right.