Mad as a Box of Frogs

Matt’s waiting in line to do an audition for a film when he gets the call.

Expecting it’s his agent, calling to give him a last minute pep talk, he pulls out his phone and slides up the screen, not even bothering to check the Caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hi Matt,” says a sombre voice which most definitely does not belong to his agent. It’s too young, far too young, with a distinct Scottish accent.

“Caitlin, hey,” he says quickly, straightening up in his seat. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in years, have I? How’ve you been? How’s school? Boring as ever, I-”

“Matt, shut up.” The young teenager sounds impatient as she cuts him off mid-sentence. “Something’s happened. Something bad.”

Her tone makes him frown, concern etched between his brows. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I- I’m fine, but Karen...” Caitlin’s breath hitches and she halts, unable to finish.

Matt’s blood runs cold. “What’s happened to Karen? Caitlin, what happened to your cousin?”

And then she starts crying, horrible, heart-wrenching sobs which curdle his insides into mush.

“Caitlin? Caitlin!” Matt exclaims, his panic growing with every second. What could have happened to Karen that would make Caitlin so upset? A million different scenarios race through his head, each one more horrifying than the last.

In the background, he hears a familiar voice comforting Caitlin, telling her it’ll be all right, before gently taking the phone from her.

“Hey, Matt, it’s Arthur.” The other man sounds as solemn as Caitlin did, if not more so.

“Arthur, what’s happened to Karen?” Matt demands, trying and failing to keep the panic out of his voice.

“She was hit by a car,” Arthur replies flatly and in that instant, Matt forgets how to breathe. “The driver just ploughed her over and didn’t stop. And now she’s in a coma and the doctors-” Arthur breaks off then, gathers the courage to go on and manages, “The doctors say she might not wake up.”

Matt opens his mouth to speak but the words won’t come. It feels like the bottom’s fallen out of his world and everything’s just tumbling down after it. His grip on the phone tightens, and it’s all he can do to stop himself crushing it between his fingers.

“Matt, you still there?”

“Yeah,” he manages, rising from his chair. “Yeah. When was this?”

“Monday, last week.”

“Last week? Last week?” Matt’s incredulous ejaculation draws the heads of several people sitting near him. “And you’re only telling me now, why?”

“I didn’t think you’d be particularly bothered about it,” Arthur replies, a bitter edge to his voice, “considering you wanted nothing more to do with us after we finished our last series of Doctor Who with you.”

Matt stiffens, the protestations already building up in the back of his throat, but he swallows them back down. It’s not like he could ever make him understand why, why he had to shove the two best friends he’d ever had out of his life like they never meant anything to him, or that it was the hardest and most painful thing he ever had to do.

“I didn’t even want to tell you,” Arthur continues, “but Caitlin thought you had a right to know. We argued about it for ages, but that girl can be mighty stubborn when she wants to be.”

Matt smiles despite himself, feeling a rush of affection for the young girl. “She’s just like Karen in that.”

“Yeah, she is. Look, Matt, you should be here,” Arthur says, the words dragging with his reluctance. “I’m not saying I want you here – I don’t – but Karen needs you. She’d never admit it, but she misses you. I think if anyone were able to wake her up, to bring her back, it’d be you.”

“Really?” he whispers, a slow smile curving onto his lips. He thought she’d hate him; she had every right to after what he did. Arthur makes a tsking noise on the other end, and Matt shakes his head firmly, remembering that Karen’s in a coma, a coma, and she might not wake up. That thought sobers him up faster than a bucket of water poured over his head. “Right, sorry. Not the right time. So where are you?”

Arthur reels off the name of the hospital and the town it’s in. It’s not too far away, not really – just the other side of Britain, and a completely different country. But right now Matt really doesn’t give a damn. She could be on the other side of the world and he’d still cross the ocean to be at her side if she needed him.

But that’s not entirely true, is it? a sly voice at the back of his head pipes up. It’s not like you were there for her before, were you?

Matt’s stomach tightens. “Thank you,” he says stiffly, before hanging up on Arthur and collapsing back into his chair, his head in his hands. His body shudders as he breathes in great lungfuls of air, in and out and in and out until the crushing feeling suffocating him lessens just that little bit.

“Matt Smith?”

At the sound of his name, he raises his head out of the nest of his cupped hands. Somehow, he manages to smile at the woman holding the clipboard, who’s currently looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” he says slowly, rising to his feet. “There’s- there’s somewhere I need to be.”

With that, he leaves, striding past all the people staring at him wondering what the hell he’s doing. And a part of him is wondering too. This audition was supposed to catapult him back into the spotlight, to restart his dwindling career. Is he really giving it up for a woman he hasn’t seen or heard from in over three years, who, despite what Arthur says, probably despises the very ground he walks on?

“Yes,” he says aloud, as the door slams shut behind him. “I am.”

All this feels strange and untrue and I won’t waste a minute without you.

Ten hours, five motorways and a million country roads later, Matt’s pulling up outside the hospital, vowing never, ever to trust his Sat Nav ever again. He lost count of the number of times it tried to take him down a road that doesn’t actually exist any more, or try and squeeze him through the tiniest country lane ever constructed which might justbe wide enough for a horse or two to pass through, at a push.

He just about manages to find somewhere to park that’s about a mile away from the actual hospital. “Bloody typical,” he grumbles to himself, receiving a few strange looks off passers-by for his trouble.

Haggard, exhausted, and more than a little pissed off, he strides through the double doors of the hospital, clutching the half-empty Styrofoam cup of coffee he picked up at a service station about an hour ago. He downs the remaining lukewarm liquid in one gulp as he approaches the reception desk, chucking it into a conveniently placed bin. It misses, spectacularly, but he pretends not to notice.

“I’m here to see Karen Gillan, please. She’s on the coma ward somewhere,” he informs the receptionist, drumming his fingers on the desk as he waits for her to type something into her computer.

She reels off directions, still looking at the screen. But then she looks up at him and her eyes widen with recognition. “Hey, didn’t you used to be-”

“Have to go, sorry,” he interrupts, flashing her a bright smile before all but running up the nearby stairs, nearly knocking over two women and a man in his haste. But he’s only halfway up when he stops, turns and runs back down, skidding to a halt in front of the desk. “One question: where can I get coffee?”

“There’s a café on the second floor,” she replies slowly, giving him a strange look.

“Thanks,” he says, and then he’s off again, power-walking up the stairs like a man on a mission.

My bones ache, my skin feels cold and I’m getting so tired and so old.

Arthur’s slumped in a chair outside Karen’s room, his head cupped in his hand and his glasses askew on his nose. The only reason Matt knows for sure that it’s Arthur – apart from his sleep-tousled hair, sticking up on his head like a cactus – is the jumper he’s wearing, a knitted green and red monstrosity Karen bought for him one time when the three of them went shopping together. Matt’s pretty sure it’s a one-of-a-kind since he has never, ever seen anyone else wearing one.

Ever.

(With good reason, probably. Though it never stopped Matt wanting to steal it every time Arthur wore it. Not any more, though. Matt’s days of mismatched clothing, skin-tight jeans and haphazardly patterned scarves and hats are long gone. Mostly.)

Matt coughs and Arthur jolts awake, his eyes wide. Slowly, the shock evaporates off his face to be replaced with a nervous sort of tension, bunched up in the wrinkles criss-crossing over his skin and the apprehensive line of his mouth.

“Hey Arthur,” Matt says.

“Matt,” Arthur acknowledges him, dipping his head slightly. “What took you so long?”

Matt’s mouth drops open. “Arthur! I was in London! I had to drive all the way up here! Not to mention the fact that I got stuck in traffic on the way out of London and the motorways were simply awfuland-”

“Matt,” Arthur says gently, “I was joking.”

“Oh,” Matt says, his cheeks tinged pink. “Right.”

Arthur stands up then and looks down at him with a critical eye. “You look... different. You look older.”

“You don’t,” Matt says honestly, and it’s true. It’s strange, really. Matt was always the baby-faced one, the one who looked about fifteen years younger than his true age.

Matt tries for a smile. “Your nose is as long as ever, I see,” he jokes.

“Funny,” Arthur shoots back, “I could’ve sworn your chin had grown a couple more inches.”

And this time Matt really does smile, a proper wide grin that starts off on his lips and stretches right to the corners of his eyes, lighting a spark in the cold grey spheres. Sure, it’s a terrible joke – it’s not even particularly funny – but it’s a start. Arthur smiles back, his eyes drooping slightly with the effort.

“Where is she?” Matt asks tentatively. “Can I see her?”

Instantly, the smile disappears off Arthur’s face and he turns away, as if suddenly remembering why they’re here. “She’s just over there,” he says shortly, nodding towards the door opposite them. Visiting hours ended about half an hour ago. Gotta wait another two hours before you can go in again.”

“Oh, of course.” Matt tries not to keep the disappointment from his voice, but evidently some of his bitterness shows because Arthur whirls around, his eyes narrowed.

“Well maybe if you’d come earlier-”

“I came as quickly as I could!” Matt argues, his heckles rising. “You try getting from one end of Britain to the other in a day!”

Arthur sags into a chair, the anger draining from his body. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he says quietly, rubbing the heel of his hand over his face. “You could’ve made contact before but you didn’t. Why, Matt? You didn’t email, you didn’t text, you stopped answering your phone...” Arthur glances up at him, despair curling at the sides of his vivid green eyes. “It was like you stopped existing to us. No – we stopped existing to you. How could you do that to us, Matt? How could you do that to her?”

Matt sits down in the plastic seat beside him, folding his legs over one another. He takes his time before answering, trying to formulate a reply that will satisfy his former friend. “I’m sorry,” he says with genuine sincerity. “Really, I am. But you have to understand, it wasn’t easy for me.”

“You weren’t the one the one left behind,” Arthur scoffs. “Don’t give me shit about not having it easy. You don’t know what Karen was like after what you did. Once she realised you’d completely cut us out of your life and you wanted nothing more to do with her. She wouldn’t believe it, at first, but day by day she started losing hope. It was awful, Matt. Just watching her, watching that light diminish inside her day by day...” Arthur trails off, swallows hard, adjusts his glasses on his nose. “It was awful. It was like watching her die, slowly, daily, piece by fucking piece. And I couldn’t do anything because the only person who could make her better was miles away and wanted nothing more to do with her.”

“Arthur-”

“Don’t you daretry and explain.” Arthur’s voice is uncharacteristically cold, his eyes narrowed to hard little pinpricks behind his glasses. “There is nothing you can say that can come anywhere near closeto justifying what you did. So don’t even try.”

Matt falls silent, nods once and drops his gaze to the floor, blinking rapidly.

“How’s Daisy?” Arthur asks eventually, for want of something to fill the gnawing silence. There’s no bite to his tone, just a quiet kind of curiosity.

“Fine,” Matt nods, pushing a hand back through his hair. “We’ve been on and off for a while now... I think we’re in an off period at the moment. I can hardly remember.”

Arthur’s lips twitch, just a little. “Right.”

“How’s, um-” Matt fumbles for the name of Arthur’s girlfriend, at least the one he was dating three years ago.

“Melissa,” Arthur supplies, smiling benignly. “We’re engaged, actually. The wedding’s supposed to be in six months. Karen’s the bridesmaid.”

“Oh, right. Congratulations,” Matt says, because that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say when one of your former best friends tells you they’re engaged to be married and you’re not invited. Not that he’d expect to be, of course. Not that he’d want to be, either. Of course. “Is she... with anyone, then?”

Arthur arches an eyebrow at his remarkable subtlety. “Not at the moment, no. And she hasn’t been for a while, either. The guys never last, not any more. Not since-” He stops himself, just in time, but his unspoken words hang in the air and neither of them are in any doubt of what he was about to say. “Yeah. She’s single and loving it, as far as I can tell.”

Matt smiles, almost involuntarily. “Good for her.”

They lapse into silence, an awkward, prickly silence which resonates with unasked questions and age-old resentments. But when Arthur pokes Matt in the side with a single stick of gum, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and a gentle look in his eye that says maybe, just maybe, he might be forgiven. Not yet, not quite, but soon.

And not for the first time, Matt wonders what he ever did to deserve a friend like Arthur.

The anger swells in my guts and I won’t feel these slices and cuts.

“Matt. Matt, wake up. Matt!” Arthur jostles the other man, but he’s always been a heavy sleeper. Muttering to himself, Arthur hauls back his hand and slaps Matt across the face with such force his head rockets backwards and he jumps a foot in the air, mumbling something incomprehensible about a policeman, a cauldron and a parade of dancing mice.

“Matt,” Arthur says, resolutely keeping the amusement out of his tone.

Blinking rapidly, Matt shuts his mouth and falls back into his seat. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he says abruptly. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Of course you were,” Arthur replies with an indulgent smile. “’Cause you always see policemen conducting rituals with a cauldron surrounded by parades of dancing mice when you close your eyes. Very animated, the backs of your eyelids.”

Matt shoots him the filthiest look he can muster but the effect is ruined somewhat by his sleep-hazed eyes, making him look just about as intimidating as a kitten with its whiskers clipped.

“It’s nearly half six,” Arthur informs him, snapping the book he’s holding shut. “We can go see Karen in a bit.”

Matt straightens up, his hands automatically reaching up to flatten down his hair to make it somewhere near presentable.

Arthur shakes his head at him, a chuckle bubbling up from the back of his throat. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? You and your bloody hair. It’s not like she could see it anyway.”

“That’s not the point,” Matt mumbles, reddening slightly because he’s not entirely sure what the point is. It’s just not that.

“Come on,” Arthur mutters, amused, as he gets to his feet. There’s a red dispenser positioned on the wall opposite them and he squeezes out some gel to rub into his hands, motioning for Matt to do the same. “Health and safety,” Arthur says, answering the question furrowed between Matt’s brows. “So we don’t pass on any germs.”

Once he’s cleansed to the hospital’s satisfaction, Arthur starts for the room, hauling the door open. But Matt hangs back, a panicky feeling fluttering somewhere between his stomach and his lungs.

“Perhaps it’s not a good idea for me to be here,” Matt begins, gnawing on his lower lip. “Maybe I should just-”

Arthur grabs him by the elbow and steers him into the room before he can finish his sentence. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says firmly, the door swinging shut behind them. “She needs you, Matt.”

They grind to a halt at the foot of the bed, Matt’s eyes trained on the blue-speckled floor.

“Hello Karen,” Arthur says softly. “It’s me.”

It’s like the shell of an egg, Matt thinks. A blue-speckled egg.

“I’ve got someone with me,” Arthur continues, his gaze shifting to the man standing beside him. “Say hello, Matt.”

Matt’s nearly certain that’s a nursery rhyme or something. The blue-speckled egg. Or maybe it’s a frog? He’s not quite sure.

“Matt,” Arthur says, his voice painfully gentle, “say hi to Karen.”

And Matt resolutely does not whimper. He inhales, holds the breath in his lungs for a few seconds and then exhales, raising his gaze to the bed as the air whistles out of his mouth. It’s a mass of white blankets and pillows stained red in the middle, and if Matt thinks about it like that then maybe, maybe he might not cry.

It’s not Karen lying in the bed, motionless as a corpse. It’s not Karen hooked up to a machine to do her breathing for her, wires trailing from her porcelain skin. It’s not Karen lying there like a modern Sleeping Beauty, her arms clasped across her chest and her head thrust into the air like she’s waiting for her Prince Charming to wake her up.

His throat tightens. He’s no Prince Charming, not by any means. “Hi Kazza,” he whispers, swallowing hard, “it’s Matt.”

“I’ll give you some time alone with her,” Arthur says quietly, touching Matt’s shoulder as he turns to leave. “I suppose you have a lot to talk about.”

Matt doesn’t watch him go, can’t, even. Because then he’d be tempted to turn and run after him like the coward that he is.

The door gives a soft click as it shuts and Matt sinks into the chair next to the bed, passing a dry tongue across dryer lips. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it again when he realises he doesn’t know what to say. Matt Smith, the man who could talk for England if it were an Olympic sport. Matt Smith, the man who can’t stand awkward silences so fills them with words, beautiful words, ugly words, empty words.

Matt Smith, the man who has no words. Not any more.

“I’m sorry, Karen,” he croaks, staring at a point just below her chin. “I’m so sorry.”

He exhales and the air leaving his lungs takes a part of his guilt with it. He trails his gaze upwards, forcing his eyes to rest on her face. Matt tries to recall the exact shade of her eyes and to his immense shame finds he cannot. Hazel, he thinks, definitely hazel. With the lightest dash of green if looked at in the right direction.

He wills her to open her eyes so he can check.

She doesn’t.

He leans forward and strokes a cerulean vein thrumming under the skin of her hand. It’s cold and clammy to the touch and on impulse, Matt curls his hand around hers, as if to restore some warmth to the icy digits.

He half-expects her to squeeze his hand back. He’s almost disappointed when she doesn’t.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that? It’s ridiculously unfair,” he mutters. “There ought to be a law against it. People as beautiful as you shouldn’t be allowed to exist. You cause too much heartache.”

Her lips would quirk at that. She’d laugh at him calling her beautiful and call him a sentimental old git. She’s just Karen, she’d say, just Karen, as if just Karencould ever be anything less than perfect.

(To Matt, anyway. Who’s pretty sure he is a sentimental old git, for the most part at least.)

“Arthur said you missed me.” Matt clears his throat, unsure how to continue now the words are hovering in the air in front of him. “I- I missed you too. A lot. A very big a lot. You leave a pretty hard gap to fill, you know that?”

And Matt knows he’s imagining things, knows he’s just making it up, but for a moment he thinks he sees Karen’s lips curve into a smile.

He rises to his feet abruptly, letting Karen’s hand fall to the bed. Striding out of the room, he rushes past Arthur, mumbling an excuse so the other man won’t see the tears brimming in his eyes.

After all, he doesn’t need any more reminders of what a sentimental old git he is.

I want so much to open your eyes, ‘cause I need you to look into mine.

Arthur finds Matt about half an hour later, staring at a cup of coffee cradled between his hands. It wasn’t hard to find him; the hospital’s pretty small with only one café that sells half-decent coffee. He only left it so long because he decided Matt needed time to think (though privately he thinks the other man’s had more than enough time as it is.)

“Hey,” Arthur greets him, sliding into the seat opposite him.

Matt acknowledges him with a vague incline of his head and a murmured, “Hello.” He passes the polystyrene cup from hand to hand, his eyebrows furrowed at something Arthur cannot see.

“Waiting for it to cool down?” Arthur asks.

Matt shakes his head. “It’s cold.”

“Oh-kay.” Arthur frowns. In all the years Arthur’s known him, Matt’s never let coffee go cold. Waste of a good cuppa, he says. He’s not the type to let it cool first, either; he’s more the drink-it-while-it’s-hot-so-it-burns-your-throat-right-off type. “You all right?”

Matt nods, his lips pursed into a tiny ‘o’. “I’m fine.”

Arthur nods too, his head bowing awkwardly. “Caitlin’s here, you know.”

Matt’s grip on the coffee cup tightens, but his face remains impassive. “That’s nice.”

“Aren’t you gonna say hello?” Matt’s shoulders jerk in a non-committal shrug. Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You have to. You should’ve seen her face light up when I told her you were here. She really wants to see you.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Matt says slowly, still staring into the depths of the cold, brown liquid. “Besides, I ought to be going soon.”

Arthur’s mouth drops open. “What?! You can’t be serious.”

Matt shrugs again, that simple, apathetic motion that makes Arthur want to lean across the table and strangle him for being so ridiculous. “I’ve seen her. I’ve talked to her. What more can I do?”

“You can stay,” Arthur enunciates, his jaw clenched. “You can be there for her like you haven’t been for three whole years. You can help make her better.”

Matt waves a dismissive hand. “She doesn’t need me. It’s not like I would be able to do anything, anyway. I’m bloody useless.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Matt, this is not about you!” Arthur’s fist slams down on the table, startling the couple at the next table. Matt flinches and his hand twitches, sending the cup of coffee careening backwards into his lap, spraying the liquid all over him.

“Oh dear,” Matt murmurs, staring at the steadily growing wet spot on his crotch as if expecting it to clean itself up. Arthur swallows down a chuckle, reminding himself that he’s supposed to be angry with the man, and hands him some tissues.

“You’re right,” Matt says eventually, once he’s dabbed himself vaguely dry. “It isn’t. It’s about Karen. And it’s in her best interest that I just leave now before-” He catches himself before he manages to finish his sentence and ducks his head, embarrassed.

“Before what, Matt?” Arthur challenges him. “Before you realise you’re still in love with her?” Matt’s head rockets upwards, nonplussed. “Oh come off it, Matt. Like I didn’t know. Like I couldn’t tell.”

“Is it that obvious?” Matt mumbles, his cheeks tinged with pink.

Arthur just gives him a pitying look. “What are you so afraid of?”

Matt rubs at his weary eyes as he stifles a yawn. “Arthur,” he says quietly, “it’s been three years. Three years. And when I look at her I still- I still can’t-” Matt breaks off to gesticulate madly, trying to communicate the impossible with vague hand gestures and screwed-up facial expressions.

Arthur bites back a chuckle. For a (vaguely) intelligent man, Matt can be utterlyridiculous sometimes, and he tells him so. Matt, in his infinite maturity, only sticks his tongue out at him in reply.

“Come on,” Arthur says, his voice soft. “Let’s go.”

Rising to his feet, he holds out his hand to the other man, looking at him expectantly. Matt glances up at him, his face creased with a vulnerability that hasn’t graced his features in an immeasurably long time.

And then his hand’s in Arthur’s and he’s gripping him tight to pull himself to his feet, a tentative smile playing at his lips. They walk back to the ward together, side by side, and for a moment Matt can fool himself into believing it’s three years ago when life was brighter and happier and altogether better.

Get up, get out, get away from these liars, ‘cause they don’t get your soul or your fire.

Caitlin’s overjoyed to see Matt of course, just like Arthur said. As soon as they cross the threshold of the ward, she barrels into him, a mass of dark blue and pale pink and bright ginger all blurring into one. Once he’s managed to prise her off of him, he holds her at arms’ length and looks her up and down like an uncle seeing his niece for the first time in years. (Which, you know, he kind of is.)

It’s safe to say she’s changed a lot since the last time he saw her. But considering she was ten then and she’s now the big bad thirteen, that’s not exactly surprising. She doesn’t seem to have completed the transition to moody teenager quite yet, however. She’s retained her bubbly, likeable persona, albeit muted somewhat by the seriousness of the situation. She’s shot up several inches, though, and now stands a mere head lower than Matt, which Arthur seems to find simply hilarious.

They stay for as long as they can get away with before the nurse is ushering them out, lecturing them about the importance of sticking to visiting hours. She’s glaring at them as she pushes them out of the room and slams the door shut in Matt’s anxious face, craning his neck to get one last look at Karen.

Despondent, he scrubs a hand through his hair, pushing his head back to stare at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Caitlin plod towards him and feels her wrap her arms around his waist. Arthur steps forward, gives Matt an awkward smile and pats him on the back.

“We’d better be going,” Arthur says gently. Caitlin lets Matt go and smiles up at him, still holding his hand. “It’s getting late and besides, that nurse’ll probably try and get a restraining order on us if we stay any longer.”

Matt laughs at that, sort of shaky and high-pitched and wobbling in the middle. “Yeah, I suppose we should.”

Caitlin takes Arthur’s hand in her free one, effectively linking the three of them together. They walk out of the ward like that, united by love and fear and hope and joy and small, pudgy fingers interlaced with long, thin ones.

They head for Matt’s car, since Caitlin was dropped off by her parents and Arthur got the bus from wherever it is he’s staying. “Where are you staying?” Matt asks Arthur as he pulls out his keys, aiming them at the car a few feet in front of them.

“Caitlin and her family are putting me up,” Arthur replies, inclining his head towards the girl. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’ll find a hotel,” Matt says hastily, but Caitlin’s already protesting.

“Don’t be stupid, you can stay with us too! We’ve got plenty of room.”

Matt opens his mouth to argue but the look on the young girl’s face is one of such sheer determination that he merely shuts it again. Taking his resigned silence as assent, Caitlin lets out a squeal and hugs him.

“This is going to be so cool,” she enthuses, her face lighting up from the inside. “We can watch films together and I can show you Inverness and you can meet all my friends!”

Matt glances at Arthur, his eyes widening with panic. Arthur stifles a guffaw at his discomfort and mouths, someone’s got a crush, cackling when Matt glares at him.

“That sounds great, Caitlin,” he begins, shifting uncomfortably, “but you’ve got school during the day and we can only really see Karen in the afternoon... I don’t think we’d have time.”

“I beg to differ, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time,” Arthur pipes up, smirking. “I for one would loveto have a proper tour of Inverness.”

“Thanks for the input, Arthur,” Matt says through gritted teeth, “but there are more important things we can be doing. We’re here to see Karen, not go gallivanting around having a jolly good time.”

Promptly, Caitlin’s face falls and the smirk evaporates off Arthur’s face and Matt realises the implications of his unintentionally harsh words.

“I’m sorry, Caitlin, I didn’t mean it like that-” he says quickly, but it’s too late. The damage has already been done.

“Of course you didn’t,” she says quietly, and there it is again, that sharp, unrelenting stab of guilt somewhere near his sternum. “Are we going or what?”

She doesn’t even wait for a reply before trudging towards the car and sliding in, curling up on the back seat.

“You know, Matt,” Arthur says, shaking his head at him, “you can be a right bastard sometimes.”

He pivots on his heel and strides over to the passenger door, ducking inside the car. Matt stands there for a few seconds more, internally berating himself for having such a motor mouth and never bloody thinkingbefore opening his stupid gob.

And then he gets in the car and starts it up, insanely grateful that Arthur’s already keyed in Caitlin’s address so he doesn’t have to ask for it because he really doesn’t trust himself not to say anything even more stupid than he already has.

Caitlin doesn’t live particularly far from the hospital; it’s only ten minutes before they’re pulling up in front of her house, a small terraced house that could belong to any town in the country.

Arthur gets out first, slamming the door shut behind him. Matt winces. Caitlin reaches over to open her door but doesn’t get out.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” she says quietly and there it is again, in her eyes, a gentle sort of forgiveness Matt isn’t sure he deserves.

He only smiles weakly back at her and gets out of the car, moving to shut her door behind her before he presses the button on the key. Caitlin takes Matt by the hand and leads him to the front door, rooting in her pocket for her keys.

“Mum? Dad?” she calls once she’s let them in, shutting the door behind them. “We’re back!” When she doesn’t get a response she merely shrugs. “They must be upstairs. I’ll be back in a sec.”

And with that, she disappears up the stairs. Arthur leans back against the wall, adjusting his glasses with an elegant finger. Matt clears his throat as if to speak, but he doesn’t have a clue what to say.

(That’s happening quite a lot, lately.)

It seems to be an eternity before Caitlin’s ginger head is bobbing back down the stairs, accompanied by her bright-eyed, slightly flushed face.

“They said you can stay,” she informs Matt, “as long as you pitch in and do chores like Arthur has to. And you’ll have to share the guest room with him. Don’t worry, there’s a bunk bed. You can fight over which one you want.”

“The top is mine,” Arthur warns him, wagging a finger in his face. “I’ve bagsied it already.”

“But that’s not fair!” Matt whines in protest.

“It is fair!” Arthur argues. “I was here first.”

Caitlin shakes her head at the two of them, affecting disapproval. “You two. Care to act your age, please?”

The two of them turn to look at her simultaneously. “But that wouldn’t be half as much fun,” Matt grins, rubbing his hands together. “You’re only as old as you feel.”

She rolls her eyes at him, her arms folded across her chest. “That was just something some old person made up to make other old people feel better about being old.”

“So cynical for such a young soul,” Arthur quips, ruffling her hair. Caitlin ducks away from his hand, scowling.

“Oh, I’m going to bed,” she says huffily. “I’ve got to be up early in the morning anyway. G’night, guys.”

Judging by the smile and the hug she gives the two of them before trudging upstairs to her room, she’s not all that pissed off. Matt chuckles to himself once she’s disappeared.

“We should probably go to bed too,” Arthur informs him, stifling a yawn. “I know you’re exhausted and I could really do with some sleep.”

Matt nods and follows the other man up the stairs to their room. Sure enough, there’s a moderately-sized bunk bed, along with a few other basic necessities such as a cupboard Matt supposes is filled with Arthur’s clothes and-

Matt’s eyes grow wide and he stops dead in the middle of the room.

“What is it, Matt?” Arthur asks, frowning at him.

“I- I haven’t got any clothes with me,” he confesses, toeing the carpet at his feet.

Arthur gives him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? Did you not bring anythingwith you?” Matt shakes his head dumbly. “What, did you just get in the car as soon as you hung up on me and think ‘I know, I’ll just go to Scotland and not take any clothes with me’?”

Matt shrugs. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly,” Arthur mutters. “Look, it’s okay. Lucky for you I brought two pairs of pyjamas and you can borrow some clothes for tomorrow. Good thing we’re about the same size, eh?”

“Yeah,” Matt murmurs, rubbing his face with a tired hand. “Sorry, Arthur. I’m- I’m an idiot.”

Arthur’s face softens and he reaches out to touch his friend’s shoulder. “No you’re not.” Matt gives him a look, and Arthur amends his statement. “Okay, maybe you are a little... but don’t beat yourself up about it. No harm done, right?”

Yawning, Matt nods. Arthur steers him in the direction of his spare pyjamas and leaves Matt to strip off, turning his back to afford the two of them some privacy. A few minutes later, the two of them are changed and getting into their respective beds.

Arthur’s lying in bed, just on the brink of sleep, when Matt’s voice drifts up out of the darkness, wary and uncertain. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“Karen’ll be okay, won’t she?”

“Of course she will. Go to sleep, Matt.”

“Okay. But Arthur?”

“Yes, Matt?”

“What if she isn’t?”

Arthur’s silent for such a long time Matt doesn’t think he’s going to reply. “She has to be,” he says eventually. “She’ll get better, Matt. She will.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Matt’s voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Then,” Arthur says softly, “we’ll have to find a way to manage. Somehow.”

Matt swallows, but the lump in his throat won’t budge. “Good night,” he whispers thickly.

“Good night, Matt,” Arthur replies, pulling his blanket up to his chest. “Sleep well.”

Clutching the blanket around him, Matt turns over and curls up into himself, as if somehow that’ll protect him from the nightmares that will inevitably ensue.

Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine and we’ll walk from this dark room for the last time.

Matt stumbles downstairs the next morning at round about half eleven, wearing one of Arthur’s hoodies and the jeans he was wearing yesterday. Arthur looks up from his newspaper to give him an amused look before glancing back down again.

“’Morning,” Matt mumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he lets out a gigantic yawn.

“Not for much longer,” Arthur observes, hiding a grin. “Lazy git.”

Matt shoots him a sleep-wearied glare. “Who drove ten hours non-stop to get here yesterday? Hmm?”

Folding up his newspaper, Arthur shakes his head at him. “I made you some toast, but there’s fruit and cereal if-” But before he can finish, Matt slumps into a chair and starts shovelling down the toast like a man who hasn’t eaten in centuries. Arthur only chuckles. “So what do you want to do today? We can’t go visit Karen until two thirty, so we’ve got about two hours to kill.”

Matt shrugs, still chewing on his toast.

“We could... hang out,” Arthur suggests. “Just like old times.”

Matt swallows a mouthful of food and fixes him with a hard look. “Except it isn’t, is it? ‘Cause Karen isn’t here.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says quietly, stroking his chin with his thumb. “I know.”

“Sorry,” Matt mutters. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Arthur repeats.

Matt pushes his plate away from him, no longer hungry. He leans forward, taps his fingers against the table. “So,” he says tentatively, “what do you want to do?”

“We could talk,” Arthur replies, smiling a little when Matt’s face blanches. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Fine,” Matt mutters, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms across his chair. “What do you want to talk about?”

Arthur gives him an exasperated look. “I don’t know, anything? What TV shows have you been watching recently?” Matt makes a noise somewhere between disgust and derision. “What do you want to talk about, then?” Arthur says defensively. When Matt doesn’t reply, he looks vaguely triumphant. “Gotcha.”

Matt mumbles something incomprehensible and glances away, focusing his gaze on a particularly interesting wall decoration to his right.

Arthur cocks his head to one side, his eyes narrowed in a thoughtful expression. “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends what it is,” Matt shrugs.

“Why did you do it?” Matt stiffens, in no doubt of what itis. “You were a cold, callous bastard and there’s no excusing what you did to her but there must be a reason. You let her think you were going to be together, that you were going to leave Daisy for her and then you damn well broke her heart. How could you do that to her? Whydid you do that to her?”

Matt looks helpless as he fumbles for an answer he doesn’t have. “Because I’m a coward,” he says eventually, his voice listless. “When I went to break up with Daisy, she threatened to kill herself if I left her. I couldn’t do that to her; I couldn’t have that on my conscience. So I stayed with her. We broke up anyway a couple of months later. She got off with another guy at some party or something. But by then, it was too late.” Matt shakes his head, swallowing hard. “It was too late.”

Arthur looks a little shell-shocked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Matt shrugs. “It was my own fault. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. Cutting myself off from the two of you was my way of punishing myself for my mistake.”

Arthur nods. He doesn’t look like he understands but he nods anyway, because there isn’t anything else for him to do. “And you’re still with her?”

Matt shrugs again. “Not really. Like I said, we’re on and off, on and off. It’s getting exhausting.”

Despite himself, Arthur chuckles. Matt gives him a look of bewilderment, as if to say what could possibly be funny about this?

“Matt, did it ever occur to you how ridiculously over-dramatic you were being?” Arthur points out. “You could’ve called Karen, explained the situation. You could’ve tried to maintain contact with us in some shape or form. You didn’t need to cut us out of your life entirely.”

“I just thought- I thought it would hurt less that way,” Matt mumbles.

“And did it?” Matt shakes his head dumbly. “Exactly.”

They lapse into silence, Matt staring at his interlaced fingers as if the lines on his palms hold the answers to all his questions. Finally, he looks up at Arthur, a vulnerability haunting the angles of his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur just smiles, briefly, touching his shoulder gently. “I know, Matt. I know.”

They get the bus to the hospital together a few hours later and head up to Karen’s ward just as visiting hours start. Karen’s parents – Jocelyn, a pretty red-haired woman who bears an uncanny resemblance to Karen herself and David, a greying, bearded man who looks as if he’s been through several wars and only barely survived to tell the tale – are already stationed beside her bed. Matt’s never actually met Karen’s parents before but of course, David and Jocelyn know who Matt is, though not for the reasons he’d expect.

After they’ve shook hands and exchanged introductions, Arthur heads off, muttering something about needing an extra chair, leaving Matt alone with the parents.

“Matt, Karen’s told us so much about you,” Jocelyn informs him with such a thick Scottish accent Matt has to strain his ears to understand what she’s saying. “I feel like I know you already!”

David nods his agreement, and Matt can’t help but blush. “Oh, right, of course.”

“You two were very close, weren’t you?” she says gravely. “This must be hard for you.”

He forces himself to smile. “Not nearly as hard as it is for you, I’m sure.”

But then they sort of run out of things to say, which leads to an extremely awkward silence in which Matt stares firmly at the floor, vaguely grateful for an excuse not to look at the bed. Thankfully, Arthur rescues them by returning with the extra chair and they all sit down, laughing at something clever and witty Arthur’s said.

Matt’s not really listening, to be quite honest. Now that he has no excuse not to, he’s staring at Karen, at the hair fanning out from her pale, lifeless face in a vibrant red halo. He reaches out to touch her on impulse, sharply retracting his hand when he remembers where he is and who he’s with.

Arthur notices his discomfort and effortlessly pulls him into the conversation he’s having with Karen’s parents. They talk about nothing and everything for what seems like forever until Matt forgets the tiny, fragile woman lying in the bed next to him and loses himself in questions and answers and smiles and laughter.

And when the nurse comes to kick them out once visiting hours have finished, the panic and worry that’s been suffocating him since he arrived yesterday afternoon has eased off somewhat, just enough to allow him to breathe again.

Every minute from this minute now, we can do what we like anywhere.

They slip into an easy routine: the days are spent at Caitlin’s house, watching TV or playing video games or just talking about whatever takes their fancy. At the weekends, Caitlin takes them around the town and introduces them to her friends and shows them a side of Scotland neither of them knew existed.

The nights are spent at the hospital, keeping a vigil over Karen. Sometimes they take it in turns, if one of them is particularly exhausted and doesn’t feel up to it, but mostly it’s the two of them on a bus to the hospital with some or all of Karen’s extended family, sitting by her bed and holding her hand and talking to her and each other and praying to whoever might be listening that she wakes up.

Matt doesn’t think God is. Either that or he’s playing the long game with them. Matt doesn’t think it’s fair that one being can do that, can play with human beings as if they’re just toys.

But then, he’s not sure he believes in an omnipotent, omnibenevolent god, anyway. Not any more.

He barely notices the months passing; that’s Arthur’s job. To remind him that there is a world and a life outside their routine, outside the hospital, outside of Karen. The other man makes a point of telling him what day it is at whatever time Matt stumbles down for breakfast, forces him to leave the house when visiting Karen isn’t an option. Matt’s still not quite sure what he’s ever done to deserve Arthur, but he’s never been more glad to have him around.

They could feasibly go on like this forever, or however long it takes Karen to wake up. Whichever happens first.

But then, everything changes.

It’s a couple of months later, once routine has settled and everyone has adjusted to the new way of living. They’re at the hospital, Matt and Arthur and Caitlin and David and Jocelyn, stationed by Karen’s bed like they’ve been there their entire lives.

(It certainly feels like it, sometimes.)

Matt’s phone buzzes in the middle of a conversation weighing up the pros and cons of cod liver oil tablets, and he excuses himself to take the call outside away from the hawk-like gazes of wrathful nurses.

He ducks out into an open-topped courtyard, adorned with statues and plants and green creeper-like vines that stretch from the topmost wall right down to the ground where he’s standing. Glancing at the screen, Matt flips up the phone and sighs out a “Hey, Daisy.”

“Hi Matt.” She sounds a little taken aback at his lack of an enthusiastic response. “How’ve you been? I haven’t heard from you in months.”

“I’ve been... busy,” he replies vaguely, unwilling to go into intricate detail about the situation. “What do you want?”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to meet up this weekend,” she says, not put off by the abruptness of his tone. “We could catch up, have a bit of a chat, see where things go...” The suggestive way in which she trails off leaves him in no doubt as to where exactly she would like to see things go.

“No, Daisy,” he says flatly.

“Oh. Right.” She sounds disappointed, but it’s nothing permanent. “Another time, maybe?”

“No, Daisy,” he repeats, more insistently this time. “I don’t want to go out with you this weekend and I don’t want to go out with you ever again. We’ve been over for years. Why do you still keep coming back to me?”

“I-”

“I’ll tell you why,” he says, without giving her a chance to reply. “It’s because I’m the only mug stupid enough to let you. Well I’m sick of it. I don’t need you any more and you certainly don’t need me so I see no point in pretending otherwise.”

“Fine,” she says quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is, Daisy. It is.” He feels a pang of guilt, but shoves it away quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you, I just really don’t think this is good for either of us. It’s time to move on, Daisy. I’m only sorry I didn’t have the courage to do it sooner.”

He expects her to protest, to beg him to stay with her, even to pull the suicide card again. But she doesn’t.

“You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?” Daisy guesses, but there’s no bitterness in her voice. Just quiet, calm acceptance. “Good for you, Matt. I hope she makes you happy in a way I never could. You deserve that, after everything.”

“Thank you, Daisy,” he says quietly. “I hope you find someone too.”

He stands there clutching his phone for a long time after she’s hung up on him. A part of him is immensely relieved that it was so easy; he’s certainly been through break-ups more painful than that. Another part is just ashamed.

He returns to the ward, a spring in his step and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s so wrapped up in himself he doesn’t pick up on Caitlin’s blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes or the complete utter deadness in Arthur’s eyes.

“You’ll never guess who that was,” Matt enthuses, his eyes wide with glee. When neither of them makes a move to, he continues, “Daisy! She wanted to get together but I turned her down and then I broke up with her! I broke up with her!” At their lack of a reaction, Matt frowns. “Guys, didn’t you hear? I broke up with Daisy.”

“Good for you,” Arthur says dully. Caitlin doesn’t even look up.

“What’s wrong with you two? You look like you’ve been given a death sentence.”

Arthur gives a bitter chuckle. “You’re not far off. They’re gonna pull the plug on Karen.”

Caitlin hiccups. Matt’s heart skips a beat.

“When?” he chokes out.

“Later today,” Arthur says flatly. “They need the bed, apparently.”

Matt jumps to his feet, his eyes flashing. “What are you still doing here, then? We have to stop them!”

“It’s too late, Matt,” Caitlin says quietly. “Aunt Joss agreed, and so did Uncle David. They’re signing the papers now.”

Matt stops dead, his eyes narrowing. “What? Why would they agreeto this?”

“It’s been four months, Matt,” Arthur says harshly. “Four fucking months and she doesn’t show any sign of waking up. Ever. We’re just prolonging the inevitable, keeping her on life support.”

Matt’s face contorts with confusion. “But it would be like killingher,” he whispers, horrified.

“Matt,” Arthur says, his voice cracking in the middle, “she’s already dead. For all intents and purposes, she died when the car hit her. The only thing keeping her alive is the machines. Turn them off and-” His voice catches and he swallows, hard, glancing down at the floor. “They’ll be back in a few minutes,” Arthur manages. “We’ll have a chance to say goodbye before they- before they do it.”

“You can’t be okay with this,” Matt pleads. “Please, tell me you’re not okay with this.”

Arthur can’t even look at him. His eyes are dead grey holes in his dead grey face, staring at a dead grey nothing threatening to swallow the lot of them whole. Matt turns to Caitlin, beseeching her with his eyes, but she only turns to bury her head in Arthur’s shoulder, clinging to him for dear life.

And that’s when Matt flees, unable to stand it a moment longer.

I want so much to open your eyes, ‘cause I need you to look into mine.

Everyone looks up when Matt trudges back into the ward, his head bowed to the ground to avoid looking any of them in the eye. It looks like Karen’s whole family is packed into the ward, here to say their goodbyes for the last time.

Arthur gets up first and reaches out to touch Matt but the other man shrinks away, hugging himself tight. Arthur withdraws his hand, trying to keep the crushed look off his face.

“We’ve all said goodbye,” he informs Matt, his voice painfully soft. “They’re waiting for you.”

Matt just nods, not trusting himself to form comprehensible speech quite yet. He ducks behind the curtains, pulling them closed behind him to give him some semblance of privacy.

Karen looks worse than ever, her face ashen and bloodless, and it’s all Matt can do not to burst into tears all over again. He sinks into the chair by his bed, puts his head in his hands and stares into nothingness. The floor doesn’t look like a blue-speckled egg any more. It’s grey, lifeless, ashen grey, just like everything else in this godforsaken place.

Matt forces himself to look up, focusing his gaze on the woman in front of him, still immutably beautiful even on the brink of death. He stares at the veins on her eyelids and calls up a memory of her eyes, hazel and brown and green and grey all at the same time.

A part of him wants to make a long, convoluted speech about how much she means to him and how much he regrets everything he’s done and not done and how he doesn’t think he can live without her any more and how unbelievably sorry he is that he’s only just figuring that out now when he’s about to lose her forever.

But he doesn’t think he could find the words for all of that. Doesn’t think they’d make it past the blockade in his throat even if he could find a way to articulate all the things he’s feeling.

So instead, he merely leans down to her ear, brushes her hair aside and whispers three words, three simple words he should’ve told her right from the beginning and every day since.

Reaching out a hand, he brushes her cheek with the tip of his finger. He leans forward, tentative, then decides to hell with itand presses a kiss to her cold, dead lips.

And when he pulls away, she’s still lying there, as motionless as ever.

Because life isn’t like the fairy tales; it doesn’t end in happily-ever-afters. You can’t wake a woman with a single kiss or turn a beast into a man with a declaration of love. You can only play by life’s cruel rules and pray you get dealt a decent hand.

Cradling his head in his hands, Matt breaks down, his whole body wracked with violent, silent sobs. The curtains part and Arthur sticks his head through, glancing down in embarrassment.

“Sorry, Matt, but the doctors are getting impatient.” Arthur steps forward and touches his shoulder, a gesture Matt is grateful for. “They need to- they need to turn off the machine now.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Matt manages to swallow down his sobs and get to his feet, steadying himself on Arthur’s ready arm. He allows himself one last glance at the bed.

“Goodbye Karen,” he murmurs, her name like acid and syrup in his mouth. Revulsion churns his stomach and he makes to leave, unable to stand being in the room any longer.

But before he can take two steps, Arthur grabs Matt by his arm, his nails digging into his skin. “Matt, look.”

“No, I can’t, I can’t stay here, not while they-”

“No, Matt, look,” Arthur insists, and something in the way his voice thrums with urgency makes Matt turn around and do just that.

His breath catches in his throat. On the monitor above Karen’s head, her heart rate is increasing. Her chest is rising and falling, the breath moving through her lungs of its own accord, of its own accord, and then the impossible happens.

Karen opens her eyes, her brilliant, beautiful hazel eyes, and smiles.

Matt’s heart nearly stops right then and there. He doesn’t even mind when they’re shoved aside by doctors and nurses who urge them to wait outside because there’s tests to be run. He barely even pays attention as an excited Arthur relates the events to Karen’s family, who all burst out crying or laughing, or both.

Matt’s just a little bit dazed and confused, right now.

They’re allowed back in two at a time to see Karen, and it’s sort of communally agreed that Arthur and Matt should be first. After all, Jocelyn quips, the rest of them are only family.

Nervous, Matt hangs back a little when Arthur ploughs ahead, throwing his arms around Karen and hugging her like he’ll never let go.

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” he orders her once he pulls away, holding her at arms’ length. “We thought we’d lost you.”

“Bet you were all jumping for joy at the prospect of that,” Karen jokes and Matt heaves a sigh of relief because it’s Karen, Karen, and she’s going to be absolutely fine.

“Actually,” he says quietly, stepping forward to be at her side, “some of us were quite cut up about it. Not me, of course,” he adds, smiling. “Never me.”

Karen’s gaze shifts to him, a grin slowly spreading across her face. “Of course,” she says softly. “So it wouldn’t be you crying your eyes out at my bedside, mumbling about me meaning more to you than life itself?”

Matt gasps, horrified, and Arthur lets out a guffaw. “You were unconscious!”

She winks at him. “Oh yeah. And I heard every word.”

He swallows hard. “Everyword?”

“Yes, you hopeless, ridiculous prat, you,” she says, the affection in her eyes taking away the sting of her words.

“I’m sorry, Karen,” he blurts out. “Really, I am, I was an idiot and I should’ve just-”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already,” she interrupts him, smiling good-naturedly. “I’ve waited three years for this; I don’t want to have to wait any longer.”

Grinning back, Matt leans down and obliges her, chuckling to himself when Arthur mimes throwing up beside them.

“Honestly,” he mutters, pretending to be thoroughly disgusted, “you could have at least waited until I left the room.”

Karen laughs and Matt doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more glorious sound. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, Arthur. It’s adorable.”

He rolls her eyes at her. “We should be going, actually. There’s about twenty people out there clamouring to say hello to you.”

“Oh,” Karen says, and her face falls. “Do you really have to?”

“I’ll be back later,” Matt promises, squeezing her hand tight. “As soon as I can, I’ll visit. I’m never leaving you again.”

“See to it that you don’t,” she smiles, but there’s a sadness creeping into the corners of her eyes.

He bends down to her level, his thumb tracing circles on her cheek. “I promise I will never, ever leave you,” he says softly, and this time the sadness is banished from her eyes. He kisses her again, his beautiful red-haired Sleeping Beauty, and smiles.

Maybe life is a little bit fairy tale after all.

All this feels strange and untrue and I won’t waste a minute without you.