Heart on The Line || Molly & Arthur
He sits at his workbench, his back to the door, his head in his hands. Arthur stares through his fingers at the corroborator on the the table, the diagram for it opened upside down beside him.
He’d fixed it last week, it hadn’t taken long. So why did he keep coming out here and messing with it? Why, when he landed on his front garden, was he pulled to this old shed at the back of the property, instead inside where Molly was more than likely waiting, where his sons were probably wondering where he was.
The clock would tell Molly he was home, but it wouldn’t tell either of them why he was out here. He can’t face them, not today, not like this; when grief is pulling at him so hard that he can barely fight it, when his own failure to protect them is the only thing he can see when he looks into any of their eyes.
How can even begin to explain to Molly that, despite his assurances he was fine, he was anything but?
Arthur had noticed that over the past couple of years, ever since security had gotten tighter and Molly’s anxieties had grown, it was almost as if his wife could read his mind. Or at the very least, sensed when he was thinking about her. Some small inkling, some tiny connection, accidental Legilimency. And here she was again. He knew the sound of her steps better than he knew almost anything else.
Arthur quickly readjusts himself so it looks like he’s been working.
“Hi, love.” He calls, hoping his voice is steadier than his mind. “Just finishing up.”
@mollymotherofweasels
