Loaded Dice

Clara took a deep breath, before ringing the doorbell, glancing around her for any potential enemies, Eve's extensive training kicking in. Several seconds later, there was the sound of soft footsteps, then the door being unlocked, before finally creaking open, only to reveal Flynn's mother, the sight making Clara freeze.

"Can I help you?" Margie Carsen asked, brow furrowing.

Clara recovered herself, trying to make sure her story was straight, feeling like she was on her last legs. "I'm a friend of Flynn's," she said, her words instantly making Margie straighten up, face suspicious, "he left his hat and jacket behind – I thought I would bring them round." Clara forced a smile on her face, knowing she had royally screwed up in some way, her fingers clutching the safari hat and jacket for almost dear life.

"Left them behind where?"

"At that apoplexy provoking spectacle that is meant to be the Great Pyramid," Clara snapped, suddenly losing all self-control, "now may I come in or do I have to stand here all night?"

"But Flynn doesn't have any friends," Margie said in disbelief.

"He has me," Clara said smartly, "and I would absolutely adore a cup of tea."

Margie took a startled step back, Clara seizing her chance and stepping inside. As Margie locked the door behind her, Clara turned on the spot, surveying the cosy surroundings of the Carsen household, curiosity getting the better of her, knowing so little of Flynn's former life. "Flynn's in his room," Margie said uneasily, twisting her hands together, "he's a little out of sorts."

Clara just nodded, studying Margie for a moment, taking in her dyed blonde hair and elegant bearing. Margie studied Clara in turn, seeing past the pretty face and to the storm within. "I've always wanted to meet you," Clara said suddenly, startling Margie, "I... I'm just glad I had this chance." Impulsively, she held out her hand to Margie who took it, slightly dazed as if in a dream, the living looking upon the dead, and then Clara let go with a strangely sad smile, letting go of all Flynn had lost.

"I'll bring the tea up," Margie said, not quite sure what was happening, but somehow understanding all the same.

~*~

Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start
And I bet that you exploded in my heart
And I forget, I forget the movie song
When you gonna realize, it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?

"Come in," Flynn called out in response to the knock on his door, only to do a double-take at seeing Clara standing in the doorway, her face uncertain. "What in the name of Long John's long johns are you doing here!?" he exclaimed, slamming down his book.

"And what in the name of Persephone's pomegranate seeds is your problem?" Clara retorted, closing the door behind her.

"My problem is you!"

"Well, you better get used to it," Clara said tiredly, setting down his hat and jacket on the dresser, "and do you have any chocolate biscuits stashed away? I'm starving."

"How do you know I conceal confectionery?" Flynn asked shiftily, eyes suspicious. "And how do you know where I live?"

"A lucky guess," Clara lied, having pilfered Flynn's secret biscuit stashes back at the Annex many a time during his long absences, "and you have these adorable little name tags on your hat and jacket" -

- "Why are you really here?" Flynn snapped, snatching up his bedside lamp, brandishing it like a sword. "And don't say it's for my manly body" -

- "I really am very hungry," Clara cut across him, her stomach rumbling on cue, "and I'm rather cold as well."

Flynn just looked at her as if she was mad, before thankfully putting down the bedside lamp and pulling out a packet of chocolate cookies from his desk drawer instead. He threw them at Clara, who caught them, before also chucking a blue and white checked shirt in her direction, half wondering at himself for giving way.

"Thanks," Clara said gratefully, putting the shirt on before ripping open the biscuit packet.

"Is my mother behind this?" Flynn asked, trying to find the sting in her tail. "Are you another one of those mad dates she keeps trying to set me up on?"

Clara shook her head, her cheeks bulging with biscuit, giving her the look of a demented hamster.

"Is it because of the promotion?" Flynn hazarded, eyes narrowing. "Because I'm now out of the game for that particular gig" -

- "I'm on a sabbatical," Clara lied again, swallowing the last of her biscuit, "so don't worry about me trying to steal your academic thunder."

Flynn just scoffed at this, making Clara look sharply at him, studying his face, trying to find the changes time would wrought. "What is it?" he asked suddenly, startling her.

"What is what?"

"Looking at me like... like you know me."

"I don't."

"Know me or that you look at me like you know me?"

"Neither."

"Then why are you doing it?"

Clara bit her lip, struggling to hold it together. "I – I have nowhere to go," she suddenly said in a rush, startling Flynn this time, "being literally light-years from home" -

- "God, I knew you were nuts!" Flynn exclaimed, getting up from the bed. "So no, I am not going to give you a roof over your head! Sort out your own student accommodation" -

- "God, where's your sense of chivalry!?"

"It went out with the Ark," Flynn snapped, "along with you! Now scoot!" He grabbed her wrist, only for Clara to suddenly burst into terrible tears, her facade finally cracking. She'd just been to hell and back, and now she was here, unable to bear the burden that had been dumped upon her shoulders, duelling with destiny without Eve and the others by her side. Flynn let go of her, taken aback. "Here," he said awkwardly, handing her a crumpled but clean blue hanky, "take – take this."

"I'th thorry," Clara apologized, blowing her nose rather like a trumpet, "it'th been a very long day."

"Well, that makes two of us," Flynn said uneasily, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "welcome to the jungle."

~*~

When Margie brought up the tea, it was only to find Flynn and Clara sitting side by side on his bed, the air thick with tension, Clara hugging her knees to herself, Flynn firing almost fearful glances in her direction every two seconds, not understanding what the hell was going on.

"Everything alright?" Margie asked, setting the tea-tray down on the bed-side cabinet, eying Clara with blatant curiosity.

"Just dandy," Flynn mumbled, picking up one of his precious books, "completely corking."

Clara poured herself some tea, her hands shaking slightly, the shock still hitting her over what had occurred in the Library. She and Flynn were finished; he had lied to her out of love, and love had led her here, yet neither one of them had said those fatal three words, the ghost of Guinevere dividing them. Yet Guinevere was gone now, and so was what they had, but here she was, with Flynn, a conundrum of Claraesque proportions.

"More books?" Margie said, gesturing to the box by the bed, recalling Flynn coming back with it earlier on, spectacularly announcing his entrance by tripping over the carpet, almost landing flat on his face.

"You went on a book binge?" Clara asked before she could stop herself, making Flynn look sharply at her. During Flynn's fly-by-visits, they would sometimes go on what Clara called book binges, blowing a small fortune on the printed word.

"Yeah, I did," Flynn said slowly, "and it concerns you how?"

"You know, we were never properly introduced," Margie hastily cut in, turning to Clara, "I'm Margie Carsen." She held out her hand, Clara hesitating before taking it, Margie smiling encouragingly at her.

"I'm Clara," she said, her voice cracking slightly, "Clara Hartley."

"What a pretty name for a pretty girl," Margie said, talking to Clara like a two year old, "and Clara Carsen has quite the ring to it" -

- "Mom!" Flynn snapped.

"I'm just joking," Margie said, rolling her eyes, "but is it wrong for me to want you to find love?"

"I have love," Flynn said, gesturing to his books, "this is all the love I need."

Clara just sat there, listening to his lunacy, forcing herself not to punch Flynn in the face for all he was about to do, Margie glancing at her in concern.

"Sorry," the older woman apologized to Clara, thinking her ire was aimed at her, "I'm quite the frustrated matchmaker. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century."

Clara forced herself to smile, before taking a sip of tea, Flynn flicking through his beloved book, face still thunderous.

"Aristotle, Voltaire..." he argued angrily, "these books are slices of the ultimate truth. How can love compare to that?"

"It can't keep you warm during the night," Margie said, amused against her will, "or look after you when you're ill."

"They fuel the fires of intellectual inspiration," Flynn flared up. "These books speak to me, Mom."

"They speak to you?" Clara said, clearing her throat.

Flynn turned to her, his dark gaze searching her face, making Clara's treacherous heart beat erratically. "Like nothing else," he said reverently, thinking he was finally getting through her thick skull.

"Do... do they tell you to do bad things?" Clara continued, exchanging a surprisingly conspiratorial look with Margie, seizing the opportunity to get back at Flynn. "Do they tell you to set fires?"

Flynn just looked at her, before sighing heavily and shaking his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and heading for the door. "If anyone's nuts around here, it's you, Hartley," he said, jabbing his finger in her direction, "sure as sin, it's you."

"Don't listen to the books if they tell you to indulge in arson, Carsen," Clara yelled after him, slamming her teacup down, "not unless you're bloody inside the building when it burns down!"