Fish Fingers and Whiskey

A hazy weekend

Beckett hummed to himself as he plopped different kinds of alkaline metals in the water and delighted in the small flames and explosion he coaxed from the water.

Artemis and Myles worked together, Artemis explaining the need for certain safety procedures and equipment.

After a short time, Myles interrupted him, "What's wrong?"

Hands halting at the question, Artemis asked, "What makes you think anything is wrong?"

Myles fiddled with the tale of his lab coat, "When you were talking to dad, something was wrong."

"It's nothing," was Artemis' immediate reply. That was another thing, Artemis had never called his father dad, had never been allowed. He didn't know what to do with that, but it made his chest hurt.

Myles' curious voice cut through his thoughts, "Mam and dad are always away now, do you think we did something wrong?"

Artemis felt like a horse had just kicked him in the chest. Christ. "No, of course not. It's not your fault, it's not Beckett's either. They just..." Artemis fumbled for words, "They get distracted."

The excuse sounded hollow to his ears.

Myles considered this, "What if I really impress them... will they..."

Artemis felt his throat tighten up, the train of thought was horribly familiar, and one that his younger self had clung to many a time. Myles was wondering if impressing his parents might get him some attention.

Although, the attention Myles was used to tended to be more substantial. Artemis would haven been lucky, when he was younger, even to see his father, let alone to be graced with a few short words and perhaps eye contact. Myles was used to genuine interactions with parents who cared, something that had been almost entirely alien to Artemis until he was thirteen.

Artemis shifted, feeling inadequate, "You don't need to impress them, they love you, they're just busy."

Myles nodded, sulkily.

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The next few hours were painful for Artemis, who had never before wished so much to be less sober. His parents had been worse lately, it was affecting his brothers and on top of that, Artemis really wasn't in any fit state to be looking after anyone but himself. He tried his best, regardless. Sure, he could delegate to one of the twins' tutors, but the last thing his brothers needed right now was to be palmed off to somebody, considering what Myles had said.

Plus, Juliet had asked for the weekend off because, despite what some people thought, she had a life.

Artemis had been fine, for a while. But the panic had apparently chosen today to boil over, starting slow but building to something far less manageable. Memories of that night wisped closer, without his notice at first.

It was then that Artemis decided to take a pill to calm himself, he would not allow the twins to see him have a panic attack. He left them in the garden for a minute and stole away to the hallway, where his luggage was left, forgotten.

He deliberated to take a quarter of the pill. The results were favourable, he was calm and a lazy sort of giddy. The twins were at ease once the visible tension Artemis carried crumbled away.

That was how Artemis came to realise that being on these pills might be the only thing that could keep him balanced. Balanced was good, it was functional.

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On the first night, Artemis awoke from sleep in a sweat, his skin crawling where he could still feel James' hands. He cried whilst he rocked, curled up in a ball.