Metal Birds

Chapter 58: A Home of Many

London, England, December 6, 1941

To Arthur, this moment was pivotal. An end of something he needed, or a new beginning, all starting with the simple meeting of his knuckles on the worn wooden door, snow drifting down about him. It had come down to very little at this point. Over his time there, lacking attachment, staring onward, he had come to think of a few words very often.

At first, it was what would you do? War was a myth, a legend somewhere across the strait. He was a child, a tiny angelic thing lost in the middle of nowhere and raised by nobody, living off of nothing. Then, he grew. He realized he could not become attached, because everything he loved, he lost.

Words a woman had whispered across a table, early one morning, a cup of steaming tea in her hands and a fearful look in her eyes. The world had been falling apart, then.

It became, what will you do? A young commander staring down at him, a man that looked older than him, as the castle walls crumbled and he became suddenly very, very lost. Thrust upon a false throne. And slowly, ever so bitterly slowly, he was here. And now it was far different.

Words he didn't respond to, marching away from those he trusted, those he cared about, to wait in vain like a sap.

Oh god, what have you done?

He could feel the words in his head, reverberating, empty, bouncing about his skull with so much meaning he couldn't find it at all.

It was a familiar feeling, something in his stomach he'd had. When he had been accusing himself of his own reckless treachery, staring teary eyed at the remains of his best friend.

Arthur took a sharp breath as the door opened, blinking the tears from his eyes. The door receded from his grasp, just out of arm's reach, and a pale, round face stared out at him, eye mirroring nothing other than surprise.

"...Teresa-" He spoke before he could stop himself, his wings drooping in the snow.

The young woman was frozen, lips parted slightly to allow her breath to appear in the thin, cold air. She seemed uncertain what to do for a moment, before finally glancing inside, and then back to Francis, before moving the door slightly open so she could stand.

"...wh-where have you been?" She asked quietly. The worry there was almost overwhelming. He went quiet, his eyes moving down to the snow piled in the doorway, and before he knew it he felt a warm, yet shaking hand on his shoulder; drawing him in. When he looked up once more, the sight was a miserable one.

Those who had once lived in the surrounding area were spread about in the pews, attempting to get sleep, attempting to eat. They either had nowhere to stay with friends, or were waiting their chance to leave London. And most had been waiting a long time. There was a lack of children, young women and older couples swaddled in blankets and huddled among each other, staring out of their circles to the doorway where he stood.

When Teresa spoke, her voice was hushed.

"Come now, to the kitchen... there's a lot to talk about."

She took his arm, leading him to the hallway, chilled and glowing in a silvery fashion. The candelabras still stood, the wax hanging over the sides. When he cast a look back, Francis stood against the door, nodding gently.

Arthur took a breath and walked forward. He didn't speak. He allowed himself to be led, his wings moving slowly out of a habitual nervousness. No matter how fiery or stubborn he was, he hated confrontations. He shivered, even wearing his heavy clothes. His cheeks and nose were still red, and his eyes were half lidded from staring at the floor, watching Teresa's shoes against the carpet. Finally, he found himself standing in the kitchen doorway.

The chiming of boiling water and a knife against the block caused him to look up. The sounds -most of them, at least- ceased. Josie stood at the counter, hands splayed out there as she sliced her way through a sizable amount of potatoes. Elizabeth stood beside the outside door with a basket in hand, clothed heavily as she could for the weather.

There was silence.

He didn't want to speak, he didn't know what to say, no matter how unnerving the stares on him were. Before he knew it, Elizabeth had practically dropped the basket she had been holding, her shoes sounding across the floor as her arms wrapped about him.

He went stiff. And then he started to shake. His feathers hit the floor, his head drooping as he hugged the woman back, silence settling above them all now comfortably. They did not ask him anything, at least not now. They didn't ask him why he came, or where he had been, or why he was here now of all time. He fought the urge to cry, but he couldn't help the tears in his eyes, the tired grateful smile growing across his face only worsening his temporary situation. It didn't take long for the other two women to join the pitiful pair.

It didn't matter if there was a lot to talk about, at least, not now. Not yet.

Arthur cried, very suddenly aware that those hugging onto him where people that not only cared about him, but that he cared about. It didn't matter whether he liked it or not. Is was so. He shook, and he held on tightly. His whole world was here. And it was going to be okay.

It was going to be okay.