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A Fool's Errand
A Henry & Matthew ficlet for @zullyluly who requested the prompt "Come home"
I know it was under "general prompts", and is technically dialogue, but it became a bit more on the angsty side ... I hope you like it! 🙈
Tag list : @legendofconsullightwood @themostawesomehuman @littleturtle95 @tobeornottobetequila @morgnstern @zfoxdraws @bookworm-jedi @magnus-the-maqnificent @banesbitch @fair-but-wilde-child @beclynn-herondale @khaleesiofalicante @my-archerboy @youngreckless @thomaslightwood @runecarstairs @high-warlock-of-brooklyn @itsdaughterofthemoon
When Matthew opens the cellar door, he’s hit with a billow of smoke and the sound of coughing. He stumbles back, covering his mouth, and does his best to waft away the putrid clouds.
“LOTTIE!!!” a voice bellows from below. “WOULD YOU GRAB THE WITCHLIGHT?”
Matthew rolls his eyes and makes his way down the stairs. The smoke is still thick and permeates throughout the lab. Matthew squints his eyes to see through the smog and covers his mouth with a handkerchief. He can still hear his father coughing as he fumbles his way around the lab, searching for the window. Instead, his thigh meets the corner of a table.
“Damn!” he curses.
“Lottie?” his father calls out from somewhere “is that you?” There’s a small thud followed by shuffling noises. “Blast,” Henry grumbles, “It’s on the table somewhere.”
Matthew’s hand finds the wall of the cellar, the stone cool to the touch. Standing on his tiptoes, he reaches up and finds the latch to the window, opening it.
As the smoke clears, Matthew can see the glow of the witchlight from across the room. He watches his Father waft the remaining rings of smoke from around his head. He blinks rapidly, getting his bearings.
“Oh.” Henry gasps “Matthew. When did you get here?”
“Not long ago.” Matthew shrugs, smoothing out the wrinkles in his vest.
Silence hangs between them. Tension left unresolved from the last time they’d spoken.
“So,” Henry clears his throat. “You, are you settling in, then?”
“Yes.”
“Is it very far from here? The flat?”
Far enough, Matthew thinks. “I just came to grab a few books I’d forgotten, then I’ll be on my way.”
Hurt flickers past Henry’s eyes, and Matthew has to turn away. “What were you working on?” He asks, moving around to the other side of the table.
“Ah!” Henry exclaims, a new light in his voice. “well I have been trying to test a new theory of mine using this formula…”
As Henry dives into his dissertation, Matthew falls into old habits. His father’s words drowning out as he watches the light reflect off the surface of his rings. The tiny rainbow prisms providing more comfort and entertainment than the scientific jargon. He could use a drink.
“That’s what’s got me cross. What do you think?”
Matthew blinks, startled, coming back to himself. He looks up at his Father, “Uh” he looks down at the paper in front of him. The letters and symbols merge on the page. “Whatever you think is best,” he says. “You know I’ve never taken much to tinkering. Don’t have the mind for it. Never was as smart as you.”
“Matthew…” Henry starts.
“I can ask Christopher to stop by.” Matthew interrupts, turning towards the stairs “He’s helped you before. I’m sure the two of you can make sense of it.”
“Where are you off to?”
“I’m meeting Jamie.”
“Where?”
“By the hat shop.”
“Which hat shop?
“The one on the corner.”
“The corner of—
“I’m not going to a bar!” Matthew snaps.
The side of Henry’s face twitches, and there’s a look in his eye. But Matthew can’t tell what it is. Pity? Guilt? It makes Matthew’s skin crawl. He just wants to leave.
“I should go,” he mutters, heading for the stairs. “Jamie will be waiting.”
“Matthew, wait.”
Matthew stops just shy of the bottom step and waits.
Seconds pass. Bile churns in Matthew’s stomach. He doesn’t dare turn around, afraid of the wave of emotion behind him. It’s too much. He should have just asked Christopher to pick up the books the next time he was here.
Finally, Henry speaks, his voice soft and sad. “Take care of yourself.”
Matthew feels sick. “Your goggles are in the desk draw. They’ll help… with the smoke.” He barely hears his Father’s thank you before he’s up the stairs, abandoning the books he’d come for, and heading straight for the carriage.
Why had he’d come? What was he hoping for, using a lousy excuse of forgotten books? He grips the flask in his jacket pocket, leaning his head against the window frame. “You’re a fool, Matthew,” he chuckles to himself as the carriage rides past the gate. As if his Father would ever ask his waste-of-a-son to come home.