I Need Therapy Now - Tumblr Posts

He'd been sitting at the desk listening to his colleagues drone on for almost an hour now, barely taking it in. He should never have agreed to come to Paris while James was off god only knew where, doing god only knew what.

Since he'd woken in the middle of the night to find his partner getting dressed, he'd had this sinking feeling that no amount of reassurance from James could dispel.

When he'd arrived at the shop a few hours late he'd hoped, prayed, James had taken his concerns to heart and instead of fucking off to try and prove himself, he'd have simply gone to Arthur and given him all the information he'd obtained. But even as he'd stepped over that threshold, he'd known James' ridiculous obsession with outshining Harry would win through.

Of course, Alistair knew it wasn't about Harry, not really. It had always been about James' own insecurities. Deep down, he believed he wasn't good enough. That he was only there because Lee Unwin died. But more than that, there was guilt and shame.

I should have done it. I should have thrown myself on that grenade. James had said one dark night after a rough mission he'd barely survived. As he sat in Alistair's living room, half a bottle of tequila open in front of him. But I didn't react quick enough. Lee did. Lee saw it and he would have seen the trip wire too.

They'd started that night. Drink had led to comfort, which had led to almost a decade long relationship. And while James had generally become more confident in himself, there was always a part of him that couldn't quite let go of the fact that he was there instead of Lee.

Alistair had often wondered if Lee's death haunted James because he'd felt more than friendship for the man. He'd never asked, hadn't wanted to know, in all honesty, but he couldn't think of another explanation for why he was still so angry, or why he blamed Harry.

With a sigh, Alistair reached for his phone, glancing at the screen. Still no reply. He'd messaged James when he'd left Chester's office to tell him he was being sent to France. Then again when he'd arrived. He messaged when he got to his flat and then to the tailors shop in Paris. It had been almost an hour and he still hadn't heard anything.

And with each passing hour, his anxiety grew worse, gnawing away at his insides and leaving him unable to focus on anything but the increasing fear.

A knock on the office door drew his attention from his phone and a young woman smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Percival, but Arthur is insisting on speaking to you."

Ice spread through him, its tendrils closing around his heart and squeezing tight.

"E-excuse me, ladies and gentleman." He stammered and waited in frozen hell for them to leave before slipping on his glasses.

"Percival." The old man said softly, "I'm afraid I have some news about Lancelot."

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