Nightmares and tardiness.
Arthur had collapsed on his bed the night before, not bothering to brush his teeth or shower due to his exhaustion. And when he awoke, he was stuck in a memory. He was in the short hallway that led to the front door. He smelled cold, like the snow outside, he made his way deeper into the house, forgetting to close the door, rushing to his daughter's room, opening the door and going to calm the screaming child. Out of nowhere, he was walking toward the open attic door, then walking up the steps, then seeing it. The dried blood and brain matter stuck to the ceiling and wall, blood coating the small window that gave a slight view of the neighbor's house. The smell. Oh, God, the smell. And her suicide note was stuck to the wall. He took it down to read it.
"Dear Arthur,
I'm sorry I didn't tell you something was wrong. I should've done so, I know. All I'll tell you is I was raped. It happened in an alleyway of all places. I think he was stalking me. But that isn't the point, I'm sorry I did this to you and our daughter. I didn't mean to let this happen, but, nonetheless, it did. None of this is your fault.
Yours, Mrs. Morgan."
He'd never forget that day. His subconscious wouldn't have let him even if he gave himself alcohol poisoning, trying to force it from his memory. The next part of the hellish dream was the funeral. He came in a suit he had rented. The only reason he had enough money to afford it was Hosea being kind enough to lend him some extra cash. Everyone else, however, looked like they were going to some grim dinner party rather than their family member's funeral. All of Nebula's extended family was there, and unfortunately, her parents were as well. Her mother had never liked Arthur much, and her father had no opinions on him, aside from the offhanded comment about him being a stray. He didn't remember much else from that day. Other than wishing he could get on last look at Nebula's face before leaving, of course, that would have haunted him more than anything else, and he knew that.
He abruptly awoke to both his alarm clock going off, and Lassie losing her mind somewhere downstairs. He brought a hand to his face and groaned. He slowly sat up and sighed. He noticed how hot his body felt and how his sweat had stained his sheets. He glanced at his alarm clock next to his bed after standing up. 9:30am. Dutch had told him the day before to be at work at 5. "Fuck." Arthur muttered under his breath, as he rushed to get dressed, and make himself at least slightly presentable. He had gotten a pair of pants on before he heard the front door open and Lassie's barking turn to excited whining and yelping. He rushed even more to get his clothes on.
He rushed downstairs, just to see John standing in the middle of their kitchen, petting Lassie. "Marston, what the fuck are you doing here?" Arthur sounded slightly out of breath, maybe it was the panic he had been experiencing since the minute he woke up.. John glanced at the landline on the wall before he spoke. "Well, Dutch sent me to check on you. Make sure you hadn't died or anything, which, maybe you'd be better off dead. Dutch's gonna have your head." Arthur nodded and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. "So, Arthur, what kept you asleep today?" Arthur didn't respond for 2 minutes, before he emerged from the bathroom. "The usual terrible nightmare about somethin'. I don't want to talk about it." John nodded and started out the door. "I'll see you at work, Morgan." Arthur didn't respond, too busy feeding Lassie.
When he made it to work, Arthur could feel the tension he seemed to have had created for everyone else currently at work. Before he even had the chance to take his jacket off, Dutch was coming out from his office, yelling.
"Arthur! I'm glad you finally decided you wanted to join us today! What kept you distracted this morning?" Arthur stared at him, fully expecting that he wasn't going to be able to get a word in. Which he wasn't. "Was it your daughter? Or your dog? Or was it your grief? When Annabelle died, I still came into work, you know why, Arthur?" Arthur sighed, rubbing his face. It turns out, having to rush into work immediately after waking up is a good way to get a migraine. "Why, Dutch?" Dutch seemed to take offense to Arthur's tone, and general look, but continued, nonetheless. "Because, similarly to you, I had a child to care for. And unlike you, I didn't get the luxury of being able to grieve as much as you did." Arthur was such Dutch had more to say than that, but he was completely tuned out and replaced by something Arthur remembered Heathen saying: "Dutch needs therapy, he's obviously having a daily crisis." She hadn't been wrong, but Arthur had taken offense to it on Dutch's behalf. Telling her to "watch her mouth". He wished he hadn't now, but at the time it only seemed right.
The rest of the day hadn't been very notable, no new leads, nothing. Although, meeting the new hire on the way out at the end of the day was certainly pleasant. They hadn't actually met, despite Mr. Smith being there for about 3 months, so it was both awkward, but nice to formally meet. He told Charles his name, Charles told him his, Arthur told him about Heathen, Charles actually expressed interest and not the fake kind. Arthur felt joy for the first time since meeting Nebula, and it was... certainly nice, and wrong. Arthur knew no one would care if he felt happy around a man, men can be friends, he knew that.
Fuck, he needed a drink.