It's become something of a familiar sight and habit by now: the two of them holed up in the basement den, quietly puttering around on their various errands, whiling away an evening. It's reminiscent of how they used to spend those precious half-hours of rare leisure, all those years ago: Allison settled on the sofa, one leg curled under her, flipping through a magazine, and ordinarily Luther would read a book, or work on a model plane.

But tonight, he's restless. Unlike his usual laser-focus, he can't seem to concentrate: the man keeps putting down what he's working on, picking up something else, inadvertently pacing the room. Going from aimlessly scrolling through his communicator, to glancing at Allison, to walking over to their built-in bar and pouring himself a drink, perhaps just to have something to do with his hands, asking her if she wants one, then wandering back. Normally Luther is all patient stillness, but now he's like a dog walking in uneasy circles, trying to get comfortable.

He eventually forces himself back onto the sofa, opens up his book again (The Once and Future King). Looks blankly at the pages.

“The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”

He's been staring at that one paragraph for a while, now, his attention wandering again and not turning the page.