As Long As We Have We (1/2)
Title: As Long As We Have We
Wordcount: ~17,000
Warning: past minor character death
Summary: Arthur thinks he's going to have to spend Christmas alone--at least until he somehow acquires a whole house full of strays.
A/N: My merlin_holidays fic! (If anyone is wondering why the title changed since that posting, let me tell you: when you are looking for quotes to title your fics from always find a second source because sometimes the first one is wrong. This now-corrected snippet is from How the Grinch Stole Christmas.) Written for neojas and betaed by the ever-trusty plot-wrangling flammablehat.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
December 4th
Arthur lives for Tuesday and Friday lunchtimes. Mondays and Thursdays, he uses the time to make a stop at the gym and eats something healthy at his desk later. Wednesdays, he arranges some sort of business lunch. Tuesdays and Fridays, however, he takes a walk through the city, finds a quick meal, and goes to Dragon Books. It’s become a haven, of sorts, over the past year since he took over his father’s company, and generally just walking through the door is enough to relax him.
This particular Tuesday, he’s not even sure he’ll get that moment of peace, as he’s been pacing outside on the pavement on the phone for the past fifteen minutes and his sister still shows no signs of shutting up. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Morgana says for the third time.
“It’s fine, Morgana. It isn’t as if we’ve ever been religious, and Morgause is your sister too.” He makes a face at that, because he’s being a good brother but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He has no right to feel betrayed, he reminds himself, and thinks of something polite to say. “Besides, Zurich at Christmas must be lovely, you ought to take advantage of the opportunity.”
She skips offering to bring him along, because they all know how terribly that would work out. Instead, she gets to the meat of the issue. “It’s your first Christmas without Uther, though.”
“And yours. We’ll both have some new traditions,” his most likely involving a frozen dinner and a movie marathon, “and we’ll do lunch and exchange presents when you get back to town. You’ll be here for the New Year, won’t you?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss Leon’s party for the world.”
“There, then, that’s a tradition for us. Stop feeling guilty about Zurich, would you? I’ve got to go, it’s my lunch break and I haven’t yet managed to eat lunch.”
Morgana laughs across the line. “Oh right, it’s Tuesday, I ought to have called tomorrow instead. Do let me know if you … find any good books, and we’ll talk soon.” She hangs up before Arthur can respond, because she has a pathological need to have the last word.
Arthur sighs and debates between going inside or finding himself lunch, because now he only has time for one of the two. In the end, he decides that the protein bars he keeps in his desk for emergencies will have to do and that he’ll have a good dinner to make up for it. At the moment, forgetting about being alone for Christmas is more important than food, so he pushes the door open.
Dragon Books is a cozy shop, bookshelves somewhat haphazardly placed with a great many comfy chairs dotted between them and a back wall painted entirely to be a chalkboard where people scrawl quotes from their favorite books or recommend others. Generally, Arthur browses through whatever new books they’ve got in (after a year he knows their collection quite well) and then goes to the wall to see what’s new.
This time, though, he nearly trips on a box the second he walks through the door and looks down to find it filled with various holiday decorations. “Hello, sorry about the mess,” someone calls from the back of the shop, and Arthur peers around, tuning in to the fact that the shop’s speakers are playing someone crooning “White Christmas.” There are fairy lights strung up across the windows and the top of every wall, not yet plugged in, and all three employees of the shop that he’s seen in his time as a regular seem to be hard at work.
“No problem at all, though you may want to get this box out from in front of your door,” he says, giving a smile to the girl who works the desk sometimes. She’s standing on a ladder with a popcorn-and-cranberry garland and just ducks her head with a shy smile in answer.
The owner, whose name cannot possibly be Merlin even if that’s what Arthur’s heard his friends call him sometimes, pokes his head out from behind a bookcase and grins fit to split his face when he sees Arthur. “Oh good, it’s just you. Mind shoving the box to the side, mate? Sorry about that, as you can see it’s a bit of a mess in here.”
Arthur splutters. “Just me?”
“You’re in twice a week,” says the owner with a shrug, and disappears around a corner again. The song changes abruptly and he starts whistling along with “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”
That, Arthur supposes, is a fair point. If he knows at least little details about the people who work in the shop (like the stupidly handsome one being married, and the owner having a fondness for terrible pop music), it’s only reasonable that they recognize him in return. With a shrug, he lifts the box out of the way and puts it safely on an unoccupied chair before wandering back to the far wall.
The board, as it is at the beginning of every month, is erased, only a few quotes and recommendations scattered across it in the pink and light green chalk that are the only colors remaining. Someone has scrawled Marley was dead: to begin with across the top of the board in alternating colors, the handwriting familiar enough after months that Arthur thinks it must be someone who works there, most likely the owner.
Arthur thinks for a second, grins, and picks up his own piece of chalk to scrawl a quote: DO I DETECT A NOTE OF UNSEASONAL GRUMPINESS? NO SUGAR PIGGYWIGGY FOR YOU, ALBERT.
“Pratchett’s my favorite,” someone says from a few feet away, and Arthur does a very poor job of hiding the fact that he jumped. When he turns around, it’s the shop’s owner, who seems to have acquired a boa made of tinsel in the two minutes since Arthur last saw him and who is beaming in a way that makes him look mildly unhinged. “Good on you for having it memorized. And sorry for sneaking up on you. I just wanted to thank you for moving that box, I promise I don’t usually press-gang customers into helping me, but we’re a bit short-handed since Lance’s wife usually helps and she’s out of town and … sorry.”
It takes a second for Arthur to realize that the apology is for rambling on, because he’s still catching up on the flood of friendly chatter. Everyone in the shop enjoys chatting to customers, and since Arthur’s a regular they’re especially nice to him, but he hasn’t had quite this level of interaction inflicted on him before. “Not a problem at all, really. Though perhaps next time you might set your boxes down somewhere customers won’t trip on them.”
“Right, yeah.” They both stand staring at the chalkboard for a few moments, Arthur clenching his hands to keep from fidgeting. “You’re in a lot,” the shopkeeper finally announces.
“Every Tuesday and Friday.” That somehow managed to come across as both boring and pathetic. Arthur rolls his eyes at himself and dredges up some semblance of manners, which he must have left at the shop door, or perhaps on the phone with Morgana. “I’m Arthur. It’s a lovely shop.”
“Thanks. I’ve done a lot with it since my uncle retired.” He beams and sticks his hand out. “I’m Merlin. It’s good to finally get the chance to introduce myself, you’re probably our most regular regular outside of Lance’s wife, and Gwen is lovely but she barely counts, since she just comes to give him a snog and occasionally raid our new releases. Oh, and my flatmate, but mostly he leans about the place and says that he’s luring in business.”
Arthur shakes his hand, somewhat bemused at the flood of chatter, and picks something to comment on. “Lance is the other man who works here?”
“Yes, and Freya’s the other one.” Merlin scrutinizes Arthur for a second before looking down and producing a candy cane from his pocket. “Here, have this, you look as if you could use a bit of Christmas cheer.”
Much as Arthur doesn’t want to share his business with a stranger, he can’t help his wince at the thought of Christmas in his father’s massive mausoleum of a house that the estate agent has encouraged him not to sell until the New Year, probably without a tree because it’s silly to get one for just himself, probably without presents because he and Morgana will exchange them later. It’s a bleak prospect to say the least. His family may be dysfunctional, but at least they’ve always spent Christmas with him. “I suppose I could,” he says when a little wrinkle appears between Merlin’s brows. “Thanks for this, I don’t have time for a proper lunch.” That makes him fumble his phone out of his pocket to look at the time. “Fuck, I haven’t the time for anything at all, actually, bloody Morgana. I’ve got to run.”
Merlin’s smile reappears, if dimmer, and he keeps looking at Arthur like he’s expecting something. “Bye, then, and good to meet you again. I’ll … see you Friday, I guess.” His face brightens again. “Unless you’re secretly James Bond and by introducing yourself you’ve blown your cover and you’re about to move to Singapore.”
Arthur laughs, feeling inexplicably as if he’s been let off the hook, and heads for the door. “That’s it. You’ll never see me again, though now the safe house in Singapore is right out.”
“Merlin,” the girl calls from the front of the shop, “I’ve tried plugging the lights in and one must be out, would you come … do your thing?”
“Sure, Freya,” he calls back, and smiles at Arthur, twisting his hands together. “I’m a bit of a wizard with making electronics work. Shouldn’t you go?”
“Shit,” says Arthur, and barely gives a wave before heading out of the shop. He walks briskly back to the office, candy cane tucked in his pocket, and gets in five minutes before he has to be back to business, just enough time to grab a wrap from the sandwich stand outside his building and run up to his desk.
*
December 5th
Arthur’s Wednesday lunch meeting is, thank God, with Elena instead of anyone else. She’s been one of his best friends since they were both in nappies, for one thing, and for another, she doesn’t expect to be wined and dined at the fanciest places. He meets her outside of a seedy-looking diner that she promises has the best fish and chips he will ever taste and gives her a hug. They chat about nothing at all until they’ve ordered, and then sit back in the booth. “You look tired,” Elena says, brow knit. “You’re always so busy now that you’re heading up the company.”
“It comes with the territory, I’m afraid.” He nudges her under the table with his foot. “You look a bit blue as well. Care to tell me what’s wrong?”
Elena shrugs with such an expansive hand gesture that she nearly knocks over the salt shaker. “Ugh. Dad’s got some terribly-timed business trip that starts on the twentieth and he couldn’t book a flight back until the twenty-seventh, and I could spend Christmas with my Nan and six billion cousins, but I don’t really want to.”
“Morgana’s going to Zurich to visit Morgause.” He only has a second of glum commiseration before the idea occurs to him. “Elena, why don’t you just come to my house? Come over Christmas Eve, I’ve got a million guest rooms, we can have dinner, spend Christmas together, do a tree maybe. It’s ridiculous having us both on our own, and plenty of people spend Christmas with friends.” It might not be the same as family, but anything is better than being on his own.
Her face lights up with one of her brightest smiles. “Arthur, that’s brilliant, would you? I’m a dreadful cook, so I wouldn’t be able to help in the kitchen, but I could decorate. Do you mind if I bring a few ornaments for the tree? There’s a couple from my childhood that it doesn’t feel like Christmas without.”
Now he’ll have to get a tree, because he’s never been able to say no to Elena, but he doesn’t really mind. Now that he’s had the idea, everything feels lighter, and he’s got less of an urge to scowl at the radio in the diner for playing Christmas music. “Bring whatever ornaments you like, and I’ll get a few of my mum’s out of the attic. I’m not a great cook either, but maybe somewhere will deliver curry on the holiday. At the very least we can have spaghetti, even I can boil pasta if you don’t mind sauce from a jar.”
Elena grabs his hand across the table. “You’re a star, Arthur, December was looking so bleak and you’re cheering me right up.”
“The same to you, I wasn’t relishing the thought of spending Christmas alone.” The waitress arrives with their meals, and Arthur leans back. “Now, shouldn’t we actually talk business, so I can put this lunch on the company’s expense account? I would love to see their faces in accounting when they get the receipt from this place.”
*
December 7th
Arthur’s so glad it’s Friday that he ducks out for lunch ten minutes early and takes the time to sit down and eat a sandwich and drink a cup of coffee at a deli between his office and Dragon Books. When that’s done, he walks slowly to the shop, enjoying the crispness in the air that means winter is on its way and pulling his coat tighter around him.
Dragon Books is warm and decorated within an inch of its life, the overhead lights not even turned on in favor of the fairy lights everywhere and scatters of candy canes on all the tables. “You didn’t run off to Singapore after all,” Merlin says from where he seems to be putting together a display of children’s books. “I don’t know whether to be glad you’re here or disappointed that you’re not James Bond.”
Arthur grins at him. “If I were a spy, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
“Or you’d have to kill me, yes.” Freya is behind the desk, and Arthur starts when she smothers a giggle. Merlin doesn’t, just rolls his eyes and goes back to reorganizing things in his display. “Shut up, Freya. Anyway, Arthur, looking for anything in particular today?”
“No, I don’t think so, though I ought to do some of my Christmas shopping here at some point. I’ve got a guest for Christmas that I didn’t have before, so I should find her something.”
Merlin raises his eyebrows. “Girlfriend?”
“Old friend. Both of us were going to be alone for the holidays so we headed it off at the pass.”
Merlin’s look is half pity and half something else, and it makes Arthur flinch. Visibly, if the way Merlin backs off is any indication. “Well, if we don’t have whatever book you want to give her, you should know that we’ll order books for you special.”
“Thank you.” They stand there in incredibly awkward silence until Arthur clears his throat. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work, and I’ll let you know if there’s anything I would like to order for Christmas.”
“Right, yeah.” Merlin ducks behind a bookshelf and pops out by the register, where he has a low-voiced conversation with Freya that ends in her laughing at him and ruffling his hair.
Arthur, after a second, shakes himself and goes to the back of the shop and the chalkboard. Someone (his money is on Merlin, though it could be one of the other shop employees-the handwriting looks vaguely familiar, at least) has written The truth is out there, but lies are in your head under his last quote, and he grins and moves on to the other threads on the board, since he hasn’t got a good answer to that one.
Someone with neat curlicue cursive has written Favorite winter reads? towards the top, and there are a few recommendations going down, everything from Dickens to Christie to Middlemarch, though Arthur’s at a loss as to why anyone would inflict that upon themselves more than once. On a whim, he chooses Ballet Shoes, mostly because he remembers his father reading it to Morgana the Christmas after she came to live with them and he’s read it a few times since.
“Pratchett to Streatfeild?” asks Freya from behind the counter. He turns around, one eyebrow raised, and she ducks her head. “Just a wide range of things, is all.”
“Streatfeild is my sister’s fault,” he explains, even though he knows it sounds like an excuse. “Pratchett I found on my own, though. I like reading lots of different things.”
She gestures around the shop. “I can certainly understand that. By the way, we got a new shipment in the other day. If you’re looking for reading material and not just the chalkboard, you should have a look around. Merlin or I can help you find anything you want.”
“Or order it, I’ve just been informed,” he says dryly, and she makes a point of looking over what must be an inventory sheet. “Thank you for letting me know, though, I could use something to read over the weekend.”
She doesn’t seem to have a response to that, and Merlin doesn’t pop out from behind any more shelves, so Arthur pokes around the shop and ends up with three mysteries and a biography of Marilyn Monroe, which he won’t be able to finish over the weekend but is too interesting to pass up.
“You do have eclectic taste,” Merlin observes as he bags Arthur’s purchases, Freya having mysteriously disappeared the second Arthur headed towards the register.
“My sister is an academic, I had to keep up with her somehow. Though she despairs of my taste.”
Merlin’s politely interested expression is ruined by his obvious desire to laugh. “She only likes great literature, or something?”
Arthur laughs and watches Merlin’s face ease up into a smile. “No, she just objects to the mysteries, she specializes in erotica.” To his delight, that makes Merlin’s ears go red. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my office. I’ll see you Tuesday?”
“I suppose you will,” says Merlin, and waves him out.
*
December 10th
Mithian is the most competent person Arthur has ever met. He is constantly and endlessly grateful that she contracts her law services to his company and not anyone else’s, because aside from being good company (and a friend from university) she has beaten countless legal troubles into submission without batting an eyelash. This particular Monday, he’s looking forward to their meeting as a bastion of sanity in the madness that has been his day (he’s not sure how the new accounting intern managed to shred a year’s worth of files unchecked. He’s not sure he wants to know), so when she comes into his office with circles under her eyes and her jaw set he has to wince. “Are you okay?”
“Mostly fine.” She sighs and rubs her temples. “Sorry, I’m just all thrown off today. I love my father, but he’s a terrible Scrooge, and I like the holidays, so we had a row yesterday that ended in me saying that I’ll go see him on Boxing Day and we’ll pretend that we’re exchanging presents out of sheer coincidence, but it leaves me rather on my own for the day itself. I suppose there are worse things.”
Arthur winces, recognizing his own tone from last week. “I’m sorry, that’s shit. If it’s any consolation, Morgana has abandoned me for Zurich for the holiday, and it’s just me and … that’s an idea, actually.” She raises an inquiring eyebrow. “You know Elena, right? I’ve introduced you, at the very least.”
“Yes, we go out occasionally. What about her?”
“She was going to be on her own for Christmas too, and I figured I’ve got that obscenely large house so she should come stay with me. Why don’t you come as well? Christmas Eve through the day itself, bring whatever presents to open or give that you like, not that I’m fishing, and we’ll muddle through together. Dinner might be a disappointment, but we’ll keep each other company, at least.” Missing their families together seems at least slightly less sad than missing them on their own.
“I’m sure. I can’t help much with dinner, I’m afraid, I’m a good cook but only for one or two people at once. If I’ve ever got a family it’s going to be disastrous. However, I’m great at baked goods-if you want a pie or some biscuits or something, I’m your woman.”
“That would be amazing, and whatever you’d like to make would be lovely. I remember you making brownies whenever we had a massive study session, so I already know whatever it is will be delicious.”
“Flattery, Mr. Penn, will get you everywhere.” Mithian’s face crinkles into a grin. “If you’re picking up strays, I feel as though I ought to make extra food, though. First Elena, now me …”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “I seriously doubt that too many people are going to have sudden last-minute disasters that require them to find alternate Christmas plans, though if you make extra at least we’ll have leftovers.” He thinks back to his conversation with Elena. “If you like, bring a few ornaments for the tree with you. Elena’s got a few with sentimental value, and I’m getting a few out of storage. You should have a few reminders of your family as well.”
She rests her hand on his for a moment. “I will, thank you. Now, I suppose we ought to get round to business, since that’s what you’re paying me for. Everything about the contracts is pretty standard, but there’s one or two points I want to bring to your attention.”
“Right,” says Arthur, and gets to work.
*
December 11th
Santa’s a robot! proclaims the chalkboard at Dragon Books.
Arthur ponders that for a moment, takes a piece of green chalk, and writes I don’t think Doctor Who counts as a book underneath. It’s cold and stubbornly rainy out on the street, and warm and deserted in the shop. Merlin’s the only one working, or at least Arthur thinks so, since he’s humming along with some music in the back room and not talking to anyone except for the “Hi, Arthur!” he called out when the bell rang (Arthur ignores the fact that apparently he’s so predictable Merlin doesn’t even need to look to know it’s him).
Before he can look at any of the other threads going on (there’s one towards one edge on good books to give as holiday gifts that he wants to check in on), Merlin pops his head out of the back room and nods at where Arthur is writing. “My flatmate did that one. I told him television quotes don’t count even if they are topical, but he told me that his love for Donna Noble is true and pure and I could shove it. Also, hi. Sorry, Lance’s wife is back in town and he has the day off to … I don’t really want to know, to be honest, and Freya’s recovering from some twenty-four hour plague, so it’s just me today and I’m a bit frazzled.”
“Sorry to hear it. And I can’t blame your flatmate for liking Donna, though Martha was my favorite. I’m looking forward to meeting the new one, though.”
“I liked the Ponds, I’m still bitter about that,” says Merlin, staring contemplatively at the chalkboard. “And I hope you and Gwaine never get the opportunity to talk about it, he can get rather passionate about Donna.”
Arthur shrugs. “Who doesn’t? There are worse things to get passionate about.” There’s the sound of a clatter from the back room, and he starts. “Is everything okay? I thought you were on your own back there.”
Merlin goes bright pink. “Sorry, yeah, I think I just left some books in a precarious position.”
“Would you like some help?” Arthur asks before he quite knows what he’s doing. “I haven’t got anything better to do at the moment, and if you’re swamped I’m more than willing to assist you.”
After a second where he looks torn, Merlin grins and nudges Arthur companionably with his shoulder. “I should have known you’d have some sort of white-knight complex. I’ll bet you’re the sort to slay dragons and sweep girls off their feet.”
“Not so much the girls,” Arthur says, just as he would to Morgana when she’s particularly exasperating, and belatedly realizes that he just came out to a shop owner who is just barely past the point of acquaintance and working towards friend at this point. Possibly more, sometime, if he’s lucky, but he’s not counting his chickens yet.
“Oh.” Merlin’s sidelong look and quiet smile are enough to make Arthur’s face heat up. “Well, okay. Anyway, things should be fine in the back room. The wonderful thing about books is that they’re resilient.”
“Let me know if you need help. As you mentioned, I do come in here twice a week, I’m sure I barely count as a customer any longer.”
Merlin’s mouth quirks. “Well, since you buy things from us, you are by definition a customer, but I know what you mean.” He clears his throat. “I’ve thought for months now that it’s stupid we don’t know each other when you-”
The shop bell rings, and they turn in tandem as a man swaggers in, all shaggy dark hair and rakish grin. Arthur does his best to keep his hackles from going up, though it’s something of a losing battle when Merlin stops mid-sentence and abandons Arthur at the chalkboard with only a quick apologetic glance. “I brought you lunch, since you’re tied to the shop,” the man explains, holding up a bag and hugging Merlin around the shoulders, and Arthur is struck with the sudden certainty that the man is Merlin’s boyfriend, which he has absolutely no right to be annoyed about but somehow is. “Who’s your friend?” the newcomer asks, nodding to the back wall, and Merlin squirms.
Arthur has the awful sense that he’s about to be accused of being the other woman and steps in before that can happen. “I’m Arthur, just a regular customer. We were talking about a few things on the board back here.”
“He took exception to your Doctor Who quote, since it’s not from a book,” Merlin explains. That, it seems, makes the newcomer Merlin’s flatmate with a deep love for Donna Noble, and therefore less likely to be Merlin’s boyfriend. Which is absolutely none of Arthur’s business anyway, because he is barely Merlin’s acquaintance, let alone anything else. Damn it. “Gwaine, this is Arthur, Arthur, my flatmate Gwaine, don’t get him started on Donna.”
To Arthur’s surprise, Gwaine breaks out into a wicked grin. “A regular customer, are you? I’m betting that makes you the Tuesday-Friday bloke.”
Merlin closes his eyes in apparent mortification even as Arthur feels unaccountably warmed at the fact that someone at the shop has talked about him enough to make a stranger recognize him from so little. Before he can ask, though, or even decide if he wants to, there’s another crash from the back room, a good deal louder than the one from earlier, and Merlin lunges in what looks like abject relief. “Whoops, unsteady books back there, they must have knocked a shelf over, got to go take care of that.”
“Cheater!” Gwaine calls after him for no reason Arthur can discern, but Merlin just disappears into the back room, slamming the door after him. With a chuckle, Gwaine puts the bag of carry-out on the register desk and turns back to Arthur. “It was good to meet you. They’ve mentioned you, especially now that you’ve stopped being mysterious and started talking to them.” He looks Arthur up and down. “I suppose you’ll do,” he says, and wanders out of the shop.
Arthur waits a few minutes, even adding to a few different conversations on the chalkboard, but Merlin doesn’t seem inclined to come out of the back room and nobody else comes in, so he slinks out of the store fifteen minutes earlier than he normally would and calls Elena on the way back to the office to complain. “Sounds like he fancies you,” she says when she’s finished giggling at him. “And like you fancy him, which isn’t fair, you ought to have told me before.”
“I do not fancy him,” Arthur says, refusing to splutter, and ignores the way her laughter only gets louder.
“He sounds sweet, perhaps I ought to stop in sometime.” She pauses. “Or maybe meet his flatmate, he sounds like quite the character.”
Arthur groans. “I am preemptively banishing you from that establishment, nothing about this can be good for my sanity or my health.”
“Come on, Arthur, take a chance, have a bit of Christmas spirit! Faint heart never won fair shopkeeper.”
There is no rational response to that, so Arthur does the childish thing and hangs up on her.
*
December 13th
Leon calls at six. “I’m going to the pub, and you’re coming with me.”
“Do you have any particular incentive for me?” Arthur inquires, capping his pen on the latest set of end-of-year reports he’s checking over and starting to stuff everything into his briefcase. It’s rare Leon puts up the pub beacon, rare enough that he’s not going to put up more than a token protest. “Bribes, explanations, threats?”
“First round’s on me,” said Leon, sounding so glum that Arthur can’t bring himself to tease any more. “Can you come?”
“Sure, I could use an evening off work. Usual place? I can be there in fifteen.”
Leon gives a relieved sigh. “That would be great. Thanks, Arthur.”
Arthur packs up as quickly as he can, inevitably putting all his papers in disarray as he does, and gets out of the office. The skies are clearing, but it’s still warm for December and, the forecasts say, unlikely to be a white Christmas. Fitting enough, he supposes, since nothing else about the season is going quite as expected. With that thought in mind, he half-jogs through the city streets to ward the cold off and gets to the pub five minutes earlier than expected.
It’s a quiet pub, aimed for customers somewhat older than Arthur and Leon, who keep to themselves and occasionally play a game of darts on the dilapidated board in the corner. Elena’s father is actually the one who introduced him to it, and now it’s rare for a month to go by where Arthur doesn’t spend at least a night or two drinking with Leon or Morgana or other friends, and they’ve adopted the place as their own. Tonight, Leon is waiting for him, obviously moping with a pint in front of him and another one that gets set down in front of Arthur the second he sits down.
“Care to tell me what the trouble is?” Arthur asks, before getting struck with a sense of déjà vu. “Are you about to tell me that you’re alone for Christmas and terribly sad about it?”
Leon stares at him. “How the fuck did you guess that?”
“What on Earth is it about this year?” Arthur wonders, and then does his best to explain. “Morgana’s abandoning me for fucking Morgause in Zurich of all the places, so I thought I was going to be on my own for Christmas. Then Ellie told me her dad’s stuck out of the country for the holiday and I ended up inviting her to my father’s house, and then Mithian-do you know her? I forget-had an argument with her father, who apparently hates the holidays, and now she’s coming as well. What’s your story? I thought you were going to Canada because your parents wanted to visit your sister.”
Leon groans and takes a swig of his pint. “I was, but then I checked my passport this afternoon and realized it went out of date in August, and I can’t get it renewed this late and I can’t ask my parents to stay when my sister is pregnant, so I’m stuck in London.”
Before Leon can so much as look hopefully in Arthur’s direction (because he never would, Leon’s got a proud streak and is much too nice to foist himself on anyone anyway), Arthur forges on. “You can come to mine, then, make it an even four. It’s not family, but it’s better than nothing, and we’re all going to have a few special ornaments that make Christmas for us on the tree, so we’ll at least have that. Mithian’s baking desserts, though we haven’t got dinner figured out yet, and we’ll cobble everything else together as we can.”
“It sounds pretty amazing, actually. Your dad’s old house is big enough to house an army, you could take in three times as many for Christmas and barely put a dent in the place.”
“At the rate I seem to be taking in strays, I wouldn’t be surprised if it ends up that way. It’ll be one last proper party for the old house, at least. Father never liked entertaining much, but I hate for all that space to go to waste, even if I’m selling it in the new year.”
Leon toasts him. “We’ll see the place off in style, then. I’ll bring a few ornaments, there’s a couple I’ll have to wheedle out of my mum but she won’t want to take them across the Atlantic anyway.” He pauses and fidgets. “Have you already got a tree in mind? Only there’s a place my parents always use, and they’ve got great tall trees that will fit in that huge living room at your place. I’ve got a car and everything, I could do the tree.”
Arthur sighs in relief. “Would you? I haven’t even had time to think about it yet, and I’ve got no clue where one finds a proper one, we always had awful fake ones and if we’re going to have some semblance of a proper Christmas I didn’t really want that. Like I’ve told the others, bring whatever gifts from your family you have, if you aren’t doing them before or after, and don’t feel obligated to give gifts to anyone you don’t know. Looks like the party is starting Christmas Eve, and everyone can stay the night, and Christmas night if they like, and people will disperse on Boxing Day.”
“Of all the people I ever thought would be hosting holiday parties, it wouldn’t be you,” says Leon, and smiles when Arthur frowns, stung. “In a good way, Arthur. Who knows, maybe Morgana going out of town for Christmas is just what you need. You’ve not had an easy time of it, this past year, perhaps this will be a change.”
“I suppose. It seems wrong doing the holiday without family around, but I like you lot well enough.” He casts around for a less loaded subject when Leon just looks at him. “At least this will be an opportunity for me to watch the Doctor Who Christmas episode with friends around; it’s bound to be an interesting one.” That thought inevitably leads him back to Merlin and his flatmate and the odd moment before he left the shop the other day, but he ruthlessly tamps down the urge to dwell on it. Leon doesn’t need to know about his … whatever it is he’s got going on with Merlin. If there is anything going on with Merlin.
Leon, after a quick, suspicious look, allows the subject to change and doesn’t bring up Christmas again until they say goodnight. “Thanks again for inviting me, Arthur. It’s no good being lonely on Christmas, and we’ll muddle through.”
“It’s not for some huge noble cause,” Arthur mumbles, uncomfortable, and lets Leon hug him goodbye before he tucks his hands in his pockets and goes.
*
December 14th
Morgana, when Arthur tells her what has become of his Christmas plans, laughs for a good three minutes. “Shut up,” he says when she shows no signs of stopping. “You’re going to be with family, and I had to do something.”
She sobers. “I think it’ll be good for you. They’re all lovely, and I must say I feel less guilty about leaving you now I know you have company. I was afraid you would end up shutting yourself in that fucking mansion with a Pot Noodle and a Die Hard marathon.”
Arthur, attempting to eat a wrap, walk to Dragon Books, and talk to his sister at the same time, grunts and has to swallow before he can talk, scrambling for something light-hearted and misleading to say. Morgana is always uncomfortably close to the mark about these things. “You should feel horribly guilty, and sad besides, we’re going to have a wonderful time without you. A proper picture book Christmas.” Really, he fully expects the whole affair to be the sort of awkward that can only be mitigated with copious amounts of eggnog, but he can be forgiven for stretching the truth a bit.
“And meanwhile I’ll be enjoying intellectual society in Switzerland and possibly a spa day on Christmas Eve, yes, I can see how I ought to feel sad.” Her voice is softer when she speaks again. “I really am glad for you, Arthur. I know how much you like those three, and does it matter so much that it’s not family? With friends that good it’s close enough.”
Not really, but he doesn’t have the heart to say that to her, and it isn’t as though he doesn’t love his friends. “Morgause and I will just have to work out some sort of complex holiday custody arrangement of you in future. It would be easier if she would move back to London. Rome, Moscow, Cairo, now Zurich … where next?” He reaches the door of the shop but stays out on the pavement again. Bookshops may not be libraries, but it still feels wrong to wander about while on the phone.
“She thinks possibly Singapore.” Arthur can’t help laughing. Morgana’s tone sharpens. “Just what is so funny about wanting to travel, Arthur? Or about Singapore in particular?”
“No, nothing wrong with traveling, sorry.” He gets his voice under control. “Though I will object if she tries to steal you for Christmas in Singapore. She can come visit you in that case, as far as I’m concerned.” Even if that means he’s got to spend next Christmas with Morgause, heaven help them all. “It’s just a … friend of mine mentioned Singapore in an odd context recently, and I thought it was funny it had come up twice.”
Morgana knows him far too well. “A friend, is it? If you’re being coy, then it’s certainly a friend that I want to meet. Do you care to tell me any more, or shall I start guessing? It’s a Friday, and lunchtime, I can’t help but wonder …”
“It was Elena,” he lies blatantly. She knows it’s a lie, but like a cat, she prefers toying with her prey before she pounces, so he might get a stay of execution so they can have the conversation when he isn’t standing outside Merlin’s shop. Not that they need to have a conversation. God, he’s not even fooling himself anymore.
“Of course it was.” She sounds more pitying than anything else, and is interrupted by a flurry of noise on the other end of the line. “Fuck, I’ve got a student, why do the silly creatures insist upon talking to me when I’m on the phone?”
“Perhaps because you’ve got office hours,” he says, but she’s already hung up. With a sigh that even he has to admit is more fond than long-suffering, Arthur pushes the shop door open and is immediately hit with a wave of warm, cinnamon-scented air as the bells chime. Arthur smiles around as he shuts the door. “It smells like Christmas in here.”
Freya, putting up a display of calendars for the new year, waves at him and rolls her eyes. “Merlin is tired and he …” She pauses and visibly rethinks what she was going to say. “He’s been drinking cinnamon lattes,” she says firmly. “All day.”
“The scent’s lingered. Glad to see you’re well, by the way, Merlin said you were ill.”
“Oh, thanks, yes. And he’s in the back. Merlin is.” She looks back as if expecting Merlin to magically appear, and frowns when he doesn’t. “Merlin, you have a customer!”
Merlin, in a stunning display of grace, stumbles out of the back room, steps in a box, nearly falls over, catches himself on a smaller shelf, nearly tips that over, and then finally steadies himself with a yawn and pink cheeks. “Sorry, hi. Arthur! Wow, it’s already lunchtime.”
Arthur raises his eyebrows. “You look knackered, why aren’t you at home? You handled the shop on your own on Tuesday, Freya could do it today.”
Freya snorts softly. “Try telling him that. He’s particular about his days off.”
“Stop it, you two, there ought to be a rule about ganging up on me in my own shop.” Merlin makes a face. “No, Gwaine decided it would be a brilliant idea to keep me up half the night drinking and interrogating me about things that are none of his business, and I didn’t want to call out at the last minute, so here we are. I’ll probably go out early, but Fridays are sometimes busy days for us.”
“No wonder you were drinking lattes this morning,” says Arthur, trying to be subtle about helping Merlin to somewhere a little steadier to lean.
Merlin blinks at him. “Lattes?” Freya clears her throat loudly, and he jumps. “Right, lattes! Why were you and Freya talking about my coffee habits?”
“I was remarking on the air smelling like cinnamon when I came in,” says Arthur, with as much patience as he can muster. “So she said it was from your drinks.”
“Of course, the smell, wow, sorry.” Merlin peers around as if expecting the scent to become visible. “Do you like it? Maybe I should buy an air freshener for the season. Some themed ones, even, do peppermint next.”
Arthur shrugs. “Seems rather late for that, and you’d undoubtedly make your customers hungry, but then you might sell more cookbooks, so I don’t know.” Merlin doesn’t seem to have a response to that besides somewhat concussed-looking staring, so Arthur just nods and makes his way to the blackboard. Someone, under his and Gwaine’s conversation, has drawn an excellent rendition of the robot Santas from the relevant Christmas special. “Who drew that?” he inquires, more to Freya than to Merlin.
Freya smiles. “Gwen, Lance’s wife. She’s a graphic designer, and if you ever see a good picture on the board chances are she drew it.” She points behind the register, where there’s a picture of a dragon reading a book, a blown-up print Arthur had always vaguely assumed was from a children’s book of some sort. “She drew that for Merlin when he took over the shop.”
“She’s very good, then. If I ever want art for my office, I know who to contact. I might do, actually, after the holidays.” He grins. “The stodgy old businessmen would love that, I’m sure, it’s worth it for that alone.”
There’s no reason for “approving” to be the first word that comes to mind for Freya’s smile, but it’s all he can think of. “I’ll tell her you think so, she might even force one on you free of charge. Gwen’s apt to do things like that.”
“Nonsense, I can more than afford it.” Since Gwen’s picture trumps anything he might have said in answer to that thread (Gwaine’s response to his last one is Donna Noble says your argument is invalid in gorgeous calligraphy that seems completely at odds with his personality but which is undoubtedly his handwriting), Arthur moves on to a different one, where due to the Hogfather quote Merlin seems to be engaged in a spirited Pratchett vs. Adams battle. He puts in his two cents for Pratchett, notes down a title or two from the continuing thread on books to give as gifts, and attempts to eavesdrop on Merlin and Freya’s whispered conversation in the front of the shop. It doesn’t do him any good, but it does fill the time until he has to get back to the office.
“Leaving so soon?” Freya asks when he walks towards the door, no books with him since he’s still working his way through the Monroe biography.
“My sister took up far too much of my lunch break teasing me about my Christmas plans, since apparently I’m taking in everyone of my acquaintance who hasn’t got anywhere else to go this year, so now I’ve got to get back. I’ll be here again on Tuesday, though, I’ve got some gifts to buy and I really ought to get to work on that.”
“Gwen and Lance do that with us, for Christmas,” says Merlin, seeming a bit more awake, or at least awake enough to give Arthur a sheepish smile when he walks past the register, where Merlin is slumped on a chair. “Or did last year and plan to this year, anyway. Those two and Gwen’s brother and Freya and Gwaine and me. I think it’s great that you’re doing it too. I don’t like the thought of you-well, anyone-being alone for the holidays.”
Arthur smiles. “It may not be family, but at least it’s something. Get some sleep, would you, Merlin? And I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Might as well be family, after a certain point” said Merlin, and then “See you Tuesday” before Arthur can come up with a response to that. In the end, he just waves to Merlin and Freya and heads out of the shop.
*
Part Two
Wordcount: ~17,000
Warning: past minor character death
Summary: Arthur thinks he's going to have to spend Christmas alone--at least until he somehow acquires a whole house full of strays.
A/N: My merlin_holidays fic! (If anyone is wondering why the title changed since that posting, let me tell you: when you are looking for quotes to title your fics from always find a second source because sometimes the first one is wrong. This now-corrected snippet is from How the Grinch Stole Christmas.) Written for neojas and betaed by the ever-trusty plot-wrangling flammablehat.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
December 4th
Arthur lives for Tuesday and Friday lunchtimes. Mondays and Thursdays, he uses the time to make a stop at the gym and eats something healthy at his desk later. Wednesdays, he arranges some sort of business lunch. Tuesdays and Fridays, however, he takes a walk through the city, finds a quick meal, and goes to Dragon Books. It’s become a haven, of sorts, over the past year since he took over his father’s company, and generally just walking through the door is enough to relax him.
This particular Tuesday, he’s not even sure he’ll get that moment of peace, as he’s been pacing outside on the pavement on the phone for the past fifteen minutes and his sister still shows no signs of shutting up. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Morgana says for the third time.
“It’s fine, Morgana. It isn’t as if we’ve ever been religious, and Morgause is your sister too.” He makes a face at that, because he’s being a good brother but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He has no right to feel betrayed, he reminds himself, and thinks of something polite to say. “Besides, Zurich at Christmas must be lovely, you ought to take advantage of the opportunity.”
She skips offering to bring him along, because they all know how terribly that would work out. Instead, she gets to the meat of the issue. “It’s your first Christmas without Uther, though.”
“And yours. We’ll both have some new traditions,” his most likely involving a frozen dinner and a movie marathon, “and we’ll do lunch and exchange presents when you get back to town. You’ll be here for the New Year, won’t you?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss Leon’s party for the world.”
“There, then, that’s a tradition for us. Stop feeling guilty about Zurich, would you? I’ve got to go, it’s my lunch break and I haven’t yet managed to eat lunch.”
Morgana laughs across the line. “Oh right, it’s Tuesday, I ought to have called tomorrow instead. Do let me know if you … find any good books, and we’ll talk soon.” She hangs up before Arthur can respond, because she has a pathological need to have the last word.
Arthur sighs and debates between going inside or finding himself lunch, because now he only has time for one of the two. In the end, he decides that the protein bars he keeps in his desk for emergencies will have to do and that he’ll have a good dinner to make up for it. At the moment, forgetting about being alone for Christmas is more important than food, so he pushes the door open.
Dragon Books is a cozy shop, bookshelves somewhat haphazardly placed with a great many comfy chairs dotted between them and a back wall painted entirely to be a chalkboard where people scrawl quotes from their favorite books or recommend others. Generally, Arthur browses through whatever new books they’ve got in (after a year he knows their collection quite well) and then goes to the wall to see what’s new.
This time, though, he nearly trips on a box the second he walks through the door and looks down to find it filled with various holiday decorations. “Hello, sorry about the mess,” someone calls from the back of the shop, and Arthur peers around, tuning in to the fact that the shop’s speakers are playing someone crooning “White Christmas.” There are fairy lights strung up across the windows and the top of every wall, not yet plugged in, and all three employees of the shop that he’s seen in his time as a regular seem to be hard at work.
“No problem at all, though you may want to get this box out from in front of your door,” he says, giving a smile to the girl who works the desk sometimes. She’s standing on a ladder with a popcorn-and-cranberry garland and just ducks her head with a shy smile in answer.
The owner, whose name cannot possibly be Merlin even if that’s what Arthur’s heard his friends call him sometimes, pokes his head out from behind a bookcase and grins fit to split his face when he sees Arthur. “Oh good, it’s just you. Mind shoving the box to the side, mate? Sorry about that, as you can see it’s a bit of a mess in here.”
Arthur splutters. “Just me?”
“You’re in twice a week,” says the owner with a shrug, and disappears around a corner again. The song changes abruptly and he starts whistling along with “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”
That, Arthur supposes, is a fair point. If he knows at least little details about the people who work in the shop (like the stupidly handsome one being married, and the owner having a fondness for terrible pop music), it’s only reasonable that they recognize him in return. With a shrug, he lifts the box out of the way and puts it safely on an unoccupied chair before wandering back to the far wall.
The board, as it is at the beginning of every month, is erased, only a few quotes and recommendations scattered across it in the pink and light green chalk that are the only colors remaining. Someone has scrawled Marley was dead: to begin with across the top of the board in alternating colors, the handwriting familiar enough after months that Arthur thinks it must be someone who works there, most likely the owner.
Arthur thinks for a second, grins, and picks up his own piece of chalk to scrawl a quote: DO I DETECT A NOTE OF UNSEASONAL GRUMPINESS? NO SUGAR PIGGYWIGGY FOR YOU, ALBERT.
“Pratchett’s my favorite,” someone says from a few feet away, and Arthur does a very poor job of hiding the fact that he jumped. When he turns around, it’s the shop’s owner, who seems to have acquired a boa made of tinsel in the two minutes since Arthur last saw him and who is beaming in a way that makes him look mildly unhinged. “Good on you for having it memorized. And sorry for sneaking up on you. I just wanted to thank you for moving that box, I promise I don’t usually press-gang customers into helping me, but we’re a bit short-handed since Lance’s wife usually helps and she’s out of town and … sorry.”
It takes a second for Arthur to realize that the apology is for rambling on, because he’s still catching up on the flood of friendly chatter. Everyone in the shop enjoys chatting to customers, and since Arthur’s a regular they’re especially nice to him, but he hasn’t had quite this level of interaction inflicted on him before. “Not a problem at all, really. Though perhaps next time you might set your boxes down somewhere customers won’t trip on them.”
“Right, yeah.” They both stand staring at the chalkboard for a few moments, Arthur clenching his hands to keep from fidgeting. “You’re in a lot,” the shopkeeper finally announces.
“Every Tuesday and Friday.” That somehow managed to come across as both boring and pathetic. Arthur rolls his eyes at himself and dredges up some semblance of manners, which he must have left at the shop door, or perhaps on the phone with Morgana. “I’m Arthur. It’s a lovely shop.”
“Thanks. I’ve done a lot with it since my uncle retired.” He beams and sticks his hand out. “I’m Merlin. It’s good to finally get the chance to introduce myself, you’re probably our most regular regular outside of Lance’s wife, and Gwen is lovely but she barely counts, since she just comes to give him a snog and occasionally raid our new releases. Oh, and my flatmate, but mostly he leans about the place and says that he’s luring in business.”
Arthur shakes his hand, somewhat bemused at the flood of chatter, and picks something to comment on. “Lance is the other man who works here?”
“Yes, and Freya’s the other one.” Merlin scrutinizes Arthur for a second before looking down and producing a candy cane from his pocket. “Here, have this, you look as if you could use a bit of Christmas cheer.”
Much as Arthur doesn’t want to share his business with a stranger, he can’t help his wince at the thought of Christmas in his father’s massive mausoleum of a house that the estate agent has encouraged him not to sell until the New Year, probably without a tree because it’s silly to get one for just himself, probably without presents because he and Morgana will exchange them later. It’s a bleak prospect to say the least. His family may be dysfunctional, but at least they’ve always spent Christmas with him. “I suppose I could,” he says when a little wrinkle appears between Merlin’s brows. “Thanks for this, I don’t have time for a proper lunch.” That makes him fumble his phone out of his pocket to look at the time. “Fuck, I haven’t the time for anything at all, actually, bloody Morgana. I’ve got to run.”
Merlin’s smile reappears, if dimmer, and he keeps looking at Arthur like he’s expecting something. “Bye, then, and good to meet you again. I’ll … see you Friday, I guess.” His face brightens again. “Unless you’re secretly James Bond and by introducing yourself you’ve blown your cover and you’re about to move to Singapore.”
Arthur laughs, feeling inexplicably as if he’s been let off the hook, and heads for the door. “That’s it. You’ll never see me again, though now the safe house in Singapore is right out.”
“Merlin,” the girl calls from the front of the shop, “I’ve tried plugging the lights in and one must be out, would you come … do your thing?”
“Sure, Freya,” he calls back, and smiles at Arthur, twisting his hands together. “I’m a bit of a wizard with making electronics work. Shouldn’t you go?”
“Shit,” says Arthur, and barely gives a wave before heading out of the shop. He walks briskly back to the office, candy cane tucked in his pocket, and gets in five minutes before he has to be back to business, just enough time to grab a wrap from the sandwich stand outside his building and run up to his desk.
*
December 5th
Arthur’s Wednesday lunch meeting is, thank God, with Elena instead of anyone else. She’s been one of his best friends since they were both in nappies, for one thing, and for another, she doesn’t expect to be wined and dined at the fanciest places. He meets her outside of a seedy-looking diner that she promises has the best fish and chips he will ever taste and gives her a hug. They chat about nothing at all until they’ve ordered, and then sit back in the booth. “You look tired,” Elena says, brow knit. “You’re always so busy now that you’re heading up the company.”
“It comes with the territory, I’m afraid.” He nudges her under the table with his foot. “You look a bit blue as well. Care to tell me what’s wrong?”
Elena shrugs with such an expansive hand gesture that she nearly knocks over the salt shaker. “Ugh. Dad’s got some terribly-timed business trip that starts on the twentieth and he couldn’t book a flight back until the twenty-seventh, and I could spend Christmas with my Nan and six billion cousins, but I don’t really want to.”
“Morgana’s going to Zurich to visit Morgause.” He only has a second of glum commiseration before the idea occurs to him. “Elena, why don’t you just come to my house? Come over Christmas Eve, I’ve got a million guest rooms, we can have dinner, spend Christmas together, do a tree maybe. It’s ridiculous having us both on our own, and plenty of people spend Christmas with friends.” It might not be the same as family, but anything is better than being on his own.
Her face lights up with one of her brightest smiles. “Arthur, that’s brilliant, would you? I’m a dreadful cook, so I wouldn’t be able to help in the kitchen, but I could decorate. Do you mind if I bring a few ornaments for the tree? There’s a couple from my childhood that it doesn’t feel like Christmas without.”
Now he’ll have to get a tree, because he’s never been able to say no to Elena, but he doesn’t really mind. Now that he’s had the idea, everything feels lighter, and he’s got less of an urge to scowl at the radio in the diner for playing Christmas music. “Bring whatever ornaments you like, and I’ll get a few of my mum’s out of the attic. I’m not a great cook either, but maybe somewhere will deliver curry on the holiday. At the very least we can have spaghetti, even I can boil pasta if you don’t mind sauce from a jar.”
Elena grabs his hand across the table. “You’re a star, Arthur, December was looking so bleak and you’re cheering me right up.”
“The same to you, I wasn’t relishing the thought of spending Christmas alone.” The waitress arrives with their meals, and Arthur leans back. “Now, shouldn’t we actually talk business, so I can put this lunch on the company’s expense account? I would love to see their faces in accounting when they get the receipt from this place.”
*
December 7th
Arthur’s so glad it’s Friday that he ducks out for lunch ten minutes early and takes the time to sit down and eat a sandwich and drink a cup of coffee at a deli between his office and Dragon Books. When that’s done, he walks slowly to the shop, enjoying the crispness in the air that means winter is on its way and pulling his coat tighter around him.
Dragon Books is warm and decorated within an inch of its life, the overhead lights not even turned on in favor of the fairy lights everywhere and scatters of candy canes on all the tables. “You didn’t run off to Singapore after all,” Merlin says from where he seems to be putting together a display of children’s books. “I don’t know whether to be glad you’re here or disappointed that you’re not James Bond.”
Arthur grins at him. “If I were a spy, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
“Or you’d have to kill me, yes.” Freya is behind the desk, and Arthur starts when she smothers a giggle. Merlin doesn’t, just rolls his eyes and goes back to reorganizing things in his display. “Shut up, Freya. Anyway, Arthur, looking for anything in particular today?”
“No, I don’t think so, though I ought to do some of my Christmas shopping here at some point. I’ve got a guest for Christmas that I didn’t have before, so I should find her something.”
Merlin raises his eyebrows. “Girlfriend?”
“Old friend. Both of us were going to be alone for the holidays so we headed it off at the pass.”
Merlin’s look is half pity and half something else, and it makes Arthur flinch. Visibly, if the way Merlin backs off is any indication. “Well, if we don’t have whatever book you want to give her, you should know that we’ll order books for you special.”
“Thank you.” They stand there in incredibly awkward silence until Arthur clears his throat. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work, and I’ll let you know if there’s anything I would like to order for Christmas.”
“Right, yeah.” Merlin ducks behind a bookshelf and pops out by the register, where he has a low-voiced conversation with Freya that ends in her laughing at him and ruffling his hair.
Arthur, after a second, shakes himself and goes to the back of the shop and the chalkboard. Someone (his money is on Merlin, though it could be one of the other shop employees-the handwriting looks vaguely familiar, at least) has written The truth is out there, but lies are in your head under his last quote, and he grins and moves on to the other threads on the board, since he hasn’t got a good answer to that one.
Someone with neat curlicue cursive has written Favorite winter reads? towards the top, and there are a few recommendations going down, everything from Dickens to Christie to Middlemarch, though Arthur’s at a loss as to why anyone would inflict that upon themselves more than once. On a whim, he chooses Ballet Shoes, mostly because he remembers his father reading it to Morgana the Christmas after she came to live with them and he’s read it a few times since.
“Pratchett to Streatfeild?” asks Freya from behind the counter. He turns around, one eyebrow raised, and she ducks her head. “Just a wide range of things, is all.”
“Streatfeild is my sister’s fault,” he explains, even though he knows it sounds like an excuse. “Pratchett I found on my own, though. I like reading lots of different things.”
She gestures around the shop. “I can certainly understand that. By the way, we got a new shipment in the other day. If you’re looking for reading material and not just the chalkboard, you should have a look around. Merlin or I can help you find anything you want.”
“Or order it, I’ve just been informed,” he says dryly, and she makes a point of looking over what must be an inventory sheet. “Thank you for letting me know, though, I could use something to read over the weekend.”
She doesn’t seem to have a response to that, and Merlin doesn’t pop out from behind any more shelves, so Arthur pokes around the shop and ends up with three mysteries and a biography of Marilyn Monroe, which he won’t be able to finish over the weekend but is too interesting to pass up.
“You do have eclectic taste,” Merlin observes as he bags Arthur’s purchases, Freya having mysteriously disappeared the second Arthur headed towards the register.
“My sister is an academic, I had to keep up with her somehow. Though she despairs of my taste.”
Merlin’s politely interested expression is ruined by his obvious desire to laugh. “She only likes great literature, or something?”
Arthur laughs and watches Merlin’s face ease up into a smile. “No, she just objects to the mysteries, she specializes in erotica.” To his delight, that makes Merlin’s ears go red. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my office. I’ll see you Tuesday?”
“I suppose you will,” says Merlin, and waves him out.
*
December 10th
Mithian is the most competent person Arthur has ever met. He is constantly and endlessly grateful that she contracts her law services to his company and not anyone else’s, because aside from being good company (and a friend from university) she has beaten countless legal troubles into submission without batting an eyelash. This particular Monday, he’s looking forward to their meeting as a bastion of sanity in the madness that has been his day (he’s not sure how the new accounting intern managed to shred a year’s worth of files unchecked. He’s not sure he wants to know), so when she comes into his office with circles under her eyes and her jaw set he has to wince. “Are you okay?”
“Mostly fine.” She sighs and rubs her temples. “Sorry, I’m just all thrown off today. I love my father, but he’s a terrible Scrooge, and I like the holidays, so we had a row yesterday that ended in me saying that I’ll go see him on Boxing Day and we’ll pretend that we’re exchanging presents out of sheer coincidence, but it leaves me rather on my own for the day itself. I suppose there are worse things.”
Arthur winces, recognizing his own tone from last week. “I’m sorry, that’s shit. If it’s any consolation, Morgana has abandoned me for Zurich for the holiday, and it’s just me and … that’s an idea, actually.” She raises an inquiring eyebrow. “You know Elena, right? I’ve introduced you, at the very least.”
“Yes, we go out occasionally. What about her?”
“She was going to be on her own for Christmas too, and I figured I’ve got that obscenely large house so she should come stay with me. Why don’t you come as well? Christmas Eve through the day itself, bring whatever presents to open or give that you like, not that I’m fishing, and we’ll muddle through together. Dinner might be a disappointment, but we’ll keep each other company, at least.” Missing their families together seems at least slightly less sad than missing them on their own.
“I’m sure. I can’t help much with dinner, I’m afraid, I’m a good cook but only for one or two people at once. If I’ve ever got a family it’s going to be disastrous. However, I’m great at baked goods-if you want a pie or some biscuits or something, I’m your woman.”
“That would be amazing, and whatever you’d like to make would be lovely. I remember you making brownies whenever we had a massive study session, so I already know whatever it is will be delicious.”
“Flattery, Mr. Penn, will get you everywhere.” Mithian’s face crinkles into a grin. “If you’re picking up strays, I feel as though I ought to make extra food, though. First Elena, now me …”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “I seriously doubt that too many people are going to have sudden last-minute disasters that require them to find alternate Christmas plans, though if you make extra at least we’ll have leftovers.” He thinks back to his conversation with Elena. “If you like, bring a few ornaments for the tree with you. Elena’s got a few with sentimental value, and I’m getting a few out of storage. You should have a few reminders of your family as well.”
She rests her hand on his for a moment. “I will, thank you. Now, I suppose we ought to get round to business, since that’s what you’re paying me for. Everything about the contracts is pretty standard, but there’s one or two points I want to bring to your attention.”
“Right,” says Arthur, and gets to work.
*
December 11th
Santa’s a robot! proclaims the chalkboard at Dragon Books.
Arthur ponders that for a moment, takes a piece of green chalk, and writes I don’t think Doctor Who counts as a book underneath. It’s cold and stubbornly rainy out on the street, and warm and deserted in the shop. Merlin’s the only one working, or at least Arthur thinks so, since he’s humming along with some music in the back room and not talking to anyone except for the “Hi, Arthur!” he called out when the bell rang (Arthur ignores the fact that apparently he’s so predictable Merlin doesn’t even need to look to know it’s him).
Before he can look at any of the other threads going on (there’s one towards one edge on good books to give as holiday gifts that he wants to check in on), Merlin pops his head out of the back room and nods at where Arthur is writing. “My flatmate did that one. I told him television quotes don’t count even if they are topical, but he told me that his love for Donna Noble is true and pure and I could shove it. Also, hi. Sorry, Lance’s wife is back in town and he has the day off to … I don’t really want to know, to be honest, and Freya’s recovering from some twenty-four hour plague, so it’s just me today and I’m a bit frazzled.”
“Sorry to hear it. And I can’t blame your flatmate for liking Donna, though Martha was my favorite. I’m looking forward to meeting the new one, though.”
“I liked the Ponds, I’m still bitter about that,” says Merlin, staring contemplatively at the chalkboard. “And I hope you and Gwaine never get the opportunity to talk about it, he can get rather passionate about Donna.”
Arthur shrugs. “Who doesn’t? There are worse things to get passionate about.” There’s the sound of a clatter from the back room, and he starts. “Is everything okay? I thought you were on your own back there.”
Merlin goes bright pink. “Sorry, yeah, I think I just left some books in a precarious position.”
“Would you like some help?” Arthur asks before he quite knows what he’s doing. “I haven’t got anything better to do at the moment, and if you’re swamped I’m more than willing to assist you.”
After a second where he looks torn, Merlin grins and nudges Arthur companionably with his shoulder. “I should have known you’d have some sort of white-knight complex. I’ll bet you’re the sort to slay dragons and sweep girls off their feet.”
“Not so much the girls,” Arthur says, just as he would to Morgana when she’s particularly exasperating, and belatedly realizes that he just came out to a shop owner who is just barely past the point of acquaintance and working towards friend at this point. Possibly more, sometime, if he’s lucky, but he’s not counting his chickens yet.
“Oh.” Merlin’s sidelong look and quiet smile are enough to make Arthur’s face heat up. “Well, okay. Anyway, things should be fine in the back room. The wonderful thing about books is that they’re resilient.”
“Let me know if you need help. As you mentioned, I do come in here twice a week, I’m sure I barely count as a customer any longer.”
Merlin’s mouth quirks. “Well, since you buy things from us, you are by definition a customer, but I know what you mean.” He clears his throat. “I’ve thought for months now that it’s stupid we don’t know each other when you-”
The shop bell rings, and they turn in tandem as a man swaggers in, all shaggy dark hair and rakish grin. Arthur does his best to keep his hackles from going up, though it’s something of a losing battle when Merlin stops mid-sentence and abandons Arthur at the chalkboard with only a quick apologetic glance. “I brought you lunch, since you’re tied to the shop,” the man explains, holding up a bag and hugging Merlin around the shoulders, and Arthur is struck with the sudden certainty that the man is Merlin’s boyfriend, which he has absolutely no right to be annoyed about but somehow is. “Who’s your friend?” the newcomer asks, nodding to the back wall, and Merlin squirms.
Arthur has the awful sense that he’s about to be accused of being the other woman and steps in before that can happen. “I’m Arthur, just a regular customer. We were talking about a few things on the board back here.”
“He took exception to your Doctor Who quote, since it’s not from a book,” Merlin explains. That, it seems, makes the newcomer Merlin’s flatmate with a deep love for Donna Noble, and therefore less likely to be Merlin’s boyfriend. Which is absolutely none of Arthur’s business anyway, because he is barely Merlin’s acquaintance, let alone anything else. Damn it. “Gwaine, this is Arthur, Arthur, my flatmate Gwaine, don’t get him started on Donna.”
To Arthur’s surprise, Gwaine breaks out into a wicked grin. “A regular customer, are you? I’m betting that makes you the Tuesday-Friday bloke.”
Merlin closes his eyes in apparent mortification even as Arthur feels unaccountably warmed at the fact that someone at the shop has talked about him enough to make a stranger recognize him from so little. Before he can ask, though, or even decide if he wants to, there’s another crash from the back room, a good deal louder than the one from earlier, and Merlin lunges in what looks like abject relief. “Whoops, unsteady books back there, they must have knocked a shelf over, got to go take care of that.”
“Cheater!” Gwaine calls after him for no reason Arthur can discern, but Merlin just disappears into the back room, slamming the door after him. With a chuckle, Gwaine puts the bag of carry-out on the register desk and turns back to Arthur. “It was good to meet you. They’ve mentioned you, especially now that you’ve stopped being mysterious and started talking to them.” He looks Arthur up and down. “I suppose you’ll do,” he says, and wanders out of the shop.
Arthur waits a few minutes, even adding to a few different conversations on the chalkboard, but Merlin doesn’t seem inclined to come out of the back room and nobody else comes in, so he slinks out of the store fifteen minutes earlier than he normally would and calls Elena on the way back to the office to complain. “Sounds like he fancies you,” she says when she’s finished giggling at him. “And like you fancy him, which isn’t fair, you ought to have told me before.”
“I do not fancy him,” Arthur says, refusing to splutter, and ignores the way her laughter only gets louder.
“He sounds sweet, perhaps I ought to stop in sometime.” She pauses. “Or maybe meet his flatmate, he sounds like quite the character.”
Arthur groans. “I am preemptively banishing you from that establishment, nothing about this can be good for my sanity or my health.”
“Come on, Arthur, take a chance, have a bit of Christmas spirit! Faint heart never won fair shopkeeper.”
There is no rational response to that, so Arthur does the childish thing and hangs up on her.
*
December 13th
Leon calls at six. “I’m going to the pub, and you’re coming with me.”
“Do you have any particular incentive for me?” Arthur inquires, capping his pen on the latest set of end-of-year reports he’s checking over and starting to stuff everything into his briefcase. It’s rare Leon puts up the pub beacon, rare enough that he’s not going to put up more than a token protest. “Bribes, explanations, threats?”
“First round’s on me,” said Leon, sounding so glum that Arthur can’t bring himself to tease any more. “Can you come?”
“Sure, I could use an evening off work. Usual place? I can be there in fifteen.”
Leon gives a relieved sigh. “That would be great. Thanks, Arthur.”
Arthur packs up as quickly as he can, inevitably putting all his papers in disarray as he does, and gets out of the office. The skies are clearing, but it’s still warm for December and, the forecasts say, unlikely to be a white Christmas. Fitting enough, he supposes, since nothing else about the season is going quite as expected. With that thought in mind, he half-jogs through the city streets to ward the cold off and gets to the pub five minutes earlier than expected.
It’s a quiet pub, aimed for customers somewhat older than Arthur and Leon, who keep to themselves and occasionally play a game of darts on the dilapidated board in the corner. Elena’s father is actually the one who introduced him to it, and now it’s rare for a month to go by where Arthur doesn’t spend at least a night or two drinking with Leon or Morgana or other friends, and they’ve adopted the place as their own. Tonight, Leon is waiting for him, obviously moping with a pint in front of him and another one that gets set down in front of Arthur the second he sits down.
“Care to tell me what the trouble is?” Arthur asks, before getting struck with a sense of déjà vu. “Are you about to tell me that you’re alone for Christmas and terribly sad about it?”
Leon stares at him. “How the fuck did you guess that?”
“What on Earth is it about this year?” Arthur wonders, and then does his best to explain. “Morgana’s abandoning me for fucking Morgause in Zurich of all the places, so I thought I was going to be on my own for Christmas. Then Ellie told me her dad’s stuck out of the country for the holiday and I ended up inviting her to my father’s house, and then Mithian-do you know her? I forget-had an argument with her father, who apparently hates the holidays, and now she’s coming as well. What’s your story? I thought you were going to Canada because your parents wanted to visit your sister.”
Leon groans and takes a swig of his pint. “I was, but then I checked my passport this afternoon and realized it went out of date in August, and I can’t get it renewed this late and I can’t ask my parents to stay when my sister is pregnant, so I’m stuck in London.”
Before Leon can so much as look hopefully in Arthur’s direction (because he never would, Leon’s got a proud streak and is much too nice to foist himself on anyone anyway), Arthur forges on. “You can come to mine, then, make it an even four. It’s not family, but it’s better than nothing, and we’re all going to have a few special ornaments that make Christmas for us on the tree, so we’ll at least have that. Mithian’s baking desserts, though we haven’t got dinner figured out yet, and we’ll cobble everything else together as we can.”
“It sounds pretty amazing, actually. Your dad’s old house is big enough to house an army, you could take in three times as many for Christmas and barely put a dent in the place.”
“At the rate I seem to be taking in strays, I wouldn’t be surprised if it ends up that way. It’ll be one last proper party for the old house, at least. Father never liked entertaining much, but I hate for all that space to go to waste, even if I’m selling it in the new year.”
Leon toasts him. “We’ll see the place off in style, then. I’ll bring a few ornaments, there’s a couple I’ll have to wheedle out of my mum but she won’t want to take them across the Atlantic anyway.” He pauses and fidgets. “Have you already got a tree in mind? Only there’s a place my parents always use, and they’ve got great tall trees that will fit in that huge living room at your place. I’ve got a car and everything, I could do the tree.”
Arthur sighs in relief. “Would you? I haven’t even had time to think about it yet, and I’ve got no clue where one finds a proper one, we always had awful fake ones and if we’re going to have some semblance of a proper Christmas I didn’t really want that. Like I’ve told the others, bring whatever gifts from your family you have, if you aren’t doing them before or after, and don’t feel obligated to give gifts to anyone you don’t know. Looks like the party is starting Christmas Eve, and everyone can stay the night, and Christmas night if they like, and people will disperse on Boxing Day.”
“Of all the people I ever thought would be hosting holiday parties, it wouldn’t be you,” says Leon, and smiles when Arthur frowns, stung. “In a good way, Arthur. Who knows, maybe Morgana going out of town for Christmas is just what you need. You’ve not had an easy time of it, this past year, perhaps this will be a change.”
“I suppose. It seems wrong doing the holiday without family around, but I like you lot well enough.” He casts around for a less loaded subject when Leon just looks at him. “At least this will be an opportunity for me to watch the Doctor Who Christmas episode with friends around; it’s bound to be an interesting one.” That thought inevitably leads him back to Merlin and his flatmate and the odd moment before he left the shop the other day, but he ruthlessly tamps down the urge to dwell on it. Leon doesn’t need to know about his … whatever it is he’s got going on with Merlin. If there is anything going on with Merlin.
Leon, after a quick, suspicious look, allows the subject to change and doesn’t bring up Christmas again until they say goodnight. “Thanks again for inviting me, Arthur. It’s no good being lonely on Christmas, and we’ll muddle through.”
“It’s not for some huge noble cause,” Arthur mumbles, uncomfortable, and lets Leon hug him goodbye before he tucks his hands in his pockets and goes.
*
December 14th
Morgana, when Arthur tells her what has become of his Christmas plans, laughs for a good three minutes. “Shut up,” he says when she shows no signs of stopping. “You’re going to be with family, and I had to do something.”
She sobers. “I think it’ll be good for you. They’re all lovely, and I must say I feel less guilty about leaving you now I know you have company. I was afraid you would end up shutting yourself in that fucking mansion with a Pot Noodle and a Die Hard marathon.”
Arthur, attempting to eat a wrap, walk to Dragon Books, and talk to his sister at the same time, grunts and has to swallow before he can talk, scrambling for something light-hearted and misleading to say. Morgana is always uncomfortably close to the mark about these things. “You should feel horribly guilty, and sad besides, we’re going to have a wonderful time without you. A proper picture book Christmas.” Really, he fully expects the whole affair to be the sort of awkward that can only be mitigated with copious amounts of eggnog, but he can be forgiven for stretching the truth a bit.
“And meanwhile I’ll be enjoying intellectual society in Switzerland and possibly a spa day on Christmas Eve, yes, I can see how I ought to feel sad.” Her voice is softer when she speaks again. “I really am glad for you, Arthur. I know how much you like those three, and does it matter so much that it’s not family? With friends that good it’s close enough.”
Not really, but he doesn’t have the heart to say that to her, and it isn’t as though he doesn’t love his friends. “Morgause and I will just have to work out some sort of complex holiday custody arrangement of you in future. It would be easier if she would move back to London. Rome, Moscow, Cairo, now Zurich … where next?” He reaches the door of the shop but stays out on the pavement again. Bookshops may not be libraries, but it still feels wrong to wander about while on the phone.
“She thinks possibly Singapore.” Arthur can’t help laughing. Morgana’s tone sharpens. “Just what is so funny about wanting to travel, Arthur? Or about Singapore in particular?”
“No, nothing wrong with traveling, sorry.” He gets his voice under control. “Though I will object if she tries to steal you for Christmas in Singapore. She can come visit you in that case, as far as I’m concerned.” Even if that means he’s got to spend next Christmas with Morgause, heaven help them all. “It’s just a … friend of mine mentioned Singapore in an odd context recently, and I thought it was funny it had come up twice.”
Morgana knows him far too well. “A friend, is it? If you’re being coy, then it’s certainly a friend that I want to meet. Do you care to tell me any more, or shall I start guessing? It’s a Friday, and lunchtime, I can’t help but wonder …”
“It was Elena,” he lies blatantly. She knows it’s a lie, but like a cat, she prefers toying with her prey before she pounces, so he might get a stay of execution so they can have the conversation when he isn’t standing outside Merlin’s shop. Not that they need to have a conversation. God, he’s not even fooling himself anymore.
“Of course it was.” She sounds more pitying than anything else, and is interrupted by a flurry of noise on the other end of the line. “Fuck, I’ve got a student, why do the silly creatures insist upon talking to me when I’m on the phone?”
“Perhaps because you’ve got office hours,” he says, but she’s already hung up. With a sigh that even he has to admit is more fond than long-suffering, Arthur pushes the shop door open and is immediately hit with a wave of warm, cinnamon-scented air as the bells chime. Arthur smiles around as he shuts the door. “It smells like Christmas in here.”
Freya, putting up a display of calendars for the new year, waves at him and rolls her eyes. “Merlin is tired and he …” She pauses and visibly rethinks what she was going to say. “He’s been drinking cinnamon lattes,” she says firmly. “All day.”
“The scent’s lingered. Glad to see you’re well, by the way, Merlin said you were ill.”
“Oh, thanks, yes. And he’s in the back. Merlin is.” She looks back as if expecting Merlin to magically appear, and frowns when he doesn’t. “Merlin, you have a customer!”
Merlin, in a stunning display of grace, stumbles out of the back room, steps in a box, nearly falls over, catches himself on a smaller shelf, nearly tips that over, and then finally steadies himself with a yawn and pink cheeks. “Sorry, hi. Arthur! Wow, it’s already lunchtime.”
Arthur raises his eyebrows. “You look knackered, why aren’t you at home? You handled the shop on your own on Tuesday, Freya could do it today.”
Freya snorts softly. “Try telling him that. He’s particular about his days off.”
“Stop it, you two, there ought to be a rule about ganging up on me in my own shop.” Merlin makes a face. “No, Gwaine decided it would be a brilliant idea to keep me up half the night drinking and interrogating me about things that are none of his business, and I didn’t want to call out at the last minute, so here we are. I’ll probably go out early, but Fridays are sometimes busy days for us.”
“No wonder you were drinking lattes this morning,” says Arthur, trying to be subtle about helping Merlin to somewhere a little steadier to lean.
Merlin blinks at him. “Lattes?” Freya clears her throat loudly, and he jumps. “Right, lattes! Why were you and Freya talking about my coffee habits?”
“I was remarking on the air smelling like cinnamon when I came in,” says Arthur, with as much patience as he can muster. “So she said it was from your drinks.”
“Of course, the smell, wow, sorry.” Merlin peers around as if expecting the scent to become visible. “Do you like it? Maybe I should buy an air freshener for the season. Some themed ones, even, do peppermint next.”
Arthur shrugs. “Seems rather late for that, and you’d undoubtedly make your customers hungry, but then you might sell more cookbooks, so I don’t know.” Merlin doesn’t seem to have a response to that besides somewhat concussed-looking staring, so Arthur just nods and makes his way to the blackboard. Someone, under his and Gwaine’s conversation, has drawn an excellent rendition of the robot Santas from the relevant Christmas special. “Who drew that?” he inquires, more to Freya than to Merlin.
Freya smiles. “Gwen, Lance’s wife. She’s a graphic designer, and if you ever see a good picture on the board chances are she drew it.” She points behind the register, where there’s a picture of a dragon reading a book, a blown-up print Arthur had always vaguely assumed was from a children’s book of some sort. “She drew that for Merlin when he took over the shop.”
“She’s very good, then. If I ever want art for my office, I know who to contact. I might do, actually, after the holidays.” He grins. “The stodgy old businessmen would love that, I’m sure, it’s worth it for that alone.”
There’s no reason for “approving” to be the first word that comes to mind for Freya’s smile, but it’s all he can think of. “I’ll tell her you think so, she might even force one on you free of charge. Gwen’s apt to do things like that.”
“Nonsense, I can more than afford it.” Since Gwen’s picture trumps anything he might have said in answer to that thread (Gwaine’s response to his last one is Donna Noble says your argument is invalid in gorgeous calligraphy that seems completely at odds with his personality but which is undoubtedly his handwriting), Arthur moves on to a different one, where due to the Hogfather quote Merlin seems to be engaged in a spirited Pratchett vs. Adams battle. He puts in his two cents for Pratchett, notes down a title or two from the continuing thread on books to give as gifts, and attempts to eavesdrop on Merlin and Freya’s whispered conversation in the front of the shop. It doesn’t do him any good, but it does fill the time until he has to get back to the office.
“Leaving so soon?” Freya asks when he walks towards the door, no books with him since he’s still working his way through the Monroe biography.
“My sister took up far too much of my lunch break teasing me about my Christmas plans, since apparently I’m taking in everyone of my acquaintance who hasn’t got anywhere else to go this year, so now I’ve got to get back. I’ll be here again on Tuesday, though, I’ve got some gifts to buy and I really ought to get to work on that.”
“Gwen and Lance do that with us, for Christmas,” says Merlin, seeming a bit more awake, or at least awake enough to give Arthur a sheepish smile when he walks past the register, where Merlin is slumped on a chair. “Or did last year and plan to this year, anyway. Those two and Gwen’s brother and Freya and Gwaine and me. I think it’s great that you’re doing it too. I don’t like the thought of you-well, anyone-being alone for the holidays.”
Arthur smiles. “It may not be family, but at least it’s something. Get some sleep, would you, Merlin? And I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Might as well be family, after a certain point” said Merlin, and then “See you Tuesday” before Arthur can come up with a response to that. In the end, he just waves to Merlin and Freya and heads out of the shop.
*
Part Two