Cellmate - Chapter 9
TITLE: Cellmate (9/?)
PAIRING: Merlin/Arthur
RATING: NC-17
WORDS: This part is 4600
GENRE: Modern AU
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
SUMMARY: Merlin Emrys is dead. No really. He's just called the most powerful prisoner in jail a prat. A prat he happens to be cellmates with. Cue fireworks.
Previous Chapters
***
Cellmate
Chapter 9 - For a Common Cause
Merlin stalked back into the communal area, seething with anger. His initial hurt had been replaced with a boiling rage, and he was suddenly glad that he’d left the cell, knowing that if he had stayed he wouldn’t of been able to stop himself from attempting to scratch Arthur’s eyes out. Which would have no doubt been more dangerous for him than the blond.
At the back of his mind he knew he should have been expecting it, and on some level he had been, but hearing Arthur’s complete carelessness about the pain he had caused made him want to smash something - preferably his cellmate’s face. But he knew when to pick his battles, and wasn’t about to embark on one he knew he couldn’t win.
Will had warned him repeatedly, but he’d been too immersed in being with Arthur to care. He knew he owed his friend an apology, but Will wasn’t even around in revel in his victory and say ‘I told you so'.
So, Merlin hovered in the corner of the communal area alone, watching the vaguely familiar faces chatter quietly. It was almost time for lockdown now, and there were only a few prisoners still remaining, clustered in small groups around the pool table. Even the druids were noticeably absent, as was tall, handsome Lancelot.
Feeling awkward, uncomfortable and frighteningly alone, Merlin wished for Will’s usual presence, complete with his unsympathetic humour and useless advice. He wanted to talk with someone: to rant, rave and cry his heart out. He felt he deserved that at least, despite being naive enough to put his faith in somebody he logically shouldn't have done.
But he had nobody else to talk to, and when faced with the alternative of returning to his cell, Merlin would rather sit brooding in solitude. He thought of home, his quiet comfortable life, where he’d lived happily in peace, and wanted more than anything to be reminded of it. He remembered his mother’s words that very morning, and found himself longing to hear the soft hum of her voice.
Inspiration hit and he was spurred into action, eager to get to the phone before lockdown. He was going to call his mother just like she’d suggested, and finally speak to someone who genuinely cared about him - someone he could trust to give him loving advice.
The phone was on the other side of the communal area, manned by a prison guard, and for once didn’t have a massive queue. Merlin supposed it was because it was late, and calling time was almost over, but it still left him feeling embarrassingly relieved nonetheless.
However despite the lack of bustle, there was still one man making a call, who Merlin instantly recognised him as the miserable cafeteria server. He was leant away from the guard, speaking lowly, in a manner that seemed strangely suspicious.
Merlin frowned and hovered behind him, waiting for the call to finish.
But the man didn’t seem to notice him, completely immersed in his conversation. “I know what we agreed,” he said, speaking in hushed tones. “But I discovered something after you left.”
Merlin knew that he shouldn’t really of been listening to somebody else’s private conversation, but found he couldn’t help himself, instantly realising that the man must have been talking to the beautiful woman who had come to visit him that very morning.
“Mordred accused Arthur of revealing the truth about Morgana just like you said he would, but then he said something very interesting,” the cafeteria server explained, not realising that Merlin had frozen behind him. “Mordred claimed that Arthur has a new play-thing - maybe we were wrong to target Lancelot.”
Merlin hadn’t had many actual jaw-dropping moments in his life, but this was definitely one of them. He had to work to contain his instinctive gasp, eyes practically popping out of his forehead.
It had been the cafeteria worker who had attacked Lancelot, not Mordred. Merlin’s mind was officially boggling, utterly incapable of processing the new information into anything remotely resembling sense.
“You think we should go for Arthur’s new love interest? It might push him over the edge,” the man continued, facing the wall. Merlin could not see his face, but could almost hear the twisted smugness of his expression in his voice. “He’d blame Mordred, and then they’d destroy each other.”
Merlin’s mouth was still hanging open, and he was still far too shocked to shut it, at least until the guard spoke loudly, jerking him out of his frozen horror.
“Two minutes left,” he said, referring to the timed phone-call, obviously startling the cafeteria worker as well.
Finally realising that the man could turn around and spot him at any minute, Merlin backed quickly away, completely forgetting about his desire to call his mother. He rushed out of the almost deserted communal area and up to the cells on shaky legs, feeling even more thrown than he had been when he’d left.
He banged through the door of the cell without preamble, shocked and flustered beyond belief, inhaling a rapid lungful of air. For one moment it didn’t matter that Arthur had betrayed him and their ‘relationship’ had ended. All that mattered was that were both in serious danger, and not just from the familiar - but no less creepy - threat that was Mordred.
Both Arthur and Lancelot jumped in alarm at his dramatic entrance, sat on the edge of Arthur’s bed, heads bent together intimately. Usually, Merlin would have been really quite jealous by the disgusting display of companionship, but all he felt now was blind panic; there were TWO dangerous criminals in the jail who wanted him dead, and he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
“Merlin!” the blond exclaimed, actually addressing his cellmate by his first name in his surprise. Which absolutely did not send Merlin’s heart aflutter. “What the fuck?!”
‘What the fuck’ was actually a pretty accurate representation of what was going through Merlin’s mind, because he was utterly incapable of forming any other genuine words. He stood and mouthed wordlessly, waving his arms around in vague gestures that were supposed to mean something.
However, neither Arthur or Lancelot seemed to be able to decipher his code.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Arthur cried, with about as much tact and subtlety as Merlin had come to expect.
Lancelot on the other hand, was slightly more diplomatic, although he looked genuinely quite worried for Merlin’s sanity. “Um….Are you ok?” he asked, which was really quite nice of him, considering they’d never even spoken before.
“I’m fine!” Merlin replied, although it sounded more like a very empathic gurgle. He waved his arms some more, trying to portray the seriousness of the situation. “We have to do something! I-was-just-downstairs-about-to-go-on-the-phone-and-the-horrible-guy-that-feeds-me-horrible-watery-porridge-was-on-the-phone-talking-to-the-pretty-lady-I-saw-earlier-and-they-are-the-ones-that-are-responsible-for-Lancelot’s-attack-and-now-they-are-plotting-our-deaths-” he gestured to himself and Lancelot “-so-Arthur-would-get-really-really-angry-and-kill-Mordred.” He took in a very deep breath. “It’s him behind everything!”
He finished his tirade and waited expectantly, but both Arthur and Lancelot blinked back at him blankly.
“I got ‘phone’, ‘porridge’ and ‘death’,” Lancelot said eventually, speaking to the blond in a mildly confused tone. “Words that I never thought I’d hear together in the same sentence.”
“You said…the porridge guy…is plotting something?” Arthur ignored Lancelot’s words and focused on Merlin, his gaze baffled but intense, trying to piece together his cellmate’s rapid fire explanation.
Merlin decided just to nod, figuring it would probably make more sense than any of his attempts to speak coherent English.
“Plotting to kill…you and Lancelot?” the blond continued, looking for confirmation. “To upset me? And make me attack Mordred?”
Merlin nodded again. “Well, OK, maybe kill is going a bit too far…. But attack, definitely.”
“Porridge guy? Who’d you mean?!” Lancelot asked, having caught up with the conversation, eyes round with disbelief.
“The cafeteria server,” Arthur replied blanking, as though on automatic. He seemed to be churning Merlin’s words over in his mind, brow furrowing deeper and deeper. “Tristan.”
“Him?!” Lancelot let out a rather strained disbelieving laugh, leaving Merlin feeling rather relieved that he obviously wasn’t the only person effected by what he’d heard. “He’s all brawn and no brain.”
Arthur sighed, as though somebody had just told him his favourite lasagne would not be served for dinner. “They’re often the most dangerous ones.”
Merlin flailed. “Hello?! Can you at least try and sound concerned, please?!” His voice was heavy with anger and sarcasm, unable to hold back his mounting resentment. “I know me getting injured doesn’t much matter to you, but they’re plotting against Lancelot too!”
To his surprise, the blond flinched. “I am concerned, but panicking isn’t getting anyone anywhere!” Although his words were sharp, Arthur sounded more defensive than angry, causing Merlin to soften despite himself.
“Calm down,” Lancelot muttered, “both of you.”
“'Calm down'?!” Arthur sounded disbelieving. “We don’t need to calm down - we need to find Tristan now!”
Merlin felt a stab of fear wrench at his gut. “What?! Why?!” Tracking down and confronting the person who wanted to attack them, didn’t sound like a particularly good plan from where he was standing. Or a particularly safe one.
But the blond merely rolled his eyes, looking stern. “What do you mean ‘why’?! To get rid of the fucker!”
“OK,” Lancelot said loudly, holding up his hands, “lets not get ahead of ourselves. What good would attacking Tristan do? We’re in prison! It’s not like we could actually kill him!”
Merlin couldn’t help but smile smugly.
Arthur ignored him. “We could kill him. I’m going to be in here forever, anyway.”
Merlin would have been worried, but he knew the blond well enough to know there was no real intent in his voice. He had obviously conceded to Lancelot’s point, but was too proud to say so.
“We need to think about this,” Lancelot said, obviously agreeing with him.
“It’s not Tristan that’s behind it anyway,” Merlin felt he should point out, glad he’d finally regained the power of speech. “He was speaking to a woman on the phone. She’s behind it, not Tristan. From what I heard, he’s only doing as she says.”
Arthur frowned. “How’d you know it was a woman on the phone?”
“Because I saw her today, during the visits. She’s very pretty.”
“We need to find out who she is then.” Lancelot pointed out the obvious.
“How?!”
“Do some digging,” Arthur replied, running a hand through his hair, like he often did when he was stressed. Merlin couldn’t blame him; running a hand through Arthur’s hair used to calm him too. “Someone around here must know something. And if they don’t, someone outside will.”
Lancelot opened his mouth to reply when the familiar warning for lockdown sounded through the cells. The guards could be heard making their way past each room, checking every prisoner was in the correct place.
“I’ve got to go,” Lancelot said. He climbed to his feet and gave Merlin a small smile, before clapping Arthur on the back. “We’ll start asking around tomorrow. In the mean time, let’s all stay away from Tristan." He paused thoughtfully. "And Mordred, for that matter.”
Merlin certainly agreed with that sentiment.
Lancelot gave his head a little shake and left the cell, plunging Merlin and Arthur into a cold deep silence. They looked away from each other, both awkward and uncomfortable.
The adrenaline that had been pulsing through Merlin’s veins was gone, leaving him with nothing but dark icy dread. He shuffled from foot to foot, surprised that Arthur didn’t snap at him to stop, a thought that left him saddened, rather than relieved.
Eventually, the blond spoke, apparently unable to stand the quiet, although he usually spent most of his time telling Merlin to shut up. “Look, Emrys,” he began, sighing deeply, “about before -”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Merlin snapped, closing the conversation before his hurt and anger could resurface. He’d been successfully distracted from the earlier events of the night by Tristan’s reveal, but standing alone, face to face with Arthur, was bringing it all flooding back to him. “It’s done. We’re done.”
The blond nodded, looking unsurprised. “But if you’re going to get through this Tristan and Mordred situation, you're going to have to stay close to me. Because like it or not, you’re part of this now,” Arthur pointed out, carefully avoiding his gaze. “Allies?”
Merlin stared back at him. He wasn’t stupid - he knew that if he was going to get through the whole fiasco, he was going to need Arthur’s protection, no matter how much he currently resented him. Mordred’s previous attack was hard to forget, and he never wanted to be in that position again.
“Allies,” he confirmed, nodding reluctantly.
***
Merlin hurried down to breakfast the next morning, still in a state of visible distress. He looked over his shoulder every thirty seconds, as though expecting Tristan to jump out from behind a table, wielding one of his kitchen knives. Arthur had snapped at him to play it cool, but considering the blond was a highly-strung moody back-stabber, Merlin felt justified in ignoring him.
He collapsed down onto his usual cafeteria table without any food, too scared to face Tristan, when Will plopped down next to him. He was shovelling his mouth with porridge, looking as though he didn’t have a care in the word.
“Alright?” he said, spraying Merlin with spit.
“Will?!” Merlin cried, sounding pathetically relieved to see his friend return. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he’d seen him, when in fact it had only been two very long and incredibly confusing days. “You’re back!”
Will rolled his eyes. “Well spotted - as observant as ever.”
“How was isolation?”
“Boring,” Will grumbled. “There’s nothing to do.”
Merlin refrained from pointing out that that was probably the point, suddenly wishing he’d been locked in isolation instead. It sounded a lot less stressful. “Well, you’ll never guess what’s been happening here,” he said dryly.
He told Will about the events of the previous two days, watching his friend’s mouth open wider and wider with each passing minute. After he had finished, Will floundered for several minutes, seemingly speechless for the first time since Merlin had met him.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting that…” was all he could say, scratching his head puzzlingly.
“Really?” said Merlin.
“Well, ok, the whole Arthur and Owain thing doesn’t come as a terrible surprise…” Will admitted, ignoring Merlin’s wince. “But the rest…wow.”
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this - two criminal masterminds after me.”
Will snorted. “I’d hardly call Tristan a criminal mastermind.” He looked over towards the bar of the cafeteria, watching the server splat porridge onto one prisoner’s plate, looking vacant and thoroughly uninterested. “But it’s not you who’s done anything - they’re after Arthur. If they see you distancing yourself from him, they might back off.”
“You think I can take that chance,” Merlin replied blandly. “I’m involved now whether I like it or not. And Arthur can protect me.”
Will raised a doubtful eyebrow, assessing his friend with critical eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it is? You wanting Arthur’s protection?”
“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, although he had a feeling he knew where the conversation was going.
“You’re not staying close to him because you still…want to be with him?” Will continued, giving up all pretence of subtlety. “Because I did warn you.”
“I know,” Merlin said sharply, wanting to cut the conversation short before it even began. “I know you were right, and I sort of knew you would be. But I couldn’t help it.”
Will sighed, turning his gaze to Arthur, who had just walked into the cafeteria with Lancelot in tow. “I just hope that you learnt your lesson.”
“I did,” Merlin said firmly, following his cellmate with curious eyes. Both he and Lancelot seemed to be looking for something, and Merlin didn’t realise what it was until their searching eyes landed on him, wide and urgent. Arthur gave his head a quick jerk, gesturing for him to follow them.
He and Lancelot then turned and left, moving into the corridor leading to the showers.
“I’ve got to go,” Merlin said hastily, scrambling to his feet. Will shook his head tiredly but said nothing, giving his friend a small resigned wave.
Merlin strode across the cafeteria and headed towards the showers, finding Arthur and Lancelot waiting for him in the changing rooms. They were stood in the far corner, away from the few other prisoners who had decided to shower early, conversing in quick dark tones.
“What?!” Merlin called breathlessly, approaching them on shaky legs.
“We know nothing,” Lancelot told him, getting directly to the point, not even bothering to sugar coat it. “If anyone in here knows anything about Tristan, they sure as hell aren’t telling me.”
“Nothing?” Merlin repeated, dread sinking into his stomach. “So, what do we do?”
“'We’?!” Arthur laughed disbelievingly.
Lancelot shot him a dangerous look and turned back to Merlin, giving him a helpless shrug. “Use outside contacts.”
“Like Gwen,” the blond sniped, levelling Lancelot with a steely look. His arms were crossed and his jaw was set, illustrating that he was in an even deadlier mood than he had been the day before. It worried Merlin slightly - Arthur looked positively murderous.
“I already told you no,” Lancelot replied sharply, scowling at his friend. “Like she’d be any help anyway; she’s a civilian.”
Arthur shrugged and looked away.
“I know, how about you ask Uther instead?” Lancelot continued, sniping straight back at him.
“And I already told you no!” Arthur threw Lancelot’s previous words back in his face, eyes narrowed rather dangerously in his friend’s direction. They’d obviously had the same argument before Merlin had arrived, and it had put them both on edge.
“He’s the best source we have,” Lancelot said, sounding impressively cool and calm compared to Arthur’s waspish retorts.
“You’re not using Gwen, so I’m not using him,” the blond replied stubbornly, brow furrowed and jaw set. “He’s the reason my mother is dead. I am never speaking to him again, you know that. Why do you keep pushing it?”
Merlin watched the argument unfold with curious eyes, feeling rather confused. Gwen had told him it was Mordred behind Igraine’s death, not gang leader Uther, so why was Arthur blaming his father?
It was strange for Arthur to reveal his motives or reasoning behind something, and Merlin suddenly found himself feeling quite resentful, as the blond had never opened up to him like he did with Lancelot. Apart from when he’d been woozy with drugs, which didn't really count.
“Arthur, we don’t have much time,” the dark-haired man proclaimed, refusing to back down. He had more nerve than Merlin had originally given him credit for, especially considering he wasn’t cowering under Arthur’s increasingly murderous stare. “Uther’s the only hope we have. Not only is Tristan ready to attack, but no doubt Mordred already has a plot for revenge in the pipeline. Or have you already forgotten yesterday’s threats?”
At the mention of the lead druid, a strange light bulb went off in Merlin’s head. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, unable to stop himself. “Mordred!”
Both Arthur and Lancelot turned to stare at him, as though they had completely forgotten he was there.
“Huh?” was all the blond could say in reply.
“Mordred,” Merlin repeated clearly, feeling half proud and half sickened by the thoughts rapidly forming in his mind. He was dubious as to whether his plan would work - even if the druids actually agreed - but he was willing to try anything in order to reach some sort of stalemate with the frighteningly dangerous Mordred. “We could ask him.”
“Ask him what?”
“To use his outside contacts,” Merlin supplied, trying not to flinch at the disbelieving looks the other two were shooting him. “He’s in a gang, right? He can get them to find out who’s behind all this!”
“Why would Mordred want to help us?!” Lancelot asked incredulously, throwing up his arms. “In case you didn’t hear, he threatened us yesterday!”
“Yes,” Merlin said patiently, waiting for it all to click. “But because he believed it was Arthur that got Morgana sacked, not Tristan. If he knew the truth…”
“…he’d turn on Tristan, not on us,” the blond finished, face blank and eyes empty.
Merlin hated it when Arthur’s expression was unreadable, but smiled nevertheless, glad someone had got his point.
However, the moment was ruined as soon as the blond opened his mouth. “No,” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Merlin opened his mouth to retort, but Lancelot beat him to it. “It’s actually a good idea, Arthur,” he said slowly, contemplating the plan.
“How is asking Mordred for help any different than asking Uther?” the blond snapped, unable to hide his anger. “They’re both responsible for what happened to her.”
“This isn’t about your mother,” Lancelot said softly, shaking his head. “This is about us. And we’re as good as dead if we don’t find out what’s going on.” He then paused, meeting Arthur’s gaze with sharp determined eyes. “If you don’t want to ask Uther, then fine, I can’t make you. But if you wont ask Mordred, I will!”
Heavy silence descended on the three of them, and Merlin could swear that none of them were breathing. Arthur and Lancelot seemed to be engaged in a battle of wills, both staring at each other with mounting tension, neither blinking.
Finally, the blond spoke, shattering the silence. “Fine. But don’t expect me to help you.”
He turned on a heel and marched away, disappearing out of the changing rooms and into the corridor, banging the door shut behind him.
Lancelot and Merlin looked at each other uncomfortably, both unsure of what to say.
“We need him,” Lancelot said at last, in a way that implied numerous meanings. He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “But he wont listen to me.”
“What are we going to do?” Merlin asked, feeling completely out of his depth.
“I’ll go to Mordred tomorrow,” Lancelot replied, drawing himself up. “With or without Arthur’s help.”
***
Merlin returned to the cell that evening, unsure of what to expect. He’d only caught a few glimpses of Arthur throughout the day, and he’d seemed cold and remote. Lancelot had been strangely absent, leaving Merlin assume he was trying to find out all he could about Tristan, obviously without Arthur’s help.
It left Merlin feeling strangely bitter. Lancelot was making more of an effort to protect their hides than Arthur was, and although Merlin knew the blond had his reasoning, he couldn’t help but resent him for it. Making an effort was the least Arthur could do after what he’d done to him, regardless of his personal issues.
He walked into the cell with his mind decided, ready to confront the blond about his complete and utter uselessness, regardless of the consequences.
He walked straight up to Arthur’s bed, where the blond was lounging motionlessly, and sat down, ignoring the look of incredulousness shot in his direction. But Arthur said nothing, soon turning his gaze back towards the ceiling and ignoring Merlin completely.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Merlin staring intently at Arthur’s unmoving form while the blond stared steadfastly at the ceiling, purposely avoiding his eyes.
“You’re being very selfish, you know,” Merlin said eventually, his voice low and musing, waiting for the inevitable response. Whether it was anger or indifference, Merlin didn’t care - he had things he needed to say.
But Arthur merely smiled icily, turning his head to stare at his cellmate. “Well, that’s me: cold and heartless.”
“You’re not heartless,” Merlin replied with absolute certainty, weirdly angered that the blond thought such a thing about himself. He was many things - moody, insensitive, cold and bitter, to name but a few - but he wasn’t heartless.
“You can’t believe that,” Arthur said disbelievingly, looking away and up at the ceiling. He gave a short sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “Not after what I did to you.”
“If I thought you were heartless, I would never have slept with you in the first place,” Merlin said. “I have some standards.”
The blond raised an eyebrow, but his expression was otherwise blank. “Then you see something in me that most people don’t.”
“I do like to see the best in people,” Merlin admitted, gazing at the blond meaningfully. “Sometimes beyond the point of reason.”
Arthur let out a laugh, but it was without humour. “And look where it got you.”
“Why did you do it?” Merlin asked, referring to the incident between Arthur and Owain, unable to hold back his morbid curiosity. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know, but found himself asking anyway, despite his mostly ignored better judgement. “Did you not care?”
The blond was silent for a long time, evidently deciding whether to answer. “I did care,” he admitted at last, determinedly not looking in Merlin’s direction. “I actually liked being with you, annoying though you are. I just didn’t think you’d mind….Or I guess it didn’t occur to me that you might - nobody ever has before.”
Merlin mouthed wordlessly, unsure of what to say. A part of him was glad that Arthur hadn’t tried to hurt him intentionally, but it didn’t lessen the pain of the betrayal, whether it had been deliberate or not. “I did mind. I minded a lot,” he said, pointing out the obvious.
“Then I guess it’s good it happened sooner rather than later,” Arthur replied, blinking up at the ceiling. “You’re actually a good person, and you deserve better.”
Merlin's heart missed several beats, but he attempted to recover himself, mind set. “What I deserve,” he said determinedly, unwilling to be deterred by Arthur’s admission, “is your help.”
“I can’t,” the blond muttered, voice suddenly low and hoarse. “I can’t go to him.”
“No,” Merlin said calmly, ignoring the frantic pounding of his heart. “You won't. There’s a difference.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Arthur could say, sounding more heartfelt than Merlin had ever heard him. His voice was rough and raw, stripped back completely, although his face was still and unblinking. He seemed to be talking about more than just his refusal to talk to Mordred, and was indirectly referring to the whole Owain incident.
Merlin inhaled a lungful of air, determined to steel himself against the emotions bursting from his chest. “Not as sorry as you will be if Tristan succeeds in what he’s planning. He’ll destroy us all.”
Arthur closed his eyes. “I know.”
But Merlin pressed forward, knowing he had the blond vulnerable and more susceptible than he'd ever been before. “There are some things you can’t stop,” he said, making a vague reference to Igraine’s death, knowing that Arthur must feel guilty about what happened. “But there are some things you can. This is one of them. If you care about me and Lancelot at all, you will help us.”
They descended into a painful silence, Arthur turning the words over in his mind. Finally he spoke, sounded strangely resigned. “Mordred might not even want to get involved,” he said, giving his shoulders a lifeless shrug.
Merlin smiled, taking it as a signal of defeat. “You never know,” he replied.
***
To be continued…
Chapter 10
A/N This is the last chapter I actually have planned out. I sort of know where I’m going with the rest, but I don’t really know how I’m going to get there. It will be winging it from this point onwards. XD And did anyone see the Tristan thing coming...or can anyone guess who's behind everything? ;)
I hope Merlin’s feelings came over ok this chapter: his struggling with what Arthur did to him, his feelings towards him and how he knows he needs Arthur to get through the Tristan thing. I really struggled in trying to make it conflicted and somewhat believable. I have no idea whether I succeeded…???
And as usual, I'll be updating the Cellmate Masterlist about info on upcoming chapters and when I'm likely to update.
Comments are really appreciated! :)