Frankie (Part 2) [Merlin/Arthur - 13,800 - R]
Title: Frankie (Part 2)
Author: Azile Teacup (can be found on AO3 and Tumblr, my lj is pretty dead)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word count: approx. 13,800
Rating: R/Mature
Contains: There's some graphic descriptions of babies and some expletives. Nothing of a sexual nature, really)
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Betaed by the absolutely fabulous Mathboximpala, who far exceeded expectations and really shaped this story. They were endlessly patient, with amazing advice and so, so much feedback. Really, completely perfect.
Summary: Merlin, having lost his partner a couple of years ago, is finally selling the boathouse she was so happy in. The Lake District is rainy and full of memories, but bursting in on Merlin's peace is Arthur, a man who Merlin has never met, but is about to get quite intimate with.
Go to Part 1
CHAPTER FOUR
Arthur’s almost silent as the head appears, eyes clenched tight, clinging to Merlin, sweaty forehead pressed to Merlin’s forearm. Merlin talks him through the breathing, but he’s pretty sure the physical contact is what’s helping Arthur most, so he keeps on massaging and soothing his hands over Arthur’s body, pushing the wet hair away from his face. Merlin leans back to look.
“Arthur! You have a baby coming out of you!” Merlin exclaims, “Its head’s between your legs! Oh, that’s weird. You have really muscular thighs, you know.”
“Rugby,” Arthur mutters, “the baby’s coming?”
“Yeah, I can see a head,” Merlin says, laughing, “there’s a bloody great head there! You’re like the bloody push-me-pull-you.”
Sally talks Arthur through the next step, checking the baby’s position again.
“Good,” Sally says, “you’re doing brilliantly. Let’s get these shoulders out, this is the worst part I promise. We get these shoulders and we should be good. I need a big push from you, next contraction, really bear down.”
“Feels like I need a poo,” Arthur mutters, ears going a furious red.
The contraction makes him moan long and low.
“Keep going, keep pushing… a bit more, Arthur, push a bit more,” Sally says.
“Come on,” Merlin says, “come on! Give me an A! Give an R! Isn’t that how it goes on the pitch? Arthur!”
Merlin flails in an attempt of cheerleading and Arthur turns his head to yell in Merlin’s face, cheeks bright red, sweat dripping. The yell peters off into laughter as the contraction ends. Merlin glances down in time to see Sally ease the shoulders out, and the baby slip into her hands. Merlin’s breath leaves him in a punch as the child slides out of Arthur’s body, blood and a flood of wet and goo and blood spattering to the floor. Arthur gasps for breath, thighs and back and arms all shaking.
“He’s here,” Mandy says, “and he is a little boy.”
Arthur laughs shakily and Merlin helps him collapse onto his knees. There’s a nurse, whose entrance Merlin missed, who comes over and cuts the cord.
“Do you want to deliver the placenta like this, or would you rather get into the bed, now?” Sally asks.
Arthur just groans, dropping his head onto his forearms, trying to see his baby. Sally hands the tiny child over and Arthur holds the small body to his chest, already getting up into a crouch again. The placenta comes out much quicker than the baby and before Merlin knows it Arthur’s being helped onto the bed, and Arthur finally allows himself to lie down. He makes Merlin raise the head of the bed all the way up, though, the baby resting on his chest. Merlin stands, watching, as Arthur finally relaxes.
“Hello,” Arthur whispers, voice hoarse, “hello, little one. Hello. I think your name is Frankie.”
“It suits him,” Merlin says, and it does.
The baby is definitely a Frankie. The name fits with a little click; the wide nose, the neat little ears, the right way his face scrunches up. Merlin reaches out to touch and gets goo on his hand.
“Ew,” Merlin says, wiping it on Arthur’s gown.
Arthur breathes out for a long time, eyes closing, cupping his baby’s head. Then he opens his eyes and smiles at Merlin.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Arthur says.
A nurse brings a bottle of formula over and Sally shows Arthur how to offer Frankie the rubber nipple until he latches on.Frankie, after eating, falls asleep and Arthur follows soon. Sally talks to Merlin about what to expect in terms of checks and doctors and nurses, and then one of the nurses talks to him for awhile about nappies and formula. He’s left with a Bounty Pack and a whole lot of knowledge to remember to pass on to Arthur.
“Well,” a jovial, tired looking doctor (who forgot to introduce himself) says, two hours later, “Frankie looks absolutely fine. No illnesses, no abnormalities. You have a healthy baby. Everything is tickity-boo, with both of you.”
“It’s tickity-boo,” Arthur repeats, smiling, looking down at his baby, “Frankie’s very tickity-boo. He’s perfect. Look.”
Merlin looks at the tiny, sleeping face, and has to agree that he’s a very beautiful baby. His skin is much darker than Arthur’s, much much darker. He already has hair, black and thick and fuzzy. He looks soft and new and brilliant.
“I can’t believe that came out of you,” Merlin says.
Arthur just smiles, stroking Frankie’s hair.
“Good,” the doctor says, finishing with the chart, “there’s one last set of checks that will be done, and then you’ll be able to go on home. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours, we just have to wait for a colleague of mine to be free.”
Merlin wonders where Arthur’s planning to go, when he gets out. He hopes Arthur plans to stay at Merlin’s at least a day or two. Otherwise Merlin’s going to have to fight him about it. He’s fairly sure Arthur shouldn’t be traveling across the country right after giving birth.
Arthur’s cheerful, seemingly already getting over the exhaustion and fear. He smiles around at them, strokes Frankie’s hair, pats Frankie’s back, feels over the tiny limbs and body, tucking a tiny hand back into the blankets before smiling around again. Merlin makes him promise to come back to the boathouse, and Arthur admits that he hadn’t really had any other plan.
CHAPTER FIVE
Arthur and Frankie and Merlin get a taxi back to the boat house, and Arthur and Frankie sleep on the sofa while Merlin scrubs the floor and chair and armrest. On a roll, he starts packing up some of Freya’s things, as well. The boxes stack up around him and he mentally starts making more space in the storage locker he’s renting. He can’t keep everything, most will go to the charity shop or maybe be sold, but there are some things that he can’t let go of.
“You look miserable,” Arthur says, startling Merlin from staring out across the lake, “Why? We have Frankie.”
“He’s lovely, Arthur, but not the cure for all ills. I was just contemplating something, don’t worry. I’m not unhappy.”
“Can you take a photo of Frankie? I should send one to my father, even if he’ll pretend he isn’t interested. I should call him, actually. Tell him he’s a grandfather. Pass me the landline.”
Merlin does as he’s told, but holds onto the phone until Arthur gives him grudging thanks. Merlin grins and ruffles Arthur’s hair, strokes Frankie’s cheek, and goes to make himself a sandwich.
“You hungry?” He calls, waiting for a negative answer before carrying on his foraging in the fridge.
Merlin feels no guilt about listening in to Arthur’s phone conversation.
“Hello father… congratulations, you have a grandson. His name is Frankie, he was born at half past one this afternoon, he weighs seven pounds and eight ounces… I know… no, father I didn’t change my mind, but… everything was fine. I was at a good friend’s house and he was brilliant… paramedics came… no complications. He came somersaulting out, almost. It happened really fast… I didn’t know they were contractions, Dad, or I would have gone in sooner. I thought it was just cramps…”
Merlin smiles, plating his sandwich, heading over to the armchair.
“He’s waking up, Dad. He has amazing eyes. They’re golden brown, like a tiger,” Arthur says, smiling down at the baby.
Frankie snuffles, head moving.
“He’s rooting… I know that father, yes, they are bloody stick on nipples and no, he won’t… yes. Merlin, can you make a bottle? The Midwife gave me a whole load of stuff, it’s in the bags… Dad, he’s fine,” Frankie chooses that moment to start crying, “I know he’s crying, he’s hungry. He’s fine… I’m fine too!... because you’re being annoying… I will bring him to see you and you’ll see… Uther!”
Merlin finds the bottle and formula and retreats to the kitchen. He’s not sure who ‘Uther’ is but Arthur said his name with horror and anger, so Merlin scurries.
“Uther Pendragon, you racist bastard,” Arthur says, disgusted and loud, “yes, he has Jamie’s ‘colouring’... oh. Yeah, it’s actually a little darker than Jay, and his hair’s jet black…. he looks nothing like me, obviously, and no, not like you either.”
Merlin stifles a laugh.
“I know you’re not racist, it’s just been stressful, Dad… they were really nice, they didn’t at all… I know you were worried… yes that is what you meant, you’re allowed to be worried. But it’s fine. Frankie’s perfect, and I’m fine, and we’re both great, basically. I’m just going to sleep for ages… yes it’s bloody sore, obviously.”
Merlin checks the bottle on his wrist, but has no idea how hot it’s meant to be. He passes it to Arthur and Arthur does the same test and, by the bemused look on his face, he has no idea either.
“Dad? How do you tell if a bottle’s too hot?”
Merlin sits with his sandwich and watches Arthur being talked through how to feed a fussy infant. Arthur’s father, from what Merlin can tell, sounds like a strange mix of ‘complete arsehole’ and ‘big softy’. He seems to err on the side of the latter when it comes to Arthur plus progeny, if Arthur’s reactions are anything to go by.
“Yeah, Dad, thanks. He’s eating… bye. Dad? I love you…. no I am not an emotional wreck! Bye, Dad… Bye!” Arthur hangs up and shakes his head, cradling Frankie more comfortably now he has both hands entirely free. “Can you take that picture, Merlin?”
Merlin accepts Arthur’s phone and takes a few. He’s about to hand the phone back when Arthur makes a strange face. Frankie finishes the bottle and nuzzles closer to Arthur, making little contented sounds, feet kneading Arthur’s arm, and Arthur’s face just softens to something entirely beautiful. Merlin takes a photo, catching Arthur in the warm evening sunshine, Frankie’s skin and Arthur's hair lit up.
“You know, all your family pics are going to have one or the other of you properly lit,” Merlin says, looking at Frankie’s shadowed face in the last photo, “you’re so light. Like, luminously white.”
“I am aware, thank you,” Arthur says, “give me that.”
Merlin hands over the phone with a grin and goes back to his sandwich, finally being allowed to finish it, as Arthur and Frankie are soon napping again. Merlin washes and sterilizes the bottle and sets out all the things he’ll need next time Frankie’s hungry. He’s under no illusions that Arthur’s going to be doing anything as long as Merlin’s here and offering. Merlin thinks about Freya as he works, how she never wanted children though she loved spending time with them, remembering her holding Gwen’s first child, her face framed by long hair.
Arthur stays for the rest of the week and Merlin gets used to him and Frankie both. He gets used to making up bottles and being woken in the middle of the night, gets used to Arthur napping on the sofa in the sunshine or showing Frankie the rain. Gets used to Arthur walking the length of the house to settle Frankie to sleep, gets used, even, to feeding Frankie. The warm weight of the baby in his arms, the frantic way he sucks the milk down, the tiny pout when the bottle is gone and Merlin takes the nipple out of Frankie’s mouth. He and Arthur learn, through trial and error, how to burp the baby and to put a cloth over their shoulder before doing that. Merlin gets used to milky vomit and tiny, gross, nappies.
“How can someone who only imbibes milk make so much poo?!” Merlin says, wiping it off Frankie’s legs and back, “should we just dump him in the bath, maybe?”
“Might be easier,” Arthur says, around a yawn, curled up on the sofa, “I’m still so sore, maybe I can hold him while you run a bath, and you can bath him and bring him back nice and clean in a towel for me?”
Merlin snorts and opens his mouth to suggest something where he doesn’t do absolutely everything (even though he will do exactly as Arthur suggests, because Arthur is like that and Merlin can’t help himself), but he doesn’t get any further because at that moment Frankie kicks his legs, lets out a monstrous fart, and poos all up Merlin’s arms.
“Ahh!” Merlin says, while Arthur laughs hysterically, “you little horror!”
Frankie just gums contentedly at Merlin, and Arthur keeps on laughing. Merlin gives up, leaving Frankie to lie on the floor while he runs the bathtub and washes poo off himself.
“You missed his first poo, at the hospital,” Arthur says, when Merlin comes marching back to scoop up the baby, “it was spectacular. Got the nurse good, even managed to catch a bit of wall. He’s gonna be an artist.”
“A poo artist. Fantastic,” Merlin says, but he’s smiling and he can’t find it in himself to be mad.
Merlin gets weed on more than he thought possible, and gets pooed on twice more. When Arthur tells Merlin on Sunday that Lance will be arriving Monday morning to cart father and baby back to Uther and real life, Merlin still feels a sharp pang. No more nappies or sleepless nights of wee or puke or any of the awful things, but no more Frankie, either. No more Arthur. Merlin nods at Arthur and feels glum. Arthur tuts and dumps the baby into his arms.
“Here, have a cuddle with the cure of all ills,” Arthur says.
Merlin smiles slightly, touching Frankie’s soft cheek. Frankie’s awake and he stares up at Merlin, blinking heavily as he dozes off, eyes gold-brown and bright with intelligence. Already learning.
“I’ll miss the little terror,” Merlin says, “when you go.”
“Just him?” Arthur asks, grinning.
“Yes,” Merlin says.
Arthur just laughs, going to make a bottle up.
CHAPTER SIX
It turns out Arthur leaving doesn’t mean he vanishes off the face of the earth: he texts and emails constantly, apparently bored at Uther’s house with nothing to do but sleep, eat, feed the baby and not sleep at normal times. Merlin doesn’t realise any of this until he gets home. He spends two more weeks at the boathouse sulking and moping, missing Arthur and Frankie, not going anywhere, getting the house ready for sale. He packs everything into the van he bribes Gwaine to drive up, and leaves the house empty except for furniture, ready for the realtor. The boats he sold before coming up, and Lance arranged for Arthur’s car to get towed the day Arthur left.
So when Merlin leaves, he leaves a house empty of anything, of everything. He feels grief tug at him, like a thread holding him there, as he drives away. He has to pull over after an hour’s driving because he’s crying too hard. He curls up over his handlebarsand fishes his phone out to ring Gwaine, who soothes and sympathises and promises to get him drunk when he gets home. It’s when Merlin hangs up, with a better hold of himself, that he discovers the texts and emails that piled up while he was out of service. Most of them are from Arthur. Lots of them are photos of Frankie. Two are selfies.
One is a photo of; Arthur’s bum, a randomer’s bum, or someone’s elbow. Merlin rings Arthur.
“Arthur, you’re so weird,” Merlin says, without preamble.
-you didn’t answer any of my communiques, so I had to get your attention. And, I figured, you already saw it.-
“You’re still weird. Do you have a moustache now by the way?”
-Mm, haven’t really been shaving. It drives my father nuts, which is the most entertainment I get these days. I’m not allowed to do anything, according to Uther.-
“He’s protective, it’s sweet.”
-My mother died having me, it’s most certainly paranoia and not protectiveness. I’m fine, Dad! Fine!-
Merlin hears another voice in the background, and Arthur laughs.
-He says I’m a useless father and I woke the baby. He’s walking Franks, my feet are sore.-
“I see you’re taking advantage of his ‘paranoia’.”
-Obviously. Why do you think I agreed to come here?-
Merlin laughs and leans back in the seat, sighing.
-Are you alright? I didn’t hear from you. I know there’s no signal, but you must get it somewhere around there, when you go shopping or something-
“I had a lot to do, I didn’t really go anywhere,” Merlin says, feeling sadness swamp him again, “she’s really gone, Arthur. There’s nothing left. The house is empty, nothing there. She’s gone.”
-Yeah-
Merlin closes his eyes and listens to Arthur’s breathing, tears sliding wetly down his face and tickling the side of his nose, dropping off his chin.
“God, Freya.”
-Um, I don’t really… hang on, hang on-
Merlin listens as Arthur moves through the house, from the sound of it. There’s a muffled conversation and then Frankie starts to cry.
-listen to this, Merlin-
Arthur must hold the phone to Frankie’s face because the sound of him crying comes through loud and clear. Merlin laughs, a sob catching in there somewhere. Frankie’s cries gradually die down, but Arthur keeps the phone with him as he settles the baby and Merlin listens to the snuffling breathing and occasional cries, until Arthur comes back on.
-Better?-
“Cure for all ills, huh?” Merlin says.
-Exactly-
“I guess I feel a little better. Sorry.”
-mate, I pissed on your floor, had a baby, got placenta everywhere. I think we’re good.-
“You pissed? I missed that.”
-Yeah, when I was pushing, just a little. You missed it? I shouldn’t have said anything.-
“Too late.”
Merlin talks to Arthur for ages, but eventually he has to hang up. It’s not until he gets home that he realizes he doesn’t know where Arthur lives, and Arthur doesn’t know where ‘home’ is. They could be at opposite ends of the country, never see one another again. Merlin cries again, though probably not really about that. He’s a bit of a mess for a few days, but Gwaine comes around and watches bad TV and drinks beer with him, which Merlin supposes is supportive.
-Merlin- Arthur says, ringing four days later, -never take a baby in a taxi. Franks cried the entire way to the doctor’s and the entire way back and the taxi guy swore at me in Swahili, French and Portuguese-
“How do you know it was those languages specifically?”
-I speak excellent French, I had a flatmate who was Portuguese and swore a lot, and the Swahili is a perhaps erroneous assumption based on the driver telling me he was from Kenya. You know, I never realised that having a baby would mean suddenly finding the news terrifying. Like, there are so many things out there just waiting to get him. He’s so tiny. And I have a new hatred for Boris Johnson.-
“Why?”
-I don’t know. I think it’s Frankie, though. I mean, Boris is all very funny as long as it’s just my city he’s messing about with, but now it’s Frankie’s home, too, and I feel like hunting him down and taking a potshot at him for not doing more to make it a hundred percent safe-
“You live in London?”
-Obviously, Merlin.-
“But, so do I. Or, I live in Morden, anyway, which almost counts.”
-No you don’t.-
“What? I do.”
-But I live in Wimbledon. If you live in Morden it means we’re practically neighbours.-
“Seriously?”
-Yeah.-
Merlin laughs.
“Arthur, would you and your rugby-playing, disgustingly muscled thighs and bum like to bring your lovely son to dinner at my house one night? And, perhaps, if you like, we could call it a date?”
-I shall have to consult my thighs, you know. They’re rather particular. My bum’s a bit slutty and less picky. Oh wow, that was much more sexual than it was meant to be.-
“I like where it was going,” Merlin says, hopefully.
-I refuse to have any kind of sex. I am not having more of these monsters. I haven’t slept for weeks, Merlin. Weeks. And the Boris Johnson thing is problematic, everyone at work loves him. I’m going to be the odd sock out.-
“You do realise-”
-No sort of sex at all. Don’t care, la la la!-
Merlin laughs again and agrees to never, ever have sex anywhere in the vicinity of Arthur, just in case another baby should accidentally pop out.
“I take it back,” Arthur says, when he arrives for dinner, “Frankie’s asleep and I am so, so in love with him. I want a hundred more.”
“Wait till he starts teething. Or reaches the terrible twos. He’s going to be a teenager, soon. Do you want hundreds of teenagers?” Merlin says, letting Arthur in, beaming all over his face.
Arthur looks good. Tired, but good. Less frantic than when Merlin met him, and more hairy. His stubble scratches when Arthur kisses Merlin’s cheek. Frankie’s grown, Merlin realises when Arthur gets him out of the car seat and plonks him into Merlin’s arms just in time for him to wake up and start bawling for food. And when his eyes open, there’s even more going on in there, bright eyes showing so much intelligence.
“Isn’t he awesome?” Arthur says, leaning on Merlin’s shoulder, chin digging in.
“Yeah,” Merlin says, “yeah.”
the end
Author: Azile Teacup (can be found on AO3 and Tumblr, my lj is pretty dead)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word count: approx. 13,800
Rating: R/Mature
Contains: There's some graphic descriptions of babies and some expletives. Nothing of a sexual nature, really)
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Betaed by the absolutely fabulous Mathboximpala, who far exceeded expectations and really shaped this story. They were endlessly patient, with amazing advice and so, so much feedback. Really, completely perfect.
Summary: Merlin, having lost his partner a couple of years ago, is finally selling the boathouse she was so happy in. The Lake District is rainy and full of memories, but bursting in on Merlin's peace is Arthur, a man who Merlin has never met, but is about to get quite intimate with.
Go to Part 1
CHAPTER FOUR
Arthur’s almost silent as the head appears, eyes clenched tight, clinging to Merlin, sweaty forehead pressed to Merlin’s forearm. Merlin talks him through the breathing, but he’s pretty sure the physical contact is what’s helping Arthur most, so he keeps on massaging and soothing his hands over Arthur’s body, pushing the wet hair away from his face. Merlin leans back to look.
“Arthur! You have a baby coming out of you!” Merlin exclaims, “Its head’s between your legs! Oh, that’s weird. You have really muscular thighs, you know.”
“Rugby,” Arthur mutters, “the baby’s coming?”
“Yeah, I can see a head,” Merlin says, laughing, “there’s a bloody great head there! You’re like the bloody push-me-pull-you.”
Sally talks Arthur through the next step, checking the baby’s position again.
“Good,” Sally says, “you’re doing brilliantly. Let’s get these shoulders out, this is the worst part I promise. We get these shoulders and we should be good. I need a big push from you, next contraction, really bear down.”
“Feels like I need a poo,” Arthur mutters, ears going a furious red.
The contraction makes him moan long and low.
“Keep going, keep pushing… a bit more, Arthur, push a bit more,” Sally says.
“Come on,” Merlin says, “come on! Give me an A! Give an R! Isn’t that how it goes on the pitch? Arthur!”
Merlin flails in an attempt of cheerleading and Arthur turns his head to yell in Merlin’s face, cheeks bright red, sweat dripping. The yell peters off into laughter as the contraction ends. Merlin glances down in time to see Sally ease the shoulders out, and the baby slip into her hands. Merlin’s breath leaves him in a punch as the child slides out of Arthur’s body, blood and a flood of wet and goo and blood spattering to the floor. Arthur gasps for breath, thighs and back and arms all shaking.
“He’s here,” Mandy says, “and he is a little boy.”
Arthur laughs shakily and Merlin helps him collapse onto his knees. There’s a nurse, whose entrance Merlin missed, who comes over and cuts the cord.
“Do you want to deliver the placenta like this, or would you rather get into the bed, now?” Sally asks.
Arthur just groans, dropping his head onto his forearms, trying to see his baby. Sally hands the tiny child over and Arthur holds the small body to his chest, already getting up into a crouch again. The placenta comes out much quicker than the baby and before Merlin knows it Arthur’s being helped onto the bed, and Arthur finally allows himself to lie down. He makes Merlin raise the head of the bed all the way up, though, the baby resting on his chest. Merlin stands, watching, as Arthur finally relaxes.
“Hello,” Arthur whispers, voice hoarse, “hello, little one. Hello. I think your name is Frankie.”
“It suits him,” Merlin says, and it does.
The baby is definitely a Frankie. The name fits with a little click; the wide nose, the neat little ears, the right way his face scrunches up. Merlin reaches out to touch and gets goo on his hand.
“Ew,” Merlin says, wiping it on Arthur’s gown.
Arthur breathes out for a long time, eyes closing, cupping his baby’s head. Then he opens his eyes and smiles at Merlin.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Arthur says.
A nurse brings a bottle of formula over and Sally shows Arthur how to offer Frankie the rubber nipple until he latches on.Frankie, after eating, falls asleep and Arthur follows soon. Sally talks to Merlin about what to expect in terms of checks and doctors and nurses, and then one of the nurses talks to him for awhile about nappies and formula. He’s left with a Bounty Pack and a whole lot of knowledge to remember to pass on to Arthur.
“Well,” a jovial, tired looking doctor (who forgot to introduce himself) says, two hours later, “Frankie looks absolutely fine. No illnesses, no abnormalities. You have a healthy baby. Everything is tickity-boo, with both of you.”
“It’s tickity-boo,” Arthur repeats, smiling, looking down at his baby, “Frankie’s very tickity-boo. He’s perfect. Look.”
Merlin looks at the tiny, sleeping face, and has to agree that he’s a very beautiful baby. His skin is much darker than Arthur’s, much much darker. He already has hair, black and thick and fuzzy. He looks soft and new and brilliant.
“I can’t believe that came out of you,” Merlin says.
Arthur just smiles, stroking Frankie’s hair.
“Good,” the doctor says, finishing with the chart, “there’s one last set of checks that will be done, and then you’ll be able to go on home. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours, we just have to wait for a colleague of mine to be free.”
Merlin wonders where Arthur’s planning to go, when he gets out. He hopes Arthur plans to stay at Merlin’s at least a day or two. Otherwise Merlin’s going to have to fight him about it. He’s fairly sure Arthur shouldn’t be traveling across the country right after giving birth.
Arthur’s cheerful, seemingly already getting over the exhaustion and fear. He smiles around at them, strokes Frankie’s hair, pats Frankie’s back, feels over the tiny limbs and body, tucking a tiny hand back into the blankets before smiling around again. Merlin makes him promise to come back to the boathouse, and Arthur admits that he hadn’t really had any other plan.
CHAPTER FIVE
Arthur and Frankie and Merlin get a taxi back to the boat house, and Arthur and Frankie sleep on the sofa while Merlin scrubs the floor and chair and armrest. On a roll, he starts packing up some of Freya’s things, as well. The boxes stack up around him and he mentally starts making more space in the storage locker he’s renting. He can’t keep everything, most will go to the charity shop or maybe be sold, but there are some things that he can’t let go of.
“You look miserable,” Arthur says, startling Merlin from staring out across the lake, “Why? We have Frankie.”
“He’s lovely, Arthur, but not the cure for all ills. I was just contemplating something, don’t worry. I’m not unhappy.”
“Can you take a photo of Frankie? I should send one to my father, even if he’ll pretend he isn’t interested. I should call him, actually. Tell him he’s a grandfather. Pass me the landline.”
Merlin does as he’s told, but holds onto the phone until Arthur gives him grudging thanks. Merlin grins and ruffles Arthur’s hair, strokes Frankie’s cheek, and goes to make himself a sandwich.
“You hungry?” He calls, waiting for a negative answer before carrying on his foraging in the fridge.
Merlin feels no guilt about listening in to Arthur’s phone conversation.
“Hello father… congratulations, you have a grandson. His name is Frankie, he was born at half past one this afternoon, he weighs seven pounds and eight ounces… I know… no, father I didn’t change my mind, but… everything was fine. I was at a good friend’s house and he was brilliant… paramedics came… no complications. He came somersaulting out, almost. It happened really fast… I didn’t know they were contractions, Dad, or I would have gone in sooner. I thought it was just cramps…”
Merlin smiles, plating his sandwich, heading over to the armchair.
“He’s waking up, Dad. He has amazing eyes. They’re golden brown, like a tiger,” Arthur says, smiling down at the baby.
Frankie snuffles, head moving.
“He’s rooting… I know that father, yes, they are bloody stick on nipples and no, he won’t… yes. Merlin, can you make a bottle? The Midwife gave me a whole load of stuff, it’s in the bags… Dad, he’s fine,” Frankie chooses that moment to start crying, “I know he’s crying, he’s hungry. He’s fine… I’m fine too!... because you’re being annoying… I will bring him to see you and you’ll see… Uther!”
Merlin finds the bottle and formula and retreats to the kitchen. He’s not sure who ‘Uther’ is but Arthur said his name with horror and anger, so Merlin scurries.
“Uther Pendragon, you racist bastard,” Arthur says, disgusted and loud, “yes, he has Jamie’s ‘colouring’... oh. Yeah, it’s actually a little darker than Jay, and his hair’s jet black…. he looks nothing like me, obviously, and no, not like you either.”
Merlin stifles a laugh.
“I know you’re not racist, it’s just been stressful, Dad… they were really nice, they didn’t at all… I know you were worried… yes that is what you meant, you’re allowed to be worried. But it’s fine. Frankie’s perfect, and I’m fine, and we’re both great, basically. I’m just going to sleep for ages… yes it’s bloody sore, obviously.”
Merlin checks the bottle on his wrist, but has no idea how hot it’s meant to be. He passes it to Arthur and Arthur does the same test and, by the bemused look on his face, he has no idea either.
“Dad? How do you tell if a bottle’s too hot?”
Merlin sits with his sandwich and watches Arthur being talked through how to feed a fussy infant. Arthur’s father, from what Merlin can tell, sounds like a strange mix of ‘complete arsehole’ and ‘big softy’. He seems to err on the side of the latter when it comes to Arthur plus progeny, if Arthur’s reactions are anything to go by.
“Yeah, Dad, thanks. He’s eating… bye. Dad? I love you…. no I am not an emotional wreck! Bye, Dad… Bye!” Arthur hangs up and shakes his head, cradling Frankie more comfortably now he has both hands entirely free. “Can you take that picture, Merlin?”
Merlin accepts Arthur’s phone and takes a few. He’s about to hand the phone back when Arthur makes a strange face. Frankie finishes the bottle and nuzzles closer to Arthur, making little contented sounds, feet kneading Arthur’s arm, and Arthur’s face just softens to something entirely beautiful. Merlin takes a photo, catching Arthur in the warm evening sunshine, Frankie’s skin and Arthur's hair lit up.
“You know, all your family pics are going to have one or the other of you properly lit,” Merlin says, looking at Frankie’s shadowed face in the last photo, “you’re so light. Like, luminously white.”
“I am aware, thank you,” Arthur says, “give me that.”
Merlin hands over the phone with a grin and goes back to his sandwich, finally being allowed to finish it, as Arthur and Frankie are soon napping again. Merlin washes and sterilizes the bottle and sets out all the things he’ll need next time Frankie’s hungry. He’s under no illusions that Arthur’s going to be doing anything as long as Merlin’s here and offering. Merlin thinks about Freya as he works, how she never wanted children though she loved spending time with them, remembering her holding Gwen’s first child, her face framed by long hair.
Arthur stays for the rest of the week and Merlin gets used to him and Frankie both. He gets used to making up bottles and being woken in the middle of the night, gets used to Arthur napping on the sofa in the sunshine or showing Frankie the rain. Gets used to Arthur walking the length of the house to settle Frankie to sleep, gets used, even, to feeding Frankie. The warm weight of the baby in his arms, the frantic way he sucks the milk down, the tiny pout when the bottle is gone and Merlin takes the nipple out of Frankie’s mouth. He and Arthur learn, through trial and error, how to burp the baby and to put a cloth over their shoulder before doing that. Merlin gets used to milky vomit and tiny, gross, nappies.
“How can someone who only imbibes milk make so much poo?!” Merlin says, wiping it off Frankie’s legs and back, “should we just dump him in the bath, maybe?”
“Might be easier,” Arthur says, around a yawn, curled up on the sofa, “I’m still so sore, maybe I can hold him while you run a bath, and you can bath him and bring him back nice and clean in a towel for me?”
Merlin snorts and opens his mouth to suggest something where he doesn’t do absolutely everything (even though he will do exactly as Arthur suggests, because Arthur is like that and Merlin can’t help himself), but he doesn’t get any further because at that moment Frankie kicks his legs, lets out a monstrous fart, and poos all up Merlin’s arms.
“Ahh!” Merlin says, while Arthur laughs hysterically, “you little horror!”
Frankie just gums contentedly at Merlin, and Arthur keeps on laughing. Merlin gives up, leaving Frankie to lie on the floor while he runs the bathtub and washes poo off himself.
“You missed his first poo, at the hospital,” Arthur says, when Merlin comes marching back to scoop up the baby, “it was spectacular. Got the nurse good, even managed to catch a bit of wall. He’s gonna be an artist.”
“A poo artist. Fantastic,” Merlin says, but he’s smiling and he can’t find it in himself to be mad.
Merlin gets weed on more than he thought possible, and gets pooed on twice more. When Arthur tells Merlin on Sunday that Lance will be arriving Monday morning to cart father and baby back to Uther and real life, Merlin still feels a sharp pang. No more nappies or sleepless nights of wee or puke or any of the awful things, but no more Frankie, either. No more Arthur. Merlin nods at Arthur and feels glum. Arthur tuts and dumps the baby into his arms.
“Here, have a cuddle with the cure of all ills,” Arthur says.
Merlin smiles slightly, touching Frankie’s soft cheek. Frankie’s awake and he stares up at Merlin, blinking heavily as he dozes off, eyes gold-brown and bright with intelligence. Already learning.
“I’ll miss the little terror,” Merlin says, “when you go.”
“Just him?” Arthur asks, grinning.
“Yes,” Merlin says.
Arthur just laughs, going to make a bottle up.
CHAPTER SIX
It turns out Arthur leaving doesn’t mean he vanishes off the face of the earth: he texts and emails constantly, apparently bored at Uther’s house with nothing to do but sleep, eat, feed the baby and not sleep at normal times. Merlin doesn’t realise any of this until he gets home. He spends two more weeks at the boathouse sulking and moping, missing Arthur and Frankie, not going anywhere, getting the house ready for sale. He packs everything into the van he bribes Gwaine to drive up, and leaves the house empty except for furniture, ready for the realtor. The boats he sold before coming up, and Lance arranged for Arthur’s car to get towed the day Arthur left.
So when Merlin leaves, he leaves a house empty of anything, of everything. He feels grief tug at him, like a thread holding him there, as he drives away. He has to pull over after an hour’s driving because he’s crying too hard. He curls up over his handlebarsand fishes his phone out to ring Gwaine, who soothes and sympathises and promises to get him drunk when he gets home. It’s when Merlin hangs up, with a better hold of himself, that he discovers the texts and emails that piled up while he was out of service. Most of them are from Arthur. Lots of them are photos of Frankie. Two are selfies.
One is a photo of; Arthur’s bum, a randomer’s bum, or someone’s elbow. Merlin rings Arthur.
“Arthur, you’re so weird,” Merlin says, without preamble.
-you didn’t answer any of my communiques, so I had to get your attention. And, I figured, you already saw it.-
“You’re still weird. Do you have a moustache now by the way?”
-Mm, haven’t really been shaving. It drives my father nuts, which is the most entertainment I get these days. I’m not allowed to do anything, according to Uther.-
“He’s protective, it’s sweet.”
-My mother died having me, it’s most certainly paranoia and not protectiveness. I’m fine, Dad! Fine!-
Merlin hears another voice in the background, and Arthur laughs.
-He says I’m a useless father and I woke the baby. He’s walking Franks, my feet are sore.-
“I see you’re taking advantage of his ‘paranoia’.”
-Obviously. Why do you think I agreed to come here?-
Merlin laughs and leans back in the seat, sighing.
-Are you alright? I didn’t hear from you. I know there’s no signal, but you must get it somewhere around there, when you go shopping or something-
“I had a lot to do, I didn’t really go anywhere,” Merlin says, feeling sadness swamp him again, “she’s really gone, Arthur. There’s nothing left. The house is empty, nothing there. She’s gone.”
-Yeah-
Merlin closes his eyes and listens to Arthur’s breathing, tears sliding wetly down his face and tickling the side of his nose, dropping off his chin.
“God, Freya.”
-Um, I don’t really… hang on, hang on-
Merlin listens as Arthur moves through the house, from the sound of it. There’s a muffled conversation and then Frankie starts to cry.
-listen to this, Merlin-
Arthur must hold the phone to Frankie’s face because the sound of him crying comes through loud and clear. Merlin laughs, a sob catching in there somewhere. Frankie’s cries gradually die down, but Arthur keeps the phone with him as he settles the baby and Merlin listens to the snuffling breathing and occasional cries, until Arthur comes back on.
-Better?-
“Cure for all ills, huh?” Merlin says.
-Exactly-
“I guess I feel a little better. Sorry.”
-mate, I pissed on your floor, had a baby, got placenta everywhere. I think we’re good.-
“You pissed? I missed that.”
-Yeah, when I was pushing, just a little. You missed it? I shouldn’t have said anything.-
“Too late.”
Merlin talks to Arthur for ages, but eventually he has to hang up. It’s not until he gets home that he realizes he doesn’t know where Arthur lives, and Arthur doesn’t know where ‘home’ is. They could be at opposite ends of the country, never see one another again. Merlin cries again, though probably not really about that. He’s a bit of a mess for a few days, but Gwaine comes around and watches bad TV and drinks beer with him, which Merlin supposes is supportive.
-Merlin- Arthur says, ringing four days later, -never take a baby in a taxi. Franks cried the entire way to the doctor’s and the entire way back and the taxi guy swore at me in Swahili, French and Portuguese-
“How do you know it was those languages specifically?”
-I speak excellent French, I had a flatmate who was Portuguese and swore a lot, and the Swahili is a perhaps erroneous assumption based on the driver telling me he was from Kenya. You know, I never realised that having a baby would mean suddenly finding the news terrifying. Like, there are so many things out there just waiting to get him. He’s so tiny. And I have a new hatred for Boris Johnson.-
“Why?”
-I don’t know. I think it’s Frankie, though. I mean, Boris is all very funny as long as it’s just my city he’s messing about with, but now it’s Frankie’s home, too, and I feel like hunting him down and taking a potshot at him for not doing more to make it a hundred percent safe-
“You live in London?”
-Obviously, Merlin.-
“But, so do I. Or, I live in Morden, anyway, which almost counts.”
-No you don’t.-
“What? I do.”
-But I live in Wimbledon. If you live in Morden it means we’re practically neighbours.-
“Seriously?”
-Yeah.-
Merlin laughs.
“Arthur, would you and your rugby-playing, disgustingly muscled thighs and bum like to bring your lovely son to dinner at my house one night? And, perhaps, if you like, we could call it a date?”
-I shall have to consult my thighs, you know. They’re rather particular. My bum’s a bit slutty and less picky. Oh wow, that was much more sexual than it was meant to be.-
“I like where it was going,” Merlin says, hopefully.
-I refuse to have any kind of sex. I am not having more of these monsters. I haven’t slept for weeks, Merlin. Weeks. And the Boris Johnson thing is problematic, everyone at work loves him. I’m going to be the odd sock out.-
“You do realise-”
-No sort of sex at all. Don’t care, la la la!-
Merlin laughs again and agrees to never, ever have sex anywhere in the vicinity of Arthur, just in case another baby should accidentally pop out.
“I take it back,” Arthur says, when he arrives for dinner, “Frankie’s asleep and I am so, so in love with him. I want a hundred more.”
“Wait till he starts teething. Or reaches the terrible twos. He’s going to be a teenager, soon. Do you want hundreds of teenagers?” Merlin says, letting Arthur in, beaming all over his face.
Arthur looks good. Tired, but good. Less frantic than when Merlin met him, and more hairy. His stubble scratches when Arthur kisses Merlin’s cheek. Frankie’s grown, Merlin realises when Arthur gets him out of the car seat and plonks him into Merlin’s arms just in time for him to wake up and start bawling for food. And when his eyes open, there’s even more going on in there, bright eyes showing so much intelligence.
“Isn’t he awesome?” Arthur says, leaning on Merlin’s shoulder, chin digging in.
“Yeah,” Merlin says, “yeah.”
the end