Beyond the Neon Trees - Part 5 (Big Bang 2011)

[mightypretty]

The train journey feels like it takes forever. Ms. LeFay ushers Merlin into a taxi as soon as their feet touch the grotty tiled floor of Paddington station. She offers to go with him, but he shakes his head and makes a protest at the crisp bills she places in his lap. She simply squeezes his hand for a moment before shutting the taxi door and instructing the driver to take him to Homerton University Hospital. The journey’s lost in a sea of thoughts and fears, of what-ifs and could be’s. He watches transfixed as the dark London skyline, sprinkled with gold light, zips past his window, huffs of air steaming the glass beneath his head. It curls out in rasps, before dissipating in on itself - again and again.

When the roll of tyres finally pulls into the hospital, he’s greeted by Anne on reception who immediately catches his eye. She stands up, exits through a side door and embraces Merlin in a tight hug. She nods back to her colleagues before leading him down the generic white corridor.

“Oh gosh, Merlin, we were all so scared, couldn’t believe it when the call came through the system. Doctor Martins has been looking after her; we’re so sorry.” Anne rambles off in one breath, guiding him to stand outside room 22b. Looking through the clear-cut glass, he can make out his mother’s peaceful face. Eyes closed, hair brushed back, arms resting calmly at her sides. It would all seem quite normal if it wasn’t for the number of wires encased over her, in her, machines humming softly through the door. “It may be best to wait out here for now, son. I’ll go fetch Dr. Martins for you.”

She scurries off, sneakers catching on the linoleum floor. Merlin is still stood at the door, eyes trained on his mother. He’d never seen her ill. Sure, she’s been tired lately, and she has the odd cold or flu now and then, but in a hospital? Never.

The sight causes a lump to stick in his throat as he takes small cautious steps backwards, eyes trained forward, until the rim of a plastic chair hits the back of his knees and he sinks into it - limbs pliant. Nurses bustle pass, clipboards tucked tightly under arms, always looking at their watches, always in a hurry. The blur of those coming and going zip past his eyes; his gaze has long since begun to haze over, a film of tears clinging against his lashes. He hears the sound of someone slotting into the chair beside him, the long white fabric of their coat tickling his knee; when he looks up, he meets Dr. Martins’ solemn face and the world begins to slow down again.

“Hi, Merlin. Would you like to come with me so we can discuss this somewhere more private?”

Merlin shakes his head, eyes darting to the door where his mother remains motionless. He wasn’t here when she needed him the most - he won’t leave her side again. “No, no-it’s - it’s ok; you can tell me everything here.”

“Very well,” says the doctor, drawing the sand coloured file onto his lap. Emrys, H, is typed neatly in one corner. He takes a moment, folds his hands atop of the folder before turning to face Merlin. “Your mother suffered from an acute myocardial infarction, a heart attack that was caused by a major blockage to a couple of her arteries. She’s stable now, but I’m afraid the delay in treating the attack has resulted in severe damage to her heart.”

“Delay?” Merlin asks, trying valiantly to wrap his head around this whole thing.

“Yes, unfortunately we estimate your mother waited around two hours after the initial symptoms to alert the emergency services. It’s a very common incident in female sufferers; they tend to excuse the signs as simple chest pains or fatigue. We got the call just after half past two this afternoon.”

Probably around the same time he was laughing with Ms. LeFay at the exhibit, he thinks, a sickening feeling punctures his gut.

“We’ve run a series of tests, taken some bloods; hopefully we’ll have more answers soon but-your mother, as we all know here, has been under a severe amount of stress for many years - she also has recorded quite high blood pressure and cholesterol levels. We’ve put her on ACE inhibitors which will hopefully help with that. However, that’s only one aspect we can control. The heart attack left your mum with quite a lot of damaged heart muscle. Whilst we’ll do everything in our ability, the likelihood of a second-heart attack is relatively high, especially if it’s returned that there is a history of heart disease in the family.”

“My-my grandfather died from a heart attack.” Merlin barely manages to breathe out.

“I’ll make a note of that… Do you have any questions?” Dr. Martins asks quietly, leaning across to place a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder. He shakes his head. “We don’t know enough yet for certain. Your mother is a fighter - that we all know. I’ll get the nurses to set up a cot for you tonight.” He adds, giving the tense muscle under Merlin’s collar a sharp squeeze before standing and walking down the corridor.

Merlin doesn’t sleep that night, just grips his mother’s hand tightly and prays.



When Hunith re-awoke she squeezed Merlin’s fingers, whispered out a cracked apology before breaking down into a quiet sob that shook against Merlin’s chest as he held her close. Doctor Martins came back the following day, sat down to explain fully the results of the ECG and numerous blood tests they’d carried out. Merlin struggled to process it all, but the key words struck out like a beacon in a storm: ‘damaged muscle’, ‘clogged arteries’, ‘second heart-attack.’ He watched as his mother sat up, back taut, face completely impassive as she allowed the words to sink in. Then he mentioned surgery, angioplasty. Merlin’s eyes widened at the thought. ’But that’s a last resort,’ the doctor said so he pushed it to the back of his mind. How his mother remained so calm, collected, as the doctor rattled off all the risks she still had to overcome, is a mystery to Merlin. She turned to him after Doctor Martins left the room with a tight sad smile, hand coming to run through the top of his head.

“Aren’t you scared?” he asked.

“We’ll be fine, sweetheart.” She replied wistfully. “You’ll be just fine.”

So after rigorous sets of tests, scans and X-Rays, Doctor Martins finally signs Hunith out four days later with a prescription list ridiculously long, as well as an order for her to rest and not to return to work or strenuous activities for at least a month.

Merlin shepherds her home, supports his mother by the crook of her elbow as they slowly make their way up the dim-lit staircase. So focused on Hunith’s gradual baby steps was he that Merlin doesn’t notice the crouched figure beside their door until he’s right in front of him, a small bouquet of flowers twined in his hands.

Arthur stands when he sees them approaching, eyes uncertainly casting over Merlin before moving to the other side of Hunith and taking her arm.

“I-I heard from Lance what had happened. I’m so sorry you had to go through this, Ms. Emrys.”

“How many times must I tell you, my boy: call me Hunith,” She pats his hand gently as Merlin allows Arthur to prop his mother up whilst he goes to open the door. They guide her through to the bedroom together; plump her up against the pillows as Merlin bends to shirk off her shoes.

“I’m not an invalid, son.” She says with a joking lilt, but he can tell that there is an aggravation behind the words - his mother so used to her independence suddenly at a loss to her extreme fatigue.

“Make the most of it.” Merlin chuckles, gaze flicking to Arthur who is stood in the back corner of the room, an uneasiness eking through his body. “Would you like some tea?” he asks; Hunith smiles and nods. Merlin moves to the door, with a flick of his head at Arthur who dutifully follows him out.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur says as soon as the door clicks close. “I know you don’t want to see me and I’ve been trying to give you space but- this isn’t about us. I wanted to be here for your mum.”

A lump catches in Merlin’s throat at the sincerity in Arthur’s eyes. The emotions he’s coursed through the past couple of days have wracked his body, leaving him with a throbbing in his head and an ache in his heart. Arthur being here right now is only adding to the confusion. “Thank you, Arthur. It’s just-“

“I know, I know, bad timing.” Arthur finishes for him, nervously worrying his lower lip. “I wanted to give her these. I was going to leave them by the door, but well, you know people round here; they’d be gone as soon as I turned the corner, so I thought I’d wait.” He passes Merlin the bouquet, a mass of carnations in shades of soft pinks and oranges. Merlin’s fingers brush Arthur’s as he takes them and he tries hard to hide the jolt of his heart at the touch.

Instead, he lowers his face to the bloom of flowers, inhaling their fragrance. “Thank you Arthur, I’ll put these in a vase for her,” he replies, turning his back to fill the kettle. “I’d ask if you want a cup of tea…” Merlin begins, voice carrying across the kitchen. He may be an utter chicken for not facing Arthur when he says this, but it’s just too hard.

“But you’d rather I go… I get it.” Arthur says, tongue clicking at the back of his throat. “I hope-I hope she gets better soon. I know you probably won’t but… if you need me, you know where to find me.”

Merlin casts a glance over his shoulder, holds Arthur’s gaze for a beat as he gently nods his head, the slight pull of a smile barely tugging their lips until Arthur eventually breaks contact, lowering his lashes. He exits the flat - the pull of the door clicking shut purposely reverberating through the walls.



The following week is a hectic bustle of activity - for Merlin, that is. Hunith is under strict instructions to do as little as possible. It caused a few arguments… Well, okay, a lot of arguments, but Merlin is feeling like his mother is a fragile doll who will splinter or crack with the lightest of touches. She fights him, as she has always done on particular issues she feels strongly about, until eventually one of them caves and they resort to burrowing under quilts on the couch watching awful daytime TV with heaps of tea and plenty of biscuits (for Merlin, not Hunith; she’s under strict dietary orders too). He’s been missing school - just one of the reasons that arguments erupted - so most afternoons are spent doing revision in the kitchen, whilst he keeps a careful eye on his mother who is usually perched in her favourite armchair, watching TV or completing the latest crossword in the paper. Gwaine or Lance pop round the majority of evenings, bringing him various notes from class as well as filling him in on the latest gossip, always managing to bring Arthur’s moping into conversation. After he’s cooked dinner, he joins his mother in the living room, curls up in the corner of the couch, sketch pad balanced precariously on his knees as he loses himself in the strokes his fingers create. He can feel Hunith’s eyes on him, almost memorising the lines of his face as she places her glasses down on her lap, marking her spot in the book she’s reading.

“Headache, mum?” he asks, pausing his work, gnawing on the eraser tip of his pencil.

“Just feeling a bit nauseous… I think I’ll turn in for the night.” She pushes herself up, shooting Merlin a pointed look when he moves to help her. He stays sitting, ready to jump if she needs him. “Night, son,” she says when she eventually reaches the bedroom, his answering ‘sweet dreams’ a stolen whisper.

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Three days later as Merlin is unsteadily attempting to balance a bowl of soup and a glass of juice with the daily paper tucked under his arm and open the door at the same time - he near on drops the lot and surprisingly doesn’t for once.

“Mother! Get back to bed!” he curses, waddling over to her nightstand and placing the hot bowl and drink there before stalking across to where his mother is busy tiptoeing at the foot of her wardrobe.

“Oh Merlin, I’m fine,” says Hunith, pouting, her 5ft”4 frame not offering the greatest help when trying to reach the top shelf.

“You know what Doctor Martins said, no strenuous activities.”

“I hardly think trying to reach something from a closet constitutes as ‘strenuous activity.’” She air quotes, sending him a cheeky smirk. Merlin simply puts his hands on his hips, frowning down at her. She lets out a deep sigh, glancing back to the box at the head of the wardrobe. Bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, she pauses a moment before moving back to the bed.

“Could you fetch the blue box at the top there for me then, dear?” she points before pulling back the duvet and sinking into the plush mattress. The weariness in her body can be seen clearly on her face as she rests her head back against the plethora of pillows behind her. Merlin turns and does as she says, pulling down the small shoe box, no label, no decoration. He carries it to the bed, placing it on his mother’s lap before turning to leave. Hunith reaches out then, catches his wrist in her pale lithe fingers. “Come sit, my boy.” She smiles, the deep rise of her chest expanding with each inhale-exhale.

Merlin walks round to the other side of the bed to hop up and perch by his mother’s feet, facing her. He eyes her curiously; her breaths come quicker and harsher; he covers her hand with his own. “Mum?” he asks, tilting his head, lines creasing across his brow.

Hunith looks up then, meets his gaze. She smiles softly before lifting the lid and pulling out a curled up photograph. She runs her fingers over it gently before passing it across to Merlin.

He casts his eyes over the black and white print; a sad smile tugs at his lips as he takes in the young fresh faces of his mother and father. It was one of the few photographs he’s actually seen; though the last time he looked upon it was many years ago, back when he was a young boy returning from school with questions of - ‘Why don’t I?’

Hunith mentioned him very little back then, speaks even less of him now. Merlin knows his name was Balinor, that he was a mechanic with a passion for music - he loved to play the guitar - but that’s virtually it. He too runs his finger over the photograph, placing it down on the quilt between them. Hunith sets the box to the side. From where Merlin’s sitting, he can see it’s filled with many more photographs, a significant amount more than he has any recollection of seeing.

“I was not much older than you when I met him.” Hunith finally speaks, gaze focused on the black and white stark photo set against the cream sheets. “He was a beautiful man,” she sighs wistfully, eyes beginning to glaze over. Merlin stays silent, hand still covering hers.

“I-I am scared Merlin… I’m scared to leave you on your own.” The words catch on a broken stutter. Merlin squeezes her hand tighter, shifts further up the bed, to wrap an arm around her covered legs.

“Don’t talk like that.”.

“I need to… I can feel it in my bones. I-I need to be honest with you, so I can still hope for the best future for you.”

Merlin’s eyebrows furrow close, over the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve - I’ve lied to you, my boy. I’m so sorry, but it was - it was the only thing I could do to protect you. Please don’t hate me, I couldn’t take it…” She mumbles, hands clinging tightly to the sleeves pulled over Merlin’s wrists.

Merlin watches her desperate fingers claw at his arm, her eyes wide, frantic, pleading. He’s never seen his mother like this, fraught worry deeply set over her face; it makes something dark and ominous scratch under his skin. ’Lied’, his mother lied to him. That was… crazy. She’s the worst liar on the face of the planet; her eyes crinkle, the dimple in her left jaw flickers - she has the worst poker face known to man; how did she manage to keep something from him for so long? By the way Hunith is restlessly shaking her head side to side; whatever she kept quiet is something big and ugly. The thought leaves Merlin shaking himself. “Mum, please just tell me what you’re talking about. You’re scaring me here.”

“Your father… He - he never passed away,” whispers Hunith, the light beginning of tears trickling softly down her cheeks, streaking across her skin. Merlin’s hands drop heavy in her hold, his whole body going numb. “Merlin please let me explain first, please…”

The room is silent except for the distant sound of children laughing below, riding the curl of the wind through the slightly open window. Merlin has the odd sensation that he’s dreaming, or maybe trapped in some parallel world - that’s a thought. Because really, how is one person able to go through such ridiculous lengths of highs and lows in a week - surely it can’t be possible. His heart hammers against his chest, the heavy beat reverberating against his ribcage like it’s going to burst. All the while, Hunith is watching him carefully, face awash with worry and sorrow and hurt.

Merlin opens his mouth to speak, to try and figure out where he can even start. “Why?” he asks - that seems like a good place.

Hunith rubs a hand across her face, catching the still flowing tears under her lashes. “I honestly was going to tell you soon… regardless of-” She waves a hand at her chest. “I was waiting ‘til you turned eighteen, until you were old enough to make up your own mind, your own choices… but then you had the exhibit, and I was so, so proud of you. I didn’t want anything to mess that up.”

“So, my father's alive?” Merlin asks, the taste of the words feel foreign on his tongue - they’re bitter, harsh, and he’s never spoken to his mother like that before.

She seems to notice the tone too by the way she flinches. “I’m not sure. I imagine he is… I haven’t seen him since I found out I was pregnant with you.”

“Christ!” he curses, retracting his arms from their once comforting embrace; he wants to stand and walk out, go… somewhere, anywhere, because right now, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t think he can stand to look his mother in the eye. “How could you keep this from me?”

“I-I thought…”

“Well, you thought wrong, God. I could have had a father all this time and you hid him from me. I had a right to know!” Merlin cries, anguish and anger and hurt propelling him forward; he knocks his arm into the small shoebox perched on the edge of the bed, photos, mementos tumbling free. Hunith’s tears are trickling down her face as she sniffs, hands flying over the mattress to place everything back into the safety of the box. Merlin takes deep breaths, tries to slow the quickening thump-a-thump of his heart as a quiet fury rages underneath. She looks so small, frail and weak; Merlin’s resolve breaks as all the stress that has pulled his body taut whistles from him leaving him to sag boneless against her side. “I’m sorry, mum, I’m sorry…” He whispers gently, catching her wrist. She pauses, a soft hiccup leaving her lips.

“No, no, my boy. You’re right, I should have told you, I just…” She stops as Merlin turns her palm over, moves his fingers down to trace the small ornament in her hold. “Your father made it.” She smiles slightly, twisting the miniature wooden figure upright, the smooth edges carved intricately into a beautiful dragon. Hunith passes it across to Merlin, the figurine feeling delicate in his hand. He runs a finger along its curved back. “He said it was to go on the mobile when we started a family.” Hunith tells him, wiping her eyes with the corner of a tissue.



Merlin stops; looks up. “He wanted a family?” Hunith nods, a hitch sounding in her ragged inhale. “So why aren’t we one?” he asks. Merlin doesn’t understand, it all seems so simple. But here he is, holding something clearly made with love and devotion, fatherless.

“God, I imagined telling you this so many times, and now I don’t even know where to begin.” Hunith shakes her head, a wry smile tugging her lips. “I was twenty when I met him, down at O’Neill’s pub in Islington. He was in a band, couldn’t sing to save his life, but boy, could he play.” She chuckles quietly to herself, fingers worrying at the beading on the quilt. “I fell in love. Completely - hook, line and sinker. Within a year, we were living together, just a small flat in Bow, but it was home. He was a good man, a kind man… but, he had another life. Merlin, your father used to deal drugs.”

The revelation shudders through his body like an electric current, rattling his bones, leaving him feeling completely disconnected. A vision of Arthur swims before his eyes; dealing drugs - how so suddenly has drugs wrapped itself up as part of his life? He looks up at his mother, the set of her jaw twitching against the small shakes that reverberate through her chest. Is this what’s going to become of him? Has he fallen for Arthur due to some pathological daddy issues? Mouth dry, Merlin runs his tongue over the plump bow of his lower lip, unsure how he’s ever going to comprehend all this information.

“He was a junkie?” Merlin asks, gaze flittering to the crumpled photograph lain between them, eyes focused on the man staring up at him. Thoughts of where he is now, what he’s become, images of a skunked up tramp flit past his mind.

Hunith catches his hand again, palms warm. “No, he- he wasn’t a saint; he did the odd stuff now and then but, no, he was never an addict… He knew enough people that were though.” She says sadly, sighing before tilting her head to meet Merlin’s eye. “He didn’t mix with the best people. Some of them… Gosh, Merlin, some of them scared me half to death.”

“He wouldn’t stop for you?”

“He tried… He went through stages of stopping, but the money was too great a pull. He’d always say ‘just one more month, one more month and then I’ll quit, then we’ll save up and get out of here… Start a family.’” A dry gasp catches in her throat as she goes on. “Some days, we were happy… but then he’d grow cold, distant, get angry that we didn’t have enough food for that week, and then he’d slip right back into it all over again.” Merlin clutches her hand tightly, silently. “The nights were the worst. We’d have people banging on our door at all hours - strangers, junkies looking for their fix; it terrified me what they would do if they didn’t get it… the violence surrounding it all. I couldn’t cope much longer… and then I found out I was pregnant and-how am I supposed to bring a baby into that type of world?”

Merlin tries to swallow back the lump that’s wedged in his throat, but its bone dry, a sharp burn that runs rough through his sternum, stings behind his eyes. He wants to be angry. He’s been lied to over and over again, by the two people he cares for most in his entire life. He has a father… a dad - he doesn’t know quite how to deal with that. “You should have told me… sooner,” he says; a solitary tear trickles down over the jut of his cheekbone.

Hunith quickly chases it away with her thumb, opening her hand to cup the side of his face. “I know, son; I’m sorry, but you’ve got to know all I’ve ever done is with your best interest at heart. I hope that now your father will try to do the same.”

Merlin lifts his head, his mind working at twelve to the dozen. “You think I should look for him?”

“That’s not for me to decide, but… it will leave me with better peace of mind to know that when-if something happens to me, that there is someone looking out for you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Merlin says vehemently.

Hunith smiles at him tenderly, trailing her fingers to brush back the short dark tresses that hang over his forehead. “Well, just in case.” She winks, the dry chuckle sounding anything but joyful as it slips through her lips.

“I don’t know where to start.” Merlin chokes out in a broken whisper, pressing his face closer against his mother’s open palm.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Hunith replies, bringing him against her side. They hold each other until night falls.



Smoke coils through the air as the sharp screech of the coffee machine whirrs in the corner. The café isn’t anything special, just a greasy spoon in the heart of Camden. Girls with purple hair dressed in black sit next to skater boys in baggy jeans whilst workmen in overalls sip at lukewarm tea, a copy of The Sun spread out before them. Merlin sits quietly on his own; the small mug of tea he ordered ten minutes ago just barely heating his palms as they clasp around it tightly. He tries to focus on the book he has opened, his maths textbook to be more precise. Exams are coming up at the end of the month, and finding the time to study is growing more difficult as the days draw nearer. Yet, his eyes stray upwards with every ding of the front door, the brass bell overhead releasing a gentle trill into the bustling sound of the café.

Two days ago, he made the call. His mother’s hand clutched tightly in his own as eventually after shifting through various phone books and Lance’s expert skills of internet searching (Lance was the only one he felt he could tell yet), he found that one Balinor Jefferson currently resides in North West London. The few words they exchanged were brief; the shocked gasps Merlin could detect down the line making the hammering in his heart build steadily. They didn’t go into details. Balinor stuttered out that this all felt strange. “We need to do this face-to-face… Can we meet?”

Swallowing his nerves back, Merlin eventually murmured, “Yeah, yeah okay.”

They agreed on this place, a kind of middle ground for their first interaction. He didn’t know what to expect, what to look for. Would Balinor still have long hair like in the photographs he and his mother sifted through or would he now be some clean-cut corporate tycoon city-type? The bell rattles yet again, a gaggle of school girls entering. Merlin casts his eyes back down to his book. He’s five minutes late. Ten. Merlin glances to check the grey clock hung over the counter. 5.15pm. Fifteen more minutes, he tells himself, then he’ll go. At twenty-five past five, a bedraggled man enters, harsh pants racking through his lungs as though he’s just come in a sprint. His eyes are dark, the mop of hair on his head darker still, seeded with specks of grey, falling in loose waves that just barely touch his shoulders, beard groomed to no longer than an inch. The man scans the café until his eyes fall on Merlin, and he instantly knows.

Merlin nervously takes him in as Balinor hesitantly steps towards him. He’s dressed in a smart shirt and jeans, hard top boots, slightly dirty, on his feet. He looks older, obviously - a few lines beginning to set across his forehead, in the crevice of his eyes. Merlin’s knee begins to jig; his tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of his mouth and a sudden wave of doubt floods over him. Maybe this was a bad idea - he should have left the past buried in the past. But then Balinor is in front of him, stood beside the table looking just as anxious as him. “Merlin, I’m guessing?” He says; a twang of an Irish accent buried deep in his gravelly tone.

“Yes, um… Yes, that’s me… Balinor. I mean, you must be Balinor. I’m Merlin,” the words leave his lungs in a sudden whoosh, making him feel stupid and foolish. But then Balinor is smiling kindly down at him, and he can tell that the line of his nose mirrors his, the cut of his jaw is just as sharp, and the nervous rubbing of his hands is a trait he posses likewise. He takes a deep shuddering breath and asks, “Tea?”

The waitress takes their order after they spent a few moments awkwardly studying the menu. The silence stretches for a beat, neither knowing how to start. Where do you begin after eighteen years?

“So,” Balinor says, running a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I’m not great at this. I… I don’t know what it’s like to have a son.”

“Nor me a father.”

“Suppose we best work it out together then, aye?” says Balinor with a wry chuckle, as the waitress returns with his cup of tea. He takes a generous sip before continuing. “I never knew Hunith was pregnant; if I did, I would have searched hell and high water for you.”

The sincere conviction in his tone causes something hard and hot to jab right against Merlin’s ribs. “I-I know. She told me she left without a word…”

“I didn’t blame her.” Balinor supplies quietly. “At the time, I was hurt, angry. She was the love of my life and she’d waked out on me, but… I never blamed her. I put her through more than most women could ever stand.”

Merlin watches him discreetly through his lashes. “Yeah, she-she said that your, uh, line of work wasn’t the, uh, wasn’t the best.”

Balinor barks out a laugh; there’s a twinkle in his eye as he shakes his head. “No, it, it wasn’t the best, not at all. I was a stupid young man that only cared about getting money in the easiest way I could. I was foolish to think my actions didn’t hurt anyone other than myself. I left that life behind a long time ago though. I hope - not that I’m exactly innocent to judge, mind - but I really hope you haven’t made the same mistakes I did.”

Bright blue eyes flash behind his lids, blonde hair, bright smile, crooked teeth - “No, never.”

“Good. That’s good.”

They sip at their tea, Merlin’s now virtually ice cold. He winces as it tickles down his throat. “So what is your life like now then?”

“Well, about four years after your mother left, I eventually gave up dealing; a mate, well, someone who used to be a friend set me up over a deal, ended up getting a smashed bottle to the gut.” Merlin’s eyes widen, gaze flittering down to Balinor’s stomach. “So that shook up my perspective of things. I decided there and then that I was getting out. I’d saved up enough to move, lived around here for a bit actually, got work as a mechanic and set up my own garage; that was pretty much my life for the next ten years. Then I, um, I met my wife…”

“You’re married?” Merlin states dumbly. He didn’t know what he was expecting. It’s only then that he registers the simple gold band on Balinor’s left hand.

“Last year.” He smiles, the fingers on his right hand coming to drum an innocuous beat over his left, tapping against his ring. “She’s… We’re expecting a baby in November.”

“Wow.” Merlin whispers. He’s not quite sure what to say. An odd dread pools in his stomach. He’s not exactly sure why - he’s not sure what he expected to come out of this. That they’d go off and play football in the park, have a laugh over a game of catch as Balinor tells Merlin all about the birds and the bees? Why would he want to do that with Merlin now he has his own perfect little family set up with a baby on the way? A sudden urge to flee runs through Merlin’s veins, to part with a nod and a good luck and never cross paths again.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I want to get to know you… if you’ll let me.” Balinor adds, warm brown eyes seeking his. “I know you’ve got your own life, your own friends. You’ve coped long enough without a father, but, I’d very much like to be a part of that and… me and Helen really want you to be a part of ours too.”

Merlin chokes back the wave of emotion that engulfs him; the past two weeks have worn him thin, and this right now - he wants it, wants it badly. “I would-I would like that, a lot actually.”

“I’m glad,” says Balinor, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He coughs gently, takes a drag of his mug, glances across the table. “Ah, you study maths? A-Levels?”

“Hmm?” Merlin’s eyes dart to his closed textbook, places a hand across the tattered cover. “Yeah, I have exams at the end of June.”

“What else are you studying?”

“Physics and Art.” Merlin replies, leaning back as the waitress places a hot plate of eggs and chips in front of him before leaning across to deliver the same to Balinor.

“That’s quite a workload there; you obviously got your mother’s brains.”

They laugh, tension not entirely gone but seeping away gradually with every light comment and easy smile. They move onto artists; discuss the merits of Whistler against Rossetti. Balinor mentions an exhibit at the Victoria and Albert Museum; they agree to go next week. Merlin doesn’t tell him about Hunith’s health, doesn’t discuss his fucked up feelings for his best friend. He simply enjoys the company of this man, who’s slowly becoming a father.



They end up talking for three hours straight, moving from the little café to the Worlds End pub a few doors down. Outside the streets buzz with music and laughter. It has been easy, a hell of a lot easier than Merlin anticipated, and when it came to saying goodbye at the end of the evening, Merlin doesn’t want to leave. Sat on the night bus home, head resting against the smudged upper-deck window; the weight of the day begins to drop on him like lead. He met his father… a father that until a few days ago he’d believed was dead. Not only that but said father is also an ex-drug dealer, a lifestyle that so closely mirrors Arthur’s, it shakes through Merlin’s bones. The rumble of the bus’s engine vibrates through the depths of his belly. Now that his evening has ended, an odd sense of loss settles there instead. He knows that as he gets to know his father, his mother is becoming weaker; each day he can see the illness of her heart making her wearier. He feels like he is suddenly gaining a father only to have the one constant in his life taken away from him. It’s not fair, because soon, even Balinor will have a new child, a proper child. And where will Merlin be then - alone. The thoughts plague his conscience the entire journey home, and it isn’t until he’s stood there on the fifth floor knocking on the door that reality catches up with him.

Arthur’s hair is mussed, blonde tufts sticking up at the most endearing of angles; he rubs at his eyes, the rims red. He’s wearing the hoodie Merlin bought him for Christmas - the rich blue one.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, clutching on to the frame of the door as he pokes his head out further to look up and down the corridor. Merlin stands there unsure, shuffling from foot to foot; he didn’t think it was that late; the time on his phone indicated it was barely ten o’clock.

“Sorry if you were sleeping, I was-“

“No, no.” Arthur cuts him off, hand raised to reach out towards Merlin’s wrist; but he allows it to drop before they even touch. “I was just revising.”

The news takes Merlin by surprise, an eyebrow rising of its own accord.

“Stop looking like that, you cheeky shit.” Arthur smiles, wide like he always has, gleaming with crooked teeth. The sight of it fills Merlin’s chest with warmth. He hasn’t seen that smile in so long… too long. The side of his lips tug upwards too. He looks down at the ridge of his red Converses. They’re caked with dark crusts of mud which he pokes at lightly with the cuff of his toe. “I don’t know why I’m here.” He speaks softly, voice carrying just enough to reach Arthur’s ears. He looks up at the blonde through his lashes.

“Wasn’t that my line last year?” Arthur chuckles gently, propping his side up against the jam of the door, the elastic waistband of his jogging-pants dipping just below the jut of his hip. Merlin’s eyes are drawn to it for a beat, can see the slightly sun-kissed skin damp with sweat; he quickly averts his gaze upwards.

“Well, it seems quite appropriate seeing as it concerns daddy issues.” Merlin replies dryly, hands shoved deep in the pouch of his hoodie. “Look, I should go. I really don’t know why-“

“Stay.” Arthur says. This time his fingers don’t hesitate in gripping Merlin’s bicep, the pad of his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the grey cotton. The harsh pants of their breath fill the space between them, the night turning cool in the cloudless sky.

“Is Uther in?” Merlin asks, tongue slipping out to run across his dry lips - Arthur watches the action attentively.

“He left half an hour ago, probably won’t be back all night… You want to come in?” he kicks the door wide, still gripping Merlin tightly with one arm. Merlin takes a step towards his friend, then another, until there’s barely a few inches between them. He watches as the deep exhales of his breath rush across Arthur’s face; tickle the tip of his fringe, flutter against his lashes until they flicker close. He stays there for a moment; feels the radiant heat that thrums through Arthur warming his own skin. He takes another sigh and sidesteps into the apartment, Arthur’s hand trailing down the length of his arm.

He moves into the living room, the soft pull of a smirk tugs at his lips as he takes in the spread of textbooks littered across the coffee table, reams of notes in multicoloured highlighters. The door clicks closed as Arthur comes to stand beside him, his bare toes curling in the carpet.

“So do you want to talk about it?”

“Really, really not.” Merlin shakes his head; his hands hang by his side, the cuff of his hoodie brushing against his knuckles. Arthur mirrors him, the ends of his jumper frayed; dark coils of thread dangle loosely. Tentatively, Merlin reaches between them, the tip of his middle finger running gently over the inside of Arthur’s wrist. The beat of his heart quickens against his rib cage. He can hear the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest as dry puffs of air escape from the round pout of his lips. Arthur turns to face him, the action bringing Merlin’s hand to brush across his palm, the blunt of his fingernails teasing.

“Merlin?” asks Arthur delicately.

Merlin threads his fingers fully through Arthur’s hand, tips snugly fitting between each crevice; his thumb rubbing back and forth atop of their closed palms. “I really - really don’t want to think right now. I’m so damn tired and I just… I missed you… I needed you.”

Arthur pulls on their joined hands, forcing Merlin to tumble into him rather clumsily, his other hand coming up to plaster against a hot rigid chest. He feels Arthur’s free hand snake around his waist, palm spreading wide across the dip in his spine, fingers dancing across the ridge of his jeans. It’s so warm, being in Arthur’s arms again, feeling the steadiness of his breath against his neck, the overwhelming sense of security in his hold. Merlin can’t help the choked sob that catches in the back of his throat as Arthur just pulls them tighter together, places an open mouthed kiss in the space where neck meets shoulder. They stay like that for a while, hands still entwined, until Arthur leads them to his bedroom, locking the door firmly behind him. They sprawl on the bed; Merlin curled in on himself until Arthur’s soft caresses and tender words unfurl him, until their bodies are pressed so closely together no air passes between them, just the shallow dips of their breathing as they drift into a dreamless slumber.



Cracks of sunlight peel through the shuttered blind, streams piercing through the hazy morning directly into Merlin’s eyes. He grunts, attempting to burrow further into the shadows away from the blasted sunny morning determined to wake him up. Instead, however he finds himself pressing further against warm skin. Warm naked skin. His eyes pan down. The curl of soft blonde dusty hair is unmistakeable; Merlin raises a finger to run through the sprinkling of light hair before tentatively brushing it around the sharp nub of a pink puckered nipple.

“You do know I’m awake, don’t you?” Arthur sounds above him, amusement in his tone as he watches through heavy lidded eyes. One arm behind his head, the other wrapped loosely over Merlin’s waist.

“Well, I do now,” says Merlin, trying to hide the cheeky pull of a smile by sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Thanks for last night.” He whispers against Arthur’s skin, nose buried deep between the lines of his pecs. A beat later, he shoots up, back straight, wide eyes scanning the room. “Shit I… I stayed here last night.”

Arthur’s eyes drop, head hung low as he pulls the tail of the sheets further up his body. “Is that a problem?” He asks; an edge to his tone.

“My mum! I didn’t come home last night and my mum is going to freak the fuck out!”

Arthur’s chest lightens, and he squeezes Merlin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I called her.”

“You…” Merlin stammers, swinging his gaze down. “You called her?”

“Last night after you fell asleep; I guessed she didn’t know you were here, so I called her off your phone. I didn’t tell her anything, just that you were tired and crashed… You can check if you-“

“No, no… It’s-it’s okay,” says Merlin, a grin plastered on his face as he sinks back down into the mattress, slotting himself against Arthur’s chest once more. “Thanks again, I guess.”

“Of course, you looked… lost. I hate seeing you look like that,” says Arthur softly, temple resting against the top of Merlin’s head.

“Mmm.”

“You said you needed me.”

“I did.” Merlin replied, hand continuing to map its way across Arthur’s chest.

“Did or do?”

“Did - do what?”

“Did you need me, like was… Was last night just a one time comfort thing or-or do you need me?”

Merlin’s fingers stop their pattern, the hitch of his breath presses damp against skin. “I need you… God help me, but I think I need you.”

Arthur cups the jut of Merlin’s chin between thumb and finger, tilts his face up, their eyes meeting as Arthur lowers his head to press his lips against Merlin’s lightly. The touch is soft at first; mouths unsure after so long. Until eventually Merlin sucks Arthur’s bottom lip between his own and the resulting moan turns everything hotter. God, he’s missed this, Arthur against him, beneath him, flushed so fully that every arch of their bodies brings them even closer. The kiss turns deeper, messier, tongues lapping fiercely, fighting for dominance as their touches remain tender, fragile. Merlin pulls back first, nose brushing along the ridge of Arthur’s, red-raw mouths wide and panting. Arthur’s hand trails behind Merlin’s ear to cup the back of his neck, fingers twining in the short coarse hair at his nape. “So are you going to tell me what got you in such a state last night?” he asks, words forming against Merlin’s lips.

Merlin lies still, offering only slight whimpers when Arthur’s blunt nails scratch knowingly at the back of his head. He keeps quiet until Arthur winds his fingers around a few strands and tugs purposefully. “Prat.” He hisses, pressing a closed mouth kiss against the side of Arthur’s jaw, teeth nipping lightly. “I met my father yesterday.”

The hand in his hair stills. Fingers come to run down his spine, stopping at the base. “Your-your father?”

“Don’t worry; I haven’t checked into the loony bin. My mum… she lied, kept it from me; she thought… You know, this is a really long story-“

Arthur curls his leg across Merlin’s shin, soothingly rubs the dip of his back. “I have time.”

So Merlin tells him everything; Hunith’s heart attack, her illness, the lies, the drugs, the meet-up in the café; everything. Afterwards, Arthur kisses him soundly, palms cupped around his cheekbones as Merlin pushes all the hurt, all the pain and all the love into it. Arthur then shares with him his own tales. Of how tough Uther can be, the tightness that had clutched at his heart as he’d sold his mother’s ring and how he’d eventually left Myror’s clutches. They talk until dusk comes around again and at the end, Merlin doesn’t feel quite so alone anymore.



“A toast! To the end of an era!”

“Thank fuck - it was a bloody long era!”

Gwaine smacks Leon upside the head with his spare hand, the other still holding his can of Carling aloft, as the others laugh around them.

“Get on with it, mate; my arm is killing.” Elyan cries, matching can of beer also held high as they crowd around in a circle atop of the science building - probably for the last time all together.

“What I was saying until this wanker interrupted me… was that we made it, lads. Exams are over, we are now of legal age,” he winks, “and we’re going into the big bad world of work… or Uni for our own fucking Ally McBeal over there.” The group cheers as Percy grabs Lance into a headlock, the flush on his cheeks darkening with each pat on the back. “Well, anyway, boys - we made it… The Hackney boys done good!”

The rings of ‘Oi, Oi!’ and ‘Hear hears!’ clatter together under the early July sun. The school virtually deserted apart from some students coming and going from exams. They bring their cans together, spills of lager slopping over their hands, sticky. Merlin feels lighter than he has in days, having just finished his last physics exam two hours ago. The knowledge that he is no longer a student is scary yet thrilling in equal measure. The past month has been challenging to say the least; Hunith has her good days, where she demands to go back to work - ’at least for a couple of hours’ - but all too soon they are hit with the bad, rendering her too weak to get out of bed. Those days were the hardest, when Merlin feels so utterly useless that he can’t do anything for her, can’t help. At night, he prays, begs for answers - ‘Just tell me what I can do to make her better’ - but no answers come. The past three weeks have also been a period of catching up for Merlin. He sees his dad at least twice a week; he’s even met his wife Helen once, when he was invited for dinner - who really is too sweet to be real. She reminds him of his mother and a sad sense of loss stabs through his gut at the thought that this could have been their life if things were different… if Balinor was different. Then of course there’s Arthur - Arthur who’s standing across from him, jovially slinging an arm around Leon’s shoulder and breaking into some bizarre jig.

“Still can’t take your eyes off him, I see.”

Merlin turns to find Gwaine beside him, an all-knowing shit-eating-grin on his face.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Merlin flatly.

“Of course not, princess.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at the nickname, and when Gwaine drops his wrist in an overly camp gesture, bucks his hip whilst pushing his lips into a ridiculous pout, they both bark out a laugh that shakes through their bodies, leaving tears in their eyes.

“Thanks for snagging the booze though, mate. Didn’t have Gaius chase you down the street again did ya?”

“He didn’t have to; I bought them.” Merlin says, taking a tentative sip as he watches Gwaine’s eyes widen over the rim of his lager.

“Is that so?” Gwaine smiles, head tilted. “Our boy wizard has come good.”

“Figured it was time to grow up a little… Also, if you can give up crack, I can certainly stop nabbing a couple of cans every now and then.”

Gwaine gives him a hearty thump on the back, palm wide. “Look at us, my friend; we’re maturing.”

“Ding dong, lads; girls are having a water fight below!” Percy hollers, and really, it’s no great surprise that Gwaine’s new found ‘maturity’ lasts all of ten seconds as he nearly careens over the side in his haste to get to the ledge. Merlin shakes his head as he sidles down further along, away from the catcalls and Elyan’s long whistles to dangle his feet over the ledge.

“Bet you couldn’t wait for this year to be over.”

Merlin squints up into the sun, hand rose to shelter his eyes as he watches Lance swing a can of lager loosely between thumb and finger, brown hair flopping over one eye.

“Longest school year ever.” Merlin agrees, taking a swig from his own can, as Lance drops down beside him, legs hanging over the ridge. Merlin shoots him a curious look, eyebrows raised at his friend’s nonchalance.

Lance grins back. “Figured I have a hell of a lot more to be scared over than heights.” Merlin chuckles as Lance leans forward to peer down at the drop. “Then again, that is pretty high.” He shuffles back a bit, folding his legs under himself.

Leaning back on an elbow, Merlin cast his eyes up. “So, Manchester then?” He asks, hoping he manages to cover the quiver that shakes his voice. Their little group is breaking up, and while at first he may have felt that they were more ‘Arthur’s’ friends who only tolerated him, the past few years have seen them grow tighter, a band of brothers. Like Merlin, Lance is a quiet soul and they’d hit it off immediately. The knowledge that his calming presence is going to be 160 odd-miles away come next month is a hard pill to swallow.

“Yup, just sorted out hall accommodation yesterday.”

“Jesus, mate, you actually did it.”

“I know.” Lance lets out a deep sigh, running a fingertip around the rim of his can. “I can hardly believe it myself some days… you know you can do it too, don’t you? You’re predicted all A’s, Merlin.”

He shrugs. Merlin can’t lie, he’d thought about it. It could be his ticket out of here, just like Lance. Blag all the government funding he could get and get as far away as possible. Sheffield, Liverpool… Newcastle even; he knows he could probably qualify for a scholarship if he put his name down, but how could he leave his mum, now when she needs him the most? They got in an argument about it the other day: Hunith demanding he doesn’t ruin his education for her, to make a better life for himself. He pushed back; stormed out to seek solace in Arthur’s arms, lips, tongue, before returning bashful and apologetic to hug his mother tightly as they fell asleep to the sound of the ten o’clock news. Merlin looks at Lance again, sighing longingly as he shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not for me, mate… though you know who else is going to Manchester Uni.”

“Shut up.”

Merlin chuckles behind his can. “I’m just saying, away from London, away from Els, who knows what’ll happen. Maybe you and Gwen can finally give it a shot.”

“Maybe… And you with Arthur?” asks Lance, always so fucking coy and calm. Merlin nearly splutters back into his lager - if Gwaine has opened his big fucking mouth, he’s going to have words.

“We’re friends again.” He says simply.

“I’m glad… but that wasn’t what I meant,” says Lance, eyes sliding across to Arthur who’s standing a bit back from the horny teenaged ogling; he looks back to Merlin with his lips curled up slightly.

“Christ, does everyone know?”

Lance pats him on the thigh, lips pulled tight in a grimace. “I think the others are a bit slow on the uptake but… mate, you know what you’re letting yourself in for, don’t you? If you two… are outed or whatever, it’s going to be dangerous.”

Merlin bites the corner of his lip anxiously; he knows what the risks are, has heard them enough from Gwaine who has taken to reminding him near enough every day since Arthur and Merlin rekindled their… thing. “Don’t worry; I don’t see that happening any time soon.”

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Arthur asks cheerfully, coming to plonk himself down in the minuscule space between them, dislodging Lance’s hand from Merlin’s thigh in the most blatant act of jealousy-induced possessiveness. Lance however, simply chuckles, nodding as he leads into discussing university plans and Arthur’s new apprenticeship with an electronics company. Merlin simply elbows Arthur in the ribs as he catches Elyan and Percy’s bemused eye. At this rate, everyone will frickin’ know.



The rest of July passes in a haze of blistering heat and cloudless sunny days, the mugginess of London in the summer bogging them down. The majority of Merlin’s time is occupied by his new job, newly appointed barista at the local Starbucks in town. The first few days have been expectedly disastrous - resulting in a couple (more like six) broken mugs. However, by the end of the week, he and the coffee machine managed to call a truce. The hours are one of the main reasons he took the job; working from 6am till two in the afternoon means most mornings were spent with him grouchily stumbling around half-asleep, but also getting back early enough to spend time with his mum - as well as the occasional trips out with Balinor he has planned.

Merlin actually allows his mother out of the house now and again to enjoy the rare British sunshine. He holds her hand carefully as they take a wander around London Fields, stopping every now and then at one of the wooden park benches for a rest and a bite to eat. The one-off dinner with Balinor and Helen has progressed to a twice weekly event; each visit seeing Helen’s baby-bump grow slightly larger. When his father tells him he’s due to become a half-brother to a little baby sister the tears flow quickly between the three of them. Arthur is a constant too. Most evenings he comes straight over after his apprenticeship is done for the day, sits watching ‘Come Dine With Me’ with Hunith while Merlin cooks them all supper. He’s even once tagged along for dinner at Balinor’s, introduced solely as the ‘best friend.’ Regardless of the suspiciously curious, knowing looks passed between his dad and wife, the evening was an overwhelming success. Arthur and Balinor discussed cars for most of the night while Helen and Merlin washed up to the sound of ‘A lack of Colour’ streaming through the stereo speakers.

“I just love Death Cab for Cutie, don’t you?” she cooed, swaying her hips as she hummed along, dipping her hands into the soapy sink. Merlin laughed and agreed; the song played out with them both singing along; a sad smile took over his face as a rush of guilt flooded his stomach. People aren’t meant to like their step-mothers, are they? The woman who has replaced his own mum’s affections in his father’s heart… That isn’t entirely the case here, but still, Helen has the ideal family set up while Hunith lay ill in bed in a downtrodden flat - it isn’t fair. The rest of the night passed with a quiet sombre feeling sat in his chest until Arthur suggested they head off early, leaving Merlin wondering when Arthur had become able to read him so well.

Things grew to some form of normalcy; even Gwaine’s maturing seems to last longer than ten seconds, though Merlin has a feeling that has more to do with his sponsor Elena than anything else. Which is why, when he gets out of work on the last Saturday of July to find five missed calls and two voicemails from Arthur, the sinking feeling that has been absent for so long returns to the pit of his stomach. Untying the apron from around his waist, he slams his locker shut hastily, half-heartedly waving to his colleagues as he steps out in the late afternoon sun. Walking down the high street, he taps at his phone with shaking fingers, clicking to listen to the first message;

’Hi, Merlin, it’s me… Look, can you give me a call when you get this? Cheers.’

He quickly moves on to the next.

’Hey, I really don’t want to do this over the phone; call me please as soon as you get this… Call me.’

Merlin has to stop to lean against a shop window as all the worst case scenarios plough through his head; after the third attempt, he manages to scroll down to Arthur’s name and hit dial. The rushed urgency of Arthur’s breathing as he picks up after just the second ring doesn’t help either.

“Merlin, thank God.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” asks Merlin, palm pressed hot and damp against the glass behind his back.

“It’s your mum…” says Arthur. “You need to get down here.”



Part 6