WARNING: HITCHHIKERS MAY BE ESCAPING INMATES - PART 2
TITLE: Warning: Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Inmates
AUTHOR: thecheekydragon
GENRE: Modern AU
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Should probably warn that there are copious amounts of Canadian references and Canadian-isms. Please note that no offence is intended toward those who suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Also note that the author does not condone hitchhiking.
WORD COUNT: ~11,000
SUMMARY: In which Merlin hitches a ride and Arthur is a tad OCD.
NOTES 1: Written for Grand Tournament at merlin_games for Photo Prompt 96. Thanks to the Scarf-Wearing Alpaca for the beta!
PART 1
Just north of Landry Crossing on Highway 17, about three hours away from their destination, inexplicably the engine light comes on.
“It’s probably nothing,” Merlin says offhandedly, trying to dispel Arthur’s concern. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“It must be something, Merlin,” Arthur replies, frowning at the lighted symbol on the dash. “Or it wouldn’t be on.”
Merlin only shrugs at this and Arthur contemplates whether he should exit the highway as soon as possible or wait until the next major exit and take the ramp. He decides that the problem could be ‘major’ and pulls off the highway at the next makeshift rest stop, a half moon dirt and gravel path through a cover of trees carved out by vehicles making impromptu stops. He’ll park and then call roadside assistance. He realizes this will put them slightly off-schedule for arriving at the cottage, but safety dictates that this is the best course of action.
“Pop the hood, eh, and I’ll have a look,” Merlin says, already getting out of the vehicle, Mordred following behind. “Could just be a faulty fuse or a loose cap or something.”
Arthur stammers but pulls the hood release anyway. He gets out of the car also, scrolling through his iPhone for the number for roadside assistance. He hopes the problem can be fixed quickly so they can get back on the road as soon as possible.
Merlin is slouched under the hood, peering intently at the engine. Mordred is pressed close beside him, the young apprentice observing the master. Arthur promptly dials roadside assistance, hoping to connect with an expert before the budding biochemist and his sidekick fiddle with something they shouldn’t.
No service. How can there be no service? he wonders. His provider was a leader in mobile phone service.
“I think I see the problem,” Merlin announces and Arthur frantically taps out the numbers again.
No connection. Still no service. He feels an attack of anxiety coming on.
Arthur paces, contemplating the likely consequences of Merlin fixing “the problem” he purportedly sees, as he alternately redials. He breaks out in a sweat on his fifth unsuccessful attempt to connect with roadside assistance. His anxiety jumps up a notch as Merlin announces the problem “solved” and pushes the hood of the car down in satisfaction. Understandably, then, Arthur is caught completely off-guard when a great mass of unkempt fur leaps at him, knocking Arthur to the ground and sending his iPhone sailing.
What the hell? Arthur thinks, trying to catch up to his current predicament. He notes with alarm the massive paws and torso of a mangy wolf - quite possibly rabid - that are pressing down on his chest. The beast looks to bear its fangs before slathering a disgusting tongue over Arthur’s horrified face.
“Aack!” he yells out in distress. “Get this thing off me!”
The beast gets a few more licks in before Merlin is able to wrestle it off him. He helps a shaken Arthur to his feet.
Arthur glances warily at the beast, which seems now to have set its sights on little Mordred. “Careful, Mordy,” he cautions. “That wolf might be rabid.”
Merlin makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. “It’s not a wolf, Arthur,” he says. “It’s just a dog. Some kind of husky mix looks like.”
“But it has fangs!” Arthur argues, looking down and assessing the damage done to his favourite Lands' End Oxford. Mud streaks are distressingly visible everywhere he looks.
Merlin laughs. “Of course he has fangs,” he retorts. “So do you. In dental vernacular they’re called incisors.” As though suddenly becoming aware that Arthur is clearly distressed, Merlin asks concernedly, “Are you okay?”
Arthur says nothing for a beat, wondering why Merlin needs to ask such a ridiculous question when it is damn crystal clear he is not okay. Then he utters crisply through gritted teeth, “No, Merlin, I am not okay. I was just accosted by a filthy mutt you claim is a dog but has all the features of a member of the lupine family, including but not limited to, fanged incisors intended for carnivorous feasting.” He draws a deep breath. “And in case you haven’t noticed, my shirt is ruined and I have wolf-dog slobber all over my face. I would kindly ask that you fetch a bag in the event I may need to throw up.”
Merlin is looking at him with all due seriousness now and Arthur wonders if it was the mention of possible vomiting that did the trick. He soon finds Merlin directing him to the back of the BMW, where he pops the hatch and tells Arthur to “sit here for a minute”. Arthur does so while Merlin goes to the front seat, pokes around, and returns with the little bottle of Orchard Leaves- number four in his line up of sanitizers.
He tells Arthur to unbutton his shirt as he roots around in his own duffle bag, coming up with a well-worn but clean t-shirt. Merlin squeezes some of the gel onto the cotton jersey material and then uses it as a cloth to wipe Arthur’s face clean of the traces of mud and slobber. He applies some sanitizer to Arthur’s neck and collarbone, trailing the cloth briefly over Arthur’s chest.
“That should do it until you can have a proper shower,” he says, his blue eyes sparkling as he smiles. Arthur feels something in his chest (and maybe a little further down) swell. “Now let’s get you out of this soiled shirt and into a clean one.”
He helps Arthur shrug out of the dog-battered shirt then hands him the bottle of sanitizer. Merlin folds the shirt and places it among his own belongings to “avoid contamination of Arthur’s clean items”. Arthur goes about thoroughly cleaning his wrists, hands and nail beds with the sanitizer while Merlin very carefully picks through Arthur’s luggage for a clean replacement shirt.
“Tell me you didn’t iron this,” Merlin says, holding up a meticulously folded, exquisitely laundered, and painstakingly pressed long-sleeved heavy cotton shirt in a rich hue of navy blue.
“Okay, I won’t,” Arthur returns, starting to feel more relaxed now that he is covered almost head to toe in germ-fighting scented ethanol. He takes the shirt from Merlin, shakes it out then pulls it over his head, grateful that the blush that creeps up in response to Merlin catching an eyeful of his bare chest is momentarily hidden.
“Oh, and the engine light should be off now,” Merlin says as he leaves Arthur to the task of tucking his shirt into his jeans and makes his way to climb into the passenger seat. “Just a loose cap, like I said.”
Arthur has his doubts but he is too overwhelmed at this point to care. He reaches into his luggage and carefully restacks the items of clothing so that the piles are relatively equal in height, zips the bag closed, and secures the hatch. He goes to the driver’s side, pulls open the door handle with a handkerchief-covered hand and settles into the seat, determined not to let this little setback affect his mood. After all, he is supposed to be on vacation.
A panting sound close to his ear catches his attention. Arthur turns in his seat and finds the wolf-dog hovering over the console from the backseat.
“Oh, hell no!” he objects loudly.
Arthur glances in the mirror to see Morgana’s offspring cross his arms stubbornly against his chest and glare at him.
“Now Mordred,” Merlin attempts to intervene. “You know Uncle Arthur likes everything neat and tidy. And I’m just not sure Gus fits into that vision--”
“Gus?” Arthur asks crankily.
Merlin nods toward the wolf-dog who continues to pant and slobber all over Arthur’s immaculately clean upholstery. “Gus is the name Mordy gave him. You know, like the dog in Iron Will.”
Arthur doesn’t know and, besides, his last nerve is beginning to fray. “Oh, really. And when did he decide that? Before or after I was attacked by the mangy beast?”
Merlin narrows his eyes, looking positively insulted by Arthur’s remarks. “Gus did not attack you! He just wanted to get to know you! He’s obviously been abandoned and he’s lonely.”
Arthur presses a hand to his forehead and slowly counts back from twenty. Then, he quietly exits the vehicle, leaving his nephew, his tag-along companion, and Gus to sulk.
He walks a few paces and goes through some mental relaxation exercises to relieve some of his pent-up frustration, making a note to book more time with his therapist upon his return from vacation.
Relaxing soles of the feet...toes...ankles...joints...Legs from ankle joints to knee joints...knee joints to thigh joints...Relaxing pelvis...abdomen...mid-section...and chest.
By the time he gets to relaxing his gums, teeth, tongue, hard and soft palate, and throat, he is ready to get back in the car.
Merlin slides him a cautious look as Arthur settles once more into the driver’s seat. Arthur goes through the ritual of buckling himself in, telling Mordred to “secure the beast” and to “make sure he doesn’t slobber all over my car”. To his surprise, “Gus” obediently parks himself on the backseat, allowing Mordred to actually pull and secure the seatbelt around his canine body.
Arthur thinks he sees Merlin give a surreptitious grin but is too busy checking his mirrors and manoeuvring the vehicle forward to be certain.
An unmistakable crunching sound causes Arthur to stop. He closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “That was my iPhone, wasn’t it?” he says with knowing dread.
Merlin opens the passenger door and peers out. “Think so,” he concurs then unbuckles himself and gets out to check. He returns with Arthur’s phone in hand, his face cringing with sympathy. The phone’s backing is scratched and scuffed and the screen is cracked, shattered toward the outside edges. Merlin tentatively touches a long finger to the screen.
“Hey, look at that,” he remarks. “It still works!” He gifts Arthur with a mirthful grin, his eyebrows shooting upward, impressed.
Arthur gives a laugh that is borderline hysterics. Whatever hell he has entered, at least he’s got a working iPhone. Though getting service in this godforsaken neck of the woods may pose a problem.
He starts the engine and finds, true to Merlin’s words, that the engine light no longer comes on. Arthur takes this as a sign that things are looking up, and guides the vehicle forward, once more on route to their destination. And if he’s acquired an extra passenger, one that is furry and disgustingly dirty, well, that’s one more to keep Mordred entertained.
**
Arthur pulls off to fill up with gas when they reach the Deep River exit. Since he’s already had the opportunity to tango with a husky, he figures he can forgo his scheduled roll-the-shoulders-and-stretch-the-legs break and just do some deep breathing and mental relaxation exercises while the attendant pumps the gas.
“I could really go for a coffee right about now,” Merlin hints when the tank is full and Arthur pulls out from the gas station.
Rule Number Two: Never stop to get food or drink while on the road. Not only does this contribute to the successful adherence to Rule Number One (Never use a public restroom), but it eliminates any chance of unnecessary germ exposure.
But Merlin is giving him the most adorable smile and his eyes are really very blue (and never mind those eyelashes) so Arthur finds himself steering the BMW into the drive-thru of a nearby Tim Hortons coffee shop.
“Extra large triple triple for me,” Merlin tells him and Arthur can’t help but grimace as he makes a mental note of the sugar and cream content in Merlin’s order, amounting to a whopping four hundred and twenty calories and forty-six percent fat. “What?” Merlin questions, frowning, and Arthur shakes his head.
“Medium ice cap for me,” calls Mordy over Arthur’s shoulder. “And Gus wants a ten pack of timbits.”
Gus pants his agreement.
Arthur relays the order into the speaker box, waits for confirmation then pulls ahead.
Merlin is holding two five dollar bills ready to hand over to Arthur.
Arthur stops the car at the pick-up window and shifts it into park. He lifts the lid of the armrest caddy and pulls out the latex glove he has stashed in a side compartment next to the neat row of sanitizers. He slips the glove barrier over his left hand then holds it out to accept the bills from Merlin, determinedly ignoring the look his passenger is giving him.
The drive-thru attendant is waiting patiently as Arthur turns and hands her the money. Her eyebrows flick upward briefly but she promptly makes change and places the returning coins into Arthur’s glove-protected hand. Arthur drops the money into Merlin’s palm then collects the order. One extra large triple triple for Merlin. One medium iced cappuccino for Mordred. And one box of timbits for Gus. He peels off the glove, places it back into the caddy, shifts the car into drive, and pulls ahead.
It takes Merlin a full five minutes after they are back onto the highway and several sips of his coffee before he ventures to ask, “What the hell was that?”
“Germs, Merlin,” Arthur replies, feeling as though he is stating the obvious. Arthur glances in the rear view mirror and gives a stern admonishment, “And Gus better not be getting bits all over the backseat.” He focuses his attention back to Merlin. “Money, especially paper money, is full of bacteria, viruses and spores,” he informs him. “If you’re looking to catch a bout of gastroenteritis, handling money unprotected is the way to do it.”
Merlin snorts. “Gosh, I hadn’t thought of HMU.”
“HMU?” Arthur is confused.
Merlin nods, his look deadpan. “Handling Money Unprotected.”
Mordred giggles and slurps his iced beverage loudly.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Scoff if you will, Merlin,” he says, shifting his gaze briefly to the take out coffee cup Merlin is cradling piously in his hand. “But the same person who collected your money- HMU I may add - also made and fixed the lid onto your coffee. Do you know how much bacteria can be transmitted in that little transaction?”
Merlin frowns. “No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me,” he says sulkily.
He continues to sip his coffee as Arthur regales him over the next thirty-six kilometres with reports of research in the field of environmental microbiology concerning the bacterial contamination of common public and household items.
To his credit, Merlin remains silent and listens solemnly. And to Arthur’s surprise, Merlin drinks back every last drop of his triple triple.
**
It is forty-seven minutes later than Arthur has estimated when they finally pull up to his family’s cottage.
Merlin lets out an appreciative whistle. “Wow. When you said cottage, this was not what I was expecting.”
Arthur supposes the term “cottage” is a little understated given the square footage and the comfort features of his family’s house on the lake.
Mordred and Gus tumble out of the backseat as Arthur and Merlin alight from the front. Gus immediately dashes into the trees to relieve his canine bladder, while the three unload and carry their bags into the cottage.
“The dog needs to get cleaned,” Arthur pointedly directs at Mordred, “and I need to shower.” He can still feel a layer of dog-slobber on his skin.
He tells Merlin and Mordred to carry their bags up to the loft while he carries his own to the master suite. His father is not due to arrive until Wednesday and it had been planned that Arthur would take the master bedroom these first couple of nights then move up to the loft with Mordy once his father arrived. With Merlin here now, the arrangement would have to be slightly altered.
Arthur takes a long, hot shower in the en suite bath, redresses in clean jeans and shirt then carefully unpacks and painstakingly hangs his clothes in the closet or folds them neatly into dresser drawers. This takes the better part of thirty minutes. He hears the faint hum of what sounds like a hairdryer through the walls and idly wonders if Merlin or Mordred had decided there was need for a shower too.
He emerges from the master suite feeling refreshed if not totally relaxed and is met by Merlin and Mordred, both looking flushed and wet, coming around to the living room area with a freshly washed and fluffed Gus in tow, a triangle of red fabric (was that a dishtowel?) hanging from his neck.
Arthur lifts his eyebrows.
“You said he had to get cleaned,” Mordred says in answer. “So Merlin helped me spray him down in the shower.” Merlin gives a sly smile. “We used shampoo and then dried his fur some.” He gestures toward the dog as if presenting him as a show piece. Merlin’s smile grows wider.
At least Arthur can admit (to himself, of course) that Gus looks rather fashionable with his dishtowel bandana, or whatever it’s supposed to be.
They go into the town of Crystal Falls to buy groceries for the week, leaving Gus to “guard” the car in the parking lot (no, Mordy, we can’t pretend he’s a seeing-eye dog and bring him into the store with us). When they return to the cottage, Arthur makes them dinner (Gus gets a bowl of the premium dog food Arthur was coerced into buying) and then they relax on the sofa and armchairs in the living room for the evening, content to gaze at the moonlit surface of the lake through the floor to peaked ceiling window.
When Arthur finally retires to bed, Merlin and Mordred and Gus tucked away in the loft above him, he finds he is relaxed enough to fall asleep quickly and soundly.
And if some time during the night when he rolls over and he becomes vaguely aware of a warm furry body stretched out beside him, emitting low rumbling snoring dog noises, it is not enough to rouse him from his peaceful slumber.
**
“Granddad can’t make it,” Arthur tells Mordred at breakfast. “Unfortunately, he’s been delayed on business.” His father had rung the cottage early that morning to give Arthur the news.
Mordred’s face scrunches up with disappointment. “Who’s going to take me fishing now?” he complains.
“I can take you,” Merlin offers and Arthur tosses Merlin a dubious look. Even Gus groans his doubt.
Arthur watches Merlin and Mordred struggle with getting the fishing rods out of the shed down by the dock for all of five minutes before giving in and deciding to join them. He pulls on his navy Land’s End sweater and a windbreaker and heads outside into the cool autumn air. He skirts around the two at the shed, collects two fishing rods and the box of tackle, and motions for Merlin and Mordred to follow him to the docked canoe. His father had arranged to have a trusted local clean and set things up before their arrival so Arthur knows everything is ready for them.
He helps Mordred into the boat and encourages Merlin to get in as well, handing off the fishing equipment. Gus refuses to be left behind and whines pathetically until Arthur gives the dog permission to jump in too.
Arthur insists that everyone wear a lifejacket (except Gus but only because there is none that will fit him) and helps Mordy pull on and fasten his. Then he tugs on Merlin’s to make sure the jacket is secure. Drowning will not be an option today.
It turns out that Merlin knows nothing about fishing. So Arthur demonstrates to both Mordy and Merlin how to bait a hook with tackle (taking extra care to explain the importance of avoiding getting hooked) and to cast (again with corresponding safety precautions). He also explains (especially to Mordy) that fishing requires great patience - waiting for a bite can sometimes seem like an eternity. Learning techniques to make the time pass while keeping yourself aware so you’ll feel a subtle bite, take both patience and practice.
So Mordy and Merlin wait. As time passes, Arthur notices Merlin shivering, his hoodie and the lifejacket poor defences against the cool air. His hood is already pulled up around his head but his lean frame appears unable to retain any warmth.
Arthur removes his lifejacket and pulls off his windbreaker, gesturing to Mordred (who is bundled in layers and cosily warm) to trade places with Merlin so that Arthur can slip the yellow windbreaker over Merlin. He replaces and refastens his lifejacket, feeling plenty warm in his sweater.
Merlin murmurs a thank you and settles in to wait for any signs of a bite. He only has to wait another eight minutes before there’s a tug on his line indicating that a fish has taken bait.
“What do I do?” Merlin asks excitedly.
“Give the rod a short, quick jerk up, then start reeling in,” Arthur instructs, miming the actions with his hands to encourage him.
Merlin does as he’s told but things go awry in a matter of minutes. First, Merlin jerks the rod too strongly and somehow ends up knocking the butt of the rod into Arthur’s face. He’s immediately apologetic and he starts flailing, his elbows jabbing haphazardly into Arthur’s chest and abdomen. Caught unaware and trying to protect himself from the flailing, Arthur shuffles back, losing his balance, and against the very laws of human motion, Arthur finds himself knocked over the side of the boat and into the cold water of the lake.
The lifejacket keeps him buoyant. But it’s not fear of drowning or even the frigid water that most disturbs him. Arthur tries very hard not to think of the teams of marine bacteria potentially seeping through and clinging to his clothing.
With Merlin and Mordred’s help, he hauls himself out of the water and back into the canoe. In the process, he somehow catches a splinter on the underside of his right wrist and curses.
Merlin and Mordred stare at him, wide-eyed and frozen as he lay in the boat - wet, cold and contaminated.
“Hate fishing,” Arthur grumbles through chattering teeth. Gus barks out sympathy then weaves around Merlin to nuzzle against Arthur.
Suddenly, Merlin and Mordred are spurred into action and they begin paddling furiously. They lack rhythm and are hopelessly uncoordinated but, by the grace of God or some celestial being, they make it back to the cottage dock.
Fishing for the day is officially over.
**
Arthur takes a long, hot shower, scrubbing his body head to toe to eliminate any marine bacteria that could possibly cause a skin infection. Afterward, with some resistance and grumbling, he lets Merlin look at his wrist and allows him to take tweezers to carefully remove the splinter then coat the ‘wound’ with antibiotic cream. Merlin’s touch is gentle, soft, and caring and Arthur thinks he could get used to this. He shoves the thought aside. At any rate, Merlin makes a far better nurse than a fisherman.
Mordy and Merlin are somehow able to coax Arthur into having a camp fire in the evening after dinner and Arthur supposes this is only because he is still feeling the after effects of trauma from the fishing outing. As a rule, he doesn’t particularly like camp fires (there are serious hygienic issues) and the idea of cooking wieners or roasting marshmallows over an open fire makes him just shy of physically ill.
“What?” Merlin says, opening the bag of marshmallows with glee and tossing a few over to Mordy. “How can anyone not like roasted marshmallows?”
“It’s a sugar and corn syrup confection,” Arthur says pointedly. “On a stick. That you picked up in the woods.” Arthur jerks his thumb to the woods beyond for emphasis.
Merlin grins at him, poking a marshmallow onto the end of a twig stick. Then his face turns serious, as though indicating marshmallow roasting is an activity that requires concentration and skill. Arthur tries not to roll his eyes.
Arthur watches Mordy ‘teach’ Gus to sit and ‘shake a paw’, rewarding him with unroasted marshmallows. “He’d better not puke those up later,” Arthur tells his nephew, frowning.
Gus barks a response that Arthur isn’t sure how to interpret.
Merlin takes advantage of Arthur being momentarily distracted and plucks the roasted confection from his stick and pops it into Arthur’s mouth.
“Merlin!” Arthur spats around the hot gooey mess.
Merlin grins. “It’s good, eh?” He spears another marshmallow onto his stick. “Here, I’ll roast you another.”
Arthur glares at him and manages to swallow the roasted marshmallow. And if doesn’t tell Merlin that maybe roasted marshmallows aren’t so bad after all, it’s because he doesn’t want Merlin to smirk in satisfaction.
**
Arthur takes Merlin and Mordred with Gus in tow on a hike in the woods, following the path that his father had taken both he and Morgana many times. It is familiar territory and Arthur finds that he enjoys playing guide, offering information about points of interest and dispensing appropriate safety tips.
They are on a path that runs parallel to a ravine leading down to the lake. Merlin is ahead of them, looking about, revelling in the wonder of nature. He looks like a child happily in awe and Arthur finds himself smiling at the thought. He likes when Merlin’s eyes light up and his mouth curves into a smile. Gus lets out a bark and Arthur turns his gaze toward the dog and Mordred. It seems Gus is trying to make friends with a chipmunk and Arthur doubts somehow that the relationship will take hold, if the chipmunk’s wary stance is anything to go by. When he turns his attention back to the path ahead, Merlin is gone.
What the hell?
Arthur jogs up to the spot where Merlin had just been.
“Merlin!” Arthur calls out and receives a response from a hard-to-gauge distance down the ravine. He directs an “Are you okay?” down toward the spot where Merlin’s voice comes.
“I’m okay,” Merlin calls up. “Ugh. Wait. No, I’m not.” A couple of beats go by. “Think I twisted my ankle.”
Oh, for the love of Gus.
Gus barks and Mordy makes to dash down the ravine but Arthur grabs the hood of his nephew’s jacket and yanks him back.
“Merlin needs help,” his nephew protests.
“Yes, but I will be the one to go down and help him,” Arthur says with reason. “You and Gus stay here and don’t move,” he instructs further. He doesn’t need the added complication of Mordy or Gus tumbling down the ravine along with Merlin.
Arthur works his way down the slope, holding on to tree branches for support and anchorage. When he reaches Merlin, he finds him sitting in a dip of the sloped earth (which probably stopped him from tumbling further but probably also contributed to the twisting of his ankle), leaves and twigs jutting out at various spots in his hair. Arthur admits Merlin would look adorable in any other circumstance.
“Sorry,” Merlin offers with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know how this happened. I was just trying to get a look at some purple flower and...” He rolls his hands in a tumbling gesture.
Arthur helps Merlin up, mindful of the gradient. “Can you put any pressure on it?” he asks, nodding toward the foot Merlin is favouring.
Merlin shifts weight onto his left foot and winces. He shakes his head and looks forlorn.
“Okay,” Arthur says. “I’m going to have to carry you up somehow.” He looks at Merlin and then up the slope. He had come down approximately twenty or twenty-five metres. Not a great distance but the slope definitely adds a factor that will make the climb back up with Merlin more arduous.
He positions himself lower on the slope than Merlin and tells him to climb on his back. Merlin makes a protest and Arthur tells him, “I can’t carry you any other way. So get on.”
Merlin does, awkwardly and with obvious reluctance. Given Merlin’s lean body, Arthur expects him to be lighter but Merlin apparently packs some weight on his scrawny frame. Still, Arthur is reasonably fit and athletic and if he thinks of Merlin as a heavily weighted backpack, he might be able to do this.
The climb up is slow and difficult. It doesn’t help that Merlin spends most of the climb intermittently apologizing for tumbling down the ravine and telling Arthur to watch for stray branches and tree roots underfoot.
They finally reach the top, where Mordy and Gus are waiting, and Arthur drops Merlin to the ground (he would say ‘gently’ but Merlin might say otherwise) to catch his breath. From the dirt and mud that are covering Merlin’s body, Arthur would guess that his Land’s End cable knit sweater in Oatmeal Heather is destined to suffer the same unsalvageable fate as his now lake-ruined navy sweater.
After giving himself a full five minutes to regain his stamina, Arthur invites Merlin to climb onto his back again and they make the trek back to the cottage. Arthur fully intends to take another long, hot shower after tending to Merlin’s ankle and to suggest Merlin do the same.
**
Merlin is ensconced in the armchair, his foot propped up on the ottoman, an ice pack resting against his swollen ankle. Arthur is happy to see that Merlin is obeying his orders to ‘stay put’ and to ‘elevate and ice’ his ankle. Mordy and Gus are outside playing a game of ‘fetch a stick’ and Arthur idly wonders if his nephew and the dog are taking turns at this but finds he doesn’t want to know the answer.
He sits on the edge of the ottoman and lifts the ice pack from Merlin’s ankle. The swelling has gone down some and purple bruises are starting to show.
“Look,” he says, his tone concerned. “I think it’s probably best if we cut this trip short.”
Merlin looks pained. “I don’t know. Mordy will be really disappointed,” he argues and Arthur wonders just when his non-hitchhiking passenger had become embedded into his life such that the potential disappointment of Arthur’s nephew caused Merlin concern.
“He’s eleven,” Arthur reasons. “He’ll have plenty of opportunities to do this again.”
He waits a couple of beats before saying, “Can I ask now, Merlin, where it is you are supposed to be heading?”
“About that...” Merlin says and Arthur gives him an encouraging nod to continue. He had been expecting this. “The truth is,” Merlin blurts out and doesn’t stop pouring out his story after this initial start. “I was evicted from my apartment because my roommate decided to fuck off and not pay his half of the rent and had caused quite a bit of damage to the apartment by throwing these wild parties. So I got thrown out on my ass along with him. I’m on scholarship at the university but I had a job to pay for rent. I was late to work a few times after I got evicted because, you know, I had trouble finding half-decent places to sleep at night - let me tell you Kingston Pen was looking good for a while - and I got fired. So now I have no place to live and no job. On top of this, my mom is very sick and she can’t help fund my education or living expenses. I was going to go home - which is Smith Falls, by the way- but I didn’t want to make her sicker out of worry for me.”
Merlin lets out a heavy sigh, probably relieved to have finally unburdened himself. “When you picked me up,” he confesses, “I was at a point where I didn’t know what I was going to do.” He looks at Arthur with those beautiful blue eyes and those long magnificent lashes. “You were nice even if you were all kinds of weird,” He makes an elusive gesture that could be interpreted in many ways, “and I just...I don’t know. It just seemed right to go along with you.” He glances down almost shyly, it seems.
Arthur gives him a look and then says, “Did I just hear you say that I picked you up? Are you finally admitting that you were hitchhiking?”
“Did not have my thumb out,” Merlin insists, grinning. “Besides, out of all that I’ve just rambled on about, that is the thing you selected out?”
Arthur shrugs. “That other stuff I can take care of,” he tells him.
Merlin raises a questioning eyebrow and Arthur feels a blush threatening to creep up.
“Can’t have you thinking about prison as your next place of residence,” he says in response.
Merlin leans in toward him and it is one of the first times that Arthur does not instinctively draw back. “I want to kiss you,” Merlin says, glancing at Arthur’s lips and licking his own. “But you’re probably going to make me douse my lips with an antiseptic solution before any hope of that, eh?”
Arthur chuckles. “I might be willing to chance it,” he says, delighting in the way Merlin’s pupils dilate.
So Merlin presses his mouth to Arthur’s and they kiss, slow and cautious. Merlin’s lips are soft and warm and interestingly delicious and Arthur thinks that this is also something he could get very used to.
When they pull back, they stare at each other for a moment, just looking, feeling. Then Merlin grins and says, “So I’m guessing a little tongue action is out of the question?”
Arthur can’t stop himself from chuckling and grinning. “Baby steps, Merlin,” he tells him.
Merlin grins dopily back, his blue eyes positively sparkling. “Yeah.”
THE END
AUTHOR: thecheekydragon
GENRE: Modern AU
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Should probably warn that there are copious amounts of Canadian references and Canadian-isms. Please note that no offence is intended toward those who suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Also note that the author does not condone hitchhiking.
WORD COUNT: ~11,000
SUMMARY: In which Merlin hitches a ride and Arthur is a tad OCD.
NOTES 1: Written for Grand Tournament at merlin_games for Photo Prompt 96. Thanks to the Scarf-Wearing Alpaca for the beta!
PART 1
Just north of Landry Crossing on Highway 17, about three hours away from their destination, inexplicably the engine light comes on.
“It’s probably nothing,” Merlin says offhandedly, trying to dispel Arthur’s concern. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“It must be something, Merlin,” Arthur replies, frowning at the lighted symbol on the dash. “Or it wouldn’t be on.”
Merlin only shrugs at this and Arthur contemplates whether he should exit the highway as soon as possible or wait until the next major exit and take the ramp. He decides that the problem could be ‘major’ and pulls off the highway at the next makeshift rest stop, a half moon dirt and gravel path through a cover of trees carved out by vehicles making impromptu stops. He’ll park and then call roadside assistance. He realizes this will put them slightly off-schedule for arriving at the cottage, but safety dictates that this is the best course of action.
“Pop the hood, eh, and I’ll have a look,” Merlin says, already getting out of the vehicle, Mordred following behind. “Could just be a faulty fuse or a loose cap or something.”
Arthur stammers but pulls the hood release anyway. He gets out of the car also, scrolling through his iPhone for the number for roadside assistance. He hopes the problem can be fixed quickly so they can get back on the road as soon as possible.
Merlin is slouched under the hood, peering intently at the engine. Mordred is pressed close beside him, the young apprentice observing the master. Arthur promptly dials roadside assistance, hoping to connect with an expert before the budding biochemist and his sidekick fiddle with something they shouldn’t.
No service. How can there be no service? he wonders. His provider was a leader in mobile phone service.
“I think I see the problem,” Merlin announces and Arthur frantically taps out the numbers again.
No connection. Still no service. He feels an attack of anxiety coming on.
Arthur paces, contemplating the likely consequences of Merlin fixing “the problem” he purportedly sees, as he alternately redials. He breaks out in a sweat on his fifth unsuccessful attempt to connect with roadside assistance. His anxiety jumps up a notch as Merlin announces the problem “solved” and pushes the hood of the car down in satisfaction. Understandably, then, Arthur is caught completely off-guard when a great mass of unkempt fur leaps at him, knocking Arthur to the ground and sending his iPhone sailing.
What the hell? Arthur thinks, trying to catch up to his current predicament. He notes with alarm the massive paws and torso of a mangy wolf - quite possibly rabid - that are pressing down on his chest. The beast looks to bear its fangs before slathering a disgusting tongue over Arthur’s horrified face.
“Aack!” he yells out in distress. “Get this thing off me!”
The beast gets a few more licks in before Merlin is able to wrestle it off him. He helps a shaken Arthur to his feet.
Arthur glances warily at the beast, which seems now to have set its sights on little Mordred. “Careful, Mordy,” he cautions. “That wolf might be rabid.”
Merlin makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. “It’s not a wolf, Arthur,” he says. “It’s just a dog. Some kind of husky mix looks like.”
“But it has fangs!” Arthur argues, looking down and assessing the damage done to his favourite Lands' End Oxford. Mud streaks are distressingly visible everywhere he looks.
Merlin laughs. “Of course he has fangs,” he retorts. “So do you. In dental vernacular they’re called incisors.” As though suddenly becoming aware that Arthur is clearly distressed, Merlin asks concernedly, “Are you okay?”
Arthur says nothing for a beat, wondering why Merlin needs to ask such a ridiculous question when it is damn crystal clear he is not okay. Then he utters crisply through gritted teeth, “No, Merlin, I am not okay. I was just accosted by a filthy mutt you claim is a dog but has all the features of a member of the lupine family, including but not limited to, fanged incisors intended for carnivorous feasting.” He draws a deep breath. “And in case you haven’t noticed, my shirt is ruined and I have wolf-dog slobber all over my face. I would kindly ask that you fetch a bag in the event I may need to throw up.”
Merlin is looking at him with all due seriousness now and Arthur wonders if it was the mention of possible vomiting that did the trick. He soon finds Merlin directing him to the back of the BMW, where he pops the hatch and tells Arthur to “sit here for a minute”. Arthur does so while Merlin goes to the front seat, pokes around, and returns with the little bottle of Orchard Leaves- number four in his line up of sanitizers.
He tells Arthur to unbutton his shirt as he roots around in his own duffle bag, coming up with a well-worn but clean t-shirt. Merlin squeezes some of the gel onto the cotton jersey material and then uses it as a cloth to wipe Arthur’s face clean of the traces of mud and slobber. He applies some sanitizer to Arthur’s neck and collarbone, trailing the cloth briefly over Arthur’s chest.
“That should do it until you can have a proper shower,” he says, his blue eyes sparkling as he smiles. Arthur feels something in his chest (and maybe a little further down) swell. “Now let’s get you out of this soiled shirt and into a clean one.”
He helps Arthur shrug out of the dog-battered shirt then hands him the bottle of sanitizer. Merlin folds the shirt and places it among his own belongings to “avoid contamination of Arthur’s clean items”. Arthur goes about thoroughly cleaning his wrists, hands and nail beds with the sanitizer while Merlin very carefully picks through Arthur’s luggage for a clean replacement shirt.
“Tell me you didn’t iron this,” Merlin says, holding up a meticulously folded, exquisitely laundered, and painstakingly pressed long-sleeved heavy cotton shirt in a rich hue of navy blue.
“Okay, I won’t,” Arthur returns, starting to feel more relaxed now that he is covered almost head to toe in germ-fighting scented ethanol. He takes the shirt from Merlin, shakes it out then pulls it over his head, grateful that the blush that creeps up in response to Merlin catching an eyeful of his bare chest is momentarily hidden.
“Oh, and the engine light should be off now,” Merlin says as he leaves Arthur to the task of tucking his shirt into his jeans and makes his way to climb into the passenger seat. “Just a loose cap, like I said.”
Arthur has his doubts but he is too overwhelmed at this point to care. He reaches into his luggage and carefully restacks the items of clothing so that the piles are relatively equal in height, zips the bag closed, and secures the hatch. He goes to the driver’s side, pulls open the door handle with a handkerchief-covered hand and settles into the seat, determined not to let this little setback affect his mood. After all, he is supposed to be on vacation.
A panting sound close to his ear catches his attention. Arthur turns in his seat and finds the wolf-dog hovering over the console from the backseat.
“Oh, hell no!” he objects loudly.
Arthur glances in the mirror to see Morgana’s offspring cross his arms stubbornly against his chest and glare at him.
“Now Mordred,” Merlin attempts to intervene. “You know Uncle Arthur likes everything neat and tidy. And I’m just not sure Gus fits into that vision--”
“Gus?” Arthur asks crankily.
Merlin nods toward the wolf-dog who continues to pant and slobber all over Arthur’s immaculately clean upholstery. “Gus is the name Mordy gave him. You know, like the dog in Iron Will.”
Arthur doesn’t know and, besides, his last nerve is beginning to fray. “Oh, really. And when did he decide that? Before or after I was attacked by the mangy beast?”
Merlin narrows his eyes, looking positively insulted by Arthur’s remarks. “Gus did not attack you! He just wanted to get to know you! He’s obviously been abandoned and he’s lonely.”
Arthur presses a hand to his forehead and slowly counts back from twenty. Then, he quietly exits the vehicle, leaving his nephew, his tag-along companion, and Gus to sulk.
He walks a few paces and goes through some mental relaxation exercises to relieve some of his pent-up frustration, making a note to book more time with his therapist upon his return from vacation.
Relaxing soles of the feet...toes...ankles...joints...Legs from ankle joints to knee joints...knee joints to thigh joints...Relaxing pelvis...abdomen...mid-section...and chest.
By the time he gets to relaxing his gums, teeth, tongue, hard and soft palate, and throat, he is ready to get back in the car.
Merlin slides him a cautious look as Arthur settles once more into the driver’s seat. Arthur goes through the ritual of buckling himself in, telling Mordred to “secure the beast” and to “make sure he doesn’t slobber all over my car”. To his surprise, “Gus” obediently parks himself on the backseat, allowing Mordred to actually pull and secure the seatbelt around his canine body.
Arthur thinks he sees Merlin give a surreptitious grin but is too busy checking his mirrors and manoeuvring the vehicle forward to be certain.
An unmistakable crunching sound causes Arthur to stop. He closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “That was my iPhone, wasn’t it?” he says with knowing dread.
Merlin opens the passenger door and peers out. “Think so,” he concurs then unbuckles himself and gets out to check. He returns with Arthur’s phone in hand, his face cringing with sympathy. The phone’s backing is scratched and scuffed and the screen is cracked, shattered toward the outside edges. Merlin tentatively touches a long finger to the screen.
“Hey, look at that,” he remarks. “It still works!” He gifts Arthur with a mirthful grin, his eyebrows shooting upward, impressed.
Arthur gives a laugh that is borderline hysterics. Whatever hell he has entered, at least he’s got a working iPhone. Though getting service in this godforsaken neck of the woods may pose a problem.
He starts the engine and finds, true to Merlin’s words, that the engine light no longer comes on. Arthur takes this as a sign that things are looking up, and guides the vehicle forward, once more on route to their destination. And if he’s acquired an extra passenger, one that is furry and disgustingly dirty, well, that’s one more to keep Mordred entertained.
**
Arthur pulls off to fill up with gas when they reach the Deep River exit. Since he’s already had the opportunity to tango with a husky, he figures he can forgo his scheduled roll-the-shoulders-and-stretch-the-legs break and just do some deep breathing and mental relaxation exercises while the attendant pumps the gas.
“I could really go for a coffee right about now,” Merlin hints when the tank is full and Arthur pulls out from the gas station.
Rule Number Two: Never stop to get food or drink while on the road. Not only does this contribute to the successful adherence to Rule Number One (Never use a public restroom), but it eliminates any chance of unnecessary germ exposure.
But Merlin is giving him the most adorable smile and his eyes are really very blue (and never mind those eyelashes) so Arthur finds himself steering the BMW into the drive-thru of a nearby Tim Hortons coffee shop.
“Extra large triple triple for me,” Merlin tells him and Arthur can’t help but grimace as he makes a mental note of the sugar and cream content in Merlin’s order, amounting to a whopping four hundred and twenty calories and forty-six percent fat. “What?” Merlin questions, frowning, and Arthur shakes his head.
“Medium ice cap for me,” calls Mordy over Arthur’s shoulder. “And Gus wants a ten pack of timbits.”
Gus pants his agreement.
Arthur relays the order into the speaker box, waits for confirmation then pulls ahead.
Merlin is holding two five dollar bills ready to hand over to Arthur.
Arthur stops the car at the pick-up window and shifts it into park. He lifts the lid of the armrest caddy and pulls out the latex glove he has stashed in a side compartment next to the neat row of sanitizers. He slips the glove barrier over his left hand then holds it out to accept the bills from Merlin, determinedly ignoring the look his passenger is giving him.
The drive-thru attendant is waiting patiently as Arthur turns and hands her the money. Her eyebrows flick upward briefly but she promptly makes change and places the returning coins into Arthur’s glove-protected hand. Arthur drops the money into Merlin’s palm then collects the order. One extra large triple triple for Merlin. One medium iced cappuccino for Mordred. And one box of timbits for Gus. He peels off the glove, places it back into the caddy, shifts the car into drive, and pulls ahead.
It takes Merlin a full five minutes after they are back onto the highway and several sips of his coffee before he ventures to ask, “What the hell was that?”
“Germs, Merlin,” Arthur replies, feeling as though he is stating the obvious. Arthur glances in the rear view mirror and gives a stern admonishment, “And Gus better not be getting bits all over the backseat.” He focuses his attention back to Merlin. “Money, especially paper money, is full of bacteria, viruses and spores,” he informs him. “If you’re looking to catch a bout of gastroenteritis, handling money unprotected is the way to do it.”
Merlin snorts. “Gosh, I hadn’t thought of HMU.”
“HMU?” Arthur is confused.
Merlin nods, his look deadpan. “Handling Money Unprotected.”
Mordred giggles and slurps his iced beverage loudly.
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Scoff if you will, Merlin,” he says, shifting his gaze briefly to the take out coffee cup Merlin is cradling piously in his hand. “But the same person who collected your money- HMU I may add - also made and fixed the lid onto your coffee. Do you know how much bacteria can be transmitted in that little transaction?”
Merlin frowns. “No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me,” he says sulkily.
He continues to sip his coffee as Arthur regales him over the next thirty-six kilometres with reports of research in the field of environmental microbiology concerning the bacterial contamination of common public and household items.
To his credit, Merlin remains silent and listens solemnly. And to Arthur’s surprise, Merlin drinks back every last drop of his triple triple.
**
It is forty-seven minutes later than Arthur has estimated when they finally pull up to his family’s cottage.
Merlin lets out an appreciative whistle. “Wow. When you said cottage, this was not what I was expecting.”
Arthur supposes the term “cottage” is a little understated given the square footage and the comfort features of his family’s house on the lake.
Mordred and Gus tumble out of the backseat as Arthur and Merlin alight from the front. Gus immediately dashes into the trees to relieve his canine bladder, while the three unload and carry their bags into the cottage.
“The dog needs to get cleaned,” Arthur pointedly directs at Mordred, “and I need to shower.” He can still feel a layer of dog-slobber on his skin.
He tells Merlin and Mordred to carry their bags up to the loft while he carries his own to the master suite. His father is not due to arrive until Wednesday and it had been planned that Arthur would take the master bedroom these first couple of nights then move up to the loft with Mordy once his father arrived. With Merlin here now, the arrangement would have to be slightly altered.
Arthur takes a long, hot shower in the en suite bath, redresses in clean jeans and shirt then carefully unpacks and painstakingly hangs his clothes in the closet or folds them neatly into dresser drawers. This takes the better part of thirty minutes. He hears the faint hum of what sounds like a hairdryer through the walls and idly wonders if Merlin or Mordred had decided there was need for a shower too.
He emerges from the master suite feeling refreshed if not totally relaxed and is met by Merlin and Mordred, both looking flushed and wet, coming around to the living room area with a freshly washed and fluffed Gus in tow, a triangle of red fabric (was that a dishtowel?) hanging from his neck.
Arthur lifts his eyebrows.
“You said he had to get cleaned,” Mordred says in answer. “So Merlin helped me spray him down in the shower.” Merlin gives a sly smile. “We used shampoo and then dried his fur some.” He gestures toward the dog as if presenting him as a show piece. Merlin’s smile grows wider.
At least Arthur can admit (to himself, of course) that Gus looks rather fashionable with his dishtowel bandana, or whatever it’s supposed to be.
They go into the town of Crystal Falls to buy groceries for the week, leaving Gus to “guard” the car in the parking lot (no, Mordy, we can’t pretend he’s a seeing-eye dog and bring him into the store with us). When they return to the cottage, Arthur makes them dinner (Gus gets a bowl of the premium dog food Arthur was coerced into buying) and then they relax on the sofa and armchairs in the living room for the evening, content to gaze at the moonlit surface of the lake through the floor to peaked ceiling window.
When Arthur finally retires to bed, Merlin and Mordred and Gus tucked away in the loft above him, he finds he is relaxed enough to fall asleep quickly and soundly.
And if some time during the night when he rolls over and he becomes vaguely aware of a warm furry body stretched out beside him, emitting low rumbling snoring dog noises, it is not enough to rouse him from his peaceful slumber.
**
“Granddad can’t make it,” Arthur tells Mordred at breakfast. “Unfortunately, he’s been delayed on business.” His father had rung the cottage early that morning to give Arthur the news.
Mordred’s face scrunches up with disappointment. “Who’s going to take me fishing now?” he complains.
“I can take you,” Merlin offers and Arthur tosses Merlin a dubious look. Even Gus groans his doubt.
Arthur watches Merlin and Mordred struggle with getting the fishing rods out of the shed down by the dock for all of five minutes before giving in and deciding to join them. He pulls on his navy Land’s End sweater and a windbreaker and heads outside into the cool autumn air. He skirts around the two at the shed, collects two fishing rods and the box of tackle, and motions for Merlin and Mordred to follow him to the docked canoe. His father had arranged to have a trusted local clean and set things up before their arrival so Arthur knows everything is ready for them.
He helps Mordred into the boat and encourages Merlin to get in as well, handing off the fishing equipment. Gus refuses to be left behind and whines pathetically until Arthur gives the dog permission to jump in too.
Arthur insists that everyone wear a lifejacket (except Gus but only because there is none that will fit him) and helps Mordy pull on and fasten his. Then he tugs on Merlin’s to make sure the jacket is secure. Drowning will not be an option today.
It turns out that Merlin knows nothing about fishing. So Arthur demonstrates to both Mordy and Merlin how to bait a hook with tackle (taking extra care to explain the importance of avoiding getting hooked) and to cast (again with corresponding safety precautions). He also explains (especially to Mordy) that fishing requires great patience - waiting for a bite can sometimes seem like an eternity. Learning techniques to make the time pass while keeping yourself aware so you’ll feel a subtle bite, take both patience and practice.
So Mordy and Merlin wait. As time passes, Arthur notices Merlin shivering, his hoodie and the lifejacket poor defences against the cool air. His hood is already pulled up around his head but his lean frame appears unable to retain any warmth.
Arthur removes his lifejacket and pulls off his windbreaker, gesturing to Mordred (who is bundled in layers and cosily warm) to trade places with Merlin so that Arthur can slip the yellow windbreaker over Merlin. He replaces and refastens his lifejacket, feeling plenty warm in his sweater.
Merlin murmurs a thank you and settles in to wait for any signs of a bite. He only has to wait another eight minutes before there’s a tug on his line indicating that a fish has taken bait.
“What do I do?” Merlin asks excitedly.
“Give the rod a short, quick jerk up, then start reeling in,” Arthur instructs, miming the actions with his hands to encourage him.
Merlin does as he’s told but things go awry in a matter of minutes. First, Merlin jerks the rod too strongly and somehow ends up knocking the butt of the rod into Arthur’s face. He’s immediately apologetic and he starts flailing, his elbows jabbing haphazardly into Arthur’s chest and abdomen. Caught unaware and trying to protect himself from the flailing, Arthur shuffles back, losing his balance, and against the very laws of human motion, Arthur finds himself knocked over the side of the boat and into the cold water of the lake.
The lifejacket keeps him buoyant. But it’s not fear of drowning or even the frigid water that most disturbs him. Arthur tries very hard not to think of the teams of marine bacteria potentially seeping through and clinging to his clothing.
With Merlin and Mordred’s help, he hauls himself out of the water and back into the canoe. In the process, he somehow catches a splinter on the underside of his right wrist and curses.
Merlin and Mordred stare at him, wide-eyed and frozen as he lay in the boat - wet, cold and contaminated.
“Hate fishing,” Arthur grumbles through chattering teeth. Gus barks out sympathy then weaves around Merlin to nuzzle against Arthur.
Suddenly, Merlin and Mordred are spurred into action and they begin paddling furiously. They lack rhythm and are hopelessly uncoordinated but, by the grace of God or some celestial being, they make it back to the cottage dock.
Fishing for the day is officially over.
**
Arthur takes a long, hot shower, scrubbing his body head to toe to eliminate any marine bacteria that could possibly cause a skin infection. Afterward, with some resistance and grumbling, he lets Merlin look at his wrist and allows him to take tweezers to carefully remove the splinter then coat the ‘wound’ with antibiotic cream. Merlin’s touch is gentle, soft, and caring and Arthur thinks he could get used to this. He shoves the thought aside. At any rate, Merlin makes a far better nurse than a fisherman.
Mordy and Merlin are somehow able to coax Arthur into having a camp fire in the evening after dinner and Arthur supposes this is only because he is still feeling the after effects of trauma from the fishing outing. As a rule, he doesn’t particularly like camp fires (there are serious hygienic issues) and the idea of cooking wieners or roasting marshmallows over an open fire makes him just shy of physically ill.
“What?” Merlin says, opening the bag of marshmallows with glee and tossing a few over to Mordy. “How can anyone not like roasted marshmallows?”
“It’s a sugar and corn syrup confection,” Arthur says pointedly. “On a stick. That you picked up in the woods.” Arthur jerks his thumb to the woods beyond for emphasis.
Merlin grins at him, poking a marshmallow onto the end of a twig stick. Then his face turns serious, as though indicating marshmallow roasting is an activity that requires concentration and skill. Arthur tries not to roll his eyes.
Arthur watches Mordy ‘teach’ Gus to sit and ‘shake a paw’, rewarding him with unroasted marshmallows. “He’d better not puke those up later,” Arthur tells his nephew, frowning.
Gus barks a response that Arthur isn’t sure how to interpret.
Merlin takes advantage of Arthur being momentarily distracted and plucks the roasted confection from his stick and pops it into Arthur’s mouth.
“Merlin!” Arthur spats around the hot gooey mess.
Merlin grins. “It’s good, eh?” He spears another marshmallow onto his stick. “Here, I’ll roast you another.”
Arthur glares at him and manages to swallow the roasted marshmallow. And if doesn’t tell Merlin that maybe roasted marshmallows aren’t so bad after all, it’s because he doesn’t want Merlin to smirk in satisfaction.
**
Arthur takes Merlin and Mordred with Gus in tow on a hike in the woods, following the path that his father had taken both he and Morgana many times. It is familiar territory and Arthur finds that he enjoys playing guide, offering information about points of interest and dispensing appropriate safety tips.
They are on a path that runs parallel to a ravine leading down to the lake. Merlin is ahead of them, looking about, revelling in the wonder of nature. He looks like a child happily in awe and Arthur finds himself smiling at the thought. He likes when Merlin’s eyes light up and his mouth curves into a smile. Gus lets out a bark and Arthur turns his gaze toward the dog and Mordred. It seems Gus is trying to make friends with a chipmunk and Arthur doubts somehow that the relationship will take hold, if the chipmunk’s wary stance is anything to go by. When he turns his attention back to the path ahead, Merlin is gone.
What the hell?
Arthur jogs up to the spot where Merlin had just been.
“Merlin!” Arthur calls out and receives a response from a hard-to-gauge distance down the ravine. He directs an “Are you okay?” down toward the spot where Merlin’s voice comes.
“I’m okay,” Merlin calls up. “Ugh. Wait. No, I’m not.” A couple of beats go by. “Think I twisted my ankle.”
Oh, for the love of Gus.
Gus barks and Mordy makes to dash down the ravine but Arthur grabs the hood of his nephew’s jacket and yanks him back.
“Merlin needs help,” his nephew protests.
“Yes, but I will be the one to go down and help him,” Arthur says with reason. “You and Gus stay here and don’t move,” he instructs further. He doesn’t need the added complication of Mordy or Gus tumbling down the ravine along with Merlin.
Arthur works his way down the slope, holding on to tree branches for support and anchorage. When he reaches Merlin, he finds him sitting in a dip of the sloped earth (which probably stopped him from tumbling further but probably also contributed to the twisting of his ankle), leaves and twigs jutting out at various spots in his hair. Arthur admits Merlin would look adorable in any other circumstance.
“Sorry,” Merlin offers with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know how this happened. I was just trying to get a look at some purple flower and...” He rolls his hands in a tumbling gesture.
Arthur helps Merlin up, mindful of the gradient. “Can you put any pressure on it?” he asks, nodding toward the foot Merlin is favouring.
Merlin shifts weight onto his left foot and winces. He shakes his head and looks forlorn.
“Okay,” Arthur says. “I’m going to have to carry you up somehow.” He looks at Merlin and then up the slope. He had come down approximately twenty or twenty-five metres. Not a great distance but the slope definitely adds a factor that will make the climb back up with Merlin more arduous.
He positions himself lower on the slope than Merlin and tells him to climb on his back. Merlin makes a protest and Arthur tells him, “I can’t carry you any other way. So get on.”
Merlin does, awkwardly and with obvious reluctance. Given Merlin’s lean body, Arthur expects him to be lighter but Merlin apparently packs some weight on his scrawny frame. Still, Arthur is reasonably fit and athletic and if he thinks of Merlin as a heavily weighted backpack, he might be able to do this.
The climb up is slow and difficult. It doesn’t help that Merlin spends most of the climb intermittently apologizing for tumbling down the ravine and telling Arthur to watch for stray branches and tree roots underfoot.
They finally reach the top, where Mordy and Gus are waiting, and Arthur drops Merlin to the ground (he would say ‘gently’ but Merlin might say otherwise) to catch his breath. From the dirt and mud that are covering Merlin’s body, Arthur would guess that his Land’s End cable knit sweater in Oatmeal Heather is destined to suffer the same unsalvageable fate as his now lake-ruined navy sweater.
After giving himself a full five minutes to regain his stamina, Arthur invites Merlin to climb onto his back again and they make the trek back to the cottage. Arthur fully intends to take another long, hot shower after tending to Merlin’s ankle and to suggest Merlin do the same.
**
Merlin is ensconced in the armchair, his foot propped up on the ottoman, an ice pack resting against his swollen ankle. Arthur is happy to see that Merlin is obeying his orders to ‘stay put’ and to ‘elevate and ice’ his ankle. Mordy and Gus are outside playing a game of ‘fetch a stick’ and Arthur idly wonders if his nephew and the dog are taking turns at this but finds he doesn’t want to know the answer.
He sits on the edge of the ottoman and lifts the ice pack from Merlin’s ankle. The swelling has gone down some and purple bruises are starting to show.
“Look,” he says, his tone concerned. “I think it’s probably best if we cut this trip short.”
Merlin looks pained. “I don’t know. Mordy will be really disappointed,” he argues and Arthur wonders just when his non-hitchhiking passenger had become embedded into his life such that the potential disappointment of Arthur’s nephew caused Merlin concern.
“He’s eleven,” Arthur reasons. “He’ll have plenty of opportunities to do this again.”
He waits a couple of beats before saying, “Can I ask now, Merlin, where it is you are supposed to be heading?”
“About that...” Merlin says and Arthur gives him an encouraging nod to continue. He had been expecting this. “The truth is,” Merlin blurts out and doesn’t stop pouring out his story after this initial start. “I was evicted from my apartment because my roommate decided to fuck off and not pay his half of the rent and had caused quite a bit of damage to the apartment by throwing these wild parties. So I got thrown out on my ass along with him. I’m on scholarship at the university but I had a job to pay for rent. I was late to work a few times after I got evicted because, you know, I had trouble finding half-decent places to sleep at night - let me tell you Kingston Pen was looking good for a while - and I got fired. So now I have no place to live and no job. On top of this, my mom is very sick and she can’t help fund my education or living expenses. I was going to go home - which is Smith Falls, by the way- but I didn’t want to make her sicker out of worry for me.”
Merlin lets out a heavy sigh, probably relieved to have finally unburdened himself. “When you picked me up,” he confesses, “I was at a point where I didn’t know what I was going to do.” He looks at Arthur with those beautiful blue eyes and those long magnificent lashes. “You were nice even if you were all kinds of weird,” He makes an elusive gesture that could be interpreted in many ways, “and I just...I don’t know. It just seemed right to go along with you.” He glances down almost shyly, it seems.
Arthur gives him a look and then says, “Did I just hear you say that I picked you up? Are you finally admitting that you were hitchhiking?”
“Did not have my thumb out,” Merlin insists, grinning. “Besides, out of all that I’ve just rambled on about, that is the thing you selected out?”
Arthur shrugs. “That other stuff I can take care of,” he tells him.
Merlin raises a questioning eyebrow and Arthur feels a blush threatening to creep up.
“Can’t have you thinking about prison as your next place of residence,” he says in response.
Merlin leans in toward him and it is one of the first times that Arthur does not instinctively draw back. “I want to kiss you,” Merlin says, glancing at Arthur’s lips and licking his own. “But you’re probably going to make me douse my lips with an antiseptic solution before any hope of that, eh?”
Arthur chuckles. “I might be willing to chance it,” he says, delighting in the way Merlin’s pupils dilate.
So Merlin presses his mouth to Arthur’s and they kiss, slow and cautious. Merlin’s lips are soft and warm and interestingly delicious and Arthur thinks that this is also something he could get very used to.
When they pull back, they stare at each other for a moment, just looking, feeling. Then Merlin grins and says, “So I’m guessing a little tongue action is out of the question?”
Arthur can’t stop himself from chuckling and grinning. “Baby steps, Merlin,” he tells him.
Merlin grins dopily back, his blue eyes positively sparkling. “Yeah.”
THE END