Roses Are Red, Your Eyes Are Blue...
fandom: Merlin
rating: PG
word count: ~3.6k
category: slash, pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin, brief mentions of past Merlin/Gwaine, background Gwaine/Elena
characters: Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, Kilgharrah, Freya, Gwen, Percival, Gwaine
genre: modern au, fluff, humour, romance, romcom (idek), developing relationship
warnings: none
disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
summar ...I've embarrassed myself, but I'd like to go out with you.
also on AO3
a/n: first of all, this is actually not in first person, don't worry, i have not gone that mad yet
okay, so this one is fo yenny2206 whose birthday was on the 22nd and yes, i am late again, i am so so sorry, but like i already said previous i had exams around that time and i really couldn't make it with this, i am genuinely sorry. so after the exams we had this party to celebrate and i got drunk and this is one of the products of that night so yeah, sorry if it makes no sense all the time and there's typos and shit??? lol, idk
tl;dr, drunken ramblings to follow, happy birthday yenny, sorry i'm late
oh, btw, there are two hover-overs in there, so if you don't what sth is, try that, it might give you a popup explanation
feedback is always appreciated ^^
Roses Are Red, Your Eyes Are Blue,
I've Embarrassed Myself, but I'd Like to Go Out With You
It starts as a perfectly ordinary day. Merlin's alarm clock rings before the sun is up, as it does every day he works morning shifts; he stumbles out of bed and trudges to the kitchen still half-asleep, puts the water for tea on before going to the bathroom for a quick shower. Of course, by the time he comes back to the kitchen, the water has been boiling for so long that half of it has evaporated already, so he pours more into the pot and leaves it for another minute while he gets a bag of his favourite black tea from the cupboard. He considers having breakfast, but his fridge is in serious need of restocking so his options are limited and he doesn't feel like eating anything he has at home, so, for the fourth consecutive day that week, he opts to buy breakfast on his way to work.
He almost falls asleep while checking his mail and Facebook on his laptop, but once he's finished his tea, he is a lot more awake and this is when his day really starts. He dresses quickly and walks to work. It's a half-hour trip on foot and even though that's three times as long as it would take him if he tok the Tube, he prefers to walk; he only takes the subway when he is late because the morning walk feels better, it energizes him and makes him think more clearly.
It's a quiet morning at UCH, two of the exam rooms are taken, but the hallway is empty and the other nurses are hanging out, drinking coffee and gossiping at the reception. Gwen is on the phone, but she looks up when Merlin walks through the door, smiles and waves at him. Merlin smiles back as he hops over the counter and drops his bag under Gwen's desk area.
“Morning,” he says to the group chatting happily behind him. Merlin likes this about the morning shifts - they're usually not too busy and most everyone is still in a good mood because they haven't had too much work to do.
“Hey, Merlin,” a few of the nurses reply; the interns just wave or nod at him. They look exhausted and they're all drinking coffee so Merlin guesses they had been working all night. Freya, one of his favourite interns working with them right now, a quiet and shy girl, but great with patients and especially kids, has a smear of blood on the front of her scrubs so Merlin figures the night was more than just busy, and doesn't ask them any questions.
He's been working as an A&E nurse at UCH for three years now. He's worked morning shifts, when there's a lull in traffic like now and most of the patients children with stuff stuck up their noses, he's worked afternoons, sometimes busy and sometimes slow, with cases of varying urgency, danger and interest, and he's pulled all-nighters before as well - the shifts everyone avoids with good reason, and not just because of lack of sleep, but mostly because the patients they do get are usually young people, almost always drunk and more often than not they end up in the hospital because they thought driving home would be a good idea. Merlin's seen more than once people younger than him die before they even get to the theatre and he knows how distressing that can be.
He remembers when he first lost a patient, an elderly man who fell down a flight of stairs in his home, and it wasn't like the patient was his responsibility, it was the doctor calling all the shots, and it wasn't even that he'd spoken to the man for he'd been unconscious when he'd been taken in, and Merlin wasn't the one who had to inform his family, his son, daughter-in-law and two young grandchildren, but Merlin was still so upset he couldn't even sleep that night, despite all his exhaustion.
He wishes he could tell the interns that it gets better, that they won't feel this bad the next time, but it would be a lie. Even after all this time, the death of any patient with whose care he's involved always gets to him; the difference is that somewhere along the way he made his peace with the fact that not everyone will get out of this building breathing and that while his inspiration in pursuing this line of work may have been to save lives, his job is only to do his best and sometimes his best is just not enough. That's the truth, but he knows that it's not consolation, so he doesn't say anything.
The conversation has continued around him, something about Elena, a nurse from radiology, a lovely girl, but possibly the clumsiest person Merlin has ever met, not having a chance with the new surgeon, Gwaine. Merlin snorts into his arms because he knows Gwaine, he's dated Gwaine, he's been close friends with Gwaine for most of his life and he knows that Elena is exactly the type of person Gwaine has a soft spot for; but he doesn't want to spoil the fun for everyone else and he wants to earn as much as he can when the bets of the will-they-won't-they variety inevitably start.
Merlin starts participating in the conversation as it moves from Gwaine to Lancelot, a paediatrician Gwen has a huge crush on; Gwen is liked by virtually everyone in the hospital for her kind and friendly personality and Lancelot has a similar fate, so it is only natural that teasing them is one of the favourite pass times of all medical professionals and some patients.
Unfortunately, as the crack of dawn turns to early Saturday morning, patients start waltzing in and the morning gossip party turns into comments about patients occasionally shared between those who are not currently otherwise occupied.
Merlin's morning includes helping Freya stitch up a six-year-old's arm, draining and dressing a middle-aged housewife's blisters caused by a breakfast accident, taking an elderly lady to a hip x-ray (and maybe giving Elena a tip or two on how to deal with Gwaine while he's already there), cleaning and dressing a teenagers leg injured in basketball practice... It's business as usual.
Merlin is finishing his third mug of tea for the day when Dr Kilgharrah calls him to an exam room for help. A young man is reclining on the bed, his foot twisted at an odd angle, the ankle clearly twisted. Kilgharrah is writing something down in the patient's chart and there's another man sitting by the bed, clearly a helping friend. They're both wearing soccer jerseys, stained with grass and dirt.
“Ah, Emrys,” Kilgharrah says when he notices Merlin, “can you please take Mr Pendragon here for a healthy dose of nitrous oxide? I'll be with you shortly.”
“Of course,” Merlin agrees, taking the chart Kilgharrah offers him. He glances at it, notes the name of one Arthur Pendragon, his age of 27, the AB+ blood type, the lack of allergies, the emergency contact that is his sister Morgana LaFey, he skims the short description of the injury written in Kilgharrah's tiny, practiced handwriting. It's a simple sprain, an easy enough fix, but quite a painful one. Merlin shoves the chart under his arm. “Well, I'll go get a wheelchair. I'll be right back,” he announces to the room at large as he turns to leave.
There's a wheelchair not far down the hallway and Merlin comes back to the exam room with one. Despite his not being for more than a minute, when he comes back, his patient, Mr Pendragon, is sitting up, his legs dangling off the side of the bed and his friend is standing next to him.
Merlin smiles at the friend, a tall, muscled man, for making his job easier, pushes the wheelchair near the bed and holds out his hand for Mr Pandragon to help him up. The man's grip is strong, his fingers dig into Merlin's arm but he sways a little when he tries to stand up so Merlin reaches out with his other hand to steady him. When the man is standing unsteadily on one foot, Merlin looks up to ask him if he can stand on his own, but his words get lost halfway between his brain and his mouth.
He was so busy with the man's chart and injury, that he never really bothered to really look at him and now there's a face no more than an inch away from his, pale skin, a sharp jawline, full lips, golden hair and unnaturally blue eyes that catch Merlin off guard for a moment. And he seems not to be the only one because the patient's friend clears his throat and then Merlin is not the only who blinks twice and shakes his head a little.
Merlin leaves Mr Pendragon's friend to help him into the chair as he bends over to pick up the chart he dropped, only then realizing that he was basically presenting his ass to his patient (one whom he just had a moment with, no less); he straightens up too quickly, blood rushing to his ears, and he can feel that he's blushing, but he shakes it off and turns around, determined to stay professional. He catches what appears to be the end of a conversation, the man's friend offering to stay with him, and the man turning him down.
Then, “Don't worry, Perce, I have the nurses if I need anything,” he says. Merlin can't resist rolling his eyes, but has more tact than to say that it's not his job to pamper anyone and be their servant, at least not if they're over eight years old and not going into major surgery. The friend, Perce apparently, whatever kind of name that is, seems to be of a similar mindset to Merlin's because he also rolls his eyes.
“Fine,” Perce agrees, “but text me when you get home, all right?”
“Sure.”
Perce, bless his soul, Merlin already likes him, pushes Mr Pendragon's chair out into the hallway. “Feel free to punch him if he's being a brat,” he tells Merlin with a grin as he leaves.
“Sod off,” the patient shouts after him.
Merlin starts pushing the wheelchair towards the end of the hallway, smiling at Perce who seemed like a lovely guy.
“So what are you gonna be drugging me with again?” Mr Pendragon asks, looking up at Merlin. The odd perspective his face ends up in just serves to bring his eyes out even more.
“Uh, nitrous oxide,” Merlin replies once he looks away. He finds it a lot easier to focus when he's not staring at this man which highly unprofessional of him. And also, not something that often happens. “It's more commonly known as laughing gas?”
Mr Pendragon snorts. “You're not serious? Sure the medical schools have lectures better than laughter is the best medicine?”
Merlin glares down at his patient, who seems to be enjoying taunting him a tad too much if the playful grin on his face is anything to go by. “Among its many effects are depersonalization, derealization, euphoria and analgesia, which you may recognize as the one you need, idiot” he replies snidely.
“Did you just call me an idiot?” the man laughs.
Merlin is not sure what to say, because yes, he did; granted, he was kind of provoked, and he wasn't really thinking, it just sort of slipped when he looked at his patient and saw the teasing in his eyes and the little smirk, the raised eyebrow, it just seemed natural to respond with some friendly banter, but that's not an excuse for being completely unprofessional. Yet, he doesn't want to apologize. He doesn't say anything, letting awkward silence linger instead as he opens the door to A1 and wheels the chair inside. He helps Mr Pendragon onto the bed, carefully avoiding looking him in the eye, but still stubbornly refusing to apologize.
“So, what's your name?” Mr Pendragon asks as Merlin releases the breathing mask from its place. The question comes as such a non-sequitur that Merlin doesn't know how to react at first. “For the complaint I plan to send to the hospital, of course,” Mr Pendragon clarifies and Merlin's stunned that his moment's slip is going this far.
Still, he answers. “Merlin. It's Merlin Emrys.” He turns around with the mask in his hand, ready to explain the use of it politely and calmly and then wait for Kilgharrah in awkward silence, but when he looks at his patient's face, it doesn't look angry; on the contrary, the guy is smiling at him, a mischievous, almost boyish expression on his face. “You really are a jackass!” Merlin says incredulously, when he realizes the guy's been playing him the whole time. Still, he has to admit, the guy had him good.
“The name's Arthur,” the man replies. “You might wanna try using that.”
Merlin makes the tough decision not to stick his tongue out or to punch the guy. He'll have his revenge soon enough anyway, he figures, holding the breathing mask out. “Take this,” he says. “Don't take too much at once, you might pass out. You can take more when Dr Kilgharrah examines you and aligns the ankle again because that's gonna hurt.”
Mr Pendragon- Arthur looks at the mask, presses it to his face and takes a deep inhale. Merlin kind of wants to rub his hands together as he waits for the gas to kick in even though he knows it's not gonna happen that fast. It's just that he can't wait for this arrogant brat to break out into embarrassing giggles.
“So, this is supposed to help me? 'Cause I don't feel anything,” Arthur says.
“You don't feel anything from one glass of alcohol either, I hope,” Merlin replies, sitting down in a chair next to Arthur's bed.
“So you're saying that I should take more?” Arthur takes another deep breath and Merlin knows he's not in enough pain to be breathing in that much gas, but the little voice in his head that's almost plotting getting his phone and filming the sure-to-happen giggle fest stops him from saying anything.
“I'm saying you'll need to at one point.”
Arthur takes another hit. “Still not feeling it,” he says. Merlin reaches out and pokes just above Arthur's swollen ankle and enjoys in the grunt that causes. “Hey, that's not as bad as it was!” Arthur says with some wonder.
“Would you imagine, years of medical school have taught me more than gnomic expressions,” Merlin replies sarcastically.
Arthur takes another deep inhale and his eyes are starting to look a bit glassy and his smile is a bit lopsided, but Merlin is actually only finding it more endearing. He looks away, clears his throat to collect himself. Thankfully, that's when it starts.
First, it's just a small giggle, not even two seconds. Merlin looks over and Arthur's face is stuck in this weird, confused expression that brings a smile to Merlin's lips. “It's called laughing gas for a reason,” Merlin says.
Arthur giggles again. “I see.” He goes to take another breath, but then has to stop because he's giggling again. Merlin shakes his head, but he knows Arthur is far from dangerzone still and it's too fun to give up so he just sits back and enjoys the view. Arthur is grinning and laughing and his head falls to the side every once in a while. Merlin shakes his head and checks his watch because Kilgharrah is sure taking his time. Not that Merlin is really complaining, but it wouldn't do if an attending caught him laughing at a patient he got high for no particular reason.
The good thing about laughing gas, Merlin figures, is that as quickly as it starts working, it also wears off, so can actually see the highs and lows in Arthur's face, the sobering up when Arthur hasn't breathed in any gas in a while; he can only hope Kilgharrah walks in during one of those times, which is looking less and less likely as time passes, since Arthur is taking the gas more and more often now. He keeps giggling in a really high voice and saying (or trying to say) gibberish.
Merlin can't deny that he is amused, but he does have a job, so he stands up and examines Arthur's ankle. It doesn't look any worse, but when he touches it, Arthur winces (even though he tries to hide it) so Merlin knows it hurts.
He moves up the bed, puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder to get his attention, intending to ask him if he's all right. Arthur looks at him and for a second his eyes are unfocused and he seems to be looking through Merlin and Merlin recognizes it as one of the effects of the gas, changed perception of reality, but it makes Arthur look somehow sad, which confuses Merlin for a second. But then a huge grin splits Arthur's face.
“Your eyes are blue,” Arthur says.
“Perceptive,” Merlin snorts, recovering from the moment.
“No, but... really blue,” Arthur goes on, giggling a little at the end of the sentence.
Merlin rolls his eyes and moves to step away and sit back in his chair but Arthur grabs his upper arm and squeezes, stops him. He turns his head to the side and frowns a little, looking like a lost little kitten, then looks back at Merlin's face with a completely serious expression. Merlin is immediately reminded of a four-year-old discussing the importance of having sweets in the house.
“Your eyes are so blue, they're like... like Facebook blue.”
For a second Merlin is stunned into silence, but then he bursts out laughing. It comes as such a surprise, a completely unexpected comparison. He's had people (mainly drunk boyfriends) compare his eyes to a lot of things, but never the Facebook logo. He can't stop laughing and once Arthur joins in, not giggling anymore but laughing in a deep, rich tone it becomes even harder to stop. Merlin has to sit down, holding a hand to his stomach. He doesn't stop until he hears the door open and even then he has to force himself to take deep breaths in between hiccups that started at some point.
Thankfully, Kilgharrah lets him off with only a raised eyebrow. He moves to examine Arthur's ankle and Arthur presses the breathing mask to his face, still smiling goofily. Merlin is still hiccupping so he excuses himself and goes to get supplies for stabilizing Arthur's ankle once it's set.
When Merlin comes back, Arthur seems a lot more sober, but he smiles at Merlin anyway. “Well, that was more unpleasant than I expected,” he says.
“And it will be for the next couple of weeks too,” Merlin replies, sitting down and taking Arthur's foot in his hand.
“Careful, I'm ticklish.”
“I'll remember that,” Merlin grins. He doesn't mean for it to sound as suggestive as it does, and he almost takes it back, but when he looks up, Arthur is smiling at him, a fond, but completely honest smile, so he just lets it hang in the air.
In the less than three hours the whole thing takes, Merlin finds himself cataloguing small bits of information about Arthur, like he might need it for later, like it matters. And sometimes he catches himself sneaking glances at Arthur's face and he realizes, maybe it does matter. Because there's a chemistry between them, something in the air, something about the way they click. Merlin doesn't know what to do about it, though, can't ask for a phone number in an examination room in an A&E. But he also doesn't want to never see Arthur again. He needs a plan.
His shift is over, but he decides to stay until it's time for Arthur to hop out of the hospital on his crutches. Despite the fact that Arthur still remains arrogant, Merlin is comfortable with him and the teasing that goes between them keeps him amused and on his toes. By the time Merlin hands Arthur the release form to sign, the innuendo in their words is obvious, and Merlin's secret glances are not so secret anymore, but they sure are getting responses. Merlin, however, still doesn't have a plan (he blames Arthur for it; after all, it's Arthur he's been so preoccupied with).
As it turns out, though, he doesn't need one. The paper Arthur hands him has a phone number in the bottom right corner, under Arthur's signature and Arthur is smirking. Merlin rolls his eyes at him.
“And for the record,” Arthur says as he leans closer, “you still have the bluest eyes I've ever seen.”
Merlin pushes Arthur on the shoulder lightly. “Get out, I wanna go home too.” Arthur grins at him before turning around and walking away. Merlin is still smiling when the automatic door closes.
So, really, it ends pretty much like any other day as well - Merlin walks home, stops by to get his groceries, grab some lunch. He texts with Gwen and reads an interesting e-mail from Gwaine about this 'cute nurse who spilt chai over him in cafeteria'. It's a day like any other.
But when he takes the torn little piece of paper and enters the set of numbers into his phone, somewhere deep down he knows that his life just changed.
rating: PG
word count: ~3.6k
category: slash, pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin, brief mentions of past Merlin/Gwaine, background Gwaine/Elena
characters: Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, Kilgharrah, Freya, Gwen, Percival, Gwaine
genre: modern au, fluff, humour, romance, romcom (idek), developing relationship
warnings: none
disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
summar ...I've embarrassed myself, but I'd like to go out with you.
also on AO3
a/n: first of all, this is actually not in first person, don't worry, i have not gone that mad yet
okay, so this one is fo yenny2206 whose birthday was on the 22nd and yes, i am late again, i am so so sorry, but like i already said previous i had exams around that time and i really couldn't make it with this, i am genuinely sorry. so after the exams we had this party to celebrate and i got drunk and this is one of the products of that night so yeah, sorry if it makes no sense all the time and there's typos and shit??? lol, idk
tl;dr, drunken ramblings to follow, happy birthday yenny, sorry i'm late
oh, btw, there are two hover-overs in there, so if you don't what sth is, try that, it might give you a popup explanation
feedback is always appreciated ^^
Roses Are Red, Your Eyes Are Blue,
I've Embarrassed Myself, but I'd Like to Go Out With You
It starts as a perfectly ordinary day. Merlin's alarm clock rings before the sun is up, as it does every day he works morning shifts; he stumbles out of bed and trudges to the kitchen still half-asleep, puts the water for tea on before going to the bathroom for a quick shower. Of course, by the time he comes back to the kitchen, the water has been boiling for so long that half of it has evaporated already, so he pours more into the pot and leaves it for another minute while he gets a bag of his favourite black tea from the cupboard. He considers having breakfast, but his fridge is in serious need of restocking so his options are limited and he doesn't feel like eating anything he has at home, so, for the fourth consecutive day that week, he opts to buy breakfast on his way to work.
He almost falls asleep while checking his mail and Facebook on his laptop, but once he's finished his tea, he is a lot more awake and this is when his day really starts. He dresses quickly and walks to work. It's a half-hour trip on foot and even though that's three times as long as it would take him if he tok the Tube, he prefers to walk; he only takes the subway when he is late because the morning walk feels better, it energizes him and makes him think more clearly.
It's a quiet morning at UCH, two of the exam rooms are taken, but the hallway is empty and the other nurses are hanging out, drinking coffee and gossiping at the reception. Gwen is on the phone, but she looks up when Merlin walks through the door, smiles and waves at him. Merlin smiles back as he hops over the counter and drops his bag under Gwen's desk area.
“Morning,” he says to the group chatting happily behind him. Merlin likes this about the morning shifts - they're usually not too busy and most everyone is still in a good mood because they haven't had too much work to do.
“Hey, Merlin,” a few of the nurses reply; the interns just wave or nod at him. They look exhausted and they're all drinking coffee so Merlin guesses they had been working all night. Freya, one of his favourite interns working with them right now, a quiet and shy girl, but great with patients and especially kids, has a smear of blood on the front of her scrubs so Merlin figures the night was more than just busy, and doesn't ask them any questions.
He's been working as an A&E nurse at UCH for three years now. He's worked morning shifts, when there's a lull in traffic like now and most of the patients children with stuff stuck up their noses, he's worked afternoons, sometimes busy and sometimes slow, with cases of varying urgency, danger and interest, and he's pulled all-nighters before as well - the shifts everyone avoids with good reason, and not just because of lack of sleep, but mostly because the patients they do get are usually young people, almost always drunk and more often than not they end up in the hospital because they thought driving home would be a good idea. Merlin's seen more than once people younger than him die before they even get to the theatre and he knows how distressing that can be.
He remembers when he first lost a patient, an elderly man who fell down a flight of stairs in his home, and it wasn't like the patient was his responsibility, it was the doctor calling all the shots, and it wasn't even that he'd spoken to the man for he'd been unconscious when he'd been taken in, and Merlin wasn't the one who had to inform his family, his son, daughter-in-law and two young grandchildren, but Merlin was still so upset he couldn't even sleep that night, despite all his exhaustion.
He wishes he could tell the interns that it gets better, that they won't feel this bad the next time, but it would be a lie. Even after all this time, the death of any patient with whose care he's involved always gets to him; the difference is that somewhere along the way he made his peace with the fact that not everyone will get out of this building breathing and that while his inspiration in pursuing this line of work may have been to save lives, his job is only to do his best and sometimes his best is just not enough. That's the truth, but he knows that it's not consolation, so he doesn't say anything.
The conversation has continued around him, something about Elena, a nurse from radiology, a lovely girl, but possibly the clumsiest person Merlin has ever met, not having a chance with the new surgeon, Gwaine. Merlin snorts into his arms because he knows Gwaine, he's dated Gwaine, he's been close friends with Gwaine for most of his life and he knows that Elena is exactly the type of person Gwaine has a soft spot for; but he doesn't want to spoil the fun for everyone else and he wants to earn as much as he can when the bets of the will-they-won't-they variety inevitably start.
Merlin starts participating in the conversation as it moves from Gwaine to Lancelot, a paediatrician Gwen has a huge crush on; Gwen is liked by virtually everyone in the hospital for her kind and friendly personality and Lancelot has a similar fate, so it is only natural that teasing them is one of the favourite pass times of all medical professionals and some patients.
Unfortunately, as the crack of dawn turns to early Saturday morning, patients start waltzing in and the morning gossip party turns into comments about patients occasionally shared between those who are not currently otherwise occupied.
Merlin's morning includes helping Freya stitch up a six-year-old's arm, draining and dressing a middle-aged housewife's blisters caused by a breakfast accident, taking an elderly lady to a hip x-ray (and maybe giving Elena a tip or two on how to deal with Gwaine while he's already there), cleaning and dressing a teenagers leg injured in basketball practice... It's business as usual.
Merlin is finishing his third mug of tea for the day when Dr Kilgharrah calls him to an exam room for help. A young man is reclining on the bed, his foot twisted at an odd angle, the ankle clearly twisted. Kilgharrah is writing something down in the patient's chart and there's another man sitting by the bed, clearly a helping friend. They're both wearing soccer jerseys, stained with grass and dirt.
“Ah, Emrys,” Kilgharrah says when he notices Merlin, “can you please take Mr Pendragon here for a healthy dose of nitrous oxide? I'll be with you shortly.”
“Of course,” Merlin agrees, taking the chart Kilgharrah offers him. He glances at it, notes the name of one Arthur Pendragon, his age of 27, the AB+ blood type, the lack of allergies, the emergency contact that is his sister Morgana LaFey, he skims the short description of the injury written in Kilgharrah's tiny, practiced handwriting. It's a simple sprain, an easy enough fix, but quite a painful one. Merlin shoves the chart under his arm. “Well, I'll go get a wheelchair. I'll be right back,” he announces to the room at large as he turns to leave.
There's a wheelchair not far down the hallway and Merlin comes back to the exam room with one. Despite his not being for more than a minute, when he comes back, his patient, Mr Pendragon, is sitting up, his legs dangling off the side of the bed and his friend is standing next to him.
Merlin smiles at the friend, a tall, muscled man, for making his job easier, pushes the wheelchair near the bed and holds out his hand for Mr Pandragon to help him up. The man's grip is strong, his fingers dig into Merlin's arm but he sways a little when he tries to stand up so Merlin reaches out with his other hand to steady him. When the man is standing unsteadily on one foot, Merlin looks up to ask him if he can stand on his own, but his words get lost halfway between his brain and his mouth.
He was so busy with the man's chart and injury, that he never really bothered to really look at him and now there's a face no more than an inch away from his, pale skin, a sharp jawline, full lips, golden hair and unnaturally blue eyes that catch Merlin off guard for a moment. And he seems not to be the only one because the patient's friend clears his throat and then Merlin is not the only who blinks twice and shakes his head a little.
Merlin leaves Mr Pendragon's friend to help him into the chair as he bends over to pick up the chart he dropped, only then realizing that he was basically presenting his ass to his patient (one whom he just had a moment with, no less); he straightens up too quickly, blood rushing to his ears, and he can feel that he's blushing, but he shakes it off and turns around, determined to stay professional. He catches what appears to be the end of a conversation, the man's friend offering to stay with him, and the man turning him down.
Then, “Don't worry, Perce, I have the nurses if I need anything,” he says. Merlin can't resist rolling his eyes, but has more tact than to say that it's not his job to pamper anyone and be their servant, at least not if they're over eight years old and not going into major surgery. The friend, Perce apparently, whatever kind of name that is, seems to be of a similar mindset to Merlin's because he also rolls his eyes.
“Fine,” Perce agrees, “but text me when you get home, all right?”
“Sure.”
Perce, bless his soul, Merlin already likes him, pushes Mr Pendragon's chair out into the hallway. “Feel free to punch him if he's being a brat,” he tells Merlin with a grin as he leaves.
“Sod off,” the patient shouts after him.
Merlin starts pushing the wheelchair towards the end of the hallway, smiling at Perce who seemed like a lovely guy.
“So what are you gonna be drugging me with again?” Mr Pendragon asks, looking up at Merlin. The odd perspective his face ends up in just serves to bring his eyes out even more.
“Uh, nitrous oxide,” Merlin replies once he looks away. He finds it a lot easier to focus when he's not staring at this man which highly unprofessional of him. And also, not something that often happens. “It's more commonly known as laughing gas?”
Mr Pendragon snorts. “You're not serious? Sure the medical schools have lectures better than laughter is the best medicine?”
Merlin glares down at his patient, who seems to be enjoying taunting him a tad too much if the playful grin on his face is anything to go by. “Among its many effects are depersonalization, derealization, euphoria and analgesia, which you may recognize as the one you need, idiot” he replies snidely.
“Did you just call me an idiot?” the man laughs.
Merlin is not sure what to say, because yes, he did; granted, he was kind of provoked, and he wasn't really thinking, it just sort of slipped when he looked at his patient and saw the teasing in his eyes and the little smirk, the raised eyebrow, it just seemed natural to respond with some friendly banter, but that's not an excuse for being completely unprofessional. Yet, he doesn't want to apologize. He doesn't say anything, letting awkward silence linger instead as he opens the door to A1 and wheels the chair inside. He helps Mr Pendragon onto the bed, carefully avoiding looking him in the eye, but still stubbornly refusing to apologize.
“So, what's your name?” Mr Pendragon asks as Merlin releases the breathing mask from its place. The question comes as such a non-sequitur that Merlin doesn't know how to react at first. “For the complaint I plan to send to the hospital, of course,” Mr Pendragon clarifies and Merlin's stunned that his moment's slip is going this far.
Still, he answers. “Merlin. It's Merlin Emrys.” He turns around with the mask in his hand, ready to explain the use of it politely and calmly and then wait for Kilgharrah in awkward silence, but when he looks at his patient's face, it doesn't look angry; on the contrary, the guy is smiling at him, a mischievous, almost boyish expression on his face. “You really are a jackass!” Merlin says incredulously, when he realizes the guy's been playing him the whole time. Still, he has to admit, the guy had him good.
“The name's Arthur,” the man replies. “You might wanna try using that.”
Merlin makes the tough decision not to stick his tongue out or to punch the guy. He'll have his revenge soon enough anyway, he figures, holding the breathing mask out. “Take this,” he says. “Don't take too much at once, you might pass out. You can take more when Dr Kilgharrah examines you and aligns the ankle again because that's gonna hurt.”
Mr Pendragon- Arthur looks at the mask, presses it to his face and takes a deep inhale. Merlin kind of wants to rub his hands together as he waits for the gas to kick in even though he knows it's not gonna happen that fast. It's just that he can't wait for this arrogant brat to break out into embarrassing giggles.
“So, this is supposed to help me? 'Cause I don't feel anything,” Arthur says.
“You don't feel anything from one glass of alcohol either, I hope,” Merlin replies, sitting down in a chair next to Arthur's bed.
“So you're saying that I should take more?” Arthur takes another deep breath and Merlin knows he's not in enough pain to be breathing in that much gas, but the little voice in his head that's almost plotting getting his phone and filming the sure-to-happen giggle fest stops him from saying anything.
“I'm saying you'll need to at one point.”
Arthur takes another hit. “Still not feeling it,” he says. Merlin reaches out and pokes just above Arthur's swollen ankle and enjoys in the grunt that causes. “Hey, that's not as bad as it was!” Arthur says with some wonder.
“Would you imagine, years of medical school have taught me more than gnomic expressions,” Merlin replies sarcastically.
Arthur takes another deep inhale and his eyes are starting to look a bit glassy and his smile is a bit lopsided, but Merlin is actually only finding it more endearing. He looks away, clears his throat to collect himself. Thankfully, that's when it starts.
First, it's just a small giggle, not even two seconds. Merlin looks over and Arthur's face is stuck in this weird, confused expression that brings a smile to Merlin's lips. “It's called laughing gas for a reason,” Merlin says.
Arthur giggles again. “I see.” He goes to take another breath, but then has to stop because he's giggling again. Merlin shakes his head, but he knows Arthur is far from dangerzone still and it's too fun to give up so he just sits back and enjoys the view. Arthur is grinning and laughing and his head falls to the side every once in a while. Merlin shakes his head and checks his watch because Kilgharrah is sure taking his time. Not that Merlin is really complaining, but it wouldn't do if an attending caught him laughing at a patient he got high for no particular reason.
The good thing about laughing gas, Merlin figures, is that as quickly as it starts working, it also wears off, so can actually see the highs and lows in Arthur's face, the sobering up when Arthur hasn't breathed in any gas in a while; he can only hope Kilgharrah walks in during one of those times, which is looking less and less likely as time passes, since Arthur is taking the gas more and more often now. He keeps giggling in a really high voice and saying (or trying to say) gibberish.
Merlin can't deny that he is amused, but he does have a job, so he stands up and examines Arthur's ankle. It doesn't look any worse, but when he touches it, Arthur winces (even though he tries to hide it) so Merlin knows it hurts.
He moves up the bed, puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder to get his attention, intending to ask him if he's all right. Arthur looks at him and for a second his eyes are unfocused and he seems to be looking through Merlin and Merlin recognizes it as one of the effects of the gas, changed perception of reality, but it makes Arthur look somehow sad, which confuses Merlin for a second. But then a huge grin splits Arthur's face.
“Your eyes are blue,” Arthur says.
“Perceptive,” Merlin snorts, recovering from the moment.
“No, but... really blue,” Arthur goes on, giggling a little at the end of the sentence.
Merlin rolls his eyes and moves to step away and sit back in his chair but Arthur grabs his upper arm and squeezes, stops him. He turns his head to the side and frowns a little, looking like a lost little kitten, then looks back at Merlin's face with a completely serious expression. Merlin is immediately reminded of a four-year-old discussing the importance of having sweets in the house.
“Your eyes are so blue, they're like... like Facebook blue.”
For a second Merlin is stunned into silence, but then he bursts out laughing. It comes as such a surprise, a completely unexpected comparison. He's had people (mainly drunk boyfriends) compare his eyes to a lot of things, but never the Facebook logo. He can't stop laughing and once Arthur joins in, not giggling anymore but laughing in a deep, rich tone it becomes even harder to stop. Merlin has to sit down, holding a hand to his stomach. He doesn't stop until he hears the door open and even then he has to force himself to take deep breaths in between hiccups that started at some point.
Thankfully, Kilgharrah lets him off with only a raised eyebrow. He moves to examine Arthur's ankle and Arthur presses the breathing mask to his face, still smiling goofily. Merlin is still hiccupping so he excuses himself and goes to get supplies for stabilizing Arthur's ankle once it's set.
When Merlin comes back, Arthur seems a lot more sober, but he smiles at Merlin anyway. “Well, that was more unpleasant than I expected,” he says.
“And it will be for the next couple of weeks too,” Merlin replies, sitting down and taking Arthur's foot in his hand.
“Careful, I'm ticklish.”
“I'll remember that,” Merlin grins. He doesn't mean for it to sound as suggestive as it does, and he almost takes it back, but when he looks up, Arthur is smiling at him, a fond, but completely honest smile, so he just lets it hang in the air.
In the less than three hours the whole thing takes, Merlin finds himself cataloguing small bits of information about Arthur, like he might need it for later, like it matters. And sometimes he catches himself sneaking glances at Arthur's face and he realizes, maybe it does matter. Because there's a chemistry between them, something in the air, something about the way they click. Merlin doesn't know what to do about it, though, can't ask for a phone number in an examination room in an A&E. But he also doesn't want to never see Arthur again. He needs a plan.
His shift is over, but he decides to stay until it's time for Arthur to hop out of the hospital on his crutches. Despite the fact that Arthur still remains arrogant, Merlin is comfortable with him and the teasing that goes between them keeps him amused and on his toes. By the time Merlin hands Arthur the release form to sign, the innuendo in their words is obvious, and Merlin's secret glances are not so secret anymore, but they sure are getting responses. Merlin, however, still doesn't have a plan (he blames Arthur for it; after all, it's Arthur he's been so preoccupied with).
As it turns out, though, he doesn't need one. The paper Arthur hands him has a phone number in the bottom right corner, under Arthur's signature and Arthur is smirking. Merlin rolls his eyes at him.
“And for the record,” Arthur says as he leans closer, “you still have the bluest eyes I've ever seen.”
Merlin pushes Arthur on the shoulder lightly. “Get out, I wanna go home too.” Arthur grins at him before turning around and walking away. Merlin is still smiling when the automatic door closes.
So, really, it ends pretty much like any other day as well - Merlin walks home, stops by to get his groceries, grab some lunch. He texts with Gwen and reads an interesting e-mail from Gwaine about this 'cute nurse who spilt chai over him in cafeteria'. It's a day like any other.
But when he takes the torn little piece of paper and enters the set of numbers into his phone, somewhere deep down he knows that his life just changed.