An Infallible Reason 1
1: just go on to what you pretend is your life
(but please don't die on me)
Arthur is fairly certain it's Saturday. He's also pretty sure that Saturday is the first half of the weekend and that weekend equals rest. His alarm clock, however, seems to disagree. Fortunately for Arthur, it has no legs; he reaches out from under the covers and slams the surface of the digital clock somewhere in the general vicinity of the snooze button.
He sinks back into the fluffy pillows and slowly drifts off, congratulating himself on managing to go back to sleep after he's already woken up. Then it hits him. Yes, it's Saturday. Yes, it's the weekend. But it's not rest. He has a meeting. A really important meeting. That he's not fully prepared for. That he really, really should start getting ready for.
He forces his eyes open and rubs at them with his palms. He should still have more than enough time for a shower, he hasn't been out for that long. He stretches and pushes away the blankets, embracing the chilly air as something to keep him awake (hopefully). He glances at his clock before searching the area around his bed for his slippers (he really needs to learn to fold his clothes once he takes them off in the evening). He gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back when he locates the missing footwear before his mind connects the numbers from the clock with what they mean. And then...
“Holy crap!”
With his plans shattered by the fact that he has 15 minutes instead of the two hours he thought he had, Arthur frantically rummages through his drawers until he comes up with clean underwear and socks. He considers taking a shower anyway because he feels disgusting, but eventually just picks out a suit and a tie, dresses and brushes his teeth. He hopes to god Merlin will know all the statistics he needs for today, because he sure as fuck doesn't have the time to learn them now.
~*~
Somebody is out to get him, Arthur decides as he storms into the Camelot building; first he forgot half the forms he needed so he had to go back, then his car door jammed and he had to practically steal his own vehicle, the traffic was nothing short of tragic, and to top it all off, Morgana just called him to tell him that one of their best bodyguards, Leon, was injured on the job last night and that a Welsh family would be suing them because their alarm system malfunctioned and enabled a robbery. The way the day's been so far, Arthur almost wishes he'd stayed in bed after all.
“Mister Pendragon!” the receptionist (Faye or Freya or something equally whimsical; Arthur only hired her a couple of weeks ago and she's pretty shy, so he doesn't really know anything about her) calls from behind the desk, already getting up and gathering some papers. A lot of papers. Arthur groans inwardly. “Your father and the board are already here, they're waiting for you in the Oval room, the Downeys are asking us to pay for the damage and property or they'll be pressing charges, Gaius is already negotiating with them,” she manages, quite impressively, in one breath.
“I don't have time for that right now,” Arthur replies, pressing the elevator button and adjusting his tie. “Does my father know about this?”
“Yes, he's the one who put Gaius in charge,” the receptionist answers after checking some papers.
“Then it's dealt with. How is Leon?”
“The hospital won't tell me anything because I'm not family and I haven't managed to get in touch with his next of kin yet,” the girl keeps talking quickly as she joins Arthur in the elevator (moments like these are what reminds him of why he hired her in the first place - she's efficient and quick, he likes that), “but I do know a nurse from that hospital and she's told me that it's only a minor wound to his upper arm and he'll be fine.” Also resourceful, apparently.
“Good,” Arthur mumbles, feeling genuinely relieved, but also too stressed out to manage a more adequate response. “Where's Merlin?” he asks, taking the papers from the receptionist and skimming them. They're the statistics he hasn't learnt, so he decides to seem responsible and keep them; if nothing else, at least he will look professional and not like he's relying too much on his assistant (which he is, but nobody needs to know that).
“Um, he's not here,” the girl replies, frowning and sounding like it only just occurred to her that something is not right about that.
“What do you mean, he's not here?” Arthur snaps, regretting it immediately when the receptionist shrinks away from him. “Has he called in late? Or sick?” he asks, already planning how he's gonna yell at Merlin on Monday.
“No, he's just... not here,” the girl shrugs, looking almost like she's going to cry or like Arthur's about to hit her.
“Fine,” he just grits through his teeth. He's unreasonably angry, considering how he was the one who told Merlin he didn't need to come. It's just that, somehow, he's come to expect Merlin to be there all the time and going into the meeting room alone feels unnatural. It'll be the first meeting in almost a year and a half that he has to do on his own; he's used to Merlin's presence, even when Merlin's just being an incompetent, nagging thorn in his side. It makes him feel better to have someone standing by him (his father says that it's because he feels more important when he has 'underlings' with him, but Arthur selectively overhears such comments).
“Would you like me to replace him?” the receptionist offers, but Arthur, foolishly perhaps, shakes his head before he even thinks about it; he's not even sure why, but it just doesn't feel right. Inside, however, he's panicking a little - he doesn't know everything he needs to for this meeting and he could really use someone who would pour coffee after coffee into his mouth and pinch him when he starts nodding off.
Before he faces his destiny, he checks his office, just in case, and makes sure he hasn't missed any e-mails or texts explaining why Merlin's not here; then he plots in great detail how he'll yell at Merlin and give him the most menial, boring tasks a security firm has to offer as punishment. When that helps him vent his frustration and calms him down a little, he walks down the hall and opens the double door to the largest and most opulent meeting room in the building, all the while feeling like he's about to be thrown to the lions. Merlin is so going to pay for leaving him hanging like this.
~*~
The meeting is a complete and utter catastrophe. Actually, it's not, but that's what Arthur will tell Merlin on Monday to make him feel bad. In all honesty, it's not that awful. His father is not pleased with him, but that's not new, and the board of directors are as unimpressed as they usually are, so no harm done, really. Except maybe to Arthur's ego; he was, after all, planning on impressing everyone with his new plan for expanding the business, but now that's overshadowed by the recent problems (and his unprofessional behaviour, as his father constantly reminds him), so it's not the right time to bring it up.
He sits through the rest of the meeting trying to blend into the wall. It's not like it matters, nobody's really here to see him, not even his own father. He knows that his position is really just a farce, everything important is still handled by the same group of men that started Camelot, the same group of men sitting around him now; he's just a pretty boy prince, there as the face of the company, someone to introduce to the people. Like his receptionist. And he doesn't even know her name.
~*~
The problem with meetings on Saturday is not only that they take a lot of time, but also that they usually leave him feeling frustrated. Now, normally, he would deal with that by going out for drinks with Merlin and maybe someone else from the company or some of Merlin's friends, but today, he can't do that, which, of course, only makes him more agitated. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes that this is completely irrational, but he's not in the mood for psychoanalyzing himself right now.
What he is in the mood for is getting wasted. Unfortunately, getting drunk alone makes him seem pathetic even to himself, so he doesn't do it. Instead, he goes home, plugs in his laptop, checks his mail and then pulls up the forms he needs to fill out for court and the suggestions for improving the security plan of their biggest client, Mercia Inc. Because, for Arthur, work is the way to rest from work.
~*~
Arthur remembers a time when Saturday night involved going out with friends and dating and having fun.
Actually, he doesn't. For as long as he can remember, he's been groomed to take over his father's company and become the best businessman he can possibly be. He remembers a time when he had fewer obligations, but not a time when he ever truly felt free. For years, it hasn't been a problem - he wants to succeed his father, make the company bigger and better, but he's nearing 30, working this hard is getting more and more difficult, he's not at a place in his life that he hoped he would be in by now and he's starting to wonder if it's all worth it.
When his father made him CEO of Camelot Securities almost four years ago, he thought that was it, he was in charge, he would achieve something, fix all the problems and bring about world peace with rainbow-coloured streets and candy canes instead of trees (well, not really, but he was equally naïve and unrealistic). The reality, he's learnt by now, is that his father controls the board of directors, and the board controls him - he is no more than a chess piece they move around; a valuable chess piece, but just a piece nonetheless.
It's frustrating him that he works so hard to prove himself, yet it's never enough. But he keeps trying because his life has long ago become synonymous with his job, it's possibly been like that since the day he was born, and he doesn't know how to do anything else. So he keeps trying to be better, to work harder, to become the son that his father wants him to be.
He rubs at his eyes and checks the clock in the bottom right corner of his laptop screen. It's well past midnight. He's not sure where the time's gone - the last time he checked, it was only evening. He finishes up with the application he's been reading (more like staring at while indulging in letting his brain shut off for a while) and puts his laptop into hibernation. Just another day in the life of Arthur Pendragon, fitting seamlessly into all the others, just another 24 hours of meetings and work and exhaustion blurring into each other.
~*~
Somebody is playing Smoke on the Water really loudly right next to his ear. Or maybe it's just his phone ringing. Either way, Arthur wants it to stop; he's sleeping and he'd like to continue, thank you very much. He seems to be out of luck, though, as the phone continues to buzz under his pillow. He gives it another minute of two, but it doesn't stop so he eventually sends one hand mindlessly searching for it. By the time he looks at the screen he already has seven missed calls and they're all from Morgana. Of course. That woman doesn't know when to let it go.
“What?” he croaks into the phone as soon as it starts ringing again.
“Please tell me you're not still sleeping. It's almost 2pm,” Morgana drawls, sounding bored and uninterested.
“Yes, well, us mere mortals still need sleep,” Arthur replies dryly, sitting up. Now that Morgana's pointed it out, he realizes that it is quite late; he doesn't remember when he last slept for this long, but damn, it feels good.
“I thought you gave up on that pesky waste of time when you started working for our father,” Morgana snipes back, easily falling into their bantering habits.
“Whatever. What do you want?” The fact that the first thing that crosses Arthur's mind is that Morgana has some more bad news about work says volumes about how he lives his life. But no one can be bothered to re-evaluate their biggest life decisions when they've only just woken up.
“We're going out tonight, I wanted to know if you'd be joining us,” Morgana says, still in that utterly disinterested tone.
“Yes, you sound like you're dying to find out,” Arthur teases, getting up and heading to the kitchen. Coffee sounds like heaven right now.
“I'm doing my nails. You only have about 15 percent of my attention,” she replies breezily, but Arthur can hear the amusement in her voice.
“Good to know where your priorities lie,” he tells her, smiling. Morgana just sighs exaggeratedly and Arthur has a feeling she'd probably stick her tongue out at him if they were in the same room and if it weren't too childish.
“So, are you joining us?” she asks again, startling him from the sleepy trance he's fallen into while staring at his coffee machine, waiting for it to produce his wakefulness potion. He may be a little addicted to coffee, he concludes when it occurs to him that he can't imagine a morning without it. He realizes that he's spacing out again; he's still far too close to sleep to focus on anything.
“Who's us?” he finally remembers to ask. He knows that he doesn't have to be too concerned because for all her insisting that she has a life outside of work and that Arthur should follow her example, Morgana doesn't actually hang out with many people who are not from their company, except for one or two high school girlfriends; still, he wants to know who will be there before he decides if he wants to join them - he's not always in the mood for all of Morgana's friends.
“I don't know, people,” Morgana replies, and Arthur can tell that she's smirking just from how she sounds. “Gwaine and Elyan definitely, probably Percival and Leon, Lancelot, Gwen.” Oh, well, that's not too bad, Arthur decides to himself. Then Morgana adds, “Maybe Elena and Mithian.” Of course Morgana would almost 'forget' to mention the two of them.
Not that Arthur has a problem with either of them, but... Elena is a charming lady, Arthur's always thought so, but she doesn't understand the concepts of subtlety or propriety, as Arthur's learnt on many occasions when he talked to her or went to a pub with her (even with all the disastrous dinners with his father put aside, Arthur has had far too many embarrassing moments because of Elena's talent of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time), and the story of him and Mithian is practically legendary by now - how Morgana all but bullied them into dating because she thought that they'd be a cute couple and that Uther would approve (which he did) but also how terribly awkward that was for the two of them and how they didn't click at all; they broke up pretty quickly, with no arguments or yelling or crying, but Arthur's always felt uncomfortable having to spend time with Mithian since then.
“Come on, Arthur, you haven't gone out since, like, last year,” Morgana whines. She's exaggerating, of course, but it has been a while since he went out with some friends just for the sake of having fun, not rewinding from a long day or getting drunk to forget something. Still, of the people Morgana said were coming, he only feels up to hanging out with Lancelot, one of their bodyguards, a quiet and calm, yet very opinionated young man (Arthur loves having discussions with him), and Gwen, his polite and friendly girlfriend who Arthur still doesn't know very well. Gwaine and Elyan are too loud and lively for Arthur's current sombre mood, while Leon and Percival will insist on finding out what's wrong with Arthur; and it hasn't escaped Arthur that Morgana didn't even mention Merlin.
“Is Merlin gonna be there?” he blurts, before remembering that Morgana has an uncanny ability to misinterpret that. This time, however, she surprises him and doesn't react.
What she says instead is, “I actually don't know, I thought you would tell me?”
“What do you mean?” Arthur asks, frowning. Morgana of all people knows that he doesn't usually make social calls.
“Well, he said he'd definitely be there when I last saw him on Friday, but he hasn't been answering his phone since then,” Morgana replies, sounding more alert now. Arthur finds it mildly upsetting that his own sister tunes out while talking to him, but tunes right back in when talking about a friend.
“He hasn't called me, if that's what you're asking,” he says, pouring himself his first cup of coffee.
“Didn't you see him yesterday?”
“No, he wasn't there for the meeting,” Arthur replies, taking a sip (and burning his tongue in the process). It is indeed strange that Merlin didn't come to the meeting yesterday without having called first, but Arthur himself always tells Merlin he doesn't need to show up on the weekends, so maybe Merlin figured he didn't have to phone in. What's stranger, though, is that Morgana hasn't heard from him either, since they're, like, best friends or whatever (Arthur feels kind of possessive over Merlin, since Merlin is his best friend, and besides, he met Merlin first). Merlin is a fairly sociable person who likes to go out; his lack of contact with Morgana immediately sets off a red light for Arthur.
“That's... unusual,” Morgana says, sounding like she's deep in thought, but when she carries on, Arthur can practically hear the shrug in her voice. “I guess I'll call him again. Maybe his phone is not working properly or something.”
“Yeah, probably,” Arthur agrees mindlessly, sipping his coffee. He can't quite shake the odd feeling that something is off about Merlin and his behaviour, but Morgana probably knows Merlin better, so he trusts her judgement that everything is okay. Besides, he wouldn't be caught dead admitting that he's maybe, kinda, sort of worried about Merlin (to Morgana of all people). So he ignores the nagging voice in the back of his mind that keeps telling him to check up on Merlin and swallows his worries with his coffee.
“So, shall I count you in for tonight?” Morgana asks in a voice that is deceptively sweet. Arthur considers saying no, because he'll be tired tomorrow morning and because clubbing is not really his thing and because of a thousand other things that he always uses as excuses for not going out, but the prospect of making sure Merlin is actually fine has him agreeing, albeit he makes Morgana swear to keep him sober first.
~*~
As the day drags on, Arthur does what he usually does on the weekends - watches TV, does work, alternates between drinking tea and coffee. All the while, however, there's something in the back of his mind, a sense that something is not right. So Arthur does what he never does on the weekends (or any other time, for that matter) - he picks up the phone and calls Merlin's house. The phone rings four times before it goes to the machine and Arthur leaves a concise, hopefully nonchalant message asking Merlin to call him back. Then he goes back to his routine.
~*~
The club Morgana directs him to is stuffy and overly crowded and far, far too loud. By the time he gets there, everybody is already tipsy and most of them are dancing; they wave at him, say their hellos and try to get him to dance, but Arthur avoids all of it with practiced ease, finding their regular booth, sitting down and ordering the one and only drink he'll be having tonight. He quickly scans the coats and jackets thrown over the backs of chairs and couches. It's easy enough to spot that Merlin's is not there. He frowns and takes out his phone.
He doesn't normally use his phone for much of anything except business calls and setting up meetings, something which Morgana teases him about relentlessly, but now he sends her a text to ask if Merlin is there. She doesn't reply for a while, and Arthur is starting to get frustrated when his drink arrives, so he looks up. Across from him, on the dance floor, Morgana catches his eye, smiling and dancing, her hair totally messed up and make-up smudged; she shakes her head no, then continues to dance.
Arthur drinks his scotch in record time, sets the glass down with too much force (not that anyone will hear over the non-stop beat of the music), then takes out his phone again. It's a sign of how worried he is that he's using the blasted thing this much, he thinks as he send Merlin a text, asking him if he's all right and warning him that if he is, he won't be when Arthur next sees him. Then he grabs his coat and leaves, expertly avoiding everyone he knows.
2: hold on, slow down
(i count the times that i've been sorry, i know, i know)