Fic: A Misplaced Trust Chapter 2/?
Back to Chapter 1
Notes:
This chapter written for the "Scarf" square on my Merlin Writers festive bingo card...
Chapter 2: Scarf
Morgana’s not answering her phone, so when Arthur goes back to the office on Monday morning, he’s still in the dark about why she resigned. Clutching a cup of hot tea in a paper cup, he’s reminded of the little group of musicians from the previous weekend, and a heavy weight settles in his stomach. He sips his tea to try to get rid of that pang, and fails.
“Morning, Princess,” says his PA, who as usual has managed to get in earlier than him, hair glossy and perfectly coiffed, despite probably spending the entire weekend in a gutter somewhere.
“Get your feet off the desk, you layabout,” he snaps. “And stop calling me Princess. I expect proper professional conduct in the office.” It’s not like Gwaine doesn’t always address him thus, but still he can feel his anger building.
Gwaine pulls a face, but he sits up properly and schools his features into an almost-but-not-quite respectful expression, and passes over a folder.
“Your schedule is up to date, sir,” he says. Bloody hell. If he wasn’t a bloody efficient paragon, and one of Arthur's best friends to boot, he’d be out on his ear, because this sort of insolence is enough to make Arthur’s blood boil. “The new intern will be in to see you at 8.30am.”
“New intern?”
“From Morgana’s team. Uther sacked most of them, but the intern has escaped, presumably because he’s only been with us a week.”
Arthur sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. So he’s inherited one of Morgana’s lame ducks, great.
“All right,” he says. “I’ll come back then. I’ve just got to pop out for a sec.” He really has to talk to Morgana, but not in front of Gwaine. He takes his phone outside, and stands on the pavement next to the office. But her phone must be switched off; it keeps going straight to voicemail.
He turns to go back to the office, barging straight into a passer-by.
“Sorry!” he says.
“Oof,” says the stranger. His voice is muffled by a long, luridly-striped scarf which hides his face and neck, but Arthur recognizes it, nonetheless.
“Merlin!” he says, delighted. “What brings you here?”
“I’m starting a new job today. How about you?”
“I work here.” He waves vaguely at the office building with its discreet “Pendragon Trust” logo: a gold dragon on a scarlet background. “I’m due in the office, actually-meeting a new intern I inherited from my sister. Probably someone unutterably dull-I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with an accountant in my marketing team.”
Merlin’s mouth being hidden by his scarf, he can’t see what kind of reaction he’s getting to this speech. “Look,” he adds, wanting to prolong their interaction, because, although it’s freezing cold outside, there’s something about Merlin that makes him feel deliciously warm. “We never did get to have that coffee. I’ve got half an hour before my first appointment-maybe I could make it up to you now?”
Although he can’t see Merlin’s mouth, which is hidden behind that damn scarf, he knows that Merlin’s smiling, because his eyes disappear into spectacular starbursts of crinkles that make Arthur’s breathing catch.
“Yeah,” says Merlin. “I’d like that a lot, Arthur, thanks!”
ooO8Ooo
It turns out that Merlin doesn’t like coffee, and can’t stand hot chocolate.
“That’s not tea!” scoffs Arthur, sipping his Darjeeling. “It’s a travesty.”
“I don’t care,” says Merlin. He’s unwound his scarf minutely, just enough to give those plump lips access to the steaming hot, pepperminty mug. There are about ten spoonfuls of sugar dissolved in it. Arthur is surprised Merlin’s teeth haven’t dissolved away completely under the onslaught. “It’s delicious.”
I bet you’re delicious, thinks Arthur. He’d like to test this hypothesis.
Feeling suddenly foolish, he shakes his head and smiles. “It suits you, you know.”
Sensing Arthur’s eyes on him, Merlin looks up from his cup and blushes, biting his lip. “What?”
“That ridiculous scarf. It goes with the peppermint tea, and the curiously shaped brass instrument - you don’t believe in conforming, do you, Merlin?”
“It's a euphonium. And everyone should have the opportunity to express their individuality,” says Merlin, stirring his tea, and tapping the spoon on the top of his mug. He quirks an eyebrow at Arthur, who feels his face flush under his clear-eyed scrutiny.
“I bet you do some sort of quirky, creative job,” says Arthur. “Let me guess what you do. Are you a photographer? Fashion designer? Egyptologist?”
Merlin chuckles. “No,” he says. “You’re right that I’m doing the job that I really want to do - I’ve just started an internship, actually. I’m determined to pursue the career that I really want. You might be surprised when you find out that I’ve actually just finished my accountancy exams.”
“Really? I would never have put you down as an accountant!” Arthur feels his face going pink again when he remembers his earlier disparaging remarks about the profession.
Merlin laughs and throws an unopened packet of sugar at him. “It’s all right, I know what the stereotype is, and I’m used to prats like you making assumptions,” he says.
“Oi!”
“I’m refused to be pigeonholed by society!” says Merlin, in a lofty tone of voice. “I will pursue my right to happiness adding up columns of figures! It is my destiny to be meticulous and thorough in all things!”
Arthur laughs out loud, throwing his head back and kicking the table. A bit of his tea slurps onto the bare wood. “Whoops! I’d be the last person to make assumptions about accountants. My sister is one. She’s also an arrogant, self-righteous, forthright and downright tyrannical bossyboots, about as far from the stereotype as you can get.” He pauses to dip his biscuit into his tea, waving it to punctuate his speech. “Far be it from me to tar an entire profession with the same brush!”
“She sounds a bit like my old boss! Anyway, my point is that everyone has a right to pursue their destiny, Arthur, even unspeakably posh people like you.”
“I wish that was true, but some of us are not so lucky,” says Arthur, pursing his lips ruefully and supping the dregs of his tea down. “Some of us have to conform.”
“Oh come off it, mate, look at you,” says Merlin, head on one side, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “Surely you could do whatever you want with your time? You don’t come across as someone who has to scrabble around for cash. Go on, live a little, pursue your dreams!”
Arthur huffs out a surprised laugh. Well, maybe he would. Maybe he would act on impulse for once.
“Merlin?” he says. He takes a big breath to still his thumping heart.
“Hmmm?”
“I’d like to ask you something.”
“What’s that?” Merlin’s eyes are dancing now, a teasing flash of blue, and Arthur’s sure he knows, he’s just being a big flirt, and that certainty encourages him to carry on.
“Just-you,” says Arthur. “I just-do you even know? Do you even know how you make me feel? We’ve only just met, and yet I feel like I have known you forever. Your smile is like an offensive weapon. You make me laugh at myself. Not even my sister can do that! I am not normally someone who is given to impulsive behaviour, Merlin, and yet-you’re so-”
Emboldened by the fact that Merlin has not yet run out of the café, Arthur leans forward and grasps his free hand, the one that isn’t wrapped round a mug of peppermint tea. Merlin’s eyes follow his movement, his gleaming dark-pink tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth.
“I’d like to see you again. Properly, I mean,” says Arthur, feeling a little giddy at his impetuousness. “Some time when I don’t have a meeting with my new intern in-” He checks his watch. “Eight minutes.”
“Arthur-are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yes I am.”
“Wow!” The sheer joy that blazes forth from Merlin’s expression takes Arthur’s breath away.
Delighted that he could have such an impact, he passes Merlin his card. “Here,” he says. It must be the biscuit crumbs that are making his throat tight, his voice a little bit husky, despite the tea. “Here’s my mobile number. Please call me?”
Merlin nods, squirreling away the card amidst the folds of his coat. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” His voice is soft, almost tender, caressing, and Arthur is lost. He feels his heart swell and his cheeks pink.
He smiles at Merlin lopsidedly. “Good. Well. That’s settled then.”
“Thanks Arthur, for the tea.”
“You’re welcome. Although I still don’t see how you can class what is essentially a hot, dissolved Mint Imperial as tea.” Obeying another sudden impulse, he stands, and, leaning forward presses his lips to Merlin’s forehead. Relishing Merlin’s bewildered appearance, Arthur feels ridiculously cheered as he strides out through the café door.
Pausing in the doorway, he watches Merlin rewinding his scarf round his neck like a multi-coloured cocoon. When Merlin looks up, Arthur puts a hand to his ear, thumb and little finger outstretched in imitation of a phone. “Call me!” he mimes, telling himself he’s not really just hoping to bask in another one of those heart-stopping grins.
But when he’s awarded one, it fills him with an overwhelming warmth, and he realises he’s not fooling anyone, not even himself.
ooO8Ooo
“All right Gwaine,” he says into the intercom. “Please send him in now.”
The door opens, and Arthur’s jaw drops to the floor.
The man who is hovering, uncertainly, in the doorway, looks equally gobsmacked.
“Merlin! You were Morgana’s intern?”
“Arthur? You? You’re Morgana’s pompous git of a-arse-er I mean” Merlin fingers his collar, flushing deep red to the tips of his ears. “You’re very different from her description.”
“Right.”
Arthur can’t help grinning - at Merlin’s discomfort, he tells himself, definitely not the heady thought that he’s going to be seeing Merlin for eight or more hours a day for the next three months. He feels buoyant, almost hysterical, and can’t help noticing that Merlin’s face is also splitting merrily, cheeks positively peppered with dimples.
“She neglected to tell me about your-” he waves his hand at Merlin’s eccentric scarf, which is currently coiled loosely round his neck like a gaudy, sated python. “Your-charming way with accessories and such.”
Nor did she warn me about your enchanting facial expressions, he thinks to himself. One of those-a coy sort of half-grin-was was currently gracing Merlin’s countenance now.
As for Arthur-well, he’s smiling so much he thinks his face will crack. He can’t help feeling that his face lit up when Merlin entered the room the same way that the entire town of Lewes erupts in flames on Bonfire Night.
And so of course his accursed memory chooses that moment to prompt him about the small print in the “Pendragon Trust” employee manual that strictly forbids fraternising with other members of staff. He feels his grin slip and falter.
“Yes. Well. Thank you Merlin. Gwaine will tell you what to do. That will be all.” He points at the door with his pen.
Merlin’s face falls, and Arthur’s bereft. Antipodean glaciers must look like this, he thinks, when vast parts of them give up clinging on, and crash into the merciless, Antarctic sea.
“Arthur? Are you all right? You look like you’ve swallowed a brick.” Merlin strides forward and touches Arthur’s hand. His concern makes Arthur snatch his hand away, because he’s really not got enough self-control for this.
“I’m fine, really, thank you Merlin. Just-” He sighs, pinching the top of his nose. “Just have Gwaine show you the employee manual, I think it’s on page 23. I am sorry, I really am, but I can’t just-Uther is my father, you see. I have to show a good example.”
Looking puzzled, Merlin nods and sidles towards the door. “I’ll show myself out then, shall I?”
Arthur doesn’t trust his voice to reply.
On to Chapter 3
Notes:
This chapter written for the "Scarf" square on my Merlin Writers festive bingo card...
Chapter 2: Scarf
Morgana’s not answering her phone, so when Arthur goes back to the office on Monday morning, he’s still in the dark about why she resigned. Clutching a cup of hot tea in a paper cup, he’s reminded of the little group of musicians from the previous weekend, and a heavy weight settles in his stomach. He sips his tea to try to get rid of that pang, and fails.
“Morning, Princess,” says his PA, who as usual has managed to get in earlier than him, hair glossy and perfectly coiffed, despite probably spending the entire weekend in a gutter somewhere.
“Get your feet off the desk, you layabout,” he snaps. “And stop calling me Princess. I expect proper professional conduct in the office.” It’s not like Gwaine doesn’t always address him thus, but still he can feel his anger building.
Gwaine pulls a face, but he sits up properly and schools his features into an almost-but-not-quite respectful expression, and passes over a folder.
“Your schedule is up to date, sir,” he says. Bloody hell. If he wasn’t a bloody efficient paragon, and one of Arthur's best friends to boot, he’d be out on his ear, because this sort of insolence is enough to make Arthur’s blood boil. “The new intern will be in to see you at 8.30am.”
“New intern?”
“From Morgana’s team. Uther sacked most of them, but the intern has escaped, presumably because he’s only been with us a week.”
Arthur sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. So he’s inherited one of Morgana’s lame ducks, great.
“All right,” he says. “I’ll come back then. I’ve just got to pop out for a sec.” He really has to talk to Morgana, but not in front of Gwaine. He takes his phone outside, and stands on the pavement next to the office. But her phone must be switched off; it keeps going straight to voicemail.
He turns to go back to the office, barging straight into a passer-by.
“Sorry!” he says.
“Oof,” says the stranger. His voice is muffled by a long, luridly-striped scarf which hides his face and neck, but Arthur recognizes it, nonetheless.
“Merlin!” he says, delighted. “What brings you here?”
“I’m starting a new job today. How about you?”
“I work here.” He waves vaguely at the office building with its discreet “Pendragon Trust” logo: a gold dragon on a scarlet background. “I’m due in the office, actually-meeting a new intern I inherited from my sister. Probably someone unutterably dull-I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with an accountant in my marketing team.”
Merlin’s mouth being hidden by his scarf, he can’t see what kind of reaction he’s getting to this speech. “Look,” he adds, wanting to prolong their interaction, because, although it’s freezing cold outside, there’s something about Merlin that makes him feel deliciously warm. “We never did get to have that coffee. I’ve got half an hour before my first appointment-maybe I could make it up to you now?”
Although he can’t see Merlin’s mouth, which is hidden behind that damn scarf, he knows that Merlin’s smiling, because his eyes disappear into spectacular starbursts of crinkles that make Arthur’s breathing catch.
“Yeah,” says Merlin. “I’d like that a lot, Arthur, thanks!”
ooO8Ooo
It turns out that Merlin doesn’t like coffee, and can’t stand hot chocolate.
“That’s not tea!” scoffs Arthur, sipping his Darjeeling. “It’s a travesty.”
“I don’t care,” says Merlin. He’s unwound his scarf minutely, just enough to give those plump lips access to the steaming hot, pepperminty mug. There are about ten spoonfuls of sugar dissolved in it. Arthur is surprised Merlin’s teeth haven’t dissolved away completely under the onslaught. “It’s delicious.”
I bet you’re delicious, thinks Arthur. He’d like to test this hypothesis.
Feeling suddenly foolish, he shakes his head and smiles. “It suits you, you know.”
Sensing Arthur’s eyes on him, Merlin looks up from his cup and blushes, biting his lip. “What?”
“That ridiculous scarf. It goes with the peppermint tea, and the curiously shaped brass instrument - you don’t believe in conforming, do you, Merlin?”
“It's a euphonium. And everyone should have the opportunity to express their individuality,” says Merlin, stirring his tea, and tapping the spoon on the top of his mug. He quirks an eyebrow at Arthur, who feels his face flush under his clear-eyed scrutiny.
“I bet you do some sort of quirky, creative job,” says Arthur. “Let me guess what you do. Are you a photographer? Fashion designer? Egyptologist?”
Merlin chuckles. “No,” he says. “You’re right that I’m doing the job that I really want to do - I’ve just started an internship, actually. I’m determined to pursue the career that I really want. You might be surprised when you find out that I’ve actually just finished my accountancy exams.”
“Really? I would never have put you down as an accountant!” Arthur feels his face going pink again when he remembers his earlier disparaging remarks about the profession.
Merlin laughs and throws an unopened packet of sugar at him. “It’s all right, I know what the stereotype is, and I’m used to prats like you making assumptions,” he says.
“Oi!”
“I’m refused to be pigeonholed by society!” says Merlin, in a lofty tone of voice. “I will pursue my right to happiness adding up columns of figures! It is my destiny to be meticulous and thorough in all things!”
Arthur laughs out loud, throwing his head back and kicking the table. A bit of his tea slurps onto the bare wood. “Whoops! I’d be the last person to make assumptions about accountants. My sister is one. She’s also an arrogant, self-righteous, forthright and downright tyrannical bossyboots, about as far from the stereotype as you can get.” He pauses to dip his biscuit into his tea, waving it to punctuate his speech. “Far be it from me to tar an entire profession with the same brush!”
“She sounds a bit like my old boss! Anyway, my point is that everyone has a right to pursue their destiny, Arthur, even unspeakably posh people like you.”
“I wish that was true, but some of us are not so lucky,” says Arthur, pursing his lips ruefully and supping the dregs of his tea down. “Some of us have to conform.”
“Oh come off it, mate, look at you,” says Merlin, head on one side, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “Surely you could do whatever you want with your time? You don’t come across as someone who has to scrabble around for cash. Go on, live a little, pursue your dreams!”
Arthur huffs out a surprised laugh. Well, maybe he would. Maybe he would act on impulse for once.
“Merlin?” he says. He takes a big breath to still his thumping heart.
“Hmmm?”
“I’d like to ask you something.”
“What’s that?” Merlin’s eyes are dancing now, a teasing flash of blue, and Arthur’s sure he knows, he’s just being a big flirt, and that certainty encourages him to carry on.
“Just-you,” says Arthur. “I just-do you even know? Do you even know how you make me feel? We’ve only just met, and yet I feel like I have known you forever. Your smile is like an offensive weapon. You make me laugh at myself. Not even my sister can do that! I am not normally someone who is given to impulsive behaviour, Merlin, and yet-you’re so-”
Emboldened by the fact that Merlin has not yet run out of the café, Arthur leans forward and grasps his free hand, the one that isn’t wrapped round a mug of peppermint tea. Merlin’s eyes follow his movement, his gleaming dark-pink tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth.
“I’d like to see you again. Properly, I mean,” says Arthur, feeling a little giddy at his impetuousness. “Some time when I don’t have a meeting with my new intern in-” He checks his watch. “Eight minutes.”
“Arthur-are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yes I am.”
“Wow!” The sheer joy that blazes forth from Merlin’s expression takes Arthur’s breath away.
Delighted that he could have such an impact, he passes Merlin his card. “Here,” he says. It must be the biscuit crumbs that are making his throat tight, his voice a little bit husky, despite the tea. “Here’s my mobile number. Please call me?”
Merlin nods, squirreling away the card amidst the folds of his coat. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” His voice is soft, almost tender, caressing, and Arthur is lost. He feels his heart swell and his cheeks pink.
He smiles at Merlin lopsidedly. “Good. Well. That’s settled then.”
“Thanks Arthur, for the tea.”
“You’re welcome. Although I still don’t see how you can class what is essentially a hot, dissolved Mint Imperial as tea.” Obeying another sudden impulse, he stands, and, leaning forward presses his lips to Merlin’s forehead. Relishing Merlin’s bewildered appearance, Arthur feels ridiculously cheered as he strides out through the café door.
Pausing in the doorway, he watches Merlin rewinding his scarf round his neck like a multi-coloured cocoon. When Merlin looks up, Arthur puts a hand to his ear, thumb and little finger outstretched in imitation of a phone. “Call me!” he mimes, telling himself he’s not really just hoping to bask in another one of those heart-stopping grins.
But when he’s awarded one, it fills him with an overwhelming warmth, and he realises he’s not fooling anyone, not even himself.
ooO8Ooo
“All right Gwaine,” he says into the intercom. “Please send him in now.”
The door opens, and Arthur’s jaw drops to the floor.
The man who is hovering, uncertainly, in the doorway, looks equally gobsmacked.
“Merlin! You were Morgana’s intern?”
“Arthur? You? You’re Morgana’s pompous git of a-arse-er I mean” Merlin fingers his collar, flushing deep red to the tips of his ears. “You’re very different from her description.”
“Right.”
Arthur can’t help grinning - at Merlin’s discomfort, he tells himself, definitely not the heady thought that he’s going to be seeing Merlin for eight or more hours a day for the next three months. He feels buoyant, almost hysterical, and can’t help noticing that Merlin’s face is also splitting merrily, cheeks positively peppered with dimples.
“She neglected to tell me about your-” he waves his hand at Merlin’s eccentric scarf, which is currently coiled loosely round his neck like a gaudy, sated python. “Your-charming way with accessories and such.”
Nor did she warn me about your enchanting facial expressions, he thinks to himself. One of those-a coy sort of half-grin-was was currently gracing Merlin’s countenance now.
As for Arthur-well, he’s smiling so much he thinks his face will crack. He can’t help feeling that his face lit up when Merlin entered the room the same way that the entire town of Lewes erupts in flames on Bonfire Night.
And so of course his accursed memory chooses that moment to prompt him about the small print in the “Pendragon Trust” employee manual that strictly forbids fraternising with other members of staff. He feels his grin slip and falter.
“Yes. Well. Thank you Merlin. Gwaine will tell you what to do. That will be all.” He points at the door with his pen.
Merlin’s face falls, and Arthur’s bereft. Antipodean glaciers must look like this, he thinks, when vast parts of them give up clinging on, and crash into the merciless, Antarctic sea.
“Arthur? Are you all right? You look like you’ve swallowed a brick.” Merlin strides forward and touches Arthur’s hand. His concern makes Arthur snatch his hand away, because he’s really not got enough self-control for this.
“I’m fine, really, thank you Merlin. Just-” He sighs, pinching the top of his nose. “Just have Gwaine show you the employee manual, I think it’s on page 23. I am sorry, I really am, but I can’t just-Uther is my father, you see. I have to show a good example.”
Looking puzzled, Merlin nods and sidles towards the door. “I’ll show myself out then, shall I?”
Arthur doesn’t trust his voice to reply.
On to Chapter 3