Glow of a Rose (1/6)
Title: Glow of a Rose
Summary: After waiting centuries for the Rise of the Once and Future King, Merlin is not amused to find out Arthur can fuck up everything… even his own legend.
Art by glenien
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For all Seasons and for screwing around with the Arthurian Legend. Hell, in this story, I couldn’t even let the Nibelungen Legend alone.
Genres: Slash, First Time, Romance, H/C, Angst, Reincarnation!Fic, Powerful!Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 40.560
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.
Author’s Notes: Lyrics at the beginning from the song ‘This Bitter Earth’ by Dinah Washington
MASTERPOST
Glow of a Rose
And if my life is like the dust
that hides the glow of a rose…
What good am I?
Heaven only knows.
Face half-hidden behind the screen of his laptop, Merlin was staring through the open door of the inn across the street. For the hundredth time in the last two weeks he told himself that this couldn’t be coincidence. He had seen a lot of them over the last centuries, but he had never, ever seen three of them at the same place, obviously knowing each other.
Quite obviously, Merlin thought while he watched Lancelot and Guinevere kissing each other with the ease of a couple who knew each other long and well. Lancelot’s name was now Will - a fact that gave Merlin the creeps- and Guinevere was called Mary, but nevertheless… they were Lancelot and Guinevere. And Gwaine was Gwaine, and he was even called Gwaine now, which was probably embarrassing for him but Merlin was kind of glad about it; things were already confusing enough. It was also glaringly obvious that neither of them recognized him; another thing Merlin was thankful for. The last time he had seen Lancelot, about 1820, the once-upon-a-time-knight had known Merlin… he hadn’t really remembered much of their history but whatever he had remembered had been enough for him to attack the warlock, and all had ended in a bloody disaster he could do without this time.
Guinevere had never recognized him, no matter how often they had met. And they had, far too often for Merlin’s taste. He sometimes wondered if she didn’t want to know him, if he maybe only came to her in her most hidden, secret nightmares. He hoped so. As back then, it made bile rise in his throat when he watched her and her fucking white knight. Mordred might have killed Arthur, Morgana might have given him the means to do so, Uther might have crippled Arthur’s soul, but after all these years, Merlin still hated Guinevere and Lancelot most. Arthur had loved both of them, and they had betrayed him in the most horrible way imaginable. Merlin knew, this had been Arthur’s downfall, not the insane search for the Grail, not the war against Mercia… it had been the deceit of his wife and his… well, best friend. Merlin hadn’t held this title at that time; his part of the blame. He hadn’t warned Arthur, tongue-tied and not sure how to approach the King about his cheating wife, and then it had been too late. He had fallen for the ruse of a woman he had thought he could trust; trapped in a cave by her for decades, stripped of almost all of his powers, he had been cursed to only watch Arthur’s last years, the struggling with his fate, without being able to help him, to console him.
Merlin took a deep breath and lowered his gaze to the keyboard. He knew none of that mattered now, hadn’t for a long time. These people across the street, two innkeepers and one of their waiters… they weren’t his enemies anymore. Actually, they were the reason for the bit of hope that had flared in his chest when he had found out about them. And as for the others… Morgana, Viviane and Mordred, wanderers like himself… they all ran for their lives whenever they felt Merlin closing in on them. Even if they weren’t hopelessly divided, they all knew they wouldn’t stand a chance against him, not after all these years while his powers had grown and theirs had weakened.
So… there he was sitting at the same table in front of this little Italian café, the last two weeks, every day in the same spot across the street, waiting for Arthur to arrive. He wasn’t even close to losing his patience; he would still sit here for years, if he had to. Something was different this time; he could feel it in the way his heart was stuttering in his chest. He hadn’t felt that way since he had last seen Arthur, in the royal chambers of Camelot, before he had left for Avalon.
Sighing, Merlin let his gaze wander down the street; by now, he knew almost everyone who lived or worked here. The huddled beggar in front of the boutique that never seemed to be open, the guy inside his flower shop who was selling roses and crack, the old woman who, quite like Merlin, did nothing besides staring down at this street from her window the whole day. And every time he looked around, he waited for a blond man to turn one of the corners, coming toward him, recognizing him.
Merlin leaned down and got a few newspapers out of his bag. While he was flipping through the pages, he shook his head. Wherever he looked, no matter the country, the only things to find were hate, war, lies, deception, murder, disasters… in his opinion, the world had twenty, maybe thirty years left before everything would end in a melt-down; the Earth was dying. Therefore, he had kept track on all the European royal families and he was trying to be on top of news about promising, young politicians all over the world. He hadn’t found Arthur so far, but still, he just knew the other man was close. And there was reason to believe somebody else knew about the Rise… Merlin reached for the envelope in the inside pocket of his jacket. For the nth time, he let his finger wander over the white surface, over the single name on it. Emerson, his alias. No stamps, no return address, no nothing. Only the name. It had appeared in his mailbox two weeks ago, a single picture in it. Guinevere, Lancelot and Gwaine standing in front of the Three Lions.
Merlin shook his head slightly; no matter what he had tried with the envelope and the picture, he hadn’t been able to find out where it had come from or who had sent it. That was troublesome; whoever had sent it must have known not only what finding out about the Three Lions meant to Merlin; no, this person also had had to know who Merlin was. And who would know about that, if not one of his old enemies… or one of Camelot’s Returners. But if in fact one of the old souls besides the three across the road had awoken and if that soul was well-meaning… then why had this person not approached him? The whole thing bothered Merlin; he wasn’t afraid, hell, it had been centuries since he had been afraid of anyone, but still… he wanted to know what this was all about. He hated riddles he couldn’t solve.
With a sigh, he pocketed the envelope again. Whoever, whatever, it wasn’t so important right now. Important was the flutter of his heart, the strange feeling of belonging in his soul.
Maybe… maybe it was time now, finally.
Later, Merlin wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him that Arthur would fuck things up. After all, the bloody Once and Future King had done so since Merlin had known him, and he had never really stopped doing so his whole life.
Merlin had just taken his usual seat and ordered a latte from the tiny, curvy and extremely sarcastic Italian woman who owned the café - “Please, believe me, I can’t eat tiramisu first thing in the morning, no matter how awesome it is” - when things in the street became very nasty very quickly.
Across the boutique, where the beggar was already arranging his tin box and unwrapping himself from various blankets, three neo-Nazis turned the corner, loudly brawling, and most probably on their merry way to the drug-selling florist of their choice. Merlin dimly remembered seeing them once or twice before, but then, they had come from the other end of the street. Obviously, the beggar had been lucky so far -he didn’t react at all to the three assholes- but sadly, his luck ended right before Merlin’s eyes. For whatever reason, maybe only due to the fact that the flower shop didn’t seem to be open yet -the owner was running late- the skins spotted the homeless guy, stopped for a second and then started to cross the street, yelling the first rude remarks.
“Jesus Christ!”
Merlin, in the very act of standing up, startled and stared at Mrs. Saratori beside him. Mrs. Saratori, who held his latte in one and a butcher knife in the other hand. Jesus Christ indeed. “Mrs. Saratori, do me the favor, let go of that knife and call the cops, would you?”
Merlin shoved her very cautiously toward the door, his eyes glued to the unfair fight scene developing not far away. The guy on the sidewalk had caught on to the danger he was in and tried to struggle to his feet. It was just a little too late for that because the first asshole had already reached him and lifted his white-laced boot -Merlin wondered why the guy even bothered with this dated accessory, the swastika tattoo on his neck was expressing his ideas quite nicely- and kicked the beggar in the stomach. Or better, he tried to… the pavement beneath him got slippery all of a sudden and he landed right on his ass before his foot could make contact with the guy still sitting on the ground. Merlin, on his way to them, hoped the police would show up quickly; otherwise, he’d have to find a way to explain his ability to beat those three overgrown monkeys to the ground on his own.
Only a few feet away now, Merlin would have given a lot for Lancelot or Gwaine coming around the corner; well, he would prefer Gwaine, to be honest. If the man still owned some of his old character traits, he would join the fight just because, “Hey! A Fight!”, but alas… Merlin arrived at his destination and nobody showed up, neither knights nor cops nor anyone else.
“Do tell me… do I have a chance to stop this when I say, ‘Cool it,’?”
Like doublemint triplets, all three of them turned in his direction. “Wha’ did ya say?”
“Yes. I thought as much.”
Taking advantage of the moment of surprise, Merlin swung his fist at the guy right in front of him. The second his hand made contact, the ass flew back and downwards as if Merlin had delivered a right cross, which he most certainly hadn’t. Sadly, if one didn’t have a brain in one’s head, it was next to impossible to knock one out, so Merlin wasn’t upset to see him getting onto his feet almost immediately again.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Merlin noticed movement coming his way, but before he managed to turn around fully, the second ass, who tried to attack him, stumbled against a parked car. The homeless guy had obviously decided to join the fight and had thrown his pillow, that turned out to be a backpack, at asshole number two. That earned him a punch from the third guy -the one with the tattoo-, and Merlin suddenly decided he had more than enough. Stepping quickly in front of the beggar who had tumbled down on his blankets again, he let his magic flare, showing them their worst nightmares.
Man-sized spider, man-sized spider -Gods, how boring can they get?- and a werewolf, so at least one of them had a bit of imagination. The results were, as always, spectacular. The fact that they were drunk out of their minds helped, of course; he doubted they had known they could run so fast. Merlin crouched down beside the homeless guy who, as if by a miracle, still had the hood over his head, and asked, “You’re all right?”
The guy looked up and Merlin’s whole world tilted sideways. Of course, this was the exact moment the cops finally showed up.
“So… you’re saying they just ran away?”
“I think I can look pretty dangerous.”
The officer behind the desk stared at him and Merlin stared straight back. This was getting old very fast. Right now, Merlin had better things to do than sitting in this old police station under flickering neon lights and answering stupid questions. Far better things. He looked over to the desk slightly behind him where… Arthur was sitting, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands and glaring defiantly at another officer.
“Mr. Emerson, guys like these don’t just run away.”
Merlin sighed. “Maybe they saw Mrs. Saratori coming down the street with that huge pan of hers? Listen, I have no idea why they turned tail and ran. Maybe you should go and look for them, instead of interrogating the victims?”
“Do you want to file charges?”
“Yes, of course. But I also think the DA should be interested in this as well? Such people are a public menace.”
The officer mumbled something Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to know and began with the labored process of typing all the information he was able to get from Merlin into the old computer on his desk. After they were finished -sadly, this had also included a short interlude of “Oh, sir, I’m sorry… you’re that Mr. Emerson?” which led Merlin to the conclusion he’d have to change his current profession asap- Merlin stood up, took his coat and turned to the other desk where Arthur… had been sitting. The chair was empty now.
Thankfully, Merlin didn’t have to run all too far; Arthur was just outside on the steps leading up to the police station, smoking and apparently waiting for him. Putting on his coat and buttoning it up, Merlin slowly descended toward him. He had carefully blanked his expression because he had no idea how or if Arthur would react to him. So far, they hadn’t been alone and hadn’t exchanged a single word. Inwardly, he was shaking with nerves and also with disbelief… this wasn’t the way he had imagined them meeting again, and Gods… he had imagined thousands and thousands of possibilities.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Arthur answered, taking another drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out and therefore obscuring his face behind it. “I guess I should thank you for rescuing me.”
Merlin just stared at him, becoming increasingly annoyed with himself. Now would be a good time so say something, like ‘You’re welcome’, if you don’t want to look like a complete idiot. And yes, his eyes are blue but that isn’t helping you right now. “Uh… it was either me or Mrs. Saratori’s pan.” Great. Brilliant, in fact.
Arthur narrowed his eyes a bit and then nodded. “Mhm. Okay, as I said, thanks.” With that he turned around and started walking, only to be stopped by Merlin’s hand that had grasped his upper arm. “What?”
“I just…” And again, words failed Merlin. He noticed that Arthur’s expression became angry and he still couldn’t let go of him.
“Hey, take your hands off me!”
It only took the span of a second to put two of his most powerful spells on Arthur, then Merlin released him. With a sinking feeling, he began to understand that the other man didn’t recognize him… and also didn’t react to the magic that had just flown all over and around him.
“I just wanted to ask you if… uh, you wanted to have a coffee with me?” Merlin wondered if he could sound lamer; he suspected he could… and would in no time, most probably.
Arthur snorted. The bastard actually snorted. “Man, spare yourself the time and trouble… I don’t go for things like that.”
“Things like what?”
“Aw, come on… do I have to spell it out for you, here, of all places?”
Merlin started to grind his teeth. The twit might not remember him, but he certainly sounded exactly like he had sounded centuries ago. “Oh, please, do me the favor and spell it out. Because I don’t understand a word you’re saying!”
Arthur lowered his voice and hissed, “I’m not a hustler!”
Again speechless, Merlin stared at the blond man. Then he slowly looked down at himself, at his expensive gray and black Pea Coat, the black turtle-neck under it, the worn jeans and black boots. “Huh. I didn’t think the ten golden chains I’m wearing were showing under this. What… you think I’m a pimp, or what?”
Pursing his lips, Arthur answered, “No. I think you’re a john. And again, slowly this time so you’ll be able to understand. Thanks, but no, thanks.” And then, he turned around and jogged down the street, leaving behind a 1500 years old, totally flabbergasted warlock.
With a sigh, Merlin turned over on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was no good, sleep didn’t come. There was no need to worry about Arthur; the protection and tracking spells were firmly in place. Merlin just had to reach out and Arthur, lying on the street in a sleeping bag, appeared in front of his eyes. Sleeping on a goddamn street. In a street where some sort of creepy Camelot gathering could very well take place. Giving up, Merlin got out of bed and started dressing. He deliberately shoved any thoughts about Arthur’s destiny -how the fuck could that happen now? - away, because… first things first. He had to find a way to get to know the other man, to get him to trust Merlin… and he already knew that this would be so much fun he wouldn’t be able to stand it.
Completely hidden from human eyes by magic, Merlin sat down carefully on the blanket beside Arthur. For a moment, he let his eyes wander over the meager possessions, then returned to Arthur’s face. The blond man -Man? Gods, he looks so young, how old is he?- wasn’t sleeping peacefully; a fine sheet of sweat covered his face, eyes behind closed lids were moving rapidly, brows were furrowed. Merlin watched him for another second, then raised his hand and let it hover over Arthur’s head. “Sleep,” he said quietly. Immediately, Arthur relaxed; the erratic breathing turned to deep breaths, and he seemed to sink deeper into the sleeping bag.
Merlin swallowed hard. Unbidden memories rose inside him; how often had he done the same for the troubled King of Camelot? He took a deep breath himself; he couldn’t succumb to the feelings he had for this man, not now, never. He had to remember that he was foremost a tool for Arthur, someone who had to help the Once and Future King, and not someone who fell head over ass for said king, like the fool Merlin was and always had been. And still, he was tempted, so tempted to touch him, like he had done in front of that police station. It was as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and had to touch, to make sure he had really found him. Releasing a silent sigh, he gave in and stroked tenderly over the blond hair.
When he drew his hand back, Merlin frowned. It was one thing to sweat while having nightmares, but Arthur seemed to be drenched in sweat. His hair was almost dripping wet, but he didn’t feel feverish. With a sudden bad feeling, Merlin opened the backpack Arthur was using as a pillow, and glimpsed inside as much as he could given the fact that Arthur’s head was lying on it. The only things he could see were clothing, another pair of sneakers, some toiletries and a few books. He closed the bag again, and then, fighting the feeling that he was actually creeped out by himself, he slowly unzipped the sleeping bag. Arthur mumbled something, turned a bit more onto his stomach and made it very easy for Merlin to spot the wallet sticking in the back pocket of his jeans. While he was drawing it out, Merlin kept a close eye on the sleeping man. He knew it was next to impossible for him to wake up, not after the sleeping spell, but one never knew with Arthur. The King had always had the uncanny talent of being unswayed by Merlin’s more ordinary magic tricks… and this meant he could not only wake up but also see him. And Merlin wasn’t keen on a suddenly awake Arthur who would find Merlin all over him in the dark, especially not after the whole ‘being a john’ thing Arthur had mentioned.
But he didn’t wake, and Merlin opened the wallet. There was no money in it, as expected, but Merlin was more interested in finding a driver license or an ID card. He got the card quickly and stared. John Smith. John Smith! Merlin bit on his lips to stop himself from laughing out loud. That was… funny, in more than one way. Then his gaze fell on the birth date and he groaned. He wasn’t even nineteen! Gods, he was younger than he had been when Merlin had met him the first time. Actually… he was as young as Merlin had been then. Great. A teenager.
There was nothing more of interest in the wallet, so Merlin shoved it back carefully into Arthur’s pocket and started to zip up the sleeping bag again. As if on cue, Arthur sighed and turned on his back again, and that was the moment Merlin noticed the pill bottle in his left hand. He gently pried open the grip Arthur had on it.
Lorazepam… and the bottle was half empty. Merlin closed his eyes. This was… well, ‘not good’ didn’t cover it, this was an actual disaster.
The next morning, Merlin sat down at ‘his’ table the moment the waiter had dragged chairs and tables out.
“You’re early today, sweetheart. The coffee machine isn’t hot yet.”
Merlin looked up at Mrs. Saratori and grimaced slightly. “I know, I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep. Would you mind if I sit here or would you prefer I wait somewhere else until you… well, actually open up?”
The tiny woman laughed. “Yes, I want you to stand up and wait somewhere else, silly! Come on in and wait there, it’s still a bit cold out here.”
Merlin hesitated for a moment, looking at the sleeping man not far away, and then stood up and followed Mrs. Saratori into the her still sparely lit café. She was right after all; although summer wasn’t far away, it was still uncomfortably chilly and damp so early in the morning. He took a seat on one of the cozy sofas and watched her whirling around behind the bar, his thoughts still on Arthur. He had spent the rest of the night on researching anything he could think of on benzodiazepine use, addiction and withdrawal. What he had found had been distressing, to say the least. It was obvious Arthur couldn’t do a detoxication on the street. For some reason, Merlin suspected he wouldn’t get him into a hospital either, so… he had to get him off the street and into his house as soon as possible. Since Merlin knew Arthur only had half a bottle of the drug left, it had to be really soon; after all, Merlin had already made sure that Arthur wouldn’t be able to get a refill. Well, refill wasn’t the right name for this; it surely hadn’t been Arthur’s given name on that bottle.
Merlin startled out of his thoughts when Mrs. Saratori put a latte and a cinnamon roll on the table in front of him. “That should help a bit, sleepy head. And don’t start on me about that roll, you need the sugar.” Before Merlin could answer or thank her she was away again, grabbed a paper bag with probably more rolls in it and what looked like a huge thermos jug and left the café, turning to the left. Merlin waited for a moment, then got up and looked out of the window. As he had thought, she was just putting down both jug and bag beside Arthur without waking him. Merlin smiled; he had apparently missed this ritual because he had never been here so early before. So… Arthur had been adopted, and this also explained why that tiny woman had almost banged a pan over the head of one the assholes the day before.
When Mrs. Saratori came back, she saw Merlin peeking out of the window and smiled at him. “This boy is really impossible. You know how often I told him he should come in here to warm himself up? He’s worse than a stray cat… far too wary of anyone.”
“Do you know how long he’s been out there?”
“Well, I don’t know how long he’s living on the streets. I’ve asked him but he just shrugged it off. But the first time he came here… maybe a month?” She looked at him for a long moment, and then continued, “That was very brave of you, yesterday, to take on those fuckers alone.”
Reeling a bit from hearing the word ‘fuckers’ coming out of her mouth, Merlin didn’t know how to answer. He knew of course, that, thin as he was, he didn’t look like someone who had a chance against three musclemen. He glanced at her a bit helplessly, but she just smiled and shrugged. “Whatever you did, it worked. Though I would have really liked the chance to bash one of their heads in.”
Sighing, Merlin said, “I filed charges against them but…”
Mrs. Saratori interrupted him. “Forget it! I don’t know what’s going on in this world, but assholes like them? They get away. Even if the cops manage to catch them, and that would be a miracle because they probably don’t even look for them, they will get away with a slap on their wrists. Johnny on the other hand… Jesus. Did he tell you they almost arrested him for begging on the street?”
“What?”
“Yes. That’s how it works. And the ones responsible…” at this, her gaze wandered to the still closed flower shop, “… walk away.”
I wouldn’t be too sure about that guy, Merlin thought. Out loud, he said, “So, that’s the one then… the dealer?”
“You see a lot.”
“Sometimes.”
Mrs. Saratori sat down beside Merlin and started to turn the ashtray on the table around and around. “I feel so sorry for that poor boy. I don’t know what happened to him… to be honest, I didn’t dare to ask him, I was afraid he would take off immediately. But it’s obvious he has some terrible problems and every time I see that man walk over to him, throw a coin into that little tin box to cover for him selling drugs to that boy, I could…” She broke off for a second. Then, “But I know, I know, if I call the cops, they would find nothing on that ass and would arrest Johnny instead.”
“You’re probably right,” Merlin answered. Inwardly, he was filled with pleasant anticipation. It was true, that guy was very careful about his drugs; Merlin had looked around in the closed flower shop about an hour ago. But things had changed dramatically in that hour, and Merlin couldn’t wait for the spectacle to start.
Two hours later, Merlin sat on his usual seat in front of the café, drinking his third latte and enjoying the morning sun, among other things. Across the street, there were still cops carrying boxes of various sizes out of the flower shop; boxes filled with drugs of every kind that Merlin had planted carefully all over the shop’s basement in the early morning hours.
The last hour had been… satisfactory for Merlin. The moment the florist had unlocked the front door of his shop, it had been raining cops. Cops in uniforms, plainclothes cops and, if Merlin wasn’t very wrong, the whole Narcotics Squad had descended on that guy, arresting him immediately. They had waited until the dogs had found the first stash, then Mr. Drugs and Roses had vanished inside a police car, to be hopefully never seen again.
Everyone who lived here and was at home was hanging out of their windows and watching the drama evolving. The rest stood together, whispering, pointing.
Since he couldn’t resist, Merlin glanced over to Arthur again. The last time he had done this, Arthur had been sitting on his sleeping bag with a less than amused expression on his face. This time however, Arthur stared straight back at him, eyes narrowed. Shaking off the weird feeling that Arthur somehow knew that this had been Merlin’s doing -he couldn’t know that now, could he?- Merlin raised his eyebrows, trying for an innocent look, and pointed with his left hand to the empty chair beside his. Arthur stared at him for another moment, then turned away and started rummaging in his backpack. Merlin sighed with disappointment, and then his heart jumped and began to beat quickly, because Arthur had stood up and came his way.
At once, Merlin became annoyed with himself again. By the Gods, he was really too old to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. His mouth went dry, his palms got clammy, the whole nine yards, as if he were also still a teenager. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore his adrenalin ridden body, Merlin watched Arthur coming closer. Gods, he was so thin. Merlin knew that he himself was also very skinny, but with his slighter build, it didn’t show so much. Arthur still had the wide shoulders, the broader physique, and he looked… awful. Unhealthy. Almost starved.
“What now?” A deep voice asked.
Merlin swallowed, looked up and smiled. “Better view from here, don’t you think? I’d really like to invite you to a coffee. I swear I have no nefarious intentions towards your body.” That was an utter lie, of course. He had nefarious intentions; he just wouldn’t act on them.
“You’re a weird one, aren’t you?” Arthur stated.
“Yes, definitely.”
After he hesitated for another moment, Arthur finally sat down beside him, and before Merlin could even think of something to say, Mrs. Saratori shot out of her café, looking very excited.
“I don’t believe it,” she beamed. Arthur glanced up at her, smiling slightly, and Merlin had to look away. A glaring Arthur he would be able to handle, a smiling Arthur was too much right now. So he just listened to Arthur talking nonsense with her and ordering a tea, and continued to watch the ant hill across the street. Suddenly, he cocked his head to one side. One of the cops, probably one from the Narcotics Squad, looked familiar… very familiar. When the guy turned around fully, Merlin leaned back in his chair. Valliant. Awesome. No, this was beyond awesome. Merlin stared and did all he could to stay seated and not hex Arthur far, far away.
“You know him?”
Merlin’s head whipped around. “What?”
“Miller.” Arthur pointed with his chin to the cop. “You look like you know him.”
“No. He just… looks like someone I knew. Why? Do you know him?”
Arthur took his time responding, lighting a cigarette. “Well, I wouldn’t say I know him. He arrested me some weeks ago, made me spend the night in jail. That night, someone stole my coat. He is an asshole.”
“He arrested you? For what?”
Arthur didn’t answer; he was still looking at Valliant. Merlin turned around again, following Arthur’s gaze, and saw Valliant staring back at Arthur. He exchanged some words with another cop, and then made two steps towards them. And then, he noticed Merlin. He stopped his forward motion as if he had slammed headfirst into an invisible brick wall, stood still for a second, turned about and went back into the flower shop. Merlin lowered his eyes.
“You sure you don’t know each other?”
Merlin shook his head. “I’m sure.”
“Right.” Arthur threw another glance at the flower shop, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s been a pleasure. Thanks for the tea.” With that he stood up, and Merlin was very proud of himself that he didn’t -again- grab one of Arthur’s limbs. He just hoped the other man hadn’t seen how badly his fingers were twitching. “Hey, wait a moment!”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“What… what’s your name?”
“Smith. John Smith.”
“Smith, huh?”
“Unfortunately. And yours?”
“Emerson.”
“And…?”
“… John Emerson.”
That got Merlin the first full-blown smile from Arthur. “Lots of Johns around here, it seems.”
“Seems so.”
Arthur nodded, then opened his mouth and hesitated again, biting his lower lip. “All right then. Take care, Emerson.”
“You do the same. Smith.”
Arthur smiled again and left.
Merlin entered the café far too early in the morning, as he had the last three days, and threw his backpack into a corner. “This man… can you believe it? He doesn’t even accept coins from me, never mind notes.”
Mrs. Saratori sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me. I can’t afford to let him work for me here full-time, but I did offer him to eat for free. He’s never done that. He always pays with what he’s gotten from the streets. And this isn’t much; he isn’t exactly sitting in a perfect spot there. And well, he’s spending a lot of money on… other things. Anyway, ice cream and cake isn’t enough to keep him alive either way. So, the only thing he accepts from me is free coffee in the morning and sometimes tea in the afternoon, and even that is a hassle.”
“What about the Three Lions over there? They seem to have quite a bit of cheap meals on their menu.”
“Oh these…” Mrs. Saratori let out a stream of Italian words that Merlin freely translated into ‘fucking bastards’, but he could be wrong on that. What was perfectly clear was that she held no love at all for Lancelot and Guinevere. Merlin smiled. He had known from the moment they had met that this woman was brilliant. “Can you believe they banned him from their inn? The owner, Will Whatshisname, claimed that John said something derogatory about his wife. Complete nonsense, if you ask me. Johnny is such a polite boy.”
Merlin sat back for a moment, swallowing his first reaction, which would have been probably too loud for his surroundings. Arthur had recognized Guinevere but not him? Things couldn’t get more perfect. “They didn’t start brawling or something, did they?”
“I wasn’t here when that happened. Their waiter came over here a few days ago because they ran out of coffee, and told me what I’ve just told you. He’s quite nice, far too nice to work for these… you know.”
“Mhm.”
“Sweetheart, can I ask you a question?”
Merlin nodded. “Of course, go ahead.”
“Why are you so keen on helping Johnny?”
Merlin glanced at Mrs. Saratori and tried to keep a smile from his face. Her look wasn’t exactly suspicious, but neither was it trustful. “He reminds me of someone I lost quite a while ago,” he answered truthfully. “And well, I kinda like him. He’s prickly like a cactus, an obvious prat, but he also intrigues me. He’s living on the streets, far too young to survive out there, but he still keeps his head up and he’s proud, and I…” Merlin broke off because he suddenly noticed what he was babbling. When he saw her amused expression, he was close to banging his head on the table. He could only take a guess on how he must be looking. Like a love-struck idiot, probably. Merlin didn’t understand why Arthur had never seen how head over heels Merlin was for him. Gaius had known… as had Guinevere. Not from the start, mind, but she had caught on soon enough. And now Mrs. Saratori, who barely knew him, seemed to be able to look right through him, if her knowing smile was any indication.
“Well, if you really want to do something nice for him…”
“Yes?”
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look… wealthy.”
“I told you, he doesn’t take my money. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Oh, I know. But there is something he really wants, and I can’t help him. Not because I can’t afford it but…”
Merlin leaned forward. “Please, go on.”
At 11 a.m. Merlin stood in front of the gates to the town’s pet shelter and wondered what the hell he was doing.
Part 2
Summary: After waiting centuries for the Rise of the Once and Future King, Merlin is not amused to find out Arthur can fuck up everything… even his own legend.
Art by glenien
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For all Seasons and for screwing around with the Arthurian Legend. Hell, in this story, I couldn’t even let the Nibelungen Legend alone.
Genres: Slash, First Time, Romance, H/C, Angst, Reincarnation!Fic, Powerful!Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 40.560
Disclaimer: The show and all characters are owned by the BBC. This is just for fun.
Author’s Notes: Lyrics at the beginning from the song ‘This Bitter Earth’ by Dinah Washington
MASTERPOST
Glow of a Rose
And if my life is like the dust
that hides the glow of a rose…
What good am I?
Heaven only knows.
Face half-hidden behind the screen of his laptop, Merlin was staring through the open door of the inn across the street. For the hundredth time in the last two weeks he told himself that this couldn’t be coincidence. He had seen a lot of them over the last centuries, but he had never, ever seen three of them at the same place, obviously knowing each other.
Quite obviously, Merlin thought while he watched Lancelot and Guinevere kissing each other with the ease of a couple who knew each other long and well. Lancelot’s name was now Will - a fact that gave Merlin the creeps- and Guinevere was called Mary, but nevertheless… they were Lancelot and Guinevere. And Gwaine was Gwaine, and he was even called Gwaine now, which was probably embarrassing for him but Merlin was kind of glad about it; things were already confusing enough. It was also glaringly obvious that neither of them recognized him; another thing Merlin was thankful for. The last time he had seen Lancelot, about 1820, the once-upon-a-time-knight had known Merlin… he hadn’t really remembered much of their history but whatever he had remembered had been enough for him to attack the warlock, and all had ended in a bloody disaster he could do without this time.
Guinevere had never recognized him, no matter how often they had met. And they had, far too often for Merlin’s taste. He sometimes wondered if she didn’t want to know him, if he maybe only came to her in her most hidden, secret nightmares. He hoped so. As back then, it made bile rise in his throat when he watched her and her fucking white knight. Mordred might have killed Arthur, Morgana might have given him the means to do so, Uther might have crippled Arthur’s soul, but after all these years, Merlin still hated Guinevere and Lancelot most. Arthur had loved both of them, and they had betrayed him in the most horrible way imaginable. Merlin knew, this had been Arthur’s downfall, not the insane search for the Grail, not the war against Mercia… it had been the deceit of his wife and his… well, best friend. Merlin hadn’t held this title at that time; his part of the blame. He hadn’t warned Arthur, tongue-tied and not sure how to approach the King about his cheating wife, and then it had been too late. He had fallen for the ruse of a woman he had thought he could trust; trapped in a cave by her for decades, stripped of almost all of his powers, he had been cursed to only watch Arthur’s last years, the struggling with his fate, without being able to help him, to console him.
Merlin took a deep breath and lowered his gaze to the keyboard. He knew none of that mattered now, hadn’t for a long time. These people across the street, two innkeepers and one of their waiters… they weren’t his enemies anymore. Actually, they were the reason for the bit of hope that had flared in his chest when he had found out about them. And as for the others… Morgana, Viviane and Mordred, wanderers like himself… they all ran for their lives whenever they felt Merlin closing in on them. Even if they weren’t hopelessly divided, they all knew they wouldn’t stand a chance against him, not after all these years while his powers had grown and theirs had weakened.
So… there he was sitting at the same table in front of this little Italian café, the last two weeks, every day in the same spot across the street, waiting for Arthur to arrive. He wasn’t even close to losing his patience; he would still sit here for years, if he had to. Something was different this time; he could feel it in the way his heart was stuttering in his chest. He hadn’t felt that way since he had last seen Arthur, in the royal chambers of Camelot, before he had left for Avalon.
Sighing, Merlin let his gaze wander down the street; by now, he knew almost everyone who lived or worked here. The huddled beggar in front of the boutique that never seemed to be open, the guy inside his flower shop who was selling roses and crack, the old woman who, quite like Merlin, did nothing besides staring down at this street from her window the whole day. And every time he looked around, he waited for a blond man to turn one of the corners, coming toward him, recognizing him.
Merlin leaned down and got a few newspapers out of his bag. While he was flipping through the pages, he shook his head. Wherever he looked, no matter the country, the only things to find were hate, war, lies, deception, murder, disasters… in his opinion, the world had twenty, maybe thirty years left before everything would end in a melt-down; the Earth was dying. Therefore, he had kept track on all the European royal families and he was trying to be on top of news about promising, young politicians all over the world. He hadn’t found Arthur so far, but still, he just knew the other man was close. And there was reason to believe somebody else knew about the Rise… Merlin reached for the envelope in the inside pocket of his jacket. For the nth time, he let his finger wander over the white surface, over the single name on it. Emerson, his alias. No stamps, no return address, no nothing. Only the name. It had appeared in his mailbox two weeks ago, a single picture in it. Guinevere, Lancelot and Gwaine standing in front of the Three Lions.
Merlin shook his head slightly; no matter what he had tried with the envelope and the picture, he hadn’t been able to find out where it had come from or who had sent it. That was troublesome; whoever had sent it must have known not only what finding out about the Three Lions meant to Merlin; no, this person also had had to know who Merlin was. And who would know about that, if not one of his old enemies… or one of Camelot’s Returners. But if in fact one of the old souls besides the three across the road had awoken and if that soul was well-meaning… then why had this person not approached him? The whole thing bothered Merlin; he wasn’t afraid, hell, it had been centuries since he had been afraid of anyone, but still… he wanted to know what this was all about. He hated riddles he couldn’t solve.
With a sigh, he pocketed the envelope again. Whoever, whatever, it wasn’t so important right now. Important was the flutter of his heart, the strange feeling of belonging in his soul.
Maybe… maybe it was time now, finally.
Later, Merlin wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him that Arthur would fuck things up. After all, the bloody Once and Future King had done so since Merlin had known him, and he had never really stopped doing so his whole life.
Merlin had just taken his usual seat and ordered a latte from the tiny, curvy and extremely sarcastic Italian woman who owned the café - “Please, believe me, I can’t eat tiramisu first thing in the morning, no matter how awesome it is” - when things in the street became very nasty very quickly.
Across the boutique, where the beggar was already arranging his tin box and unwrapping himself from various blankets, three neo-Nazis turned the corner, loudly brawling, and most probably on their merry way to the drug-selling florist of their choice. Merlin dimly remembered seeing them once or twice before, but then, they had come from the other end of the street. Obviously, the beggar had been lucky so far -he didn’t react at all to the three assholes- but sadly, his luck ended right before Merlin’s eyes. For whatever reason, maybe only due to the fact that the flower shop didn’t seem to be open yet -the owner was running late- the skins spotted the homeless guy, stopped for a second and then started to cross the street, yelling the first rude remarks.
“Jesus Christ!”
Merlin, in the very act of standing up, startled and stared at Mrs. Saratori beside him. Mrs. Saratori, who held his latte in one and a butcher knife in the other hand. Jesus Christ indeed. “Mrs. Saratori, do me the favor, let go of that knife and call the cops, would you?”
Merlin shoved her very cautiously toward the door, his eyes glued to the unfair fight scene developing not far away. The guy on the sidewalk had caught on to the danger he was in and tried to struggle to his feet. It was just a little too late for that because the first asshole had already reached him and lifted his white-laced boot -Merlin wondered why the guy even bothered with this dated accessory, the swastika tattoo on his neck was expressing his ideas quite nicely- and kicked the beggar in the stomach. Or better, he tried to… the pavement beneath him got slippery all of a sudden and he landed right on his ass before his foot could make contact with the guy still sitting on the ground. Merlin, on his way to them, hoped the police would show up quickly; otherwise, he’d have to find a way to explain his ability to beat those three overgrown monkeys to the ground on his own.
Only a few feet away now, Merlin would have given a lot for Lancelot or Gwaine coming around the corner; well, he would prefer Gwaine, to be honest. If the man still owned some of his old character traits, he would join the fight just because, “Hey! A Fight!”, but alas… Merlin arrived at his destination and nobody showed up, neither knights nor cops nor anyone else.
“Do tell me… do I have a chance to stop this when I say, ‘Cool it,’?”
Like doublemint triplets, all three of them turned in his direction. “Wha’ did ya say?”
“Yes. I thought as much.”
Taking advantage of the moment of surprise, Merlin swung his fist at the guy right in front of him. The second his hand made contact, the ass flew back and downwards as if Merlin had delivered a right cross, which he most certainly hadn’t. Sadly, if one didn’t have a brain in one’s head, it was next to impossible to knock one out, so Merlin wasn’t upset to see him getting onto his feet almost immediately again.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Merlin noticed movement coming his way, but before he managed to turn around fully, the second ass, who tried to attack him, stumbled against a parked car. The homeless guy had obviously decided to join the fight and had thrown his pillow, that turned out to be a backpack, at asshole number two. That earned him a punch from the third guy -the one with the tattoo-, and Merlin suddenly decided he had more than enough. Stepping quickly in front of the beggar who had tumbled down on his blankets again, he let his magic flare, showing them their worst nightmares.
Man-sized spider, man-sized spider -Gods, how boring can they get?- and a werewolf, so at least one of them had a bit of imagination. The results were, as always, spectacular. The fact that they were drunk out of their minds helped, of course; he doubted they had known they could run so fast. Merlin crouched down beside the homeless guy who, as if by a miracle, still had the hood over his head, and asked, “You’re all right?”
The guy looked up and Merlin’s whole world tilted sideways. Of course, this was the exact moment the cops finally showed up.
“So… you’re saying they just ran away?”
“I think I can look pretty dangerous.”
The officer behind the desk stared at him and Merlin stared straight back. This was getting old very fast. Right now, Merlin had better things to do than sitting in this old police station under flickering neon lights and answering stupid questions. Far better things. He looked over to the desk slightly behind him where… Arthur was sitting, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands and glaring defiantly at another officer.
“Mr. Emerson, guys like these don’t just run away.”
Merlin sighed. “Maybe they saw Mrs. Saratori coming down the street with that huge pan of hers? Listen, I have no idea why they turned tail and ran. Maybe you should go and look for them, instead of interrogating the victims?”
“Do you want to file charges?”
“Yes, of course. But I also think the DA should be interested in this as well? Such people are a public menace.”
The officer mumbled something Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to know and began with the labored process of typing all the information he was able to get from Merlin into the old computer on his desk. After they were finished -sadly, this had also included a short interlude of “Oh, sir, I’m sorry… you’re that Mr. Emerson?” which led Merlin to the conclusion he’d have to change his current profession asap- Merlin stood up, took his coat and turned to the other desk where Arthur… had been sitting. The chair was empty now.
Thankfully, Merlin didn’t have to run all too far; Arthur was just outside on the steps leading up to the police station, smoking and apparently waiting for him. Putting on his coat and buttoning it up, Merlin slowly descended toward him. He had carefully blanked his expression because he had no idea how or if Arthur would react to him. So far, they hadn’t been alone and hadn’t exchanged a single word. Inwardly, he was shaking with nerves and also with disbelief… this wasn’t the way he had imagined them meeting again, and Gods… he had imagined thousands and thousands of possibilities.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Arthur answered, taking another drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out and therefore obscuring his face behind it. “I guess I should thank you for rescuing me.”
Merlin just stared at him, becoming increasingly annoyed with himself. Now would be a good time so say something, like ‘You’re welcome’, if you don’t want to look like a complete idiot. And yes, his eyes are blue but that isn’t helping you right now. “Uh… it was either me or Mrs. Saratori’s pan.” Great. Brilliant, in fact.
Arthur narrowed his eyes a bit and then nodded. “Mhm. Okay, as I said, thanks.” With that he turned around and started walking, only to be stopped by Merlin’s hand that had grasped his upper arm. “What?”
“I just…” And again, words failed Merlin. He noticed that Arthur’s expression became angry and he still couldn’t let go of him.
“Hey, take your hands off me!”
It only took the span of a second to put two of his most powerful spells on Arthur, then Merlin released him. With a sinking feeling, he began to understand that the other man didn’t recognize him… and also didn’t react to the magic that had just flown all over and around him.
“I just wanted to ask you if… uh, you wanted to have a coffee with me?” Merlin wondered if he could sound lamer; he suspected he could… and would in no time, most probably.
Arthur snorted. The bastard actually snorted. “Man, spare yourself the time and trouble… I don’t go for things like that.”
“Things like what?”
“Aw, come on… do I have to spell it out for you, here, of all places?”
Merlin started to grind his teeth. The twit might not remember him, but he certainly sounded exactly like he had sounded centuries ago. “Oh, please, do me the favor and spell it out. Because I don’t understand a word you’re saying!”
Arthur lowered his voice and hissed, “I’m not a hustler!”
Again speechless, Merlin stared at the blond man. Then he slowly looked down at himself, at his expensive gray and black Pea Coat, the black turtle-neck under it, the worn jeans and black boots. “Huh. I didn’t think the ten golden chains I’m wearing were showing under this. What… you think I’m a pimp, or what?”
Pursing his lips, Arthur answered, “No. I think you’re a john. And again, slowly this time so you’ll be able to understand. Thanks, but no, thanks.” And then, he turned around and jogged down the street, leaving behind a 1500 years old, totally flabbergasted warlock.
With a sigh, Merlin turned over on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was no good, sleep didn’t come. There was no need to worry about Arthur; the protection and tracking spells were firmly in place. Merlin just had to reach out and Arthur, lying on the street in a sleeping bag, appeared in front of his eyes. Sleeping on a goddamn street. In a street where some sort of creepy Camelot gathering could very well take place. Giving up, Merlin got out of bed and started dressing. He deliberately shoved any thoughts about Arthur’s destiny -how the fuck could that happen now? - away, because… first things first. He had to find a way to get to know the other man, to get him to trust Merlin… and he already knew that this would be so much fun he wouldn’t be able to stand it.
Completely hidden from human eyes by magic, Merlin sat down carefully on the blanket beside Arthur. For a moment, he let his eyes wander over the meager possessions, then returned to Arthur’s face. The blond man -Man? Gods, he looks so young, how old is he?- wasn’t sleeping peacefully; a fine sheet of sweat covered his face, eyes behind closed lids were moving rapidly, brows were furrowed. Merlin watched him for another second, then raised his hand and let it hover over Arthur’s head. “Sleep,” he said quietly. Immediately, Arthur relaxed; the erratic breathing turned to deep breaths, and he seemed to sink deeper into the sleeping bag.
Merlin swallowed hard. Unbidden memories rose inside him; how often had he done the same for the troubled King of Camelot? He took a deep breath himself; he couldn’t succumb to the feelings he had for this man, not now, never. He had to remember that he was foremost a tool for Arthur, someone who had to help the Once and Future King, and not someone who fell head over ass for said king, like the fool Merlin was and always had been. And still, he was tempted, so tempted to touch him, like he had done in front of that police station. It was as if he couldn’t believe his eyes and had to touch, to make sure he had really found him. Releasing a silent sigh, he gave in and stroked tenderly over the blond hair.
When he drew his hand back, Merlin frowned. It was one thing to sweat while having nightmares, but Arthur seemed to be drenched in sweat. His hair was almost dripping wet, but he didn’t feel feverish. With a sudden bad feeling, Merlin opened the backpack Arthur was using as a pillow, and glimpsed inside as much as he could given the fact that Arthur’s head was lying on it. The only things he could see were clothing, another pair of sneakers, some toiletries and a few books. He closed the bag again, and then, fighting the feeling that he was actually creeped out by himself, he slowly unzipped the sleeping bag. Arthur mumbled something, turned a bit more onto his stomach and made it very easy for Merlin to spot the wallet sticking in the back pocket of his jeans. While he was drawing it out, Merlin kept a close eye on the sleeping man. He knew it was next to impossible for him to wake up, not after the sleeping spell, but one never knew with Arthur. The King had always had the uncanny talent of being unswayed by Merlin’s more ordinary magic tricks… and this meant he could not only wake up but also see him. And Merlin wasn’t keen on a suddenly awake Arthur who would find Merlin all over him in the dark, especially not after the whole ‘being a john’ thing Arthur had mentioned.
But he didn’t wake, and Merlin opened the wallet. There was no money in it, as expected, but Merlin was more interested in finding a driver license or an ID card. He got the card quickly and stared. John Smith. John Smith! Merlin bit on his lips to stop himself from laughing out loud. That was… funny, in more than one way. Then his gaze fell on the birth date and he groaned. He wasn’t even nineteen! Gods, he was younger than he had been when Merlin had met him the first time. Actually… he was as young as Merlin had been then. Great. A teenager.
There was nothing more of interest in the wallet, so Merlin shoved it back carefully into Arthur’s pocket and started to zip up the sleeping bag again. As if on cue, Arthur sighed and turned on his back again, and that was the moment Merlin noticed the pill bottle in his left hand. He gently pried open the grip Arthur had on it.
Lorazepam… and the bottle was half empty. Merlin closed his eyes. This was… well, ‘not good’ didn’t cover it, this was an actual disaster.
The next morning, Merlin sat down at ‘his’ table the moment the waiter had dragged chairs and tables out.
“You’re early today, sweetheart. The coffee machine isn’t hot yet.”
Merlin looked up at Mrs. Saratori and grimaced slightly. “I know, I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep. Would you mind if I sit here or would you prefer I wait somewhere else until you… well, actually open up?”
The tiny woman laughed. “Yes, I want you to stand up and wait somewhere else, silly! Come on in and wait there, it’s still a bit cold out here.”
Merlin hesitated for a moment, looking at the sleeping man not far away, and then stood up and followed Mrs. Saratori into the her still sparely lit café. She was right after all; although summer wasn’t far away, it was still uncomfortably chilly and damp so early in the morning. He took a seat on one of the cozy sofas and watched her whirling around behind the bar, his thoughts still on Arthur. He had spent the rest of the night on researching anything he could think of on benzodiazepine use, addiction and withdrawal. What he had found had been distressing, to say the least. It was obvious Arthur couldn’t do a detoxication on the street. For some reason, Merlin suspected he wouldn’t get him into a hospital either, so… he had to get him off the street and into his house as soon as possible. Since Merlin knew Arthur only had half a bottle of the drug left, it had to be really soon; after all, Merlin had already made sure that Arthur wouldn’t be able to get a refill. Well, refill wasn’t the right name for this; it surely hadn’t been Arthur’s given name on that bottle.
Merlin startled out of his thoughts when Mrs. Saratori put a latte and a cinnamon roll on the table in front of him. “That should help a bit, sleepy head. And don’t start on me about that roll, you need the sugar.” Before Merlin could answer or thank her she was away again, grabbed a paper bag with probably more rolls in it and what looked like a huge thermos jug and left the café, turning to the left. Merlin waited for a moment, then got up and looked out of the window. As he had thought, she was just putting down both jug and bag beside Arthur without waking him. Merlin smiled; he had apparently missed this ritual because he had never been here so early before. So… Arthur had been adopted, and this also explained why that tiny woman had almost banged a pan over the head of one the assholes the day before.
When Mrs. Saratori came back, she saw Merlin peeking out of the window and smiled at him. “This boy is really impossible. You know how often I told him he should come in here to warm himself up? He’s worse than a stray cat… far too wary of anyone.”
“Do you know how long he’s been out there?”
“Well, I don’t know how long he’s living on the streets. I’ve asked him but he just shrugged it off. But the first time he came here… maybe a month?” She looked at him for a long moment, and then continued, “That was very brave of you, yesterday, to take on those fuckers alone.”
Reeling a bit from hearing the word ‘fuckers’ coming out of her mouth, Merlin didn’t know how to answer. He knew of course, that, thin as he was, he didn’t look like someone who had a chance against three musclemen. He glanced at her a bit helplessly, but she just smiled and shrugged. “Whatever you did, it worked. Though I would have really liked the chance to bash one of their heads in.”
Sighing, Merlin said, “I filed charges against them but…”
Mrs. Saratori interrupted him. “Forget it! I don’t know what’s going on in this world, but assholes like them? They get away. Even if the cops manage to catch them, and that would be a miracle because they probably don’t even look for them, they will get away with a slap on their wrists. Johnny on the other hand… Jesus. Did he tell you they almost arrested him for begging on the street?”
“What?”
“Yes. That’s how it works. And the ones responsible…” at this, her gaze wandered to the still closed flower shop, “… walk away.”
I wouldn’t be too sure about that guy, Merlin thought. Out loud, he said, “So, that’s the one then… the dealer?”
“You see a lot.”
“Sometimes.”
Mrs. Saratori sat down beside Merlin and started to turn the ashtray on the table around and around. “I feel so sorry for that poor boy. I don’t know what happened to him… to be honest, I didn’t dare to ask him, I was afraid he would take off immediately. But it’s obvious he has some terrible problems and every time I see that man walk over to him, throw a coin into that little tin box to cover for him selling drugs to that boy, I could…” She broke off for a second. Then, “But I know, I know, if I call the cops, they would find nothing on that ass and would arrest Johnny instead.”
“You’re probably right,” Merlin answered. Inwardly, he was filled with pleasant anticipation. It was true, that guy was very careful about his drugs; Merlin had looked around in the closed flower shop about an hour ago. But things had changed dramatically in that hour, and Merlin couldn’t wait for the spectacle to start.
Two hours later, Merlin sat on his usual seat in front of the café, drinking his third latte and enjoying the morning sun, among other things. Across the street, there were still cops carrying boxes of various sizes out of the flower shop; boxes filled with drugs of every kind that Merlin had planted carefully all over the shop’s basement in the early morning hours.
The last hour had been… satisfactory for Merlin. The moment the florist had unlocked the front door of his shop, it had been raining cops. Cops in uniforms, plainclothes cops and, if Merlin wasn’t very wrong, the whole Narcotics Squad had descended on that guy, arresting him immediately. They had waited until the dogs had found the first stash, then Mr. Drugs and Roses had vanished inside a police car, to be hopefully never seen again.
Everyone who lived here and was at home was hanging out of their windows and watching the drama evolving. The rest stood together, whispering, pointing.
Since he couldn’t resist, Merlin glanced over to Arthur again. The last time he had done this, Arthur had been sitting on his sleeping bag with a less than amused expression on his face. This time however, Arthur stared straight back at him, eyes narrowed. Shaking off the weird feeling that Arthur somehow knew that this had been Merlin’s doing -he couldn’t know that now, could he?- Merlin raised his eyebrows, trying for an innocent look, and pointed with his left hand to the empty chair beside his. Arthur stared at him for another moment, then turned away and started rummaging in his backpack. Merlin sighed with disappointment, and then his heart jumped and began to beat quickly, because Arthur had stood up and came his way.
At once, Merlin became annoyed with himself again. By the Gods, he was really too old to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. His mouth went dry, his palms got clammy, the whole nine yards, as if he were also still a teenager. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore his adrenalin ridden body, Merlin watched Arthur coming closer. Gods, he was so thin. Merlin knew that he himself was also very skinny, but with his slighter build, it didn’t show so much. Arthur still had the wide shoulders, the broader physique, and he looked… awful. Unhealthy. Almost starved.
“What now?” A deep voice asked.
Merlin swallowed, looked up and smiled. “Better view from here, don’t you think? I’d really like to invite you to a coffee. I swear I have no nefarious intentions towards your body.” That was an utter lie, of course. He had nefarious intentions; he just wouldn’t act on them.
“You’re a weird one, aren’t you?” Arthur stated.
“Yes, definitely.”
After he hesitated for another moment, Arthur finally sat down beside him, and before Merlin could even think of something to say, Mrs. Saratori shot out of her café, looking very excited.
“I don’t believe it,” she beamed. Arthur glanced up at her, smiling slightly, and Merlin had to look away. A glaring Arthur he would be able to handle, a smiling Arthur was too much right now. So he just listened to Arthur talking nonsense with her and ordering a tea, and continued to watch the ant hill across the street. Suddenly, he cocked his head to one side. One of the cops, probably one from the Narcotics Squad, looked familiar… very familiar. When the guy turned around fully, Merlin leaned back in his chair. Valliant. Awesome. No, this was beyond awesome. Merlin stared and did all he could to stay seated and not hex Arthur far, far away.
“You know him?”
Merlin’s head whipped around. “What?”
“Miller.” Arthur pointed with his chin to the cop. “You look like you know him.”
“No. He just… looks like someone I knew. Why? Do you know him?”
Arthur took his time responding, lighting a cigarette. “Well, I wouldn’t say I know him. He arrested me some weeks ago, made me spend the night in jail. That night, someone stole my coat. He is an asshole.”
“He arrested you? For what?”
Arthur didn’t answer; he was still looking at Valliant. Merlin turned around again, following Arthur’s gaze, and saw Valliant staring back at Arthur. He exchanged some words with another cop, and then made two steps towards them. And then, he noticed Merlin. He stopped his forward motion as if he had slammed headfirst into an invisible brick wall, stood still for a second, turned about and went back into the flower shop. Merlin lowered his eyes.
“You sure you don’t know each other?”
Merlin shook his head. “I’m sure.”
“Right.” Arthur threw another glance at the flower shop, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s been a pleasure. Thanks for the tea.” With that he stood up, and Merlin was very proud of himself that he didn’t -again- grab one of Arthur’s limbs. He just hoped the other man hadn’t seen how badly his fingers were twitching. “Hey, wait a moment!”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“What… what’s your name?”
“Smith. John Smith.”
“Smith, huh?”
“Unfortunately. And yours?”
“Emerson.”
“And…?”
“… John Emerson.”
That got Merlin the first full-blown smile from Arthur. “Lots of Johns around here, it seems.”
“Seems so.”
Arthur nodded, then opened his mouth and hesitated again, biting his lower lip. “All right then. Take care, Emerson.”
“You do the same. Smith.”
Arthur smiled again and left.
Merlin entered the café far too early in the morning, as he had the last three days, and threw his backpack into a corner. “This man… can you believe it? He doesn’t even accept coins from me, never mind notes.”
Mrs. Saratori sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me. I can’t afford to let him work for me here full-time, but I did offer him to eat for free. He’s never done that. He always pays with what he’s gotten from the streets. And this isn’t much; he isn’t exactly sitting in a perfect spot there. And well, he’s spending a lot of money on… other things. Anyway, ice cream and cake isn’t enough to keep him alive either way. So, the only thing he accepts from me is free coffee in the morning and sometimes tea in the afternoon, and even that is a hassle.”
“What about the Three Lions over there? They seem to have quite a bit of cheap meals on their menu.”
“Oh these…” Mrs. Saratori let out a stream of Italian words that Merlin freely translated into ‘fucking bastards’, but he could be wrong on that. What was perfectly clear was that she held no love at all for Lancelot and Guinevere. Merlin smiled. He had known from the moment they had met that this woman was brilliant. “Can you believe they banned him from their inn? The owner, Will Whatshisname, claimed that John said something derogatory about his wife. Complete nonsense, if you ask me. Johnny is such a polite boy.”
Merlin sat back for a moment, swallowing his first reaction, which would have been probably too loud for his surroundings. Arthur had recognized Guinevere but not him? Things couldn’t get more perfect. “They didn’t start brawling or something, did they?”
“I wasn’t here when that happened. Their waiter came over here a few days ago because they ran out of coffee, and told me what I’ve just told you. He’s quite nice, far too nice to work for these… you know.”
“Mhm.”
“Sweetheart, can I ask you a question?”
Merlin nodded. “Of course, go ahead.”
“Why are you so keen on helping Johnny?”
Merlin glanced at Mrs. Saratori and tried to keep a smile from his face. Her look wasn’t exactly suspicious, but neither was it trustful. “He reminds me of someone I lost quite a while ago,” he answered truthfully. “And well, I kinda like him. He’s prickly like a cactus, an obvious prat, but he also intrigues me. He’s living on the streets, far too young to survive out there, but he still keeps his head up and he’s proud, and I…” Merlin broke off because he suddenly noticed what he was babbling. When he saw her amused expression, he was close to banging his head on the table. He could only take a guess on how he must be looking. Like a love-struck idiot, probably. Merlin didn’t understand why Arthur had never seen how head over heels Merlin was for him. Gaius had known… as had Guinevere. Not from the start, mind, but she had caught on soon enough. And now Mrs. Saratori, who barely knew him, seemed to be able to look right through him, if her knowing smile was any indication.
“Well, if you really want to do something nice for him…”
“Yes?”
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look… wealthy.”
“I told you, he doesn’t take my money. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Oh, I know. But there is something he really wants, and I can’t help him. Not because I can’t afford it but…”
Merlin leaned forward. “Please, go on.”
At 11 a.m. Merlin stood in front of the gates to the town’s pet shelter and wondered what the hell he was doing.
Part 2