Tally [6/?]
Title: Tally [6/?]
Author: somerdaye
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, some Gwaine/Merlin and Lancelot/Gwen
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Gwaine Stanford is your only friend, you know it's time to switch things up a little. Old and new and more-thans.
Word Count: 1900+
Note: Chapter is unbeta'd purely because I was so proud of myself for hashing it out. For those who are interested, Mom's doing much better. Her throat is hoarse from all the yelling at nurses, but besides that she's fine. Thanks to everybody following this story! :) <3
No scene-breaks in this chapter. And your cries of MOAR ARTHUR were heard across the interwebs, my pretties, and granted.
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Merlin isn’t used to quiet.
He likes it well enough, when he’s by himself and trying to out-wizard spotty teenagers and gain five levels on WoW, or when he wants to marathon a show Gwaine doesn’t like, or when he just wants a moment to himself for once.
Really, though, between Gwaine and Will, he hasn’t had many quiet moments, and he doesn’t even remember what to do when he’s the one expected to make conversation. He’s already given Arthur directions to his home, and now he’s at a complete loss as to what to talk about.
“Thanks for driving me home,” he says to the blond in the driver’s seat. His hands are damp, and refuse to dry no matter how many times he surreptitiously wipes them on his jean-clad knees.
Arthur throws him a quick, tired smile. “No problem. I wasn’t about to sit around with Sir Douchebag and Gwen.”
There’s something off about the way he says her name, and Merlin frowns at his lap. After all, Gwen is the sweetest person he knows. And, honestly, if she hadn’t left Surrey, he would have never become friends with Gwaine or went along with Will’s parties that usually left him high and reeling from every sensation in his fingertips. She would have kept him sane and clean and out of trouble.
“What’s wrong with Gwen?” he asks, sounding hurt.
“Nothing, nothing,” Arthur hastily reassures. “She’s... she’s lovely. Nice, like. But I just don’t feel comfortable around her. Never have.”
“Can I... ask why?” Merlin fiddles with the seam on his jacket sleeve as he speaks.
“You can.”
Merlin finally looks straight at his companion. “Then I do.”
A smile is playing around Arthur’s lips, and Merlin tries very very hard not to stare at said lips for longer than is socially acceptable.
“It’s just awkward, you know?” Arthur blurts out. And while Merlin doesn’t quite know what makes Arthur and Gwen’s friendship so strained, he can relate to awkward. Awkward is normal for him. Safe, even.
“I live with the embodiment of awkward, so, yes.”
“So do I,” Arthur laughs, but it sounds hollow, void of any kind of mirth. “You have any idea how hard it is to live with your ex? I’ve no clue why I agreed to it.”
“Yeah, actually, I -” Merlin splutters, cutting himself off as he spins so his whole body is facing Arthur. “Wait, you and Gwen? Why didn’t I hear about this?!” Gwen really should have mentioned! Preferably in front of Gwaine, so he could have a ‘valid’ excuse for stealing Arthur’s car in the middle of the night.
“Maybe, possibly, I don’t know, because it didn’t happen?” Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls over outside of Merlin’s apartment building. After a slight hesitation, he turns the engine off.
“But... then... you said...” Merlin says, completely lost.
Arthur sighs. “No, it’s just always been awkward around Gwen because when I first met her she was half-naked on my bed.”
“Your...”
Arthur is either ignoring him or just wants to get the whole story out before it starts to hurt. “Lance, being.... well, Lance, introduced us properly, made tea, and acted like there was absolutely nothing wrong with what he was doing. And I suppose I just never moved out. Bought a new bed, though.” With the last statement, Arthur cringes like he didn’t much want to be reminded of that piece of the story. Or, more likely, any piece of it.
It takes a few moments for the underlying hints to sink into Merlin’s thick skull.
“You’re gay?” he gapes.
A snort. “Last time I checked.”
Merlin’s head starts spinning. Outside the car windows, people are starting to emerge on the sidewalk, their gait one of reluctance to go off to work or school so early in the morning.
“Woah. Gwen never...” Merlin pauses before rectifying, “you never mentioned.”
“You never asked.” Arthur shrugs his broad shoulders like it’s not a huge deal, but Merlin can see the tension running through his neck.
“Still! I think that’s fairly important information for a budding friendship, don’t you?”
“Er, when did I ever say I want to be your friend?” Arthur asks, tone imperious but eyes twinkling. “I certainly don’t want to be friends with your mutt.”
“Well, you don’t have much of a choice, because I’ve written your name in my book and I haven’t yet mastered the power of whiteout. It feels wrong, anyhow.” Like erasing a memory.
“...Book?” Arthur asks, facing Merlin with a confused brow.
Crap, right.
Merlin explains. He explains everything; the tallies, what they mean, how he can tell the difference between a sober mark and a drunken scribble, how he felt for nine years every time he turned to Gwen and thought the page would never be used again.
Although Arthur doesn’t say anything, just keeps his hands on the wheel and looks at Merlin with rapt attention, the rambling man can tell that this isn’t a time where the maybe-friend (or more-than) kicks him out of the car and never talks to him again.
So he goes into more detail. Details that nobody, with the possible exception of a strangely-observant Gwaine, know about.
How every tally under Freya was for Gwaine, who to this day still insists they’d be the perfect couple if only Merlin were interested. How instead of using extra pages, Merlin tucks the tallies into the margins and the far corners of the paper. How Will’s name is completely covered in scratches and the whole page is nearly black with them.
In the middle of his tirade about the one time he didn’t have it with him for a whole weekend and had to rely on penstrokes scribbled on the back of his hand, Arthur interrupts with a quiet, “Can I see it?”
Merlin reaches into his jacket lining and pulls out the small notebook. When he hands it to Arthur, he feels a slight twinge of panic. This is usually when he gets pushed onto the sidewalk.
But Arthur doesn’t push him or even look politely creeped out.
He turns the pages slowly, one by one, gently running his fingers along the groves in the paper. Merlin watches him, answering the questions as they come.
“Who was Morgause?”
“Gwaine’s college girlfriend. She was... scary. Terrifying, actually. Once threatened to slice my throat with a plastic butterknife if I ever joked about her Wiccan ways again. I’ve no doubt she could have done it, either.”
“Why are there so few lines under Cedric?”
“Gwaine and him got along for a total of six days before they declared an all out war.”
“Why?”
“Cedric showed some, er, interest in me.”
Arthur pauses and looks down at the names Lance and Arthur, scrawled in what he probably knows is Gwen’s bubbly hand. Merlin doesn’t know what’s running through his head, but desperately wants to. Is he going to be shunned - again - for his odd little habit?
Eventually, Arthur says, “Yeah. Gwaine’s a little...”
“Bonkers?”
Arthur barks out a laugh, and Merlin tries very hard not to feel too pleased with himself for making it happen. “I was going to say overprotective.” There’s another pause, while Arthur brushes his fingers over his own meagre two tallies. “He’s in a lot of your stories.”
“It would be impossible for him not to be,” Merlin counters, rolling his eyes and stretching in the lavish seat. “We’ve lived together too long. Kind of like having an adopted brother that wants to jump your bones at every opportunity.”
“I have one,” Arthur says, lips twitching. “Well, stepsister, but you can bet as soon as I started playing rugby she started hanging out in my room after showers.”
They grin at each other briefly over this literal analogy, and Merlin’s brain is starting to panic/rejoice at the idea of being alone with a hot (gay) guy without Gwaine’s beady eyes on the both of them at all times. The ‘moment’ is ruined, though, when Arthur’s mobile, resting on the seat between the blond’s thighs, starts obnoxiously chirping what Merlin is both amused and mildly impressed to recognise as Bunnies from the Buffy Musical episode.
Arthur mutters something along the lines of Speak of the fucking devil, hands the tallybook back to Merlin and answers his phone with a snappish, “Yes, Morgana, what do you want?”
“Oh, you know,” a cool female voice drawls. Merlin is surprised he can hear it, but Arthur doesn’t seem to notice or mind how loud his phone’s speaker is. “The usual. Letting you know I’m coming over for dinner on Saturday.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“And you won’t have to because I’m coming regardless.”
Arthur opens his mouth to argue some more, but he frowns as though something just occurred to him and turns to Merlin. In a low voice, he asks, “Aren’t you coming for a movie night on Saturday? Gwen said...”
“Yeah, I was planning on it,” Merlin says, his throat a bit dry. He grins, though, and says “I can have Gwen over at my place if your evil stepsister has plans with you.”
“She doesn’t. She likes to think she does.”
“Is there someone with you, Arthur?” Morgana inquires, and though Merlin has no idea what she looks like, he can imagine a beautiful woman with cold eyes raising her eyebrows.
Arthur lets out a soft groan, bringing his hand up to rub at his tired eyes. “Yes, there is. Gwen’s friend.” This time, Merlin notices exactly how Arthur’s voice curls around Gwen’s name, like merely the name has personally offended him. “And he’s actually got plans in the flat with her on Saturday, so tough shit.”
Morgana scoffs. “I don’t actually care. He can eat with us, too. Lance is cooking, yeah? ‘Cause last time you tried -”
“Yeah, fire alarms, panicking neighbours, I know,” Arthur cuts her off. He opens his eyes, gives Merlin a vaguely apologetic look before saying, “Yeah, alright. Gwen and Lance and Merlin, then. And -” His face suddenly splits into an almost demented grin, leading Merlin to question the guy’s sanity. “- a guy named Gwaine. Swooshy hair, goatee, wicked sense of humour. Interested?”
“Maybe.” Morgana doesn’t sound interested. Her tone is conveying something Merlin can only process as I do not have time for you lesser mortals and your issues, just oblige my wishes immediately or I’ll chop your head off. “We’ll see.”
With that, the line goes dead. Arthur snickers, flipping his mobile closed and tossing it on the dashboard.
After a few seconds of comfortable silence, Merlin says, “Gwaine? Really?”
And then they’re both laughing. Because Merlin knows that Arthur knows Morgana will truly detest Gwaine, and this is his own silly form of revenge. As their chuckles die down, Arthur yawns widely.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Merlin says, finally unbuckling his seatbelt. His heart is beating rather annoyingly against his ribcage, but he dutifully ignores it and adds a quick, “G’night. Morning. Whichever, since you’re going to sleep soon but the sun’s only just risen and -”
“Saturday,” Arthur says simply. Merlin dumbly repeats the word. Arthur’s lips quirk into a small smile, and through the haze of drowsiness his eyes are curious. He nods a farewell as Merlin closes the door behind him.
Clutching his book to his chest, Merlin doesn’t stop smiling and waving like an idiot until the Maserati turns a corner.
When it does, he hastily pulls the ever-present pen from his pocket and marks a strong, thickly-inked tally under Arthur’s name, to look back on and wonder exactly why the meeting felt so important.
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chapter seven here