An Infallible Reason 4
4: to convince you that i'm not a ghost or a stranger
(but closer than you think)
It's eleven days before Merlin calls.
During that time, Arthur loses three clients because he's not really paying attention, his father yells at him more than three times but he doesn't know why because he's not really paying attention, Morgana somehow figures out what happened to Merlin from Arthur's vague, unfinished sentences and whatever other resources Morgana has, but Arthur doesn't know how she does it because he's not really paying attention, Gwaine hooks up with Lancelot and Arthur has no clue how the fuck that came to be, because he's not really paying attention.
Each and every one of the eleven days that pass, Arthur spends with half a mind on Merlin and half on what's happening around him. And truth be told, it doesn't bother him in the slightest. If someone had told him three months ago that he wouldn't care what his father thought, that he wouldn't be bothered by losing clients, he would've told them they were mad. But it feels good to, for a change, care about another person who's not his family, and care about them so deeply that he forgets everything else. The honest truth is, Arthur never thought himself capable of that. After all, it's no secret that he's emotionally crippled (Morgana's pointed that out so many times, Arthur is pretty sure the sparrows that dwell in the city have learnt by now), and it's been a long time since he felt this strongly about anyone; it's been so long that Arthur's begun to wonder if he's ever really loved anyone outside of his family, if he even could.
But this, this is kind of nice. Horrible, obviously, on the account of Merlin going through fucking hell (and Arthur hates that part), but also kind of nice, in the sense that Arthur is finally doing something that feels good and right and fulfilling (he may have made his peace with the job his father had set out for him before he was even born, but this is not what he dreamt of becoming when he was a kid; well, actually, he can't remember because he never dared defy his father's wishes before, never felt he had a strong enough reason anyway, but he's pretty sure okay is not how someone feels when doing their dream job), that he, the spoilt privileged first son (that he knows he isn't, but everyone expects him to be, so it's easy to play the part), is putting himself aside and doing things for someone else (and he likes doing that, but he's been taught that it's weakness, that he's supposed to demand, not offer), that he is doing something he will fight not to fail at (failure comes naturally to him, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out, it only takes a few words from his father) because it matters.
So, when his phone rings loudly in a middle of a meeting with some lawyers about some system bug (yeah, he's not really paying attention, again), he apologizes half-heartedly and walks out without another word (but with his laptop case because he recognizes the number on his screen, so he knows the meeting can and will have to wait, because this is more important). He doesn't bother with greetings or introductions, just slides the phone open and says, a little too loudly, “Merlin!”
“I'm calling you,” Merlin replies, apparently also over greetings and pleasantries.
“Yes, I can tell,” Arthur retorts drily before he realizes that he's fallen far too easily into the way he used to treat Merlin, a way that will probably need to change now. Still, he doesn't apologize, because Merlin is not stupid and he will take it for what it is - treating with kid gloves; Merlin is also not without pride.
“I-“ Merlin takes a shaky breath that rings in Arthur's ears like a gong; he has just about enough time to wonder if Merlin is going to hang up on him, but Merlin is stronger, more stubborn than that, and Arthur should have known that. “Can you come over? I don't want to go out.”
Arthur doesn't mention he's already in his car.
~*~
When Merlin opens the door, he's wearing comfortable-looking sweats and a flannel shirt, his skin is not quite as ashen grey as it was the last time Arthur saw him and his lips look normal. There's a small bandage on his cheek and a large on on his neck, but overall, he looks better. Physically. Because when Arthur looks, really looks, into his eyes, they're still hazy and dull.
“Hi,” Arthur says stupidly. He's going to need to think of another opener. Merlin steps aside wordlessly and Arthur takes it as his cue to walk inside (he squeezes past Merlin without touching him and leaves his coat and bag on the hanger by the door; Merlin doesn't say anything or move after closing the door, just stands in the hallway, looking out of place and uncomfortable in his own apartment and Arthur's chest grows a little tighter at seeing him like that). Merlin's flat is a mess, it looks like he hasn't cleaned since the last time Arthur was there, everything is littered with more or less full containers of take-out and more or less dirty clothes; the only thing that actually looks remotely usable is the sofa in front of the TV, where there is only a bundled up blanket and a pillow.
“So,” Merlin starts when Arthur's eyes have finished roaming around the flat and have nowhere to settle but on Merlin's face. There's almost a challenge there for Arthur to look away. But Arthur doesn't. This seems to be the right thing to do, because Merlin is not looking away either. “Sorry about the mess,” Merlin finally continues talking when it becomes obvious neither of them really knows what to do now.
“That's okay,” Arthur replies automatically. It's difficult to gauge what he needs to say when he can't read Merlin's eyes, they're usually so expressive, like a huge pointer in the right direction. “So, um. How are you?” Arthur could (and probably should) just kick himself. It's a stupid question that Merlin probably can't even answer right now. Arthur bites his lip until he sees white from the sharp pain, but for what it's worth, maintains eye contact.
Merlin waits before answering, frowning and looking up, apparently thinking about the right way to answer. He looks like a schoolboy being asked a difficult question, but not wanting to give the wrong answer. In the end, he just shrugs a shoulder and lowers his eyes to the floor.
Arthur wants, with a sudden and burning intensity, to hold him and never let go, to kiss him until Merlin's really there with him, the biting comments and bright smiles and funny clumsiness all, to whisper against every inch of his skin that he's safe now, do it until Merlin believes it. And Arthur is an idiot (he knew that before, but it's particularly jarring when he's having an epiphany in the middle of Merlin's messy apartment), he's an idiot and a coward and an idiot, for not admitting it sooner, for not accepting it, for not letting Merlin know because now may be too late, and even if it's not, it's definitely gonna be more difficult, and Arthur doesn't even know how to go about it anymore because things have changed drastically in the last two weeks and he is finding himself more and more in a situation where he has to act the way he thinks he should and just hope for the best and he hates it.
“Can I, um, get you a glass of water or something?” Merlin asks, a tinge of concern in his voice (and it's sad that Arthur has to count that as a victory, has to see it as progress that Merlin doesn't sound like a robot), because apparently that minor panic-attack-slash-oh-shit-moment played out pretty obviously on his face.
“No, no, I'm... fine,” Arthur replies absently, running his fingers through his hair. Okay, time to get his shit together, he's not the one who's allowed to freak out now. This is not about him having the hots for his best friend, this is about said friend being in need and Arthur helping. And Arthur will, if it be the last thing he does, remain calm and collected and certain, and he will help Merlin with this any way he can. And if they ever do get to a point where Arthur can reach out for Merlin's hand and kiss his long, knobbly fingers and get a smile in return, well, even better; but if they don't, Arthur will learn how to deal with it, because Merlin's comfort is so much more important than his belated realizations right now.
For lack of anything better to do (and also because when it comes to Merlin, he is unusually observant and therefore knows that Merlin likes tea and how he likes it, and how did he not notice that he was treating Merlin differently from everyone else until now is beyond him), Arthur goes to the kitchenette and starts poking around the cupboards, setting the water for Merlin's tea and his coffee and collecting all the dirty dishes into the sink.
“What are you doing?” Merlin asks, sounding only somewhat interested. Arthur turns around and finds him leaning over the island that separates the kitchenette from the rest of the living space. His head is tilted to the side and he's sort of looking at Arthur like he's never seen him before.
“I'm making tea and coffee. Also, cleaning, apparently,” he adds when he notices the frankly gross mish-mash of Chinese and chicken wings in a container from a Chinese place he doesn't know. He makes the mistake of smelling it, then promptly has to lean over the sink and stop himself from vomiting. Merlin snorts behind him; Arthur would be embarrassed if that wasn't the closest Merlin had come to a smile or a laugh in days.
“Didn't know you were actually capable of house work, what with making me do all of it all the time,” Merlin replies flatly and it takes Arthur a while to realize that it's a joke, it's a jab like any other Merlin would normally throw at him, and it's not his best work and the tone is not quite there and when he looks at Merlin, he's not smiling, but it's an attempt and Arthur appreciates it (and picks up on the hint Merlin is giving him, that they're not talking about it, that it's the let's-pretend-it-never-happened time, and Arthur gets that, it's his way of coping with things most of the time too, but he also knows it doesn't work, not for long anyway; he doesn't point it out for fear of being kicked out or having Merlin shut down on him, but he dreads the moment when the elephant in the room sits on their laps and they have to talk about it).
“You learn, when you live on your own,” Arthur shrugs with a small smile. It's true, but it's also something Merlin already knows. But then, this conversation is not about disclosing their deepest darkest secrets, it's about subtlety and hidden messages and it's not Arthur's forte, but he can play the game when he needs to, years of doing business have taught him as much. So he says that he lives on his own, but what he really means is come over if you need me, I'll be there. Merlin looks away from him with a strange melancholy in his eyes, and Arthur knows he got the message.
He's saved from a reaction when the water in the kettle boils and he turns away to prepare their respective drinks. When he looks around again, Merlin is sitting on the couch, holding the remote in his hand, but his back is rigid and he's tense and he glances nervously in Arthur's direction every few seconds. Arthur tries not to feel the pang in his chest over having such an effect on someone he cares for, and he knows it's not personal and he knows Merlin can't help it, but it still hurts a little. He doesn't let it show, though, walks to the sofa confidently and sets Merlin's tea on the coffee table in front of him (anything to avoid touching Merlin accidentally and seeing him pull away like it's the most offensive, painful thing), then sits on the other end of the sofa.
“I'm not the best company right now,” Merlin breathes, a little unsteady, like he doesn't want Arthur to leave but kind of expects him to. This is the point when Arthur would normally reach out over the couch and run his fingers over Merlin's exposed forearm, and without the freedom to do so, Arthur feels oddly handicapped, because he knows he can't do with words what he could with a touch.
But for Merlin, he tries. “If I just wanted company, I would've gone out with Morgana,” he says, casting a sideways glance at Merlin who relaxes almost imperceptibly. “Okay, maybe not Morgana,” Arthur adds, a little joke to try and relax Merlin just that one bit more, just to hear him huff the little breath that has, for now, replaced his laugh.
Merlin sets the remote on the sofa between them. “We can watch whatever, it's mostly reruns anyway,” he comments, taking his tea in his hands and curling up like a child. Arthur wants so badly to run a hand over his back soothingly, to kiss the top of his head, the way people do when they want to make you feel loved and safe (not that Arthur would know much about that). Instead, he takes the remote and finds Animal Planet, feeling that videos of funny animals are the least likely to trigger a bad reaction. Merlin hums what sounds like approval through a sip of tea and Arthur feel inordinately proud of himself.
~*~
Merlin nods off at some point. Arthur puts the blanket over him, but doesn't bother trying to move him. Merlin is already shaking and murmuring in his sleep and Arthur knows he's having a nightmare and probably won't sleep for much longer. He goes to the kitchen and washes the dishes, then gathers all the take-out containers with food that's gone off and throws them out. He cleans what he can, folds the clothes and turns on the washing machine. It's only when he comes back to the living area after all that that he realizes Merlin is awake and watching him. Merlin's eyes are a little glassy in the dim, flickering light of the muted TV and he looks like he's just coming down from the rush of adrenaline that comes with waking up from a nightmare, but Arthur does him the favour of not saying anything.
He holds up the little plastic bottle of Truvada he's found in the bedroom, which feels far too full for a 28-day drug prescription that's already 13 days in. “You're not taking it, are you?” Arthur asks, sounding distinctly like a mother hen even to his own ears.
“No point,” Merlin replies, scrubbing a hand over his face and burrowing into his blanket a little further. “PEP doesn't work if administered more than three days after exposure; mine was started on the fifth day.”
Merlin doesn't sound remotely apologetic or remorseful, doesn't even bother, and it makes Arthur wonder if he even cares about his own well-being anymore. “You knew this?” he asks, somewhat incredulously, because for all the things Merlin is, Arthur's never known him to be self-destructive.
“Wikipedia,” Merlin replies into his hands.
“Let me get this straight,” Arthur begins, his voice going louder despite his best efforts to keep it steady. He understands that Merlin is going through probably the worst thing someone could possibly be going through, he understands that Merlin is different, feels different and thinks different, he doesn't know what it's like (hopefully, he never will), but he understands, on an intellectual level, that Merlin is not being himself and that he needs understanding and help, but he can't accept that Merlin would just give up, just stop caring altogether; it scares him, and he doesn't like being scared, so he gets angry instead, angry with those who did this, angry with Merlin for giving up on himself, angry with himself for not knowing what to do, how to help. Merlin is staring at him impassively and it just fuels him to go on. “You're not taking the drug that could potentially eventually save your life because, what, it might not work?”
He has more to share on the subject, but Merlin interjects, “The possibility of it not doing anything is far greater than that of it actually working, and the side effects are unpleasant, to say the least. And excuse me for not wanting more shit on my plate right now for a potentially and eventually. Did you maybe stop to consider that I made an informed decision about this?”
Arthur takes a second to contain the yelling he was planning on because Merlin is right here, and now Arthur feels like the biggest idiot for getting mad at him, because it's really not his place to decide if Merlin's choice is right or wrong.
“I know what you're going to say,” Merlin hisses even though Arthur has yet to decide what he wants to convey and open his mouth to actually do it, “that I am looking for a quick fix. And guess what? I am! I want this done and over with as soon as possible, but yes, I am acutely, achingly aware that there is going to be nothing quick about this, thank you!” Merlin ends up shouting the last few words louder than Arthur's ever heard him shout, and Arthur doubts Merlin knows there are tears running down his face. There's an awkward pause in which Merlin realizes this, wipes his face with the blanket and looks away from Arthur, while Arthur just stands there, dumbfounded and at a loss for how to react. Merlin's gone from quiet and reserved to explosively wrathful in about the millionth of the time he usually takes for that and Arthur doesn't know how to apologize or calm him down or take back what he said; he's frozen there in that one second, one wrong sentence it took him to cause this outburst. “Please, leave,” Merlin eventually pleads, words quiet and muffled into the blanket and Arthur is pretty sure he's breathing through the sobs and is probably, knowing Merlin, embarrassed about it, so he gathers his stuff and gets out.
He stands in front of the door, leaning against it, listening as Merlin starts crying out loud, then throws something ceramic by the sounds of it, kicks something and yelps in pain, then kicks it again and continues crying. Arthur doesn't know what he's doing there, he should be leaving, he should be giving Merlin the time and the privacy to break down without anyone there to witness it (it's what he would want), but it's like he's glued to the door, listening, waiting, hoping for something he can't quite put his finger on.
He slides down the door, sits there on the cold, dirty concrete and waits and waits and waits.
~*~
Arthur figures he's probably taken a nap, from the countless wrinkles in his suit and the stiffness of his neck. He doesn't know how long it's been or why he's not still taking said nap until he hears a quiet voice calling his name, just once, with a light knock of fingers on the door behind him. He stands up as quickly as his sore body will allow and knocks back. “Yeah?” he whispers. It feels like after all the yelling, any sound louder than this will make Merlin break down in tears again, and if Arthur has to hear to that once more he might cry himself with all the helpless rage that he felt as he sat there, listening to Merlin venting in his apartment.
“Thank you,” Merlin replies in the same quiet, broken tone, far too breathy and much more intimate than Arthur would've expected, had he expected to hear that. “For, you know, the tea. And cleaning.” And staying, he doesn't say, but his fingers drum it on the door and Arthur knows he's not imagining it.
“Any time,” he replies, just a little louder, a little more certain; he's not quite positive on who he's trying to assure, himself or Merlin.
“Goodnight,” Merlin says, followed by the sound of his footstep moving away from the door. Arthur leans his forehead against the door and knows he's welcome back tomorrow.
~*~
In the six years that he's spent working for Camelot one way or another, Arthur has never taken a personal day. So it comes as no surprise when Freya snorts her drink when he calls her to say that he won't be coming in, or that he has to turn off his cell phone after the seventh call from his father or that Morgana calls him on his landline to congratulate him.
“I can finally call you my brother and be proud of it,” she says sweetly into Arthur's ear.
Arthur has his head in the fridge, looking for breakfast, his phone pressed to his ear. Contrary to popular expectations, his plans for the day don't include copious amounts of rest or going out; he's going to track down Gwaine (who is on pretend sick leave that Arthur signed off on and therefore owes him a favour) and enlist his help in installing an alarm system in Merlin's apartment, then, hopefully, stay there for the rest of the day - he doesn't like the idea of Merlin staying there alone for very long, of Merlin alone anywhere, actually, it makes him uneasy. It's not that he thinks Merlin will do something stupid... Well, actually, it is. Merlin is not really himself right now and Arthur is worried, so sue him. The thing is, the day didn't start out very well, what with Gwaine not answering his phone and no sign whatsoever of Merlin (not that it's unexpected, but Arthur was kind of hoping somebody would bother to try to make his life easier), his coffee machine is broken and there's nothing edible in the fridge, which all amounts to one very grumpy Arthur.
“You said that when we first ditched school together,” he reminds Morgana as comes up empty-handed in the breakfast department and swings the fridge door closed.
“Hm, true,” Morgana agrees, “but this is probably as close as you've come to defying our father in your adult life, so it's still a pretty big moment.”
Arthur realizes it's a jab and he knows Morgana is trying to cheer him up or at least provoke some kind of a reaction, but he's not awake enough to respond. He's starting to think he may be a tiny bit addicted to coffee. He just grunts in reply and starts packing the things he'll need.
“Arthur, have you had coffee yet?” Morgana asks after a few minutes, during which time Arthur completely forgot he was still on the phone. “Because you sound like a drunk caveman, and it's entirely unappealing.”
“My coffee machine's broken down,” Arthur answers after he clears his throat several times to get it to work. “I'll have some at Merlin's.”
“Oh,” Morgana just says at that. Arthur hasn't told her much about what happened to Merlin, doesn't even know what he would say and is pretty sure Merlin doesn't want him to; he called Morgana after he left the hospital on the day he found Merlin, to let her know that Merlin was alive, but had clearly been physically attacked, though he didn't call again later that night to clarify just how. He assumes Morgana's at least tried to get in touch with Merlin and that she has, whether from those conversations or from something Arthur did or said, deduced what happened, because Arthur's positive she knows, he can see it in the way her posture goes just a little stiffer, her lips just a little thinner, her voice just a little deeper when someone points out that Merlin's not coming to work.
Sometimes, he gets the urge to ask her if it was indeed Merlin who told her, but he doesn't; he doesn't want to hear the truth, not really, because he's more than aware of the fact that Merlin didn't want Arthur to know, and it makes him irrationally angry and jealous to think that Merlin would trust Morgana over him. To be perfectly honest, if it weren't for doctor Banner's help (for which Arthur is immensely grateful because he knows there are laws against that and the man was totally risking his career to give Merlin someone to rely on, a task Arthur hopes he can live up to, and he's planning on sending the good doctor a fruit basket or giving him champagne or becoming his slave or something), Arthur would probably still be in the dark about the whole situation and that doesn't sit well with him; his need to know (and control, but hey, everyone has flaws) basically everything happening around him aside, he can't imagine going to Merlin with absolutely no clue as to how to help (not that he knows this way, but he somehow feels more confident this way, when he at least knows what he's helping with).
“How is he?” Morgana eventually asks, saying the words so timidly, Arthur almost doesn't recognize her. “He answers my calls now, says he's fine, but he doesn't sound it. And he won't let me see him.”
“Really?” Arthur asks, frowning. “I thought you were, like, his best friend.” He thinks he manages to keep the slight pang of bitterness he feels at that hidden.
“Oh, Arthur,” Morgana laughs, “don't be silly. You are his best friend. I mean, sure, we're close, but he always makes little mental notes to tell you about things we see and he worries when you work too hard and on some level, I believe he even admires you. As much as it pains me to say it,” she adds, with an exaggerated sigh, “you two fit better somehow. You bring out the best in each other and make it fun. Merlin enjoys that.”
Arthur doesn't remember when he stopped pottering around the house during Morgana's mini monologue, but when she finishes, he's left standing dumbstruck in the middle of his living room. He's never really thought about things that way; Merlin has somehow slipped into his life through some secret back door and become his best friend (and way, way more, Arthur can almost admit that now) without him even realizing, but Merlin is more sociable, has more free time and a wider circle of friends, and Arthur never thought he was enough to beat all that, to be better than all that. He's almost never free to go out (and when he is, it's usually just drinks and complaining and maybe a few jokes and a lot of friendly banter), he's absent and forgets birthdays and dates and important moments, he doesn't call or text or talk that much and, while he enjoys and utilizes casual touches easily, he is far too stoic and reserved to hug or show his emotions much. He would do anything for his friends, would kill and die for them, but he would also never say that or show in any way his willingness to do it. He's arrogant too, but not arrogant enough to be completely unaware of these flaws.
Arthur is pretty sure most of Merlin's other friends don't come with such problems, which is why it never occurred to him that he'd ever be good enough to be the best to Merlin.
When he comes back to his senses, Morgana has already hung up on him and it's almost eleven in the morning, which is much later than the hour Arthur planned to have gotten Gwaine by, so he sits on the couch and starts dialling Gwaine's number, an odd lightness in his stomach and a smile fighting its way to his face. Merlin's always had a strong effect on him, even when it's by proxy.
~*~
Arthur trusts Gwaine. Really, he does. He would trust Gwaine with his life; in fact, he has already. Gwaine is not just one of their best bodyguards, he is also, although he doesn't look it, a computer whiz. On top of all that, he's a good friend. So yes, Arthur trusts Gwaine.
But he also knows Gwaine, and there is a part of him that fears Gwaine's cocky humorous self will not take this seriously enough, won't pick up on the signs that Merlin is very much not all right no matter what he says, and will say or do something that will set Merlin off into either fury (probably directed at Arthur for bringing Gwaine along), or into tears (Arthur prays it's former if there's absolutely no avoiding such a strong reaction because he'd rather get yelled at a million times than stand idly by and watch Merlin fall apart again). So, when he knocks on the door and Merlin asks who it is, Arthur mentally braces himself for all kinds of things and replies, “Hey, it's me. I brought Gwaine as well.”
There's a few seconds' pause, even though Merlin is right on the other side of the door and if Arthur tried really hard, he could probably hear him there, and Arthur looks at Gwaine, who's looking back with a raised eyebrow. Arthur has, of course, told Gwaine that he will need to be careful because Merlin is a little... touchy, because he couldn't just throw Gwaine into this without any information, but he hasn't shared anything past that because he feels it's not his place (also, a small, vicious part of him feels protective, possessive even, of the knowledge he has and the trust Merlin's shown him, he doesn't want to share it with anyone).
The lock clicks and Merlin opens the door. He's still wearing comfortable, old clothes he probably wouldn't be caught in dead outside of his home, there is still a bandage on his neck and a band aid on his cheek and he looks no different than yesterday, but Arthur notices the way he holds himself stiffly, arms on his sides as soon as he lets go of the doorknob, his back ramrod straight and face carefully blank.
“Hello,” he says politely, but it lacks warmth. “Arthur. I didn't expect you here so soon,” he continues, his tone painfully at odds with how he's dressed and where he is, but totally in keeping with the way he's acting.
“I took a day off,” Arthur replies, trying to keep his tone light and act like everything is normal; it's hard not to fidget under Merlin's reproachful eye.
“Hi,” Gwaine pipes in gruffly as they walk in. Arthur may have been giving the man too little credit, as Gwaine doesn't hold his hand out and carefully moves around, taking his jacket off and leaving his bag without touching Merlin; Arthur makes a mental note to congratulate him on such observance. Merlin raises his hand in an awkward wave.
“Gwaine's here to help me install a security system for you,” Arthur says, hoping he sounds reassuring, not apologetic.
“Oh,” Merlin replies, relaxing minutely and Arthur feels like he could laugh just at that, smallest of acceptances. “Would you, um, like something to drink?” he asks, still overly politely, but sounding less fake now.
“I'm good, thanks,” Gwaine replies with a smile at the same time as Arthur says, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, “Coffee!” Merlin gets that little flash of a spark in his eyes that tells Arthur he's amused, but his lips still remain unmoving and Arthur wonders, for only a second, if he will ever see Merlin smile again. Then he mentally kicks himself for even having such bleak thoughts - after all, it's only been a fortnight and, as Merlin pointed out, it will take time to make it better. And Arthur knows all too well how important it is to believe that you can succeed when doing something difficult.
Arthur follows Merlin into the kitchen, throwing Gwaine a grateful look over his shoulder; Gwaine smiles at him and nods like he understands. Merlin is already pouring instant coffee into a mug when Arthur catches up with him. He leans back on the island and watches Merlin move around the kitchen with easy familiarity, so much smoother than the way Arthur made his tea yesterday.
“I'm sorry I didn't warn you,” he says eventually, when Merlin turns and sees him there, then cocks his head with a confused expression on his face. It feels strange to apologize, foreign, but Arthur knows it's the right thing to do here. “It only occurred to me when I got home. And well, Gwaine's the only one free right now.”
Merlin shakes his head slowly, “Yes, on a sick leave if I recall correctly. Doesn't look very sick to me.” He makes a show of looking at Gwaine who is unpacking the alarm hardware.
“Yeah, err...” Arthur doesn't really know what to say to that. Knowing Merlin, a joke is about to follow, but it's so different now, when Merlin's face doesn't give away as much, it's difficult to get a read on him.
“And to think you wouldn't let me have one when I was actually sick,” he finishes, shaking his head again.
“It's was just a cough!” Arthur laughs. Merlin looks at him fondly and almost, almost cracks a smile, one corner of his mouth twisting upwards. Arthur grins at him, about to say something else, grab his opportunity and milk it for all it's worth, see if he can get a proper smile, however small, when the water boils and Merlin turns away.
The coffee is bland and the mug he's given is an ugly green colour, but when Merlin hands him the mug, their fingers touch and Merlin doesn't pull away. It's the best coffee of Arthur's life.
~*~
Merlin leaves them to work on their own, he watches TV for the most part of their work, then reads a book that looks suspiciously like a romance novel (not that Arthur is judging, really, he's not... well, he kinda is, but he doesn't say anything). Arthur finds that he is always aware of where Merlin is and what he's doing, like he's watching a mischievous child who needs constant surveillance, and he knows it's probably condescending and patronizing and a lot of other things Merlin frowns upon (and Morgana outright rages about), but he's been called worse than condescending so he doesn't really care.
“So, um... What happened to him?” Gwaine asks, pretty early on.
Arthur debates how much he should share and ends up saying, “It's a long story. But it's pretty bad.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Gwaine replies. “Kind of reminds me of my sister. In all the wrong ways.”
Arthur doesn't tell him how close a comparison that is and does his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.
He knows the story about Gwaine's sister, remember hearing for the first time years ago, when they were still only becoming friends and they got a little (a lot) drunk after a really bad day and Arthur asked what made Gwaine want to work in security. Gwaine didn't hesitate in telling him about his divorced parents, or about his mother getting custody over his little sister, or about the psychological abuse his sister suffered for years after that, but he broke down crying and sobbed the rest of it into Arthur's shirt when he got to the part about his sister's eventual suicide due to depression. Arthur remembers well the anguish he could feel in the words, the confession that Gwaine felt like he failed to protect her, like he needed to somehow make up for that; Arthur can relate to that easily. They haven't spoken of that night since, pretended it never happened, much to Gwaine's obvious relief. That Gwaine is bringing it up now, Arthur can tell, means he's very worried.
“He's... he seems to be better. Than he was when I... found him,” Arthur says slowly, hoping Gwaine won't ask too many questions even though Arthur's being as vague as possible.
“Yeah, that's what I used to think about Suzy,” Gwaine snorts and goes back to work. They don't speak much after that; Arthur is too busy trying to fight off the fears of walking into this same apartment one of these days and finding Merlin's lifeless body on the floor.
~*~
“Hey, um,” Arthur starts that evening, long after Gwaine's refused Merlin's offer to pay him and left, after Merlin's made another coffee and sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Arthur's, after they've seen hours of animal shows and one slapstick comedy, and while Merlin is staring at the screen, seemingly too lost in thought to pay attention. He jerks out of his reverie and looks at Arthur with a questioning hum. “You're not going to...” Arthur trails off, because how does one ask that, how does one ask their best friend if they are planning on swallowing too many pills or putting a gun in their mouth. “Are you...” Arthur is pretty sure that in this particular case, it's not his lack of finesse with words that's holding him back, but the question itself. “You know you can call me for anything, right?” he just asks instead. “Anything. Any time. I'll always pick up.”
It's the closest he's probably ever come to a heart-to-heart, and it is deviating from how he normally is, but it's dark, and they're alone, and Arthur wants to (but he knows he wouldn't be welcome to, so he doesn't) reach out and hold his hand so badly, so he doesn't regret it, even when he feels the blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks when Merlin keeps looking at him. Merlin stares at him like his staring through him, like he can see every thought and every feeling Arthur's ever tried to hide, and at some point, Arthur stops breathing from the intensity of Merlin's eyes (such a deep, ocean blue in the dim, flickering light) boring into him and it's a long while before either of them moves.
Merlin looks away and whispers, “Yeah, got it.”
~*~
Arthur doesn't take tomorrow off. He would rather spend the day with Merlin, even if all they do is just sit around watching crappy daytime TV, but he thinks that Merlin will, maybe, see it as oppressive, think that Arthur doesn't believe he can be trusted to spend any time on his own. Truthfully, Arthur would rather he didn't, but he's not about to admit that to Merlin.
His day is exceptionally boring. He can't focus on his work, doesn't get anything much done and keeps getting distracted. It's as if he should be somewhere else, as if somehow all of the work that he has to do at his actual job is not enough, almost like he's missing an uncomfortable couch and a man who sits too far away and TV that should, realistically, be more boring than his work.
He is among the first workers to leave and he goes straight to Merlin's place.
~*~
“You're here again,” are Merlin's first words when he opens the door. He's not really accusing, it's more like he's... baffled.
“Yeah. I brought Chinese?” Arthur replies, lifting his offering in front of him. Merlin lets him in and starts unpacking the food, but he still looks confused. Arthur doesn't ask him why, presuming Merlin will, in his own time, ask whatever it is that's boggling his mind (Arthur is not very patient, but he has self-control, a lot of it, and he's giving Merlin space and time because he knows that right now, that's what Merlin needs - to do everything at his own pace).
As it turns out, Merlin waits until they're approximately halfway through their mostly silent meal to ask, “Are you gonna come here every day?”
“I was planning on it, yes,” Arthur answers and smiles over his chopsticks. Merlin is looking at him with a strange mixture of disbelief, suspicion and gratitude, apparently trying to figure out if Arthur is being serious. Arthur tries not to let it show that he's actually nervous about Merlin letting him come every day as he continues smiling.
“Why? All we ever do is watch TV. Eat. Drink coffee or tea.” Merlin makes it sound offensive, like it surely must be demeaning to Arthur to be there, to keep him company. He's looking at the food he's picking on and his hands are shaking just enough for Arthur to notice. Arthur's never seen Merlin this insecure and self-deprecating, it makes him feel uncomfortably like he's somehow letting him down, like he's failing to make him feel better.
“Because,” he says around the lump in his throat, “you're my friend. I want to help you. Even if it means just sitting around, watching TV.” Merlin doesn't look up, just swallows audibly and grips his chopsticks tighter. Arthur wonders how it is that Merlin's trouble has made him open up more in two days and all the people he knows in all the years of his life.
When Merlin stands to clean up after them, his fingers brush lightly over Arthur shoulder, and Arthur can tell that it's not accidental and he reads the thank you that the touch burns into his skin.
5: if there's a time these walls could guard you,
then let that time be right now