Fic: London, Said He (2/12)
Title: London, Said He
Rating: R
Genres: Science Fiction (Time Travel), Humour, Romance
Era: Mix of canon-era and near-future (22nd century) reincarnation era
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, one-sided Gwaine/Merlin, implied Gwaine/Percy
Wordcount: 5200 (this chapter); 45k total
Betas: percygranger, messyangel81
This really hasn't been Merlin's day. Or week. Or month, really. Seeing his best friend die in front of him was bad enough. But magicking himself into the future in order to save Arthur? Probably not as good an idea as it seemed on paper. And this future version of Gwaine will not stop hitting on him. Even in front of the future Arthur - talk about embarrassing. Especially since Merlin needs to get to know this Arthur if he's ever going to figure out how to save his.
Chapter 1: Camelot
Chapter 2: Let's Do the Time Warp Again
The first thing Merlin noticed, before even opening his eyes, was the noise.
Albion was not a silent place, of course. The melodic twitters of the birds, the constant burble of water rushing through the aqueducts of the castle, the intermittent clangs of the metalsmith, and the soft whinnies of the horses in their stables all filled Merlin’s waking hours. At night, as he fell asleep, Merlin took comfort in the ins and outs of Gaius’ soft breathing and the rustle of his bedding as he shifted in his sleep.
These were not the sounds he heard now. Instead, there was a dull murmur everywhere; the chatter of dozens of people, loud thumping that threatened to shatter his eardrums, a strange buzzing in the background like the fluttering wings of a swarm of insects. All of these strange whooshes and clatters and clangs were giving him a headache; there was so much noise he felt his head was going to burst open.
The smells, too, confounded him; he did not smell manure or the sweat from the knights after a morning training session, nor were there the savoury smells from the kitchen of mead and honey and roasted meat. Instead, he smelt ale and piss and smoke, acrid and foul. When he took in a lungful of breath, the chill and smoke burned his lungs, and he sputtered out the foul-tasting air in a cough.
When Merlin finally did crack open his eyes, he could not see the stars. He had a momentary flash of panic as he looked up and saw the full moon straight above his head. The sky was a strange pink as though it were close to dawn. Tall walls towered above him; much taller than a wall designed to fence in a pasture, these must be buildings. The texture was smooth, not rough like normal stone, and painted with strange decorations in bright colours.
The colour of the sky likely had to do with the towering poles mounted with lantern light, pointing straight up towards the heavens and casting a glow farther than any candle’s flame. The light they cast was unyielding; it did not flicker, but instead seared his eyeballs until he was forced to look away.
Behind him, the alcove led to a dead end - more walls, rising high, and a dingy metal box seated at the far end, almost as large as an entire room. It was brimming with what appeared to be wood scraps and broken crates, the outside coloured a buttery yellow that reminded Merlin of egg yolk.
Underneath him, the ground was hard and cold; stone, instead of packed dirt, lined in neat squares. The wind whispered and bit at his skin, causing him to huddle deeper into his jacket.
Two men tumbled into the strange alcove, one with his arm thrown over the other’s shoulders, panting and leaning on him heavily. Merlin felt a wave of nausea as he imagined a different face on those shoulders - one with blond hair, blue eyes, and a solid smile.
The two men staggered to the wall and the one who had been leaning on his companion vomited onto the ground. The other man slapped his back and spoke to the man in a teasing tone, but Merlin could only make out snatches of their speech. Some of the words the man spoke were foreign, and his accent was strange, but the rest sounded like English, at least.
Their clothes, too, were odd. From what Merlin could see, both men wore similarly revealing cloth, with dark blue breeches that clung to their forms, outlining the muscles of their legs, and tunics that fell not even to the waist. The man who was half bent over after emptying the contents of his stomach faced away from Merlin, and his tunic was so short that a large wedge of the man’s pale back was revealed. The sleeves were cut short and fitted to his arms, showing the muscles there, as well. Merlin had seen Arthur wearing less - he was his manservant, after all - but never in front of others. These men were not in private quarters, but out in the open. Surely they did not wish to be seen so... exposed?
Perhaps they were whores; Merlin grimaced at the thought of being stranded in a less-than-savoury part of a city he did not recognise.
Once they were both gone, Merlin stood and stretched. Right now, he should probably try to figure out where - or possibly when - he was. He strode to the end of the pathway, where the two men had vanished.
The sight that met his eyes was not, exactly, what Merlin had been expecting. His knees gave out and he clung to the stone wall next to him for support.
If he’d doubted it before, he certainly knew it now - he was not in Camelot anymore.
He seemed to be in a strange city full of tiny boxy castles built of smooth stone, decorated with garish emblems and flashing lights in all sorts of colours. There were broad, grey thoroughfares, similar to the one on which he was currently standing, which served as platforms for colourful travelling boxes - chariots of some sort - with light sources and leather wheels and people trapped inside, presumably controlling them. And the people - there were masses of peasants roaming about, in all manner of fanciful, and obscene, dress. Some were even less fully clothed than the two men he’d just seen exiting this alcove. Surely they weren’t all whores? He saw no one in proper dress, and realised with a surge of panic that he would be spotted almost instantly based on his garments alone. Already, some of the passers by were throwing him odd looks. Once he recovered the feeling in his legs, he hurriedly dodged back into the alcove to regain his bearings.
He thought back to the garments he’d seen the two men wearing. Surely he could use magic to adapt his current clothing to something of a similar style? But there was the possibility that magic was punished even more strenuously in this place than it had been in Camelot. He had to be careful.
He slid to his knees as the thought of Arthur filled his head. It was too much, too fresh, and he found himself shaking as he hunched into himself, back pressed against cold stone. He lost track of how long he had spent, eyes scrunched tight against the strange sights of the city around him, before he finally cracked open his eyes to see the grey light of pre-dawn in the sky above him.
Calmer now, Merlin searched inside himself for the familiar tingle of magic, only to find that there was nothing there. His limbs felt hollow, his extremities numb. His desperation to save Arthur must have completely exhausted his stores.
With a grunt, Merlin pushed himself onto his feet. With no magic, and in a strange place, Merlin would have to find food and shelter without being spotted by any enemies. And in this land, anyone could be his enemy.
By sunrise, Merlin was in a foul mood.
The worst thing was the thirst. Since coming to this accursed hellhole (Merlin’s thoughts were not on a particularly charitable track at the moment), he had found no place to gather food or fresh water. Where were the water pumps of Camelot? The fields of berries and mushrooms?
Everything here was cold and dead and artificial, stone and iron. There were echoes of familiarity in places - old, crumbling brick and wood houses; trees, though planted in strange, linear fashion, and placed so the outspread branches would not touch each other, like an inefficient orchard. They seemed to function only as decoration, instead of as a means to produce fruit. The thoroughfares crisscrossed at regular intervals, marked by towering metal poles dotted with lanterns in red and green. In some places, the ground was formed of smooth stone tile, and in others, it was a light grey material Merlin had never seen before, rougher than hewn stone, as though formed of a multitude of pebbles smashed together and only partially smoothed down.
The overall effect was utterly alien.
Merlin whimpered as he hugged his knees to his chest and cradled his aching head in his hands, tucked into an isolated alcove near where he had entered this strange place. His exploration in the early pre-dawn light had yielded no results; he still had no idea where he was, he had no water or food, and he had no idea what any of this had to do with helping Arthur.
He was startled out of his dark thoughts by the sound of footfalls near his hiding place.
“I saw him back here,” a young man’s voice said. Merlin shrank back against the rough brick behind him, his eyes darting wildly for a hiding place. The yellow container was a short run away; he would have to risk exposure, but it would provide cover in case the men were hostile.
“There’s no one here, Alex.” This voice was female, still holding the bright cadence of youth, but with an overlying weariness that obscured the woman’s true age. “Are you sure you saw him?”
“No, I swear.” The voices were getting closer now, echoing against the high brick walls. “John was barfing his guts out, and I saw movement behind us. It was this kid wearing, like, a bizarre costume. Something you’d see on the telly.”
Their footfalls struck dull thuds against the stone pathway. Merlin looked once more toward the yellow box. If he were going to make a run for cover, he needed to do it now. Whoever these people were, they were not here by chance - they were looking for him.
The footsteps stilled. “Come on, this is stupid,” the woman said, and Merlin took his chance to run. His heart pounding, Merlin squirmed into the gap between the metal container and the brick wall behind it.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?”
The sound of shuffling drifted over to Merlin’s hiding place. The man spoke, uncertain. “Maybe he’s not here.”
“Shut up, Alex!” the woman said, her voice now filled with laughter. “You don’t have to make up stories, you know.” There was a pause. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing, dragging me to a deserted alley in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not the middle of the night! It’s half seven-“
All Merlin heard after that was the soft brush of skin and occasional rustles of clothing. He poked his head out of his hiding spot, just a fraction, to see what was happening-
The woman was younger than he’d thought, likely a few years younger than himself, with hair of an alarming bright blue colour that fell past her shoulders. Her companion was taller than her, but all Merlin could see was the back of his head as he leant down to place kisses on the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered as her hands wrapped around his waist and stroked up and down his back - and then she stiffened, her eyes widening in surprise, as she looked straight at Merlin.
Merlin froze, not daring to breathe, and the woman blinked, her expression changing from open-mouthed surprise to delight, her eyes softening, her lips spreading into a grin, and smile lines creasing her cheeks.
Merlin jerked back and burrowed himself further into his hiding place, but it was too late, and he cursed himself internally for letting his curiosity trump his sense of self-preservation.
He bit his lip and willed himself to quiet his breathing, but after what seemed an eternity, he realised that the alcove was silent once more, the footfalls having long receded into the distance. He leant out from behind the container to confirm it, and, to his relief, saw that he was alone.
He retreated back into the shadows, puzzling over the strange almost-encounter. Why had they simply left? The man had obviously been looking for him, from their conversation, and she had seen him - looked straight at him, and smiled. Why hadn’t she said anything?
It was no longer safe to stay here, obviously. His hiding place had been compromised. But he was so tired, and his magic was still gone.
As he wiggled out from behind the container, his eye caught sight of something resting on the ground in the centre of the alcove - a clear bottle, almost like glass but thinner, and wrapped with a dark blue band of decoration. As he came closer, he saw writing on the bands. Dasani, it read, and in smaller print above, Purified Water.
Had the bottle been there the whole time? He couldn’t remember. He turned the bottle over in his hands, thumbing the slick ripples, fingertips catching against the thin material of the blue label.
Could she have left it there for him?
His hands stilled in their exploration of the bottle’s texture, and he swallowed down the lump of gratitude in his throat. Perhaps he wouldn’t change his hiding spot just yet.
Merlin hadn’t realised how truly exhausted he was until he tried to walk. He had inspected the bottle of water that had been left for him, and found nothing obviously wrong with it. After drinking it, he had leant back against the brick wall and let his eyes drift shut, just for a few moments, before he was shocked back into waking by a loud bird call from one of the metal chariots on the street just past the alcove entrance. He managed to struggle to his feet, but as soon as he attempted a few stumbling steps, his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground.
The lack of food and sleep had left him unacceptably weak. He crawled back to his hiding place behind the yellow container and tried to find a position that wouldn’t cause him crippling back pain on waking. He dozed fitfully through the day, waking to the occasional shouts of passersby and a tingling sensation in his limbs. He did nothing more than drift in and out until day had passed to night and then to dawn again, and found the chill that had seeped into his bones was no longer present.
He shifted onto his back, and saw that his arms and chest were covered with a faded red duvet, somewhat scratchy, but still warm. Scrambling out of his hiding place, he scanned the alley quickly for an intruder.
“Hey there,” an old, scratchy voice called. Merlin forced himself to relax. He straightened and, looking to his left, noticed someone just past the container that had been his hiding place.
An old man was standing in the alcove, arm resting on the brick wall next to him for support, and he smiled at Merlin. “Finally awake! It’s about time.”
The voice was achingly familiar, though Merlin was sure he’d never seen this man before in his life. Merlin drew in a shaky breath and felt some of the tension he’d been carrying dissolve. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Kay,” the man said, pushing away from the wall and coming to stand in front of Merlin. He peered at him intently, a faint frown pulling at his lips and creasing his brow. “God, your ears are big.”
“Excuse me?”
Ignoring him, the man simply waved a hand towards the duvet looped over Merlin’s lower arm. “Sleep better with that, yeah? You looked cold.”
Merlin folded his arms across his chest, drawing back a bit and curling into himself protectively, as he looked the stranger up and down. The man grinned up at him, blackened teeth grinning out of a weathered face. He was clad in what appeared to be little better than rags, with a large pack strapped to his back, and a puffy dark green overcoat. His hair was long and white and his beard reached halfway down his chest.
“You hungry?”
Merlin’s voice caught in his throat when he tried to utter a confirmation, so he closed his eyes before clearing his throat and nodding.
“Follow me, then.”
Merlin blinked. “Thank you.” If nothing else, this would give him a chance to observe. Besides, Merlin could use a friend in this strange place.
Kay broke into a wide grin, the dimples in his cheeks creasing his wrinkled visage. “I have hot dogs. Fantastic things, hot dogs. Even better when cooked over a fire. Granted, ‘round here, the only fires are ones in rubbish bins, which isn’t nearly as scenic as a bonfire, but it’ll do. You will like hot dogs, I guarantee it.”
Kay was right, as it turned out; Merlin did like hot dogs. What he liked even more, though, was a full night’s rest after days of sleeping fitfully or not at all.
He returned to consciousness slowly, registering the ache of his muscles, the chill in his skin, the soft texture of the duvet underneath him, and the early morning light creeping under his eyelids. It was not until he felt a familiar tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers that he startled to full consciousness, opening his eyes wide and jerking upright. The sky above was still grey, but the sun was peeking over the horizon, a bright brand against the skyline.
Merlin focused on the red and gold leaves scattered over the ground of the alleyway. He stretched out one hand and whispered “forþ fleoge” under his breath.
Nothing.
“Windræs ge hiere.” He stared at the unmoving leaves, his magic swirling underneath his skin. “Cume þoden!”
He tried again and again, snapping his wrist and staring at the leaves, but although he could feel his magic, knew that he was no longer hollow from the lack of it, he could not command it.
“You all right?”
The gruff voice startled Merlin, and he quickly dropped his hands onto the folds of the duvet. Kay was leaning back against the brick wall of the alley way, his expression impassive, but his eyes full of pity.
“Fine,” Merlin said, at last, slumping into his bedding.
Kay reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a red and white box, which he smacked against his hand a few times, before pulling out a long white cylinder, about the length of his index finger and half as thick, and placing it between his lips. Stuffing the box back in his pocket, he retrieved a flat rectangle with a dark strip on the bottom, and unfolded it to reveal a row of tiny wooden sticks with black knobs on the end. Merlin watched in awe as Kay dragged the stick against the black strip and the end burst into a tiny flame.
Kay glanced at Merlin with a small smile, before proceeding to light the white cylinder, cupping his hands around the end so as not to extinguish the flame. Merlin watched with fascination as Kay sucked in a lungful of air through the cylinder, smoke streaming from his nostrils on the next exhale of breath. The sight reminded him, oddly enough, of the Great Dragon, smoke drifting out of his nostrils as he glowered down at him.
Merlin sat watching Kay breathe smoke for the next few minutes and he felt a smile curving across his face as the two men shared a companionable silence. Eventually, Kay stubbed his cylinder against the stone ground, grinding it under his heel and rising to his feet.
“You coming?”
Merlin blinked. “Coming where?”
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Kay glanced up and met Merlin’s gaze. “I know a place near here.” Without waiting for a response, Kay sauntered out of the alley, not bothering to look behind him to see if Merlin was following.
After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin jogged to catch up with the old man. He trailed along after Kay, darting startled glances at his surroundings.
Townsfolk in more conservative garb than those he’d seen previously crowded the walkways, and more travelling boxes whooshed past on the paved paths in between buildings. A large, square building with hundreds of glass windows towered to Merlin’s left; to his right, couples sat in a courtyard eating lunch at small round tables. A black and white striped awning provided shade, and cheerful lettering floating above proclaimed the name of the establishment to be “Café Avalon.”
Kay lingered outside the door. “I know the owner; he’s a good man.” Merlin hesitated, and Kay rolled his eyes. “Go on, then.”
He tentatively pulled open the glass door - an entire door, made of clear glass! - marking the shop’s entrance. A small bell from overhead tinkled as he stepped inside.
The inside was just as cheerful as the outside. Shiny red and blue egg-shapes, almost as tall as Merlin, were clustered around black circular tables. On second glance, the eggs had oval openings and looked to be partially hollowed out to form a space to sit. A glass case proudly displayed an array of pastries, and large windows, so thin and clear as to look almost invisible, let the morning sun spill through the shop, bathing it in warm gold. A man stood with his back to Merlin, behind the display of pastry, wiping down the counters with a soft cloth.
Everything looked so shiny. It almost hurt Merlin’s eyes to look at the bright reflections in the tables and chairs.
“Good morning,” said a cheerful voice. “What can I get for you today?”
Merlin’s head snapped up as he turned to face the source of the voice.
The man who had been cleaning behind the counter had turned to face Merlin. Leaning against the counter casually, his head cocked to the side, stood a tall man with dark brown hair falling to his shoulders, a scruffy looking moustache and beard, thin mouth and long, sharp nose. His eyebrows were raised in a mixture of amusement and wary regard.
“Gwaine!” Merlin cried, reaching out with one arm to clutch at Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine blinked in surprise before Merlin remembered himself and withdrew his hand hastily.
Gwaine grinned, a familiar, roguish smile that caused Merlin’s stomach to flip. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
Merlin simply beamed back at him, too exhausted to speak.
Gwaine cleared his throat as he pulled back, setting aside his cleaning cloth and wiping his hands on his trousers. His grin turned faintly puzzled as he looked Merlin up and down. “What’s up with the costume, anyway?”
Merlin looked down at his familiar red scarf and blue tunic, tan jacket and brown trousers, the comfortable leather boots. His tunic was too long and loose compared to Gwaine’s, his clothing rougher and the colours brighter.
Before he had a chance to answer, Gwaine interrupted Merlin’s train of thought. “I admit you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” He looked Merlin up and down, his lips twisting into a smirk. “And I can’t believe I would have forgotten it if you’d told me.”
Merlin’s stomach bottomed out. “You don’t know my name?” Of course. How could he have been so stupid? His magic had taken him to such a strange and fantastic place that the idea of encountering something - or, in this case, someone - he knew was preposterous. This man may have looked and spoken like his Gwaine, but he was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger. “Erm, sorry, of course not. I’m Merlin.”
Gwaine, once again, blinked, taken aback. “Merlin? Now I really don’t know how I would have forgotten your name. Did my roguish charm not work last time you were in?”
“No, actually. We haven’t met. I haven’t been here before, I just... ah.” Merlin bit his lip. “Recognise you?” He really needed to get a better cover story. Or to stop spontaneously blurting out people’s names on first encounter.
Gwaine actually looked pleased at that, his brow smoothing, easing into that achingly familiar smile, the relaxed curl of lips that he displayed whenever Merlin shot down Arthur with a particularly biting comeback.
“My reputation precedes me, then!” Gwaine said, beaming. He raised an eyebrow at Merlin, smile still firmly in place. “How’d you hear about us?”
“Uh. You know.” Merlin waved his hand about as Gwaine’s expression softened into bemusement. His thoughts flitted to Kay, still waiting outside. “A friend.”
“Word of mouth is the best form of advertising, or so they say,” Gwaine said, winking. “So did you come in here for coffee, or to ogle the staff?”
Merlin blinked, caught off-guard by Gwaine’s foreign vocabulary. “You have food, right?”
Gwaine’s smile turned wry. “We do. So you didn’t come in just to flirt, then?”
Although Merlin still didn’t understand his speech, it was Gwaine’s expression, and the way his eyes dipped down to Merlin’s mouth, that told him what the strange words meant. Merlin shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but he could feel the flush of embarrassment working its way up his neck. “Sorry.”
Gwaine lowered his head, looking up at Merlin through his eyelashes. “A pity, that.”
Merlin blinked. As much as he wanted to trust Gwaine, instinctively did, it was odd of him to act so openly with a stranger. Gwaine’s body language was bordering on lewd. His long hair fell across one cheek, just brushing against his exposed collarbone, his shoulders just slightly askew, chest thrown outward. His tunic ended before his trousers began, revealing a slim line of pale skin. His fingers rested lightly on his hips, thumbs tucked inside his trousers, one hip slightly higher than the other.
And why was Merlin staring at Gwaine’s hips in the first place? He forced his gaze back upward, to meet Gwaine’s eyes. His smile looked very smug, indeed.
“We have a menu,” Gwaine said, tapping at a parchment covered in a strange glossy transparent material; it had a list of foods with odd names and numbers. Merlin felt his stomach drop as he realised that he had no gold with which to pay for his food.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, stumbling backwards.
“Wait!” Gwaine called, running back behind the counter and around to meet Merlin at the front of the store, next to a black table with two egg-chairs surrounding it and decorated with a bright yellow pot of daisies. “Don’t leave.”
Merlin looked up at Gwaine, who was looking strangely desperate, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth curled down at the corners. “I’m sorry. Look, coming here was a mistake. I can’t- I can’t pay.”
Gwaine frowned. “You… forgot your wallet, am I right? Look, it’s not a big deal.” He cinched a hand around Merlin’s wrist and tugged him over to the pastry case. “First muffin is on the house.”
Merlin blinked, startled by the unfamiliar words, as he stumbled after Gwaine. “What?”
“And I’m the house, so what I say, goes. Here.” He tapped on the glass. “What flavour do you want?”
Merlin glanced to where Gwaine was gesturing, at the glass case full of pastries. “Flavour?”
“Pumpkin chocolate chip then. That’s my favourite.” Gwaine winked and strolled back behind the counter, where he pulled out an orange coloured pastry with chunks of some brown substance. Its bottom half was covered in a paper wrapping, which Merlin used to hold the food as he pinched a bit of the round top between two fingers and slipped it in his mouth.
It was sweet - like cake, and Merlin’s eyes widened at the strange taste, pungent and exotic. He could identify cinnamon and cloves, oriental spices used in the rich dishes they served at feasts, but then one of the dark brown chunks split under his incisors and the flash of rich flavour, sweet and dark and just a hint bitter, was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. “Oh,” he gasped.
Gwaine laughed, loud and deep, his rough voice filling a hole in Merlin’s chest that he had not realised was there. “Glad you like it. Come back when you find your wallet, yeah?”
Merlin clutched the muffin tightly to his chest. “I… will.”
As he pushed past the shop door, smiling at the chime of the bell overhead, Kay unfolded from his position propped up against the doorway and cackled loudly. “Oooh, you got pumpkin! Give some here.” He broke off a chunk between his index finger and thumb and popped it into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he chewed.
For looking about seventy, Kay didn’t really act his age. “You’re an odd one, you know that?” said Merlin.
Kay merely smiled.
“I heard Gwaine was looking for new workers,” he said. Before Merlin could reply, he had already shuffled off, back towards their shared alley.
The next day, shortly after waking, Merlin followed the same paths Kay had taken to get to the Avalon. The sign behind the door read “CLOSED,” so Merlin leant forward and peered into the windows. Gwaine was inside, wiping off the counter, and gave him a puzzled glance when he saw Merlin with his nose pressed up against the glass.
Merlin was gratified when, instead of leaving him to squash his nose, Gwaine came and unlocked the front door. “Hello again, handsome stranger.” Gwaine’s smile was just as brilliant - and inappropriately lascivious - as it had been yesterday. “Come on in.”
Merlin followed Gwaine as he wandered back to the cash register. “I was wondering if you were… hiring?”
Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. “You want to work here?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Merlin grinned. “I can clean, obviously. But I can also cook, and I can learn. I want to. Learn, that is.”
Gwaine paused in his movements, setting his elbows on the counter and propping his chin in his hands. “You want to learn? What, exactly?”
“I want to be your apprentice.”
Gwaine snorted.
“No, really,” Merlin said. “I want to learn how you perform your trade. How to… make muffins. And clean things?” He looked around the room, eyes lighting on the colourful flower arrangements on one of the tables. “How to arrange the flowers.” Gwaine snorted, but Merlin kept going. “I’ll do whatever you need. Just let me learn from you.”
Gwaine bit his lip. “You don’t get out much, do you, mate.”
Merlin gripped the counter and leaned forward to meet Gwaine’s stare head-on. “I’m serious. I want to do this. Let me work for you.”
Gwaine straightened up, letting his hands fall onto the counter and tapping restlessly with his fingers on the metal surface. Click click click click. Pursing his lips, Gwaine nodded and threw his cleaning rag at Merlin. “You can start by wiping down the counters.”
Merlin’s face broke into a wide grin. “Thanks, Gwaine!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Gwaine said, as he turned to the back to start pulling pastries out of the oven in the back kitchen. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to pay you or not.”
Chapter 3: Gwaine
Rating: R
Genres: Science Fiction (Time Travel), Humour, Romance
Era: Mix of canon-era and near-future (22nd century) reincarnation era
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, one-sided Gwaine/Merlin, implied Gwaine/Percy
Wordcount: 5200 (this chapter); 45k total
Betas: percygranger, messyangel81
This really hasn't been Merlin's day. Or week. Or month, really. Seeing his best friend die in front of him was bad enough. But magicking himself into the future in order to save Arthur? Probably not as good an idea as it seemed on paper. And this future version of Gwaine will not stop hitting on him. Even in front of the future Arthur - talk about embarrassing. Especially since Merlin needs to get to know this Arthur if he's ever going to figure out how to save his.
Chapter 1: Camelot
Chapter 2: Let's Do the Time Warp Again
The first thing Merlin noticed, before even opening his eyes, was the noise.
Albion was not a silent place, of course. The melodic twitters of the birds, the constant burble of water rushing through the aqueducts of the castle, the intermittent clangs of the metalsmith, and the soft whinnies of the horses in their stables all filled Merlin’s waking hours. At night, as he fell asleep, Merlin took comfort in the ins and outs of Gaius’ soft breathing and the rustle of his bedding as he shifted in his sleep.
These were not the sounds he heard now. Instead, there was a dull murmur everywhere; the chatter of dozens of people, loud thumping that threatened to shatter his eardrums, a strange buzzing in the background like the fluttering wings of a swarm of insects. All of these strange whooshes and clatters and clangs were giving him a headache; there was so much noise he felt his head was going to burst open.
The smells, too, confounded him; he did not smell manure or the sweat from the knights after a morning training session, nor were there the savoury smells from the kitchen of mead and honey and roasted meat. Instead, he smelt ale and piss and smoke, acrid and foul. When he took in a lungful of breath, the chill and smoke burned his lungs, and he sputtered out the foul-tasting air in a cough.
When Merlin finally did crack open his eyes, he could not see the stars. He had a momentary flash of panic as he looked up and saw the full moon straight above his head. The sky was a strange pink as though it were close to dawn. Tall walls towered above him; much taller than a wall designed to fence in a pasture, these must be buildings. The texture was smooth, not rough like normal stone, and painted with strange decorations in bright colours.
The colour of the sky likely had to do with the towering poles mounted with lantern light, pointing straight up towards the heavens and casting a glow farther than any candle’s flame. The light they cast was unyielding; it did not flicker, but instead seared his eyeballs until he was forced to look away.
Behind him, the alcove led to a dead end - more walls, rising high, and a dingy metal box seated at the far end, almost as large as an entire room. It was brimming with what appeared to be wood scraps and broken crates, the outside coloured a buttery yellow that reminded Merlin of egg yolk.
Underneath him, the ground was hard and cold; stone, instead of packed dirt, lined in neat squares. The wind whispered and bit at his skin, causing him to huddle deeper into his jacket.
Two men tumbled into the strange alcove, one with his arm thrown over the other’s shoulders, panting and leaning on him heavily. Merlin felt a wave of nausea as he imagined a different face on those shoulders - one with blond hair, blue eyes, and a solid smile.
The two men staggered to the wall and the one who had been leaning on his companion vomited onto the ground. The other man slapped his back and spoke to the man in a teasing tone, but Merlin could only make out snatches of their speech. Some of the words the man spoke were foreign, and his accent was strange, but the rest sounded like English, at least.
Their clothes, too, were odd. From what Merlin could see, both men wore similarly revealing cloth, with dark blue breeches that clung to their forms, outlining the muscles of their legs, and tunics that fell not even to the waist. The man who was half bent over after emptying the contents of his stomach faced away from Merlin, and his tunic was so short that a large wedge of the man’s pale back was revealed. The sleeves were cut short and fitted to his arms, showing the muscles there, as well. Merlin had seen Arthur wearing less - he was his manservant, after all - but never in front of others. These men were not in private quarters, but out in the open. Surely they did not wish to be seen so... exposed?
Perhaps they were whores; Merlin grimaced at the thought of being stranded in a less-than-savoury part of a city he did not recognise.
Once they were both gone, Merlin stood and stretched. Right now, he should probably try to figure out where - or possibly when - he was. He strode to the end of the pathway, where the two men had vanished.
The sight that met his eyes was not, exactly, what Merlin had been expecting. His knees gave out and he clung to the stone wall next to him for support.
If he’d doubted it before, he certainly knew it now - he was not in Camelot anymore.
He seemed to be in a strange city full of tiny boxy castles built of smooth stone, decorated with garish emblems and flashing lights in all sorts of colours. There were broad, grey thoroughfares, similar to the one on which he was currently standing, which served as platforms for colourful travelling boxes - chariots of some sort - with light sources and leather wheels and people trapped inside, presumably controlling them. And the people - there were masses of peasants roaming about, in all manner of fanciful, and obscene, dress. Some were even less fully clothed than the two men he’d just seen exiting this alcove. Surely they weren’t all whores? He saw no one in proper dress, and realised with a surge of panic that he would be spotted almost instantly based on his garments alone. Already, some of the passers by were throwing him odd looks. Once he recovered the feeling in his legs, he hurriedly dodged back into the alcove to regain his bearings.
He thought back to the garments he’d seen the two men wearing. Surely he could use magic to adapt his current clothing to something of a similar style? But there was the possibility that magic was punished even more strenuously in this place than it had been in Camelot. He had to be careful.
He slid to his knees as the thought of Arthur filled his head. It was too much, too fresh, and he found himself shaking as he hunched into himself, back pressed against cold stone. He lost track of how long he had spent, eyes scrunched tight against the strange sights of the city around him, before he finally cracked open his eyes to see the grey light of pre-dawn in the sky above him.
Calmer now, Merlin searched inside himself for the familiar tingle of magic, only to find that there was nothing there. His limbs felt hollow, his extremities numb. His desperation to save Arthur must have completely exhausted his stores.
With a grunt, Merlin pushed himself onto his feet. With no magic, and in a strange place, Merlin would have to find food and shelter without being spotted by any enemies. And in this land, anyone could be his enemy.
By sunrise, Merlin was in a foul mood.
The worst thing was the thirst. Since coming to this accursed hellhole (Merlin’s thoughts were not on a particularly charitable track at the moment), he had found no place to gather food or fresh water. Where were the water pumps of Camelot? The fields of berries and mushrooms?
Everything here was cold and dead and artificial, stone and iron. There were echoes of familiarity in places - old, crumbling brick and wood houses; trees, though planted in strange, linear fashion, and placed so the outspread branches would not touch each other, like an inefficient orchard. They seemed to function only as decoration, instead of as a means to produce fruit. The thoroughfares crisscrossed at regular intervals, marked by towering metal poles dotted with lanterns in red and green. In some places, the ground was formed of smooth stone tile, and in others, it was a light grey material Merlin had never seen before, rougher than hewn stone, as though formed of a multitude of pebbles smashed together and only partially smoothed down.
The overall effect was utterly alien.
Merlin whimpered as he hugged his knees to his chest and cradled his aching head in his hands, tucked into an isolated alcove near where he had entered this strange place. His exploration in the early pre-dawn light had yielded no results; he still had no idea where he was, he had no water or food, and he had no idea what any of this had to do with helping Arthur.
He was startled out of his dark thoughts by the sound of footfalls near his hiding place.
“I saw him back here,” a young man’s voice said. Merlin shrank back against the rough brick behind him, his eyes darting wildly for a hiding place. The yellow container was a short run away; he would have to risk exposure, but it would provide cover in case the men were hostile.
“There’s no one here, Alex.” This voice was female, still holding the bright cadence of youth, but with an overlying weariness that obscured the woman’s true age. “Are you sure you saw him?”
“No, I swear.” The voices were getting closer now, echoing against the high brick walls. “John was barfing his guts out, and I saw movement behind us. It was this kid wearing, like, a bizarre costume. Something you’d see on the telly.”
Their footfalls struck dull thuds against the stone pathway. Merlin looked once more toward the yellow box. If he were going to make a run for cover, he needed to do it now. Whoever these people were, they were not here by chance - they were looking for him.
The footsteps stilled. “Come on, this is stupid,” the woman said, and Merlin took his chance to run. His heart pounding, Merlin squirmed into the gap between the metal container and the brick wall behind it.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?”
The sound of shuffling drifted over to Merlin’s hiding place. The man spoke, uncertain. “Maybe he’s not here.”
“Shut up, Alex!” the woman said, her voice now filled with laughter. “You don’t have to make up stories, you know.” There was a pause. “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing, dragging me to a deserted alley in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not the middle of the night! It’s half seven-“
All Merlin heard after that was the soft brush of skin and occasional rustles of clothing. He poked his head out of his hiding spot, just a fraction, to see what was happening-
The woman was younger than he’d thought, likely a few years younger than himself, with hair of an alarming bright blue colour that fell past her shoulders. Her companion was taller than her, but all Merlin could see was the back of his head as he leant down to place kisses on the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered as her hands wrapped around his waist and stroked up and down his back - and then she stiffened, her eyes widening in surprise, as she looked straight at Merlin.
Merlin froze, not daring to breathe, and the woman blinked, her expression changing from open-mouthed surprise to delight, her eyes softening, her lips spreading into a grin, and smile lines creasing her cheeks.
Merlin jerked back and burrowed himself further into his hiding place, but it was too late, and he cursed himself internally for letting his curiosity trump his sense of self-preservation.
He bit his lip and willed himself to quiet his breathing, but after what seemed an eternity, he realised that the alcove was silent once more, the footfalls having long receded into the distance. He leant out from behind the container to confirm it, and, to his relief, saw that he was alone.
He retreated back into the shadows, puzzling over the strange almost-encounter. Why had they simply left? The man had obviously been looking for him, from their conversation, and she had seen him - looked straight at him, and smiled. Why hadn’t she said anything?
It was no longer safe to stay here, obviously. His hiding place had been compromised. But he was so tired, and his magic was still gone.
As he wiggled out from behind the container, his eye caught sight of something resting on the ground in the centre of the alcove - a clear bottle, almost like glass but thinner, and wrapped with a dark blue band of decoration. As he came closer, he saw writing on the bands. Dasani, it read, and in smaller print above, Purified Water.
Had the bottle been there the whole time? He couldn’t remember. He turned the bottle over in his hands, thumbing the slick ripples, fingertips catching against the thin material of the blue label.
Could she have left it there for him?
His hands stilled in their exploration of the bottle’s texture, and he swallowed down the lump of gratitude in his throat. Perhaps he wouldn’t change his hiding spot just yet.
Merlin hadn’t realised how truly exhausted he was until he tried to walk. He had inspected the bottle of water that had been left for him, and found nothing obviously wrong with it. After drinking it, he had leant back against the brick wall and let his eyes drift shut, just for a few moments, before he was shocked back into waking by a loud bird call from one of the metal chariots on the street just past the alcove entrance. He managed to struggle to his feet, but as soon as he attempted a few stumbling steps, his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground.
The lack of food and sleep had left him unacceptably weak. He crawled back to his hiding place behind the yellow container and tried to find a position that wouldn’t cause him crippling back pain on waking. He dozed fitfully through the day, waking to the occasional shouts of passersby and a tingling sensation in his limbs. He did nothing more than drift in and out until day had passed to night and then to dawn again, and found the chill that had seeped into his bones was no longer present.
He shifted onto his back, and saw that his arms and chest were covered with a faded red duvet, somewhat scratchy, but still warm. Scrambling out of his hiding place, he scanned the alley quickly for an intruder.
“Hey there,” an old, scratchy voice called. Merlin forced himself to relax. He straightened and, looking to his left, noticed someone just past the container that had been his hiding place.
An old man was standing in the alcove, arm resting on the brick wall next to him for support, and he smiled at Merlin. “Finally awake! It’s about time.”
The voice was achingly familiar, though Merlin was sure he’d never seen this man before in his life. Merlin drew in a shaky breath and felt some of the tension he’d been carrying dissolve. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Kay,” the man said, pushing away from the wall and coming to stand in front of Merlin. He peered at him intently, a faint frown pulling at his lips and creasing his brow. “God, your ears are big.”
“Excuse me?”
Ignoring him, the man simply waved a hand towards the duvet looped over Merlin’s lower arm. “Sleep better with that, yeah? You looked cold.”
Merlin folded his arms across his chest, drawing back a bit and curling into himself protectively, as he looked the stranger up and down. The man grinned up at him, blackened teeth grinning out of a weathered face. He was clad in what appeared to be little better than rags, with a large pack strapped to his back, and a puffy dark green overcoat. His hair was long and white and his beard reached halfway down his chest.
“You hungry?”
Merlin’s voice caught in his throat when he tried to utter a confirmation, so he closed his eyes before clearing his throat and nodding.
“Follow me, then.”
Merlin blinked. “Thank you.” If nothing else, this would give him a chance to observe. Besides, Merlin could use a friend in this strange place.
Kay broke into a wide grin, the dimples in his cheeks creasing his wrinkled visage. “I have hot dogs. Fantastic things, hot dogs. Even better when cooked over a fire. Granted, ‘round here, the only fires are ones in rubbish bins, which isn’t nearly as scenic as a bonfire, but it’ll do. You will like hot dogs, I guarantee it.”
Kay was right, as it turned out; Merlin did like hot dogs. What he liked even more, though, was a full night’s rest after days of sleeping fitfully or not at all.
He returned to consciousness slowly, registering the ache of his muscles, the chill in his skin, the soft texture of the duvet underneath him, and the early morning light creeping under his eyelids. It was not until he felt a familiar tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers that he startled to full consciousness, opening his eyes wide and jerking upright. The sky above was still grey, but the sun was peeking over the horizon, a bright brand against the skyline.
Merlin focused on the red and gold leaves scattered over the ground of the alleyway. He stretched out one hand and whispered “forþ fleoge” under his breath.
Nothing.
“Windræs ge hiere.” He stared at the unmoving leaves, his magic swirling underneath his skin. “Cume þoden!”
He tried again and again, snapping his wrist and staring at the leaves, but although he could feel his magic, knew that he was no longer hollow from the lack of it, he could not command it.
“You all right?”
The gruff voice startled Merlin, and he quickly dropped his hands onto the folds of the duvet. Kay was leaning back against the brick wall of the alley way, his expression impassive, but his eyes full of pity.
“Fine,” Merlin said, at last, slumping into his bedding.
Kay reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a red and white box, which he smacked against his hand a few times, before pulling out a long white cylinder, about the length of his index finger and half as thick, and placing it between his lips. Stuffing the box back in his pocket, he retrieved a flat rectangle with a dark strip on the bottom, and unfolded it to reveal a row of tiny wooden sticks with black knobs on the end. Merlin watched in awe as Kay dragged the stick against the black strip and the end burst into a tiny flame.
Kay glanced at Merlin with a small smile, before proceeding to light the white cylinder, cupping his hands around the end so as not to extinguish the flame. Merlin watched with fascination as Kay sucked in a lungful of air through the cylinder, smoke streaming from his nostrils on the next exhale of breath. The sight reminded him, oddly enough, of the Great Dragon, smoke drifting out of his nostrils as he glowered down at him.
Merlin sat watching Kay breathe smoke for the next few minutes and he felt a smile curving across his face as the two men shared a companionable silence. Eventually, Kay stubbed his cylinder against the stone ground, grinding it under his heel and rising to his feet.
“You coming?”
Merlin blinked. “Coming where?”
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Kay glanced up and met Merlin’s gaze. “I know a place near here.” Without waiting for a response, Kay sauntered out of the alley, not bothering to look behind him to see if Merlin was following.
After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin jogged to catch up with the old man. He trailed along after Kay, darting startled glances at his surroundings.
Townsfolk in more conservative garb than those he’d seen previously crowded the walkways, and more travelling boxes whooshed past on the paved paths in between buildings. A large, square building with hundreds of glass windows towered to Merlin’s left; to his right, couples sat in a courtyard eating lunch at small round tables. A black and white striped awning provided shade, and cheerful lettering floating above proclaimed the name of the establishment to be “Café Avalon.”
Kay lingered outside the door. “I know the owner; he’s a good man.” Merlin hesitated, and Kay rolled his eyes. “Go on, then.”
He tentatively pulled open the glass door - an entire door, made of clear glass! - marking the shop’s entrance. A small bell from overhead tinkled as he stepped inside.
The inside was just as cheerful as the outside. Shiny red and blue egg-shapes, almost as tall as Merlin, were clustered around black circular tables. On second glance, the eggs had oval openings and looked to be partially hollowed out to form a space to sit. A glass case proudly displayed an array of pastries, and large windows, so thin and clear as to look almost invisible, let the morning sun spill through the shop, bathing it in warm gold. A man stood with his back to Merlin, behind the display of pastry, wiping down the counters with a soft cloth.
Everything looked so shiny. It almost hurt Merlin’s eyes to look at the bright reflections in the tables and chairs.
“Good morning,” said a cheerful voice. “What can I get for you today?”
Merlin’s head snapped up as he turned to face the source of the voice.
The man who had been cleaning behind the counter had turned to face Merlin. Leaning against the counter casually, his head cocked to the side, stood a tall man with dark brown hair falling to his shoulders, a scruffy looking moustache and beard, thin mouth and long, sharp nose. His eyebrows were raised in a mixture of amusement and wary regard.
“Gwaine!” Merlin cried, reaching out with one arm to clutch at Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine blinked in surprise before Merlin remembered himself and withdrew his hand hastily.
Gwaine grinned, a familiar, roguish smile that caused Merlin’s stomach to flip. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
Merlin simply beamed back at him, too exhausted to speak.
Gwaine cleared his throat as he pulled back, setting aside his cleaning cloth and wiping his hands on his trousers. His grin turned faintly puzzled as he looked Merlin up and down. “What’s up with the costume, anyway?”
Merlin looked down at his familiar red scarf and blue tunic, tan jacket and brown trousers, the comfortable leather boots. His tunic was too long and loose compared to Gwaine’s, his clothing rougher and the colours brighter.
Before he had a chance to answer, Gwaine interrupted Merlin’s train of thought. “I admit you have me at somewhat of a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” He looked Merlin up and down, his lips twisting into a smirk. “And I can’t believe I would have forgotten it if you’d told me.”
Merlin’s stomach bottomed out. “You don’t know my name?” Of course. How could he have been so stupid? His magic had taken him to such a strange and fantastic place that the idea of encountering something - or, in this case, someone - he knew was preposterous. This man may have looked and spoken like his Gwaine, but he was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger. “Erm, sorry, of course not. I’m Merlin.”
Gwaine, once again, blinked, taken aback. “Merlin? Now I really don’t know how I would have forgotten your name. Did my roguish charm not work last time you were in?”
“No, actually. We haven’t met. I haven’t been here before, I just... ah.” Merlin bit his lip. “Recognise you?” He really needed to get a better cover story. Or to stop spontaneously blurting out people’s names on first encounter.
Gwaine actually looked pleased at that, his brow smoothing, easing into that achingly familiar smile, the relaxed curl of lips that he displayed whenever Merlin shot down Arthur with a particularly biting comeback.
“My reputation precedes me, then!” Gwaine said, beaming. He raised an eyebrow at Merlin, smile still firmly in place. “How’d you hear about us?”
“Uh. You know.” Merlin waved his hand about as Gwaine’s expression softened into bemusement. His thoughts flitted to Kay, still waiting outside. “A friend.”
“Word of mouth is the best form of advertising, or so they say,” Gwaine said, winking. “So did you come in here for coffee, or to ogle the staff?”
Merlin blinked, caught off-guard by Gwaine’s foreign vocabulary. “You have food, right?”
Gwaine’s smile turned wry. “We do. So you didn’t come in just to flirt, then?”
Although Merlin still didn’t understand his speech, it was Gwaine’s expression, and the way his eyes dipped down to Merlin’s mouth, that told him what the strange words meant. Merlin shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but he could feel the flush of embarrassment working its way up his neck. “Sorry.”
Gwaine lowered his head, looking up at Merlin through his eyelashes. “A pity, that.”
Merlin blinked. As much as he wanted to trust Gwaine, instinctively did, it was odd of him to act so openly with a stranger. Gwaine’s body language was bordering on lewd. His long hair fell across one cheek, just brushing against his exposed collarbone, his shoulders just slightly askew, chest thrown outward. His tunic ended before his trousers began, revealing a slim line of pale skin. His fingers rested lightly on his hips, thumbs tucked inside his trousers, one hip slightly higher than the other.
And why was Merlin staring at Gwaine’s hips in the first place? He forced his gaze back upward, to meet Gwaine’s eyes. His smile looked very smug, indeed.
“We have a menu,” Gwaine said, tapping at a parchment covered in a strange glossy transparent material; it had a list of foods with odd names and numbers. Merlin felt his stomach drop as he realised that he had no gold with which to pay for his food.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, stumbling backwards.
“Wait!” Gwaine called, running back behind the counter and around to meet Merlin at the front of the store, next to a black table with two egg-chairs surrounding it and decorated with a bright yellow pot of daisies. “Don’t leave.”
Merlin looked up at Gwaine, who was looking strangely desperate, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth curled down at the corners. “I’m sorry. Look, coming here was a mistake. I can’t- I can’t pay.”
Gwaine frowned. “You… forgot your wallet, am I right? Look, it’s not a big deal.” He cinched a hand around Merlin’s wrist and tugged him over to the pastry case. “First muffin is on the house.”
Merlin blinked, startled by the unfamiliar words, as he stumbled after Gwaine. “What?”
“And I’m the house, so what I say, goes. Here.” He tapped on the glass. “What flavour do you want?”
Merlin glanced to where Gwaine was gesturing, at the glass case full of pastries. “Flavour?”
“Pumpkin chocolate chip then. That’s my favourite.” Gwaine winked and strolled back behind the counter, where he pulled out an orange coloured pastry with chunks of some brown substance. Its bottom half was covered in a paper wrapping, which Merlin used to hold the food as he pinched a bit of the round top between two fingers and slipped it in his mouth.
It was sweet - like cake, and Merlin’s eyes widened at the strange taste, pungent and exotic. He could identify cinnamon and cloves, oriental spices used in the rich dishes they served at feasts, but then one of the dark brown chunks split under his incisors and the flash of rich flavour, sweet and dark and just a hint bitter, was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. “Oh,” he gasped.
Gwaine laughed, loud and deep, his rough voice filling a hole in Merlin’s chest that he had not realised was there. “Glad you like it. Come back when you find your wallet, yeah?”
Merlin clutched the muffin tightly to his chest. “I… will.”
As he pushed past the shop door, smiling at the chime of the bell overhead, Kay unfolded from his position propped up against the doorway and cackled loudly. “Oooh, you got pumpkin! Give some here.” He broke off a chunk between his index finger and thumb and popped it into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he chewed.
For looking about seventy, Kay didn’t really act his age. “You’re an odd one, you know that?” said Merlin.
Kay merely smiled.
“I heard Gwaine was looking for new workers,” he said. Before Merlin could reply, he had already shuffled off, back towards their shared alley.
The next day, shortly after waking, Merlin followed the same paths Kay had taken to get to the Avalon. The sign behind the door read “CLOSED,” so Merlin leant forward and peered into the windows. Gwaine was inside, wiping off the counter, and gave him a puzzled glance when he saw Merlin with his nose pressed up against the glass.
Merlin was gratified when, instead of leaving him to squash his nose, Gwaine came and unlocked the front door. “Hello again, handsome stranger.” Gwaine’s smile was just as brilliant - and inappropriately lascivious - as it had been yesterday. “Come on in.”
Merlin followed Gwaine as he wandered back to the cash register. “I was wondering if you were… hiring?”
Gwaine lifted an eyebrow. “You want to work here?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Merlin grinned. “I can clean, obviously. But I can also cook, and I can learn. I want to. Learn, that is.”
Gwaine paused in his movements, setting his elbows on the counter and propping his chin in his hands. “You want to learn? What, exactly?”
“I want to be your apprentice.”
Gwaine snorted.
“No, really,” Merlin said. “I want to learn how you perform your trade. How to… make muffins. And clean things?” He looked around the room, eyes lighting on the colourful flower arrangements on one of the tables. “How to arrange the flowers.” Gwaine snorted, but Merlin kept going. “I’ll do whatever you need. Just let me learn from you.”
Gwaine bit his lip. “You don’t get out much, do you, mate.”
Merlin gripped the counter and leaned forward to meet Gwaine’s stare head-on. “I’m serious. I want to do this. Let me work for you.”
Gwaine straightened up, letting his hands fall onto the counter and tapping restlessly with his fingers on the metal surface. Click click click click. Pursing his lips, Gwaine nodded and threw his cleaning rag at Merlin. “You can start by wiping down the counters.”
Merlin’s face broke into a wide grin. “Thanks, Gwaine!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Gwaine said, as he turned to the back to start pulling pastries out of the oven in the back kitchen. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to pay you or not.”
Chapter 3: Gwaine