Fic: London, Said He (7/12)
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: 3300 (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
Chapter 3: Gwaine
Chapter 4: Getting to Know You
Chapter 5: Arthur
Chapter 6: The Glorious Life of a PA
Chapter 7: Trouble in Paradise
“Morgana! How are you this fine day?”
Morgana laughed, the sound cascading from her throat like champagne. “Quite well, Merlin, and yourself?”
Merlin wrangled the espresso marked with a curly script M out of the drinks holder and set it down on Morgana’s desk with a flourish.
Morgana took a careful sip before smiling and letting out an exaggerated sigh of contentment. “Thank you for the coffee, as always.”
Merlin grinned. “Have you seen Gwen? I got her something new this morning, and wanted to see what she thought of it.”
“Oh?” Morgana asked, still smiling.
Merlin leaned forward, voice pitched low in a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s called a Chai.”
Morgana laughed, low and loud, the reverberations echoing through Merlin’s chest. “You’re quite the adventurous one, aren’t you, Merlin?”
Merlin felt his ears grow hot, but he tried to cover up his discomfiture with a small smile. “You know me. Wild and crazy.” Apparently this chai thing wasn’t as new and exciting as he’d initially hoped. I mean, really, spicy tea? Sounded bizarre to Merlin. And it had tasted strange too. He wasn’t above sneaking sips of other people’s coffee.
“Off with you then!” Morgana made a shooing motion with her hands. “Arthur will be cranky today without his favourite secretary.”
“I’m not a secretary!”
“I know, I know. Personal assistant. Whatever.” Morgana shot Merlin a flippant smile. “Go get him his coffee before he sends out an angry memo or something.”
Merlin shot her a parting grin before dodging out the door of her office. As soon as he shut the door behind him, however, he heard someone calling his name. Someone posh and rather irritated.
“Merlin! Where the bloody hell have you been?”
Merlin whirled around to face the owner of the angry voice, who was striding towards Gwen’s desk purposefully. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Oh, don’t you bloody start, it’s been an awful week. Where’s my coffee?”
Merlin handed over Arthur’s caramel macchiato, two shots of espresso, heavy on the whip cream. “I made it as horrifically sweet as you requested, sir.”
Arthur took a sip and grimaced. “Make it three shots of espresso next time.” He whirled around and started pacing down the hall, back to his office.
Merlin set the chai on Gwen’s desk before running to catch up with Arthur. “You might not need as much caffeine if you actually got the proper amount of sleep, you know.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Giving me health advice, Merlin? I wasn’t aware you were a doctor as well as a personal assistant.”
“Oh, yes. I know all about poultices and medicinal herbs. Oh, and leeches.”
“Fantastic things, leeches. I heard they were all the rage in the middle ages.”
“Very fashionable. But cleaning their cages is a nightmare.”
Arthur paused in front of the door to his office, hand resting on the knob. “You do realise I’m not paying you for your scintillating conversational skills and in-depth knowledge on leeches, yes?”
Merlin grinned and picked up the paper bag sitting on his desk. “Got you a blueberry muffin this morning. Gwaine says hi, by the way.”
“Excellent. Tell him to bugger off.” Arthur dug into the bag for his muffin. “Don’t think I’m going to be nicer to you, Merlin,” Arthur said, taking a cautious nibble. “Just because you’re trying to butter me up doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for your nefarious schemes. I can see right through you. Trying to make me fat.”
“Who says you’re not fat already?”
“Oi! I’m fit, and don’t you forget that.”
Merlin sniggered and sat down in his desk chair.
“When’s my next appointment?” Arthur asked around a mouthful of muffin.
Merlin peered at the calendar on his computer screen. “Eleven, with, ah, some important people.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you Merlin, as ever, your way with words is simply astounding.”
“I do try.”
“Well, try to get some work done between now and eleven.” Arthur ducked into his office. “You still haven’t finished entering those twelve pages of financial data I gave you last Thursday, have you?”
Merlin sighed. “Still working on it.”
“Well, work harder. Do I need to enrol you in a typing class, Merlin?”
Merlin grimaced. “No, sir, thank you, sir.”
“Do shut up and get back to work, Merlin.”
Before Merlin had a chance to retort, the door had clicked shut behind Arthur.
Merlin groaned before settling in and picking up the second page of the printout, pinching it between two fingers with his nose wrinkled in distaste. Entering the data from the first page had taken him hours, and he still had eleven pages left. Mumbling something about the stupidity of data entry and entitled prats, he opened his “spreadsheet” program and started pecking away at the keyboard.
What felt like hours but was, in all probability, less than twenty minutes later, Merlin heard a ding and saw a message pop up on his screen.
Arthur Penderton: I can hear your typing from in here. For god’s sake, are you hunting and pecking?
Merlin Emrys: am i what?
Arthur Penderton: You know, I was kidding about that typing class, but now I’m not so sure.
Merlin Emrys: are you saying there is something wrong with me?
Arthur Penderton: There are many things wrong with you, Merlin.
Arthur Penderton: Typing is only one of a great many on the list of your flaws.
Arthur Penderton: And yet, I still haven’t fired you.
Arthur Penderton: Perhaps there’s something wrong with me as a manager.
Merlin Emrys: you are such a prat.
Arthur Penderton: Remind me again why I haven’t fired you yet?
Merlin Emrys: because i am cute.
Merlin Emrys: sorry that just slipped out.
Merlin Emrys: because i bring you coffee?
Arthur Penderton: That is correct. Coffee. See that you continue to do so.
Merlin Emrys: as you wish.
Arthur Penderton: Was that an intentional reference?
Merlin Emrys: was what a reference?
Arthur Penderton: Never mind. Carry on, then. Go back to your incredibly efficient typing.
Merlin bit his lip before clicking once more on the spreadsheet program. It made sense that he would feel a bit lost; he was in an entirely different life than he was used to, after all. Perhaps it was too much to hope for that his relationship with Arthur would go right back to the way it had been in Camelot.
It turned out not to matter, anyway.
If Merlin never saw a bloody personnel sheet again, it would be too soon. Whoever had invented the art of data entry deserved to be shot on sight. Merlin sighed and considered the merits of braining himself on his desk to distract from the numb ache in his hands and fingers from all the bloody data entry.
As Merlin was pondering the wood grain of the table top his forehead was resting against, he heard the creak of the door behind him. He sat up in a hurry and turned to see Arthur, hand on the doorknob, looking at him with a solemn expression.
He had been expecting some sort of joking remark about lying down on the job, but Arthur only said, “Merlin, can I see you in my office?” and then he disappeared, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Something was definitely wrong. Merlin turned off his monitor and strode over to Arthur’s office door, not bothering to neaten the papers on his desk.
Inside the office, Arthur was seated at his desk, eyes scanning a pile of documents. “Sit,” he said, not bothering to look up at Merlin.
Merlin stood for a moment, hovering, but Arthur continued to ignore him, so he finally sat, sinking into the red cushion of the armchair in front of Arthur’s desk. After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur finally spoke.
“It seems like there may have been a mix-up when you submitted your application.”
Merlin stared.
“If there’s anything you need to tell me…” He raised an eyebrow and waited.
Yes, actually. I’m a time traveller and I’m trying to save your past self from a horrible death. I used to have magic, but I don’t anymore. I know nothing about computers and I only got this job so I could be close to you.
I think I might be in love with you.
“No,” he said.
Arthur’s jaw clenched, and he pushed a pile of papers over to Merlin’s side of the table. “Do you recognise these documents?”
The papers consisted of Merlin’s photocopied driving license and work history.
“Yes,” Merlin said, and it took all of his willpower to not make it sound like a question. “I submitted them when I…” What was the word for it, again? “Applied for the position.”
Arthur sighed. “Merlin, are you sure you intended to submit this? It’s not… the wrong version?”
“Wrong version? No. There’s just the one version.”
Arthur turned a bit pink. He tapped his finger on a point about a third of the way down the page. “This phone number, for your last employer? Is it correct?”
Merlin was starting to get irritated at Arthur’s incessant questions. “Yes!” he snapped, and frowned down at the offending number. Gwaine had put everything together for him; had said it would be fine.
Arthur withdrew his hands and let them rest in his lap. His next words were even, carefully measured. “Why did you lie on your curriculum vitae?”
Merlin blinked. “Lie?”
“HR didn’t notice the discrepancy, but I did. These are all Gwaine’s mobile numbers and false email addresses, and the supervisor names either don’t exist, or they no longer work for those companies. The companies themselves, of course, exist, and they’re all big. Nameless. The kind of place where an employee could easily fall into the cracks. Plausible deniability.”
“I don’t…”
Arthur’s mouth thinned. “None of these companies actually hired you, did they?”
Merlin fidgeted. “You’re right, I must have given you the wrong copy.”
Arthur’s face twisted terribly, his mouth pursed in a grimace and his eyes cold. “There were some imperfections on your driving license as well. Apparently you and Percy share the exact same birthday.”
“Weird coincidence, huh?”
Arthur slammed his fist down on the table. “I’m serious! What the hell is wrong with you?” He swallowed, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to regain his calm. “Is Merlin even your real name?”
“Yes! Of course it is-“
“Merlin, you lied to me.” Arthur pushed back his chair and stood, now towering over Merlin. “What were you trying to get out of this job? Money? Power? Are you looking to blackmail my father? Learn company secrets? What? I need to know!”
Merlin stared up at Arthur, eyes wide. He’d seen him angry before. But right now he looked afraid, his face pale and his knuckles white from where they were clenching against the edge of the desk. “You,” Merlin blurted.
Arthur let go of the desk and took a step backward, his expression scrunching into one of confusion. “Me? What about me? Are you planning on sneaking poison into my espresso?”
Merlin jerked backward as though he had been slapped. The image of Arthur, twitching helplessly under his hands, sprang to the forefront of his mind.
No. I’ll fix you. Just hold on, Arthur, please-
“Merlin?” A warm hand wrapped around his shoulder, jolting him out of his memories.
When his eyes refocused, he saw that Arthur was looking at him intently, concern etched into his features. This was an expression he had never seen before on Arthur’s face. Merlin knew Arthur had cared about Merlin, but he was never so raw, so open, so visible…
Arthur pulled back, his expression shuttering. Merlin’s shoulder ached from the loss.
“Gods, Arthur, I would never…”
“Then explain it to me!”
Merlin shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just let it go. But it was too late now. “I,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I wanted to get to know you.”
Arthur scowled. “Look, Merlin. I don’t know about how things are done where you’re from, but, well, on planet Earth, in the solar system,” Merlin winced at this, but Arthur just kept on going, “when one bloke likes another bloke, he usually asks him out for a coffee. He doesn’t use a false identity and make up a CV of fabricated work history in order to get hired as his personal assistant. A rubbish personal assistant, at that.”
“So, you’re saying, I should have asked you out for a coffee?”
Arthur just stared.
Merlin bit his lip. “Is it too late for that, then?”
“Christ, Merlin! What is wrong with you?” Arthur shook his head. “Do you realise how serious this is? If my father found out you had obtained a position here on false pretences…” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just get your stuff and go.”
“What?”
“Merlin…” On seeing Merlin’s look of confusion, Arthur clarified, “You lied on your job application. You lied to me. I have to let you go.”
Merlin knew that had to be a euphemism for something… “You’re sacking me?“
“Please, just go. Don’t make this any worse.”
This wasn’t supposed to happen. How was he supposed to save Arthur if he couldn’t even talk to him? But this wasn’t his Arthur, and he needed to keep reminding himself of that. Before he could lose his nerve, Merlin stumbled to his feet and fled the office.
Gwaine didn’t look up when the bell above the shop door tinkled, but he did notice when Merlin came up behind the counter. “Merlin! Did Arthur need an extra espresso today?”
Merlin ignored Gwaine, angling his body so that he wouldn’t touch him as he slunk past, and going into the back kitchen. He expected to feel more… well, more. Right now he was numb, and not feeling much of anything.
The door to the kitchen whispered open and shut again. Merlin could feel Gwaine’s warm presence behind him, but he didn’t turn around.
“What happened?”
Your stupid idea ruined everything. “It’s nothing, Gwaine.”
“It’s not nothing.” Gwaine shouldered past Merlin and turned to face him. He stretched out a hand to grasp his upper arm, but seemed to think better of it at the last minute, and his arm fell uselessly to his side. “You’re hiding.”
“Don’t.” Merlin was embarrassed to hear his own voice cracking. “I need a moment, is all.”
They were silent for a long moment, Gwaine trying to burn a hole into Merlin’s forehead, and Merlin looking pointedly at the kitchen sink, eyes tracing the gleaming curves of stainless steel.
If nothing else, Gwaine’s irritating persistence was distracting Merlin from the rest of his day. He turned to look him in the eye, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you have customers?”
“Percy is perfectly capable of running things for a few minutes.” Gwaine flashed a grin and turned to rummage through the refrigerator. “Can you help me taste test this next batch of orange cranberry scones?”
Merlin let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Trust me,” said Gwaine, “this is a time-tested method of getting over heartbreak.”
After eating his sixth orange scone, Merlin had felt somewhat bloated and more than a little nauseous. When he said as much, Gwaine had slipped into the front to have a hushed conversation with Percy. A few minutes later, he had bundled Merlin outside and flagged down a taxi.
Once they’d gotten to the flat, Gwaine had pressed down on his shoulders and forced him to sit down on the sofa with a whumpf.
Merlin had sunk down onto the sofa and just… lain there. For a while. He wasn’t really aware of time passing, but it was noticeably darker in the room when Gwaine shook him awake and proclaimed that they were having a night in.
Merlin squinted down at the mess on the coffee table. Six green bottles were nestled into a colourful folded paper holder labelled “Grolsch.” Next to them were a variety of foods, most of them still in their packaging - Jammy Dodgers, Walkers prawn cocktail crisps, and Maltesers.
“Behold the healing powers of junk food, booze, and crap telly!”
“Right,” said Merlin, as Gwaine prodded him into a sitting position.
“Prepare yourself,” Gwaine said, “for the best ninety minutes of television you have ever experienced.” He pursed his lips. “Granted, I’m not sure you’ve ever actually experienced anything to compare it to.”
The title Demolition Dudes flashed across the screen in big block letters. “What is this?”
“Only the best film ever made.” He shushed Merlin with a wave of his arm and used a metal lever to pull the lid off of one of the glass bottles. “With the possible exception of Terminator. That’s just classic.”
Merlin frowned as the screen of the television flickered red and orange and a loud crack sounded. “Why does this film have so much fire?”
“They’re called explosions,” Gwaine corrected as he picked the remains of an Aero bar out of his teeth. “Explosions have been scientifically proven to reduce the duration of heartbreak.”
“And why is that woman crawling out of a gigantic bank of flames with only minor singe marks?”
“That’s Sharktooth Harden. She’s so amazing that even fire can’t touch her.”
“Who names their daughter Sharktooth?”
“Who names their son Merlin?”
“Someone with class and taste.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Gwaine said, rolling his eyes. “Now shut up and drink your beer.”
Things got a bit fuzzy after that.
“Gwaine,” Merlin whined, turning his bottle upside down. “I’m out of beer again.”
“Time for the tequila!” Gwaine shot to his feet, throwing the duvet in disarray. “To the kitchen!” He turned and faced Merlin when he reached the refrigerator. “What am I getting again?”
Merlin frowned. “Keel something? Eel-a?”
“I don’t see any eels in here. There’s some jalapeño poppers though.”
Merlin stole Gwaine’s bottle from the arm of the sofa and settled deeper into the cushions. He had just started dozing off when Gwaine trudged back in with a plate full of jalapeño poppers.
“Hey, when did we run out of beer?”
Merlin shrugged and took another swig. He let his eyes fall shut as Gwaine huffed an irritated sigh and stomped back to the kitchen.
He cracked his eyes open to Gwaine prodding him in the side. As soon as Merlin slapped his hand away, Gwaine leaned back against the sofa.
“Why Arthur?” Gwaine asked. Merlin’s eyes flickered back to the television, as the woman on screen crawled on his hands and knees through a tiny metallic cavern with a knife trapped between her teeth.
“What do you mean, why Arthur?”
“Why’s he so important?”
Merlin sighed. “Because he’s my destiny.”
“That’s bollocks.”
“It’s not bollocks. It’s important. He’s important. He’s going to be king, someday.”
“But why do you have to be friends?”
Merlin glared. “Because he’s important!”
“But why?”
“Because he’s my best friend, you ass.”
“Why can’t I be your best friend?”
“You are. It’s just…”
“Yeah?”
“Arthur’s special.”
Gwaine just lifted his eyebrow doubtfully and took a swig from his new bottle.
“I just…” Merlin picked at the label on his bottle with his thumbnail. On screen, the heroine handed over the locked cargo container of criminals to the authorities. “I miss him, all right?”
Gwaine’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “All right.”
Chapter 8: Cooking Classes
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: 3300 (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
Chapter 3: Gwaine
Chapter 4: Getting to Know You
Chapter 5: Arthur
Chapter 6: The Glorious Life of a PA
Chapter 7: Trouble in Paradise
“Morgana! How are you this fine day?”
Morgana laughed, the sound cascading from her throat like champagne. “Quite well, Merlin, and yourself?”
Merlin wrangled the espresso marked with a curly script M out of the drinks holder and set it down on Morgana’s desk with a flourish.
Morgana took a careful sip before smiling and letting out an exaggerated sigh of contentment. “Thank you for the coffee, as always.”
Merlin grinned. “Have you seen Gwen? I got her something new this morning, and wanted to see what she thought of it.”
“Oh?” Morgana asked, still smiling.
Merlin leaned forward, voice pitched low in a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s called a Chai.”
Morgana laughed, low and loud, the reverberations echoing through Merlin’s chest. “You’re quite the adventurous one, aren’t you, Merlin?”
Merlin felt his ears grow hot, but he tried to cover up his discomfiture with a small smile. “You know me. Wild and crazy.” Apparently this chai thing wasn’t as new and exciting as he’d initially hoped. I mean, really, spicy tea? Sounded bizarre to Merlin. And it had tasted strange too. He wasn’t above sneaking sips of other people’s coffee.
“Off with you then!” Morgana made a shooing motion with her hands. “Arthur will be cranky today without his favourite secretary.”
“I’m not a secretary!”
“I know, I know. Personal assistant. Whatever.” Morgana shot Merlin a flippant smile. “Go get him his coffee before he sends out an angry memo or something.”
Merlin shot her a parting grin before dodging out the door of her office. As soon as he shut the door behind him, however, he heard someone calling his name. Someone posh and rather irritated.
“Merlin! Where the bloody hell have you been?”
Merlin whirled around to face the owner of the angry voice, who was striding towards Gwen’s desk purposefully. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Oh, don’t you bloody start, it’s been an awful week. Where’s my coffee?”
Merlin handed over Arthur’s caramel macchiato, two shots of espresso, heavy on the whip cream. “I made it as horrifically sweet as you requested, sir.”
Arthur took a sip and grimaced. “Make it three shots of espresso next time.” He whirled around and started pacing down the hall, back to his office.
Merlin set the chai on Gwen’s desk before running to catch up with Arthur. “You might not need as much caffeine if you actually got the proper amount of sleep, you know.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Giving me health advice, Merlin? I wasn’t aware you were a doctor as well as a personal assistant.”
“Oh, yes. I know all about poultices and medicinal herbs. Oh, and leeches.”
“Fantastic things, leeches. I heard they were all the rage in the middle ages.”
“Very fashionable. But cleaning their cages is a nightmare.”
Arthur paused in front of the door to his office, hand resting on the knob. “You do realise I’m not paying you for your scintillating conversational skills and in-depth knowledge on leeches, yes?”
Merlin grinned and picked up the paper bag sitting on his desk. “Got you a blueberry muffin this morning. Gwaine says hi, by the way.”
“Excellent. Tell him to bugger off.” Arthur dug into the bag for his muffin. “Don’t think I’m going to be nicer to you, Merlin,” Arthur said, taking a cautious nibble. “Just because you’re trying to butter me up doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for your nefarious schemes. I can see right through you. Trying to make me fat.”
“Who says you’re not fat already?”
“Oi! I’m fit, and don’t you forget that.”
Merlin sniggered and sat down in his desk chair.
“When’s my next appointment?” Arthur asked around a mouthful of muffin.
Merlin peered at the calendar on his computer screen. “Eleven, with, ah, some important people.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you Merlin, as ever, your way with words is simply astounding.”
“I do try.”
“Well, try to get some work done between now and eleven.” Arthur ducked into his office. “You still haven’t finished entering those twelve pages of financial data I gave you last Thursday, have you?”
Merlin sighed. “Still working on it.”
“Well, work harder. Do I need to enrol you in a typing class, Merlin?”
Merlin grimaced. “No, sir, thank you, sir.”
“Do shut up and get back to work, Merlin.”
Before Merlin had a chance to retort, the door had clicked shut behind Arthur.
Merlin groaned before settling in and picking up the second page of the printout, pinching it between two fingers with his nose wrinkled in distaste. Entering the data from the first page had taken him hours, and he still had eleven pages left. Mumbling something about the stupidity of data entry and entitled prats, he opened his “spreadsheet” program and started pecking away at the keyboard.
What felt like hours but was, in all probability, less than twenty minutes later, Merlin heard a ding and saw a message pop up on his screen.
Arthur Penderton: I can hear your typing from in here. For god’s sake, are you hunting and pecking?
Merlin Emrys: am i what?
Arthur Penderton: You know, I was kidding about that typing class, but now I’m not so sure.
Merlin Emrys: are you saying there is something wrong with me?
Arthur Penderton: There are many things wrong with you, Merlin.
Arthur Penderton: Typing is only one of a great many on the list of your flaws.
Arthur Penderton: And yet, I still haven’t fired you.
Arthur Penderton: Perhaps there’s something wrong with me as a manager.
Merlin Emrys: you are such a prat.
Arthur Penderton: Remind me again why I haven’t fired you yet?
Merlin Emrys: because i am cute.
Merlin Emrys: sorry that just slipped out.
Merlin Emrys: because i bring you coffee?
Arthur Penderton: That is correct. Coffee. See that you continue to do so.
Merlin Emrys: as you wish.
Arthur Penderton: Was that an intentional reference?
Merlin Emrys: was what a reference?
Arthur Penderton: Never mind. Carry on, then. Go back to your incredibly efficient typing.
Merlin bit his lip before clicking once more on the spreadsheet program. It made sense that he would feel a bit lost; he was in an entirely different life than he was used to, after all. Perhaps it was too much to hope for that his relationship with Arthur would go right back to the way it had been in Camelot.
It turned out not to matter, anyway.
If Merlin never saw a bloody personnel sheet again, it would be too soon. Whoever had invented the art of data entry deserved to be shot on sight. Merlin sighed and considered the merits of braining himself on his desk to distract from the numb ache in his hands and fingers from all the bloody data entry.
As Merlin was pondering the wood grain of the table top his forehead was resting against, he heard the creak of the door behind him. He sat up in a hurry and turned to see Arthur, hand on the doorknob, looking at him with a solemn expression.
He had been expecting some sort of joking remark about lying down on the job, but Arthur only said, “Merlin, can I see you in my office?” and then he disappeared, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Something was definitely wrong. Merlin turned off his monitor and strode over to Arthur’s office door, not bothering to neaten the papers on his desk.
Inside the office, Arthur was seated at his desk, eyes scanning a pile of documents. “Sit,” he said, not bothering to look up at Merlin.
Merlin stood for a moment, hovering, but Arthur continued to ignore him, so he finally sat, sinking into the red cushion of the armchair in front of Arthur’s desk. After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur finally spoke.
“It seems like there may have been a mix-up when you submitted your application.”
Merlin stared.
“If there’s anything you need to tell me…” He raised an eyebrow and waited.
Yes, actually. I’m a time traveller and I’m trying to save your past self from a horrible death. I used to have magic, but I don’t anymore. I know nothing about computers and I only got this job so I could be close to you.
I think I might be in love with you.
“No,” he said.
Arthur’s jaw clenched, and he pushed a pile of papers over to Merlin’s side of the table. “Do you recognise these documents?”
The papers consisted of Merlin’s photocopied driving license and work history.
“Yes,” Merlin said, and it took all of his willpower to not make it sound like a question. “I submitted them when I…” What was the word for it, again? “Applied for the position.”
Arthur sighed. “Merlin, are you sure you intended to submit this? It’s not… the wrong version?”
“Wrong version? No. There’s just the one version.”
Arthur turned a bit pink. He tapped his finger on a point about a third of the way down the page. “This phone number, for your last employer? Is it correct?”
Merlin was starting to get irritated at Arthur’s incessant questions. “Yes!” he snapped, and frowned down at the offending number. Gwaine had put everything together for him; had said it would be fine.
Arthur withdrew his hands and let them rest in his lap. His next words were even, carefully measured. “Why did you lie on your curriculum vitae?”
Merlin blinked. “Lie?”
“HR didn’t notice the discrepancy, but I did. These are all Gwaine’s mobile numbers and false email addresses, and the supervisor names either don’t exist, or they no longer work for those companies. The companies themselves, of course, exist, and they’re all big. Nameless. The kind of place where an employee could easily fall into the cracks. Plausible deniability.”
“I don’t…”
Arthur’s mouth thinned. “None of these companies actually hired you, did they?”
Merlin fidgeted. “You’re right, I must have given you the wrong copy.”
Arthur’s face twisted terribly, his mouth pursed in a grimace and his eyes cold. “There were some imperfections on your driving license as well. Apparently you and Percy share the exact same birthday.”
“Weird coincidence, huh?”
Arthur slammed his fist down on the table. “I’m serious! What the hell is wrong with you?” He swallowed, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to regain his calm. “Is Merlin even your real name?”
“Yes! Of course it is-“
“Merlin, you lied to me.” Arthur pushed back his chair and stood, now towering over Merlin. “What were you trying to get out of this job? Money? Power? Are you looking to blackmail my father? Learn company secrets? What? I need to know!”
Merlin stared up at Arthur, eyes wide. He’d seen him angry before. But right now he looked afraid, his face pale and his knuckles white from where they were clenching against the edge of the desk. “You,” Merlin blurted.
Arthur let go of the desk and took a step backward, his expression scrunching into one of confusion. “Me? What about me? Are you planning on sneaking poison into my espresso?”
Merlin jerked backward as though he had been slapped. The image of Arthur, twitching helplessly under his hands, sprang to the forefront of his mind.
No. I’ll fix you. Just hold on, Arthur, please-
“Merlin?” A warm hand wrapped around his shoulder, jolting him out of his memories.
When his eyes refocused, he saw that Arthur was looking at him intently, concern etched into his features. This was an expression he had never seen before on Arthur’s face. Merlin knew Arthur had cared about Merlin, but he was never so raw, so open, so visible…
Arthur pulled back, his expression shuttering. Merlin’s shoulder ached from the loss.
“Gods, Arthur, I would never…”
“Then explain it to me!”
Merlin shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just let it go. But it was too late now. “I,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I wanted to get to know you.”
Arthur scowled. “Look, Merlin. I don’t know about how things are done where you’re from, but, well, on planet Earth, in the solar system,” Merlin winced at this, but Arthur just kept on going, “when one bloke likes another bloke, he usually asks him out for a coffee. He doesn’t use a false identity and make up a CV of fabricated work history in order to get hired as his personal assistant. A rubbish personal assistant, at that.”
“So, you’re saying, I should have asked you out for a coffee?”
Arthur just stared.
Merlin bit his lip. “Is it too late for that, then?”
“Christ, Merlin! What is wrong with you?” Arthur shook his head. “Do you realise how serious this is? If my father found out you had obtained a position here on false pretences…” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just get your stuff and go.”
“What?”
“Merlin…” On seeing Merlin’s look of confusion, Arthur clarified, “You lied on your job application. You lied to me. I have to let you go.”
Merlin knew that had to be a euphemism for something… “You’re sacking me?“
“Please, just go. Don’t make this any worse.”
This wasn’t supposed to happen. How was he supposed to save Arthur if he couldn’t even talk to him? But this wasn’t his Arthur, and he needed to keep reminding himself of that. Before he could lose his nerve, Merlin stumbled to his feet and fled the office.
Gwaine didn’t look up when the bell above the shop door tinkled, but he did notice when Merlin came up behind the counter. “Merlin! Did Arthur need an extra espresso today?”
Merlin ignored Gwaine, angling his body so that he wouldn’t touch him as he slunk past, and going into the back kitchen. He expected to feel more… well, more. Right now he was numb, and not feeling much of anything.
The door to the kitchen whispered open and shut again. Merlin could feel Gwaine’s warm presence behind him, but he didn’t turn around.
“What happened?”
Your stupid idea ruined everything. “It’s nothing, Gwaine.”
“It’s not nothing.” Gwaine shouldered past Merlin and turned to face him. He stretched out a hand to grasp his upper arm, but seemed to think better of it at the last minute, and his arm fell uselessly to his side. “You’re hiding.”
“Don’t.” Merlin was embarrassed to hear his own voice cracking. “I need a moment, is all.”
They were silent for a long moment, Gwaine trying to burn a hole into Merlin’s forehead, and Merlin looking pointedly at the kitchen sink, eyes tracing the gleaming curves of stainless steel.
If nothing else, Gwaine’s irritating persistence was distracting Merlin from the rest of his day. He turned to look him in the eye, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you have customers?”
“Percy is perfectly capable of running things for a few minutes.” Gwaine flashed a grin and turned to rummage through the refrigerator. “Can you help me taste test this next batch of orange cranberry scones?”
Merlin let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Trust me,” said Gwaine, “this is a time-tested method of getting over heartbreak.”
After eating his sixth orange scone, Merlin had felt somewhat bloated and more than a little nauseous. When he said as much, Gwaine had slipped into the front to have a hushed conversation with Percy. A few minutes later, he had bundled Merlin outside and flagged down a taxi.
Once they’d gotten to the flat, Gwaine had pressed down on his shoulders and forced him to sit down on the sofa with a whumpf.
Merlin had sunk down onto the sofa and just… lain there. For a while. He wasn’t really aware of time passing, but it was noticeably darker in the room when Gwaine shook him awake and proclaimed that they were having a night in.
Merlin squinted down at the mess on the coffee table. Six green bottles were nestled into a colourful folded paper holder labelled “Grolsch.” Next to them were a variety of foods, most of them still in their packaging - Jammy Dodgers, Walkers prawn cocktail crisps, and Maltesers.
“Behold the healing powers of junk food, booze, and crap telly!”
“Right,” said Merlin, as Gwaine prodded him into a sitting position.
“Prepare yourself,” Gwaine said, “for the best ninety minutes of television you have ever experienced.” He pursed his lips. “Granted, I’m not sure you’ve ever actually experienced anything to compare it to.”
The title Demolition Dudes flashed across the screen in big block letters. “What is this?”
“Only the best film ever made.” He shushed Merlin with a wave of his arm and used a metal lever to pull the lid off of one of the glass bottles. “With the possible exception of Terminator. That’s just classic.”
Merlin frowned as the screen of the television flickered red and orange and a loud crack sounded. “Why does this film have so much fire?”
“They’re called explosions,” Gwaine corrected as he picked the remains of an Aero bar out of his teeth. “Explosions have been scientifically proven to reduce the duration of heartbreak.”
“And why is that woman crawling out of a gigantic bank of flames with only minor singe marks?”
“That’s Sharktooth Harden. She’s so amazing that even fire can’t touch her.”
“Who names their daughter Sharktooth?”
“Who names their son Merlin?”
“Someone with class and taste.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Gwaine said, rolling his eyes. “Now shut up and drink your beer.”
Things got a bit fuzzy after that.
“Gwaine,” Merlin whined, turning his bottle upside down. “I’m out of beer again.”
“Time for the tequila!” Gwaine shot to his feet, throwing the duvet in disarray. “To the kitchen!” He turned and faced Merlin when he reached the refrigerator. “What am I getting again?”
Merlin frowned. “Keel something? Eel-a?”
“I don’t see any eels in here. There’s some jalapeño poppers though.”
Merlin stole Gwaine’s bottle from the arm of the sofa and settled deeper into the cushions. He had just started dozing off when Gwaine trudged back in with a plate full of jalapeño poppers.
“Hey, when did we run out of beer?”
Merlin shrugged and took another swig. He let his eyes fall shut as Gwaine huffed an irritated sigh and stomped back to the kitchen.
He cracked his eyes open to Gwaine prodding him in the side. As soon as Merlin slapped his hand away, Gwaine leaned back against the sofa.
“Why Arthur?” Gwaine asked. Merlin’s eyes flickered back to the television, as the woman on screen crawled on his hands and knees through a tiny metallic cavern with a knife trapped between her teeth.
“What do you mean, why Arthur?”
“Why’s he so important?”
Merlin sighed. “Because he’s my destiny.”
“That’s bollocks.”
“It’s not bollocks. It’s important. He’s important. He’s going to be king, someday.”
“But why do you have to be friends?”
Merlin glared. “Because he’s important!”
“But why?”
“Because he’s my best friend, you ass.”
“Why can’t I be your best friend?”
“You are. It’s just…”
“Yeah?”
“Arthur’s special.”
Gwaine just lifted his eyebrow doubtfully and took a swig from his new bottle.
“I just…” Merlin picked at the label on his bottle with his thumbnail. On screen, the heroine handed over the locked cargo container of criminals to the authorities. “I miss him, all right?”
Gwaine’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “All right.”
Chapter 8: Cooking Classes