What You Mean to Me (Right Now) Part One

[wanderingfic]

Arthur normally drops his prescriptions off at Boots. For one, they're convenient, with locations right by his office and his flat, and for two, he likes how easy it is to be anonymous in their stores, the way the pharmacy techs seem to change every few months, never taking the time to get to know him or even bothering to understand why he has to get pain medicines filled every few months and why an antibiotic is so essential, and not just for a chest cold. There's a quiet efficiency to the chain, and Arthur likes that he can pick up not only his medicine but shaving foam or soap if he's out, and nobody says a word if he grabs a box of condoms when the ones that he keeps at his flat- even though he never uses them- expire.

But today, today his leg fucking hurts, and there's no explanation for it. And because Arthur's stubborn, he'd managed to convince himself that the pain meds were no longer necessary, so when he'd used the last of them, he hadn't even bothered to call his doctor for a refill. He's thankful his doctor is used to patients like him, because although Gwen had sighed when he'd called and asked her to squeeze him in, she had.

She gives him that soft, resigned smile he sees a lot of when he's around her when she lets herself into the small exam room. He sets down the footie mag he's been reading and tries to smile back, but he knows it looks more like a grimace than anything else.

"That bad?" Gwen asks and turns to the computer so she can log all of his symptoms. "The fit, or are we looking at an infection?"

She reaches underneath his knees and pulls out the extension to the exam table. He swings his left leg up easily, but it's his right leg that's the problem, always. Gwen is careful to help him lift it onto the table, and he wishes, not for the first time, that he could feel her hands on his leg.

It's not a sexual desire. He hasn't had feelings like that for Gwen in years, not since they were teenagers fooling around as a way to ease some of the stress from their A-levels. Gwen was been the one who had helped him figure out that he didn't like girls all that much, the person he lived with during uni, and the only person he'd wanted near him after his accident. The fact that she had been fast becoming one of the most called upon orthotics experts in the country was secondary, though his father, Arthur has often thought since, had never truly appreciated Arthur and Gwen's friendship until that moment.

"Are you going to show me, or am I going to have to guess?" Gwen asks and pokes him in his other calf, his skin looking too pale under the end of the hospital gown the nurse laid out for him.

"You're the expert," Arthur teases her with more lightness than he feels. "I thought you could just wave your hands over it and come up with a solution."

He reaches down and detaches his prosthesis at the knee. He still has trouble, some days, looking at the spot where his leg once was, and he's learned to get his prosthesis on and off without having to. He chances a glance now, trying to see what Gwen sees, and notes that the scarred skin is red and swollen, which would explain the pain. Nothing looks infected, he notes with some relief, though he knows that Gwen's the doctor, not him.

"Do we still not have the fit right?" Gwen asks. "If it's not, I need you to tell me, so I can go back into the lab and figure it out, but you said that this one felt pretty good at your other appointments."

Arthur shrugs. "The fit is fine, Gwen. I've just spent too much time on my feet the last few days." He winces when she narrows her eyes at him. Arthur knows better than just about anyone how sweet-natured she is, especially with her patients, but he also knows she didn't get where she is in her field by allowing people to lie to her.

"The places where your leg is sore indicate that the fit is not fine, and I need you to be honest with me." Gwen puts her hands on either side of his knees, making him look her in the eye. "Are you taking the time to properly fit yourself out before you go out for the day?"

Arthur bites his lip and glances away, the words that he meant to tell her, to assure her that he's fine are gone with the plea he hears in her voice. She sighs and touches his face, turning his chin back so that he'll face her. "I know you haven't been going to your therapy sessions."

"It's been three years, Gwen. I went through my mandatory therapy, and I even finished all the physical therapy that I need. I don't like sitting still and talking about my feelings with strangers. You know this."

"It's only been two years since we fitted you for your first prosthesis, and we've been through six different ones in that time. I wish you wouldn't insist on such an old-fashioned one, when it comes to that. I think a newer model would fit you better." Gwen sighs and steps back, leaning against the sink in the corner of the exam room. "You're making me look bad, Arthur."

He cracks a smile at that, knowing there are words that she should say but their shared history won't let her. They've been around and around on this particular argument plenty of times before, and Arthur knows that he'll give in for a couple of weeks, let her staff schedule appointments for him, go and remember how much he hates having to admit all of his weaknesses, physical and mental, to strangers, and then he'll suddenly have reasons why he can't make it to his sessions, work meetings that he can't miss, family problems that suddenly arise. He'll offer to reschedule, of course, but suggest that he should wait until things in his life have calmed down. The therapist's secretary won't believe him, but she'll tell him she will expect his call, and the whole process will start over.

Gwen finishes noting everything in his chart then helps him put his prosthesis back on. She takes her time, making sure that everything is lined up perfectly before she buckles the straps, and as she helps him step down from the exam table, he has to admit that it feels much more comfortable than the shoddy job he had been doing taking care of it for the last two weeks.

Gwen gives him one of her all-too-knowing looks. "Feels better already, doesn't it?" She smiles at the glare he shoots her then opens the door to the exam room. "Get dressed. I'll have your prescriptions for you by the time you're done."

He dress quickly and Gwen meets him at checkout, prescriptions for pain medicine and steroids in her hands. "The steroids will help bring-"

"-the swelling down. I'm familiar with this by now, Dr. Dulac."

"So proper in front of my staff," she teases and kisses him on the cheek. "You're still planning on coming to Lance's birthday party next weekend, right?"

"I don't know. It will depend on how I feel."

She gives him that look again, and somehow he manages to feel about ten inches tall. "But it's his thirtieth. He's the one leading the charge of the three of us being actual adults. He'll hate it if you're not there."

"Thanks, but we'll see."

"Arthur." She puts a hand on his cheek again, and he finds himself leaning into it more than he should. "Everybody wants to see you. Elena and Viv are always asking about you. Elyan was upset you didn't make it to his son's christening."

"I see people," Arthur protested. "I had lunch with Leon last week."

"Moaning with your ex about why you're both still single isn't seeing people. Have you been out on a date since you and Leon split?"

"Gwen."

"You're right. This isn't a conversation for right now. I'm just trying to look out for you."

He throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him. "I know. And I'm glad to have somebody who cares enough to. My health team is the best."

"You're a lying liar who lies, Arthur, but I love you anyway. Take these, get them filled, and feel better before Lance's birthday party." She hands him the prescriptions and gives him a light shove. "Take them around the corner to the apothecary. It seems a little old fashioned, I know, but they'll be a little cheaper than a chain and much faster."

Arthur makes a noncommittal noise and she shoves at him again. "And schedule those appointments like we talked about. I don't have enough time in my day to take you myself, but so help me, Arthur, I will find someone who does. I'm sure Morgana can rearrange her schedule."

"If I could go back in time I'd go back to the day I introduced you to my sister and stop myself. I feel as though that would be the kindest thing I could do for mankind."

"Go," Gwen says, and swats at him. "Feel better."

The skies over London have opened up since he made his way into Gwen's surgery an hour before, and while this isn't surprising, it makes Arthur's decision for him. He prefers things that are familiar, routine, but this time he lets his pain get the better of him and turns right out of Gwen's and towards the apothecary she mentioned.

He opens the door to find a dusty shop filled with all manner of junk. There is a pharmacy counter off to the side, so he heads that way and tries not to notice the streaks of dust along the shelves. It's not as old fashioned as he would have imagined, with a computer on the counter and shelves of plastic bottles filled with pills behind it, and Arthur can see that that, at least, is sparkling.

No one comes to the counter at the sound of the bell on the door, and it's another few minutes before anyone even calls, "Be with you in just a tick." Poor service normally makes Arthur rant and rave, but he's tired and he hurts, so he waits, leaning against the counter to take some of the pressure off his prosthesis. After a moment, he pulls out his iPhone for a game of notScrabble.

He doesn't actually know what the name of the game is, he just knows that he wants to beat Morgana, because he always wants to beat Morgana. He wouldn't even know about the game except she programmed it into his phone and taught him how to find it, and now they have both become addicted to beating each other at it.

Arthur is trying to figure out if he can come back in this round- Morgana stuck a Q-U on the front of his 'ALMS' and managed a triple word score- when a voice says, "Was there something I could help you with?"

Arthur looks up, disoriented from the pain he's in both from his leg and from the knowledge that he's lost to Morgana again, to see a man standing behind the counter, eyebrows raised like he wasn't the one who had kept Arthur waiting in the first place.

"Dr. Dulac recommended I bring these here," Arthur says, pulling the prescriptions from the breast pocket of his coat. "Though I can't imagine why she would recommend a place that has such deplorable customer service."

The pharmacist is young, maybe a couple of years younger than Arthur, but the blush that creeps up his cheeks makes him seem even younger. His pale skin turns rosy, and Arthur, for the first time in a long time, feels arousal start to spark in his blood. The man narrows his eyes at Arthur, and Arthur has a sudden, stupid urge to kiss him where the skin crinkles up at the corners, but he tamps down the thought as soon as it enters his mind. He won't think about this again, even when he is alone at home.

"Look," the pharmacist says, like he's reached the end of his patience, which Arthur thinks is a little ridiculous since they've barely exchanged two dozen words. "There's a reason for the sign. If I'm in the middle of mixing a suspension I can't be bothered to stop measuring ingredients just because someone was curious about what an apothecary shop looks like."

Arthur stares at the man in confusion for a moment. Maybe, he thinks, he's in more pain than he thought. Finally he asks, "What sign?"

"The one right-" The man points to the counter, but there is no sign. He sighs and stretches over the counter to look at the floor at Arthur's feet. There's a piece of paper there, but Arthur doesn't feel up to trying to bend down and pick it up. The pharmacist glares at him, but all he says is, "And you said Dr. Dulac sent you?"

He takes the prescriptions off the counter where Arthur had set them during the search for the missing sign. "It shouldn't take long to fill these at all. I just need to see your ID then call the doctor to confirm."

"To confirm what?" Even if Gwen's handwriting wasn't pristine, the prescriptions had been printed from the computer.

"I always call to confirm with the physicians when they prescribe narcotics. You're welcome to have a seat if you like."

"Seriously, mate, how much longer will this take? I'm in quite a bit of pain here, and I have to get back to work."

"It will go much quicker if you'll keep from arguing with me. Now, go have a seat and you can get back to your very important text messages, while I confirm these and get them filled. Your ID, please."

Arthur huffs out a breath but pulls out his wallet for his driver's license. He wasn't lying about having to get back to work, though he knows he can tell his father he's in pain and the old man will send him home. A few days ago, he gave his father a perfunctory 'fine' when asked how he was, and it won't do to take a sick day now, especially after he had informed his father's secretary this morning that he would be at a routine appointment for a few early hours.

Lance had asked Arthur once how he managed to work with his father, but what Arthur never manages to fully convey to anyone is that things have been better between his father and he since his accident. Things had been tense, though cordial, between them from the time his father caught him snogging a mate after a Chelsea match when Arthur was twenty until the time of his accident three years ago. His father had been at his bedside through nearly all of his recovery, and while they still don't say things like "I love you," Arthur knows that his father appreciates him and the voice he brings to his office.

Sometimes he wonders if his life wouldn't be a little bit easier if he had gone into banking like he'd wanted rather than working for one of the most conservative men to ever grace the House of Lords, but there are certain days that he likes the fringe benefits.

Like today, as he sits and waits, starting a new game of notScrabble, and knows that he won't be penalised for not going into the office if he doesn't feel like it by the time the pharmacist is finished with his prescriptions- and the way things are going, it might be tomorrow. Across the room he can see the man talking on the phone, his voice pitched low, and Arthur takes a minute to study him. His hair is dark, too long, with sideburns in desperate need of a trim. His hands move over the shelves of pill bottles slowly, and Arthur would have to be blind not to notice the way his slender fingers never quite stop moving as he taps them along the bottles as he talks with someone who Arthur can only hope is Gwen.

Arthur also notices the ring on the second finger of the man's right hand. It doesn't have to mean anything at all, but Arthur is dismayed to realise that he's disappointed to see it there. It shouldn't matter at all. Arthur will fill his medicines here this one time and then he'll never be back.

"They have me on hold for her," the pharmacist calls out. "Dr. Dulac is a very busy woman, but I appreciate her referral."

Arthur ignores him on the pretense of texting someone, but really he's kicking himself for even thinking about being attracted to this man. He has ridiculous looking ears, for one thing, and for another, he has a bit of day old stubble that looks ridiculous on a man in his profession. Arthur glances up from his phone to see the pharmacist frowning down at his computer screen as he waits to speak with Gwen, and despite one part of his brain protesting, Arthur thinks that the man's mouth was made for cocksucking.

And damn it all, other parts of his body are starting to agree with him. His subconscious, for instance, is starting to take over in a way that he hasn't allowed it to in years. He looks down at the screen of his iPhone as he wages war with his body, trying to convince himself that he knows best.

It's a battle that he's become familiar with over the last three years, but usually it's his leg that won't co-operate when he tells it to do something, and that thought is enough to will his erection away. He goes back to his game of notScrabble until the pharmacist calls him over to the counter.

Where his problem returns tenfold.

"So Gwen- Dr. DuLac- says that I'm supposed to be extra nice to you," the pharmacist says as he hands the white paper bag of medicines to Arthur. If he hangs on to it a little longer than is necessary, well, Arthur pretends not to notice. He's too busy trying not to notice the blue of the man's eyes.

"Gwen thinks that if everyone did a single random act of kindness every day then the world would be filled with unicorns and rainbows," Arthur says, though he has to swallow hard before he can manage to get the words out.

"Don't make me tell her you're not being compliant with my orders."

Arthur can feel heat rise to his face at that remark, and he struggles again to tamp it down. He's sure that the man's not flirting with him- it would be completely unprofessional, after all- but the suggestiveness of that remark is almost more than Arthur can stand.

"Yeah, well, I'm afraid Gwen's used to that from me."

"We'll have to see about then, won't we?"

And damn it all if the man doesn't have the nerve to wink him. Arthur starts and takes a small step back from the counter, wincing as his prosthesis rubs against one of the inflamed scars on his leg. The pharmacist looks like he's about to apologize, and Arthur knows in his heart that the man will probably stumble over his words in a way that Arthur might find too endearing for his own good, but they are both saved from themselves when the bell on the door gives a soft chime, and a man with too long hair and too much scruff ambles in.

"Honey, I'm home." he calls, and Arthur is able to use the distraction to take a second to find his voice again. "Merlin, I've brought you lunch and some for Gaius as well."

The pharmacist- Merlin, Arthur now knows- flushes again and says, "Gwaine, I'm with a customer."

"Fine, babe. Ignore my best efforts to make sure you eat actual food. I know you haven't today."

"I had a granola bar," Merlin says and turns back to Arthur. He tries to give Arthur the total for his medicines, but this Gwaine character keeps interrupting.

"A granola bar isn't a proper breakfast," he protests, and though Arthur privately agrees, he's ready to take his prescriptions and go. He's already decided to count the day as a loss at the office.

"Can I finish my transaction please?" he says. Merlin frowns.

"Twelve pounds, seventy-six," Merlin says then frowns again when Arthur pulls out his AmEx. "I don't take American Express, Mr. Pendragon. Too many fees."

"Pendragon?" Gwaine says, "as in Uther Pendragon?"

"Gwaine," Merlin says, narrowing his eyes, "my patients deserve their privacy."

"Do you at least take cash?" Arthur says, sliding his credit card back into his wallet and pulling out a twenty pound note. He pushes the bill across the counter to Merlin, who gives him a small smile that Arthur would like to assume is apologetic, but he also thinks that might be giving the man too much credit.

"If you are related to Uther Pendragon, then if you'd kindly tell him to go fuck himself, I'd be much obliged," Gwaine says. Arthur sighs, even as Merlin says, "Gwaine, you can't talk to my customers that way. Go in the back."

"If you're referring to my father's inability to vote to allow basic human rights, then believe me, it's something I want to say to him every day of the week. He's not quite the bigot he would seem, but I do realise he has a long way to go."

He takes the change that Merlin hands him with a sharp nod, ignoring the warmth of Merlin's hand against his own. He turns, and with as much dignity as he can muster, limps his way out of the store.

**********

Arthur is just finishing up the lemon sauce for the tilapia he's making when his phone rings. He curses and lets it go to voicemail, intent on pulling the sauce off the heat at the exact right moment. Last time he'd tried for this he'd kept it on just a little too long and it had ruined the whole meal.

Not that anyone had eaten it except for Arthur, but that was beside the point.

He plates his dinner, proud that he manages to make everything come out at the same time, and settles down at his dining room table, set on enjoying his meal. He's just taken the first bite of his fish- a little dry, next time he won't leave it under the broiler for so long- when his phone rings again. He sighs, knowing that it would be rude to ignore it twice, but not having any desire to talk to Morgana, whose picture is flashing up on the screen.

"Can I call you back? I've just sat down to dinner."

"If you have company over then you better not call me back until tomorrow," Morgana says. "But if not, then put me on speaker phone and we'll have a family meal of sorts."

"Are you eating a meal out of a box?" Arthur demands. "Because that's not real food, you know."

"Better than out of a bottle. And if you don't have company then you should invite me over."

"You're in the lobby, aren't you?"

Arthur can hear the 'ding' of the lift door in the hallway outside and pushes his chair back from the table. He has a plate ready before Morgana can let herself into his flat.

"Most single people do not spend two hours cooking for just themselves, you know," she says as she pours herself a glass of wine and carries it over to his table. She settles herself down at the other end and he sets her plate in front of her.

"Arthur, this is delicious," she says after the first bite, and, ignoring Arthur's grunt in response continues, "Stop wasting food this good on yourself. You should have people over every once in a while so they can tell you how good you are at something. I know you enjoy that."

"I know you think I'm a raving egomaniac, but that's just not true."

Morgana takes another bite, then another, before wiping her mouth with her napkin and setting her fork down. "I don't think you're a raving egomaniac. In fact, I think you haven't done enough to stroke your ego in the last few years."

"When are you going to get it through your head that I'm not anti-social?"

She ignores him, and they manage to eat the rest of the meal in an almost peaceful silence.

Morgana takes another sip of her wine, finishing off the glass and looking like she's trying to choose her words carefully, like she's trying to avoid offending him. He wonders what she thinks will offend him at this point: he's queer and disabled and most days feels like nothing anyone can say any will raise his blood pressure the way it used to. Morgana sets her wineglass down on the table with a care that Arthur is unused to, and he realises that if she tries to say something tactfully he'll think he's died. Or is dying. He won't know what to do if Morgana is anything less than blunt.

"I think you need to go to Lance's birthday party" are not the words that he expects to come out of her mouth. He starts to protest, but she holds up her hand and says, "Just hear me out."

"Lance's birthday only serves to remind me to that I will be thirty in less than a year."

Morgana lets out an exasperated huff. "You'll be thirty in October whether you go to Lance's birthday party or not."

"I know that."

"Lance's party is the perfect chance for you to go and try to be social again. I know you were terrible at socialising before, and it's a good thing Leon dragged you out every once in a while."

"I am not terrible at socialising," Arthur protests while Morgana smirks at him. "I just find most small talk totally banal. No one really cares about the price of tea in China."

"No wonder you hate small talk if you're using idioms from two hundred years ago."

"Not the point, Morgana."

Morgana wipes her mouth again and sets her napkin on the table before leaning forward in her chair, the palms of her hands pressed down flat on the wood. "The point is, you need to allow yourself to get out there. You were injured, Arthur, but you're not dead. Everyone who will be at this party knows that. You're not going to be meeting a group of new people who you might have to explain things to."

"I-"

"I'm not suggesting that you go out and jump right into bed with someone."

"Well, that's a relief. I'm so glad that you're interested in my sex life."

"I'm not," she says, pulling a face that would make Arthur laugh if they weren't having this particular conversation, "but I am interested in you acting like you're a human being again. Or at least an approximation of one."

"You should think about taking your comedy on the road. I'm sure you could get someone to pay you something, if only to make you shut up."

"The only way I'm going to be quiet about it is if you go to this party."

"Why this party? Why is this particular one so important to you?" Arthur asks. Morgana sighs.

"You can tell yourself whatever you want, Arthur," she says. She picks up her fork and pokes the tines into her finger. "But I'm worried about you. All you do is work and play games on your phone. You cook for one person when plenty of your friends would love to have you over. Think of this as a one person intervention, before I call Gwen and Lance and Leon and make them come over here and tell you these things."

Arthur stares at her in horror. "You wouldn't." He stands and begins to remove the dishes from the table. Morgana follows him.

"It's not that I want to," she says. She waits until he's running hot water in the sink to slip in the wineglasses she brought from the dining room. "But we all feel like we've allowed you to go on like this for too long. Gwen loses sleep for worrying about you."

"I never asked her to worry about me." He pours the dishwashing liquid into the sink and grabs the sponge, scrubbing at the plates they'd used.

"She's your friend, Arthur. You don't have to ask." Morgana places her hand on the back of his neck. "You're doing yourself no favors by holing yourself up in here. It's a lovely flat, but you could live in a hovel for all anyone knows. You won't let them in your home, because that would let them get to close."

Arthur's hand closes around the forks in the sink and he squeezes them tight, not allowing himself to look at Morgana. "I don't want anyone's pity."

"The only reason anyone pities you is because of what you've done to yourself." Though he can't see her, he knows Morgana's eyes are flashing with anger. "Did you know that all of our friends admire you for picking yourself back up and keeping going? That most of them have said out loud that they don't know if they could have been through what you have and come out the other side?"

"Then they should let me handle things the way that I want," Arthur says. He turns to face Morgana, but his anger deflates when he sees the look of worry on her face.

"We all love you, Arthur. We just want you to be happy." She crosses the kitchen and kisses him on the cheek then heads for the door. "We also want you to take care of yourself in every way. Not just physically."

Only when the door clicks shut behind her does Arthur turn back to the sink. He finishes washing the dishes he'd used to prepare the meal, then dries everything and puts it all away. He feels like he's moving in slow motion.

She'd interrupted his routine of eating alone, tidying his kitchen, then settling down with a glass of wine to watch whatever cooking show he's managed to record during the day. He had started watching the shows when he'd been recovering at his father's house in the weeks after his accident, complaining that there was nothing else on, despite the many channels on his father's satellite system.

Why the cooking shows had caught his eye over the action movie channels and the reruns of all the court procedurals, he's not sure. Perhaps it was the way the telly chefs always looked straight into the camera like they were talking to him as they cooked, or perhaps it was the soothing way everything was always perfect, an entire meal ready in half an hour.

Whatever it was, the shows, with their friendly hosts and strange sounding dishes, distracted him, kept him from thinking about the seventeen year old kid texting at the wheel who'd run a red light and slammed right into Arthur's car, from thinking about how the kid had walked away unscathed while Arthur had undergone hours of surgery, only to wake up and find that his right leg was missing below the knee.

And the cooking shows, strangely enough, had helped him with his physical therapy once Gwen had fit him with his first prosthesis. Learning how to walk again had been a strange challenge, and while Arthur had never once face a challenge he couldn't handle, he wasn't sure some days how he'd made it through. Once the appointments were over and he was told how much time he could limit his walking to around the house, still learning about how to use the new leg he'd been given, he would find recipes whose creations would fit those time constraints, then practice his walking and standing around the kitchen, where there was always something to grab onto if he needed help or a place to sit if he became too tired.

He had learned to become dependent upon routine. Cooking was a good outlet for that. Mise en place became a phrase that Arthur used around his entire home, once he'd moved out of his father's place and into a new flat, one that he no longer shared with Leon. If everything was where it was supposed to be there would be no chance of tripping over something, of hurting himself because of his own carelessness. Arthur wasn't afraid of pushing himself, but he was afraid of doing something to cause further need for amputation.

When the kid had hit his car, barreling into Arthur's at nearly sixty kilometres an hour, Arthur hadn't even known, aside from the screech of brakes and the crunch of metal. He'd passed out from hitting his head on the window almost as soon as it had happened, but he'd heard later, reports from a tearful Gwen and his ashen-faced father that the emergency medical technicians arriving on the scene had known from the moment they looked in the car that his leg couldn't be saved, his tibia had been shattered. The ambulance driver had sped to the hospital, convinced Arthur was going to bleed to death in the back before they made it to Accident and Emergency.

Arthur had been wheeled into surgery immediately. Saving his life had been far more pressing than saving his leg, though it had taken Arthur dozens of therapy sessions before he'd understood.

Arthur stops himself before continuing down that train of thought any further. He knows what he promised Gwen, but really, he's done with therapy. He's talked to more strangers than he ever wants to again.

He skips his nightly culinary programme viewing and instead heads for his en suite where he begins his routine for bed. The washroom attached to his bedroom is spacious, but when he'd looked at the place his realtor had apologised for the lack of mirrors. There was only a small one on the medicine cabinet above the sink and not any of the full length mirrors on the back of the door like the other flats she'd shown him.

"Perhaps we can get the developer to put more in as an upgrade," Katrina the realtor had had said, but Arthur had shaken his head at the suggestion by the friend of his father.

"I'll take it as is."

Two years later he has yet to regret that decision. The staff in his building are pleasant and discreet, and he pays a handsome fee each month to have them clean his flat without disrupting anything. There is a place for everything, especially in his kitchen but even more so in his loo. It is here that he strips off his clothes and undoes the buckles keeping his prosthesis attached one at a time. He gives it a methodical cleaning, then props it in its place on the counter.

He uses the one 'upgrade' that he did discuss with the builder of his flat, a series of handrails to step into the shower and seat himself at the built-in tiled bench.

Arthur showers quickly, refusing to linger, even though- or especially because- his mind drifts to that pharmacist he met days before. Once again, his cock tries to betray him, having obviously created some sort of 'Survivor'-like alliance with his brain. It's all too easy for him to picture Merlin standing in front of him in this very shower, his fingers threading through Arthur's hair as Arthur blows him. Merlin's dick would be long and slender, just like the rest of him, and with that thought, Arthur turns off the hot faucet and gasps as the icy water rains down on him, killing whatever arousal lurks within him.

He towels off and reaches for the cane he keeps next to the shower. He uses it to walk into his room and climbs into bed. He sets down his cane within easy reach should he need to get up in the middle of the night and considers the books on his bedside table. It's an odd assortment of mystery novels, books on British history, and a few memoirs that remind him that plenty of people lead harder lives than he does. He decides against reading and instead turns off the lamp in an attempt to sleep.

He doesn't though, not for several hours. Morgana's words from earlier in the evening turn around in his mind, weighing her concern and that of Gwen. It is apparent that the majority of the friends he has left feel the same way.

Arthur sighs and rolls onto his side. Once his mind is made up, he settles into an uneasy sleep.

**********

He changes his mind no less than ten times the next day.

**********

"You came!"

Gwen greets Arthur with a kiss on the cheek and one of her brilliant smiles as she takes the bottle of wine he brought.

"Where's the birthday boy?"

"Somewhere in there, moaning about how he could barely get out of bed this morning because of his age."

"You shouldn't keep him up all night shagging then. It wears men out more than we like to admit, especially old men like Lance."

"I heard that!" Lance's grin isn't as broad as his wife's, but it is full of warmth as he sticks his head into the foyer to greet Arthur. "I also know it's only six months until it's your turn."

"Got to have somebody to shag before I can be kept up all night shagging."

"Mmm," Lance says. "Sounds like a personal problem to me, Pendragon."

"Probably so."

Gwen takes his coat and Lancelot takes the birthday card Arthur offers, ripping into it with a gleeful smile to find the gift card to one of London's newest trendy restaurants.

"Thanks, mate," Lancelot says, enveloping him in a warm hug while Gwen mentions something about putting Arthur's coat in the guest room. "I've been wanting to try this place for a while."

He and Gwen can afford to go there, Arthur knows, but Lancelot has never quite been able to break free of the restrictions a childhood of poverty imposed upon him. Lance has come a long way from the scholarship student with a chip on his shoulder that Arthur first met and is now a successful business owner and even more of a foodie than Arthur, but more than once he's refused to try the newest place due to the imagined cost without a nudge from one of his friends.

"Take that wife of yours out for a nice meal," Arthur says. "She deserves it after having to put up with terrible patients like me all day long."

Lancelot throws his head back with a laugh and guides Arthur through the foyer with a hand on his shoulder. Arthur stops, paralysed for a moment at the sight of the people invited, and Lance tightens his grip. Arthur wants to run but doesn't, if only because the scene before him is surreal.

Elena and Percival are there, sitting bent over the coffee table, focused on a game of Snakes and Ladders in front of them. Gathered around a game of Trivial Pursuit are Morgana, Elyan, his wife Vivian, and another friend from university, Tristan, who seems less interested in the game and more involved in staring at Morgana's cleavage.

"Arthur! Glad you could make it," Percival says, not bothering to stand up from the floor, instead holding one of his massive hands still level for Arthur to shake. Elena tries to stand up, ostensibly to hug him but bumps her knee on the coffee table and settles for waving instead.

"Someone will probably accuse me of moving his little man anyway," she says with a grin, and is rewarded with one of Percival's toes poking her in the ribs. She bangs her knee again, causing Arthur to wince, but Elena just laughs it off and grabs for Percival's ankle. "I'll send your little man back to the start for that."

"I hope to God that's not an innuendo," Leon calls from across the room, and Arthur's smile freezes on his face to see the ex he is normally on very good terms with sitting at Lance's poker table, flanked on both sides by the people Arthur had been convinced he would never have to see again: the pharmacist- Merlin, his brain supplies- and his long-haired sidekick/boyfriend/PA or whatever, who'd insulted Arthur and insisted that Merlin eat enough real food to hopefully put some meat on Merlin's bones.

Gavin or Gregory or whatever his name is turns around and smiles at Arthur.

"Well, well," he says, with a wink to Merlin. "Looks like Gwen ought to watch the company she keeps."

"I'm afraid I'm stuck with Arthur now, Gwaine," Gwen says with a laugh before Arthur can open his mouth. "We've been friends since we were ten."

"At least I avoid insulting the lineage of perfect strangers," Arthur says.

"Most of the time." Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, and Leon all burst out at once, earning a glare from Arthur. Merlin drops his eyes to the poker table and seems to fight back a grin, while Gwaine lets out a hoot of laughter and tosses his hair.

"Fine, then. We may have more in common than we think."

"Lord help us all," Merlin says. He does smile at Arthur then, but Arthur ignores him to focus on whatever Gwen's chattering about as she plays hostess and refills the drinks of the Trivial Pursuit-ers.

"It's good to see you taking my advice for once. I hate to think of you traipsing all over town when Merlin's just around the corner from me. It's nice to have someone to send my patients to that I know will take care of them. They need to know that someone does."

"And Merlin's all about customer service," Arthur interrupts because Gwen has that look on her face that means she's about to go on a long tirade about patient care in the NHS. Gwaine leers at Arthur after that remark, but Merlin just furrows his eyebrows and holds up a deck of cards.

"My deal."

"God, no," Gwaine says and leans across Leon to grab the deck. Arthur blinks twice when he sees Gwaine press his hand along Leon's thigh for far longer than necessary. "You'll deal from the bottom of the deck and I still won't get anything to win with. You want in, Pendragon?"

"What is going on here, anyway?" Arthur asks.

"I decided we were too old for drinking games-" Lancelot begins, "-but he couldn't bring himself to stop wanting to play games all together," Gwen says with a roll of her eyes that is softened by the fond smile she shoots her husband's way. "So if you can figure out a way to turn Boggle into a drinking game then let me know."

Arthur looks around the poker table and doesn't think his pride is going to be able to stand up to a loss to Gwaine tonight; however, the stack of board games next to Gwen and Lance's aquarium catches his eye.

"Count me out," he says. He manages to pull the Scrabble box from the pile without tipping the whole thing over. "I have a score to settle."

And hour later, he thinks his pride may have been better off doing battle with Gwaine. Morgana kicked his arse during the first match, and the amount of trash talking that they did led to Arthur's very public disgrace. It also led to Leon being called upon to keep score after a fight over the word 'jeopard' that Morgana had insisted was a word, and was, in fact, to Arthur's chagrin. Now Leon sits at the table across from Arthur with a scratch pad that Lancelot dug up from somewhere, keeping score and looking up words on his phone from a website that claims to be the official online Scrabble dictionary but whose veracity Arthur doubts.

Especially because Leon won't show him the phone but not because Gwaine has found his way to Leon's side again and has become handsier with every drink Gwen serves.

"What's the score?" Vivian calls at periodic intervals from across the room, where she and Elyan have joined Elena and Percival at the coffee table for a game of Yahtzee. Arthur thinks that maybe a wager has been placed, as much interest as the four of them are showing.

"Morgana's winning by twenty-seven points," Leon says, checking the score card. If he can even see it, Arthur thinks, what with Gwaine practically in his lap and all.

What surprises Arthur the most is that Merlin doesn't seem to mind at all. He appears to have taken over Lance's roll as cohost, and, along with Gwen, has made his way from group to group, making sure that wine glasses and snack bowls are filled. He seems comfortable at Gwen and Lance's and Arthur gets a sinking feeling in his chest that Merlin isn't just a casual professional acquaintance but a friend that they've made while Arthur has been keeping himself away.

"It's your turn, you pillock," Morgana says, and Arthur really needs to stop staring across the room.

"I'm strategising."

"Looks like you're lost in our own little world," says Gwaine, before he leans into Leon and starts stroking his hair. "You've been staring off into space for at least five minutes. I've played games of Monopoly that were more rousing than this."

"Mhmm," Leon says, much to Arthur's horror, "I just bet you have."

Arthur throws three tiles onto the board, knowing that they are the wrong ones and will ultimately give Morgana the advantage, but he can't bring himself to care. It isn't like Leon to act like this. He must be drunk, Arthur decides. There's a telltale flush on his cheeks, after all.

Everyone else must also be drunk because no one seems to find anything ridiculous about the way Gwaine is throwing himself at Leon, and Arthur knows that it's just because Leon is too much of a gentleman than to throw Gwaine off in public.

Except that Gwaine seems to be saying something about leaving, and Leon responds by saying that he has to get his coat from the guest room, and Arthur sees both Morgana and Merlin giving surreptitious thumbs up signals, though to which man, Arthur can't be sure.

"Let me go with you," Arthur finds himself saying to Leon, stumbling over himself to stand up. Leon reaches out an automatic hand to steady him, but Arthur twists out of his grip the best he can. "I'm going to be on my way as well."

"What are you doing?" he asks the moment Leon steps into Gwen and Lance's second bedroom. There's a pile of coats on the bed and Leon starts to dig through them, his back to Arthur. The bedside lamps are on, but Arthur flips on the overhead light just to see Leon flinch.

"You don't have any right to ask me what I'm doing." Leon's voice is pitched so low that Arthur nearly misses his words at first. "You gave up the chance to ask questions of me three years ago."

Arthur's fingers clench around the door knob to the bedroom. "You know why I broke up with you."

"I know what you said your reasons were." Leon finds his coat and begins to struggle into the sleeves. Arthur itches to help him but the line of Leon's back is tense, the echoes of the RAF man still evident in the way he carries himself ten years after he served his country, so Arthur stays in the doorway. "I never once said that I understood them or even agreed with them."

He finally shrugs his way into his jacket and turns to face Arthur. "I'm glad for the chance to still count you among my friends, Arthur, but just because you're miserable and alone doesn't mean that I have to be, too."

Arthur takes a deep breath in. They were the same words Morgana had said to him only a week before, but somehow from Leon they cut hurt deeper. "It's not like you to fuck someone you barely know. You waited almost three months before you put your hand on my dick."

"You'd only been out to your dad for a year and you were barely more than a teenager when we first started dating. If you'd been ready for more sooner, you would have told me." Leon stepped forward but Arthur wouldn't move from the doorway. "You have no say in who I date. Or even who I decide I want to pull for a one off. You gave up your right to be concerned a long time ago."

Arthur remembers pushing Leon away through the haze of pain surrounding the weeks following the automobile accident that had cost him his leg. It had seemed easier at the time not to expose anyone else to that. He couldn't express the way the loss made him feel in the therapy sessions the doctors had forced him to participate in, never mind when he was stuck laying on the sofa in his and Leon's flat. He couldn't face being dependent upon Leon for everything in the days before he had learned how to manage on his crutches, and then, later, as he'd relearned how to handle the basics of walking all over again.

It had been easier, or so he'd thought at the time, to move back in with his father, who had hired round the clock care, a sea of faceless professionals to help Arthur rehab. He hadn't wanted to put Leon through the things he'd put the home health care nurses through, and while the loss of his best friend and lover had hurt, it meant that Leon had been forced to see Arthur at his weakest.

But now, as Leon brushes past him on his way to a night of something with Gwaine, Arthur's beginning to regret that decision for the first time in three years.

Arthur makes his way into the room and perches on the edge of the bed, feeling it shift under his weight. He listens as Gwaine and Leon call their goodbyes to the party, and for the first time, Arthur notes the anticipation he hears in Leon's voice, the eagerness there.

It feels like a punch to the gut.

"For what it's worth,-"

Arthur's head snaps up to see Merlin standing in the doorway. He tries to muster up the energy to glare at him for intruding, but he finds he can't quite work it up.

"I know your first impression wasn't the best, but Gwaine's actually a decent sort," Merlin says. He holds onto the door jamb and leans forward into the room, and even in Arthur's confusion, he can't help but again notice the long line of Merlin's body. "And I'd give you a lecture on how your friend Leon is a big boy and seems capable of deciding for himself who he sleeps with, but you looked like a kicked puppy already, so I won't force that on you."

"I do not," Arthur says, startled that anyone other than Morgana would have the audacity to say such a thing to him.

"Yeah," Merlin says, with an expressions that says he heard Leon and Arthur's conversation word for word. "You kind of do. Will it make you feel better if I let you beat me at Scrabble?"

"Hardly."

"Fine then. I didn't mean to interrupt your sulk. I just thought you should know that Leon is in good hands."

He turned on his heel and headed back into the party, and for the second time in ten minutes, Arthur feels a loss that he can't quite name.

**********

Master Post :: Part One :: Part Two