Always the Last Place You Look: Four

[thalialunacy2]

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4

"Home is where you are loved the most and act the worst." ~ Marjorie Pay Hinckley



"How's Tasty Coma Wife?" Freya asks the next morning over the hiss of the espresso machine.

"I'm sorry?"

Freya tsks at him. "Do you not remember anything from all the Scrubs I made you watch?"

Merlin shakes his head as he closes the cash register. "Your fascination with American sitcoms is disturbing as ever."

"And you're still pants at deflection. How is she?"

Merlin sighs, slumping down onto a stool. "She's still in a coma."

"And still tasty."

"You are a tart."

She bats her eyelashes at him. Something flashes in the light.

"What's that?" he says, motioning to his own eye, then to hers.

She reaches up and brushes at her face. "Oh, probably just detritus from last night."

"Go out on the pull, did you?"

Freya laughs. "Oh god no. We went to a gay club."

Merlin blinks. "Why?"

"Well, to dance, of course."

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance. Nobody knows how to dance like the gays, Merlin."

And if Merlin had needed any more confirmation of his heterosexuality, there it is, because his dancing skills are limited to the Electric Slide and a bit of a waltz his mother forced him to learn as a kid. He's hopeless at it, absolutely hopeless.

Freya brushes at her eye again. "There, is it gone?"

"Yeah," Merlin says absently.

But it's not, he notices later. And then, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, it winks and blinks and shimmers at him all day long.



That night, Merlin blames the caffeine and the dreams for the fact that he finds himself saying goodbye to Eomer and heading out.

It's got nothing to do with the phone call he'd got from Gwen earlier, inviting him round for dinner. He's just going to Morgana's flat to feed the cat, he rationalises. And it works, too, until he gets there and there's no cat. Just a note.

I'm taking him back. You never liked him anyway.

And it's signed 'Morgause.'

Well, well.

He looks at the clock on his mobile. Still plenty of time to get to Gwen's.

Damn it all to hell.



An hour later when he finds himself getting out of a cab in Harrow yet again, another bottle of wine heavy in his hands, he really has no excuse. Other than being invited, of course. Under false pretences.

The cab pulls away, and Merlin stares up at the house, overwhelmed again. Still. He feels so guilty, and yet…

He starts up the stairs without looking back.



"These are really excellent mushy peas, Gwen."

"Thanks, love."

"I like peas better not mushy. No offense, Gwen."

"None taken."

"I hate it when apples are mushy."

"You know who grows good apples? Washington."

"They have good apples at the White House?"

"No, the other Washington."

"There's another Washington?"

"Why does the White House grow peas?"

Merlin can't but bite his lip against the smile that's threatening. He's sat, eating what could definitely be called excellent mushy peas, which is something because Merlin's not a big fan, elbows bumping Leon on one side and Gwaine on the other as they chat around the kitchen table at Gwen's place. Merlin had glimpsed a magnificent dining room during his previous visit, but he adores the fact that Gwen would rather have all her friends in here, where it's hot and smells like the still-baking dessert and the wine rack is never out of reach.

As evidenced by the conversation flowing around Merlin.

"They don't grow peas, they grow Easter eggs."

"On what, special trees? Do us a favour."

Merlin can't quite smother the snort caused by that. He glances up immediately, his face heating up.

Everyone else is too distracted by the conversation, but Arthur's twinkling eyes meet his, his lips tilted up in shared quiet amusement. Merlin flushes more and looks down at his plate again, but he can't stop smiling.

"It's the White House, one never knows!"

"Good coffee from Washington, too. Coffee and hipsters."

"The hipsters are definitely not growing the Easter eggs, though. They're mostly vegans."

Merlin sets his fork down, props his head up on one of his hands, and locks helpless gazes with Arthur, who has stopped his fork near his mouth, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

It must be the wine, Merlin thinks, but he feels warmer than he has in years.



"Penny for them?" Gwen's voice startles Merlin from where he's staring motionless out her kitchen window an hour later, a half-washed dish gripped in his hands. When he just looks confused, she continues. "You're helping clean up; least I can do is find out what's troubling you."

Merlin blinks at her. "I… Well…"

Then she blanches. "Oh, God, Morgana, of course, how could I? I mean, I think about her incessantly but I forget that you are probably hurting too, and worried, and you're probably not sleeping, and I'm so sorry! I—"

"Gwen, let the man breathe," Arthur interrupts dryly.

"Actually, I think it's her that needs the pause," Merlin retorts, smiling at Gwen and finishing up the dish. "Listen, is there—do you have a back porch or anything?"

"No, we don't, I'm sorry."

Arthur takes the dish towel from Merlin's hand and hangs it up. "You need a fag?"

Merlin protests. "Need one, no. Always want one when wankered on wine, yes."

"It's a common affliction. Come on, then." He kisses Gwen on the forehead. "I'll take him out on the roof."

Gwen seems incredibly surprised. "If you think that's… wise."

Merlin is trying not to let his befuddled state show. "Erm… that sounds fine? Is it… safe?"

Arthur guffaws and claps Merlin on the shoulder, guiding him towards the stairs. "Unless you're so much of an idiot you go around falling off roofs, yes, it's safe."

"Oh, all right."

"And you're not that much of an idiot, are you?"

"Sometimes, I wonder."

"Me too."

It turns out they have to climb out through a window, and not the biggest window either; Merlin briefly wonders how Arthur's shoulders even fit. But once outside, Merlin's breath is taken away by more than just the height. "Jesus, Arthur, this is beautiful."

There's silence while Merlin takes in the view. He turns to find Arthur watching him. "What?"

Arthur pauses, then shakes his head a little. "Just making sure you don't take a dive."

"Your concern for my safety is heart-warming."

"I'm just that noble. So? Fag?"

"Yes. Right. Well. We've established I'm the kind of idiot that doesn't fall off roofs—not that I've had ample opportunity to test that, but I'm fairly certain—but I am the kind that never carries cigarettes even though I know I want them when I'm drinking."

Arthur replies by cuffing him round the back of the head. Lightly, but still.

"Rude!" Merlin sputters hotly.

"What happened to noble?"

"It was clearly only a temporary condition."

"Yeah? Guess I don't have to give you one of these, then." And he reaches down into a planter and pulls out a shiny cigarette case.

Merlin feels his eyebrows rise in surprise. "Really? Does Gwen know?"

"She pretends not to," Arthur says blithely as he opens the case and passes one over.

"Ah."

"I tend to only want them when I've had a bad day at the office."

"So, every day, then?" Merlin says, cigarette in his mouth and hand out for a light.

"Hah. No. Well, maybe during tax season." Arthur clicks the lighter into flame, then holds it out for Merlin, who is a bit taken aback but leans forward after only a moment. It's a small, close circle of light, and heat, and Arthur's face is in strange shadows.



"Have a seat," Arthur says, more like instructs, as he himself sits. Merlin complies, because as much as he might protest, he is a little drunk, and he's not interested in pitching off the roof accidentally. They smoke contentedly for a few minutes, then Merlin asks a question he's been dying to ask. "Your dad, does he—know?"

Arthur blows out a plume of smoke. "About me?"

"Yes."

"About me being gay?"

"Arthur."

"Does my dad know about me being gay?"

"You're a knob."

"He knows that."

"Hard to miss."

"Unlike the fact that I'm gay?"

Merlin scowls, takes a retaliatory drag and blows it out in Arthur's direction. "You're going to hold that over me forever, aren't you."

"I might do, yeah."

"Well, fine, but that doesn't mean you can get out of my question."

Arthur clears his throat then puts his cigarette to his lips. "Yes," he says finally. "My father knows."

"And?"

"And, what?"

"Oh my god you are useless."

Arthur grins. "So I'm told."

"Again, though, it doesn't get you out of the question."

"What was the question?"

And Merlin looks at him, really looks at him. Thinks about that fire-breathing man he'd met that first night at the hospital. And guesses for himself. "He didn't take it well."

Arthur grimaces and looks away, exhaling roughly. "Merlin, use your head. I still work for him, don't I? Keep holidays with him?"

"You keep holidays with Gwen and Lance."

"How would you know?"

"They told me."

"Busybodies."

"They love you."

"Yeah."

"God knows why."

"Do you want me to answer your silly questions or what?"

But Merlin just shakes his head. "I don't think you need to."

"Look, he didn't kick me out or anything, all right? There was no dramatic scene, no crying, no 'How did I fail you as a father?' or 'What about the grandchildren?'

"I think the answers to both are pretty clear."

"Merlin," Arthur says sharply, "don't judge what you don't understand."

"Alright, alright." Merlin holds up his hands. "I didn't mean to offend. I just know what I see."

Arthur sighs. "Well, I do suppose it is rather obvious that we aren't very close."

"You could say that."

They sit there for a while, words stewing in Merlin's head, but he barely knows this man so he's not really in a position to analyse. So he just looks out at the city, smoking his cigarette and rubbing his arms a little to chase away the chill. It's not altogether the worst moment he's ever had.

He's surprised when Arthur's voice breaks the silence. "That’s why we call each other ‘family.’”

Merlin looks at him. “Who?”

“Who,” Arthur scoffs. “The homos. The queers. The bent.”

Merlin reddens. “Oh.” Then he tucks in his chin. “What’s why?”

“Because family is who sticks by you.”

“Right.” Unless they're dead, Merlin thinks childishly. In which case they are no help at all.

Arthur tilts his chin a little, as if sensing Merlin's inner monologue is not quite fitting with the outer dialogue. “Right.”

Merlin shakes his head, focusing. “But they’re not all—" He waves his hand in the general direction of the house. Smoke dances about in the night air. “You know.”

"Of the gay?" Arthur presses his lips together, clearly fighting a smile. “Not unless you get them really pissed, no.”

"Have you—with any of them?"

"Well, Gwen in school. Gwaine, when I was first coming out."

"Gwaine?"

"Yeah, 'course. He didn't hit on you the moment he met you? The man thinks he invented the term 'omnisexual.'"

"No, he—" Merlin tries to remember, then freezes when he does.

"Ah, he did, didn't he. I knew it."

"No, actually. He—" But it kind of dies in his throat.

"He what? Knew you were saving yourself for marriage?"

Merlin glares. "If you must know, he said I was more your type."

Arthur stares at him, surprised. Then he clears his throat and looks away. "Yes, well. He's a piece of work, that one."

When Merlin looks at him, he's steadfastly looking at the skyline. Merlin takes in the cut of his cheek, the sweep of his eyelashes, the tense line of his jaw.

Then Arthur looks over at him, and Merlin's lungs jump from being caught staring.

Arthur's gaze is frank and determined. “But any one of them, including Gwaine, would die for me. Any one of them would stand in front of lines of police and clergy and politicians and God himself to defend me and my right to love whomever I love.”

“And…” Merlin pauses, flicks out his fag. “And who’s that?”

Arthur reaches back into the planter and comes out with a tiny silver ashtray, which he sets between them, then spends time taking a final drag and grinding out his butt. “Nobody, really, at the moment.”

Merlin doesn't have anything to say to that, and eventually Arthur looks sideways at him. "What? Surprised?"

"No! I mean, yes, because you're fit and rich and all that, but workaholics don't tend to have time for dinner and flowers."

Arthur looks at the same time offended and flattered. "You just called me fit. And a workaholic. I can see why you'd think the first, obviously, but who told you I'm a workaholic?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Nobody, you clotpole. I have eyes."

"Clearly, because you called me fit."

"Jesus Christ, shut up. It's just that in the two, three days I've known you lot, you've been to exactly one of the planned functions. And you smell like toner and financial statements when you do show up."

Arthur looks at him, askance. "Well. I don't even know what to say to that."

"Say, 'Why, yes, Merlin, you are a genius and I am a poncy workaholic English git with daddy issues, oh and I probably need to get laid.'"

"Oi!"

Merlin just grins. Then bats his eyelashes for good measure.

Then something occurs to him, and he's just tipsy enough to ask. "What about marriage?"

Arthur smirks. "Well, I hardly know you, but you did call me fit, so clearly you can't be all bad."

"Git."

"Ah, the honeymoon's over so quickly these days."

"I mean, you can do it now, yeah? You seem like rather the traditional bloke, like you'd want to do the whole shebang."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "You really do think you have me figured out, eh?"

Merlin shrugs. "Everybody's got a story. I just… see them more clearly."

Arthur's gaze lingers. "You're rather fascinating, aren't you?"

Merlin, much to his chagrin, feels his cheeks heat up. "And you think you're so clever for answering questions with questions, don't you?"

"Fine, yes, yes, I am a traditional sort of gentleman who would prefer, if I should be so lucky as to find one person to be with, to proclaim it in front of God and country, which is mostly a lot of ladies in hats, yes."

"But…?"

"Well, I haven't met the bloke yet, have I?"

"Think that might've been stopping you?"

"What now?"

"Did you ever think your inability to marry have stopped stop you from considering your surely numerous liaisons as potential for anything more serious?"

"That's quite a skill, taking a compliment and fashioning it into insult."

"Answer the damn question, you dick."

Arthur makes a dismissive gesture. "No, I don't think so, and that is my answer."

"Because?"

"Because I…" Arthur looks down at his hands, twisting the heavy ring on his right third finger. He's clearly reluctant. Embarrassed, even. Merlin can't help but find it a little bit endearing.

"Oh come on, Arthur, there's no one else out here. And God knows I don't have anyone to tell."

That does it. "Because I've had this, alright?"

And he holds out the ring.

It's gigantic, really, but not in an offensive way, just in an old money sort of way. It's gold, of course, and has the signet of a red dragon on it, fierce, traditional, mythical.

Pretty well on the nose.

"Okay… so you have a ring."

"Family ring. Been with us for a mortifyingly long time."

"All right, that's fitting, if stodgy and pretentious."

Arthur shoots him a glare. "You're the one that asked."

"My apologies for telling the truth, sir."

"Impertinent bastard."

"So my teachers always claimed." Merlin hands the ring back. "So you'd, what, present it so your man and hope it's enough?"

Arthur shrugs. "I'll know it's enough."

"Ah. You're of that mind."

"What mind?"

"The mind that thinks The One exists, and all that."

Arthur turns to him. "And you don't? I thought it was love at first sight for you?"

Merlin blinks. "Well, yeah, but… but there are doubts. There are always doubts. Aren't there always doubts?"

Arthur chuckles. "You're ridiculous."

"Sod off."

"Sure, at first, maybe there are going to be doubts. I mean, on a first date you don't know if their habit of leaving the toothpaste half-squeezed is going to drive you round the bend."

"Half-squeezed?"

"It's just an example, Merlin."

"Who do you know that leaves the toothpaste half-squeezed?" Then he thinks of the answer the same time Arthur says it. "Gwaine."

They share a laugh, and Merlin's tummy hums pleasantly. His hands are relaxed in his lap. "But maybe you'd know on the first date whether you love that person enough to get over that truly filthy habit."

Arthur laughs. "That's my point exactly."

Merlin chuckles ruefully. "Yeah, I just realized that. Some great debater I am."

"It's fine. I don’t mind being right."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't."

"Good thing it's very nearly always the case."

"God, you're insufferable."

"Yet here you sit."

"Yeah," Merlin retorts, standing, "and it's chilly, and you're a prat, so I think my fit of temporary insanity might be at an end."

"Shame," Arthur says, standing as well. "We were just getting to know each other."

"Meaning, you were just getting to be right and I was just getting to look like an idiot."

"Exactly. A perfect evening."

"I loathe you." Merlin reaches for the window latch but Arthur's hand is there first. Merlin looks at him. His cheeks are a little pink, probably from the cold, but he's clearly determined to let Merlin go in first. Merlin doesn't feel like arguing.

Although he does feel like turning around and locking Arthur outside when he hears the next words out of his mouth. "And yet you're secretly drawn to me." In fact, he tries to do just that, but Arthur's too quick for him, and, grinning, drops into the tiny attic behind him.

And it's very tiny indeed. They both have to stoop, and suddenly Merlin realizes he can feel Arthur's breath on his cheek, smell the cigarette he'd just had. The air seems to be getting sucked out of the room, because there certainly is a shortage of it in Merlin's lungs, and what's left in there with them is—is really, really warm.

Finally, Merlin manages to break the moment with a clever, "You wish, you arse."

Arthur just shakes his head, a smirk still firm on his face but tinged with—fondness? now. He's contemplating Merlin, and Merlin doesn't know what to do. He feels trapped, but—but he's not sure it's the worst place to be.

The attic door bursting open startles them, enough that they both hit their heads on the ceiling.

"Oh, excellent," Gwaine says with a grin and a laugh, as they rub their heads. "I was hoping Arthur had shown you the place. Mind your heads."

"Gwaine," Arthur says with a slight growl, "you could knock."

And that's just over the edge of too much for Merlin. He feels the cigarette settling unhappily in his stomach, dancing awkwardly with the overabundance of wine and food. "I should go," he says lamely as he edges towards the door. "Work tomorrow."

Arthur's brow furrows, and he follows Merlin. "You alright?"

Merlin tries not to think about how Arthur always seems to just know. "Yeah, I'm fine, just tired."

Gwaine's galumphs joyfully down the stairs behind them, making Merlin's urge to flee even stronger. When they hit the landing, and the front hall, Gwaine turns to him and Arthur, who are closest to the outer door and the coat rack. "Well, Gwen's about to turn in so I was just coming to see if the party would continue without her. Merlin is clearly out, pardoning the pun—"

"Gwaine," Arthur says sharply.

"—but the night's still young. Arthur?"

Arthur's mouth tightens, then he shakes his head. "Nah, mate. Thanks, though. I have to be at the office in the morning, as well."

"On a Saturday?" Merlin can't help but ask. "I thought only customer service peons had to do such ignoble things."

"Ignobility is more common in my life than one would think, I'm afraid," Arthur says, reaching for Merlin's coat and holding it out to him. "Here."

Merlin smiles a little, despite himself. "I'm perfectly capable of retrieving my own jacket, you know," he says while he dons said jacket and Arthur reaches for his own.

"Yes, I'm aware. I just wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself trying to reach for it."

"You're shorter than I am!" Merlin protests, but he's cut off by Elena's delighted voice.

"Oh look, lads, you're under the mistletoe!"

Merlin looks over to find a cluster of friends grinning in the doorway. "Kiss him, then!" Gwen says cheerfully. "Go on, kiss him!"

Merlin blinks at her, then at Arthur, then back to her. His ears have got to be red, he's sure of it. "Beg pardon?"

"We're not gender-biased when it comes to inane traditions," Arthur explains wryly.

"At least he's not your sister!" Gwaine calls out.

Merlin huffs a laugh. "There is that."

Arthur looks at him, a little sheepish but a little smirky, and shrugs. "Well, we can't defy history, now, can we?"

"Erm," Merlin says, "if you say s—"

But Arthur's already leant over and kissed him, quick but sure, perfunctory but not unkind.

Merlin pulls back first, feeling extraordinarily weird. "Yes, thanks, nicely done."

Arthur lets out a genuine laugh. "Ten from the Welsh judge?"

"Shut it," Merlin replies, trying not to laugh himself, for some insane reason. He turns to the rest of them. "And on what I'm sure was a very entertaining note for the lot of you, I am off." He gives cheek kisses and handshakes all around. "Thank you for having me here, all of you. I…" He trails off as he looks at their faces. He can't stand how much he's begun to love them all in such a short period of time. "You've no idea how much it means to me."

Gwen's face is soft. "Any time, Merlin. And I mean that."

And she does, is the rub. "Right. Thanks." Merlin gets the door open, and turns to give a little wave. "Night."

He shuts the door, before Arthur can get a word in, and escapes into the night air.

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Comments

[brunettepet.livejournal.com]

Arthur and Merlin poking at each other and sharing smiles and cigarettes, stories and now a kiss is all lovely. Merlin may be fake engaged to Morgana but she's not the sibling he's drawn to. I wonder what Arthur will think when he learns the truth about Merlin and this giant lie.

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

A very good question. ;)

Glad to hear it's lovely so far. <3