Merlin had long lost his ability to become shocked at the future's going ons. In fact, time had lost most of its meaning to him. He remembered, vaguely, of a time that would shock or incite any emotion in him. But that time had long gone by, and had faded away from him.
He had dreamed about it, sometimes. That time. He dreamed about it when he had finally nodded off to sleep after days, perhaps, of staying awake. He would sleep and try everything in his power to stay asleep and dream of miraculous creatures, the glint of armor; Merlin dreamed of the sun shining on the lakes and rivers, golden rays setting golden hair ablaze and rich laughter. Clouded memories became clear as crystal and as sharp as a blade.
But soon, too soon, Merlin would wake, even though he might have been asleep for days. And he would go through the motions again, like he did every year, and wait for his dream to come back to him.
However, when the first knock came from his apartment door, Merlin looked up in a small spark of surprise. He got up from his bed, having been staring out the window since he had woken about thirty minutes before. He didn't bother clothing himself in Emrys, and cautiously approached the door in his boxers and a plain, gray t-shirt that was did not protect him from the biting cold of February.
The knocking did not cease after the usually polite and simple two knocks. In fact it was intense, knocking with an increasing vigor that Merlin soon became annoyed with. He was the greatest sorcerer in all of creation! If he was stabbed, shot, or mugged, he would simply come back a few hours later with a raging headache and pins-and-needles in his arms and legs. That was the blessing and the curse of being an immortal.
Finally, when Merlin wrenched open the door with an annoyed "what?", he was greeted by an alarmingly familiar face. A smiling man stood in front of him, fist still poised to continue knocking, a little red bowtie left askew and matching red suspenders with a tweed suit.
"Hello, Merlin!" greeted the man enthusiastically, stepping in without being properly invited. "Always lovely to see you!" the man continued, stepping into Merlin's small and dingy living room. His expression became slightly miffed when he noticed the poor conditions that Merlin was living in. The entire living room was just a ratty old couch, a rickety coffee table, a bookcase and a heavy coating of dust. "However, I can't say that about your living room."
Merlin stopped staring at the man with a starstruck expression and scowled, closing the door roughly behind him. "Pleasure to see you, Doctor," he said, but he knew he wouldn't be angry at the Doctor for long. It was impossible to continue to be angry at a man who couldn't make fish fingers without burning them to a crisp.
"Really? I thought you would be very happy to see me, Merlin!" the Doctor continued, twirling his trademark sonic screwdriver. The Doctor knew better than to conceal himself to Merlin, who had lived almost as long as the Doctor had. The Time Lord was just as lonely and just as damaged as Merlin was, and had often sought comfort in his presence.
Merlin smiled weakly, shuffling into the living room and towards the small (and equally dingy) kitchen. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some fish fingers?" he asked playfully, looking over his shoulder at a suddenly somber alien. Merlin frowned. "What's wrong?"
The Doctor looked up at Merlin with a desperate look on his face. "No, no fish fingers," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Merlin's heart constricted with dread.
"Doctor, what happened to your newest companion? Amy?" he asked tentatively, watching with horror as the Doctor's face contorted with intense pain. He'd just heard of her a few weeks ago. The Doctor had been ecstatic with his newest choice, going on and on about her. ("She's Scottish! And a ginger!")
"She's... She's just fine," the Doctor whispered breathily, slumping down into the couch and trying to plaster on a fake smile. But the Doctor should know better, because Merlin knew every single one of those smiles. He'd done them himself countless times before.
Merlin didn't say anything, and simply moved to sit down next to the Doctor. He waited a few moments, and then drew an arm around the Doctor's shoulders. It was the first time that Merlin had seen the Doctor cry other than when he had come to him about Donna. But the Doctor cried to him then, sobbing into his hands and muttering things, saying that it was his fault, and that none of this would have ever happened if he had just been more careful. All Merlin could do was sit there and cradle the Doctor to him like he had done to many others, whispering encouraging things and trying to soothe away the Doctor's pain.
"I-I'm so sorry," the Doctor whispered after he had ceased crying, his hands clutching Merlin's thin gray shirt. But that's all he would say on the matter, even when Merlin tried pressing him. The Doctor was even more introverted than Merlin was, but unlike Merlin, he tried to hide it instead of embrace it. And Merlin couldn't rightly say if that was healthier.