Angel Guilding
Chapter One
Disclaimer: Oh, they aren't my boys, but they're so gorgeous.
Rating: T for swearing, alcohol consumption, eventual slash, and sex. Might write a M rated scene separate from the main fiction.
Music: Arcade Fire- The Suburbs (album), Plumtree- Go, Florence and the Machine- Lungs (album), Metric- Old World Underground (album), Kingdom Dance- Tangled Score, Where the Story Ends- The Fray, You Found Me- The Fray, Last Leaf- OK Go, 10,000 Night of Thunder (artist unknown), Since U Been Gone- Kelly Clarkson.
A/N: Merlin is my new love. Arthur makes my nether-regions feel funny, I'm in love with Merlin's ears, Gwen is kick ass, and Morgana- well, nobody likes her. Joking. This is going to be a rather- dedicated bit of work. Don't know about the chapter count, but it's certainly going to be long. So I am requesting reviews, flames, and a beta. Hit me.
The first thing Arthur Pendragon notices: it's very white.
The second thing: it rather smells like antiseptic and old people.
And the third: his head bloody fucking hurts.
Clutching at the sheets, Arthur shifts them down with bulky, bandaged hands. When he sees that the bandages cover his legs as well, he drops his aching head in his equally sore hands and groans. What the fuck did I do last night?
Arthur searches his mind for any memory of the previous night, but only comes up with the weird image of dropping peaches into a bowl. He's certain Morgana was there, and that apprentice of his who just turns out to be older then him, and he's recalling Leon shoving a beer into his hands. But nothing more.
The glassblower begins to survey his surroundings for answers. Hospitals in Camelot were few and far between, mostly due to the fact that it was a medium sized city with good enough health care that people didn't constantly need an ambulance. Judging by the small room and the fact that there was another, albeit empty bed beside him, this was Kilgharrah Hospital, the poorer of the two hospitals in Camelot. Did that mean someone had called 911? Surely, nobody he knew would've sent him here, knowing he was Uther's son-
Eager for answers, Arthur reaches to push the call button. His ribs twinge in pain. He grimaces, but pushes himself forward, determined to find some reasons to this freakish morning. Almost the moment after his fingers hit the red button, the door to his room bangs open. Arthur winces again. Oh yeah. Hangover.
The man who enters the room just has this irritating air about him. Ears sticking out of mussed, dark hair. White, pretentious collared shirt. Dark jeans sticking out of his red Converse at an almost cocky angle. And awkward, big, bony hands, one of which he proffers to Arthur, who just glares. The man drops it nervously after spotting Arthur's mummified hands.
"Erm. Hi!" He attempts cheerly in a ridiculous Irish accent. "I'm Merlin Emrys, and, I- erm- sir, you shouldn't be out of your bed." Merlin adds hastily, rushing to Arthur's side. Arthur merely rolls his eyes, swinging his other leg out of bed. "Continue." He says dismissively, waving one hand.
"I-I-" Merlin stammers, wringing his hands. "Oh dear. I work as an orderly here, and I've been assigned to bring you your food, and change your sheets, and such- no, don't, you prat, you'll rupture your stitches!" Merlin shouts, and Arthur looks up with a raised eyebrow. The boy awkwardly covers his mouth, jittering his left leg up and down. "Sorry." He blurts. "Mr. Pendragon, you're really not in good shape. So, just, er, lie down, and I'll get you some water, all right?"
That Irish lilt is really quite annoying, Arthur notes irritably. But he complies, lounging in the hospital bed once more, pawing at his itching leg. Merlin fetches him a glass of water and brings it back, watching with concern as Arthur downs it. When he's finished, he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "There," He says. "Water done. Now, would you mind telling me what the hell is happening here?"
Merlin fidgets, dropping into a chair by Arthur's bed. "Just to confirm, you are Arthur Pendragon? Son of Uther Pendragon? As in, the Uther Pendragon?" Arthur rolls his eyes. That's somehow always the first thing that comes up. "Yes, yes. On with it, mate, I'd rather like to be someplace that isn't here." He says impatiently.
"Well, somebody broke into your glass shop last night." Merlin begins, and Arthur starts, whacking his head against the bed overhang. Arthur is an unfortunately tall man. "Ouch! Fucking- are you absolutely sure?" Arthur asks, seething.
"The police want to speak to you shortly. They haven't caught whoever did it, and they need a statement. On suspects. I told them to wait until you were better, at least a bit, though." Merlin looks proud of himself. Arthur grits his teeth.
"Clotpole." He grinds out. "I'm the son of the richest man in the country. I make glass and I get paid well. Don't you think I'm a bloody good target to rob?"
Merlin falters. "Erm. Well. Good point, sir. You'll have to discuss this with the police, though. Would you like some more water?" The man goes to get up, but Arthur manages to grab his wrist. "No. Tell me the rest." He demands. Merlin's wrist is oddly brittle for such a lanky man, and uncomfortable, Arthur releases.
Merlin sits again, keeps fidgeting. God, Arthur just wants to smack him. "Well, according to your sister-"
"Stepsister."
"...right. Stepsister."
Merlin consults his clipboard police report, rapping a pen off the top. It's irritating, but Arthur can stand it. If that's what helps the boy get things done. "You were having a party to celebrate finishing a larger project. A piece that would go in an art gallery on Locke. There were twenty, maybe thirty people there..." He trails off, then looks at Arthur expectantly. "Ring any bells."
Arthur vaguely remembers now. The bloody sculpture. It had taken them weeks to finish. A combination of blue glass and mirrors, with this insane shining reflections that looked almost as if the thing reflected was underwater. It was still untitled, but he was receiving a big commission. And the party- he remembers weird little hot dog things, and-
"Peaches in a bowl." He says aloud. Merlin looks at him, puzzled. "Er. Yes. So you do remember, at least a bit. That's good. It means you're not brain-dead."
"I am thrilled." Arthur says dryly.
"After the party, you, your stepsister, Morgana, your friend, Leon, and your assistant, Owaine, stayed behind to clean up. Around 1 in the morning, you were in the loft upstairs and heard a noise downstairs. Owaine went to investigate."
"Well, is he all right?" Arthur asks in alarm. The man may be old for a apprenticeship, but he's friendly enough and grabbing a beer with him after a day of sweating over the glass is always fun. He's grown oddly attached to him.
"Er. No." Merlin says softly, shrinking into his shirt, scratching at his head. Arthur's heart pounds. "Sir... he's dead. Shot by the robber who entered."
"Fuck." Arthur says, letting his head fall back against the wall with a dull thump. The world is swimming a little bit, fading in and out of focus, and he feels woozy. "Sir?" Merlin squawks. "There's more."
"Just give us a minute." Arthur snaps. The color drains from Merlin's face. "Oh. Of course. Sorry." He says, bowing his head. When Arthur's gathered himself a little bit, he draws in a deep breath. "Continue."
"Well, you apparently went downstairs after hearing the gunshot, with Morgana and Leon. Which wasn't very intelligent. The thief knocked over a big wall of glass, and it shattered. You slipped and fell, which gave you some extensive nerve damage and a concussion, which is probably responsible for the headache you're feeling right now."
"Okay. But Morgana, and Leon- they're fine, right?" Arthur asks shakily, clinging to the covers. He doesn't want to be the sole survivor of some terrible tale. "Morgana called the police, and Leon grabbed the thief's arm. Broke it, but he managed to shake free and run away. Your friends are fine." Merlin reassures, and Arthur feels limp with relief.
"So that's it, then. Thank you, and I'll see the nurse now. I need to be discharged by this afternoon. Get things in order, clean up the shop." Arthur announces, making a grab for the call button. Merlin shoves his hand in front of it. "Er. There's a little more. There's the matter of your assistant's will. Owaine Pellinore had three children."
"And...? Feel bad for the little one's, but honest, I can't do anything. I'm too busy." Arthur says, though the ache at the back of his throat is overwhelming.
"Er... you kind of have to. In his will, Owaine Pellinore, a single father, requested that you take full custody of his children." Merlin announces.
And for the second time that day, Arthur's head whacks the overhang. "Ow! FUCK! AGAIN!"
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to keep it down, there are other patients-" Merlin attempts, but Arthur cuts him off. "FUCK, NO. DID YOU JUST OBTAIN THREE CHILDREN FROM YOUR DEAD ASSISTANT?" He roars, the cords on his neck standing out.
"Um. No." Merlin says uncertainly. "But if you don't want them- the children go through the system. Which is not a pleasant experience, I believe."
"Well, where are they now?" Arthur asks. "Staying at a hotel, with a hired babysitter looking after them. The money comes out of Owaine's will."
"Christ." He mutters. "When do I have to go get them?"
"Not until you're ready." Merlin says, and it's oddly reassuring in that moment, this strange man with his funny cheekbones and ears that stick out and his ratty trainers. It's even more reassuring when Merlin awkwardly pats Arthur's bandaged knee. Comforting, even. But it all disappears when Merlin begins prattling on about insurance and the like.
Because, honestly, Arthur's life has just fallen apart. He needs a moment- hell, a few days of sitting around in his underpants, watching Smallville with Leon, stupid guy stuff to just- get the fuck over it. So he grabs a tray of food someone's left and chucks it at that dunderhead. It nearly makes contact, but Merlin scrabbles to his feet and runs out the door, apologizing profusely.
It's only after that Arthur realizes that was a terrible idea and he's hungry. And he has three kids. And no assistant. And his shop is wrecked...
"Fuck." Arthur Pendragon says hoarsely, then leans his head back and begins to cry.
To Arthur's surprise, Melin's back the next day. He carries a McDonalds bag and looks cheery as ever in an exceptionally nerdy neckerchief. "I brought you some food. It's much better then the slop they serve here."
"Is that out of your paycheck?" Arthur asks incredulously. Merlin blinks. "Um. Not exactly. It's out of my pocket, but, yeah." He can't help but be touched for a second before apprehension sets in.
"Why are you buttering me up?" Arthur asks suspiciously, eyeing the hamburger. Damn. It does look good. "I'm not giving you money. Prat." He can't resist adding.
Merlin's cheeks redden. "Well, sir, I was wondering- what exactly is a clotpole?"
Taking a french fry, Arthur twirls it around for a moment before pointing it at Merlin. "I see exactly one in this room."
"And I see exactly one egotistical prick." Merlin mutters. Arthur is taken aback for a moment before a grin spreads over his face. The kid can give as good as he gets.
The next week passes quickly. Arthur banters, Merlin banters. Arthur complains, Merlin reads Lord of the Rings to him. The irish tone is almost all right, then. And when Arthur falls asleep, Merlin slides out of the room to tend to other patients.
Before he knows it, Arthur is standing up and walking around the small room before progressing to taking the elevator downstairs for some coffee (Merlin pays). They joke and laugh and tease and it's easy- and it's nice. When Merlin bows his head and looks up at him through long eyelashes, Arthur is so close to happy. So close.
"Sir, Owaine's children are here to see you." Merlin announces, adjusting the pillow so Arthur can sit up with minimal discomfort. "Good. That's good, right?" He asks uncertainly, biting his thumbnail. Bending his fingers is still difficult, but the physiotherapist reassured Arthur he'd be back to glassblowing in several months. At the very least, the bandages are off, and Merlin takes the opportunity to smack Arthur's fingers out of his mouth.
"You'll get hangnails." He says sternly. "And yes, it is a good thing. They should get to know you a bit. More good news, too." Merlin grins. "You're out of here tomorrow."
"Really?" Arthur asks happily. Merlin nods. "You'll need to keep taking those supplements, and you'll get headaches sometimes. The doctor advises you don't watch television, use computers, read, or go outside for long periods of time."
"What am I supposed to do, then?" Arthur grumps, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I don't know. That's not my bloody job."
And then, unexpectedly, before Arthur can even think- "I'm kind of going to miss you helping me out, you stupid prat." Horrified at what's falling out of his mouth, Arthur squirms uncomfortably. Merlin flushes a bit. "Yeah, I'll miss having to pick tomatoes out of my hair every evening."
"And putting antiseptic on the cuts from the time I pushed the tray into your chest and you fell against the counter." Arthur sniggers. Merlin shoots him a death glare.
"And having to borrow a new shirt from my uncle Gaius in ER after you've chucked water all over mine." Merlin snorts.
"Remember that stripy one?" Arthur begins laughing, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. He exchanges a glance with Merlin. "I feel like a bloody invalid. Can you-" Arthur gestures to his body.
"Oh. Right. Yes." Merlin leans down and slings Arthur's arm around his shoulder. And Arthur can't help but appreciate the warm weight of Merlin, the pleasant clean smell of his awful Arctic Monkeys t-shirt. It's just nice to be touched.
Another knock comes, more impatient, and Merlin calls out: "Just a minute!" He helps lower Arthur into the chair, then goes to open the door. Three bodies enter the room, but Arthur's eyes are locked on Merlin. "Can you-" He swallows. "Can you stay?"
Merlin's eyes dart to the clock, the lunch he's brought with him, and then settle on Arthur. Who is a muscular and large man- but looks so small in that chair. In that hospital gown. "Yes." He decides, taking a seat on the floor next to him.
Arthur turns his gaze back to the three children standing in the door frame. The oldest, a tall and haughty looking boy, is holding the hand of a younger teenage girl, balancing a newborn in the crook of his arm. "Hello." He says uncertainly, as if this could be any other Arthur Pendragon.
Arthur drops his glass. Merlin does some sort of dive and catches it neatly. "Hi." He says blandly, waving an arm. "I'm Arthur. Er- Mr Pendragon?" He ventures. Merlin shakes his head, mouthing: "Arthur."
"Yeah. Arthur. And, er. Your names?" In an attempt to be cordial, the oldest boy walks over to Arthur, dropping his younger sister's hand. "I'm Bennett." His brown hair and olive eyes match Owain's, but that limp in his gait and the mole beneath his eye don't. "This is my younger sister, Avalon-"
"I can introduce myself, Bennett." She says defiantly, flipping her ginger hair over a shoulder. "I'm Avalon. I like boys and chemistry and cheesecake. I don't like you, and I'm not going to."
"Don't be rude." Bennett hisses.
"I can be if I want to!" She retorts snottily. Merlin and Arthur exchange a glance. This might not be as easy as Arthur thought. "And this is Warner." Bennett says of the baby, who is still asleep in his arms.
"He's little." Arthur breathes reverently. Then it clicks. Oh god, he's little. He's tiny. He's a newborn, and Arthur is taking care of him- Arthur has kids. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.
"I can't do this." He blurts, and struggles briefly to get to his feet, then bolts. Out of his room, down the hall, down the stairs, outside, it's bloody November, he's fucking freezing. Arthur stands there in his hospital gown, clutching his arms, and he's numb in more ways then one.
"Arthur!" Merlin shouts from the doorway, head out the door at a concerned angle. "Come inside, you prat, it's fucking freezing! You'll get sick!"
"Oh, worse then I am?" Arthur shouts back. He is kind of cold. But he's not going to be swayed by that git. "Fucking christ, my life is utterly falling apart."
"It's not!" Merlin yells from the doorway. "It's bloody not, don't be a prick! It's a new start, and it's good! Now come inside, you clotpole, and I'll fucking drive you to your house. And buy you coffee. Please." Merlin asks, voice softening.
"You'll drive me home early?" Arthur says, taking a few steps towards the door. "Won't doctor Edwin get cross?"
"He doesn't have to know." Merlin shrugs. "Just come inside. Clotpole, prat, prick." He adds, but it's in a gentle tone. A kind tone. "Yeah, whatever." Arthur mutters, rubbing up and down his cold arms.
"Your sister brought clothes last week." He proffers a bag which upon inspection, contains jeans, a long sleeved navy blue t-shirt Morgana bought him years ago, and a pair of brown checked Vans which are sinfully comfortable.
Arthur changes quickly, guiltily avoiding the glances of the children as Merlin ushers them downstairs for a chocolate muffin and tea in the cafeteria. Merlin's quickly back up, though, handing him a sweater. It's striped green and yellow, and Arthur arches an eyebrow.
"Your sister forgot to bring you a coat." Merlin explain, and the tips of his ears turn red. "So, I thought-" He gestures to it, and Arthur grudgingly slips it on. It smells like Merlin. It smells like salt and lemon gum and something better then all that, something essentially Merlin.
"Well. Thanks." Arthur manages. Damn, this sweater is warm.
Merlin waves it off. "Eh. My job is taking care of you. Should we see how everyone's getting on?" He adds pleasantly, the recent quarrel forgotten. And Arthur has to reflect on how this near stranger is allowed to insult him, allowed to lend him sweaters, allowed to call him out, allowed to give him advice, and allowed to maybe just- be his friend.
It turns out that the children are waiting in the hospital lobby impatiently, Avalon particularly, who grabs Merlin and begins to natter on about some television serial. Arthur shoots a look at Merlin, who shrugs as if to say: "Hey, it's not me she hates."
They take a minute to grab the bags from the babysitter, who hugs each of the teenagers in turn and strokes the cheek of a sleeping Warner.
Scowling, Arthur allows Bennett to lead the way to the car, a beat up old station wagon, sea foam blue. "Err... it's not much." Merlin says, obviously a bit humilated.
"Damn right." Arthur says pointedly, but regrets it quickly. Merlin's face falls and he struggles to retain his professional air. "Pass me Warner's car seat, love?" He asks Avalon, who hands it over with a sleeping Warner still inside. After a moment of wrestling, the seat clicks into place and Merlin draws back with a look of utter satisfaction on his face.
After making sure both Bennett and Avalon can buckle themselves properly, Merlin holds open the front door for Arthur. "I can do it myself." Arthur says sulkily, climbing in. "No, you can't." Merlin sighs, buckling his seat belt as well. "You have little to no dexterity in your fingers. So just let me do this, all right?"
"Who's going to do it when you leave?" Arthur asks.
"Well, the children will help, I expect." Merlin says, checking his rearview mirror and pulling out of his parking spot.
"Surely you jest." Avalon says dramatically, lounging in the seat and staring out the window. Merlin gives a chuckle and goes back to driving, leaving Arthur to look around the car. CD's are scattered haphazardly around the car, bands that Arthur's never even heard of, let alone listened to. Metric, Plumtree, Arcade Fire. A quick check on the dashboard confirms what Arthur already thought- Merlin is a geek. It's covered in Star Trek and Firefly stickers. He absently picks at one.
At the next stoplight, Merlin twists in his seat to address the two teenagers cheerily. "So, how old are you two?"
"Fourteen." Avalon says sullenly, squishing her headphones further into her ears. Bennett adds: "Going on eighty." She shoves her brother and he spills almost onto Warner. "Mind!" Arthur warns, and is momentarily pleased by the fact that- hey, he sounds like a dad.
"And you, Bennett? Turn here, right?" He says to Arthur. "Yeah."
"Sixteen." Bennett says, and Arthur is struck yet again by how much he looks like his dad. There's a lump in his throat and he ends up staring at his lap to keep from crying, blinking back the tears he can't let fall. "Warner would be around a month or so?" Merlin inquires, driving up Arthur's street.
"Yeah. Some woman dropped him off with us. Said he was dad's. He never got a DNA test or anything. Just like that." Bennett says, and the trace of bitterness that creeps into his voice isn't for Warner.
"The one on the corner." Arthur murmurs to Merlin. Nervously, he twists his ring around his index finger. "The big brick one?"
"Do you see other corners?"
"Out of my car." Merlin comments dryly. Arthur sticks his tongue out at him. "I'll see you, then?" He says to him once they've unloaded the children's things and are standing on the porch. "Yeah, I suppose."
Arthur holds out his hand, but the gesture is misinterpreted and Merlin hugs him, wrapping those skinny arms around his waist. Awkwardly, Arthur pats him on the back, letting his chin rest on the shorter man's shoulder. The warmth of Merlin is sweet and lovely, and when he smiles and waves goodbye from that junker of a car-
There's a pang in Arthur's chest. He almost wants to scream for Merlin not to go. So he waves poiletly back. "Arthur?" Bennett starts hesitantly. "Er, where do we sleep?" Arthur braces himself to walk into the shop, but before he does, his phone vibrates suddenly in his pocket. Alarmed, he plucks it out, peering down at the screen.
You bloody need to come back for your prescription. I'll be back tomorrow to make sure that you're not tossing water into the poor children's faces. Sneaking your phone is remarkably easy. Dunderhead.
-Merlin
He can't help the grin that spreads over his face just then. Arthur sighs happily, reaching his hands into his hair to muss it even further. "Clotpole." Arthur Pendragon murmurs happily, snapping the phone shut.