A/N: Wow. I honestly did not expect this story to get off to such a receptive start, being a modern AU and all (AUs do tend to be approached warily by most readers). I'm so chuffed you guys are liking this, since I really loved writing it.
Ch. 2
Arthur had been premature to think that a trip to the laundry was an escape. It wasn't. It was jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, because now he was free to do a lot of thinking, the kind of thinking that led to more thinking and more worrying without a drop of conclusion to show for it. And it didn't help that for all he knew Merlin's timidity had been an act, and he was robbing the place even as Arthur was drying the bastard's clothes, Gwaine knocked-out or dead because size didn't matter when there was a hang-over mucking up your awareness.
And yet none of these concerns was enough to prompt Arthur from his sprawled position on the hard plastic chair, watching the clothes spin round and round in a hurricane of fabric and color. At least he'd had one helpful epiphany – to search the boy's clothes. Although it hadn't really been an epiphany, merely common sense. The epiphany had happened during the search, along with the second epiphany to search where those who did not have something to hide wouldn't think to look. The seam of the pants, the inner-lining of the hooded gray sweater, that kind of thing. Arthur may never have tasted the homeless life but he did know a thing or too about hiding things. He'd always fancied himself an expert at concealing fake IDs, mostly because he'd never been caught while Morgana had seemed to get caught every other week.
But Arthur had found nothing of interest in Merlin's clothes. Some gum wrappers, some gum, and that was about it, which meant whatever the boy had a mind to hide was back at the flat in the boy's coat. Arthur made a mental note to check it. Then it was back to troubled musings and contemplations of his own sanity.
His thoughts were like the clothes spinning and tumbling in the dryer, and between the hangover and a late night, Arthur dozed.
(And dreamed of dressing in armor, choosing a sword to slay a beast out of a fantasy tale. And there was Merlin, smiling, choosing a sword for himself, which was ridiculous. He was a servant. But he wouldn't let Arthur face the beast alone. Something buzzed intrusively.)
Arthur woke with a snort and snuffle. The clothes were done, the hurricane over.
As Arthur carried the basket of clean laundry back to the flat, he finally came to three conclusions, though mostly for the sake of his sanity. One, if the boy really was harmless then what was the harm of giving him something to eat and a place to rest? It wasn't as though it was meant to be permanent. Two, no amount of wondering what the hell he was doing helping this kid was going to change anything. He was helping him, had seen enough to know the kid needed the help, and at this point Arthur couldn't in good conscious not do anything and still be able to respect himself in the morning.
Which then begged the question of what, exactly, helping the boy meant. A bowl of cereal and a place to nap? Or something else, something more? Maybe give him money to get the hell out of town, away from whoever was hurting him, and start fresh somewhere else. Arthur had never considered himself charitable and yet neither had he found a reason to be charitable, because charitable had become synonymous with free-loading and so-called friends more than capable of supporting themselves and not wanting to. Merlin obviously wasn't in a position to support himself, and it wasn't like he would return for further mooching if Arthur did help him leave.
One thing at a time, that's what Arthur figured. First he had to make sure the kid hadn't robbed him and left Gwaine for dead in the process.
Arthur returned to everything as he had left it, sans Gwaine who was sprawled out on the couch, snoring. Arthur knew for a fact that a knocked out Gwaine didn't snore. He normally drooled, and normally because he was drunk off is arse.
Arthur dumped the basket of laundry next to the couch and made straight for Merlin's coat. A thorough search from pockets to lining produced a well-worn faux leather wallet, black and mostly empty. There was a driver's license so expired that Arthur wondered if the kid still remembered how to drive, a picture of a woman – dark hair, gentle, pleasant face and a kind smile – and that was it. And if the address on the license was correct, the boy didn't live that far from here.
Arthur put everything back just the way he'd found it and where he'd found it. How pathetic could a life get that the only possessions left were the clothes on their back, a wallet, a useless license and a picture? Since Arthur had enough questions poking incessantly at his mind, he ignored the thought and instead went to check on the source of all his current mental turmoil.
Merlin slept the sleep of the painfully exhausted, curled up tight on his side at the head of the bed, well away from the tangle of blankets at the foot of the bed, as if afraid he might accidentally touch them.
Arthur sighed wearily. The kid was such a... kid, a little boy wrapped up in his big brother's clothes and liable to get lost in them. But his face was a contradiction, angular and sunken and pinched with an expression that shouldn't have existed when someone was asleep. He was older than he should have been, younger than he was, not in years but something deeper, something distant, and Arthur was once again struck hard by the impression of how utterly wrong it was.
Arthur left the room before he had a chance to think on it, again. Fine, so it was wrong that some random kid off the streets should look so frail and pathetic. Of course it was wrong, because he was a kid. Yes, the date on his license had put him at twenty, but sixteen or seventeen or twenty he was still younger than Arthur and that made him a kid. A kid living on the streets trying to get away from who ever or whatever had caused all those bruises.
This is different and you know it, said that part of Arthur that had prompted him to take the kid in.
"Oh shut up," Arthur muttered. He shoved Gwaine's feet off the couch, plopped onto it, clicked on the telly and let the cacophony of a detergent commercial drown out his thoughts. Gwaine snuffled, snorted and went right back to sleep.
Had this been any other day post late night partying, Arthur would be the one sprawled out in his bed, sleeping the remainder of the weekend away, lamenting his self-inflicted pain in the moment because once the headache was gone, the remorse for drinking so much went with it. It was funny how a change in routine surrounded you in the light of realization. Rather than skull-cracking agony, there was only a dull throb pounding at the back of his brain. He was tired, yes. Cranky, definitely. Remorseful? It hadn't even crossed his mind. Time he would have spent sleeping dragged on, and Arthur killed it with channel surfing. Gwaine eventually woke up to shower, change and finish his stupor in his own bed, the only part of the routine that had survived. He didn't seem to notice that Arthur wasn't doing the same.
Lunch rolled around. Arthur made himself a sandwich and ate it alone, wondering if he should make another or wait until Merlin woke up. It didn't feel right waking the kid, especially if this was the first real sleep he'd had in... however long he'd been on the streets.
But time continued on its merry way, the gray day easing itself toward an even darker evening, and Arthur still didn't know what to do about Merlin. It was too late to shove a few pounds into his hands and kick him politely out the door, and like hell he was sending him back out into the cold. Not when he'd gone through such mental pains to drag him out in the first place.
Arthur tilted his head back and scrubbed his hand through his hair. This, too, was why he didn't do charity – too complicated, too messy, too obnoxious, and he found himself suddenly sympathizing with his father's absolute refusal to let Arthur take in any stray dogs. Except this wasn't a dog, it was a human being, and a possibly traumatized one at that; traumatized, most definitely helpless and not something you could drop off at your local animal shelter.
Damn it, the day was barely ending, the kid not even awake, and Arthur was already in over his head.
The creak of the floor snapped Arthur's head upright. There, hovering on the threshold between the bedroom and the hall, was the source of Arthur's moral dilemma, his face half-hidden by the door frame and the one visible eye regarding Arthur with the most painful uncertainty Arthur had ever seen.
"Oh," Arthur said with a befuddled blink. "You're awake." Arthur hopped to his feet, causing the boy to flinch back.
Arthur ignored the reaction. "You hungry? We usually order in about this time and seeing as how you missed lunch and all... guess you were tired," Arthur said lamely. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, it's pizza night so any toppings you're particularly fond of? Or not fond of?"
Merlin, perhaps feeling a little more at ease, inched his way out of the bedroom until both eyes were finally in view.
"Y-you don't... you don't have to."
"I insist," Arthur said. "Most of it ends up being wasted, anyway." Which was true some of the time and not true the rest of the time, depending on the size of the pie, the size of the hangover, and if they were clear-headed enough to remember it to order it from the place on the west side and not the east side.
"I – I can't pay you back," Merlin said.
"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to help us finish the bloody thing off. So let's have it – toppings."
Merlin ducked his head and muttered something.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You do know speaking serves little purpose when I can't hear you."
Merlin's arms fidgeted, crossing over his chest, then one uncrossing to bring his hand up to his face, or neck, Arthur wasn't quite sure when the arm dropped back to it's previous place.
"S-sausage," Merlin said.
"Anything else? We usually get the supreme – sausage, pepperoni, peppers, the works."
Merlin nodded.
Arthur smiled. "Supreme it is." He pulled out his mobile and dialed. "And you don't have to stand there. Come. Sit. Rot your brain on TV as my nan liked to say."
Merlin did his little plaintive shuffle and huddled himself into the corner of the couch, arms still crossed protectively and back hunched. Arthur wished he had given the boy a sweater instead of a T-shirt. He could see just about every rib in the kid's back, and half the knobs of his spine. There were also a few bruises peeking out of the collar of the shirt.
When Arthur finished ordering and pocketed his phone, he said, "You might as well stay another night. I had no idea you would sleep the day away." He plopped down on the other side of the couch, giving the skittish Merlin plenty of space, and still the boy jumped.
Arthur regarded him silently, contemplating the reaction. Perhaps it was the lingering affects of the hangover (still clinging, as it always did, whenever he forgot to take something for it) when he asked, "So Merlin, what's your story?"
Merlin's body tensed like a guitar string, his throat undulated in a nervous spasm of swallowing, and this, Arthur realized, was why bringing the boy home had been a bad idea. Arthur was complete rubbish at compassion, his preferred method of counseling a punch to the arm and the reprimand to stop being such a bloody infant. He didn't do soft touches and kind words, and the only psychology he knew he'd skimmed from a university book used mostly as a beer coaster.
And as though shoving Arthur's compassion-ineptitude in his face, Merlin's shoulders began to vibrate with tremors.
Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look, I don't need the gritty details, but maybe if there's someplace you'd liked to be dropped off? A relative? Friend? I'm sorry, Merlin, but it's painfully obvious you're running from something bad, but there must be some place you can go to be safe."
"N-not really," Merlin said quietly, still shaking and now hunched in on himself.
"Really? No one? No place?"
Merlin shook his head dejectedly. Arthur couldn't help thinking poor lad, and the the feeling of wrongness crept over him once more.
"I'm sorry," Merlin said.
Arthur, still mostly in thought, waved the apology off. "Don't be. Look, I'd like to help-"
"Why?" Merlin cut in, tossing nervous glances Arthur's way.
Arthur frowned, bristling. "Do I need a reason? Is it really that hard to believe that it's possible for me to be... helpful to someone?"
"I... don't really know you..." Merlin said timidly, and again Arthur waved him off.
"Ignore that last part. Look, you're here, now, so you might as well make something of it, yeah? If you want to go somewhere, get away, start anew somewhere else then I'll take you, or at least pay the way."
Merlin's eyes grew large in his thin face, as well as twice as uncertain. His hands fidgeted with the end of the T-shirt, twining and untwining them through his fingers. "I don't know where to go," he said, so quiet, so lost and helpless and frail that for a moment Arthur was sure the boy would start to cry. There was moisture shimmering on the edge of his eyelids threatening to fall, and once the water-works began then Arthur would really be at a loss. He was rubbish at compassion, but he was a complete git when it came to comforting others.
And, again, there was that feeling of wrongness, of seeing a complete stranger helpless and scared and yet knowing, without a doubt that this was not the personality that should have been manifesting. Arthur barely knew the boy, and yet seeing him as he was made him sick to his stomach as nothing else ever had. Arthur didn't get it, it was driving him mad, and it was becoming so dominate that the first solution to pop into his head planted roots and refused to budge. Arthur tilted his head back against the couch, exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, then opened them.
"You can stay here until you figure out what to do," Arthur said.
Merlin's head shot up, his eyes still wide, still shimmering with the threat of unmanly weeping. "I-I don't... you don't..."
"Oh, do shut it, Merlin, before I change my mind," Which he wouldn't, of course, he knew. He held up a finger, looking at Merlin sternly. "It's to be temporary. Just until you can find some work and a flat of your own."
Merlin nodded shakily.
"And I want honesty. Are you, or have you ever been, a drug addict or a thief?"
"No drugs," Merlin said easily. "I - I took money from my dad's wallet once, just to get some food. I didn't think he'd mind, since it was for food – he doesn't really shop – b-but he wasn't. Fine with it, I mean. Does that count?"
Arthur felt his expression soften. Never had such a short anecdote explain so much. "No, that doesn't count. But if you need money you only have to ask, no need to borrow."
Merlin nodded his head emphatically.
"Good. You seem a decent enough, chap, Merlin, and I'm trusting you to be a decent enough chap while you're here. No... partying or inviting fellow street-residing friends over. No stealing, no suddenly turning to drugs, no smoking-"
"I don't smoke. And I don't have friends."
"Good. I mean about the smoking thing, not the friends thing," Arthur added quickly. "You can take the couch. And don't worry about Gwaine, he's harmless. Unless he wants to take you drinking. If he does, say no. The man's a menace if you don't know how to handle him when drunk. There's plenty of food in the cupboards and fridge so help yourself... although make sure to check the expiration dates. And to smell it, make sure it's fresh. When in doubt and you can't find anything else to eat, don't be afraid to speak up. Any questions? Those clothes you've got, are they the only ones?"
"Um... I... they don't have to be but... I had to leave some stuff behind but I can get it later. I have to do it during the day..." Merlin stammered.
Arthur furrowed his brow. "Not if it's going to be a problem."
"S'not. Shouldn't, I think, if I'm quick."
The doorbell chose that moment to ring, giving Arthur a precious few seconds as he answered, paid then transported the pizza over to the table to have a third epiphany.
After all the ditherings and mental natterings over having taken a stranger in - questioning his own sanity and what the hell he had gotten himself into - suddenly, very suddenly, within the short time it took to get the pizza from the door to the kitchen, Arthur found himself quite pleased with his decision to let Merlin stay.
"You can borrow some of my clothes in the meantime," Arthur said. "Now come get some pizza."
~oOo~
Gwaine was Gwaine when Arthur gave him the news that Merlin was to stay with them. He grunted a noncommittal reply around a mouthful of lukewarm pizza. The moron had yet to properly meet the boy but Gwaine was socially useless when just waking up. Then again, it wasn't as though introductions were a common event, not unless the other party was female and pretty.
Arthur would have left it at that, more than happy to avoid the awkward conversation of "and, oh yes, I barely know Merlin but have the troubling impression that he was being abused and ran away to avoid it." Because knowing Gwaine – the man who couldn't stay in one spot for more than five minutes unless there was a pretty girl or a hangover involved – his interactions with Merlin would be minimal at best. Gwaine was the epitome of social, the man whose soul purpose seemed to be the upkeep of his nightlife. He was outgoing, charming, friendly – except when he wasn't, and when he wasn't was when he was at home and nursing the outcome of said nightlife.
There was no reason to give Gwaine the truth in its entirety, no reason at all, save for an obnoxious niggling doubt that shyly begged to differ. Arthur ignored it, there being no rhyme or reason to it. Gwaine went to bed full of pizza and Arthur made up the couch for Merlin to sleep on.
"Thank you," Merlin said, still uncertain, but not as timid. "You really don't have to-"
Arthur held up his hand. "Enough of that. I did, I am, end of story." But he had a feeling it was going to be some time before Merlin stopped trying to give him an out.
Arthur went to bed exhausted, his head still aching and his body with it, as though his mental battles had been a physical one. He fell asleep almost immediately.
(He was once again in armor, riding a horse that he reined to a stop. He held up a fist to stop Gwaine, also in armor and also riding, nattering on as he always did. Merlin emerged from a bog, covered in mud, and Arthur didn't care. He hurried forward and embraced him, happy, relieved, because Merlin was alive and safe...)
The mechanical shriek of the alarm cut through Arthur's sleep like a blade. Arthur moaned, flopping his hand around in search of the offending device, and on landing on the stupid piece of plastic he gave it a vindictive slap until the blasted shrieking finally died. All hail the work week, bastard slave-driver that it was. But that had been his father's condition for supporting Arthur so that he was able to live in a flat that wouldn't drive him to bashing his head against the wall with its coarseness. You will learn to support yourself, his father had said.
Except it wasn't about support, not with the trust fund. It was about the family business and keeping it in the family, because their ancestors had been rather old fashioned and a little sexist and refused to pass the title on to any but a male heir bearing the family name. The way Uther prattled on about it one would think they were royalty, not brilliant entrepreneurs with an eye for promising investments. The only consolation was that Arthur's position was part time five days a week, leaving plenty of time for Arthur to bask in the freedom from Uther's scrutiny that was the weekend. His father might dictate the majority of his life but not where, when and how he partied (though not for lack of trying on Uther's part).
It took Arthur twenty minutes to get out of bed as it often did at the start of the week. He was running late, in a hurry and had no choice but to leave a soundly sleeping Merlin to the tender mercy's of having already shown him around the place the other day. He thought about maybe calling him later, to make sure he was all right, then remembered the kid didn't have a cell phone. He and Gwaine should have invested in a home phone after all, not that the kid would have answered it.
To be honest, Arthur wasn't sure what his job title was, although some days he was sure it was "glorified but mostly useless secretary slash data entry person." He filed, he processed, he made copies and, sometimes, he sat in on meetings that made him want to jamb his pen into both eye sockets. Arthur wasn't an idiot. He knew the meetings were a lesson on how companies were run, because nothing was ever done with the notes he took and there had yet to be any complaints about those notes being half covered with doodles. Uther, however, did complain – loudly and often – if he thought Arthur might have been dosing off. He also complained just to be complaining, forever certain that Arthur was slacking off but with no real proof to back it up.
Pendragon senior always had a complaint a week. Today, it started early. Arthur arrived, on time, barely one minute to go, and already had a note on his desk to go see his father.
Uther reigned as a business man with a lofty position of himself often did – on the topmost floor in a cold office of pricy polished wood and a cathedral-like vastness that was overkill. Arthur walked in and stood by the soft, black leather chair across from Uther's desk. Uther, fixated on whatever it was he was signing, waved at him to sit. When Uther was done, he set down his expensive pen, folded his hands, and smiled a smile that refused to reach his eyes.
It was never good when he smiled like that.
"So," Uther began. "How was your weekend?"
It was the kind of question so soaked in saccharine innocence you either had to be deaf or a complete moron to miss it for what it was – a horde of accusations waiting to happen.
And so it began. Arthur said, "fine." Uther said, "And yet you look as you always do every Monday morning – half-asleep and continuing to nurse the last dregs of your hangover." Arthur said as flippantly as he could, "Then why do you bother even asking me about it?" So on, so forth, tit for tat until Uther honestly thought Arthur had been thoroughly chastised and put in his place even while Arthur was tuning him out when Uther reached the part about responsibility and growing up because one day all this would be his. It was like they were living in a bloody play, the lines well rehearsed but the acting a little wanting since they'd played their parts to death. At least it meant was Arthur free to enjoy the rest of the day without a reprimand. Uther usually only had one in him per day, two if a business deal went south and he needed someone to take it out on.
Arthur did a little work, passed the rest time after lunch surfing the net, then went home.
"You look like you need a drink, mate," Gwaine said, because of course it had to be Gwaine he walked in on, lounging around in his underwear with a plate of food on his lap, because of course today of all days he had managed to sweet talk his way out of work early. And Gwaine's remedy for any problem be they girls, a hard day at work or overbearing fathers was to go out, get drunk and rekindle the reason for the bad day in the first place when Arthur turned up with yet another hangover.
Arthur wanted to tell him something pithy, or at least to shut up. Instead, he glanced around the room and demanded, "Where's Merlin?"
"The skinny lad? He's passed out in your room. Does he have a doctor because I'm thinking that boy might be anemic. Kid could barely keep his eyes open. I mean, I know he cleaned but cleaning shouldn't knock a bloke out that quickly."
It was like someone had flipped on a light, expanding Arthur's awareness from his annoyance and Gwaine to the state of his surroundings.
While no one had ever accused the flat of being a pig sty, neither had it earned the title of "tidy." Since one never knew who might drop by, Arthur and Gwaine had made it an unspoken rule not to leave clothes strewn about where just anyone could see them and inot/i to toss bits of garbage where ever it was convenient. But organization was definitely lacking, most of their CDs and DVDs in piles next to the stereo or television, plates always stacked in the sink no matter how many times they took a moment to wash a few, and crumbs always on the table.
But now the CDs and DVDs were neatly gathered on the metal racks and in alphabetical order. The sink was dish free, the table wiped, the counters wiped, the floor recently vacuumed, and when Arthur poked about the kitchen, he saw the garbage empty and the dishes piled neatly in their cupboards. Further exploration revealed a sparkling bathroom, both bedrooms without a scrap of clothing on the floor, and all the laundry put away. The only time Arthur could recall the place being this tidy was when they'd first moved in and Gwen and Morgana had refused to let them organize.
Everything even smelled clean. And the source of it all was sacked out on top of Arthur's neatly made bed, his thin body curled impossibly tight. Arthur rolled his eyes and fetched one of the spare blankets they kept in the cupboard (Morgana's doing, who was under the impression that a home wasn't a home without a spare everything). Merlin relaxing was immediate and noticeable. Arthur left him to his rest as he walked from the room, feeling rather pleased with himself, until he entered the living room and marveled once again over how clean it was.
"Kid's got a talent," Gwaine said casually.
"What, for cleaning?" Arthur sneered. "That's not a talent. This clean, it's a bloody obsession."
Gwaine shrugged, popping a chip into his mouth. "A bloody useful obsession. Where'd you find this kid?"
No, uh-uh, Arthur was not going there. "Just ran into him. Is there any pizza left?"
"Not anymore," Gwaine said, and shoved the last bit of crust next to his chips on the plate into his mouth.
"Bastard," Arthur muttered, even though he was mostly fine with it seeing as how he was in the mood for some Korean take out – which he would inot/i share with Gwaine, but made sure to order enough for Merlin.
The boy in question woke just after Arthur finished ordering. He didn't emerge from the room, not quite yet, but a round of wet, painful coughs proceeded him and when he did emerge, Arthur had to wonder what good a long nap was because Merlin looked horrible. He was pale, hunched in the too-large sweat-shirt and his shoulders vibrating ever-so-slightly. No wonder Gwaine thought the kid anemic; he looked like he was bloody well on Death's door.
"I've ordered Korean," Arthur announced as though Merlin's sickly appearance hadn't startled him. "Hope you like it. Merlin, you look like hell."
Merlin flinched at the non sequitur. "Wha...? Um, sorry." Then he shuffled to the couch, squeezing himself into the corner as far from Gwaine as possible. But when Gwaine offered him a chip, he took it.
"No," Arthur reprimanded. "You don't apologize, you tell me what's wrong."
"Just a cough," Merlin said lightly, only to nearly implode in on himself in another fit of "just a cough" that sounded more like he was expelling a lung.
Arthur rolled his eyes. If it wasn't for the immaculate state of the flat thanks to Merlin, Arthur was tempted to say the boy was starting to be more trouble than he was worth.
Not that it stopped Arthur from ringing the family doctor.
~oOo~
As lovely an excuse for taking off work for a doctor's appointment was, when you were the son of Uther Pendragon, it was like consigning yourself to an interrogation. What was wrong with him, did he think it was serious or will it be a routine checkup, if he would only stop staying out all night then this wouldn't happen and so on and so forth until Arthur wished he could bash his head into the wall and knock himself out.
But Gaius – bless his wrinkly old hide – had been the family's physician long enough to maintain Uther's loyalty without bruising Arthur's trust. Arthur escaped work with plenty of time to spare to pick Merlin up and bring him into the cozy office of Gaius' private practice. Gwaine probably could have done it if he wasn't such rubbish at cover stories and if Arthur wasn't so suddenly paranoid about insurance fraud and his father finding out about it. Arthur had gone so far as to make an appointment for himself, the cost for Merlin coming out of his own pocket, and it boggled him once again how much he was doing for this kid.
Gaius merely raised an amused eyebrow when Arthur told him what was going on. He looked at Arthur, then at Merlin, and smiled.
"Lucky for you, Arthur, I do offer discounts from time to time," he said. He then ushered them both into the exam room.
Merlin went first since that was the whole point of coming here. Gaius had Merlin remove his shirt, and when he did, Gaius' smile dropped straight into a frown.
"My word," he muttered. He placed his hands on Merlin's back, and when Merlin flinched, the frown turned sympathetic.
"Merlin, may I ask where you got these bruises?" Gaius asked as he pressed and prodded along the visible bones. "Nothing feels broken but I think X-rays may be in order to play it safe. Merlin, it's all right to answer, you won't get in trouble. I can ask Arthur to leave if you wish to keep it confidential."
Merlin's face was tight, his hands pale as they clenched the edge of the exam bed. "S'okay," he said. He cleared his throat. "Just... got in a bit of a fight, s'all."
"You must get in fights quite often," Gaius muttered. He pried one of Merlin's hands from the bed, studied it shrewdly, studied Merlin shrewdly, then set the hand back down. It took Arthur a moment to realize that for a boy who got into quite a few fights, his knuckles were incredibly unscathed.
Gaius moved on, listening to Merlin's heart, then his lungs through the back with a stethoscope, his frown putting extra lines on his weathered face. X-rays were definitely in order and not just for Merlin's bones.
The verdict was that it wasn't pneumonia but it could have been if Arthur hadn't brought Merlin in. Merlin's bones weren't broken, but they had been, with a crack on a rib not yet healed that had made taking deep breaths difficult and leaving his lungs vulnerable to congestion. After filling out a prescription for Merlin, Gaius had him wait in the lobby while he then focused his next exam on Arthur, which consisted mostly of checking his throat and ensuring that the slight ache (that hadn't really been there, but had been the first ailment to pop into Arthur's head) was not strep but the chilly air making his nose run.
"So, Arthur, do I have the courtesy of knowing who this boy is and why your father can't know about him?" Gaius asked as he tidied up from both exams, a task normally left to his nurses when he didn't have a need for a little extra time to talk to his patients in private.
Arthur sagged on the bed, because if there was one person he wouldn't lie to – and couldn't, considering all that he had asked of him – it was Gaius. The man had caught him when Arthur came into this world, after all.
"I don't know," Arthur said, honestly and dejectedly.
Gaius gave him the arched eyebrow – very much not amused this time.
Arthur tossed up his hands. "I don't! Honest, Gaius. The only thing I do know is that he's timid as hell, knows how to clean a house and is obviously running from someone who's been hurting him." He scraped a hand through his hair. "I found him Saturday night sleeping next to a dumpster and... I don't know, I felt bad for him."
Gaius' second eyebrow joined the first in reaching for his hairline. "Felt bad for him."
"What, is that honestly so difficult to believe?" Arthur griped.
Gaius held up his hands in surrender, his lips fighting back a smile. "No, no, of course not. A bit random, perhaps."
"How so?" Arthur asked with narrowed eyes.
"Well, last time you came to see me you had a cut lip and a black eye after getting into a row with a homeless man. He, and I quote, 'kept harassing you for change and like hell you were going to give into that freeloader.'"
"That's because he was a freeloader. I saw him coming out of a pub. Besides, Merlin... didn't ask me for change," Arthur finished lamely.
"What did he do to warrant your charity?"
Arthur shrugged. "Look utterly cold and pathetic." Then he sighed, his shoulders dropping and half his upper body with it. "Gaius... I really don't know why I took him in. I just... did, like some part of me couldn't bare the thought of leaving him in the cold. Like seeing him pathetic was all wrong, and not generally wrong but wrong for him. Does that sound insane?"
Gaius hummed thoughtfully. "Actually, I believe they call that having a heart."
"Gaius..."
"I mean it, Arthur. I know you think yourself some devil-may-care playboy but you're far more compassionate than you give yourself credit for. You need to focus less on why you took this boy in and focus on the fact that by taking him in you've saved his life. Any longer out in the cold and that congestion of his would have become full-blown pneumonia. It could have killed him."
The revelation made Arthur swallow uncomfortably, he didn't know why except that the thought of Merlin dead was far worse than the thought of him homeless.
"You're giving this poor boy a second chance," Gaius went on. "Which I highly encourage. Arthur... I know abuse when I see it. Someone has been hurting that boy just as you said and not just physically. That he felt the better alternative was to take his chances on the street should tell us both it was bad – very bad. So focus on helping him and nothing else. You've come this far, so you might as well keep going."
Arthur sighed. "I suppose. But, I mean it, Gaius, my father can't find out. You know he won't approve."
Gaius clapped Arthur on the shoulder and smiled. "I know. We keep this between us. In the mean time, make sure that boy takes his medicine, iand/i that he eats three square meals with vegetables and proteins. Get him some of those protein shakes for him to have in between meals, he's malnourished and it's going to slow his recovery."
Arthur nodded. "I will."
Gaius smiled fondly at him and squeezed the back of his neck. "You're a good man, Arthur Pendragon."
TBC...
A/N: More to come on what happened to poor Merlin.