Chapter 7: Developments and Disguises
"What does it look like?" Merlin said to Gwaine on the phone, lounging in the open doorway of the motel room. Fresh air for a sick patient, and all, and he could use the phone without disturbing Arthur, who was again a motionless lump under the covers of the near bed.
"They went over the facility with a fine-tooth comb, Uther Flite and Dr. Morgause, both," Gwaine told him. "Wish those cameras had audio, but… I mean, they can't track you at all, but they know about you because there's nothing to track, y'know? Unless they figure Arthur managed it on his own, somehow… but we're probably not that lucky."
"No," Merlin agreed, kicking at the bottom of the doorway. There were two dilapidated cars in the lot, and every now and then someone walked past on the street, but nothing to arouse suspicion or worry.
"There were a couple of patrol cars in the parking lot for a couple of hours this afternoon, and Uther went out to talk to them, but they didn't go inside, and then left him there. Doubt they'd file missing-persons with the police, but there isn't an APB on your truck, if that makes you feel better." Gwaine's voice deepened slightly with gravity. "If they can't get ahead of you and stop you and get him back, they're going to spare no expense tracking down whoever was responsible."
"I know," Merlin said. That's why he laid out the stories of a case and a witness and trip to the farm, why he let Lee Parks make him as an observer. "Say, did we know Lee Parks had a son – or maybe a nephew? That wasn't in his file, was it? Leon Willenbrink, a locksmith." And no wonder he used his first name to reference his business.
Sound of keys clattering, and Gwaine hummed, thoughtfully negative. "Hm, no. Hilde Willenbrink, his mother, is squeaky clean, though – maybe she severed ties with her criminal ex to give her kid that clean shot, too."
"Yeah. Might be an interesting lead for the three-mil, though, the guy's only kid and he was never there for him."
Made for an interesting comparison to the grown son sleeping on the motel bed, too. Fathers and sons were always thought-provoking themes – take Balinor, or Gwaine's father… or Will's…
"Hey Merlin," Gwaine said, a little too casually. "What's he like?"
"He's… stable. I mean, a little shaky at first, which is totally understandable. But he didn't freak out last night, over the teleportation or the shock of freedom or even the damn train that went through at four-thirty this morning. He's quiet… I don't know. Guess we'll wait and see what develops."
"You two are on your way out of town?"
Merlin grimaced to himself. "Not yet. He came down with a respiratory thing, and Gwen put him on meds, but-"
"Gwen?" His friend's tone was sharp. "I thought you were going to keep your family out of this."
"I was," he said. "I am. She doesn't know who he is, really – she's not an accessory."
"I have a feeling Uther Flite decides those things for himself," Gwaine warned him. "All right. My ear's to the ground for you boys – take off to safety ASAP, and let me know when you're back. Or if you need anything. Whatever comes first."
"I owe you," Merlin told him.
He could hear Gwaine's grin as his friend rang off with, "No, you don't."
Two hours later Arthur opened his eyes and sat up to have his temperature taken. Down a point and a half, and he ate half a roll and an apple in small, tentative bites as a late dinner – and looked exhausted when he was done.
Merlin shoved him to the other side of the bed, and left the sheets open where he didn't need them, to air out. This place, they wouldn't get maid service at all unless they paid for it, and bullied the management into ordering it, and followed the girl to make sure it was done. After Arthur settled into his new position and closed his eyes, Merlin microwaved some pasta and chicken in sauce and sat down to watch the tv flicker over some cop drama.
Then Freya called.
"What did you do at the Penned Dragon?" she demanded, instead of saying hello. "Wait – don't answer that."
"What happened?" he asked.
"You know we have this running thing with the Raymond Syndicate – we attack the Penned Dragon, they defend it? One of my colleagues, the guy who's assigned to that running story, wants to write a piece speculating on why the place was closed today – and has canceled all appointments for next week. He says he doesn't buy renovations – no customer warnings or workmen or vans. So I figured…"
"They lost their lynchpin," Merlin said, and he couldn't help the satisfaction in his voice.
"Hells, Merlin," she said mournfully. "You're a criminal, now."
"Not even almost," he told her cheerfully. "It's like stealing from a thief – they didn't tell the cops or the news the truth, how could they? so we only have to stay clear of Uther's hirelings."
She grunted, and it sounded cute, over the phone. "If the guy could do that to his own son, think what's they'll do if they catch you."
"I won't be taken alive," he said flippantly.
"Merlin." She sighed. "Be careful, both of you, all right? And see if Arthur is agreeable for an exclusive, if it ever comes to that."
"None but you," Merlin assured her, amused.
"Okay, I've got to go – but you can pretend we spent another five minutes on the line flirting."
"Only five?" he said with mock dismay.
"Goodbye." He could hear the smile in her voice, too.
At 4:30 in the morning, he heard the train again. He opened his eyes to check on Arthur – who was clutching his pillow with wide eyes and clenched jaw.
He seemed to relax a bit to lock eyes with Merlin, and spoke. "Just the train."
Merlin grunted, rolling over to face him; probably it was going to take Arthur a little while to go back to sleep. "Did you ever play with trains when you were a kid?"
Arthur relaxed even more, as he thought. "I had a little one. Three cars. Engine, caboose, flat car. Magnets held them together, and there were… wooden tracks that fit together like puzzle pieces. Made a circle. Round and round."
"I don't know about round and round," Merlin said, pleased to have gotten so many words out of the other young man – pleased also that he remembered good things about his distant childhood, ended when he entered the Penned Dragon. "But I kind of love the whistle. Maybe not quite so close and in the middle of the night – it sounds kind of like a horn up close, huh? I like the way it's always moving on from somewhere else, going through my city, on to a new one. It sounds like… possibilities. Opportunities. Potential."
Arthur said thoughtfully, "Change."
Maybe conversation was easier when he wasn't just asking Arthur questions that required simple answers – or more complicated choices Arthur wasn't ready to make. When he wasn't giving advice that Arthur just obeyed.
After a moment, Arthur said, "I'm sorry."
Merlin twisted around where he could see him better. "What for?"
Arthur drew his knees up under the covers, and pulled the blanket closer under his chin, but he didn't look away. "About your friend."
"Will," Merlin said, and felt a pang of loss. Of missing the close companionship of school years, of regret that it hadn't been better, after.
"Your dad was worried about you, after it happened."
He rolled to his back to smile toward the ceiling – and tried to swallow the tears that pricked his eyes. "Sometimes life sucks," he said lightly. "But sometimes it really, really doesn't. You'll have to learn to balance the bad with the good. And never give up."
A moment of silence, before Arthur said tentatively, "Will gave up."
"Yeah," Merlin said. "I miss him. I have other friends, though, that helps make up for it – maybe you'll meet them someday."
"Like Gwen, your sister? What… does your mother look like?"
Merlin realized, because he did look quite like his father, and of course not at all like Gwen, since they weren't related by blood. "Step-sister. Her dad married my mom a few years ago."
"They didn't give up," Arthur observed quietly.
"No… The man I'm taking you to see, his name is Gaius. He's my friend, though he lives a couple hours out in the country – we used to work together, but he's retired, now."
"Gaius?" Arthur said.
Insomnia didn't seem to worry Arthur, and as long as he kept asking questions, Merlin kept answering. About Gaius – then about his job as a P.I. – then about the farm.
And he was satisfied – heartened, even – in the choice he'd made, helping Arthur escape, and their chances of ultimate success. Curiosity was probably the best thing to draw Arthur mentally and emotionally, out of those tiny white rooms; if he wanted to explore the outside world, he needed only direction and guidance. Encouragement and confidence, to make his own choices and discover his own preferences and ambition.
As it turned out, Arthur didn't require much in the way of care at all.
Merlin encouraged him into the shower in the morning – the bed left open to dry from his night-sweats – and some sausage and cheese with crackers, then a nap. Then Arthur opened his eyes to watch early afternoon reality-tv for a while – Merlin glancing at him every so often and wondering how much he was taking in, but thought it would be rude and condescending to ask – and another nap. He was agreeable, willing and obedient when Merlin took his temperature, gave him meds and water and various offerings of food, and lay pretty much still, else. He even coughed quietly.
And as Merlin was standing in the doorway to get some more fresh air in the room, as the sun went down, Gwaine called again.
"Are you and Arthur still in town?"
"Yeah," Merlin answered, "he's starting to feel a bit better, but-"
"It'll be on the news, probably," Gwaine said abruptly, not waiting for an update of Arthur's physical condition. "But they've got roadblocks around the city, now. As far as I can tell, it's for that convenience-store robbery – the suspect, and now they're saying he had an accomplice, but…"
"Gives you a funny feeling?" Merlin said, glancing about the parking lot. Roadblocks sounded like something Uther could persuade the police commissioner to sign off on. At least for a while…
"Are you two still clean?" Gwaine said. "Not collecting watchers? Even if they use the cops to find you, they won't tell them the truth. They'll snatch you up so fast…"
"Maybe the roadblock situation is meant to make whoever helped Arthur panic," Merlin suggested, "and they catch us when we bolt."
"Or maybe it's to make you think, they think you're leaving town, so you're safe staying put," Gwaine countered, "when really they're sneaking up behind you to catch you."
A shiver rippled through Merlin, and he didn't like it. He said lightly, "Paranoid much?"
"All the time. It's why I'm still living in my own damn basement, and not languishing away behind bars."
"Did you just say languishing?" Merlin laughed.
"Shut up." Gwaine ended the call without offense.
Merlin didn't stop thinking about what Gwaine had said, though, and he already had the same funny feeling about the road-blocks.
They couldn't have given Arthur's name to the police, could they? Not at roadblock-manning levels, not if the news hadn't publicized the fact of Uther's son. Possibly a few men at the top of the power pyramid, trusted enough to be allies, to be told a version of the truth – my son, the reclusive scientist, integral to the efficacy of the equipment used in the facility, abducted… No, not abducted, that required official paperwork. Mysterious disappearance, then…
Though they might not even do that. Merlin thought of the questions he would ask in investigating someone's disappearance – and they weren't questions Uther could answer honestly. More likely he knew which men in power would be the sort of ally to do an illicit favor knowingly. Find this guy, no questions asked.
He found another number in his contacts list, and called it. Seriously hoping he was not overstepping bounds of friendship. "Lancelot? Hey, have you got a minute?"
Sounds of music and boisterous voices in the background. "I'm off duty. Having a drink with the guys – hang on while I get somewhere quieter." Merlin listened to the little sounds of him walking, the fading noise of the bar. "What's up?"
"What can you tell me about these road-blocks?" Merlin asked, congratulating himself on the diplomatic phrasing. "Who are they trying to catch?"
"You haven't been watching the news?" Lancelot said, unworried. "The single mom that was shot in the convenience-store robbery died in ICU. They arrested the man responsible, but now they're saying he had an accomplice – the mastermind responsible for a string of armed robberies. Evidently the shooter in custody claimed that this partner was assembling bombs with the intent to sell and export them to other cities. And so on and so on. With the shooter on the inside and spilling his guts, they think the partner will try to skip town… hence the net."
"Do they have a name on the guy?" Merlin asked, his heart turning to lead and beginning to sink.
"No, just an alias… Merlin, keep your distance from this one. It feels dangerous – not only the guy, but how it's being handled. From the top down, and no explanations."
Merlin shivered again. The sun was down, the air was chill. And, he told himself, the injured woman's passing was not due to any further foul play.
"So at the road-blocks," he said, "how will you know it's him?"
"There's a sketch, and a physical description," Lancelot said. "I guess he's real anti-social, awkward with interaction. We'll catch him."
"How long will they keep the blocks up?" Merlin asked. Maybe it would be possible to wait it out. "I can't imagine people are happy with the back-ups in traffic."
"Guess they'd rather be late than blown up. It feels like they're not going to let up til the guy is caught… Seriously, watch the news. The sketch is going to be everywhere – and if people know, the sooner he's caught, the sooner their lives go back to normal…"
"Yeah," Merlin agreed, his mouth dry. "Everyone's a deputy. Well, I guess it'll just take me a little longer to get out to the farm for my vacation."
"Ah," Lancelot said knowingly. "Eyes on Lee Parks?"
"Even when I'm sleeping," Merlin returned lightly, and the call ended on Lancelot's chuckle.
Damn. Double damn.
They couldn't just stay. He couldn't afford it, not without going back to work full-and-a-half time. Which meant leaving Arthur alone – and provoking curiosity in the management and neighborhood. If they left, he could only take Arthur home, or to Gwaine's – which endangered their families. He doubted the Sun-Star would sponsor and protect Arthur, even if he could trust the conglomerate half as much as he trusted Freya. He could see Uther making it more lucrative to turn Arthur back over to them than splashing it through every headline…
Disguises. But even that meant leaving Arthur to go out shopping, and buying things like hair dye and reading glasses might prick some interest. He'd have to, he supposed.
Shifting his weight, he turned to lean into the room to tell Arthur his plans – warn him not to let anyone in, or see him – but a figure rounding the corner from the front of the motel caught his eye, and he paused.
A female dressed in scrubs, stalking like she was in a hurry or mad, or both – it was Gwen, and she hadn't taken the time to change after her shift. She gripped the shoulder-strap of her bag like it was trying to escape, and glared at him.
He stepped back to let her pass him in entering the room, but she only glanced inside at Arthur on the bed, and stayed on the sidewalk.
"It's him, isn't it," she said, quiet and calm in her fury.
"What?" Merlin said, wanting clarity before admission.
"I was just leaving my shift," Gwen told him. "News on the tv monitors. Police sketch of a guy involved in a robbery-homicide and suspected of domestic terrorism. It's him. AJ, or whatever. Tell me you didn't know, that you're not –" her voice dropped to a self-conscious hiss – "aiding and abetting a violent criminal!"
"I'm not," Merlin said honestly. "And he's neither violent, nor a criminal. I mean, look at him."
Arthur was napping again, sleeping on his back with his limbs sprawled in the light from the bathroom at the back of the unit. Snoring lightly. Thin from years of regulated diet and with his hair shorn to a bristle on his head, he looked like a high-schooler.
"Listen to me," Merlin told Gwen, dodging a bit to catch her eyes back to his. "Some very crooked, very rich and powerful people had him. Used him – no, not sexually. If he wants you to know specifics, we'll tell you. Otherwise just know, they want him back. Badly enough to pay off whoever can help orchestrate this man-hunt."
Gwen held his gaze for several more minutes. He knew she trusted him; she was probably trying to decide if he could have been deceived, somehow.
Then she sighed and shook her head. "Someday this quiet-heroism thing is going to get you into serious trouble."
"Hopefully not today." He gave her a grin.
She wasn't amused. After all, though, the sun was already down, more of the day past than yet to come. "All right – how can I help?"
"No," Merlin said. "I don't want you involved."
"I already am," she said, calmly insistent and so big-sisterly he found it nearly impossible to reject. "You can't stay, but if you leave, you have to make sure he isn't caught."
"Yeah," he agreed, glad she'd missed out on the what-happens-to-you question. "I thought about disguises… but if I leave to get anything, he's alone, and more vulnerable that way." He discarded the idea of asking Gwen to stay while he went out – because if the cops did show up somehow, she'd be looking at jail-time if she was lucky, and Arthur would go back to his father, Merlin was sure of it.
"Is he feeling better?" Gwen asked, looking through the doorway at Arthur again.
"I think so. He sleeps a lot and doesn't have tons of energy otherwise, but he's coughing less, so the medicine seems to be working. He loves those honey-lemon cough drops. They're almost gone."
She smiled. "They're the best."
Merlin made a noise of disagreement. "Cherry Ludens are my favorite. My mom used to carry them with her all the time. Gave me one whenever I asked."
Gwen made a face. "Those things are little more than candy."
"I know." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "All right, give me half an hour, I'll be back with something to help you get through the road-block."
"I'll pay you back," he promised as she turned to leave again.
"Uh huh. I'll put it on your tab."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Arthur understood he was sick, though he didn't feel any worse than just tired. But safe, and that made a difference. It felt good to have someone take care of him who actually cared, who didn't breathe a sigh of relief and hurry out of the room when their shift was up.
But was it normal to sleep all day and be wakeful in the night?
Arthur shifted from his back to his side, careful and quiet under the sheets – which were dry, though nowhere near crisp or clean – trying to put the bathroom light behind him.
And blinked at the sight of Merlin, still fully clothed, sprawled in the room's armchair. Head tipped back to rest it – that looked uncomfortable – and mouth dropped open.
Was he worse, to keep Merlin sitting up at his bedside? He didn't feel worse.
Arthur got his elbow under him, and leaned forward. "Merlin. Merlin!"
The other came awake with a jump, and a bleary look around, before he focused on Arthur's face. "Hey, you're awake. You feel all right? Hungry? Need medicine?"
Arthur disliked those kinds of questions. He didn't know the answers; he'd rather be told it was time to eat and here's your food, or take this medicine now.
"Why are you in the chair?" he said, once again focusing on curiosity.
" 'Cause Gwen's in the bed." Merlin tossed his hand in a gesture that made Arthur dizzy to follow, turning in his bed to look at the other one.
There was someone there, black curls spread on the pillow, body curled much smaller under the cover than Merlin ever slept. He turned more slowly back to Merlin in the chair, hitching himself higher to lean against his own pillows against the scratched, stained headboard. "Why is she here?"
Merlin snorted, rubbing his eyes. "You wouldn't ask that if you had a sister. Gwaine could tell you the same. They do just what they like, without listening to us."
There was a lurch of feeling under his heart that wasn't quite curiosity – but easy enough to flip over to the one emotion Arthur allowed himself.
"She decided to be part of our disguise," Merlin continued, speaking softly as he straightened to look across Arthur at the sleeping sister in the other bed, then relaxing back in the chair. "She brought us stuff to make us look different," he explained. "When we leave here tomorrow."
Arthur nodded, understanding enough, at least. Leaving tomorrow! almost made him excited – fearful - but he squashed that down and ignored it.
"But she also brought clothes and stuff for herself. Said she already called the hospital – where she works – to take all her sick and vacation days at once, starting tomorrow."
"So she's going with us?" Arthur recognized a little pleased warmth in the same area as his reaction to Gwaine's name, and allowed it awhile; it was pleasant.
Merlin didn't feel the same; he grimaced in a way that made Arthur curious about his emotions, and the balance of good and bad that he'd told Arthur about.
Arthur added, guessing, "You don't want her to go?"
"Not with us. I want her to go home." Merlin pushed his rear back in the seat and leaned over his knees, clasping and studying his fingers. "Your dad and his men, they want you back. They're going to want that a long time, and your dad – he's rich enough to pay a lot of people to help him."
Merlin glanced up at him under the fall of black hair over his brow. Arthur only nodded; yes, he knew all that.
"For you, that would mean returning to the Penned Dragon. Those little rooms, the chair – the veil and spirits. But if they catch me…"
Arthur remembered Balinor telling him, how special Merlin was. And the teleportation. "What would they do with you?" he asked.
"What it would be, it wouldn't be good," Merlin said softly. "If Uther can do this to his own son."
"But Gwen," Arthur said. "She can't do anything, can she? So they wouldn't do anything to her, would they?"
"If they catch her with us, they'll have to make sure she won't tell anyone – that she can't tell anyone."
Arthur didn't argue anymore. He had the vague idea that the staff of the Penned Dragon were paid not to tell, not to listen to him or help him. But they weren't like Gwen; paying her wouldn't work – and he didn't like to think beyond that.
"You could just leave me," he suggested. He had no idea what would come next for him, in that case – he'd never actually thought beyond getting outside the Penned Dragon's walls – but that seemed a solution for Merlin and Gwen. They'd helped enough, they didn't owe him.
But Merlin was shaking his head. "I won't do that. She won't do that."
His curiosity was very warm, in his chest. "Why not?"
"Because it's not what friends do." Merlin slid down in the chair. "Better try to go back to sleep – tomorrow's going to be… interesting."
Arthur scooted down – but also over. "There's room here for you," he said. "Two pillows means one for each of us."
"Really?" Merlin eyed him for a moment before pushing out of his chair with a soft groan. "Give mine over, then. I'm so tired I'm not even going to care about being prudish."
That wasn't a word Arthur recalled, immediately. Merlin flopped on the bed, causing Arthur to bounce, and snatched a pillow to scrunch up under his head. Arthur laid back down more carefully…
The next thing he knew, the 4:30 train was passing. He inched his hand out to find Merlin's shoulder; Merlin grunted and turned his head and kept sleeping.
And so did Arthur, though it seemed only moments til the bathroom light woke him, flaring through a wide-open door past Gwen's feminine shape.
"Morning, boys. Time to get ready to go, if we want to pass the road-blocks while it's still dark."
Arthur's head felt clearer this morning than it had in a long time, and he actually tasted the last slightly-stale cinnamon roll. The half-apple he chased it with was better; he glanced up as Merlin passed between him and the cop show on the tv, stuffing a crumbly stack of cheese and crackers in his mouth. He said, drawing the word out inexplicably, "Geez."
"What do you think of me, then?" Gwen asked.
Merlin snorted and closed the bathroom door behind him, so Arthur knew she wasn't talking to her brother, and paid attention.
She wore a purple dress of some material that wouldn't stop moving, flaring around her thighs. Buttons all down the front, and she'd missed a few at the very low collar, and at the hem. He swallowed dryly, trying to look at the rest of her – battered boots on her feet, curly hair combed into a wild cloud around her face – but couldn't seem to. Legs, and… chest.
"I'll take the silence and that look as approval," she said lightly, sounding amused.
"Maybe you shouldn't come," he managed, trying to focus his thoughts elsewhere. Not to be rude.
"You talked to Merlin," she said, tossing her head and rolling her eyes as she searched through one of their other shopping bags.
"Yeah. He's worried. If we're caught…"
The bathroom door opened and Merlin came out. He was wearing a dark gray long-sleeved shirt, skin-tight and with sleeves that came down over his thumbs. His jeans looked smudged, with paint or something, held up by a belt studded with mean-looking silver bolts, over his own boots, messily unlaced. His hair was spiked off his head, with what didn't look like water, exactly; along with the sharp-looking earring hung from the side of his ear, it gave him an almost dangerous look.
Arthur felt his jaw drop.
Gwen grinned approvingly, though. And told Merlin in the no-nonsense tone Arthur was used to hearing from nurses, "I told you last night. If you're caught, they're going to investigate your family anyway, and I'm already in trouble. Makes no difference if I'm with you or not – and if I'm with you, I can help you not to get caught."
It made sense to Arthur. Merlin still didn't seem happy, though. Maybe that earring hurt.
"Your turn," he said to Arthur, gesturing to the open bathroom door. Gwen offered him the shopping bag by the handles. "If you need help – or an explanation…"
"Do I have to wear one of those?" Arthur blurted, turning to Gwen and touching his own ear.
"No," she said, though her face lit up with enthusiasm. "For you I was thinking…"
"Clothes first," Merlin interrupted. "And don't bully him into something he doesn't want, Gwen."
She rolled her eyes, which Arthur was starting to realize, meant she didn't agree, but would relent. He took the bag from her and went into the bathroom.
Black jeans, dotted with ragged holes down the front. Black tennis shoes with holes also. A white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and a skull stenciled on the front in leering detail. There was also an orange-yellow spray can in the bottom of the sack; he stood, shirt forgotten in his other hand while he read the label. And then again, still confused.
A knock sounded on the door – and it cracked open without him having to say anything.
"Can I come in?" Gwen said. "You've got your pants on. Good. This is more fun than Halloween." She slipped through the door, closing it behind her, and he felt hot and cold at the same time to be with her in the tiny space. "I painted Merlin's nails and made him let me do black eyeliner – he said to tell you so you would know you weren't the only one being made to look ridiculous."
"Ridiculous?" Arthur said, looking at her slinky purple dress again.
"His word, not mine. I've worked the night shift in the ER often enough to know, we won't stand out." She shrugged, and took the can from him. "Here, let me. Spray tan, since you're so pale from being stuck in that place. But first, how do you feel about shaving your head?"
Arthur reached up to touch the bristle of his hair. Though she was clearly enjoying herself – she met his eyes. She wasn't making fun of; she was having fun with.
"Okay," he said.
She used Merlin's electric razor – which he complained about, grinning at Arthur so he'd know he wasn't really upset. Kind of like how Gwen rolled her eyes.
Then she sprayed the contents of the can over him in a fine mist.
"Just do upwards of his collar, and his arms," Merlin suggested. Their bags were already packed, except for the items Gwen was still using on Arthur, waiting at his feet as he leaned on the doorway. The black lines around his eyelashes looked odd – but definitely different.
"No, it lasts for a couple of weeks," Gwen disagreed. "Complete coverage… I'd like to do his legs, too, but…"
"Farmer's tan," Merlin said.
"Ridiculous," Arthur added – and felt a burst of warm emotion that was not curiosity, when Gwen snickered and Merlin laughed outright.
He'd made a joke. He had friends.
She got out her makeup bag to brush stuff into his eyebrows to make them dark, as if he had black hair like Merlin's, only it wasn't showing on the rest of his head. Then she got out a black ink pen and made him tilt his head so she could draw on his scalp.
"Like a tattoo," she explained.
"Would it be a bit too much to do a dragon?" Merlin murmured, leaning close to watch.
It felt very odd, somewhere between a tickle and a scratch, that sharpish tip moving over his skin. He held very still, so he wouldn't be tempted to scratch, or shiver.
"This is going to be a rattlesnake," Gwen responded, intent on her work. "You know, like, Don't tread on me."
"Oh, that's good," Merlin approved.
Arthur didn't recognize himself in the mirror. Curious, rather than startled or dismayed. He tried a scowl, and almost jumped at the effect of the dark brows. Merlin was watching him as Gwen packed the rest of their bits and pieces, so he tested how folding his arms over his chest enhanced the scowl, turning to see the snake's forked tongue and open fangs over his left ear.
"You're not afraid, are you," Merlin said.
Arthur didn't want to answer. "Are you?"
"My hands will shake later," he said, his lips quirking. "Whatever I have to do, I'll get us through. High-speed car chase down the interstate."
"Merlin!" Gwen said, like a warning.
"Just remember, they're looking for someone acting awkward and shy and guilty," Merlin told him. "We can be obnoxious and juvenile – and overlooked."
He handed Arthur something, and bent for the bags. With the bathroom light off, Arthur had to follow him to the open door of the room and the parking lot lights – necessary, as dawn didn't look even close - to see it. At the top of the small stiff card, red-block letters in all capitals. Driver's license.
The picture wasn't him. The face was wider, the smile approaching stupid, hair covering ears and eyebrows, both. James A. Meyner, and an address.
"My middle name is James," he said, joining Merlin at the truck, as the other slung their bags – duffel stuffed full and another plastic bag of laundry – into the back.
"I know," Merlin said, flashing a smile as he opened the truck door. "So, James – how do you feel about driving?"
