Then there are lives where he and Arthur never meet at all. This, he surmises, is one of them.
Checking into his hotel in Chicago in 1943, Merlin waits impatiently for the lift to bring him to his floor so he can just sleep. He dumps his things at the foot of the bed and sets his alarm for the merger meeting the next morning. Then falls face-first into the duvet and sleeps.
The meeting finally ends at seven, leaving Merlin drained and exhausted.
"Morgan! Morgan!"
He jumps at the hand on his arm, one of the other people from the meeting smiling up at him. "Ah, yes. Julia?
"Yup! That's me! Hey listen, we were going to go to this bar down the street, want to come?"
He smiles as he sees right through her. "So sorry. I'm still... I'm still tired from the trip and I'm absolutely exhausted."
"Oh. Oh, okay." Her face falls a bit, but she smiles anyway. "Next time then. It's great. We can show you around the city."
"Next time."
She trots away and Merlin wonders how young she thinks he is. She's probably no older than thirty, twenty-eight or some such age. Merlin's thirty-nine. Granted, he looks young. He always looks young.
In the end, he finds himself back in his hotel room, unable to sleep. He watches some horrid American telly for a bit before squeezing himself into the window seat, staring across the city. It's not like he hasn't looked for Arthur. He's spent his life thusfar keeping an eye out for him. He's not found him. Not in England. Not in France. Not that he knows, anyway. For all he knew, Arthur could be much older than him or much younger than him. Different circles of influence. Different life-styles. He sighs and presses at his temples, cursing, once again, his decision to go into business. Tipping his head against the cool glass, he opens his eyes to the scenery before him. There was a drug store, a florist, some sort of restaurant, and a pub on the corner. The last catches his attention. The name is The King's Wizard. It makes him huff a laugh because it makes him think of Arthur. Maybe he'll get a drink tomorrow night. Memories of Arthur flood his mind and he closes his eyes, remembering all of their lives.
He ends up falling asleep there, curled up against the window. And he wakes, shivery and feeling gritty. So he cleans his teeth and strips properly to slip beneath the borrowed sheets in a part of the world where he doesn't belong.
The phone jars him awake, reminding him of another day of meetings and the harried wake-up call he requested on his way into the hotel. So he dresses and grabs a coffee on the way out to head to his meetings. They only last until 2:00 today, but Merlin thinks it's a bit too early to be slouching into the pub. Instead he gets lunch at the restaurant next door, discovering that it serves poorly-made gyros. He eats them anyway. He waits until at least after three before shuffling into the pub and ordering a pint—a beer. Whatever they call it here in America. The place is, predictably, half-empty, only wrecked and shaggy people slumped over whatever poison of their choosing.
Merlin shakes his head and almost regrets coming in. Nothing like Arthur here. He lifts his eyes to the specials board as he sinks onto a barstool.
"What'll it be?"
Merlin hums a little at the question. "What do you recommend?"
"The Golden Prince."
Merlin blinks and then laughs sharply. "Okay."
The bartender shakes his head though. "Come back for it tomorrow night. Aaron will be in and he makes it the best. For tonight, I'd recommend the Long Island."
Merlin nods. "Sure then."
"From out of town?"
He smiles wryly. "I figured that obvious."
The bloke grins back. "Sorry. Business, I take it?" He jerks his chin at Merlin's suit.
"Yeah. Yeah, business."
They chat when he's not busy, but eventually, Merlin sways back to his hotel, feeling pleasantly just a bit pissed. He asks for a wake-up call and then slumps into bed, dreaming pleasant things about Arthur.
Julia asks him again to go out for drinks and he doesn't have the heart to tell her that he prefers men. Or well. He prefers Arthur. No matter the gender. So he begs off, telling her he's a headache and pats her hand, giving her a kiss on the cheek. As if that isn't enough of a clue. She smiles anyway and waves him off. He's here for another four days.
He loosens the tie as soon as he's back in his hotel room, flinging the thing on the floor before slithering out of his clothes. He breathes a sigh, shucking all of the responsibility of the day and pulls out the jeans and shirt for casual wear that he brought. He slips his shoes back on and puts the hat on his head before heading down to the pub again. Maybe the nice bartender will give him a free drink for being a repeat customer.
He settles down at the bar and scans the room, a more respectable crowd tonight. Not nearly so many derelict drunks tonight.
"What'll it be?"
Merlin looks up to answer the bartender and then barks a laugh. "Oh. Of course it's you." He smiles widely into Arthur's age-touched face, still handsome and brilliant.
Arthur smiles. "Merlin. I'd almost given up."
"I as well." He leans over the bar. "Been a good life?"
"Mm. You know. It's a life. Significantly more empty without you, you know."
"Of course."
"Such arrogance, Merlin."
"Yes. It's Morgan, actually. This life."
"Ah. Well I'm Aaron. Pleasure's all mine though."
"Are you actually American?"
Arthur ducks his head a bit with a flush. Odd on a grown man. "I'm not. But my parents moved here when I was five. So yeah, kind of."
"I see." Merlin smiles, drinking is fill of Arthur's face. "It's been a while since I've seen you like this."
"Mm. Shall I get off? John can cover for me. Where's your place?"
"Across the street."
Arthur laughs. "You're an easy lay."
"Shh! Think of how your voice carries, Arthur. We don't need to invite trouble."
Arthur grins though and flips a towel over his shoulder, heading into the back. He returns a few minutes later with two shots in hand. "Here. The Golden Prince. On the house. Courtesy of me, of course." Arthur winks at him and tips his own back. "Now let's go back to your hotel room and have wild sex?"
Merlin can't help throwing his head back and laughing. He gathers his jacket and hat before standing. "Let's go."
Arthur vaults over the bar—impressive, for his age. Shut up, Merlin; do you want sex or not? And Merlin leads him up to his hotel room.
"Are you rich this life, Merlin?"
"Comfortably."
Arthur looks at the mess he's managed to make of the hotel room in a short period of time and shakes his head. "Just messy."
"Shut up, Arthur; do you want sex or not?" he teases, pulling the shirt over his head.
Arthur steps close, reverently, leaning his forehead against Merlin's. "You can't possibly know how much I've missed you."
"As much as I've missed you?" Merlin murmurs in return.
Arthur's laugh is breathy and quiet. "Fair enough. Is that bed worth it's salt?"
"Mm, it's withstood three nights of hard use so far, so I wager it's just fine," Merlin says seriously.
Arthur jerks back, a shocked expression on his face, quickly turning into suspicion. "Quit jerking my leg, Merlin. We both know there's no one else."
"But... If we do this, I'll never be able to face my wife when I go back home."
Arthur pushes him, hooking a heel on the back of his ankle. "Right. Besides. I'm the only one that you've ever married. Ever."
Merlin laughs and then leans forward to pull Arthur close by his shirt. "You sound so silly as an American."
"Sorry. Do you want my posh accent back?"
"God no. You'd only sound smugger."
"I'll show you smug," he grumbles good-naturedly, stripping down and then stripping Merlin. He straddles Merlin, leaning down to kiss him.
Merlin kisses him slowly, relearning his lips, mapping his body. "How old are you, Arthur?"
Arthur frowns. "Forty-six. Why?"
"I'm only thirty-nine. And you're getting a little thick, you know," Merlin teases, running his hands along Arthur's waist. "Not so fit as your younger days."
Arthur sniffs. "More to love, Merlin. More to love. And I'm in good shape for forty-six. So I'd stop complaining. Mr. Skin-and-bones."
Merlin laughs and pushes Arthur off him, pulling him close as they lay side-by-side. "I've missed you so much."
"Is that my cue to peg you?"
"What is it with all these...American phrases..." Merlin rolls his eyes, but reaches down to give Arthur's cock a long pull, beginning the touch and tease as they slowly and comfortably make love.
"Have you even left my room, Arthur?" Merlin sheds his jacket and toes his shoes off, falling over Arthur on the bed.
"Careful, Merlin, you're going to break me! And yes, I've left. I had work earlier today."
Merlin is silent a moment, thoughts spinning. He settles for beginning casually, "You know... I go back to England in a day."
Arthur is silent too.
"Do you want to come with me?"
Arthur shifts and Merlin rolls off him so they're lying side-by-side. Arthur looks at him. Arthur smiles. "I'd expect nothing less."
Merlin matches his grin. "Brilliant. Sex before or after you pack your things?"
Arthur laughs. "You go back. Meet you when I get there."
"It's a promise."
"Always."
Arthur pulls himself to his feet, years later, shuffling towards the bed. Merlin is propped up against the pillows, reading. His hair still curls about his forehead, but it's well past grey and turning silver.
"I hope we meet earlier. Next life?" Arthur slides between the sheets, turning out the lamp on his bedside table.
Merlin makes some noise of acknowledgement, scratching his nose absently.
"Don't you? Merlin?"
He doesn't bother responding, reaching over to pat Arthur's bicep. Arthur snorts. "You're not even listening to me."
"What?" Merlin looks over his reading glasses. "Sorry. You were saying?"
"You're lovely. If a bit harmful to a guy's ego."
Merlin smiles. "Go to sleep. You've a doctor's appointment in the morning."
Settling for a comfortable grumble, Arthur nestles into the sheet.
"I love you," Merlin says as Arthur begins to drift off.
"I love you too," Arthur murmurs, falling asleep with a smile.
