Part II - Chapter 3

Something wasn't right.

It was that realisation more than anything that shook Merlin from his sleepy stupor. He couldn't pinpoint in the grogginess of his mind what was wrong exactly, only that he could feel it in every inch of his body. As always, it was the smell that registered first; for want of a better description, it smelled warm. The airborne scents that tickled his nose were devoid of the sickly sterility, the chemical tang that he had become all too familiar with, so familiar that it was normal. And yet neither was it the similarly familiar thickness, the grittiness and heady, overwhelming assault of muck and filth that pervaded the slums.

Clean. It was truly clean, in a way that Merlin could not remember experiencing in the entirety of his most recent life. Not ever.

With a struggle, he pried open eyes that felt glued shut and weighted with stones. Several blinks and Merlin discerned that it was not simply his sleepy eyes that made it difficult to see but the room itself; contrasting to the fluorescent illumination he'd expected it was… dark. But not dark dark, not the absolute blackness of the nights he experienced in his cell. He could make out faint shapes around him, some shadows slightly darker than others, a distant wall of pale colouration, a post of the bed –

A bed. Merlin blinked once more, squinting from where he lay on his side in the darkness. Yes, it… it was definitely a bed. He was in a bed. In a bed, he registered, as awareness flooded past two-dimensional vision and slowly extended throughout his body. His head rested upon a pillow, a soft pillow, and he was cradled by a mattress of equal softness, impossible softness, more than he could ever recall experiencing in all of his twenty-six years. And that was to say nothing of the blankets, smooth and warm that tucked gently against his skin –

Merlin's thoughts, his sensory extension, puttered to a halt as the realisation hit him. The blankets, their silken smoothness, rested against his skin and… and it didn't hurt. It didn't… they didn't…

The idea was so foreign that it didn't fully register to Merlin. And yet at the same time, with tentative stretching and an overall sense of awe, he mentally reached through his body, prodding at muscles and limbs, feeling along his not-hurting skin and…

Nothing. Nothing hurt. He couldn't, for the first time in years, detect even the faintest trace of pain.

That was wrong. Or right. Right in such a vastly hitherto unprecedented way that Merlin couldn't quite comprehend it. How?

That was when the memories came rushing forth. The distant echo of a remembered siren, of the hallways starkly illuminated with a foreign clash of red and blue, of the three masked figures who'd appeared in Merlin's cell, the one's who'd… they'd…

Did they… take me somewhere? Merlin blinked his rapidly clearing eyes, turning a frown towards a pale ceiling that was at least twice as high as that of his cell. Where?

Slowly, tentatively, fearing the rebirth of familiar aches and pains, the constant assault upon sensitised nerves, Merlin propped himself onto his elbows. They sunk deeply into the mattress, making his progress all the harder. Not that it wasn't hard already; his arms barely felt able to hold him, as though his muscles were made of water. How long had it been since he'd even used his arms? Since he'd used his hands?

The thought caused him to tug one hand from beneath the thick quilt of blankets. With squinting eyes, Merlin could just make out the familiar lengths of his own fingers in the darkness. Curling his forefinger, then his thumb, then the rest of them, he drew a shaking breath. And stared.

Merlin didn't know how long he stared at his hands, barely visible in the darkness. How long had it been since he'd had the liberty to sit silently and simply wrap his fingers into fists, to press his hands together without the constant sparking of pain that set his teeth on edge? Most of the time, hidden as they were by the mittens sewn into the end of his sleeves, Merlin hadn't even been able to see his hands. Now…

He felt an upwelling of emotion rise in the back of his throat, clogging it in something that wasn't quite painful but wasn't far off. It warred with an almost overwhelming sense of relief. Of profound relief. Merlin was alone, it was silent, without even the familiar, constant buzz of overhead lighting, and it was dark but not too dark. Not the horrible black-dark, unbroken even by the pinpricks of stars that none in the past century had seen a hint of. His fingers were free and… and he didn't hurt. It was truly… this must be what peace felt like, to be rested upon an impossibly soft bed with soft sheets and free of demands. This was…

Was he dead?

The thought hung with Merlin for all of perhaps a minute or two before his newfound peace was interrupted. Not jarringly, as the orderlies had interrupted the quiet of his cell, but barely noticeably. Had the quiet not been so profound, Merlin likely wouldn't have even noticed the distinctive whoosh of a door sliding open on mechanical rungs, the faint scuff of footsteps on the floor. He turned his head unconsciously towards the source of the sound.

"Good morning, Merlin. How do you feel?"

The voice was unfamiliar in more ways that one. Firstly, Merlin was certain he'd never heard it before. He usually had a good memory for voices, for faces, so could be certain in his deduction. And secondly, the voice was soft. Gentle. Almost kindly, if such a sentiment could be attached to barely half a dozen words.

Before he could answer – if he'd even been capable of doing so – a faint light grew from an ambient source. Merlin felt himself twitch at the familiar shade of red, so deep it was almost indiscernible from the shadows of the room at first but brightened slowly, gradually, with enough hesitancy that abuse of the eyes was minimal at most. It was too familiar to the Pits, to his cell and the even slower climb into artificial brightness that he'd experienced every day for years on end.

It was only the distraction of the other figure in the room that drew Merlin from his descent into withdrawal, into a familiar melancholy that the novelty of his surroundings had briefly shaken. And it was the novelty of that figure, gradually illuminated by the red-to-orange-to-yellow-to-white light that sparked his curiosity.

She was a small woman, short and homely in her sturdy frame, and perhaps in her late thirties. A short crop of black hair capped her head, only a shade or too darker than her skin, and only seemed to brighten the pale brown of her eyes. Smiling eyes, Merlin saw, to accompany her gentle smiling lips, their curl soft and comforting rather than mirthful. She was outfitted in garments of long, loose sleeves that covered her hands and long, loose trousers that looked like skirts. The bodice of her modest shirt fit her frame perfectly, free of ties or buttons and merging seamlessly into her trousers. The umber colouration only accentuated the colour of her eyes, which, even half a room away, seemed to glow with an inner radiance.

"Still a little sleep-muddled?" She asked. The tilt of her head suggested the patience of a long-practiced waiter and it was then that Merlin realised he hadn't answered.

His throat was tight, dry in a way he had come to accept as usual yet not so dry as to be parched. He swallowed and attempted a reply. "I… I'm…" The sounds were feeble, barely a croak. Clearing his throat and attempting once more made no difference.

The woman's smile widened, but it was free of malice or sadism, or even the medical curiosity of the Doctors. Sympathy was the only impression that Merlin was given. "Here, I'll get you a glass of water," she said, and in a bustle made her way across the room. Merlin's attention was shaken from her foreign presence to the room at large, taking in the previously shadowed details.

It was a large room, at least four times the size of his cell. The walls were indeed pale, of a soft, cool green that Merlin didn't think he'd ever seen before. Not in this life, anyway. It was absented of windows, but then that was hardly unexpected; for privacy's sake, and to avoid the dangers of the glaring summer sun's radiation, most residences and establishments that could afford an effective filtering and air-current system lacked them. The slums, as it happened, was largely devoid of windowless walls in general. The Pits, however, had not been.

The room itself was largely bare but for the bed he was reclined upon, heaped in thick blankets and pillows of a pale white and of a sturdy posted frame of some dark faux-wood. A sparse clutter of desk, chairs and cabinets dotted the rest of the room. The woman made her way across towards the cabinets – towards a tap, it appeared, from the cabinet she opened and the sound of rushing water that ensued from her half-hidden motions – before returning across the room to Merlin's side with a mug. Her footsteps were barely audible upon the polished of the floors.

Merlin could only stare at the mug when she held it out to him. He knew it was meant for him – obviously – but it had been long, so long, since he'd even taken a sip of water. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd done so. Pushing himself up further from his elbows and shaking his head at the woman in dissent at her proffered assistance, Merlin levered himself up into a semblance of sitting and rested against the plump pillows behind him. With tentative hands, he accepted the cup in fingers trembling. The glossy crockery seemed heavier than it should have in his grasp, as though weighted. Surely it wasn't that heavy?

But the thought was banished when Merlin raised the mug to his lips. Drinking was… it was a forgotten gift, a liberty that so many took for granted. Not even the water itself but the very act of drinking. Merlin vowed that he would never overlook the offering of autonomy, the cool swirl of liquid on his tongue or the trickle of that liquid as it drew down his throat. For a moment, it was almost as though he'd forgotten how to swallow. The thought was both mortifying and baffling. How did anyone forget how to swallow?

When he finished, he couldn't drop the mug from his lips. His fingers wouldn't move, arms wouldn't drop, and it wasn't for want of more to drink. His own foolishness made Merlin shake his head, and yet his body refused to return that simple cup for the symbol it provided. Freedom in a cup? Perhaps. In a way.

The woman didn't seem terribly fazed by his disinclination to return her mug. With a tilt of her head, another soft smile, she folded her hands before her. "Better?"

Merlin nodded. Then, because he felt the sudden need to, he attempted to speak once more. "Better." His voice was still a croak, barely louder than a whisper. He pursed his lips, frowning. What was –?

"Don't be troubled by it," the woman said, raising a placating hand in the air as though to physically soothe him. As though she'd heard Merlin's thoughts. "You've been resting for a long time. It would be no surprise if you took a little while to recover."

Slowly, with more deliberate intent than it should have taken, Merlin lowered the mug to rest in his lap. His eyes trained on his fingers once more; he'd always had long, slender fingers, but in the brief moment he'd glimpsed them in the Pits, especially in the later years of his imprisonment, they'd looked near skeletal. Was it his imagination that they seemed less so? He glanced sidelong at the woman. "How long…" he swallowed, an attempt to rid his voice of its croak that he knew was useless. "How long have I been…?"

The woman tilted her head like a bird in that way that she seemed prone to doing. "Perhaps if I explain a little?" At Merlin's hesitant nod, she continued, her tone becoming professionally clinical. "Since the members of our faction relieved you from the… care of the Facility, you have been instead within our care. For about three months, it nears. You have been in an induced coma for this period due to your critical state, and we have been monitoring your progress to ensure your health and wellbeing is both restored and maintained in this time."

Merlin blinked at the woman blankly. The overload of information hit him like a tsunami. A faction? Someone had… had extricated himself from the Facility's 'care'? And three months? "What?"

"I'm sure it's a lot to take in," the woman soothed. "But rest assured, you are in good hands. My name is Alice and I've been helping Gaius to take care of you."

In an instant, Merlin's whole attention shifted and trained upon the single, uttered word. "Gaius? Gaius is… is looking after me?"

The woman – Alice – nodded, offering another smile. "He and I have been doing our utmost to ensure your health is restored. You underwent significant physiological damage while in the hands of the Facility and it has been a battle to repair that damage." Her voice hardened, eyes flattening chillingly. For a moment Merlin was disconcerted by the abrupt shift in demeanour, but an instant later she defrosted and offered another small smile. "You were in a bad way, Merlin."

Nodding slowly, Merlin turned unseeing eyes towards his hands. Gaius? Gaius was here? Had been caring for him? The thought was ground breaking. Merlin had met Gaius only twice before outside of his life in Albion, and both of those times had been brief and before he had been aware of who the man was; once when his family had briefly joined a caravan passing through Wales and another time when Merlin had been a scholars apprentice under his Laird Dubhach in northern Scotland. Only the latter of the two instances could Merlin recall as being particularly exceptional, for the second instance Gaius had – Merlin realised through the spectacles of hindsight – known who Merlin was. It had been saddening when, two years after the bookish guest had left his laird's halls, Merlin had recalled who he was and realised the opportunity he had missed.

Still, it was better than the first time. Mutual members of a gypsy caravan, they'd broken bread as travel partners for nearly two years with neither the wiser as to the friendship they'd once shared.

That Gaius had found Merlin in this life – more than that, that he had essentially healed him of injuries Merlin had largely accepted would be with him until he died – was… was astounding. Flooring, in a way that Merlin hadn't experienced in many a lifetime. And that he'd been successful, at least for the most part, was even more astounding. For Merlin slowly realised, his fingertips brushing painlessly across the pads of his hands, his toes curling onto the sheets, that he was healed. As much as he could tell, anyway. The constant ache in his muscles had dissipated, leaving only a phantom echo of what he expected should be there. The ever-present and painful pounding in his temples had all but disappeared, and the tightness in his chest that accompanied each breath was… it was gone. Even the muffled blurriness of his hearing that he'd experienced for the past year was cleared like water drained from his ear canal.

He was fixed. His body, his broken body that had all but resigned itself to its fate, was healed. True, it had taken three months – three months?! – but healed? That was a gift that Merlin had never expected. Had never even hoped for.

"I…" Merlin turned his attention back towards Alice. She was regarding him with a mild intensity that somehow managed to avoid making him uneasy. "Thank you for helping me. For caring me. For…" He raised a hand awkwardly to the back of his head and nearly started at the thick coat of hair that met his touch. That was new. "For fixing me."

Alice's smile became entirely genuine in that moment, devoid of even a hint of her professional air. "You're most welcome. And now that you've woken yourself up, your mend can take a turn for the better. Or at least for the faster. I've taken to stimulating your muscles with an SMO so that you won't collapse at the slightest attempt to stand or," she gestured towards the mug in Merlin's lap, "pick something up, but there's only so much I can do with an unresponsive patient." Her casual tone, that ever-present smile, took any sting out of her words.

Merlin nodded in a fervent jerk of his head. He wasn't familiar with the acronym Alice used, or particularly o-fey with medical terms in general, but he appreciated what she said from what he did understand. He didn't fancy wavering around like a newborn colt as soon as he attempted to stand. And attempt he would very much like to. Suddenly, the prospect of walking – of actually walking – became a possibility and Merlin was desperate to try. When was the last time he'd actually walked? "Just tell me what I should do."

Alice nodded her head sharply and clapped her hands together suddenly enough that Merlin startled. If she noticed, she pretended she didn't. "Wonderful. I love a compliant patient. First and foremost, however, I must implore you not to move too quickly."

"In terms of…?"

"Everything," Alice clarified. "At least for this first week, you'll pretty much have to have accompaniment every second. Even more closely if you're out of your bed."

Merlin frowned. That didn't sound particularly pleasant but then… "But I will be able to get out of bed?"

"Oh, yes, most certainly. I don't think lazing around like a layabout has ever done any recovering patient any good. Besides the ones with the broken limbs, you understand," Alice said. She spoke quickly, not loudly but rapidly enough that Merlin fathomed should he have any inclination to interrupt her he may find it difficult. "Just be sure to ask if you want to try anything, or feel you can push yourself a little further."

Nodding, Merlin shifted slightly to draw himself further up in his seat. "Alright. Where do I start, then?"

Alice beamed. Another one of those genuine smiles, though this one seemed enriched with maternal approval. "Eager patients are my favourite after the compliant ones. You're ticking all the boxes, Merlin."

"I'm not sure if Gaius would ever refer to me as 'compliant'," Merlin muttered, pursing his lips.

Alice laughed, and it was like music to Merlin's ears. When was the last time he'd heard someone laugh? "Yes, that is true. Well, then, we'll have to prove him wrong, won't we?"

Merlin nodded hesitantly, as much because there was a faint competitive resonance in Alice's tone that he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to become involved in as because he didn't want to sign himself up for anything drastic. "Where do I start, then? What do I do?"

"Do? You do as little as possible unless Gaius or I tell you to," Alice said. "Just because I'm keen to get you on your feet doesn't mean I've an inclination to hasten you along so fast that we undo all of our hard work. First thing's first, though, how about we get rid of this tube for you, hm?"

For a moment Merlin wasn't sure what she spoke of. His mind drew down to his arms, to the cannula's that had punctured his elbows since the first days of his 'treatment' in the Pits. A tentative touch with one hand confirmed that, much to his unease, they still remained embedded in his arms.

Alice must have noticed the motion. "No, not those. Not yet." She adopted an apologetic expression that seemed entirely sincere. "I'm sorry, Merlin, but we thought it best to simply leave them largely untouched for the moment and change them only when we needed to. Just so we can keep an eye on what you're blood's are doing, you understand, if for some ungodly reason we should need to assess as much in an invasive fashion." She shook her head, rolling her eyes as though ridiculing the sentiment. "Honestly, how old fashioned are those Facility-Doctors that they take their tests that way?"

At her words, Merlin felt himself ease. It was true, he had wondered at their means; there were machines that could measure blood composition without extraction these days, though some few still um-ed and ah-ed about their accuracy. He'd never understood why there was such a need to pump vials of blood from his veins every week. That Alice evidently felt the same was comforting.

Alice continued with a gesture towards his face. "I meant the nasogastric tube, actually. Also terribly archaic, but it does do its job, I'm afraid."

With a compulsive start, Merlin reached up towards his nose. Yes, the tube was still there. Still protruding from his nose like a tubular growth that had remained a constant and unwanted companion for years. He'd long since shaken his discontent over its presence, but abruptly, in a context so different to the Pits, he wanted it gone. "Can you- can you take it out? P-please?" His voice warbled slightly, embarrassingly, but he hardly noticed.

Alice nodded. "Of course. Hardly a need for it when you can feed yourself now, is there?" And leaning forwards she reached for Merlin's face.

She evidently did not expect the response that her touch elicited, however. Not even Merlin could have predicted that. It was likely the suddenness of her approach coupled with his abrupt ability to act, to move his body with a degree of autonomy, that had him flinching so violently from the woman that he lurched bodily from the bed. In a crash that jarred his body like a struck bell, Merlin tumbled to the floor.

"Oh! Oh goodness, are you alright?" In a scurry, Alice skirted the bed and dropped to her knees beside Merlin. She didn't touch him, thankfully, for as he drew heavy, shaking breaths, blinking rapidly to rid his vision of the dancing sparks that clouded his downward facing eyes, he realised that was what it was that had urged his body into flight mode. Realised that it wouldn't have been a good idea had she tried to.

He breathed heavily. Panic blurred on the edges of his attention. Actual fear. Every instance he'd experienced even the barest touch over the past years, that touch was accompanied by a volt of pain from hypersensitive nerve endings. At every instance, Merlin had flinched, attempted to withdraw from the procedural lifting and manoeuvring of orderlies, the prodding of Doctors and even the brush of his own limbs against one another. But that had been the extent of his capabilities. Now, however, even with admittedly minimal strength back in his body that was greater than Merlin had experienced since he'd been on the streets, flight was once more an option presented to him. And quite without his conscious consent, his body charged along that route with the slightest provocation.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Merlin propped himself up gingerly to kneeling. His arms trembled with the effort of holding himself upright. With a wince, he turned an apologetic gaze upon Alice, who peered at him worriedly from her crouch with hands raised as though to steady him. Blessedly, she didn't try. "Sorry," Merlin mumbled. "I think, just when you touched…"

Alice appeared to understand the situation instantly. Comprehension dawned in her eyes and though worry still remained the tension relaxed from his shoulders slightly. "I see. Well, not to worry. Such a reflexive response is entirely understandable. I should have anticipated it, actually." She sounded faintly self-reprimanding more than anything. "Shall we perhaps get you back up into bed and try again?"

At Merlin's pause and eventual nod, they did just that. At first, it seemed like they weren't going to manage it at all. Alice refrained from touching him, but after minutes of shaking limbs and another collapse when Merlin eventually made it to his feet, she swooped in to help. Another sequence of flinching, in which Merlin had to nearly chew a hole in his bottom lip to keep from throwing himself from Alice's touch, they managed.

"Well," Alice huffed, sighing as she propped her hands on her hips. "That was an epic effort." She tilted her head, regarding Merlin with a slight twist to her lips. "Shall we try with this tube, then? Get it over with? Or would you like a break first, perhaps?"

Merlin trembled in his seat, legs curled to one side and shoulders hunched. He felt nothing if not pathetic for the past moments of struggle, and yet despite his self-deprecation felt a rise of foreboding well up within him at the though of Alice's gentle hands touching him even in the barest sense. He knew it didn't hurt – it didn't even hurt anymore – so why the flinching? What was the point of it?

In direct objection to his body's withdrawal, to the physical screams of don't touch me! and just leave me alone!, Merlin struggled to nod. He truly did want the tube out, anyway. "Could you? Please?"

"Most certainly." Alice nodded obligingly, and with slow, almost soothing motions, raised her hands to Merlin's face.

It wasn't so bad the second time, he reasoned. Or perhaps that sentiment was simply enhanced by the other discomforts of the situation. For the tube threaded through his nostril had been unnoticed when untouched but as Alice slowly drew it out, with gentle urges of "Tilt your head back a little further" and "Nearly there", every brain cell seemed to focus upon the inside of his nose. Upon the scratching scrape of the tube as it drew up the back of his throat, at the slippery, tickling that was by no means pleasant and wreaked havoc on his gagging reflex. The urge to sneeze never reached fruition, and when Alice took a step back from him with a satisfied sigh it was to leave him rapidly blinking and pressing a palm to his nose.

"There. All done," Alice informed him redundantly as she made her way across the room to the cabinets and desk, tube hanging like a limp snake from her hand.

"Thank you," Merlin mumbled.

"You're very welcome. Nasty things, these tubes, though, as I said, necessary at the time, I suppose." She clattered about in the makeshift medical kitchen with the sound of opening and closing cupboards and running water. "Food will always be better for you, though. How about I give Gaius a call and he can come over and join us for breakfast?"

"For… for breakfast?" Merlin asked. The very thought send a mixture of anticipation, almost fear and rising eagerness through him. He hadn't eaten for just as long as he hadn't drunk. The prospect was only too tempting, almost miraculous.

Alice half-turned towards him from where she had been washing her hands. A basin of sorts, wedged in one of the cupboards, steamed warm water. "Gaius largely forgets to feed himself. I swear, he'd starve if I didn't remind him to fill his belly every day." Despite her chiding words, there was a definite note of fondness in Alice's tone.

And suddenly it clicked into place exactly who she was. "You're Gaius' Alice? His wife Alice?" Merlin's hoarse voice gave an embarrassing squeak that he barely noticed. He was too surprised, wonder flooding through him. How hadn't he even realised? How had he forgotten?

Except that, for all of Merlin's sudden enthusiasm, Alice only offered a sad little smile. It was a shadow of every other she had given him that morning. "Not his wife, no. But yes, I have been. At times."

There was enough regret in her tone that Merlin felt his natural inclination to question the situation die. Tact was something acquired alongside knowledge, though often disregarded by those that held such wisdom. He held his tongue, and Alice, with a grateful little smile that suggested she knew he was doing so and appreciated the effort, she raised her hand to her ear and tapped it. Or tapped the earpiece hooked around it, Merlin realised, for a moment later she muttered a barely audible "Gaius Clover". She turned away once more as she lowered her voice to speak.

Merlin slumped back onto his pillows, sagging slightly. His mind was awash with information, overloaded with all that had been impressed upon him in what would surely have to be less than half an hour. That he was no longer in the Pits. That he'd been comatose for three months. That in that time his body had been mended like a broken doll with its pieces glued seamlessly back together. That Gaius and Alice – that they were not together? Why? – had been the ones to fix him, and that fixed it did appear he was. Merlin couldn't stop the compulsive touching of fingers to fingers, to wrists and arms, to his face. Each brush left him awed with the wonder that doing so didn't hurt.

It was almost too good to believe. Too good, far too good. How did that even happen? How had he been rescued? Who would even have wanted to rescue a sorcerer, even if they were another sorcerer? Had they perhaps considered him one of the scarce few other criminals that were held in the Pits? But no, because Alice knew who he was, had said that Gaius knew him. Was it because he was 'Emrys'? In some lives – in most lives – that meant something.

Even with that knowledge it seemed too good to be true. Merlin was left staring at his own thin fingers once more, shaking his head uncomprehendingly. He was only distantly aware of the chiding conversation that Alice appeared to be having across the other side of the room, the words too quiet to hear.

"There," she huffed upon her return to Merlin's bedside. She looked to have shaken herself free of her temporary sombre mood like a dog ridding itself of water. "Gaius will be on his way shortly. He was in the City Castle, unfortunately, so it may take some time for him to arrive, but I believe he will inform Arthur of your awakening as soon as possible. Which will likely mean that Arthur will be joining him."

Merlin stared. And blinked. And stared. Because Alice seemed to revel in dropping bombshells upon him in quick succession, all under the guise of motherly kindness. "A-Arthur? Arthur is… Arthur is here?"

Alice's smile widened, and Merlin didn't think it was his imagination that for the first time it actually looked amused. "Of course. Who else do you think would be so adamant about saving you?"