In Which There Are Moments Without Words:

The figure on the bed didn't make a sound as the amber liquid spilled down his throat, though it must have burned like fire in his lungs. Almost instantly old eyes opened, bright and clear and somehow unsurprised by the looks on the men standing over them

"Merlin!" Gaius' croaked, his voice weak but filled with delight as his first real smile in three years spread across his features. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it."

No one questioned what he meant, because there was a note of teasing in his voice, and it was then Merlin swayed, hit full force with just how much he'd missed him. How many times had he found some reference in a text, and his first urge had been to go find Gaius? How often had he longed to consult him, when a patient's eyes had dimmed and their breathing became strained?

There were no words for how much he'd missed his voice, rough and gravelly and stern when it woke him in the mornings, even when it scolded him, but he didn't want to hear it now, not like this. Not here, in this sickroom, when it was Gaius who lay on the sickbed and a golden haired king looked at him with eyes filled with worry. Suddenly Merlin had to fight back tears, long fingers clenching into fists beneath his cloak, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to break the skin. When he opened his mouth the words caught in his throat, and he raised his gaze to Arthur, seeking something he couldn't name.

A lot passed in that look, in silent words and understanding. They were not who they had been, both knew that, and both knew too that whatever had existed three years ago was still damaged, still torn, perhaps irrevocably. But for now, and for the man who lay on the bed beside them, the recriminations could wait. For now.

"Forgive me if I don't rise, your majesty." Gaius continued, collapsing back down after struggling for a few moments. "I'm not quite feeling quite...myself at the moment." His tone was oddly contemplative, and he was frowning, deep in thought as he settled back on his pillows, white hair spread like a fan around his head.

"Really?" Arthur asked, managing somehow to smile, to tease, as his own eyes began to shine with unshed tears. "You needn't worry Gaius, I suppose I can let it slide this once."

He was still regal, Merlin thought, still every inch a king, even as Arthur fought to keep his voice from breaking, his hands shaking with the effort it took to do so. In the lamplight, when the shadows played on his face and filled his eyes with firelight, he looked so much older, the muscle that would come with age already evident on his body. Born and raised a king, it was apparent in every line, but in that moment he was Arthur, as he smiled down as Gaius and refused to let go.

Understanding bloomed and Gaius smiled again, but this time it was bittersweet and laced through with sorrow. "I'm dying, Arthur, I can do what I like." He said, and when they glanced at each other, shock clear on their faces, his voice became rough with annoyance. "For goodness sake you two, I'm not senile! I've been practicing medicine since before you both were born, and..." He paused as his stomach clenched and tried to continue, but his next words were lost in a round of coughing, his body arching forward as the spasms racked his lungs. Something cold slipped round Merlin's chest, something that quashed the physician in him, so he couldn't move even as his mentor's breath tore his lungs apart.

Silence fell when the coughing stopped; heavy and oppressive it seemed to rob them both of speech, of movement as Gaius fell back. When his hand fell away from his lips, his palm glistened with redness.

"Merlin?"

"Yes Gaius?" The warlock replied, voice sharp with unshed tears, and when he moved to the bedside it was as if through fog; half crouching, half falling, he knelt beside the bed, so his eyes were level with those of his father in all but name.

"I've been having such dreams, Merlin, such dreams you wouldn't believe." There was a note of wonder in the old man's voice, something almost reverent.

"I can believe a lot of things." Merlin replied, as a warm weight fell on his shoulder, strong fingers curling as if to anchor him there. "What do you dream?"

Gaius' voice was almost a whisper, so he had to bend to hear it. "It will be alright, Merlin." And a tear fell on their clasped hands, but it wasn't from the warlock. "It will be alright."

"I'll make sure it is." Arthur replied, and his voice was steady, because only one of them could break down now and he couldn't have that luxury. Merlin was so tense, stretched tight as a lute string, but somehow he managed to stiffen even more as Gaius slumped without a sound, eyes rolling back in his head with a sudden, terrible, finality.

For a moment, nothing dared breathe.

Then a sound escaped from Merlin's throat, caught on the line between a whimper and a sob, so filled with agony it broke every heart that heard it. The thing in his chest was growing, shredding everything in its path and he rocked forwards, unable to stop, eyes fixed on something Arthur couldn't see. Back and forth, back and forth he swayed for almost a minute, till the hand on his shoulder moved to take his wrist, covering the tattoo. Merlin didn't even look down.

Nor did he notice as Arthur crouched next to him so they touched from shoulder to knee, warmth seeping through to skin that was suddenly cold, cold enough that he shivered at the contact even as he slumped into it. The tension left his body in a sudden rush, his head falling limp onto a muscled shoulder, and Arthur let him, as both of them stared at the face that was no longer Gaius. Arthur didn't move, even as his legs began to cramp and his feet turned to ice, his shoulders sore from the weight of Merlin's body. For a long time, the only movement in the room was the soft motion of his thumb, tracing Merlin's wrist, even as his fingers, ever rebellious, gripped it tight enough to hurt.

Was this done right?