Chapter Twenty One

By the time the music died and the lights in the club were raised brightly, drowning out the secretive, loud and brave atmosphere with fluorescent, blinding life, Percival was about ready to go home anyway. Freya had left mere moments before, politely turning down Percival's offer to help her drag her boisterous, drunken mate outside. She had at least accepted his offer to have Owain call her a taxi, and she'd shyly given him her number.

"I know you're not… You know." she said, her cheeks turning pink and her gaze flitting around him. "But if you… Well, felt like a new friend, or something, I'd um. Well, I'd answer the phone."

It had all been rather lovely, and Percival was reminded that outside of growing up with Gwen and his friendship with Morgana, he knew very few women. Perhaps it was about time he made friends with one who wouldn't threaten to kill him if he teased her. Or better yet, wouldn't have the capability.

"I'll phone." he'd answered her, noting the way her eyes lit, pleased. "We'll do coffee or something."

"Or something." she'd smiled, and Percival had been sure he'd made the right call in not building a wall between them at the bar mere hours before.

He was not nearly drunk enough for it to be excused as him handing out his number willy-nilly, and he didn't think Freya was drunk either. She was just… a pretty lovely person who had indulged in conversation with him. In a nightclub. If that didn't pin her as his type of person, not much else would.

Now he looked around the groaning drunken crowd, picking out Leon's curls and Lance's easy stance. They were standing together and performing almost identical motions of rubbing over their ears as though the abrupt loss of sound could be shaken loose. Arthur was sucking face with a blonde Percival had seen many times before, and he cringed internally for his friend. She wasn't unpleasant, really, just not one to ever have the need to buy her own drinks very often.

Then again, Arthur wasn't one to look for something further anyway, always arguing that between the business and all the other things he was expected to handle he didn't have time for a long-term partner. Percival wondered if he was the only one who knew it was probably more to do with Uther and winning the man's approval than anything else. Arthur had fought to meet his father's sometimes ridiculously high expectations. It made perfect sense to Percival that Arthur could be afraid to take anyone home lest Uther not find them worthy.

He was pretty sure that the head of the Pendragon business would have rather strong opinions on what or who he felt were good for Arthur. Or rather, good for image and for the business and the family as a whole. Leon had been terrified to come clean about his relationship with Morgana. Percival remembered - with great amusement - the amount of reassuring Lance had done, convincing Leon that regardless of his opinion Uther wasn't going to chop his head off. In the end it was Arthur who'd lost patience with his best mate and spilled the beans over dinner one Sunday, and everything had been fine. Uther approved of Leon as Arthur's life-long friend and was more than pleased that he'd now taken on Morgana as well. Of course, Leon had given him reproachful looks across the table, which had gradually softened into grateful glances by the end of the meal.

Morgana, on the other hand, still hadn't really forgiven him. And that had been well over three years ago.

Percival had always found the story amusing, because Arthur was, excluding Leon, the most patient person alive when it came to Morgana. Which really wasn't all that patient at all. And in his dating life it was pretty much the same. Arthur had himself convinced he didn't have time for anything long-term or too committed, and although Percival had never been one to judge, when it came to Merlin he wouldn't have it. Especially when you took into account Merlin's illness.

Percival shook himself before following that train of thought, because he knew he wouldn't like where it went. The spot in his chest where his heart was had already begun to ache a little, and if he hadn't stopped he knew it would have begun to hurt more than it should, and in turn become the anger they were all fighting on Merlin's behalf.

He strode across the floor, alerting Leon and Lance to his presence and jerking his head in the direction of their lucky friend. Lance turned a little pink and shook his head with a soft smile. Leon rolled his eyes and tutted playfully.

"Typical King." he said, and Percival nodded, an expression taking over his face that wouldn't be out of place on Gwaine's.

"Oh, don't." Lance asked, his eyes darting sympathetically in the blonde's direction.

Percival only sniggered, and turned to wander over. Arthur and his date seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the lights were up and the music gone. The club was almost empty now, drunk stumblers taking longer to leave than Percival's patience sometimes allowed. Tonight he didn't care, because he'd had enough to drink that he was relaxed and being aware that he wasn't on duty helped.

He bumped into Arthur with a little more force than was strictly necessary, sending the pair stumbling apart but careful enough to catch them both before they fell. He released the girl quickly and slung an arm around Arthur's shoulders, bracing himself for his ire.

"Heyyy, Arthur! You coming home- Whoops!"

He made a show of looking at the confused young woman.

"Sorry, love." he said, allowing his voice to slur just a little. "Did I bump you?"

Her face swayed between that's-okay-I'm-not-bothered and oi-you-pig-watch-where-you're-going, and back again. Percival's size probably had something to do with that.

"Come on you," he turned to Arthur before she could say anything. "we're leaving now."

Arthur turned eyes on him that Percival had expected to be much more hazy.

"'Kay." he answered, turning to wander a little as though expectingPercival to guide him.

The bouncer walked behind him, glancing back at the bemused girl behind them, who looked like she wasn't sure she'd been insulted or not. He looked back at Arthur, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a very Gwaine-like move, biting his tongue when it wanted to ask Arthur what was up with him, instead deciding not to look a gift-horse in the mouth. They met with the others and collected their coats, and all the time Arthur was humming to himself and seeming entirely non-plussed that Percival had just torn him from the mouth of an admittedly attractive blonde.

It was decidedly odd behaviour, as Percival had expected a fight.

By the time they reached Percival's, Arthur's humming had fallen silent and he was swaying much more obviously, his eyelids heavy. Percival waved Leon off, assuring Lance that he wasn't offended that he'd be bunking with Leon instead of him. They promised to meet for a greasy lunch the next day, once they'd slept the usual twelve hours or so.

Percival steered Arthur away from the stairs when they got through the front door.

"Spare room." Arthur yawned in response, turning to give him a wounded look.

"Taken." Percival told him, not apologetic in the slightest. "Merlin has dibs."

Arthur frowned, but his expression soon cleared as he turned towards the living room.

"Couch." he said instead, waving a hand half-heartedly in Percival's direction.

Percival ignored it, rolling his eyes and shucking his jacket off to toss it over the handle of his hoover. When he turned back towards his friend, Arthur had dropped his jacket over the arm of the chair beside the window, toed his shoes off under the edge and dropped himself on the four-seater sofa, his face already relaxed and pressed into one of the cushions. Percival left him, wondering just how stressful Arthur's life had been recently for him to just drop like a stone. He wasn't usually like that, even drunk. Arthur and Gwaine had always been the last asleep after a night out, bantering in playful and irritated tones (playful for Gwaine and I-think-I'm-annoyed for Arthur) long into the early morning.

On the way to his own bedroom Percival paused, ducking his head carefully around the ajar door to the spare room, rolling his eyes and fighting a fond smile.

Merlin was curled in a ball under the covers, his shoulder still clad in his shirt, his back to the door and his chin tucked under the duvet. What was visible of his face was a pale rose and his hair was a tangled, flicky mess against the pale pillow. Gwaine was sprawled fully-clothed atop the duvet, one arm cocked under his pillow and the other thrown protectively over Merlin. At least he'd managed to kick his shoes off. He was snoring, something that would irk Percival to no end - not that he'd spent much time thinking about it, mind you - but didn't seem to bother Merlin at all.

They often ended up like this after night's out. Gwaine's odd and still surprising soft side came out to play when he was drunk, but only seemed to apply to Merlin. The usually devil-may-care bloke came off as a clingy boyfriend to anyone not in the know, particularly since Merlin had told them about… Well.

Percival closed the door, looking forlornly at the empty painted surface for a moment before turning towards his own bed. It wasn't like they were going to lose Merlin in the middle of the night. The doctor had at least told them it was looking like a slow, drawn-out process was ahead of him, ahead of them. He'd still be there in the morning.