Chapter 21: Awakened
Monday 8:05 am. Arthur had been awake for an hour and a half already, watching the room lighten slowly with the dawn, until thin strips of morning light appeared; the sun climbed high enough to reach between the blinds. He rose from the chair and stretched, opening the blinds and hearing Merlin's voice in his mind, This is a switch.
"Yeah," he said out loud. "Me, opening your curtains. Rise and shine Merlin, that's an order. Up an' at 'em. Let's have you, lazy –" He turned to stride back to the bedside, and stopped short.
The hope he'd felt during the night, hearing Merlin's consciousness returning in the song on the radio, was dashed away by a wave of dread. His friend looked twice as bad in the strong light as he had since – ever, that Arthur could remember. The brown-and-gold dragon on his shoulder had expanded, grotesquely misshapen with the addition of bruises that blended beside and under the ink. Bruises in every color, from deep red-purple to faint green-brown, spreading down his arm and up over shoulders and collarbones visible above the bandages on his chest, overlaid with scabbed scrapes. Swelling had not gone down entirely, and the skin of his face showed irritation where the breathing apparatus chafed.
The music whispering from the radio on the windowsill swelled audible. A dream got broken… it seemed like all was lost/ What will be the future?... Couldn't you pay the cost? Arthur's composure threatened to crack. He would end up sobbing like a baby into Merlin's blanket. You wonder, will there ever be… A second time around?
The nurse came bustling in, pretended not to notice Arthur thumbing moisture from the corner of his eye. She washed her hands at the sink as a second nurse hovered in the doorway. "We're changing bandages," she said cheerfully to Arthur. "You can stay if you –"
He didn't. Step by step… day by day/ A fresh start over/ A different hand we'll play… He leaned against the doorframe, close enough to hear the comments of the nurses, but with no desire to see further the damage done to his friend.
The deeper we fall… the stronger we stay… The song followed him. It seemed the only thing keeping him upright against the doorframe of the hospital room at that moment. It seemed like a promise, almost.
We'll make it better… the second time around…
3:14 pm. Arthur had stolen an old copy of the Alexandria Times from the waiting room, after Gwaine had bought Chinese take-out, and the original Round Table had eaten a subdued lunch in the waiting room. He used a pen, the only writing instrument he had, on the crossword puzzle, and for the past half an hour was sure at least two of his answers were wrong – but he couldn't change them, and it had brought his questionable and sporadic progress to a slow halt.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught movement. He stared at the bed, studying each part of his friend's motionless body. Wishful thinking? A trick of his eyes due to lack of sleep?
The rhythm of Merlin's breathing was a quarter-second off. And then he coughed. A pathetic, weak sound smothered by the plastic over his face, but the first one he'd made on his own in days. Then he choked. Arthur was at his side in a flash, pen and paper flying forgotten. The sorcerer's hands twitched and his head tilted an inch to the left and the beeping of his monitor increased rapidly until an alarm sounded. He was choking; Arthur's own heart-rate sped up. Merlin was on a respirator, and he couldn't breathe.
"Merlin!" Arthur called out. "Hey, can you hear me? Calm down, you're all right!"
A strong, assertive nurse pushed him aside, her companion on the other side of the bed before Arthur noticed anyone had entered the room. "Is he –"
"Yes, unhook it." To Arthur she said calmly, her hands a flurry of efficient movement, "He's begun to breathe on his own – don't worry, this is a common reaction. Another is trying to remove the mask – that's instinctive when the body doesn't feel it can breathe properly. But the pain from his other injuries would prevent his being able to move – you got that side, Dora? Okay, nice and easy – out we go –"
The apparatus was drawn away from Merlin's face, and the choking changed to gasping, which settled as all three watched closely. The nurse next to Arthur seemed pleased, though his heart was still racing and his mouth was dry.
"Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?" she said. "Sooner than we thought – Dora, keep an eye on his O2 levels, we can put a tube in his nose if we need to. Mr. Caroban? Can you hear me? Dora, go ahead and prep another shot of morphine."
She moved and Arthur was in her place without apology. Merlin's eyes indeed were fluttering open – Arthur anxiously watched and hoped for them to focus.
"Hey – Merlin?" he tried, softly. "Relax, okay? I'm here, and you're going to be fine."
The blue of Merlin's gaze connected to his, if only for a moment. But it wasn't wishful thinking or a trick of his mind, when Merlin nodded once at him.
4:24 pm. Freya arrived breathless and bright-eyed, straight from work after Arthur's text. She halted in the doorway, bracing herself on the doorframe, and her face twisted as she looked at Merlin. "You said he woke up?" she said in a small voice.
"He did," Arthur assured her. "Just for a few seconds. He was pretty out of it, but he's been breathing on his own since then. They gave him another shot of morphine, so he might not," he hesitated, wondering if he shouldn't have sent her that text, after all, "he might not wake up again for a while."
She nodded, tears shining in her eyes, and he moved so she could take his place on Merlin's right; the sling suspending the shattered left forearm was an obstacle too fragile and too bulky for someone to feel comfortable sitting at the left side of the bed. Arthur watched her mentally catalogue the new bruises, noting the old ones and the scrapes that overlaid them with a critical eye.
"Gaius said," Arthur reminded her softly, reminding himself at the same time, "that it would look worse before the bruises begin to fade."
It was somewhat more nerve-wracking to listen to him breathing on his own – the slight pause before inhalation, the faint rattle in his chest on exhalation, another pause. But Freya showed the fortitude of a soldier's wife – nothing else mattered except that spark of life.
The instrumental music flowing softly from the radio on the windowsill segued seamlessly into a new song. Lady… are you crying?... Do the tears belong to me?
She leaned forward to place her lips against his, and this time it was Arthur watching eagerly for a reaction that didn't happen. A tear slipped down her cheek before she finished the kiss and retreated, sitting down beside him with a sigh.
Did you think our time together was all gone?
He ventured, "Did you notice?" gesturing at the radio. Close your eyes… and rest your weary mind … They both listened to the song. I promise I will stay… right here beside you… Her eyes shone with hope and unshed tears.
"They said to give him a few hours off the respirator," Arthur told her quietly, feeling like he was interrupting. "Then they might move him to a regular ward for the night."
I wish that you could know… how much I love you… She nodded her thanks, but said nothing. Lady… my sweet lady… I'm as close as I can be/ And I swear to you… our time has just begun…
6:56 pm. Arthur texted the Round Table that Merlin had been moved from ICU, but added a note that more visitors should wait until Tuesday. He received the expected flood of return texts, rejoicing the news and – in Gwaine's case – complaining about the regular visiting hours policy.
Percival, however, texted him from the parking lot of the hospital. Just got here w/ K&K, he wrote. Can we come up 4 a sec? Arthur replied in the affirmative, and met the family in the waiting room.
"He's breathing on his own," Arthur told them. "But he hasn't really been awake, yet."
"Can we still –" the big knight gestured awkwardly – "see him?"
Kathryn said, not quite meeting his eyes, "I just wanted a chance to thank him." Arthur looked at her more closely – the normally vivacious brunette was subdued, shifting her weight self-consciously half-behind her husband. He looked a question at Percival, who grimaced in response, acknowledging what Arthur had sensed, but unwilling to explain at the moment.
"Sure," Arthur said, and turned to lead them to Merlin's new room.
Percival hoisted Katy into his arms, for her comfort and for his, as well as to keep her out of the way of anything important, Arthur thought. He stayed by the door as Percival trailed Kathryn around to Merlin's right side. As her mother took Merlin's fingers gently in her hand, Katy watched in absolute and wide-eyed silence.
Then Percival said softly, "You see, baby girl? Uncle Merlin got hurt by those bad men, but the nurses will make him all better, here." And Arthur remembered what had happened the last time the little girl had seen the sorcerer.
"Unca Mewin sick?" she said finally. "Dwink'a poison tup?"
Arthur took two steps closer to the bed without intending to. Had Merlin told Katy that story? He was the only one who could have.
Kathryn gave Arthur an apologetic look, still without fully meeting his eyes. "She wanted to watch Snow White, yesterday – I think she got a little mixed up," she explained. There was embarrassment in her manner that had never been there before, when she addressed him. "Uncle Merlin's not Snow White, love," she said to her daughter. "He's not poisoned."
"S'eepin'?" Katy questioned, lurching forward in her father's arms as if she would dive onto the bed with Merlin.
Percival held her back. "Yes, kind of," the big knight said. "He has to sleep so his owies can get better."
Katy looked up toward Arthur. "You tiss 'im?" she suggested hopefully. "Den 'e wate up? You tiss 'im!"
"Me?" Arthur said incredulously. Did Katy honestly expect him to play the handsome prince to Merlin's Snow White? And would he then have to, to satisfy her? Percival snickered.
"No," Katy said scornfully, pointing – not exactly at him, over his shoulder to the open doorway. "Da Wady." Arthur turned as Freya slipped into the room, a twinkle in her eye and her sweet smile in place.
Kathryn left Merlin's side to hug Freya, both of them careful of the bulge of Kathryn's expectancy. "How are you holding up?" Kathryn murmured, and Freya's answer was too quiet for Arthur to hear. He looked at Percival's wife – a soldier's wife, too – and remembered that they'd already been married when Percival and Lancelot were in Afghanistan. That she'd done as Gwen had done, fifteen centuries before, kissed her man and sent him to war, remaining behind to wait and hope.
Katy was not to be deterred. "Tiss 'im, Wady," she demanded, pointing her tiny finger at her Uncle Merlin. "Wate 'im up."
"Oh, Katy," Freya said. "If only it were that easy. But since I don't mind doing it at all…" She threw a teasing look at Arthur as she rounded the bed to press her lips on Merlin's. "See, Katy? We just have to let him wake up on his own." The glance she let linger on Merlin was unhappy, as she brushed the fringe of hair that had fallen down his forehead lightly with her fingertips.
Katy looked at him, frowning at the machines, the sling, the blanket. Then she yelled, "Mo'nin', Unca Mewin! Wate up, sweepy-head! Wise an' sine!"
Percival and Kathryn both shushed their daughter, hurriedly and with a little embarrassment. Arthur thought it amusing that Freya looked, as he had, to see if the little girl had succeeded in rousing the sorcerer, but there was no movement, not a flutter of eyelids, or –
Another flutter caught his attention. A delicate little butterfly fanned tiny white-blue wings the size of the ball of his thumb from its perch on the side of Merlin's motionless forefinger.
"Oh, look!" Freya said with a joy soft but deep.
"How did that get in here?" Kathryn wondered.
Arthur looked at Percival, saw in the biggest knight the strain he'd seen in Merlin's eyes, remembered his answer to Merlin's question – she's happy thinking it's a joke… it'll come up sometime – then I'll tell her. So he had told her. Of course Percival was a pillar of strength – mentally and emotionally as well as physically – so Kathryn wouldn't have reacted as Freya did, to doubt his sanity, but – there was a strain. No wonder she didn't want to meet Arthur's eyes.
He said deliberately, "Look what Uncle Merlin did for you, Katy. Now you know he'll be okay, right?"
Freya coaxed the butterfly to step onto her own finger, then carried it to Katy in Percival's arms. The big knight accepted it onto his. "See that?" he said to his daughter as the delicate wings fanned gracefully. "We can take it outside and set it free, why don't we?"
He turned to leave, and as they passed through the doorway Katy hollered over his shoulder, "Tants for da maddick, Unca Mewin!"
Kathryn's eyes were narrowed as she looked at Arthur and Freya. She said, "He did that? But how?"
Freya smiled at her. "Magic," she said simply. "Percival told you, didn't he? Merlin has always had a way with flowers and butterflies." Arthur bit his lip to keep back a smile. If Merlin was awake he'd tease him, you're such a girl – flowers and butterflies! "His magic is beautiful, instinctive – defensive," Freya concluded.
Arthur could see Kathryn trying to resolve such an incredible suggestion in her mind, studying each of them – even Merlin – as if sooner or later one of them would burst into laughter and admit to pulling her leg. Then realization dawned.
"He did – something, didn't he?" she said, nodding to Merlin. "In that bedroom? When those things went off, I couldn't see or hear and I thought – my baby is too far away – I was so afraid. I wanted her right there where I could touch her and see that she was okay, right that second. And there she was. I couldn't figure –" she shook her head, struggling now to hold back tears – "how Katy had escaped whatever happened in the bedroom, to run from there – to me in the living room, past and through those men who were hitting you guys and kicking and tying you up – how she got to me, without… He – he sent her, somehow? One place to another, in a split second?"
Arthur felt a little stunned, himself, but Freya was unsurprised. "Of course," she said gently. "He would protect your daughter at all costs."
Kathryn nodded. She looked at both of them, then back at Merlin, and nodded again. "So he'll be all right," she said, as if it were only logical, that someone with such powerful real magic would heal.
"It'll take some time," Freya said.
Kathryn moved back to the bedside, and Freya stood to allow her to get close, each woman putting her arm around the other. She stared down at Merlin, the pale bruised skin, the unkempt hair, and gave him a crooked smile. "I thought he was an old man," she whispered to Freya. "You know, long white beard?"
Freya's brown eyes shone at Arthur, who rolled his own. "Someday he'll look like that again," she said, her tone not entirely serious.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Merlin couldn't remember the last time he'd been so tired. Or so sore. The plane crash? Yes, probably – although, if he could think clearly, he'd probably be able to come up with another dozen times he'd been as tired and sore, before.
It's my lot in life.
Though uncomfortable, it wasn't unbearable, this place of drifting consciousness. If the voices were vague and distant, so was the pain. An occasional spike of alarm – this wasn't right, this wasn't normal – at a bit of memory trying to return. The sounds that didn't belong anywhere but a hospital intruded, causing instinctive subconscious reaction, but tempered by the surety that someone was with him.
He heard Gaius' even, professional voice, sensed his gentle, sure hands. He heard Freya – soft and tremulous and strong all at once – sometimes he thought he imagined her lips warm on his. Gaius made him feel safe; Freya made him feel loved.
And Arthur. There wasn't a simple word for what he felt when he could sense Arthur's presence. It made him want to wake up.
Words came to him in his unsettled oblivion. "He didn't say anything, yet." The voice made him taste strawberries, smell roses, see candlelight dancing against the back of his eyelids. "But he opened his eyes a couple of times, and – he smiled."
That made him glad. Was it him that had smiled? It sounded like he'd made her whole day brighter. If it was as easy as that, he'd work harder to smile.
More sounds, rhythmic clicking, a warm golden brightness flooding his entire body. Five more minutes, he thought – oh, but he'd forgotten that he did want to wake up, this time. He could feel his brows draw together with the effort – since when did it become such hard work to lift his eyelids?
"Merlin?" someone said, so close that he flinched.
It seemed to take hours to focus on the face that swam above his own. Arthur. See, I'm awake!
His king gave him an uninhibited version of his familiar sideways smile. "Ye gods, Merlin," he said in a playful way, "I was beginning to think you'd sleep all week."
It took a moment for Merlin to realize that he should respond, in some way, and he saw a flash of worry eclipse Arthur's smile, before he managed to give his eyes a deliberate exaggerated roll. Arthur laughed right out loud, and that made the effort worth it. Merlin remembered, he didn't say anything, yet, and wanted to – but he couldn't so much as whisper. His throat was tight and sore and dry; he tried to lift his hand to indicate what he wanted, and winced at the pain that shot through his body.
"All right, it's all right," Arthur soothed him. "You're pretty badly hurt – do you remember falling?"
Falling. He did remember – backwards off that dark stage, while Arthur fought… no, that wasn't quite right.
"Don't try to move," Arthur cautioned. "You'll be taken care of, don't worry. I'm here, Gaius is here." He turned away, the movement making Merlin dizzy though he remained still, then held up a covered cup with a straw. "Here." He positioned the straw with his finger and held it to Merlin's mouth.
He found that his lips would obey his desire to open, and the rest of his mouth knew what to do with a straw leading to a cup of cool water. He swallowed gratefully. "Are you…" His whisper sounded hoarse, exactly how his throat felt. He wondered how long it had been since he'd spoken – to Gwaine, he remembered, he'd spoken to Gwaine. But Gwaine was fine. It was Arthur that Merlin was worried about. "Hurt?" he finished.
"Nah," Arthur said easily, but Merlin's eyes fell on Arthur's arm. "Oh, this? A scratch. Dozen band-aids, no stitches."
At least it wasn't the wound to his side that Merlin had dreamed. "It wasn't –" he struggled briefly, it hurt his chest to breathe and talk at once. "The sword?"
"Well –" Arthur hesitated too long.
It was. Oh, damn, he knew it would happen. He should have –
"It was fine," Arthur said. "Between you and me – and Percival, actually – we defeated them. Your magic, Merlin – you knew this, didn't you? – saved my life. Again. And Merlin – thank you."
The expressed gratitude of his king was completely unnecessary. And it made him feel damn near cheerful.
For some time – hours, or days, it made no difference to him - he floated in and out of consciousness as easy and smooth as blinking, and with about as much warning, to himself and everyone around. He'd be listening to Gaius give advice about using healing magic on himself, following the lecture on the dangers of pneumonia and the effects of oxygen deprivation on the brain and the theory of repairing nerve damage, and then he'd be drifting away.
And hear his grandfather say, "It's entirely natural, sire –" oh, Arthur must have come in, then – "for him to succumb so swiftly to slumber. Aside from the drugs in his system, the body's ordinary healing process must balance with his magic working to stabilize and accelerate that process, which takes energy."
Yes, he supposed that made sense. Lying in the bed, he could feel the magic move, swirling and eddying through him, pooling in one small spot in his chest, in his leg, lapping through his broken arm, then ebbing like a low tide to let him rest again.
Freya kissed him, and he woke to smile at her, to marvel at the sweetness of her smile in return. "I love you," he told her, and she kissed him again. He thought of the ring that Arthur had showed him at one point was safe in his own pocket – since Merlin wasn't wearing pants yet – and determined to heal at a faster pace, so he'd be able to get down on his knee for a proposal. No more waiting.
Every time he opened his eyes, it seemed, someone was with him. Leaning forward eagerly to talk, to offer him a drink, and he thanked them every time. He apologized for the inconvenience to them, and was told not to waste energy with such nonsense. And he smiled.
Gwaine came, and Merlin managed to lift his right arm from the bed, though the clasping and holding was then up to the knight.
"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. "You saved my life, you know. Arthur told me that you wouldn't give me up."
The dark-haired knight gave him an incorrigible grin. "I'm sure I can think of more than once you've saved my life," he told him. "And you can probably think of a dozen times when I didn't even know it, yeah?"
"And shall do so again," Merlin promised. His eyelids were trying to drag shut, and he might have snickered at the alarm on Gwaine's face if he'd had the strength. He did, however, squeeze his friend's hand as he listened to Arthur begin to pass on the explanation from Gaius.
He said the same thing to Percival when the big knight loomed in the tiny hospital room. Thank you. He'd gotten only a foggy idea of what had happened at Halbyon that night, due to Arthur's reluctance to give him a straight answer, but one thing had been very clear – that Percival's rifle shot had saved the king's life. Percival gave him his cheery little-boy smile in return, and said, no, thank you.
Elyan and Gwen had come together, bringing baby Andrew for a second's visit. At least, it seemed like just a second to Merlin. One second, wherein he managed to lift his hand for Arthur's son to find the tip of his finger and hold on with his own tiny hand.
Ray and Jason came together, with awkward but well-meant get-well wishes. And one day Arthur assisted a male nurse in lifting Merlin to the least-uncomfortable position in a wheelchair, to roll the halls and doze in the sunshine by the windows in the waiting room. When he opened his eyes, he saw Leon sitting across from him, with the patient air of someone keeping a sleeping friend company, the brace on his own leg making it necessary to stretch it out.
"Slowly but surely, huh?" Leon said, referring to the healing process.
"Emphasis on slowly," Merlin agreed. He turned his head a little on the pillow tucked into the back of the wheelchair so he could see the older knight more clearly. "What about you?" he said.
Leon chuckled. "All sympathy for me is gone," he said contentedly. "You are the center of attention once again, my friend."
"Oh, hell," Merlin said, and Leon laughed again.
Occasionally he remembered to ask what time it was, what day it was. It seemed to reassure whoever he was with, but the information didn't mean much, or stay with him. Until one day when he opened his eyes and felt awake, for the first time in – he took a moment to calculate, and was proud that he was able to – over a week. Tuesday morning, he thought, looking up at the clock. 10:37 am. He let his head tip sideways to look at Arthur, in the guest chair in the corner. His friend yawned, scrubbed one hand through his hair, his attention on the laptop balanced on his knee.
"Can I have my computer?" Merlin asked.
"Why?" Arthur mumbled absently; he wasn't paying him a quarter of his attention.
"I'm –" Restless. Tired of being tired. If you want to stop being treated like an invalid, you have to stop acting like one. "I'm bored?" he concluded.
"Really?" Arthur said then, glancing up and stifling another yawn. "You're bored so you want to work?"
"Gaius told me to slow down on the healing," Merlin said. "So no one gets suspicious before I get discharged. But I'm still a damn cripple in this bed, and –"
"You want to go for a walk?" Arthur proposed solicitously.
Going for a walk meant calling a couple of nurses to help Arthur lift him into a wheelchair and push him slowly down the hall and back. And the tone of Arthur's question was just too close to one Merlin himself used, talking to the Scottie. "No," Merlin said. "I want out."
"You have to be patient –" Arthur said soothingly.
"The hell with patience!" Merlin snapped, and the emphatic way he'd spoken roughened his throat and pulled at the muscles in his chest and he had an irresistible urge to cough, only coughing hurt. The hell with slow, unsuspicious healing and not being able to put weight on his right leg and not being able to use a crutch because of cracked ribs and a hole through the right side of his chest and being careful of the pins studding his left forearm like he was some kind of damn mutant porcupine and not having a more stable cast because the flesh was still healing and still having a flash of panic when he woke up in hospital, dizzily thinking himself captive again in a clinic basement so that his friends couldn't leave him alone for a single damn minute –
And the hell with Arthur treating him like an invalid, too. He wanted a rousing good argument with insults and insights that ended with both of them grinning at each other a little shamefacedly.
"Why don't you watch tv, or eat some jello or something?" Arthur said, absently, his attention back on the screen on his lap. "Play some music." He indicated Merlin's laptop on the side table, hooked up to the iPod.
Merlin glared at him, and - though he couldn't see it, and didn't actually intend it – he knew that the screen of the laptop had gone blank. Arthur arched an eyebrow at him. "Must be the battery," Merlin said innocently.
"Feeling a bit childish today, are we?" Arthur said.
Merlin said, "Did Chance say when we're getting the sword back?" That was a topic guaranteed for conflict, lately.
Arthur closed the laptop, drummed his fingers on the top of it, studied Merlin as if trying to decide something. "It belongs to Halbyon," he said mildly. "Chance said with the investigation closed, it should be returned to them sometime this week." Merlin growled, and Arthur added in the same placating tone, "I've a bid in to the board of directors to buy it – without Summerall, they don't have a reason not to accept."
Merlin considered. "It feels stupid that you'd have to pay for it, at this point."
"Why?" Arthur's look was ironic. "Because you stole it fair and square?"
"What else did Chance say?" Merlin asked. He glanced to be sure no one outside the room would notice, then used magic to push the blanket off his legs, covered now with the pajama pants the nurses had put on him. He gripped the bar on the right side of the bed to make it easier to move his legs to the side, dangle them over the edge so he was sitting rather than lying down.
Arthur watched him closely, but for once made no move or offer to help. "He said there's a laundry list of charges against Summerall, and he agreed to sign a full confession in exchange for life in prison, rather than facing a trial and a possible death penalty."
Merlin shifted to bring his left foot down to the floor, and waited for his pulse and breathing to calm from just those small movements. The pain had gone from sharp agony to a deep dull ache, but it still sometimes left him with mild nausea and a light sweat. "How's his hand?" he said uncharitably.
A flicker of amusement passed through Arthur's eyes. "He lost the thumb and first finger, according to Chance. And sustained enough nerve and muscle damage that the hand is essentially useless."
Merlin edged forward til both feet were on the floor. "Didn't Wendy say Halbyon's board of directors were supposed to meet yesterday?"
A smile tried to tug at the side of Arthur's mouth. "So you were listening," he commented.
Merlin leaned forward to let his hand hover over the wound just above his right knee, covered by bandages and pajama pants. His back to the door, he directed his magic to healing, gauging quantity and strength to accomplish his goal. Arthur remained silent during the process, but set aside the computer and moved to the edge of his own seat as if ready for whatever action might be required. Merlin met his eyes with a challenging grin, daring him to voice a protest. "And so?" he said, focusing on breathing evenly.
"She reported that they voted to resubmit the merger to Camelot." The former king looked like he expected to have to dive forward and catch Merlin as he keeled over.
"Same terms?" Merlin put a little weight on his legs, which felt shaky and sore. He transferred a little more.
"For all intents and purposes," Arthur said. "That whole, trade Excalibur for Merlin thing is back on the table, too." Merlin lifted himself a few inches off the bed, stopped to study his friend. Arthur hadn't simply rejected the offer. He was considering it. "Because of your contract," Arthur continued. "The merger would have to be in place for you to make any contributions or hold any position, no matter how temporary, within Halbyon. And because you're also forbidden from accepting a monetary fee for your services from anyone not Camelot or the NSA, they've offered the Artorius Blade, if you agree."
He stood from his chair as Merlin straightened, standing though most of his weight was on his good left leg. "Which one?" Merlin said narrowly, as Arthur came right up next to him, watching his legs like he could see them trembling. "The real or the replica?"
"Our choice, evidently." Arthur was amused. "No one there can tell the difference without running another course of tests – and no one cares, either, I take it. Wendy was very put out at the fact that no one shares her belief about its identity."
"So they'd just give it to you, in exchange for a few hours of my time," Merlin marveled.
"It wouldn't be that simple, obviously," Arthur said, "but yeah."
Merlin tried a shuffle-hobble-limp in the direction of the door; it seemed to work as a means of locomotion that didn't send messages of pain zinging through chest, back, and left arm. "With Summerall gone, Halbyon's going to need a thorough personnel house-cleaning, before they can build themselves back up again. After this scandal they're probably worth about half what they were, before." Shuffle-hobble. Two more steps to the door, and Arthur right at his elbow. He felt light-headed, but it was a good feeling. "You sure you want to merge Camelot with a company in that kind of trouble?"
Arthur waited til they reached the doorway, then rounded him to press his good shoulder in an unmistakable message – Take it easy. Slow down. Rest here a minute. And this time he didn't resist obeying.
"Aside from the CEO and the troubles with the parapsych department," Arthur said, "it was a good company. A solid, personnel-supplier. They've voted – contingent upon the merger, of course, and my own agreement – to accept me as their new CEO."
Merlin couldn't help it. He began to laugh, and it hurt. He pressed his left palm to the wound in his chest and let himself double over in Arthur's arms, funneling magic until the spike-pounding throb subsided. "I'm fine," he wheezed. "Oh, Arthur. No, I'm fine."
His king's hands encouraged him upright again. "Hell, Merlin," Arthur said, and he was pale with shock, himself.
A passing nurse paused to say, "Are you doing all right? Do you need anything, any help?"
He smiled and waved vaguely in her direction so she would leave them alone. "You're going to do it, aren't you?" he demanded weakly of his friend.
"Not without talking to you first," Arthur said, looking like he wanted to order Merlin back to bed. "And I mean, when you're not dopey on pain meds or cranky because you're in pain."
"Wendy said, now don't you see why we need you," he told Arthur. He couldn't seem to stop smiling. "Who the hell better to unit Camelot and Halbyon and free magic, than Arthur and Merlin?" He took his hand from the lintel and tipped forward against Arthur in an awkward am-I-catching-or-hugging-you embrace, grunting at the pain that flared again.
"Okay, okay," Arthur said, simultaneously supporting him and turning him around. "I think you've have enough for today. Let's stroll on back to bed, hm?"
Merlin was feeling more than a little giddy on good news – better than he could have dreamed, actually. This was the closest he remembered coming to his dream of bringing magic back to the world – acceptance and appreciation and training for use, even if it was done discreetly and under the definition of consulting work.
"You won't get me into bed that easily," he teased, but allowing Arthur to lead him shuffling into the room. "Not without giving me a ring, first."
"Geez, Merlin, what did they give you today?" Arthur said, in the grouchy tone that meant he wasn't really bothered. "Anyway, I do have a ring for you, remember? Just let me know when you want it back. I can give it to Gaius to keep at the townhouse if you –"
"No," Merlin said, lowering himself experimentally to the bed again. His leg, at least, felt like ninth-grade PE again, that sadistic coach who made the class do lunges from one end of the soccer field to the other – or Hyden, forcing calisthenics all morning. Sore, but no longer damaged. He flashed Arthur a grin. "I have an idea."
Merlin's idea had to wait until the following day. Preparations just couldn't get done in time, otherwise.
So Wednesday noon he found himself in a cool dim Radiology room, watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock as a new trainee was given pointers by the technician taking chest x-rays - ribs knitting nicely, not a whisper of pneumonia - x-rays of the broken bone in Merlin's arm.
He'd seen his previous films, the row of pins bright white and the splintered bone a soggy indistinct gray, the doctor pointing out what progress had been made, what healing was still being waited on. Merlin had said confusedly, Oh, I'll have to work on that, and the doctor had given him an odd look and replied, It's not the kind of test where you can improve your score with more studying…
He was late. Late, to his own party.
Arthur was waiting outside the Radiology room, pacing with his hands in his pockets. "Finally!" he said explosively when the tech opened the door and escorted Merlin out.
"You have to be patient," Merlin reminded him impudently.
"Sit down!" Arthur snapped, shoving the wheelchair at him threateningly. "Gwaine just texted me he's going to eat the cake himself if we don't get our asses in gear – and Gwen made that cake herself, so if he touches it before you make your grand entrance…"
"Yes, I guess you're right," Merlin said, shuffling between the footrests and turning to lower himself to the seat.
"It happens more often than you think," Arthur said.
He smirked. "Well, don't let it go to your head."
"Get your big feet up on those things and out of the way, will you?" Arthur shot back.
Merlin obeyed, and as Arthur began to wheel him down the long hallway toward the waiting room, he tossed over his shoulder, "H'ya!" Arthur let go of one handlebar to smack the back of Merlin's head. "Ow, hey!" he protested, grinning wider because Arthur couldn't see it from behind him.
"Show some respect for your liege," Arthur said. "That's an order."
"Yes, sire!" Merlin responded in an utterly disrespectful tone. "Of course, sire! Whatever you say, sire!"
Arthur paused beside the handicap-marked automatic-open for a set of double-doors, and pulled the ring from his pocket to hand to Merlin, who tucked it between his scarred left wrist and the sling. "You ready for this?" Arthur said, and punched the button.
The doors opened on a scene of pleasant chaos. They'd gotten permission to bring food up to the waiting room for a celebratory lunch with the Round Table. He was greeted with teasing comments and questions, handshakes and – in the case of Gwen, Kathryn, and Gaius – hugs. Arthur expertly steered him closer to the seat Freya had taken, and as she started to rise to greet him, Merlin motioned her to stay in place.
Then he moved the footrests, put his rubber-soled hospital socks down on the floor, and pushed himself up to standing. Grinning at the happy, encouraging smile on her face, he took three steps, balanced himself, then went down on one knee, shifting to keep the weight off the healing muscle.
Freya's eyes widened and her fingertips hid the "O" her mouth made. Behind him he heard snickers and hissed whispers – a catcall from Gwaine – as the other guys caught on one by one to his intentions, but it was all a fog of who-gives-a-damn behind him.
"When I saw you," he said to her softly. "I couldn't believe my eyes. Couldn't believe my infinite good luck, to be able to see your face again, to hear your voice, to touch you." He reached to do just that, drawing his fingers gently over the curve of her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly, leaning into his touch, and when she opened them again, they were sparkling with happy tears. "I can't promise you anything but my love. But that's yours, and always has been. All day, every day, for as long as we have."
Behind him, Gwaine teased, "Is there a question in there, Merlin?"
The pink in Freya's cheeks heightened, and she dropped her gaze with a flutter of lashes that pulled Merlin in closer. "Marry me," he said softly, the words not quite a question. The ring was there, held between thumb and the first two fingers of his right hand, so that she could clearly see what he offered.
"Oh, Merlin," she whispered, cupping his hand in her smaller one as she leaned forward to kiss him. "Yes," she said against his mouth, then drew back to call, "Yes!" over his shoulder so the rest of the room, waiting with bated breath, would know her response.
For the second time the room erupted in applause, whistles, cheers. Merlin glanced back in surprise to see that half a dozen members of the nursing staff had joined them, also. Gwen was crying, and Gaius looked suspiciously close to it, himself. Freya's blush deepened, and Arthur said, "Back, you vultures!"
And Merlin placed his ring on his Lady's finger.