Title: Blind
Summary:
Arthur can really be stubborn as a rock.


Morgana stomped out in a huff, yelling about wankers and Arthur having lost the plot before slamming the door. Merlin wasn't much better. Ignoring Arthur, he stalked off, his tail swishing madly. He was grumbling, too, a series of yowls and snarls, and ignored Arthur's commands to come back. Even opening the can of Merlin's favourite tuna wasn't enough. Merlin slithered under the bed, out of Arthur's reach, and stayed there.

As Arthur lay on the floor, moving the tuna back and forth, trying to get his ridiculous cat to come out, Merlin just glared at him, hissing, too, whenever Arthur got too close.

It was completely absurd. Arthur was a manager, for fuck's sake, taking care of millions of pounds at the accounting firm and he couldn't get one obstinate cat to listen to him? Getting his trousers dirty—he really needed to vacuum at some point, wasting time yelling at a cat when he could be relaxing with a glass of wine and a good book, instead he was brought low by a demon kitten. After having listened to a lot of bollocks about magical powers.

Nope, not doing that. With a heave, he pushed himself up, dusted off his clothes, and stomped out into the kitchen. Arthur dumped the rest of the tuna into a bowl—he wasn't going to waste Sainsbury's finest just because Merlin was in a strop, then poured himself wine and settled in for the night. The mess would still be there in the morning and maybe, just maybe, the cabbage-head of a cat would come to his senses, and figure out just who was in charge.


Arthur was blind. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. Something heavy and warm was holding his head down and for half-a-second, just coming out of a deep wine-soaked sleep, he panicked. Sitting up, shoving the furry menace off, it took him a while to realise it had been Merlin laying across his face again.

His idiot kitten was flying across the room, scattering books and the wine glass which thankfully did not shatter when it fell. Merlin groused at him, full of insults and whinging. At least, the cat had come out from under his bed. How he got on top of the mantle, though, without a clear way up, was a mystery but Arthur wasn't going to think about it.

Merlin had forgiven him enough to come out, enough that he'd draped himself over Arthur, and that was good enough for Arthur.

No more thinking about magic. They could go back to master and Lord-High-Muckimuck Merlin-the-magnificent and all would be right with the world.

Never mind the Once and Future King book hovering in the air a few feet away, and Merlin's eyes glowing with power.

Arthur needed another drink.


Arthur tried to ignore everything, but for long seconds, the book still hovered, its pages flapping gently in the wind, like the beginnings of some kind of horror film. He half-expected screaming violins to start playing in the background, reaching a crescendo where the camera focused on a dead Arthur sprawled on the sofa and his hell cat purring as he licked Arthur's face.

Shaking off the ridiculous idea—he really needed to stop watching creepy movies, Arthur glared at Merlin and snapped, "Put the fucking book down and let me think about things, okay?"

He didn't expect anything to happen. Merlin was just a cat and Arthur was obviously still thrashing about in a nightmare of wine-drenched horror.

But a moment later, the book hit the floor, the sound sharp in the silence. Merlin didn't move, just sat there on the mantle, cleaning his paw and wiping it across his face as if nothing had happened, as if he was just doing cat things and nothing else. No magic, no typing, no floating book. He let out a little 'meep', though, watching Arthur a moment before going back to rubbing at his fur.

Arthur needed to wake up. He needed to stop dreaming of magic and his cat trapped somehow and Morgana's idiotic insistence on believing in something so ludicrous. So he did the only thing he could think of, he slapped his own face. Hard.

Ow.

Shit, he wasn't asleep.