(In)Convenience Store Chapter 2, a merlin fanfic

(In)Convenience Store

Part II

When Merlin comes to, the thugs are gone, and he is so terribly afraid that Arthur is, too. Getting to his feet is too difficult when his head is still light, vision less than twenty-twenty, but he can crawl, almost, dragging himself across the floor to where Arthur is, blood still gushing from his shoulder.

That's a good sign, Merlin tells himself; if there's still blood flowing, it means Arthur's heart is still beating, means Arthur isn't dead yet. He can't really believe it's good, though, because if he doesn't stop the bleeding, Arthur will…he needs to stop it.

He tugs his shirt up over his head, pressing it to Arthur's shoulder and holding it there, as much pressure as he can manage, hoping desperately that one of the sirens he can hear approaching belongs to an ambulance.

Morgana likes to know that when she goes out with a man, she has his undivided attention, which is why she's pretty damn pissed that Gwaine's phone keeps ringing.

"Look," she says the third time it goes off in the space of five minutes, trying not to sound too irate, because other than that everything seems to be going reasonably well. "You have two choices. Either you can answer the fucking thing or you can turn it off, because I have had enough of whoever keeps calling you."

Gwaine has the good manners to look apologetic, but not enough to choose the correct option.

"Actually," he says, after a glance at the display, "I should probably get this."

"I see," Morgana answers, raising one perfect (even if she does say so herself) eyebrow, and even her very best expression of disdain is not enough to convince Gwaine he's making a mistake.

"Hey, Hunith," he says, sounding casual, laid back, not like someone whose date is being interrupted, and certainly not like someone who feels as pissed as she thinks he should; Morgana is very close to standing up and walking out when his tone shifts entirely. "Whoa," Gwaine says, suddenly a whole lot more tense, holding up a hand like he thinks whoever this Hunith person is can see him. "Take a breath, please; I didn't catch any of that."

He listens for a minute, friendly face creasing into a frown, the expression seeming to sit ill on him, then moves his phone away from his mouth. "Call your brother," he says, so much authority to it that Morgana has her phone out of her bag and Arthur's number on the display before it occurs to her to wonder why.

The call rings through to voicemail without an answer, and it is with shaking fingers that Morgana tries a second time, then a third, and she stands without question when Gwaine does. He drops a few notes on the table between them then leads her from the diner (the food makes it worth it, promise, he'd said to her dubious expression, but thanks to his phone call she's not actually had time to eat more than a mouthful of her meal), both of them still on the phone.

She doesn't get most of what Gwaine's saying, too caught up in the general panic she feels, the fear he's caused her without even letting her know why, the fear that grows with every second Arthur doesn't answer his phone. She doesn't catch most of what he says, but she does hear the goodbye, the I'll call you as soon as I know more he offers to whoever it is he's speaking to.

"What's going on?" Morgana demands, as soon as he's no longer on the phone, her own still ringing and ringing, pressed to her ear.

Gwaine looks at her, and Morgana can't decide if he looks worse than she feels or better. It depends on the knowing, she thinks; on whether it's better to know what it is causing you fear or whether it's bad enough to feel it at all.

"That was Merlin's mother," he says, and Morgana has a moment of irreverent humour at the thought of her father (either of them, for that matter, biological or birth certificate) calling one of her friends. It doesn't last, not when Gwaine continues. "His parents don't live in the city, and the couple he lives with are on holiday somewhere, and…Merlin's in the hospital. Something happened at the store, Hunith said he got beaten up fairly badly, and I really need you not to panic when I tell you this but someone got shot. A customer."

Arthur wakes up surrounded by a cool sterility that can only be that of a hospital. He's not surprised, not when the last things he can remember are the gun pointed at his chest (and if he needed more reason to be against America's absurdly lax gun legislation, getting shot would definitely do it) and Merlin's quiet, desperate pleas for him to hold on.

He can count his previous hospital visits on one hand, at least those when he was the patient; he rode in the ambulance with Morgana when she broke her ankle when she was ten, and he spent hours beyond measure in his mum's hospital room, making an eight-year-old's bargains with anything that was listening, but he's not up to listing them. There was the cricket bat accident when he was fourteen, the Jesus, Arthur, you look like shit day when he refused to allow a little cold to keep him from university rowing practice and ended up with pneumonia, and an awkward visit to a clinic when he should have been old enough to know better (but, really, that doesn't actually count as a hospital trip).

So, he's not unused to hospitals, and, it turns out, there really isn't a whole lot of difference between medical facilities in the States and those at home, other than the fact that his being here is likely to be costing his father a fortune (not that he's complaining about that, really). As it happens, though, being shot is not at all like getting pneumonia after an accidental and unwanted dip in the Cam, nor is it really all that much like taking a cricket bat to the right knee-cap after standing far too close to the batsman.

Getting shot is…painful, really. Yes, so were the pneumonia shudders and the fairly extensive knee-damage (though the law suit his father tried to file probably hurt the school far more), but being shot is in a different league entirely.

On the other hand, he's still alive, which is somewhat more than he was expecting when he decided to charge the man with the gun.

"He's awake," says the same nurse who refused to let Merlin and his lost-a-fight-with-a-garbage-truck bruises inside Arthur's hospital room, even after he'd given the cops his statement. "I've called a doctor to check him over, but I think after that there may be a chance of you seeing him."

Merlin sags with relief, his bones feeling like jelly all of a sudden, but that's fine. Arthur is awake, Arthur isn't dead because of Merlin, so it's fine.

It's going to be fine.

Pick up, Morgana thinks, as Gwaine leads her up the stairs from the subway and through streets that are still crowded at one in the morning, weaving between packs of people. She doesn't know where she's going, and as many times as she's tried Arthur's mobile and the phone in his flat before they got on the train, she's not got an answer.

Goddamn you, Arthur, pick up.

"We're here," Gwaine says, piercing through the cloud of her frenzy, the words coming as a surprise to Morgana, her world having narrowed to his hand grasping hers too tightly, his back as she tried to keep up with him in her stupid shoes, her brother's phone ringing and ringing and ringing. He tows her over to the reception desk and opens his mouth to start talking, but Morgana cuts across him.

"Arthur Pendragon," she says, still clinging to her phone and desperately hoping the woman on duty is going to give her a blank look. "My brother."

The receptionist taps at the keyboard before looking up at her, her mouth a sour pucker. "Room 330. He's with the police at the moment, but you can see him after that. It's family only, so your friend will have to wait outside."

"Oh," Morgana answers. "Oh."

Merlin is still waiting to be let in, has been pacing the corridor outside Arthur's room for maybe twenty minutes, when he's hit by what feels like a cannonball.

A cannonball with foul language, Merlin revises, when, "Fuck, Merls," says the thing wrapped around his stomach, clinging hard enough to leave bruises on top of the bruises he already has. "God, I was so worried."

"You can let go, Gwaine," Merlin croaks, "please."

Gwaine releases him, taking a step back just in time for a second cannonball to barrel to a stop just beside them. "Is Arthur okay?" asks the dark-haired woman he saw with Arthur a few nights ago, Arthur's sister. "Have you seen him?"

"Not yet," Merlin tells her, his voice losing almost all volume. "They…there's a doctor checking him over, but they won't tell me anything other than that he's awake."

"Okay," she says, a kind of calm that Merlin finds deeply terrifying. "I'll find out."

She stalks off towards the nurses' desk at the end of the hallway, and Merlin would dare anyone to tell her no.

There's some kind of commotion going on outside his hospital room, Arthur realises, and he has no doubt who is causing it, gives it approximately thirty seconds before she gets past any attempts to stop her and storms into his room.

Not even their father has ever been able to stop Morgana, and Arthur doesn't believe for a second that some nurse is going to be the exception to that rule.

What he doesn't expect is that Merlin will follow her in, Merlin and the same ragged bloke who'd been in the store the first time Arthur went in.

"Hey," she says, crossing the room quickly and sinking into the chair at his bedside, encasing his hand in hers; Morgana has never been one for overt displays of affection, and has the good sense to know that now, when he has a hole in his torso, is not a good time to start with the hugs. "How are you, Arthur?"

"I got shot," he says, eyes skipping first over the man he doesn't know so well, then on to Merlin. "He got me shot."

For a second, Merlin feels like apologising, but it's only a second.

"I got you shot?" he says, leaning more towards pissed off than apologetic. "You charged at a man with a gun. How the hell is it my fault you got shot?"

Arthur scoffs, the bastard, and actually looks like he's about to stand up before the pain stops him. "I probably saved your life, Merlin," he says, sounding just as furious as Merlin feels. "Maybe you should think about saying thank you instead of yelling at me."

Merlin looks at his hands, at the blood still caught under and around his nails, in the creases of his knuckles. The blood still soaking Merlin's uniform shirt, bundled up and sealed in a bag by the nurse who was kind enough to give him a sweatshirt. More blood than should fit in a single human being.

Arthur's blood.

"You're right," he says, and maybe Arthur is. Maybe Merlin wouldn't still be here, alive, if Arthur hadn't made a move when he did, but the paramedics who dragged him off Arthur's disturbingly still body told him Arthur wouldn't have made it until the ambulance showed up without Merlin being there. Maybe Arthur's right about him getting shot because of Merlin, too, because whatever the fuck it was that had men with guns in Avalon, it was something to do with Balinor.

"You're right, Arthur," Merlin says. "I'm sorry. You mind if I crash at yours, Gwaine? I don't really feel like heading home alone."

Gwaine looks at him, then glances at Arthur's sister. "Sure thing, Merls," he answers. "We'll splurge for a cab, too, long as you call Hunith on the way there. Morgana, you know where to find me."

"I do," she says, the kind of cool where Merlin has no idea whether Gwaine's going to hear from her again or not. "It was nice to meet you, Merlin," she adds, surprising Merlin by holding out her hand; her handshake is firm, and Merlin is fairly sure her eyes miss nothing. "I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances."

Merlin smiles, not feeling it at all, and precedes Gwaine out of the room.

His family shows up at Gwaine's on the dot of nine the following morning, early enough that Merlin knows they must have set off pretty much as soon as the sun rose. His mom, so worried that Merlin knows his call last night did absolutely nothing to counter her concerns; Mordred, pale and just as worried, and Merlin wonders just what he said to their parents to get them to let him to skip school; Balinor, his father, strangely calm for someone with a past so terrible it got a man shot.

Or maybe not terrible. Maybe it's a misunderstanding, misidentification, but somehow, Merlin doesn't think so.

Merlin allows himself to be the victim of three uncomfortable hugs, hugs that hit every single bruise he has as well as some he wasn't even sure he'd known about, but that's it. Three hugs, and now he's going to find out what the hell this is about. "Gwaine," he says, while Hunith continues to look deeply frazzled and very close to the kind of fussing over him that will last an age. "Can you get my mom a drink, please? I need to talk to my father."

Gwaine agrees, affable as ever, and Merlin spares only a second hoping that the kitchen is a little tidier than it was the last time he ended up crashing at Gwaine's.

"Merlin?" Hunith asks. "What's the matter?"

"It's fine, Mom," Merlin answers, then, when she refuses to move, adds, "Gwaine?"

"Sure thing," Gwaine says, steering Hunith gently towards the kitchen with a hand on her back. "You too, Mordred."

"But…"

Merlin looks at his brother, and they've not always been on the same side, but Mordred is a long way from the sickly kid who stole all their parents' attention from the second he was born. He's older, smarter, and Merlin isn't the only one who works difficult hours trying to save up enough to put himself through college; if whoever their dad has pissed off can track Merlin down, they can find Mordred, too, and if his brother is aware of the risk, maybe no one else will wind up with a bullet in them.

"You can stay," Merlin says, earning himself the sort of smile his brother rarely offers anyone, pretty much never offers him.

He waits until Gwaine and his mother are out of earshot before sitting carefully on the lumpy couch, close enough to the edge that Mordred can perch beside him, leaving their father the even less comfortable armchair.

"So I was at work last night," he starts, a kind of casual anger to it that Merlin didn't know he was capable of. "Just a normal day, stacked a few shelves, sold a few packs of cigarettes, tried to work up the courage to ask out the cute guy who comes in on a pretty much daily basis, and then this man comes in and pulls a gun on me."

He pauses, waiting for his father to say something, but he doesn't. "So," Merlin continues, and if possible he's even angrier, "I tell him the register's empty, and he tells me how cute it is that I'm pretending I don't know why he and his buddy – who, by the way, is probably bigger than Mark Ruffalo when he's got his Hulk suit on – are there. Which is weird, right? Like, how would I know why some guy comes into the Avalon with a gun, unless it's for money? Any ideas, Dad?"

Balinor shakes his head, but the look on his face suggests he's lying, as if Merlin didn't know that anyway.

"That's funny," Merlin says, though it's decidedly not. "Because, see, the guy with the gun and the Incredible Hulk, they tell me to get out from behind the counter, and then they say we've got a message for your father, Merlin, which, quite frankly, scared the fuck out of me."

"Merlin!" Balinor says, despite the fact that Merlin is very definitely an adult and there's a hell of a lot more to discuss here than his language.

"Right, Dad," he says. "Because me saying fuck is what matters here, right? Not the guys who beat the shit out of me as a message to you, or the fact that the guy I was planning on asking out got shot. No, that's all fine, as long as I'm not swearing about it, right?"

His father is quiet for a long time, while Mordred just gawps at them.

"You have to understand," Balinor says eventually, clearly reluctant to do so. "It was a long time ago, Merlin." He pauses, apparently waiting for a response, but Merlin isn't inclined to give him one, not even an instruction or request to continue; speaking seems too forgiving, and Merlin is not that, not yet.

"Your mother and I had only been married a few years when I first borrowed money," he says. "I wasn't out of university long, and on top of the mortgage and the loan I took out to fund my PhD, I couldn't find a bank that would lend me anything for a lab. I'd been relying on an old friend with family connections for a job, but when I went to see him, he'd apparently forgotten all about it. And then your mother told me she was pregnant with you, Merlin, and the problem became a lot more urgent.

"I went to a man I'd heard of in the neighbourhood when I was growing up. Helios, he called himself, and he didn't have a good reputation, but I was desperate and, for a couple of years, it seemed to be fine. I borrowed from him, enough to purchase and stock a small laboratory, and set to work."

He laughs a little, without humour, and scrapes a hand through his hair, long and dishevelled. "You won't know this, boys, but for a few years Balinor Emrys was quite a well-known name in pharmaceuticals. I had a number of papers published in medical research journals, I was on the way to a huge breakthrough, and I thought everything would be okay.

"Then the two-year mark passed, my first payment to Helios was due, and the threats started."

Merlin freezes, because even if he was held up at gunpoint yesterday, he wasn't actually expecting that, or the look on his father's face. It's Mordred, though, that prompts their father to continue.

"Threats?"

Balinor nods, unsteady. "Threats," he says, then seems to realise he's going to have to go into detail. "Helios' gang's tag spray painted onto the side of the house. A break-in where nothing was stolen, but I found a note hidden in my sock drawer. I went to Helios, gave him all the money I had, and showed him what I was working on, asking for more time. He agreed, but then when you were four, Merlin, and just starting school, I started receiving pictures of you and your mother in the post. He'd written on the back of them, what he was going to have his men do to you both if I didn't start paying up. So I paid."

If this was a movie or book, Merlin suspects there'd probably be some stupid, over-dramatic thing from his father, God help me, I paid, or some shit like that, but it's not. It's his life, and apparently Balinor has the kind of debts that get someone shot; yeah, Merlin keeps going back to that fact, but he's pretty damn sure it merits it.

"I missed a payment on the mortgage," Balinor continues, sounding bleak. "It was one month, I figured, and I'd make it up once I got the patent for the drug I was working on sorted, once I was able to start making it up and marketing it. I didn't tell your mother. I should have done, but she didn't know about Helios, and…well, you know what she's like when she's not happy, and she'd have been a long way from happy about that.

"So instead, I pretended everything was fine. I even hired an assistant, not that I could afford it, but I needed the help, particularly when your mother told me she was pregnant again. By the time of her first check-up, I was already three months behind on the mortgage payments; we were receiving letters from the bank, and I didn't have a choice.

"I thought she'd leave me," Balinor confesses, and for the first time since Arthur shouted at him in the hospital, Merlin feels something other than anger for his father. "I thought she'd leave, that she'd take you both with her, and that my sons would grow up without a father. I underestimated her, though; I told your mother everything, and all she did was encourage me. She said hiring Nimueh was the right thing to do, even if it made money even tighter, and she…Well, without your mother, I don't know what would have happened. I kept paying Helios, even though it meant the bank was even more pissed off, and everything was so close to being okay.

"It was the day before I was about to submit the patent paperwork when everything went to hell. I didn't know it, then, I thought she'd just misplaced everything, thought the breakages were all just accidents, but…Nimueh was stealing my work. She had connections to Uther Pendragon, the friend I'd been reliant upon for the job. Everything I'd worked on for years, everything that was going to save our house and end my arrangement with Helios, she was giving to Pendragon.

"The bank took the house and pretty much everything in it, about two months before you were born, Mordred. Your mother's salary wasn't enough to support a family of three, let alone provide everything we'd need for a new baby on top of that, and we couldn't afford for me to keep up my research, not when I owed so much and neither of us had any family in the area or even in the country who might be able to help out.

"Your mother's Uncle Gaius took us in, even paid for us to travel over from England, and you know the rest. Your mother and I both took whatever jobs we could find, I sent everything we could spare back to Helios, have done every month since then, but it's barely enough to pay back the interest, and I guess…Well, I guess he got tired of waiting."

For a long time, Merlin doesn't know what to say, and it seems Mordred doesn't either. Gwaine and his mother are still talking in the kitchen, light and breezy, nothing at all like their conversation in the living room.

"I'm sorry," Balinor says. "Merlin, if I'd known they would track you down like this, if they would have used you to get at me, I would have told you all this. I'm sorry."

"I know, Dad," Merlin answers, and a glance at his brother shows that he's nodding, indicating his agreement, even if he looks as awed by the whole story as Merlin feels. "We know," he says, and Mordred smiles faintly. "And this man, Helios, I guess he's sent his message. We can keep paying, and maybe it'll all be okay now."

He doesn't believe it, but his father looks grateful enough to hear it that Merlin decides it doesn't matter.

"Come on, Arthur," Morgana says, as cool and distant as she's been since he shouted at Merlin in the hospital, and yes, maybe Arthur regrets it a little, but still. She doesn't need to be such a bitch about it.

"Sorry," Arthur answers, though he isn't and he definitely doesn't sound it. "Excuse me if I'm not feeling up to running around after you just yet."

His sister actually looks sympathetic for all of two seconds (a personal record, Arthur suspects), then hurries on into his building, pressing the button to call the lift. By the time he's paid the cab driver and crossed the entrance of the building – pausing briefly to accept the security guard's condolences on his accident and trying not to wonder just what Morgana has told the man, his office, or his father – the lift is there, ready to speed them up to his flat.

Even if it doesn't feel like home yet, Arthur is fairly sure he'll be a hell of a lot more comfortable here than he was at the hospital.

Within a week, Merlin is back at Avalon, and it's only taken him that long because the manager didn't want him in there until the visible bruises have gone down some. He's still staying at Gwaine's – after spending quite some time arguing his parents into letting him stay in the city – though he insists that he's well enough to take the couch rather than making Gwaine sleep there again. It's true, anyway, because Merlin feels fine, aside from the lingering fear that has him reluctant to go home; Helios' men might know where he works, but at least it's a public place. His apartment isn't, and even if the walls are paper thin, it's not the kind of place where anyone hearing yelling is going to call the police.

Arthur doesn't come in, neither does his sister (though Gwaine – king of the overshare – lets slip that he's seeing her, he's doing it outside of work), and for the first couple of weeks, Merlin is pissed enough at him that he doesn't care.

After that, though, he's just hurt.

"Right," Morgana says, for once scooping up the last of her bags herself; she's already had the building's security guy carry everything else from Arthur's flat to the lift, then from the lift to the taxi. "I'm going, Arthur."

"I know," Arthur answers; he's spent the last month trying to get his sister out of his flat and the country, and has been pretty much counting down the seconds between her booking her flight and her needing to head off for the airport.

She sighs, rolling her eyes before pulling him into what has to be the most gentle hug she's ever given him (so, a bullet wound? Turns out it does have its uses). "Please, brother," she says, which is enough to make Arthur pay attention; he knows his half-sister loves him, but for all the times he's claimed her as his family, his blood, he's never known her to do so in return, at least not with any sincerity. "I need you to do something for me."

"Of course," Arthur agrees, too taken in by her acknowledgement of their family connection to think before speaking. "What is it?" he adds, which is far too much of an afterthought.

"First," Morgana tells him, checking her reflection in the mirror by the door, then adjusting her scarf slightly, and if her words weren't enough to make Arthur realise agreeing was a mistake, the way she whirls to face him definitely is. "First, you need to start eating properly. I don't care if that means learning to cook or going to a restaurant after work each evening, but you need to stop with this convenience store crap, even if you do have a major boner for the guy working there."

"I don't," Arthur insists, even if he sort of does. Still, it's easy enough to agree to, compared to what he was expecting his sister to say. "I won't go there anymore, though."

For some reason, Morgana doesn't look pleased to hear it, and Arthur expects her next request will explain why. "Second," she continues, frowning at him. "You need to apologise to Merlin."

"No," Arthur says, because feeling guilty about yelling at the bloke in his hospital room in no way means Arthur wants to see him again. "No."

"I'm not telling you to date him," she answers, and Arthur can tell she's trying to sound patient, just as he knows it isn't going to last long. "I mean, I think you should, or at least you should ask him out, but God knows you've never taken my excellent relationship advice before, and chances are you aren't going to start now. But I talked to your doctor, and to Gwaine. You might have accused Merlin of getting you shot, and the poor guy is pretty convinced he did, Gwaine says, but the doctor tells a different story."

She pauses, giving Arthur a chance to respond, although what response she wants from him he doesn't know. "The doctor told me that Merlin saved your life," she says. "You were unconscious when they got there, and Merlin nearly was as well, but they still had to pry him off you. He wouldn't take his hands off your wound, and without him keeping pressure on it you'd have bled out before the ambulance managed to get there."

She stops a second time, and Arthur still doesn't know what to say to her. This time, though, his sister doesn't seem to expect him to; she smiles, presses a kiss to his cheek, then heads towards the door, pausing halfway through it. "Think about it, Arthur," she says. "I'll call you when my plane lands."

He'd planned to walk her down to her cab, but by the time Arthur has worked his way through her words and made it into the corridor, the lift is already on its way down.

There are a lot of things Arthur hates about his sister, but the fact that she is almost always right certainly comes at the top of the list.

"I think," a familiar voice says, drawing Merlin's gaze up from his textbook. "I think I owe you an apology."

It takes Merlin a long time to decide to answer, and when he does, he's fairly sure Arthur isn't going to be happy with it. "You do, yes," he says, as cool as he can manage, almost feeling guilty when Arthur flinches.

"Morgana said you saved my life," Arthur continues, it apparently escaping his notice that saying he owes Merlin an apology is not the same thing as actually offering one. "I was hoping you'd let me buy you dinner to say thank you."

"Is that all your life is worth to you?" Merlin asks, his words as much of a barrier between them as the counter he's resting his elbows on. "Dinner?"

For a long moment, Arthur says nothing. He just stares sort of blindly, hurt, and then nods. "Right," he says, sounding tired, pained, pressing his right hand to his left shoulder, the same place Merlin's hands were pressed a month and a bit ago. "I'll be going, then."

He makes his way slowly to the door, and Merlin thinks the speed is probably deliberate, giving Merlin time to change his mind, call him back. He's not going to, though, he's not, because Arthur still owes him an apology, and Merlin isn't going to let the prick believe a meal is all it'll take to make things even between them.

"Wait," Merlin calls, as Arthur grabs the door handle, rolling his eyes at himself, at the pair of them. Arthur turns back to him, expression as relieved as it is anxious, and Merlin allows himself to smile at him. "Dinner is a start, I suppose. You can meet me here tomorrow at six."

A free meal is a free meal, after all, and since every spare cent Merlin has is going back home, it's definitely appreciated. It doesn't hurt that Arthur is gorgeous, either.

Despite the fact that he's as good as living with Gwaine, Merlin doesn't actually see all the much of him; his work hours don't exactly allow for much socialising, and Merlin has classes during the day.

Today, though, Gwaine somehow manages to be home exactly when Merlin doesn't want him to be and, as is his habit, asking the sort of questions Merlin never knows how to answer.

"Why are you doing this, Merls?" He demands, lounging on the couch as Merlin attempts to make his hair lie flat. "The guy's a dick."

"Says the man who spent the best part of a month sleeping with his sister."

"Since I know what you mean," Gwaine answers, "I'm going to ignore how wrong that sentence sounds. And, for the record, Morgana agrees with me entirely. Hell, she's said way worse than that."

"It's just dinner," Merlin says, even as he drags a comb through his hair yet again, which is probably way too much persistence for Gwaine to believe his attempt at being casual about this whole thing. "He wants to say thank you, or maybe sorry, although I'm not sure that one's actually in his vocabulary, and I want a free meal. That's all it is."

"Sure it is, Merls."

"It's not a date."

"Sure it isn't." Gwaine grins at him, smug and infuriating.

"I hate you," Merlin says, for once almost managing to sound like he means it. He shoves his wallet in one pocket and Gwaine's spare key in the other, attempts once more to fix his hair, and leaves.

Arthur doesn't get nervous, ever. Not before business meetings, not before arguing with his father, and certainly not before dates; whatever it is that has him fidgeting outside the Avalon for about twenty minutes before he's due to meet Merlin, it's not nerves. It's just punctuality, politeness, a general sense of gut-wrenching terror.

He is not nervous.

Merlin is pretty much dead on time, but when Arthur's been waiting so long, on time might as well be the same thing as late.

"Hello," Arthur says, trying to sound dignified as opposed to desperate, thankfully succeeding in swallowing back the words I thought you weren't going to show up. "How are you?"

"Hungry," Merlin answers, with a painful abruptness that brings back the twist in Arthur's stomach that still isn't anything close to nerves. "Shall we?" he adds, when Arthur fails to do anything more than blink at him.

Arthur forces a smile, and the one Merlin gives him in return looks almost as stiff as his own feels. "It's this way," Arthur says, only just preventing himself from offering Merlin an arm; he rather suspects that won't go down quite so well with him as it did with any of the women his father encouraged him to date in the past. "I've booked us a table."

By the time they've walked as far as the restaurant Arthur has chosen and are waiting for the hostess, Merlin is sure of three things. First, Arthur is the kind of rich Merlin couldn't even dream of being; second, this is very definitely a date; and third, Merlin needs to tell Arthur the reason he got shot, before he hears it from Morgana and hates him again.

On the other hand, it doesn't hurt to get a good meal out of the man before potentially pissing him off…

The conversation that carries them through their starter and main course feels rather a lot more like a job interview than it does a first date, Arthur thinks, but it is at least a conversation, and as a result quite a lot more than they've managed in the past.

It's not comfortable, maybe, but by the time the waitress comes to clear their plates and take their dessert orders, Arthur knows quite a lot more about Merlin than he did previously, even given Morgana's unceasing outpouring of information retrieved from Gwaine over the course of their dates. He knows where Merlin goes to school (Columbia, mostly funded by scholarship) and what he's studying (physics, with a minor in engineering), his parents' names, the great uncle his family moved in with when he was five, and all about the seemingly endless feud Merlin has with his brother (Mordred, five years younger, and, according to Merlin, definitely his parents' favourite). He knows that Merlin's parents are British, that technically Merlin is as well (even if he was only five when he left and doesn't remember much of the country of his birth), and that Merlin can see himself moving back there in a few years, when he's graduated from university.

And then Merlin leans in over his cheesecake, looking a lot more intense than he has the whole meal, and says, "Look, Arthur, I need to tell you something."

Arthur takes a moment to brace himself for something bad (and to have another spoonful of the excellent chocolate mousse that is his own dessert) before answering. "I'm listening," he says, and he is, even if he's not entirely sure he wants to.

Merlin takes a breath that seems just as fortifying as the one Arthur has just drawn, putting his fork down on his plate with a clink that seems impossibly audible. "It's about what you said in the hospital," he says slowly. "When you blamed me for you getting shot. You-"

"I shouldn't have said that," Arthur interrupts, because now that there's no longer a particularly painful gaping hole in his body, he can accept that he might have been acting just a tad irrationally then. "It wasn't fair, and it certainly wasn't true. I'm sorry, Merlin."

Merlin shakes his head, and for the first time all meal his smile looks completely genuine, even if it's very definitely rueful as well. "No, Arthur," he says, and whatever Arthur was expecting, it wasn't that, and it's not what Merlin says next, either. "You were right."

"I don't understand."

"It wasn't just a random hold-up," Merlin explains. "It was a message for my father. You were shot because of me."

Whilst there has always been an unspoken rule that when his father calls, Arthur has to answer, the reverse has never been applicable. It's infuriating, and usually if Arthur wants to speak to his father he just leaves a message, or gives up entirely and sends an email instead, but in this case, it's not happening. He's going to speak to his father, and if that means calling constantly from the moment he gets to the office at eight (one in the afternoon at home, Arthur thinks, but the time difference seems to be inexplicably flexible) until the moment Uther finally bothers to pick up the phone, that's what he's going to do.

As it happens, it's barely an hour before Uther seems to tire of his phone ringing incessantly, finally picking up and offering Arthur an oh-so-friendly, "What?" instead of the more traditional hello.

"Father," Arthur answers, taking his phone off speaker mode and holding it to his ear; he might not have had a problem with anyone walking past his office being able to hear the sound of an endlessly ringing phone, but now that he's got through to his father, he'd quite like the conversation to be a little more private. "Tell me everything you know of a man named Balinor Emrys, please."

"I can't say I've ever heard of him," Uther says, hesitating just a tad too long before speaking for Arthur to believe him.

"Strange," Arthur answers. "His son is quite convinced he knows you."

"And you believe him, I take it." Uther's voice suggests he thinks Arthur an idiot for even considering taking Merlin at his word; hardly anything new, but in this case Arthur is quite certain his father is wrong.

"Since he told me a story involving you before he had any idea of my surname, I do believe him."

"Sometimes, Arthur," Uther says, with the tone of someone talking to a child he thinks should know better. "People lie."

"Sometimes, Father," Arthur answers, "they do."

"I'm glad you agree."

Arthur smiles humourlessly, thinking back to the end of the conversation he had with Merlin, the awkward moment where, when Merlin was done explaining the many sins of the two people Arthur respected most as a child, he had to come clean about who he was. There was no faking the confusion on Merlin's face when Arthur followed up his so, you see, it was my fault, with you never learnt my surname when I was in the hospital, did you? Merlin's confusion wasn't fake, nor was his surprise when Arthur told him that Uther Pendragon is his father and Nimueh his godmother, that Arthur knows well the two people responsible for Balinor losing his livelihood and the Emryses their home, the people responsible for Arthur's shooting and Merlin's injuries.

"I don't agree," Arthur says. "You know Balinor Emrys, father. You promised him a job, which you later refused to give him, and then you had Aunt Nimueh steal his work."

"Arthur, don't be ridiculous," his father instructs, but the pause before he speaks is even longer this time. "Our family has a lot of money, and people will make up an awful lot of lies to get their hands on it."

"I'm not stupid, Uther," Arthur snaps, for the first time in his life calling his father by his first name, for the first time ever sounding like the one in control. "Your dishonesty has already lost you one child. Don't make it a second."

His father doesn't speak, but then Arthur didn't really expect him to, and silence is probably better than a lie.

"I'm sending you an email," he says, glancing over the document on his monitor one more time before hitting send. "Print out the attachment, sign it, and send it back before you leave the office tonight, if you ever expect me to have anything to say to you in the future."

"Arthur," Uther starts, and he sounds shaken, surprised, and like he actually realises how serious Arthur is. "Arthur, I-"

"Don't, father," Arthur interrupts. "Don't try to explain, because you know I won't believe you. You ruined a man, and I only happened to find out about it because I'm dating his son. There is no explanation."

"Arthur."

"Goodbye, father. I expect your email within an hour or two."

It is with slightly shaking hands that Arthur puts the phone down, but even so, he feels like he's won.

Merlin doesn't really expect to hear from Arthur again, not after the wooden awkwardness that was the start of their dinner, the uncomfortable explanations that were the end. He doesn't expect to hear from him, and it's probably for the best, given the feud between their fathers. It would never work out, and it's best that Merlin doesn't let himself get attached.

The trouble is, it's too late for that, probably has been since the first time Arthur walked into the store during his shift. Merlin is already attached, but, he decides, after the date that ended with Arthur paying the excessively huge bill and leaving Merlin with little more than a goodbye and a vague smile, Arthur is not.

And then he comes by again.

"So," Arthur says, walking straight over to the counter; he doesn't need milk, or bread, and he's not going to pretend to be interested in any of the shitty chocolate the place sells. He's here to see Merlin, and this time he's perfectly happy for him to know it. "I don't actually like apples, all the biscuits on sale here are terrible, and…" He pauses, sliding the brown envelope in his hands across the counter to Merlin, feeling suddenly uncertain about the plan he'd thought was so good only a couple of hours ago. There's no point in trying to take it back now, though, and it's the right thing to do, even if he sort of thinks Merlin might not take it the right way. "This is for your father, if you could give it to him, please."

"What is it?" Merlin asks, looking so dubious that Arthur can't help letting out a burst of laughter, half nerves and half genuine amusement.

"It's not sealed," Arthur answers, looking away; he could have just told Merlin what's in the envelope, but that feels too immodest, even for him. He doesn't know how to say it, knew when he set off here that he wouldn't, which is why the envelope isn't stuck down, but even so, maintaining eye contact seems a tad too tricky. Instead, Arthur watches his hands, categorises the way Merlin's fingers bend and flex as he opens the envelope and slides out the contract Arthur spent so long finding the words for. He watches Merlin unfold the sheets of paper, then pick up the cheque that falls out of the middle.

For a long time Merlin is silent, and part of Arthur wants to chance a glance up at his face, wants to know what Merlin's thinking. Most of him doesn't, though, because Arthur isn't entirely sure it's going to be something good.

"That's a lot of zeros," Merlin says eventually and, whilst fairly obvious, it's certainly true.

"It is," Arthur agrees, aiming for flat, toneless, and landing quite a lot on the nervous side of the mark.

"My father will never accept this," Merlin says, something incredibly cold to his voice. He puts the cheque back in the envelope and slides it over to Arthur, a long way from smiling. "I can't give it to him. If that's all you're here for, I suggest you leave."

Arthur is stunned; with all the thought he put into the wording of the contract he had his father sign, the time he and the finance team spent calculating just how much Balinor Emrys was due, the possibility of Merlin refusing to give it to his father never crossed his mind. He is stunned, completely and utterly, and possibly also a little hurt.

After a moment or two of Arthur staring wordlessly, Merlin seems to soften, his expression more akin to snow than ice. "Look, Arthur," he says, sounding equal parts patient and patronising. "I understand that you feel guilty for what your father did, and that you want to make things easier for us. I get that, and I'm sure it's very kind of you, but my father is not some charity case and neither am I. If you want to deal with your guilt by giving money away, don't go trying to give it to us."

"No," Arthur says, not sure if he ought to be offended or not. "It's not charity, Merlin. It's from the company's accounts, not mine, and it's what he's owed. It's...I have the legal team looking at transferring the patent into his name, but this is...It's all explained properly in the paperwork, but assuming he had sold the initial work to us for a fair price, rather than Nimueh stealing it, and then sixteen years worth of royalties, this is what he would have made from Pendragon. Of course, the company has kept exclusive usage of the formulas he developed, but if your father wants to take it elsewhere once it's legally his, then that's his right, and…" He trails off, suddenly aware both of the fact that he is babbling somewhat and that Merlin is looking at him like he's lost his mind.

"I don't know much about business," Merlin says, slowly, and is that a smile? Arthur thinks it is, hopes so much that it's actually ridiculous. "Like, pretty much nothing at all, but I think you've got to be pretty shite at it."

"Maybe," Arthur agrees, even though he isn't; being less than impressive at anything was never an option, growing up, and his father would never have given him so much responsibility if it wasn't merited, whatever this move might suggest. "I can take being a shit business man, though, as long as I'm an ethical one."

It's definitely a smile on Merlin's face now, intense and so freaking perfect that Arthur can't help but continue, even if it's maybe not the time. "On that note, I don't want you to think this is in any way connected to the massive cheque I just gave your family," he says, feeling the need to get that part out first. "But I told my father I was dating you – I kind of came out to him, actually – and I'd quite like it if that was true."

Merlin is still smiling, but it's gentler now, sweet and surprised, curious. "You came out to your father?"

"Not really the response I was hoping for, Merlin."

"Sorry," he says, sounding genuinely apologetic for all of a few seconds. "What did he say?"

"I hung up before he could say anything," Arthur says, rolling his eyes at himself as he gives in to Merlin's questions for a moment. "He still co-signed the papers in that envelope, though, so I'm not disowned yet."

"I'm glad," Merlin says. "I'd hate if you lost your family because of me."

Arthur thinks about correcting him, pointing out that his sexual orientation is entirely independent of Merlin's existence, but even though that's true, it doesn't mean he'd ever actually have found the guts to tell his father without there being someone he liked enough to handle being shot. "Somehow," he says instead, avoiding the matter entirely, "I think Morgana would probably stick around even if our father hated me."

Merlin sounds dubious when he answers. "I don't know about that," he says, close to laughing. "Gwaine has pretty dreadful taste in women. If Morgana follows the pattern…"

Arthur laughs and tries to decide between defending his sister and suggesting Merlin try to warn Gwaine away from her. It turns out there's no need, though, because Merlin decides the answer to Arthur's dilemma is to lean across the counter and slot their lips together.

As first kisses go, Merlin thinks this one isn't too bad.

It – Arthur – is a little hesitant at first, but Merlin figures that's just confusion, perhaps uncertainty, and since Arthur came out to his father because of him, he's willing to persevere. Eventually, Arthur gets with the program, his hand sliding up to rest on Merlin's shoulder, his mouth opening against Merlin's, soft and slow, sweeter than Merlin was anticipating this being.

It's hardly the most intense kiss Merlin's ever had, and it's not like he's gasping for breath when he and Arthur separate, but it's definitely good, definitely better than whatever Arthur was going to say next.

"I-" Arthur starts, pausing to lick his lips in a way Merlin finds very much gratifying, before continuing. "Is that a yes to going out with me, then?"

"I could be persuaded," Merlin says, because it sounds infinitely better than please kiss me again.

"I can work with that," Arthur answers, leaning in, and their first kiss really wasn't bad, Merlin thinks again, but the second?

The second is definitely better.