I've had this written for days, but getting a chance… and a computer… and some quiet time… to type it out… the week of Christmas… with a houseful of company… sorry. :P
On the plus side, it's now 15 chapters… so I'm forgiven?
Chapter 14: Hearing the Horn
"So it wasn't an explosion? Intubation complete – we have a pulse now, but no voluntary respiration. "
It seemed odd to him - vaguely, slightly - that hearing would be the first sense to return. Or the last to go…
"Arthur! Please, let me go – let me stay with him!"
His other senses were nonexistent, unnecessary. He wasn't surprised, really. Destiny had never been kind. Now that they had done their job, they would be summarily discarded…again. Some might live…
"Just a collision, apparently. An unmanned aerial vehicle. Bomb squad's on their way. You want a big bag on the IV, then?"
"Tell me he's okay – is he breathing? Arthur!"
There was a pain that registered, though. Merlin. Two sides of one coin. Not meant to be apart, but always together, always complementary, always more than they could be, on their own. It felt like his soul was being bisected…
"Yeah, get me an EKG ready, and that O2 monitor. Was it an accident?"
"Don't separate us, please – I'll go with him!"
"If it was an accident, how'd they get the explosives off the thing? And everyone out of the building?"
Another sound registered in his subconscious, a sustained, almost-musical note. It reminded him of a hunting horn. An alert, a call to attention… a summons…
"No, please, I want to stay!" Such agony in that voice. "Don't take him away again!"
"Harry, you're gonna wanna sedate that one."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Arthur opened his eyes and saw pure white. Am I dead, then, he wondered. The last time he'd died, he'd closed his eyes on the last sight of Merlin's face, the torturous sorrow written so clearly there, hardly bearable. He remembered nothing of what had come after.
Arthur blinked, and realized the white expanse he gazed at was not uniform. There were thin strips of a slightly off-white shade making rectangular patterns of the white. He blinked again, and focused on tiny gray dots pebbling the white. His brain revolved the image, slowly, and he was mildly surprised when recognition came.
Ceiling tiles. Huh. Heaven has ceiling tiles. Who knew?
Dimly, he heard voices. Authoritative, informative voices. And a ringing that was not unpleasant, but familiar.
He turned his head, hearing and feeling a faint rasp of cloth under his ear. Pillowcase, he thought. That's nice. Someone knew I was going to be tired.
There on his right was a man with curly red-gold hair and beard, lounging in a chair, paging through a magazine, the very picture of patience.
Oh great, Arthur thought. The afterlife has a waiting room.
The man's shirtsleeves were rolled up his arms, but didn't quite hide a long green grass stain on one elbow – and his trousers were wrinkled and stained, as if he'd been playing tackle football on the lawn outside the office.
Wonder how he died, Arthur thought. Wonder how Leon died.
Leon? Was… supposed to be… protecting someone. Not playing football. And wasn't he, Arthur, the quarterback of this screwed-up little football team? Why were they playing without him?
Because he had died. Oh. Maybe they'd been playing football on the lawn after his funeral service. The thought was slightly nauseating.
He focused past Leon, on cupboards with tiny white labels, and a stainless steel sink, and a glass canister with enormous Q-tips. What were they planning on doing to him, here? Surely a physical wasn't required to enter the afterlife? His eyes shrank away from that sight, focused on something closer.
A curtain. A blue patterned curtain, hung from hooks that ran along a track in the white-tiled ceiling. And closer, green, a rough-knit green blanket where his body should be. Where was – oh, there was his arm. Lying outstretched beside him, bandage-covered palm up, with a tube taped to the skin of his forearm. One end of the tube seemed to disappear in the bend of his elbow, while the other end – he followed the tube visually – connected to a bag of clear liquid, hanging from a hook – on a metal arm – on a pole.
IV, his mind said. IV. Well, hell, intravenous fluids or drugs weren't necessary for someone waiting for the afterlife to begin in earnest.
His attention flowed back to Leon, as the former knight shifted his sleeve to scratch gently at the edge of a square white bandage just below his elbow.
Leon. "Hey," Arthur whispered. It was all he could manage. His throat felt scraped raw. A drink might be nice, about now. A drink might be nice, too. He'd have to talk to Gwaine about that.
Leon snapped his head around to stare wide-eyed at Arthur for a moment, before his face creased into a smile. "Welcome back, sire," Leon said, whispering also.
"Where is everyone?" He meant, how is everyone? Leon had been with Percival, Gwaine, his father – had Gwen been hurt when Merlin let go of that drone? No, that wasn't quite right. Merlin wouldn't have simply let go. Merlin had lost consciousness, or…
"Your father's down the hall, on the phone," Leon said, still speaking very softly, as if he thought Arthur might have a headache. "Gwaine's at Alexandria PD with the three we arrested. He insisted on being present for the interrogation, after we heard… well. Gaius is with Percival in the ER – they're treating him for first and second-degree burns on his hands, and the side of his face and neck. He was just too close when the drone took off. Gwen is in the waiting room. She wanted to stay until you regained consciousness. Last I checked, she was talking to Elyan."
Please, let me go – let me stay with him… Don't separate us, please … If he wasn't dead, why had his friend been begging to be allowed to stay? Was the sorcerer the one taken, this time?
Was Merlin dead?
Arthur swallowed with difficulty. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to believe it. He could close his eyes, go to sleep – deal with this later, when he was well again. When he was stronger.
Ye gods, the thought of Merlin's permanent absence made him feel weak. He would never be well again.
"Sire," Percival greeted him quietly coming into the room far enough to lean back against the open door, a grin dividing his square face in spite of the white gauze taped to the right side, bandaging part of his cheek, jaw, and neck. His hands were bandaged too, though he held his uniform jacket without apparent discomfort.
"You've looked better," Arthur whispered.
"Thank you, sire."
"And Gwaine?"
"Alexandria PD's taking care of him. I think he broke a bone or two in his hand hitting Acheson, and that was after we'd heard the drone was redirected to Camelot. Arthur," the big knight hesitated, then went on, looking ashamed, "I'm so sorry I didn't stop it –"
"No, you're not to blame," Arthur said. How To Rule A Kingdom 101 - He who is in charge is ultimately to blame for casualties. "Have Gwaine report –" Arthur stopped, tired, throat sore, head still swimming a little.
"He knows, Arthur," Percival assured him in his deep, calming voice. "I have to go report to my officers. I'll call you tomorrow." He gave a clumsy salute with one bandaged hand, eyes first on Arthur, then Leon, to include them both, before taking his leave.
"Leon," he whispered. The former knight looked at him. He didn't know if he could bear to hear the truth, but not knowing was killing him. "What about Merlin?"
"Dead to the world," Leon pronounced, with a heartlessness breathtaking in the normally compassionate knight.
"Where is he?" He wanted to shout, but could only manage a hoarse whisper.
Leon gave him a quizzical smile. "He's right there, sire," he said in a quiet voice, pointing across Arthur's body.
Arthur turned his head on the pillow so abruptly it made him dizzy for an instant.
Sprawled in a second chair, one leg slung over one armrest, head tipped against the back of the chair, one arm lying along the length of the second armrest, was Merlin. Shoeless and pajama-clad, his face washed clean of sweat and blood – and all color except for the deep purple-brown hollows around his closed eyes – the teenaged sorcerer was fast asleep. The hand that dangled from the end of the armrest was amass of tape and tubes leading to Merlin's own IV needle, but not currently connected to a drip. He was motionless except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest in breathing.
Arthur himself breathed again, lightheaded with relief.
There was a commotion at the door, a female voice raised in irritated query. Gaius, coming into view but pausing at the threshold of the room, said, "No, he's right here. I told you he'd be with Arthur."
Arthur lifted his head. "He's sleeping, Gaius," he hissed. "Can't you leave him alone?"
The old physician's stern countenance softened. He nodded, and turned to speak to the nurse at the door. Leon stood. "I'll let your father know you're awake." He excused himself to pass the nurse and Gaius, who came further into the room.
A band around Arthur's right arm whirred and tightened, squeezing his bicep, then released by degrees, clicking softly. Taking blood pressure. There was a lead off his forefinger, too, passing vital information to the monitor, which blinked and recorded Arthur's life as three irregular green lines.
Gaius reached to hold Arthur's eyelids open with his thumb, turn Arthur's head to gauge the reaction of his pupils to the light. "What is the last thing you remember?" Gaius questioned softly.
Arthur, still whispering also, said, "The drone. The HMX missiles." The hideous strain evident in every line of Merlin's body, the enormous effort the sorcerer had put into holding the craft against its propulsion system so Arthur could disarm it. "I got them off before the drone hit the building, didn't I?"
Gaius nodded, sad and proud at once. "You did," he said. "And just in time, too, I gather. That UAV did a lot of damage to the building, but not nearly as much as it might have done. You, sire, were very lucky to escape with minimal injuries – concussion, contusions, one cracked rib."
"Scrapes and bruises," Arthur said, and Gaius nodded. "What about Merlin?" They both glanced over at the lanky sorcerer, so unnaturally expressionless and still.
"They're treating him for dehydration, stress, and exhaustion." The old physician added to himself in a mutter, "Or, they would be if they could keep him in his own room." Arthur frowned, uncomprehending, and Gaius told him, "I understand they had a time of it, persuading him to let them examine him for injuries. You were in shock, according to the ambulance report – he did CPR until they arrived."
Please, let me go – let me stay with him… Don't separate us, please… Merlin had been pleading with the emergency medical personnel, not with some faceless force of destiny. He probably had wanted to ride in the ambulance with Arthur, and not undergo similar attentions in a second vehicle.
"CPR," Arthur said slowly. And magic? Either way, he'd saved Arthur's life – again. How odd it seemed, for an angry ward of the state, in and out of families and trouble, to bother to learn first aid and lifesaving techniques – but it was exactly like his Merlin.
He lifted his head, and met Gwen's brown eyes, eyes that filled with tears as she came to him. Gaius moved back to give them a moment of privacy.
"Arthur," she said, her heart in her voice, speaking oh-so-softly so she would not disturb their sleeping friend.
"I look that bad?" he joked.
Gwen combed his hair gently with her fingers, touched her lips to his. "I was so worried, Arthur," she said, her breath tickling his earlobe. "We couldn't see anything – and then the building – concrete and glass smashing everywhere… I couldn't see you… he couldn't find you, at first. Arthur, he was frantic, and they – they wouldn't let me go to you, they wouldn't let anybody get any closer. They had you on that stretcher – and we couldn't see if you were moving… And Merlin…"
"Ssh, Guinevere," he said. "We're here, and we're fine."
She leaned against him, tucking her head on his shoulder under his chin, and he felt her relax as he raised his right arm to hold her tight. Her hair smelled of sunlight and roses. Neither of them needed any words, the closeness and contact was enough. He loved this woman, so much. She was just right for him, 1500 years ago, and now. An indescribable comfort, a support like no other, offering unconditional love and always making him feel stronger.
On the chair, Merlin snored lightly and turned his head a few inches to one side, and it struck Arthur how unfair it was, that he should have a team of knights, an insanely loyal sorcerer, a wife… how undeserving he was. Merlin seemed so alone. Yes, they were all his friends and would protect him no matter what. But who of them would really understand the unique struggles he would experience? Percival, who had lost a best friend in Lancelot twice, had his Kathryn. Gwaine mostly sought comfort of a more liquid sort. Leon was so phlegmatic it was hard to imagine him wrestling with matters of morality or responsibility – he came to Arthur with practical concerns, and if he experienced more emotional doubts or worries, it never showed.
But Merlin, who had always worn his heart on his sleeve… There was a girl, Gaius had said, and she had been killed… he'd never stopped loving her. Arthur wondered if Gaius meant, still. Of course, in this day and age, it would take a very special girl to be the one that Merlin needed, the way Arthur needed his Gwen. Someone who could be trusted with the secret of Merlin's magic, someone who might come close to knowing the weight the sorcerer carried, someone who would willingly carry some of that burden alongside Merlin.
Destiny, Gaius had said, had never been kind to Merlin. Arthur wished with all his soul that this time, might be different. Somehow.
Against his chest, he felt Gwen tense, and recognized his father's voice from the hallway. She stepped back, smiling at him, her eyes bright with unshed but happy tears. "I'll come back tomorrow, Arthur," she promised softly, then whisked through the door and was gone.
"Oh, Arthur," Thomas Drake said from the doorway, and crossed to the bedside to squeeze Arthur's shoulder. It hurt, probably bruised. Arthur tried to warn his father to lower his voice, out of consideration for his sleeping friend, another patient after all, who needed his rest too, but Thomas ignored Arthur's gesticulations and exclaimed, "They told me you stopped breathing."
All at once, Merlin jerked away. His eyes, horror-filled at Thomas Drake's half-heard words, flew right to Arthur's face. As the fact of Arthur's consciousness hit him, he sighed in relief, a near-inaudible sound that seemed to drain strength along with tension from his body, as he slumped back in the chair momentarily.
Arthur felt that relief also, and gave Merlin a cocky smile. They were alive, and they were together. Merlin reached out one hand to cuff Arthur's shin lightly.
"I can't believe what an unholy mess this day has been," Thomas Drake went on. Arthur recognized the signs of his father working himself into a rant. "Our drones – stolen? All recovered by the navy but one – which flew off course into the North Atlantic. And equipped with explosives? to target the capital cities of other nations! I can't believe those guards were working against us, stealing technology, implicating Camelot in this series of terrorist attacks!"
Gaius cleared his throat as if he'd like nothing better than to take his former king to task on the question of trust and loyalty, but Arthur knew the old physician would never interrupt in a disrespectful manner.
"It's a jurisdictional nightmare, Arthur, it really is – the military, NSA…but it seems that my son is the hero of the day." Thomas Drake beamed. "Arthur, I am so proud of you, risking your life to save all our people."
"Father," Arthur had no such compunctions about disrespect. He was not, after all, addressing his king, anymore. "You've forgotten Merlin, here. Without him, we'd have had no idea about any of this until it was too late. Without him, we would never have had a chance at preventing the attack at all."
Thomas Drake held his son's eyes, as if reluctant to acknowledge the presence of the other boy in the room. Arthur saw his father decide to humor him, turning brusquely to Merlin. "Our gratitude extends to all those instrumental in preventing this tragedy," he said pompously. "Of course I officially accept Arthur's assurance as to the extent of your involvement before the fact, and to the placement of your loyalties." Arthur was struck dumb, not able to believe his ears, still half-ready to consider himself asleep and dreaming. "I am prepared to overlook the worth of the UAV you so cavalierly dropped in the ocean, and your law-breaking and rule-violating. Although, the terms of your internship have been violated in such a way that I really don't see how we can keep –"
Gaius did interrupt, then. "Are you firing him, Mr. Drake?" he demanded, shocked. Merlin rose, pale and stormy-eyed, but said nothing.
"Father, you can't do this," Arthur protested. "A few ridiculous rules mean nothing when there are innocent lives at stake."
Thomas Drake turned away from Merlin dismissively. "Arthur, when you run Camelot you can employ anyone you wish," Thomas Drake said, somewhat coldly. "I think I have made myself clear? Dr. Sagesse, if you and your grandson will excuse us-"
Gaius' eyebrow was high in disapproval, but he obeyed the former king, as he'd always done. Merlin stalked to the door behind him as Arthur began to argue, then stopped and said aloud, "No, you know what? Screw the silent martyrdom." He turned and glared at Thomas Drake as only an angry powerful sorcerer can.
"I'm just going to say it," Merlin announced. "Uther Pendragon, you have your head up your ass."
He turned and marched away, Gaius choosing discretion as the better part of valor and following without a word. Thomas Drake was shocked into silence. Arthur himself was having a time of it not laughing out loud – though he did wonder if Merlin's use of the former king's name might not have something to do with his father's reaction. There had been chances in his friend, and who's to say they weren't for the better?
"Father," he manage to say seriously, "he is a genius. Antisocial, as many of them are. But if he doesn't stay, I don't stay, either. If you expect me to learn to run this company, to someday take over the management of Camelot Technologies, it will be with Merlin at my side."
"His name's not Merlin," Thomas Drake said. "And did you hear what he called me? Arthur, that boy is not entirely – sane. How do you expect him to contribute in a worthwhile manner –"
"Damn it to hell," Arthur snapped, feeling suddenly tired of the whole situation. Military technology and terrorist organizations and city-wrecking explosives might – just might – be something for a king to handle, but certainly not a fresh-from-college intern. And right now, he was both. He did not have the control, the authority of a king, and though they might have managed a victory this time, he could see quite clearly that more experience and training were necessary if he expected to hold his own in a modern arena.
"I don't care what your assessment of his mental state is," Arthur continued. "I am not making a threat, but a promise – where I go, he goes. Or I will not be part of the Camelot you've built." He felt a sudden sinking feeling that had nothing to do with his temper, as if all of the blood had drained from his head down through his chest.
Through suddenly blurry vision, Arthur saw his father's face redden. "Now see here, Arthur," he began.
Arthur felt dizzy, and suddenly had trouble holding his head up. Somewhere near, an alarm began to ding, echoing oddly in the hallway outside his door. He let his head sag back onto the pillow again, and two nurses rushed into the room, brushing Thomas Drake aside.
"BP's falling," one announced. "Seventy over thirty-five." A whirring sound accompanied Arthur's gradual trip to a prone position. The second nurse removed the pillow to lay his head flat on the mattress, while the one who'd spoken turned to scold Thomas Drake. "You were allowed to see him on condition that you didn't excite him – you need to leave now, sir, please and thank you."
In a haze, Arthur watched his father leave, and there in the doorway, a thin silhouette topped by black hair. I'm sorry, Arthur.
"It's not your fault," he responded thickly.
"Don't try to talk, dear," the second nurse instructed him, and he closed his eyes.