A/N: Not the longest of chapters, but definitely the most informative ;)

Ch. 3

The ride back to the store to get Merlin his means to fight undernourishment might have been awkwardly quiet if it weren't for all the lung-deep and wet coughing on Merlin's part. Arthur had already given Merlin "the lecture" - eat more, take your medicine, drink the shakes I'm about to buy you and whatever you do don't you dare let yourself get so bad off I have to take you to the hospital. And Merlin, ever so eager to please, it seemed, nodded his head with the vigor of one resolute in following orders... which, for some odd reason, also seemed wrong.

"I'll pay you back, I promise," Merlin said almost feverishly, but Arthur had waved the promise off. It wasn't as though the check-up had cost an arm and a leg or anything.

But Merlin had a strange look on his face, and the only way Arthur could describe it was one of wonder having it out with creeping dread, like everything that was happening was too good to be true and it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. But what troubled Arthur was the way Merlin hurried after him when they entered the store, not only dogging his heels but quick and eager to go and fetch whatever they needed that wasn't in the immediate aisle. As endearing as it should have been, as much as Arthur attempted to brush it off as Merlin repaying a benefactor, there was a certain desperation to the eagerness that Arthur wasn't liking, like helping was a matter of life or death for Merlin and woe be unto him if he displeased Arthur in the smallest way.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, and that Merlin's body practically shook with his coughing made it worse. Arthur hurried their little stop along, grabbing only what they came for and anything they might need – specifically milk because Gwaine had the bad habit of going through it like the blasted stuff grew on trees. Finally it was the pharmacy and then they were off, heading back to the flat.

Halfway home, Arthur realized he, maybe, probably, should have also picked up a few basic necessities for Merlin, like a toothbrush, maybe underwear.

Or maybe a whole wardrobe – the kid had had to borrow Arthur's clothes again, his own clothes in need of another wash.

Merlin sat there still with that look of bewilderment that was the love-child of hope and dread. Arthur wondered if he should say something, or if saying anything would tip Merlin over into the dread half of his teetering emotions. Playing it safe, Arthur asked him what they should have for dinner tonight. Merlin answered with the timid eagerness of a puppy that he could cook if Arthur wanted, but seeing as how Merlin couldn't stop coughing all over the blasted place that was so far out of the question it shouldn't even have been asked. Arthur said as much – only with actual tact – and suggested Italian instead. Merlin agreed in all his puppy-like glory.

The moment they arrived home, rather than make himself comfortable for a long nap on the couch or Arthur's bed, Merlin began tidying up. There was little to tidy – a jacket here, a DVD not on the rack there, a plate and cup left on the table and not much else - yet Merlin took to it all with that same need to please because so much depended on it. Arthur rolled his eyes and said he didn't have to.

"It's the least I can do," Merlin said with that same so-very-out-of-place humility. It gave Arthur the bad feeling that he may have created something of a monster – a very subservient and aims-to-please-at-all-cost monster.

It should have made Arthur question, once again, his decision for bringing this boy into his flat. It should have made him wonder with much guilt and doubt and even a little dread of his own just how the hell he was supposed to help a kid who thought that all good things came with a price – or an ultimatum. But Gaius had told him to focus on the fact that he was helping someone in dire need of aid and, damn it, that was what he was going to do.

~oOo~

Arthur was going to kill Gaius. Not for any legitimate reason other than his strong encouragement that Arthur continue on the path that was looking after a complete stranger he picked up off the street. Really, this had been Arthur's idea, but it had been backed whole heartedly by that same encouragement, as if Gaius had been there not in flesh but in spirit, cheering Arthur on (although had he been there in the flesh Gaius would have, most likely, done the complete opposite and discouraged Arthur instead).

Merlin needed clothes. Arthur could have purchased a few items here and there since money was rarely an issue for him, but Arthur had felt shopping for the kid who he had picked up off the street for no particular reason pushing it a bit. Plus Arthur hated shopping. Plus it would mean the use of the credit card and that would mean Uther finding out (Arthur's father could deny it all he wanted, Arthur knew Uther read his monthly bill or how else would he know when and what to reprimand Arthur for when it came to his purchases?) Plus it would only send Merlin into a panicked frenzy of trying to repay his benefactor however he could, which could then lead to Merlin back out on the streets under the delusion that he would best serve Arthur by getting out of his hair.

Arthur was painfully aware that these were excuses, and pathetic excuses considering what he had decided on in opposition to shopping. He was also painfully aware that shopping may have, in fact, been the better alternative.

The address on Merlin's license brought Arthur to an estate that he would best describe as average – neither rich nor poor, neither a slum full of broken doors and chipped paint nor a new establishment only a small number of years old and full of promise. Lived in, that was the better word for it – a large number of years old but comfortable in its own skin.

Arthur stood in front of the brown metal door on the third level, wondering what the hell he was doing and why he couldn't just cave and buy Merlin the basic necessities rather than deal with whatever and whoever was behind this door. Arthur could take care of himself, that wasn't a problem – club-hopping and pub brawls had seen to that. The problem was the consequences of acknowledging his acquaintance with Merlin and what harm it could mean for the kid. Because for all Arthur knew, whoever was behind this door was still looking for Merlin - looking to finish what he had started.

Arthur would have turned around right then and there. Fate told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to do any such thing by having the door open without him having to knock.

The man on the other side looked nothing like Merlin. He was tall, barrel chested, pot-bellied, beady eyed and his dust-colored hair retreating like a sorely defeated battalion from his shiny forehead. He struggled into a brown windbreaker as he regarded Arthur with those beady eyes narrowed in premature annoyance.

"You one of those bloody survey takers? I thought I told you bastards to sod off!"

"I'm not," Arthur said both quickly and hotly. Honestly, did he even look like a survey taker?

"Then what do you want?" the man growled.

"I'm looking for the residence of a chap named Merlin. Know him?"

The man, finished working his ungainly way into his jacket, planted his large hands on his large hips and snorted. He smiled. It made Arthur instantly hate him.

"You're from the institution. Still wanting to run your little tests on him? Still think you'll get something from the little freak? Good luck with that, idiot sod's run off. Probably dead. Now if you'll excuse me, the lads are waiting for me at the pub."

The man made to push past Arthur. Arthur blocked his way, forcing himself to unclench his hands from the fist they'd curled themselves into without him realizing it.

"Actually, I'm here to collect some of Merlin's things."

The man's tiny eyes widened. It didn't make them any less beady.

"Oh, you found the little pissant then?" he spat. "I'll not be paying for it, you know that already. He's of age, he's not my responsibility. If anything he should pay me. I feed him, clothe him and the ungrateful little freak can't so much as hold down a job, take care of himself. In fact, if he wants his bloody junk he can just buy it back from me, pay me back for putting him up for as long as I had. You tell that little pissant as much, yeah? No money, no clothes."

Arthur might as well have gone shopping. He rolled his eyes, pulled out his wallet, fished out all the cash he had and held it up.

"I've got a hundred and fifty. How about that?"

"Ha! Not even a start, mate. But I'll take it and you can get his clothes, nothing else."

The man stepped aside and let Arthur through, expecting him to find his own way but following close behind. Arthur finding his way was about as difficult as navigating a small closet. The place was half the size of Arthur's and reminded Arthur of fecal matter – various shades of brown and stinking horribly of cigarettes, booze, old food and, yes, a recently used loo. The kitchen and living room were practically one, the hallway to the two bedrooms and bathroom with fewer feet than Arthur's bedroom. Merlin's room was at the end, a box of a room as cold and near empty as a storage unit. The walls were white cinder block, there was a bed, a desk that had seen better days back in the 1970s, a handmade shelf struggling to support a grand total of five books, an ancient poster of a jousting knight, and that was it. Well, other than the knick-knacks, mostly pretty rocks, a feather and a few old action figures – most of them missing various limbs.

"You came just in time. I was about to haul all this out," the man said at Arthur's neck. He stopped, thankfully, at the door as Arthur entered.

Arthur said nothing. He went to the closet as depressingly sparse as the room and began loading clothes into an old orange duffel bag. He kept the man within his peripheral, but the man seemed about as interested in him as watching paint dry. He hovered and shifted, huffing impatient breaths and letting his gaze wander. Arthur moved deeper into the closet and when he did, he felt a floorboard shift beneath his feet.

Spend half your life hiding favorite candies from spoiled sisters and forbidden magazines from pushy fathers, and you came to know a thing or two not only about hidden floorboards but how to get into them without anyone noticing. As Arthur gathered those shirts that had fallen to the floor, he deftly removed the board and the contents inside. One was a book on Medieval history, the other a rusty tin lunch box. Both he stuffed into the bag.

"You done, yet?" the man asked.

"Done," Arthur said flatly. He set the board back into place. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said twice as flat in passing.

The man grunted, escorting him to the door not out of courtesy but to continue his trek to the pub.

"I don't want that freak coming back here, you know," the man called as he locked his door and Arthur headed quickly away.

"Believe me, he won't," Arthur growled.

Back outside, Arthur slid himself into the safety of his car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat. The rusted box fell out and fell open. Little figurines tumbled out: plastic knights on horseback, five in all. A little plastic king and a little plastic queen. A little plastic wizard with a beard and a pointy hat. Toys of the kind you bought at souvenir shops, probably no more than a quid, yet well cared for as though they had cost far more. Also in the box was a photo of a smiling woman with brown hair and bright eyes, a woman Arthur had seen before in the photo in Merlin's wallet, only this photo less creased and worn.

Arthur gathered the items back into the box. Then he decided to be honest with himself.

He knew good and well why he had come here instead of going shopping.

If asked, he couldn't explain it, not in a way anyone would understand. He had needed to come, wanted to, because a picture had been painted and he had wanted it complete. Not for confirmation – he didn't need confirmation. It was more... knowing thy enemy and all that, because to follow through on his inexplicable need to help Merlin then he needed to know what he was up against.

Which sounded... a little on the extreme side, to be honest. The man wanted nothing to do with Merlin, was glad to see him gone, was getting rid of his stuff and Arthur doubted the man would so much as blink should he happen to pass Merlin on the streets. But the man was a bastard and Merlin was afraid of him, and that was all that mattered. Know Merlin's enemy for Merlin's sake.

And it felt good, facing Merlin's tormentor like that, and made him wish he had done more – told the bastard to leave Merlin alone or something, or at least told him point blank that he wasn't from some damn institute.

Speaking of...

~oOo~

"Merlin, you're not mentally unstable are you?"

Merlin, just finishing up the dishes now sparkling clean and devoid of pasta sauce, nearly dropped the last of the plates in alarm.

"What? No. No I'm... I'm fine."

"So you've never been institutionalized."

Merlin's face drained of so much blood it seemed a miracle he was still standing. "Wha... how...?"

Arthur held up the orange duffel. Merlin's face lost another quart of blood.

"Don't worry," Arthur said gently. He set the bag on the table well within Merlin's reach. "He doesn't know you're here. He thinks I'm from some... institution or whatever. But you're staying with me, now, so if there's anything of a... mental or emotional nature I should know about-"

Merlin shook his head. "There isn't. It's not that kind of institution. It... they just want to know if I'm gifted."

"Gifted? As in intelligent gifted?"

Merlin shrugged a shaky shoulder. "Something like that. Mum took me to this place to get tested and they got all excited. But... but Frank wasn't happy about it. Thought he'd have to pay for it and such, even though they said he didn't."

"Frank. You're father?"

Merlin placed the plate in the rack, deliberately avoiding Arthur's gaze. "He's not my dad. Mum married him long after dad died. He was nice then but... he wasn't later, especially after mum died."

By all that was holy was there anything in this boy's life that wasn't a tragedy? Arthur scraped his hand through his hair, then nudged the bag closer. "Well, as long as I don't have to worry about you sleepwalking through windows or something. All your clothes are in this bag."

Merlin looked up, surprised. "Frank let you have them?"

"I talked him into it," Arthur said vaguely.

Merlin, wearing a look of wonder on his face, moved to the bag and gathered it to his chest. He began heading to the bedrooms, but managed as far as the couch before he set the bag down and opened it. He froze.

He looked at Arthur. He looked at the bag. Emotions dashed across his face like a stampede – alarm, astonishment, then something so blasted heartbreaking that for a moment Arthur was sure he had done something wrong. Merlin's eyes were shiny – lords, they were shiny and tears were tumbling down his face. He'd made Merlin cry, like an emotional little girl. Lovely. Arthur had a hard enough time dealing with emotional women, he had no bloody clue as to what to do about an emotional bloke.

"Thank you."

Arthur blinked, snapping from his mounting panic. "Um... you're welcome."

But Merlin shook his head. "Thank you. For... for everything." He looked up at Arthur, eyes red-rimmed and tear tracks glittering on his face. "Why are you helping me?"

This time, Arthur didn't bristle, he shrugged. "Why not?"

It wasn't a sufficient answer. Hell, it wasn't even an answer. But Merlin, either out of courtesy or fear or not caring because he had something precious returned to him, smiled a tremulous smile, nodded, and continued on his way to the bedroom, the bag clutched like a long lost loved one to his thin chest.

Arthur grinned, feeling bloody damn good about it.

TBC...

A/N: Oh, Arthur, you big softy ;) I know the abusive stepfather route is a bit cliche but no way was I going to make Balinor the abusive one. And because I know some will be wondering, no, I will not be touching on dragonlords and dragonlord abilities. But feel free to ponder why institutions were all excited about Merlin being "gifted" ;)