37.
It's a very nostalgic scent of tense, sterile nothingness, which breathes on his face each time another person passes. Merlin feels like he's 13 again, waiting on his mother till early evening when her shift often ended. Except now he's sitting in the hospital waiting room no longer with homework to finish, or book to stick his nose into, or Sudoku puzzle to solve. Morgana is flipping idly through a magazine across from him, head bent and hair falling onto the pages, pretending to be interested every other page. But he notices her eyes, flickering away from him quickly whenever they meet his. She looks pale, uncertain—as she has almost since they stepped foot inside this hospital.
"So I don't know of him?" Merlin asks finally, glancing around the corridor. Nurses are moving about, doctors entering and exiting nearby. The nurse that led them to the hospital's Progressive Care Unit said there would be a ten minute wait—fifteen minutes ago.
"I wouldn't think so, no," Morgana replies, finally shutting the magazine. Ten Ways to Get That Healthy Glow! it says on the cover, showing a woman applying crème to her skin. "It's a slightly sensitive subject, back home."
"Does the man have a condition? Is he just—sick?" Merlin raises an eyebrow, and Morgana shakes her head with a strange smile.
"Neither."
". . . Okay."
Another five minutes, and Morgana seems to grow paler and paler. She abruptly stands, looks like she's going to be sick. "I'm going to . . . use the lavatory," she mutters, and quickly gets pointed in the right direction by a woman at the unit desk. Merlin watches her go with growing alarm, wondering what he's supposed to do if the nurse comes back and she hasn't returned.
He settles with hoping it won't come to that, looking around idly at posters titled 'Courage,' and fake foliage in pots. Still morning, though the windows are shuttered enough it's hard to tell, and on a good day Merlin would still be asleep. Visiting hours have barely started and there's hardly anyone around. In fact, Merlin waits alone until another man is led in and sits in Morgana's seat, offering Merlin a weak but sincere smile as he does so.
"Morning," he murmurs, placing a brown paper bag of something next to his feet, and Merlin nods his head in return.
The morning's been strange, compared to the relatively quiet afternoon the day before. Gwen had led him outside the house, where the rest of the company was waiting. Apparently 'eating out' meant taking a couple-hour hike through the estate's endless acreage. Leon carried a heavy duty picnic basket the whole way, and Mordred piggy-backed Merlin for most of it. Arthur smiled a few times, though he and Gwen seemed distant again, and Morgana was overtly friendly there and back. All in all, a pleasant evening.
That was when she suggested taking him to de Bois Central E, Wenham, East Midlands B9 5SS, Albion, as the note said. 'Early in the morning, when Arthur is busiest and less likely to take note of Merlin encroaching the "stay away from my sister" regulation.'
Of course, she's been much less friendly and much more apprehensive today thus far, especially on the elevator up. Another five minutes have passed now, without Morgana's return, and Merlin is wondering if she's gotten lost when the nurse from before approaches him. "Mr. Galles is ready to have visitors now," she nods at Merlin, who stands. Silently pleading for Morgana to appear.
The man across from him stands as well.
"Morgana—my friend, she's—"
"I'll inform her where you've gone," the nurse smiles, and beckons for them to follow. The man walks ahead, and Merlin scrutinizes him from the back as he follows. Dark hair, practically just as tall, wearing casual shirt and jeans. Friendly, it seems, and connected to the patient in some way.
They quickly reach the open doorway labelled B117, which the woman allows them to enter. Merlin follows the man in hesitantly, slowly taking in what he sees around him. First, a curtained-off bed emitting some very loud snoring; second, a huge clutter of flowers and balloons and propped-open cards, decorating practically every surface of the rest of the room.
Finally, the man sitting on a bed, poking at a very hospital-made breakfast.
"Hullo there," he says looking up, though his eyes are on the man ahead of Merlin. "Please tell me that's what I think it is." He's grinning toothily at the brown paper bag the first man raises—but then his eyes find Merlin. "Did you bring a friend, Lance?"
The first man, apparently Lance, turns back to Merlin still smiling that small smile, but shakes his head. "No."
"Hello," Merlin says, waving his hand in greeting. The one in the bed, likely Mr. Galles, raises an eyebrow. "My—I'm Merlin. I came to see you."
"I reckon, as you're standing here," he says, looking mostly amused. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
"Do you . . .? Oh! Oh—no, I didn't come by myself." Merlin clears his throat. "Gaius sent me. I came with Morgana."
Both men's faces darken. "If you're a friend of Morgana's you really have no business here," the one named Lance says. "Though I don't know why Gaius would send a person who—"
"What are you doing here?" Mr. Galles interrupts abruptly, but before Merlin can do more than open his mouth he adds, "go ahead, sit down the both of you. I do want a proper breakfast, if you could share, Lance."
Lance smiles hesitantly and pulls out a large amount of pastries from his bag, his friend rubbing hands together in comedic anticipation. After the latter takes a colossal bite of donut, he glances at Merlin again. "So: why would Gaius send you?" he says through his food.
Merlin counters back with another question, seeing as he doesn't know the answer to that one. "How did you end up in here?"
"Hurt myself. An accident," the man frowns, pointing to his shoulder ambiguously. He seems pretty nonchalant; almost enough to deter Merlin, if it wasn't for the word 'accident' and the automatic censorship it carries to Merlin after a week at Pendragon Estate.
"You said you came with Morgana?" Lance asks then, face clouded. "Is she here with you?"
"She will be, I think," Merlin says. "You both know her?"
The two men exchange glances, something unspoken passing between them.
"You seem like an alright fella," Mr. Galles says finally, giving Merlin a pitying look. "Just because of that, I feel it's an obligation to inform you. You're traveling with a psychopath."
"A— . . . what?" Merlin stares at the man, searching for the joke in his eyes. There is none.
"A psychopath?" He's looking at Merlin like he's the crazy one now. "You know: crazy, murderous, devious bastards, carrying little to no conscience?" Mr. Galles's eyes suddenly flicker above Merlin's head, behind him. His face whitens, and Merlin hears familiar, soft footsteps approach.
"Now, now. Percy, is that any way to talk about an old friend?"
38.
Morgana has finally appeared, walking into the room with all the bravado she lacked before fleeing to the loo. Her hands are on her hips, her smirk is painted expertly on, and her eyebrows are poised to perfection.
Merlin has hardly any time at all to register the name she just used before the man answers.
"Morgana, what an honor," he says acidly. Ruining an impressive glare with an even more impressive-sized bite of donut. "Never thought I'd get a visit in hospital from the likes of you."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not here to 'visit,' Percival. I'm here for Merlin, actually."
"Well what a relief—I don't have to pretend to be flattered," he answers, crossing his arms, and Merlin starts running the very poignant name through his head, always mentioned by Gwaine:
"Does Percival still work in security?"
". . . Percy, Percy, I bet he left."
"I need you to find him. Percival will help, if no one else will. You have to stop this thing, from whatever it plans."
The spirit's last request, Merlin remembers. What Gwaine tried reminding him about, he realizes now, Sunday night:
"Just, really quickly: don't forget what I asked you, last time. Just try—and trust. It's a good idea. That's all."
Trust Percival. Merlin can do that, for Gwaine.
"And I'm here in behalf of Gwaine," Merlin says abruptly, having decided. All three of them are silent, staring at him. Percival, Mr. Galles, has his mouth gaping open. "Who, it seems, all three of you knew at some point."
Morgana recovers first. "You'll want to hear him out," she tells them, leaning against the wall. Merlin is grateful, even if her words appear to do little in reassuring the two men.
"You knew him?" Percy asks warily, donut forgotten. His very very large hand instead is fisting at the hospital-white sheets at his lap, while the other takes the styro-foam cup of liquid from the hospital tray.
"I know him. I just spoke with him recently, actually," Merlin says, ignoring the tight knot in his stomach. No matter how many times he reveals this, this huge, essential part of himself, it still sources the same lump of anxiety every time. After years and years of keeping it quiet, trying to forget about it—trying to deny it even existed within him—Merlin isn't sure he'll ever admit to being a medium without his heart in his throat.
Percival takes the usual route of those on the opposite end of the news: he chokes on whatever is in the cup, sputtering and hacking for a good half a minute before coughing out, "Is this—some—joke?"
"Gwaine has been dead for two years," Lance says solemnly, looking at Merlin almost like he's concerned about him. "Drug overdose, without warning."
"I know," Merlin nods, and when Lance stares at him, opening his mouth probably to repeat himself, Merlin continues, "Have either of you been to Pendragon Estate, recently?"
Percival seems to be over his coughing fit. "Not too long ago for me, yes, though Lancelot hasn't." His eyes are clearly asking for the point.
"Recently enough to know about . . . strange things, odd accidents that have been happening of late? That no one can really explain?"
He catches the half-second glance Lance and Percy share again, though this time they're quick to cover it. Percival seems very intent on finding the point, however, saying, "And what would that have to do with Gwaine?"
"Something's haunting the estate," Morgana steps in, figuratively and literally. Her voice isn't as hard, as guarded this time. She's looking at Percival like she expects him to believe her. "Arthur even thinks so, now."
For a moment it seems as if she's got him startled; but Percival quickly recovers. ". . . and you think its Gwaine?" he says, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.
"No! No, it's not him, I know that," Merlin does, and when both Lance and Percival are now looking at him with questioning eyes, he says, "I can speak with them. Arthur hired me to, I mean—and I can. I've seen Gwaine—he kept asking about you, too, though obviously I didn't know any news to give. Percival—I didn't know that was your name, but I guess that makes sense now. The only thing that doesn't make sense still . . . is why Gaius had me come here." Has Gaius received messages from Gwaine as well?
"Tell him about your accident, then," Morgana prods Percival, who glares.
"An axe fell on me, that's all," he says, sounding defensive.
"No. It isn't." Morgana grabs Lance's arm, towing him up easily in his surprise. "I want you two to talk alone for a bit—tell him the whole story, Perce.
"It's what Gaius would want," she says when both men start to protest.
Percival is shaking his head at her as she pulls Lance away, eyes avoiding Merlin's gaze. He seems even stiffer than before once they are alone, though his smile is easy as ever once finally meeting eyes. "Well, I guess one more interrogation won't hurt," he grins, shaking his head.
Merlin decides not to ask; he's remembering Gwaine's words again, to just 'try and trust,' for once. That 'Percival will help, if no one else will.'
But the opposite has to be true as well. "You can trust me," Merlin says, hoping his face sends across the same message. The man's easy smile fades, brow furrowing. "I promise. You can trust me." Percival stares at him, long enough that Merlin feels the urge to gulp—but then he nods. And begins his tale.
A/N: Another chapter come and gone! Lots and lots of things about to happen, but when isn't there? Also lots and lots of homework to congest my schedule, so this might be it for a bit—but hey. You know what motivates? Reviews. I'm ahead, too, so *those who do comment will be gifted a snippet for next time.* I'm in a good mood, probably because I just had milk and cookies, but also because I'm excited to post this! Yaaaay for finishing things! And procrastinating homework. Oh yes. Love you all.
P.S. I almost forgot to shamelessly self-advertise myself! I just posted a tiny side project, completely Mergana, that you might want to check out. Its a two-part story, slightly crack-ey and in a modern lifeguard setting called, "How to Save a (Love) Life." Your cuppa? Try and see :D