New Story: Time's Up, Master Post (6 + epi)
Master Post
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Epilogue
Title: Time’s up
This is a translation from Russian. The story in Russian can be found here
Authors: la novocaina&Sabira
Translated from Russian: Detochkina
Translation Betas: otta_ff ememmyemalby_mangroves
Original beta: lyekka
Art by: Thymus, f.solveig
Genre: romance
Paring: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin, Gwaine(Morgana)
Rated: soft R + explicit language
Warnings: Modern!AU, mentioning of drug use, mentioning of non-con
Video trailer: here
Additional thanks and comments: here
Summary: Is there anything in common between drugs and excellent grades? Or business and psychology? The answer is simple - in the world of big money a lot can happen when you’re bored to tears. Under pressure from his father, Merlin becomes involved in a strange relationship. At first, he can’t get out of it; on second thought - he doesn’t want to.
"When they ask me in court how I got into this,” Merlin said slowly, trying to recover from the initial shock, “I’ll just tell them I was too busy snorting crack to notice. Think that would move them to tears?”
Gwaine tossed his head back and laughed."
Arthur cut a small piece from his perfectly cooked steak-medium, just the right amount of seasoning-and deposited it into his mouth. He had about forty minutes left to finish his meal and he was going to enjoy every single moment.
“An unpleasant situation, don’t you think?” Gaius set his fork aside. His wine glass was still mostly full, and the food on his plate was barely touched. Louis was going to be furious-run out of the kitchen, demand to know why the customer wasn’t pleased with the meal.
“Send him to rehab. It’s a popular solution nowadays. Proper meal plan, pretty nurses, support groups to share their life stories. A month, maybe two, and the guy will go home clean as a whistle.”
Gaius twisted a napkin in his hands. Gnarled fingers, skin covered with liver spots - somehow Arthur had failed to notice until now how much the man had given out physically. The truth was, Gaius had turned old a long time ago; Arthur just never bothered to find out about his age. His father had said something about an upcoming anniversary. Probably time to think about a present.
“Rehab might help, but… it’s a sensitive matter. He’s the son of a reputable man, and if it leaked to the press…”
Arthur sipped his water and, puffing out his cheeks, blew out air. It was just like when he was a child and Gaius was trying to convince him to do something he really didn’t want to.
“You’re right, nothing pleasant about that. But, Gaius, I’m not a shrink. There’s no way I could help.”
“We both know you’re good at reading people.” Gaius offered him an open smile, leaning in a little bit, and Arthur knew then he was going to give in.
And seriously, who was he trying to fool? Gaius had known him since he was in nappies. He wondered about his guys’ reaction if they knew their boss could never say no to his father’s friend.
“You aren’t as much of a wanker as you’d like us to think, Pendragon!” Imaginary Gwaine laughed and winked. Arthur sighed.
“What’s his name?”
“Merlin. Merlin Emrys.”
“Balinor’s son?” Arthur’s brows arched up. Gaius nodded. Arthur frowned, chewing thoughtfully on his delicious steak.
“Counting your losses already?” Gaius asked with a soft chuckle.
“You know fine well we don't have much to worry about. If anyone’s going to lose a lot here, it's Balinor himself.”
“And Emrys Chemicals.”
“Which would give us an excellent opportunity to buy this whole business out,” noted Arthur, putting down his fork and knife with a satisfied sigh. All good things come to an end.
“It’s not funny, Arthur.”
“I’m not laughing. Fine, no mentioning of long-term projects-yet.” Seeing Gaius tensing, Arthur laughed. “I’m kidding, kidding! Why would I bloody care about some mental scientist and his lab?”
“Does that mean you’ll help?” Gaius relaxed a little and drank some water.
“Yes.” Arthur tapped his fingers on the starched tablecloth. “But why me, Gaius?”
“Everyone else failed. I believe you’re the only one who can straighten the boy out.”
When presented that way, Arthur couldn’t resist the challenge. Half an hour later he somehow was done not only with his salad, but the dessert, too, and completely forgot to ask for a regular tea instead of that green slog Vivian made him drink here. At the same time, he already had a good a picture in his head of this lad Emrys. And he couldn’t say he liked that picture very much.
The only thing that made this whole situation bearable for Arthur-Merlin had a monstrous IQ. Gaius wouldn’t stoop so low as to lie about that, and if he said the young guy was one of the best in his class, then it must be indeed so. On the other hand, Arthur hated people who wasted their talent on worthless rubbish.
“I’m not promising anything,” he summed up, signing the bill. “I’ll try, but I won’t waste my time on some dolt.”
“Thank you, Arthur.” Gaius’ smile added more wrinkles to his face, but his eyes, still young, made you forget about that. “I truly appreciate it.”
“Call me.” Arthur shook his withered hand, nodded to Louis, who came out to walk him to the door, and hurried to his car. His watch said it was already two o’clock, and he had a fuck-load of a work waiting for him. In the next few days he’d have to find some time for Emrys, so he certainly had to hurry up and go now.
Arthur parked his car and suppressed a heavy sigh. George, his personal assistant, had a propensity for being overly eager at his job. Like now, when he materialized at the entrance, doing everything he could to demonstrate his total readiness to complete whatever challenge was coming his way. Arthur sometimes felt guilty if he didn’t have some special task saved for him, like “to pull the moon from the sky” or something of that sort. But today, George radiated happiness for no apparent reason.
“Mister Pendragon!”
Arthur nodded, accepted a cup of coffee extended to him, and pressed his palm on the bio-metric device. Ensuring office security was the first rule to a successful business. Besides, the fingerprint identity device was top-notch, and Arthur always liked to play with the latest gadgets. His father still called him a kid for a reason.
“What’s new, George?”
“Foreign Exchange Market is closed at this time, sir. I’ve prepared the report for the last three hours; no serious fluctuations registered. While the market is quiet, our brokers are keeping an eye on the Japanese.”
Arthur fixed his tie, loosening the knot a bit, and followed jabbering George into the lift. The car silently took off and started climbing up.
“Are we expecting some trouble in Tokyo?”
“AsahiKasei, sir. The buzz is their stock is about to drop. Ammonia leak at the factory in Singapore. They were able to avoid a scandal, but a stink like that doesn’t die down easily.” George was shining like a freshly polished penny.
Arthur took a sip of his coffee from the cup.
“You should go, then. Hand off anything outstanding to Morris and you may be late for work tomorrow. We can’t leave the company that’s part of Nikkei without our attention.”
“Of course, sir.”
There weren’t a lot of people who jizzed their pants about spending sleepless nights in front of the monitor; George, however, was one of those people. At eleven o’clock in the evening, when Tokyo Stock Exchange opened the trading floor, he’d stock up on popcorn and get busy with it until five o’clock in a morning. One hour to finish a report - and by six Arthur would have the latest on AsahiKasei. By eight his analysts would have calculated his company's profit. George had an unparalleled ability to gather bits of information into one picture, one day he’d be as good as Gwaine.
Arthur’s thoughts gradually moved from one chemical company to another. Emrys Chemicals, in contrast with AsahiKasei, wasn’t interested in nitric acid; their specialty was pharmacology. Almost thirty years ago, Arthur’s father made the right decision by leasing out a piece of his land to Balinor Emrys to build a lab, which eventually turned into a powerful corporation with a strong influence in the biotech sector. Arthur recalled that just last year Balinor was awarded a grant to supply drugs to the NHS.
Yes, his father could always smell a good investment. Thirty years ago, Uther Pendragon, who inherited a great deal of real estate, had to make a difficult choice: to bank on a young but promising chemical scientist or to make a deal with Holland and Sherry, a prominent textile company looking for a place to build a new factory. It was 1984, their headquarters had just moved to Savile Row, heart of London, and they desperately needed more leverage to keep up with the market demand. Still, the deal didn’t happen.
Holland wanted the land to purchase it, not to lease. Uther was ready to sell, but in exchange for company stocks. In the end, most likely in a fit of temper, Uther made a deal with the friend of Gaius, telling the textile company to sod off. It took Uther and Holland another two years to come to an understanding.
By that time, Emrys had already received solid financial support and worked like a maniac to produce a new drug according to the contract. In another five years he swallowed his biggest competition, Dragon Medicals. Since then, Balinor was nicknamed a Dragon Lord, and Pendragon’s wealth, thanks to his shares in Balinor’s company, grew in millions-and kept growing. So, if the young Emrys heir was off his trolley, it was only prudent to help him come to his senses.
All these people didn’t work day and night so this bratty little arsehole could bugger things up for them.
Arthur knew how to value someone else’s hard work and could recite his family history in his sleep. It all started with Anion Pendragon, slick fellow, who was granted a nobility title in the fourteenth century. The title was given to him by Edward III, according to the legend-for Pendragon’s heroic efforts shown in one of the battles during the Hundred Years’ War. Arthur had his doubts about the nobility of his ancestor, but not about his calculating mind. Once he received the title and the land, Anion proceeded to multiply his riches under the patronage of his king, who wasn’t a bad businessman himself.
Anion was survived by six sons; they all married smartly, and two centuries later, the Pendragons were a large, strong, and very wealthy dynasty. After the English Revolution, they owned an extensive amount of land and, of course, supported the newly-born Conservative Party. Arthur’s ancestors managed to hold on to their wealth through the endless internal and external conflicts that battered Britain for generations-the land never loses its precious value as long as you’re smart about whom to lease it to. At the tender age of nine, Arthur was already well-versed in real estate terminology and could easily explain the difference between types of rental agreements to his father’s friends during their dinner parties. Those little performances were done not only to entertain the guests or bolster Uther’s pride as a father. Uther was sending a clear message-his son was going to be a strong successor when the time came.
And he wasn’t wrong. Although, Arthur was far less interested in real estate. Uther was the one constantly juggling several deals, buying and selling land, building, renting, and selling again. Arthur was fascinated by the world of finances. Stock markets, money markets-his time studying at Oxford wasn’t for nothing. However, as it often happens, aside from his main interest, Arthur allowed himself a little harmless hobby-psychology. It started with a lecture in neuro-linguistic programming, and ended with poring over hundreds of books and attending classes taught by professor Geoffrey-another person who knew Gaius and agreed to work with the talented young man.
Two degrees later - one official and one, not so much - Arthur took his first million, a present from his father on the day he came of age, and founded his own company. It specalised in consulting services. He quickly made a name for himself as a financial advisor and a successful negotiator. In his professional field he knew no defeat-money and connections gave him access to any information he needed. An ability to analyse said information and developing appropriate plans of attack was in his blood-and well-nurtured by his father and his mentor. He learned to work with different kinds of people; he could bullshit his way with the most difficult and stubborn clients, and push the most cautious ones to take risks. But the biggest reason for his successful career was that he cared about his reputation: he never considered dubious offers regardless of the size of a promised reward.
And so far, what Gaius was asking of him seemed exactly like that sort of an offer. Wasting his time on Emrys’s boy, instead of doing serious business. But Arthur loved the old man. He was going to try to play shrink with this Merlin. And at the end, he’d send them a bill of transcendental proportions, they could be sure of that.
Merlin slammed the door and then kicked it for good measure. He couldn’t breathe he was so angry, and nothing was helping him to calm down or distract him.
He was so sick of his father’s bloody lectures, and of the soft and understanding look in his mum’s eyes!
He fucked up, whatever. But he was perfectly fine. And he sure as hell could deal with his own problems. ON HIS OWN, without any help from those dickheads with their diplomas for PhD in mindfuckery on the walls and sugary smiles on their plastic faces.
Nobody listened. Merlin tried to explain, time after time, and it was like talking to a wall. As if his English suddenly turned into gibberish, and instead of normal words his parents only heard “blablablahargh grhm”.
Sure he shouldn’t have experimented with meth. But nobody knew better than him the components and the doses, considering he was the one synthesising the drug, his nowhere near challenging enough biology homework finished a long time ago.
It wasn’t as if he was buying some unidentified junk from a crackhead in Soho! He, Merlin, was in perfect health, no addictions to any substances, and the side effects were almost non-existent. With the exception of bouts of irritation and, occasionally, difficulty to concentrate, which was especially annoying when it happened during professor Gaius’ classes.
He shouldn’t have picked this subject at all! What a pile of buggery: Monday, nine in the morning, practically at dawn. Did they not know the best parties at “Lagoon” happen on Sunday night?.
Merlin recalled his father’s hard expression as he was holding Merlin’s bank account statement-undeniable evidence of a steady loss of funds every week. What did he expect, booze in clubs was expensive.
The first time, his father threatened to close all accounts and take away all of his credit cards. Merlin snorted-he already took care of that problem by opening a new account; in a different bank, just in case. All of his hard-earned money went into that account. Hard-earned, but not through legal means. The second time, his father locked him up on house arrest for a month. Thankfully it was during the summer break, otherwise his attendance record would have been an issue. Although it wouldn’t be beneath his father to hire him an escort to school.
The third time, five minutes ago, his father flushed all his supply down the toilet, right in front of his upset mum and then, without a word, locked himself in his office. Most likely with a bottle of whisky. Yet another one. Considering that until recently he didn’t touch alcohol at all...
Merlin wanted to scream. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he just explain to them that he was going through a tough time? Although no, he definitely didn’t want to talk about that.
Merlin ruffled his hair and, collapsing onto his bed, hugged his pillow. Problems were piling up, and he had zero energy to try to solve them. He was so off-kilter at that point, he just wanted to fucking forget everything: the tests, the Biology paper, and the project for the next semester he was supposed to start thinking about already. Let them expel him; being dumped by Oxford wasn’t the end of the world. Even without a degree, he’d still be in demand anywhere.
Lying to himself felt almost nice. Of course, Merlin realized that without a degree he’d have no opportunities for a serious career in Pharmaceutics. At this rate, his best chance was probably to be hired by the Taliban to develop biological weapons. Merlin tried to imagine himself in a turban, or whatever that thing they wrapped around their heads was called. Might work, actually-to cover his ears, that’d be a plus. And if he grew a beard-he'd totally pass as their own.
It hurt that Gaius was the one who sold him out. His favorite professor, a friend of the family, and, unfortunately, a very smart and observant man, who’d seen too many young people getting high. Merlin hugged his pillow tighter.
Most of all, he was tortured by the imminence of failing his classes and being expelled.
He had disappointed so many people. His dad, his mum, his mentor. He’d rather they kicked him out of the house or whipped his arse. Instead, he was surrounded by attention and loving care. By accident, Merlin overheard his parents’ conversation. Mum cried about losing her son and feeling helpless, and his dad blamed himself for always being too busy working.
Merlin didn’t deserve them.
Maybe, if he groveled, agreed to clean up, and promised to never do it again, everything would go back to normal. But as soon as he thought about endless sessions spent on the couch while being picked apart by another glee-faced shrink, he lost it. That was why Merlin (while hating himself terribly for it), tried to convince himself that his mum’s eyes weren’t always red, and his father didn’t have more and more grey hair.
Merlin stretched out his limbs and felt around for his headphones. If he continued beating himself up, he’d slip up again. His father took away the entire supply he kept in his room, but the stash in the garage was still safe. He wasn’t going to use it. After all, Merlin wasn’t an addict.
So far.
The wheel obediently scrolled under his finger, pushing the sound volume up to the maximum, and Merlin was swept away on a wave of music by the American guy with a similar name, Manson.
...Some of them want to be abused...
A perfect song for a perfect day.
Arthur couldn’t stand guys like Merlin. Too smart for their own good, too spoiled by their mummies’ attention and their daddies’ money. They searched for the meaning of life by getting stoned or high, so they could babble about some pseudo-philosophical rubbish and whine about being misunderstood. In reality, they needed a good arse kicking, a cold shower and their credit card access blocked for a month. Not a trail of expensive shrinks analyzing their patients' hypothetical childhood traumas and playing deep sympathy for a steep fee.
All in all, when he sent Gwaine a short text with, “Merlin Emrys. Find out about him,” he planned to be done with Gaius’ request in a couple of hours. If Merlin was indeed using, Arthur was going to take great pleasure in kicking some sense into the guy, which would be killing two birds with one stone: it would help to save Balinor’s company an embarrassment, and allow Arthur to blow off some steam. He needed to hit the gym and spar with a punching bag anyway, why not use Merlin instead? Metaphorically speaking, of course.
What he received from his ever-reliable friend Gwaine made him pause and think. Hmm, maybe his original plan being done in a couple of hours was a bit underestimated. The boy wasn’t that simple, and sly, to boot.
Not that he worried, he’d seen worse.
Once he parked next to a surprisingly small and cozy-looking cottage, Arthur got out of the car and smoothed down his jacket.
“Bugger,” he swore quietly, inspecting his wrinkled suit. And this piece of shite cost him fifteen hundred quid?
“Good day, Arthur,” someone called; Arthur looked up. Hunith was standing at the door of the house.
“Mrs Emrys.” Arthur tilted his head in a polite nod.
He’d seen her a few times before during the Christmas parties thrown by Uther every year. Hunith seemed a lot more attractive then, when she didn’t have dark circles under her eyes and web of fine wrinkles around them.
“You look great.” She smiled, gesturing Arthur into the house.
“Thank you, and you... as well, yes,” he lied awkwardly, rubbing his shoes on the welcome mat. “Where’s your little shite of a son?”
Hunith didn’t even appear upset by his wording of the question. She squinted at him knowingly and pointed to the spiral staircase. “Second floor, third door down the hall. Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, but no. I’m not here for long.” Arthur nodded one more time and began walking in the direction she pointed.
With each step, his irritation grew stronger. Unbelievable, this woman was a saint to carry this entire house on her shoulders, be supportive of her husband, who spent more time with his tubes in the lab than at home, and protect her son, who acted like nothing but a spoiled, ungrateful brat.
If Arthur had a mum, he would never. He would... Stopping by the room he was looking for, he sucked in a deep breath. He had to calm down, or he’d definitely lose his shite and punch this blithering idiot with an inflated ego.
No one answered when he rapped on the door. Arthur decided to forgo all formalities (as if anyone here was worth it to begin with!) and pushed it open.
“Merlin Emrys, I see,” he murmured. He studied the guy sprawled on the bed wearing huge headphones and shaking his leg in time with music. “Nice to meet you.”
Of course, Merlin didn’t respond. Arthur didn’t need him to. Wrinkling his nose, he picked up a gross-looking hoodie with his two fingers, dropped it on the floor, and sat on the now free chair. He took his time to look around, trying to figure out how Merlin could manage to get anything accomplished living in such mess. His Chem books were dumped in one pile with CDs and magazines; there were mountains of crumpled paper and bread crumbs on his desk, mini-banners with cryptic chemical formulas and mindboggling terms hung from the ceiling; and the floor... Arthur preferred not to look at the floor.
Yes, he had his work cut out for him. Obviously, this lad had an utter apocalypse taking over his brain; Arthur always figured biochemists and other scientists-for nutcases. Aliens, whose passion for a periodic table was part of their genetic code, making them a whackjob before they were even born. Why, why didn’t he say no to Gaius?
“Who are you, loser?” husky voice pulled him out of his depressing thoughts.
“Hello to you too, Merlin.” Pendragon gave him a grim smile. “I’m your new friend.”
“Wrong door,” Merlin muttered, turning off his music.
“I don’t think so.”
“Not this again. Came to say hi from Gaius?” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I don’t need help from another shrink.”
“Obviously.” Arthur pointedly looked around. “Excellent environment for being productive.”
“Fuck off. Besides, you're trespassing.”
“On the contrary, Mrs Emrys said I was very welcome.”
“I wonder, what did they pay you?” Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Come on, don’t be shy; I already know your services to mindfuck me must cost a fortune.”
“Which flatters your enormously inflated ego, doesn’t it?”
“I can pay you.” Merlin patted around under his bed and pulled out a huge backpack. “How much?”
“You’re not going to believe it-not a penny.” Arthur smirked. “I’m famous for my altruistic nature.”
“Bullshit. How much?”
“You can stop this spectacle.” Arthur no longer looked complacent, and Merlin instinctively hunched his shoulders and lowered his head when Arthur frowned and leaned forward. “My time is too expensive for you, and you’re already wasting it. Why don’t you just tell me how you turned into such a nitwit.”
Merlin huffed, angry and exasperated. The second he got rid of this conceited arsehole he was calling Gaius. He’d tell him what he thought about his so-called support. Fuck the patience and good nature, not that he had much of that left anyway.
“What for? You’re a head specialist, it’s your job to run your mouth.”
“Should I skip the part about a rich daddy and his scamp of an off-spring, who acts like an arrogant prick, and go straight to the heart of the matter?” Arthur asked dryly. As he expected, there was no response. “Excellent, no soul-baring, tear-inducing discussions.”
“Did Gaius decide to try a ‘good-cop, bad-cop’ tactic?” Merlin snorted and issued a fake yawn. “The shrinks before you were a lot more polite.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Listen, why don’t you just bugger off?” Merlin glanced at the door with longing. “I can pay you, for real, and everything will be splendid. No useless lectures for me, and no extra work-for you.”
“Like I said-you can’t afford me.” Arthur reached into his bag and pulled several pieces of paper, folded in quarters. “Three Lloyds TSB Bank credit cards canceled by your father, and about fifteen hundred pounds on your personal account opened last year with Santander UK. What, turning poor, slowly but surely? Your meth peddling business isn’t doing too well? Ah, that’s right, no more access to equipment to make it, you hapless lad you.” Arthur crumpled the already tattered paper and tossed it to Merlin on the bed. “There you go, you amateur.”
Merlin gasped for air. How? Where did he get this information? Access to personal files? No one suspected he was selling meth at uni! He was careful about his cover, never made mistakes; he had a well-thought-out, reliable system, for fuck’s sake! He had the nickname Nemo for a reason and the junk he sold wasn’t called Nautilus for nothing. Poor great monsieur Verne, he was probably turning in his grave at such loose interpretation of his book.
“How do you know?” His voice cracked, the phrase came out childishly weak.
“Bond, double-o-seven.” Arthur rose from the chair; stretching languidly, he flexed his legs, and caught Merlin’s hunted expression, who immediately scowled. “Relax, your parents have no clue.”
“Now you’re going to blackmail me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just feel bad for your mum, Merlin.” Arthur studied Merlin for a few thoughtful minutes and then, as if he had made a decision, nodded. “See you later.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“Home. It’s hard to imagine, I know, Merlin, but I have other things to do, besides you.”
“But you must stay here and talk the talk with me!” Shocked, Merlin jumped to his feet and walked to Arthur.
“I must nothing. We’re done,” Arthur snipped and placed his hand on the door handle.
“What the?...”
“Time’s up, captain Nemo. Au plaisir.” Arthur saluted and walked out, leaving confused Merlin standing in the middle of the room.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Notes:
More on AsahiKasei corporation here
Nikkei 225 - is a stock market index for the Tokyo Stock Exchange. Currently, the Nikkei is the most widely quoted average of Japanese equities, similar to the Dow Jones Industrial Average.
Neuro-linguistic programming - is an approach to communication, personal development, and psychotherapy, currently not unsupported by current scientific evidence. More information here
NHS - the British National Health Service.
Au plaisir - “bye” in French.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Epilogue
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Epilogue
Title: Time’s up
This is a translation from Russian. The story in Russian can be found here
Authors: la novocaina&Sabira
Translated from Russian: Detochkina
Translation Betas: otta_ff ememmyemalby_mangroves
Original beta: lyekka
Art by: Thymus, f.solveig
Genre: romance
Paring: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin, Gwaine(Morgana)
Rated: soft R + explicit language
Warnings: Modern!AU, mentioning of drug use, mentioning of non-con
Video trailer: here
Additional thanks and comments: here
Summary: Is there anything in common between drugs and excellent grades? Or business and psychology? The answer is simple - in the world of big money a lot can happen when you’re bored to tears. Under pressure from his father, Merlin becomes involved in a strange relationship. At first, he can’t get out of it; on second thought - he doesn’t want to.
"When they ask me in court how I got into this,” Merlin said slowly, trying to recover from the initial shock, “I’ll just tell them I was too busy snorting crack to notice. Think that would move them to tears?”
Gwaine tossed his head back and laughed."
Arthur cut a small piece from his perfectly cooked steak-medium, just the right amount of seasoning-and deposited it into his mouth. He had about forty minutes left to finish his meal and he was going to enjoy every single moment.
“An unpleasant situation, don’t you think?” Gaius set his fork aside. His wine glass was still mostly full, and the food on his plate was barely touched. Louis was going to be furious-run out of the kitchen, demand to know why the customer wasn’t pleased with the meal.
“Send him to rehab. It’s a popular solution nowadays. Proper meal plan, pretty nurses, support groups to share their life stories. A month, maybe two, and the guy will go home clean as a whistle.”
Gaius twisted a napkin in his hands. Gnarled fingers, skin covered with liver spots - somehow Arthur had failed to notice until now how much the man had given out physically. The truth was, Gaius had turned old a long time ago; Arthur just never bothered to find out about his age. His father had said something about an upcoming anniversary. Probably time to think about a present.
“Rehab might help, but… it’s a sensitive matter. He’s the son of a reputable man, and if it leaked to the press…”
Arthur sipped his water and, puffing out his cheeks, blew out air. It was just like when he was a child and Gaius was trying to convince him to do something he really didn’t want to.
“You’re right, nothing pleasant about that. But, Gaius, I’m not a shrink. There’s no way I could help.”
“We both know you’re good at reading people.” Gaius offered him an open smile, leaning in a little bit, and Arthur knew then he was going to give in.
And seriously, who was he trying to fool? Gaius had known him since he was in nappies. He wondered about his guys’ reaction if they knew their boss could never say no to his father’s friend.
“You aren’t as much of a wanker as you’d like us to think, Pendragon!” Imaginary Gwaine laughed and winked. Arthur sighed.
“What’s his name?”
“Merlin. Merlin Emrys.”
“Balinor’s son?” Arthur’s brows arched up. Gaius nodded. Arthur frowned, chewing thoughtfully on his delicious steak.
“Counting your losses already?” Gaius asked with a soft chuckle.
“You know fine well we don't have much to worry about. If anyone’s going to lose a lot here, it's Balinor himself.”
“And Emrys Chemicals.”
“Which would give us an excellent opportunity to buy this whole business out,” noted Arthur, putting down his fork and knife with a satisfied sigh. All good things come to an end.
“It’s not funny, Arthur.”
“I’m not laughing. Fine, no mentioning of long-term projects-yet.” Seeing Gaius tensing, Arthur laughed. “I’m kidding, kidding! Why would I bloody care about some mental scientist and his lab?”
“Does that mean you’ll help?” Gaius relaxed a little and drank some water.
“Yes.” Arthur tapped his fingers on the starched tablecloth. “But why me, Gaius?”
“Everyone else failed. I believe you’re the only one who can straighten the boy out.”
When presented that way, Arthur couldn’t resist the challenge. Half an hour later he somehow was done not only with his salad, but the dessert, too, and completely forgot to ask for a regular tea instead of that green slog Vivian made him drink here. At the same time, he already had a good a picture in his head of this lad Emrys. And he couldn’t say he liked that picture very much.
The only thing that made this whole situation bearable for Arthur-Merlin had a monstrous IQ. Gaius wouldn’t stoop so low as to lie about that, and if he said the young guy was one of the best in his class, then it must be indeed so. On the other hand, Arthur hated people who wasted their talent on worthless rubbish.
“I’m not promising anything,” he summed up, signing the bill. “I’ll try, but I won’t waste my time on some dolt.”
“Thank you, Arthur.” Gaius’ smile added more wrinkles to his face, but his eyes, still young, made you forget about that. “I truly appreciate it.”
“Call me.” Arthur shook his withered hand, nodded to Louis, who came out to walk him to the door, and hurried to his car. His watch said it was already two o’clock, and he had a fuck-load of a work waiting for him. In the next few days he’d have to find some time for Emrys, so he certainly had to hurry up and go now.
Arthur parked his car and suppressed a heavy sigh. George, his personal assistant, had a propensity for being overly eager at his job. Like now, when he materialized at the entrance, doing everything he could to demonstrate his total readiness to complete whatever challenge was coming his way. Arthur sometimes felt guilty if he didn’t have some special task saved for him, like “to pull the moon from the sky” or something of that sort. But today, George radiated happiness for no apparent reason.
“Mister Pendragon!”
Arthur nodded, accepted a cup of coffee extended to him, and pressed his palm on the bio-metric device. Ensuring office security was the first rule to a successful business. Besides, the fingerprint identity device was top-notch, and Arthur always liked to play with the latest gadgets. His father still called him a kid for a reason.
“What’s new, George?”
“Foreign Exchange Market is closed at this time, sir. I’ve prepared the report for the last three hours; no serious fluctuations registered. While the market is quiet, our brokers are keeping an eye on the Japanese.”
Arthur fixed his tie, loosening the knot a bit, and followed jabbering George into the lift. The car silently took off and started climbing up.
“Are we expecting some trouble in Tokyo?”
“AsahiKasei, sir. The buzz is their stock is about to drop. Ammonia leak at the factory in Singapore. They were able to avoid a scandal, but a stink like that doesn’t die down easily.” George was shining like a freshly polished penny.
Arthur took a sip of his coffee from the cup.
“You should go, then. Hand off anything outstanding to Morris and you may be late for work tomorrow. We can’t leave the company that’s part of Nikkei without our attention.”
“Of course, sir.”
There weren’t a lot of people who jizzed their pants about spending sleepless nights in front of the monitor; George, however, was one of those people. At eleven o’clock in the evening, when Tokyo Stock Exchange opened the trading floor, he’d stock up on popcorn and get busy with it until five o’clock in a morning. One hour to finish a report - and by six Arthur would have the latest on AsahiKasei. By eight his analysts would have calculated his company's profit. George had an unparalleled ability to gather bits of information into one picture, one day he’d be as good as Gwaine.
Arthur’s thoughts gradually moved from one chemical company to another. Emrys Chemicals, in contrast with AsahiKasei, wasn’t interested in nitric acid; their specialty was pharmacology. Almost thirty years ago, Arthur’s father made the right decision by leasing out a piece of his land to Balinor Emrys to build a lab, which eventually turned into a powerful corporation with a strong influence in the biotech sector. Arthur recalled that just last year Balinor was awarded a grant to supply drugs to the NHS.
Yes, his father could always smell a good investment. Thirty years ago, Uther Pendragon, who inherited a great deal of real estate, had to make a difficult choice: to bank on a young but promising chemical scientist or to make a deal with Holland and Sherry, a prominent textile company looking for a place to build a new factory. It was 1984, their headquarters had just moved to Savile Row, heart of London, and they desperately needed more leverage to keep up with the market demand. Still, the deal didn’t happen.
Holland wanted the land to purchase it, not to lease. Uther was ready to sell, but in exchange for company stocks. In the end, most likely in a fit of temper, Uther made a deal with the friend of Gaius, telling the textile company to sod off. It took Uther and Holland another two years to come to an understanding.
By that time, Emrys had already received solid financial support and worked like a maniac to produce a new drug according to the contract. In another five years he swallowed his biggest competition, Dragon Medicals. Since then, Balinor was nicknamed a Dragon Lord, and Pendragon’s wealth, thanks to his shares in Balinor’s company, grew in millions-and kept growing. So, if the young Emrys heir was off his trolley, it was only prudent to help him come to his senses.
All these people didn’t work day and night so this bratty little arsehole could bugger things up for them.
Arthur knew how to value someone else’s hard work and could recite his family history in his sleep. It all started with Anion Pendragon, slick fellow, who was granted a nobility title in the fourteenth century. The title was given to him by Edward III, according to the legend-for Pendragon’s heroic efforts shown in one of the battles during the Hundred Years’ War. Arthur had his doubts about the nobility of his ancestor, but not about his calculating mind. Once he received the title and the land, Anion proceeded to multiply his riches under the patronage of his king, who wasn’t a bad businessman himself.
Anion was survived by six sons; they all married smartly, and two centuries later, the Pendragons were a large, strong, and very wealthy dynasty. After the English Revolution, they owned an extensive amount of land and, of course, supported the newly-born Conservative Party. Arthur’s ancestors managed to hold on to their wealth through the endless internal and external conflicts that battered Britain for generations-the land never loses its precious value as long as you’re smart about whom to lease it to. At the tender age of nine, Arthur was already well-versed in real estate terminology and could easily explain the difference between types of rental agreements to his father’s friends during their dinner parties. Those little performances were done not only to entertain the guests or bolster Uther’s pride as a father. Uther was sending a clear message-his son was going to be a strong successor when the time came.
And he wasn’t wrong. Although, Arthur was far less interested in real estate. Uther was the one constantly juggling several deals, buying and selling land, building, renting, and selling again. Arthur was fascinated by the world of finances. Stock markets, money markets-his time studying at Oxford wasn’t for nothing. However, as it often happens, aside from his main interest, Arthur allowed himself a little harmless hobby-psychology. It started with a lecture in neuro-linguistic programming, and ended with poring over hundreds of books and attending classes taught by professor Geoffrey-another person who knew Gaius and agreed to work with the talented young man.
Two degrees later - one official and one, not so much - Arthur took his first million, a present from his father on the day he came of age, and founded his own company. It specalised in consulting services. He quickly made a name for himself as a financial advisor and a successful negotiator. In his professional field he knew no defeat-money and connections gave him access to any information he needed. An ability to analyse said information and developing appropriate plans of attack was in his blood-and well-nurtured by his father and his mentor. He learned to work with different kinds of people; he could bullshit his way with the most difficult and stubborn clients, and push the most cautious ones to take risks. But the biggest reason for his successful career was that he cared about his reputation: he never considered dubious offers regardless of the size of a promised reward.
And so far, what Gaius was asking of him seemed exactly like that sort of an offer. Wasting his time on Emrys’s boy, instead of doing serious business. But Arthur loved the old man. He was going to try to play shrink with this Merlin. And at the end, he’d send them a bill of transcendental proportions, they could be sure of that.
Merlin slammed the door and then kicked it for good measure. He couldn’t breathe he was so angry, and nothing was helping him to calm down or distract him.
He was so sick of his father’s bloody lectures, and of the soft and understanding look in his mum’s eyes!
He fucked up, whatever. But he was perfectly fine. And he sure as hell could deal with his own problems. ON HIS OWN, without any help from those dickheads with their diplomas for PhD in mindfuckery on the walls and sugary smiles on their plastic faces.
Nobody listened. Merlin tried to explain, time after time, and it was like talking to a wall. As if his English suddenly turned into gibberish, and instead of normal words his parents only heard “blablablahargh grhm”.
Sure he shouldn’t have experimented with meth. But nobody knew better than him the components and the doses, considering he was the one synthesising the drug, his nowhere near challenging enough biology homework finished a long time ago.
It wasn’t as if he was buying some unidentified junk from a crackhead in Soho! He, Merlin, was in perfect health, no addictions to any substances, and the side effects were almost non-existent. With the exception of bouts of irritation and, occasionally, difficulty to concentrate, which was especially annoying when it happened during professor Gaius’ classes.
He shouldn’t have picked this subject at all! What a pile of buggery: Monday, nine in the morning, practically at dawn. Did they not know the best parties at “Lagoon” happen on Sunday night?.
Merlin recalled his father’s hard expression as he was holding Merlin’s bank account statement-undeniable evidence of a steady loss of funds every week. What did he expect, booze in clubs was expensive.
The first time, his father threatened to close all accounts and take away all of his credit cards. Merlin snorted-he already took care of that problem by opening a new account; in a different bank, just in case. All of his hard-earned money went into that account. Hard-earned, but not through legal means. The second time, his father locked him up on house arrest for a month. Thankfully it was during the summer break, otherwise his attendance record would have been an issue. Although it wouldn’t be beneath his father to hire him an escort to school.
The third time, five minutes ago, his father flushed all his supply down the toilet, right in front of his upset mum and then, without a word, locked himself in his office. Most likely with a bottle of whisky. Yet another one. Considering that until recently he didn’t touch alcohol at all...
Merlin wanted to scream. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he just explain to them that he was going through a tough time? Although no, he definitely didn’t want to talk about that.
Merlin ruffled his hair and, collapsing onto his bed, hugged his pillow. Problems were piling up, and he had zero energy to try to solve them. He was so off-kilter at that point, he just wanted to fucking forget everything: the tests, the Biology paper, and the project for the next semester he was supposed to start thinking about already. Let them expel him; being dumped by Oxford wasn’t the end of the world. Even without a degree, he’d still be in demand anywhere.
Lying to himself felt almost nice. Of course, Merlin realized that without a degree he’d have no opportunities for a serious career in Pharmaceutics. At this rate, his best chance was probably to be hired by the Taliban to develop biological weapons. Merlin tried to imagine himself in a turban, or whatever that thing they wrapped around their heads was called. Might work, actually-to cover his ears, that’d be a plus. And if he grew a beard-he'd totally pass as their own.
It hurt that Gaius was the one who sold him out. His favorite professor, a friend of the family, and, unfortunately, a very smart and observant man, who’d seen too many young people getting high. Merlin hugged his pillow tighter.
Most of all, he was tortured by the imminence of failing his classes and being expelled.
He had disappointed so many people. His dad, his mum, his mentor. He’d rather they kicked him out of the house or whipped his arse. Instead, he was surrounded by attention and loving care. By accident, Merlin overheard his parents’ conversation. Mum cried about losing her son and feeling helpless, and his dad blamed himself for always being too busy working.
Merlin didn’t deserve them.
Maybe, if he groveled, agreed to clean up, and promised to never do it again, everything would go back to normal. But as soon as he thought about endless sessions spent on the couch while being picked apart by another glee-faced shrink, he lost it. That was why Merlin (while hating himself terribly for it), tried to convince himself that his mum’s eyes weren’t always red, and his father didn’t have more and more grey hair.
Merlin stretched out his limbs and felt around for his headphones. If he continued beating himself up, he’d slip up again. His father took away the entire supply he kept in his room, but the stash in the garage was still safe. He wasn’t going to use it. After all, Merlin wasn’t an addict.
So far.
The wheel obediently scrolled under his finger, pushing the sound volume up to the maximum, and Merlin was swept away on a wave of music by the American guy with a similar name, Manson.
...Some of them want to be abused...
A perfect song for a perfect day.
Arthur couldn’t stand guys like Merlin. Too smart for their own good, too spoiled by their mummies’ attention and their daddies’ money. They searched for the meaning of life by getting stoned or high, so they could babble about some pseudo-philosophical rubbish and whine about being misunderstood. In reality, they needed a good arse kicking, a cold shower and their credit card access blocked for a month. Not a trail of expensive shrinks analyzing their patients' hypothetical childhood traumas and playing deep sympathy for a steep fee.
All in all, when he sent Gwaine a short text with, “Merlin Emrys. Find out about him,” he planned to be done with Gaius’ request in a couple of hours. If Merlin was indeed using, Arthur was going to take great pleasure in kicking some sense into the guy, which would be killing two birds with one stone: it would help to save Balinor’s company an embarrassment, and allow Arthur to blow off some steam. He needed to hit the gym and spar with a punching bag anyway, why not use Merlin instead? Metaphorically speaking, of course.
What he received from his ever-reliable friend Gwaine made him pause and think. Hmm, maybe his original plan being done in a couple of hours was a bit underestimated. The boy wasn’t that simple, and sly, to boot.
Not that he worried, he’d seen worse.
Once he parked next to a surprisingly small and cozy-looking cottage, Arthur got out of the car and smoothed down his jacket.
“Bugger,” he swore quietly, inspecting his wrinkled suit. And this piece of shite cost him fifteen hundred quid?
“Good day, Arthur,” someone called; Arthur looked up. Hunith was standing at the door of the house.
“Mrs Emrys.” Arthur tilted his head in a polite nod.
He’d seen her a few times before during the Christmas parties thrown by Uther every year. Hunith seemed a lot more attractive then, when she didn’t have dark circles under her eyes and web of fine wrinkles around them.
“You look great.” She smiled, gesturing Arthur into the house.
“Thank you, and you... as well, yes,” he lied awkwardly, rubbing his shoes on the welcome mat. “Where’s your little shite of a son?”
Hunith didn’t even appear upset by his wording of the question. She squinted at him knowingly and pointed to the spiral staircase. “Second floor, third door down the hall. Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, but no. I’m not here for long.” Arthur nodded one more time and began walking in the direction she pointed.
With each step, his irritation grew stronger. Unbelievable, this woman was a saint to carry this entire house on her shoulders, be supportive of her husband, who spent more time with his tubes in the lab than at home, and protect her son, who acted like nothing but a spoiled, ungrateful brat.
If Arthur had a mum, he would never. He would... Stopping by the room he was looking for, he sucked in a deep breath. He had to calm down, or he’d definitely lose his shite and punch this blithering idiot with an inflated ego.
No one answered when he rapped on the door. Arthur decided to forgo all formalities (as if anyone here was worth it to begin with!) and pushed it open.
“Merlin Emrys, I see,” he murmured. He studied the guy sprawled on the bed wearing huge headphones and shaking his leg in time with music. “Nice to meet you.”
Of course, Merlin didn’t respond. Arthur didn’t need him to. Wrinkling his nose, he picked up a gross-looking hoodie with his two fingers, dropped it on the floor, and sat on the now free chair. He took his time to look around, trying to figure out how Merlin could manage to get anything accomplished living in such mess. His Chem books were dumped in one pile with CDs and magazines; there were mountains of crumpled paper and bread crumbs on his desk, mini-banners with cryptic chemical formulas and mindboggling terms hung from the ceiling; and the floor... Arthur preferred not to look at the floor.
Yes, he had his work cut out for him. Obviously, this lad had an utter apocalypse taking over his brain; Arthur always figured biochemists and other scientists-for nutcases. Aliens, whose passion for a periodic table was part of their genetic code, making them a whackjob before they were even born. Why, why didn’t he say no to Gaius?
“Who are you, loser?” husky voice pulled him out of his depressing thoughts.
“Hello to you too, Merlin.” Pendragon gave him a grim smile. “I’m your new friend.”
“Wrong door,” Merlin muttered, turning off his music.
“I don’t think so.”
“Not this again. Came to say hi from Gaius?” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I don’t need help from another shrink.”
“Obviously.” Arthur pointedly looked around. “Excellent environment for being productive.”
“Fuck off. Besides, you're trespassing.”
“On the contrary, Mrs Emrys said I was very welcome.”
“I wonder, what did they pay you?” Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Come on, don’t be shy; I already know your services to mindfuck me must cost a fortune.”
“Which flatters your enormously inflated ego, doesn’t it?”
“I can pay you.” Merlin patted around under his bed and pulled out a huge backpack. “How much?”
“You’re not going to believe it-not a penny.” Arthur smirked. “I’m famous for my altruistic nature.”
“Bullshit. How much?”
“You can stop this spectacle.” Arthur no longer looked complacent, and Merlin instinctively hunched his shoulders and lowered his head when Arthur frowned and leaned forward. “My time is too expensive for you, and you’re already wasting it. Why don’t you just tell me how you turned into such a nitwit.”
Merlin huffed, angry and exasperated. The second he got rid of this conceited arsehole he was calling Gaius. He’d tell him what he thought about his so-called support. Fuck the patience and good nature, not that he had much of that left anyway.
“What for? You’re a head specialist, it’s your job to run your mouth.”
“Should I skip the part about a rich daddy and his scamp of an off-spring, who acts like an arrogant prick, and go straight to the heart of the matter?” Arthur asked dryly. As he expected, there was no response. “Excellent, no soul-baring, tear-inducing discussions.”
“Did Gaius decide to try a ‘good-cop, bad-cop’ tactic?” Merlin snorted and issued a fake yawn. “The shrinks before you were a lot more polite.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Listen, why don’t you just bugger off?” Merlin glanced at the door with longing. “I can pay you, for real, and everything will be splendid. No useless lectures for me, and no extra work-for you.”
“Like I said-you can’t afford me.” Arthur reached into his bag and pulled several pieces of paper, folded in quarters. “Three Lloyds TSB Bank credit cards canceled by your father, and about fifteen hundred pounds on your personal account opened last year with Santander UK. What, turning poor, slowly but surely? Your meth peddling business isn’t doing too well? Ah, that’s right, no more access to equipment to make it, you hapless lad you.” Arthur crumpled the already tattered paper and tossed it to Merlin on the bed. “There you go, you amateur.”
Merlin gasped for air. How? Where did he get this information? Access to personal files? No one suspected he was selling meth at uni! He was careful about his cover, never made mistakes; he had a well-thought-out, reliable system, for fuck’s sake! He had the nickname Nemo for a reason and the junk he sold wasn’t called Nautilus for nothing. Poor great monsieur Verne, he was probably turning in his grave at such loose interpretation of his book.
“How do you know?” His voice cracked, the phrase came out childishly weak.
“Bond, double-o-seven.” Arthur rose from the chair; stretching languidly, he flexed his legs, and caught Merlin’s hunted expression, who immediately scowled. “Relax, your parents have no clue.”
“Now you’re going to blackmail me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just feel bad for your mum, Merlin.” Arthur studied Merlin for a few thoughtful minutes and then, as if he had made a decision, nodded. “See you later.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“Home. It’s hard to imagine, I know, Merlin, but I have other things to do, besides you.”
“But you must stay here and talk the talk with me!” Shocked, Merlin jumped to his feet and walked to Arthur.
“I must nothing. We’re done,” Arthur snipped and placed his hand on the door handle.
“What the?...”
“Time’s up, captain Nemo. Au plaisir.” Arthur saluted and walked out, leaving confused Merlin standing in the middle of the room.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Notes:
More on AsahiKasei corporation here
Nikkei 225 - is a stock market index for the Tokyo Stock Exchange. Currently, the Nikkei is the most widely quoted average of Japanese equities, similar to the Dow Jones Industrial Average.
Neuro-linguistic programming - is an approach to communication, personal development, and psychotherapy, currently not unsupported by current scientific evidence. More information here
NHS - the British National Health Service.
Au plaisir - “bye” in French.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Epilogue