fic: Thirteen Years
Title: Thirteen Years
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: A brief mention of chan.
Word count: 1,066
Summary: Thirteen isn't always an unlucky number. Merlin always said something that triggered Arthur's memory. It always happened at the most innocuous of times too.
Merlin saw the blond child, happy and boisterous, pick out one of the plastic swords in the Reception class, and smiled.
Arthur had been recycled more times than one of those mouse mats that was once an old car tyre, sped away when he died only to be ground up, shaken a little and pushed back out into the world. And he always ended up near Merlin. He had been a patient at the hospital Merlin worked at, a fellow doctor at the hospital before that, the student renting a flat with his friends next to Merlin's, the barman at Merlin's local pub. Merlin had long since stopped trying to run away from Arthur, especially since that time he had moved to Japan to get away and the next incarnation of Arthur had turned out to be some horribly obnoxious businessman trying to dig out a share of the increasingly important Japanese market.
Of course, all Arthur's incarnations were horribly obnoxious; they were Arthur, after all.
Merlin always said something that triggered Arthur's memory. It always happened at the most innocuous of times too, like when he'd told Arthur the Patient that he should be grateful they weren't still using herbs and poultices to treat him when Arthur had been particularly demanding, or when he'd told Arthur the Bartender that he wasn't very good at holding his drink.
This time though, Arthur was only five. The boy crowed, and whacked the back of his friend's head with the plastic sword, and saw Merlin watching him with amusement. "What?" he sniffed haughtily.
"You're not bad with a sword," Merlin grinned. The cheerful expression slid off his face though as Arthur's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he stumbled a bit, tripping over the sword trailing at his feet. Merlin took the opportunity to take Arthur by the wrist and secret him to one side, looking for all intents and purposes like he was going to tell Arthur off for hitting someone with a sword to his colleagues.
Waiting until Arthur's eyes were focussing properly again, although still with a glazed and unhappy expression, Merlin propped his chin up on his hands, sitting down at one of the low tables the Reception class had. "Hey," he said softly, not sure how it would work. Usually, Arthur regained all of his memories of all of his lives at once, and once they had caught up with Merlin's current life, they would find time and put effort into re-exploring their relationship. He didn't know if that would still hold true for such a young mind.
"Hello Merlin," the tone was unmistakeable. Although the young voice was still clear and high, it must have been exactly what Arthur had sounded like as a child. "Dying of old age sucks." That had indeed been what had happened the last time. Often, Arthur would become too distressed to continue on to old age as he became older and more frail and Merlin retained his youth. In most of their lives, Arthur simply went to sleep one day in Merlin's arms and came back the next as a squalling, screaming baby in a nearby hospital. He'd wanted to try old age though, just once. Evidently, once was enough. "We are never doing that again," he said firmly, pouty jaw set stubbornly.
Merlin chuckled, and patted him on the arm as Louise, the bustling woman who kept this classroom under her control approached the front of the classroom. "Come on Arthur, it's storytime." Arthur might have possibly kicked him in the shins.
Near hometime, Merlin hovered worriedly near Arthur, wondering how their course of action would run now that Arthur had regained his memory so young. Arthur was obviously thinking the same thing, as his lunchbox suddenly spilled open, emptying an uneaten apple, crumpled crisp packet, chocolate wrapper, juice carton and bits of clingfilm and tinfoil all over the floor. Merlin immediately stooped to slowly help pick it all up in time to hear Arthur tease, "Still picking things up after me?"
Hiding, half hidden in the coats corner, Arthur flicked tinfoil at Merlin's nose. "So, we need a way for me to get away from my current parents and live with you."
Merlin gaped at him, nearly swallowing the foil. "We can't do that," he hissed, "they're your parents!"
"Not my real parents," Arthur tried to explain, trying to make his short little arms reach around Merlin's waist.
Shaking his head and absently ruffling Arthur's hair, Merlin snorted. "That woman sat in labour and gave birth to you, you great Prat, so yes, they are your real parents. Besides, that's just wrong. You're five."
With a sigh, Arthur clicked his lunchbox full of rubbish closed. "I'm not actually five, Merlin."
There seemed to be a great deal of confusion about what was real, here. Merlin looked at him incredulously. "But you are actually five, Arthur!" He hissed, "I can't shack up with a five year old; that is wrong." When Arthur looked at him, Merlin reiterated strongly, "So very, very, really, really wrong."
Arthur pouted, and Merlin did not give way. "Fine," Arthur scowled, "but how the hell am I going to spend all that time pretending and waiting for you?"
"Don't swear!" Merlin looked aghast, "They'll think I taught you that!" He wanted to hit Arthur over the head with the lunchbox, but he probably wasn't allowed to do that, either. "And, my great pratting lord, if I can spend half of well over a thousand years waiting for you to grow old enough for it to not be really, really wrong, then you can wait thirteen years for me!" he snapped, although quietly because other kids would be coming in any moment now for their coats.
Arthur looked abashed for a moment, before narrowing his eyes in calculation. "Eleven," he bargained. "Sixteen is the legal age of consent. And thirteen is an unlucky number anyway."
"No!" Merlin gave him a despairing look. "Your parents - yes, all right," he headed Arthur off quickly before they could get started again on how they weren't Arthur's real parents, "your current parents will kill me. It won't be unlucky for you. Thirteen years, Arthur," he eyed his King, his master and his love (who was five!) sternly until he capitulated.
Arthur pressed a soft little kiss to Merlin's cheek. "Thirteen years," he promised, trotting out with his coat and plastic sword that he had already stolen.
Fin
------------------------
Thanks for reading! Once again, I'm going to pimp this out:
Join camelots_closet, a Merlin & Arthur fic exchange now!
Round #1: Beltane!
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Warnings/Spoilers: A brief mention of chan.
Word count: 1,066
Summary: Thirteen isn't always an unlucky number. Merlin always said something that triggered Arthur's memory. It always happened at the most innocuous of times too.
Merlin saw the blond child, happy and boisterous, pick out one of the plastic swords in the Reception class, and smiled.
Arthur had been recycled more times than one of those mouse mats that was once an old car tyre, sped away when he died only to be ground up, shaken a little and pushed back out into the world. And he always ended up near Merlin. He had been a patient at the hospital Merlin worked at, a fellow doctor at the hospital before that, the student renting a flat with his friends next to Merlin's, the barman at Merlin's local pub. Merlin had long since stopped trying to run away from Arthur, especially since that time he had moved to Japan to get away and the next incarnation of Arthur had turned out to be some horribly obnoxious businessman trying to dig out a share of the increasingly important Japanese market.
Of course, all Arthur's incarnations were horribly obnoxious; they were Arthur, after all.
Merlin always said something that triggered Arthur's memory. It always happened at the most innocuous of times too, like when he'd told Arthur the Patient that he should be grateful they weren't still using herbs and poultices to treat him when Arthur had been particularly demanding, or when he'd told Arthur the Bartender that he wasn't very good at holding his drink.
This time though, Arthur was only five. The boy crowed, and whacked the back of his friend's head with the plastic sword, and saw Merlin watching him with amusement. "What?" he sniffed haughtily.
"You're not bad with a sword," Merlin grinned. The cheerful expression slid off his face though as Arthur's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he stumbled a bit, tripping over the sword trailing at his feet. Merlin took the opportunity to take Arthur by the wrist and secret him to one side, looking for all intents and purposes like he was going to tell Arthur off for hitting someone with a sword to his colleagues.
Waiting until Arthur's eyes were focussing properly again, although still with a glazed and unhappy expression, Merlin propped his chin up on his hands, sitting down at one of the low tables the Reception class had. "Hey," he said softly, not sure how it would work. Usually, Arthur regained all of his memories of all of his lives at once, and once they had caught up with Merlin's current life, they would find time and put effort into re-exploring their relationship. He didn't know if that would still hold true for such a young mind.
"Hello Merlin," the tone was unmistakeable. Although the young voice was still clear and high, it must have been exactly what Arthur had sounded like as a child. "Dying of old age sucks." That had indeed been what had happened the last time. Often, Arthur would become too distressed to continue on to old age as he became older and more frail and Merlin retained his youth. In most of their lives, Arthur simply went to sleep one day in Merlin's arms and came back the next as a squalling, screaming baby in a nearby hospital. He'd wanted to try old age though, just once. Evidently, once was enough. "We are never doing that again," he said firmly, pouty jaw set stubbornly.
Merlin chuckled, and patted him on the arm as Louise, the bustling woman who kept this classroom under her control approached the front of the classroom. "Come on Arthur, it's storytime." Arthur might have possibly kicked him in the shins.
Near hometime, Merlin hovered worriedly near Arthur, wondering how their course of action would run now that Arthur had regained his memory so young. Arthur was obviously thinking the same thing, as his lunchbox suddenly spilled open, emptying an uneaten apple, crumpled crisp packet, chocolate wrapper, juice carton and bits of clingfilm and tinfoil all over the floor. Merlin immediately stooped to slowly help pick it all up in time to hear Arthur tease, "Still picking things up after me?"
Hiding, half hidden in the coats corner, Arthur flicked tinfoil at Merlin's nose. "So, we need a way for me to get away from my current parents and live with you."
Merlin gaped at him, nearly swallowing the foil. "We can't do that," he hissed, "they're your parents!"
"Not my real parents," Arthur tried to explain, trying to make his short little arms reach around Merlin's waist.
Shaking his head and absently ruffling Arthur's hair, Merlin snorted. "That woman sat in labour and gave birth to you, you great Prat, so yes, they are your real parents. Besides, that's just wrong. You're five."
With a sigh, Arthur clicked his lunchbox full of rubbish closed. "I'm not actually five, Merlin."
There seemed to be a great deal of confusion about what was real, here. Merlin looked at him incredulously. "But you are actually five, Arthur!" He hissed, "I can't shack up with a five year old; that is wrong." When Arthur looked at him, Merlin reiterated strongly, "So very, very, really, really wrong."
Arthur pouted, and Merlin did not give way. "Fine," Arthur scowled, "but how the hell am I going to spend all that time pretending and waiting for you?"
"Don't swear!" Merlin looked aghast, "They'll think I taught you that!" He wanted to hit Arthur over the head with the lunchbox, but he probably wasn't allowed to do that, either. "And, my great pratting lord, if I can spend half of well over a thousand years waiting for you to grow old enough for it to not be really, really wrong, then you can wait thirteen years for me!" he snapped, although quietly because other kids would be coming in any moment now for their coats.
Arthur looked abashed for a moment, before narrowing his eyes in calculation. "Eleven," he bargained. "Sixteen is the legal age of consent. And thirteen is an unlucky number anyway."
"No!" Merlin gave him a despairing look. "Your parents - yes, all right," he headed Arthur off quickly before they could get started again on how they weren't Arthur's real parents, "your current parents will kill me. It won't be unlucky for you. Thirteen years, Arthur," he eyed his King, his master and his love (who was five!) sternly until he capitulated.
Arthur pressed a soft little kiss to Merlin's cheek. "Thirteen years," he promised, trotting out with his coat and plastic sword that he had already stolen.
Fin
------------------------
Thanks for reading! Once again, I'm going to pimp this out:
Join camelots_closet, a Merlin & Arthur fic exchange now!
Round #1: Beltane!