An Infallible Reason 3
3: i know i've been gone for what seems like forever
(but i'm here now, waiting)
Merlin's building is easy enough to find. It's surprisingly close to the Camelot building (which actually shouldn't be that surprising because Arthur can remember Merlin mentioning that he walks home), but in a fairly bad neighbourhood that Arthur remembers having business in (never a good sign). Merlin's block of flats is a dilapidated grey building with a door that doesn't lock and two broken windows in the hopefully empty apartment on the ground floor. It's not so much dirty or scary as it's old and not properly taken care of. Either way, it's a far cry from what Arthur is used to.
The building, understandably, doesn't have a doorman or a bell, so Arthur has to check the mail boxes in the hallway to find Merlin's flat. It's at the top floor, the furthermost from the stairs, in a corner with mold on the ceiling, but it's been recently repainted to a light blue colour that Arthur always associates with Merlin anyway. Every step closer to the door makes him a little bit more nervous until he's clenching his fists and staring at the dark wooden door.
He tries the doorbell first, presses the button twice and waits, his throat closing up and his mouth dry. He's not sure if he's expecting something along the lines of Merlin's beheaded body or a black-clad ninja, but neither jumps at him - the door remains closed. He rings twice more with the same results before he starts knocking. The papers he remembers seeing in Merlin's hands are piled up at the door (so he's probably subscribed to them, but it looks like he hasn't picked them up in days). Arthur stops knocking for only long enough to shout for Merlin to open the bloody door, but there's nothing in reply, no sound of movement or the click of the lock. He checks if the door's locked at all, but it is and Arthur, while he could, really doesn't feel like picking a lock to a friend's apartment.
He's about to give up because it's obvious that even if Merlin is there (which is highly questionable at this point, Arthur is not sure how anyone can ignore his pounding on the door which has become so loud that he is half-expecting one of the neighbours to get out and scold him), he doesn't want company, when he hears a muffled sound from inside the apartment. It's quiet and clearly meant to stay unheard, but Arthur is pretty sure that it's a sob. He freezes on the spot, cold sweat breaking out on his neck. He presses his ear to the door, but now he can only hear a faint shuffle of feet on the carpet somewhere near.
“Merlin?” he ventures, speaking quietly through the lock. He almost feels like if he speaks too loudly, Merlin will run off somewhere, the apartment will go back to deadly silence and he will be standing there deciding if it's worth knocking the door down to get through.
“What do you want?” Merlin asks through the door. His voice sounds scratchy and disused, like he hasn't spoken in days, but it's more than that, it's how Merlin says the words, he seems... different.
“I...” Arthur starts before he has to let just that hang in the air. He didn't really plan what he was going to do past finding Merlin's flat. “You haven't been to work in days,” he settles on saying, a safe distance from how worried he is, but still true.
“I quit. Go away now,” Merlin replies flatly, his breath hitching only once on go and Arthur can't, won't, be pushed away that easily when something is clearly very wrong.
“Merlin, stop being an idiot and open the door,” Arthur says, carefully keeping his voice level, but finding it easier to demand than beg (as always, he thinks bitterly; Morgana is not the only one spoiled in his family).
“Arthur. Please, leave,” Merlin returns sternly, and his voice is still deep and rough and Arthur faintly wonders if this is what Merlin sounds like when he wakes up, before he realizes that he's trailing off to thoughts that are entirely inappropriate and mentally scolds himself for not keeping his focus (but then, Merlin's always had a strange effect on him).
“You know that I can break in, right?” Arthur asks, going for a teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood, to somehow assess just how bad of a shape Merlin is in. Merlin only huffs irritatedly and mumbles for Arthur to give him a second. So. Pretty bad then, Arthur concludes.
There's a sound of a door opening and closing, water running, more doors, more shuffling. Arthur waits patiently, trying to guess what Merlin is doing. As more time passes, Arthur becomes twitchy, starts wondering what it is that has Merlin taking his damn sweet time; more or less impossible scenarios start playing out in his head as he tries to mentally prepare himself for whatever it is that has his usually chirpy friend sounding so... broken.
When the door opens, he knows nothing he could've imagined would have prepared him for this.
The firs thing he notices is Merlin's face. It's clean and dry, but the wet locks of hair sticking to his forehead tell Arthur exactly when that happened. There are heavy bags under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in days, and he's even paler than usual. But that alone is not what makes Arthur's lips part on gasp he doesn't let out - there's a livid bruise on Merlin's right cheek and his eye is swollen, a small, infected-looking cut decorates the other side of his face, the corners of his lips are suspiciously red and although Merlin has raised his bathrobe so that it covers most of his neck, Arthur can see an angry cut on the side of it.
“Dear god,” Arthur murmurs, taking in the way Merlin's slouching, how he's only leaning on one leg, how his hair is sticking out every which way, looking as if he hadn't washed it in years. Merlin just stands there, face impassive and bland, letting him look his fit without saying a word, lifting an eyebrow. “What the hell happened to you?!” Arthur wants to yell, but the words get stuck in his throat and he doesn't think he could yell now if somebody paid him; instead, he reaches a hand out, planning to place it on Merlin's shoulder, as comfort or encouragement or question or whatever else Merlin needs (and Arthur doesn't know, that's the worst part, he has no clue what to do, how to make anything better, is not sure if he should say something or do something, and what, and now, for the first time in a long time, he regrets being so immersed in work and forgetting how to just be human; his hand shakes as it nears Merlin's body and he forces it to steady because the last thing Merlin needs is someone insecure, that much Arthur knows, so he recalls every calming technique he's ever learned and makes himself look like he knows what he's doing).
When Arthur's fingers brush over Merlin's covered shoulder, however, Merlin gives a violent shudder and steps away quickly; there's a flash of panic in his otherwise eerily dull eyes when he says, “Don't touch me!”
Arthur lifts his hands in a placating gesture (like talking down a kidnapper or a suicidal teenager, he thinks before shaking himself when he realizes how much exactly Merlin's resigned and uncaring posture really reminds him of all the depressed kids he's seen in those suicide prevention seminar presentations) and carefully enunciates, “Okay, okay. No touching.” He wishes he knew how to make it more personal, what to say to make it more about Merlin, about them, because these words are impersonal and mean little to either of them. “How do you feel?” he asks and immediately regrets it - stupid; Merlin snorts, then looks away, then shrugs a shoulder, seemingly confused over how to answer, but his initial reaction gives Arthur hope that the Merlin from a week ago, the one he knows, is still somewhere in there.
Arthur racks his brain for something else to say, but comes up blank (it reminds him of college, in a way, going to exams knowing everything, then looking at the questions and suddenly forgetting it all - he's had the most extensive training in dealing with crises, is the CEO of one of the most successful companies dealing in security, but now that it matters, it's suddenly all for nothing). Eventually, after a few long, incredibly awkward seconds, he takes in the fact that Merlin is not yelling and screaming at him to go away as an invitation, walks into the apartment and closes the door behind himself. Merlin looks up at the click of the lock, any remaining colour draining from his face, eyes going wide. He licks is his lips nervously and fails at hiding the twitch of pain at the action. Arthur's brain suddenly kicks into overdrive.
He's made the rookie mistake, he sees now; he's been focusing on Merlin as his friend, as someone close to his heart, and his emotions have taken over due to that. It's the first thing any decent emergency technician teaches you - don't get close to the victims, it makes it difficult to think and make decisions. Merlin is his friend, but he's also hurt and scared and getting him medical help should be Arthur's first priority; whatever other kind of help Merlin will require (and there will need to be a lot of it, judging from Merlin's behaviour so far), will have to wait.
Arthur closes his eyes to distance himself before saying, with as much authority as he can, “We need to get you to a doctor.”
“No,” Merlin immediately replies, back a few more steps away, “no, no, no, don't touch me.”
Arthur tries not to be hurt by the words (it's not personal, he keeps repeating to himself), and tries to exude calm and security as he strides to Merlin's bedroom and starts picking out clothes. He's done this before, damn it, he's taught people how to deal with exactly these kinds of situations, he'll be damned if he doesn't do his best work yet now when it's for someone he actually cares for.
“Merlin, you need a doctor and you know it. For once, don't argue with me.”
Merlin looks at him and for a second, his eyes are familiar, bright, with a life of their own. The Merlin looks away, squares his shoulders and tells the wall, “I don't want to talk...” He takes a deep breath, tries again, “I don't want to talk about what happened.”
“I understand,” Arthur automatically replies, even though he really, really doesn't and he has to swallow down a million questions that he knows Merlin is not ready to answer yet. He mutely hands Merlin the pair of jeans and the sweater he picked up from the pile of hopefully clean laundry in Merlin's room. Their fingers brush in the exchange and Merlin snatches his hand away as if burned. Arthur resolutely doesn't react.
~*~
The walls of the hospital are so white, they burn his eyes. Not just the walls, everything is white - the floor, the ceiling, the lights, the coats, even the curtain that separates him from Merlin and his doctor. Arthur paces nervously up and down the hall, checking his watch approximately every two minutes, even though it always feels longer.
The ride was unpleasant, tense with obvious questions and unforthcoming answers. Merlin had opted to sit in the back, and after the last incident in his flat, Arthur made a point of avoiding any physical contact between them, as much as he hated it (Arthur could understand physical contact - putting a hand on somebody's shoulder to congratulate them on a job well done or hugging someone to comfort them; words, he was not so good with). For the most part, Merlin remained apathetic, pale as a ghost and just as lively. Every once in a while, Arthur would catch Merlin glancing at him, a strange mix of expressions on his face, sometimes more disbelief, sometimes more gratitude, but Merlin would always look away quickly.
When they got to the hospital, Arthur was pushed to the side as a nurse (clearly far more skilled than him, he noticed bitterly) led Merlin off to be examined. It looked like any other normal interaction between a patient and a nurse, but for the fact that she never laid a finger on him. Arthur wondered how she knew not to.
The sound of a curtain being pulled back makes Arthur turn around (he thinks he may have become conditioned to it in the forty or so minutes he's spent there) to find Merlin's doctor filing away samples of what he can only assume is Merlin's blood. The curtain around Merlin's bed is pulled back around before he gets to peer behind it.
“Your partner has asked not to be disturbed,” the doctor informs him, taking out a notepad and scribbling onto it.
“My... what?” Arthur asks, not really paying attention, as he catches a glimpse of Merlin lying in the bed (on his side, sunk into the white sheets and pillows, his face as expressive as a blank mask, eyes trained on something Arthur can't see, one arm outstretched and hooked to an IV) when a nurse slips in carrying a tray with needles and threads and various little bottles.
“Mr. Emerson, he's your partner, no?” the doctor says, putting a hand on Arthur's forearm. Arthur is about to shake it off purely out of habit (some of his father's friends tend to use the gesture on him in a distinctly condescending way) when he catches up to the conversation.
“No,” he replies, tearing his eyes away from the unmoving curtain. “Did he... Is that what he said?”
“He said friend, I assumed. I apologize,” the doctor replies as he tears out a piece of paper from the pad in his hand. “Now, he's specifically asked that the information about his condition remain private and he was very adamant about not seeing anyone right now,” the doctor continues, raising a hand to stop the protests Arthur can already feel forming on his lips, “and as his doctor, I must obey his wishes.”
Arthur crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. He's waited for almost an hour to find out if Merlin is all right and now he doesn't even get to see him; it angers him that nobody understands that this is unfair, that he deserves to know, that he needs to know what happened (and how to fix it, because Merlin can't stay like this, it's just unnatural). He looks carefully at the doctor and wonders if it would be better to bribe him or threaten him - he's young, clearly looking to prove himself, a well constructed rumour would ruin him. Yes, Arthur decides, scaring the doctor into submission sounds like a better idea. He opens his mouth to make his offer, but the doctor smiles at him enigmatically and waves a hand in front of his face.
“Don't bother with it, Mr. Pendragon, if I could, I'd tell you. Even without the threats.” Arthur deflates at his plan being seen through and instead starts to plot how he can get close to Merlin without a nurse or a security guard stopping him. “But, what I can do,” the doctor adds, offering Arthur the piece of paper with big, printed letters in black ink, “is to ask you, as Mr. Emerson's friend, to make sure he follows these instructions.”
Arthur glances at the paper (there's something that looks like a medicine scribbled on it, along with how it should be taken, and two dates for check-ups; on the back are visiting hours), not really sure if it's supposed to be some sort of a cryptic message, but positive that he'll stay up until he finds out everything he can about every word of it. He's about to ask something more when the door to the A&E opens and somebody walks in. Merlin's doctor sees them and waves them over, he gives Arthur's shoulder a short squeeze and murmurs, “Come back tomorrow, he'll need friends to get through this,” before walking away briskly and leaving Arthur possibly even more frustrated and confused than before.
~*~
That night, it only takes Arthur about 0.18 seconds to find out what Merlin is being treated for (and how ineffective the treatment will probably be). It only takes a little longer than that to add up all the clues and figure out what happened. Believing it takes a bit longer.
He spends about three hours Googling various facts, statistics and other information about rape and its aftermath, but it's the confessions and stories from websites offering advice and help that give him terrible nightmares.
~*~
The visiting hours at the hospital just so happen to be during the working hours of Camelot Securities. Arthur doesn't even consider not leaving early, but his father choose that day to come and “see how things are going”. Arthur's no stranger to this kind of inspection - his father can hardly let him do business unsupervised for longer than a month. Usually, these visits make Arthur feel like he failed at something, but today, they are just making him frustrated.
Uther has requested to see the files of their new clients and the reports on the three most recent injuries at work. He's reading them on Arthur's personal computer, while Arthur stares over his shoulder, pretending to care about what his father is saying. He tries to surreptitiously hint at the fact that he wants Uther gone, but his father is either not noticing or doesn't care.
Either way, when he has only an hour left for visiting, he gives up on all propriety and everything his father expects from him, stands up and walks out. He doesn't think his father even realizes he's actually leaving and for once, he doesn't care. What he's doing may be rude and unexpected and it may land him in trouble later, but it feels right, feels better than following his father's requests and orders.
~*~
In a way, meeting with Merlin is something he's been looking forward to, a way to make sure that Merlin is alive and well and not the scary shadow of who he once was, while it's also a chance for Arthur to check on him, hopefully ask the right questions this time around, since he now knows what he's dealing with; on the other hand, Arthur is all too familiar with screwing things up and making bad shit worse, and this is something he has a very good chance of fucking up epically. Yet, it doesn't even occur to him to leave. If he were to wonder about that (which he is totally not doing in an attempt to buy some time before facing Merlin and to get his shit together), he'd probably say that he felt obligated for some reason to help his friend. (If he were to wonder and answer truthfully, he'd admit that it's actually all about wanting to help Merlin, but he's never really been good at being honest with himself, so why start now.)
As he walks to the room the nurse directed him to, Arthur plans what he's going to say. He remembers every time he's tried to help people with emotional problems (a grand total of two times, both of which ended in near-disaster), goes through every surprisingly helpful and insightful article he found online and tries to form an opening sentence that will be comforting, encouraging but not patronizing. And then he's suddenly walking through a white door and seeing Merlin wrapped in sheets about as white as his skin and resting on pillows as blue as his wide eyes; his mind goes blank but for the intense anger at whoever did this and a strong surge of pity for Merlin that he squashes immediately because he knows that's not what Merlin wants or needs right now.
He searches for an appropriate thing to say and ends up opening with, “Hi.” Clearly, his best line.
Merlin looks at him then, with eyes that are filled with anger and hatred (and rimmed in red that mixes quite spectacularly with the frankly impressive blue of tiredness that's still very much there) and Arthur's instinct is to step back; but he doesn't, because it all fades into nothingness and then Merlin is staring at him with empty eyes that make Arthur want to run away. But he doesn't, because this is Merlin, and damn it, but Arthur is sticking with him through this. Merlin studies his face for a while longer, before something apparently clicks because he rolls his eyes and turns away completely.
“Seriously, does the whole world know? I don't want to talk about it,” he tells the window on the far wall.
“I wasn't- No one's gonna make you talk about anything, Merlin,” he replies, quietly, but certainly. Reassurance of safety and all that (in reality, he's utterly out of his depth here; he's a businessman with extensive knowledge about self-defence and security systems, he's not a damn therapist and he has no clue what he's doing, but he's trying, okay? Trying however, doesn't seem to be good enough this time.)
Merlin snorts into his pillow, then coughs. When he speaks again, his voice is scratchy, almost as rough as it was yesterday and Arthur has to question his assessment that it was disuse that made it so. “Right, no one.”
Arthur doesn't know what to say to that, so he stands awkwardly and fidgets with the buttons of his suit, suddenly supremely aware of the fact that he's being of little use. He wants to ask what Merlin means by that, but he has a strong feeling that it's not a good a idea. Unfortunately, he doesn't know what else to say either. After a while, Merlin sighs and half-turns to face him.
“Arthur, why are you here?”
That at least Arthur can answer. “I want to help,” he replies immediately. Merlin huffs a breathy noise that just might be a laugh that is totally devoid of humour and filled with bitterness instead.
“You can't help me,” he answers, turning away again. Arthur approaches the bed and reaches out to turn him over, then remembers himself and pulls his hand back. His palm burns as if he's touched a hot stove, but he doesn't reach out again.
“I will do anything that you need me to,” he says. It's cliché and sounds completely dishonest, but he means it and he hopes to god Merlin can hear that.
“Anything?” Merlin asks, tone unreadable, and Arthur doesn't know if it's a challenge or a hope.
“Yes,” he answers anyway.
“Go away,” Merlin simply states, still not looking at him. Arthur is about to answer on instinct, that yeah, sure, he can do that, when. Wait, what.
“Sorry?”
“Arthur,” Merlin starts, but then his voice loses the flatness, the bravado, and he flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. If his eyes are shinier than usual, Arthur doesn't mention it. “I can't do... this right now, I can't do people, it's not... I just need to be alone,” he says, going quieter with every word, like he's not even sure this is what he wants. “Please, just. Leave,” he adds, looking at Arthur so pleadingly that even as Arthur goes through all the rational reasons to refuse, he knows he won't.
Arthur waits for just long enough to not make it obvious that he can't possibly say no to Merlin like this, cannot possibly refuse anything that might help Merlin (he doesn't ever want to admit to Merlin just how little control over himself he has when he's around Merlin), then nods. Merlin doesn't smile, but he looks more at ease.
“Promise me to call... when, you know. You can...” Arthur waves a hand vaguely in front of himself. “Do people,” he finishes lamely. When he looks at Merlin, Merlin is facing away from him again.
“You really don't want that,” he says so quietly, Arthur almost doesn't catch it. He's about to reach out again, deny it, but he knows it's no use. Instead he nudges the mattress of Merlin's bed with his knee to get his attention. Merlin looks at him over his shoulder.
“Promise me you'll call,” Arthur murmurs quietly, matching Merlin's tone. He doesn't say he's going to help, he doesn't say everything will be okay, he doesn't say anything else; not saying is easier, not saying he's good at. Not saying is sometimes better, silence is sometimes louder, and he would bet his life on Merlin knowing him well enough to read the silence properly.
Merlin looks away first. It's strange, Arthur is not used to this new Merlin (he knows it's wrong, but he hopes the new Merlin is just temporary, hopes Merlin will be able to go back to before, but if he doesn't, well, then Arthur is just going to have to get used to this, because he's not abandoning Merlin now just because it's easier; there are times when easier is better, but Arthur is no stranger to the situations when easier is just not an option, and choice is difficult and doing the right thing is arduous, but Merlin is worth the hardship, Arthur knows that).
“I promise,” Merlin eventually whispers; only then does Arthur leave.
4: to convince you that i'm not a ghost or a stranger
(but closer than you think)