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The hotel room in New Zealand is nice, but nothing to write home about. Arthur has to share it with two other men who are also involved in the battle scenes being filmed that month.
Their names are Doug and Aaron. Aaron’s okay, but Doug grates a bit on Arthur’s nerves. His voice is too loud, his hygiene poor, and worst of all—he has an obsession with the television, something Arthur knows very little about, talking about it constantly. Merlin suggests Arthur tell Doug that Arthur grew up without a television because his mother disapproved of it. Rather than shut Doug up, this information seems to fuel him into trying to draw Arthur into watching every television show Doug finds brilliant—which is a long list.
There’s hardly a moment when the infernal chatter box (as Arthur calls it) isn’t on in their hotel suite, and Arthur takes to wearing ear plugs a lot of the time just so his brain doesn’t explode.
Arthur immediately misses Merlin with a deep ache that keeps him awake at night, but he shuts it off as best he can during working hours, just as he’s shut off every other obstacle in his way since he made the decision to take Dirk Wolff’s offer. He and Merlin came to the agreement together, and if Arthur dwells on the sad look on Merlin’s face when they parted at the airport, he’ll go crazy.
“How did the pill work?” Merlin asks during their first phone conversation after Arthur arrives safely in New Zealand. “Did it relax you during the flight?”
“It helped,” Arthur tells him. “As well as your step-by-step, detailed description of what to expect. Take-off was the worst.” Arthur also hated sitting so close to the man with body odor and a penchant for snorting every time he had a passing thought. Merlin had made sure Arthur took an aisle seat, and Arthur was immediately glad for it. It enabled him to not only avoid looking out the window at the vast amount of sky, but also to be able to slip out of his seat to keep the awful man beside him from climbing over him every time he needed to use the bathroom during the horrifically long flight.
“Well, don’t feel bad,” Merlin says fondly, “even seasoned fliers are sometimes bothered by take-offs and landings. I’m proud of you.”
Arthur can’t help but smile at the words. “I miss you,” he says, chest constricting.
“I miss you more.”
Arthur doesn’t have a lot of time to phone Merlin, and the fees aren’t picked up by the film company, as are the hotel room and meals. He calls home twice week, normally catching Merlin in the morning before work while Arthur is completely knackered and getting ready to head for bed.
“Have you run into any difficult situations?” Merlin asks at the end of Arthur’s first week there. This has been one of Arthur’s biggest fears—being caught not knowing how to respond to something because he doesn’t understand the context.
“I’ve set myself up as a rather stoic, unfriendly type,” Arthur answers, settling into bed. “Such as now---everyone’s in the bar, and I’m up here going to bed early.”
“Oh, Arthur. I want you to have a good time,” Merlin says, being typically considerate. Arthur smiles.
“I am; don’t worry. But right now it’s a choice between drinking in the bar with a bunch of people I see every single day, or being up here taking advantage of the empty room to call you. No contest there.”
Arthur hears the grin in Merlin’s voice. “I’m glad, then.” He proceeds to tell Arthur about his week at the book shop.
During their next call on a Saturday evening, Arthur hears a voice in the background.
“Who’s that?” he asks, yanking at the string to the heavy red curtains, trying to pull them shut. His roommates are on the balcony smoking, and Arthur would like a little darkness on this side of the room, but something is stuck. His head pounds and his muscles scream from the involved fight scene filmed that day. Standing on a chair, he shoulders the phone as he finds the problem.
“Who keeps tying a knot in this?” he mutters.
“Brandon spent the night on our couch.”
Arthur stiffens but checks himself before he says anything he’ll regret. He gets the drapes shut and climbs off the chair. Forcing calm, he replies, “Oh?”
He can hear Merlin moving around and a door shutting. “He was here late—his book’s going to the publisher, and I helped him with last minute details. He had a few too many beers, and I made him stay.”
Arthur answers with a grunt, because he doesn’t trust himself not to say something snide or cutting. The very thought of Davies in their flat—all night---so close to Merlin where he sleeps…
Arthur runs a hand over his face and stretches out on the bed.
“It’s hard for me to sleep without you, Arthur,” Merlin admits suddenly, and Arthur remembers Merlin’s words months ago during their first big row.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur says quietly, forgetting about Davies for the moment. “It’s difficult for me, too.” They’re silent for a few beats, just listening to the other breathe. Arthur finds if he closes his eyes, he can pretend Merlin is right there beside him on the bed.
“Is filming going on schedule?” Merlin asks, voice a little rough.
Arthur swallows. “Basically. It won’t be too much longer.”
“Is Wolff keeping his hands to himself?”
Arthur chuckles. “Yes. I’ve rarely seen him, actually. The scenes I’m involved in have little to do with him. It’s mostly his stunt double I work with.”
“Good,” Merlin says. “Hold on.”
Arthur hears Merlin call to Davies that he’ll be right there.
“Brandon’s made breakfast.”
“How domestic,” Arthur replies, unable to keep the cutting tone from his voice.
Merlin lets out a puff of air. “I miss you. I love you.”
“Same here,” Arthur replies.
Doug is a good swordsman, Arthur has to admit, and takes criticism well. After Arthur shows Doug a couple of things he’s doing wrong that are getting in the way of what should be a swift and seamless series of moves and consequently eating up camera takes, Doug warms up to Arthur and seems to forgive him for not being a telly buff.
“Hard to believe you’re a poof,” he tells Arthur during lunch that day, which consists of catered sandwiches set up by the field where the battle is being filmed.
Arthur pauses mid-chew, giving the man a questioning look.
“Didn’t you say you have a boyfriend?” Doug asks, mouth open as he eats.
Arthur nods and takes another bite of sandwich. He’s never really sure how to respond to the things Doug says—the man reminds Arthur of a guard he once had who was large and good with a sword but dumb as ditch water. Arthur doesn’t especially like being called a poof, but he supposes it’s true enough and doesn’t really think Doug means to be offensive. Plus, it was better than talking about television.
“You’re a bit manly for that, is what I’m saying,” Doug shrugs. “I guess your boyfriend’s the woman in the relationship, then?” He wolfs down another huge bite and keeps talking. “Though why you don’t just go for a bird if that’s the case is beyond me. I’d think you’d miss the titties—I do love titties.”
Arthur keeps eating and remains silent as Doug goes on mindlessly talking.
“That Bridget in make-up has a great rack on her. I’d like to tap that. S’pose I should be glad you’re a poofter, so’s you aren’t competition. A lot of those birds giving you the eye, you know. Guess some of the blokes, too.” He laughs uproariously at that, and Arthur looks around for an escape. His eyes latch onto a familiar gaze.
Surrounded by an entourage of people, Dirk Wolff sits in a folding chair. He’s looking right at Arthur and raises the cup he’s holding to him, smiling. Arthur nods at him.
“Fuck,” Doug says from beside Arthur. “You know Wolff?”
Arthur takes a long pull from his bottle of water. “He got me the job,” he replies.
“Fuck me,” Doug breathes. “Well, bring him over here, why doncha? Share a little. I’d like to meet the star of the film I’m working on.”
Aaron has joined them by then, and he, too, urges Arthur to call Wolff over.
Arthur looks back over his shoulder to find that Wolff is still watching him. Grudgingly, he waves him over.
“How’s it going?” Wolff asks after introductions to Doug and Aaron are made.
“Brilliant, Dirk, thanks,” Arthur replies. He appreciates the fact that Wolff stood back after getting Arthur the job, and wonders again what Merlin said to Wolff that day on the phone. Merlin has been pretty closed-lipped about it, offering only that he’d let Wolff know that Arthur was very taken.
Wolff chats amicably with Aaron and Doug for a moment before turning to Arthur.
“You’re doing well, I’ve heard,” he says, taking a seat beside Arthur on the grass. “I knew you would.”
“It’s been great,” Arthur replies, finishing off his sandwich and wiping his hands on the grass. Wolff’s eyes sweep over Arthur appraisingly, but he doesn’t say anything.
Arthur suddenly realizes Doug and Aaron have left and wishes they hadn’t. He got Wolff over there for them, after all.
“I’ll be filming here for the next few days,” Wolff says. “It would be nice to see you. How about a drink in my room tonight?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Arthur replies, and Wolff laughs.
“You really are determined to be faithful, aren’t you?” he looks amused, and Arthur feels his stomach tighten in anger.
“Very,” he replies.
“How about the bar, then? You’ll be safe from temptation there.”
“I’m not tempted,” Arthur clarifies. “I just don’t want to have a drink with you alone in your hotel room.”
“The bar, then,” Wolff gets up and wipes off the seat of the riding breeches he’s wearing. “At eight. We can have a light dinner.” He walks off before Arthur can say anything.
Arthur considers just not showing up, but Wolff did get him the job, and it really is a fantastic opportunity. He can’t see any harm in sharing dinner with the man in a crowded hotel bar, and he hardly thinks Merlin can complain after having Brandon Davies sleep on their couch.
All this in mind, he showers and changes his clothes after the day’s filming is over, taking the stairs down to the lobby.
“Why didn’t you take the lift?” Wolff asks, running into Arthur coming from the exit to the stair well.
Arthur gives his patent reply, “Exercise.” He still hates the damn lifts.
Wolff chuckles. “I would think you’d get enough of that out on the field.”
Dressed casually in jeans and a striped blue and white shirt, Arthur has to admit Wolff’s handsome in a rugged, out-doorsy way. Nothing like Merlin, of course—who could light up a room with his presence and didn’t need movie star status to win attention.
When they enter the bar, Arthur stops short. The room is completely empty of people, a table set up for them in the corner.
“You didn’t expect me to eat in here with people bothering us through the whole meal,” Wolff says. “I wouldn’t be able to get a bite past my lips for having to speak to this and that person. I want to talk to you tonight, Arthur.” He gestures with his hand toward the intimate table.
A waiter appears and asks for their drink order.
Arthur sighs and takes a seat.