Work Text:
- - -
The first time Arthur gets on the bus to go to work, he feels as awkward as he did on his first date. He's not sure what to say, where to look, or what to do with his money.
It's dark outside, still, and the blue-tinged light coming from the interior of the bus is both welcoming, and a bit terrifying. He lets the other two passengers at his stop - both blue-collar types on their way home from night shifts, he thinks - get on first, and tries to watch what they do. Unfortunately, they both have some sort of pass, which they wave over the farebox before heading for the back of the bus. Arthur fingers the coins in his pocket and hopes it won't take him too long to figure out which slot the money goes into.
"You're new, then," the driver says when Arthur climbs up level with him. "Just moved to the neighborhood?"
The man is far too chipper for this early in the morning, and Arthur can't help but glare at him. "My sister totaled my car yesterday, and it was too late to arrange for another ride." His eyes rove over the farebox, and he drops the coins into what must be the appropriate slot.
"Er, fifty pence short there, mate," the driver points out, and Arthur tries and fails not to blush.
"Let me see if I can-" he starts, rifling through his pockets even though he knows he doesn't have any more change. He'd been certain the fare was £1.50.
The driver waves him off. "Don't worry about it." He fishes some coins from a cup taped to his dashboard and drops them into the slot. "Go sit down before you fall down," he says, and slaps the button that shuts the door. The bus lurches into motion, and Arthur staggers ungracefully down the aisle, slipping into an empty seat near the back door.
Well, so it hasn't been a total disaster. So far.
He still has a transfer to make.
- - -
It takes far, far longer to get to work on the bus than it should, and Arthur wonders if walking the whole way wouldn't be faster. One transfer onto another bus, one transfer onto the subway, and a four-block jog has gotten him to the boardroom ten minutes late and utterly disheveled. Uther is not impressed.
"Perhaps you'll take better care of your possessions in the future," he growls at Arthur when the meeting is over. "If you are late tomorrow, you will regret it."
"But that's the first bus of the morning!" Arthur protests.
"Then take a cab!" Uther snaps. "It's not as if you can't afford one." He stalks away, trailing two personal assistants and an accountant in his wake. The accountant gives Arthur a sympathetic wince.
Arthur sighs, and heads for his office. This is the last time he takes the blame for one of Morgana's indiscretions. He'd loved that car!
- - -
The ride back home makes Arthur feel not unlike a fish stuffed into a tin can, and he is so tired by the time he opens his door that he can do little more than collapse on his couch and order curry over the phone.
After he's eaten, he feels considerably refreshed, and spends several hours plotting alternate routes to work. Sadly he can come up with nothing better than: early bus, two transfers, a jog to the subway, then another jog to work. Short of calling a cab - which he finds fiscally irresponsible, and is sure his father would berate him for, if Arthur actually followed through on the 'advice' - there is simply no way to get to work from his neighborhood in under two hours. None of his friends live close enough to make it easy picking him up, and he won't be able to buy a new car until next month, for reasons that he is not entirely clear on, but that his tax preparer assures him will save him several hundred pounds in taxes in the long run.
Arthur's glad he's good at the human resources and marketing aspect of his job. His father will kill him if he ever realizes what a hash Arthur makes of the financial side of things.
- - -
"Still no car, then?" the driver asks upon seeing Arthur trudge up the steps after the night-shifters the next morning.
"No," Arthur says, "but I have exact change." He drops the appropriate number of coins in the slot, and feels an absurd flash of triumph when the farebox dings in confirmation.
"Atta boy," the driver - who must be younger than Arthur himself - says. "Now sit down, and don't forget to ring for your stop this time, yeah?"
Arthur's more or less dumped into the seat next to the door as the bus lurches forward. He blushes, and clears his throat. "Ah, actually, I meant to ask, could you let me know when we get to 5th street?"
"I'm not your personal tour guide," the driver shoots back with a smirk.
'Be nice to the drivers,' Gwaine had warned, 'or they'll pretend they didn't hear your stop request,' and Arthur takes a deep breath before saying, "I need to take a different transfer this morning, and I'm not sure where 5th street is. I would appreciate it very much if you could let me know, this once."
The driver glances at him in the huge rearview mirror when the bus rolls to a stop at a red light. "You're bit uptight, you know that?"
Arthur grinds his teeth. "Could you please help me?" he bites out.
The driver smirks again, then smiles kindly. "Yeah, of course. Where are you heading this time?"
"The same place," Arthur says. "I was late yesterday, and I'm trying to find a better route to work."
"Where's work?" the driver asks, then glances up as the stop request light goes off. "It's not Wednesday, Paulie!"
Arthur turns to see a man in a rumpled charcoal suit check his phone. "Phone says I have to be here today!" he calls back.
"Okay," the driver says. "If you're sure!" and lets the bus roll to a stop. When Paulie has disembarked, he says, softly, "Poor guy has a memory problem. Works at two different stops, never quite sure where he's supposed to get off on any given day."
"It's kind of you to keep an eye out for him," Arthur offers, not sure what else to say. This seems like the sort of thing bus drivers only do in stories.
The driver shrugs. "I like to help people," he says. "So, where's work, and what time do you have to be there?"
Arthur rattles off the address, and the driver frowns. "You should get a bike," he says.
Arthur blinks. "What?"
"Get a bike - an old beater that's not worth anything - and bring it with you in the mornings. Get off this route and onto Percy's - L48 - hop off in front of the post office, ride the bike to the subway and leave it locked up for the day. You'll cut twenty minutes off the trip." A horn honks, and the driver honks back. "Bloody cabbies."
Arthur thinks about this, and, when the bus is waiting at a light, gets up to grab a route map off the wall behind the driver's seat. "Huh," he says after scanning the map carefully. "You might be on to something."
"Of course I am," the driver says. "As for today, all I can say is, run very fast."
"Thanks," Arthur drawls.
"Also," the driver continues, "get out of that seat. Mrs. Leatherman is getting on at the next stop."
Arthur grumbles and staggers to the back of the bus, where he sits stiffly next to a snoring nurse until the driver calls, "Oi, 5th street! Get your poncy arse moving or you'll be late again!"
"Charming, thank you!" Arthur snaps back, and hurries on to his next stop.
- - -
He's late again, but Uther's elsewhere for the day, so Arthur slips into his office and hopes nobody cares to mention his tardiness to his father. He spends lunchtime looking for a bicycle.
- - -
The bike Gwaine brings him that evening is not quite as advertised on craigslist - apparently 'mountain bike' and 'teal boardwalk cruiser with balloon tires' are synonymous on the internet, and Arthur's going to look ridiculous - but solid, clean and and ready for the bicycle lane.
"Ten quid," Gwaine says as he leans the monstrosity against the wall just inside the door. "I talked him down, because that is not what the advert said it was."
"Thank you, Gwaine," Arthur says, and offers him a carton of fried rice. "Now I just need a helmet."
Gwaine digs around in his oversized pack - Arthur's never sure if he's off camping for the weekend or just going out for the evening, with that bag - and pulls out a black and blue helmet. "One of my old ones. It's a bit scuffed, but it's never actually hit the ground. It'll do you."
Arthur offers him first pick of the lemon chicken as thanks, and pulls the good beer out of the fridge. Gwaine is a food hog and a bit of a boor, but he's never let Arthur down in a pinch.
"So, how do you like slumming it with us low-class skeeves?" Gwaine asks as he's licking bits of coconut from his fingers.
Arthur rolls his eyes, snags a coconut ball with his chopsticks, and says, "It is not quite the nightmare scenario you've described. In the mornings, at least. The afternoons..." he shudders. "I think I'll have dinner at work tomorrow just to avoid the rush."
"'s what I do," Gwaine says. "If you call kabobs out of a kiosk 'dinner.'"
"I do not," Arthur assures. "Are you working tomorrow?"
"Yeah, but it's a gig way south of town." Gwaine eyes the last coconut ball, and Arthur waves him to it. "Got to borrow a car to get down there. Was going to borrow yours, actually, until Morgana crashed it. Now I have to go beg one off my sister."
Arthur winces. "I'll tell Morgana she owes you one."
Gwaine grins. "You're a pal, Princess."
- - -
"Where the devil did you find that thing?" the driver asks after Arthur's struggled to attach his bike to the front rack securely and - he hopes - succeeded.
"Craigslist," Arthur says blandly, and drops his coins in the farebox. The sound it makes seems... more amused than yesterday, somehow. Clearly he's not getting enough sleep if he thinks the farebox is laughing at him.
"You should trade up when you're done with it," the driver opines, as the bus rolls on. "Like that one fellow with the paperclip who ended up with a house. 'Help. Am stuck with awful teal bicycle. Need a jet ski. Make an offer.'"
"You," Arthur says as he shuffles down the aisle, "are a lunatic."
"I'll let you know when we cross the L48 route," is the answer, "or shall I let you sleep until the warehouse district?"
"Funny man," Arthur growls, but is sure to call a 'thank you' when the driver announces his stop - even if he does precede it with, "Oi, poncy!"
- - -
Arthur has dinner near work, in a Thai restaurant that his father positively despises, and finds the evening ride home much less crowded. He also finds his morning driver on the last leg of the trip.
"Evening, Mr. Poncy," the driver says, grinning. "Long day?"
"I decided to stay at work for dinner," Arthur replies. "And my name is not Mr. Poncy."
"What is is then?" the driver prompts, and Arthur sits down in the accessible seat next to the door, because nobody else seems to need it at the moment.
"Arthur Pendragon. And you are?"
"Merlin Emrys," the driver says, "and I have to say I'm impressed. Some of you suit types ride my route for ages and never learn my name."
"So you've taken to provocation to get acknowledged for doing your job?"
"Not usually," the driver - Emrys - says, "but you're special."
"Wonderful," Arthur drawls, but is inwardly pleased that he's made the man's acquaintance. It makes the ride just a little more interesting.
- - -
The grin Emrys gives him the next morning seems flat, and slips very quickly off his face. The whole bus, in fact, has an air of sadness and exhaustion about it. Arthur sits near the back door, but after three more passengers get on and receive nary a word of greeting, he eases his way forward to sit in Mrs. Leatherman's seat.
"What's the matter?" he asks, both surprised at himself for caring, and strongly interested in knowing the answer.
Emrys seems equally surprised at Arthur's concern. "Didn't take you for the type to notice that sort of thing," he says.
Arthur waves a hand down the aisle. "The whole bus is moping," he replies. "It's a little hard not to notice."
This gets a secretive little smirk out of Emrys, like Arthur's said something unwittingly profound. "Does seems a bit sad, doesn't she?"
"You call your bus a 'she?'" Arthur asks, trying and failing to keep the disdain out of his voice.
"What'd you call your car?" Emrys shoots back.
"A Porsche," Arthur says.
Emrys blinks. "Ouch. You must really love your sister, to have lent her that."
"Loved," Arthur counters, "past tense."
Emrys snorts. "Yeah, I bet." There is a long silence as Emrys navigates a tricky intersection, and Arthur thinks he's not going to say anything else - not even, 'Get out of Mrs. Leatherman's seat,' - when he continues, "My mate's in hospital. It's... he might not, uh..."
'Make it,' Arthur finishes in his head, wincing. "I'm sorry to hear that. And that you have to work when you should be with him."
That gets another, more bitter smirk out of Emrys. "You know all the right things to say, don't you?"
Arthur frowns. Well, yes, that's part of what good breeding entails, but also, "I mean it. My sister was away at school when her mother died. I know she'll always regret being kept away."
Emrys nods in acceptance, before quirking a brow. "You're half-siblings, then?"
"Yes," Arthur nods, "not that it matters."
"It doesn't," Emrys agrees. "Will - my mate - Will's like my brother. We grew up together. Doesn't matter that we're not blood relatives; he's family."
Arthur sits in Mrs. Leatherman's seat until it's time to catch his transfer. Emrys doesn't say anything, and Mrs. Leatherman never gets on. At one point, Emrys nods at the seat, and says, "I worry about her. She's had a few close calls this year." He sags a bit, and the bus lights seem to dim in tandem. As Emrys opens the door for Arthur's stop, the air brakes sigh despondently.
Arthur spends the whole day subdued, and frets well into the evening when the driver on the return route says, after an inquiry, that Emrys took off early in the afternoon.
- - -
On Friday morning, near the end of his first week full week of the public transit experience, Arthur has a staggering pang of uncertainty when his bus pulls up. It has a different advert on the side, and looks much newer than usual. The driver, lit up from inside by lights that are tinted just a tad differently, is female. He checks his watch, but it's the right time, and his fellow passengers, but they're the same two men who've barely acknowledged him all week.
It's the right bus, but it isn't. Why that should matter after only four days, Arthur's not sure.
"Where's Emrys?" he asks after he's loaded up his bicycle and dropped his money in the farebox. It bleeps plainly, neither sad nor mocking, and Arthur feels another pang of disquiet.
The driver blinks. "Merlin? Took a long weekend. Mate's in hospital."
"Getting worse?" Arthur asks, sitting in Mrs. Leatherman's seat.
"Dunno," the driver says with a shrug, and the bus lurches on.
Arthur sits morosely until Paulie gets off, and hopes the man's gotten the right stop today. When the bus doors open for Mrs. Leatherman to struggle aboard, he feels a moment of actual relief, and smiles at the elderly woman as he offers his seat.
"Where's Mr. Emrys?" she asks, setting her bag on the floor beneath her feet, and patting Arthur into the seat next to her.
"His friend Will is sick in hospital," Arthur says. "He's taken some time off to be with him."
"Oh, the poor boy," Mrs. Leatherman murmurs. "They've been friends since they were little."
There are only a few more stops until Arthur's transfer, and he almost misses it for listening to Mrs. Leatherman recount some of the tales Emrys has told her about his childhood. The driver glares at him as he hits the stop request button at the last second, and seems to think twice before slamming the brakes and jerking the bus to a stop a ways beyond the bus shelter.
"Little sooner next time, yeah?" she bites out.
"Sorry," Arthur says, more to the other passengers than to her. "Emrys usually just stops for me."
"Yeah, I bet he does," she replies with a smirk, and waves him off.
- - -
Arthur tries to put Emrys and his friend out of his mind over the weekend, but finds it oddly difficult. He reaches for his phone several times, meaning to text Emrys, only to remember that he doesn't actually have the man's contact information. He wonders how forward it would be to ask for that on Monday.
Assuming Emrys is there on Monday, that is.
He spends some time looking at new cars online, but can't bring himself to commit to one. His Porsche had been graced with many custom upgrades - most of which were now sitting in a pile at the insurer's garage - and Arthur isn't really willing to spend that kind of money again, even though it will barely put a dent in his accounts. He thinks of buying something more practical, like a Fiat, or a Mini Cooper... something that's easy to navigate through city traffic, sturdy enough to lend out, and won't make his employees seethe with disdain and jealousy.
Then he thinks of Emrys' biting humor, his eagerness to help people, the rakish angle of the driver's cap on his head, and clicks out of the Fiat website. Morgana has promised, on pain of Arthur telling Uther the truth about 'that night,' to get her own car, and lend it to him anytime he needs it. There's no reason for him to buy a vehicle at all.
He calls Morgana on Sunday, because while she hadn't been badly hurt, she had been rather shaken by the whole experience.
"Arthur, do you have a crush on your bus driver?" she asks with what she probably thinks is a delicious twist to her voice, but mostly just makes Arthur cringe.
"Oh, is this Father calling?" he retorts. "I'll be sure to tell him you said hello." Not only was Morgana not supposed to have been driving Arthur's car that night, she wasn't meant to be in the country at all. "He'll be so glad you're back early from India." No, he won't. Not in the least.
"You need a boyfriend." Morgana, in typical style, steamrolls right over all of his threats. "He sounds like a nice fellow."
"He drives a bus for a living," Arthur grinds out.
"And you fire people for a living," Morgana shoots back. "Of the two careers, which do you believe is more beneficial to society?"
"When are you buying your car, Morgana?" Sometimes, changing topics works.
"Gwen's boyfriend's best friend is a bus driver, too." And sometimes not.
"Good night, Morgana."
"'Night, darling!"
Arthur tosses the phone on the coffee table and ponders what he should have for dinner. Something light, he thinks, that will make it easy to get up in the morning.
It's been a while since he's so anxiously anticipated a Monday.
- - -
Emrys is grinning like a loon when Arthur climbs the stairs, and the farebox gives a positively wicked trill. Arthur actually looks twice to make sure it's the same one as before.
"Heard you asked after me," Emrys says as Arthur takes Mrs. Leatherman's seat. He'll move over when she gets on.
"Who told you that?"
"Cookie." Emrys looks ridiculously pleased with himself as he guides the bus into traffic.
"Cookie?" Arthur echoes. "Your replacement's name is Cookie?"
Emrys shrugs. "Apparently it's her actual name. Like that American movie with the kids named Brownie and Baby Ruth."
Arthur blinks. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I met a horse trainer named Muffin once, too."
"You are so full of it," Arthur says, laughing.
Emrys shakes his head, but he's laughing, too. "I'm not. I swear on this bus I'm not lying."
"Okay," Arthur gives in. "Okay, Cookie and Brownie and Muffin. They should get together and start a bakery." Emrys snorts, though Arthur's not sure if it's in humor or disdain. He looks genuinely at ease, so Arthur figures it's safe to ask, "How's your mate? Will?"
Emrys beams again, and looks oddly self-satisfied. "Doing much better, thank you! Doc says he should be out next week. My mum's going to take care of him while he's recovering." He sighs, and shows his first glimmer of despondency. "I wish she didn't live so bloody far away. I won't be able to visit them very often."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Arthur says diplomatically, "but I'm glad to hear he's doing well."
Emrys eyes him sideways. "You're such a ponce."
Arthur shrugs. "Yes, I know. I get the feeling you like me anyway."
"Doesn't matter if I like you," Emrys says, though that lunatic grin is back. "Only matters if the bus likes you." He pats the steering wheel fondly.
"Well, I certainly hope so," Arthur says, rolling his eyes, "because I like the bus. I've become quite dependent on it."
"Her," Emrys corrects pointedly.
"Her," Arthur echoes, and pats the seat, though it ends up not feeling nearly as mocking as he means it to be.
- - -
It's the fourth week of Arthur's Great Public Transport Adventure - Gwaine and Morgana are mocking him openly, now, and his tax preparer wants to know where the receipt for his new car is - when Arthur has another of those jarring moments of uncertainty. It's made doubly worse because of Daylight Savings Time starting, and the morning light being all wrong. He checks the bus number, and his watch, and his fellow passengers, but they're all correct. Even Emrys and his goofy hat - which, it turns out, is not regulation at all - is where he should be. It is, again, the bus that's all wrong. It is a new, ultra-quiet monstrosity pasted with a wrap-around advert for something Arthur's not actually clear on at this close distance. He fumbles with the bike rack - too new, too unfamiliar - and climbs the stairs.
"'d morning," Emrys mumbles, and pokes morosely at the button that shuts the door.
"Is Will sick again?" Arthur asks cautiously.
Emrys frowns. "What? No, he's fine. Thanks for asking, though."
"What's wrong, then?" The accessible seats are oddly spaced, and Arthur ends up sitting behind Emrys rather than across the aisle, because it's easier to hear him that way.
"Are you serious?" Emrys asks, and waves a hand vaguely. "My bus is in for repairs!"
"Oh," Arthur says, bemused. "Was she in an accident?" He can't believe he's taken to calling the bus 'she.' He's growing as barmy as Emrys.
"No," Emrys huffs, glancing up to meet Arthur's eyes in the big rearview mirror. He looks, Arthur thinks, like he hasn't slept all weekend. "They found some worn lines at the inspection on Friday, but they're not a priority because she's an older model. She could be gone for weeks!"
"Er, I'm sorry?" Arthur tries.
Emrys snorts, and deliberately avoids looking in the mirror. "I thought you understood."
"I really am sorry," Arthur offers. "I know you're, um, fond of that particular bus." He is, too, just a little, but he's not going to mope about it. It's a bus!
"Whatever," Emrys mutters, and won't say anything for the rest of the trip.
- - -
Arthur's schedule is unusually hectic that week, so that he works late most evenings, and has to bike to an alternate route several times when his regular bus stops running for the night. He's at a new stop on Friday night, bouncing on his toes with impatience, oddly wired despite the long day, when his bus turns the corner. It looks... familiar, is the first thing Arthur thinks, but then chides himself, because all city buses look familiar, don't they?
When he does up the lock on the bike rack, though, he notices a paint chip that's definitely familiar: on the rack he usually uses on Emrys' bus, there is a dragon-shaped splash of yellow paint chipped out of the black rust-proof topcoat. Arthur runs a finger over the chip, and swears the bus rumbles in response.
"Today?" the driver - not Emrys - demands.
Arthur looks up, and really takes note of the details on the bus. There's a flashing, malfunctioning splotch of green in the digital route display, a faint, jagged scrape in the windscreen, and a kink in the rubber around the front window.
This is Emrys' bus.
Why is someone else driving Emrys' bus?
Arthur climbs on while the driver scowls impatiently. "You're not the only headed home, here!"
"Sorry," Arthur mutters, and drops his coins into the farebox.
It makes a plaintive bleep, and the driver gives it a whack. "Different noise every time," he growls. "It's like the bloody thing's possessed."
Arthur doesn't fail to notice that the lights dim as the driver's hand hits its mark. "No need to be violent," he says frostily, and stalks toward the back.
The only empty seat is next to an air vent, which starts blowing in comforting warmth as soon as Arthur sits down. He tries to ignore this peculiarity, until he notices that the driver is fiddling with the temperature controls, and rubbing his arms at stoplights as if he's cold. After that, all he can do is focus on the oddities that he'd always thought were just funny coincidences.
Arthur's light is quite bright compared to the others, as if the bus knows that he's trying to get one last bit of reading done before he hits his doorstep and his Gwaine-imposed rule of no work at home goes into effect. He also can't hear much of the radio - which isn't supposed to be on at all, Emrys has told him - while the two young man just across the aisle are tapping their fingers to the music and mouthing the lyrics. Arthur would attribute this to their better hearing, except that his own hearing is rather exceptional, and he'd done quite well in physics at school. He knows that what he's seeing - and not hearing - is extremely unlikely.
There are other things that truly make him question his sanity: The driver's the only one bouncing in his seat over potholes, the stop request sign doesn't ding over the heads of people who are napping or reading unless it's their stop, too, and, counting himself, there are three people on board with bicycles on the rack... where there should only be space for two.
Arthur rings for his stop, and swears there's an actual whine as the doors open for him to disembark. As he takes his bike off the rack, he runs his hand over the dragon chip again, and mutters, "I'll tell him. I promise I'll tell him."
He tries and fails to ignore the way the headlights flash on and off, even though the driver's hands are nowhere near the controls.
- - -
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Emrys demands when Arthur dials the number he'd cajoled off the man the other week.
"I found your bus," Arthur blurts out, because if he doesn't say it right away, he'll start feeling like a fool and hang up. "There was a dragon-shaped paint chip, and the little blob on the digital display, and the scrape on the windshield, and she blew warm air on my face and made sure there was room for three bicycles. Three, Emrys! I counted. I was the second person on with a bike, and then another guy got on, and I watched him put up his bike. Three bicycles! What the fuck, Emrys?"
Emrys exhales shakily. "Is she okay? Where did you see her?"
"Emrys!" Arthur shouts. "What? The? Fuck?"
"She's magic, Arthur," Emrys scrambles to explain. "I was experimenting and there was an accident and instead of summoning a water nymph, I made the bus magic. I put the nymph in the bus, actually. Where is she?"
Arthur hangs up on him, because that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. Magic? Emrys does magic? Does he think Arthur's some sort of gullible fool?
But... three bicycles. Warm air when the driver was freezing. A bright light for Arthur to read by, and no radio, because Arthur hates distractions.
He picks up as soon as his phone starts to ring, and says, "P12, the last run of the night. She must be heading back to the lot by now."
"That route runs out of a different lot," Emrys croaks. "They told me they'd just side-lined her until the parts came in. They didn't tell me she was back in service!"
He sounds like he's trying to get dressed, or pacing or something, and Arthur says, "Okay, first thing, take a deep breath."
"Fuck you, Pendragon," Emrys snaps, and then, "Sorry, sorry. I'm a little-"
"Freaked out?" Arthur finishes for him. "Me, too, actually. So, first step, deep breath."
Emrys breathes in, then out, and again, and again. "Okay," he says finally, "Okay, now what?"
"Give me your address," Arthur says, "or do you have a car?"
"No, I don't," Emrys says, and rattles off his street. "You'll come get me?"
"Yes," Arthur says. "Get dressed. I have to borrow a car, but I should be there in forty minutes."
"Okay," Emrys says, breathing out again. "Okay. Um, thank you. Thank you, Arthur."
"Get dressed," Arthur says again. "I'll be there, soon." Then he hangs up and calls Morgana. "Sister mine? It's time to pay up."
- - -
Morgana's new car is, while classically styled, thankfully not nearly as flashy as Arthur's Porsche had been. Emrys fidgets in the front seat, pointing out turns, shortcuts and, once, one of the few speed cameras in town that's actually active.
"So," Arthur asks after a few minutes of silence, "magic?"
That makes Emrys grin bashfully. "Yeah. Magic. I'm, um, I'm pretty good, actually. Well, except for this thing with the water nymph, but I've tried exorcising her; she doesn't seem to want to go."
"She likes being a bus?" Arthur asks, incredulous.
Emrys shrugs. "Takes all kinds. My uncle has a teapot that used to be a baby chimera. You can't drink from it or you'll die, but it's very pretty. He tried to turn it back once, and it bit him."
It's fortunate they're stopped at a light, or Arthur would have run into something in the amount of time he spends staring at Emrys over that comment.
Emrys shifts, and shrugs again. "Okay, so that one might have been my fault, too."
The light turns green, and Arthur very deliberately faces front before pulling forward. "How far?" is all he asks.
"The entrance is just there," Emrys says, gesturing, "but you'll want to go park further up. There are security cameras."
"Of course there are," Arthur grumbles, and doesn't pull over until Emrys says it's safe.
They sneak around to the back of the massive lot, where Arthur stumbles at the golden glow of Emrys' eyes, and a security camera goes dead in a shower of sparks.
Emrys flinches. "Magic and electronics don't usually meld too well."
"Of course not," Arthur agrees, because he really doesn't know what else to say.
There's barb wire on top of the perimeter fence, but Emrys waves off Arthur's attempt to throw his coat over it. "Watch," he whispers with a sneaky smile, and his eyes glow again. Arthur watches, fascinated, as the links in the fence melt away until there's a smooth, man-sized hole in their place. When they've both stepped through, Emrys waves a hand, and the fence is suddenly whole again.
"That's useful," Arthur allows.
"Innit, though?" Emrys chirps brightly.
They sneak along the back row of buses, Emrys with one hand out, chanting a spell or some such, until they hear an angry growl.
"Oh, crap," Arthur mutters. "You didn't say there'd be dogs!"
Emrys shrugs, and chants something else. The growling stops, and is quickly replaced by snoring. "They'll sleep all night."
It doesn't take long to find their bus, sitting dark and silent at the end of a row, door half-closed, as if the driver hadn't bothered with a final check before departing.
"There's my girl," Emrys croons, leaning his forehead against the panel by the side view mirror. "It's okay, we found you. You're safe now."
Arthur wants to roll his eyes, but the turn signals flash faintly, the inside lights come on as if in invitation, and he's torn between feeling scared and accomplished. "How," he asks, because it's the next pertinent question, "are we going to get her out of here?"
Emrys rolls his head to meet Arthur's gaze without losing contact with the bus. "Magic," he says, as if it's perfectly obvious.
"You're going to steal a bus - the bus you regularly drive, and have been asking after all week - with magic, and hope no one notices?"
"Yes," Emrys replies with a sly, determined grin. "I'm getting tired of this job, anyway. I'll get our girl out of here, leave a hulk from the scrap yard in her place that will make people think she caught fire, and stash her at my uncle's. By the time anybody notices anything odd, I'll be off the radar. Then," he pats the bus lovingly, "we can have another talk about whether or not she really wants to keep being a bus."
He makes it sound simple, and Arthur is astonished to find that it actually is. They don't even magic the bus out of the compound - just drive her out while Emrys slows time enough that the security cameras don't capture the movement. (Arthur will find out later that this is the most difficult of magic... Unless, apparently, you're Emrys.) While Arthur waits up the road with the bus, Emrys magics an old junker out of the scrap yard and sets it on fire. Several cars drive by in that time, but none of the drivers seem to notice anything strange. Arthur's not sure if he should chalk it up to magic or willful ignorance, but it means he won't have to explain to his father why he's in jail after stealing a bus, so he tries not to question it.
After Emrys comes scurrying back, he sets the Out Of Service sign on the bus' digital display and follows Arthur back to Morgana's.
"Did you steal a bus?" Morgana demands, peeking out the window, where the bus sits patiently, Emrys rubbing a loving hand over the steering wheel.
"Yes," Arthur says with a shrug, because, hey, why lie?
Morgana stares at him. "No, you didn't."
"Yes, actually, we did," Arthur says. "Come out and meet her."
"Er," Morgana says, but follows him out anyway.
"Oi, I know you!" is the first thing Emrys says when he sees her. "Majoring in Prophecy and Dragons, right? You study under my father!"
"You're Merlin Emrys!" Morgana squeaks, like she's meeting a celebrity. "You didn't tell me you had a crush on Merlin Emrys, Arthur!"
Arthur blinks, and says, "You didn't ask."
"You didn't tell me your sister was magic!" Emrys accuses, descending from the bus. "You hung up on me when I told you the bus was magic!"
"I didn't know," Arthur defends himself. "She never tells me anything!"
"Boys, boys!" Morgana cuts in. "Don't fight. That's why I'm back from India early, Arthur. I'm studying magic at uni. I had to take a special Prophecy course, and they weren't offering it except for this semester. Uther can't know."
"Okay," Arthur says, because, hey, why tell the truth when nobody will believe you anyway? "Okay."
"All right, Arthur?" Emrys asks, peering at him worriedly. Behind him, the farebox beeps a question.
"What's so special about you, then?" Arthur wonders. "Other than your abysmal summoning skills, I mean."
"Um," Emrys says, and glances helplessly to Morgana.
"He's only the most powerful warlock alive right now," she says primly. "He already has a seat on the Dragon Council. And," she leans in, pretending confidence, "Morgause hates him."
Now that is something to cheer for. Except... "Wait, Morgause is magic, too?"
"Yes," Morgana says, "but she's a horrible influence. Good necromancer, horrible influence." She repeats the last with a wicked smile. "It's too bad she taught me so much before we fell out."
"Right," Arthur says, because his world is shifting and reshaping itself, and what does one say to that?
"We should go," Emrys mumbles, looking at his cell phone. "I want to hide Freya before Gaius wakes up. He, er, won't be amused by this."
"Freya?" Morgana echoes.
"Oh, so she does have a name," Arthur drawls. "You're very rude, Emrys." He turns toward the bus and sketches a bow. (Going crazy. Going sooooo crazy.) "A pleasure to meet you properly, Freya."
The headlights flash warmly, and the air brakes chuff like laughter.
"Oh my goddess, Emrys," Morgana squeaks, "Did you enchant a bus?"
"Um," Emrys hedges. "Sort of-not really?"
- - -
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Arthur says many hours later, as they're pulling closed the doors of Emrys' uncle's barn. Freya is tucked safely inside, content in the company of the random, magical creatures skulking within.
"You don't have anywhere to be until Monday," Emrys argues for the third time. "We'll have a kip in the guest house, cook up some spring greens from the garden, take a walk around the lake," -the lake of bloody Avalon, apparently- "and pop over to my mum's to see Will. You'll like him."
"Is he magic, too?" Arthur asks.
"No," Emrys says, "but you'll have a great time arguing politics!"
"Yes, that sounds like just the sort of relaxing weekend I was promised," Arthur drawls.
Ermys bumps his shoulder as they walk. "Or we could just stay in and watch the telly."
"Part of my original plan," Arthur allows, "but I'd much rather learn what I can about this whole magic business."
Emrys's smile is almost blinding. "Sounds good, too!"
"Excellent. So, first question?"
"Shoot," Emrys agrees.
"You're the most powerful warlock in the world, and you drive a bus?"
Emrys waves a hand back at the barn. "I couldn't leave her!" he exclaims. "How cruel would that have been? Anyway," he shrugs, "I needed to wind down after uni, do something fun and easy."
"Driving a bus is 'fun and easy?'" Arthur asks.
Emrys laughs. "It is when you have magic!"
- - -
They're just crawling out of their beds in the airy, single-room guest house late that afternoon when Arthur hears it: a sound that will forever make him cringe and demand, "What have you done now?"
"MERLIN!!!"
Emrys flinches, too, but his grin is wide and gleeful. "Guess Uncle Gaius found the bus!"
-end-