Summary: Merlin has waited for Arthur too long, and has turned to drugs to ease the pain and loneliness. Now that Arthur's back, he can stop any time he wants. Only, he doesn't want to.
Rating: M [drugs, sex, violence]
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Merlin or its characters but, gosh darn it, I sure do love them!

Chapter One.

He started because it made him feel alive again. That was a blessing, because the most recent century left him feeling hollow—like he had faded into the fabric of the world and simply became part of its scenery. All he did was go through the motions of day after day, year after unrelenting year. He was tired of feeling nothing at all, and welcomed any bliss or joy or pain. It was mostly pain.

But then it became too painful, and he no longer did it to feel alive. He did it to numb the pain, to rid himself of the longing and the loneliness that he could not shake otherwise. He did it to forget.

To forget Arthur.

Now that Arthur was back, he promised himself—he promised Arthur—that he could stop. This wasn't something he needed, after all. It was merely something he had become accustomed to. But he didn't stop—not when he recalled all he'd seen and all he'd done in his long life. Not when the original pain of losing Arthur had festered for centuries, and taken on a life of its own.

Merlin sat up in bed before uncaringly throwing the sheets off of him and getting to his feet. There was a shock of cold against his bare flesh at first, but he quickly located his clothes on the other end of the room and hastily yet stealthily slipped into them with shaking hands.

The blonde haired man still in bed gave a groan, and Merlin's heart skipped a beat. He held his breath, silently praying that the man would simply roll over and start snoring again, as Merlin watched him out of the corner of his eyes, completely motionless. The lump of blankets on the bed did not move either, and after a moment Merlin was satisfied he was still sleeping.

What was his name again?

John? Jeffrey? Something with a J, anyway.

He wasn't Arthur. That's what really mattered; but he had blonde hair and blue eyes—grayish blue, albeit—and, more importantly, he had a balloon of heroin on the nightstand. Merlin pocketed it, and then gently shut the main door of the flat behind him.

The sun was brighter than he would have liked it to be, and he was in a bad neighborhood, but he was home free. He'd never had to see J-Something again and, if he did, he didn't expect J-Something would be too welcoming, since Merlin had just nicked his drugs.

Merlin shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the small, plastic wrapped smack. He rolled it around in his fingers, contemplating if it was worth going home. Arthur would know where he was all night—what he was doing. Arthur always knew. But Merlin had nowhere else to go.

However, he knew he needed a small bit of courage—just a boost, if anything—to get through the argument to come. He ripped open the top part of the bag and poured some of the coarse powder into his palm. He had no means of shooting up right then and there, in an alley outside of an estate. For a moment, he considered knocking on J-Something's door to ask for a syringe, but reasoned that would be pushing his luck. No, he would just have to bump it.

Quickly, almost hungrily, he brought his palm up to his nostrils and breathed in the powder. It made him shutter down his spine, and he could taste iron in his throat. He could have sworn he felt a nosebleed coming on—which is why he hated snorting—but it was worth it. He could already feel himself relaxing, and the twitch in his hand ceased. His eyes flashes gold involuntarily and the world seemed to go into a haze, like he wasn't quite a part of it anymore but rather only watching. He let the sensation take over, but didn't know for long.

Contented, he shoved the balloon back into his pocket and headed for home.

He was parched by the time he snuck in through the door of the flat, and the first thing he did was run to the fridge for a bottle of cold water, which Arthur recently kept in stock. The rest of the flat seemed to be empty, and Merlin thought he was alone until he heard the bathroom door open, followed by the pitter-patter of Arthur's bare feet against the hardwood floor.

Arthur's hair was damp as he entered the kitchen, and his big blue eyes seemed almost shocked as they met Merlin's. Merlin took in Arthur's freshly showered form, eyeing him up and down happily. He was the one who had taught him how to shower. Arthur had come a long way in eighteen months.

However, Arthur wasn't regarding Merlin with the same pleasure.

"You didn't come home last night," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice even, but Merlin could hear the rage building behind his words.

Here we go, Merlin thought, wishing Arthur would just leave it alone for once. Honestly, it wasn't as though Merlin could ever die from an overdose—and he'd tried. It wasn't as though Merlin could die, period. So, what was wrong with a little indulgence? He didn't know why Arthur was so concerned.

"Uh, no," Merlin said, wiping the loose dribbles of water off his lips with his sleeve. "Got held up," he said vaguely, moving towards Arthur and leaning in to kiss him. Arthur flinched away, and Merlin glared at him for a moment before letting it go and pecking Arthur's cheek sweetly. Not even Arthur's attitude could ruin his mood. Not today.

"What was his name?" Arthur said scornfully, and Merlin pulled away with a moan.

"Oh, leave it, would you?"

"Did he give you any?" Arthur asked, and Merlin knew there was no use in playing dumb. They'd had this conversation one too many times for that. "Do you have it with you now?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and fled the kitchen, trying to escape down the corridor to the bedroom, but Arthur paced after him.

"Merlin! Where are you going?"

"To get changed!" Merlin snapped. "I've got work soon."

"You're already three hours late for work," Arthur informed him before adding, unnecessarily, Merlin thought, "Again."

Merlin grinned and unbuttoned his shirt. "Then I suppose there's no point in going at all," he said, wriggling a brow to Arthur. "I've got nowhere to be." He closed the gap between them and ran his lips along Arthur's jaw line, tasting the sweetness of Arthur's soap. "We could stay in bed all day."

"Merlin, you smell worse than a horse's backside," Arthur quipped. Arthur said the funniest things sometimes; things that reminded Merlin of the old days.

"Mmm," Merlin grumbled. "Then how do you feel about another shower?"

He moved to slide his hand up the front of Arthur's shirt, but Arthur grabbed him at the wrist tightly. Merlin let out a howl, but Arthur didn't let go until he reached his other hand into Merlin's pocket and pulled out the pouch of heroin.

"It's open," Arthur said incredulously. Merlin went to snatch it from him, but Arthur jerked it out of his reach.

"That's mine!" Merlin shouted.

"And now it's the toilet's," Arthur answered. Before the response could fully register in Merlin's mind, Arthur was running full speed down the corridor towards the bathroom.

"No!" Merlin called after him, and took off in a sprint. "Arthur, don't!" But it was too late: by the time he reached the door, Arthur had already flushed the precious powder, and the toilet gave an almost deafening roar as it settled.

"No!" Merlin screamed again as he slid to his knees next to the bowl. He attempted to will the heroin back to him with magic, but it was no use. It was already gone. He looked up at Arthur with a mixture of desperation and hate in his violet eyes. "What'd you go and do that for?" he demanded.

Arthur was looking very smug, indeed. "It's for your own good, Merlin. You'll thank me some day." He exited the bathroom, and Merlin gaped after him.

"I'll thank—?" He blinked.

After a moment or two of gaping and blinking, Merlin followed Arthur back into the kitchen, where Arthur was attempting to make himself a pot of coffee, even though he hadn't yet fully mastered the coffee machine and frequently forgot to refill it with water.

"This should wake you up," he was saying, busying himself with the coffee beans. "And hopefully open your eyes."

Merlin scoffed, and he plopped into the chair at the table. "You can barely make a mug of coffee without burning it," he grumbled. "What would you know about anything?"

"Lots," Arthur told him airily. "I read about drug addiction on Goggle. Heroin really is quite bad for you, Merlin."

Merlin rubbed his bloodshot eyes in frustration. He really did hate the Internet sometimes. "Google, Arthur. Google."

Arthur waved it away. "All the same." He placed a mug of steaming liquid in front of Merlin, but Merlin nudged it away. "You're no good to me strung out all the time."

"Oh, would you like me to polish your armor, sire?" Merlin said through his teeth, and Arthur raised a brow, holding his ground.

"You know what I mean."

Merlin just rolled his eyes viciously.

Arthur nonchalantly took a sip of his coffee. "Well, if you're not going to work today, the least you can do is go to the shop. We're out of just about everything."

Merlin crinkled his nose. "Why can't you?"

"I've got a match today," Arthur said. He'd been team captain of a pub league for nearly five months now. He looked at Merlin hopefully. "You can come watch us play, if you'd like."

Merlin didn't much feel like doing Arthur any favors right now. He shrugged. "Where?"

"The park."

Merlin took a sip of coffee to bide himself some time. However, after a long swallow, he still couldn't think of a good excuse to get out of it. Usually, the park was a lovely place to be—simply a wonderful place for scoring, but he didn't suppose it would be the same in broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon.

"I'd rather go beg to keep my job," he grumbled.

Arthur's face fell. He placed his unfinished coffee in the sink and started off. "Fine," he said curtly before disappearing into the main room and down the corridor. "Good luck with that. Not all employers are as generous as I was."

"Yeah, but I don't sleep with all my employers, do I?" Merlin called back.

"Good to know!" came the distant response, and Merlin folded his arms on the tabletop and slammed his head down on top of them tiredly.

"What do you mean, fired?"

Jonathan crossed his legs atop the crowded desk in his cupboard of an office. "This is the fourth day in a row you've been late," he said, a slight Eastern accent in his tone. "I suppose I'm lucky you've showed up at all. Jill has been covering half your shifts."

Merlin scoffed. "Jill? She's barely worked a day in her life! I can't even see why she has this job; her dad gives her enough money each week to buy a condo in Florida!" He'd know. He'd stolen from her wallet enough times after a quickie in the storage room; she never even noticed the money was gone.

He leaned in and placed his palms flat on the desk. "I need the money, sir."

Jonathan simply shrugged. "I'm sorry, Merlin. You've taken advantage of us one too many times."

Merlin grumbled something under his breath, and his eyes flashed golden. Really, he was above this—honestly, he was; but desperate times…

He turned his eyes back on his manager, who was suddenly sitting erect in his chair, staring off into space.

"I wasn't late today," Merlin told him very matter-of-factly. "I've been here all day. And I haven't been late for a shift at all this week."

He stood up straight and Jonathan shook the dazed look from his eyes.

"Merlin?" he asked, sounding confused. "I didn't hear you come in. Is there something you need?"

Merlin gave him a charming grin. "Actually, sir, I haven't gotten my paycheck this week and, well—rent's due soon—"

"Oh!" Jonathan shuffled through the contents of his desk drawer. "I must have it somewhere. I—Ah! Yes, here you are." Merlin took the envelope he was offered and pocketed it.

He nodded. "Thank you, sir. Now, I really should be getting back to my shift. Can't have poor Jill out there alone."

Jonathan laughed haughtily in agreement as Merlin headed out of the office.