Some Things are Meant to Be

1. It's Always Darkest…

His mother died when he was eight. Laid down to sleep and never woke up. He found her when he crept in, wondering why she hadn't roused him for school.

"Wore out, the poor thing," the people who eventually came and took her away said, thinking he couldn't hear. "From the stress of three jobs and a kid. And only twenty-eight. What a shame…"

He had no father – never had – so they sent him off with his whole life dumped carelessly in a ratty, brown bag and a stuffed dragon clutched tightly in his arms, to a big place full of many other sad children.

"Don't worry," they assured him. "You're young, yet. Someone will come to love you."

Only they didn't.

Because he was different.

He wasn't quiet and polite – he was curious. His ears stuck out and his hair wouldn't lay flat and his imagination took him to places only he could see.

His mind worked too fast.

"Too many questions!" they complained. "Can't you just shush like a good boy?"

But he couldn't. He really couldn't.

He talked too quick and too much, and he couldn't sit still. He liked to jump and run and dig in the dirt. He wanted to know why things worked, not just that they did. He was elbows and knees and dishes broken on accident and house plants tipped over and things ripped and torn and ruined and shattered.

Some tried to train it out of him.

Some tried to beat it.

And he just couldn't comprehend why he had to change – why he could no longer be Merlin.

His tenth year found him back where he'd started, family number six driving away as he was left clutching his bag and his dilapidated dragon in the halls of that old building, the one that practically oozed sorrow and crushed dreams, words they thought he didn't understand but that he knew perfectly well (thank you very much) swirling around him.

Obstinate.

Disobedient.

Out of control.

A terror.

Un-adoptable.

He heard them all, and his bright, knowing ten-year-old brain interpreted what they really meant.

Ungrateful.

Unwanted.

Un-lovable.

A monster…

00000

He met the old man in the park on a chilly, barely-spring day. He was supposed to go straight back after school, but his feet always seemed to detour as if they had minds of their own. How could he explain that the park with its trees and grass, even if they were scraggly and trampled (rather like himself, actually) seemed to pour a little bit of life back into his wounded heart, while the venerable, old building he called home seemed to just suck it away?

The ducklings had hatched and he was watching them – see, he could be quiet, when it was important and needed! – watching their mama lead them here and there and trying to quell the burst of envy he felt knowing they had a mother and he did not.

"That's a Northern Pintail," a voice said from beside him. He looked up to see the old man on the bench, funny, out-of-date hat perched on wiry-grey hair and a book clutched close to his body under one tweed-covered arm.

"I know," Merlin answered honestly, crossing his arms.

"You do?" the man said, a smile that seemed rusty but still warm filling his face. "Tell me, my boy, what else do you know?"

So he did.

He told him of ducks and frogs and pond scum. He spoke of rocks that had crystals inside and tornados bigger than a whole city and spaceships that might make it to Mars. All the wonderful thoughts that had been bouncing around inside his brain for years but no one had ever asked about just spilled out, like a flood that couldn't be stopped.

And the old man listened, and nodded, and asked questions in all the right places, and then told him things back.

He expounded on animals and plants, ancient cities long lost and battles won. He brought books – wonderful, old, musty-smelling books with brittle pages and amazing pictures, or shiny new ones with big words Merlin liked to store carefully away for his tongue.

One day turned into two and then a whole month flew by.

"Where do you live?" the old man – his new friend Gaius – had asked as they met on their bench after school.

"Nowhere," he mumbled.

"Do your parents know we speak? I'd like to meet them…"

Merlin stood. "I have to go," he said. He politely handed back the book they'd been reading (trains were amazing!) and then fled.

00000

His feet stopped taking him to the park after that. Or rather, they still tried, but his brain refused to let them. If he went back, Gaius would ask questions again, make him answer. And then his newest – and really only – friend would find out the truth: that he was unwanted and rejected – damaged.

But two weeks later, after he dragged himself back from school to the soul-sucking building, Gaius was there. And the words started to swirl around him once more, only different this time.

Inquiring after you.

Foster option.

Last chance.

Possible adoption.

Real home.

They – the grown-ups in charge, the ones who ran Merlin's life now – were hesitant.

Merlin was young, Gaius was old. Merlin was fast, Gaius was slow.

Gaius was all alone.

"So am I," Merlin said into the chaos of adults and swirling words, and for just a moment everything paused, then someone took him out of the room.

It seemed hours before Gaius eased himself into the hard, metal chair beside the one Merlin sat slumped in, hope and the pain of hoping fighting a war inside his stomach that made him want to vomit.

"Merlin, would you like to come live with me?" the old man asked gently.

He held his breath as the world stopped, then let it out as it smashed back to life around him, eons seeming to pass in a single second, but he was still there, and Gaius was still waiting, so it must not have been a dream.

"I break things," he blurted, feeling the need to give full disclosure.

"So do I," answered Gaius and took his dirty hand that still had jam on it from lunch into his old, wrinkled one and together they stood to go collect Merlin's things.

00000

Gaius's house was small and old, surrounded by gardens of flowers and herbs and filled to the brim with books and paintings and knick-knacks and antiques. It was an odd place, with twists and turns, hidden cupboards and precarious stacks of knowledge.

Merlin loved it.

And when he inevitably raced too fast through the halls and tripped and fell – piles crashing and things breaking – Gaius simply told him to clean it up and go find the glue again.

Gaius told him other things as well, about Before – when he was married to a beautiful, young lady named Alice and they were going to start a life together, before the car crash that took her away just six months into their plans. Told him about the fifty years since when he'd been alone, trying to fill the void with his books and his history lectures and his plants.

So Merlin told Gaius about his Before – when it was just his mother and him, and she'd laughed and danced him about their tiny kitchen even though she was tired and her feet hurt. When she'd let him talk and ask questions, proud that he wanted to know.

Their Befores settled nicely in together – creating peace and beautiful memories – and finally allowing both to begin dreaming of possible Afters.

And he soon realized he loved more than the just the house and the knowledge and the gardens – he loved the old man – Gaius – with all the power of his little boy heart.

00000

Merlin grew – tall and stick-like, with arms and legs and ears that still didn't quite fit. He went to school, absorbing all the knowledge that he could, but he never really blended in.

Gaius said it was because while he might appear to be a young boy, he was really an old soul. It's why they got along so well – because Gaius was an old man with young eyes that twinkled and a laugh he'd rediscovered.

They had their books and their flowers and each other – they were happy.

00000

He was seventeen when his world moved out from under him yet again. This time it didn't fall all at once in a mighty crash but trickled agonizingly away, set off by yet another swirl of words.

Brain tumor.

Malignant.

Inoperable.

Terminal.

And suddenly he wished he'd never crammed all those big words into his brain, so he could pretend not to understand every single one that was stabbing into his heart like daggers.

"Oh, my boy," Gaius had said, patting his hand as his still-young eyes shone with unshed tears. "We'll muddle through. Somehow, we will."

For a while they did. The looming fear stayed in the distance, safely ignored as things seemed to return to normal. Merlin finished his junior year of high school, the tomatoes were starting to blossom, and then Gaius began to forget – words, days of the week, where he put his shoes… When he forgot the names of the ducks in the park they still visited, Merlin shut himself in his room wrapped around a barely recognizable stuffed dragon and just cried.

00000

He didn't go back to school that August. They argued, but Merlin was stubborn and determined. He took the bus to the nearest GED testing center and sat the exam the very next day, passing with ease (maybe those words in his head were good for something after all,) then tacked the certificate on the fridge and gave it no more thought. He had other priorities now.

When Gaius forgot to brush his teeth, Merlin reminded him.

When Gaius forgot how to tie his shoes, Merlin did it for him.

When Gaius forgot his favorite stories, Merlin read them to him again, as often as he wanted.

And Merlin cooked and cleaned and readied the garden for winter. He arranged doctor's appointments and sorted medication and made sure Gaius bathed.

One day – when Gaius was remembering better than most – the old man had him dig out a dusty briefcase full of papers and they both spent many hours signing them. New words battered at Merlin's aching heart.

Power of Attorney.

Inheritance.

Internment.

00000

The seizure came the first day of October and when it was over they were both trembling and terrified on the floor, Merlin clutching the frail, old body gently to his chest, the sound of ambulance sirens approaching in the distance.

"He isn't strong enough to go back home," the doctors told him, hours later as he sat beside a hospital bed. "There's a nice room in Long-Term Care. Government insurance will cover a bit, but…"

Merlin nodded that he understood, and then signed the papers anyway.

00000

He sold the house. He might have been just a boy with ears that stuck out and limbs his body still hadn't quite figured out what to do with, but he used big words and knew what he wanted; the adults took him seriously now. Still, the house was very old and very small – it didn't sell for much.

He rented a storage unit and packed Gaius's beloved treasures and books into it, then walked one last time through each room, opened each cupboard door, gazed out the back window at each sleeping rose and bush… At last, he shouldered a faded, brown bag filled with a few clothes, some important papers and photographs, and a falling-apart dragon and locked the door.

Someone else would love this home now.

The money was barely enough – for the moment – and Gaius settled in. Merlin spent every daylight hour at his side, talking and caring and loving him, heart breaking as he watched him lose a little more each day. His nights were spent wandering, crashing on their bench in the park when it was warm enough and on a cot in a shelter when it wasn't.

He turned eighteen in November but Gaius didn't remember and no one else knew. He splurged on a packet of Twinkies from the vending machine and shared them with his old friend anyway.

Gaius forgot his name – but he still called him "my boy" and patted his hand, so Merlin tried to be contented with that.

Doctors visited, tests were run, medicine prescribed to help ease his pain. "He needs this," someone would say, or "this might make him more comfortable," another would mention, and Merlin would just nod and agree – he was determined to do anything and everything for this kind old man.

And then he would unlock the storage unit, pick out a few more pieces of well-loved furniture, and visit the antique store once more to haggle prices.

00000

Gaius lost his sight in mid-December. The doctors sat Merlin down.

"He won't make it through the month," they said. "Are things in order?"

"There's a plot, next to his wife," Merlin mumbled, numb and trying to catch his breath, even though he'd known this was coming for so long now.

"There needs to be more than that," they said gently.

And he found himself at the mortuary next door, discussing options.

The storage unit was mostly empty by then, only the paintings and the piles of books remaining. He spent the night sorting through the tomes – saying goodbye to dear friends – and when the morning dawned he had two groups. He slid the small, wooden crate holding the most precious and most loved – the ones he could not bear to part with – to the back corner, and then he started his many treks to the antique shop for the last time, carrying the rest.

Gaius's paintings bought a plain but solid casket and pre-paid the mortuary fees for when the time came – probably more money than they were worth but even Merlin could no longer hide the red-rimmed eyes or world-weary slouch and the antique-store owner wasn't made of stone. And the books – the sum total of years of knowledge distilled down to monetary value – purchased a simple headstone, all that would be left to mark a man's life. Beloved husband and father it would read, along with Gaius's name and dates, to be set in the spring when the snow melted.

There would be no funeral. All of Gaius's friends and fellow professors had already passed – the only one left to remember was Merlin.

00000

It's snowing the morning of Christmas Eve as he sits holding the frail hand of his dying…father – he knows in his heart that this day is the last.

"Merlin," the old man suddenly whispers, his blind eyes opening for a moment as if searching.

The boy's breath hitches – it has been weeks since Gaius remembered his name.

"I'm right here, Gaius," he sooths, gently squeezing the hand and desperately trying to keep the tears from sounding in his voice.

"Oh, my boy, my dear boy," Gaius says with a tiny smile, and Merlin leans forward to hear the almost silent words, to savor the Christmas miracle of a last instance of clarity. "I never expected such a blessing so late in life. You will be good, won't you?"

"I promise," Merlin sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"I know."

"Thank you," he blurts. "You saved my life. I…I love you."

Gaius smiles again – tiny and gentle, as if seeing things in his darkness that Merlin can't. "You are the dearest love of an old man's heart, my boy. And no, you saved mine."

They do not speak again. Gaius's eyes slip closed and Merlin sits for hours, holding his hand and watching the gradually slowing rise and fall of his chest.

It takes him a little while to notice when he's gone, and then he still doesn't move, frozen on this edge of change and horrendous loss.

00000

They take Gaius away.

Merlin signs all the papers, takes care of all the necessities, in a fog and on autopilot. The room is cleared, Gaius's few belongings packed into a plastic bag with the words My Name Is _ printed on the front and handed to him, and he's given a slip of paper with a time for the burial – ten in the morning two days after Christmas.

And then he's left standing there in the hall – his brown bag on his shoulder, plastic bag clutched in one fist and a mortuary brochure in the other – with nowhere to go on Christmas Eve but a storage shed that expires in three days and nothing but twelve dollars and sixty-seven cents in his pocket.

His feet take him to the front lounge – though he can't really remember the walk – but his body simply won't or can't go any further. He sinks on a chair, staring out the window at the snow that continues to fall, like the tiny, silent tears that track down his face, frozen and so very alone.

People bustle past him as they hurry into the hospital to visit family and friends, spreading Christmas cheer, or rush to get home and share the evening with their loved ones. No one sees the young man who is silently crumbling apart – except one.

Suddenly, someone – a stranger – is crouching before him, intruding into his space, though Merlin is so lost and so numb he doesn't even react. And then, with a careful hand on his thin shoulder a voice asks, "Hey kid, you okay?"

It's a rope, thrown to one who's drowning, and – though he can't ever explain why – Merlin reaches out and takes it.

Author's Note:

This fic is dedicated and given as a gift to my dear friend Missy! Thank you for everything! The last six months have been so much brighter for knowing you!