picture says a thousand words

- so it's a good thing Arthur takes great photos and Merlin loves to write columns, then.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Subject: is your sidebar column image gonna become like the DADA position at hogwarts
I have a proposition for you.
A.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Subject: i knew it. you're the geeky one here.
I'm all ears.
M.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
Subject: innocent until proven otherwise
I've noticed.
A.
EDIT: Actually much longer than 4k, but all of Merlin's columns are inserted images, so they're not counted in :D

Notes:

sometimes I meddle in Merthur affairs, too
(this work is actually much longer than 4k, but merlin's columns are posted as articles so those words aren't counted in)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Excalibur papers was a formidable publishing agency.

It specialized in so much more than just making the written word happen - it was a job, it was a 24-7 investment, it was a life-style.

Arthur Pendragon's job, and investment, and life-style, to be more exact.

He's been hired straight out of Uni, no carrots or cookies or recruitment promises neccessary; his father owned not just the mega-structure that was EP building, but also the designs to the company itself, the vision of a serious business of getting the message across in today's empty world of media and extorded view of society. Excalibur papers was a child to Uther in a way that Arthur was not.

Still, that didn't bother him as much as he thinks it probably should - they went along fine, really, it's just that Uther has his priorities set in stone, and EP always had the poll position.

Despite growing up in this vast, megacorporate system and knowing what it's all about, Arthur himself still didn't see himself as someone who could share his ideas through words. He loved to check out everything the firm put out, especially its parade horse, the Camelot newspaper - a weekly burst of information, brought to you by only the best sentence-spinners and creative minds in the country. It was a treat, slipping under a warm blanket on a Sunday morning with a cup of coffee or tea, and open the thick paper that still smelled of the printing ink and the delivery van and of promise to make the next couple of hours of your life entertaining and educational.

Arthur felt he could tell his stories in his own, different way - where he lacked in words, his lenses caught up and delivered with enthusiasm. His photography was never questioned, nor was his place in the firm itself; some might call it nepotism, or favoritism, but Arthur called it skill and hard work and dedication, and was glad to see his closest co-workers felt the same way. About him and themselves.

Life was good, and fun, and held enough purpose to satisfy any need that might occur to a person during Eat, Pray, Love film, but it's always when you think you're most content, that life likes to prove you wrong, and throws you another bone to pick. Another challenge to win.

Another photo to snap.

Quite literally.

And this time, he blames Morgana.

He was in the office, picking up a few things before heading out for a week's trip to Scotland - the trip itself wasn't vacation, it was work, but when you do what you love for a living, these two things kind of coincide. So he was excited, even if the weather wasn't promising, which meant he needs to take all sorts of equipment with him to salvage the non-wordy part of the 5 page spread they were planning on doing. At least there will be sheep. And lambs. Arthur loved lambs. He'd never admit it, but taking photos of baby animals was like one of those guilty pleasures grown up men never admitted to having.

He was on his way back out when Morgana stopped him mid-strut to the elevators.

"Not so fast, sheep boy."

"Ah. What do you want?"

"We have a new columnist."

"And?"

"I need you to take the pic for the paper."

"Can't they bring one in on their own, I'm kinda in a rush here."

"It's just one or two snaps, Arthur."

Arthur sighed, supressing annoyance, but only just. If it was a female, one or two snaps usually turned into two hours of pouting at him in front of the camera, shedding sweaters and chatting aimlessly, and it usually made Arthur wonder how can this lot be British best. Gwaine, the crazy sod with worst sentence structure and punctuation in the world, but witty as fuck in about five languages, informed him it was because they all wanted a piece of his ass. Arthur just shrugged in response. Gwaine should know, he was on the receiving end of all this just as much as Arthur himself. (Only that Gwaine loved to milk every opportunity that presented itself.)

"Morgana, I really don't have time for some model wannabe right now."

"Relax, Jesus. It's a bloke, alright. You'll be in that elevator in five minutes."

"Fine, tell him to come to my office."

Arthur set up a tiny photo study in one corner of his office for convience's sake. It was just easier this way, when you had an impromptu shoot and was in need of a one-colour background that wasn't a wall and some proper lighting.

He just finished snapping everything in place when the door opened and closed.

"Um, hi."

Fucking hell.

Arthur stared, and for the first time today forgot all about lambs. This was so much better than baby animals. This was a complimentary fruit basket, only that when you opened it the fruit was no ordinary apples and pears, but a sangria of intoxicatingly smelling peaches and pineapples, seasoned with blue eyes and fluffy black hair and lips that looked more delicious than the ripest fruit you've ever had.

Huh. See, it's a good thing Arthur doesn't write. He might make people vomit with his comparisons.

"So, erm. You're Arthur, right? I didn't by any chance walked in the wrong office -"

The bloke started turning around, looking for any indicators in whose office he actually is, when Arthur's speech impediment finally lifted.

"No, no. You're fine. Sit over there."

The Yummy Pineapple - shut up, you'd agree if you saw him - sat down, almost gingerly, and rubbed his palms together.

"I'm Merlin, by the way."

"Hi, Merlin. I'm Arthur."

"Yes, uhm. I know?"

Arthur couldn't decide which of them won their first round, and opted for what he always did in situations where he wasn't sure of what to do next - disharm your opponent with a dazzling smile.

It seemed like Merlin had the same strategy, though.

The way he grinned back made Arthur take a photo without warning, and when Merlin jumped at the flash, he winced in apology.

"Sorry, just a test photo. Okay let's do a few serious ones, too."

After a minute of snap-snap-snap of the camera and of Arthur's mind, he needed to convince himself he has enough material. Merlin was either serious like a statue, beautiful in his static angles and blue eyes, or giggly with shy smiles, and Arthur considered naming one of the lambs in Scotland after him. When he put the camera away, Merlin nodded at him.

"Thanks for taking the time, from what I heard you were one foot out of the building already."

"It's okay, really."

"You in here a lot?"

"Very sporadically, actually. I'm out on the field a lot these days."

Merlin fidgeted on the chair.

"I won't be seeing much of you, then. I can write my column from home, so I might be in once a week at the most."

Arthur couldn't decide on the tone with which Merlin informed him of this, but he felt oddly out of sorts. He really needed to go on that trip with Gwaine and shoot some photos, name some lambs, get pissed about four times and have a little talk with himself what's up with this fixation he felt forming for a man he's barely just met.

(But oh my god, have you seen him?)

"So what kind of a column you're doing?"

Merlin lit up at the question.

"Oh, it's in the social section, I've been given pretty much a green light to all the random stuff I want to write about. As long as it's interesting, they said."

"Alright. To which email should I send the photos? Uther's actually so nice to his employees he lets them pick the one they like the most."

"Oh, I don't really mind. You pick one, it's just a photo."

Arthur felt annoyance rising, suddenly. It's one thing he was irrationally serious about.

"Just a photo?"

"What?"

"You one of those better-than-thou chaps because you can write?"

"No, what?"

Merlin looked genuienly confused, but Arthur felt even more at a loss. (Like an idiot, too.) This mini-shoot was nothing like the ones before - this time, it was him who was being all obnoxious and in the other person's face, and it was such a strange occurrence he didn't even know why he felt so defensive. He realized he was clutching his camera to his chest unconsciously.

Merlin seemed to notice it, too, and then his eyes widened in horror.

"Oh! No no no, I know your work and I think you're a great photographer, I promise I'm not dissing your area of expertise, I just-"

"Merlin, it's fine."

"No, what I meant was that yes, okay, I'm good with words, and that is exactly why someone like you should pick a photo for me. I know nothing about it, especially when it comes to my own face. They'd all look pretty much the same to me."

Oh. Well if he puts it like that ... and Arthur was pretty skillful, and Merlin seemed to know that.

"Okay, then." Arthur made a non-commital wave in the air. "I'll pick something nice."

Merlin grinned again, then, looking sheepish and happy at the same time, but apparently a little daring too, because he winked, winked at Arthur and added a rushed out Surprise me before he stumbled all flushed out the office.

Arthur deflated on his chair. He couldn't decide whether his first encounter with this pecualir man went fine or just horribly wrong.

A minute later, Gwaine slammed (closed, in his own vocabulary, because slamming the door was closing the door for him) the office shut, and gawked at Arthur.

"Fuck me. Who was that, and why isn't he going with us?"

*************

In the end, picking a photo of Merlin for his column turned out to be an easy task. While all photos looked good (Arthur took these, hello), the very first one, the one he snapped without giving Merlin a heads up while Merlin was grinning at him, took his breath away. Literally. Gwaine caught him red-handed at staring at the screen with the photo in question, and snorted so hard he had to slam his fist in Arthur's back for good measure. Ergo the no-air thing.

Arthur knew he'll never hear the end of it now, but it was difficult to remember why that should bother him.

Next Sunday, Arthur opened the paper with great anticipation.

5/8/2012

**********

5/8/2012

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