Work Text:
Merlin feels his phone buzz in his pocket three minutes into his break. He definitely does not smile as he pulls it out and thumbs it open.
I saw this today on my way to work and thought it bore a striking resemblance.
Merlin studies the photo. Pretty certain you didn't see this in Holborn.
It was strolling around Lincoln's Inn Fields, hand on heart.
It's a baby moose, you pillock.
Whatever. It's got your legs.
Merlin sighs. Across the table in the break room, Gwen eyes him over her third cup of coffee. “Well, what is it today?”
Merlin holds out the phone and she squints. “I do see the skinny legs, I suppose.”
Merlin pulls the phone back, affronted. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am,” Gwen says, arching an eyebrow. “Which is why I'm biting my tongue so hard I'm bleeding, because you are in deep, deep denial.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, not that again,” Merlin huffs, putting the phone down and folding his arms. “He likes winding me up, that's all.”
“You like winding one another up. The two of you have been playing 'what ridiculous animal do you look like' almost daily for over half a year now with no signs of calling it quits.”
Merlin shrugs. “It's funny.”
“It's pathetic. You should just shag and get it over with.”
Merlin looks round, but luckily Mithian's the only other nurse in the room, sprawled on the couch with her earbuds in. “Will you stop that. I am not going to shag Morgana's brother.”
“Why not? Arthur's fit –”
“And a complete pain in the arse.”
“Please, leave off with the fake animosity; everyone knows you two are far more friendly than you let on.”
Merlin draws himself up, affronted. “We are not –”
Gwen leans forward and begins ticking off items on her fingers. “He knows exactly when your breaks are, every shift. He brings pastries round for the staff every Thursday, and there are always extra apricot tarts because he knows you love them. You joined the RNLI together –”
“– we didn't do it together, Elyan said they needed volunteers –”
“– because you have this bizarre rivalry going that's really just sublimated sexual tension –”
Merlin buries his face in his hands. “Ugh.”
“– and you make goo-goo eyes at him whenever he's over at Morgana's. There, I'm done.”
“I hate you,” Merlin says from behind his palms.
“You love me,” Gwen coos, “but you luuuuuuuurve Arthur.”
“Honestly, she's right, mate,” Mithian says from the couch in the corner. “Let's face it, you could do worse. And frequently have.”
“Bloody hell, just because you'll do anything for an eclair –” Merlin begins, and Mithian laughs.
“They're top-tier pastries, I must say.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “If you don't shag him, I might.”
Merlin rests his face on the tabletop. “I hate all my coworkers.”
“Take it up with the management,” Mithian says as she rises to her feet. “Break's over anyway, back to the slog.”
Merlin groans as Gwen pats his shoulder. “Come on, let's go. Remember you promised you'd help me with Terry.”
“Yeah,” Merlin says heavily. Terry was ten weeks premature and was having difficulty latching. Everyone on staff knew Merlin as the milk wizard – “oh God, please stop calling me that,” Merlin would sigh, not that it deterred Gwen in the slightest – because for some reason he had a gift for helping the NICU babies graduate from tube feeding.
“You make it sound like I cast a magic spell over breasts or something, it frightens some of the parents,” Merlin says as he carefully picks up wee Terry and settles in a chair with him.
“That may be next,” Gwen says, passing him the bottle. At first, Terry fusses, but within a minute, he's sucking greedily.
“The milk wizard strikes again,” Mithian says as she passes by. Merlin rolls his eyes.
“So is Arthur going to be at the station with you tomorrow night?” Gwen asks.
“I have no idea,” Merlin says. While the small number of paid staff like Elyan and Percy have a much busier schedule, volunteers usually rotate through one twelve-hour day shift and one night shift per fortnight. Merlin will be sleeping most of the day away tomorrow so that he can make it through; no one sleeps on the clock as they need to be ready to deploy in ninety seconds. Well, that's not quite true; Gwaine can sleep standing up and go from fully unconscious to full run almost instantly. But then, he's a freak of nature.
“Hm,” Gwen says. “Something tells me his shift is going to coincide with yours. They usually seem to, don't they?”
Merlin shrugs. “I suppose so.”
Gwen sighs and pats his arm as she gets up. “All right, I give up. I'm going to make my rounds and leave you alone now.”
“D'you hear that, Terry my lad?” Merlin asks, smiling down at Terry. “There will be peace in the land at last.”
Gwen sticks her tongue out at him as she turns. “Oi, you're teaching him bad habits,” Merlin says, but she's already gone.
“So where are you lodgers today?”
Arthur spends a good ten minutes sipping tea in Morgana's back garden before he gets the question out so that he doesn't seem too eager to ask it. He's quietly proud of himself for all of eight and a half seconds until Morgana raises an eyebrow at him and he knows that he's royally and irrevocably fucked.
“For the thousandth and last time, they are not lodgers. They are housemates and my best friends in the world; I would never have made it past junior doctor without them. Our father gifted me this ridiculous house because courtesy of his inherited, unearned position in life he has six properties like it in central London alone. I have more rooms than I can ever fill with useless possessions and dear friends who could benefit from affordable housing within walking distance to work. It was, as my American colleague says, a no-brainer.”
“For the thousandth and last time,” Arthur says through gritted teeth, “a four-million pound Grade II listed Georgian pile in Bloomsbury is not a student flat share –”
“Three and a half million at most and it's actually in Clerkenwell. Look, stop quibbling about real estate; we both know what you're really asking.”
“I forgot the question,” Arthur mutters into his cup.
“You asked about my lodgers. And I know you and Gwen get on very well, so you are not actually asking about her. You are asking about Merlin, in which case you could have simply said, 'Where's Merlin?'” She flaps a hand at him. “Well, go ahead. Try it. Three syllables, I know you can do it.”
“I don't give a single solitary shit where Merlin is.”
Morgana snorts into her teacup. “Liar.”
“Fine. Where's Merlin. And I'm only asking because I don't need him popping up when I'm trying to have a restful morning.”
Morgana raises an eyebrow at him.
“What?” Arthur snaps.
“Nothing. I just keep wondering when you're going to admit to yourself that you're besotted with him.”
Arthur snorts. Snorts again. Snorts one more time for good measure. “I am not – I mean, he's infuriating.”
“Because he won't take any of your shit? Anyway, stop complaining, that's one of the things that turns you on.”
Arthur casts his gaze heavenward. “God, I came here to take a break from my awful client and his ridiculous demands. You make me want to run right back to him, kiss him on the mouth and tell him that of course we can build twice the extension for half the price and without planning permission.”
“Which one of Father's insufferable friends are you working for this time?”
Arthur shoots her a look. “Frederick.”
“The Earl of Doncaster,” Morgana says, nodding. “He is awful. Tried to pinch my bum at the club last New Year's.”
“Oh, so that's why he was limping,” Arthur drawls.
“And here I thought you were visiting because you love your sister and want to help me plan my next party.”
“I do love my sister, no matter how much she annoys the ever-loving fuck out of me. But plan your next party? I'd rather chew glass.”
Morgana assumes a put-upon expression. “But you're so good at it. You're so much more uptight and anal-retentive than I am.”
“This is your way of getting me to help you? Insulting me at every turn?”
“I haven't insulted you once. But for the sake of argument, I'll balance it out with a compliment: I think you might genuinely have a chance with him.”
“That's a compliment?”
“Of course. Merlin is a treasure. Ordinarily I'd say you don't deserve him, but he's been a good influence on you.”
“He has not –”
“Really? You joined the Lifeboats because you wanted to impress him.”
“I – that's – not true!” Arthur splutters. “Elyan was looking for volunteers, and I rowed for Cambridge so I thought –”
“You thought you would make Merlin swoon by knowing port from starboard. Honestly, Arthur, just admit it.”
“There's nothing to admit. And if you don't stop banging on about this, I won't help you plan your bacchanal.”
“I knew you would,” Morgana says smugly. As she gets up to get more coffee, she bends as she passes Arthur to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Arthur drains his own coffee and sets it down. “Anything's better than hearing my sister telling me I need to shag a man with ears so big they could pick up Polish radio.”
“Merlin!” Morgana exclaims shrilly. “I forgot you were on a short shift today.”
Slowly, as though moving through taffy, Arthur turns toward the door of Morgana's kitchen.
And sees no one.
Morgana's laugh is the cackle of a witch. “Oh my God, Arthur, your face. ”
“What about it,” Arthur growls.
“You looked absolutely mortified at the thought he'd heard you.”
“I thought he had! What – you –”
Morgana waves a hand. “You have a sister and two friends who work for the NHS. You should bloody well know there are no short shifts for us. I can't help it if the mere mention of Merlin turns your brain to mush.”
Arthur rises to his feet. “All right, that's it.”
“Oh, don't be like that –”
“No, I'm going back to work. I bloody hate it, but at least no one pesters me about my love life.”
“What love life?” Morgana calls after him, but he ignores her.
Oddly, Tower station – one of three RNLI stations on the Thames – isn't actually at Tower Bridge, but at Waterloo Bridge, two miles upriver. As such, it's within about a ten-minute taxi ride or a twenty-minute jog from either work or home if Merlin's ever asked to fill in on short notice. Arthur's ridiculously overpriced Thames view flat in South Bank is a similar distance away, so after only a few months they're two of the more popular volunteers. Merlin can't say he minds – while the life and death stakes are a bit too similar to his regular job at times, being out on the river speeding to a rescue makes quite a change from the day-to-day routine of changing diapers and cleaning spit up off his uniform.
And it doesn't hurt that nearly everyone who works there is fit as fuck. There was one shift early on where Lance, Elyan, Percy, Gwaine, Isolde – and all right, yes, Arthur – were on at the same time, and Merlin nearly died of the vapours like some tight-corseted Victorian maiden. He'd like to say that it's all become mundane, but there's still the odd time when he's slightly overwhelmed.
Like tonight, when he walks into the changing rooms to find Arthur stark bollocks naked.
It's probably only about five seconds that he's stood there staring, but it feels like five hours as time stretches and warps and loses all meaning. Arthur's back is turned to him, which is the only thing saving him from instantaneous death by mortification, but that also means Merlin has an unparalleled view of Arthur's truly spectacular arse. Which was mostly theoretical up until this point, but is now one hundred percent confirmed: spectacular. It's round, it's pert, it's probably very, very biteable, and Merlin is going to stop looking at it now.
Arthur must be just out of the shower, because his hair is damp and there are droplets of water clinging to his muscular shoulders, and oh, Merlin would like to be a water droplet, yes he most certainly would. He tells himself that he needs to tear his gaze away, that he's seen more than enough to fuel the fantasies he disavows when morning comes, but he is literally rooted to the spot. He thinks he's going to start sprouting leaves any minute.
“Elyan, is that –” Arthur spins round at that moment and lovely, there's the rest of the wank material Merlin was secretly hoping for.
“Merlin!” Arthur squeaks, or maybe – no, that was definitely a squeak. “What are you doing here?”
Nothing much, just shamelessly perving over you. “I have a shift. What are you doing here?”
“I have a shift,” Arthur says, frantically reaching for a towel and shaking it out, only to discover it's a hand towel. He chucks it aside, then grabs another, which thankfully is large enough to cover up his most X-rated bits. His extremely nice chest and abs are still on display, but Merlin's mostly made his peace with those particular attributes after Morgana's party at her family's Brighton beach house last summer.
“Well then, that's fine,” Merlin says, his confidence in the awkward situation growing in response to Arthur's flustered demeanour. “We're both exactly where we need to be.”
“Fine, then,” Arthur croaks, and points over his shoulder. “I'm going to – put on some clothes.”
“Might be best, don't want anything getting tangled up in the propeller,” Merlin says with just the smallest smirk. Arthur narrows his eyes at him, then stomps off.
He should be considering it a win, but there was something strangely endearing about how embarrassed Arthur was by the whole thing. And while Merlin is willing to acknowledge that Arthur is unfairly hot, finding him endearing seems – dangerous.
Sighing, Merlin begins stripping out of his street clothes to don his uniform. It's going to be a long shift.
The shift already feels interminable when the final call comes in an hour before the end. They've had only three so far, a group of tourists who've gotten themselves into trouble when the rising tide cuts off their escape route along the foreshore, a barge operator who got tangled up in his own tow line, and a drunken student who tripped and fell in along the Victoria Embankment – all rescued, and all either discharged or sent to hospital with minor injuries.
When this call comes in, Arthur doesn't hear the details, but he feels the change in the air as they're running for the lifeboat. He knows somehow it's going to be different, and his stomach churns for no reason he can name.
“Elyan!” Merlin's voice calls their captain's name, and he slows to allow Merlin to catch him up. Arthur resists the temptation to stop as well, but when he reaches the boat he turns back to see Merlin and Elyan in deep, heated conversation as they head toward him. Merlin flashes an anxious glance at Arthur as Elyan speaks, and Arthur's suddenly chilled to the bone.
Elyan shakes his head vehemently, says a few more words, and then they're on their way. As Elyan steers the E-Class easily through the water, weaving around the early morning river traffic, Arthur turns to Merlin and says, “What was that about?”
Merlin's jaw clenches. “I didn't think you needed to come.”
Arthur frowns. “What? Why not?
“Because it's almost certainly a recovery, and you haven't been on one yet.”
Arthur opens his mouth, then closes it again. A recovery is a term meaning there's no chance the person they're going to find is alive. “How would you know I haven't been on one?”
“There hasn't been one on any of our shifts together, and I asked Elyan if you'd done one when I wasn't there.”
Arthur draws himself up. “And you think I couldn't handle it?”
“No, I'm certain you can. But this one might be – difficult for you.”
“Why?”
“Because the witnesses say the woman who jumped looked heavily pregnant.”
Arthur sucks in a breath as Merlin holds his gaze steadily, calmly. While they've never discussed it, the tragedy of his mother's loss was splashed all over the tabloids when he was born and is regularly mentioned whenever the Pendragons or their father's empire is in the news, so he's not surprised Merlin already knows.
“I'll be fine,” Arthur says, refusing to see the flash of sympathy that crosses Merlin's features. Pity is for other people, not us, his father always says. “What about the baby? It might still be alive.”
“It's not likely. If she's already gone, we have five minutes, maybe six, before it's too –”
“Almost there!” Elyan calls. “Heads up!”
Merlin, Arthur and Percy immediately begin scanning the water. Arthur's heart seizes when he sees a small, dark shape floating about twenty metres away, already well downriver of Blackfriars Bridge where she would have –
Christ, it's horrific. “There!” he shouts, pointing, and Elyan's already revving the boat to respond.
They bring her on board easily; even with her clothes weighing her down, there's hardly anything to her.
Merlin checks her carefully. “Traumatic skull fracture, neck's fractured as well. They were right, it looks like she hit the bridge footing.” He feels for a pulse, then leans in, placing his cheek a hairsbreadth from her mouth and nose. He sits up after a moment, shaking his head.
“Calling it,” he says.
“She can't be more than sixteen,” Percy rasps.
“How long since the call?” Merlin shouts to Elyan.
“Three minutes,” Elyan answers.
Merlin takes a deep breath, lets it out. He looks up at Arthur, then nods as if reaching a decision.
“Arthur, get a shock blanket. Percy, I need you to remove her shirt and jeans. Quickly.”
“What are we doing?” Elyan says, dead calm, as Arthur turns to the stowage locker to fetch a blanket.
“I'm estimating she's at least 32 weeks along, or at least I hope. I have two to three minutes at most to get that baby out of there.”
“Out of – Merlin, this is not our remit.“
“You shouldn't have recruited a NICU nurse, then, because this is mine.”
“Do many Caesareans on your own in the middle of the Thames?” Elyan asks.
Merlin pulls a scalpel from his bag. “I've seen a couple of hundred done and I know the anatomy.” He looks up at Elyan. “I do know there's no chance of resuscitation for her and no chance the baby will survive otherwise.”
There's a tense moment, and then Elyan nods. “All right. What do you need from me?”
“Can you hold us as steady as possible? I know it's a big ask.”
“You've got it,” Elyan says.
As Merlin takes a deep breath and bends to his task, Arthur clutches the blanket in his hands so tightly the Mylar crackles between his fingers, and he thinks oh God, I'm in love with you, aren't I?
Because whatever happens, Merlin in this moment is a bit terrific – both in the modern and classical sense. Arthur can sense his compassion, his skill, his dedication, his heart, and it's something he's always known about Merlin in the abstract from Morgana's accounts of her friend, but it's quite another to see it in a situation like this, terrible and beautiful all at once.
Arthur can't look at what Merlin's doing; it's too much, too close to home, so he concentrates on the quiet rumble of the engines, Elyan's voice as he calls for an ambulance to be ready at the station, Percy's quiet, steady presence. Quicker than he'd expect, Merlin is holding a blood-covered baby. He reaches frantically for his bag one-handed, but Arthur snatches it from him. “What d'you need?”
“There's an eyedropper in there, it's not perfect but it may help clear the baby's airways.” Arthur nods and digs around until he finds it, then passes it to him. He notices Merlin's hands are shaking slightly.
He hears a soft cry over the sound of the engines; Elyan doesn't need to be told any more, just noses the boat into a 180 and in a trice they're flying back upriver to meet the ambulance.
“Here,” Merlin says, and the next thing Arthur knows, he's depositing the baby into the blanket Arthur's still holding.
“I can't –” Arthur begins, but he's already arranging the blanket as if by instinct.
“You can,” Merlin says. “She's alive because you got me thinking it might be possible.”
“D'you know yet if she –” He swallows; he can't finish the question, but Merlin seems to know.
“Not yet,” he says. “I'm going to ride with them to Great Ormond Street, I'll be in touch as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Arthur says, looking down at the baby, whose mouth is wide open in a wail that's drowned out by the sound of the engines. “Good, I, I'd like to know.”
Merlin nods, then turns to wipe his gloved hands and carefully drape another blanket over the body of the girl. Arthur's thankful for the cool wind that dry the tears almost as quickly as they form.
Merlin's six hours with the baby, then another three giving his statement to the Met. By the time he's done, he's dead on his feet. Annis stops him on the way out. “Mithian's covering your next shift, and Gwen has the next,” she says brusquely. “Don't come back until Saturday.”
“Thank you, Matron,” Merlin says, doffing an imaginary cap.
“Don't thank me,” she says. “You're under investigation, you know.”
“I know,” Merlin sighs. “I couldn't give less of a shit right now.”
Annis lays a hand on his shoulder. “You did the right thing, Merlin. And I'm certain as soon as the autopsy is completed, you'll be cleared to return to work.”
“Thank you,” he says warmly. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
Annis snorts. “You think I hired you because of your pretty face?”
Merlin grins. “I did wonder.”
Annis points toward the door. “Go on, you cheeky scamp.”
Merlin half turns, then hesitates. “I almost didn't, you know. Do the right thing. Not because I was afraid of the consequences, but because I didn't think I could.”
Annis lifts an eyebrow. “What changed your mind?”
“Not what. Who.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. And the funny thing is that a year ago, he would have been the last person I'd expect to bring out the best in me.”
“Destinies are funny things.”
Merlin turned to stare at her. “Destiny?”
Annis cocks her head. “The older I get, the more I believe in it. You think it's just a coincidence you were there tonight? And that he was there, pushing you to the best version of yourself when that wee one needed it most?”
Merlin feels an odd prickling sensation at the back of his neck, then shakes it off. “I don't know anything right now.” He passes a hand over his face. “Bugger. I told him I'd let him know how she was doing. But they're still running tests and now I can't come back –”
“I'll let you know when I hear,” Annis assures him.
“Isn't that breaking the rules?”
“I couldn't give less of a shit,” Annis says, and Merlin barks a laugh. “Now clear out of my NICU and get some rest.”
Merlin doesn't need to be told a third time.
Arthur bangs on Morgana's door for at least two minutes until his hand is beginning to get a bit sore, if he's honest. Still, the pain feels good in a way, like he's accomplishing something.
“What's going on?”
Arthur startles at the sound of Merlin's voice; he looks about, trying to locate him.
“Down here.” Arthur leans over the low fence around the front of the building; right, Merlin's bedroom is in the basement. Sure enough, Merlin is peering up at him through his open window, blinking at the light. His hair is flattened on one side; he looks ridiculous and does not at all make Arthur think about the fact he was just in bed, all rumpled and –
“What d'you want?” Merlin demands.
“Open the door, Merlin,” Arthur growls.
“Alright, keep your shirt on,” he sighs, and shuts the window again on Arthur's glare.
Arthur's barrelling through the door the moment Merlin has it open more than a crack. “I was interrogated by the fucking Met this morning,” he snaps without preamble.
“Uh-huh,” Merlin says, unimpressed. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I'm making tea. D'you want tea?” When Arthur merely stares at him, he turns and heads toward the kitchen.
“Did you hear me? They showed up at the office this morning, in the middle of a staff meeting. My father almost had a stroke.”
“I'm not sure why this is a surprise,” Merlin says, reaching into the cupboard for a tin of loose tea. “I think I need matcha. If you want something else, help yourself.”
“They said the incident is being investigated, and they didn't just mean her death – they were asking about the operation you performed. Are you being investigated?”
Merlin's shoulders hunch as he grips the counter, his back a tense line. “Of fucking course I'm being investigated, Arthur,” he says wearily. “What did you expect? I performed an unauthorised operation on a woman in the middle of the Thames.”
“An emergency post-mortem operation.”
“They don't know that it was post-mortem.”
“Jesus,” Arthur breathed, his gut churning. “Are you saying they think you –”
“They don't think anything,” Merlin says, turning and leaning back against the counter. “Hence the investigation. They're interviewing you, and Percy, and Elyan, and the witnesses, and – hell, most of the people I work with, I imagine – to make sure our stories match and that I'm not completely incompetent as a general rule. But it's the autopsy that will make the most difference, which I think will be fairly conclusive considering the injuries she sustained. That's scheduled for tomorrow. And then even after the police are satisfied, I still have to be cleared by my employer.”
Arthur's jaw tightens. “You saved a baby –”
“That doesn't change the fact I overstepped my authority. And she's alive, but not fully out of danger.”
“I thought you said the tests all looked good.”
Merlin moves to the sink to fill the kettle, then sets it on the hob to heat. “They do, but some indications don't show up for days.”
Arthur feels all the rage he's been accumulating since the first question from that smug cop leave him in a rush. He runs a hand through his hair. “Shit. Shit. I'm so sorry, I never thought – I'm a fucking architect, I don't have a clue, clearly –”
Merlin frowns. “What on earth are you apologising for?”
“It's my fault you're in this mess. If I hadn't suggested –”
“Arthur. Arthur,” Merlin says, and Arthur's startled when he steps forward and takes Arthur by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I'm glad you suggested it. It was an extremely long shot, but it worked.”
“You said she's not out of danger.”
“None of us is ever out of danger,” Merlin says softly. Arthur's head snaps up and their gazes lock. After a moment, Merlin turns away to fiddle with some teacups.
“I honestly don't think I'm going to lose my job over this,” Merlin says. “But even if I do, it will have been worth it.”
Arthur folds his arms. “I'm calling my lawyer.”
Merlin shakes his head vehemently. “Arthur, no. Stop.”
“I have to do something,” Arthur protests. He hates feeling helpless. He wants to – he wants – well.
“You do?” A small smile tugs at the corner of Merlin's mouth.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just – I've never seen you like this.”
“Utterly useless?” Arthur grinds out.
“No,” Merlin says. “Never that.” He pauses, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. “There is something you can do for me, now that I think of it.”
“I'll do anything you ask,” Arthur says.
Merlin's eyes widen a little at that, but he recovers quickly. Lifting his chin, he says, “You can buy me breakfast.”
“What?” Arthur says, certain he's misheard.
“I haven't eaten anything for over a day,” Merlin says. “I'm fucking ravenous, if I'm honest.”
Arthur can't help it; he bursts out laughing. “I will buy you the biggest full English you've ever eaten.”
“Hm, I don't know about that. I was in the mood for something else.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Arthur takes a step forward, then another.
“Name it,” he murmurs.
Merlin smiles, and Arthur holds his breath.
“He took you to My Old Dutch,” Morgana says.
“Yep,” Merlin says. He, Morgana and Gwen are sitting in the back garden that evening, drinking boxed wine and talking about anything but work, for which Merlin is eternally grateful.
“My brother. Arthur Pendragon.”
“The very same.”
Morgana exchanges a look with Gwen.
“What? What does that mean?” Merlin demands.
“It means Arthur is as mad about you as you are about him,” Gwen says slowly, as if to a small child.
“What – that's ridiculous!”
“He willingly went to a place that serves Nutella pancakes and strawberry beer,” Morgana drawls. “Believe me, it's either that or possession by aliens.”
“M'not mad about him,” Merlin mutters, draining the last of his wine and going to the box to serve up another glass. “And even if I were, I'm a little preoccupied right now.”
“Was that almost a confession?” Gwen squeaks. “Oh my God, we're having a breakthrough, and it only took –“ she lifts the box, weighing it “– a box and a half.”
“Can we go back to talking about Naked Attraction? Because that was much more fun.”
“No, we can't.” Morgana places her hand over Merlin's where it rests on the patio table. “Listen, I know we're deliberately Not Talking About It, but Arthur rang me during my lunch break today and had the closest thing to a meltdown I've ever witnessed from him. He's – he feels terrible, Merlin.”
“I know. And he shouldn't. He was right.”
“He kept saying he didn't know the implications of what he was suggesting, and he thinks –” she blows out a breath “– he thinks his own situation may have clouded your judgment, made you feel sorry for him.”
Merlin passes a hand over his face. “Yeah. We sort of stopped talking about it once we got to the restaurant, but that had crossed my mind. I mean, that he'd think that way, not that I did. But I will admit that – I wanted to try. Not for him, exactly – but because he made me want to be brave.” Merlin can feel his cheeks heating, and laughs. “Isn't that bonkers?”
“I don't think it's bonkers at all,” Morgana says softly. “Oh, Merlin. You're one of my dearest friends in the world, and as much as I take the piss sometimes, I adore my brother. I'd love nothing better than if you found happiness together. But I'm going to warn you right now: he's a work in progress. Our father – well, you know. He's an arsehole. And while I'm comfortably on the periphery now, Arthur still cares far too much about what he thinks.”
Morgana doesn't need to elaborate any further; she's talked enough about the Pendragon real estate dynasty and how the weight of those expectations nearly crushed her until she decided to carve her own path. And he knows full well that as his father's chief architect and the heir to the throne, the pressures on him are infinitely greater.
“We're all works in progress, I suppose,” Merlin says. “And I'm not afraid of Uther.”
“Wait a minute,” Gwen says slowly. “Is that it? I've been pestering you for months and you just – admitted it?”
“I'm drunk, exhausted and there's a slight chance I'll be unemployed soon,” Merlin says. “You caught me in a moment of weakness.” He raised his glass. “I salute you.”
“Wow,” Gwen says.
“Also, I saw him naked two nights ago and it was the closest I've come to a religious experience,” Merlin adds, then winces at the stereo screams that follow.
When Arthur gets back to his flat that night, he finds his father sat at his dining table, fuming.
“I don't recall giving you a key,” Arthur says evenly, hanging up his jacket and making a beeline for the bar.
“I own the building,” Uther snaps.
“So you do,” Arthur answers. “Whisky?”
“Haven't you had enough by now?”
“I haven't touched a drop. Until this moment.” Arthur pours a couple of ounces of Laphroaig in a tumbler and toasts his father before taking a sip.
Uther springs to his feet. “Then if you don't mind my asking, what the bloody hell have you been doing all day?”
“Walking. Thinking.” He savours the peaty finish of the drink, letting the air kiss his teeth and tongue as he inhales. “Taking a friend out for breakfast.”
“Are you telling me that after that disaster this morning, you abandoned your responsibilities to go on a date?”
In spite of himself, Arthur flinches. “It wasn't a date. Pretty certain they're not the least bit interested, if I'm honest.”
Uther folds his arms. “Freddy is livid you didn't answer any of his calls today. I had to do quite a bit of apologising on your behalf, but you can make it up to him yourself tomorrow.”
“The fact that he couldn't survive one day without making my life a living hell should tell you everything you need to know about him. But then every one of your connections that I've worked for is the same, so –”
“Frederick,” Uther says lowly, “is one of my oldest friends –”
“He's a parasitical aristocrat who's laughing behind his hand at us because our money only goes back a little over a century,” Arthur snarls, feeling an illicit thrill when his father's eyes widen in shock. “They've been using me as cheap labour for years under the guise of your old school tie, and I'm so fucking sick to death of kissing their arses you have no idea.”
Arthur peers at his glass. Bloody hell, this was some powerful stuff.
“You've been spending far too much time with your sister and her working-class friends lately,” Uther says coldly. “I'm assuming that's where you're getting all this bolshy nonsense. But it's going to stop now.”
Arthur feels a sudden chill. “What is going to stop?”
“This larking about with them on the Thames –”
“It's the bloody Lifeboats, not larking about – do you know how many people I've helped to rescue in the short time –”
Uther flaps a hand at him. “I’m sure it’s important work, but you already have important work. You’re not the only one who can swan around in an orange dinghy, but you are the only one who will inherit Pendragon Holdings.”
Arthur stares at his father and something quietly snaps inside him. He’s not sure what, or whether it’s something irreparable, but he knows he can’t sort it out with him standing there, being – Uther Pendragon and not his dad.
When was the last time the man in front of him felt like his dad? It’s so long ago that Arthur can’t quite remember.
He downs the last of his whisky, sets the glass down carefully. “I’m very tired, Father.”
“Arthur –”
“I’m going to bed,” Arthur insists quietly. “Please close the door behind you when you leave.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before turning away and heading down the hall toward his bedroom, but he supposes Uther’s silence is an answer of sorts. Arthur wishes he could consider it a victory, but all he feels is hollow.
“I’ve been thinking about cancelling the party Saturday,” Morgana says out of the blue.
Merlin frowns. It’s one of the first truly warm days of spring and they’re sat on a bench in Brunswick Square, not far from the hospital. Morgana had a shift today and insisted he drag his arse out of the house and join her for lunch, which turns out to be a selection of chaat, samosas and garlic prawns from Salaam Namaste, so he’s not complaining.
“Not cancelling on my account, I hope,” Merlin says around a mouthful of minced lamb and peas.
Morgana shrugs. “I’m just not feeling it, I suppose.”
Merlin finishes chewing and tips his head back, letting the sun turn his closed eyelids bright red. “You’re such a terrible liar.”
“Fine. I’ve been – hearing things today.”
“You should get that checked out.”
“Smartarse. Do you want to know or don’t you?”
“I suppose it would be nice to find out ahead of time if my career is ending with a spectacular explosion.”
“I’m hearing that the girl’s parents are demanding a fuller investigation than what was initially planned. Saying it can't be suicide, that someone must have pushed her, demanding an independent autopsy, wherever the hell they think they're going to get one of those. All kinds of bollocks. I don't know that it will delay your return because it has nothing to do with your actions on the night, but it may muddy the waters a little.”
Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right. Okay.”
“I'm sorry,” Morgana sighs. “Of course, I think they’re just trying to cover their arses, avoid responsibility.”
“They lost a daughter, Morgana. They’re grieving.”
“They also haven't been to see their granddaughter once.”
Merlin frowns. “Really?”
“Gwen talked to the father and his family when they came to the NICU. He wants the baby – so do they, they're fully supportive. He’s devastated. Said that her parents had forbidden them from seeing one another after she fell pregnant. Claimed they were emotionally abusive, and she didn't feel she could leave because she couldn't bear to have them cut her off, which is what they threatened to do.”
“How old was she?”
“Seventeen. So’s he. But he’s from a council estate in Clapham, and his parents are Somali immigrants. The mother's parents, by contrast, are minted and very well connected.”
“Right,” Merlin says dully. “All the makings of a modern Shakespearean tragedy, except it's real life. Christ, what a waste.” It wasn’t the first suicide or suicide attempt on the river that Merlin had rescued or recovered – in fact, they’d received special training on it when they signed up – but it was the first time he’d let himself wonder what the person’s story might have been. What would have driven them to that point, especially with a baby on the way. He'd really wanted to know the answer, and now he wishes he didn't.
“At least the baby will grow up in a loving home,” Morgana says.
Merlin shakes his head. “She'll have more than her mother had, by the sounds of it.”
“You know, it's occurred to me that all three of us know what it was like to grow up without a parent. Four, including Arthur.”
“Yeah, and look at us,” Merlin says, smiling.
“Family's not just blood,” Morgana says, squeezing his hand. “It's who you find along the way. Whatever happens, we'll get through it together.”
“Thanks,” Merlin rasps. “You and Gwen really do feel like the sisters I never had, you know.”
Morgana blinks furiously and scrunches up her face. “Stop it, you're going to make my nose all red and I have rounds after lunch.”
“I don't want you to cancel the party. We need a laugh and a knees up, yeah? Whichever way this goes.”
“Okay,” Morgana says, nodding. “Let's do it.”
“Merlin?”
Merlin looks up to see a young couple with a baby approaching them. “I'm so glad to see you! Gwen said you were off for a few days and Terry's just been discharged, so we're headed home.”
Merlin and Morgana rise to their feet, Merlin hastily sweeping away bits of samosa pastry from his jumper. “Oh, Terry! I'm so glad he's well enough to be discharged, that's wonderful.”
“You made a huge difference,” says one of the mums. “Gwen explained what you did for him.”
Merlin smiles, hoping against hope that Gwen never shared that awful nickname with these lovely people. “I didn't do so much. I, um – I just do the feeding a certain way, and sometimes it seems to help.”
The other mum takes a step forward. “D'you mind if I give you a hug?”
“I'd love nothing better,” Merlin rasps. That's all the encouragement she needs to wrap her arms around him. Merlin closes his eyes, and if they're a little damp when she releases him, no one mentions it.
“Thank you,” the first mum says. “Honestly, we'll never forget you.”
Merlin can only manage a smile and a jittery nod at that, and then they're off, strolling across the park with their new baby in their arms. Wiping at his eyes with his jumper sleeve, Merlin takes a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.
“I don't want to give this up, Morgana,” he breathes.
“You won't,” she says fiercely, her tone so self-assured that Merlin feels something perilously close to hope for the first time in days.
It occurs to Arthur that he may no longer be entirely welcome at the Lifeboats after the other night, so he reaches out to Elyan the next day to apologise.
“Apologise for what?” Elyan asks, confused as he sits across from Arthur in a pub near Elyan's flat in Hackney, and Arthur realises it would sound ridiculous to say that
I think I made Merlin ruin his career because he felt sorry for me and my tragic fucking backstory and I wanted to make sure your career doesn't end up as collateral damage.
“I – um,” Arthur manages. “I should have tried to talk Merlin out of it?”
“I was in command, so it's ultimately down to me,” Elyan says. “And it was unorthodox, yeah. I'll probably get a slap on the wrist, maybe even a note on my record. But it was worth it.”
“That's what Merlin said,” Arthur murmurs. “Still, I don't think it's fair you might both be reprimanded over this. I know a lawyer –”
“Oh, I'm sure you know plenty of lawyers, mate,” Elyan says wryly, taking a sip of his pint.
“True. Nevertheless, if you feel like you've been treated badly, I'd be happy to help.”
Elyan says, “I appreciate it. But I think I'll be alright.” He pauses. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you decide to volunteer for the RNLI? Forgive me, but you never struck me as the volunteering type.”
Arthur looks down at his glass. “I, uh, no, I'm not usually. I suppose lately I've been – thinking there might be more to life.”
“Than what?”
Arthur smiles thinly. “Than living under a very long shadow.”
“Don't tell me you're looking to strike out on your own the way Morgana did.”
Arthur blows out a breath. “I don't know. My father pitched a wobbler when she told him she was going to become a doctor, but in the end he got over it. It helped that Morgana's not the one who's going to be expected to carry on the family name and the family business.”
“Your family business helps an army of gentrifiers walk into Brixton and Whitechapel and Peckham and Tottenham and have a posh glass extension put in where our nan's gardens used to be. Or worse, flatten it all and put up a block of luxury flats to serve as investments for billionaires that no one will ever live in. If I were you, I’d do anything to get free from that kind of shadow.”
Arthur shifts nervously. They've had a variation on this conversation before, but Elyan's never been quite so – passionate about it. Before he can manage a response, Elyan shakes his head as if to clear it. “Never mind. I suppose we're not going to see eye to eye on this; I should leave well enough alone.”
“I suppose,” Arthur murmurs dully.
“It's only that since Gwen has been living with your sister – and we've gotten to know you – listen. I like you, Arthur. You're doing great work with us, and at heart you're a good bloke. But you're – let's be honest, your family is part of the reason why housing in this city is so fucked.”
“It's a societal problem all over the country. They're not building enough new homes, quite simply.”
“That's not it and you know it,” Elyan insists. “It's about some people having three and four homes when others have none, it's about housing seen as an investment and not a right, it’s about letting dozens of people burn for the sake of saving five thousand pounds, and on top of it all you get MPs who are landlords refusing to pass laws requiring rental properties be fit for human habitation–”
“I know,” Arthur says.
“Forgive me, Arthur, but you really don't.”
Arthur sighs. It occurs to him that a year ago, he was rich and ignorant and happy. And then one day Merlin batted those big eyes at him and the next thing he knew he had acquired principles. “I don't know if it's in me to turn against my father.”
“I understand. If there's one thing you and I have in common, it's that we both have a strong sense of family. But you can take some time to pay back, use your talents to help.”
Arthur cocks his head. “Something tells me you have a project in mind.”
“No flies on you,” Elyan allows. “Gwen and I've been volunteering with an organization in Hoxton that provides assistance to women fleeing domestic violence and trafficking – legal, monetary, educational, mental health supports – the works. They've been gifted a building they think they can turn into collective housing, but they need an architect to work with them, draw up plans the Council will accept and that will serve their needs.”
“Collective housing?” Arthur was familiar with the concept, of course, but while it might work in some countries, it was notoriously hard to get traction for those sorts of developments here. “It would be a tough sell to any planning department, but in this market? I wouldn’t fancy my chances.”
“Come on,” Elyan says, “you want to tell me after nearly a decade of working for your dad you couldn't teach a master class on how to get around councils?”
“Usually my father just resorts to bribery,” Arthur mutters, and then adds, “and I did not say that aloud.”
“I never heard a word,” Elyan says. “So what do you think?”
Arthur hesitates, then sighs. “You have my phone number. Get them to give me a call.”
Elyan grins and claps him on the shoulder. “We’re going to make a real boy of you yet.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Arthur says, flagging down the server for another round.
Merlin wishes he could say he's surprised when Annis rings him up Saturday morning just before he's due to leave for work, but he isn't. “I want you to know first of all that I'm doing all I can,” she says. “But I can't have you back just yet.”
“So I still have a job,” Merlin breathes.
“Of course you bloody do. They're not going to let you go. But they're trying to consider everyone involved, and it's not been easy because there's – well, a new set of challenges.”
Merlin bites his lip. “Yeah, it's a very difficult situation. I would imagine emotions are high.”
There's a pause. “You've heard something.”
“I have not,” Merlin lies.
“Mmm-hmm,” Annis says. “At any rate, the autopsy has completely cleared you, though of course you went beyond both the parameters of your own profession and your volunteer role by performing major surgery, even if it was postmortem. Despite the positive outcome, that needs to be addressed.”
“I understand,” Merlin says heavily.
“I'm putting you on paid administrative leave, and I've spoken with the union and they're fully behind you. You should be getting a call from them on Monday.”
“How much longer do you think it will be?” Merlin asks.
“I wish I could tell you,” Annis says. “I'm hoping a fortnight at most. I'll stay in touch.”
“Thanks,” Merlin sighs, then proceeds to get quietly drunk at ten in the morning. By the time Morgana gets back from the shops a couple of hours later with some of the party supplies, he's feeling exceedingly sorry for himself.
“All right, that's enough of that,” Morgana says smartly, plucking the bottle of gin out of his hand. “You're off the mother's ruin until the party because I need help with setup.”
“'Kay,” Merlin says affably, and passes the rest of the afternoon in a pleasant haze where he only breaks one bowl, which he considers a win.
By the time the guests begin arriving, he's mostly sober and feeling much more philosophical about the whole thing, not least because Morgana threatened to take him over her knee if he wasn't. “Que sera sera,” he tells Mithian, who has the audacity to laugh in his face.
“Relax, drama queen,” she says, toasting him with a pint of bitter, “there's no way you're being sacked. They just need to make you suffer a little. Ickle nursies mustn't overstep, you know.”
Merlin turns to Morgana as she passes by. “Can I start drinking again now?” he shouts over the sound of the music.
“Slowly,” she fires back over her shoulder. “And stay hydrated.”
“Yes'm,” he says, firing off a salute.
“Um, holy buggering fuck, who are they,” Mithian hisses, poking Merlin in the arm. He turns to the door to see Percy, Elyan and Gwaine walking down the hall toward them, and silently thanks a god he doesn't believe in for saving him from the place that conversation was headed.
“That's Gwen's brother and his mates. They all work or volunteer at the RNLI with Arthur and me.”
Mithian necks the rest of her pint and sets the glass down on the nearest table. “You are going to introduce me to them and tell them how wonderful I am.”
Merlin rolls his eyes, but obeys. He leaves them looking a bit stunned by the onslaught, but he's confident they're big lads who can take care of themselves.
He's sat in the garden still sipping his first beer when Arthur emerges from the house looking – well, he always looks good, but tonight he looks utterly fucking edible in black jeans and a dark silk shirt that clings in all the right places. And that may have something to do with the fact that Merlin had his hangover at four in the afternoon and has successfully come out the other side, but at the minute he's trying to stay optimistic, and the look that Arthur levels at him when he sees him does nothing to dispel that feeling.
“Hi,” Arthur says, stepping close enough that he can be heard above the muffled music coming from the house. “How are you?”
“Better than I was this morning,” Merlin answers. He gets a whiff of Arthur's aftershave and is glad he's sitting because it makes him light-headed, God he's pathetic.
“Is it over? Have you been reinstated?”
“Not yet. But I'm trying not to think about it.”
Arthur's expression changes to one that Merlin is starting to think of as his 'knight in shining armour' face – steely determination mixed with strangely endearing stubbornness, complete with a righteous gleam in his eye. It's unfair how ridiculously hot it is. “Merlin, I wish you'd –”
Merlin rises to his feet. “If that sentence doesn't end with 'kiss me', I don't want to hear it.”
Arthur falls silent. His mouth is hanging open slightly, which ruins the look a bit.
Merlin's heart dives for his shoes. “And shit, I think I just said that aloud.”
Arthur nods mutely, a small smile twitching at one corner of his mouth.
“Shut up,” Merlin says, blushing.
“I didn't say a word.” He arches an eyebrow at Merlin's pint. “How many of those have you had?”
“After noon? Just this one.”
“You were drinking before noon?”
“Jesus, Arthur,” Merlin says, laughing. He takes a deep breath, sets his drink down on the low garden wall and steps right into Arthur's space. “I'm not drunk, and I don't have concussion, and I am of sound mind.”
Arthur's face twists. “Well, that last might be debatable...”
“Oi!” Merlin says, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. Arthur grabs at his hand, traps it against his chest before he can pull away. Their gazes catch and hold, and Merlin doesn't quite believe what he sees in Arthur's eyes.
“So are you going to, then?” Arthur murmurs. “Because I do wish you would.”
Merlin's gaze dips to his mouth. “Arthur –”
“Arthur!”
Merlin startles at the shout, pulling back to see who's interrupted what he's sure was going to be a top tier snog.
Bloody hell, it's Arthur and Morgana's father.
Morgana's right behind him, trying to catch him up, but he reaches Arthur and Merlin before she can manage it.
“I need you to come with me,” Uther snaps at Arthur. “Now.”
Merlin looks at Arthur and is shocked at what he sees: it's like a switch has been flipped and all the light and laughter that was there a moment ago has vanished.
“It's Saturday night, Father. Surely whatever it is can wait until Monday.”
“No, it bloody well can't,” Uther snaps, not even glancing at Merlin. “I have some friends who want to talk to you.”
“About their extension?” Arthur scoffs, folding his arms.
“Uther, what on earth –” Morgana begins, but Uther waves her off.
“About their dead daughter,” he snaps. “Apparently you pulled her from the river.”
Arthur stares at him for a breathless moment, and then he puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God. Oh my God, I thought she looked familiar, but there wasn't time for me to –”
Merlin frowns. “Arthur, what –”
“It's Jo Bridlington, isn't it?” He looks at Merlin. “I met her a few years ago, working on another favour for one of Dad's friends. She seemed unhappy even then, but she was just a kid, I – I didn't know her very well.”
Morgana shakes her head and steps between them. “Uther, you need to leave. Now. Arthur has given his statement to police, and he can't become personally involved with the investigation.”
Uther is choosing to ignore her in favour of glaring at Merlin. “I know you. How do I know you?”
Merlin's chin rises slightly. “I'm Merlin. Your daughter's friend.”
“Father –” Morgana lays a hand on his arm, but he shrugs her off and steps closer.
“Merlin!” Uther crows. “Of course. You must be the nurse who was with Arthur that night.”
“Merlin, don't say anything,” Morgana warns. “We have professional standards and privacy protections for our staff, Father. You cannot be asking these questions, and I want you to go.”
“I gave you this house,” Uther says coldly.
“Gave being the operative word. I have the deed, it's mine, you're bloody trespassing.”
Uther points a finger at Merlin. “I'll go when he agrees to explain to Johanna's parents why he mutilated their daughter.”
“Uther!” Morgana shouts. Around them, a couple of the partygoers turn their heads. A few more are clearly listening in but are either too polite or too crafty to look at them full on.
Merlin takes a deep breath. He's had just enough of a week that he's ready for this fight.
“You – utter – bastard.”
Merlin frowns. He didn't say that, though he was definitely thinking it.
Uther stares at Arthur. “What did you call me?”
Arthur's fists are clenched at his sides, and he looks angrier than Merlin's ever seen him, maybe angrier than he's ever seen anyone. “You heard me. Why would you think you have any right to criticize Merlin, who saves lives every day, when all you've done your whole life is make money to pile on top of more money?”
“Because a girl is dead –“
“She was dead when we arrived,” Arthur snaps.
“– and her baby may not survive,” Uther growls.
Arthur stares at him, speechless.
“Wh – what?” Merlin asks. He turns to Morgana, who looks stricken. “I – Annis, I was talking with her this morning. She would have told me if anything had happened.”
Morgana's already pulling out her phone. “I'll ring the NICU.” She aims a glare at Uther as she turns away and heads back into the house, doubtless to find a quiet place to speak.
Merlin inhales a sharp, jagged breath. “God, Arthur, what if she –”
Arthur takes him gently by the shoulders, glides his palms down his arms in a soothing caress. “I'm sure it's a misunderstanding, I'm sure she's okay.” Merlin closes his eyes, blocking out Uther and everything else but Arthur's reassuring touch. Thankfully, Uther seems to have shut his gob for the time being, or at least Merlin doesn't hear him speak.
After what feels like an age, Morgana comes back. “She's fine, there's been nothing new. Her nan's visiting with her now.”
Merlin raises his head. “Oh, thank God,” he breathes. Arthur slings an arm around his shoulders as they face Uther again.
Uther shakes his head; he appears completely wrong-footed, and Merlin guesses it's an unfamiliar feeling for him. “I – I don't understand. Jonas and Catrina told me the baby had been harmed by the operation. You're saying –“
“Merlin saved her life,” Arthur grinds out. “If it weren't for him, she would have died long before they reached hospital. And he didn't do anything wrong.”
“But why would they lie?”
“Why don't you ask them that?” Morgana says coldly. “After you leave.”
“I –” Uther begins, and then he seems to deflate. “Yes, I – I'm sorry,” he says, which is nearly as much of a shock as his previous bombshell had been.
The moment he's gone, Merlin pulls both Morgana and Arthur into a crushing hug. “Remind me never to cross either one of you,” he murmurs, and they all dissolve in relieved, giddy laughter.
“Well, that was certainly a party,” Morgana drawls, as she, Merlin, Gwen and Arthur sit around the kitchen table in various stages of exhaustion.
“I feel like a wrung-out dishcloth,” Arthur says. The party wore on until the wee hours; thankfully, the vast majority of attendees hadn't been near enough to witness the little drama unfolding. At this point, with the weariness seeping into his bones, Arthur wishes in a way that the conflict had been louder.
Gwen looks forlornly around the kitchen. “Ugh, I should load the dishwasher before I go to bed, this place is a tip.”
“Leave it, I'll do it tomorrow when you're both at the hospital,” Merlin says. Arthur rests his face in his hand as he watches him, still annoyed at his father's absolutely shit timing. To say that the moment has definitely passed – at least for tonight – is the understatement of the century.
“And to think I missed the big blowup,” Gwen says. “I still can't believe your dad knows that girl's parents.”
“If they're posh and filthy rich, chances are Uther knows them,” Morgana says. “I never met them, thank God. They sound awful.”
“I did,” Arthur murmurs. “I worked in their house for a couple of months. I keep thinking, if only I'd said something, done something –”
“You can't think like that,” Merlin says firmly. “We all know, losing yourself in what ifs will drive you bonkers.”
Morgana lays a hand on his. “And you said she was a kid at the time. What could you have done to prevent anything that happened to that poor girl?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” Arthur admits. “Why would they even accuse Merlin of harming their granddaughter? Surely the doctors have been letting them know how she's doing.”
Merlin and Morgana exchange glances. “This doesn't leave this room,” Morgana says. “They haven't been to see her. Not once. I confirmed it tonight.”
“What?” Arthur demands, shocked. “Why the fuck not?”
“I'm guessing the baby isn't the right colour,” Gwen says heavily. Arthur frowns at her.
“It’s utterly disgusting, but that would be my guess too,” Morgana sighs. To Arthur, she says, “The father's parents are working class Somali immigrants. I think if the Bridlingtons can successfully spread the rumour that there's something wrong with the child – even if they can't prove it – they can bullshit their friends about the reason they don't have a relationship with her. Oh, she's poorly so we had to place her in a special facility, oh, what a shame, she died. No one would question them. It’s not as though their friends and the child’s father move in the same social circles.”
Arthur rests his elbows on the table and places his head in his hands. “Fuck, I hate every one of my father's friends. Every single one. But I think I hate them most of all.”
“I'm going to bed,” Gwen says. “I have a shift in –” she checks her watch “– bloody hell, six hours.”
“Good night,” Merlin says, hugging Gwen as she passes by.
“Oh, and we need to find Mithian a man who isn't my brother,” Gwen says, pointing at him from the doorway. “I saw them leaving together earlier and nearly had a coronary.”
“That wasn't my fault! She saw them and was on them like a limpet!”
Gwen winks at Arthur. “Too bad this one's already taken or I'd throw him in as a distraction.”
“No thanks, she'd eat me alive,” Arthur says, then, “wait a minute, what do you mean 'taken'?”
Gwen smirks. “If you don't know, Merlin's being far too subtle.”
“Oi!” Merlin shouts, but she's already gone. Arthur feels his cheeks heat.
Morgana looks him up and down. “You okay to get home?”
“Not really,” Arthur admits. “If I'm honest, the last place I want to be right now is my Pendragon Holdings flat.”
“Well, you can have my couch, but it's currently covered in crisp and pastry crumbs.”
“Your couch is a torture device. That might actually make it more comfortable.”
“You could sleep with me,” Merlin blurts out.
Arthur slowly turns to look at him.
“Well, you've certainly left subtle behind,” Morgana says with a chuckle. Patting them both on the shoulder as she stands, she says, “Good night, lads.”
Arthur knows he should say something, but he can't seem to make his mouth work, let alone produce coherent sounds.
“Listen,” Merlin says, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I honestly do mean sleep. At least tonight. Not that I – I mean, I think I may have made it fairly clear earlier that I would like to kiss you stupid, and then hopefully follow that idea to its logical conclusion, but –” he makes a face.
“But my father is the biggest boner killer in recorded history?”
“Ew,” Merlin says, “but not exactly? I just want the first time I kiss you to be – you know, organic.”
“Organic,” Arthur says, raising his eyebrows, “like quinoa or grass-fed beef?”
“You are such a – a clotpole,” Merlin says, snorting.
“That is not a word.”
“It is.”
“What does it mean?”
“Arthur Pendragon.”
Arthur leans in. “Sounds perilously close to a term of endearment.”
Merlin smiles wickedly. “It's important to nail these things down early.”
Arthur's heart careens around his chest like an oversugared child in a bouncy castle. He reaches up slowly and cups Merlin's face, then touches their foreheads together. He sweeps a thumb over Merlin's lips, and Merlin sucks in a breath.
“Okay,” Arthur says, pulling back to look in his eyes, “I'd love to sleep with you.”
When Merlin wakes up, it takes him a few seconds to realise there's a man in his bed.
To be fair, it's been a while, and he's had a fuck of a week. But when he opens his eyes all the way, he sees Arthur propped up on one elbow looking down at him with a soft, fond expression – and yes, it's ridiculous to admit it, but all of that fades into the background.
“You know,” Arthur drawls, “when I found out you lived in the cellar I was a little concerned, but this space is actually surprisingly light and airy. Rainfall shower in the en suite, herringbone oak floors, very fancy.”
Merlin stretches, enjoying the way Arthur's gaze traces the flex of muscle. “I'm your sister's kept man, she treats me well.”
Arthur's face contorts as though in pain. “Please never describe yourself that way again.”
“Your family is just one huge trauma response, isn't it?”
“You have no idea,” Arthur sighs. “Sure you want to sign up for this?”
Taking a deep breath, Merlin reaches up and cups Arthur's cheek. Arthur immediately leans into it, lips caressing Merlin's palm.
“Yeah. You're pretty special, Arthur Pendragon.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Careful with the compliments, they'll go to my head.”
“I don't think so,” Merlin murmurs. “You're not as arrogant as you appear on the surface.”
“Thanks awfully,” Arthur says. “You're not as gormless as you seem at first look.”
“Oi, I’ll have you know I’m terrific, you're lucky to have me,” Merlin says, poking him in the side and making him squirm.
Arthur catches Merlin's hand and draws it to his mouth. “I am,” he says, “and you are.”
Merlin's stomach actually feels full of butterflies, and he knows that's medically impossible. “Christ, Arthur.”
“Is this one of those organic moments?” Arthur murmurs, leaning down.
“My breath probably smells like something died –”
“Don't honestly give a fuck,” Arthur says, and kisses him.
Monday morning comes sooner than Arthur would like, but he admits it's made much less awful by waking up in Merlin's bed for the second morning in a row. Merlin's wrapped around him like a very affectionate octopus, and right at this moment he wants never to leave this basement.
Sunday was one of the best days he'd ever had, and considering a couple of hours of it had been spent helping Merlin clean up the detritus from the party, that was really saying something. Of course, most of it had been spent in bed, which had definitely been the highlight. Unsurprisingly, Merlin was as generous with his affection in this as he was everywhere else, and Arthur had basked in it like a flower craving the sun.
He could get used to this, he thinks, unable to resist sliding his hand into Merlin's messy mop of hair.
“Wh't timezit?” Merlin mumbles, arching into Arthur's touch like a cat.
“Early,” Arthur says, brushing a kiss to the line of his jaw, his cheek, one ridiculous ear. “I need to get back to the flat, get ready for work.”
“Don'go,” Merlin whines. The leg slung over Arthur's thighs tightens, and Arthur chuckles.
“I'm going to start calling you the kraken,” he says. “How many arms and legs do you have? Seems like far more than four.”
“I have one more appendage that wants to get to know you better,” Merlin says into Arthur's neck. “Ooh, and this one,” he adds, licking a stripe up the skin over his jugular.
“So that's six, I'm impressed.”
“Wait a little bit and you will be,” Merlin promises, hips setting up a gentle rhythm against Arthur's hipbone.
“Oi, you brazen hussy,” Arthur says, “I need to get to work.”
“You don't want to go to work,” Merlin wheedles, teeth scraping along Arthur's collarbone. “Not when you could hide out here with me.”
“Believe me, staying in bed with you is definitely preferable,” Arthur says. “But I can't put it off. I need to talk to my father, tell him how I feel.”
Merlin raises his head. “You do?”
“I do.”
“And how do you feel, then?”
“No idea,” Arthur admits, and Merlin's startled into a laugh. “I know I don't want to do dogsbody work for his friends any longer. And I want time to focus on my own projects, so that I can rediscover what I loved about being an architect. But part of me? Just wants to march in there and chuck it all.”
Merlin cocks his head. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Arthur says. “I didn't realise how appealing the prospect was until Saturday night. I – I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it to you after what you saw of him at the party, but I always – well, I suppose I worshipped him a bit as a kid. We were really close, and he did whatever he could to support me. Driving me to footy practice and Morgana to fencing lessons, reading to us, taking us on trips, making soup for us when we were ill.”
“That man makes soup?” Merlin exclaims.
“He hasn't made any in ages, but yeah. Said it was a secret family recipe, cured all ills. I don't know what was in it, but it always worked on me and Morgana.” Arthur blows out a breath. “I miss that man – the one who used to be my dad. I feel like over the years he’s drifted further away from us, lost somewhere inside that tower of money.”
“Towers of money can be very insulating.”
“Yeah. I just –” Arthur wraps his arm around Merlin, pulling him close and nosing into his hair because he can't look him in the eye for this. “I was headed the same way, you know? And I feel as though you've changed me – my outlook on what's important, what's right. I want to be – better for you. Sounds silly, doesn't it?”
“Not silly at all. I've been feeling the same way.”
Arthur frowns. “I can't imagine I've done anything similar for you.”
Merlin makes a frustrated sound and pulls out of his embrace so that they can face one another. “You really can’t see it, can you?”
“Merlin –”
Merlin silences him with a kiss. “Never mind,” he says, pulling away. “You will eventually.”
Arthur clears his throat around a sudden obstruction. “Not planning to get bored of me, then?”
“Wasn’t planning on it, no,” Merlin murmurs, sliding a hand around the back of Arthur’s neck to gently tug him into another kiss.
Arthur’s just deciding that maybe he could be an hour or two late when he hears the faint chime of a doorbell.
“Ugh,” Merlin groans, pulling away to reach for his phone.
“Probably a crank.”
“I have to check. It might be important.”
“At seven in the morning?”
Merlin shrugs. “Morgana has one of those ring doorbell things, I can have a look from here.” He swipes his phone and taps a few times. His eyes widen.
“What?”
Merlin turns the phone so that Arthur can see the screen.
“Bloody hell,” Arthur gusts. It's his father.
“Biggest boner killer in recorded history,” Merlin says with a smirk, and Arthur laughs in spite of himself.
Merlin will say this about Uther: he's much more polite than Arthur, waiting patiently at the door for the two of them to hastily dress and come upstairs.
Arthur actually squares his shoulders before opening the door, which is both adorable and slightly heartbreaking. “Good morning, Father,” he says. “Fancy seeing you here again so soon.”
“I thought you might be here; Samuel said you haven't been home since Saturday.”
“The porter in your building is very observant,” Arthur drawls.
“Do you mind if I come in?” Uther says.
Arthur shakes his head. “It's not my decision to make; this isn't my home. Morgana's at the hospital and so is Gwen. Merlin? Is it all right for my father to come in?”
“Depends on if he's going to be a tosser again,” Merlin says, folding his arms. The effect is a little marred by the threadbare t-shirt with a large cartoon panda bear on it, but there's no help for that now.
“I will make a sincere effort not to be,” Uther says quietly. He holds Merlin's gaze for a long moment, clearly uninterested in ramping up any sort of conflict.
Silently, Merlin steps aside, allowing Uther to enter, and the three of them stand staring at one another in the hallway for a few seconds.
“Well,” Uther says. “This is –”
“Awkward as fuck?” Merlin asks sweetly.
“I’ll just say what I came here to say and leave you in peace, shall I?” Uther says. “First of all, I am genuinely sorry for my conduct Saturday night. I was trying to help two distraught parents who I thought were friends. That was a mistake.”
Merlin lifts his chin but says nothing. After a moment, Uther continues.
“We had some words after I left here. I found out some things that shocked me – about their conduct, about their attitudes, and quite frankly their blatant libel against you and misrepresentation of the care that Jo and her daughter received. We are no longer in contact, though I am still weighing the possibility of legal action. Yesterday, I reached out to someone I know who is highly placed in the NHS –”
Merlin’s gut churns. “You what?”
“And after a few more calls, I have been assured that you will be receiving notification this morning that you are reinstated without any reprimands or notes on your record. If you don’t hear from them by noon, please let me know and I will pursue it further.”
“You –” Merlin’s head is spinning. “I have no idea what to say. Thank you.”
Uther shakes his head. “No thanks are necessary. It was the very least I could do.” He takes a breath, then turns to Arthur. “I owe you an apology as well. I know – things have been strained between us. I want to address that.”
“I do too,” Arthur says. “And thank you.” He glances at Merlin. “I, uh, I was heading home to change – I might be a bit late this morning –”
Uther holds up a hand. “Take the morning. Take the day, if you like. You’ve earned it.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Uther Pendragon?” Arthur blurts out.
Uther’s jaw clenches before he speaks, and Christ, it reminds Merlin of Arthur. “I may have realised late Saturday night, when I was sat in Jonas and Catrina's parlour as they showed me exactly how they truly were, that some of that – that ugliness – has touched me as well. I've become a stranger to my own children. And I – I don't want to be.”
Arthur makes a strangled, choked-off sound. He swallows before speaking. “I, uh,” he rasps, “that's – that's good to hear. You have no idea how good, actually. Uh, Dad.”
“I think I have some idea,” Uther says. He makes an aborted motion to reach out to Arthur, then his hand drops to his side.
Merlin rolls his eyes. “If one of you does not hug the other one in the next five seconds –” but luckily, Arthur is already pulling his father into his arms.
After a minute or so in which Merlin discreetly steps back to give them a little privacy, he returns with a clap of his hands. “Well, I don't know about you two, but I am ravenous.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him, as though he knows exactly what's coming. Merlin grins.
When Merlin texts Morgana a picture of her father sat behind a massive stack of pancakes covered in strawberries and maple syrup, he's fairly certain he can hear the scream all the way from the hospital.