Merlin fic: Shadowplay -- Chapter Four
Jun. 29th, 2012 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
adelagiaTitle: Shadowplay
Summary: Stood down from duty on convalescent's leave, secret agent Arthur Pendragon wonders if sheer boredom might just do him in. But when his handler saddles him with a caretaker who is by turns completely inept and strangely brilliant, and invites trouble wherever he goes, Arthur has to concede that death by boredom looks less and less likely. Death by goon squad, high-speed car chase, poison, or fiery explosion, however...
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Chapter word count: ~4,500
Notes: Three cheers for my lovely beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
venivincere.
Previous chapters: Prologue + One | Two | Three
CHAPTER FOUR
The last thing a person wanted to do when told not to move was exactly that. Arthur paced the length of the room, occasionally slowing to a crawl as he passed by the doorway to catch snippets of the agents' discussion in his bedroom further down, and cementing his frown lines in place whenever Alvarr came back to check if he was doing all right, though Arthur got the feeling that it was more about making sure he stayed put. It didn't exactly instill him with confidence in the agent's doings. He was about to make a break for it when Alvarr returned, wreathed in a solicitous air.
"It will just take us a moment longer, sir," he said, smiling the smile of the truly insincere. "I've just got to fetch a kit from the car, and my partner will be joining you shortly for that statement."
He floated out of the room again, and Arthur decided he'd had enough of waiting around for a breakthrough in their incompetence; most agency clean-up crews could have dispatched of a dozen cadavers by now. There was a back staircase obscured from sight around a corner and Arthur made good use of it now, gliding downstairs without a sound and slipping out the kitchen door into the courtyard.
Sophia's house wasn't too far a walk from here; although Arthur would have liked to have taken his car instead, starting its engine and opening the garage door would have only alerted the agents to his escape plan, and he didn't know what instructions Morgana had given them to keep him in their sights. Having him tackled to the ground for not listening to her was just the sort of abuse of power he suspected she enjoyed as his handler, when she wasn't getting her own hands dirty as his step-sister.
Daylight was already well on the wane, but there were enough streetlamps to guide his way towards Sophia's house. It was probable that Morgana and Merlin were already there, scoping it out and looking for clues as to why Sophia had tried to poison him, but Arthur wanted in. It was his life, after all, that was in danger, and he needed to know everything pertaining to whatever had been set in motion that was meant to conclude with his death.
He was halfway there when a deafening blast rocked him off his feet, and Arthur could only stare, rooted on all fours to the pavement for what seemed like an infinity, as a massive cloud of flames and smoke sent chunks of his house raining from the sky.
A car raced past him, stopped with a screech, and then raced back in reverse, jerking to a halt just in front of Arthur. Morgana tumbled out of the car.
"Arthur!" she shouted, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, god, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said, and patted her on the back soothingly, while exchanging an uncertain nod with Merlin, who looked as though he might throw up. "I'm fine. What the hell just happened?"
"I was just about to ask you," said Morgana, her worried gaze travelling to the black smoke rising heavenwards.
A missing piece clicked into place inside Arthur's head. "That agent. Alvarr. He left the house just before the blast; kept coming in to make sure I didn't go anywhere."
The look on Morgana's face suggested she was seriously considering tearing Alvarr's spine out with her bare hands if she ever got a hold of him. The next look that passed her face suggested she might dedicate her life to finding him.
"He was leading this case. I appointed him to lead this case," she said, her voice shaking with rage. "He's probably been feeding us disinformation all along; it's no wonder we keep hitting dead ends. I can't believe I trusted him, and he just turned around and betrayed us."
"Everyone has his price," said Merlin quietly. To Arthur, he added, "And somebody really wants you dead."
Arthur levelled a flat look at him. "Yeah, I got that memo," he said, feeling a sudden rush of anger towards Merlin for stating the obvious so calmly and clearly when he'd been trying to keep it out of Arthur's attention for weeks. "No bloody thanks to you. Either of you."
Morgana stepped forward, as if to shield Merlin. "Look, it's not his fault; he was simply following orders. My orders," she said. "Had you known about the hit, what would you have done?"
He gave her a look as though he'd just heard the stupidest question ever posed. "I'd have tracked down the bastards and killed them before they had a chance to kill me," Arthur replied instantly and only just then realised why Morgana had asked him that in the first place.
"Exactly," she said, and the small part of him that wasn't using that moment to berate himself for playing straight into her hands appreciated the fact that she hadn't insinuated as much smugness into her retort as she could have done. "You were badly injured, Arthur -- you still are. Chances are, had we let you loose on your own, you'd already have landed yourself in hospital by now, if not worse. It was for your own good. And I do mean that in the least condescending way possible."
Arthur pressed his lips together tightly, wanting to pitch a fit about nobody trusting him enough not to go and get himself killed like an idiot, and the assumption that he needed to be protected in the first place, but he knew Morgana was at least partially right -- if he'd known someone was after him, he'd never take it lying down and wouldn't have let anyone else take care of it for him; it was simply a matter of principle.
Instead, he turned a glare onto Merlin. "What was he for, then?"
"I am standing right here, you know," Merlin said, colour returning to his cheeks.
Blink and he'd have missed the eye-roll Morgana indulged herself in. "Arthur," she said, "meet Agent Emrys."
"Retired," said Merlin.
Morgana elevated a neat eyebrow. "Since when?"
"A year and a half ago, Morgana."
"Oh, it's 'Morgana' now, is it? What happened to 'Miss Le Fay'?" Arthur asked, his voice rising at the end to a mocking falsetto before he could stop himself sounding like an insufferable child.
Morgana duly ignored him in order to stare Merlin down. "Were you under the impression that the assignment was over? I haven't dismissed you from this case, Agent," she said.
"Well," said Merlin, looking slightly flummoxed. "Why not?"
"Yes, why not?" Arthur repeated churlishly, at the same time realising he still had no idea what Merlin's place was to begin with. "And why, in the first place?"
"Because you obviously need to be babysat," Morgana clipped.
"By him? Look at him, he's twelve."
Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose. "Be that as it may," she said, and waved a dismissive hand at the plaintive noise Merlin made, "I need him on this assignment."
"Why does everybody keep talking like I'm not here?" Merlin asked the streetlamp.
Arthur shook his head. "There isn't an assignment; I'm not an assignment," he said. "Stop calling me an assignment. Furthermore --"
In the distance, sirens wailed.
"That'll be emergency services," said Morgana, her gaze snapping in the direction from which the sirens blared. She pushed Arthur and Merlin off the pavement. "Both of you in the car -- now. The bickering can continue at the agency. We've got things to sort out."
Arthur eased himself into the back seat. "Nobody's bickering. We're intelligence operatives; we have gentlemanly disagreements and occasional gunplay," he said, and glanced at the back of Merlin's head up in front. "At least, I'm an intelligence operative. I don't know what Merlin thinks he is. If that's even his real name."
"It is his real name," said Merlin, getting into the spirit of ignoring his own presence now. "Unfortunate, but true."
"And he's just as much of an agent as you are, Arthur; it'd really be helpful if you got used to it," said Morgana, crushing the accelerator pedal underneath her foot like she intended to add breaking the sound barrier to her list of accomplishments. "You'd only have to glance at his file to see how good he is."
"You won't let me see it!"
Merlin whirled around, straining against the seatbelt. "You tried to look at my file?"
Arthur looked at him askance. "You didn't mind me ransacking your room, but you're shocked that I tried to exploit my personal relationship with your handler to get to your confidential information?"
"Yes, well," said Merlin, "the things in my room were planted there specifically so you could find them and come to the conclusion that I wasn't a threat. I mean, you didn't find that false bottom I built underneath the armoire with my weapons cache."
His face blanched at the same time Arthur felt his insides clench, as they came to the same realisation.
"My weapons," Merlin lamented, looking back at the smoke still choking the sky. "Oh god, my car."
"Your car," Arthur said. "My Bentley. When I find whoever was behind this, I swear I will gut them and trim my Christmas tree with their large intestine."
Morgana shot him a questioning glance across the rearview mirror. "You do know it's July," she interjected helpfully. "And you never put up a tree."
"I'm trying to be enraged, Morgana," Arthur said. "I don't have time for these trifling technicalities."
"Anyway, you did mean when we find whoever was behind this, didn't you," she said, in tones so sweet it hurt Arthur's teeth.
"Depends on what your definition of 'we' is," he said, massaging his jaw.
He and Merlin looked at her expectantly, and she made a scoffing noise that Arthur felt did not bode at all well. "Well, boys," said Morgana, "as we're now safely on the highway and there's no chance of escape for either of you, let me just outline the important points of Plan B to you. One, there's no way in hell I'm letting you on this case alone, and two, you're bunking with Merlin from now on."
"Er, say again?" said Merlin, who obviously had not been informed of this very important development beforehand.
"For how long?" Arthur demanded.
"Until we apprehend whoever is after you." And then, in a good faith effort to take all of his and Merlin's objections into consideration, Morgana continued speaking as though she couldn't hear them. "My house and Uther's will have already been targeted for surveillance by now, so it's no good having you stay with either of us; I don't trust hotel security, and sending you out of the country will only mean I have less eyes watching out for your safety. Merlin's the next obvious choice."
"So he's Plan E, really. That's a shining vote of confidence," Arthur huffed. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to arrange for the local kindergarten to be my safehouse instead? I'm sure their supply of child scissors could pitch up a better defense."
Merlin frowned at him, momentarily forgetting that he wanted as little part of this arrangement as Arthur did. "Hey, I saved your life."
"Yeah, with no little help from me," Arthur retorted, "and I wasn't even supposed to know that my life needed saving."
"See, teamwork," Morgana said loudly. "Now, shut up, the pair of you. Remember the first rule of spy work?"
"Never fall in love with your mark," Merlin supplied.
"Guns first, questions after," Arthur said at the same time.
Morgana pulled into the agency carpark, imprints of her tyres burned into the ground. "No, god, who do I have to fire for teaching you that? The rule, gentlemen, is always listen to your bloody handler. In other words, what I say goes."
"Never heard of it," said Arthur, reaching for the door handle.
"Did you just make that up?" said Merlin, and spilled out of the car, rushing to assist in Arthur's exit automatically, like he'd clicked into a default setting.
Arthur waved him away, as usual, but gave Merlin a nod of approval for backing him up when it came to Morgana's wild claims.
She pursed her lips at the sudden bond of mutiny. "Well, it's clear you two deserve each other," she said dryly, and brightened suddenly. "Which only goes to show that I was right to begin with."
They followed her into the building, straggling after like delinquent schoolchildren bound for the headmaster's office. However, once Morgana set them up with new clothes, a car, and most importantly, new weapons, Arthur perked up considerably. Beside him, Merlin admired a shiny Glock subcompact, and Arthur eyed him up and down.
"You can shoot," he said, the accusation in his voice the quality of sour milk.
"Yes," said Merlin.
"You were impressive," Arthur said, as though he loathed being impressed, "up until you deliberately made your shots go wide."
A trace of regret appeared across Merlin's face. "Had to make you think I was a bit of an idiot, didn't I?"
"I haven't stopped thinking it."
"You just said you were impressed."
Arthur shrugged. "I lied," he lied, as he didn't feel much up to giving Merlin's behaviour any encouragement. Even though he had been rather good at the shooting range.
Merlin chuckled softly, holstering the Glock with a happy pat and hoisting over his shoulder the bag that contained the rest of his new toys. "Ready to go?"
"I don't think I have a choice," Arthur said, raising a thoughtful eyebrow as Merlin picked up his bags, too.
Across the room, Morgana lifted her gaze from her computer suddenly. "You most assuredly do not. Not until we find out who's behind all this," she said, and left her desk briefly to join them near the door. Her voice softened. "Think again, Arthur? Anyone we may have missed?"
He shook his head. "I can name a dozen people who'd want me dead for foiling their world domination plans; not to blow my own trumpet, Morgana, but I've been very good at my job."
Morgana conceded the point with a nod. "I know," she said. "Trouble is, we haven't been able to trace the hit to any of them. Everyone who's come after you so far has ended up dead themselves. No phone records, e-mail, nothing. And even if there was information out there, that bastard Alvarr probably destroyed it."
"Would it help if I told you to hurry up?" Arthur asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Arthur, that's exactly the push I needed," she said, and ushered them into the corridor. "Now, get out, and lie low. And be safe."
Side by side, Arthur and Merlin navigated themselves out of the building without another word, and aside from Merlin emitting a small noise of delight at the gleaming car Morgana had been so kind to issue him, the journey to Merlin's flat continued in silence.
For his part, Arthur spent most of that time trying to reassess who Merlin was. There was something of a swell of relief that had accompanied the discovery of Merlin having turned out to be as far from a dastardly crime lord as could be, though the bubbling resentment at having been lied to did make it rather difficult to enjoy the thought that Merlin wasn't out to get him.
But that was nothing new when it came to Merlin, who caused so many conflicting emotions in him all the time, Arthur didn't know why he even bothered about them anymore. The man had crawled under his skin weeks ago and seemed to have no intention of leaving; short of charging him rent, Arthur had no idea what else to do about it.
Merlin's flat, a modest, second-storey walk-up, was just a short drive from the agency, and, bending under the weight of both their bags, Merlin led Arthur up the stairs and to the last door at the end of the corridor.
He fumbled with a ring of keys for a moment before setting what seemed like half a dozen lock tumblers in perfect order, and preceded Arthur into the flat, dumping the bags inside and shutting the door. Mounted on the entryway wall, a keypad blinked at them, and after flicking the light switch on, Merlin's fingers flew over the keypad buttons, entering endless deactivation codes while he hummed to himself.
Finally, he took a step back, looking satisfied. "Okay," he said, and led Arthur through to the living room, at which point a nearly inaudible beep sounded, and Merlin blanched. "Oh, damn it."
Before Arthur could even think of opening his mouth to ask what was going on, he received in response a flying tackle to the ground. Even with Merlin strewn over him like a lumpy blanket and breathing noisily in his ear, Arthur couldn't help but notice the thin whistle of something slicing through the air and then embedding itself in a very ill-used dartboard hanging on the reinforced steel front door. Merlin's heartbeat thudded against his own.
He looked up. "Your home security system includes a rigged pistol crossbow? That you can't even remember to turn off?" he demanded in a strained tone of voice that said he was trying very hard not to shout and alert the neighbours to the lunatic living in their midst.
Merlin propped himself up on two elbows and smiled sheepishly, nearly nose to nose with Arthur. "Sorry. I always forget that one. That's why I also installed the beep."
"I cannot congratulate myself enough for not letting you overhaul my security system," Arthur said. "Get off me."
Merlin rolled away. "I should also mention," he said, rocking on his haunches, "that that area of the living room is off-limits. For, er, safety reasons." He gestured vaguely to a cluttered corner piled with bits of metal and screws and pointy ends of things doing a very good impression of a scrap heap, if scrap heaps were likely to shoot bolts up your leg for no reason.
Arthur sighed at the ceiling and then at Merlin when his face swam into view. Accepting Merlin's outstretched hand, Arthur got to his feet. "What are the chances you'll accidentally kill me before any of the contract killers do?"
"Slim," said Merlin, and after a moment's consideration, added, "to none."
"Inspiring," said Arthur.
He took a moment to look around, now that there appeared to be no immediate danger of being impaled. The walls were papered in a cheery green, lined with tall shelves spilling out an overabundance of books. Photos of a smiling Merlin with other smiling people arranged about the living room marked, in Arthur's mind, the difference between a house and a home; his late house, may it rest in peace, had been an interior designer's dream, beautiful and airy, and he'd never quite lived in it as Merlin obviously did here, with its squashy two-seater sofa and scuffed chairs.
He felt suddenly sorry that Merlin had had been dragged back into the field when it was clear that normal life had embraced him -- assuming your average citizen enjoyed ownership of temperamental crossbows and took work home with them that included inventing more efficient ways of bumping up appointments with the afterlife.
Arthur gave the scrap heap a wide berth, following Merlin into the guest room that he would have to treat as his own for the foreseeable future.
In the middle of explaining that the radiator was possibly possessed and needed the occasional threat of a good kick in order to stop cranking heat out in the middle of the summer, Merlin cut himself off mid-sentence as a sharp rap sounded at the front door. Snapping to alert, with one hand on the holster at his belt, Merlin padded quietly over and peered through the peephole.
His face drained of colour. "Oh no," he moaned.
*
He had forgotten, completely forgotten. Merlin fought the urge to smack himself in the forehead, and motioned for Arthur, who had similarly reached straight for his gun, to stand down.
"It's my mum," Merlin said, and tried to put an exclamation point on the end of it, like such news was bound to bestow upon Arthur great light and joy. "She's come for a visit." Exclamation point.
"Merlin?" came her muffled voice from the other side of the door, and then the jangling of the set of extra keys he'd given her.
"She comes up about once a year to attend conferences in the area and stays with me for a few days and I forgot that was happening now and I'm sorry but it's not my fault that Morgana decided to have you stay here I'm going to open the door now please be nice to her," said Merlin, hoping that the flood of words would overwhelm Arthur into good behaviour, though the look on Arthur's face suggested that he knew exactly what tactic Merlin was trying to employ and disapproved.
Before she could unlock the third lock, Merlin turned it himself, and pulled the door open. "Mum!"
"Sweetheart," Hunith murmured, setting a duffel bag on the floor and enveloping him in a hug so warm he felt like he glowed from the inside out.
"Er," said Merlin, shuffling aside so as not to delay the inevitable. "This is -- this is Arthur. He's, er, had some, some problems with his house, so I'm putting him up for a little while."
Arthur leaned forward, one hand outstretched in greeting. "Mrs. Emrys," he said, smiling broadly, "pleasure to meet you."
Her eyes glimmered as she shook his hand. "And you, Arthur," she said, an encouraging smile lighting her face. "Please, call me Hunith."
Merlin picked up her bag and brought it to the guest room, with its bed still perfectly made from the last time she'd visited, while Arthur contemplated the sofa. Following behind him with soft footsteps, Hunith touched his shoulder briefly, and Merlin started.
"Why didn't you tell me about him?" she asked.
"What? Who? Arthur?"
Hunith wrapped him in an indulgent smile. "He's obviously important enough to you that you've let him into your home; none of your old boyfriends ever even got past the building entrance, did they? You've always been so secretive about your life, and rightly so, of course, with the agency, but if he's here, that means--"
Merlin held up his hands. "Wait, no, Mum," he said hastily, once he'd fully registered what his mother was getting at. "Arthur's not-- we're not--"
"You don't have to keep these things from me, you know," Hunith said. "You're grown, Merlin, and whatever decisions you make, I'll be behind you all the way."
"No, no," said Merlin, "there have been no decisions. He's just-- a mate. We're just-- I'm only helping him while he's in a spot."
Had he been in any other line of work, perhaps it would've been just a tad easier to disabuse his mother of the notion that he and Arthur were together, but unmasking another agent, even to a woman as upstanding and trustworthy as his own mother, was not generally considered an advisable move. It was, in fact, the sort of professional gaffe that landed a person an audience with Uther Pendragon, and no one had ever come out of his office alive or in enough of a sane frame of mind to confirm or deny the rumours that it housed a) a pet monster, b) a river of molten lava, c) the One Ring, or d) all of the above.
Merlin had his doubts about the last one, but he wasn't willing to chance it.
"Well," Hunith said, letting the topic go for the time being but clearly not believing a word of Merlin's stuttered resistance, "if it helps, I do like him."
His brow furrowed. "You've only just said hello to each other."
"Mothers always know, Merlin," she said, which was one of those things that was infuriating only because it was true.
Merlin left her to unpack and get a bit of rest after her journey, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him and coming into the living room to find Arthur studiously arranging cushions on the sofa.
"I'll just sleep here, then," Arthur said evenly, with no trace of the put-upon peevishness Merlin might have come to expect from him, even though the couch was tiny and his legs would be dangling off the ends. "Do you have any extra blankets?"
"Erm, yeah, but no, you can take my room," Merlin offered. "You're my guest and everything. And you're still recovering; the sofa isn't going to do you any good."
At this, Arthur frowned. "I'm getting there. Where's a film montage when you need one? If I had one of those, I'd be up and running in two minutes flat."
"I could play Eye of the Tiger during your physical therapy sessions if you'd like." Merlin paused, smiled. "Or sing it to you."
"No. Please never."
Merlin strummed an intense chord on his air guitar, and Arthur laughed, in spite of himself, which Merlin thought was rather an encouraging sign.
"So, the bad news," he said, taking advantage of Arthur's improved mood, "is that my mum thinks we're dating. Good news is that she likes you."
"Most women do. I'm very charming."
"Oh, did the OED revise its definition to mean 'full of yourself'? Must have missed that."
Arthur snickered quietly but otherwise ignored this. "So, how do you want to play it, then?"
"What, you mean with my mum? I've tried telling her we're just mates, but, er, the thing is, I've never really let anyone up here before." Merlin shrugged, feeling slightly sheepish as he gestured to his security system and work paraphernalia that most normal people wouldn't look upon with particularly friendly eyes.
"All right, well," said Arthur slowly, "if she already believes that you and I-- have a thing, it'll be much easier all around if we just let her continue believing it. She'll only be here for a couple of days, right?"
"Yeah," said Merlin, and narrowed his eyes, not quite sure he and Arthur were on the same page. "So. We're dating."
Arthur inclined his head. "Seems that way."
"Okay. Well, good. Darling," said Merlin, grinning.
"No," said Arthur, radiating reproval from every pore.
"Right, okay. Would you prefer 'cupcake'?"
Arthur pitched a cushion at him, and Merlin caught it to his chest, laughing. "This," said Arthur, "is very quickly shaping up to be my worst idea ever."
Merlin was inclined to disagree, as he'd already massed a healthy collection of sickly sweet pet names to throw at Arthur just to see him fidget and scowl; but when they all gravitated towards the kitchen to chat before bed, and Arthur, already immersed well into his role, caught Merlin's hand in his own like it was the most natural thing in the world, the surge of warmth in Merlin's chest, lovely as it lasted, only made him feel worse when reality displaced it, ploughing through with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
Arthur's thumb idly stroked his wrist, and Merlin bit down a shiver.
Worst idea ever.
Continue to Chapter Five
Summary: Stood down from duty on convalescent's leave, secret agent Arthur Pendragon wonders if sheer boredom might just do him in. But when his handler saddles him with a caretaker who is by turns completely inept and strangely brilliant, and invites trouble wherever he goes, Arthur has to concede that death by boredom looks less and less likely. Death by goon squad, high-speed car chase, poison, or fiery explosion, however...
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Chapter word count: ~4,500
Notes: Three cheers for my lovely beta
venivincere.Previous chapters: Prologue + One | Two | Three
CHAPTER FOUR
The last thing a person wanted to do when told not to move was exactly that. Arthur paced the length of the room, occasionally slowing to a crawl as he passed by the doorway to catch snippets of the agents' discussion in his bedroom further down, and cementing his frown lines in place whenever Alvarr came back to check if he was doing all right, though Arthur got the feeling that it was more about making sure he stayed put. It didn't exactly instill him with confidence in the agent's doings. He was about to make a break for it when Alvarr returned, wreathed in a solicitous air.
"It will just take us a moment longer, sir," he said, smiling the smile of the truly insincere. "I've just got to fetch a kit from the car, and my partner will be joining you shortly for that statement."
He floated out of the room again, and Arthur decided he'd had enough of waiting around for a breakthrough in their incompetence; most agency clean-up crews could have dispatched of a dozen cadavers by now. There was a back staircase obscured from sight around a corner and Arthur made good use of it now, gliding downstairs without a sound and slipping out the kitchen door into the courtyard.
Sophia's house wasn't too far a walk from here; although Arthur would have liked to have taken his car instead, starting its engine and opening the garage door would have only alerted the agents to his escape plan, and he didn't know what instructions Morgana had given them to keep him in their sights. Having him tackled to the ground for not listening to her was just the sort of abuse of power he suspected she enjoyed as his handler, when she wasn't getting her own hands dirty as his step-sister.
Daylight was already well on the wane, but there were enough streetlamps to guide his way towards Sophia's house. It was probable that Morgana and Merlin were already there, scoping it out and looking for clues as to why Sophia had tried to poison him, but Arthur wanted in. It was his life, after all, that was in danger, and he needed to know everything pertaining to whatever had been set in motion that was meant to conclude with his death.
He was halfway there when a deafening blast rocked him off his feet, and Arthur could only stare, rooted on all fours to the pavement for what seemed like an infinity, as a massive cloud of flames and smoke sent chunks of his house raining from the sky.
A car raced past him, stopped with a screech, and then raced back in reverse, jerking to a halt just in front of Arthur. Morgana tumbled out of the car.
"Arthur!" she shouted, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, god, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said, and patted her on the back soothingly, while exchanging an uncertain nod with Merlin, who looked as though he might throw up. "I'm fine. What the hell just happened?"
"I was just about to ask you," said Morgana, her worried gaze travelling to the black smoke rising heavenwards.
A missing piece clicked into place inside Arthur's head. "That agent. Alvarr. He left the house just before the blast; kept coming in to make sure I didn't go anywhere."
The look on Morgana's face suggested she was seriously considering tearing Alvarr's spine out with her bare hands if she ever got a hold of him. The next look that passed her face suggested she might dedicate her life to finding him.
"He was leading this case. I appointed him to lead this case," she said, her voice shaking with rage. "He's probably been feeding us disinformation all along; it's no wonder we keep hitting dead ends. I can't believe I trusted him, and he just turned around and betrayed us."
"Everyone has his price," said Merlin quietly. To Arthur, he added, "And somebody really wants you dead."
Arthur levelled a flat look at him. "Yeah, I got that memo," he said, feeling a sudden rush of anger towards Merlin for stating the obvious so calmly and clearly when he'd been trying to keep it out of Arthur's attention for weeks. "No bloody thanks to you. Either of you."
Morgana stepped forward, as if to shield Merlin. "Look, it's not his fault; he was simply following orders. My orders," she said. "Had you known about the hit, what would you have done?"
He gave her a look as though he'd just heard the stupidest question ever posed. "I'd have tracked down the bastards and killed them before they had a chance to kill me," Arthur replied instantly and only just then realised why Morgana had asked him that in the first place.
"Exactly," she said, and the small part of him that wasn't using that moment to berate himself for playing straight into her hands appreciated the fact that she hadn't insinuated as much smugness into her retort as she could have done. "You were badly injured, Arthur -- you still are. Chances are, had we let you loose on your own, you'd already have landed yourself in hospital by now, if not worse. It was for your own good. And I do mean that in the least condescending way possible."
Arthur pressed his lips together tightly, wanting to pitch a fit about nobody trusting him enough not to go and get himself killed like an idiot, and the assumption that he needed to be protected in the first place, but he knew Morgana was at least partially right -- if he'd known someone was after him, he'd never take it lying down and wouldn't have let anyone else take care of it for him; it was simply a matter of principle.
Instead, he turned a glare onto Merlin. "What was he for, then?"
"I am standing right here, you know," Merlin said, colour returning to his cheeks.
Blink and he'd have missed the eye-roll Morgana indulged herself in. "Arthur," she said, "meet Agent Emrys."
"Retired," said Merlin.
Morgana elevated a neat eyebrow. "Since when?"
"A year and a half ago, Morgana."
"Oh, it's 'Morgana' now, is it? What happened to 'Miss Le Fay'?" Arthur asked, his voice rising at the end to a mocking falsetto before he could stop himself sounding like an insufferable child.
Morgana duly ignored him in order to stare Merlin down. "Were you under the impression that the assignment was over? I haven't dismissed you from this case, Agent," she said.
"Well," said Merlin, looking slightly flummoxed. "Why not?"
"Yes, why not?" Arthur repeated churlishly, at the same time realising he still had no idea what Merlin's place was to begin with. "And why, in the first place?"
"Because you obviously need to be babysat," Morgana clipped.
"By him? Look at him, he's twelve."
Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose. "Be that as it may," she said, and waved a dismissive hand at the plaintive noise Merlin made, "I need him on this assignment."
"Why does everybody keep talking like I'm not here?" Merlin asked the streetlamp.
Arthur shook his head. "There isn't an assignment; I'm not an assignment," he said. "Stop calling me an assignment. Furthermore --"
In the distance, sirens wailed.
"That'll be emergency services," said Morgana, her gaze snapping in the direction from which the sirens blared. She pushed Arthur and Merlin off the pavement. "Both of you in the car -- now. The bickering can continue at the agency. We've got things to sort out."
Arthur eased himself into the back seat. "Nobody's bickering. We're intelligence operatives; we have gentlemanly disagreements and occasional gunplay," he said, and glanced at the back of Merlin's head up in front. "At least, I'm an intelligence operative. I don't know what Merlin thinks he is. If that's even his real name."
"It is his real name," said Merlin, getting into the spirit of ignoring his own presence now. "Unfortunate, but true."
"And he's just as much of an agent as you are, Arthur; it'd really be helpful if you got used to it," said Morgana, crushing the accelerator pedal underneath her foot like she intended to add breaking the sound barrier to her list of accomplishments. "You'd only have to glance at his file to see how good he is."
"You won't let me see it!"
Merlin whirled around, straining against the seatbelt. "You tried to look at my file?"
Arthur looked at him askance. "You didn't mind me ransacking your room, but you're shocked that I tried to exploit my personal relationship with your handler to get to your confidential information?"
"Yes, well," said Merlin, "the things in my room were planted there specifically so you could find them and come to the conclusion that I wasn't a threat. I mean, you didn't find that false bottom I built underneath the armoire with my weapons cache."
His face blanched at the same time Arthur felt his insides clench, as they came to the same realisation.
"My weapons," Merlin lamented, looking back at the smoke still choking the sky. "Oh god, my car."
"Your car," Arthur said. "My Bentley. When I find whoever was behind this, I swear I will gut them and trim my Christmas tree with their large intestine."
Morgana shot him a questioning glance across the rearview mirror. "You do know it's July," she interjected helpfully. "And you never put up a tree."
"I'm trying to be enraged, Morgana," Arthur said. "I don't have time for these trifling technicalities."
"Anyway, you did mean when we find whoever was behind this, didn't you," she said, in tones so sweet it hurt Arthur's teeth.
"Depends on what your definition of 'we' is," he said, massaging his jaw.
He and Merlin looked at her expectantly, and she made a scoffing noise that Arthur felt did not bode at all well. "Well, boys," said Morgana, "as we're now safely on the highway and there's no chance of escape for either of you, let me just outline the important points of Plan B to you. One, there's no way in hell I'm letting you on this case alone, and two, you're bunking with Merlin from now on."
"Er, say again?" said Merlin, who obviously had not been informed of this very important development beforehand.
"For how long?" Arthur demanded.
"Until we apprehend whoever is after you." And then, in a good faith effort to take all of his and Merlin's objections into consideration, Morgana continued speaking as though she couldn't hear them. "My house and Uther's will have already been targeted for surveillance by now, so it's no good having you stay with either of us; I don't trust hotel security, and sending you out of the country will only mean I have less eyes watching out for your safety. Merlin's the next obvious choice."
"So he's Plan E, really. That's a shining vote of confidence," Arthur huffed. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to arrange for the local kindergarten to be my safehouse instead? I'm sure their supply of child scissors could pitch up a better defense."
Merlin frowned at him, momentarily forgetting that he wanted as little part of this arrangement as Arthur did. "Hey, I saved your life."
"Yeah, with no little help from me," Arthur retorted, "and I wasn't even supposed to know that my life needed saving."
"See, teamwork," Morgana said loudly. "Now, shut up, the pair of you. Remember the first rule of spy work?"
"Never fall in love with your mark," Merlin supplied.
"Guns first, questions after," Arthur said at the same time.
Morgana pulled into the agency carpark, imprints of her tyres burned into the ground. "No, god, who do I have to fire for teaching you that? The rule, gentlemen, is always listen to your bloody handler. In other words, what I say goes."
"Never heard of it," said Arthur, reaching for the door handle.
"Did you just make that up?" said Merlin, and spilled out of the car, rushing to assist in Arthur's exit automatically, like he'd clicked into a default setting.
Arthur waved him away, as usual, but gave Merlin a nod of approval for backing him up when it came to Morgana's wild claims.
She pursed her lips at the sudden bond of mutiny. "Well, it's clear you two deserve each other," she said dryly, and brightened suddenly. "Which only goes to show that I was right to begin with."
They followed her into the building, straggling after like delinquent schoolchildren bound for the headmaster's office. However, once Morgana set them up with new clothes, a car, and most importantly, new weapons, Arthur perked up considerably. Beside him, Merlin admired a shiny Glock subcompact, and Arthur eyed him up and down.
"You can shoot," he said, the accusation in his voice the quality of sour milk.
"Yes," said Merlin.
"You were impressive," Arthur said, as though he loathed being impressed, "up until you deliberately made your shots go wide."
A trace of regret appeared across Merlin's face. "Had to make you think I was a bit of an idiot, didn't I?"
"I haven't stopped thinking it."
"You just said you were impressed."
Arthur shrugged. "I lied," he lied, as he didn't feel much up to giving Merlin's behaviour any encouragement. Even though he had been rather good at the shooting range.
Merlin chuckled softly, holstering the Glock with a happy pat and hoisting over his shoulder the bag that contained the rest of his new toys. "Ready to go?"
"I don't think I have a choice," Arthur said, raising a thoughtful eyebrow as Merlin picked up his bags, too.
Across the room, Morgana lifted her gaze from her computer suddenly. "You most assuredly do not. Not until we find out who's behind all this," she said, and left her desk briefly to join them near the door. Her voice softened. "Think again, Arthur? Anyone we may have missed?"
He shook his head. "I can name a dozen people who'd want me dead for foiling their world domination plans; not to blow my own trumpet, Morgana, but I've been very good at my job."
Morgana conceded the point with a nod. "I know," she said. "Trouble is, we haven't been able to trace the hit to any of them. Everyone who's come after you so far has ended up dead themselves. No phone records, e-mail, nothing. And even if there was information out there, that bastard Alvarr probably destroyed it."
"Would it help if I told you to hurry up?" Arthur asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Arthur, that's exactly the push I needed," she said, and ushered them into the corridor. "Now, get out, and lie low. And be safe."
Side by side, Arthur and Merlin navigated themselves out of the building without another word, and aside from Merlin emitting a small noise of delight at the gleaming car Morgana had been so kind to issue him, the journey to Merlin's flat continued in silence.
For his part, Arthur spent most of that time trying to reassess who Merlin was. There was something of a swell of relief that had accompanied the discovery of Merlin having turned out to be as far from a dastardly crime lord as could be, though the bubbling resentment at having been lied to did make it rather difficult to enjoy the thought that Merlin wasn't out to get him.
But that was nothing new when it came to Merlin, who caused so many conflicting emotions in him all the time, Arthur didn't know why he even bothered about them anymore. The man had crawled under his skin weeks ago and seemed to have no intention of leaving; short of charging him rent, Arthur had no idea what else to do about it.
Merlin's flat, a modest, second-storey walk-up, was just a short drive from the agency, and, bending under the weight of both their bags, Merlin led Arthur up the stairs and to the last door at the end of the corridor.
He fumbled with a ring of keys for a moment before setting what seemed like half a dozen lock tumblers in perfect order, and preceded Arthur into the flat, dumping the bags inside and shutting the door. Mounted on the entryway wall, a keypad blinked at them, and after flicking the light switch on, Merlin's fingers flew over the keypad buttons, entering endless deactivation codes while he hummed to himself.
Finally, he took a step back, looking satisfied. "Okay," he said, and led Arthur through to the living room, at which point a nearly inaudible beep sounded, and Merlin blanched. "Oh, damn it."
Before Arthur could even think of opening his mouth to ask what was going on, he received in response a flying tackle to the ground. Even with Merlin strewn over him like a lumpy blanket and breathing noisily in his ear, Arthur couldn't help but notice the thin whistle of something slicing through the air and then embedding itself in a very ill-used dartboard hanging on the reinforced steel front door. Merlin's heartbeat thudded against his own.
He looked up. "Your home security system includes a rigged pistol crossbow? That you can't even remember to turn off?" he demanded in a strained tone of voice that said he was trying very hard not to shout and alert the neighbours to the lunatic living in their midst.
Merlin propped himself up on two elbows and smiled sheepishly, nearly nose to nose with Arthur. "Sorry. I always forget that one. That's why I also installed the beep."
"I cannot congratulate myself enough for not letting you overhaul my security system," Arthur said. "Get off me."
Merlin rolled away. "I should also mention," he said, rocking on his haunches, "that that area of the living room is off-limits. For, er, safety reasons." He gestured vaguely to a cluttered corner piled with bits of metal and screws and pointy ends of things doing a very good impression of a scrap heap, if scrap heaps were likely to shoot bolts up your leg for no reason.
Arthur sighed at the ceiling and then at Merlin when his face swam into view. Accepting Merlin's outstretched hand, Arthur got to his feet. "What are the chances you'll accidentally kill me before any of the contract killers do?"
"Slim," said Merlin, and after a moment's consideration, added, "to none."
"Inspiring," said Arthur.
He took a moment to look around, now that there appeared to be no immediate danger of being impaled. The walls were papered in a cheery green, lined with tall shelves spilling out an overabundance of books. Photos of a smiling Merlin with other smiling people arranged about the living room marked, in Arthur's mind, the difference between a house and a home; his late house, may it rest in peace, had been an interior designer's dream, beautiful and airy, and he'd never quite lived in it as Merlin obviously did here, with its squashy two-seater sofa and scuffed chairs.
He felt suddenly sorry that Merlin had had been dragged back into the field when it was clear that normal life had embraced him -- assuming your average citizen enjoyed ownership of temperamental crossbows and took work home with them that included inventing more efficient ways of bumping up appointments with the afterlife.
Arthur gave the scrap heap a wide berth, following Merlin into the guest room that he would have to treat as his own for the foreseeable future.
In the middle of explaining that the radiator was possibly possessed and needed the occasional threat of a good kick in order to stop cranking heat out in the middle of the summer, Merlin cut himself off mid-sentence as a sharp rap sounded at the front door. Snapping to alert, with one hand on the holster at his belt, Merlin padded quietly over and peered through the peephole.
His face drained of colour. "Oh no," he moaned.
He had forgotten, completely forgotten. Merlin fought the urge to smack himself in the forehead, and motioned for Arthur, who had similarly reached straight for his gun, to stand down.
"It's my mum," Merlin said, and tried to put an exclamation point on the end of it, like such news was bound to bestow upon Arthur great light and joy. "She's come for a visit." Exclamation point.
"Merlin?" came her muffled voice from the other side of the door, and then the jangling of the set of extra keys he'd given her.
"She comes up about once a year to attend conferences in the area and stays with me for a few days and I forgot that was happening now and I'm sorry but it's not my fault that Morgana decided to have you stay here I'm going to open the door now please be nice to her," said Merlin, hoping that the flood of words would overwhelm Arthur into good behaviour, though the look on Arthur's face suggested that he knew exactly what tactic Merlin was trying to employ and disapproved.
Before she could unlock the third lock, Merlin turned it himself, and pulled the door open. "Mum!"
"Sweetheart," Hunith murmured, setting a duffel bag on the floor and enveloping him in a hug so warm he felt like he glowed from the inside out.
"Er," said Merlin, shuffling aside so as not to delay the inevitable. "This is -- this is Arthur. He's, er, had some, some problems with his house, so I'm putting him up for a little while."
Arthur leaned forward, one hand outstretched in greeting. "Mrs. Emrys," he said, smiling broadly, "pleasure to meet you."
Her eyes glimmered as she shook his hand. "And you, Arthur," she said, an encouraging smile lighting her face. "Please, call me Hunith."
Merlin picked up her bag and brought it to the guest room, with its bed still perfectly made from the last time she'd visited, while Arthur contemplated the sofa. Following behind him with soft footsteps, Hunith touched his shoulder briefly, and Merlin started.
"Why didn't you tell me about him?" she asked.
"What? Who? Arthur?"
Hunith wrapped him in an indulgent smile. "He's obviously important enough to you that you've let him into your home; none of your old boyfriends ever even got past the building entrance, did they? You've always been so secretive about your life, and rightly so, of course, with the agency, but if he's here, that means--"
Merlin held up his hands. "Wait, no, Mum," he said hastily, once he'd fully registered what his mother was getting at. "Arthur's not-- we're not--"
"You don't have to keep these things from me, you know," Hunith said. "You're grown, Merlin, and whatever decisions you make, I'll be behind you all the way."
"No, no," said Merlin, "there have been no decisions. He's just-- a mate. We're just-- I'm only helping him while he's in a spot."
Had he been in any other line of work, perhaps it would've been just a tad easier to disabuse his mother of the notion that he and Arthur were together, but unmasking another agent, even to a woman as upstanding and trustworthy as his own mother, was not generally considered an advisable move. It was, in fact, the sort of professional gaffe that landed a person an audience with Uther Pendragon, and no one had ever come out of his office alive or in enough of a sane frame of mind to confirm or deny the rumours that it housed a) a pet monster, b) a river of molten lava, c) the One Ring, or d) all of the above.
Merlin had his doubts about the last one, but he wasn't willing to chance it.
"Well," Hunith said, letting the topic go for the time being but clearly not believing a word of Merlin's stuttered resistance, "if it helps, I do like him."
His brow furrowed. "You've only just said hello to each other."
"Mothers always know, Merlin," she said, which was one of those things that was infuriating only because it was true.
Merlin left her to unpack and get a bit of rest after her journey, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him and coming into the living room to find Arthur studiously arranging cushions on the sofa.
"I'll just sleep here, then," Arthur said evenly, with no trace of the put-upon peevishness Merlin might have come to expect from him, even though the couch was tiny and his legs would be dangling off the ends. "Do you have any extra blankets?"
"Erm, yeah, but no, you can take my room," Merlin offered. "You're my guest and everything. And you're still recovering; the sofa isn't going to do you any good."
At this, Arthur frowned. "I'm getting there. Where's a film montage when you need one? If I had one of those, I'd be up and running in two minutes flat."
"I could play Eye of the Tiger during your physical therapy sessions if you'd like." Merlin paused, smiled. "Or sing it to you."
"No. Please never."
Merlin strummed an intense chord on his air guitar, and Arthur laughed, in spite of himself, which Merlin thought was rather an encouraging sign.
"So, the bad news," he said, taking advantage of Arthur's improved mood, "is that my mum thinks we're dating. Good news is that she likes you."
"Most women do. I'm very charming."
"Oh, did the OED revise its definition to mean 'full of yourself'? Must have missed that."
Arthur snickered quietly but otherwise ignored this. "So, how do you want to play it, then?"
"What, you mean with my mum? I've tried telling her we're just mates, but, er, the thing is, I've never really let anyone up here before." Merlin shrugged, feeling slightly sheepish as he gestured to his security system and work paraphernalia that most normal people wouldn't look upon with particularly friendly eyes.
"All right, well," said Arthur slowly, "if she already believes that you and I-- have a thing, it'll be much easier all around if we just let her continue believing it. She'll only be here for a couple of days, right?"
"Yeah," said Merlin, and narrowed his eyes, not quite sure he and Arthur were on the same page. "So. We're dating."
Arthur inclined his head. "Seems that way."
"Okay. Well, good. Darling," said Merlin, grinning.
"No," said Arthur, radiating reproval from every pore.
"Right, okay. Would you prefer 'cupcake'?"
Arthur pitched a cushion at him, and Merlin caught it to his chest, laughing. "This," said Arthur, "is very quickly shaping up to be my worst idea ever."
Merlin was inclined to disagree, as he'd already massed a healthy collection of sickly sweet pet names to throw at Arthur just to see him fidget and scowl; but when they all gravitated towards the kitchen to chat before bed, and Arthur, already immersed well into his role, caught Merlin's hand in his own like it was the most natural thing in the world, the surge of warmth in Merlin's chest, lovely as it lasted, only made him feel worse when reality displaced it, ploughing through with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
Arthur's thumb idly stroked his wrist, and Merlin bit down a shiver.
Worst idea ever.
Continue to Chapter Five