adelagia | Merlin fic: Shadowplay -- Chapter Eleven

Title: 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: ~3,100
Notes:

Everything on TV was shit. Merlin clicked the channel button on the remote control to a steady beat, not really bothering to pay attention to anything on the screen. On his command, the screen flicked from channel to channel, fleeting snippets of sound clipping by --and that's a bad miss--from the neighbouring county--through to the next round--Emperor Nero was--potatoes simmering-- none of which caught his interest, but the nonsensical stream was still preferable to listening to the thoughts in his head.

The guest bedroom was empty now, all of Arthur's stuff cleared out -- not that he'd really brought much along, seeing as it had all been burnt to less than cinders in the explosion, but its lack still seemed to make a difference, even well after two weeks of wallowing had passed him by.

Merlin had been right to worry, all that time ago, when Arthur had been puttering around in the kitchen, that he wouldn't be able to scrub Arthur's presence out of his life now that he'd set foot in Merlin's flat.

There was the cereal in the pantry Merlin had bought specially for him, which would likely remain untouched for weeks more under the ludicrous impression that Arthur might come back any day now with a specific muesli craving, until it got soft and had to be binned. And there was the fluke of Arthur's high score on Guitar Hero, and the probably imagined scent of Arthur on the extra pillow in his bed, and it was all incredibly mawkish, but Merlin couldn't do a thing about any of it other than drive himself mad.

He went through a multitude of moods each day -- he'd tell himself this was all for the best and he'd come out a better person at the other end; or wish to the high heavens that he could have been like the millions of ordinary people out in the world who'd never heard of the agency; or wonder if he could have done something differently with his life, or if he would have at all, given the chance; or stoke up a smouldering ember of anger towards Arthur for being so fucking dense and beautiful and unattainable.

Unsurprisingly, he spent the most time there, nursing thoughts about Arthur. He'd rewind memories in his head, watching them play out scene by scene from every angle, and try to overwrite them with harsher words and a harder heart. Some refused to be erased; some still had as heavy a visceral impact as when they'd first happened. He remembered how Arthur had looked at him once, in bed, and being sure, so damn sure, even if it had been for just a fractional moment, that things were all falling into the right place at last, that they were going to be so good together.

That one wouldn't go away, the one with the look on Arthur's face. It hurt to hold on to it, it hurt to imagine what might have been, and it hurt worst of all to bury it. He had been so sure.

In the end all these thoughts amounted to nothing, and Merlin would find himself still sitting alone in his little flat, surrounded by things and memories he no longer had any use for, seeking comfort from television's tepid embrace.

A shrill, though muffled sound broke into the stutter of the TV, and Merlin lifted his head from the sofa, puzzled. It took another ring and a half for him to realise it was the landline he never used, and Merlin rolled off the sofa to go in search of it, digging it out from underneath a pile of books and other loose detritus.

"Hello?" he said, expecting a lousy sales offer he'd have trouble turning down because he always felt a bit sorry for telemarketers, getting hung up on and shouted at all the time.

"Agent Emrys," said a silky, female voice he didn't recognise. "Or, rather, it's just Mister Emrys now, isn't it?"

Merlin frowned, tensing. "Who's calling, please?" he asked.

"Where are my manners?" she said. "My associates call me Nimueh."

The frown deepened. "Sorry, do I know you?"

Nimueh laughed, but there was no pleasure in it. "Let's not play games, Merlin. You and I both know that you've been trying to track me for ages for going after Arthur Pendragon. Well, trying to track me unsuccessfully, I should say."

Merlin's stomach tightened at the name. "Are you calling to gloat or something? Because I haven't really got the time for that."

Another trill of lifeless laughter tumbled through the line. "Really?" she asked, as though she was actually interested and bemused. "Does it take so long to put your CV together? It's easy, darling; you were educated at Portsmouth, you were a paramedic with LAS for two years, and it was for your work during the Underground bombings that you were scouted and recommended for intelligence training by our friends at the agency."

"Look," said Merlin flatly, careful to keep his tone neutral. This wouldn't be the first time he'd been looked into by the opposition, and anyone with an internet connection and basic search skills could have dug up most of that information within five minutes, but Nimueh's casual display of knowledge was still cause for mild alarm, and more importantly, suspicion. "I'm sure you're amusing yourself endlessly tossing all these incredibly exciting bits of trivia around, but what actually do you want?"

"I was getting to it," she said, unruffled. "My sources tell me you've been unceremoniously dumped by the agency."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it is. And I can't help but wonder why."

"The Lord Pendragon works in mysterious ways," Merlin said dryly.

Nimueh made a small noise of disapproval. "I wouldn't call it mysterious. I'd call it discrimination. After all, it was hardly your fault the young master couldn't be trusted to handle himself and stay in the van like he was supposed to. Of course, I'm not sorry he did it; up until then, I did think he was dead. But you, poor thing -- losing your job over someone else's stupidity, when you hadn't even done anything wrong? Doesn't really sit right, does it?"

The phone cord wound white lines around his finger. "I don't see how this concerns you."

"My people have been watching you, from time to time. You're good. You could've been great, given the opportunity. Sadly, that's no longer a possibility at the agency. But, of course, what's one more casualty to Uther Pendragon, as long as it's not his precious son at stake? Does he even know your name?"

Merlin fidgeted, uncomfortable and wary. "He's a busy man."

He could almost hear her smiling at his half-hearted defense of Uther. "Still so loyal," Nimueh said. "And for what? Your loyalty is wasted, my darling, on a man who thinks nothing of throwing away your talents just to save his son's face. You did everything you were asked, and yet here you are, chucked out with nothing to show for it except the burden of blame for a mistake you never made."

Merlin said nothing.

"It's what they do," she went on. "Build you up for greatness and use you, and then just toss you aside once they've got what they wanted out of you. You're nothing to them."

Still he kept silent.

"Well," Nimueh said, "I think it's time someone balanced the scales a little, don't you?"

Merlin hesitated. In the background, an execrable advert jingle filled the silence, a bleak reminder of his stark existence ever since having to leave the agency -- and Arthur -- behind. His fingers tightened around the handset. "I'm listening."

*

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Morgana asked, the sharpness of her words tempered with a soft tone.

Arthur snapped his head up and blinked, giving his wandering mind that extra second to hurry back and pretend it'd been paying attention all along. "What are you talking about?" he replied.

Playing the question game was infinitely preferable to actually answering her, even though he knew full well what the hell was the matter with him. Sometimes he suspected she did, too, even though he didn't tell her anything, but she was Morgana, so it was universally accepted that she had terrible, mystical powers when it came to tormenting her brother for sport, even if the torment was meant well.

It had been exactly two months and four days since Merlin had gone, and Arthur was still getting used to it. It helped that he was in entirely different surroundings now, didn’t have any reminders of Merlin except for what was only in his head, and he was learning to shut those out.

Learning was the operative word there; there were still several instances throughout the day when something innocuous would strike up a sweet memory of Merlin and his chest would ache and he'd have to concentrate on modulating his breathing until the hurt went away. It was a damn nuisance, to say the least.

"Is it Merlin?" Morgana asked flatly.

Arthur shot her a sullen look across the table. "What? No."

"You don't have to lie to me, you know."

"And you don't have to coddle me," Arthur said. He shrugged. "We were sort of mates. And now we're not."

"Are you sure it's not more than that?"

"You're not my therapist, Morgana."

"More's the shame," she said. "You could use one."

"I don't think I need to pay someone two hundred pounds an hour to tell me that the root of all my problems is my father."

Morgana raised an eyebrow. "The root of your problems is you, and I'll tell you that for free."

Arthur left the thread of the conversation dangling there, turning his attention back to the files in front of him. There was no point trying to argue with Morgana, especially when she dug her heels in on something; besides which, she was almost certainly right about this, anyway, about Merlin.

But so what if she was? She could try to prod it out of him as much as she liked, but putting a name to it wouldn't make things any different.

Merlin had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared -- classified, Morgana had told him, when Arthur had tried to fish for information on where he'd gone. On a professional level, Arthur understood that move -- best practices was that former agents burned ties with all their former contacts for security's sake, but it didn't stop him from occasionally hovering his thumb over Merlin's name in his contacts list and debating whether or not to press 'call' even though he knew no one would pick up.

He'd tried calling once, the day Kay had got foisted on him, but had hung up in the middle of the third ring, and if Merlin had seen his number come up, hadn't bothered to call back. Arthur couldn't blame him; after all, it was because of him that Merlin had got fired.

And now, at best, the number would already be disconnected and Arthur would feel like a fool for calling in the first place. Worse was the possibility that he'd get voicemail, and that was what made him keep shoving his mobile back into his pocket before he could push any buttons. If he got voicemail, then he'd hear Merlin's voice, and then he wouldn't be able to escape the awful, glaring fact that he missed Merlin, and it was enough of a struggle to convince himself that he didn't, without Merlin's stupid voice muddying his resolve.

Besides, he'd have to leave a message, and that was asking for all kinds of trouble. What could he say? Hey, Merlin, sorry about the whole unemployment thing, but also thanks for all the great sex. Think you might want to do it again, like for the rest of our lives, possibly? Okay, let me know. Talk to you later, or maybe never, depending. Well, bye.

All things considered, not a good plan. Especially the part that sounded kind of like a marriage proposal.

Arthur dragged his focus back to the papers on the table and scowled at them, as if they were the ones responsible for his mind taking frequent, unauthorised field trips to Merlin-related memories. He willed answers to magically appear in the papers, to highlight themselves in order of importance or something, other than sitting there being dull and unhelpful in every way.

Even if the Merlin part of his life was a shambles, it would help immeasurably if he could at least solve this case and put Nimueh in jail. Again.

It would be a form of closure, he imagined. Nimueh's escape from prison was what had started this whole thing in the first place, after all. He needed a win on this one. Maybe he'd never see Merlin again, and that was... fine, or it would be, eventually, but if he could close this case, at least he'd be able to shut the door on it for good, and Merlin along with it.

The trouble was that they hadn't heard a peep from Nimueh or any of her known cronies for ages, not since Alvarr's arrest; no hired goons had come to try and murder him for what seemed like eons now, and without any developments on her part, it was nigh impossible to move forward.

All that had come through the grapevine so far was that she had picked up a potential new ally and inside man, but information on that was similarly scarce.

Arthur pulled the inside corners of his eyes together, his breath coming out in a frustrated groan. Despite what Morgana had said about Kay being able to take on everything Merlin had done, the agency hadn't actually given Kay full clearance as they'd had with Merlin on this case, which meant that they were less one set of eyes for research now, and it showed.

"Need a break?" Morgana asked.

"Yeah," said Arthur, rubbing one eye. He got up to stretch and went towards the door. "Back in five."

"Get me a cup of tea on your way back," Morgana called out as he left the office.

Arthur set down the corridors at a slow pace, with no particular destination in mind, just needing to get away from the files and the office for a few minutes.

His mobile buzzed in his back pocket, and Arthur drew it out. The display showed a local number, not connected to anyone in his contacts list. He pressed the button to receive the call. "Agent Pendragon."

There was a beep and sounds of some fumbling, and then a muttered curse. A throat cleared nervously on the other end. "Sorry, er. Hello."

"Merlin?" he breathed, recognising the voice instantly. The bottom of his stomach bungeed to his feet and bounced back up again to thud in his chest with alternating bursts of relief and shock and joy. He flattened himself against a wall, in case he needed the help to remain standing.

"Erm. Hi," said Merlin, his voice sounding too far away. "Sorry I didn't return your call."

"No, yeah, it's fine. I understand," Arthur babbled, a good portion of his brain still stuck on the fact that Merlin still existed and was speaking to him. When it had caught up to the present, Arthur added, "Listen, Merlin. About your job... I--"

He didn't actually know what he wanted to say; he'd gone to his father to try to change his mind and get Merlin back, but Uther had only waved him away, irritated and impatient with myriad other things on his plate. Perhaps he could have tried harder, but he knew his father all too well, and eventually, pushing the issue would only make Uther stand his ground all the more firmly.

"It's okay, really," said Merlin.

"Are you... How are you getting on?" Arthur asked, clutching the phone tightly.

"I'm-- er, I'm fine," said Merlin. "You?"

"I'm great," said Arthur, his voice a bit too bright for it to be telling the entire truth.

He wasn't great; of course he wasn't. He'd been missing Merlin for months and it was only just catching up to him now just how much. He ached with it; it had just become part of him over time, something he'd tuned out and got used to, like breathing. And now with Merlin on the other end of the line, it was rushing to the forefront of his attention, burning in his chest.

"Good; glad to hear it," said Merlin. "Do you think we could--"

Arthur leaned forward, as though Merlin was right there. "Yeah?"

"I-- I have some information," Merlin said in a low voice.

Instantly, Arthur was on alert. There was some part of him sagging in disappointment that this wasn't a social call after all, but considering how little progress had been made in the case for the last few months, things might actually be looking up. They both knew it was a security risk for Merlin to be contacting him at all, given the agency's hard line on severing ties, so whatever it was had to be important.

"Best not to talk about it over the phone," Merlin said. "Meet me for coffee or something?"

"Yes," Arthur blurted, before he could stop the eagerness sailing out of his voice. He coughed. "Er, yes, that sounds fine."

"And come alone? The agency would have my head if they knew I was still working on this."

It took another half-minute to work out the details of where and when to meet, and to fluster through their goodbyes. Upon hanging up, Arthur dropped his phone back into his pocket and stood still for a moment, one palm braced against the wall at his back. He took a deep breath, and smiled so hard it almost hurt.

*

Merlin snapped the mobile shut, his jaw tight as he stared into the grey mirror of a calm Thames. Beside him on the dock, Nimueh, pressing something on a discreet earpiece, disconnected herself from the three-way call and held her hand out for his phone. He slipped it into her waiting palm, the tension in his body easing out with the movement.

"So nice of him to ask after you," she said conversationally. "It's almost as if he cares."

"About anyone other than himself?" Merlin raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I don't think the concept's ever occurred to him. Or any of them."

Nimueh smiled, as though in perfect understanding. "And you're sure he'll show?" she asked.

He shrugged. "He hasn't been getting much information on you for months now; he'll be desperate for any news."

"Well, let's hope you're right," Nimueh said, a cool smile playing upon her lips. "I do hate to be stood up."

Merlin shoved his hands into his pockets, silent, as he watched her toss the mobile away, devoured into the depths of the river.

Continue to Chapter Twelve

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Posted by

tama_abi

!!!! What's Merlin plan in all this? I have the feeling he's trying to play Nimueh but I don't get how...

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Merlin fic: Shadowplay -- Chapter Eleven

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