Roger Wilco
Author: fuckyeah
Title: Roger Wilco
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Lieutenant Arthur Penn knows full well that crime doesn't cease to exist just because it's Christmas Eve, and neither does the paperwork involved. Luckily, Forensic tech Merlin Emerson is around to save Arthur from another lonely holiday.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1000
Prompt: #36 Mistletoe
Author's Notes: ...Yeah, I don't know how I got a cop AU out of this prompt, but I did, and I foresee this being part of a larger series if people want more of it. Thanks to hms_seth for the beta and loaded_march for the title!
It’s times like this that Arthur is reminded of a joke he heard while rising through the ranks. Once you hit lieutenant, they say, you’re not so much worried about being gunned down while on the job any more as you are about being buried alive by a mountain of paperwork. Arthur had laughed it off as exaggerated nonsense at first, but after one too many nightmares where he’s bound and gagged by bureaucratic red tape, he now knows there’s some truth to it.
Somewhere nearby, there’s the faint sound of a radio, a rising pop-star duet crooning their version of the iconic “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” It’s probably fitting for the current weather, though Arthur can’t be sure, not when the sun set hours ago and all he can see out of the station’s windows is hazy darkness.
He has no excuse to check, either, not any more. He absentmindedly scratches at the patch on his upper arm and wonders if he should switch to using the gum instead. He misses the feeling of a cigarette between his fingers more than the actual nicotine fix, and the way the acrid smoke curled in the air as he exhaled. But he’d finally caved in and quit when his sister pointed out that he risked his life enough while on the job; he didn’t need to fuck up his chances more for a disgusting habit.
(Besides, he certainly doesn’t miss huddling in doorways for warmth, his fingers trembling too much from the cold to get a steady light.)
There’s a knock on the door, and before Arthur can say “enter,” a familiar head of unruly black hair pops in the doorway.
Arthur feels his heart flutter a bit like it always does around Merlin Emerson, one of the techs from Forensics. If it wasn’t for his doctor giving him a relatively clean bill of health recently, Arthur would be worried. But he still doesn’t have an explanation for why he feels funny whenever Merlin’s crystal blue eyes are on him, or when Merlin gives one of those brilliant smiles that makes his already prominent cheekbones pop.
Well, at least no explanation Arthur can afford to dwell on, so instead he swallows before nodding stiffly in acknowledgement. “Yes, Emerson?”
“Why are you still here? It’s Christmas Eve,” Merlin says, shutting the door behind him. In afterthought, he adds a hasty, “sir.”
Arthur grins despite himself. It’s a wonder Merlin hasn’t been fired yet for his lack of proper protocol, especially when involving his superiors. But all his previous divisions sing his praises, and while they had their rough patches when they first met, Arthur secretly admits Merlin’s cheek has grown on him. “I should ask you the same question.”
Merlin shrugs, idly picking up the framed photographs Arthur has on the edge of his desk. Before Arthur can have the conversation about personal boundaries yet again, Merlin says, “I’m not able to spend Christmas with my mom this year, so it’s either go back to my apartment and watch cheesy holiday movies while I stuff my face with Chinese food, or stay here and get some work done.”
“Tough choice,” Arthur says drily, but he understands where Merlin is coming from, because that’s basically Arthur’s routine as well. Christmas was always a sober and formal affair when he was growing up, with his father denouncing the holiday as frivolous and wasteful. He and his sister tried to claim the tradition as their own once they hit adulthood, but after sitting through enough dinners where Morgana managed to burn everything, including the turkey, they chalked it up as a lost cause.
“...Actually,” Merlin says, suddenly looking very nervous, “I was invited to dinner with a few friends, and thought... Well, if you don’t have any other plans, do you wanna come?”
Arthur freezes. He and Merlin have built a camaraderie over the few months they’ve worked together, but they’ve never actually done anything while off the clock. It’s partially Arthur’s fault, because he purposely maintains a professional distance between the two of them. It’s just been safer that way.
But now, his decision is heavily influenced by the depressing idea of spending the holiday alone. “Sounds good. Give me five minutes to finish up here, and then we’ll head out?”
Merlin beams widely, and Arthur is surprised the rapid beating of his heart isn’t audible as it pounds against his ribcage.
Fifteen minutes pass by--only because Merlin forgot he had been running tests that needed be to completed before leaving--before the two of them shrug on their jackets and stroll out to the station’s lobby. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Merlin look up and stiffen, and instantly Arthur’s hand goes to his holster, years of experience putting him on high alert for any possible threats.
Then he notices it: a sprig of mistletoe, tacked on to the doorway above their heads.
“The guys probably thought it would be funny to hang it up there,” Merlin mumbles, his eyes darting around everywhere except in Arthur’s direction. “I bet it was Gwaine.”
Arthur makes a noise that is supposed to be one of agreement, but comes out as a grunt that’s been mangled in his throat. Neither of them make a move, and Arthur swears he can see a tell-tale flush spreading across Merlin’s cheeks and up to his ears.
One reason Arthur is so good at his job is that sometimes he just goes with his gut feelings, damn the consequences, and more often than not it works in his favor. He prays that this is one of those times, and if not, he can try to laugh it off as a joke later.
He leans forward, and his lips just barely brush against Merlin’s cheek. But it’s enough to cause a spark to jump between them, and a shiver ripples through both of their bodies. Arthur hears Merlin’s shocked gasp and whispers in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Emerson.”
Title: Roger Wilco
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Lieutenant Arthur Penn knows full well that crime doesn't cease to exist just because it's Christmas Eve, and neither does the paperwork involved. Luckily, Forensic tech Merlin Emerson is around to save Arthur from another lonely holiday.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1000
Prompt: #36 Mistletoe
Author's Notes: ...Yeah, I don't know how I got a cop AU out of this prompt, but I did, and I foresee this being part of a larger series if people want more of it. Thanks to hms_seth for the beta and loaded_march for the title!
It’s times like this that Arthur is reminded of a joke he heard while rising through the ranks. Once you hit lieutenant, they say, you’re not so much worried about being gunned down while on the job any more as you are about being buried alive by a mountain of paperwork. Arthur had laughed it off as exaggerated nonsense at first, but after one too many nightmares where he’s bound and gagged by bureaucratic red tape, he now knows there’s some truth to it.
Somewhere nearby, there’s the faint sound of a radio, a rising pop-star duet crooning their version of the iconic “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” It’s probably fitting for the current weather, though Arthur can’t be sure, not when the sun set hours ago and all he can see out of the station’s windows is hazy darkness.
He has no excuse to check, either, not any more. He absentmindedly scratches at the patch on his upper arm and wonders if he should switch to using the gum instead. He misses the feeling of a cigarette between his fingers more than the actual nicotine fix, and the way the acrid smoke curled in the air as he exhaled. But he’d finally caved in and quit when his sister pointed out that he risked his life enough while on the job; he didn’t need to fuck up his chances more for a disgusting habit.
(Besides, he certainly doesn’t miss huddling in doorways for warmth, his fingers trembling too much from the cold to get a steady light.)
There’s a knock on the door, and before Arthur can say “enter,” a familiar head of unruly black hair pops in the doorway.
Arthur feels his heart flutter a bit like it always does around Merlin Emerson, one of the techs from Forensics. If it wasn’t for his doctor giving him a relatively clean bill of health recently, Arthur would be worried. But he still doesn’t have an explanation for why he feels funny whenever Merlin’s crystal blue eyes are on him, or when Merlin gives one of those brilliant smiles that makes his already prominent cheekbones pop.
Well, at least no explanation Arthur can afford to dwell on, so instead he swallows before nodding stiffly in acknowledgement. “Yes, Emerson?”
“Why are you still here? It’s Christmas Eve,” Merlin says, shutting the door behind him. In afterthought, he adds a hasty, “sir.”
Arthur grins despite himself. It’s a wonder Merlin hasn’t been fired yet for his lack of proper protocol, especially when involving his superiors. But all his previous divisions sing his praises, and while they had their rough patches when they first met, Arthur secretly admits Merlin’s cheek has grown on him. “I should ask you the same question.”
Merlin shrugs, idly picking up the framed photographs Arthur has on the edge of his desk. Before Arthur can have the conversation about personal boundaries yet again, Merlin says, “I’m not able to spend Christmas with my mom this year, so it’s either go back to my apartment and watch cheesy holiday movies while I stuff my face with Chinese food, or stay here and get some work done.”
“Tough choice,” Arthur says drily, but he understands where Merlin is coming from, because that’s basically Arthur’s routine as well. Christmas was always a sober and formal affair when he was growing up, with his father denouncing the holiday as frivolous and wasteful. He and his sister tried to claim the tradition as their own once they hit adulthood, but after sitting through enough dinners where Morgana managed to burn everything, including the turkey, they chalked it up as a lost cause.
“...Actually,” Merlin says, suddenly looking very nervous, “I was invited to dinner with a few friends, and thought... Well, if you don’t have any other plans, do you wanna come?”
Arthur freezes. He and Merlin have built a camaraderie over the few months they’ve worked together, but they’ve never actually done anything while off the clock. It’s partially Arthur’s fault, because he purposely maintains a professional distance between the two of them. It’s just been safer that way.
But now, his decision is heavily influenced by the depressing idea of spending the holiday alone. “Sounds good. Give me five minutes to finish up here, and then we’ll head out?”
Merlin beams widely, and Arthur is surprised the rapid beating of his heart isn’t audible as it pounds against his ribcage.
Fifteen minutes pass by--only because Merlin forgot he had been running tests that needed be to completed before leaving--before the two of them shrug on their jackets and stroll out to the station’s lobby. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sees Merlin look up and stiffen, and instantly Arthur’s hand goes to his holster, years of experience putting him on high alert for any possible threats.
Then he notices it: a sprig of mistletoe, tacked on to the doorway above their heads.
“The guys probably thought it would be funny to hang it up there,” Merlin mumbles, his eyes darting around everywhere except in Arthur’s direction. “I bet it was Gwaine.”
Arthur makes a noise that is supposed to be one of agreement, but comes out as a grunt that’s been mangled in his throat. Neither of them make a move, and Arthur swears he can see a tell-tale flush spreading across Merlin’s cheeks and up to his ears.
One reason Arthur is so good at his job is that sometimes he just goes with his gut feelings, damn the consequences, and more often than not it works in his favor. He prays that this is one of those times, and if not, he can try to laugh it off as a joke later.
He leans forward, and his lips just barely brush against Merlin’s cheek. But it’s enough to cause a spark to jump between them, and a shiver ripples through both of their bodies. Arthur hears Merlin’s shocked gasp and whispers in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Emerson.”