till death do us part, part 1
Title: Till Death Do Us Part, Part 1
Rating: NC-17
Genre(s): drama, angst, au
Word Count: ~3,280
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Merlin / Arthur, Gwen / Lance, Morgana, Will, Freya, Gaius
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin
Summary: Inspired by the film Mr. and Mrs. Smith; Arthur and Merlin are stuck in a lifeless marriage, until they learn each other’s true identity, and everything changes.
Dr Killian Garber observes his patients carefully - sizes them up with sharp, keen eyes shadowed behind half-moon spectacles - and sighs.
“Arthur,” he says, breaking the stillness of the room, but not the palpable tension. “Why do you think you and Merlin never talk?”
The blonde-haired man, sitting on the left with a leg pulled onto his other thigh, snorts. “Merlin does talk. Too much, actually.” He doesn’t try to hide his sarcasm, the underlying sneer in his tired, irritable voice. “He never stops talking, so I talk back. Then we start to argue. We argue, and argue, and argue, and no one wins. We stop when we need to go sleep, and we get up the next morning and argue some more.” A pause. “We talk.”
Arthur shrugs, and refuses to look at the man sitting next to him, less than an arm’s length away. He’s thinner than Arthur, built slim and fragile-looking, but the same height, if not an inch or two taller. His hair is dark, almost black, and his skin is smooth and pale. The only similarity he shares with Arthur is his eyes - deep, intense, blue. He sits stiffly, fingers crunched into the knees of his jeans, and his eyebrows are knotted in a frown as his gaze flicks briefly to Arthur, and back to the floor again. His nails dig deeper into the denim, a vein throbs in his long, slender neck, but he refuses to make a sound - doesn’t agree with Arthur, but doesn’t deny him either.
"Merlin?” Dr Garber prompts, turning his stare on his other patient, Arthur’s other half. “Do you think that’s true?”
Merlin contemplates this in silence for an awkward minute. His eyes seem to be fixated on a spot of grey carpet, but eventually he replies, slow and resigned. “No.” Arthur’s eyes are dark as they dart towards him, a reflex, then fall away immediately.
When Merlin doesn’t elaborate after a beat, Dr Garber nudges him again. “Why?”
“We...” Merlin runs a hand through his hair, adding to the wild, unruly look that has chosen him rather than vice versa. He looks frustrated, but mostly worn out. “We argue. A lot. We always have. But we never talk. We never sit down and... have a conversation - a real conversation. Not anymore.” Merlin’s fingers leave his hair and return to their dugout in his jeans.
“So stop whining at me and talk then,” Arthur lashes out, still refusing to look left, at Merlin.
“I will when you start listening,” Merlin snaps back, jaw clenching. “I won’t stop arguing with you until you can hear me - hear what I have to say.”
“Do you think Arthur doesn’t listen to you?” Dr Garber asks Merlin when Arthur falls into stony silence once more.
“Yes.”
“Why do you let him argue with you, then?”
Merlin looks powerless, brushes the same hand over his face to shield it from Dr Garber’s scrutiny. “I...” He slumps into the back of his chair. His fingers still hold his fragility in place. “If we didn’t argue, what would we have left? There would only be silence.” At last, Merlin’s hand falls away, drops helplessly onto his lap, and his eyes are moist. “There’d be nothing.”
And finally, Arthur looks across - turns his head left to stare at Merlin. He is hard and unforgiving, sad and regretful, as Merlin stamps crescent moons into the denim of his jeans, and Dr Garber watches, silent.
“Morgana, you don’t know what you’re missing,” Arthur taunts smugly into his Blackberry, sprawled lax across a deck chair. He’s shirtless, dressed only in a pair of tasteful crimson shorts, and wearing a pair of designer sunglasses.
“Bitch,” comes Morgana’s fuzzy reply, then the sound of several sneezes. “Bitch,” she repeats again scathingly.
“There there,” Arthur tuts with manufactured sympathy, holding the phone closer to his ear and smiling at a pair of bikini-clad girls passing by. He pretends not to notice the unsubtle giggles and flirtatious batting of eyelashes. “Maybe next time.”
“There won’t be a next time, and you know it,” Morgana growls, but is cut off by a hacking round of coughs. “Oh for Christ’s sake! Why did I have to catch the motherfucker of all colds now? There’ll never be a mission in Florida again, and you know it!” She doesn’t give Arthur space to answer, ploughing on with her rant. “Florida, Arthur, Florida! You’re in fucking America whilst I’m stuck in London!”
“London’s not so bad.” Arthur stretches his stomach, muscles rippling under the sun.
“It’s raining,” Morgana snaps. “Again.”
“Look,” Arthur sighs, rolling his eyes and sitting up, “I’ll be back in three days, and then you can bitch at me all you want - to my face. But for the next 72 hours, suck it up, because I don’t want to hear from you - no calls, no texts, no emails, nothing, understand? I still have a job to do, and when I’m not trying to stay alive without you, I want to enjoy myself without you. I’m going to get a proper tan and enjoy the hotel pool, and live the American dream. So goodbye, Morgana, and go to bed and get better, for God’s sake.”
“Arth-”
The Blackberry slips from his ear as Arthur presses a button, and Morgana’s indignant voice is cut off.
“Peace at last,” Arthur mutters to himself, casting his phone on the table next to the deck chair and stretching out again.
There’s a dinner dance at the hotel that night. Arthur suits up - Armani, of course, black and tailored, with a crisp white shirt open at the collar - and slips in. He flirts with the party, moving around the room in slow, steady circles, a glass of champagne in his right hand like he’s done this a thousand times before.
Two hours into the evening, and Arthur is standing on a balcony, eyes alight as they overlook the night view of Florida. The mild wind plays with his hair, and his glass stands empty by his arm. He is still until the sound of footsteps approaching, and he turns to see a man he recognises from the party - dark hair, blue eyes, a smile that catches you unawares, is disarming. Arthur had noticed him, dancing around the room with laughs and crinkled grins, and had wondered who he was.
“Hi,” the man greets softly, smiling again as he comes up beside Arthur, a glass of champagne twirling between his fingers.
Arthur takes in the fitted black suit on his thin, slender frame, and imagines pulling off the clean, pressed shirt, snapping away every button. “Hi.”
“I’m Merlin,” the man says, leaning over the side of the balcony and breathing in the fresh, cool air with an expression of evident pleasure.
“Arthur,” Arthur replies, nodding, and watches Merlin take a casual sip of his champagne.
“It’s nice to meet a fellow Brit here at last,” Merlin says with a bright smile. “What brings you here?” he asks after a pause, turning his eyes - and they’re blue, bluer than anyone he’s ever met - to Arthur.
“A friend invited me,” Arthur answers automatically, avoiding eye contact with Merlin, because there’s something disconcerting about him, something he can’t quite put his finger on.
Merlin grins wider, and shakes his head. “I meant here.” He gestures at the space around them, towards the scenery that falls out below them.
Arthur blinks. “Oh.” He shrugs. “I wanted some fresh air.” Merlin nods. “You?”
“Same,” Merlin replies, smiling lopsidedly. “Space to think.” He turns his stare on the view, but after a beat of silence, Arthur feels it along his neck again. “Why aren’t you dancing? You look like you’d be pretty good at it.” Arthur can hear the suggestive tone, feels lightheaded.
“No one beautiful enough to dance with,” Arthur says seriously, but his eyes sparkle with mirth as he finally makes eye contact with Merlin. He watches the other man, and he wonders if he would smile if Arthur pressed his lips to that clean-shaven jaw, licked along that collarbone.
Merlin rolls his eyes, as if to say That’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think? But he’s still smiling, and it really is disarming, Arthur thinks distractedly. “Am I beautiful enough?” Merlin asks. It’s a joke, but it’s also playful, evocative, and Arthur could say no and it would pass as inoffensive.
Arthur smiles too. “Yes.”
Merlin moans and arches into his touch, and flashes of the dance floor swim into the haze of Arthur’s mind - Merlin pressing tight against him, hot and flushed and smiling, and they’re cheek to cheek. That seems like days ago, the dinner dance and the champagne, Florida and its upper-class occupants. Now there is only Merlin - Merlin, who is lying naked beneath him, Merlin, who is biting into his neck, Merlin, who is wrapped tight around his frame, slotted like the perfect puzzle piece. And Arthur can only think how good he feels, how right he’s feeling for the first time in a thousand times.
“Arthur,” Merlin gasps out, loud and broken, and Arthur groans in reply, crushing Merlin’s swollen lips with his as he rocks harder into him, thrusts fast and deep that take the bed with them in the gradually more erratic movements. “Arthur!” Merlin cries again as Arthur’s face falls into the crook of his neck. “Arthur!”
“Yes,” Arthur mutters, eyes closed, but he draws back and stares down at Merlin, who is still breathtakingly beautiful with the sheen of sweat along his pale skin, who is screaming for more. Arthur feels something within him snap, and he knows he’s gone. “Yes."
“Yes,” Arthur says through grit teeth. “I want to make this work.”
Dr Garber scrutinises Arthur - observes the permanent crease along his temple, the shifty movement of his eyes to his left when he thinks no one is looking - and nods.
“Merlin?” he asks, turning to the other man with raised eyebrows.
“Yes,” Merlin replies straight away, though his tone is deflated, bleak.
“Good.” Dr Garber folds his wrinkled, old hands together over the clipboard lying on his thighs. “Today’s session is almost over. But when you go home, why don’t you start trying to talk to each other. Not just arguing - have a real conversation. Tell each other how you feel, tell each other what you want. Do you understand? Both of you?”
After receiving two silent nods, Dr Garber relaxes in his chair and gives a small smile. “Marriage is about two people; it’s like you’re two sides of the same coin, coexisting not only peacefully, but happily. It’s hard work, but this is only the beginning, so don’t be discouraged. I’ll see you both next week.”
“How was counselling?” Gwen asks, casting Merlin a look of pity where he’s slumped on her bed, face buried into the duvet.
“Ugh,” is all Merlin has to say, distress muffled through the covers.
“You look like you need a drink,” is all Lance says when Arthur opens the front door. He holds up a six-pack of Carling like a peace offering.
Wordlessly, a glowering Arthur lets Lance in, and they move towards the empty, quiet kitchen, where Lance proceeds to hand Arthur a can of beer.
“How bad was it?” Lance asks, almost afraid to hear the answer as he cracks open a drink of his own.
“Bad,” is all Arthur can manage with a growl, before he’s gulping down Carling like it’s water.
Will crashes into the office twenty-two minutes late, hair wilder than usual and evidently quite hungover. “Morning,” he mutters, slouching through the doors of his office and grabbing the mildly hot cup of coffee. “Freya, you are a goddess,” he declares loudly after a lengthy sip, causing their secretary to blush bright red at her desk in the main lobby.
“You’re late, William,” Gaius intones flatly, shuffling out of his room with eyebrows raised. “And Freya, dear, you must stop humouring him." He sends the young girl a perplexed, mildly amused look. “You are merely encouraging him to start work every morning in this abysmal manner.”
“Gaius, I’ve worked here since I was eighteen,” Will yells from his office, where he’s dropped into his chair, legs propped onto his cluttered desk. “That’s over a decade, and I’ve never come to work sober.”
“I find it extremely sad that despite supposedly gaining adult maturity, you have yet to sound ashamed of your juvenile actions,” Gaius replies dryly, shaking his head in disapproval and about to return to his office, when he stops in his steps. “Where is Merlin?”
“He’s not come in yet,” Freya supplies. Both she and Gaius turn to look into Merlin’s empty office at the same time.
“Odd,” Gaius comments with a frown. “It’s not like Merlin to be so late.”
“He’s never later than Will,” Freya points out in passing.
“Oi!” Will shouts indignantly. “Just because he’s got sexy kneecaps, doesn’t mean you should side with the Wiz!”
Freya is blushing again when the door to the floor opens, and Merlin stumbles in.
“Merlin!” Gaius exclaims. “You’re late!”
“Sorry,” Merlin responds dully, walking into his office and slamming the door behind him.
“Oh dear,” Gaius mutters to himself as Freya watches with wide eyes. Will sticks his head out of his room and groans.
“I’ll go,” he offers, the cheeky twang to his tone dissipated.
Merlin is sitting listlessly at his desk when he hears Gaius’ low murmurs (“Another bad weekend, then.”) to Freya as Will enters his office, and closes the door with a much gentler hand than both Merlin did, or Will himself is used to.
“Hey,” Will says.
“Hi.”
“What happened?” Will asks, concern written all over his open face as he takes a seat, uninvited but not unwanted.
“Counselling,” Merlin groans, head falling onto the desk. “That’s what happened.”
“Oh shit,” Will swears, grimacing. “I forgot. That bad, huh?”
“That bad,” Merlin echoes, lifting his head minimally so he can glare at Will.
“Was Arthur a complete arse?”
Merlin merely sighs.
“No change there then,” Will comments unkindly, but stops his sentence when he sees Merlin’s face fall. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Merlin says resignedly, waving Will’s apology away and sitting up to arrange the scraps of paper on his desk. “I shouldn’t be moping when there’s work to do, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Merlin Emryson,” he says loudly, causing what appears to be the webcam sitting on top of the computer monitor to scan Merlin’s eye whilst he presses both palms to the keyboard, which has transformed into a flat screen.
“Merlin,” Will starts again, standing up, but is shot down with a warning glance as a panel in the wall behind Merlin’s head shifts upwards, revealing a large screen.
“Good morning Merlin,” a friendly voice says.
“Morning Archie.”
“So I take it marriage counselling was shit.”
Arthur, without looking up, grabs the box of tissues on his desk, and throws it. It clatters against the door of his office.
“Why is it that you take it upon yourself to know every little part of my mundane life, Morgana?” he barks harshly, finally tearing his eyes away from the long, rounded screen in front of him to glare with feeling at the woman standing, smirking, against his door.
“You’re my partner, Arthur. We know everything about each other.” Morgana drops gracefully into a seat in front of Arthur, and he glowers at her ability to remain elegant in six-inch heels.
“Ex-partner,” Arthur corrects with a snap. “We haven’t worked together in years.”
“Ever since you got married,” Morgana points out, curling her dark hair between her fingers out of boredom and habit. “So. Marriage counselling.”
Arthur tries and fails to send Morgana packing with his glare of fury. He then attempts to gawk stubbornly at his computer screen until Morgana goes away. Finally, after eleven long, tense minutes of Morgana staring straight at his head, Arthur breaks.
“It was shite. Absolutely fucking awful.” Arthur sighs and rubs his palm along the back of his head. “The guy dismissed us with some bullshit about marriage being like two sides of a coin or something. It wasted an hour of my life. A whole hour! I could’ve been in the field, but no, Merlin wants to try counselling, so I lose the Kendrick bounty to Leon. Leon’s shit!”
Morgana watches Arthur with something akin to sympathy, but Arthur avoids her gaze - focuses instead on the computer. They both know that Leon isn't bad - he's just not Arthur. Eventually, she says lightly, “Well, you’ll be pleased to hear there’s a new case - a twin act, in fact. They want you.”
Arthur jerks his head up, finally catching Morgana’s intense, green eyes. After a beat, his lips quirk upwards just a centimetre into a smile.
When Merlin arrives home, Arthur is nowhere to be seen. Sighing out loud, he traipses down to the cellar, grabs a random bottle of wine, and leaves the house again.
“Merlin,” Gwen smiles when she opens her front door.
Merlin knows the path to the living room, where he finds Lance on the sofa, watching TV. “Hey Merlin,” he greets, raising a hand. “How’re you doing?”
“Fine,” Merlin nods, and sprawls onto a free armchair whilst Gwen rejoins her husband. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s fine, we’re just watching telly,” Gwen assures, glancing briefly at the plasma screen. “Are you feeling better?”
“Not really,” Merlin admits, tucking his legs up to his chest and staring blankly at the TV. “But I’ll survive.”
Lance and Gwen exchange looks, but the room falls into quiet as they watch the latest episode of How I Met Your Mother.
Arthur slips the smoking gun into its holster on his waist and runs to check the pulses. First Alined, the ringleader, who he got in the neck and heart because he hadn’t found a clear shot. Beside him, Trickler, his right-hand man and partner; Arthur had been luckier there, found his head, right between his eyes. They lie together, side by side, in a pool of blossoming blood.
Half an hour later, Arthur pulls into the driveway of his house. His Blackberry beeps, and he glances at the screen.
Kanan found 18:09 today, slit throat, downtown Camden. ETD 17:27. Probably the Wiz.
Arthur narrows his eyes at the message from Morgana, then deletes it. He slips his phone into his jacket pocket, wrenches his wedding ring onto his finger from the box down the side of his seat, and climbs out of his Ferrari.
The lights are on when he enters the house. Arthur’s glowing watch tells him it’s 10:13 PM - late. He wonders how Merlin will react. He dreads seeing his husband, dreads the argument that Arthur will no doubt refuse to back out of, because he too, like Merlin, has a stubborn streak that is uneasily resolved.
However, when Arthur steps into the living room, he finds Merlin curled up on the sofa, stretched out and boneless, peaceful in sleep. A blanket has been tossed over him lovingly, like a mother, and that’s when Arthur catches sight of the slip of paper on the coffee table.
He’s always been a lightweight. Take care of him.
Gwen
Arthur’s sad smile is involuntary, and it is quickly wiped away when he balls up the piece of paper and throws it neatly in the bin.
Merlin wakes up in their bed. The clock ticks away in the dark - 3:17. He stares at it, eyes blurry with sleep, and turns around to see a familiar shape beside him under the covers. Merlin stares at Arthur’s solid back blankly, remembering strong, unfaltering arms around him, gently laying him down and tucking him in. He blinks away the images, turns around again, and goes back to sleep.