Keep Calm and Carry On Commentary - Part 4

[chibirhm]

The general feeling around Arthur's department is one of incredulous despair when it becomes clear that Vivian is not a one-off deal.

"You're dating MP Alined's daughter," Gwen says disparagingly, her lips tight. "As in, the child of the man who wants to declare war with every country that so much as looks at us wrong and is so conservative he's nearly American?" (HAH HAH KNOCKING AMERICAN CONSERVATISM. This is something I do with my British friends a lot, I tell them about laws and shit that goes down in America and they're like "WHERE DO YOU LIVE, NAZI GERMANY? I DIDN'T THINK PEOPLE WERE STUPID ENOUGH TO DO SHIT LIKE THAT". And then I make fun of them for complaining when the Tories are in power, because that's, like, what people who are considered crazy left-wingers believe over here. OH NO, my friends all cried when Cameron was elected. WE WILL BE BESIEGED BY THE GESTAPO AND GAYS WILL BE SLAIN IN THE STREETS. WE MIGHT NOT HAVE ~NATIONALIZED HEALTH CARE~. DEAR HEAVENS I MUST EAT MY DIGESTIVES AND DRINK MY TEA. Oh, Europeans. You have no idea how good you have it.)

"She's his daughter, not him, and I don't think you're the only one who should be getting regular sex," Arthur shrugs. It does nothing to dissipate Gwen's silent rage. He rather suspected an answer like that wouldn't. But really, he doesn't get why Gwen and Lance get to be the only ones having sex in this department. Sure, they're in love or whatever, and he isn't with Vivian, but she's attractive enough to keep all his vital parts interested, and she understands that he doesn't have buckets of time to spend on her. Arthur thinks she actually rathers that, since it gives her more time to be in love with herself. Merlin's also taken to shooting him utterly betrayed looks.

"I had no idea you had such party loyalty," Arthur says acidly to Merlin as he glares daggers after Vivian, who came to visit Arthur for lunch.

"I just don't like her," Merlin says. "She's spoiled, and bratty, and -"

"- and my girlfriend," Arthur says tightly. He knows everything Merlin's saying is true, but coming from Merlin's mouth, it's somehow far worse an accusation. "And this goes for all of you," he raises his voice, "if you don't like Vivian, fine, but keep it to yourself. There's a severe lack of discipline and respect in this office." There's a deadly silence. "Get back to work!" Arthur barks, and slams his door shut on Gwen's despairing face.

Arthur dates Vivian for another two and a half months after that, mostly, he admits to himself, to make a point. He doesn't have any particular feelings for her, but he might as well milk this for all it's worth and get some semi-regular sex, as far as he's concerned. (This is such a boy response. Like, boys do this in real life a lot. It's a little depressing.) He doesn't realize his mistake until Vivian turns to him with bright, round blue eyes (one of the things Arthur truly likes about her, Gwen so far has been the only true exception to his weakness for a pair of blue eyes) and goes, "So, Arthur, about our wedding..."

"Our what?" Arthur asks, staring at her over his chicken Parmesan.

"We've been dating for almost six months," Vivian says, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Of course we're getting married. Now, I was thinking a year from now, so I'll have plenty of time to plan."

"But," Arthur blinks, struggling to find sense in his terribly broken world, "I haven't proposed."

"Details," Vivian shrugs, undaunted. "I hope you're alright with a big wedding, Arthur, because I was thinking at least two hundred - all terribly influential and rich sorts, of course, and that's just who I'm inviting."

They have to break up, then, of course, and of course Gwen is insufferably smug about the entire thing.

"Don't you dare say 'I told you so,'" Arthur grumbles, tapping his pen violently on his desk.

"I would never," Gwen says serenely. (Instead, she'll plot with Morgana to hire a plane to fly over 10 Downing with a banner that reads HAH HAH ARTHUR PENDRAGON IS A KNOB.)

"I would," Merlin pipes up, re-arranging Arthur's files behind him. "I told you so. A lot. And then you yelled at me. It wasn't very nice."

"I could fire you," Arthur reminds him, leaning back and looking up at Merlin with what he hopes is foreboding, but from the way Merlin smiles down at him, sunny and soft, it's clear he's not doing a very good job. Perhaps it's because his palms feel suddenly sweaty and his chest feels tight. (This is one of my favorite visuals of the whole fic - Merlin standing behind Arthur's desk, smiling down at him utterly smitten, and Arthur leaning back in his chair, his face tilted up to return Merlin's besotted gaze. I just. alkjsdflkjsd. BOYS WHAT DO YOU DO TO ME. If I were Gwen, I would be stuffing my knuckles in my mouth to keep from squealing inappropriately.)

"Right, well," he says briskly, waving Gwen out of his office. "Cancel your plans tonight, Merlin. I'm afraid that my personal life has taken too much priority over work, and we have a terrible load to go through, so we'll probably be working very late."

Merlin looks bewildered around Arthur's office which is immaculate, as usual. "I really don't think that's the case," he says. "Are you trying to drown your feelings in work? Because I tried to do that when I stopped dating Freya and it really isn't healthy..."

"Merlin," Arthur grinds out through his teeth, "I do not pay you to care about my feelings." (I AM ARTHUR PENDRAGON. I DON'T HAVE FEELINGS.)

"You do too!" Merlin insists. "If you're mad you need a fresh cup of tea and if you're happy I should bring you the latest Arsenal scores, which is stupid because you could just look them up online like any normal person..."

"If I get you pizza, will you shut up and agree to work late tonight?" Arthur interrupts.

"Will you put sardines on it like you usually do?"

"No," Arthur sighs. "No sardines."

"I'll go order it right now," Merlin says cheerfully, practically skipping out of Arthur's office at the prospect of melty cheese. It's almost cute, how a slice of pizza can cheer Merlin up so thoroughly. And by cute, Arthur means useful in a professional, workplace sort of way.

It turns out Arthur was right, of course. Merlin had taken the months Arthur was too busy with Vivian to breathe down his neck as an opportunity to completely slack on his filing, (this was actually his passive-aggressive way of sticking it to Arthur) and he's been hiding the folders under his desks so Arthur wouldn't figure out how many are out of place. Naturally, Merlin can't be trusted to file things on his own. What if his immune system fucks off again and Arthur has to, god forbid, access the 2001 census numbers? How is he supposed to know that Merlin files things by color (which must be why he spent an inordinate amount of the department's money on that 30-something set of sharpies) (Okay, no one hate on those Sharpie sets. My brother has one that I steal from all the time and it is the shit, let me tell you.) instead of alphabetically by subject like a normal person, or that each color has a strange call number that's a gibberish mish-mash of numbers and letters, all written on the top tab instead of the actual subject?

(So while I was writing this, whenever puckling would give this a read-through, this part would give her a minor aneurysm. I think, actually, she may have actually wept. Like, in real life. I think I made her cry. Apparently, her predecessor at her job had a similarly nonsensical filing system and she spent ages and ages re-doing it.

I personally don't get the problem. I pretty much had Merlin do the filing system I would make if I were in charge (though maybe not with the numbers - that part I added to be deliberately confusing), but I figured that was just me being crazy. UNTIL. The other day I was looking through someone's del.icio.us for fic recs and they had KCaCo and I was like "aw, yay, I wonder how many bookmarks it's up to now!" and then I looked sideways and was like HOLY FUCKING MALARKY, IT'S ALMOST TWO HUNDRED PEOPLE" so I went to look at people's notes and there were AT LEAST TWO OR THREE like "MERLIN'S FILING SYSTEM IS AMAZING AND MAKES PERFECT SENSE". And then I was gloating to ninja_orange about HAH HAH BEING SO RIGHT SUCK IT puckling, and she was like "that struck me too while I was reading, what on earth was Arthur complaining about?"

I THINK THIS MEANS I WIN. Well, that, or that fandom is populated more densely than the rest of the universe with non-linear/visual thinkers like myself.)

"You file education in yellow," Merlin says, muffled around the crust he's gnawing at like he's homeless. Arthur internally winces as Merlin's greasy fingers get all over the latest report on the status of preschool education. "Like a pencil, see. But not actual yellow, because that doesn't show well. And not Marigold, (these are the actual names of Ssharpie colors, and yes, I did spend a really long time on the Sharpie web site deciding which colors went with which subjects. Also, that's how I determined the spread of certain kinds of subjects Arthur would be looking into. I would think "He's spent too long doing green and blue things, he definitely needs to look into more purple and orange.") that's education budget, because it's uglier and budgets are always ugly, so use Dandelion for that folder. And then write in black write PR for preschool report, 09 for the year, and then a number rating on usefulness from one to a hundred."

"You most certainly were dropped on your head as a child, and everything useful got scrambled up," Arthur says, putting last month's NHS numbers in a folder and drawing a dot on it with red sharpie. It makes sense, he thinks, red like the Red Cross, right? (NO. HEALTH IS BLUE. BLUE, ARTHUR!!!)

"Are you filing the NHS under red?" Merlin yelps, scandalized. "Red and pink is foreign affairs, Arthur! And each shade means a different continent!" (DUH!)

"Well, now it's the NHS," Arthur says, getting up to stick it wherever he damn well pleases, but Merlin swallows his last mouthful of crust and flails after him.

"No!" He says, trying to grab for the file. "You're going to ask for those, and then I won't be able to find them, then you'll yell at me, and then I'll have to make you tea and you'll still be angry..."

"Ah, I'm taking over for you now, you can't be trusted," Arthur laughs, holding the folder just out of Merlin's reach. He hadn't realized he'd missed teasing Merlin, but Merlin's really, really terribly easy to tease, and he's been in such a sour mood for the last few months that any attempts had resulted in baleful glares.

"Just give... it... to... me..." Merlin grunts, and Arthur lets out a surprise whoosh of air when Merlin backs him into his bookshelf. He hadn't been looking behind him and then it's easy for Merlin to use his (extremely slight) height advantage to grab hold of Arthur's wrist. "Hah," he says quietly, grinning down at Arthur, whose heart starts beating strangely fast. "I win."

"You got me," Arthur agrees quietly, too nervous to move. For all his slightness, Merlin's really quite warm, or maybe it's warm in the office, because neither of them are wearing jackets and both have their sleeves rolled up, and Merlin's forearm is pressing into Arthur's and his hand is around Arthur's wrist, generating a frankly disproportionate amount of heat. (HELLO, MY WRIST AND FOREARM FETISH. I repeat, three ways to tell if a fic is by me - nuzzling, wrists/forearms, fucked up adverbs. I'm working on my tells.) Merlin's eyes flick over Arthur's face like a physical caress and Arthur wonders when Merlin is going to move and give him some air, because he's sure Merlin can feel Arthur's pulse through his wrist and therefore can tell his heart is about to explode. "Merlin," he says softly, like a plea.

"Arthur," Merlin whispers back, and then he kisses him. (Originally, I had VERY STRONG FEELINGS that there had to be no kissing until Arthur made that choice, but halfway through writing this section it became really, really clear to me that there had to be a catalyst for Arthur to start getting a clue, and while his breakup with Sophia and Merlin quitting MIGHT be enough, there was no catalyst for Merlin quitting. Merlin's so helplessly, ridiculously in love with Arthur that he's just as fucked-up and co-dependent as him. Every day he goes into work POSITIVE it's going to be the day Arthur snaps, or he gathers his courage, and every day he goes home beating himself up for not trying harder.

There were a few people, my cheerleaing squad included, who weren't sure why Merlin would put up with Arthur for three years being helplessly in love and doing nothing about it. My reasoning was this - this is based off my life, where I was Merlin and some other dude was Arthur, and it's gone on for over double the amount of time this story takes place. When you love someone, especially someone who's as in their own head and convinced of their own decisions the way Arthur is, it doesn't matter. Granted, it takes a certain kind of person to love someone who's got such strong convictions, especially if those convictions don't always end in happiness. And for those people, I can only say, as someone who has both loved someone like that very, very dearly, and as someone who is like that, it's a love-hate thing, the same way certain traits are in any relationship. Merlin, like all people in love, adores exactly what makes Arthur fucked up because those are the things that also make Arthur such a good person. On one hand, this is what makes Arthur so noble, so impassioned about helping people who cannot help themselves, so caring. Arthur is this knight in shining armor (in some universes, literally!) because of his strong convictions. On the flip side, his strong convictions make him neurotic, stubborn, self-sabotaging, exacting, judgemental, and, well, kind of a douche.

And Merlin, like all people who love other people, is both enraptured and pissed the hell off by Arthur's traits - good and bad. There are some days where we can totally put up with the various neuroses of the people we love, and there are some days where we say fuck it, we're just not that strong. And can you really blame Merlin for snapping on this particular day? The day where Arthur tells him he broke it off with his horrible girlfriend who Merlin has been agonized over for months because he hates her so much and knows Arthur hates her so much and why does Arthur want to go out with someone he hates rather than someone he adores, like Merlin? What's so wrong with Merlin? And not only does Arthur tell Merlin they're broken up, he's been flirting with him non-stop that day, and now they're staying late, and Arthur's all disheveled and yummy looking, and come on. Merlin's not that strong. Would you be?

All of this was why I decided that at this point, Merlin and Arthur had to kiss, Merlin had to be the instigator, and Arthur had to reject him. I hope my babbling has cleared up any character concerns.)

Automatically, Arthur feels himself let go of the folder in shock as Merlin's hand moves up to clutch at Arthur's hair, like he's afraid Arthur's going to pull away. Merlin's lips are soft and he kisses with so much fear and yearning Arthur's chest hurts. Maybe it's Arthur who's yearning, he thinks, his hand coming to cling onto Merlin's hideous sweatervest for some reason he can't name. It should be to push Merlin away, or even to keep himself upright from the shock that his assistant is kissing him very inappropriately and Arthur can't find it in himself to stop this, but it's really to keep Merlin press closer like Arthur can feel him straining to. If he does it will be just like that dream Arthur's been trying so hard to forget and not keep having again and again, the one where Merlin presses Arthur down onto some surface and starts groaning Arthur, Arthur, not in the aggravated way he does when Arthur decides at the last minute to change his lunch order, but like he's humming into Arthur's mouth now, happy, as if Arthur's a particularly good croissant. If he doesn't keep his hands in between himself and Merlin, Merlin's going to pull Arthur against him so Arthur can feel if Merlin's real body is as welcoming as it is in those dreams. Merlin's already kissing him sweeter than Arthur had ever imagined, even though it's the most chaste kiss Arthur's had since playing spin the bottle in Secondary school. He feels drunk. He wants to stop, somewhere in his gut he feels ill, feels the pizza churning in his stomach and a tiny voice in his brain screaming no, no, no. But his body's frozen into kissing back until Merlin parts his lips and gently runs his tongue along Arthur's lower lip, and it's too much, enough shock for Arthur to push Merlin away and try to regain his breath and composure. It isn't easy when Merlin's eyes are huge and his pupils are blown, or his lips are so red and puffy and spit-slick, or Arthur can see the bunching from where his fists were clenched against Merlin's chest.

"No," Arthur says hoarsely when Merlin makes like he's trying to step forward into Arthur's space again, hand out as if he's placating a wild animal. "Don't touch me."

"Arthur," Merlin sighs, still edging closer, but only enough to brush his fingers against Arthur's sleeve. "Arthur, please..."

"I said don't touch me," Arthur snaps, and Merlin jumps back, stung. Good, Arthur thinks vindictively, and then feels even more ill for how bitter that thought sounds.

"Did I do something wrong?" Merlin sounds so genuinely bewildered that Arthur huffs out a humorless laugh.

"Did you do... Merlin, you kissed me."

"Yeah," Merlin says sarcastically. "You seemed really torn up about that."

"It was exceedingly inappropriate," Arthur says, picking up the folder for distraction. "Workplace relationships are forbidden."

"Want to tell that to Gwen and Lance?" Merlin suggests.

"I can't control them," Arthur tries to reign in his patience. "I can, however, control myself."

"And how's that going for you?" Merlin advances on Arthur, who holds up the folder between them as a barrier. "Arthur, you're miserable, you're dating women you don't even like, you get angry and jealous every time I look at someone..."

"You're completely out of line..."

"Arthur, please," Merlin says, almost begs, and it breaks Arthur's heart. "We don't have to be unhappy. It doesn't have to be like this."

"This is exactly how it has to be," Arthur says, tone final. He hands Merlin the folder. "Put this away. I'll see you on Monday, and you will do me the courtesy of pretending this never happened."

Merlin looks somewhere between enraged and bewildered. "Do you the courtesy...?"

"And take the pizza out to the bin when you go," Arthur says. Merlin snaps his mouth closed and crosses his arm. "Please, Merlin," Arthur sighs. "For once, please don't argue with me."

With a sigh, Merlin snatches the folder and the pizza box, but he stops in the doorway and turns around. He looks positively miserable and Arthur hates himself more than he ever has in his entire life. "Arthur, I -" Arthur shuts his eyes and turns away.

"Please just leave," he says.

Merlin shuts the door without another word.



- - -

Ever since Arthur broke up with Vivian and he and Merlin had that... talk, something's been off about Merlin and the way he acts, which makes it clear that as usual, Merlin has ignored orders and has not forgotten anything ever happened. He's always asking "is that all, Arthur?" in this hopeful, expectant way like he's trying to prompt Arthur into doing something. He asks for time off at odd times, too, and stares moodily at his computer screen when he thinks Arthur isn't looking. Gwen, now sober and hellishly in love with Lance, refuses to speak with him on the subject of Merlin at all.

"I need you to tell me what's going on in this department!" Arthur rages at her in his office. "It's taking away from my productivity!"

"Arthur, I have a press briefing on that oil tanker spill," Gwen says, tucking a curl behind her ear. "You're making me less productive. Please go away."

He doesn't even bother asking Lance or Morgana. Lance hasn't been around long enough to know anything, and asking Morgana for advice is like stepping into a nest of poisonous vipers. She doesn't even work for him, no matter what she seems to think or how often she hangs around. He comes close to asking Gaius for advice, actually, he finds himself standing in Gaius' office clutching a file folder with his mouth working uselessly while Gaius peers at him over his half-moon glasses, one eyebrow raised as he perches on his desk.

"Arthur," he says gently, "is there something you wished to ask me?"

Abruptly, every inappropriate confession Arthur has ever wanted to tell someone but simply couldn't comes unbidden to his head. I'm terrified of small children and every time I'm near one I'm sure I'll break them. He thinks. (Sorry, guys, in case THIS didn't make it clear, I can't picture this universe's Merlin and Arthur having babies. They are extremely devoted uncles to Gwen and Lance's children, though) The Christmas I was fifteen, I told my father I felt too ill to listen to the queen's speech but really I was having a wank. (Only Arthur would actually feel bad about this. HE WAS FIFTEEN.) I wish my father had died instead of my mother. I seem to have developed an unnaturally strong affection for that assistant of mine, the same one you seem to feel is your long-lost nephew. I think he wants something from me and I hope I'm wrong about what it is because I'll never be brave enough to give it to him, even though I wish I could more than I think I've wanted anything in my life. I don't know how to want things, actually. Especially when they're other people. Especially when the other people are Merlin.

"I... no," he finally says. "Sorry."

"Arthur," Gaius calls, stopping him at the door. "Your department seems to be in a decidedly strange mood as of late. It's a beautiful June, and you and Merlin especially seem to be struck with winter malaise. See to it, please."

"Right," Arthur nods. "Of course, sir." He doesn't say that the extent of his influence over those people is whapping Merlin over the head with a manila folder and telling him to look alive, and he's already tried that several times to no effect. He doesn't know what Merlin's so mopey about, at any rate. Surely he must have known the consequences, must have realized that Arthur never could or would return whatever delusions of affection Merlin had built between them. It was inevitable that in working closely together the two of them had developed a certain fondness for each other, but did Merlin really imagine Arthur would throw away his career for to take that fondness farther, to indulge one night that would inevitably end in regret?

And if Arthur had made the non-regretful decision, what was he feeling now?

Despite all of Arthur's mulling, it doesn't become clear what's secretly going on until late Friday afternoon when Merlin knocks nervously on the doorframe to Arthur's office.

"You're knocking," Arthur says, looking up from the charts on unemployment rates he'd been brooding over but failing to understand for the last hour, instead turning the thought of Merlin over and over in his brain restlessly, like poking at a new bruise. "This must be a real catastrophe."

"I have something to give you," Merlin says, putting a plain envelope on Arthur's desk. "Here."

"Merlin," Arthur says, ripping it open, "they have this new invention I've heard about called e-mail, you really should look into it." Merlin refuses to respond, eyes fixed on the ground. With a sigh, Arthur reads the letter. Then, reads it again. A third time. His throat feels like it's closing up. "No," he says. "No, Merlin, please don't..."

"It's not because of what happened," Merlin says quickly, his eyes darting enough to let Arthur know that's at least half a lie. "Well, it's not just... But the British library had an opening and they're offering to help pay for my graduate school if I go there, and, well, I never really planned on being a career politician, Arthur, you have to have known that."

"No, right," Arthur says flatly. "I knew that."

"I already got a replacement," Merlin says, all professional efficiency. "You know Jas, the intern who works for Gaius?"

"Tiny girl, Indian, glasses?" Arthur asks. If it's who he's thinking of, she's extremely soft-spoken and gives the impression of subservience, but with a steely edge that leaves Arthur with no doubt that she could bully even the hardest of men into line with a single look. If she weren't engaged and nearly a decade his junior, Arthur is sure he would harbor a slight infatuation with her. He allows himself to feel a pang of irritation that Merlin's got him so well pegged.

"Yeah, she seemed excited."

"Well," Arthur manages, awkwardly. Merlin's staring at him like a dare, like he was expecting something to come out of Arthur's mouth, which Arthur thinks is extremely unlikely, given the fact that he feels distinctly like he can't breathe. "Have a good weekend, then."

"Okay."

Merlin manages to make closing a door sound disappointed. Arthur isn't quite sure how he does that.

(In case any of you are curious about whatever happened between me and the guy I based Arthur off of, imagine that instead of there being a kiss and me choosing to leave, I left because my time there was over, and this conversation happened, THE END. As in, everything after this I totally made up. My real-life version of this story ends here.

This is why fanfiction is not real life. Because if I wrote about real life, everyone would go WHY DID YOU END THE STORY THERE AAAAAAAAAUGH WTF and throw things at me. And I would not blame you.)

- - -

On Arthur's insistence, Merlin re-does his entire filing system - correctly - so another human being will be able to find whatever they're looking for. The colored dots are replaced with neat labels printed out on the computer, and Merlin even starts a database so Arthur can type into his computer whatever he's searching for and know that emissions standards are filed under E for Environmental Issues, and not T for Technology. Why Merlin never bothered to be this useful before, Arthur has no idea.

Jas also starts spending half-days with Merlin, taking notes in a Moleskine on all of Arthur's idiosyncrasies, preferences, and how to deal with every single person who may or may not walk through the office. Arthur at first keeps his door open a crack to make sure Merlin isn't maligning him, but once he determines that Merlin's being more than generous, he shuts the door tighter than ever. The sight of Jas' neat black ponytail is starting to make him feel ill.

Another advantage to the closed door is that it deters Gwen, who alternates between shooting him pointed and heinously sympathetic looks. "Stop it," he orders when he pops into her office to hand her a few notes on Gaius' stance on locally-grown food and the recent scandal over the tell-all book some MP's mistress wrote that alleged the reason Gaius never re-married after his wife died so young was that he preferred the company of pre-pubescent boys. (One day, Arthur would appreciate if someone could give him some insight on how people come up with these things, and furthermore why pictures of Gaius reading to a cancer ward with a young boy sitting on his lap in any way constitutes proof.)

"I didn't say anything," she always says breezily, but twenty seconds later she's staring at him like he's been diagnosed with a fatal disease. (Arthur is fatally a moron, does that count?)

Arthur refuses to let Merlin dress him for his next dinner with his father. For one thing, Morgana's off again, this time to Johannesburg, and she's the one who snipes if his suit jacket is slightly wrinkled or his cuffs are uneven and cites it as a sure sign of his inevitable downward spiral - his father just assumes he's been working hard. Also, Merlin's hands have been distracting him lately. They're irritatingly elegant when he flicks through papers, and sometimes Arthur finds himself staring at Merlin's long, tapered fingers as he types, unable to swallow around a strange lump of something in his throat. (Okay, seriously, if I had an interested Colin Morgan look-alike with interested Colin Morgan fingers sitting outside my office every day willing to use those Colin Morgan-like fingers on me in sexy, sexy ways as befitting of their insane sexiness, I would last a WEEK before being like "STEP INTO MY OFFICE, BABY, LET'S IGNORE THOSE RULES". Clearly, Arthur is a moron.)

Uther's townhouse is always extremely sobering and soul-crushing, certainly no place where Arthur can harbor thoughts on his assistant's hands, or any other attributes his assistant has, for that matter. He's greeted at the door by his father's butler/valet/handyman/paid wife, Leon, (STILL CRACKING MYSELF UP OVER HERE) who Uther hired the second he was forced into retirement when he wasn't re-elected and no longer had a personal assistant running his life from his office. That was five years ago, and Arthur still isn't sure how he feels about Leon, mostly because Leon still has yet to demonstrate a personality, which is probably why Uther hired him. Before that night, Arthur had only heard him say variations of "dinner is ready, sir" and "your coat, sir?", but when Leon takes Arthur's coat, he says, a bit timidly, "If you'll forgive me for saying so, sir, your father seems a bit... off."

Arthur blinks at him. "Off?" He repeats.

"He canceled his speaking appearance at the London School of Economics," Leon nods. "He never cancels a speaking appearance. (This also makes me laugh to myself. OF COURSE Uther never cancels a speaking appearance. That would mean that there are people in this world deprived of hearing his VERY IMPORTANT THOUGHTS. Ahahahha, oh Uther, you little shit. I love you.) And he's been looking at old photo albums of your mother. Sir."

Arthur sighs. His father looking at pictures of his mother is never a good sign. "Has he been going to the Carlton Club? Showing up at the House of Lords?"

Leon inclines his head in a nod. "He has," he says reluctantly, "but I believe he's been... clashing lately with some of the other members there. In regards to certain political stances, I mean. He often seems angry when he comes home, and I hear of... more passionate arguments as of late."

"Of course he is." Arthur rubs his forehead and grits his teeth against the budding headache he feels. If Leon's bringing this up, Arthur would bet that he's grossly understating these "clashes" and that the only reason they haven't shown up in the paper is that no one gives a toss about the House of Lords, and Uther Pendragon ranting and arguing isn't news so much as a matter of course. Only someone like Leon would notice an increase in passion or frequency. "He's charming like that, isn't he?"

"I just think he's lonely and perhaps a bit peeved about it, sir," Leon says, but shuts his mouth and refuses to say more at the sound of Uther's approaching footsteps.

The roast is drier and the conversation more stilted than usual that night, which is why Arthur's surprised when his father invites him for a nightcap before he leaves. In all the years that he's been coming to visit his father for dinner, he hasn't been invited for a nightcap since he graduated, not even when Gaius was elected, though he supposes that had more to do with his father's party pride than Arthur's relative accomplishment.

"It's nearly been 30 years since your mother died," his father says out of the blue. Arthur does the quick math in his head - he just turned 31, so yes, yes it is almost thirty years to the day. "In some ways, you're like her, you know."

"Really?" Arthur says politely. He's always supposed he must be, since parts of him are so little like his father. All he's ever known about his mother, apart from her face from a few pictures, was that she died when her brakes malfunctioned - a malfunction that could have been prevented had Uther voted on stricter government oversight for automobiles - and that the press had run roughshod over his father, alternating between blame and stifling pity. Ever since, Uther has had a near-legendary phobia of driving in cars that are not his own obsessively-checked fleet and vehement hatred for the press, which is another reason Arthur supposes he and Morgana are at loggerheads so often. (Also, Morgana, though she will never, ever admit it, became interested in journalism at first simply because it pissed Uther off. Now she just likes it.)

"She was quite liberal, you know," Uther chuckles, reminiscent. "I met her on a charitable visit to Oxfam - she ran part of the literacy program. Soft-hearted. Dressed a bit like a hippie. Took me completely by surprise."

Arthur remains silent. This is more information than every tidbit that's been dropped accidentally in front of him in his life.

"I've come to realize that perhaps her death was a blessing in disguise," Uther says quietly, and Arthur freezes, scotch halfway to his mouth. (OH MY GOD, UTHER. Can you imagine your dad saying that to you? I just. OH MY GOD, UTHER. IT PHYSICALLY PAINED ME TO TYPE HIM SAYING THIS.) "It's given me... drive. A reason to dedicate myself to my work. And it's your work that makes you remembered. You're dedicated to your work, Arthur. You understand."

Arthur coughs and sips his scotch so his father can't see his face. It was horrifyingly easy to picture himself in his father's place - he's heading there at a frightening pace. Alone, friendless, nothing to look forward to every day, convincing himself that his (utterly pointless, if he's honest with himself) work truly is worthwhile to the course of human history in order to justify his existence. The only thing that's kept him from going there, really, has been Merlin. If it weren't for Merlin, whose face would be enough to bring him into work every day? Who would fix him coffee and goad him into being kind, who would bring him his lunch and his tea and his files, who would make him laugh? And how long will it take, if Arthur loses Merlin, before he turns into the bitter shadow of a man in front of him, mourning something he let slip between his fingers?

It's then, tipsy on Scotch and looking at his father's unfocused, slightly miserable eyes, that Arthur decides, fuck it all.

This is never who he wants to be.

(Though ultimately, this is why I had Uther say what he said even though it kind of made me nauseous. MY LITTLE ARTHUR, ALL GROWED UP.)

- - -

Jane Austen is the first to get lovingly packed up in the cardboard box on Merlin's desk, followed by Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare, in that order. Merlin's already cleared out his food debris and straightened all the files in the desk drawers. Next go his pens because Jas hates them, and the now-defunct sharpies. After that, the photographs. Then, slowly, the comics come down, Merlin smiling sadly at each one before either putting it in a pile he packs up slowly, reluctantly, as if he's dreading leaving Arthur as much as Arthur is - which is ridiculous, Merlin's the one who chose to leave. Arthur's the one who's forced to stare avidly through the crack in his door, almost calling Merlin into his office every time he stops work to put another thing in his box of personal items - his mugs for tea, his extra headphones. Every time Arthur thinks that this mini-break will be the one that he calls Merlin into his office and somehow conveys the exact extent to which he's desperately in love with Merlin, can't live without him, and how very necessary it is that they take the rest of the day off of work for in order to properly deal with the state of emergency that's going on in Arthur's pants whenever he thinks too long about how lovely Merlin's eyes or wrists or neck is. Or, really, when he thinks about Merlin at all. Perhaps they could also have a de-briefing (and Gwen says he has no sense of humor). Arthur keeps thinking up plan after plan, but when he goes to implement them, Merlin's gone back to work, or gotten up to say goodbye to the millionth person who's stopped in to wish him well, or is staring into space looking so utterly lovely Arthur loses his nerve altogether.

It goes on like this all day until it's seven, and everyone else has left for the night except Merlin and Arthur, who are staring at each other through Arthur's doorway over the box on Merlin's desk, daring each other to make this happen first. It's Merlin who breaks, getting up with a sigh and entering Arthur's office, shutting the door behind him even though there's no one this late on a Friday who could possibly infringe on their privacy.

"Well." Merlin stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I guess this is goodbye then."

"Right," Arthur says. The walls feel like they're closing in on him, but he bravely adjusts his coat and comes to stand in front of his desk formally. "Well, it's been... not an honor, exactly, but a strange sort of privilege."

Merlin gives an odd little snort, ducking his head. "It's one way to put it."

"Right." Uncomfortable silence descends on them again, the same one that's been between them ever since... well. Merlin takes one hand out of his pocket and sticks it out for Arthur to shake, utterly steady, and as Arthur takes it and pumps their hands up and down he keeps thinking no, this isn't it, this can't be it. Because this is the moment his entire life's been working towards. It isn't running for parliament or being the Prime Minister, both of which are jobs he doesn't even fucking want to do, anyways. It wasn't to date Alice or Vivian or even Gwen, as perfect and lovely as she was. This is why he's been miserable for so many years, this is why Merlin kissed him, so he could stand in his office with the setting sun on Merlin's face and finally have the courage to say I will never allow myself to be my father and I am allowed to be happy.

Swallowing, Arthur stretches out his fingers and brushes them along the inside of Merlin's wrist (I'M NOT SORRY.) where the skin is impossibly soft and delicate. If Merlin notices, he doesn't give any indication, just is quizzically examining Arthur as if waiting for some reason as to why they're still clasping hands but not shaking anymore, frozen. But Arthur can't offer an explanation for the first time in his life, so he steps forward into Merlin's space, their hands trapped between them.

"Arthur?" Merlin asks, swallowing.

"Please just..." Arthur lets go of Merlin's hand to run his fingers up Merlin's arm. The gesture makes Merlin's eyelashes flutter shut and eyebrows draw together in what could be emotion or anger. But when Arthur brings his hand to stop over Merlin's heart, he can feel the frantic pounding, like it's trying to leap out of Merlin's narrow chest and into Arthur's palm. "I don't know how..."

"Arthur," Merlin repeats, sighing. His other hand comes up to cover Arthur's, and for a terrible moment Arthur's sure Merlin is going to lift his hand and say sorry, this train has left the station, but instead he leaves it there. Warm. Comforting. Not moving away from Arthur even though they're so close that Arthur can smell that Merlin had gotten himself one of those girly Starbucks drinks he likes so much with the whipped cream halfway through the afternoon.

"I want..." Arthur whispers, still afraid to voice it in case he gets slapped away. Merlin's mouth quirks upwards just slightly and his head seems to unconsciously dip closer and that's enough permission for Arthur to fist his hands in Merlin's jumper (his navy blue date jumper Arthur realizes a little giddily) (That? Was totally on purpose. He was trying to tempt Arthur one last time. He never, ever throws out that sweater. Ever. Even when it gets holes in it. he folds it up and keeps it in a special drawer of keepsakes. Arthur likes to point out that he'd been planning on kissing Merlin even if he was wearing his most heinous tie and sweatervest combination, but Merlin maintains it's the power of the sweater and refuses to believe otherwise.) and press their mouths together, taste the mocha chips and soured taste of cream. He feels dimly like the rest of the world has fuzzed out, like his brain is on mute and not running through disaster scenarios, which is weird, like everything is so good his throat feels thick and his eyes feel prickly and he could just die here, he could die from joy when Merlin moans softly and wraps one arm around his neck and the other around his waist in a vice-like grip. He's pressing them so close that there's nothing in the universe but the two of them and their ragged breathing before they nudge back into each other, kissing and kissing and kissing because it's the only thing they can possibly do.

"God," Merlin breathes. His hands keep running down Arthur's face like he's a blind man trying to make sure Arthur's really there. "Arthur, I thought, I thought you wouldn't."

Arthur nods and swallows, pressing their foreheads together. "I had to," he says. "I had to once. If I didn't, I'd just. I couldn't live with myself. Not if I didn't."

Merlin makes a soft noise, almost like regret, and when Arthur pulls back enough to look at him. Merlin's eyes are soft in that expression Arthur's seen so many times and never dared to hope before was some sort of affection. (It was, Arthur, and everyone but you knew that.)

"Come home with me?" He asks, leaning his head down against Merlin's shoulder and closing his eyes so he can't see Merlin's reaction, but he needn't. Merlin's silent for a few moments before letting out a little choked laugh.

"You're pretty sure of yourself," he says. "What makes you think I'm that kind of girl?"

"I've already bought you dinner a few hundred times," Arthur says dryly. "Call it a hunch."

"Prat," Merlin laughs, kissing Arthur's forehead before moving away. "Okay, give me your keys though, I'm driving us."

Arthur crosses his arms and glares. "It's my car."

"You're shaking," Merlin says gently, and Arthur realizes, when he puts his hand down against his desk to steady himself, it's true. It's a fine tremor, but it's one Merlin would feel because they were just very close and - oh god.

"I, uh." He coughs. "I've wanted - that is, I've never with another... and I've wanted for... Shit."

"Me too." Merlin's voice is still gentle, but there's a note of real, raw regret in there that makes it hard for Arthur to breathe. "And that's why I refuse to die in a car crash before I have sex with you."

This time, when Arthur full-body shudders and his knees have trouble supporting him, he can't even pretend not to notice.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice abruptly loses all edge of mockery. "Arthur, I was kidding, if it's too much for you -"

"If you finish that sentence, I will hire you back just long enough to fire you," Arthur grits out. "Just, Christ, if you talk about that in here again I'm going to do something very, very regrettable."

"Right then!" Merlin exclaims cheerfully after a few moments of awkward silence where neither of them can speak from the tension in the air between them, so much thicker now that they both acknowledge it, burning hot enough that the room temperature goes up a few degrees. He's a bright, bright pink and Arthur thinks dimly that something regrettable might happen right here, right now, damn it all. "I'll just... better go get the car running, then?"

"I think that's for the best," Arthur agrees, fishing around for his keys in his pocket before tossing them over. "Let me just, um, gather my stuff. I'll be out in a few."

"If you're not, I'm stealing your car," Merlin says, and after a moment of indecision grabs Arthur's face and swoops in for a brief, hard kiss that makes Arthur very, very glad he's gripping onto the desk. "Right," Merlin pants when he pulls away. "So you should, you know, hurry."

"Right then," Arthur says, watching Merlin back out of his office, grab his cardboard box, and flee. When Merlin's gone, he allows himself to collapse against the desk and laugh slightly manically for a few moments. This was it. This was what he agonized over, violently suppressed, and made himself miserable with for three years, and as easy as that, it's gone. This is what was going to ruin his career.

And, well, if this is ruining his career, it's never felt so good.

(I thought a lot about if there should be a sex scene here. I kept going back and forth, and I kept thinking "you know, I always feel ROBBED when I'm dragged along this much and there's NO SEX." But then I thought about, okay, what would I be trying to achieve in a sex scene? Because you can't just throw in a sex scene, you have to think about what the action scene is trying to say in the greater story, otherwise, okay, it's great, but kind of gratuitous. And I have a lot of problems writing sex scenes, so it better be REALLY WORTH IT. And when I thought about it, it wasn't worth it. They'd already emotionally laid themselves completely bare and the poor boys needed privacy. Them physically demonstrating what's already been demonstrated wasn't really needed.

That was my excuse, anyway.

- - -

Arthur wakes up to someone tracing his face. "Mmmmmmrmph," he grumbles, nudging into the fingers. He has no idea who it is, but it feels nice. Tickly, but nice. He hears Merlin huff out a laugh. Good, he thinks vaguely. It's good to know that the last couple of hours weren't some sort of holographic sex fantasy. "Time's it?"

"Very late," Merlin whispers, his hand stilling. "Or very early."

"Hm," Arthur says, mourning the loss of Merlin's hand as he retracts it with one last, fond brush along Arthur's jawline, apparently satisfied. He wonders if Merlin really enjoys that, just... feeling Arthur's face after he's looked at it for so many years. Curiously, he reaches out and places his hand against Merlin's cheek, fascinated. It's not the feeling of Merlin's thin cheek that's so nice as the way that Merlin's face moves under his hand, the way he smiles slightly and his eyelashes flutter. Arthur wants to kiss him, suddenly, just for being so wonderful, and then he remembers he can.

Merlin tastes bad - stale, breath too hot, but it's good, because this way Arthur knows it's real, that Merlin's elbows he's struggling to free so he can wrap his arms around Arthur are his, not a dream that Arthur's going to wake up from and then spend the next day watching Merlin's elbows at his desk and pretending he's not doing that at all.

But Merlin will never be at that desk anymore. Jas will, and Merlin's leaving him. Well, not really leaving him, but leaving. And he can't, he still can't, Arthur doesn't know how to live without Merlin almost every day, smiling and making terrible jokes and with his hair sticking up just so.

"Don't go," Arthur whispers when he pulls away for air, panting.

"Not going," Merlin agrees, kissing Arthur's nose, his forehead, the high point of his cheekbone, soothing.

"I love you," Arthur says. It's too soon to say, he knows as soon as Merlin pulls away, eyes wide and staring at Arthur like he's never seen him before. Arthur stares back, refusing to back down from the challenge. He does, he thinks, strangely defiant. So what if it's only been, like, six hours since he first let himself kiss Merlin back, properly? It's how he feels. And it hasn't been six hours, really, this has been going on for years, building layer after layer until it's become too big between them to ever just be a one-off release. Merlin knows that. He has to know that.

"You... really?" Merlin squeaks, eyes huge. "I didn't think you... I thought you just... you needed to. Once."

"No," Arthur says hoarsely. "I need... I need a lot. Very much. Often. From you."

"Arthur," Merlin says, choked sounding, and then surges up to kiss him again. Arthur's just glad that out of that inarticulate jumble that fell out of his mouth, Merlin seems to have understood what he meant, if the way he's clutching Arthur closer is any indication.

"You too?" Arthur mumbles against Merlin's mouth, not quite willing to part with his lower lip.

"What?"

Merlin pulls away, and Arthur darts in for one last taste before going, "Love me too."

"Of course I do, you idiot," Merlin laughs, but he presses a kiss to Arthur's temple, like he doesn't really mean the 'idiot' part, but Arthur knows he does. "I can say with complete honesty that if I wasn't madly in love with you, I, like any sane person, would have quit two months into my job."

"That long?" Arthur asks, pressing himself against Merlin for re-assurance.

"You took a long time to come around," Merlin says, tucking Arthur under his chin and stroking his hair as if Arthur were child. Surprisingly, Arthur finds he doesn't much mind.

"Sorry," he says into Merlin's chest. "Here now."

"Mmm."

They're quiet for a long time, long enough that Arthur starts dozing again, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he won't fake being sick on Monday just to avoid Jas. Maybe he'll actually go in and face her and the fact that she's not Merlin, since he's got Merlin in a new way now - a better way. Of course, he might not have any assistant at all if he's really as terrible as Merlin says he is.

"I'm not that bad a boss, am I?" he mumbles. "I mean, Jas isn't going to be gone in six weeks, is she? 'Cause I don't want to have to go looking for a new assistant all over again..."

"Not the time to be discussing your treatment of employees," Merlin says, sounding half asleep as he strokes through Arthur's hair.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Arthur sighs, and between one pass of Merlin's hand and the next, he falls asleep, boneless and content for the first time he can remember.

- - -

It's surprisingly un-weird to have Merlin not in the office. Proving once again that he was like nothing more than a particularly lovable fungus, Merlin had somehow managed to move into Arthur's flat within a week, claiming quite rightly that Arthur's flat was closer to work and school, and it only made sense that way. On some level, Arthur logically knew their relationship was in its fledgling stages and that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to let Merlin gleefully re-arrange bookshelves and get rid of double kitchen appliances, but it was very hard to stick to logic when coming home actually seemed like a positive prospect for the first time in his entire life.

(Fledgling stages, schmedgling stages, they've been secretly dating for years.)

"And you're sure this isn't too fast?" Merlin had asked him solemnly after Arthur had caught him moving his scarf drawer in.

"No," Arthur had said frankly, kissing the tip of Merlin's nose which he found an extremely useful trick in his ongoing quest to make Merlin shut up and listen to him. It was best deployed in the middle of a stupid argument over something like how they planned on having their eggs that morning, because the element of surprise was usually enough to make whatever Merlin was about to say grind to an abrupt halt, mouth gaping, and Arthur could lean in and kiss him properly next, which always made Merlin much more amenable. Sometimes, though, Merlin's nose looked just so and he had to kiss it for no reason other than it was there and he could. "But I am sure that I'm no longer capable of functioning without you bothering me for at least half of my day, and I'm beyond positive that I'd move you in even if you weren't sleeping with me in order to have you make me coffee every morning. Jas' is strong enough to form an angry mob and declare independence."

"Yes, yes, your life is like a Dickens novel without me," Merlin had said, waving him off with a flush of satisfaction creeping its way up the back of his neck, hot under Arthur's stroking fingers in a thoroughly delightful manner.

"Don't mock my pain," Arthur said solemnly. "You must, for queen and country, make me a pot of coffee."

So Merlin still makes Arthur his coffee, at least on the mornings Arthur allows him out of bed to do so. He sleeps so nicely, is the problem, cheeks a little pink, mouth parted, hair askew. The quality of Arthur's work in the office may be at an all-time high, but his rate of productivity, especially in the mornings, is at an all-time low. It's simply impossible not to lean over and run his lips along one of Merlin's poky shoulders, and then Merlin will murmur and roll back into Arthur, smiling faintly as his eyes flutter open, and then how is Arthur supposed to leave bed without kissing Merlin everywhere? Merlin never has his graduate courses until 9:30 at the earliest, which is plenty of time for sleepy, hushed, lazy sex, which before Merlin Arthur had never had or understood the desire for. But now... now Merlin's in his bed and he's his own boss and to hell with it, he'll have a bit of a lie-in if he wants.

Gaius seems to approve, at any rate. "You look positively radiant, Arthur," he smiles when Arthur shuffles in sheepishly at 11 in the morning on one of Merlin's days off, collar just covering a mark Merlin made in a hastily-planned moment of passion, and his hair is still wet from the shower he'd only managed to have when he'd finally appeased Merlin (and mostly himself) with a good ten minutes of farewell kissing. There is a tiny bit of his pride that balks at this ridiculous creature he's become, but it's mostly soothed by the promise of Merlin, Merlin, sex with Merlin, lots of sex, Merlin! "I do think this new schedule is agreeing with you."

"Um, right," Arthur says awkwardly.

"And Merlin, I'm assuming, is similarly well? You're keeping him happy?" For an old man with Dumbledore glasses who may as well be Merlin's kin, Gaius manages to make that statement sound mortifying and filthy.

(Oh please, Arthur, Gaius has been running the 10 Downing betting pool for years. Actually, I had sort of decided that Gaius had asked Merlin to work for Arthur specifically, because he'd grown fond of Arthur during the campaign season and thought he and Merlin would make good friends, and it wasn't until Merlin started mooning pathetically that Gaius started getting all proud of himself.)

"Er," Arthur coughs. "I... I should hope so. I mean, I think. Goddamit, Gaius!"

"Right, right, I apologize," Gaius' face looks utterly solemn but his eyes are twinkling wickedly. Arthur wonders if Merlin learned that trick from Gaius, or vice-versa. "I do forget how terribly British you are, sometimes."

"And as the Prime Minister, you are, of course, the expert on all things British," Arthur shoots back, and then adds, "...sir."

"That I am," Gaius nods. "And as such, I order you not to come into work until you damn well please. Now tell me how Gwen plans to spin the continued rise in unemployment."

If Gwen's constant smile and increasingly excellent performance during press conferences is any indication, the new schedule is suiting her as well.

"First of all," she says when Arthur goes into her office to discuss the changes in hours with her, "I won't say I told you so, but I absolutely told you so."

"Yes, yes," Arthur flops down in her visitor's chair. "I am looking into bestowing knighthood upon you."

Gwen looks pleased. "See? You even have a sense of humor now. That's a lovely new development. You never used to have one when you insisted on starting work at seven."

"I'll have you know I'm a constant delight at all hours," Arthur sniffs.

"Of course you are," Gwen soothes. "But it's also nice for the rest of us to get a lie-in occasionally."

"Speaking of which, those are some lovely flowers Lance sent you on your desk there," Arthur says innocently. "He's enjoying his extra sleep as well, hm?"

It's nice to know he can still fluster Gwen enough to reduce her to blushing and indignant spluttering.

The only thing that leaves Arthur with a bad taste in his mouth about the whole matter is that it turns out Merlin does have a strong work ethic, he just never bothered to use it when he was working for Arthur.

"Hello, Merlin," Arthur says, leaning on Merlin's office door (Arthur uses the term "office" lightly, it's really like a large-ish broom closet filled floor-to-ceiling with books and a few pieces of furniture, Kilgharrah swimming happily in his tank in the corner), where he's curled up on his squashy couch taking notes on what looks like a book about the history of salt. (This book actually exists. Also, I hear it's good.) Honestly. "It's nice to see you're alive."

"What?" Merlin blinks over the edge of the book. "What are you doing here? I thought you were working until five."

"I was," Arthur agrees, sitting down and plucking the book out of Merlin's hands, but he takes care to bookmark where Merlin was with a post-it in order to stave off indignant squawking. (Poor Arthur. He's done this a few times and Merlin's refused to sleep with him (for fifteen minutes, Arthur's very, very sorry) because Arthur broke the spine or folded the page over. This is something Arthur considers an occupational hazard to dating a librarian, along with Merlin arranging all the books by Dewey Decimal system.) "And Gaius is fully prepared for Question Time on Monday. Actually, he was prepared at four thirty, which was five hours ago."

"What, really?" Merlin fishes his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, and you tried calling me, a lot."

"Yeah, but you silence your ringer at work." (Another occupational hazard.)

"Well that's what's professional," Merlin grumbles, but he lets himself be pulled practically into Arthur's lap, who buries his face in Merlin's dark hair and sighs. He's been missing Merlin the entire stupid day, and his poky elbows, and the way his shampoo smells, and all he wanted when he came home was Merlin waiting for him, which he doesn't think is so much to ask. It's Saturday, for goodness sakes.

"I don't like this new professionalism of yours," he mumbles.

"You?" Merlin looks incredulous. "You don't like my new professionalism."

"Well," Arthur coughs uncomfortably, rubbing his hand up and down Merlin's arm in a nervous gesture. "I've recently come to realize that there are some things that may be, well. Slightly more important than work."

Merlin smiles gently. "Are there, now?"

"A few, yes." Arthur mutters. "Not too many, mind you, but some."

"Really," Merlin smiles. "Like what, pray tell?"

Arthur turns his nose into one of Merlin's ears and whispers "You."

He doesn't even have to open his eyes to know how widely Merlin smiles.

(And they lived very, very, VERY happily ever after. THE END. Thank you for putting up with me, everyone!)