Written for cpointss for the Merlahad Secret Santa Exchange 2015. Merry ludicrously belated Christmas and Happy Lunar New Year!
A million thanks to my editor Sherry (austinlanghams) who spent 5 hours editing the final version with me over google docs! She's a champion, don't know how any of my fics would get published without her input.
Two figures stood on the back porch of the sprawling Hertfordshire estate, silhouetted against the warm light spilling from the windows. Puffs of vapour from their breaths spun lazily through the air as they exhaled, the only thing stirring in the white landscape around the palladian mansion.
"Mysterious as always. Can't spare even a clue?"
"You do trust me, don't you?"
"I'm sure you already know the answer to that."
"You know what, I'll take that as a compliment. C'mon."
Gloved fingers intertwined, one pulled the other forward, the latter making his way gracefully down the steps despite the blindfold obstructing his vision. Silently, they made their way along the gently downhill-sloping path, with nothing but the muffled crunch of powdery snow compacting under their feet. It didn't take long before their linked hands found their way around each other's waist, with shoulders pressed together, sharing their body heat as they walked.
"We're here. Don't look until I tell you to."
Merlin guided Harry by his shoulders, pushing him gently into a sitting position on the tartan blanket that had been weighed down with a picnic basket and a flickering lantern. Outwardly he operated with a calm, firm touch, pulling gently to loosen the cloth ties holding the blindfold to Harry's eyes. Inside was a rather different scene, his heart threatening to beat its way out of his chest, anxiety clawing at the pit of his stomach. A thousand insecurities surged forth from the recesses of his mind.
Is this too simple? What if he hates being out in the cold? Does he even like hot chocolate? Dear god…
With a final tug at the fabric, Merlin pulled the blindfold from Harry's face.
"You can open your eyes now."
Harry was blown away. For a moment, he sat in stunned silence, marvelling at the picturesque sight before him, the blue-grey of the pond's surface framed by snow-laden branches arching out over the frozen water. In the distance, the Kingsman estate seemed to glow in the beginnings of sunset, soft orange-pink light throwing itself across the powdery landscape.
Then he turned to face the earnest, expectant face of the man who sat beside him, whose eyes brimmed with anticipation and trepidation all at once. Harry failed to suppress a grin that split his face and had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of Merlin swathed in the oversized scarf and the fuzzy bomber hat he'd gifted the previous Christmas – it had constantly infuriated him how the man never wanted to dress warmly and refused to voluntarily put on headgear that actually kept him warm, having considered it "not very dignified".
"What is it?"
"You look–"
"Daft?"
Merlin's cheeks were tinged slightly pink. Harry suspected that it wasn't just the cold at work there.
"No."
He flung himself, arms outstretched to trap the bespectacled man in a forceful bear-hug, the two toppling over onto the tartan as he pressed his lips against his wizard's cheek.
"You look warm. And if I may say so, adorable."
Lying prone in momentary shock, it took a moment for Merlin to relax into Harry's embrace. One arm curling around the other man's waist, and the other reaching across the upper back to pull him in closer. They enjoyed each other's warmth in silent contentment for a long while, Harry's breath caressing his cheek. His insecurities seemed to melt away, no more than a distant memory. There were times he wished he were better at voicing his affection for the man in his arms, but on days like this, he hoped actions would carry the sentiment across just as well.
"Harry."
"M-hmm?"
"I've got another surprise."
"Is it hot chocolate? I do love hot chocolate on cold days."
"That, and something a little more…substantial."
Grasping the two pairs of boots behind the picnic basket by the laces, he held them aloft, a sheepish grin playing on his lips.
"Would be a pity to let nature's ice rink go to waste, wouldn't it?"
This can't be that hard, surely. I mean, look at him go!
Merlin's lithe figure glided across the surface of the pond effortlessly, seeming unhampered by the layers he wore. Harry, however, had only managed a few cautious steps onto the slippery surface. Opting to stay by the snowy bank, his eyes traced the graceful strength of his other's sharpened blades moving in powerful strokes as they slid to an aggressive braking stop in the centre of the pond's frozen surface, accompanied by a powdery shower of ice crystals.
"Don't stand there all by yourself, c'mon, the ice isn't going to swallow you!"
Harry straightened, summoned every residual childhood memory of skating he could manage – has it really been over a decade since I last picked up the skates? – and slid over to Merlin with his head held aloft. His hopes of managing some semblance of competent skating were quickly dashed, as a couple of forceful steps propelled him forward with uncontrolled speed into Merlin's awaiting arms, very nearly bowling them both over.
"I take it you're out of practice on skates."
"I won't deny that a bit of warming up is in order."
Just the slightest hint of a smile pricked at Merlin's lips as he took Harry's hands in his, skates sweeping gently backwards, pulling Harry along behind him. Harry being less than stellar at skating was strangely endearing, even as he attempted to mask his inaptitude on the ice with a show of unshakable confidence. One of the many traits that landed many an agent through the ages their place amongst the Kingsman's ranks, yet one that too often led to disagreements between the knights. Harry had moulded what would ordinarily be arrogant veil into gentlemanly grace. And Merlin adored him for it all the more.
Their traverse across the ice was growing surer and more synchronised by the minute – he was frankly amazed at how quickly Harry was adapting to the motions. The clutch on his hands had transitioned from apprehensive to assertive, and soon they'd left his grip altogether, his partner pulling up to skate alongside him hand-in-hand. It wasn't long before the two men were gliding harmoniously across the frozen water, a pas de deux in time to unheard music.
A wizard and a knight – the perfect pair. Who'd have thought?
Harry was falling in love with a side of Merlin he'd never known. A whole new show of poetry in motion that, for once, didn't involve weapons or lethal force. Every turn, every touch, every weave in and out of the other's arms carved into frozen parchment – a physical sonnet they composed together. Such moments were surprisingly rare occurrences for him in the seven years he'd spent with Kingsman. There were days he wondered if he'd made a wise decision surrendering his life to an organization that filled half of his waking hours with making split-second decisions to kill or be killed.
But then, he had Merlin. And that thought was easily more than enough kept him going. He'd had an inkling his colleague had more than just a soft spot for him from the very first time he'd woken in the medical wing at headquarters to Merlin dozed off in a chair at his side, while scarcely being able to recall the circumstances that landed him there in the first place. Ever since, the wizard's voice in his ear was all the safety net he needed to push on, even whilst bleeding out from multiple bullet-wounds or clawing his way out of debris from an explosion catching him mid-escape.
As long as Merlin's around, everything will be all right.
His companion broke away from him then, the powerful lunges of his legs culminating in a great leap, time seeming to slow as the man spun through the air counterclockwise, achieving a full rotation and a half before landing backwards on a single blade with a barely noticeable quiver. Even that was swiftly masked by gliding in a wide arc, skating in reverse now – an effortless performance, all for him alone to savour.
More than anything, Harry was grateful. Grateful for the bond they had. Grateful that he was alive to share in those moments. Life as a Kingsman involved knowing full well a treacherously sudden trip to the pearly gates was part and parcel of everyday proceedings.
It was strange, how he might have never known this life with Merlin had he not been plucked from death's cold embrace by the very same man a year ago. It was funny how things worked out.
I don't know what I've done to deserve him, but I hope this lasts forever.
A year ago
A yelp and loud thump preceded a static screeching in Merlin's ear, very nearly causing him to pull the trigger on his rifle. Composing himself, he could just make out uneven gasping breaths coming through his earpiece, a twinge of worry nagging at the back of his mind.
"Galahad, status update, now."
There was a moment of silence, the gasps momentarily stopping as if to summon the strength to speak, followed by a choked cough.
"Galahad."
Merlin spoke again, his voice urgent, strained. Hoping his guesses were mistaken. Wishing he could see what was happening. A weak, garbled voice came through, words mangled by crackling static.
"Miss…on compromi…, targ… escaped, security inco…ng. Leave..."
It was every bit as bad as he'd feared.
"Do you require extraction, Galahad?"
Silence. Before he could ask again, the struggling voice, sounding even smaller this time, spoke.
"Be…ond sa…ing. Leav… …e."
No, no, no, NO!
Instantly, memories of the ex-Tristan's death flooded his mind – the overpowering rush of fear and self-hatred he'd felt as he'd sat at his station clutching a broken pencil stub, attempting – in a voice far less stable and convincing than he desperately needed – to reassure Tristan that Kay had been dispatched for rescue. Every agonized groan and ragged inhale had pushed Merlin closer to the edge of his seat, lamenting his powerlessness in isolation, doomed to waiting helplessly while his colleague was in the process of expiring at the other end of the line.
All he could do, as Tristan's distressed struggle to stay alive faded into silence, was listen. It was the first death he'd witnessed as Merlin.
That moment still haunted him to this day.
It would be different this time. He wasn't prepared to let another agent die under his watch, not while he was on the field with them. Especially not Harry, who'd squiggled his way into his life and made himself a confidante over the years.
"No, I decide when someone's beyond saving, Galahad. I'm coming for you."
By the time he'd reached the room marked for infiltration, the bodies left in his wake hardly registered in his mind. Merlin headed straight for the singular suited figure lying on his side with his back to the door. With his brain running a million miles a minute, he crouched, gently turning the agent over onto his back, hoping for the best but dreading the worst.
The sight that greeted him made time grind to a halt.
Harry's left arm was locked against his chest, hand drenched in crimson and clutched tight against his right breast, the fabric of his suit saturated in blood. The remaining six inches of a wickedly sharp blade protruded from between his fingers. A sudden fit of strangled coughing left rivulets of blood cascading down his cheeks where the liquid life escaped from the corners of his mouth.
Merlin thought he'd have gotten used to the sight by now, but all he felt was nausea and a deep dread clawing at his insides.
God, how is the man still alive?!
Before he had the chance to speak, he found himself tasting the metallic tang of blood, lips crushed against the wounded knight's – whose own two hands held Merlin's head in place. It took him a full few seconds to recover from the initial shock before he retracted from the grasp in stupefied silence. Harry, paler than he'd ever seen, locked eyes with him, a shadow of a smile surfacing on his scarlet-stained lips through the obvious pain as he attempted to form words between shallow breaths.
"Sorry,…should've…told you…earlier. Might be…the last…"
Confusion gave way to comprehension. The never-ending feedback on his gadget development. Additional strategy meetings before assignments. All the times Harry stopped by with tea and biscuits on late nights. He hadn't jumped to conclusions regarding the frequent visits – just thought it a quirk of the newest knight to the ranks. It didn't stop him from quietly enjoying the other's company and sensing a growing emptiness in the silences that permeated his absence however. Emotional attachment wasn't something he needed to muddle his sensibilities on a job like his, he'd rationalised, in an attempt to remove the all-too-present distracting thoughts. Still, he'd parked his growing fondness for Harry on the backburner and left the feelings to stew, warming over time. Now that pot of emotion was boiling over.
A fierce protectiveness surged through him as his hand found his way to Harry's, their fingers intertwining – the only way he knew to return his affection for fear of causing further injury. Now his own breath had hitched in his throat, vision obscured with tears he desperately tried to hold back because dammit this is NOT the time for emotion to override focus.
"I'm getting you out of here alive. Don't you dare die on me."
Is it morning already?
Harry couldn't remember a time where he'd felt such overpowering exhaustion. Doubly worrying were the pangs of pain shooting through his right chest as he inhaled. Squinting in the light, the outlines of the objects in his vision began to adjust into focus with an agonizing slowness. A soft metronomic beeping came from his left, he noticed, and the wallpaper seemed strikingly familiar, though a touch minimalist and clinical for his taste. Gradually, he became aware of the sharp, distinctive smell of disinfectant permeating the air, typical of–
Oh. This must be the medical observation wing in headquarters. Bollocks. I've fucked up a mission again, haven't I?
Failure was one thing, but it frustrated him to no end that he couldn't recall what had happened. There were flashes of running down a hallway and entering a room – after that he was grasping at nothing where he was positive a memory should've been.
It was at this point he became aware of something warm and firm gripping his right hand. Turning to look, he realised that it was a hand in his – attached to a familiar bald headed-figure in a sweater, slumped over the right side of his bed, half falling out of the chair he was sat in. He wasn't quite sure why Merlin was holding his hand, but Harry couldn't help smiling at the sight nonetheless, the rush of affection surfacing with another chunk of memory.
Merlin. He was on that mission with me. Thank god he isn't hurt.
He gave Merlin's hand a firm squeeze.
The grip on his hand grew tighter.
Merlin stirred, sitting up and turning towards Harry. Harry was shocked – he'd never seen Merlin's eyes so bloodshot. The man looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Six days. You had me worrying for six days."
There was no hint of anger in Merlin's gentle Scottish brogue, only an overflow of relief.
Had he been given a chance to gather his strength, Harry might have apologized and made a quip to the tune of 'So the fact that I was in a coma isn't a valid reason for missing work these days?' Instead, he found his object of affection locking lips with him. For a split second he had to wonder if he'd been hallucinating the entire time.
And then the memories came flooding back. The knife. The blood. The kiss.
In that moment he felt truly, fully, alive.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the warm orange of dusk gave way to the velvet blue night, clouds painting the dark tapestry in milky streaks. The flickering flames of the lantern sent shadows and light waltzing across the canvas of frozen blue-grey, their choreography bounded by white strokes painted with a touch both skilled and tender.
By their masterpiece, the two artists sat, one curled against the shoulder of the other. Together they gazed across the ice in serene silence, now and again sipping warm chocolatey comfort from the mugs they held.
The night continued to deepen, deep blues evolving into hues of inky black peppered with white pinpricks. Still the couple remained, a portrait of warmth surrounded by chilling landscape, faces illuminated by wavering candlelight. The bespectacled one stared down at the undissolved dregs of cocoa powder in his cup, as if attempting to divine the future. The other whispered into his ear. For a moment they pulled away from each other, just far enough to study their partner's face.
I could look at him forever.
The thought hung in the air, shared, but left unsaid.
That eternal moment lasted but two seconds before the two were together once more, lips locked, themselves the very picture of starlit romance.
Chocolate kisses tasted a million times better than bloody ones.
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!
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Couple extra titbits:
The pond referred to in the fic does in fact exist in real life at the Kingsman estate, ie. Wrotham Park, where the movie was filmed. Here (/1oroUIY)is a picture of what Harry would have seen when Merlin removed the blindfold – you'll have to imagine the bare trees, snow, ice, and sunset on your own though!
I wanted badly to convey that the pair skating Harry and Merlin were engaged in, in Harry's mind, was that of a grand fantasy, an intimate and ludicrously advanced ice dance routine, but in reality was really quite simple – the presence of Merlin enough to romanticise the moments they shared on the ice. Much as I tried, I couldn't get over the textual gymnastics of conveying the above, so it was most unfortunately heavily simplified to the point where the idea wasn't captured at all. Here (/1Wuoc91) is the figure skating routine that inspired what would have been Harry's fantasy though. Imagine Merlin leading.
Bonus mega-angst hidden in fic title if you're into that kind of thing:
(STOP READING HERE IF YOU ARE NOT OKAY WITH ZE DEATH. YOU KNOW THE ONE)
Post-film. Imagine Merlin walking around Harry's empty flat, reminiscing. Go to youtube and watch "Like it was – Carol Burnett" (/1VqmV2v), Carol Burnett as Merlin, George Hearn as the ghost of Harry. Lyrics here (/1ouTXVc) if you want to follow along. I originally wanted to sandwich the fic above as a flashback within this context but my secret santa requested something sentimental so I thought this was probably too depressing an idea to implement.