It gets marginally better. Arthur must have said something to Sophia, because suddenly she s around less, and Merlin begins to talk to his boss again. Both realise that they were in some sort of fight, which in itself is completely idiotic - they didn t think they were close enough to get in fights - but the entire staff were in agreement that they needed to put that night behind them. Soon enough, the strains of constant arguing drifts through to the office at any given moment, and the world is set to right once more.
The staff are highly amused by the entire episode, and it gives them more gossip than they ve ever had before. Someone s even started a sweepstake, though Arthur and Merlin are damned if they know what people are betting on, despite numerous efforts to get involved. They are always met with a resolute no and usually a knowing smile. It is highly irritating, and Merlin starts to suspect that the staff know something he doesn t. Will in particular becomes grumpier, though Merlin can t fathom out the reason, but he knows it must be something to do with him because Will s perfectly civil to everyone else. Except Arthur, of course, but Will s never been civil to Arthur.
Before anybody quite realises it, Arthur s birthday is upon them - his twenty-sixth - and Merlin finds himself sitting on his own in the corner of the office, quietly working on cataloguing some prison photographs. They ve all done the compulsory cake, balloons and embarrassing singing, and as a birthday treat Merlin hasn t given Arthur any grief all day. It makes him feel somehow lost, as though his purpose in life is to irritate the Deputy County Archivist, and when that s taken away he is nothing. But that s a silly, maudlin thought, and Merlin s not entirely sure what s the matter with him.
At about half two, Arthur sidles up to him, still wearing the ridiculous crown and sash that make him look as though he s at a hen party.
Do you know it s impossible to tell who s a prisoner and who s a prison guard, Merlin says, with ought looking up. They all look the same.
To the inexperienced eye, maybe. They have reached some sort of accord, where they only bicker every second conversation, and Merlin resolutely doesn t think about what Arthur and Sophia were doing last night. It s almost a friendship.
Oh, so you have experience of prisons, do you? Merlin grins, finally looking up. What did they get you for? Murder? Irritating someone to death? You would be stupid enough to get caught.
Shut up Merlin. Listen, what are you doing this evening? He looks vaguely embarrassed and Merlin s immediately on his guard.
It s not late night opening is it? he groans. You re going to make me switch with you cause it s your birthday, aren t you? Arthur, you know I m not allowed: not technically an Archivist here, remember?
It s not about the late night opening, Arthur says, patiently waiting for Merlin to rant himself out. I was wondering if you wanted to come for a birthday drink tonight. My birthday, not yours, obviously. You don t have to, he adds quickly, defensively, but Merlin hasn t even got around to thinking about answering, so bemused is he by the fact that Arthur is wittering and Merlin has never, ever heard him do that.
No. I mean, yeah, sure, he says. Shall I pass the message on? You know, tell Morgana: she ll get everyone together. And I m sure Sophia already knows, he adds begrudgingly.
Well, actually Arthur begins, but at that moment Morgana appears at their side as though magically summoned.
Tell me what?
Birthday drinks for Arthur tonight, says Merlin, oblivious and unthinking. Morgana looks gobsmacked, and then slowly begins to clap.
A precedent has been set, she says, astonished. I ll spread the good news. Seven o clock in the Blue Oyster?
I hate the Oyster, Arthur growls, speaking up at last.
Well, where were you thinking of going? Morgana asks him. Arthur sneaks a quick glance at Merlin before answering.
It doesn t matter, he mumbles. Let s just go to the King s Head. I ve not been there for ages.
Fair enough. Seven, in the King s. Wow, well done Merlin. With that, she flounces off, her long dark curls bouncing behind her, and Merlin can t help but watch her go. Morgana has that effect on everyone. Arthur pulls him from his reverie by snapping his fingers in front of Merlin s face.
Oi. Pay attention.
Sorry. Merlin at least has the good grace to look chagrined. Arthur s face contorts into a myriad of expressions, like he can t decide which one to pull, before finally ending up with a smile that s halfway to being a grimace.
See you later, ho, he says, and leaves, and Merlin is suddenly reminded that while Arthur may be the youngest Deputy County Archivist in the country, he is still only eighteen months older than Merlin. Since most of the time he feels like a child pretending to be a grown-up in a world he feels slightly, just slightly, out of sync with, Merlin feels, for the first time, some sort of empathy towards Arthur for everything he has to deal with.
Arthur is uproariously drunk. Well, most of them are drunk, but Arthur is more so. Merlin wouldn t mind, it is the man s birthday after all, but he s been saddled with the job of looking after him in all his drunken glory. Right now he is sitting ranting in Merlin s ear about H.R. The music is loud and Arthur has to be very close in order to be heard, Merlin understands this, but Arthur s breath is ghosting over his ear and occasionally his tongue touches the lobe, and it is both grossing him out and, strangely, turning him on at the same time. Besides, Sophia is glaring daggers at him from her spot across the room. Merlin hasn t missed the way she s draped across Mordred, but he thinks Arthur probably has. He is contemplating what would be the subtlest way of putting some distance between them when the DJ puts The Fratellis on, and Merlin finds his arm yanked out of its socket by Arthur, pulling him up to dance.
What the hell? he protests.
Shut up. Dance, monkey, is the reply, and Merlin has to stop for a moment and gape at Arthur in a manner fairly reminiscent of a codfish.
Have you never seen Arthur drunk before? Morgana asks, sidling past in a kind of shimmy that ensures everyone in the club is watching her. Merlin shakes his head mutely. It s an experience, enjoy it. She pokes him in the stomach, and Merlin sort of quacks - though he later denies it - and begins to shake various body parts. Morgana seems satisfied, and moves away. Merlin turns back to face Arthur, who is staring at him unashamedly.
What? Merlin says. Have I got something on my face?
You really can t dance, can you?
Thanks for that one, Captain Observation, Merlin retorts, not in the mood for any of Arthur s crap, and strangely worried because every time one of them (admittedly, usually him) gets drunk bad things happen.
Arthur laughs, and grabs Merlin s hands.
What are you doing? Merlin hisses, yanking them away again.
Teaching you to dance, replies Arthur, extremely blas .
Why do you need to hold my hands?
Because you clearly don t know what to do with them, Arthur snaps, then his expression softens. I m sorry, he says, quietly. That was unnecessary. Merlin nearly falls over, so rare and unexpected is an apology from the Deputy County Archivist. This time, when Arthur reaches for his hands he doesn t protest, but lets Arthur take them.
Arthur s hands are surprisingly soft and gentle to the touch. He manoeuvres them so that their fingers are interlaced together, and begins to move his arms so that Merlin s follow. Somehow, incredibly, he s dancing without the danger of knocking anyone out with his flailing. He beams up at Arthur, but the face staring back at him doesn t smile; it is strangely guarded and highly intense, like Arthur is trying to burn Merlin s face off with his eyes.
If you were a superhero, what would your power be? Merlin blurts out. Arthur snaps out of his trance and pulls his hands out of Merlin s.
What? he asks. I thought I was supposed to be the drunk one.
Luckily, Merlin is saved from answering by Sophia, who chooses that moment to effortlessly place herself between him and Arthur. Without a word, Arthur leads her to another part of the dance floor, and Merlin stomps towards the door.
I saw that, Morgana whispers in his ear as he passes, but he just shakes his head at her and leaves the pub. All he wants to do is sleep, and not think about what did and didn t just happen.
Monday dawns far too quickly for Merlin s liking. He drags himself bleary-eyed into work, prepared for the worst. However, his colleagues do nothing more than offer him sympathetic glances and the occasional pat on the back. Once again, Merlin is left wondering if there is something he missed.
Arthur spends a lot of time in the office, loitering around and pretending to supervise. Merlin can tell the rest of the staff are getting pissed off with the interference, but every time he tries to catch Arthur s eye, Arthur looks away. In the few instances that he does get to speak to his boss, Arthur s gaze fixes on a point somewhere beyond Merlin s left ear. Merlin doesn t understand it; if Arthur really didn t want to talk to him as much as he appeared to, what the hell was he doing staying in the office? He could easily hide away in his own room and not be disturbed.
But more than once, Merlin feels someone s eyes on his back as he works, but when he turns around Arthur is always deep in conversation with a rather startled-looking member of staff.
It is the same all week. Arthur continues to act weirdly, and every time Merlin sees him, Sophia is never far away, tossing her blonde locks in an alluring and highly irritating fashion. Merlin can t wait for Friday and the weekend.
Bank holiday this weekend, Lance comments at tea break on Friday afternoon. Any plans?
You re just gloating because you and Gwen are going on a romantic mini-break to Dublin, Morgana points out. The rest of us will be stuck at home doing the garden.
I don t have a garden, says Will, helpfully. I live in a dingy flat.
No doubt you ll be doing something else then, says Mordred cheekily, and Will glares at him.
I love Fridays, Merlin announces. Three whole days without Arthur to look forward to. No one can wipe the smile from his face all day, despite their best efforts, not even the sight of Arthur being very enthusiastically kissed goodbye by Sophia (at least, he says it doesn t bother him, but Morgana, Lance and Gwen will all attest to the fact that his smile definitely falters for a second, before Mordred tells them to get a room and they disappear into Arthur s office, Arthur briefly catching Merlin s eye before closing the door).
As it happens, Merlin does have plans for the weekend, and so on Saturday morning he jumps on a train at Winchester station, heading for Whitby, to visit a friend from university. The train takes roughly seven hours, and includes several short journeys, so by the time Merlin finally steps into the bright sunshine at quarter to four, he is utterly exhausted and not entirely sure his legs remember how to work.
He s not due to meet Owen for another hour and a half, so he wanders down across the harbour and walks along a narrow, crowded street, window shopping. There is a sign pointing right to the Whitby Archives, but Merlin isn t masochistic, so he nips into a second-hand bookshop to while away the hours.
He is browsing through the history section when he comes across a very old-looking, dusty volume at the back of the bottom shelf. Closer inspection uncovers it as a manuscript of Gawain and the Green Knight. Merlin can only guess at the volume s age, but it is definitely several hundred years old. The pages are crumbling at the corners, and Merlin wonders exactly what it s doing in a bookshop in Whitby, trying not to get too excited in case it's a fake.
We ve had that for years, the shop assistant tells him, upon enquiry. Couldn t give it away if we tried. No one wants a crumbly old volume like that.
Nobody? Merlin is astonished. But it s... He trails off, unable to keep his enthusiasm as an Archivist and book-lover from shining through, and also afraid of giving too much away. The shop assistant rolls his eyes as if to say one of those .
To be honest, I just put it at the bottom and forgot about it.
How much for it? Merlin asks, digging in his pocket and making a snap decision.
Seriously?
Absolutely.
A hundred pounds.
Fifty, Merlin haggles. He isn t that well off.
Seventy-five.
Sixty.
Done, says the assistant, clearly pleased to be getting rid of the tome. Merlin beams as he hands over the money. Have a nice day, sir.
Merlin thanks him and rushes out of the shop and up the street, heading for Owen s house.
He doesn t get another chance to look at the book until Sunday afternoon. Owen has been called into work for an emergency cover shift, and Merlin is sitting on the grass in the grounds of Whitby Abbey in the sunshine, flicking through the manuscript. It is truly incredibly, very ornate, and not for the first time Merlin wonders how it came to be in a crummy side-street bookshop instead of under the hammer at Sotheby s.
Arthur, you have to see this, Merlin cries, bursting into Arthur s office first thing Tuesday morning when they re back at work.
Do you ever knock, Merlin? is the dry reply.
Shut up and look, Merlin tells him. His tone of voice makes Arthur look up calculatedly. Merlin thrusts the book under Arthur s nose. Careful, he says, and Arthur glares witheringly at him.
It s a beautiful specimen, he concedes, sounding both impressed and incredibly pretentious at the same time, a skill taught only in the best public schools money can afford.
Don't you know what this is? Merlin asks, astonished.
Gawain and the Green Knight?
Arthur, are you actually this stupid or do you just put it on?
I beg your pardon."
"Gawain and the Green Knight... Arthur, there is only one copy of it. I may have found another manuscript. Don't you understand how important that is?"
"Oh, Arthur's eyes go comically wide as he begins to understand.
Exactly, Merlin continues. "Arthur, this could be enormous. If we get this looked at and it is original, we would be singing. We'd get so many people through the door; there'd be so much publicity. Isn't it a little bit... well... brilliant?"
I didn t ask for a lecture, Merlin, Arthur interrupts, and Merlin looks chagrined. Look, well done, all right, Arthur tells him. This is some find. Where was it?
In a bookshop in Whitby. I paid sixty pounds for it.
I ll see that you re remunerated, Arthur says.
No need, replies Merlin, and Arthur looks curiously at him. Call it a gift donation.
Arthur pauses for a minute, thinking about this statement.
Thank you, he says eventually. That s very kind of you. He reaches out and grasps Merlin s shoulder, briefly squeezing, before he realises what he is doing, coughs, and leaves the room abruptly, carrying the volume. Merlin stands stock still for a full minute, before shaking his head and going back to work.
I can t date, Merlin yells frustratedly, slamming a large Victorian photograph album onto his desk to admonishing looks from Lance and Mordred.
That s good to know, Arthur says flatly, entering the room. The female population of Winchester can breathe easy once more.
Not like that, you imbecile, Merlin retorts. And why are you even here? Go back to your own office. Photographs. I can t date photographs. And don t say that s because they re inanimate objects because it would not be funny in the slightest.
Why am I here? Arthur ponders aloud, stroking his chin pensively. Merlin glares at him. To tell you that that book is original, and there will be a huge publicity campaign, so be prepared to do a lot of interviews over the next few weeks. You are probably about to become very famous.
This statement is met with dead silence. Then-
You re joking, Mordred bursts out with, and everyone starts talking at once, coming over to congratulate Merlin and clap him on the back. Over everyone s heads, Merlin catches Arthur smiling at him, a broad smile that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle attractively. Merlin grins back, holding his gaze, before Gwen asks him a question and forces him to turn away. When he looks back ten seconds later, Arthur is gone.
Arthur comes into the office at ten-twenty-five on Monday morning the following week. Mordred and Gwen are trying to make their tea break last as long as possible, while Morgana and Will sweat it out in the Search Room, unable to switch until they go through. Lance and Merlin are in the Conservator s Room with Gaius, laughing at something on the radio, still buzzing from the success of Gawain and the Green Knight and all the publicity it s brought them. The professionals valued it as the most expensive document they hold, and it s brought treble the number of people through the door as normal, including TV and radio reporters. Merlin is a little bit of a local hero.
Lance, Merlin, get in here, Arthur shouts, and the pair of them pop their heads around the door.
You called, oh High and Mighty One, Merlin replies cheekily, a gleam in his eye. Arthur scowls at him. Arthur is the only person who hasn t changed their attitude towards Merlin over the past week, and Merlin finds it highly refreshing to be snapped at, rather than congratulated at every turn. In fact he welcomes Arthur s presence more and more on a daily basis.
Parish Survey this afternoon. Two o clock. Be there, he says, and Merlin and Lance look at each other in surprise.
Are you sure you don t mean Mordred? Merlin asks. Behind Arthur, Will, who has just come into the room to find out what s keeping Gwen and Mordred, looks extremely perplexed.
If I meant Mordred, I d have said Mordred, Arthur tells him, in the tone of voice one might use when explaining to a five-year-old precisely why it has to go to school in the morning. I said your name, therefore I meant you.
But I m not qualified.
Oh for Christ s sake, Merlin, Arthur snaps. You know as well as I do that you re more than qualified. What harm is there in my training you up a little? It ll improve your CV if, you know, you ever want a job that pays more than we do.
That shuts Merlin up. There is silence in the office. This is becoming more and more common every time Merlin and Arthur are in a room together; their discourse having gone from yelling at each other constantly, to a state of almost-civility, to this, which sounds frighteningly emotional.
You re just trying to get rid of me, Merlin says eventually, and the tension is broken. Arthur scoffs.
If only it were that easy, he says, heading for the door. Two o clock, don t forget.
You re moving up in the world, says Will, somewhat bitterly, and goes to get a cup of coffee.
What do you mean by that? Merlin asks, following him, because really, Will s been in a ghastly mood for weeks now, and Merlin isn t entirely sure what he s meant to have done.
I just mean you find that bloody book and suddenly you re Arthur s bitch, Will snaps.
I am anything but, Merlin protests.
No, really, you two have been dancing around each other for about a million years, and suddenly you re famous and he wants to spend more time with you, and you want to spend more time with him, and it s like you re forgetting about the rest of us - your brothers in arms.
Why would I want to spend more time with Arthur? Merlin asks, genuinely surprised at the depth of emotion behind Will s tirade.
Don t patronise me, Merlin, it doesn t suit you, Will says coldly, turning to leave. Oh, and if I were you I d tell your precious boyfriend to watch out for Mordred.
He s not my what? Merlin says, but Will is gone, and Merlin is even more confused than when he started.
Merlin is halfway through an old episode of Green Wing on 4OD when there is a knock at the door. Puzzled, he looks at the clock and goes to answer it. Arthur stands there, swaying slightly, his eyes unfocussed and his tie undone.
I am a crap boss, he says, without preamble, and invites himself in. Ooh, Green Wing. That s pretty funny. Dr Macartney s kind of attractive too.
I m fairly sure you didn t mean to say that out loud, Merlin tells him. What are you doing here?
Come to pologise, Arthur mutters.
Just how much have you had to drink?
Not much, he replies, which Merlin translates as far more than I should have .
I m going to drive you home, Arthur, Merlin takes control of the situation. You ve had a bit too much to drink.
Not yet. Have to tell you. I am a crap boss.
You told me that already.
Shut up.
Merlin sticks his hands up apologetically.
I am a crap boss but Uther is crapper and why you are all not fucked up I shall never know.
You know, I m not entirely sure that crapper is a real word, Merlin says, for lack of a proper reply. And you aren t crap, you re just
Strict? Unyielding? Irritating?
A little difficult sometimes. They stare at each other, until Arthur ruins the mood with his inability to hold his head up without the aid of Merlin s sofa.
Come on Arthur, Merlin says, attempting to help his boss stand up. Let s get you home. You re going to have a bitch of a hangover as it is and
Arthur curls up on the sofa. m staying here, he says, and Merlin has a quiet panic attack.
You can t, he says.
I want to.
In the morning you won t. And really, how does that even make sense?
Will so.
Arthur, please, you can t stay. But Arthur has already passed out, and Merlin is left talking to an unconscious figure. Sighing, he turns the computer off and heads to his room.
Don t expect any sympathy from me in the morning, you great prat.
The following morning sees a bleary-eyed Merlin, clad in his oldest dressing gown, slurping at a cup of coffee and trying desperately to wake up a bit more. Arthur stumbles awake, looking groggily around and holding tightly to his head. Merlin grabs a second cup of coffee and takes it over to him, sitting down beside him.
Drink this, he says quietly, though Arthur still winces.
Thanks, he mumbles after a moment s awkward pause, and Merlin deduces from the silence that not only does Arthur have the hangover from hell, he s also quite embarrassed, and really, it s understandable. Without really realising what he s doing, and blaming it on the morning and the fact that his brain hasn t quite kicked in yet, Merlin reaches out a hand and tentatively places it on Arthur s arm, midway between his elbow and his wrist. Arthur stares at it for a while, before bringing his own hand to cover it. They sit in companionable silence for a while, and Merlin tries very hard not to think.
Sophia s left me, Arthur says, finally, and Merlin was not expecting that.
Bitch, he says venomously, because he means it, as well as it being the appropriate response. Why?
Apparently she was helpless against the irresistible charms of Mr. Lothian.
Mordred?! Merlin definitely didn t expect that. I erm
My God, Arthur manages a chuckle, though he looks like he s about to burst into tears. Merlin speechless, whatever next? Merlin smiles weakly and tightens his grip on Arthur s arm.
If you ask me how I m feeling I will throw up on your shoes, this conversation is girly enough as it is, says Arthur. Actually, I think I might throw up on your shoes anyway, better get me a bucket.
I m not wearing any shoes, smiles Merlin, but he goes over to the sink and brings Arthur the washing-up bowl. Arthur groans and sticks his head in it for a while, but luckily any threats of vomiting remain just threats.
Do you have a girlfriend? Arthur asks, taking an interest in Merlin s life for the first time. Merlin is a little taken aback, but realises that at the minute they are not exactly sticking to their conventional relationship.
No, he replies. There was a girl a few weeks ago, we went on a couple of dates, but it didn t work out.
What was she called?
Nimue. Merlin doesn t really want to talk about it; Nimue is Gaius s cousin s daughter or something, and it was a little bit of a blind date, but Merlin went with it because, well, Nimue was hot and Merlin hadn t had any in quite some time. When Arthur calls him a man-whore, Merlin realises he s said all that out loud.
I m hardly a man-whore if I haven t had any, he corrects, blushing furiously. Arthur smiles at him, holding his gaze, and slowly inclines his head towards Merlin s. Merlin knows he can move away any time, that Arthur s going slowly to give Merlin the choice, and what the hell? Arthur s about to kiss him.
The telephone rings. Merlin leaps away as though electrocuted and hurries to answer it, determinedly not looking at Arthur. Arthur, for his part, has a somewhat dazed look on his face, as though he too can t quite comprehend what almost happened. Clutching his head, he stands up, puts the mug - still half-full of coffee - on the table, and by the time Merlin returns from fielding off the daily onslaught of questions from his mother, Arthur has gone.