She stared at him, abruptly deciding that batshit terrified was the only viable option. "Will I-" she swallowed, "That is, I'd-"
"It's only dinner," he reminded her delicately.
Somehow that only incited her further, "No it's not. It's never just dinner. This?" she gestured between them, "Isn't just dinner."
Not when she blows up his phone with colorfully invective commentary during meetings. Not when they laugh until three in the morning, saving paperwork from a red wine spill. Hell, his hands have measured, molded and manhandled her from the moment he stood before the recruits and said, "Fall in." There was no escaping that.
She shook her head, "We're Kingsman. From the moment I found Percival loitering in my lecture hall like a stalker, I wanted it. It's the best thing I've ever done. I'm not going to off and shag my coworkers for a lark."
The muscle in his jaw tightened like a bolt, "Do you honestly believe that's what I'm suggesting?"
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to avoid the sharp stab of guilt, "No," she admitted freely.
She felt taut and strung out, as if one pluck might snap her wide open. She dropped her hands in her lap, "A relationship...that's not something I accounted for in Kingsman. I never expected-"
He peered over the tops of his glasses, the sudden reappearance of his smile threw her, "Dissembling now? After your earlier display? I trained you better than that."
"You think I'm dodging? It's a valid concern. I don't want to compromise our work-is there any sort of precedent protocol? Or are we on our own?"
We, she'd said. Merlin's smile had grown; one part smug, two parts hopeful.
"Bors and Morgana are approaching their silver anniversary," he offered casually.
"Shut up," Roxy gasped. She really needed to give Eggsy a wide berth. He was painting her vocabulary with all manner of vices.
Bors, a Kingsman agent, and Morgana, their head cryptographer and linguist from Research, fought like a bull and a bear locked in a closet. Their battles were legendary and there was very little peace to be had when the pair of them crossed paths.
Roxy had once used the mansion's air ducts to escape a particularly savage encounter between the two (evidently married) agents. Merlin nearly locked the place down when she tripped the surveillance sensors. Luckily, he cross referenced all agent locations before sounding the alarm. He tracked her position and gave her a hand down and a cup of tea for her efforts.
"Next," Merlin challenged. The smile he gave her seemed to shine from his eyes. It warmed a place, deep in her chest, she hardly knew existed.
"Your handwriting is all over my files," she countered, "You bloody well trained me. I don't want our credibility disputed."
"As previously discussed," Merlin replied, unfazed, "Your closure rates have veteran agents scrambling to compensate. Beyond that, the recruitment tests are designed in such a way as to prevent favoritism. Each candidate was dropped on their own merits, you witnessed this yourself. No one would question, and even if they did, any claims of bias would be unfounded."
She groaned in frustration, "Jesus, Merlin I don't even know your real name."
The silence that followed was stretched tight with anticipation.
"Would you like to?" he offered. His voice was gentle, as if the slightest provocation might put her off.
Just like that, the fight went out of her. Despite three years of missions under her belt, Merlin's unwavering competence in her ear at all times, (the easy intimacy of late nights, laughter and wine) this small offering, a token of trust, managed to loosen the tangled knot in her gut.
It was personal. It was obviously private. And he was offering it to her.
"Please…" she nodded.
"It's Mycroft," he smiled lightly, "Eggsy's known for awhile. Somehow managed to cop off with my file while my back was turned during recruitment. It was a rather impressive lift, I'll give him that. He'd likely have told you if I hadn't threatened him with gratuitous bodily harm-cheeky bastard. Though, for future reference, I prefer Merlin. Mycroft was a different sort, long gone now."
"Mycroft? Like in-"
"For the love of God, don't say it."
She curled her lips, pinning them between her teeth in an obvious attempt to hide her amusement.
"Mycroft," she tried it out, drawing out the sharp mī of his name with a subtle coat of possession that pricked his skin in awareness, "I like it-suits you."
She offered her hand, "Pleased to meet you."
His face was mild yet his eyes were curiously warm. He took her hand but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips just above her knuckles. Her breath caught in her throat.
"The pleasure is mine," he murmured into her skin, smiling.
Damn it, he'd heard her. He rested their joined hands in the small stretch of bedding between them.
"I-," her voice was small, a mere step above a whisper, "Merlin, I don't know if I can do this."
It would be so easy to be reckless. To reach out and yank him forward into her bed. But that's what made Roxy-Roxy. She was strategic as fuck and worked herself to scraps. She had to prove herself every day for a seat at that table. She saw the lingering stares of some of the other agents. The disapproval, the abrupt quiet when she entered a room, like she was supposed to apologize for interrupting, for existing. She didn't have the luxury of recklessness.
"Neither do I," he admitted, eyes warm and kind, "but should we at least suffer an attempt?"
His thumb stroked her knuckles, "This is no lark for me, Roxy. I don't do things by halves, as you well know. We make an extraordinary team, we have for a long time now. I'd like to examine if that translates well into a more intimate environment."
She quirked an eyebrow, "You've fancied me awhile?"
His sigh was so beyond long suffering it seemed a torment. "Yes, you foolish woman, I've 'fancied' you for quite some time now."
She swallowed, not altogether steady herself. "Well, to be candid, I've fancied you for three years."
She blushed hard. She hadn't intended to reveal her long-standing admiration of him, not now at least. But he was looking at her with such a staggering face of surprise she couldn't help but feel glad.
Her smile matched his, hesitant, coaxing, uncertain if they should indulge themselves.
"Now," he settled, "as enlightening as this conversation has been, it's past four. You are still recovering and I have recruits to wrangle at dawn. If all goes well, you may even be discharged today."
"And dinner?" she asked, cursing the edge of hopefulness that crept into her voice.
He smiled, "At your earliest convenience."
He moved to leave but the pressure of her hand in his stopped him. He gazed at her, curious.
Her mouth made a valiant attempt to voice her thoughts but words failed her. She didn't know what to say.
He understood her anyway. He leaned forward and his lips brushed her cheek, a little too close to her lips to be entirely chaste. Her hand tightened instinctively in his and he retreated smiling.
"I'm not going anywhere, Roxy."