Chapter 4: Recalled

Merlin had his own office, now, next door to Carol in the IT department. He rather missed turning in his chair only slightly to make a comment to Arthur or Leon or Gwaine. But days like this one, there was something about shutting the door and listening to the silence, alone, that appealed to him.
And there was always the computer, if he wanted to communicate. The Round Table originals were almost always on the private messaging feature of the Camelot system, and usually in a Send All – Reply All mode. He was here in IT, Percival had taken a desk in Engineering, and Leon had a back corner of the third floor as the head of Branch Affairs. Elyan and Gwaine had taken the window desks of the shared office space of the first Camelot Securities office, training two new associates.

That had been Arthur's choice, but they'd all approved. There was just too much work for the growing department, especially after Thomas Drake's stroke. Ray Clements and Jason Booker, not long out of the college, both the same sort of bright, idealistic, loyal men that Arthur would have knighted, once upon a millennium ago. They both had gained a significant degree of trust, even to the point of using the Round Table "nicknames" with ease, though no one had broached the question of "do we tell them" yet.

Do we tell them? Merlin groaned in the stillness of his office, letting his head fall down on his keyboard. It sounded so easy, those three little words I am Merlin as simple to say as a certain other three words. She'd accepted I love you so readily, so soon after they'd started dating.

I am Merlin, on the other hand. She'd tried to argue him gently into admitting that he was teasing her, and then, as the realization dawned that he truly believed what he was saying, she'd begun to cry.

Honestly, it would have been easier if she'd laughed and refused to take him seriously. It would have been easier if she'd gotten mad, assuming he was trying some elaborate hoax, perhaps intended to push her away.

She really loved him, though he didn't fully understand that. And it hurt her to think that his sanity was irrevocably impaired, that he'd refuse treatment to cling to his delusions.

It was a terrible crossroads that he saw. Because he could choose her. He could choose to check himself into a facility, break off all contact with Arthur and Gwen and Gaius and the knights. He could let them medicate and persuade, and there was little doubt that eventually they would succeed. There was little doubt that Freya would be waiting when Marvin re-emerged.

It was a choice he had made, once. To smuggle the girl he'd loved out of Camelot, to leave behind the pain and anxiety and hiding and lies and responsibility and destiny and let someone so sweet and pure envelop him in complete and uncomplicated love.

If he made that choice again, would Freya's life be taken from him a second time, to make sure he remained at Arthur's side?

The other choice – to keep on keeping on. To be Merlin. To be Arthur's Merlin, his sorcerer, partner, brother, friend. To let his love leave him and remain, alone among friends and comrades and equals.

He startled as his desk phone rang, the green light blinking an external call relayed to his desk. He stared at it stupidly for a moment – he never got external calls. His friends used his cell phone or the internal company lines, and Patty knew to transfer corporate head-hunters to Mary, who handled the refusal of job offers for Marvin Caroban.

He picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Marvin? Caroban?" The voice was young and male, and familiar. He could almost place it – "This is Casey. Lindell, from Fort Bragg? We were roommates for a week for a marksmanship class – when Sergeant Major Hyden shot Buell, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Merlin said ironically, allowing a small smile and a bit of internal relaxation. He deliberately pushed aside images of Hyden pointing a gun less than a foot from Arthur's beating heart, Buell's blood oozing over his fingers, to remember Casey's help teaching him how to disassemble a pistol, his childlike fascination with Merlin's sleight-of-hand magic. "How's things, Casey? Where are you at? Did you get to Chicago?"

Casey Lindell had been FBI, he remembered. Studying for a degree in criminal psychology, honing his skills with a weapon for promotion. "No, never made it to Chicago." Casey laughed into the phone. "I'm in Seattle, of all places. Still, it's a step up from Minneapolis."

Seattle. Merlin stiffened, and managed, "Huh."

"Well. Reason I'm calling is, I caught a missing-persons case. Lady here in Seattle, her son lives just across the border into Oregon, going to school in Portland. He's up here for a visit, goes missing. Local P.D. couldn't find much, and between you and me, there wasn't much to find. This son is eighteen now, has a couple of questionable connections… anyway. Why I called you, is because I was talking to the mother at some length and she was showing me old pictures and – come to find out, we know someone in common. You."

Merlin sat back in his chair, feeling like he was falling backwards into darkness. "Who?" he rasped, then cleared his throat and said again, "Who?"

"Edwina Littlefield."

Edwina Littlefield - Eddie. The one constant when his life had been a journey from hell-hole to hope and back down again. Eddie's appearance meant change, sometimes a relief, sometimes a disappointment, but always she'd managed to make him feel comforted. In the car, in the hospital, her office – once for a holiday weekend, her own home. Merlin believed it was because of her that he hadn't lost himself in a world of drugs. She had been the only one he'd ever apologized to for inflicting the wounds that scarred his wrist.

Caseworker had somehow become friend. She'd given him her number, and the confidence that no matter what, he always had one person to call. He had no idea if she said that to all the kids whose files she handled, and he never had called her personally, but knowing he could, had made a difference.

"Shane's missing?" he said.

"Oh, good, you remember." Casey's voice held relief. "Anyway, Ms. Littlefield was surprised to hear I knew you, that you consulted for the NSA – but then we got to thinking, maybe, if you weren't busy, you could come out to Seattle. Between you and me, my partner here is a bum. And Ms. Littlefield sounds like she'd be happier having someone she knows and trusts looking into Shane's disappearance."

Someone she knows and trusts. Merlin felt that might be a bit of a stretch. Likely Eddie had heard NSA, and was grasping for straws. Shane – Merlin remembered a morose redhead, skin a faint yellow-pale beneath freckles, heavy and a touch pigeon-toed. He was three years younger than Merlin, and hadn't ever been in the same school, but they'd known each other through Eddie, and both had been loners. Outcasts. They'd recognized that in each other, and accepted that, though they might not be friends, they were alike.

Merlin's last year of high school, before he left Seattle, he remembered a bitter comment of Eddie's about Shane's new high school crowd, and drugs. Then again, if Shane had left to go to school in Portland…

"What have you got?" Merlin asked.

"The mother's assurance that he wouldn't take off on his own without telling her, not voluntarily. No action on his phone or bank card since the day he disappeared. Some blood at the last known location, though not near enough to suspect homicide. The drug-crowd connection is suspicious enough that no one's giving it their full attention."

"I'd have to clear it with my boss," Merlin warned Casey. He thought he remembered, there was a new branch opening in Seattle soon? Maybe he could ask –

"Your best efforts, that's all I'm asking," Casey said. He already sounded relieved. "At least that way she'll probably call you every day, instead of me."

"Give me your number," Merlin said, and wrote the digits on a yellow sticky-pad. "I'll get back to you later today. I've got –" he glanced at the time – "actually, I'm late for a meeting, now."

"Can't be getting you in trouble, now, can I?" Casey laughed. "That won't help my case – thanks, Marvin."

He disconnected, folded the sticky note and shoved it in his pocket, made his way to the upstairs conference room. The hangover headache he'd managed to ease for both himself and Gwaine was back, though he felt oddly better. He might have to return to Seattle, might have to face and work through his past, as least as far as it concerned Edwina Littlefield. But to focus on someone else's problem for a while, and hopefully be able to help, would feel good – and more, if he returned still confident of his identity, perhaps Freya –

The third-floor conference room was ajar, the meeting begun but casual. To a murmur of greetings he gave the room a wide grin and said, "Sorry I'm late."

From the opposite side of the table, Elyan teased, "So what else is new?"

Seating himself at Arthur's right, Merlin was aware of the glance his friend exchanged with Gwaine over his head, but only shrugged to Elyan sheepishly.

"As I was saying," Arthur continued. The neutrality of his tone, the absence of the sarcastic recrimination he'd usually direct at Merlin in these not infrequence situations had Merlin cringing and sighing on the inside. So Arthur would now begin to treat him as breakable once again.

"There's a possibility that the two incidents are not separate coincidences. Chance has asked us to investigate, and as soon as possible. Now, Leon and I are leaving for Seattle Sunday afternoon, so –"

Percival, next to Leon on Arthur's left, said, "This is my weekend with the Reserves, Arthur. But I can go Monday morning if it can wait that long."

"We don't know exactly what we're looking for, do we?" Gwaine said, leaning forward.

"Any evidence of foul play," Arthur said. "Anything suspicious in the wreckage, on the coroner's reports, airport tower log and interviews…" Ah, now Merlin was caught up – a repetition of the Norfolk plane crash, then.

"Elyan and I could go with Ray and Jason," Gwaine proposed.

"Not you, Gwaine – at least, not for right now," Arthur said, and Merlin shot him a look. The former king deliberately ignored Merlin's gaze and added to the dark-haired knight, "I'll speak to you about that in private, later." Gwaine nodded and sat back again. "Elyan, I'll have Mary book flights for you three to Bangor tomorrow afternoon, if that's good for everyone, then you can contact Percival if you still need him for Monday."

The knights in question nodded, and the rest of the hour passed with Merlin's attention drifting, catching the gist of each update report – Percival in Engineering trying to figure a cost-effective way to mass-produce the terahertz lasers for airport security, Leon repeating statistics on the Securities branches in Chicago, Kansas City, Denver, and Dallas.

Merlin himself had been dabbling half his time in airport security footage, keeping an eye out for known terrorist movement, and on a handful of kidnapping cases that had caught his attention from across the nation, though he couldn't have said why. Nothing definite to report, though, and Arthur didn't pressure him. He did, however, remain seated after dismissing the meeting, and didn't seem surprised that Merlin made no move to leave the conference room either. Gwaine pushed himself up from the padded chair to seat himself on the conference table itself.

Once Leon had tactfully pulled the door almost closed, Merlin began, "The reason I was late, Arthur –"

"Merlin, you don't have to explain," Arthur said.

Merlin frowned, then remembered Arthur's voicemail message, Freya was just here. And he knew Arthur had noticed the fact that he was wearing the same trousers to work that he'd worn yesterday, albeit with one of Gwaine's clean long-sleeve polo shirts.

"Casey Lindell called me this morning," Merlin said, choosing to push the whole issue to the side. He saw from Arthur's face that he didn't find the name familiar. "Fort Bragg – Hyden – Casey was my roommate." That ah! look came over Arthur's face, and Merlin continued. "He's FBI, in Seattle now, and wants my help on a case."

Arthur simultaneously narrowed his eyes and tried to stop a smile. "You want to go," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Want is a strong word," Merlin said honestly. "I feel I should –"

"You can fly out with Leon and me on Sunday," Arthur said. It was a bit too quick, and it caught Merlin's attention. Then Arthur went on, "Gwaine, you should come too. Partner Merlin for the investigation." Attention quickly changed to suspicion.

"I thought you needed me for something else?" Gwaine said.

A faint flush came over Arthur's face. He glanced down at his leather folio, closing it deliberately as an excuse not to meet their eyes. "Ah, no," he said. "I've – changed my mind." He pushed his own chair back from the table and stood. "Sunday noon, then?" he said.

Gwaine made an easy noise of consent and stood. Merlin followed him out the door, heading for the main staircase, then paused on the top step. He turned to see Arthur similarly paused at the door of the conference room, watching him.

Do you want to talk about it? Not right now. Are you all right? Mostly. See you later, then.

It was the briefest of moments, then Arthur turned to walk down the hallway to the CEOs office, and Merlin continued down to IT.

The afternoon started with a text conversation with Freya. Am sorry I got upset, she texted.

Am sorry 2, he responded.

Can we sit down /w ur grndfthr?

He hesitated over the text a long time. He knew what she intended. She wasn't going to ask Gaius if there could be any truth to Merlin's claim, she was going to see if Gaius could influence him to admit to a mental problem, seek more intensive treatment. That would be a disaster, he thought. And it wouldn't be fair to Gaius, with each of them turning to him for support, I'm right, aren't I? Tell her/him I'm right.

No, he texted back. I wont bring him n2 this.

He held the phone, silent in his hand, for seven long minutes. He wondered if she was crying again. Wondered if she'd consider this their break-up. His hands shook as he entered another message. Am going 2 seattle sun. can talk when im home again?

Nothing. No response. He didn't know if that meant yes, or no, or maybe, or I'll decide later, we're through, I love you…

He threw himself into one of his kidnapping cases for a distraction. The primary suspect was a registered sex offender who lived two street from the family in question and passed the neighborhood park on his way to work as a busboy at a local café. The consensus on the case was that this suspect, whose alibi was shaky, had managed to abduct, kill, and dispose of the child without leaving any substantial proof.

Something about it struck Merlin as wrong. The original conviction had been statutory rape – as a 19-year-old having sex with a 16-year-old. Any claim that it was consensual was, of course, invalid, but dating and sleeping with an underage girl was different than snatching and killing a 12-year-old boy. Something didn't fit. He'd have been happy to find the person responsible, happier still to find the missing boy, but proving one person's innocence was a good second best for an afternoon's work. He compiled his information and material and addressed it to the local P.D. under the mostly anonymous heading, courtesy of Camelot Securities. Probably they wouldn't be happy at having a simplistic explanation shot to shreds, but at least knowing they were wrong, they could look elsewhere for the actual guilty person.

Then his phone beeped the alarm for incoming message. From Freya. Ok. Lmk when ur home.

It was something, at least. Maybe he'd have something to tell her about his time in Seattle, something that would prove his mental stability to her, make her willing to listen, to consider his words might be true, not crazy.

He glanced at the time on the corner of the computer screen. 4:40. As long as he kept up with the internal requirements of the IT department – Carol still technically his supervisor, though she understood his special position and didn't ask him for much – and provided Arthur with anything and everything he needed, computer-wise, his time was generally his own, to pursue whatever cases or leads caught his fancy. Some days he was in the office until the night shift security officer checked in. Sometimes he left early if Freya was off…

But today – proving a suspect's innocence felt like a natural end to the day. He was tired, and he was headachy, and he wanted a long, hot shower. He wanted Freya, wanted to curl up with her on the couch with Chinese takeout and an old movie – Run, Eliza, run

He turned off his system and ducked into the strap of his messenger bag, heading for the parking lot. And found his feet wandering to the white Mustang in the VIP strip, rather than across the grass to his own Pathfinder. He turned and leaned against Arthur's car, squinting up at the glass of the third story of the building which hid the CEO's office.

Idly he placed one of his ear-buds in his ear, rubbed his finger across the iPod screen to play music selected randomly by the device. Classic rock, he recognized the opening strains, and smiled, one of his favorites. Day after day I'm more confused

He'd sat in this passenger seat a hundred times. Sometimes sullen, sometimes hilarious, sometimes intent. Even sleeping. Once or twice, mildly injured. But I look for the light through the pouring rain… Those times had been simpler, maybe, before Arthur and Gwen had been married – and baby makes three – before Merlin bought his own car. Are you coming up to Baltimore today? Taking classes, taking orders, taking assignments. You know that's a game that I hate to lose… Merlin sighed and turned again, using his magic to unlock the car door.

He gathered up Arthur's suit coat and an armful of papers beneath that to sit down, pulling the door shut behind him without having to touch it. Give me the beat boys, and free my soul… I wanna get lost in your rock and roll… and drift away… It smelled like Arthur, faintly. Merlin grinned and shifted in his seat, paper crinkling below his boots.

He reached to retrieve it, to stuff it in the file, and paused. The photo was grainy, black and white, a printed copy of a news article, but familiar to him. It was a small medical clinic in downtown Baltimore, from a local paper. Robbery in Progress Halted by Police, the headline read. The date matched his own dropped charges, two and a half years ago. The article didn't mention that, nor his name, though it did give a quote from Dr. Jan Steffan about delinquent teens and prescription drugs.

Dr. Steffan. Think what a little of his blood will do in the right people… He shuddered. Why in the hell - he opened the file folder to shove the article out of sight. There was another photo, another article. The song played through his earbuds, mellow and exultant at once – Beginning to think I'm wasting time

Camelot Technologies, a full frontal shot, half the glass smashed and the lobby open to the parking lot. There was even still an ambulance in the drive. He didn't remember any reporters, just – We have a pulse now, but no voluntary respiration…

His fingers trembled as he moved the page, and more images bombarded him. A medical report. Hyden's arrest record. An innocuous picture of the front of the NSA building, and a tall evergreen that always gave him a cold chill. Don't understand the things I do

Yellow numbered markers, one for each discarded shell casing – in the grass, on road asphalt. A body-shaped mound under a striped lap-blanket. The world outside looks so unkind

Himself in the center of the street, head tucked between his knees, jacket draped over his shoulders, Arthur kneeling in profile beside him, hand on Merlin's shoulder as he gave attention to something the picture didn't show, further down the street.

The last set of pictures – Katy. So I'm counting on you

Oh, damn. Lila and her book. I didn't even see you come over here.

To carry me through

Merlin jumped as the driver's door opened, and Arthur stepped into the footwell, seating himself and shutting the door before turning to see the file in Merlin's hands. His blue eyes met Merlin's with no small amount of guilt. He pulled the ear-buds out, dropped them down against his collarbone.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

Arthur reached to take it from him, close it from his sight. "That's kind of a long story," his friend said, pitching the file onto the dash.

"Short version," Merlin suggested. He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or to punch the window out.

"I think they want to hire you?" Arthur said.

"And instead of offering a million-dollar salary, they dug up this stuff to – what? – blackmail you with?" Merlin said. Arthur slouched back, propping his elbow on the door and rubbing his forehead, making a gesture of agreement. "I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I should have been more careful."

Arthur shook his head. "It is really not your fault, Merlin," he said. "You don't need to worry about this, especially right now."

Merlin sighed. Freya. It gave him an oh, yeah pang to remember the look on her face, not loving sweetness or cheerful wonder at something special he'd done for her, magic or otherwise, but a stifling pity. "What did she say to you?"

"She was angry," Arthur said. "Cussed me out for taking advantage of you, playing a joke while you were innocent and impressionable, and…" Arthur's tone was faintly sardonic, but Merlin could hear the affect Freya's accusations had made.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I told her it wasn't anything you said or did, but once she decided I'd looped the loop," he had to take a breath and try to steady that bitter sarcasm. "The more I said I'm fine, the more she heard, I'm not fine."

They sat in silence, watching other employees walk past. "If there's anything I can do –" Arthur offered.

"No." Merlin sighed. "There's nothing to be done." He blinked the tears from his eyes. "Either I agree to commit myself to intensive therapy, or she somehow comes to believe it. I don't see there's any other way. If I say it was a joke that'll be the end of things between us, and she's never going to say it doesn't matter. So, for all intents and purposes… it's over."

"You're not going to see her again?" Arthur asked.

Merlin's throat closed and he couldn't breathe for a pair of heartbeats. What the hell, really? Why was Freya even here, if not… He swallowed and managed, "No. It would be – awful, knowing she thinks my screws are all loose. If you'd seen her face –" The pity. The heartbreak. You can't persuade someone to reconsider insanity. "Good thing I'm going to Seattle, hm?" Merlin said. Arthur shot him a glance, then his eyes went to the file on the dash, and Merlin's intuition made the leap. "You were going to bring me to Seattle anyway, weren't you?" he said, and couldn't find the energy to be upset. "Because of that. Me and Gwaine, both."

Arthur sighed. "Yes. I thought – I don't know, a change of scenery. And then with all that crap, I knew I was going to be useless there if you were here, being followed and photographed."

In spite of everything, Merlin felt a tiny smile pull at his lips. "You mean," he said deliberately, "that you'd worry? About me? I'm flattered, though I can take care of myself, if I'm told –"

"If you're told –" Arthur interrupted, giving him his reserved sideways smile – "to shut up, Merlin."

Merlin laughed softly, and for that moment, it was all right. Threateningly pushy would-be employers, destined lovers refusing acceptance, even distressed former caseworkers and missing acquaintances faded into the background.

He was where he belonged, at Arthur's side. They both were alive and well. No one he loved was in any danger. All else would come, in time.

"You want to come back to the house?" Arthur said. "Gwen cried for about an hour last night, after…"

"Yeah," Merlin said. He wanted to question teasingly whether Gwen's crying was supposed to be an incentive to come or a warning to stay away, but he didn't have the heart. "Yeah, I'll come."

"Do you want to –"

"No, I'll drive mine," Merlin said.

Once at the Drake house, Arthur pulled into the garage, and waited til Merlin had come up the drive to close the garage door, and they both entered the kitchen.

"Gwen?" Arthur said. Merlin's instinct was to call out jokingly, honey I'm home, but suddenly he couldn't get the words past the painful lump in his throat. Not his honey, not his home.

"Arthur?" Gwen's voice came from the living room, and Merlin trailed his friend to the doorway. "How was Merlin? Did you get a chance to – oh, Merlin." She was on the couch, this time with bed-pillows propped behind her and under her knees, the arrangement somehow serving to emphasize her pregnant belly. Merlin couldn't help smiling; that glow really was soothing.

"Yeah, I brought him home with me," Arthur said, rather unnecessarily. He leaned over the back of the couch to kiss his wife gently on the lips, then headed for the bedroom.

"What am I, now, some homeless stray?" Merlin scoffed, rounding to the front of the couch as Gwen struggled upright, discomfort on her face.

"How are you, Merlin, really?" she said. She smiled her own gentle, concerned smile, in spite of the dark circles under her eyes. But her whole person simply radiated light and comfort and safety. The glow was almost medicinal in nature to his wounded spirit, increasing the sting of the separation from his own mate while simultaneously promising eventual healing.

It was such an odd mixture of strong emotions that he reacted without thinking, and the stereo that was part of the living room entertainment system flickered on. These raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling

Gwen's eyes widened, and Arthur said something unintelligible from the bedroom. But there's one thing that I know/ The blues they send to meet me won't defeat me…

"Ah, that's probably me," Merlin said, embarrassed. "Sorry, that's pretty cheesy, isn't it?" It won't be long til happiness steps up to greet me

"It's fine, Merlin," Gwen said, and as he turned toward the stereo, she added, "No, no – leave it on." She wriggled to the edge of the couch, stuffed a pillow behind her hips and leaned back until her head was on the back of the couch, as Raindrops keep falling on my head kept playing.

"You worked, today?" Merlin said, seating himself on the brass-and-glass square coffee table, his knees inches from hers.

"Jenny didn't come back from her trip to Vail last week," Gwen said. "Broke her leg skiing." She made a face. "So they're short-handed."

"It's your lower back?" Merlin said, and reached both hands to her. She gave him a confused look, and her hands, and he pulled her to her feet, turning her around. "Where?"

"The muscles next to my spine," Gwen said, jamming her fists into the area as she spoke, and bending backwards. "But also right here, on the back of my hips. It feels like I can't arch back far enough to ease the stress."

"Move your hands," Merlin told her, and put his own fingers against her back, drawing her clothing flat and concentrating on the bones and muscles she'd mentioned, letting healing magic flow into her. The glow shifted, just slightly. "Sorry – he kicked you just then, didn't he?" Merlin murmured.

Gwen chuckled a little breathlessly. "That feels good – Merlin, we told you, we didn't want to know the baby's gender, we wanted to be surprised."

"Ah – yes," he said. "I mean, she just kicked…" Gwen laughed again, hunching her shoulders forward as he moved his fingers up beside her vertebrae. "Sorry – surprise."

"I expect to be very angry with you later," Gwen said. "Don't you dare tell Arthur! But right now – mm, that feels good."

"What the hell is this, don't tell Arthur." Arthur came into the room, having changed into a t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had worn a hole at one knee. He sounded mostly amused, but maybe a touch jealous. "That is a highly inappropriate way you're touching my wife, Merlin."

"This is a pain I can do something about," Merlin snapped. "Somebody ought to profit from the magic."

Arthur stood still, and Gwen turned around. The music died away and Merlin let his hands drop. "I'm sorry," he said. "That sounded quite – bitter, out loud, didn't it?"

"Come on," Gwen said. She seated herself in the middle of the couch, moving two bed-pillows for Merlin. "We'll watch an old movie or something."

"Pizza okay with everyone?" Arthur said, heading for the kitchen.

"Actually, Arthur, I think I'd like Cheerios," Gwen said meekly.

Merlin looked over the top of the couch and couldn't resist grinning at the look on the former king's face. "Cheerios," Arthur repeated.

"Yes, Honey-Nut Cheerios. And a chocolate shake." Gwen turned so that Merlin could see her blush and sheepish grin, but Arthur couldn't.

"You're serious? You're serious." Arthur groaned and turned back to the kitchen.

"Watermelon and chop suey?" Merlin suggested.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I'm not that bad," she insisted.

Merlin snickered and turned his attention back to the tv, an episode of International House Hunters. He relaxed by degrees, feeling simultaneously lazy and giddy to be resting so close to Gwen and that glow of promise.

What will it be like, he wondered, when it's Arthur's son I'm taking to the playground? Who's telling me, thanks for the magic?

Gaius had once told him, Fear of loss is part of love. You may have her for half a century, or a decade, or a month… He'd had Freya almost three years now. If it was over… no, he couldn't think like that. Not yet. Merlin let his eyes drop closed, his arms crossed tight over his chest, and imagined someday, putting his stockinged feet up on his own coffee table and his arm around Freya, as Arthur's arm was around Gwen – resting his other hand gently against the bulge of her stomach, as Arthur did, absently-mindedly, his eyes on the television, to feel the movement of new life.

Butterflies didn't even come close. If it was his child he felt moving through Freya's skin, her eyes locked on his and sparkling with joy – unimaginable happiness.

It was easy to ignore the insidious whisper of his dream… run, Eliza, run

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Sunday night they arrived at Seattle Airport at ten til nine o'clock. They checked into the Ballard Hotel, and Gwaine groaned over the sound of the elevator as they rose to the fourth floor.

"Seattle in springtime," he said. "What's the weather supposed to be like again, Merlin?"

"High 50's," Merlin mumbled. "Forty percent chance we'll get half an inch of rain total all day tomorrow – and every other day this week."

He was tired, worn out from an emotional roller-coaster of a week, not sure whether to consider the separation from Freya as merely a bump in the road or as the end of the road itself. Not sure whether to anticipate this trip to Seattle, seeing Eddie, seeing Casey, doing something tangibly useful for someone he cared about – and he'd be fooling himself if it didn't feel like he was paying a debt – reviewing old memories before laying them to rest once and for all. Or whether he should dread those memories, the hurt that might come, and the question of how to handle that.

"Merlin's in with me?" Gwaine said, the surprise in his voice startling Merlin out of his reverie.

They stood in the hotel corridor, the carpet burgundy-and-forest green pattern beneath their feet, vending and ice-machines humming down on the right, window and potted plant at the end of the hall. Number 459 on the door in front of them.

"If no one objects," Arthur said. Leon hitched the strap of his duffel on his shoulder as Arthur pulled the electronic keycard from the little paper envelope with the Hotel Ballard logo. "We have to be at the office at seven-thirty tomorrow, thought you two might at least sleep in."

"Damn straight," Gwaine said, grinning and ripping the paper envelope to get their keycards. "What about the car, though? You'll have it, we'll be stuck here."

"Bus," Merlin said. The various plans of the public transportation of the city presented itself to his memory – bus, metro, and ferry – committed there by his 13-year-old self who had learned the hard way that he couldn't trust anyone else to look out for him.

"Keep your phone turned on tomorrow, you hear me?" Arthur said, his blue eyes intense. "And with you at all times – that's an order. Gwaine–" he hesitated, and whatever he'd been about to say became instead a subtle smile and, "I know you two have each other's backs. Let us know if you need anything."

"Get a good night's sleep," Leon told both of them, holding the door open as Arthur entered their shared room, though his eyes were on Merlin. "That way jet lag doesn't hit so hard in the morning."

"Come on," Gwaine said over his shoulder to Merlin, pressing down on their door-latch as the green light blinked. "We can see if the mini-bar is stocked."

Merlin said nothing, but felt immeasurably better as he followed the dark-haired former knight into the room – he wasn't alone. He had friends he could trust to look out for him. Merlin's magic reached out to the lights as Gwaine dropped his bag and pulled the curtains shut.

"That's my bed," Gwaine tossed over his shoulder, indicating the bed on the inner wall.

"Why?" Merlin countered. He thought he probably preferred the bed closer to the window, anyway, and moved to set his backpack down.

Gwaine flicked on the tv and tossed the remote on the bed beside Merlin on his way to the half-fridge under the sink in the entryway of the room. "It's closer to the bathroom," he pointed out, then huffed. "No luck. No booze."

"We'll get a six-pack tomorrow," Merlin said, stretching out on the smooth cool cover of the bed, relaxing muscles tense from eleven hours of flight time, counting the hour stopover in Denver.

Gwaine continued prowling, familiarizing himself with the amenities. "At least there's coffee for the morning," he said. Merlin heard the sound of a cabinet door opening. "Closet, and ironing board with iron," Gwaine said. "You got any clothes you want to hang up, Merlin?" For answer Merlin kicked his overstuffed backpack, and Gwaine snorted, continuing on. "Pay-per-view menu – you're not old enough for that stuff, though, are you?"

Merlin grinned. Gwaine knew very well it was his twenty-first they'd celebrated two months ago. The former knight had been the most excited of all of them that Merlin could now order his own alcohol in public legally.

Gwaine moved on to the desk. "They've got a restaurant attached to the hotel," he said. "But no room service." Merlin kicked off his shoes and made a sympathetic noise. "Oh, but a handful of delivery menus." The stiff folded sheets slapped and slid across Merlin and the bed as Gwaine chucked them at him, and he began pitching them onto Gwaine's bed one by one in retaliation.

"Hey!" Gwaine protested half-heartedly, still exploring the desk. "Here's one that tells you fun stuff to do in Seattle. The Space Needle, the Aquarium, Pacific Science Center… Here's a good one, the Museum of History and Nordic Heritage – Merlin, they've got a special exhibit of medieval weaponry. Some from Britain – the Battersea Shield and the Waterloo Helmet from the Thames."

"Lemme see that," Merlin said sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He heard the suggestive whisper of movement and caught the guidebook with his magic before it hit him in the head. He glared up at an unrepentant Gwaine, and plucked the book from the air. "The date's wrong," Merlin continued. "This was last month. The exhibit is in D.C., now. The Smithsonian." He scrutinized the trio of tiny pictures, each labeled. Something about the sword in the third picture, a thumbnail photo about an inch square caught his attention, and he blinked to read the label accurately.

The Artorius Blade.

Merlin sat up as Gwaine sprawled on his own bed, kicking his shoes off and beginning to flip through the tv channel options.

The description read: Recovered in 1993 by fishermen on a lake near Glastonbury in Somerset, named by its commercial owner, Halbyon Incorported. Circa unspec.

"Does that look like Arthur's sword to you?" Merlin said, pointing.

Gwaine squinted briefly at the picture, his interest gone once he'd heard the exhibit wasn't available. "Can't tell," he said, turning back to the tv.

Merlin looked at the picture again. Maybe with a magnifying glass… Well, it was in D.C., after all. When they got back he could find an excuse for a day-trip to the capital.

Crazy, though, wasn't it? To think after all this time… He remembered choosing it from Gwen's father's stock, remembered Kilgarrah's flame burnishing it, the thrill of apprehension at Uther's fascination, Kilgarrah's anger that another had wielded it. He remembered the sunlit clearing where Arthur had taken it into his hand for the first time. He remembered holding it in his hand for the last time, rubbing his thumb over the gold-wire wrapped leather grip, watching the light play along the edge of the blade…

Freya's hand rising from the water to grasp the hilt and recall the weapon to its final resting place, as Merlin prepared to do the same for its master, and his.

"You all right, mate?" Gwaine asked. "You look like you just – saw a ghost or something."

"I'm fine, Gwaine," Merlin said, giving him a grin. "It's my heart that's broken, not my mind." He stood up and walked to the door.
"Where are you going?" Gwaine asked.

"To show this to Arthur," Merlin told him.

Gwaine made a discouraging face. "It's late, Merlin," he said, pushing the power button to turn the tv off. "It'll keep til tomorrow, won't it?"

Merlin looked back down, then ripped the page from the guidebook and folded it carefully, so the picture wouldn't be creased. He crossed the room and knelt beside his bed, tucking it into a side pocket of his backpack. After fifteen hundred years… yes, it would keep til tomorrow.

A/N: Information for the fictitious museum's ad was taken from the website .

Wikipedia has one possible location for Avalon in Glastonbury, so that's what I used…

Watermelon and chop suey – that's Lady and the Tramp.

..*…..

Text translation:

Am sorry 2 Am sorry too.

Can we sit down /w ur grndfthr? Can we sit down with your grandfather?

No. I wont bring him n2 this. No. I won't bring him into this.

Am going 2 seattle sun. can talk when im home again? Am going to Seattle Sunday. Can talk when I'm home again?

Ok. Lmk when ur home. Okay. Let me know when you're home.