Chapter 26: In Which Both Uther and Merlin Do Some Thinking
On the morning that Uther Pendragon caught his return flight to London, the employees of the Pendragon Institute drew a collective sigh of relief and compared interrogation stories. The Senior Director had gone over each department with a fine toothed comb, records of almost everything had been checked and double-checked, and nearly everybody had been asked questions about some other member of the staff.
"This young Merlin," Uther had said to Gaius, shortly after the lactose-laden, celebratory tea of the previous day. "How do you really think he's getting on? I suppose you consider him quite an asset?"
"Oh, yes, quite," Gaius said, pumping up the enthusiasm. "As I told you, I've never known anybody to be so capable at his age. He has a natural talent for the work."
"And on a personal level?" Uther purred.
"Ah! Well, yes, he gets on well with everyone, I suppose. All of the girls think he's the most adorable creature on two legs. His colleagues, Will and Gwen, will certainly vouch for him. And Arthur seems quite satisfied with him."
"I daresay," Uther muttered so drily that Gaius gave him a look of alarm, but the Senior Director appeared to be relatively cheerful, moving on to a different topic of conversation before Gaius could utter another word of praise for his junior colleague.
"It's been a good season for the Institute," Uther finally said, stuffing reports and various papers into his briefcase as he prepared to take his leave. "Which reminds me--I think it's time Arthur spent a few months in London, to see to things at that end, eh? After all, he does do some work there every year. I'll have to check the calendar. Now--where has Mordred got to?"
"I believe he's with Merlin," Gaius ventured cautiously. "Watching him work on a fifteenth-century altarpiece panel. Mordred finds him quite interesting."
Uther frowned. "Both my sons do, it seems," he said rather cryptically, causing Gaius to wonder exactly what was on his mind. "I'll go and collect him. I take it they're in the Paper Conservation studio? Well! When I hired this young man it didn't register with me that he had any appeal other than as a well-trained and gifted conservator. It appears I was mistaken."
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"We should have a party," Morgana said. "To celebrate his majesty's departure."
She had collapsed onto the sofa in the Assistant Director's office. Arthur was seated in the chair behind his desk, and Merlin was slumped wearily in another.
"A party?" mumbled Arthur, reaching for his third cup of tea. "What, another one? Where are the biscuits? Merlin! You...you..."
"Idiot," said Merlin and Morgana automatically.
"...idiot! You're sitting on the tin!"
"Sorry," said Merlin, retrieving it. "I don't think I've crushed the biscuits," he added, contritely.
"Merlin, you have my permission to hit him," drawled Morgana. "The way he talks to you!"
"He's always talked to me like that," Merlin replied, rubbing his eyes with fatigue. "Ever since I started here."
"It's not my fault," retorted Arthur, grinning wearily, "that you've always been disrespectful, contradictory, and insubordinate."
The moment Uther's flight took off for London (Gwen monitored the airline on her computer, checking to make certain his flight actually left, with no delays), the entire staff of the Pendragon Institute--with the exception of Katrina--professed themselves happy to breathe the air of freedom once again. Consequently, they all became extremely light-headed and silly, as though it were April Fool's Day. Leon put a prickly pine cone on Katrina's chair behind the Information Desk. Lance and Will hid Gwen's magnifying glass and then feigned total ignorance as she raced about the Textile Conservation studio looking for it. Will only relented and returned it to her when it became obvious that she was on the verge of losing her temper entirely.
"The next time you two do something like that," Gwen shouted, her face flushed with frustration as she brandished the magnifying glass, "I'll tell the entire staff, Lance, exactly what I need to use this thing to look for."
Lance looked a bit put out at those words, whilst Will doubled over with hysterical laughter.
Even the Assistant Director dispensed with dignity long enough to enact a prank or two, with the aid of his junior conservator. After rummaging through his office, Merlin located an enormous fake rat that a friend in London--a fellow sufferer from student days at the Courtauld Institute--had sent to him as a joke. He and Arthur positioned it on top of the lintel of Morgana's office door, in such a way that it would be sure to fall the moment the door was opened. Then Arthur knocked, and they raced down the hall, cackling like schoolboys, turning the corner just before they heard the click of the doorknob and Morgana's subsequent scream of horror.
With the aid of a scanner, Photoshop, and some tape, an irate Morgana promptly altered the small plaque next to Arthur's door so that it read Assistant RAT rather than Assistant Director.
Later, Merlin manually added a "P" so that it read Assistant PRAT.
Arthur retaliated by putting a twenty-four hour hold on Morgana's business charge account, and informing Merlin that his punishment would be a week of indentured servitude, the particulars of which would be decided by himself.
"That sounds unbelievably kinky," said Merlin, frowning. "I'll have nothing to do with it."
Morgana sniggered.
Gaius witnessed all of these goings-on with the philosphical resignation of one who had seen much childish nonsense in his lifetime and expected to see more.
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By the end of the work day, everybody was totally exhausted. Lance and Gwen had made up and headed out the front door, arm in arm. Morgana and Leon vanished at around the same time, and the Assistant Director had no doubt that they had booked a table for one of the candlelit dinners Morgana had spoken of several days earlier.
Arthur himself declared that he felt like a limp, wrung-out dishrag. He agreed to join Gaius and Merlin for dinner, but it was too late in the day to get a reservation at any of the neighborhood's high-end eateries. The three finally made do with a quick meal at an inexpensive and rather grimy restaurant, several blocks east of the Institute. As soon as they had finished their deplorable coffee, Gaius rose with the excuse that he was really too old to stay out gallavanting, and took his leave after casting a kind, understanding look at the two young men.
"Shall we go to my place?" Arthur asked. "It's not far."
"But...it's not Wednesday. Or Friday."
"I don't care," Arthur said resolutely, so they paid their bill and walked slowly to Arthur's building, only picking up speed when the wind became too cold. Once inside, Merlin hovered uncertainly at one end of the living room, watching his host pour something that he hoped wasn't whiskey into two heavy glasses.
"You must be tired," he finally blurted out. "I don't want to keep you up, erm, if you--"
"You don't want to keep me what?" Arthur's smile was sleepy but suggestive.
"Erm, I thought you said...you said you felt like a limp dishrag..."
"I can see I should never have used the word limp," Arthur murmured as he crossed the room. "I've regained a great deal of energy, actually." His eyes fastened on the strands of black hair that lay against the creamy skin of Merlin's forehead.
Merlin smiled, and then closed his eyes and shivered as the tips of Arthur's fingers brushed the hair back from his brow.
"Sorry," Arthur whispered, letting the same fingers follow the curve of Merlin's ear and resting his other hand lightly on one side of his narrow waist. "I know I was a bit, um, rough the last time."
Merlin knew that Uther's presence had been the catalyst for that impromptu visit to his own downtown flat two nights ago (and had been, no doubt, the reason behind the roughness as well), but he said nothing, only leaning forward to press his mouth against Arthur's dry and parted lips.
Not long after, lying cradled in Arthur's very careful embrace, Merlin acknowledged to himself that the Institute's Assistant Director was a more complex person than he had judged him to be only a few months ago. The surface arrogance, authoritarian demeanor, and tongue-in-cheek bullying had long since ceased to bother him. He knew that Arthur had a lively intelligence, that he was more empathic and warmhearted than most people gave him credit for. However, just how serious a relationship he wanted theirs to be, Merlin could not quite tell...Arthur simply was not verbally communicative on that subject...or any other subject involving his personal life. On the other hand, there was no question that he was capable of warmth and tenderness. If he had been uncharacteristically rough during their last encounter (Merlin winced a little at the memory), he was being uncharacteristically gentle now, using his fingertips with a surgeon's delicacy.
Of course, to be fair, Merlin thought, while he could still think with clarity, he had not been terribly communicative about himself, either. In spite of their ease together, their comfortable camaraderie when they were alone, there were certain subjects that neither of them ever, ever mentioned.
Why don't you ask him, Merlin, you coward? Ask him...where he sees this thing going.
No...now really isn't the time. Besides, I know he wants to keep this a secret. That there's no way he's ever going to tell his friends...or his colleagues...or Uther, for that matter.
Excuses, excuses.
"I hope Father didn't say anything unpleasant to you while he was here," Arthur mumbled, half asleep, a while later. "He's said plenty of hair raising things to other members of staff in the past."
"Oh no, not at all," Merlin replied with his eyes closed, his head resting against the comforting solidity of Arthur's chest. "He didn't even mention that mental affliction he joked about when he first interviewed me. Perhaps he'd forgotten all about it."
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It was back to business as usual the following day, and the first order of business, now that Uther was gone, was to see to the packing of the manuscript that the Institute was lending to the Metropolitan Museum. The early thirteenth-century piece, a volume containing text and illustrations of various legends, including several Arthurian ones, was to be inspected by Merlin before being packed for the short trip to the Met. Upon arrival there, it would be uncrated and checked by their Medieval Department's conservator--presumably Valiant--before being put on display. The exhibition, entitled "The Age of Magna Carta," was due to open in late January.
"Be especially careful when you write up your condition report," Gaius said to Merlin. "This is for THE MET."
"The Met--oh bollocks!" Merlin growled under his breath after Gaius was out of hearing range. Will was eyeing him curiously from the other side of the room, perhaps perplexed by Merlin's Harvard University Fencing Team sweatshirt.
It wasn't Merlin's sweatshirt, but Arthur's. With no change of clothing at Arthur's flat--he had moved everything of that nature back to his own place before Uther's arrival--he had come to work in this garment, of a deep Harvard crimson, which was obviously a bit too large for him.
("I thought you went to Oxford," Merlin had said that morning in surprise. "Oxford for undergraduate, for my Bachelor's. Graduate study in the States, at Harvard," Arthur replied. "I was captain of the fencing team, naturally," he added smugly. "Naturally," Merlin had mumbled with only a touch of sarcasm.)
Poring carefully over the delicate manuscript, admiring the illustrations in rich colors with a wealth of gold leaf and the gorgeously illuminated capital letters, Merlin checked for flaking pigments or cracks in the parchment. He wasn't going to take any chances before turning the piece over to Valiant. Gaius had still failed to uncover any background material on the man's training, and Morgana continued to joke about Morgause's reasons for having hired him.
Having completed his condition check of the manuscript, Merlin left the piece in the Paper Conservation studio and went upstairs to his little office to write his report. This took him less than an hour, and he had one copy ready for Arthur's inspection well before his self-imposed deadline of noon.
When he delivered the report, neatly enclosed in a standard black notebook, to the Assistant Director's office, he found Arthur sitting behind his desk with a face like a stormcloud. He silently held out his hand for the report, and Merlin gave it to him.
"Arthur--are you alright?" Merlin stood back and prepared to be called an epic idiot, or to hear a complaint about something Morgana had done or an angry rant about insufficiant funds.
"I'm fine," snapped the Assistant Director with no change of expression. "Everything's lovely. Unless you count the email from my father, suggesting that I spend three months working in London after the opening of the Metropolitan's "Magna Carta" show. When it comes to ruining a perfectly good morning, he never ceases to amaze me."