Being in the service for decades provided him with vast experiences regarding several kinds of situations, yet, Merlin couldn't remember ever feeling so hopeless before; it had settled in his chest, gnawing at him whenever he tried to shake it – there was no reasoning with it, no pushing it away for longer periods, because he knew that, this time around, it was as bad as it looked.

After all, in the end, it boiled down to two choices: walking right into disaster laying in wait or ending up with empty hands.

He was afraid he had exhausted every trick he knew, from trying to trace the emails to taking them apart for possible hidden messages to scanning the hard drive several times for deleted files, all leaving him turning in circles until his head was spinning.

The longer he thought about it, the more uneasy he got, up to the point where he couldn't stand listening to his own words any longer, bouncing around his skull aimlessly. He was Merlin. If anyone could find a way to get out of this, it should be him.

Truth was, the moment he had no access to tangible information or an actual target, everything was up in the air, so he was now stuck considering whether he could bear sending someone into such an obvious trap – did it even matter?

Carefully, he breathed. And he was tired, he just wanted to sleep, even though it would only entail nightmares, his brain twisting reality into something more horrifying and less real, mixing it with memories he intended to keep locked right where they were.

The invitations had gone out a day or two ago, to everyone royal in the furthest sense of the word, without even so much checking if they were still alive – thankfully, it included aliases Kingsman had set up years ago. Yet, he failed to feel thankful. Instead, there had been a sense of dread settling in his stomach when he had held the letter in his hands, handwritten, coming with a key.

Barely days left to the set date, leaving not enough time to thoroughly prepare everything how he liked to do; there wasn't enough time to think it all through, to make a plan, there wasn't enough time for anything at all, and he couldn't even begin to fathom how badly it would turn out to be in reality.

Worst about it was how the problems always kept piling up, coming to look for him when he didn't need them. The most prominent one went by Kay. The second most prominent one by Lamorak. By now, he must have explained the situation a thousand times, and yet both agents didn't bother trying to understand. The latter at least kept his distance – not without a steady stream of complaints, of course –, while Kay seemed hell-bent on proving something.

Currently, for example, Merlin's most pressing concern was that he needed to ask Darja something, only to discover that a certain person had been bugging her until she agreed to a physical fight.

Now, he didn't worry that she ended up getting hurt, and it wasn't exactly that he worried she would do more harm than she had to to get him to leave her alone, it was just … he was still concerned. It ate him up, and he couldn't phrase a reason to why it would. He got her anger and frustration, and he got that she was trying her very best not to act on it, but he was also very much aware that Kay was being – for the lack of better words – an utter nuisance. And he had never been hesitant to deal out low blows when he thought he could get away with it.

For the time being, Merlin decided that part of his concern came from the realization that Darja was his best chance for the upcoming mission, if he wanted everyone to get out alive. Answering truthfully, however, his reasons were selfish, possibly downright egoistic: he liked her. He didn't want her to get caught up in his mess.

He sped up. The sooner he got there, the better.

His steps echoed off the walls, which was, by far, not unusual, yet it struck him as unsettling, causing him to become strangely aware of his own breathing. The doubts kept creeping up on him, no matter how much he tried to silence them, whispering all these what ifs.

Turning around the next corner, he spotted the gym, immediately slowing down, collecting himself briefly, before he pressed down the handle, glancing inside.

Relief spread through him the moment he spotted both of them, only to vanish the next second, disappearing like it had never been there in the first place. Silently, he slipped inside the room, not wanting to draw their attention just yet.

They were standing several feet apart, Darja had crossed her arms, everything about her conveying how little she liked being here, but the tension in her shoulders gave her away. Kay, on the other hand, carried himself as arrogantly as ever.

Perhaps it would be for the best if he made his presence known.

"You're awfully sure of yourself," she noted, eyebrows wandering an inch or two higher. "What makes you think you're going to win?"

"It's arrogant to think you could even stand so much as a chance," he replied with a huff. "I'm superior to you in every way imaginable."

"Maybe you should brush up on your definition of arrogant," she retorted with a roll of her eyes.

Merlin was with her on that matter, and … he wasn't saying he wouldn't enjoy seeing this man get what he deserved – which was, at least, food for thought –, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was what he should be doing in his position as Arthur. Probably not. And still he didn't step in.

"Now," the agent said, voice regaining a serious tone, "gentlemen like me live by the principle of lady's first, so, naturally, I'm going to give you the advantage of having the first move, though I'm sure that's not going to help you."

"Whatever," Darja muttered in return.

A part of him hoped he'd go down with the very first hit.

She pulled the sweater she had been wearing up to this point over her head, carelessly tossing it to the ground next to her. Beneath, he spotted a simple, short-sleeved shirt. Bandages still covered her lower arms, and he could make out pale scars, working their ways around impressive, lean muscles in clutters – the longer he looked at her, the more convinced he became that she would have made a good athlete.

"Sure you're not scared?"

"Of shattering your ego into a thousand pieces?" she returned with a snort as she rolled her shoulders, popping the joints in her back. "Why would I be?"

Before Kay had found a witty reply, she leapt forward, feinting a punch at his stomach. He fell for it, bringing his arm up to block; she kicked his knee instead. He tumbled. Darja regained her distance.

The agent got back up, starting his own attack, fist flying towards her shoulder. She dodged with astonishing ease, grabbing his arm, twisting it, kicking his legs from under him.

Once more, she brought several feet between them, the tension slowly easing out of her body.

Merlin realized that he liked watching her, not due to the grace of her movements or the amount of skill she had, but due to the fact that she looked like she was having genuine fun, like she was doing something that made her genuinely happy, and that was something he rarely saw about her.

Kay stormed forward, aiming for her face this time. She blocked his hit with her lower arm, forcing the palm of her free hand under his chin and pushing his head – not with enough force to kill.

It only seemed to anger her opponent; he went for a quick succession of punches, all of them ending up blocked. The next time he went for her face, she whirled out of his way, hitting his armpit, then funny bone and chin, eventually kicking him off his feet in a fraction of a second, leaving him no time to react, stepping away again.

She drew her gun, pointing it at the back of his dead, clicking off the safety. With the sound, the whole room fell quiet immediately as if things had just taken a turn for the worst. Merlin didn't experience concern; instead, pride swelled in his chest.

"Dead," she noted, no emotion in her voice, except perhaps a hint of disappointment.

"I'm not," Kay protested, breathing heavily.

"Yeah, because I didn't actually shoot you," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "Smartass."

The agent glared. "I'm not done," he said, getting back on his feet, struggling.

"What," Darja said with a snort, "now you regret underestimating me?"

"Dumb luck."

"Look," she said with a sigh, the muzzle of her gun pointing at his shoulder by now, "you're not required to get along with me. I'm not required to get along with you. So why don't you use your head for even half a second and admit that I didn't beat you due to something as stupid as luck?"

"You're-"

"Stop being such an asshole about it," she told him, anger seething through her words and shining in her eyes; she had enough of it, enough of him. Understandably. "You're not better than me just because you're a man. You're arrogant and stuck up and fail to realize that you're really not that special."

Kay's glare had gotten intense, as if he was about to lash out completely.

Merlin cleared his throat, stepping closer – Darja didn't seem surprised, perhaps she had already noticed him or simply expected him to show up sooner or later; surprise hit the agent, then, within the fraction of a second, rage crawled across his face, shame making him scramble.

"I think that's enough," he stated.

She glanced at him briefly, contemplating, before she clicked the safety of her gun back on and put it away, picking up the sweater she had discarded earlier without a second thought and pulling it over her head.

Huffing, Kay straightened out his suit, flinching when he moved his arm at a certain angle. A hard look lingered in his eyes, different in nature than any other he had seen before. Something told him it would turn out to be a grudge.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked in a voice low with constrained emotions.

"Long enough," Merlin brushed it off. "I had been hoping it would resolve in a civil way." It wasn't entirely the truth but it wasn't a full lie either, he had been hoping it would resolve in a way that didn't require his intervention. "It's unfortunate that it hasn't. Now, considering the gravity of the situation we're in, I do hope that you understand that this cannot be a regular occurrence. Is that clear?"

Darja nodded silently, having crossed her arms, while the other man echoed 'clear' in a grim voice, holding himself upright despite his injuries, eyes set aflame with something – it wasn't the end of it. It was perhaps only the beginning of a new problem he most certainly didn't need.

"Is there something you wanted?" Darja asked, cutting into the heavy silence before someone else could; he was positive she had noticed it too. He was also positive her patience was wearing thin, if she had any left, that was.

"Yes, there is," he replied with a nod. "If you wouldn't mind-"

She nodded before he had even finished his sentence; the tension had returned to her shoulders, as if she was bracing herself, and he wanted to reach out, help her, tell her not to worry. It ached knowing that he would only make it worse.

"With all due respect, Merlin," Kay spoke up, "don't you think that's all going too far?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're getting at," he replied, hoping that he didn't know what he was getting at. The suspension had crept up in him, trickling into the back of his mind like a parasite, slowly swallowing him alive. He was without defence.

The man allowed himself a smile, a smile that very well could be the expression of a predator when it had backed its prey into a corner. Merlin decided that he didn't like it, nearly despised it.

"It might be in line for you to consider your next words carefully," he told him, frowning as he clung to the all composure he could muster; he didn't know what he would do if he was forced to explain his reasoning. He didn't know if he even could. After all, it was an emotion, a feeling, they weren't all terribly reasonable. Briefly, he thought about denying it – denying that he liked her – but the idea alone made him sick with guilt.

"You're sympathies aren't exactly my problem," Kay continued, yet making it sound like they were very much so, "but perhaps you should keep them out of your work. They start to affect things."

"Perhaps," he answered, a chill sinking into his bones, "you should consider that your perspective, Kay, is not absolute. Neither is your opinion always warranted."

The agent opened his mouth to argue, perplexedly shutting it again, something burning across his face, hot, reddening it in an instance.

"You can't just come and change everything because you feel like it," he hissed. "You're destroying the service the way you run it."

"I'm not changing anything," he replied, feeling his skin starting to chill, harsh cold skirting across it and sinking into his flesh. It was slipping out of his hands, he was loosing control.

Kay glared and glowered, wordlessly taking off; he suspected the argument was considered postponed, not won. The door slammed shut.

"Let's go," Darja said, shaking her head; the grim expression hadn't vanished from her face, anger spoke through her eyes, she dug her fingers into her upper arms to stop herself from doing something she might come to regret.

"Breathe," he reminded her, and she exhaled, slowly, steadily. "Do you want to talk about it?" A frown softened his expression.

"There's not a lot to say," she answered, still staring at the spot where the other man had stood like she could make him drop dead wherever he was now. "He's an asshole."

"That he is," Merlin agreed.

"He acts like he's the best and like he knows everything," she continued, easing with each word.

"He does."

"He thinks you like me," she said with a snort, looking at him – and immediately freezing.

"I do," he replied softly, "there is nothing wrong with that."

"No, I – he thinks you love me," she said, hesitant to correct herself.

A lump formed in his chest, turning his breaths flat and shallow. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know the difference between the two," he said. "It's a strange emotion, love."

"I could do without it," she muttered, screwing up her face like it had dragged up bad memories.

"You would wonder what was wrong with you," he answered, voice heavy and quiet, "that the rest of the world could love and you never even knew what it was. It's not a nice experience."

"Neither is heartbreak," she replied, running a hand through her hair, "or wondering why you can't love someone like all people do. You know, stay together, work it out. Stay in love. Grow together." She sighed, dropping her arms. "Sometimes, I wonder if I was really in love to begin with or if I confused it with admiration."

"I don't know, Darja," he said, feeling his voice give in under the words, "but I've come to realize that you don't need to be in love with anyone to be happy." She look at him, corners of her mouth tugging upwards.

"I know," she said. "I mean – I know that I can love. But I never seem to fall for people who love me." A sad smile ghosted across her lips, stinging behind his ribs where the warmth usually started.

"I'm sure someone will take a look at you and see you for you are and then they will have no choice but to fall for you too," he told her. "Until then, if it offers any peace of mind, I do like you quite a lot."

She chuckled through her nose, an unexpected laugh that caught both of them off guard. "It is," she replied. "Thanks. I do like you too." Her voice had grown soft, so soft he thought he might melt away at the sound of it, never to return to a solid form again.

Silence followed, cautious at the edges, barely daring to intrude.

"How are your wounds?" he asked after another moment, feeling his heart speed up. The lump in his throat stayed.

"Fine," she answered, furrowing her brows. "For the most part, I think."

He extended a hand, open palm facing up, and she pushed back the sleeves of her sweater, extending her arms in return. Gently, he touched a finger to the bandages, noticing the heat they radiated. The swelling had returned too, he thought. Nothing truly bad, but it would need to rest and it probably came with pain.

"You've strained yourself," he noted. "Does it hurt badly?"

"Not yet," she said. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," he told her, hands lingering for a moment longer before he withdrew them, still aware of the heat burning against the tips of his fingers. "You're not doing yourself any favours though."

"I know," she said, crossing her arms again. "I'll try not to fall for it next time."

"I can't expect eternal patience from you," he replied. "Don't fret. I'm still holding on to the hope that it, perhaps, will do him some good in the long run, but for now, I'm afraid he's going to keep lashing out."

"Can I break his nose?" she asked, a hopeful glee to her eyes.

"If he crosses a line," Merlin said, tilting his head in a secretive way that made a joyful grin bloom on her face, causing warmth to spread throughout his body, breaking up the lump.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked eventually, expression having gone serious once more but not in a stern way; there was still a softness to it, the kind he regarded fondly.

"Right," he said, pulling himself back into reality, "I wanted to ask you something."

She arched an eyebrow, a silent invitation for him to go on, yet he found himself incapable of asking her for the fraction of a second, incapable of asking her to put herself into another, dangerous situation; she wasn't expendable by any means, she was the person he trusted most to make it out alive.

"It's about the upcoming mission," he said, finding it hard to say anything at all, "Would you consider doing it?"

"It's not a solo mission," she replied, eyebrows furrowing, a blur of emotions skirting over her face.

"I'd be your partner," he said – he had been thinking about it for a while, turning it over in his head, only to realize that he liked all the alternatives less. Merlin meant, he was very much aware that Eggsy and Roxy were capable of a lot of things, but … his reasons were a little more selfish than they should be, he feared.

"You've got a secret service to run," she argued, studying him in a way that made him want to pluck words from the many he couldn't say to tell her the truth.

"And you've got a life to live," he replied. "I think it's fair."

"You've also got a life to live, Merlin," she retorted. "What about that?"

"Yes," he said, all his arguments vanishing into thin air. "I do."

She held his gaze, steadily, and he returned it, thoughts starting to race in his mind, all too much and all too loud and all too irrational, all too selfish for a man in his position, but he had stopped caring about what was the best decision he could make some time ago and he didn't miss worrying about other peoples' opinions.

"I'll do it, under the condition that you look out for yourself," she said then, voice soft, eyes firm.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he answered, feeling himself ease. "Now, you'll need fitting clothes for the occasion."

"I'm not wearing a dress," she told him, startling him, before he smiled.

"I would never make you," he answered. "Besides, I am of the opinion that a suit would be a much better fit for you anyway." His words tugged at the corners of her mouth, making her smile.

By now it was truly overwhelming him, the feeling of not having done enough; there was this dread building in the pit of his stomach and in the back of his mind, curling tightly, making itself impossible to ignore when he tried his best to do exactly that, nearly as if none of the things he had ever done were right.

In truth, he had done everything he could – he had made sure every single agent understood the importance of this mission, even Kay and Lamorak, he had checked every item, every piece of clothing, every weapon, more than once, he had went over the plan several times. And yet, it didn't feel like it was enough.

Where was that doubt coming from? Perhaps it kept bothering him because he still knew so little, barely enough to even come up with a plan; usually, he refused to work with as little intel as he had now, but what other options did he have this time?

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day.

Tension bubbled up in his chest, worry crossing his mind nearly constantly, nothing truly doing the trick of distracting him. The more he thought about it, the worse it got, until he could feel the control slipping from his fingers, until there was nothing left to hold onto, until there was just nothing, except this concern he couldn't shake, something sitting so deep it had seethed into his bones, something burrowing into his mark.

Sighing, Merlin shook his head, glancing around his office. All the same. All the way he had left it. There was comfort in that.

A knock tore him from his thoughts entirely, causing him to frown in irritation. Who wanted something from him now, out of all times?

"Come on in," he called, briefly returning his attention to the files he had been studying, raising his gaze again. He was surprised to find Darja, soundlessly entering, closing the door behind her, before she crossed the room.

The sun had sunken far enough that its beam entered right of the windows on the side of the room, causing warmth in all shades of red and orange and yellow to dance off her cheekbones and nose, soaking the black of her pullover and jeans.

"Hello," he said quietly, tilting his head to a nod as she stopped in front of his desk. "Is everything all right?" He couldn't deny that she had been the last person he had expected to come looking for him, very much despite the fact that they knew each other so well; he had figured she had her own ways of coping with situations like these. But, yet, here she was, and he had no name for the emotion that made his heart flutter in his chest.

"I didn't want to be alone," she said quietly, not disturbing the silence of his office.

"And that's why you sought me out?" he questioned, incapable of keeping the surprise to himself.

"No," she said, a smile ghosting along her lips, "I figured you were overworking yourself again."

Merlin couldn't help but smile himself. "You were right," he said, glancing once more at what he had been working on before he decided to abandon it for tonight, and looking back at her.

"I knew I was," she retorted, leaning against his desk.

Tension eased out of him. He took off his glasses, rubbing the back of his hand along his strained eyes, only to hide the smile that wouldn't leave his face.

The silence lingered, briefly enough that it didn't turn heavy, yet long enough that it was making him wonder whether he was supposed to say something. Maybe, maybe not. He didn't know.

He looked at her again, their gazes locking, and the moment caught them, letting neither of them breathe or speak or think; a part of him suddenly became aware that there wasn't anyone he'd rather have by his side when he risked his life than her, another questioned when her company had become a comfort.

Merlin blinked and the spell broke, regretfully so; he considered for a moment before he pulled open one of the drawers of his desk, withdrawing a bottle containing amber liquid. When he set it on the table, the corners of her mouth tugged upward. Then, he took two glasses from the same drawer, filling them up and offering her one.

"Cheers," she muttered, touching hers to his.

"Cheers," he returned in the same tone of voice; the alcohol burned down his throat, hot, taste staying on his tongue long after. It did little to calm him, but it eased his nerves just enough that he figured he could sleep a couple of hours.

The sun had vanished behind the horizon by now, the last beams of light gone, replaced by pooling darkness.

He found himself watching the stars blink into existence with her, emptying another glass or two, as if they had been doing this for years.

you know what's crazy? 13 more chapters to go. meaning, i'll probably finish it up next year. that's absolutely insane.
i mean, i've been working on this fic for two years now, and i've come such a long way since then, it makes me extremely happy! so, thanks for everyone still sticking around and bearing with me, i love you all.