Arthur's Mage-Guard: Growing Pains

Arthur was right about the hugging. Though Gaius more often pats Merlin's head when he successfully demonstrates or paraphrases some bit of magical theory in their lessons, Merlin enthusiastically embraces several of the most familiar people who work or live in Arthur's building – Hunith the kitchen tech, for one, and Gwaine's littlest brother Mordred – and after seven years, doesn't seem likely to grow out of it.

He's just glad Merlin doesn't seem to be aging any faster than normal, in spite of the use of magic they've both gotten to be quite casual about. Arthur thinks the possibility of rapid aging and burnout have never really occurred to Merlin.

Pausing in the doorway of the living room of their quarters, Arthur takes a moment to watch and listen to his three friends.

Merlin, on his back on the floor with his heels up on one couch. Gwen on the rug with him, in the same position but reversed so her feet are on the cushions of the second couch opposite, her head tucked so close to Merlin's you have to look close to distinguish whose black hair is whose; Merlin needs a trim again, probably. And Gwaine, curled on his side away from Gwen's feet on the other couch, his head turned to pay attention to the two on the floor.

"Let me see it again!" Gwen demands.

Merlin obligingly lifts his arm into the air over their heads, for Gwen to examine the material of his sleeve.

"Why don't you just ask him to take it off?" Gwaine suggests, almost lazily.

"Shut up," Gwen says, maybe too quickly.

"I could, you know," Merlin says helpfully. "Arthur and I used to do all kinds of experiments with the cloth. And it really won't stain, and it really won't let someone else put it on, and it really does grow with me-"

Still a few inches shorter than Arthur, he's glad about that. But a little worried, because he said tall the day they made Merlin, and his own growth is slightly behind the pace of the other boys his age. If Merlin is going to be tall, and Arthur isn't, well then-

"And it really will stop a blade," Gwaine concludes, surprisingly.

"What?" Arthur can't stop his mouth from saying, and three pairs of eyes turn his way.

Merlin gets an elbow under him to lift his head toward Arthur – so he saunters back into the room, kicking his legs over to perch on the back of the couch opposite Gwaine, his feet on the seat cushions.

"What do you mean, it really will stop a blade?" he demands, trying to keep his temper cool in front of Gwen and Gwaine. Because Gwaine is one of the most popular boys in their class, and Gwen one of the few girls he's friends with, so impressing them is Important.

"You didn't tell him?" Gwaine says from the other couch – not moving, only shifting his eyes to meet Merlin's glance.

"I forgot," Merlin explains, and tells Arthur un-selfconsciously, "Last month. When we were down in the kitchen getting a snack, and you started talking to Mary's daughter-"

Gwen looks at him, and Arthur can't help blushing.

"And Gwaine was bored, and wanted to test my suit with the kitchen knives," Merlin finishes, unaware as always that he's said anything significant.

Gwaine grunts like a boxer landing a punch, miming the gesture into the air above him. "I still think it'll bruise you, though," he says. "Or break a bone, maybe."

Merlin just grins, and drops down to his back again. Gwen turns on her side like she wants to cuddle him. Arthur is a tangled mix of embarrassment and shock and anger.

"So you just stood there, and let him try stabbing you?" he challenges them both.

"No! Took the tunic off, and he tried stabbing it over the back of a chair," Merlin corrects.

"Omigosh!" Gwen pets his hair, something she's done occasionally Merlin's whole life – only it seems to mean something different now, but Merlin won't notice and Arthur wishes he didn't. Gwaine looks slightly jealous, like he wants someone petting his hair – not necessarily Gwen, but some girl.

Arthur feels that, too. Merlin is a mage, not a regular boy – maybe Gwen is practicing flirting on him, but Arthur isn't sure whether a mage could or was supposed to be interested in the opposite gender like that. Or fall in love – Merlin's feelings about other people usually mirror Arthur's, likes and dislikes…

"I just wonder if some of these properties could be duplicated into cloth that can be manufactured for other uses," Gwen says. She's interested in clothing material and styles and stitchers; she'll probably go into the textile sector when they leave school.

"I highly doubt you're the first person to ever have that idea," Gwaine says, mildly sarcastic.

"Let me see it again," Gwen says, and Merlin lifts his arm again to let her feel – stretch and crinkle – his sleeve.

Arthur feels jealous of both of them. He wants a girl to touch and pet him and pull on his clothes; he wants no one else to want to do those things with his mage-guard. He hates the jealousy, and both of them for causing it, a little… But he says nothing because after all it is a little bit fascinating to watch Merlin and Gwen interact as boy and girl, so un-selfconsciously.

"I," Gwaine announces, eyes still on the couple on the floor, "have to get this assignment done in half an hour, or I'll be late getting home."

"Gosh, yes," Gwen says, scrambling up and over to her own bag. "Arthur, can we look at the vid again, I couldn't make it go slowly enough to sketch each stage of the seed-to-plant process."

"Yeah, I skipped some of that," Gwaine says, leaning over the arm of the couch to dig out his own individual-data-assessor with the attached stylus.

"Merlin, fetch mine will you please," Arthur says loftily. Merlin doesn't move, only tosses out a gesture, and the device comes soaring through the air to Arthur's hand from where he's left it in their bedroom.

"Lazy," Gwen teases.

"I want one," Gwaine adds, referring to the mage, his complaint a running joke.

Arthur keys for his assignment, and props the narrow screen on one knee. "The vid isn't really any good," he comments. "But Merlin-"

"I can do it again!" Merlin suggests, struggling clumsily to an upright position like a fish out of water. He's all arms and legs, elbows and knees, these days. "Anybody got a seed?"

"Get on the kitchen-comm, they're sure to have lots to choose from down there," Gwen advises, getting up on her knees to study Arthur's screen more closely.

"No, wait – I've got popcorn," Gwaine says, digging in his bag again, and flourishing a blue-and-white packet of instant popcorn. "Careful getting it open without triggering the flash-heating reaction. You have to do a little corner – and then some more-"

Arthur isn't really surprised that Gwaine knows how to open a packet of instant popcorn without explosively inflating the flavored kernels; he's the sort of boy to take everything apart to see how it works, regardless of whether he can fit it back together again.

"Like this?" Merlin says.

"Yeah…"

"All right, we got it!" The seeds rattle out of the paper into Merlin's cupped palm.

"Do you think they're still good for growing a corn plant, though?" Gwen says to Arthur with a little frown.

"Doesn't matter," he reassures her. "It's magic."

"Okay, watch." Merlin holds one kernel out on his palm. It twitches and rolls and sprouts, obligingly pausing so the other two can put sketches of various stages into their IDA's.

And, as often happens when Gwaine is in the room, one thing leads to another and another – and they're all encouraged by Gwen's giggling protests – til each of the thirty or forty kernels has exploded into a tall tasseled plant growing out of the carpets, and the living room of Arthur's quarters looks like pictures he's seen of farmland, the long floppy leaves sharply ticklish on the backs of their necks all around.

Gwaine finally pushes a rustling path to the door to leave, and Gwen touches Merlin again. "You're so brilliant."

And Arthur wants to leave, too, or kick Gwen out.

"I'm not brilliant," Merlin contradicts with a wide happy smile. "It's just magic."

"Just," Gwen scoffs, slinging her bag over her shoulder and following the gaps Gwaine has made in the living-room cornfield, toward the transporter. "Thanks again – see you guys tomorrow!"

"Bye, Gwen," Merlin says.

Arthur checks his time-keeper. "Dad will be home in a few minutes."

Merlin looks around them at the cornfield, swishy and green-smelling, and sighs. "Time to put the toys away?"

A wave of his hand shrinks each cornstalk in a moment, back to a handful of kernels. Arthur stows his IDA in his schoolbag, and Merlin goes to brush the corn kernels and the discarded wrapper down the garbage chute.

Arthur's father is late coming home, though – and in a crabby mood when he arrives. He slams himself into his office, and Gaius joins Arthur and Merlin at the small table for dinner – which Merlin eats with Arthur only when his father isn't there to object to the familiarity.

And after, Arthur leaves Merlin doing a word puzzle in three languages – the only way it challenges him, anymore - in their bedroom, and returns to the eating nook where Gaius is still finishing.

Silently he slides into his chair, watching the old mage and wondering how much time and magic he has left, and what happens to mages when they die. Because Merlin still shows no signs of increased aging from the use of his magic. He thinks about whether his father used to hit Gaius when he was new and little – Gaius new and little is a very strange thought – and how it's odd that he wants very much to be like his father and make him proud, but at the same time, he wants to be so different.

"Something on your mind?" Gaius inquires gently.

"I was wondering about mages," Arthur says, trying not to squirm in his seat. Half his attention is over his shoulder, so he can hear if Merlin is coming, in time to shut his mouth. He doesn't meet Gaius' eyes, exactly. "Do they – Can they – um, fall in love?"

"Oh." The simple word is a sigh, straight from the old mage's heart, and a comprehensive answer to Arthur's question. Yes.

"You were in love?" Arthur blurts, curious and maybe a bit taken aback. "What happened?"

"Yes. I was in love." Gaius pushes his dishes aside, then laces his fingers together on the tabletop, and looks through them into past memories. "She was a mage-nurse, an assistant to one of the hospital's most skilled… physicians. We were… much in company, in those days. She was very sweet and very patient at times when your father… didn't make it easy. And yes, I fell in love with her."

Arthur tries to imagine under what circumstances his father and Gaius would have been in the hospital often enough for Gaius to fall in love. "Do you mean," he says slowly, "when my mother was…"

Gaius presses his lips together, as if he hasn't wanted or expected Arthur to guess. "You're very intuitive, for your age," he comments. "Yes, it was a difficult pregnancy, as you know, and we saw your mother's doctor every other week, almost. Then every week, then every day… Even though there was – nothing to be done, since she was determined to carry you to term, no matter the cost to herself."

Arthur nods, swallowing a lump in his throat. It hurts and confuses him, to love someone he never really met – but it reassures him at the same time. He wouldn't want to think of his mother and feel nothing.

"But what about you and the mage-nurse?" he asks.

"Your father suspected the relationship," Gaius tells him. "He ordered me never to see her or speak to her – and a few months later, I heard that the physician had taken her mage and moved to another city. Quite far away, actually."

"She didn't want her mage to be with you, either?" Arthur says.

"Oh, no, just the opposite. She told Alice that if we two wanted to marry, she'd support us."

Arthur's eyebrows lift, and he ignores the fact that his father was the cause of disruption, then. "Marry?" he says. "Mages can marry?"

"Certainly. It is rare, since our lives and magic are focused on one person, but it is allowed by law as long as our – er, originator, approves and allows."

"But you can't have kids," Arthur says, bemused.

"No. Essentially we have your blood, your DNA code, but we are formed from magic, in those tubes as you saw with Merlin, and therefore don't procreate our kind as the rest of humanity does. But that does not prevent us from desiring and enjoying physical love."

"Huh," Arthur says, not quite able to keep from making a face at the thought of Gaius – or Merlin, really…

But Merlin could fall in love, and be with a girl. Even get married… Arthur wasn't sure how he felt about that, though. Maybe if he someday married a girl who had a mage in some capacity, then she could be with Merlin…

"Hey, does that mean a mage has to fall in love with another mage?" he says.

"There's no law requiring that, of course," Gaius says. "But… if a mage falls in love with an ordinary person, or vice versa, it can be very complicated, you understand. Because of the position of service, and the perception of pressure to please…"

Because Arthur could tell Merlin what to do or what not to do, and even if Merlin was unpredictable and prone to rule-breaking when he could get away with it, he was very attuned to Arthur's wishes. And it wouldn't be right for Arthur to tell him no if he wanted a girl who wanted him – or if he didn't want a girl who wanted him, but Arthur didn't want her hurt for some reason…

"This is all a bit more mature than you're ready for, eh?" Gaius says kindly. "Merlin is still developmentally a few years younger than you, remember. And mages are by nature more focused on their originator's happiness than their own."

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief, even if it feels a little bit selfish. "Yeah, I guess so – but at least now I know. Thanks, Gaius."

"You're very welcome, young master."

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

Arthur lies awake in the dark, on his bed in his room, waiting for Merlin to fall asleep on his cot.

You'd think, he fumes, which hinders his efforts to breathe like he's already asleep, himself, that by the time I got to be a teenager, I'd have my own room.

Put him in the closet, his father suggested when he complained about still sharing space with Merlin. Which bothers Arthur because his father isn't a joke-telling sort of man.

Why can't he share with Gaius? Arthur doesn't bother asking that. Gaius is old and cranky with them when Uther isn't around, and you can barely turn around in his room without running into yourself.

As a calming exercise – and a great way to pass time, Arthur has discovered – he daydreams about Her. The way she tosses her head and sets her curls bouncing. The way she walks and sets other parts of her bouncing. The flash of her eyes and the curve of her lips, at once promising all kinds of delicious ways to boil the blood – and protesting that she's never experienced any of them before.

Ah, Vivian. Sweet scent, soft skin–

Tonight it's not helping time pass, because tonight is different. Tonight he's expected, and invited, and though it wasn't asked or confirmed outright, he thinks there's a very good chance they could end up in her bedroom, partially – or fully! – unclothed. The very thought is enough to make his breathing quicken again.

But.

Does he go everywhere with you? she asked him mockingly in the hall at school, looking over his shoulder where Merlin was distracting Gwaine from interfering with Arthur's conversation with Vivian.

Yeah, Arthur answered – seeing the problem with that state of affairs for the first time since Merlin came skipping into his life.

Privacy. Which they don't even bother with in the bathroom, one-hundred-percent of the time. A turned back was just as good as a closed door – but not for This.

The anticipation of ditching his mage-guard for the first time is almost as exciting as the idea of Vivian half-clothed in her bedroom. When he's a man, he'll be able to order Merlin to go or remain elsewhere – probably… hm – but while he's under his father's guardianship, they both have to follow orders.

Good thing his father is away, tonight.

Arthur breathes through his mouth, listening for Merlin's breathing. Slow and deep, and he's not tossing and turning anymore. Arthur eases his blanket and sheet off himself, tilting toward upright, his feet seeking the carpet.

So far so good. Merlin's probably fast asleep.

Arthur stands and – keeping his eyes toward his sleeping guard – finds that day's discarded clothing in the dark. Top of the laundry, squeaky closet door left ajar, but nothing out of routine to alert Merlin to his plans. He slips out of his night things, back into his others, soundlessly he hopes.

Then out the door and down the hall on tiptoes, boots in hand, to call the personnel transport to their quarters. On the rug, under the faint glow of the sensored emergency light, he watches back along the hall toward the bedroom door.

Don't wake up, don't get up, don't come out…

The transporter door slides open with a whisper of hydraulics, and Arthur backs in, hitting the command for the lobby. The door slides shut – and he leans into the corner to put his boots on swiftly and awkwardly, lacing them as fast as he can on the short, stomach-lurching trip down.

The building's lobby is never deserted, in his experience. Always someone coming or going, meeting and standing and talking – and then there's the armed attendant always posted there. No one ever questions his passage - because of his father, but also because of Merlin, he thinks, and wonders briefly if someone will question him tonight, because he's by himself…

The door slides open again with a sigh of cooler air, and he steps out, heading confidently for the street door, for three steps.

The building's lobby isn't deserted. A couple of middle-aged professional women standing talking to the armed attendant, but halfway between the lift and the street door, a young man stands waiting, sideways to Arthur's approach. A young man with sleep-tousled black hair and a silver-gray uniform.

How the hell did he – oh. Magic.

Merlin gives Arthur a glance out of the corner of his eye, fully aware of Arthur's intent, and sheepish to have caught him. Embarrassed, Arthur senses, because he expects Arthur to be embarrassed to try and fail to sneak out. Embarrassed because usually he's behind – with – Arthur, to be caught also. It's awkward for Merlin to be the one doing the catching.

Arthur lifts his chin, correcting his march to the door just enough so he'll pass Merlin without running into him. Yes, he sneaked out, attempting to ditch Merlin, but he's not ashamed of it.

Merlin shifts and falls in beside him, silently.

Worth a try. As if he's confident of being obeyed, Arthur orders, "Go back to our quarters and go to sleep. I'll be fine, I won't be long."

"You know I can't," Merlin says in a low voice. He sounds unhappy, but Arthur won't admit the guilt of being the cause. The whole no-privacy arrangement is stupid. "Where are you going?"

Arthur doesn't answer.

"Nothing happened, did it?" Merlin ventures. "Your dad's all right?" Trying to figure out why Arthur tried to leave him behind.

They pass through the doors, out onto the street. Darkness above, electric lights below, fewer people and less noise than the daytime. By half, maybe. Arthur has never tried actually losing Merlin, but at seventeen – okay, almost - he feels he should be too dignified to take off running and dodging, Merlin at his heels like they're kids playing tag at the gym.

Though come to think of it, Merlin played tag with Mordred at the gym just last week. That reminds Arthur of how Gwaine treats his younger brothers – and especially Mordred as the youngest, whose favorite phrase these days is, I want to come too!

"Look, you're probably too young to understand," he says, loftily condescending to his constant companion. And because lately Gwen's interest has left Merlin – though the mage-guard seems oblivious and unconcerned as ever, and they're all still friends. "There are some times when a man needs-"

"Is it Vivian," Merlin says, striding at Arthur's side with his eyes down and his hands in his pockets.

Now Arthur feels like the one who's too young, and he bristles. Well, if it's a choice between Merlin tagging along, and having to call Vivian to tell her he isn't coming at all tonight because he didn't manage to leave his mage behind…

"If you insist on coming," he tells Merlin with a glare, "you will stay where I tell you to stay, as long as I tell you to stay there, and you will not tell anyone else about tonight."

Merlin nods – then adds his own condition, even if he's unaware he's doing it. "As long as you're safe."

Arthur growls to himself, and stalks along the ped-walk, past two cross-streets, til he reaches the building where Vivian told him to come.

It's not as impressive as their building, but the public advertisement for quarters-for-rent is discreet. The doorman glances over his hiero-badge, but doesn't ask him for his destination, and in three more minutes, they're in the transporter up to the eighth floor.

It's not a private conveyance, opening directly into anyone's quarters, but onto a long hall of numbered doors. Merlin trails Arthur down to the end, number eleven, glancing about them with more curiosity than caution.

He presses the visitor button beside number eleven, feeling restless and warm, nervous with anticipation, and shifts his weight.

It's only a moment before she answers on the comm above the call button, sounding breathless in a way that tightens the pleasant tension in his gut. "Arthur? Is that you?"

"Hi, Vivian," he answers.

"Just a minute, I'll let you in."

"Okay," he says, but he thinks she already released the comm button, and didn't her him.

Another moment, and the door – the old-fashioned kind that uses hinges, another indication that the building has lower standards – swings open.

Vivian's curly blonde hair is tumbled on her shoulders, and she's wearing a black silk wrap-around garment with blood-red roses embroidered down the edges – which are loose enough to show white lace partially obscuring her cleavage. She gives Arthur an arch smile – which drops when her eyes go past him to Merlin.

She pulls the door closer to her, blocking the way with her body, leaning out toward him to hiss, "I thought you were coming alone!"

"He's my mage-guard, Vivian," Arthur says, deciding to pretend like this is his decision, rather than a failure in subtlety. "He has to go where I go, but he can wait in another room, can't he?"

"I don't want him in here at all," she murmurs petulantly. "Mages give me the creeps."

Forgetting that he also resented Merlin's presence, Arthur begins to react with offense on his friend's behalf. For one split second, til Vivian bites her bottom lip and slips one finger under a rose-decorated edge to rub the lay of silk, giving him a glimpse of an extra inch of skin. He leans against the doorway, as close as he can get without touching, his entire body humming with heat.

"Well, I'm here now," he says in a low, and hopefully persuasive voice. "My dad won't be out of town again for another couple of months, and I probably can't leave Merlin behind then, either."

She shifts her weight in still-irritated consideration, which draws his attention down her neckline, and leans back as if to look around her quarters, though he doesn't expect anyone else there. My mother, she told Arthur at school, her first day as a transfer student last month, works nights.

"All right, I guess," she relents. "Come in."

Arthur follows her through the door, through a little entry and into an open room with a dining set-up at one end and couch and arm-chairs at the other. The lights are dim, and soft instrumental music plays through the speakers. On the table, a dark bottle of something alcoholic - Arthur's rarely allowed to touch the stuff, and then not without supervision – and two goblets.

"I wanted tonight to be romantic," Vivian says, waving a caustic hand at the glassware. "But if you're not in the mood to be alone…"

Merlin's ears are red as he sidles along the wall, out of the entryway and into the dining area of the room. Arthur ignores him to follow Vivian, shimmery and sleek under her black silk garment – and wearing what else underneath? her feet are bare.

"Come on," he coaxes, caressing her shoulders lightly, up and down. "We don't need to sit here and drink that…" Whatever it was. "I didn't come for drinks – I came to be with you."

She turns, which places her right in his arms, so he folds them around her, trying to smile her frown away. After a moment she relents, unfolding her arms from between them – to slip around him and press her body to his and all his blood whirls like a sudden small hurricane. He holds very still, not sure what he should do, and not wanting to make the wrong move.

And then she lifts her head to look him in the eye and he can't help glancing down the line of her throat to the soft round secrets of the rest of her, that she's promised – not in so many words – that he can explore.

"You don't really love me," she says in a throaty whisper – but it's more plea than declaration. "You only want me. There's a difference. And we won't last, if we… if I… just give you what you want."

His mouth is dry, and it's hard to think. His feet have disappeared, and his hands want to move.

"I swear," he whispers, tipping his head down to hers – gazing at her lips which part to allow her to breathe more fully, more swiftly. "I do love you – nothing can change that. I just… want to show you I love you. I want to love more of you. In a new way."

The thought occurs to him, that he sounds like Gwaine – who's already done this with two different girls. He sounds stereotypical – but he means it. How can he persuade her of his sincerity?

Not with Merlin standing right there behind them.

She seems to agree, nudging her lips close to his own. "Come on, then."

Turning, she keeps his arms around her, crossed over her chest, and tugs him toward another doorway, the first along a short hall. Her backside rubs him as she walks, bumping awkwardly but thrillingly along behind her.

"You can drink that bottle if you want to," she tosses over her shoulder to Merlin.

Arthur's attention is focused on her, and the dim lighting that shapes and shadows the room ahead of them – the bed – but for a moment he considers Merlin and alcohol. To his knowledge, Merlin has never had any – a luxury not to be wasted on a mage by Uther who buys the stuff. He hopes Merlin will not make himself sick.

And then Vivian reaches behind him to shut the door.

And then Vivian loosens the black silk garment and drops it, revealing her body in pale slopes and curves and lacy underthings.

Arthur's body requests that it be allowed to reveal itself in strange and new ways also. But he's paralyzed as her fingers work their way down the buttons of his jacket, smoothing it off his shoulders, leaving it trapped at his forearms as she unfastens his trousers. He struggles to lose the jacket, and she kneels to unlace his boots. When she stands, she rubs her body all the way up his legs, and he shudders in reaction.

He reaches for her skin, delicate and sweet and smooth and warm – any of it and all of it - moving under his fingertips as she unbuttons his shirt also, backing toward the bed.

Stumbling out of his boots, he closes his eyes at the feel of her hands on his ribs, his chest, pushing fabric away to discard behind him and now he's half-naked. Lace scratches him enticingly but she resists his full embrace – teasing, not rejecting. He tries to kiss her lips and almost trips onto the bed.

She laughs, an exhilarating, husky sound, and ducks her head away from his mouth, retreating backward onto the bed without letting go of him.

His trousers drag at his hips, and he groans, entreaty and mild frustration, but she doesn't object when he collapses among the pillows and pulls her closer. She allows him her sweet-scented throat and ear to kiss and taste, and slips her hand into the front of his trousers.

Light bursts behind his eyelids, and he forgets to breathe, it feels so incredibly good.

Wait, what about the look of innocence, her I-haven't-yet demeanor? She feels confident, like she knows exactly - what – will…

He moans again, clutching her shoulder and hip, straining against her and totally uncoordinated everywhere else. He's going to explode. He's going to-

But she doesn't let him, withdrawing her hand and laughing softly again in his ear.

He opens his eyes again, thinking with disorientation, Well I've got to make her feel like this too, obviously – so how do I…

"We need protection first, right?" she whispers.

He nods dumbly, ready to agree with anything – everything – and she twists away from him on the bed, reaching to a small side table and opening a drawer, by the sound of it.

His whole body glows and tingles with anticipation – he's almost panting – and when she turns back to him, smiling and beginning to offer, to show, to use the tiny device in her hand, he tumbles headfirst into her eyes and is lost.

Briefly. Oh-so-briefly.

Because before she can bring her hand back to the V of his open trousers, the door flies open hard enough to slam into the wall – the lights flare blindingly bright and harsh-

Merlin stands there, eyes gold and hand outstretched.

Vivian's whole body goes unnaturally rigid and flops down on the mattress, bouncing stiffly. And her eyes are closed.

Merlin attacked Vivian. For whatever reason. Arthur's first thought is, now the night is over. And probably all his chances with her, also.

Then again – Merlin attacked her. Without provocation – and Arthur can't think around the concept of jealousy. Feelings of furious protectiveness – defensiveness – surge up in him, and he scrambles up from the bed with some intention of coming between them and preventing further action from his out-of-control mage.

Merlin's attention immediately shifts to him, and he raises his other hand in an attitude of surrender. "I didn't hurt her – she's just asleep! She's just asleep!"

That doesn't make it any better.

Fury mounts to rage, that Merlin's jealousy and paranoia would interrupt This – and Vivian will never forgive him. Which means they're finished and he's lost her in such a mortifying way and it's all Merlin's fault – and this will pass through the school as a wildfire rumor, complete with thorough lifelong humiliation and singleness and maybe Vivian or her mother will complain to the authorities…

He's off the bed in an instant, throwing all his weight into a wild swing at Merlin's big mouth and stupid golden eyes.

The impact is lessened because Merlin lifts hands and forearms in self-defense, ducking his chin away and stumbling back toward the corner of the room. "Arthur!"

He uses his left arm, sweeping Merlin's defense away, and punching him again, this time driving his fist forward from beneath. Merlin's head snaps back – and he sees that he's drawn blood, mouth or nose or both.

Good. He's going to punish Merlin for this so thoroughly.

His fist aches – his chest pinches tightly, miserably, unbearably – and he puts his pain into yet another punch, so Merlin will feel how he feels, and be sorry, and never do it again.

"You bastard!" he spits, though Merlin has no human parents anyway. "Just because you can't, or don't want to, doesn't mean you can stop me being with a girl when we're in love!"

"Arthur!" Merlin gasps. His back thuds into the wall; his knees bend, trying to hold him up, and he lifts his hands to deflect Arthur's blows again. "Check her hand! Check her hand, Arthur, she was going to-"

He interrupts the mage-guard with another blow that knocks Merlin's knees out from under him. On the floor, he's not a convenient target. Arthur stands over him, clenching fists that throb with pain, hating him deeply. Wanting to kick him, but he's barefoot.

"Check her hand," Merlin repeats indistinctly, cringing away from him.

He can't stand the sight of the younger boy, and turns away to do up his trousers, fingers trembling on unexpended wrath.

But when he lifts his eyes, they travel reluctantly to Vivian's hand, fingers curled beside her hip to cradle… He steps closer, bends over her to check.

That… isn't what he expected. A tiny bladder attached to a needle. That has nothing to do with…

"She had a guard," Merlin says, rolling to climb to his feet, and staggers. "In the other room. He tried to… The wine – it was poisoned, I think. It was… poisoned. They planned to – they tried to…"

Poison. Arthur stares dumbly at the little needle, the flexible pouch of whatever liquid she was about to squeeze into him. He'd never have felt much more than a little pinch, gone again in a second into all the sensation of the moment.

Merlin saved him.

His mage-guard lurches to the doorway of the bedroom, using both hands to propel himself through, though Arthur makes no move. A moment later he hears the younger boy speak – on the comm, probably.

"Gaius. No, we're not at home. Just – Gaius, listen. Something happened, you've got to contact Arthur's father. Someone tried… what? I don't know if it was an assassination or abduction, I guess it depends on what type of drug they were trying to… No, I'm fine. Yes, really. Gaius – yes, we'll come straight home, I promise, then you can see for yourself."

Arthur picks up his shirt and puts it on, careful to smooth it down under his jacket, so no one can look at him and guess. His hand is sore. His middle knuckle is split, but already scabbing. He steps into his boots and bends to tie them.

"She'll sleep til city safe-keepers come," Merlin says at the door, still sounding odd – like he's getting a cold. "Gaius is reporting it. I've left a full statement – we can go home and sleep, right now. Your father being who he is, I doubt they'll need much more from us."

Arthur grunts. When he straightens, Merlin steps back out of the doorway, eyes on the floor. Blood on his face… Arthur's blood, essentially.

He's still furious – and conflicted, quite a lot of the fury and the black feeling of hatred is redirected. At Vivian, and whoever she might be working for. At his father, for being both cause and savior in Arthur's trials.

At himself.

He stalks out the door – pulling up slightly at the sight of an enormously muscled man with too much facial hair, slumped unmoving against the wall in the middle of a charred spot, his shirtfront smoking. Behind him, Merlin says nothing, and Arthur leaves the quarters without looking at him.

Did Vivian even have a mother? Was she even a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl at all?

He can't believe he's fallen for… what this obviously was. He's stupid and blind – he endangered himself and Merlin both like a brainlessly defiant schoolboy, himself.

And he hit Merlin. Like his father had, once, and he'd sworn he never would.

Arthur feels like vomiting off the edge of the ped-walk. Or letting a hover-carriage splatter him all over the front of it. Might be a relief from this deep guilt and tainted self-disgust.

Merlin doesn't skip at his side, but drifts unobtrusively in his wake, back to their building, through the lobby. He slips through the transport doors behind Arthur, and manages to remain behind him when Arthur turns from entering the command to bring them to their quarters.

He can't even hear Merlin breathing in the small closed space – and when they reach their quarters and the door slides open to Gaius' worried-stern eyebrows, he brushes past the old man to stalk down the hall to the bedroom. Merlin doesn't follow.

Slamming the door behind him to cut off the light source from the hall, he strips to the skin, scouring himself with his discarded shirt roughly, as if he can rub memories away. He tosses on clean sleeping clothes, falls into bed, and pulls the covers up over him. Hiding like a child. Letting Gaius and Merlin finish taking care of the night's catastrophe. Letting someone else clean up his mess, because he's not a man yet and obviously isn't ready to be.

Sleep won't come.

And so, even though time passes, he's fully aware of the door inching open and a line of light – blocked by Merlin's shadow – widening on the far wall.

"Arthur?" Merlin whispers.

His heart swells into his throat and he can't make a sound. Can't move, not even to turn his face into the pillow to hide a few hot tears that might or might not ease the agonizing soreness inside his chest.

The light flares briefly as Merlin slips inside. He makes no noise undressing, but a moment later Arthur hears the familiar creak of his cot. Ten years they've been together, ten years he's been hearing that sound that means, he's safe and can sleep. Ten years Merlin has been his little brother and best friend, ten years Arthur's been defending him to bullies and strangers as a real person.

Merlin sniffs into his sheets.

Tonight, Merlin was the better man.

He sniffles again, and Arthur remembers hitting him – the feeling of rage, the explosion of pain in his hand, the shock in Merlin's eyes. Probably Merlin's nose is swollen, making it hard to breathe, and Arthur didn't even check to see if he was all right.

Arthur almost chokes himself, trying to keep silent, vowing again that he's going to treat Merlin as his faithful mage-guard deserves from now on and forever. He's not going to be his father.

The sniffing sound comes again, accompanied by an odd little hitch of breath that makes Arthur's ears perk. That doesn't sound like an annoyingly stuffy or swollen nose. Aghast, he realizes that Merlin is crying, that he has made Merlin cry, and his own tears threaten his eyelids hotly.

"Merlin," he manages to say, into the silence of the room.

As if he's been waiting for any indication that Arthur's not asleep, Merlin bursts out, "I'm sorry! Arthur, I'm so sorry!"

"Huh? Why?" he stutters, shocked. "What – are you apologizing for?" Merlin has no reason to be sorry, it's Arthur who should be-

"You liked her." Merlin gulps for breath, and Arthur sits up in bed, trying to see through the dark in the room they share. "I know you liked her a lot. I know you thought she liked you, and you wanted her to like you and I'm sorry your feelings were hurt and I'm sorry I can't do anything to fix that."

It's enough that he wants to. It's too much that he wants to.

Arthur scrambles out of his sheets, crossing the room by feel and by memory, and reaches for Merlin on his cot, crouching on one knee on the carpet. He feels Merlin cringe subtly at his touch and ignores it – and the pang of guilt he feels – to seize his younger, slighter friend. He pulls Merlin close, leaning over the cot and crab-walking his fingers further around the bony resistant ribs.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into the shoulder of Merlin's sleeping-shirt. "I should've listened to you. I shouldn't have lost my temper, and I'll never do it again. Merlin, I'm sorry."

Merlin huffs a laugh that mixes with a sob, and snakes an arm around Arthur's shoulder-blades. "You follow your heart," he says. "You always have, and I want you to, always. And you will lose your temper again, because you care so much – I like that about you, I'm proud of that about you."

Arthur really really doesn't deserve such a devoted little brother.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispers, squeezing tight once before he lets go.

"I'm sorry you were hurt," Merlin returns, releasing him also, but leaning up onto his other elbow as Arthur sits back. "She wasn't the one, Arthur. But I'm sure you'll find the one who is, someday."

And when he does, Arthur thinks, he won't need to sneak out to meet her. Merlin will probably conspire with him to achieve privacy with the right girl. He should have realized that before tonight - but he'll definitely keep it in mind for the future.

"In the meantime," Merlin goes on. "I thought you said no hugs?" His tone laughs at Arthur.

Arthur growls back – as Merlin probably intended – but as he rises to pad back to his bed, and the young mage-guard snickers, he has to wipe another quick tear away.