Part 4
Merlin reads the sheet of paper that had been folded beneath his dinner tray. It contains all the information he needs to know: the client's name, photo, a brief background, and what Arthur wants to know. His main purpose is to be Arthur's ears. On rare occasions, Arthur gets him to extract information from someone. There aren't any rules on how he does it, as long as he stays within the context of the Avalon's etiquette.
Well, there is one thing. Arthur had emphasized to Merlin that he's not allowed to insert himself into the situation like he had done with Tauren. He doesn't know if that's an actual rule, or if Arthur's saying it to keep him out of danger, but he'll follow it, or else Arthur will stop this all together.
The strange part for Merlin is that he's still doing everything he'd done before, except now he's curving conversations to the specific needs of the Pendragon Syndicate. The thought of spying on his clients excites Merlin. He gets assigned his tasks when Arthur comes to him, or he gets notes with his meals, like the one he holds in his hand now.
What he isn't too excited about is how it seems to distance him and Arthur. Merlin won't say it, but he feels embarrassed to have 'confessed' to Arthur. Thinking back to it, it makes his stomach squirm in giddiness. He can't call Arthur a client anymore, and the term 'boyfriend' isn't right. Mostly, he would coin them as lovers.
Yet, Merlin's not sure if that's the case anymore. They spend less time indulging in sex and intimacy, and instead talk business, as Merlin retells everything he gathers and Arthur quickly puts the information to use, calling various contacts on his phone. Sometimes Arthur offhandedly explains to Merlin various aspects of the Syndicate's business.
It feels like Arthur has become his boss. Nonetheless, it pleases him to hear that this work is having some positive effect for Arthur.
For the most part, his spying depends on whether Arthur wants something or if he's simply fishing amongst the random people he caters to on a daily basis. It's been a few times where he listens to clients complain or indulge in talking about the deals Arthur Pendragon has recently made. The majority of it is Arthur getting more Syndicate influences with various corporations and businesses, due to the fact that Merlin will largely hear about corporate moguls making under-the-table deals. The only other information Merlin ever listens in on are from people working in a rival Syndicates, bragging about their possible promotions due to this and that.
Then there are the times Arthur sends notes with something more specific in mind. So far, the notes have never fully explained how the targeted information he gets will be used. On even rarer occasions Arthur uses him as a screen, determining the trustworthiness of a Pendragon Syndicate member. Then there are regulars that get sent his way, and afterwards Arthur asks him to repeat everything they say and any observations he makes.
Merlin gets the inkling that Arthur doesn't want him to know what he's up to with those cases. But what makes him really curious is that some of the people Arthur sends his way don't really belong there.
There's Alvarr for example. A businessman who could probably afford time with one of the other top floor residents and yet continues to buy his. There's Paul, a small link on the bottom ladder of Pendragon Syndicate who couldn't possibly buy his time. And then there's Vivienne, a bored trophy wife, who uses him as therapy to complain about her husband's lack of attention to her.
Amongst the vast amount of verbal garbage Vivienne runs on about, Merlin still doesn't have a clue what Arthur could actually find interesting. She talks a lot about everything and most of it means nothing to him. She notes the details of her life down to the smallest dull step, but thankfully she uses most of her time complaining about her husband's outings—it's exceedingly more interesting than listening to the variations of nail-polish-related topics in her brain.
As for Alvarr, Merlin hopes he's not another Tauren. There's something sly about him, like he's looking for every coin squeezed in between the sofa's cushion, and from your pocket too. Every so often Merlin gets asked about Cedric or the Avalon's ties with the Pendragon Syndicate, and every note of instructions tells Merlin to give a prepared set of information to feed to Alvarr.
Despite the strangeness of those two, Paul catches Merlin's attention the most. He can't pinpoint it exactly. Paul is like a mix between Vivienne and Alvarr; everything he says is somehow empty of truth and meaning. In this case, Arthur didn't give Merlin anything to say to him, so the mystery behind Paul creates an itch he wants to scratch.
He doesn't know what tricks Arthur uses to get them here, since the trick they had used on Tauren would only go so far, and people would notice if the Avalon were to give away complimentary sessions with a certain resident every single time. If people are really being sent to have free time with him, Cedric must be having a fit, or Arthur's been paying him off.
It's world of deceit, money, and lies, and sometimes he wonders if he's made the right choice. It wrenches him to hear about Uther Pendragon celebrating the successes with Arthur, and it comes with the uncomfortable realization that helping Arthur is in turn benefiting Uther. It's a grudge he's well aware he harbours in his heart, but in the end Merlin trusts Arthur won't turn out the same way.
At least, most of the time he trusts Arthur. His lover—the term still feels weird—keeps a tight lip about his operations. Those who need to know will know and Merlin feels shafted to be left out. Anytime Merlin asks about Paul, Arthur clamps down his lips especially hard and quickly changes the subject.
It makes him wonder who Paul is and he can't let it go, because nothing about him seems overly special. When Paul had first passed through the door, Merlin had instantly pegged that he wasn't a businessman. The suit had been too cheap, and what set him apart from a high ranking Syndicate member was the speech—it was too low-brow.
Arthur isn't going to tell him anything and Merlin's keen to know what's going on, putting the pieces together himself. He sees Paul two or three times a month, and as Merlin flirts, prods, and moves with Paul's rhythm, the mystery teases him. The temptation to press Arthur, despite knowing his response, gets stronger and stronger the more questions Paul asks.
The angles of the questions are disconcerting. It's the first time a client has asked Merlin about his life in the Avalon, and his life outside, before he'd come here. Merlin can't recall if even Arthur had ever asked so straightforwardly. Though, Merlin has a feeling that Arthur had expected him to tell it in his own time. Edwin had simply pushed it much sooner than Merlin thinks he would have naturally, and then Arthur had gone off to find the rest of the information himself.
He's not going to ask Arthur. Something is going down with the Syndicate, because he can see the pressure Arthur is under. His lover has become more subdued, quiet, and even more affectionate. Cuddling is not something he's experienced a lot, but Merlin can say he likes it. Arthur has his own things to deal with, but Merlin isn't going to let it go.
It's breaking the rule that Arthur had been most explicit about—searching through a client's clothing is certainly interjecting himself into the situation. Yet this is the best opportunity he's going to get, while Paul's taking a shower. Usually he leaves right away after the heavy petting or sex, which is always stalled to the very end of the session—another thing that stands out about Paul. He never appears uncomfortable with Merlin, yet he can sense his client's reservation. To Merlin, it's clear that Paul is doing this for a job.
So what's the job?
The haphazard pile of clothing lies at the foot of the bed. Merlin hopes Paul doesn't notice if the piles looks different from before, because there's no way he can replicate it. Paul's muffled voice echoes through the bathroom door—he's busy talking on his mobile with someone else, not having gotten into the shower yet. Either way, his ears pay attention to his client while Merlin works the courage to pick up the first item.
The business suit is well worn, and looking closely at the edges, he can see that the colour of the suit is wearing away. He goes through the pockets searching for any bits of information. So far, there's a receipt for take-out and coffee. Interestingly, there's another receipt in an inner pocket for an item that's definitely for a female. Girlfriend, or wife? It would explain Paul's reserved nature when they have sex. But why does he keep coming to see him?
In the trousers Merlin finds his wallet. Like the suit, the leather wallet is getting worn down like it's been through a lot. The contents are the bare essentials: a driver's licence stating the client's full name as Paul Dandry, plus credit cards, debit cards, and a gym membership. The only other item is a slip of paper with a phone number on it, and a mini shoe horn. It's completely devoid of anything personal. He surprised to find no picture of Paul's girl. The shoe horn is the only thing that sticks out, but he can't make heads or tails on why Paul would keep it in his wallet.
He puts the wallet back, searching through everything else until there's nothing left in the pile to inspect. A huff of exasperation keeps his mind turning. He knows he's close, that's what his gut instincts tell him. Except there's nothing else to find. There's Paul's mobile, but his client keeps that item close by at all times.
It's a snap of a barely formed thought that has Merlin searching for the wallet again, taking the small shoe horn that didn't belong there. There's a trick he knows that a dealer had used to hide his stashes. It had been a middle-class couple, actually. The man had dealt with the costumers, while his partner had her large collection of heels and shoes.
Merlin rushes to the front entrance, hearing that Paul is no longer talking on the phone and the shower is running. It won't be long before he exits the bathroom. Paul's shoes are an ordinary pair of black dress shoes: scuffed, but well taken care of. He tilts the shoe, looking at it from every angle before peeking in the interior. He could see it then, the way the height of the soles didn't match with the height of the inner cushions. Merlin pokes at the inner edge with the shoe horn. He slips it in between and pulls, finding that the glue resists against the horn.
For a moment, he questions himself. Yet decides to check the other shoe nonetheless, and the shoe's inside cushion slips out without the resistance of the glue. There's a black oval of plastic, looped with a ball-bearing chain. Merlin's heart thrums, because he can't believe it. Grabbing it, he almost thinks it's going to shock him. He turns it over and the shoe drops from his hand in shock. The shiny metal of the federal badge makes his head reel.
Paul Dandry is a federal agent.
Paul Dandry probably isn't even his real name. He's probably an undercover cop working inside the Pendragon Syndicate, trying to subtly ask Merlin questions. Merlin doesn't know if there are differences between cops and feds, but it might not matter. They are upholders of the law.
There's a scuff against the carpet behind him. He's been so completely preoccupied with the badge, he hadn't hear that the shower isn't running anymore.
Merlin quickly dives to the side, running to the door and forgetting in his momentary panic that he'd need a key to get it open. Two strong hands reach around and pull him back. He's being squeezed tight against Paul, arms trapped to his sides, his legs kicking wildly but with no success at hurting his assailant.
He's always done his best to avoid the cops, for obvious reasons. And now unknowingly, he's been sleeping with one. Had Arthur known about this? Or is it only a suspicion? Maybe he's here for Merlin to distract and keep him occupied. If only Arthur would tell him anything.
"Calm down," Paul whispers, trying to keep him restrained.
It only makes Merlin angrier, thrash harder. He's focusing all of it on Arthur's image, because there is no way that he hadn't known, or had at least an inkling. And yet had put him in the same room with a fed. Merlin wants to know why he's been so quiet about it. And as Merlin calms, he can work out the reason.
Arthur hadn't trusted how Merlin would react. There's only one way to feel upon the discovery of an undercover fed working within the Syndicate organizations. No one likes when the person you trust ends up being the enemy. That's essentially what Merlin does for Arthur, spying on the confessions and grievances of people who trust him, all to give the Pendragons the upper hand. He feels no guilt in reacting badly as the fed keeps a tight hold on him, but calms.
While Merlin can live with Tauren's death, a dead fed spells trouble that should be avoided.
"You're a fed. I didn't know agents get paid to have sex with hookers," he quips.
"You definitely weren't this mouthy when you were trying to 'make me feel better'."
"I don't know. I did a lot of things with my mouth."
The fed actually gives an appreciative laugh at Merlin's jibe, and is slightly impressed. "Did growing up on the streets teach you to trash talk like that?"
He scoffs and kicks his leg back in a move that misses the fed's legs completely. "What do you know?"
"Your name is Merlin Emrys. Born to Hunith Emrys, father unknown. But there did happen to be a man named Balinor Iarliath, who worked for the Pendragon Syndicate until he turned for us. At some point Balinor was found out, forcing him and Hunith into hiding. Shortly after, Hunith Emrys gave birth to Merlin Emrys on June 20, 1990 at 11:11pm. We lost track of the Emrys family and Balinor until March 8, 2000, when a call came in about a woman shot in her apartment, with her ten year old boy missing. In 2004 a man was shot in a downtown motel, assailant unknown, though believed to be the prostitute the victim had paid time with, which I believe to be you if the descriptions and the location of your residence at that time are right."
Merlin stills, listening to the fed rattle off the information like he'd studied a guide—he probably has, meaning there's a file somewhere in the federal headquarters about him and his family. Thanks to the fed, Merlin now knows that his father had been the worst possible kind of traitor, turning coat for the government authorities. No wonder Uther Pendragon had been relentless, even after Merlin and his mother had hid for a decade.
"Did I get anything wrong?" the cop asks cheekily.
"You going to arrest me?" he snaps back.
"Considering the signs of struggle noted in the police report and the victim's history of violence, I'd call it self-defence." The fed shrugs, uncaring as he lets him go, but positioning himself between Merlin and the door.
"It's not fair that you know all this information about me and I know nothing about you." Merlin isn't going to mention that he'd shot the john in cold blood when the 'victim' had backed off.
"I don't give a crap about fair." The cop talks like it's an average conversation between friends. He doesn't seem to have lost his cool despite being discovered.
"What's your name?"
"It's Paul."
"Bullshit that you're Paul Dandry. You're an undercover fed."
"Sorry kid, it's still Paul."
"Fine then Paul, who's the ring for?"
The cop's eyes narrow at him. He isn't baring his teeth, but it's close. "How do you know about that?"
"Receipt, left pocket."
"Clever. But I should expect that from someone who knows where to look for my badge."
Merlin can see where this is heading. "I'm not my father."
"Your father?"
He corrects himself. "I'm not Balinor."
"Do you know where he is?" The cop asks with interest.
"No, I never met him. I just know about him."
"You also know about Uther Pendragon? Maybe more about Arthur Pendragon? Does the Pendragon son give you exclusive treatment? Stroke himself to the glory of the Pendragon Syndicate?"
He can't tell if the cop is making a threat, or being his usual care-free, acerbic self. Either way he has to be careful with what he says, because Merlin doesn't know what the feds are after. Obviously, Merlin's history and his association with Arthur are things the fed had researched; he doesn't know what other knowledge he might have. To everyone else, Merlin is Arthur's favourite resident at the Avalon. No one would think of them as lovers, or especially that Merlin's secretly working for Arthur, which would put him in even more trouble.
Figuring out how much the fed knows is the first priority. The second, he'll work out as he goes.
"Why would you think Arthur Pendragon would tell me anything?"
"People talk to you. They open their mouths and blab about the wonders of their life. You'll know a thing or two about what's going on."
"Well, I don't know anything about you. Not even your name." He definitely knows more than a thing or two, and the irony is that the fed gave the exact same reasoning he'd given Arthur, to convince him to spy for his benefit. This fed had deduced the same thing. He'd probably been investigating within the Pendragon Syndicate for some time and encountered the brothels in various numbers.
Paul takes a moment to think something over, then comes to a conclusion and says, "The name's Tristan."
"Last name?"
Tristan sighs, but gives in either way. "Cornwall."
"Tristan Cornwall," Merlin repeats.
"Yes. And the ring's for my girlfriend." Tristan takes his badge, and works on prying it from the plastic. He tugs out a folded up piece of paper. It isn't until Tristan gingerly unfolds it that he realizes it's a wallet-sized photo. He holds it out to Merlin, who cautiously takes it.
"You're trusting me with this?"
"I think you can help."
The trust in Tristan's eyes makes him uncomfortable, and Merlin doesn't understand his reasoning. Why should he help? In the picture there's a slim woman at a bar, at some Halloween event judging by the costume she's wearing. She's blonde and blue-eyed—a definite beauty, and the love of Tristan's life, from the way he looks at the picture.
"She's pretty," Merlin mumbles, shrugging.
Tristan looks at the photo one last time before stowing it away into the safety of his badge. It's hidden well. The badge doesn't look as though it could be pried away from the plastic backing. He then holds up the badge up to Merlin and says, "I've been working a long time on this case, and it's hard to make any headway, even working from within their ranks. It'd be of great help if you're willing to cooperate."
"You want me to go up against Uther Pendragon."
"You'll have the protection of the police force."
"We both know that doesn't mean anything."
"Balinor Iarliath tried either way."
Merlin glares. "And I said I'm not him." He's angry, not because of Tristan's insistence and comparison, but from the unexpected jealousy that Tristan Cornwall knows more about Balinor than Merlin does, even if it's only from reading a criminal file.
"Let's sit and chat." At Merlin's resistance to move, he adds, "You're free to say no."
Merlin decides to comply. If he wants to figure out what Tristan knows he'll have to play along, even though the current situation with the fed trying to get him to flip makes him uneasy.
"I don't know how aware you are of the world outside of this room, but the Syndicates have always been a problem. Federal and local police have put pressure on Syndicate operations to shut down, hence the neutral territories of the brothels, but our efforts are pretty wasted. The Syndicates are just about running this town, and so far, Pendragon's holds the most power. I can even regretfully say that the strongest mayoral candidate is backed by Uther, and he's a clear shoo-in for the win.
"Just about every Syndicate-related crime is on the rise. Yesterday we were able to bust heroine being doled out from a charity truck. What's worse is that Syndicate tensions are brewing and things are going to get worse. Tensions between rival Syndicates have risen before, and from what I understand, Balinor was fairly high up in Pendragon's ranks. He stopped a lot of innocent people getting hurt."
"Hurt from what?" It's history from before he was born, something the older ladies on his street would talk about like a distant hallucination.
"Bombs, drive-bys, any way you can cut down on the rival's ranks and win."
"So you're trying to stop that," Merlin says skeptically, with the way Tristan talks, it doesn't sound like he's taking it very seriously.
"Honestly, I doubt I'd have much effect. But I know that if a war did begin, the Pendragon Syndicate will come out on top with Uther's methods. Think about what happened to your mother. You two were targeted because she had a relationship with Balinor. That was in 1990."
"I know," he says icily, "I see what you're getting at." He doesn't want Tristan talking about it. It's his history, and it's over and done with. Hunith Emrys is still dead.
"Sorry. But the point is that Uther has a lot a power, and he likes to show it off. A lot of people will get caught in the crossfire."
"Why should I care?" He wonders why Tristan has this much faith that he'll do the 'right' thing. "I'm Arthur Pendragon's favourite whore. I lived on the streets, and I made it by myself. Half my clients were the middle-class citizens you're trying to protect."
"Because you're not a Pendragon."
"So? Arthur isn't like that," he defends instantly. They both see the mistake he's made. The affection is much too obvious to ignore, but an understanding simply crosses Tristan's face. Merlin's beginning to see what Tristan's trying to do: play on his sympathy, and the inherent 'goodness' in his heart. But Arthur has to come first, right?
"My girl, Isolde, she's pregnant. I have a family to think about. And with Uther Pendragon pulling the string to the city I find myself a bit more invested than usual."
Tristan has given him his own reasons which Merlin understands, and he supposes it puts them on equal footing. He'd protect his mom if given the chance again. But he needs more than that.
"How about a deal?" Tristan leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Your family is obviously very important to you. If you help with any information you know, I can find out what happened to your mother."
He looks at Tristan blankly, wondering if he's heard correctly. "My mother's dead."
Tristan looks at him in surprise. "Dead? You thought she died in the attack? No. Your neighbors, who called the police, were able to keep her from bleeding out. According to the report, she survived."
It's becomes difficult to breathe. Thinking becomes an effort too.
"You really didn't know."
He wants to cry, but he's not going to. "How is she?" He asks, only just remembering that Tristan didn't have that info.
"I don't know, but I can ask my handler and get him to find out for you."
"If I give you information," Merlin adds, seeing the nod from the corner of his eyes. He doesn't like that his mother has become a bargaining chip. Of course it would come back to Tristan trying to make him a deal. But Merlin feels no blame towards Tristan, because he understands Tristan's stakes in the job.
There's the choice between Arthur and his mother, and two years ago he would have chosen his mother without much difficulty. Now he isn't sure. Or he doesn't want to be sure. The thought of betraying Arthur makes him physically ill. It's an odd mixture of loyalty and love that's slowly taken hold of him. He's had years with the memory of his mother, and it hurts to think that he might see her again, stuck in the Avalon. But he can't just knock away the years he'd had with Arthur Pendragon. A completely conceited man, when he doesn't go out of his way to ignore his father's rules.
"I can't help you." He's apologetic, not only to Tristan but to his mother.
"That's okay." Tristan is disappointed, but it doesn't appear that he's holding it against him.
"You're stupid, you know, to expect that I won't say anything to Arthur. Uther's technically my boss after all."
"So what, he's mine too." Tristan leans back, stretching his muscles. He stands up to leave, giving Merlin his final words. "I trust that you won't say anything. You know what it's like to have a death on your hands, and I think you're a good kid who got dealt a shitty set of cards. You came to the Avalon for protection and I'm risking that.
"Expect me back again though. Your manager gave me a package deal, and I still have a few more appointments left. You don't come cheap, even at a discount."
"Maybe you should be spending it on the baby," Merlin grouses, not mentioning that Cedric doesn't give out package deals. This has Arthur's hands all over it. So it means that Arthur does have an inkling of who Paul Dandry actually is. And if he knows Arthur, the Pendragon heir wouldn't have stalled to kill Tristan without a reason.
It leaves a sour taste in Merlin's mouth. He knows who Tristan is now, and he knows about the man's life, summed up in the total of what he takes as important. His job's causes, and his future wife. Somehow Arthur is going to know that Merlin's made headway with 'Paul Dandry' and he's going to ask. He may have internally scoffed at Tristan calling him a 'good kid,' because he's committed murder. Except the fed's right. Merlin knows the feel of death, inflicting it on others and having it tighten around him.
Can he let someone like Tristan Cornwall die?
The question won't leave him. He has the choice to betray Arthur, or betray the trust that Tristan has willingly given. There's the option of the keeping silent to both sides—a lesser betrayal, if there is such a thing. But from experience he knows it won't matter to a Syndicate man's pure black and white vision. You're either with or against them.
Merlin wants more time to think and wishes there was a way to delay his scheduled appointment with Arthur and call in sick. If only Arthur were a regular client and not his boss and lover. Even if the former title is starting to take over their relationship, it's impossible to completely see him that way. So it makes it harder to see Arthur smiling at him, and imagine it turning into a cold-hearted gaze that would freeze them both and shatter.
In his heart and what little conscience he has, he knows his answer. The other part of it only needs to reconcile with his decision. When Arthur walks through the door weeks later, he's still trying to settle down with the choice. He knows instantly that Arthur sees his guilt, because he can't look him in the eyes.
It leaves his mouth dry, and he has to keep swallowing to prevent his throat from shriveling up. He's scared. Not the sort where it's fight or flight, and he'll have to claw his way out-it's fear tinged with disappointment, like it's the beginning of the end. Maybe it's a good thing his mouth and throat are too parched, because it'll give him a reason why he can't answer Arthur's questions.
Arthur walks past him, not to ignore him, but enacting a tactic he's familiar with. He's biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to break down Merlin's walls. As Arthur stands mere inches in front of him, he holds out a series of files bound together in an plastic file folder. Merlin dutifully takes it, spreading the information out on the bed.
This is how it usually is. Merlin cross-legged on the bed, perusing the files, or divulging all the secrets and information he's attained. Arthur at the sofa, drinking and chewing on ice cubes, giving instructions or listening silently. Today's going to be different.
It's unnerving how patient Arthur is being. He likes to get right in the thick of things, amongst the action and chaos. Fighting the good fight. It makes Merlin so nervous that he even forgets to pour Arthur a drink.
Arthur's stays silent.
He tries to keep his focus on the words and pictures in front of him: a businessman possibly dipping into Pendragon finances, a drug handler sniffing his own product, Vivienne's birthday and the people she interacted with that are of interest. It's all laid out in neat bullet points. The information swirls through his brain without taking hold.
"What do you know Merlin?"
Merlin jumps at Arthur's intrusion, wondering if Arthur is secretly clairvoyant. Looking up he sees Arthur is checking his tie, wiping at a speck of dust.
As Merlin attempts to settle back from the fright, Arthur allows an increment of silence to pass before he asks, "Who?"
He could die over this. Even though he had denied being like his father to Arthur, he can't know for sure. He'd never thought he could have pulled the trigger on a gun either. People have limits. Maybe Merlin's refusal to protect a fed will set off a underlying ruthlessness? Like with what Uther had done to his wife's best friend after his wife died. Or Merlin could be thinking much too highly of his relationship with Arthur.
At the moment he has his ideas on what he means to Arthur, but his paranoia tells him they're lies or exaggerations. Every misgiving he has about Arthur, he'll rebut the very treacherous nature of the thoughts in an endless cycle. It's difficult to concentrate on anything. The words in front of him become a mess of ink as he tries to avoid the silent interrogation at hand. He's itching to move away from Arthur and his best solution is the bar. So with jaws clenched tight and his body taut with anxiety, he goes to pour a glass of alcohol for Arthur.
He's so focus on pouring the drink Merlin doesn't hear Arthur, until he's sidled up close, one arm around to keep him in place. Arthur leans in to him, which is meant to be comforting, but it makes his heart pound in fear. Not getting a desired response, Arthur moves his head closer until Merlin has no choice but to turn face to face.
"No," he meekly whispers, a belated refusal to answer Arthur's question.
"Merlin," the warmth of Arthur's breath rest against his ear, the tone endlessly patient. "What do you know?"
He tries to move, but Arthur is keeping him physically locked in and unable to get out. "No," he repeats, adding, "I'm sorry."
Arthur's head rests on his shoulders, and he wishes he could turn around and see his face so he might know what Arthur's thinking.
"You want to know what I think?"
Merlin jerks, having an irrational thought that Arthur is reading his mind, dislodging Arthur's head from its resting place.
"I think there's a possibility that Paul Dandry is an undercover cop," Arthur continues, ignoring the dislodge. "There's a reason why I didn't tell you about him."
"Why?" The secrecy Arthur has kept about Tristan has bothered him. Finally, he'll get to know the reasons.
"I figured you'd react this way."
"So it's alright if I refuse to tell you anything."
"No." Arthur's hold onto him tightens, and Merlin can't tell whether it's the grasp of a python or the way a child holds onto their favourite toy.
"I'm going to be stubborn about this," he warns. "He's—"
"An undercover cop—," Arthur interjects.
"—innocent," Merlin continues.
"Innocent? Undercover cops play by different rules than our regular Red-and-Blue. Innocent hardly applies."
"So? He's not burning people alive, or—" Merlin's cut short when Arthur harshly spins him around, confronting him with eyes that gleam maliciously.
"He told you about my mother?"
His voice is so low Merlin can barely hear him, but the grip on his arms gives a clear message. Arthur doesn't seem to be completely present, instead lost in his head and feeding off the pain of his emotions.
"Tauren, actually." Merlin's slightly scared, as if he's looking into the maw of a great beast. Yet, he's confident that he can move out of the way before it snaps its jaws. "He told me about her friend."
Arthur nods absentmindedly, reliving the story on his own. "My father has a vindictive streak."
"Does burning someone alive count as vindictive?" He doesn't mean to be sarcastic, but hearing Arthur defend his father, despite knowing such a horrible story about his mother's friend, riles him.
"Things are handled differently in the Syndicate world. Power equals guns and money. My father's very good at wielding both."
"What about you?"
It's a while before Arthur says anything. "This is why I didn't want you to know." Merlin can hear the pain and frustration. "There's a reason why I didn't tell you about him," Arthur repeats, defending his choice to keep him in the dark.
"I don't like it…but I understand why." And he does. The thought of being in the same room as an undercover fed would have made Merlin too nervous, and he'd have given himself away. The second reason is exactly what Arthur's not saying: that Merlin wouldn't be able to follow through. He's not as innocent as everyone seems to think, but he can only guess that some remaining bits of decency are still inside him.
"At least tell me his name."
"You could do a lot with a name."
"Merlin," Arthur implores more strongly, crushing his arms in desperation.
He shakes his head, thinking about Tristan, Isolde, and the family they'll make together. Then he thinks about being deprived of his own mother and father. Merlin doesn't want the kid going through the same thing. He doesn't want Arthur to murder an undercover fed—and if Uther finds out, the pregnant fiancée as well.
"He has a family," Merlin states.
"And I don't?" Arthur says, speaking about his father.
"I can't break that apart. You know what happened to mine."
"Yours isn't completely broken."
Merlin looks at Arthur curiously, unable to see where this is heading.
"You told me about them, your mother and father. What would you say if your mother wasn't dead?"
What is Arthur saying? He leans on the bar for support. "I already know she didn't die," he admits. The one and only thing he can think is that Arthur had known his mother wasn't dead. "Did you know? When you found out your father made the hit, did you know it failed?"
"I wasn't sure what I could tell you."
"You could have told me my mother is still alive!" Merlin shouts.
"I didn't want to get your hopes up."
Merlin fights Arthur's hold. "Tell me," he implores, pawing at him, placing kisses where he can, to entice him. He isn't aware he's falling on old tactics, too desperate and almost out of his mind with the need to know.
Arthur's hesitates, taking each kiss without much consideration. "I know where she is," he reveals slowly.
Merlin is gasping for air. "Where?"
"I can't tell you."
His fingers dig into his lover's shoulders as if he can rip them out. Is Arthur bargaining with him for the information? Like Tristan had done? The fed he can forgive, but Arthur doesn't have the right. Merlin can't form the words against the swell of betrayal.
"I'm sorry."
Merlin ignores the apology, and moves to get as much distance between him and Arthur as possible.
"I'm not trying to keep her from you," Arthur struggles to say, "I just…" It's the first time he's seen Arthur lose his composure, stumbling with his speech. "I just need a name."
"No," he growls, "you can't use my mother as a bargaining chip, you fucking tosser."
"Bargaining chip?"
Merlin doesn't hear him, and spits in Arthur's face to keep him from saying anything else. He'd done it to a girl once, who'd been trying to poach a john vying for his custom, and finds it rather grotesque. He'd only done it once, and Arthur had just pissed him off enough to make it twice.
The gob of saliva is ferociously wiped off as Arthur seethes. "I'm not bargaining for anything!"
"Aren't you?" Merlin gets up into Arthur's face, ready to physically confront a man more honed at fighting than he's ever been.
"Merlin," Arthur warns.
He pushes against Arthur's chest, and Arthur pushes back. Not expecting the sudden force, Merlin loses balance and topples over. Yet he's back up quickly, charging with a shoulder straight into Arthur's gut, knocking them back against the wet bar. Alcohol bottles tip and shatter, rolling off the surface. Neither heed the mess as Merlin takes a knee to the stomach, winding him, and causing him to collapse to the ground from the pain. With quick action, Merlin grabs Arthur's legs and overbalances him, also knocking him to the ground. They quickly lunge at each other, rolling across the ground, until Arthur is finally able to grab hold of Merlin by the front of his shirt and toss him face down onto the bed.
There's no chance to get back up as Arthur's weight sits on top of him, and he hisses into Merlin's ear, "Stop this."
With a turn of his head, Merlin snaps his teeth at Arthur, forcing him to back off a little, barely grazing his nose. There's just enough space to prop up his hands, giving him the stability to use his whole body to force Arthur off.
The Syndicate heir stumbles back, crashing against the closet door. "Dammit Merlin, stop and listen to me."
"Why?" Merlin's ready to lunge again, but stills on the bed patiently, expecting an answer.
Arthur's using the wall to find his feet, keeping his head turned away. The avoidance riles him even more, but he resists jumping at Arthur again.
"You can't even trust me," he spits.
Arthur shakes his head, desperate for Merlin to listen. "It's not about trust."
"Then what? Why haven't you said anything to me about an undercover fed. How come I have to find out from him? If you're not using my mother to bargain with me, then why can't you tell me."
"A fed?" Arthur catches, before reverting his attention back to Merlin, still struggling to form the right words. "I need time."
"I'm not doing anything just so you can impress your father." Merlin knows he's being spiteful on purpose, wanting to injure as much as he feels he's been deceived.
"I'm not trying to impress anyone." Arthur pulls at his hair in frustration. His walk towards Merlin is almost a crawl, back hunched, legs moving like jelly. When Arthur is on his knees at his feet, his hands are on him begging for acceptance. "Please, Merlin. It's important that you do this for me." Arthur presses their foreheads together, begging over and over, "Please."
Merlin's never seen Arthur beg, hadn't even been aware that it was possible. There's something broken that he may have put there, but that's not what makes him give in. "Tristan Cornwall," he croaks, hesitantly reaching out to Arthur's mussed hair, smoothing it down back to its original state. "You'd better not be tricking me. I won't forgive you."
Arthur quickly takes his hand to press a kiss to it. "There's no need."
What Merlin doesn't say is that the first chance he gets he's going to tell the fed that his cover's been blown. They don't say anything else for the rest of the appointment, instead spending the time staying close like this, something that Merlin's missed. He reacquaints himself with Arthur, wants the aroma of his shampoo and cologne to imprint onto him, because this time he's not going to waver. He won't question betrayal and loyalties if the fault of Tristan's life being wiped away ends up resting upon him. Merlin can only do so much for Arthur.
Hopefully, three weeks won't be too late to warn him.
He paces anxiously, biting his nails. It's a bad habit he's avoided until now, having too much time on his hands. If it isn't too late, Tristan will leave the second Merlin tells him, and he'll take his family into hiding.
The familiar click of the lock has him turning around, ready for the words to fly once the door is safely closed. But when Arthur walks through the door everything stalls. He can't comprehend who's in front of him, thinking he must have got the time and date wrong. Merlin knows he didn't though, and looks at the clock. It's five minutes before his appointment with Tristan and Arthur is standing here with him. There's a gut-wrenching feeling that he's already too late.
Arthur doesn't waste time with him. He's got another folder in his hand, a manila envelope with a flimsy red string keeping the contents unknown. It's tossed onto the bed without much care and Arthur gives him a distinctive look. Merlin doesn't know what it means, but he has an idea.
Taking the dive, Merlin cautiously picks up the envelope, which is surprisingly heavy and thick. It feels as though there's a whole stack of papers inside, and his curiosity gets the better of him to check it out.
None of the files make sense to him. They're bank account statements and invoices for coffee beans and furniture. He tries to make heads or tails of why he needs to know this, until he sees a tax receipt for a considerable donation to a political campaign, made to Uther Pendragon. Merlin realizes this folder isn't for him.
He's not sure he can take another shock tonight, but fate has other things in store as the lock to his room clicks open a second time, causing his heart to jump up in his throat. Arthur had undoubtedly planned for this occurrence: a stand-off between the Syndicate heir and an undercover fed.
'What happens now?' Merlin wonders.
Tristan instantly recognizes Arthur as one of the main people of interest in his investigation. Merlin sees he's itching for a gun and a way out, but realizes he's locked in, with the only exit strategy to turn his back on the devil and open the door. There's no fear though; Tristan only glowers, an invitation for trouble. Merlin thinks it's no wonder they chose him to work undercover.
"Merlin," Arthur says as his goodbye, before heading towards the door.
As Merlin watches in anticipation, he's sure they're going to come to blows, opposite sides of the law pushing each other into a cataclysmic explosion. Tristan is defenseless, but Merlin knows there is nothing left for him to do now. If Arthur pulls out his gun, Tristan will come at him with a screaming battle cry, Merlin's sure of it. Neither takes their eyes off the other as Arthur unlocks the door, and Tristan shifts only enough to let him by.
Even though Merlin had thought that Arthur wouldn't commit another murder right here in front of him, the great relief of an averted disaster still overcomes him once the door closes with Arthur on the other side.
"What the hell was that?" Tristan accuses.
Underneath the anger, Merlin can see the flurry of dread fueling Tristan's every pointed accusation and shout as he worries about Isolde. He ignores it to get straight to the point. "I told him your name."
Tristan stalks towards him, spitting out his misjudgement of Merlin and how he should kill him. Fed or no fed, he might actually murder him, yet Merlin doesn't feel any worry. The heavy manila envelope in his hand is a weight of confidence, and he finds himself eerily calm and detached as he holds it up to Tristan.
"How much do you get paid? I thought the brothels were neutral."
"It's for you."
"What is it?" Tristan sneers, making no move to take the envelope from his hands.
"I guess you can think of it as a present."
"From Arthur Pendragon? I don't take bribes. And I don't do favours for spoilt Syndicate brats."
"I don't think you'll be doing him a favour." Merlin shakes the package at him. "Open it."
The envelope is snatched from his hands. At first one distrustful eye is kept upon him as the flap is ripped open without much care. As Tristan flips through the contents, his focus steers towards the papers in his hands. Eyes widen with each increasingly careful turn of paper, and Tristan's probably not aware the way his mouth his slightly agape from his delighted astonishment.
"This is…" Tristan can't finish the sentence, overcome with disbelief, finding this almost too surreal to be real.
Merlin shrugs. "I don't know, but I think I get what it's supposed to be."
"What's your boyfriend want for this?" The slight suspicion is a defense against the situation at hand. If it were a deal, Arthur would have made it himself.
Merlin shrugs. "I don't know why he's doing this, but I think you should take it and leave. If you don't, leave anyway."
Tristan cocks his head at Merlin's dispassionate attitude, the odd behaviour putting him on guard.
"You should know Tristan, the Avalon doesn't give out package deals," Merlin reveals, assuming that the fed will understand what he's trying to say.
And Tristan does get it, from his face of shock. It's quickly squashed by a snort, the care-free smirk reclaiming its place. "Seems I've been played."
"It still works in your favour. Much more than it does for him."
"I thought you didn't know what he was doing."
"I can make an educated guess."
"You love him?"
The question is unexpected and slightly unwelcome, considering Tristan's occupation. Merlin answers nonetheless with another shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah."
He thinks the feelings may be mutual between him and Arthur. The Pendragon Syndicate is imploding on itself, and Arthur had designed and set the charge. Merlin had never asked for anything from Arthur, especially this, and he can't fathom why the Pendragon heir is doing this.
"I'll be leaving."
"You won't tell anyone that Arthur…"
Tristan gives a derisive snort. "I know how this world works—and how Uther works. If I didn't, then I'd have something to worry about. I don't plan on testing how much Arthur Pendragon can be like his father."
Merlin neither agrees nor disagrees with Tristan's statement. He only knows what's going to happen next, and isn't surprised to find Arthur sitting at the end of his bed the morning after.
His body is crunched down on itself, head resting in his hands, as elbows rest on his knees. His whole body jitters with every bounce of his foot. It resembles a prayer, looking almost so delicate that it will break apart with a touch.
Merlin slips out from the blankets, feeling the shock of cold air touching his bare skin. After his last session the day before he hadn't bothered to put clothes on after his shower, and went straight to bed with its fresh linens. He takes no notice of his slightly damp pillow, wet from his hair, when he listens to Arthur's forced steady breathing.
There's nothing in his experience that he can equate to what Arthur is going through, so he does the only thing he can and drapes himself across Arthur's back in a comforting gesture, wrapping arms across the expanse of his lover's shoulders.
"It's going to be okay," he says to fill the silence, not knowing if the words hold any actual truth.
Arthur doesn't seem to be listening anyway, sinking into the gloom of his own treachery. The best Merlin can do is take Arthur's mind off it for a little while, placing kisses behind his ears and on his neck, massaging into the stiff muscles beneath his shoulders. Gently he pulls at Arthur and instructs him to lie back, and Arthur easily complies.
Sitting astride Arthur puts Merlin back in his natural element, as he circles his fingertips into the skin beneath him, feeling the give of muscles. He's appreciating the contours of their shapes, the dips and rises of Arthur's physical strength. Eventually, Arthur closes his eyes to better sink into Merlin's ministrations, of hands rubbing the pectorals and lightly tugging at the hairs on his chest. Merlin leans down to kiss Arthur's lips, a soft pressure with the barest skimming of tongue.
He presses their crotches together, feeling Arthur's lack of interest, which doesn't match his own. He presses forward with his mouth and body, trying to get Arthur to reach the point where he doesn't have to move like he's trying. Finding that his tactics aren't working, he works his hand at the zipper of Athur's trousers, hoping the bare touch of skin will do the trick. Arthur's cheek twitches at the first touch, and Merlin doesn't waste time to wrap his hand around the limp girth and slowly pump the filling arousal in his fist.
The right signs are there, with Arthur's chest rising and falling with long, deep breaths, as his member reaches its maximum width, becoming unbearably hot in Merlin's hands. Arthur grunts, making Merlin smile as he twists his wrist in the same way, finally seeing the sorrow begin to lift off his lover's shoulders. So it takes him by surprise when Arthur surges up and pries Merlin's hands off of him, telling him to stop. Confused, Merlin barely understands the command, and Arthur has to hold him away, lightly pushing Merlin off his lap, repeating, "Stop, I can't right now." Arthur rubs his face, the creases of his frown back to its deep furrow.
"You didn't have to go against your father—" Merlin tries to say, believing that to be the thoughts haunting Arthur's conscious.
"This isn't about my father." Merlin is perplexed as Arthur gathers the courage to reach into the inner pockets of his jacket, and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he unfolds and reads to himself. "I'm sorry," he says, a profound regret drowning him.
Looking at the paper, Merlin tries understand what he's looking at, or at least recognize the handwriting on the crinkled lined sheet. There are ink smudges where the handwritten words must have passed over what was previously written there. As Merlin reads each sentence, he slowly realizes the identity of the letter's writer, and it's confirmed when he reaches the end, reading the salutations and the name underneath.
Strangely, he's not crying as he always thought he would have been. Instead, a wistful sense of happiness fills him. That he can at least have this, even if things are very different than the way he would have wanted them to be.
"How was she?" he finds the courage to ask.
"I found her in a women's shelter. Your mother was sick."
"With what?"
"I thought it was simply a cold at first, but I learnt later that she had contracted HIV."
Arthur looks at him meaningfully and Merlin completely understands. Even Cedric won't take a bribe from a client who wants to get their jollies off barebacking; it's too much risk for everyone. The illness is a horror story that's always a possibility, and he feels absolutely stricken to hear that his mother's endured that.
"When?"
"About five years back."
That would have placed Merlin at about seventeen, in the second year of work since his debut after the Avalon's training.
Arthur continues talking as Merlin sorts out the timeline in his head. "I got her to a hospital as soon as I could convince her."
"Did she even trust you?"
"No," Arthur laughs. "She tried to punch me. Did she teach you that?"
Merlin chortles, "I don't know." But he likes the thought. Soon the lightness from the joke disappears, and he has to ask, "How was she at the end?"
"I tried to make her as comfortable as I could. I kept her safe, put her under a fake name in the hospital in case my father found out. I'm sorry I couldn't find a way to get you two together sooner."
"There was no way you could have brought her here, or took me to her."
"But I could have done something sooner, given the information sooner."
And by 'the information', Arthur meant what he'd given to Tristan. If anything, Arthur had gone beyond what he'd needed to do. "You can't control everything Arthur."
"She only died three days ago."
It's a shock to learn she'd died so recently, and makes him wonder what their reunion would have been like if Arthur had done something sooner. Yet there's nothing to say on how much time it will take for Tristan to put his case together, so the fantasy is almost a null question.
"I'm sorry," Arthur stresses. He looks guilt stricken with another mark on his soul, from turning his back on the Pendragon name to failing him.
And he's not sure how he can alleviate Arthur's burden, but at the moment he should at least cast off his own doubts. "Did she die happy?"
"People don't die happy, Merlin." Arthur scoffs.
Merlin can see the death of men in Arthur's eyes, taking each kills with their achievement and failures to heart. "Then, did she have any regrets?"
Arthur shakes his head, wrinkles of confusion etching his face. "She left peacefully." He turns to Merlin and ask, "I honestly don't understand how she could."
"Did she know about us?"
"I think she guessed it."
"Then she knew I wouldn't be alone." Merlin is making his own guesses. He can't possibly know what Arthur had told his mother, or what his mother would have thought about their relationship. The answer only comes from some indescribable part of him. Simply put, that's just the way he feels.
"What about Balinor?" Rationally, if Arthur had found his mother, he'd been looking for Balinor as well.
"He's harder to find. But when things do go down, I can promise you that Gaius will be fine."
"I never told you about Gaius," he says in surprise.
"I wanted to know how you'd gotten here," Arthur states. "I was surprised to see it was Gaius who recommended you. He's been the family chauffeur even before I was born, and I'd never saw him as the type to be interested in brothels. That's before I found out Balinor was a family friend to Gaius."
"Did Gaius know that my mother was still alive?" He thinks of the pendant hidden in his sock drawer, and how Gaius had come to acquire it.
"They talked for a short bit, a chance meeting when Gaius was waiting in the car for the end of a meeting. He saw her walking across the street and ran after her. Eventually, your mother ran off again."
"Because of your father?" Merlin asks.
"Yeah, my father."
"How did Gaius have the pendant then?"
"Hunith had asked if Gaius could help look for you. Since she had to hide, I think she left it to him. I don't know if it was intentional or something she forgot to quickly get away, but Gaius took it and thought to give it to you if he ever found you. Apparently it was a gift from Balinor."
A swell of joy fills his heart to hear that his mother never stopped looking for him, and it compels him to kiss Arthur, as a thank you. Arthur accepts the light kiss, though he doesn't put much effort into reciprocating, too aware of the melancholy surrounding Merlin.
He pulls Arthur down with him, leaving peck after peck of small kisses on lips, cheeks, jaws, wherever Merlin can place fleeting intimacy. Eventually, his effort subsides to allow the somber to take hold, and he holds Arthur close.
"Thank you for not telling your father about Gaius. Or killing Tristan, though you probably planned that."
"You don't have to thank me Merlin." Arthur sounds less than pleased, and he winces.
"Tell me," Merlin encourages, watching Arthur struggle to form the words.
"You're not the only one that needed a change of pace. I did everything my father asked of me, and as long as I made him proud—it was enough." Arthur chortles. "In the end I'm betraying him and the entire Syndicate."
"Why?" Merlin hopes Arthur hadn't done it because of him.
"I want to blame you." Arthur turns on his side, his eyes running over his features, as a pad of his thumb runs over his bottom lip. "I really want to."
"Then why?" Merlin waits for an answer, watching Arthur attempt to figure out a coherent reason with difficulty. So he says, "You wanna know something Tauren told me long ago?"
"No, but you're going to tell me anyway."
"He told me that you were the one to watch out for. That one day, you were going to surpass you father for your own gain." He smooth's out the distraught from Arthur's face. "But I don't think you did it for the reasons Tauren thought."
"Enlighten me, Merlin."
"You were like me, following the routine we allowed ourselves to get trapped in. You had to grow up some time, Arthur."
Arthur snorts, the edge of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
And with Arthur back in an accessible mood, he has a question to ask. "Why did you need to know Tristan's name? You could have just walked into the room and handed him the stuff."
"I told you, I'm thorough. I had an idea that Paul Dandry wasn't who he said he was, and I was hoping you would learn something. I needed to know who's payroll he was on. I couldn't take the chance of another Syndicate getting the information. It had to be a clean cop. Of course, he turned out to be a federal agent."
Merlin temporarily wonders if Uther will hunt his son down. Even with that prospect, Merlin can see that Arthur Pendragon has already won against his father.
They stay together quietly until Merlin has to push Arthur out and prepare for the day. Everything moves along like it's completely normal, as though this brothel won't be destroyed. He doesn't know when it will happen; Arthur hadn't said, or maybe he doesn't know. For some reason he thinks it'll happen today, but Merlin laughs at himself, remembering the weight of the package he'd handed over yesterday night.
Nevertheless, the walls of his residence is crumbling before his eyes.
For the next month everything feels redundant. He's prying for information that may not matter from people who are… That's the reason for his discontent. He does his job but keeps seeing the larger person: the name behind the face, their position at work. It clashes with the objectives of his tasks.
Merlin smiles sweetly at everyone, nodding his head to appease them, and thinks about his clients' partners and children. He listens to Vivian chatter and wonder if there's ever a moment the things she tells him could place a target in the middle of her forehead. As annoying as she is, she isn't like them: pushers, gun-toting fiends, and people with wealth amassed via scrupulous means.
He'll stand by Arthur, but spying for him no longer holds the same appeal. It doesn't have the same air of freedom the more he thinks about Tauren, Tristan, and every other person he's gathered information on.
There are people that belong in the underworld, and those that stumble in. He wonders where he fits.
Tomorrow will be five years since the day Arthur strolled in, upending him and the routines he'd been used to, filling him with the realization of discontent and murder, and the amicable knowledge that he could kill someone if he wanted to, even orchestrate it. At least, he thinks he could. Not everyone is fair game in his eyes.
Merlin isn't that cold, and he doesn't want to be.
"I don't want to do this anymore," Merlin says to himself, finished with a day of spying, and stares at his ceiling rather than washing and cleaning his room. He repeats it for tomorrow, always questioning the value of his clients' lives and how much it matters.
"You don't want to work for me?" Arthur asks, as though he's seen this coming a mile away. He's sitting on his sofa, having slipped in after the last client had departed. "Even if you weren't working for me, could you continue seeing the same clients?"
Merlin shakes his head, believing Arthur to be a mind reader.
"I can't tell clients that you suddenly don't want to see them anymore."
"Then get Cedric to do it."
Arthur snorts. "That's not what I meant."
"You could make me exclusive to you."
This garners genuine surprise from Arthur as he tries to discern if Merlin's sanity is intact.
"Is that what you want?" he asks, pushing for a solid affirmation. "I only asked that before because I wanted to keep you safe."
And as Merlin had stated to Arthur many times, he doesn't want his protection. But now he's going against his own words. "Then do it, because I asked you to. "
"Why are you asking?" Arthur makes sure they're eye to eye, watching for any faltering from Merlin.
"Because I want it." He does. "Do you consider that running away?" Merlin asks, expecting Arthur to understand what he's actually asking.
The bed dips when Arthur sits down, uncaring of the sweaty sheets to run a hand through Merlin's hair. "You do what you want."
He stays silent, attempting to work out a puzzle until he comes to a halt with one conclusion. Merlin likes that answer. "Say yes," he commands Arthur, a wide grin on his face.
Arthur chuckles. "Yes."
Update – Epilogue – 10/14/2012
Yes, we have neared the end. Thank you for any story alerts, reviews, story favourite, etc, etc, etc. :D