For the prompt: i srsly need a merlahad fic of merlin helping harry heal from some sort of injury, preferably one where they've never dated or kissed or anything before :) thaaaank

[CENTRAL, 1984]

Merlin has steadily acclimated to his position in these past nine months, although losing the former Merlin so suddenly had been something of a shock. It isn't as though he hadn't known it was coming—quite the opposite. After all, Old Merlin's aneurysm had been the very reason the young Scotsman had been permitted to join Kingsman. So he'd been expecting it, yes, but he doesn't think he's the only one who had thought of the eventuality of Old Merlin's condition to be some far off event in the future rather than something in the here and now.

Merlin may have spent a relatively short while under his tutelage, but the loss has struck him hard all the same. The old man had been kind to him, if a firm teacher, and though it's only been a week he feels the loss keenly. This doesn't stop him from going about his duties, however, which have grown more numerous in the wake of Old Merlin's passing.

Just when he feels he couldn't possibly have any more to do, life goes and proves him wrong. Of course it would come in the form of Harry Hart—if Merlin has learned anything it's that the youngest of the Knights has a knack for getting himself into trouble. So when he spies Galahad pausing to lean heavily on the wall of the corridor he's passing through, Merlin thinks nothing of it to check on him.

"Something the matter, Galahad?" Merlin asks, venturing closer, clipboard in hand.

"No, no, nothing the matter," Harry is quick to say. "Just stopped to think is all."

Were it any other time, Merlin might have accepted that excuse—Harry had a tendency to linger in the halls, lost in thought when the mood struck him. It's often why he was so very late to appointments of any kind. Today, however, presents a different case. Whether he'd been startled by Merlin's appearance or was just that intent on covering something up, he turned rather quickly on his heel to meet Merlin and this proved to be to his detriment. Merlin takes a few hurried steps forward as Harry totters unsteadily and manages to grab hold of the Knight's arm before he tips right over.

"Nothing the matter, then?" Merlin grunts, keeping him upright.

"Well… perhaps something is a bit off, now that you mention it," Harry admits, one hand scrabbling for purchase at the molding on the wall.

"Just a bit," Merlin says, his tone flat. "Come on, let's get you to Morgana so she can sort you out."

"That's where I was headed," Harry grumbles, not protesting as Merlin all-but carries him down the hall, despite his unhappy tone.

"Don't be sore just because I caught you," Merlin tuts. "You should have just asked someone for help."

"I don't need help," Harry huffs.

Merlin doesn't answer that as they slowly limp along, knowing that anything he says will be with a dose of sarcasm that would be… improper. So he bites his tongue and focuses on getting them to the medical wing. He's surprised, though, when Harry seems to nearly read his mind.

"Alright, I do need help," he admits. "I simply… didn't want it—could we stop? Just for a moment."

Merlin, perplexed by the admission, just then notices that Harry's gone rather pale. The young man's eyes are pressed shut, against what Merlin can only assume is dizziness or nausea. Without question, he does as Harry asks, bringing them to a full stop and herding him towards the wall.

"Lean on me, alright?" Merlin says. "Take your time and breathe."

Harry doesn't seem to have much of a problem with this idea. If anything, Merlin's efforts to keep Galahad upright must look more like an embrace than anything else—Merlin's arms are looped securely around the Knight's waist as Harry rests his head on Merlin's shoulder. Despite its clinical purpose, it feels anything but, especially not when Harry turns his face inward. A shiver travels the length of Merlin's spine at the sensation of hot puffs of air tickling his throat.

Briefly, he wonders if Harry has any idea what he's doing to Merlin as he practically nuzzles the young wizard like the great cat he's shown himself to be. It hardly does anything to help Merlin hide his ever-growing attraction to the other man. Merlin had found him exceedingly attractive the first time he'd laid eyes on the other man, but it was the fact that Harry had come after him when he'd failed to secure the title of Gawain that had molded simple attraction into something decidedly more complicated.

Merlin constantly reminds himself not to read too much into any of Harry's actions regarding him. Yet, time and again, he finds himself reviewing their interactions and wondering. Harry is a natural charmer, of course, and so often he tries to convince himself that's simply the case; that any apparent attraction, any spark between them, has been conjured entirely by his overactive imagination, fueled by his own wants and desires.

Whatever he may think or want, he knows well enough to keep it to himself. None of them know, after all, and he's sure Kingsman would frown very heavily upon his particular perversion. What with the AIDS epidemic and all this talk of a 'gay plague' he's smart enough to keep to himself. He likes Harry as a person—though they are not quite close enough that he would call them friends—and he hardly wants to invite the other man to look at him like he's something that was scraped off the bottom of his shoe. He knows all too well the cost of outing oneself.

But those thoughts are for another time. There are more pressing matters at hand; namely the young man three years his senior who is leaning on him as though his life depends on it.

"Galahad?" Merlin says questioningly. "Are you alright?"

"Nn. I believe so," Harry answers. "Enough to make it the rest of the way, in any case."

He still sways unsteadily as Merlin helps him straighten, but some color has returned to his cheeks at the very least. More worrisome, though, is the fact that his eyes don't appear to focus on Merlin.

"What exactly happened to you, Galahad?" he asks as they continue their journey.

"I fell," Harry proclaims, clearing his throat.

"And hit your head rather soundly, it would seem," Merlin notes. "How on earth did you manage that? I thought you weren't on assignment."

"No, I, ehm… Well, it's rather embarrassing," Harry mumbles. "I was taking Mr. Pickle out and he happened to catch sight of a mouse. He ran, I chased. I didn't see the patch of ice around the corner. Luckily the back of my head broke my fall."

Merlin hisses in sympathy. "Aye, that'll do it."

"And unfortunately, I believe I'm rather concussed," Harry says.

"I believe you're right," Merlin agrees. He feels a wash of relief when the doors to the medical wing are within reach. "Fortunately for you, Morgana seems to be back from her lunch break."

"I'll steel myself for a lecture, then," Harry says with a grimace.

In the end, Morgana simply seems to treat this as par for the course Harry Hart, but warns him to be more careful in the future. She proceeds with her examination and, although Merlin knows he isn't required to stay, he can't seem to pull himself away. He sits in the corner, mentally stockpiling all the work he should be getting done instead of sitting here, but remains regardless. Morgana opts to keep Harry overnight for observation—something which simultaneously relieves Merlin and upsets Harry.

"It's only one night, Harry," Morgana says with a cluck of her tongue. "You act as though I run some sort of medieval torture chamber."

"No, no, it's just that I've left Mr. Pickle alone," Harry proclaims.

"I could see to him," Merlin says.

He wills his face not to flush when Harry looks to him—or attempts to anyway—with raised eyebrows.

"I wouldn't mind looking after him for the night. We already know he gets on with mine," Merlin clarifies, clearing his throat. "If you'd like."

"It would be an enormous relief to know he was with someone I can trust," Harry answers.

Don't read too much into it, Merlin reminds himself. When he offers the other man a short smile and a nod, he swears Morgana is watching him closer than need-be… but he pretends not to notice. If she suspects something, she certainly doesn't say anything about it, instead leaving them be with the excuse of needing to see to something in her office. After obtaining Harry's address and the location of the spare key, Merlin rises from his seat to excuse himself, knowing he's been out of Control far too long as it is.

"I have to get back to Control, but Mr. Pickle will be well looked after while you're away from home," Merlin says, holding his clipboard in front of him. "I hope you're feeling well soon, Galahad."

"Harry."

It's as he's about to make for the door that the name stops him.

"You needn't always call me 'Galahad,' Merlin," Harry explains. "'Harry' will do just fine."

"We're given codenames for a reason," Merlin points out.

"That's true, yes, but we're hardly in the field right now," Harry says. "I think it should be alright between friends."

"Is that what we are?" Merlin asks, arching a brow curiously.

"Perhaps not," Harry concedes with a thoughtful hum. "More acquaintances than anything. Though, I would like for us to be friends. Would you, Merlin?"

Merlin can't help but feel as though he's walking into a trap. But if he is, he doesn't feel especially concerned with avoiding it.

"I believe I would like that a great deal," Merlin says with a nod of his head and a small smile.

"Friends, then," Harry says holding out a hand.

"Aye," Merlin says with an amused chuckle, shaking the proffered hand. "Friends."

Merlin has friends, has had friends in the past. This is nothing new, yet it feels like… something more. As he leaves the medical wing, he can't help but feel he's being watched. When he glances towards Morgana's office, he finds the door open. The older woman's keen gaze is focused on him, betraying no hint at what she might be thinking and yet giving him the impression that she can see straight through him. Offering her a polite nod, he continues on his way, eager to escape her watchful eyes. The fear of being found out sobers him somewhat, drawing him out of his elevated mood.

He mustn't read too much into things, he reminds himself.

They're merely friends, after all.

Just friends.

And that's how it must stay.