[CENTRAL; 2010]

"You were quiet tonight," Merlin notes, slipping into the driver's seat.

"Mm," Harry hums.

The sound isn't so much agreeing or disagreeing as it is simply acknowledging that Merlin's said anything at all. He fastens his seatbelt and glances towards Harry, who seems more interested in staring out his window than anything else. Turning the key in the ignition and shifting the car into gear, he begins the drive that will take them to Harry's flat, wondering if perhaps that quiet has something to do with today's date. Or more specifically what that date means for Harry.

Today is Harry's fiftieth birthday, something which saw the rarity of most of them being gathered in one place to celebrate. Of course James had done what James does best, which is namely reminding Harry and Merlin that they've got one foot in the grave and are soon to be dust. Merlin's grown used to it; James has been calling him an 'old goat' since they'd met and he'd only been thirty-five at the time. It was all very lighthearted of course, and typically Harry was always ready with a witty retort of his own, but tonight seems to have turned that on its head.

"You're not taking anything that James said to heart, are you?" Merlin questions, his eyes on the road before him.

"Not exactly," Harry says haltingly.

Merlin snorts a laugh. "Harry, we're getting old. Just accept it."

"All well and good for you at forty-seven," Harry huffs.

"Oh, don't. It's three years' difference, that's hardly anything at all," Merlin says.

"The point is," Harry says, shooting him an exasperated—but fond—look, "we are getting older. Fifty for a normal man is not the same as fifty for a Kingsman. I'm simply wondering how much longer I will be viable as a field agent. Ten years? Fifteen at a stretch? And then what? I don't very much like the idea of being useless."

Merlin drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. "Being pulled from the field doesn't make you useless."

"That's not … I'm not like you, Merlin," Harry corrects him, seemingly regretting his choice of words. "You arguably have the broadest skill set of any of us, but a hunting dog is only good for one thing. So what do you do with a hunting dog who is too old to hunt?"

"You take him home," Merlin answers smartly.

A grin twitches at his lips when Harry flicks his ear. "You take him home. I was speaking in regards to the rest of the world."

"Well, animal cruelty laws have come a long way—"

"Now you're just trying to change the subject."

Perhaps he is, but he doesn't think he can be blamed. He doesn't care to see Harry like this and, as much as he would claim otherwise for his partner's sake, being declared unfit for field work is not a happy affair. It's a concern he understands, though he believes Harry is selling himself far short. Harry has always displayed an immense aptitude for leadership and rarely fails to garner the respect and admiration of those around him. Perhaps Merlin's getting ahead of himself, but Arthur will hardly be around forever, and when he's gone there will need to be someone to replace him. Not as exciting as field work, perhaps, but a way in which Harry's skills would be best put to use.

Harry shifts in the passenger's seat, arms folded over his chest. It's clear that despite the lighthearted detour, the idea still bothers him immensely. This isn't just because of a birthday or James's teasing—this is something Harry's been dwelling on for some time. It's just that tonight it's been made visible.

"You're thinking much too far ahead," Merlin tells him.

"We should do our best to prepare for the future," Harry reminds him.

"Yes, that's true," Merlin agrees. "But in doing so, you shouldn't let the present get away from you."

Harry makes another one of those noncommittal hums in response. Merlin sighs, wondering if there's anything he can do to pull the Knight out of his mood. Leaving one hand on the steering wheel, he reaches across the console with the other and gently squeezes his partner's knee.

"There will come a time when you're too old for the field. And when that comes, you will hate that fact. You will resent your limits. You will be jealous of those who take the field in your place. Those are all normal, completely acceptable responses," Merlin says slowly. "I understand wishing to be prepared, but Harry, you won't be. No matter how much you do now to prepare yourself for that moment, you won't be ready when it comes. So focus on now. You've got plenty of good years ahead of you yet."

Harry doesn't make a sound, doesn't respond to him in any way apart from resting his hand atop Merlin's. The remainder of the drive is made in silence, the roads dark and clear and quiet due to the lateness of the hour. Moments like these are rare, Merlin reflects. When they can be together, completely alone, in the quiet. Moments when it's still. Peaceful. He wishes Harry would get out of his own head long enough to enjoy it with him.

Not that he doesn't understand; no, he understands all too well. But it worries him to hear Harry speak of himself in such a manner. Regardless of what he's said, he's frightened by the eventuality as much as Harry is. The other man thrives in the field, lives off of it. Having that taken from him will be … difficult to accept.

They arrive at Harry's flat soon enough. Though, Harry seems caught off guard when Merlin kills the ignition, unfastens his seatbelt and reaches into the back seat for a bag.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks him.

"Getting my things," Merlin answers easily enough.

"You intend to stay the night," Harry fishes.

"Unless you'd rather I didn't," Merlin says, settling back in his seat.

"You know very well that I would greatly prefer it if you did," Harry tells him. He hesitates, teetering at the edge of what he wants to say before diving into it. "But there's a reason we don't. You know that."

"I'm well aware," Merlin answers.

Harry sighs, twisting in his seat to better face his partner. "Merlin, I won't have you earning Arthur's disapproval just because it happens to be my birthday. I've had plenty of them and I will have plenty more; it's not worth you getting into trouble over."

"Every single person in that room heard me say that I was taking you home. Arthur already assumes we're going to shag like mad until dawn so if he's going to be cross either way, I'd prefer to actually earn it," Merlin declares, settling his bag in his lap.

" … shag like mad until dawn, you say?"

"Don't pretend like you didn't hear anything else," Merlin says, shoving his face away as Harry grins at him. "But in all seriousness, if you'd prefer to be alone—"

"I wouldn't," Harry says, grabbing hold of his wrist before he can pull his hand back. His thumb strokes Merlin's wrist, gently gliding over his pulse point. "Stay. Please."

They don't say much as they abandon the car in favor of Harry's flat. It's not like in their younger years where articles of clothing are lost along the way to the bedroom. It's a slow, quiet procession from the front door to the bed, stopping only to turn out a light and hang up their coats. The frantic, hurried trysts of their youth are far in the past as they take time undressing one another; fingers touching, hands caressing as though they haven't studied each other intimately a hundred times before. Their lovemaking is slow and deliberate in ways that only more recent years have allowed them to be and when they've finished, they simply lie together in the dark, in the quiet.

It used to be by this point that Merlin would be stepping into his pants while Harry smoked a cigarette—or the reverse—and the concept of neither one of them needing to leave remains foreign. Good foreign, Merlin thinks, and he lies on his stomach, chin propped on his pillow as his arms lie crossed beneath it.

"Well, it wasn't madly until dawn, but I think that should be enough to properly disappoint Arthur, don't you?" Harry asks.

He lies on his side, absently running his fingers up and down Merlin's spine, prompting the wizard to close his eyes and hum contentedly.

"Give it a bit," Merlin says. "We can disappoint him further."

"Oh, dove, now who's in denial about their age?" Harry chuckles. "You're half asleep already."

Merlin rolls onto his side to face Harry, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Well, perhaps he's right. They're really not as young as they used to be. Neither of them seems to mind just lying here, occasionally leaning in for a kiss when either of them feels the need for one.

"How did you do it?" Harry asks him suddenly, as Merlin's nearly drifting off.

"Hm?"

"When Arthur pulled you from active field duty. How did you deal with it?" Harry clarifies.

Merlin blinks slowly, studying the man lying beside him. He has been in love with this man for over a quarter of a century. It hasn't always been easy and they haven't always been together in that time, but it was always there. He stares into Harry's eyes—the color of warm chocolate in the daylight, turned to deep, dark, bottomless pools in the night—and though they may not be young men anymore, those eyes remain the same as they were when he'd stared into them in Barcelona all those years ago.

"I had you," he says quietly.

Harry blinks, the worried lines in his face smoothing out at Merlin's response. Wordlessly, he props himself up on his elbow and leans down to capture his partner's mouth in a kiss. Merlin's fingers drag through his hair as though to try to pull him in closer, as though they could never be close enough. They've aged, yes, but as they eventually drift off to sleep, wrapped up in one another, there are no complaints on the matter.

Merlin sits at his desk, eyes scanning his monitors, left hand tapping rhythmically at his keyboard as he sips from his mug. Last night had been … well, one of the better night's sleep he's had in quite some time. Judging from Harry's energy this morning, it would seem that he shares in that sentiment. Still, as his ears detect the door to Control admitting someone, he knows the mood can't last. Arthur was bound to come 'round to see him eventually. Hearing the man's footsteps drawing near, Merlin can't help but tense.

"Good morning, Arthur," he greets.

"Good morning, Merlin," Arthur returns. "Already reviewing the latest files from Berlin, I see."

"Yes, sir," Merlin answers. "I should be finished in … perhaps an hour."

"Excellent," Arthur says. There's a brief interlude of silence where Merlin prepares for the hammer to fall. "Galahad made it home safely last night."

"Yes, sir."

"Mm. Well, don't forget we have a meeting at two-thirty; I'd like you to have a condensed form of the Berlin files ready for the Knights to review."

For a moment, Merlin can't do much more than sit in a stupefied silence. That's it? No subtle punishment? No attempt to put him in his place for having dared lie with Harry? No reprimand of any kind? It's unheard of.

"Merlin?" Arthur intones, eyebrow raised curiously.

"Er, yes ... Yes, sir, of course," Merlin recovers, answering with a nod of his head. "I'll have it ready."

"Good. And tell Galahad the meeting is at two o'clock. He might actually show up on time that way," Arthur says as he turns for the door.

"Will do, sir," Merlin says faintly.

Even after Arthur's gone and Merlin is alone in Control once more, he finds it difficult to rally himself into action. That had been, without a doubt, one of the most peculiar exchanges he's had in his entire life. He's not foolish enough to think Arthur's gone soft in his old age—he knows better than that. He starts when he hears the door once more, only this time it's not Arthur who's come to visit, but Harry.

"Galahad," he greets.

"I take it from the look on your face that Arthur has already visited you," Harry says as he approaches.

"He's only just left," Merlin answers. His eyes narrow suspiciously. "What would you know about that?"

"I may have … had a word with him," Harry admits, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Harry," Merlin sighs impatiently.

"Listen, just a moment," Harry says, halting any further protest. "Last night was something I needed. And no, I'm not talking about the sex—though that was, as ever, very much to my liking. I needed … you, Merlin. I needed you with me, to tell me it would all be alright. Perhaps that may sound ridiculous to you, but it's all been weighing very heavily on my mind and I suppose … I just needed to hear those things from you."

"It's not ridiculous. Not in the slightest," Merlin assures him. He sighs, looking up at Harry from his chair. "But you shouldn't have spoken to Arthur. You're just going to make more trouble—for both of us."

"We came to a sort of understanding," Harry tells him. A grin twitches at his lips. "It was my birthday, after all."

"You didn't," Merlin says. "You can't honestly tell me you talked Arthur into overlooking this just because it was your birthday."

Harry ducks his head, staring down at his shoes.

"Merlin, I can't have you throwing yourself on the proverbial sword each and every time we want to be with one another," he says quietly. "It's why I was hesitant for you to stay last night. But as you said, he would've known either way. I can't always stop him from doing these things and believe me, I find it … immensely frustrating and distasteful beyond words. But if I can stop him, I will. And on this occasion, I could, so I did."

There are a million things Merlin could say to that, but he chooses just one: "Thank you, Harry."

They both know the imbalance in their relationship with Arthur is not so easily corrected. Whatever fondness Arthur has for Harry is not something Merlin will ever know. There are so many things that go on between Arthur and Merlin that Harry isn't aware of, even now. But Harry had done this for him and—for whatever reason—Arthur had chosen to go along with it. Merlin clears his throat.

"There's a meeting today at two o'clock," he says. "Don't be late."

"Don't patronize me, I know it's at two-thirty."

"Don't be late."

Harry shoots him that boyishly charming smile that says he very well will be before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Merlin turns his head, catching him on the lips and earning a pleased hum in response. Yesterday had been Harry's birthday, but as he kisses the man now, Merlin can't help but feel as though he's the one who's received a gift.