A/N: This fic comes AFTER "Absolution" ( archiveofourown dot org /works/3812251/chapters/8658874) but before "Solstice" (archiveofourown dot org /works/3812251/chapters/8964001) and "Springtime" (Chapter 8 within this fic).

[CENTRAL, CONTROL ROOM; 1993]

To the casual observer, nothing about Harry's mission in Belfast had been out of the ordinary. It had started, proceeded and ended smoothly; all according to plan. Yet despite this, Merlin has found himself unnaturally restless in both mind and body since its conclusion. Harry and Martin are both due back shortly—after two days spent interrogating Cleary—and for Merlin they can't return soon enough. Still, as he hears the soft blip of the security system allowing someone entry into Control, followed by the unmistakable sound of Harry's footsteps approaching him, Merlin almost wishes for more time.

Not that he's sure it would do him any good. Supposing he had more time, what would he do with it? Find some impossible way to steel his nerves? More than likely, he'd find reasons to stop himself from what he's about to do. No, it's better that this happens now.

"Welcome back, Galahad," he says, eyes still on his monitors. "Well done with Cleary."

"Thank you, Merlin," Harry says in acknowledgement, his voice coming from just behind and to the left of Merlin's chair. "Another late night for you, I take it?"

Merlin breathes in deeply. "No, actually. I've wrapped up any loose ends with the Cleary case and—at least until tomorrow—I don't have any pressing matters to attend to."

He doesn't say that he'd worked feverishly over the past two days to free up time this evening, but somehow, without even looking the man in the eye, he thinks Harry knows this. There's a brief bubble of surprised silence, which is burst easily enough.

"That's a change of pace," Harry remarks lightly.

"Yes. It is," Merlin says.

"You might even get a full eight hours of sleep. Imagine that," Harry adds, amusement ringing clearly in his tone.

"I suppose," Merlin says slowly. He hesitates, but Harry doesn't budge. Perhaps after a decade of having known each other he can tell when there's something more that Merlin wants to say. Knowing he can't very well sit in this limbo forever, Merlin swivels his seat around to face the other man and gazes up at him with his hands folded in his lap. "But I was wondering if perhaps you might join me for a drink."

"A drink," Harry echoes.

He watches Merlin with a look of soft perplexity as the wizard nods. Although it has evened out considerable in the past year, their relationship has been strained since '86. Since Rhodes. They haven't met each other outside of work like Merlin is proposing since then. Despite this, Harry takes the offer in stride and, after a moment of brief consideration, he inclines his head in a nod of his own.

"I'd be glad to join you."

Merlin doesn't need more of an answer than that. Quickly shutting down his monitors and locking up his work station, he rises from his seat and the two of them depart in silence.

The first pints come with idle chatter and typical pleasantries. There is a reason they're both here tonight, but sobriety stays their tongues on the matter and keeps them engaged in discussions of assignments and the progress of their young Percival and whatever gadgets Merlin is currently tinkering with.

It's only after Merlin has more than a few drinks under his belt—and a considerable portion of the patronage has left the pub for the night—that he finds his lips speaking the words he'd come here to say, all before his mind thinks better of it.

"I'd like to make a confession."

Harry looks to him with a snort of amusement, fingertips holding the rim of his glass as he twists it in place on its coaster.

"Well, I'm afraid Father Hart has retired," he remarks. "But whatever it is, I'm sure it can be solved with three Hail Marys." He makes a wonky sign of the cross in mid-air, quite amused with himself. "Go in peace and all that."

"Harry," Merlin says gently.

At once the smile fades from Harry's face as he realizes they've come to the moment at last. Leaving the safety of the shallows, they tread towards deeper water and he settles into his seat, preparing himself for the conversation at hand.

"Why is it you asked me to join you tonight, Merlin?" he asks.

"Because I've been a fool," Merlin answers immediately. At Harry's prompting look, he inhales deeply and tried to remember the practiced speech he'd carefully pieced together in the past two days. Coming up short, he cobbles together what he can and throws himself into it. "What happened with the Rhodes assignment… happened. I've come to terms with it. Mostly. But what I never took time to do was to see where my fault lied in all of this. And I am at fault. I was."

When he pauses to wet his lips, Harry doesn't interrupt.

"I was angry that you'd gone back and done something so insanely stupid for my sake. I still stand by my opinion on that matter. But I never thanked you, did I? For saving my life. I never once thought to thank you for it," Merlin murmurs. "That mission left us both angry—albeit for different reasons—but in the end, I was the one who pushed you away. And for that, I'm sorry." He frowns and shakes his head before looking up to meet Harry's gaze. "Then came the incident this past year, when I was pulled from the field. I was so determined to be alone with my anger and my frustration and, despite the fact that I had done nothing to earn your consideration in those five years prior… you wouldn't let me. And I didn't… I still don't know what to make of that."

Merlin finishes off his pint, if only because he can't stand waste. Harry, on the other hand, sits back in his seat, his attention focused entirely on Merlin and what remains of his drink untouched.

"I'm not seeking penance or absolution or forgiveness. I know I can't fix this," Merlin says, rolling his empty glass between his hands. "I just wanted to…" He frowns, having second thoughts about the night's drinking as he struggles to put to words what he feels. "Well, I just wanted you to know."

Harry doesn't say anything for a very long while after Merlin's finished. He slowly finishes off his drink in silence as the cry of last call comes and the remaining patrons—the ones that can still stand, in any case— begin their lazy shuffle towards the door. He knows he's just dropped a great deal in the other man's lap and that it will likely take time for him to process, but he'd be glad if Harry would say anything at all at this point.

"We should be getting on," Harry says at length.

Merlin tries not to feel too hurt by the comment. After all, if he were in Harry's place, he's not sure what he would say. But he worries he's done more harm than good in asking Harry here tonight. Too little too late, perhaps.

"Right," Merlin says, rising. "I'm sure they'd like to lock the place up and get on home themselves."

So they settle their tabs and make for the exit, the lights inside going dim not a moment after they step foot outside. Though they're coming into spring, the nights are still rather cold and Merlin shrugs deeper into his coat to escape the chill as they stand together at the side of the road. A few beats of silence pass before Merlin clears his throat.

"Thank you for coming out tonight," he says simply. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Why are you going that way?" Harry asks him.

"My flat," Merlin says. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "It's this way."

Harry's head tilts just so as he blinks slowly at the other man. "So it is. Still… walk with me?"

Merlin stands rooted to the spot for a moment. "…alright."

They walk side by side at a slow, leisurely pace, saying nothing at first. Merlin doesn't particularly mind, despite his anxiety as to what Harry may be thinking after he'd spilled his feelings in a manner reminiscent of reaching across a table and knocking someone's coffee into their lap. Clumsy, that's what it had been. The pub had been a bad idea. He really should have done this sober. But would he have? Ah, now that's the question.

"Do you really not know why I came to you?" Harry asks suddenly.

Merlin looks up quickly, tripping over the curb in his haste. "Sorry, what?"

"When Morgana diagnosed—… When Arthur pulled you," Harry says, changing his phrasing mid-sentence. "You must know why."

"I wasn't certain," Merlin admits.

"That I still cared for you?"

"I hadn't given you much reason to," Merlin reiterates.

"Merlin," Harry says with an exasperated, if fond, sigh. "Caring for someone isn't about… It's not about keeping score. You don't earn points. It's not a game."

"I know it's not a game," Merlin says hotly. His hands ball into fists in the depths of his pockets, though he wills himself not to get riled up. "But we didn't have a tiff, Harry. We had the sort of falling out that generally causes people to move on from one another."

"And did you?" Harry asks him. "Move on, I mean."

"I believe you already know the answer," Merlin tells him.

"So then why should it be so very perplexing for you to come to find that I hadn't either?" Harry asks him.

"Because people move on. It had been five years and I hadn't given you any reason—"

"Merlin, I don't need a reason!" Harry interrupts impatiently. "That's the whole point. Is it that difficult for you to believe? Or is it that you're so used to people coming in and out of your life that you refuse to even consider that someone just might care to stay? You won't even give me the chance to show you that I do, you just… just… decide all that for me, don't you?"

Merlin, for the life of him, can't even begin to formulate a response. He's not sure which angers him more: the fact that Harry had decided to play psychologist or the fact that he's probably right. Not even probably. Growing up in an orphanage meant people came and went. Working for Kingsman often—unfortunately—meant the same. He'd learned very early on in his life that caring for others was all well and good, but oftentimes others couldn't be counted on to do the same. If he was wary of people's intentions as a result of this, well, at the very least he hid it well. Except when it came to Harry. Somehow, Harry knew the location of all his buttons and had no qualms when it came to pushing them. But tonight, Merlin isn't in the mood to be poked and prodded.

So instead of saying anything, he walks. As with so many things in his life, rather than face the problem head on, he decides to avoid it all together. Just like when he'd changed his name, just like when he'd dropped out of university, just like when he'd been asked to shoot his dogs. Without so much as a word, he turns away from Harry and cuts through an alleyway, intent on heading back to his flat. This had clearly been a mistake. A moment of weakness. Regardless of whether or not they cared for one another, it had been foolish of him to think they could mend this bridge; the chasm between them had grown too wide to cross.

"Christ… Merlin!" Harry calls after him. "I didn't mean to imply—… Merlin."

"Goodnight, Galahad," Merlin says stiffly.

"Oh, don't you 'Galahad' me," Harry huffs jogging to catch up. "Merlin, stop. Just listen to what I have to say."

"I think we've said everything that need be said," Merlin says, his steps growing quicker. "This was my mistake. I apologize for—"

"No."

Merlin's surprised when Harry's hand closes around his wrist, halting his progress. Looking back towards the Knight, he attempts to tug it away, only to find that the other man's grip stays firm. He pulls again, harder this time, inadvertently tugging Harry towards him in the process. His temper already bubbling, he finds it's the last bit of encouragement he needs. What follows this is neither coordinated nor dignified as they all but wrestle each other in the alleyway, and he's sure they're a sight to see—two drunken men struggling to get a hold on one another as much as they struggle to remain upright. They continue on like this up until they've both run out of fight and breath and Harry has Merlin pinned against the brick wall. Well, more to leaning against him and using his weight to keep Merlin—who's not in much a state to push him off—in place than anything else.

"Get off me," Merlin pants.

"No," Harry pants right back. "Look, now, you've had your say… let me have mine."

Although he's tempted to give it one last try to throw him off and be done with it, Merlin can at least acknowledge that he's said a great many things tonight. Harry should be afforded the same opportunity, much as he'd rather retreat to his flat and try to sleep this off. He meets Harry's request with stony silence, which—considering Merlin is no longer attempting to throw him—Harry takes for acquiescence. Once he's caught his breath, he proceeds.

"You asked me out here tonight because you wanted to apologize," Harry clarifies. "But you did so intent on taking the blame for this situation entirely upon yourself and I do not appreciate your continued attempts to martyr yourself for the purpose of conflict resolution." He squeezes Merlin's arms. "We were both at fault and you will not take that from me, do you understand?"

He refuses to continue until Merlin acknowledges this with a nod. Merlin does so, if hesitantly, unsure if he wants to know exactly where this conversation is headed.

"What I said just now, back there in the street… well, it's true, though I could've been kinder about it, I suppose," Harry says. "Except you do that an awful lot, you know. Not that I don't understand why, just that… Do you know I've spent much of the past decade trying to find some way to prove to you that I do, in fact, care for you every bit as much as you care for me?"

At Merlin's silence, he shakes his head.

"What happened with the Rhodes assignment was, for me, unthinkable. The very idea of allowing you to suffer for hours or days while that toxin slowly killed you, all for the sake of our assignment… I couldn't," Harry says, his grip tightening on Merlin's arms. "You were angry then. Angry that I may very well have cost us our chance of breaking up that human trafficking ring, angry that I'd risked my own life for yours. You were angry with good reason, I understand that now. Just as I hope you understand my own anger in the matter and that, if given the chance to do it all over, I wouldn't change it. We should have attempted to fix this a thousand times before now and that we didn't means I am every bit as at fault as you are."

Merlin blows out a harsh breath. "I was the one who caused this in the first place."

"From your perspective, perhaps," Harry says. "From mine, the blame appears to be divided rather evenly." He draws back from Merlin, testing to see if he'll make a run for it and, pleased to find the wizard seems to have no inclination towards moving, gives him some breathing room. "Looking back, it occurs to me that I would have waited another decade if necessary, if it meant we would resolve this. I don't know why neither of us attempted to before now."

"Because you're a proper emotionally repressed Englishman and because if avoidance were an Olympic sport I'd've done my country proud by taking home gold?" Merlin offers.

Harry chuckles softly. "I suppose there is that."

The sound of loud popping chased by shouts startles both of them. Harry steps forward, pressing Merlin into the brick wall once more as they both tense in preparation for some sort of attack. It turns out to be teenagers, setting off bottle rockets and chasing each other through the street. Harry sighs in aggravation, muttering about teenagers under his breath but not budging despite the false alarm. It's not the sweltering heat of Spain—not even close—but Merlin can't help but be reminded of Barcelona. He can't help but remember the way Harry had pulled him into that alleyway, pressing him into the wall and kissing him senseless with the flimsy excuse of a cover to explain it. Almost as though he'd read Merlin's thoughts, Harry turns his head and smiles. They're close enough that their noses nearly touch, each warm puff of Harry's breath tickling his lips.

"Well, this certainly takes me back," Harry says.

"I was just thinking the same," Merlin admits.

"Merlin," Harry says, so softly that even this close Merlin has difficulty hearing. "I'm sorry. For all of it, for letting it go on this long, for not retrieving the antidote sooner—"

"That was never your fault," Merlin says quickly.

"And yet if I had, perhaps you wouldn't be in the position you are now," Harry remarks.

"Harry, I'm fine. I'm managing quite well now," Merlin reminds him. Well, he's managing better than he had in the beginning, in any case. "There are still plenty of things I can do from Control. And it gives me an excuse to keep an eye on you."

"There's no one I'd rather," Harry says.

They lapse into silence, though it's anything but uncomfortable. Still, they can't very well just stand here, inches from each other's faces. They've taken a step forward tonight, Merlin thinks, though they're far from calling this fixed. There will be several more long talks before that happens. But as he stands with his back to the wall, Harry's eyes focused entirely on him, he has to wonder if he thinks they've done more repairing tonight than they have as he closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to Harry's. Though, apparently not, as Harry kisses him right back, a soft groan escaping him as though he'd been waiting for this moment.

They're hardly better than the teenagers that had just run by—standing in a darkened alley, kissing and groping like they're anything but two drunken men in their thirties. Christ, he's missed this. The kissing and the touching, yes, but more than that, just having Harry this close. He's missed having Harry pressed so far into his personal space that it could hardly be considered his any longer. He's missed the feeling of Harry's arms around his waist, missed the feeling of Harry's hair between his fingers. He's missed the sound of Harry's throaty chuckle as he pushes off the wall, flipping them so that Harry is now pinned beneath him.

"I've missed you," Harry says, nuzzling his jawline. "Is that strange? I've seen you nearly every day and yet I've missed you more than I can say."

"No. No, it's not strange," Merlin assures him.

"After tonight… I have no intention of sleeping alone," Harry declares. "Will you come with me?"

"Much as I share in that sentiment… I don't know if going back to yours or mine would be wise," Merlin says, much as it pains him to do so. "It's far enough either way that we can't exactly claim one of us was too drunk to head to our own home."

"You're right in that," Harry murmurs unhappily. "Although… the shop isn't far from here."

"The shop," Merlin echoes. "That's practically under Arthur's nose."

"But Fitting Room 2 isn't," Harry reminds him.

Ah, Fitting Room 2. Also known as the Panic Room. A bed, a shower, soundproofed walls and—most importantly—no recording devices of any kind. Merlin could almost laugh at the utter gall of such a suggestion, but then, that's Harry Hart for you.

"We couldn't find a cab and it was too far to walk back to either of ours, so we returned to the shop to sleep off a night of celebratory drinking for a job well done," Harry says. "Suppose it could work?"

Looking into Harry's eyes, Merlin can see that he has no plans for sleeping. Given the way they've treated each other for the past six years and the way tonight had gone… Merlin isn't presently concerned whether it will work or not. In fact, right now, he'd be hard pressed to give a damn. It's as good a plan as any.

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," he says.