The Second Heart.

Arthur stopped on the stairs. The wind was soft and cool. It didn't feel any different. The sound of the trees was the same, the colour of their leaves was the same and the way they moved with the breeze was the same. He fought the urge to scream, a strange welling in his chest, a desperation to just tear the colours out, tear the leaves away and pull it all around him until he couldn't feel, couldn't see, couldn't smell anymore. He balled his fists and closed his eyes and counted to ten, then to twenty, then to thirty.

When he looked at the street ahead again it was the same. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped onto the pavement, wiped away the tears, and kept each breath controlled as he walked across to the side of the road with the park. The black iron fence guarded his right side as he went. Arthur became uncomfortably aware of the cars and towering white townhouses, of the other people walking around in the dying evening light, of himself.

Camelot. King. Dragons. His knights.

Avalon.

His steps faltered as he processed it. He'd died. Merlin had been there, holding him, telling him to stay and that he couldn't go. He couldn't leave him. It was distant and blurred, but Arthur could feel it. The cold air on that bank next to the lake, the moist grass, the chainmail that weighed him down, the piece of the blade that killed him. Merlin had held him through all of it. He'd been the only warm thing.

Arthur didn't pay complete attention to where he walked. He saw a short red post box, a road sign that read CHEPSTOW ROAD W2, and everything beyond that was just a stream of white, cream, green and black. It was like passing through the National Gallery. He could see the shapes, the faces, and feel the history around him, the history in the oil and the canvases, but he wasn't quite there. He couldn't really know the eyes that stared out at him, or hear the roar of the lions, hear the oceans and life of the ports. He could understand it, imagine it, but those lives, that past life, was fragmented. Insulated by that void, the paint and heavy wooden frames. It was insulated by the absence that connected his life in Camelot to his life in London.

The rhythmic impact of his shoes on the pavement carried him to Queensway Station and when he at last took in his surroundings with real thought he saw the black gates rise before Kensington Gardens. He pulled out his phone and a small part of him expected to see a missed call, maybe a text, but there was only a Service Update from TfL. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and tapped onto Contacts. He flicked his thumb against the screen so names and pictures whirred up until he saw the one that mattered.

Gwen.

He called her and she picked up after two rings. The speed threw him a little but she steered him into response easily.

'Arthur, thank god. Is Merlin alright?'

'Yeah,' he said and cleared his throat, 'he's fine. Can we meet?'

'Sure. I just thought you'd be with Merlin with what happened, though? Arthur, you should know that Morgana disappeared during the chaos.'

Arthur let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Where are you?'

'I'm still at the Yard. Everything's been a bit hectic. Actually that might be an understatement. You can pick me up if you like? What were you thinking of doing?'

'Just want to talk,' he told her. He had to talk. He had no one else. His father had died, his sister both past and present was estranged, and his knights, his friends, weren't that close. Not like Gwen had been. Not like Merlin had been. God. Merlin. 'Like we used to.'

'We could go back to mine? I've actually got some news for you, and Lance is pulling a night shift so we'll have the place to ourselves.'

He nodded at the suggestion and turned left around the corner towards Bayswater Station. 'Sounds perfect.'

'Great, see you at ten?'

'See you then,' he said and smiled slightly at the promise, the decision and pact made between them to meet. He glanced at his watch to see 9:43 in gold plated roman numerals glare at him through the glass face. Arthur didn't pause or reconsider his decision as he joined late night commuters and friends on the underground. There was a blast of hot, unwanted proximity that he didn't entirely care about, then a blast of cold and he walked out of St James's Park Station. Scotland Yard loomed ahead, office lights shining out into the darker, heavier air. It was going to rain. That odd damp smell clung to the still and humid air. Arthur tried to ignore the way he could still smell the similar wet air he'd been surrounded by before he had died. He had been dead. He had died. He'd been dead. He was alive again. Again. He was with Merlin, with them all.

'Arthur!' Gwen called out to him when she saw him on the opposite side of the street. The traffic and bustle of Broadway and the surrounding streets came back into focus like water freezing so you could see the lines of the current and the trapped leaves. She skipped a little across the road and hugged him. It was brief, friendly, and left him reeling. Her perfume was light and sweet.

'I'm exhausted,' she huffed and leaned against him as they headed back to the station. 'We've launched an appeal to find Morgana already. With all the publicity she'll be easy to spot, so our job's already done on that side of things.'

'Good,' he said with a curt nod. 'Did the others work late too?'

'Yeah, Kilgharrah had us charging all around the place. We were glad to, of course, and the press, god the press. You'd think we'd killed all their loved ones the way they tried to get to us all. Oh, and Merlin was right. Aredian did kill Vivian, the poor girl. Uniforms found her body at his townhouse. It's insane, this whole case and this stuff with Morgana.'

'Sounds like it,' he murmured. Arthur kept seeing faces and remembering things from the past, the memories trying to fix themselves in his present invasively and unwelcome. 'Maybe you should ask to get suspension as well. You all need the break.'

'Oh!' Gwen blurted and beamed at him. 'Your suspension has been revoked.'

'Seriously?'

'Yeah, and Merlin's too. We've all got to get interviewed and checked out by those internal affairs people, and until you've had your talk,' she quoted with her fingers in the air, 'you won't be allowed back. After that though, everything's square with the faceless all powerful leaders.'

'If the talk goes well, that is,' he added.

'Why wouldn't it?'

Arthur smiled at her. 'You've got news?'

'I'll tell you once I've got food. Leon and Gwaine went to get takeaway but I'm trying to be healthy.' She sighed again with a small smile. 'Much to Lance's irritation.'

The journey to her house was mostly quiet with Gwen worn out and Arthur's thoughts wandering every chance they got. Their home was on the bank, a naked view and access to the Thames and the bank opposite. Walking to the house in the dying light was breathtaking. Sunset brought soft orange light which soaked into the reflective water and rippled into colourful slithers. They flashed in and out of view, each time a different colour.

'You sure you're okay?' Gwen asked again as she unlocked the front door.

'Yeah.'

'Worried about Merlin?'

He stared at her for a moment as the cold ache returned to his brow and temples. 'Something like that.'

'Hm, well I'm sure my cauliflower recipe will distract you,' she went on and led him inside, turning on the lights as she went.

'Cauliflower?'

Gwen grinned at him once they were inside and led him into the kitchen. 'Terrifying, I know. Just wait and see.'

.

.

.

Merlin stepped away from the door and headed into his kitchen. He suppressed a shiver and started to tug off his clothes. Jumper, shirt, belt, jeans, socks, shoes, underwear. It was systematic and the exposure helped numb him further. He dropped the collection by the washing machine, shoes kept separate and placed nowhere in particular. He picked out a pair of clean boxers and a t-shirt he'd forgotten in the machine two days earlier and then stuffed it with that day's clothing and started the cycle.

The sound of the water filling up inside grew into white noise, and Merlin added to it when he poured a glass of water. He drank it in seconds, poured another, walked back into the hallway, stared blankly at the door for a second, then climbed the stairs. He couldn't decide if he felt hot or cold or if he even cared.

I need to leave.

Merlin blew out a long and exhausted breath. The lump in his throat was painful and he wanted to shut down, to sleep and not wake up. What had he been thinking? That note was his first mistake. Making Arthur remember it all was his second. He was selfish. He pushed down the door handle and stepped inside his bedroom.

Colour blotched and stained the air.

'Mordred?' he asked, startled by the person wrapped up in his duvet. Blues, greens and reds soaked the air around the bed like a strange mist that disappeared once he'd blinked. The wardrobe was open, first aid spread messily on the ground, and drawers left slightly open. Merlin walked forward slowly.

Mordred?

Still no response. He made it to the side of the bed before he could see his face. He was asleep, pale, and feverish. Merlin put the glass down on the side table and reached forward to shake him gently. He noticed the blood a few seconds later. He stopped shaking him and controlled the panic that twisted his nerves. Merlin stripped back the duvet and saw Mordred's hands covered in blood, the bandages he'd tried to make soaked through.

He sat next to Mordred before he took his hands into his own. They were warm, wet, and too cold. He couldn't be sure if he was still breathing, but part of Merlin knew he'd feel it if Mordred died. Just like he'd feel it if anything ever happened to Arthur. He concentrated on the wounds the wet bandages had failed to protect and let his magic work its way through the bloody layers to the skin. It was like he had more fingers in the magic. He felt the ridges of the cut skin, the rough and sticky coagulation, the heat of the blood that pumped through the surrounding tissue.

Merlin burned any germs and infection out of the wounds and stitched the cuts back together. Mordred's eyebrows moved together as he worked and his breaths became audible. Once they were done Merlin carefully unwrapped the bandages, ignored how sickly they felt against his own dry hands, and dropped them into the bin in the corner of the room. His own hands were stained a pinkish-red. Merlin kept them at his side when he turned back to find Mordred sat up and staring at him. His eyes were large and unfocused, and when he saw the blood that stained the bed sheet they grew wild.

He shifted back and away from the blood. Their connection was still cut off from Mordred's end and Merlin couldn't feel his thoughts. He watched him as the uncomfortable silence swelled in his head, as the storm grew dark and wet in Mordred's eyes.

Merlin continued forward to the bed and touched his shoulder lightly. His suit was torn, soiled and stank. It was the same one he'd worn when he'd disappeared four nights earlier. The realisation hurt Merlin more than he had expected. 'Mordred, what happened?'

When he looked at him there was a flash of recognition, a momentary softening, that was blinked away too soon. He didn't give any verbal response but his expression caved from shock to sadness, muscles relaxed and lips parted. He leaned into Merlin's hand. Merlin waved his hand over the sheets and a curved sweep of white ran through the blood. It ran back and forth until it had erased every trace of blood, of dirt or dampness and then he let the heat drip out of the hand on Mordred's shoulder. It cleaned the suit, dried him out, but magic wasn't enough.

Merlin sat down next to him and put his fingers to the ruined knot of the tie. Mordred made no motion to stop him so he continued. Magic saved their lives but it wasn't going to take that expression away from Mordred's face. Merlin worked hard not to crack and ask him more questions. He concentrated on slipping the tie from his neck, concentrated on unbuttoning the shirt with torn sleeves. He hesitated when he saw the black tattoo, heavy and permanently soaked into Mordred's skin. He wondered if Mordred felt it then as he watched him undo his shirt. If it hurt, or if he felt nothing at all.

Mordred let out a deep breath, the tail end of which brushed his face, and wrapped a cold hand around Merlin's. 'Don't stop.'

He nodded and carried on. Goosebumps rose on Mordred's skin when he pushed the thin fabric of the shirt back over his shoulders. Muscle and sinew shifted as Mordred moved his arms out of the sleeves and let Merlin take the shirt away and drop it onto the floor.

'Can you stand?' Merlin asked him. Mordred nodded and moved forward, closed the space between them, but Merlin shifted off the bed and gave him room. He silently removed the belt from Mordred's waist, undid the button and drew the zip down on his trousers. Black fabric fell down his thighs and Merlin knelt down to pull the trousers off entirely. Mordred's left knee bent up as he lifted his leg out the one side and stepped out, then his right. Each time he exposed the pale skin of his inner thighs, a stark contrast to the dark trail of hair that ran up and out from beneath the waistband of his boxers. Merlin shifted his gaze and took the trousers, belt, and shirt to the laundry basket beside the wardrobe.

He turned back to see Mordred watching him. 'Where are your shoes?'

'I have no idea,' he said with a small and tired frown. Merlin turned back to the wardrobe and pulled a t-shirt and hoodie out, threw them to the bed, and hunted down a pair of clean underwear and pyjama trousers. Once he'd collected them all into a ball on the bed he gestured to Mordred.

'These should fit you,' he told him as his eyes shifted between the bundle and Mordred. 'You can shower if you want. I'll go make tea while you change or shower, or both. Unless you want something else like hot chocolate? Actually when's the last time you ate properly? You like burgers, right?'

'Yeah.'

Merlin headed to the door. 'I'll order some stuff from Gourmet Burger Kitchen. You like them more than Byron, don't you?'

'Thanks,' Mordred said and he left down the staircase. Merlin calmed his tight breaths and washed his hands in the kitchen sink, dried them, then hunted down his mobile phone. Arthur's. It was his now, wasn't it? It had fallen out of his trouser pockets onto the floor, nestled up against the base of a kitchen cupboard. Merlin snatched it up and loaded Deliveroo. He swiped and tapped until he reached the selection. Two classic cheese burgers, two portions of fries, two Oreo milkshakes. Mordred liked Oreos, didn't he? Estimated delivery 15 minutes. Total £36.40. Checkout. He tapped it and left the mobile on the work surface as he flicked on the kettle and started on the tea. His hand was hot against the cool mug handle as he carried the finished product back up to the bedroom.

Inside he heard the shower, saw the bathroom door closed and bundle gone.

His chest ached when he put the mug down on the side table. Merlin stripped the sheets from the bed, stole away the pillow cases and threw them all into the woven basket. The process of tugging and shoving the downy duvet into a clean cover kept him sane, distracted, calm. Once he'd shaken the duvet out, stuffed in the pillows and remade the bed he sat on the edge and traced his fingertips over the skin of his bare knees, listened to the shower, breathed in the clean scent of detergent that clung to the new covers.

He sat there until he heard the doorbell ring. The shower stopped running and Merlin paused at the door but left to collect the food anyway. The evening sky had grown dark and the Deliveroo driver handed over the food with a mumble before he charged back to the moped and drove off, red rear light glaring out like an eye. When Merlin got back Mordred had donned everything but the hoodie, skin slightly flushed from the heat of the shower. He stood sipping at the tea with the mug cupped between his hands.

'Food's here,' Merlin announced and Mordred faced him, wet curls hanging over his forehead.

Mordred put the tea down and helped Merlin with the load. 'It smells amazing.'

Merlin gave him direction when he climbed onto the bed and sat cross legged. Opening one of the bags he pulled out the styrofoam containers and set them out to the side before arranging the napkins strategically.

'You're sure you want to eat on your bed?'

'If it gets messy we can use magic,' he reasoned. 'It'll be as if it never happened.'

Mordred's hesitation passed when Merlin opened the lid of his cheese burger and he climbed up to sit opposite him with his own bundle. Merlin took the milkshake from him as he found his balance and smiled at the idea that popped into his head. He let go of the milkshake mid air and watched it float in place. Lifting his own into the air he repeated the magic and left the drinks floating next to them. Merlin watched Mordred smile, how his skin pushed up into the folds of his unshaven cheeks, how his wet teeth caught the light. The peppermint was distinct among the heady smell of the burger and fries.

'You brushed your teeth?'

'I have new appreciation for modern amenities,' he said as he opened his own containers. 'Used one of your spare toothbrush heads. I hope that's okay.'

'It's great,' Merlin assured him, regretted the excessive choice of the word 'great' and took a large bite of the burger to distract himself again. Mordred picked at his fries a bit before he tried the burger. Some mayo spilled out onto his finger and he sucked it off, leaving a wet glisten behind. Merlin watched and ate with him in silence for several minutes. The tips of Mordred's ears were still wet, and a few of his curls grew thicker and darker at their tips. Eventually one or two released a small drop of water that stained the dark grey cotton with a black speck.

The pull verged on intoxicating. Merlin wondered if it only seemed that way because they'd gone without magic for so long, if Arthur's leaving made their connection more important, made it necessary. He couldn't imagine the isolation he'd felt after Camlann, after Avalon, not truly. His own mind had scrubbed it from memory, but it left grooves where it had been scraped away and those marks told him enough. They felt like enough to know that he didn't want to be alone again. He didn't want to die again, or watch someone else die.

When they'd both finished their burgers and made a mess of relish, mayonnaise and lettuce on their napkins, Mordred noticed and caught his stare. He reached forward and took Merlin's hand, both nearly the same temperature to Merlin's relief, and squeezed.

Thank you.

The air stilled and the connection snapped back into place. Mordred flooded into him. The peppermint, the burger, his blood, the rain and cave. The world was unsteady for a few moments, cut out and put back together in the wrong order with missing pieces, before everything settled down again and Merlin felt it. The second heavy beat in his chest, the second heart. For a moment he was content.

Merlin interlaced his fingers with Mordred's and smiled at him weakly. He was alive. Nimueh was not. Morgana had saved him. She'd saved them both.

His smile faded with Mordred's as the strange awareness made itself at home in his head. Morgana was gone.

He didn't know what to tell him. After a second of thought he decided on, I'm so sorry, Mordred.

Merlin felt what he felt. What he had felt watching her fall, what he had felt as he fell himself. They weren't his memories, but he could taste them like the thick dampness in the air after heavy rain. He had to tell Arthur. His breath caught.

You can tell him later.

Merlin frowned at Mordred's words but he agreed. He returned to his fries and milkshake, enjoyed the full feeling, and when they were both done he cleared it all away with magic. Stuffed, warm, and exhausted they laid back together on the bed and he rested his face against Mordred's warm clean hair. Merlin's arm curled around his waist and pressed gently against the muscle and bone there. His ribs were a bit too prominent and the muscle was softer. How long would it take for him to regain the strength he'd lost?

Merlin's free hand played with Mordred's. He traced the lines of his healed palm, pushed at his fingers to have Mordred push back. They slipped their fingers together and then freed themselves again, over and over. He closed his eyes with a yawn, and opened them again with tears blurring his vision. Mordred moved closer against him, the soft fabric of his trousers brushing against his bare leg.

'I don't want to go,' Merlin said quietly. The ache in his chest had returned and it was a struggle not to cry.

Mordred moved his hand away to stroke his arm. 'You have to.'

His voice was low, weighted with sleep, and the words ran through Merlin just as lowly, as heavily. He closed his eyes for a second time and breathed Mordred in, the one who understood, who hadn't rejected him. A small, cruel part inside of him wished it had been the other way round. Lose Mordred and gain Arthur. It didn't work that way of course. They were all bound together, they couldn't really lose each other. Merlin saw the trails that stuck to the air like spider webs if he looked in the right way. He didn't know what they meant. He was scared to find out.

'Merlin,' Mordred said, quieter this time. He was on the edge of deep sleep.

'I have to,' Merlin repeated and pressed a kiss against Mordred's head before he slipped out of the embrace. Mordred blinked at him drowsily before his eyelids remained shut, dark lashes resting on his skin. Merlin got dressed quickly and quietly. When he passed the doorway he flicked the light switch to leave Mordred asleep in the dark.

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.

.

Gwen poked her fork full of cauliflower and bacon opposite him, her one elbow resting at ease on the kitchen counter. Arthur stirred his own healthy, paprika sprinkled meal in its shiny egg-shell blue bowl. He'd lost his appetite after three mouthfuls.

'Arthur, what is it?' Gwen asked and rested her fork against the side of her bowl to give him her complete attention. He looked at her, remembered how candlelight used to make her skin glow with something rich and golden. The white and glaring lights in her kitchen weren't as flattering, but he found the same warmth in her eyes. Merlin's eyes were blue but somehow darker than her brown ones. Gwen watched him with concern, care, and all he wanted was to look into those dark blue eyes and hold him close. He was the one who walked out, though, not Merlin. Arthur bit his bottom lip with the thought, internally cursed himself at the memory of Merlin biting his lips instead, and let out a breath of defeat.

'You're right,' he said and paused to find the words. 'I'm not okay. I've ignored it and denied it, but I can't anymore. It's like it's always been there at the back of my mind.'

'What?'

'This feeling. It's like I don't quite belong, don't fit in with the world. I've had it for as long as I can remember, and then,' he stopped and looked down into the bowl.

'Then?'

He had loved Gwen. He had married her, slept with her, and she had no idea. He had loved Merlin, died in his arms, and then he'd found him again. 'Then Merlin showed up at Scotland Yard last year and I didn't feel so out of place.'

'What's wrong with that?'

'I didn't question it, not really. Why I felt that way my whole life, why it changed when he came,' he tried to explain. He couldn't get his thoughts straight. They jumped from Merlin to Gwen to Camelot, to Morgana, to the knights, his detectives, London, then it all looped and blurred and made his head hurt. 'It's not just a romantic love thing, not entirely. It's different to that and a lot more, I guess. I think I should have cared to figure it out sooner.'

'Why?'

'I'm not sure I can handle it.' He drew a small circle with his finger on the counter, felt his skin drag against the marble. 'Knowing.'

'You figured out the feeling then?'

'You could say that.'

Gwen didn't say anything for a while. At last she asked, 'Does it change anything?'

Arthur looked up at her and frowned. 'I don't know, that's the problem.'

She nodded with some kind of understanding, gave him a softer look and lifted her eyebrows gently in question. 'You love him?'

'Merlin?' His head throbbed, his stomach clenched with nausea, his heartbeat was hard and heavy. 'More than ever.'

'Then don't let it change anything.'

'It's not that simple.'

'It is, actually,' she told him with a smile. 'Trust me, Arthur, I know a thing or two. If you really love him, then you can get past whatever it is you're feeling. You just have to try.'