AN: Written when I was majorly stressed and anxious, as a way of taking my feelings out on a character I love (as ya do). I like imagining Merlin as being prone to stress, even though he's so strong and stoic in the movie, because it's important to me and I also can't imagine how he would avoid stress in a job like his.

Merlin isn't in the habit of losing control. His job won't permit him to be. The closest he ever gets to breaking is on the occasional field mission, having to fight enemies face to face. Every carefully laid scheme in his head flies out the window under the stress of motion and action. But behind the great, stabilizing comfort of the screens, Merlin calls the shots without fear. He directs agents on their merry way, overriding their hasty decisions with a voice of reason, and never flinches from the violence onscreen. As a requirement, any Kingsman employee must have nerves of steel, and when he's handling missions rather than partaking, Merlin is no exception.

However, sometimes missions go awry. Sometimes plans don't work out, or deviate from what's expected. On such an occasion, Merlin's tense on the edge of his seat, unable to drag his eyes away from the screen no matter how badly he wants to.

All he can see is Percival's palm, bloodstained from clutching at the place where a bullet ripped through his suit, and the guards at the end of the hall that are about to converge on him. With his other hand, Percival is trying to squeeze the trigger of his pistol, but his aim is off and with every shot, he lets out a groan of pain. The sound cuts through Merlin like the knives Percival favors.

A design flaw, easily fixed,his mind tells him, but my faultdrowns out the thought.His breath rasps in his raw throat, sore from shouting directions to the agents that they can hear over the ambush.

Thankfully, Bedivere is able to make it back to Percival's side and cover him. But as they proceed, achingly slowly, to the exit, they find their way is blocked. It's up to Merlin to improvise. Usually he's flawless at this, but he can hardly think over the sound of his pounding heart. So much has gone wrong… This has definitely turned out to be a Murphy's Law mission.

"I'm sure you're familiar with Murphy's Law," Merlin's uncle had told him once, back before Merlin had taken over his position. "'Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.' That's a title we reserve only for the worst of the worst. A mission that gives neither the agent nor the handler any trouble at all is a milk run. The ideal mission is somewhere right in the middle- just enough action to keep it interesting, but not so much that anyone actually risks their life." He'd grinned. "It's fun for the whole family."

Merlin tries to call on the past for help, reaching back into his memories of his uncle's calm strength. But the nightmare before his eyes won't go away. By some miracle, he manages to guide Percival and Bedivere to safety, but Percival's distress haunts him every step of the way.

My fault. My fault. My fault…

Waiting for the agents to arrive after a hard mission is always excruciating, but this time Merlin finds it particularly unbearable. Each second seems to drag like the hour hand on a clock. His hand squeezes against the computer mouse, and then into itself, his nails digging into his palm. Pinpricks of pain bite into him as he forms a fist, but it's not sufficient distraction. His shoulders are too tense and his jaw is clenched too tightly, but he can't manage to relax them no matter how loudly his brain is screaming at him to calm down.

I wasn't- you weren't even in the field. Why are you panicking?

A sound causes him to snap his head to the right. False alarm- no one's arriving on the shuttle, but God, if they see me like this…Merlin tries to stand, but the most he can do is push his chair away from his desk. An overwhelming, all-too-familiar tightness fills his chest, coming close to suffocating him. It's all he can feel, all he can concentrate on, even though he knows there's work to be done. What are you still DOING here, get UP, GET UP-

He can't focus. His mind is running a mile a minute, impersonally informing him of everything he needs to do next, and with each item on the list more weight is added to his chest. It should be so easy,if he could just get himself to stand up and take care of his business, but he's filled with the overwhelming desire to just stay put,sit here where it's safe and just ignore every obligation, even though the responsibility is gnawing away at him…

The door to Merlin's left opens, and he jerks his head to see who it is. He's aware that the movement is far too mechanical, but once he realizes who's arrived, all his concerns of keeping up appearances melt away. Harry's here- the only agent Merlin could ever let see him in this state. He zeroes in on the item in Harry's hands- a steaming mug, which he sets down on the desk.

"Merlin," Harry murmurs. "Stand up."

As if Harry's spoken magic words, Merlin finds that his legs work again. Once he's on his feet, he notices tremors running through his skin, and longs to lock his arms around himself. But instead he moves forward, craving touch, wanting- no, needingHarry in his arms. Fortunately, Harry appears to need it too. He steps forward, sliding his arms around Merlin's chest, gently rubbing circles into his back.

"Breathe," he whispers in Merlin's ear, and Merlin does, concentrating his hardest on controlling his heartbeat. It takes him longer than usual to calm down- a fact that he wishes he wasn't aware of- but Harry's presence alleviates much of the tension. His body still isn't entirely relaxed, but soon the tremors stop, and he begins to breathe more slowly. Merlin closes his eyes, letting Harry soothe him.

"I heard what happened from Arthur." Harry's voice is hushed as he leans forward, resting his forehead against Merlin's. His lips skim Merlin's face, kissing his closed eyelids. "Percival will be all right. There's nothing you could have done to prevent it. An oversight of the tailor's, not yours." He kisses Merlin's cheek and slowly pulls away, taking Merlin's hand and reaching for the mug with the other. Merlin accepts the mug, lifting it to his nose and breathing deeply. The scent brings a ghostly flood of herbal flavors to his mouth.

Merlin lets go of Harry and grasps the mug with both hands, letting it warm his cold fingertips before taking a sip. At last he opens his eyes, to find Harry standing in front of him, his brown eyes like melted chocolate. It's a sight that Merlin wishes he could drown in.

"Thank you," he says quietly, and Harry sighs. Merlin wonders if he knows the source of Merlin's recent anxiety. If Harry took a guess, Merlin is sure he wouldn't be far off the mark. It hasn't been this bad in years, but losing a candidate during the training process is enough to rattle anybody. In all his time with Kingsman, nothing of the sort has ever happened before. Merlin isn't sure if the hint of pain in Harry's eyes means that he's thinking of Lee, or if he's merely upset to see Merlin this way.

Whatever the matter, he hides it remarkably well…

"Anytime," Harry murmurs, stepping away from Merlin. He's played what little part he can today, and while Merlin selfishly wishes for more, he's aware that Harry too has duties to attend. Merlin only hopes Harry knows the depth of his gratitude.

"Don't ever think that you have to suffer alone," Harry says, a touch of fierceness in his voice. "Is that understood?"

Merlin sighs and takes another sip of tea. Words are tumbling through his brain, all that he longs to say to Harry, every emotion that's dying to be verbally conveyed. But this isn't the time or place for spilling his heart out. Merlin has regained control, and he needs to hold onto it until his work is done.

"Perfectly well," Merlin says. "Now get out of here, Galahad."