A/N: So there isn't really any action in this chapter, but there is Arthur&Merlin!... (and more Arthur&Merlin next chapter! And Morgana – I think…)
Chapter 5: How the Enquiries Were Handled
"Forty-two pages," Director Gaius stated without emotion, leaning on the corridor wall opposite Arthur. "Impressive."
The plastic of Arthur's chair creaked as he rested his elbows on his knees. "Actually not, when you think that we were in the field for nearly four weeks. That's only about a page a day. Eighteen words for every waking hour – one sentence per half-an-hour."
Gaius snorted and eyed him like he could see the skin of Arthur's back stretching uncomfortably beneath his black uniform shirt, beneath gauze and tape and cream to soften and heal. The stitches prickled, and the one gash that run under his belt and down the back of his hip throbbed no matter how carefully he sat. He breathed, holding his aching body still, holding his head gingerly in his hands, fingers pressing the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, the ridges of his eyebrows in an effort to stave off another headache.
"When I answered your call from Camp George," the Director said sternly, lifting one eyebrow, "you said that you and Scout Thompson were both intact. Minimal injuries."
Mission success. Urhavi demolished with personnel and materials.
"And?" Arthur said, frowning quizzically at the old man.
"Forty-two page report," Gaius said. "Composed on your trip back, presumably because you couldn't relax in your seat and sleep."
Well, he wasn't wrong. Arthur was reminded of Gwen doing just that in the dim light and motion of travel. He'd watched her as he'd done more than once from inches away in their tent, from across the room of the cave-home in Qauyl. Never let her catch him doing it, though.
"Couldn't just stretch out on my belly somewhere til I got back to my own bunk in my own room," he responded. On the darker side of midnight it had been, too.
The door next to Arthur opened, sending a spark of reactive tension zig-zagging through the healing nerves of his back, but it was only Junior Director Gregory, a serious-eyed man just shy of his fifties with a receding hairline and a neatly-trimmed beard, thick enough to betray his job as desk rather than field.
"Good morning, Director," Gregory said formally.
"If it's still morning, I need more coffee," Arthur groused. Both older men ignored him.
"How did it go?" Gaius asked, even though Arthur was sitting right there.
"Very well indeed, sir," Gregory responded. "And now?"
"Yes, you're set up for your next enquiry in room two-oh-six," Gaius told him.
"Will you be joining us, sir?" Gregory asked, with mild curiosity, and no indication of whether he'd welcome or resent such a decision from his superior.
"Observation is more efficient," Gaius answered, and Arthur recalled that room 206, while small enough to be called cozy save for the spare furniture and stark white walls, had a viewing-mirror that opened into another similarly-sized room.
"Very good, sir," Gregory said, and spun on his heel to march off, the file folder Arthur had come to despise during his own enquiry conducted by the Junior Director tucked under his elbow.
"Is that Gwen he's going to take a run at next?" Arthur said grumpily.
"I beg your pardon?" Gaius said to him, though surely he'd heard him clearly enough.
He remembered his manners; leeway was allowed given circumstances, but he could only trespass so far on the Director's good graces. "Scout Thompson," Arthur corrected himself. "She's next up?"
The eyebrow hovered again. "Gregory is very good at his job. You couldn't do half so well."
"Yes, that's very true," Arthur said feelingly. JD Gregory was an ass. But he could bully and encourage and wheedle and listen til he had several hours recording, expounding on that self-same 42-page report.
"But he's finished with you," Gaius said, without answering Arthur's initial question. He pushed himself upright. "What now? A meal and a nap before this afternoon?"
Arthur straightened, covering a wince. "Will Uther be present?"
Fourth round debriefing. After the initial rapid-fire facts over the comm-block connection from Camp George, the written report, the recorded enquiry, there was a panel to be faced for a mission of this significance. If they'd scouted and retreated to give information only, it might have been merely an in-country meeting with the officers of Camp George, possibly another call with military decision-makers here in Camelot, before action was taken against Urhavi. But since he'd already taken the action, the panel would include Director Gaius' military superiors, as well as members of governmental oversight. All aspects to be examined, all possible outcomes to be discussed and planned for.
By damn was he glad he need only act in the moment, and explain and defend these actions. He had no desire for the political repercussions that his father would handle. He was the stone into the pond – let someone else analyze and predict and monitor and guide and counter the ripples. It was the basic argument between him and his father, always had been. Uther figured his choices for laziness.
Bloody hells, if only.
"I don't believe so, not today," Gaius answered.
Arthur grimaced, pushing to his feet. That meant that the old man guessed he might face his father over the issue of Urhavi some other day.
But Gaius didn't excuse himself to join Gregory's enquiry in observation. "Hungry, then, or tired?"
Arthur cocked his head, trying to read the canny old man. "Or…"
Gaius moved down the corridor in the direction Gregory had taken, slowly and with clear invitation. "We have a specialist on hand, who may possibly give us further information on those pieces you carried back with you."
The palm-sized circuit board and the comm-block battery with attached flex-lines.
"Actionable intel?" Arthur said.
"Perhaps." Gaius was noncommittal.
Arthur didn't say anything further, but the old man let him follow, down the corridor and around the corner to the observation side of room 206.
The lights were on in the adjoining enquiry room, but the toggle for the sound-link was off. Gaius planted himself facing the window immediately, with an air of indefatigable patience and serenity, but Arthur halted the moment he was able to see into the other room, caught by a sense of ambush and déjà vu.
It was Merlin in the chair, back to the wall and knees under the table, arms crossed over a second-hand CNU sweatshirt that wasn't Arthur's loaner, eyes on JD Gregory leaning over closed fists on the table opposite him.
He didn't look any different, for the month passed since Arthur had seen him. He wasn't hunched or jittery; his feet were planted apart and his knees relaxed, but his expression was the exact same wariness Arthur had seen turned on the cold-voiced man from the Essetir recordings.
"What's he doing here?" Arthur said without thinking, letting the observation room door close behind him. "Why is he-"
Gregory laid Arthur's two prizes – bagged and tagged - on the table, partially covering pages of writing and copied photos too small to identify. Something shifted in Merlin's face, even as his body remained perfectly still – that was the way he'd looked at the Essetirian photo of Lancelot's night-flyer, before he'd touched it and relived the crash for himself.
Reality and hell itself snarled - a blaze of heat rippled through his body - vengeance flung him forward - ground into the dust - every inch of skin scoured with live coals - more than he could endure… He might have cried out before surrendering to the refuge of darkness…
"Gaius, no."
"You think he can't?" the old man queried, deceptively mild. "Or you think he shouldn't?"
Shouldn't meant something different to the Director, and Arthur couldn't help feeling their positions had been unexpectedly reversed. The last time they'd watched this psychic in an interrogation room, Arthur had anticipated danger and enmity, and Gaius has cautioned restraint. Now Arthur's shouldn't was a protective shouldn't, while Gaius was… wary. Shouldn't be allowed to, not shouldn't be asked to endure.
"This month you've been gone, you and Scout Thompson," Gaius answered his reaction. "Merlin has been off Fort Fuller once, with Scout Oldham and your mutual friend Staff Officer Percival. I was told," the old man said with deliberate care, "that Merlin stepped to the back alley with a young woman of obvious intent. For a sufficient amount of time."
Arthur sighed, remembering the woman with the braids he'd found all over his young friend, up against the brick wall of that alley. "I can't think they provided him with much by way of romantic opportunity in Essetir," he said sarcastically. "Can't blame a boy for being curious, or-"
No, that wasn't a word he should say in front of Gaius. Curious would suffice.
"Geoffrey tells me he is cooperative and personable, but not open. He hasn't made any other friends, and he hasn't sought any other avenues of employment or pastime."
And of course the old man would be keeping an eye on their newest acquisition. Defection wasn't an easy choice even after safety was reached.
"The way he was raised, Gaius," Arthur reminded him. "He wasn't taught freedom or independence, and maybe he's still concerned about retaliation from Essetir reaching him here."
"Possibly," Gaius allowed, and faced the window again.
Arthur followed his focus just as Merlin turned his head to look over – nothing but reflection on that side, but he was psychic, after all. He'd probably know someone was in here watching, and maybe even who.
"We're treating him like we don't trust him," he said aloud, "and he knows it."
"You think we should trust him?" Gaius managed the question without an inflective clue betraying his own thoughts.
Arthur faced Merlin again. The psychic's chin was slightly tucked, eyes on the circuit board and comm-block battery rather than JD Gregory, whose body language was cajoling entreaty. Speech slow, manner casual and patient. Arthur wondered if Merlin was reading him – or someone else, or not. It was a different sort of consideration than just trying to keep his own mental walls high and secure, but one he'd gotten used to disregarding, being out in public with Merlin, surrounded by people.
He remembered reading somewhere, "Maybe we have to trust him, to find out if we can trust him."
Gaius eyed him, then made a little gesture of permission.
Arthur moved slowly, trying to think through the idea that had sparked. Muirden was creepy and no one wanted him around even on post, much less a field mission; no one missed him from Fort Fuller, not even for the duties he left unfilled. Merlin was quite the opposite; he'd been helpful, useful in Ealdor and over the mountains, even if he'd had obvious motivation to be.
He and Gwen were trained and skilled and good at what they did, but there were undeniable risks that could have been avoided, corners that could have been cut, had Merlin been with them. A psychic they could trust – not just to report his findings honestly, but to act and react in concert with their priorities, to put himself second to the mission goal the way he wasn't sure Muirden ever had or ever would. Merlin was the opposite of unsettling personally, too; Arthur found himself enjoying his company, missing him and looking forward to spending time together again, outside of his own inclination to assume responsibility for the lonely defector's social integration.
But. They had to find some middle ground between friendly distance and the sort of exploitation he'd seen of Merlin's former handlers.
He let himself out of the observation room, and the next door of enquiry 206 wasn't locked.
Both men looked up expectantly when he leaned in, hand propped on the doorknob and swinging with his weight. He focused on Gregory, but couldn't help being aware of how Merlin's air of defensiveness vanished, to be replaced by eager relief. That couldn't be feigned.
"Hey," he suggested to Gregory. "Mind if I take a minute?"
"Yeah?" Gregory said, looking for a moment toward the window, as if he were psychic himself and could read Gaius' intentions for Arthur's interruption. "I'll just – leave all this here, shall I?"
Arthur shrugged as if it didn't matter to him, one way or the other, and the older man moved for the door without any sign of protest or offense. He might have made a noise of interest in the back of his throat, passing Arthur, but didn't pause, and Arthur shifted inside the room, closing the door with his shoulder.
"Oh." Merlin's eyes were surprised, and slightly uncertain. "I thought-"
"Thought what?" Arthur said, watching Merlin's arms unfold to lean forward on the table, comfortably ignoring the materials there.
"Thought you needed a minute with Greg," the psychic replied. The way he said the name spoke volumes about his opinion of the man, and Arthur grinned, at the moment totally unconcerned if the Junior Director had joined Gaius in observing them, or not.
"He's an ass, but a good man," Arthur said.
Merlin snorted the tiniest snort, watching Arthur – and this time, Arthur didn't even mind if there were windows in his stone walls. Merlin wasn't a sneak or a gossip; he was a friend.
"Good to see you," Arthur offered. "You kept out of trouble while I was gone?"
"Yep. Saved it all for you, now you're back," Merlin countered. "Took you longer than I thought?"
Arthur shrugged just slightly; the motion hurt a little too much to be truly careless. "Takes as long as it takes, sometimes."
"Hm." Merlin added quietly, seriously, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm fine," Arthur pushed off from the door, pulling out the second chair with a clatter of skids on tile, and eased himself down, angling so none of the bruises or stitches held the pressure of his weight.
"But you weren't," the psychic ventured, still studying him, unwilling to give unintentional offense. "Sunday night?"
"Was it a Sunday?" Arthur said out loud, faintly surprised. Days of the week ceased to matter on a longer mission like this one, and he'd lost track til they were back in Camelot, and scheduling and calendars mattered again. Then he realized what Merlin had just let show. You could feel that, at the distance? Two time zones and three longitudinal lines...
Yeah. If it's someone I care about.
"What we do," Arthur said slowly, "requires a certain level of clearance. Confidentiality, and trust."
Merlin nodded, but something shuttered, in his eyes. He didn't expect to receive those things, even unofficially. Arthur took a deep breath.
"All this?" he said, gesturing at the reports and photos – various head-shots of Middle Eastern men. And women. "They probably didn't give you details, did they? Tell you why it mattered?" In Merlin's place, he'd probably hesitate to give extra, pertinent, private information when he had no idea what would be done with it. "What do you know about Urhavi?"
Merlin's gaze shifted away to the middle distance as he mouthed the word, sifting through memories to find the reference. "Yeah, I've heard of it," he said slowly. "The guys in the barracks…"
"It's the headquarters of the Isyad," Arthur told him, and then Merlin's attention sharpened. "One hundred and forty square leagues of desert, and we didn't know where, or what routes or routines they had, so-"
"Your mission," Merlin blurted, re-examining Arthur's body as if he could see external indication of damage done. "And Gwen?"
"She's fine," Arthur reassured him. "Bruises. The hardships of camping out for a month."
"What happened?" Merlin said, making mental connections.
"We found…" Arthur tapped the circuit board, then shuffled the pages to find a copy of one section of his report, the list from memory of components he'd seen, and quantities of equipment and storage, estimation of explosives, type and amount. He spun it on the table so it faced Merlin. "We chose to destroy it immediately rather than take the time to report back and wait for a strike team to assemble, and maybe lose some of that stuff if it was ready to be shipped somewhere and used."
As Merlin read, a breathless expletive slipped past his lips – then repeated more deliberately.
"Yeah," Arthur agreed. Which brings us to you… "Now, we can turn this stuff over to the labs, the analysts and researchers, and get their report back in a few days at best." Merlin flicked his eyes up from the page to Arthur's face. "Where the components were manufactured, where they were sold, who they were sold to, that sort of thing. But that's just facts, that's just data. Then we have to discuss and argue and theorize what those facts all mean, the possibilities – the likeliest, and the what-if-we're-wrong. All that takes time, and mistakes can be made, details can be missed, yeah?"
Merlin breathed, easing back into his chair – looked at the circuit board and the battery, then back at Arthur.
"You could cut days off our time, and tell us a sure thing," Arthur said. He was 100% certain of that; Merlin could.
"You don't-" Merlin started, sounding a little hoarse. "Are you sure you want…"
"I don't know what it does to you," Arthur said bluntly. "Reading stuff, and especially stuff like this. If it's painful, or… frightening-" Merlin made a face – "I don't know. No one's making you."
"But you're asking." He eyed the circuit board again, the green-tinted metal and the tiny unfastened connections.
"You can say no, and nothing changes. Not for you here on Fuller, not between you and me." Arthur wanted to push, to coax, to encourage the determination and grit he'd seen in the younger man – but ultimately, it had to come from him. Merlin had to own the decision, not simply acquiesce, as he'd been forced to do in Essetir.
"You'll be disappointed," Merlin said, with the slightest lilt of a question.
"No." Arthur waited. Merlin had it in him; if it wasn't now it might be later, but it could be now, if Merlin chose.
"If you knew… You wouldn't ask, if you knew." Merlin reached out a hand, long fingers hovering over the battery.
Arthur started to say, "If I knew what?"
But Merlin's eyes dropped closed, and his hand stilled, just above the battery. "Xinyu, and Mindong," he said, his voice low and steady. "Philadelphia and Newark. Report nine percent process defects, which is slightly high but not enough to arouse suspicion, government or corporate leadership. That's false, though, the output is ninety-five percent, and the four percent difference is sold. Black market, contact Armen Rynok, aka Tosoldat, of Kyiv. From there…"
Arthur made a noise to interrupt him briefly, twisting in his chair to face the mirror with only a slight sore twinge, disregarded easily in the triumph of the moment. "Gaius, roll the recorder," he said aloud. "I'm not taking notes on this, I'm not a clerk."
Merlin didn't open his eyes, and his hand was steady as a rock. "Ready?" he said, and there was a note of challenging sarcasm in his voice that Arthur wholly approved of. "I've got a lot more…"
He wasn't wrong, and he wasn't exaggerating.
Whole paragraphs – pages – came spilling out of Merlin's mouth. Technical information Arthur was surprised Merlin knew, some even he wasn't sure of. Names, and locations, reasons and details and connections. The psychic left his chair and paced the enquiry room like a restless wildcat. He seemed to forget Arthur's presence, and barely noticed when the door opened and some uniformed choker delivered sodas and sandwiches.
Arthur opened the wrappers and caps and Merlin spoke through mouthfuls, seated himself and let his hand rest on the circuit board, swallowed and guzzled and spoke on. Picked up both battery and board and rubbed his fingertips in small circles til Arthur wouldn't have been surprised to hear what color socks the tech wore that day in the factory, or the name of Armen Rynok's childhood pet.
All the way up to the night Arthur and Gwen dragged the Isyadi into the room, and Arthur pocketed the evidence.
"There was someone else," Merlin said, voice gravelly with use and lubricated with cola. "There was someone else, wasn't there? He never touched anything – I wouldn't either – but he told them things, he told them where, and when, and how, and he…" His eyes opened, and he blinked at Arthur, who tensed.
The boy. The psychic who couldn't have been more than a couple of years into his ability, and would never have the chance to ask for freedom.
"He was psychic," Merlin whispered.
Arthur didn't say, He sounded like you. "He's dead too," he stated dispassionately, rising from his seat to begin crumpling their used wrappers, snagging the soda bottles to dispose of the empties. "That's not really important, then, is it?"
Who he was. Where he'd come from. Why he was in Urhavi. Was it important?
The men and women who'd watch this recording and use this information – Arthur was sure Gaius would give cursory information on their psychic, enough to establish Merlin's veracity and accuracy and trustworthiness – but maybe details of that boy would be too much for them to overlook Merlin's background. And the last thing they wanted was for all this information to be discredited because someone in government decided Merlin's loyalty wasn't unquestionable, in spite of Gaius' testimony, and Arthur's, and his oath of citizenship.
"Is it important?" Merlin said, low and uncertain, and Arthur felt his eyes following his movements.
"If it is, Director Gaius can quiz you later," Arthur decided. Keep the background information on the psychic boy in-house, and not part of this recorded information. Maybe Gaius already turned off the recording, but Arthur threw a glance at the window and signaled That's enough.
Merlin gave a rough sigh, collapsing back in his seat and lifting his second soda to press the cool hard curve of the bottle into his left eye socket. "Bloody hells, I forgot how… draining that can be."
Arthur made a sympathetic noise, perching on a corner of the table on his uninjured hip. "Go home and sleep."
"Yeah…"
He watched Merlin roll the bottle, condensation and all, vaguely against the edge of his forehead. That was a helluvan effort, and he felt responsible. Merlin hadn't done it for JD Gregory, and maybe not even for Gaius, or the good of Camelot, or the protection of the people who might be hurt if the Isyad weren't stopped, completely and for good. It felt like he'd done it for Arthur.
Thanks, run along now? Not hardly, especially since Gaius seemed to think he was still socially disconnected here.
"So," Arthur ventured. "I've got a bit of leave, after this mission…"
"Too right." Merlin agreed it was deserved, without opening his eyes til Arthur went on.
"I've been thinking of heading home for a few days. A long weekend, at least. Pretty soon the heat will be brutal here on post, but it'll be nice in the country a while yet… I think if I ask Leon and Percival, they'll come." Neither of them had been in the rotation for extra duty for quite some time; that was generally left to lower-level enlisted. "They've been out to my place before."
Merlin lowered the bottle. "Your family's place," he guessed.
"Yeah." Arthur didn't watch him, exactly, but he remained deliberately attuned to the younger man. "My father won't be there, he only ever goes for holidays. My sister might, though, if she's finished exams."
"Sounds like fun." Merlin wasn't watching him either, but he wasn't just melting into his sprawl in the chair, either.
"Wanna come?" Arthur said, and congratulated himself on hitting the right note between offhand and sincere.
Merlin straightened in the chair like a puppet lifted slowly by the strings. "You want me to?"
"Yeah," Arthur said. As true as truth. Merlin was a keeper of a friend, Arthur just didn't want to cripple the younger man in his exploration of freedom and independence and life by becoming his only friend. Kind of a balance.
Merlin's eyes went vague, and he seemed to be struggling with an internal argument. Arthur suspected want to and shouldn't, but didn't understand why.
"No strings," he added.
That was important. Merlin might feel that he was being handled in a new way in Camelot, but Arthur had experience with any number of peers befriending him deliberately for some reason other than simple companionship. The luxury of his family's wealth, the influence of his connections and their positions, the notoriety that came from his name coupled to theirs. Only Leon and Percival cared nothing for the nametag velcroed to the left breast of his uniform jacket, the back of his soft-cap. They could camp in the fields and hike the trails rather than ride turf-bikes and sleep in guest suites; they had done, before, and enjoyed it just as much.
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Arthur's heart began to tip off an edge; then Merlin said, "Yeah. Sure. I'll come."
"Good," Arthur said, pleased, and lifted himself off the table. "Six o'clock tomorrow morning. We'll walk to the station and meet Percival and Leon."
"If they're coming," Merlin said, trying to hide an anxious note.
"They'll come." Arthur was sure. "Me, I've got to face a panel upstairs if they haven't just gone on without me…" Though Gaius hadn't interrupted to recall him to the duty. "Then I'm going to crash in my bunk."
"Okay," Merlin said, standing – and sounding more like he'd been given a time to face a firing squad than a vacation. "Six o'clock, bright and early."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
She saw him as soon as she turned the corner of the second-floor corridor of the battalion building.
Saw Merlin too, between them, sweatshirt and ragged jeans and an easy gait that answered questions – I'm okay.
But her eyes zipped right past the lanky psychic to Him, loitering in the doorway of one of the enquiry rooms, head tipped back to drink from the soda bottle in his hand, his other braced on the doorframe for inattentive balance.
Her heart kicked against her ribcage, demanded to be allowed to follow her gaze and offer itself to him, and it was more than just appreciating a finely-built man in a well-cut uniform. Or a finely-built man who could wear native garb of probably any given country worldwide like he'd grown up doing it – or slum-wear or an expensive tailored three-piece. And flash that cheeky-charming smile and make any girl he chose feel special. It was more than admiring the skill and strength and cleverness and courage of a more-than-capable scout.
Dammit. Cannot do this. He couldn't be more important than any other scout she might be paired with for a mission. Couldn't be more important than the mission itself. She'd felt like this for Lancelot, and see how that turned out…
"Gwen," Merlin said, rescuing her with an excuse to pull her eyes back to her own control, and him. He wore a glad smile – touched with concern, and-
Oh, bloody hells, psychic.
Please don't look, please don't peek, please be a gentleman…
"You're all right, aren't you?" he added, furrowing his brows and slowing to a halt beside her.
"Yeah," she said, probably too brightly. "I'm fine. A little tired – the mission, the trip back. We got in late last night, and then this morning first thing it's emptying all the intel from our brains to the higher-ups here, and that's-"
"Exhausting," he agreed.
For a moment panic flared. But his finishing her sentence wasn't really anything more than Becca or Jennifer might have done, a familiar friend understanding and anticipating her feelings – not reading her mind.
Calm down, she told herself, or you'll make him suspicious, and then…
Then she realized he looked exhausted; maybe that's why he said it. "Oh – you've been helping out?"
"Mm." He dredged up a smile that was almost wholly cheerful, and she appreciated the effort.
"I'm glad," she said. "Good – I'm sure you're much better for that than Muirden, he was creepy."
Merlin's skin took on a faint pink glow as he dropped his eyes and didn't respond to her praise. "You're okay, though? Not hurt? Arthur told me about the explosion…"
And there her eyes went, darting past Merlin again.
He was still loitering, and if Merlin had just parted from him and he wasn't marching away to another meeting, he was waiting for her. And she couldn't turn and head the other way again without being obvious and offensive about it, and raising questions that would need to be answers about behavior that would need to be excused somehow.
"No, he had the worst of it," she said.
Merlin nodded, turning like he'd only just stopped himself from glancing back, then shifting more fully between them to say quietly, "How bad was it?"
Because of course he would downplay injuries and make light of the danger. It was what had thrown the rest of them off, the last few years of Psych Ops missions, when he was working alone. As arrogant as he could seem, he never boasted.
"Not terrible," she said. "Not life-threatening. Scrapes and bruises – some stitches and antibiotics when we got back to camp. A bump on the head."
"Yeah, I saw that." Merlin's hand lifted to rub the side of his own neck.
"No concussion, though," she said. "I was never worried that he wasn't going to be able to make it. Not that bad."
"Didn't have to carry him?" Merlin said, his grin spreading more easily to be reassured. "No makeshift sled to tow him along?"
She tried to smile, and maybe managed better than she thought. Cannot compare Lancelot and Arthur Pendragon. Stop it.
"If you two are busy, I'll get out of the way," Merlin told her, moving past. "I'll see you for dinner, maybe. Or lunch next week sometime?"
"Definitely," Gwen said, relaxing a bit again, because it was nice to have a grown-up boy for a friend who was just a friend, without subtext or checking-out glances or the awareness of unspoken possibilities between them. "I'll find you, how about? Because Jen and Becca want to do a spa day-"
His eyes crinkled and his smile quirked – happy for her, but male-mocking the idea of spa day with his expression.
"And then I might go home for a few days. We've got leave."
"Whenever," Merlin agreed generously, moving on and disappearing around the corner.
And then she had to turn back around – startling slightly to see that he had moved much closer than she'd heard, boot-soles on tile.
"Guinevere," he said, giving her that smile – glad to be near her, liking who she was, assuming their intimate level of familiarity and welcoming its stability and continuation. Expectation and extension of his self for hers, also.
Her insides shivered, and no. Just, no.
"Scout Pendragon," she said coolly, with a nod. She tucked her hands behind her in a close approximation of the parade-rest stance she'd take for a near-formal conversation with a superior, or with an equal in the presence of a superior. "It's been a busy day. How are you holding up?"
A shade of confusion dimmed the blue of his eyes, and she looked away. Casually, as if attention had been briefly caught by some distant noise.
"You called me Arthur in Aravia," he said, without answering the question.
"I shouldn't have," she stated neutrally, almost apologetically. "Not very professional, is it?"
And he heard a mild criticism of his use of her name. "I suppose, but… I had thought we were beyond that."
Hint of a question. Emphasis on something unique and earned and shared and bonding. Offering again this entry to the level of familiarity they'd reached… Siblings, but not.
Different than when he'd leaned in to her ear on the train to Ealdor, pretending an amorous relationship so well those moments still threatened to intrude on daydreams, months later. Because he was good at that, making people think what he wanted them to think.
Though, why did he keep making sure whether she specifically was planning to spend weekend hours at the Sunrise at the same time as him?
"Situational necessity," she answered. And couldn't quite bring herself to apologize for his misunderstanding – because he hadn't, really, not in every moment of their weeks in Aravia – which would be unnecessarily humiliating, and cruel.
Uncertainty dropped another shadow, darkening his eyes as he drew back from the special of Aravia, to the good-friends of those Sunrise weekends. "All right, well, I'm glad to see you. I'd like to talk to you about-"
"Aren't you late for the panel?" she interrupted, trying not to let her desperation show.
He looked past her, as if senior officers and government officials might be spilling down the hallway in search of him. "Yeah, probably – no, not here and right now, I mean, but this weekend sometime we should-"
"I have plans," she said, stopping him – but forcing her feet to start to move again, down the hall, past him and away.
"Okay, but-" He was visibly retreating back into the distant-amiable-polite demeanor he wore for everyone else at the Sunrise, the flirty girls and the overly-familiar fellows, and that was good. That was best all around, wasn't it.
"Anyway, I think I'm through with the Sunrise for a while," she continued, half over her shoulder as she refused to let her feet linger in his company. "It's kind of…" She flapped a hand, cringing at herself. Necessary. Best for all in the long run. "Low-class, isn't it? There's a new place Jennifer was telling me about – well, not new, but new to us, I mean, and-"
"I was just-" he tried to say, approaching formal now, himself.
"Oh! Don't think you have to come with us, it's perfectly all right. We'll be all right on our own, unless we meet someone… which isn't to say, we won't be fine after that, just that we'll be with someone else-" Which sounded kinda like she was breaking up with him, except they weren't even together. Stop talking. "Anyway, I'll see you around, unless one of us is on a mission somewhere. Hard to say whether Urhavi means we'll be busier, or not."
He didn't say anything. Didn't move, just watched her make her way down the hall, trying not to trip or turn her back on him too rudely.
"Good luck with the panel," she finished, with a careless wave of her hand. Reached the corner, and hurried around it.
He didn't call after her. Didn't come after her.
Best she could hope for was to return to the polite-professional way they'd interacted before Ealdor… But she was afraid she'd genuinely hurt him, rejecting the offer of more and unique, even if he meant it as just friends. She was afraid she could never be just friends with Arthur Pendragon. Never be just friends with Pendragon.
Probably she should look to start dating outside the military altogether.
She stumbled over her boots, aiming for the exit stairwell at the end of the adjacent hall, as stress and tension tightened neck and shoulders, threatening a headache so severe a few tears might be loosed.
Damn, but she needed that spa day. And maybe on her own, without the other girls and their inevitable curiosity about this damn mission and her partner on it.