Chapter 2: What They Were Assigned
Merlin followed Arthur down the corridor to the briefing room, noting in spite of himself and his resolution to respect his friend's mental and emotional privacy as much as was possible – the damp of Arthur's hair after the five-minute shower in-barracks, and the energy in his steps. As if, for the first time in what had turned out to be a months-long recovery, the scout had forgotten the slow-healing injury. As if this was the first time Arthur had reason to forget the physical strength and ability and confidence he'd lost, even temporarily.
It reminded him, as if he could have forgotten, how Arthur thrived on this life. It was part of what made him an excellent scout.
Gaius was waiting for them. On his feet between two of the comfortable chairs around the oval conference table, leaning forward on both hands to study the several pages scattered open atop more than one manila folder. There was no one else in the room, and Merlin slowed, under the impression that they were supposed to be included in someone else's meeting… but that didn't seem to be the case.
"Director," Arthur said immediately, entering the room with an utter lack of hesitation. "What have you got?"
Merlin stumbled at the threshold and stopped. He'd expected this meeting to required him – them – to give an accounting of variously assigned training programs, possibly receive some update about… the mission that had kept Gwen overseas for some weeks now. Maybe something new on Nimueh. But Arthur clearly anticipated action. And probably he was used to being briefed alone.
"I've got field problems that needs assets," Gaius returned without obvious humor. "And I've got assets I need in the field."
Arthur twitched like he'd only just stopped himself glancing back at Merlin. Because it was neither coincidence nor mistake that he'd been summoned to what seemed now like Scout Pendragon's meeting.
"Shut the door, Merlin," the Old Man added, straightening. "And take a seat if you feel more comfortable that way."
He did; it was a little less overwhelming. Merlin chose the nearest chair that had been left swiveled away from the table, enough for him to slip into it without pulling it out. Only yesterday – hell, five minutes ago – he'd been hoping to make Psych Ops. Now it seemed that his first mission – asset? partner? – was imminent. Time for nerves?
But it wouldn't be as bad as Ealdor, and its attendant complications…
Arthur took a position directly across from the Director, eyes scanning the exposed paperwork even upside down. Those stone walls were high, and bright, shining as if in sudden sunlight.
"I've been told you've passed all your course evaluations," Gaius said to Merlin, without even a glimmer of what he was thinking, expecting, planning.
Barely. Merlin wet his lips and tried to answer evenly, "Yes, but the graduation ceremony isn't til next week, and they can still decline my certification if-"
"They won't," Gaius decided, turning his eyes back to Arthur. "And you finished your run this morning under test-passing times."
Arthur shifted minutely, and in glancing his way, Merlin couldn't help glimpsing through one of the arrow-slit windows in the white castle-wall stones, the same sort of pounding, panting exertion he himself hated – sweating, exhilarating in keeping good pace with Leon and Percival, even if they teased him the while.
"Leon told you?" Arthur said only.
"He was timing you this morning on my orders," Gaius said. "And your medical trainer cleared you for field duty."
"On your orders?" Arthur challenged, arms crossed over his chest. Black Psych-Ops uniform and combat-ready boots for the first time in months, and he didn't look at all like a man coming off a season and a half convalescence.
Brief twinkle of bright light behind the shutters of Gaius' mental mansion – because he had ordered the clearance, or because he found Arthur's suspicion amusing?
"Tosoldat and his organization are the single most dangerous threat we've faced in years," the Director stated. "You know that. The information we gathered from your mission in Aravia-" glance at Merlin – "and your subsequent analysis, were invaluable… but ultimately, insufficient for a comprehensive and final defeat."
Gaius pulled out the rolling chair to his right, and seated himself deliberately. Arthur yanked the one across from him and spun it in a single motion, lowering himself in the new careful way he had – but leaning toward the papers on the open manila folders, each partially obscuring the one beneath.
"Scout Thompson's team has not yet succeeded in securing Tosoldat's location. They do not believe that the efforts to rebuild the organization and recruit in numbers has had much success following your mission to Urhavi, Pendragon, but there are worrying indicators that plans are moving forward toward some devastating campaign a lot closer to home than we'd like to imagine possible."
"What sort of campaign?" Arthur said, reaching to slide documents with his fingertips to uncover a green-and-blue printout of a map – the continent plus, Merlin could tell from his seat. He listened, but didn't try very hard to anticipate or intuit. "Political?"
"Always," Gaius responded with succinct irony.
Arthur glanced up at him. "Military target? Civilian? Foreign or domestic? What's our estimated damage, potential casualty count?"
Gaius cleared his throat, rocking back in his chair and fixing his gaze in the empty air above the table - and didn't really answer. "In the days and weeks and months to come, we have decided to employ an asset that might prove our salvation, but one that is untried and untested. There is reason to believe Tosoldat is aware of our possession of this asset – and if we learn absolutely nothing new with this venture, still we hope that it might prove distracting to our enemies. Cause errors, it may be, or delay their timetable enough for other scouts to discover information sufficient to foil their plans."
Arthur stared at Gaius, and Merlin couldn't read either of them. An inkling came – asset referred to a person, after all, and if they meant to be a distraction, that meant it wasn't necessarily a covert mission…
"You mean him?" Arthur said, pointing an abrupt finger at Merlin without looking away from Gaius.
"What?" Merlin blurted, confused – and chilled. "Me?"
"You mean to dangle him like bait?" Arthur continued. "Paint a target on his back?"
Gaius looked at Merlin with zero antipathy - which calmed him - and hope… buried deep beneath cautious pragmatism. "Of course not," the Old Man said evenly. "And if I did, you both would know and agree to such an operation in the planning stages."
Arthur sat back into the depths of his chair, rocking it on the hinges with a squeak.
"He is a defector, and he is new," Gaius said. "Both reasons our enemies might anticipate our trust in him to be slow to form. They will expect wariness; they will expect us to test him both in abilities and inclination. They will want to observe."
"If they get an accurate idea what he's capable of, they're going to want to take him," Arthur said bluntly, as if Merlin was not even in the room - and that chill made him shiver. "Or just take him out."
A smile twitched at the corners of Gaius' mouth. "Which is why we're sending you with him."
Relief flooded Merlin, and released tension in his belly he hadn't consciously noticed.
Arthur still didn't look at him. And didn't sound surprised when he said only, "Me."
"Of course you," Gaius said. "Our other scouts are aware of Merlin's training – by and large they are unimpressed."
Merlin made an involuntary noise of protest, which didn't seem to interrupt or bother the other two at all.
"An underestimation I'm inclined to encourage, rather than otherwise," Gaius went on. "And after Muirden, no one is eager to partner a psychic again."
Merlin couldn't blame them.
"And he'll be motivated, if I'm his partner," Arthur said, with a hint of sarcasm.
I can hear you, Merlin wanted to say. But, well… the scout wasn't wrong, was he?
"What do you think?" Gaius said, looking over the half-lenses of his glasses at Merlin. "Are you ready for the field?"
"As long as that doesn't mean an actual field," Merlin said lightly. Nerves made silent unwelcome suggestions, and he reminded them, Arthur. Arthur Pendragon, Scout of Camelot. I'll be okay. After a beat of silence, he felt compelled to add, "Ah – but you mean me to trot round the world like a training test, and see who comes to watch?"
"Not the world, just Europe – and perhaps the nearest neighbor nations," Gaius returned. Arthur focused back on the map. "And observe the observers."
Arthur made a noise of agreement and discovery, as if Gaius had voiced his own half-realized thought. Merlin thought of the observer who had come to the interrogation room wearing a button that he'd chosen to act on… and, for some reason, Lord Geoffrey, watching him as he scrutinized the artifacts.
The sword, with the single obscure wielder, and the willing-noble-sacrifice in his bearing.
"Yeah, all right," Merlin said, as nonchalantly as he could. His mouth was dry.
"Very good," Gaius said, assuming Arthur's cooperation – but probably, they both knew as well as Merlin that Scout Pendragon would die upon the Director's orders. King and country, and all that, and Arthur meant it.
Merlin wasn't so sure he'd die for Camelot. It wasn't impossible that he'd feel like he could someday, but…
"Scout Oldham is arranging your gear and your papers. You'll be traveling as a young professional and his personal assistant."
It was nerves. Merlin said, "I've always wanted an assistant."
Gaius gave an immediate huff of amusement that seemed involuntary, expressed before the Old Man could think better of it.
Arthur turned his whole body slowly and deliberately, to give Merlin a look. And, where Gaius couldn't see it, a gesture.
Merlin grinned.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
"It won't be today, will it?" Merlin asked, trailing Arthur down yet another military corridor.
How long, he wondered, til Merlin had the confidence to walk beside him, and not behind, implying following and leading. That wasn't partners.
"Depends," he said shortly. "When and how we depart. Whatever tickets Leon can get for us."
"Train, then ferry?" Merlin said, an assumption that didn't really need an answer.
Arthur glanced back as he entered the open door of Leon's office – which was really just a high counter to contain their system of organization, then a warehouse set-up for clothing and equipment and whatever else was needed. Accessories. Leon could probably chat for hours with Morgana about shopping techniques and wardrobe selections, actually, if either of them ever dropped their mutual prejudice against the other… that Arthur probably facilitated. Huh.
"Morning, boys," he said cheerfully, not at all surprised to find Percival there with Leon, both of them showered and shiny after their morning run.
"He's in a good mood," Percival said to Leon. He was seated behind the desk, sprawled out; Leon was on his feet checking paperwork on a clipboard rested on the high counter.
"That means Europe," Leon assumed, in response to their big friend, who grinned.
"You've got Gaius' orders, don't you?" Arthur said, leaning his forearms beside Leon. "Can't you guess from that? And you call yourselves scouts."
"It's a European tour," Merlin said quietly down to Percival. "Kind of all over the place."
Percival hummed thoughtfully. "And you've never been mainland, have you? Come around, I'll find some research material for you to look at while Arthur's busy with Leon."
"Come on," Leon said to Arthur, moving off into the rows of steel shelving stacked with boxes, bins, and crates. "Professional on business with opportunities left for leisure, right?"
"I don't really want anything that needs tailoring," Arthur told him, following now, himself. Leon walked too fast for Arthur to read any of the labels they were passing; he wondered if they organized according to each scout individually, or if it was set up more like a department store.
"In a hurry?" Leon said over his shoulder, with a quiet smile.
"I prefer it that way." Didn't everyone know that by now? "Instincts. And no time for second-guessing."
"What about him?" Leon checked his sheet against a box number, then shifted it down from the shelf into Arthur's helpful arms.
Arthur repeated the question. "What about him?"
Leon scraped his thumb against the clip of his clipboard and didn't meet Arthur's eyes. "It isn't my business…" he said. "Until it is my business."
"Gaius cleared him," Arthur reminded him noncommittally. In more ways than one, which Leon would understand, even if he wasn't cleared to know.
"Sure," Leon said easily. "And I know you don't second-guess Gaius. But what about him. As your partner."
Arthur found a grin, and maybe it covered his feelings instead of expressing them. "Well, it won't be the first time I've been on a mission and he's been along."
"First time working together, though, or am I wrong?"
Arthur hefted the box. This is why he liked it fast. No time for thoughts to betray. Or anything else. "I guess we'll see…"
Leon made a noise of studied neutrality. "Guess it should be safer with him along…"
Except that Gaius meant them to wear the target obviously. Draw the attention.
"Well, it shouldn't be dull," Arthur said cheerfully. "And I've got to tell you – I'm more than ready for life to be anything but dull, again."
Leon met his eyes without lifting his head, and it made him look like he was frowning. "Careful what you wish for?"
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Merlin waited til Arthur and Leon had left the desk area before skirting the high counter, as Percival rolled his chair closer to the desk, reaching to choose two folders from a row of the same on a shelf below desk-height. Each had a bright primary color back and a clear plastic front, showing stills of architecture. Merlin leaning on the desk and angled his head. The cover of the one on top depicted a squarish building of several stories, with free-flying arches flowing outward to the ground, and an enormous window that looked like a flower, somehow.
"Research," Percival added. "The part of our job that overlaps, actually – Records collects the information, Logistics makes it available to the scouts."
Paris, said the red one. Pisa. Rome. Capri.
"I don't think we know yet where we're going," Merlin said, feeling a bit breathless. He picked up Paris and began to leaf through – photos on every page, alongside rows of statistics and followed by paragraphs of summary.
The world was wide. And Merlin's education had been desultory by comparison. Random. Books when he asked for new ones, but not always the ones he asked for – and nothing at all like according to a course of study organized by any kind of professional.
"Do those act like other stills you've been asked to analyze?" Percival said, casually curious. No ulterior motive in sight. His mental house was washed brick, sturdy and simple, clean and tidy.
"I suppose they could," Merlin said absently. "It takes focus, and decision on trajectory – I could analyze the images themselves, or dig deeper into the recorder… I don't usually, though, y'know, unless there are extenuating circumstances…"
Percival made a thoughtful-interested noise.
And Merlin almost see through some of these stills without even trying, as if he were standing on the streets next to the recorder at the moment they were taken – the bright colors, the elaborate architectural details, foreign and fascinating that anyone would spend time or attention or money to beautify their buildings. The movement, and the life...
"I've spent too much time on military posts," he said aloud.
Percival snorted, and agreed. "For a fact."
Brick roads. Actual cobblestones. Twenty buildings down the same block, without so much as an alley to separate, but each unapologetically unique from the next. Aerial maps showing mazes of streets, candid shots of local cafes and examples of ordinary fashion, and – amazingly – a river flowing right through the center of it all.
"Have you been?" Merlin asked, turning pages without reading, only absorbing the stills and beginning to picture himself there.
"I've been on a couple of missions," Percival said, leaning back in the chair with a comfortable crank of objecting hardware beneath. "Ours are so much easier than Arthur's. Tourist stuff, almost. Observe, record, analyze."
"Hm…" An edge of that caught the back of his attention – I'd be great at that; not so sure how I'll be for Arthur's missions…
And beside them on the desk, the comm warbled request for connection. Percival picked up the block without hesitation.
"Psych Ops Logistics division, Scout- oh. Yes, sir, speaking. Le- ah, Scout Oldham is in the stacks with Scout Pendragon. I've got- yes, he's here too." Percival's eyes shifted to Merlin to acknowledge, the unheard speaker had asked about him. Gaius, for sure. Then gaze and attention shifted away to focus on the Old Man. "Oh? Yes, sir – just one minute and I'll grab him for you."
Percival straightened away from the desk, twisting to lay the block down. Meeting Merlin's eyes for just a moment-
Should I?
No, he wants-
Before the big man turned to jog a few steps toward the shelves, cupping his hands around his mouth to bellow into the depths of the warehouse. "Pendragon! Comm-block connection! Director Gaius!"
Something happened, something changed. Merlin stared at the block. Because they'd just come from their briefing with the Old Man… He couldn't help wondering if the change was due to him. Someone reconsidered, someone hesitated, someone cautioned, Not yet…
Arthur appeared a second later, tucking a large brown box under his arm to quicken his pace – smooth and confident like he'd forgotten to think about his knee. "What did he say?"
"Nothing to me," Percival returned.
Arthur's gaze moved past him to Merlin, and Percival looked at him also as he turned to follow Arthur visually to the desk. Merlin, sitting right there and not picking up the connection with the Director… because he was the junior partner? Or-
Leon emerged between two rows of shelves, one aisle down from where the two of them had disappeared, hefting a bin with handles on the sides. Merlin couldn't tell his expression from the distance, and he didn't say anything, but Percival turned back to answer him.
"I don't know. Maybe…"
Leon set the bin down and started forward, just as Arthur reached the desk and picked up the block.
"Pendragon." Professional, and succinct.
Merlin was strongly tempted to listen in, at least marginally. The look of serious focus Arthur had worn approaching the connection didn't change for a handful of moments – then intensified slightly.
"Wait – which friend? Do you have a name?" Pause. "Well, what do they think I can do that- Oh. Was that implied, or…"
Percival and Leon reached the end of the high counter and hovered, exchanging curious and concerned glances. Arthur listened a moment, then sighed and lifted his free hand to rub one eyebrow, and when he spoke again, his tone was reluctant surrender.
"Okay. Yes, sir, of course we'll do our best. We can be on the-" He twisted his arm to glance at his timekeeper. "Two o'clock train. Arrive by quarter-til-four, that'll give us some time yet tonight. What should we-" The slight hesitation dissolved into focus again.
Change of plans, Merlin thought. A different trajectory – different objective? Briefly he checked on Gwen – focused-calm-busy-fine, so it was probably nothing to do with her – as Arthur acknowledged what was probably a series of instructions with a couple of grunts and aborted phrases of agreement.
"Yep – Mm – 'Kay, then we – mmph. Uh-huh. Yes, sir, I will. We will."
He twisted to set the block down, and resettled into his relaxed-attentive stance, thinking in the way that Merlin admired for being so swift and certain. Leon leaned on the high counter; Percival said expectantly, "Well?"
"Change of plans," Arthur told Merlin, tacitly allowing their two friends to hear the update also. "We're heading to Camelot first."
First meant the European tour wasn't cancelled, only delayed. Merlin wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed – now he'd have more time to anticipate that mission. To worry.
Then Arthur uttered, "There's been a murder."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Arthur usually enjoyed riding the train. Rain or shine, night or day, he loved the feeling of moving through a world that took little note of his passage. People he theoretically protected but would never meet; places he felt he kept safe though he'd never visit… And for a moment he could relax and contemplate like it was a job well done, in the immediate present.
Sometimes, it meant time to plan and prepare for the next step of a mission. Sometimes the train was the mission.
Rolling hills, fat broccoli bunches of trees, stark white squares of manmade homes. The distant purple horizon, the suggestion of rainclouds deciding whether to linger and dissipate, or roll on in.
He didn't usually take the train to Camelot.
Didn't usually take the train to Camelot for a family emergency.
Never before had a family emergency caused Uther to lean officially on the Director of Psych Ops for a favor. For Arthur.
And for Morgana. It had been months since he'd seen her, unexpectedly in Fuller's Point as if it could offer shops to rival downtown Camelot. His mind clicked over the pertinent detail conveyed by Gaius, given by Uther, informed by lower local authorities, treading awkwardly because of the potential involvement of their nation's First Minister.
Why me, he'd asked, initially confused. This isn't the sort of work I usually do…
Merlin, the answer. That one word, all the explanation necessary.
Without moving his head, he flicked a glance over the psychic seated opposite him – facing backwards as the train traveled. Not in uniform, as this wasn't a military mission; not in the casual holey jeans and second-hand sweatshirt like they wore off-duty, or knocking around Fuller's Point. Not the suit-and-jacket that might be expected for the businessman-plus-assistant like had been discussed for the European tour.
Halfway there, maybe. Dark blue trousers – material durable rather than costly - over the black boots. Collared button-up, pin-stripe over off-white, and a utilitarian-casual canvas jacket in charcoal-gray. Slouched in his seat, gripping the arm-rests lightly. Staring out the window as they trundled over bridges and shuddered round bends and roared through the occasional tunnel.
Only Merlin's eyes moved, abandoning the landscape outside to fasten to Arthur's without warning.
Instant wariness flared. Because, psychic. And, if it wasn't odd for a psychic to be curious, Merlin was, also, quite curious. Change of plans, and murder, and he'd followed Arthur without hesitation or question.
Because of what happened in Essetir, and in the water off Britesea? Arthur's knee twinged and he ignored it, choosing instead to hold Merlin's gaze. Trust him, to find out if you can trust him.
Now are you ready? his raised brow said. The longer Arthur delayed, the more significant it became.
But everything was so complicated when his family was involved, and he was nowhere near ready to start trying to articulate it, especially to a psychic, and this one in particular.
Fine? Merlin's eyes said. Give me the facts? As much as you know?... Overlayed with a little bit of, Don't I deserve that?
Arthur faced him. "At five minutes til nine o'clock this morning, my sister discovered the body of her roommate. Evidently the girl had been poisoned in a manner obvious enough for the constabulary to declare it murder, without waiting for test results. Morgana was upset enough to involve my father, who requested our assistance from Director Gaius."
Merlin's head had snapped away from the window at the word body, and as Arthur spoke, his spine had straightened, then bent him forward over his knees.
"A murder investigation?" he said, softly incredulous. "But – we – don't the inspectors handle that? Are we allowed-"
"Special dispensation." Arthur allowed his mouth to twist sardonically. "First Minister's daughter – First Minister's son… We'll be working as consultants, evidently, under the authority of the CCI."
Merlin spelled out the acronym. "Camelot Criminal Investigation… I don't know the first thing about criminal investigations," he added, with a hint of anxiety. "Have you ever-"
"Scouts works a little differently, usually, that's true," Arthur said. "But this time, we think, they want you, specifically. And me as, sort of, I don't know… your handler." He watched the psychic realize the implications, and Merlin's eyes went round as his jaw dropped open.
Then it occurred to Arthur, murder. Poison-pain-deception-betrayal. He couldn't help remembering the tests they'd put the psychic through on the recording Gaius had showed him of Merlin's training in Essetir – and that last one, where he'd been forced to psychically experience Lancelot's night-flyer crash.
"That is," he said deliberately. "If you're up for it. Only if you're up for it. You don't have to… sacrifice yourself, or torture yourself…"
Even after watching Merlin dissemble the information from the pieces of bomb-making equipment he'd stolen from Urhavi, he still wasn't completely clear on the psychic process – layers, and caution, and so on.
He wanted to add, Don't do it for me, because you're still trying to make up for-
Quick shake of the black head. "No – yeah – I mean, of course I'll do my best. Of course. How awful… Is your sister all right? Her roommate, how awful."
Arthur turned fractionally back to the window. He'd lost friends before – everyone in the military had, or did, or would. But for someone close to his sister – a civilian, a student – to die like this, for her to lose a friend like this… it felt a little like a personal failure, to him. As if he hadn't made Camelot safe enough, though domestic crime wasn't his focus.
"I don't know," he said softly. "I expect we'll talk to her sooner or later." Morgana could shrug and toss her hair and claim barely to know the girl – or she could embrace the trauma and weep and rail and require sedation…
Merlin was still watching him. "Did you know her friend?"
Something in Arthur's chest twisted. Probably should have. Roommate, after all. He didn't know for how long, and that felt like a failure of neglect, too. Should've asked, should've listened and remembered, should've visited…
"Not really," he said noncommittally. "I met her once or twice in passing."
Merlin acknowledged with a noise of neutrality. "What's our plan, then? When we get there?"
"We'll be met by a liaison officer at the station. There's time to review the scene this afternoon – possibly the body in the morgue this evening…"
Merlin grimaced, and Arthur paused, but the younger man motioned for him to continue in spite of personal qualms. Probably he'd never seen a dead body, either; Arthur would have to keep an eye on him and make sure it wasn't too psychically much.
"Tomorrow maybe we talk to Morgana, and any other witnesses they've listed for the case. They've got rooms for us in one of the best hotels with high security – where my father lives when he's in the city, actually."
"And we'll meet your father?" Merlin said, anxious still. Or again, maybe.
Part of Arthur's subconscious surfaced briefly – the Essetirian psychic double-agent scout, shaking hands with the First Minister of Camelot, my father, what if… No, of course this isn't what he was after, all along, how ridiculous to include his confession and his mother and the flight back to Essetir if all he wanted was to…
Merlin's expression warned that he was capable of guessing Arthur's train of thought – clickety-clickety-shuddershuddershudder-rrROAR…
"My hesitation is not on your account," Arthur told him grimly. Not all of it, anyway. "You're going to find out a helluva lot more about me than anyone else in Psych Ops knows. And I'm including Leon and Percival and Gaius and Gwen."
Comprehension. Apprehension. Acceptance.
"Maybe it would be fair to offer you a chance to vacation in Newmarch sometimes, then," Merlin said lightly.
Newmarch was where Hunith had settled. Nearly twenty leagues from her son in Fort Fuller. No direct trains, and he was under the impression that a trip would take several hours. Not something to be done on the spur of the moment, without planning. And advance notice.
He let half a smile show, settling back into his own seat to wait out the journey. "Family's complicated."
A/N: This one isn't as long, but I didn't want to try to venture into the next section, thematically. If it feels like filler, my apologies… Real action and partnership next chapter, I promise!