Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Okay, okay, okay! I get it, I’m in trouble, but could you be more careful with those handcuffs? They pinch, y’know.”

The guards disregard the beggar’s pleas. Camelot Corporations has no forgiveness for traitor spies. The cell they throw the prisoner in is built from soft grey stone. It’s chalky and dusty so when they throw the detainee in, his feet scuff up a small cloud around him. The space is small and boxy; more fit for a holding cell for two particularly mischievous cows. The ceiling hangs lower than it does outside the cell - clearly another attempt to make the attendee feel all the more uncomfortable. A single bed frame lies in the centre without touching any walls; a single threadbare sheet lays flaccid upon it. It seems like one of those beds for the refugees that you see on the news after a natural disaster in a place you know of but is too far away to care about.

A musty smell of sweat clings to the air and the stagnant idiosyncrasy of the cell makes the prisoner’s nostrils flare. A lingering, acrid smell of rolled cigarettes remains–from the last victim–the prisoner’s hand instinctively touches to his right hip. An imperishable ache fills him for a second as he feels at the tiny circular scars he knows are there. Cigarette burns hurt a lot more than just skin.

There’s too much sound and not enough at the same time. There’s the sound of the criminal sitting on the bed - it complains in squeaks and groans. Then there’s the slam of the heavy, metal door as the guards exit and lock the perpetrator inside. Then, there are the footsteps. There are crisp footsteps echoing from down the long corridor the felon was just pushed down. They’re sharp and purposeful and even like any good businessman. The sound seems to bounce off every dark grey wall, fall against every bright white door and be absorbed by every gloomy yellow light strip on the ceiling. They stop outside offender’s door; pausing only to wait for the door to open.

The guards walk back in, glares set to stun. One takes a precautionary jab at the jailer’s cuffs; he’s seemingly pleased when they chink together loudly. They stand either side of the bed in case this man is stupid enough to try and fight the boss, even though he’s only on level one. They straighten their back as a man enters; dressed head to toe in a smooth black suit. He looks every bit the Mafia Don - right down to the half-hidden smirk.

“Merlin Emrys.”

“Arthur Pendragon.”

“Don’t call me that.” He snaps and the air grows thick between them.

“Do you know why you’re here?” This man asks, his arrogance practically suffocating the room.

Merlin smiles at him, tilting his head to the right because he knows this man already has the information he seeks. It’s been five seconds and Merlin is already warming to the soft glow on Arthur’s skin from the torchlight. What’s with the archaic decorations, anyway? Is this part of the torture technique? ‘Let's make the prisoners feel like they’re going to be hanged at first light which, by the way, none of them can see because there are no windows.’

“Because I forgot my name.”

Arthur squints at him. His posture falls subtlety at this new challenge he seems to have been burdened with. “... Because you revealed yourself to be a spy.”

“I suppose that’s the reason in the grand scheme of things.” The cuffs jingle in Merlin’s lap as he spiritedly enunciates his point; acting like Arthur is the one being the drama queen.

“So you admit you’re a spy.”

“Well... yeah? I mean it would depend on what your definition of a spy is.”

Arthur’s confusion makes him furrow his eyebrows so harshly that it hinders his eyesight for a second. This man is an enigma. “Someone who is sent from an organisation to secretly obtain information from an enemy or competitor.”

“Oh. Then, yeah, definitely. I’m a spy.” Merlin nods along. He reaches his hands up to scratch his nose - an action that has Arthur on high alert.

“Well, then...” Arthur is at a loss. “Who do you work for?”

“Oh! I can get this! His name is... is... ah fuck. No, I don’t know. This is actually really embarrassing. He must’ve told me his name when he first recruited me but then I forgot and just called him sir. It’s been like five years! He looks like a twink but also an evil mastermind - if that makes sense. Maybe he’s a Timothy or a Tom - Tomothy! No, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe—“

“Okay!” Arthur claps his hands. “Moving on. Where in the country are you from?” His lips form a tight line–this may just be the most irritating man he’s ever had to interrogate.

“Oh!” Merlin smiles this happy little grin to himself. “I come from this little village called Ealdor and it’s really rather quaint. I grew up there and I remember my first memory of that place which—“

“I meant your agency.” Arthur interrupts impatiently. “Where are you based as of right now in your life?”

“Somewhere in Oxford. I’ll tell you something about Oxford - the cyclists are fucking nuts! I swear they all have a death wish.”

“Well, you seemed to have a death wish as soon as you stepped into this building.”

Merlin recoils in mock offence. “I never said I wasn’t a cyclist.”

“Oh my god.” Arthur sighs exasperatedly, looking up to the ceiling.

“I’m joking, I only cycled to work once and that’s only because I was going through a healthy phase. Believe me, I am never doing that again.”

“So what’s your assignment here?”

“Something about finding out your weaknesses. Although I’ve been watching you for a few days and, man, you don’t have any. Well, I’m sure you do, but I mean you’re really strong and muscular and handsome and I was just thinking that if you ever needed those, you’d be fine.”

“Okay...” Arthur struggles to process that. He’s had so many people in this very room, saying a thousand different things, but he’s never had someone this blunt. “So, that was it?”

“I’m sure there was other stuff, but I can’t remember. I got a bit distracted, to be honest.”

“By what?”

“By your face. It’s just...” A faint pink hue colours his face and he looks down his lap before shocking Arthur with electric blue. ”Really pretty.”

“Stop that.” Arthur immediately snaps, hackles raised and on the defence.

Merlin doesn’t flinch (even though he wants to) and snaps back just as fast. “What?”

“Flirting with me.” He spits. It’s not venomous but it’s sparky like flames.

“I’m not flirting with you.” Merlin smirks, “One can appreciate art in any form.”

“That’s flirting.”

“I suppose you would know, you must get it all the time.”

“That’s still flirting.”

“How about in French? Tu es plus de captivant que la lune.”

Arthur can’t even comprehend how mad this is. A man proven to be a traitor is flirting with him in French. “I don’t know what that means but it sounds like flirting.”

“Oui, mais je ne suis qu'un poète.”

“Stop that. We only speak English here.” Confusion really messes with Arthur’s head. He does not like to be confused and, on those rare occasions where he is, he gets quite angry. Angry might not be the right word, perhaps... incandescent with rage will suffice.

“Racists.”

“No. What I mean is— what I meant was— you’re a spy!”

“So are you!” Merlin replies loudly, wanting to be heard over the word jungle in Arthur’s head.

“You’re supposed to be giving me reasons not to kill you.”

“I am.” Merlin whispers.

Arthur is set off balance at the sudden change of volume. “What?”

“I’m trying my best, okay? I’m struggling a bit but I really am trying. I never even wanted to be a spy! I was going to be an artist and make a career for myself in France then come back and whisk my— it’s not important.” Merlin cuts himself off, not ready to talk about something he hasn’t talked to anyone about in half a decade.

“Wait, no, tell me.”

“You stopped me before when I was ranting on about my personal life, I assumed now would be no different.”

“I decide what’s important and what’s not.”

“Sir!” A new voice calls from down the corridor. “Pendragon, are you down here?”

Arthur paces backwards to stick his head out the door and yell up the hall, “Yeah, Gwaine, I’m here. Give me a moment.” He then turns to his traitor, “Okay, I’ll be back later. Give my guards any trouble and you’ll pay for it.”

“Cash or card?”

He swears he sees the smallest smirk as Arthur walks down the hall.

Merlin looks to his lap sullenly, “Because I don’t have either.”

•

“I don’t know what’s going on, Gwaine, but they’ve sent a flirtatious, gay spy with the shittest memory ever,” Arthur complains as they get to the end of the corridor.

He opens the door for Gwaine before walking out into the hallway. They stand just outside the doors to ensure privacy. The two connecting corridors form a T shape which links to many other winding halls and rooms. The entire building is designed like a labyrinth to hinder the escape of prisoners.

“Think of it as a blessing.” Gwaine quips. This isn’t what he wanted to talk about but he’s actually quite interested in the big-eared brunet.

“What?”

“Well, he’s obviously a messenger from God.”

Arthur tuts and puts his hand on his hip. “Gwaine, you don’t believe in God.”

“What I’m trying to say is that he’s a booty call.” Gwaine holds Arthur’s glare. “Mate, you haven’t got laid in forever! Take your chance now!”

“Gwaine, I think you’re forgetting he’s a traitor.” Arthur shoots for exasperated but hits a nerve instead. He was actually quite unnerved that the cute boy who had been here since Monday was found out to be a criminal.

“I think you’re forgetting you’ve fucked worse.”

“Like who?”

“Like that time your dad set you up with that model and you ended up in bed with her twin brother who turned out to be involved with the Russian Embassy.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

Gwaine cackles, “I will. Constantly.”

“Don’t you have anything better to be doing?”

“Than teasing you? No. Besides, you’re the one who asked me for my opinion.”

“And thank you for reminding me never to come to you for guidance ever again.”

“You are very welcome.”

•

“Right, so do you have anything else to tell me?” Arthur asks, walking back into the room after a half-hour chat with this Gwaine fellow.

Merlin grins. He’s just spent the last twenty minutes trying to chat up the guards. He’s got them to blush so he counts that as a success.

“Well, I mean... I don’t know what information you want from me.”

Arthur sighs. He has since he’d the blazer and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. It’s a sight that Merlin finds quite enticing.

“Fine. What’s your agency called?”

“Dolus.”

“I’ve never heard of them. I’m sure I’d know if I had - it’s a stupid name.”

“I suppose. It’s one of the Greek gods, I forget which one.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

Merlin smirks, “Probably not.”

“When were you employed by them?”

Merlin has a serious think about this one. It feels like it’s been his entire life. “I was seventeen so that would be... five years ago.”

“And they still have you?” Arthur questions, his confusion shown blatantly on his visage. “No offence but you seem really shit at your job.”

“Ouch, my feelings,” Merlin says, hunching and raising his cuffed hands to his heart.

Arthur smiles at that. After his talk with Gwaine he seems much more relaxed and loose. “Seriously, though. You lasted two and a half days here.”

“I know. I think they just send me in first to see if the place is dangerous before sending in important people.”

“That’s interesting. But I thought you said you were here to check out my weaknesses.”

Merlin blushes, “I don’t really remember what I said.”

“Were you hit in the head or something? You’re acting like that fish from Finding Nemo.”

“Dory.”

“That one, yes.” Arthur frowns, only half remembering the film from his childhood. “So, you don’t remember flirting with me?”

“Oh, well, I just assumed I did. I don’t know how I’d avoid it, to be honest.” Merlin says, pointedly looking at Arthur’s toned muscles.

“Okay then. What else can you tell me about Dolorus?”

“Dolus.” Merlin corrects, putting a firmness into it so Arthur will remember. “Um, I’m pretty low down in the pecking order. No one really tells me anything.”

“That makes sense. Even if they did tell you, you’d forget within minutes.” Arthur says, smirking. The guards give a courtesy chuckle.

“That sounds very on-brand for me, ” Merlin smiles.

“Well, I am a very good judge of character.”

Merlin beams up at him, “I’m sure you are.”

“You must know something.”

“I could tell you about the building?”

“Do that. Where is it?”

“I’m not sure. I get blindfolded every time I go or leave. A car comes and collects me from the Bodleian Library which takes me straight to headquarters.”

“Okay, okay, how long does it take?”

“At a guess, I’d say about half an hour. Oh! And it’s on the opposite side of the city to the Thames.”

“Excellent. That will prove crucial.” With that, Arthur turns on his heels.

“Wait!” Merlin panics.

Arthur pauses.

“What’s gonna happen to me?”

“Well, if you prove useful then you won’t die.”

Merlin swallows thickly. “What if I’m not?”

Arthur shrugs a shoulder and tilts his head with a noncommittal eyebrow raise, then leaves.

Chapter Text

Arthur has spent the few hours since speaking to Merlin by planning a way to use him to his advantage. Earlier, he set up a team to find out where Merlin’s gang is based with varying success. He also had his top agents use their contacts to inquire about Dolus. So far, they’ve come up short of nothing. They have a radius of possible locations that are slowly being narrowed down.

Two of his best men are set to find out things about Merlin. Leon and Percival have been friends with him forever since all of their parents are in the gang. They ask Merlin questions and, even though he seems so genuine, he must be lying. There is no place called Ealdor and there is no record of him ever existing. When the team suggest he’s lying, he pleads for his innocence. Leon admits that he can barely stand to watch the man beg with tears in his eyes.

Merlin has been with them for three days and has already left a lasting impact on everyone. Since Merlin’s employment, he had been a ray of light within the dark walls of Pendragon headquarters. He had talked to everyone and everything, insisting that the plants be watered. Arthur, they are clearly suffering from dehydration. No one could expect such a stand-out person to be a spy.

As Arthur indulges himself with the what could have been, he finds himself growing sadder by the second. He shakes himself out of it and deletes all the l’s he had created by accident in his messages. He needs to see how is dad is getting on down at the docks.

•

It’s nightfall when Arthur gets called down to the cells. A guard sent word up that Merlin had been requesting him for the passing hour and they were getting fed up. He makes no rush despite his hammering heart. He hopes nothing is wrong and curses his traitorous feelings getting in the way of his work.

When the guards unlock Merlin’s door he immediately finds a problem. Merlin has shoved his bed into the far corner and is violently shivering under his blanket. The man turns doe eyes on Arthur and smiles.

“Ah, Mon Cheri.” Merlin extricates himself from the blanket and stands up to greet Arthur.

Arthur grits his teeth to prevent anything embarrassing from coming out of his mouth. He is flattered and amused by the greeting but absolutely floored by the sight. Merlin’s hair is ruffled from the blanket and he has a shy smile on his face. He didn’t know that anybody could look so cute. Arthur covers his silence with a stony glare so hopefully, he looks tough.

“Could I trouble you for another blanket?” Merlin asks like a Victorian child chimney sweep.

Arthur can admit that the stone and wall torches could mimic the conditions but this is a bit excessive.

“You pulled me out of a meeting for this shit?” Arthur was not in a meeting. Honestly, he had been sitting at his desk hoping for a distraction. A distraction from Merlin but he’ll take what he can take.

“I would also like these cuffs off, please, sir.” 

Arthur grits his teeth again. Nothing Merlin does is predictable. It doesn’t make any sense. His dick stirs at the new nickname while something in his heart warms at the ‘please’. 

Arthur has clearly been single for too long. That must be the only reason why he feels such a longing towards this man. Maybe he could go out with Gwaine tonight to the Pendragon nightclub and see if he can go home with someone.

Arthur frowns at him. “You think I’d let a prisoner in my cells out of cuffs?”

Merlin creases his eyebrows and Arthur wants to thumb the worry away. A draft rushes through the room giving Arthur goosebumps. Merlin starts a new bout of shivering.

Merlin looks into Arthur’s face with big eyes and his cuffed hands to his chest. “I’m cold.”

Before he knows he’s doing it, Arthur is walking closer to Merlin. The man flinches away when Arthur reaches out to him but stays frozen after he realises what he did. Arthur places warm hands on Merlin’s wrists, relishing the touch. Arthur steps closer until his face is an inch from Merlin’s. His eyes flick across Merlin’s eyes and he takes a deep breath. Merlin smells like oranges but it’s mostly covered by the musty scent of the cell. Arthur clicks his tongue before he fishes his keys out from his pocket and unlocks one cuff and then the other.

Merlin keeps his hands where they are for fear that Arthur might change his mind. He keeps eye contact and embraces the warmth the man radiates. He has to hold himself back in case he simply collapses in his arms. This isn’t how the mission was supposed to go. 

It’s not even like anyone is looking for him. He’s disposable and always has been but he stays so he can support his mother. When he was younger he lived in abject poverty. Now, eveenthough eventhough his mother has a stable job and Merlin out of the house, he still does what he can to help.

Arthur shocks him out of his daze by rubbing the pad of his thumb over the red marks on his wrists. He does it in such a gentle way that Merlin leans into Arthur for comfort.

“I told them they pinched, “ Merlin whispers, seemingly shocking Arthur out of his own daze. 

Arthur jerks away from Merlin, dropping his wrists and freeing him from his metal confines. With cuffs in hand, he leaves Merlin to shiver alone in his cell. He pauses to talk to Jones (a fifty-year-old man with a vendetta against the Escetir Ruffians for killing his daughter). He instructs him to bring down blankets to cell 206.

 “And make sure they smell like oranges.”

•

When Arthur wakes the next morning in his apartment, he half expects a dozen missed calls and his father outside his door calling him an idiot. He checks his phone and sees no urgent messages about the escape of a spy called Merlin so decides today might be a good day.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes with a text from his sister Morgana demanding a chai latte from the nondescript coffee shop down the road like she has done everyday for past two years. He replies to his assent and gets ready for his day.

•

The queue is short so he gets to the counter faster than he is ready for. And, because it’s before seven AM, he orders two chai lattes before realising he doesn’t want one and panics. Arthur is a strong man and he can even scare wasps away from his general area, but he can barely function in social situations outside of his control. Instead of cancelling a chai latte, he adds a regular latte so by the time he leaves he has a tray of three coffees, a muffin and is down fifty pounds because he felt bad for his own mistake and put all his cash in the tip jar. Today is not going well.

•

Morgana is so happy with her surprise muffin that she doesn’t even ask about the extra cup in the tray. The few people who are at headquarters this early in the morning give him sleepy hello’s–clearly not awake enough to even realise something is amiss. He has just missed members who were in charge of the new shipment of firearms from the harbour. Arthur isn’t cruel so he gives them breaks until tonight when another shipment is arriving. The building is quiet and calm and relaxed just like Arthur likes.

That is until Gwaine bounds up to him with a massive grin on his face. Arthur can tell without even asking that the man has had an idea. His ideas are always terrible but Arthur usually finds himself doing them anyway because despite their ridiculousness they typically work. He levels his gaze at Gwaine who looks like he might burst from excitement.

“I have had a wonderful idea!”

“No,” Arthur says flatly. He goes to move passed Gwaine, on his way to the cells to check everything is okay.

Gwaine steps in his way. “But you haven’t even heard my idea, ” He argues like usual. This conversation happens so many times that Arthur replies automatically.

“Go on then.”

Gwaine raises his eyebrows and puts his hands out as if calming a wild dog. “Okay, hear me out.” Which is Gwaine speak for ‘you're going to hate this’. “We should have that Merlin guy spy for us. Send him back to his gang and get him to bug them.”

Arthur sighs. This is one of Gwaine’s more ludicrous ideas. “Gwaine—“

“He already said he’d do it!” Gwaine insists.

Arthur’s eyes widen at that. “You talked to him? Gwaine! What is wrong with you?”

“Hey, I’m a curious being. Some might even say cat-like.”

“Some might also say you’re an idiot. Those people would be correct.”

“I’m feline a little resistance, “ Gwaine smirks.

Arthur pushes passed him easily this time, calling over his shoulder, “Well, I’m feline the urge to shoot you so I’m walking away.”

Considering the amount of weaponry within these walls, you’d think the threats would cause a bit of worry. Gwaine laughs and meanders off to go annoy someone else.

•

When Arthur is let into cell 206 Merlin is sat in a mound of blankets leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He grins when he opens his eyes to see Arthur.

“Good morning, sunshine, “ Merlin says. He shuffles into the corner of the bed so Arthur can sit if he wants to.

Arthur looks to the door and debates his options. There are no windows and the door is shut–no one would see him if he decided to sit with the prisoner.

“No one’s going to see, my liege, “ Merlin says, stretching an arm and with it opening the blanket nest he had made.

Arthur sighs as he gives in, sitting shoulder to shoulder with a prisoner under body-warmed blankets. God, if his father could see him now.

They sit for a while in silence, Merlin bounces his leg hyperactively. Arthur ponders what to do with him. Most prisoners don’t get breakfast but Merlin is skin and bone as it is. It’s almost like he doesn’t eat anyway. More to the point, Arthur doesn’t usually have prisoners. Most wrong-doers are dealt with quickly and with discretion.

Arthur glances at the coffees in his hand and sighs. He picks up the chai latte and offers it to Merlin. “You want this?”

Merlin blinks at the proffered drink. “What is it?”

“Chai latte. Accidentally ordered two this morning. You’ve not eaten. Do you want it?” Arthur explains.

Merlin reaches for it before hesitating with his hand midair. “Is it poisoned?” He turns wary eyes to Arthur.

Arthur smiles at that. “If I was trying to kill you, you would know about it.”

Merlin accepts that and takes it. He takes a precautionary sniff before drinking some. He closes his eyes and leans against Arthur without realising. “This is delicious. Can I have one every morning?”

Arthur barks out a laugh, “You’d be fucking lucky.”

“Well, I have the hottest captor in the world. I’d consider myself pretty lucky.” Merlin smiles at Arthur, he breathes hot air into his neck making him shiver.

Arthur looks down at how Merlin is leaning against his shoulder. He suddenly seems so tired. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

Merlin hums before taking another sip of coffee. “I thought I slept quite well, Monsieur. Only after the blankets. Thank you, by the way.”

Arthur takes a sip of his own coffee. “What’s with all the names?”

“You told me not to call you by your name. I’m just improvising.” Merlin smiles dazedly up at Arthur.

“I said that?”

Merlin nods against his shoulder. “Mhm. You were mad at me.”

Arthur frowns down at Merlin, calculating. Merlin has been flirty, he has been cheeky but he’s not been so touchy-feely. In fact, he was fine when Arthur came in. Merlin takes another gulp of coffee, leaning into Arthur more.

“You can call me Arthur if you want. Are you okay?”

“Um...” Merlin murmurs. “I feel kinda funny.” He pauses to laugh, “Are you sure you didn’t poison this?”

Arthur takes the cup from Merlin’s hand, putting his own on the floor by his feet, and looks it over. There is a tick in the box marked latte with chai written next to it in block capitals. On the other side, in cursive, is written ‘Morgana’ with a symbol next to it. A very familiar symbol. A cross with two smaller lines under the main one. Escetir.

“You’ve been poisoned,” Arthur says. His stomach feels heavy and his head feels numb. “Jones!” Arthur yells for a guard he knows is outside.

Merlin frowns. “I thought you said...”

“I didn’t poison you. Someone else did.”

The door opens and two men come rushing in looking alarmed. “What’s wrong?” They obviously came in ready to detain Merlin only to find him wrapped up with Arthur.

“He’s been poisoned. Get Gaius. Someone make sure Morgana is okay.”3

The guard that came in with Jones runs out the door while the man himself approaches. He is first aid trained and admittedly knows more about treating a victim of poison than Arthur does. He takes the cup from Arthur’s hand and smells it.

“Smells like bleach. Must be bromide.” Jones declares. He turns to Merlin. “You drank this?”

Merlin grumbles, holding his arms around his stomach and folds over himself. “Not had one before. Didn’t know.” He let’s out a low groan.

Arthur scoots closer, putting a hand on Merlin’s back, rubbing it in slow circles.

“He might throw up, “ Jones warns. “I’ll get a bucket.” He starts to head out of the room but looks to Arthur. “Just stay with him and make sure he’s okay.”

”You’re alright, Merlin. You’ll be okay.”

Chapter Text

Merlin yawns and covers his eyes with the crease of his elbow when the brightness of the day floods in as he wakes. His head thuds with pain all over and the light is making it worse. He wraps the duvet around him tighter and snuggles into the pillows, trying to wrangle any remainders of sleep possible. He can’t remember ever sleeping in a bed that was so comfortable. The bed he has is small and the sheets are threadbare.

This is not his bed.

He freezes. He quietens his breathing. He waits. There are no obvious signs of anyone else in the room but he roves his eyes across what he can see of the room from his position under the thick duvet. Merlin moves his head millimetres at a time to look around the room. 

It’s a bedroom. Dark blues and soft greys cover every surface of curtain, cabinet, wardrobe. Merlin doesn’t remember how he got here, nor does he remember why. There are no personal items in the room that Merlin can distinguish. It’s empty of people and devoid of life.

His head thrums with pain... a reminder of yesterday. At least he hopes it was yesterday. Someone told him he had drank bromide. He was throwing up and Arthur stayed by his side the entire time. He vaguely remembers being attached to a drip for fluids to flush it out of his system (at least Arthur told him that’s what the doctor had said).

Still, he doesn’t remember being in a bedroom. Merlin had spaced out from shock while he was being treated, but he’d think he might remember a secondary location.

With slow movements, Merlin sits up and places his feet on the hardwood floor. It’s cold against his sleep-warm body. Taking his head in his hands, he rubs at his temples to no avail. Everything still hurts. It feels a little like his heart might give out considering the pain in his chest.

Nevertheless, he gets up. If he dies before he finds out where he is, he’ll be annoyed. He walks to the door, places a finger on the handle and pulls it open. He is greeted with echoes of indistinct rock music and the smell of something sweet. He creeps out of the room and down the hall, towards the signs of life. 

The hall opens out into a living room with a counter separating it from the kitchen. Said counter is covered in an array of breakfast foods but Merlin’s eyes are drawn to the person who made them. Arthur.

Arthur is plating up some pancakes while nodding his head along to the beat and mouthing the words. The whole scene is painfully domestic.

Merlin wasn’t sure what he wanted to do when he got to this point. He could go back to bed to be found later by Arthur and taken back to cell 206. He could try and make a break for it: for this he’d have to race across the living room; get to the door; undo all the latches; figure out all the correct number combinations on the locks and get out before Arthur catches him. He could also just announce himself to Arthur and perhaps have breakfast.

One of them seems a lot better than the others.

“Merlin, I think you’d find it difficult to break out of here.” Arthur notices Merlin regarding the front door. Not that he’d actually stop him at this point, he thought he’d just save him from the embarassment.

Merlin deflates, having been caught. He mumbles to Arthur when he sits down on a stool at the counter, “I wasn’t going to.” 

Arthur just nods.

Merlin folds his arms on the counter and rests his head on them, closing his eyes. His chest feels like it might cave in but he wheezes a breath anyway.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asks as he turns his back to shuffle through cupboards.

A horrible thought flashes through Merlin’s mind that he could pick up a plate, or any of the cutlery lying about, and kill Arthur as he stands with his back to Merlin. He shakes his head of it. The shake produces more pain and he groans.

“My head hurts and it feels like my heart is going to explode.”

Arthur hums, grabbing his phone and clicking the volume down on his speakers to the lowest setting. “Gaius said that’s normal. It might not go away for a while.”

Merlin raises his head to rest his chin on his arms. “Did you say Gaius?”

Arthur turns to him, leaning back against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. “Yeah. Why?”

It’s then that Merlin notices Arthur is wearing a black shirt with gold cuff links and black trousers with a gold buckled belt. He looks absolutely gorgeous, like runway model gorgeous. He doesn’t even care if Arthur notices him checking him out because this stunning man is making him breakfast.

Merlin briefly forgets the question due to his distractedness. “I used to know a Gaius. He got stabbed when his apothecary got robbed.” Merlin winces when he thinks about how he tainted Gaius’ memory with thoughts of Arthur’s handsomeness.

Arthur frowns, sitting down opposite Merlin at the counter. “Who robs an apothecary?” 

“That’s what I said!”

Arthur smiles. “Eat to your heart’s desire.”

Merlin laughs. “If I did that, I think I’d be on my knees eating you.”

Arthur clicks his tongue to cover up his smile. “Gaius said joint pain is common in people who suffered from acute oral exposure to bromine so that’s not advised for the time being.”

“Quel dommage, “ Merlin smirks. “I think I’d like a cute oral exposure to you.”

Arthur sighs out a laugh. “Just eat.” Arthur puts a few pancakes on Merlin’s plate

Merlin considers his plate, using a fork to poke at it. “Is it poisoned?”

“No, “ Arthur says, placing a forkful of lemon and sugar covered pancake in his mouth.

Merlin swallows thickly, head throbbing. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Get therapy in your own time.” Arthur’s face is open and soft in a way that soothes Merlin. “For now, just eat.”

Merlin mock glares at him before accepting the food.

A few moments pass before Merlin looks up at Arthur, a sudden thought in his mind. “Is Morgana okay?”

Arthur furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“The cup, “ Merlin explains. “It said Morgana. Is she okay?”

Arthur frowns. Why should he care? But, overwhelmed with the rush of emotion, he ignores the niggling suspicion.

“My sister. Yes. She’s good, there was nothing in her cup.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Now, Arthur is famed for being able to smirk himself out of any situation. He can even smirk himself out of other–less favourable–emotions. However, there is nothing he can do about the smile on his face while hearing Merlin being concerned about his sister.

Morgana means everything to Arthur. She always had and always will and he’s not sure what he would have done if it were Morgana to be poisoned instead of Merlin. Watching Merlin lose control of himself made him feel sick with himself. He gave him the coffee. It was his fault. He ordered two chai lattes. It was Russian Roulette and someone had to lose.

Merlin takes this opportunity, having eaten as much as his nausea would allow him, to comment ever so thoughtfully on his time with Arthur. “Y’know you aren’t really a big, scary mafia don.” 

Arthur flicks his eyes up to meet Merlin’s. Merlin sits back in his chair with a satisfied grin. Arthur straightens himself before leaning forward; he uses two fingers to beckon Merlin forward. When Merlin is in range: he pulls him close; grabs his shoulder and grazes his lips against Merlin’s ear.

“You watch your pretty little mouth, hun, you don’t know what trouble it’ll get you into.”

Merlin closes his eyes as shivers rack his body. Arthur sits back in his seat with a pleased little smirk.

Chapter Text

“Okay, Merlin, I have to go to work. I have some people coming over to guard you, “ Arthur says, sliding his matching black suit jacket on his arms.

“To babysit me.” Merlin huffs, sat at the counter while he watches Arthur by the door.

“Well, you are still a traitorous spy and you have just been poisoned.” Arthur looks at him strangely softly. “You need taking care of.”

Merlin crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. “I’m not a child.”

“I know you’re not, “ Arthur grins. “If you were, I’d leave you Jenga to play with the guards.”

Merlin sticks his tongue out at Arthur making him chuckle.

“Look, “ Arthur starts, opening the door. “They’ll be here in five. You’ll be okay until then?”

“I’ve been left unsupervised before, Arthur.” Merlin says, deadpan. “I think I can manage.”

Arthur laughs himself out the door.

•

Merlin turns back to his plate. Arthur did put an awful lot of effort into it. It was absolutely delicious. He sits contemplating for a moment but his nausea wins and he has to walk away before what he did eat comes back up.

Arthur’s flat is gorgeous. Every surface is shiny and clean and expensive. The layout is city-typical and Merlin can only imagine the rent for large, single bedroom flat in the Center of London. Merlin doesn’t fit in here at all.

Merlin’s own flat is small and cramped but it’s a place for him to cook and sleep. Besides, he moves around from place to place often enough. He doesn’t need storage for stuff as he knows for a fact he can fit his entire life into a duffel bag.

He’s still wearing the clothes he had on when he was first taken down to cell 206. Just a cheap blue button down and black slacks he found in a charity shop. Life had not been kind to Merlin for the entirety of his life. Shopping in charity shops is what he knows. Besides, now that he’s earning he sends most of it to his mum.

Merlin walks back down the corridor to Arthur’s room with the hope of finding some antiperspirant or something. He could shower but he does not have explicit permission to do so nor does he feel comfortable being naked in someone else’s home.

Most of the surfaces are clear of any paraphernalia necessary to life so Merlin goes digging in draws. He starts with the bedside table. If he didn’t have his deodorant on top of his drawers then he’d have it in his bedside cabinet. Underwear in the first drawer, chargers in the second and lube (and unspeakable things) in the last. Arthur certainly has his priorities straight (even if, as Merlin suspects, he isn’t).

Onto the chest of drawers. Clothes, clothes, clothes. Even digging around under them produces nothing. It’s all neatly folded and expensive looking–mostly dark in colour–so Merlin shuts them and moves on.

Merlin falls into the chair at Arthur’s desk and roots around in the open drawers finding nothing but miscellaneous stationary. Merlin clicks and unclicks a pen to satisfy his monkey brain before putting it back where it belongs. He comes to the bottom drawer of the desk and finds it locked shut. 

“Interesting...” Merlin mutters to himself.

Merlin pauses. His first instinct is to find a way to open it. His second thought it to leave it alone and stop being nosey... but Merlin is a curious soul, after all.

He opens the first drawer again and rifles around for a  some paper clips. At home he has his own lock picking tools for these kinds of things. Shame he can’t pop out and get them. So he fashions a rake and tensioner out of two paper clips (like a pro), crouches and sets to work.

It takes a good minute to release all the pins but he does it. It opens. Inside are some immaculately organised files; meticulously named. They must be to do with Camelot Corporations. It looks like a lot of them cover accounts and financeS One near the front is in a different coloured file to the others: cream rather than natural brown. Merlin picks it up.

He scans it and gapes. It seems to be accounts for some kind of dating agency though it has the Camelot Corp symbol on it. Frowning, Merlin shuts the drawer, pockets the paper clips and stands up with the file in hand. He turns the page and a flyer falls out. Merlin picks it up finding that it’s some kind of event for rich singletons in the area.

Merlin leaves the room, a small part of his mind still aware that he needs to smell better. He heads to the bathroom across the hall. He shuts the door to get in properly because the shower cubical is right behind the door (bloody London architects). 

He sets the file down on the windowsill when he spots a bottle of Lynx on top of the mirror cabinet. It’s unopened but dusty. Arthur has probably moved on from teenage boy deodorant to some kind of fancy cologne. Merlin opens it and douses his armpits in it distractedly, reading the pages as he does it. When he finishes the page, he puts it back on the mirror and  continues reading. He’s about to exit the bathroom, one hand on the doorknob when the front door opens and he hears his name being called.

Fuck.

The babysitters are here— the guards— whatever. He locks the door in a hurry and looks around the room, panicked. He thinks through every hiding place he can to hide this damned file.

“In the bathroom, be out in a minute!” He calls, hoping his fear doesn’t shine through his voice.

If he had a plastic bag then he’d be able to hide it in the top of the toilet so it wouldn’t get wet. It’s how a lot of people hide cocaine. Merlin has never dabbled with that stuff but when he was younger he watched a lot of police shows.

In the cabinet doesn’t work either, there are no obvious hiding places. In his own bathroom there are removable floorboards but Arthur has tiles so that won’t work.

Tiles!

If Arthur’s flat is anything like Merlin’s then the ceiling tiles are not stuck in place. Merlin steps onto the closed toilet seat as gently as he can to avoid noise and tentatively pokes the corner ceiling tile. It gives. Merlin sighs in relief and quickly deposits the file and replaces the tile. He steps off the loo and flushes it for effect. He washes his hands as well and settles his heart beat so he can seem as normal as possible for the guards.

With a few deep breaths, Merlin opens the door and walks out. 

Chapter Text

Two men linger in the threshold of the front door. They acknowledge him as he walks further into the living room.

One is in his late thirties, Merlin assumes, as his beard is more of a scruff and his hair falls in soft ringlets down his face. He smiles at Merlin, proffering a hand as he approaches. “Hi, I’m Lance.”

Merlin shakes his hand with a matching expression. “I’m Merlin, nice to meet you.” His eyes flick to the other man who is yet to speak.

“I’m Elyan,” He says, voice soft but Merlin can tell from his face that he’s circumspect.

“I know you’ve been sent here to babysit me, but there really is no need.” Merlin tries to forget about the papers hidden in the ceiling in the bathroom but a sweat breaks out on the back of his neck. “Arthur is just worried I’ll escape, but believe me I have no where to go and I don’t know where I am.”

Lance furrows his eyebrows at him. “You have also just been poisoned. Our physician said that you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Physician?” Merlin laughs. “What era are you guys from?”

“Look, I forgot the word.” He replies cooly. “I improvised.”

Merlin beams at him. It’s the most humour he’s been met with in days. “You’re funny, I like you.”

The man blushes and looks decidedly pleased. Merlin loves having this effect on people, complimenting people is practically second nature to him; he’s just copying the example set by his mother.

After a few beats of silence and neither of the men making a move to step in, Merlins asks, “What’s the plan then?”

Elyan tilts his head. “For what?”

“What we’re going to do while I waste away in this apartment.”

“Oh! Right!” Lance jumps in. “We’re not normally allowed in.”

Merlin looks between them. “So you just... stand outside?”

Lance and Elyan silently confer with each other before nodding. “Pretty much yeah.”

“Well...” Merlin leans on the door so it opens wider. “Does arthur have Netflix?”

Another silent conference. “Probably.”

Merlin grins, motioning with an arm for the body guards to come in. “Sounds like we’re having a movie day then.”

•

When Arthur comes home he’s greeted with the last thing he’d ever imagined he’d see. Lance, his guard, is asleep on the sofa with merlin practically draped over him, also asleep. Just then, the microwave beeps and he looks over to the kitchen to find Elyan pouring popcorn into a bowl. His incredulity shocks him still and it’s only when the man turns around that he jumps and spills popcorn all over himself that he is noticed.

“Um, Sir!” Elyan has the nerve to look bashful.

Arthur manages to keep his shock in check so that he can force just an ounce of nonchalance into his reply. “Yes?”

“We—we weren’t expecting you back so soon!”

Obviously not. Never in his entire career has he had his subordinates–his *friends*–disobey such an easy command (stand outside the door) to such an extent as hanging out with a person in their custody.

“It’s six o’clock.” Arthur replies, clipped tone. “I get home this time every day.”

“Ah.” Elyan says eloquently. His eyes dart back to the sofa, clearly worried for the pair’s repercussions.

Arthur himself glances back to the sofa. Merlin, in his slumber, sticks an arm out that narrowly misses Lance’s face. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

“Movie day.” Elyan gestures with the bowl of popcorn like that explains everything. “Merlin’s suggestion.”

“So you just do whatever the captive wants, now?” The words taste bitter in his mouth but he remains steadfast.

Elyan makes a pained face. “It’s Merlin.”

And Arthur gets it. He does. Merlin has made such a strong impact on everyone he has come into contact with. But he thought that Elyan, of all people, could stand up to it. Arthur gets it… as well as a huge surge of some emotion akin to jealousy.

•

It’s only when they’re alone and thigh to thigh on the sofa and Elyan has dragged an apologetic, blushing Lance away that Arthur smells it.

“Is that Lynx Africa?”

Merlin keeps his eyes glued to the screen, Arthur would have assumed he didn’t hear it if he didn’t reply. “I don’t know, it’s your deodorant.”

His deodorant? Lynx Africa? That’s embarrassing. “Where did you find it?”

“It was in your bathroom.” Merlin shrugs, shoulder rubbing against his own. “I assumed it was okay to use.”

“I mean, yeah sure. I haven’t used that shit since I was fourteen.”

Merlin turns to him then, cheeks flared red in self-consciousness. “I was going to have a shower but I wasn’t sure if that was okay.” He twists his hands in his lap.

Arthur softens his voice, sensing the other’s discomfort. “You’re free to have a shower whenever you want.” Too soft. Too soft. Abort! “You’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Oh.”

Arthur watches Merlin’s body droop as his arms curl around himself before he stands up. “I’m gonna have one now, I think.” He laughs slightly. “It’s been a long day of film watching.”

As he trots to the bathroom Merlin feels heavy. Of course he knew he was trapped here but he was getting by on the promise of the unknown. He didn’t know when he would be able to leave (he had hoped soon) but Arthur’s words hang heavy within him.

You’re going to be here for a while.

On heavy feet he steps into the shower.

•

Stepping out of the shower, he realises there isn’t a towel. Ah, a problem has occurred. Merlin steps back in the cubical; hoping to protect his dignity with the fogged up glass while he assesses his options. He could call for Arthur and ask… but that would involve Arthur coming in and that was not a situation he was ready to put himself in. He could try and find a towel himself, risk going out into the open apartment with a wild Arthur ready to attack while he’s vulnerable. Neither are good options.

He’s about to grab his dirty clothes to put them on and go out when he spots a towel on the radiator. That was not there before he got in the shower. Arthur, that sneaky bastard, has to have seen his arse through the steam. Merlin steps out and grabs it, relishing in the fact that the radiator had been on and it’s warm. Wow, Arthur really knows how to treat his prisoners.

•

“So, what do you want for tea?” Arthur asks, leaning on the back of the sofa so he can talk into merlin’s ear.

The hairs on the back of merlin’s neck stick up after feeling Arthur’s breath on his neck. He shivers, distracted from a re-run of The Vicar of Dibley. Hugo has always been his favourite.

Merlin stays stock still. “I don’t know, is there a menu?”

Arthur chuckles into merlin’s ear, he can practically feel the rumble from his chest. Holy fuck.

“Pick anything you like. It sounds like you’ve had everything you’ve wanted all day so I might as well cap it off with your choice of dinner.”

Merlin swallows. “Anything?”

Arthur leans closer still, and practically growls, “Anything.”

Merlin gasps and closes his eyes tightly. Through the chorus of ’you you you’ he manages to think of something he’d like to eat.

“Spaghetti carbonara?”

Arthur turns his head, lips grazing Merlin’s ear. “My favourite.”

This fucking asshole. The audacity!

Arthur stands and Merlin, bereft of the close contact, turns to look at him while he talks. “I’m afraid I don’t have the ingredients to meet his highness’ expectations but no matter, I shall go to the shops.”

Merlin mock gasps. “So brave. My knight in shining armour.” He lays his hand on his forehead and draws his face forlorn. 

It makes Arthur smirk before his eyes go soft. “Will you be alright here on your own?”

Merlin smiles at him. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

Arthur purses his lips to say something but doesn’t and retreats to the door. Merlin doesn’t need to know that he’s not in the slightest bit worried that Merlin will run away, rather that he actually wonders if the boy really will be alright.

•

Merlin waits for the door to close and then a minute after until he’s confident enough to get up and get the file. He casually stills to the bathroom, just in case Arthur is watching him somehow. 

With the file back in its exact place and the cabinet locked, Merlin can relax. He had been so on edge when Arthur went into his bedroom to put his things away that he had to run to the bathroom as his insides made an appearance. Arthur crashed into the bathroom shortly after and crouched next to him, rubbing his hand over Merlin’s back to comfort him. It was easy enough to blame his nausea on the bromide and managed to assuage Arthur’s worry with a smile. Honestly, the man looked so concerned Merlin felt rotten inside and that he couldn’t blame on the bromide.

Arthur comes back when Merlin is settled on the sofa, laying with a cushion hugged to his chest. The sight makes Arthur’s heart warm. The thought of coming home to this everyday flashes in his mind but he shuts that down quickly and clears his throat. Merlin looks at him sleepily, disregarding the pillow and the tv to follow him into the kitchen.

Sitting at the kitchen island, Merlin asks, “Where did you learn to cook?”

Arthur, who is on the other side of the island unpacking the bags he brought in, smiles. “Growing up, Morgana and I had a nanny. From a young age she insisted we learn how to cook. She would say ‘food is the sustenance of life’.” Arthur put on a voice for the last bit and Merlin had to twist his mouth so as not to laugh.

“You were close then?” Merlin notes. “You and your Nanny?”

Arthur scratches the back of his neck as he puts a pan of water on to boil. “Yeah she… she took care of Morg and I after uh~ after our mother died.”

“Oh fuck!” Merlin exclaims eloquently.

Merlin learned a long time ago that no one likes pity, especially after revelation of the loss of a loved one. It’s much better to give an honest reaction. His honest reaction is genuine sorrow. The death of a parent is not something you get over.

Arthur smiles. That’s a new reaction. It’s his favourite one.

“Yeah but we were lucky, as I said, to have Nanny and our dad still around.”

“True. I mean my dad left shortly after I was born so I feel you… sort of. I know it’s not the same but—“

“It sucks that he would do that. Nothing more disgraceful than leaving a mother on her own by choice.”

A soft smile graces Merlin’s face. “Yeah.”

Arthur meets his gaze and returns the smile. “Yeah.”

•

That evening with merlin safely set up on the sofa, arthur looks through his cabinet and picks out a file. An overpowering smell comes with it: Lynx Africa.