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It’s been three months since she'd become a Kingsman, taking the mantel of Lancelot. Three months since Valentine almost succeeded. Though long days and nights had been expected with the job, the aftermath of V-Day, even with foreign help, left the agency stretched to its limit.
And Merlin shouldered the brunt of it. With no one else more suitable to take the senior position, the technician had to pick up Arthur's workload and continue his own, leaving the Scot with little or no time to sleep. For all the wizardry of his glasses, they could never hide the shadows growing steadily darker under his eyes.
Roxy has lost count the amount of times she's found him kipping at the tailors; his head an impromptu paperweight, snores rustling the unfinished documents on the table. Or in the lab, sprawled very un-Merlin-like in his chair, tea abandoned and cold by the keyboard.
But there's only so much anyone could do to help, already pulling double duties themselves. Other agents had been found compliant to Valentine’s plan – and what was left of their heads severed from their bodies. And Merlin, however stoic and composed, couldn't hide the hurt. The melancholy is fleeting, quickly shut away. But Roxy catches it every time he glances round the table at debriefings, at the empty seats where once-loyal friends used to be.
The only consolation is Harry Hart; the very much living, breathing miracle. He was found unbelievably alive, having spent two months in a coma, in a crowded Kentucky hospital. And he now sits upright in their medical bay. Though he has yet to sit back at the Kingsman table, Harry helps where he can, mainly finding and selecting new recruits using old contacts. His mind is still fractured; the headaches crippling, but slowly, day by day, he improves. Eggsy's doting undoubtedly making a difference.
And this is where they find themselves now, a multitude of candidates ready to take the test to become Kingsman agents. Merlin, despite his ever-growing list of responsibilities, is still taking up the task of training – not willing to forfeit it to anyone else.
But in spite of his dogged composure, he is going to drop if someone doesn't keep a close eye on him. So that's just what Roxy is doing. Has been doing for months.
With Eggsy occupied with Harry’s recovery in every spare second he has, it left Roxy to watch over Merlin. Making sure he ate and drank, even if something little. Whether slipping a plate of sandwiches beside him while he tinkered or fixed a gadget, bread sliced into triangles and crusts cut off. Or, when focused singularly on a mission playing out in front of him, refusing to take the minutest of breaks, she’d top up his tea and add a few shortbreads.
Then there's the paperwork. During his involuntary naps, eyelids unable to stay open any longer, Roxy’d creep in quiet as he taught her, pick up what wasn’t finished and set to work as best she could. But not before finding and placing a blanket over his slumbering form, tucking him in gently.
Merlin’s gadgets are a whole other ball game. She's tech savvy like many her age and then some, but nowhere near his level, so she never touches his experiments or equipment. Nobody does on principle.
But just in case they needed reminding, Eggsy was forced to run twenty laps around the mansion in nothing but a dressing gown, while Merlin used him for target practise. The new miniature drone, loaded with paintballs, keeping pace and never missing. Because as the young agent had been so fascinated by the ‘toy’ that he just couldn’t keep his mitts off it, why not give him firsthand experience?
Needless to say, Harry’s robe is no longer red.
However, what Roxy can do while Merlin snuffles dreamily in the main lab, trying to turn over in his chair and failing miserably, is sift through mission logs to catalogue footage and intel. And if Roxy spends five minutes when she's done watching Merlin sleep, lulled by his soft breathing, who's to know?
Then there are the new trainees. Merlin has more than nine this time around - five more to be precise as there are five positions to fill. Five more than anyone could handle.
“Harry, where did you get this lot?” Eggsy begs that question when he visits the recovering former-Galahad, breakfast tray in hand.
“They're spritely,” comes Harry’s retort, before gazing upon the plate of scrambled eggs, and cup of tea, like a brand new Rainmaker umbrella.
“They're causing mayhem. If Merlin had had hair before he certainly wouldn't now,” Eggsy states, hands on his hips, trying to be stern. But he can’t hold it; a tiny smile breaking the façade, as Harry picks up his fork for the first time with a steady hand since returning. Eggsy sighs though - he still has to make the point. “He's scared to let them have the puppies.”
And there lies a new dilemma. Merlin has already ordered them.
Fourteen puppies all requiring to be taken care of daily. All barking and yapping, excited tails wagging; their bright eyes so happy to see you. Wanting exercise and, of course, needing lots of cuddles. But when you have a migraine and your body aches from not having slept in a bed for four days, anyone would pardon your hesitance to step through the door.
Only, when Merlin gathers the courage to finally walk in, he’s greeted with silence. You can hear a pin drop. All fourteen young pups fast asleep; all watered and fed, having been thoroughly entertained and played with. Merlin's normally God-like presence, squeaky-toy in hand, goes completely unnoticed. Narrowing his eyes then flinching from the effort, he takes off his glasses to pinch his nose.
A Husky puppy yawns quietly to his left and not a second later so does Merlin. With another wide-mouth expression of exhaustion, he turns, legs sluggish, vision blurry, to find the door already wide open. He feels a tender but toned arm slip round his waist, helping him up the stairs and to his quarters. Not once does Merlin have to fumble to open a door or retype the passcode. Nor does he trip up the stairs on his way, like so many nights in the past months. He wakes with his shoes removed, glasses on the bedside table, and his alarm set an hour later than normal.
That still doesn't solve the recruit crisis though - constantly causing havoc and Merlin more headaches. They just don't seem to get how serious this is. Even after the Submerge test - most went for the u-bend, and three had done an Eggsy and punched the glass. It was a comfort that at least they could work as a team when needed. But boys will be boys, so the need to assert dominance is frequent.
Eggsy aided in the hand-to-hand combat training, another form of punishment as JB had chewed the technical wizard’s favourite pen. But when off on an assignment, Roxy steps in.
Like hell she was going to let Merlin exert himself if a fight started. But especially when he hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours; it’s the only time she’s less worried about the older agent and more for the new recruits. With Merlin’s patience threadbare, he’s likely to break up any scuffle by acquainting them to the secret and painful art of clipboard-kung fu. They needed more agents, not patients in the infirmary.
Of course, she didn't just butt in, but slip into the gymnasium just to watch. Then interject when two of the boys' banter escalated into a fist fight, by stating if they were going to tussle to do it properly. “You could've dropped him in two moves if you'd not lowered your guard. And you should never use your head when an elbow will do.” As expected both men puff out their chests and challenge her, to which Roxy smiles sweetly and beckons them both to try.
In her peripheral vision, she sees Merlin go rigid, obviously a little worried. They both stand at over six foot and weigh twice than her, but she grew up with three older brothers and has multiple missions under her belt. But most importantly, Merlin trained her. He must be truly exhausted if he doubted his own abilities.
And she proves it, as she drops the pair in four moves wheezing and whining onto the black mat. The rest of the trainees go from slacked-jawed awe to laughter, then applause. And Roxy’s so busy giving the downed-recruits her best Merlin-esque withering look, she doesn’t see the man himself, with clipboard in hand, smiling with pride behind her.
***
The operation didn't go as smoothly as planned but the target has been silenced, along with all accomplices. It is still a success.
But when Roxy steps through into Merlin's lab, glasses in hand to pass over the footage, he's on his feet and by her side faster than she can process. With a gentle hand, he ushers her on to a spare chair opposite his.
A first aid kit is produced and nimble fingers begin cleaning the deep cut above her right eyebrow. She hadn't noticed, pumped full of adrenaline and mind elsewhere. Whereas now seeing the blood staining the cotton wool and the sting of the disinfectant, Roxy utters a small, “Ow.”
Merlin says nothing, just shakes his head, glasses on the end of his nose as he concentrates applying the butterfly stitches. An affectionate smile works onto his face though as she sighs sleepily, adrenaline wearing off, exhaustion seeping in.
“Don't fall asleep yet, Lancelot.”
“Mmm,” she mumbles, head slumping.
He stiffens. “Roxy?” Worry deepening his Scottish brogue. “Roxy, look at me.” His fingers drift, a palm to cup her pale cheek.
Her eyes open to his green ones; corners creased with concern. “I'm fine, Merlin. Just tired.”
Relief washes over him, shoulders relaxing, before a small grin lifts the corner of his mouth. “I know the feeling.” Then pauses to fix one more stitch. “You've been taking on too much.”
“Not as much as you. How do you manage?” It’s a genuine question. Having helped, she only now realises how much he does. All of his time is concentrated on others and on the agency's well-being.
Merlin is quiet for a moment, a little surprised. Then cradling her face, he blinks just once as he admires the wonderful woman in front of him. Before answering, so softly, “You should know.”
Roxy gives a sleepy smile, framed in his gentle hands. “Well,” giving the tiniest of shrugs, “someone has to look after you.”
“Aye, but…” Merlin hesitates, searching, debating, before he leans in and kisses her forehead. And Roxy can't not bask in the press of lips, exhaling quietly, closing her eyes as a small flame flutters warm in her chest. “Thank you,” he whispers, the words softer still. And she can't fathom how that's possible, how tangible they feel: vulnerable, open...
However, when he pulls away, Roxy’s eyebrows furrow, “Oh Merlin.” His brow creases in confusion at the sudden disapproving tone. But doesn’t protest or move an inch when she leans forward, and removes his glasses. “These are filthy.”
He remains silently stunned until she's using the hem of her pin-stripe shirt to wipe at the lenses. Then he begins to laugh, head bowed, elbows on his knees, shoulders shaking in silent mirth.
“Of all the things I thought I wouldn't have to do,” she tsks, holding up the now cleaner pair of specs, “this was one of them.” She chuckles then and places them back on his nose.
And if Roxy’s fingertips linger just a little behind his ears, it’s to make sure the frames are sat comfortably. And if Merlin’s eyes seem brighter, the shadows now a little lighter, it’s because he can finally see.