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Chapter Text

Gwen and Lance came home with him after the funeral to help him get everything sorted for Mordred.

Arthur wasn't sure which of them he felt worse for, himself or his nephew. Arthur had lost his sister, one of his best friends in the world despite all their arguing, and now he was responsible for this 2-month-old baby he didn't want and had no idea how to care for.

But Mordred was stuck with him.

Yeah, he felt worse for Mordred.

Gwen, still in her black dress and fascinator, paced slowly back and forth with Mordred, murmuring gentle nonsense to help him stay asleep. Lance was in the spare room—Mordred's room now—setting out the last of the things they’d brought from Morgana's house. The house he had to sell now. Full of her belongings he would have to figure out what to do with.

Arthur, in classic fashion, was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling desolate and useless.

"This isn't going to work," he rasped to Gwen. He wished he had a drink, but he couldn't summon the effort it would require to get up and fetch one.

"What isn't?" she asked quietly.

"This. With Mordred. I'm no father, I don't know anything about babies. I'll fuck it up somehow and he'll end up in a foster home or something."

"Arthur, you're not in this alone, you must remember that. Lance and I are here to help, and so are Elyan, and Elena, and Leon and Mithian, and Gwaine and all the rest of us. We'll help as much as you need."

"I know," he said roughly. "I know, and thank you, of course. But you can't be here all the time. I've never even given him a bath before." The more he thought of it, the more fucked he realized he was. What the hell had Morgana been thinking, making Arthur Mordred's godfather! What had Arthur been thinking when he accepted?

He’d been thinking Morgana wasn’t going to die. He’d been thinking they were immune from tragedy. He hadn’t been thinking at all.

"And I'll have to go back to work in a couple weeks, I only had fourteen days of bereavement leave, and then, what, do I send him to a daycare? Is he old enough for that? I don't know! I don't know, Gwen!" Mordred stirred uneasily in her arms as Arthur's volume rose, and he guiltily fell silent til he settled again.

"You can hire someone," Gwen suggested, standing and swaying now in a soothing mum-ish way Arthur knew he would never be able to replicate. "Remember how our daycare shut down so suddenly a few months back, and we had to find somewhere else for Thomas and Rosie?"

Arthur struggled to remember. Everything that had mattered to him before 4 days ago when he got a phone call and heard the words "drunk driver", "sister", and "hospital" had ceased to hold very much meaning. So he just nodded vaguely and gestured for Gwen to continue.

"Lance and I had gotten quite close to one of the teachers there and he's still looking for a new job. He's very good, Arthur, especially with the little ones. Thomas and Rosie both love him."

"He's a man?" Arthur frowned. His main mental image for 'nanny' was Mary Poppins, and honestly he'd never considered the idea that a man might go into childcare as a profession. It seemed… strange. But if Morgana was there she would have harangued him for internalized misogyny or sexism or whatever, and said that he was no better that Uther, who condemned her for having a child when she didn't have a husband. Uther, who hadn’t even been at the funeral. So he let it go.

"Yes, his name's Merlin. The daycare closing was… difficult for him, personally, but it's not my place to say more. He's working through it, and it's nothing that would make him unable to look after Mordred. I can ring him and see if he's interested?"

Arthur was too tired to argue. If Gwen said the guy was good, he'd trust her. "Thanks, yeah. I'd appreciate it."

Chapter Text

Merlin came to meet Mordred and sort out terms with Arthur two days later. Arthur was not in top form: Mordred hadn't slept for more than an hour at a stretch that night, Arthur had spilled formula powder all over the kitchen while trying to fix a bottle, hadn't had breakfast (or, more direly, coffee), and was still in pyjamas when the bell rang at 10 sharp.

Cursing everything that had brought him to this moment in time, Arthur yanked the door open and was arrested by the sight of Merlin Emrys.

He was young. Well, not terribly young, close to Arthur's age probably, but still. And he was bloody thin! All jutting wrists and cheekbones and shoulders poking up under his shirt. A strong wind would carry him off, never mind a magical talking brolly. Would he even be able to lift Mordred? He had cave-like shadows around his eyes and his hair was a bird's nest of messy black curls and cowlicks.

Angry at himself for being so caught off guard, and still in the throes of his pre-caffeine temper, he snapped, "Oh, good. Gwen's sent me a bum to look after my nephew."

"Better to be raised by a bum than a prat. Tell me to leave and I will," Merlin snapped right back, and Arthur blinked, outraged but also impressed. Morgana was the only one who ever had her retorts that sharp and ready.

"Gwen said you needed a job," was the best thing he could come up with.

"She said you needed my help more."

They glared at each other. Merlin's eyes were blue, Arthur noticed unwillingly, a deep oceanic blue and if he didn't look away he was pretty sure he'd drown—

Mordred solved the standoff by starting to scream. Arthur grimaced and ran a hand over his hair. It felt oily and clumpy. "Sorry," he muttered. "I’m… not at my best. Please come in."

Merlin nodded stiffly and followed Arthur over the threshold. "I don't know what Gwen told you, but I've no idea what I'm doing with him," Arthur made himself admit, leading Merlin back towards Mordred's room. "If you take the job, it'll be full time, since I'll have to work. I'd be trusting you with him for the majority of the day, five days a week." He didn't know why he felt the need to impress this on Merlin. If he'd worked at the daycare, he was used to being responsible for other people's kids.

"I understand," was all Merlin said, though there was something quite flat in his tone of voice. Arthur scowled at nothing and led him into Mordred's room.

He was in his crib, still in the onesie Arthur had almost literally wrestled him into the night before, bawling his eyes out.

Something about Merlin changed, between one breath and the next. He crossed quickly to the crib and placed a hand on Mordred's stomach. "When was his last meal? You're bottle feeding? How many milliliters did he take? When did he wake up? Where are clean nappies?" He still looked rather like death rolled over, if death were a fashion model, but all at once he was competent. Assured. Arthur took his first deep breath since Mithian had left the evening before.

"A couple of hours ago, yes, a bottle. He woke up at the bloody crack of dawn, not that he slept anything like a full night anyway. Nappies are, um," he looked around. "Closet."

Merlin lifted Mordred from the crib—that answered that question anyway—and Arthur noticed how long his fingers were, how gentle, how sure. He shook his head sternly. He needed coffee.

In less time than it had ever taken Arthur, Merlin changed Mordred's sopping nappy and got him into a new onesie. He talked all the way through, low murmuring all directed at Mordred so far as Arthur could tell, and by the end of the process, Mordred had miraculously stopped crying.

Merlin stood, cradling the baby with casual confidence. "Bottles?"

Arthur nodded dumbly and felt like he was the one being led even though he walked in front as they went to the kitchen.

With unreasonable dexterity, Merlin mixed a bottle of formula without putting Mordred down or jostling him into another tantrum, and soon had him feeding contentedly. Arthur was absolutely thunderstruck. Gwen and Lance and his other friends who were parents all had skills far outside Arthur's ken, but Merlin was like some sort of wizard.

"Can you start tomorrow?" he blurted.

Merlin smirked and raised an eyebrow. "We still have terms to discuss, I believe."

That they did. But first, Arthur made coffee.

Chapter Text

Arthur would never say so, especially not to the person in question, but Merlin was a godsend.

Mordred took to him at once, as Gwen had basically promised, and he somehow got all the baby stuff around the house organized into less of a catastrophic explosion. He showed Arthur how to change Mordred’s nappies properly, how to burp him, how to bathe him, how to mix more than one bottle of formula at once so that he wouldn't have to scramble for one every time. By the end of his bereavement leave, Arthur felt almost—almost—competent. But he felt very confident in leaving Mordred with Merlin.

Though to his annoyance, Merlin had not gotten less attractive. He was pale, emaciated, looked constantly exhausted, and his occasional bouts of stunningly cutting wit were overshadowed by a dour mood that felt somehow unnatural in its intensity. He remembered Gwen saying the daycare closing had been difficult for him for some reason and didn't pry.

And it wasn't like Arthur didn't have plenty to keep himself busy with. He had to get used to splitting his focus between work and Mordred, and that was no easy transition. And he was still grieving Morgana, a state that got no easier to bear as time went on. So he was glad to have Merlin, irritating and distractingly attractive as he was, and did his best to fit life back together in this new shape.

For the most part, it went… alright. Or he told himself it did. He got better at caring for Mordred as the days went on, at telling when he was hungry or tired or just grumpy. He got used to Merlin getting to the house before he'd had his coffee, and the eyebrows he got raised at him for his temper. He got used to apologizing for it.

Merlin was amazing with Mordred, but he had some odd habits too. For one thing, he talked to him like he was able to understand, explaining things he was doing or holding little one-sided conversations with him. Arthur wanted to be annoyed at it, but instead he found it sort of soothing.

One afternoon as Arthur was getting home, Merlin accidentally dropped a stuffed animal on Mordred's face and startled him into crying. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, love, I'm so sorry," Merlin crooned, picking him up and rocking him. "That was an accident, I'm so sorry, there there..."

It worked after a while, and Mordred subsided enough for them to make the switch off to Arthur without incident. Arthur walked Merlin to the door, and just as he was leaving, asked, "Why did you apologize?"

"To Mordred?" Merlin asked. Arthur nodded. "Because I'd hurt him."

"Yes, but… he doesn't understand. What's the point?"

Merlin hitched his bag further up his shoulder, looking contemplative. "He doesn't now, but he will someday. And by then I'll be in the habit of it. It's good to apologize when you hurt someone, no matter if they're kids, isn't it?"

This idea took Arthur's entire concept of childhood and shook it upside down, but he didn't let it show. He just said, "I suppose so," and wished Merlin a good evening.

But he was preoccupied with it for the rest of the night, trying to remember if his father had ever apologized to him, about anything, ever. He couldn't think of a single time.

And for the first time, that struck him as wrong. He would do better by Mordred, he resolved. For Morgana.

And for himself.

Chapter Text

Nothing much went wrong til he'd been back at work for two weeks. And even then it wasn't that something went wrong exactly. Just sort of… disconcertingly sideways. It was Friday afternoon and some fool tried to microwave something that shouldn't have been microwaved and set the alarm off. By the time everything got sorted out, there was only an hour left in the day, and his boss took pity on them and sent everyone home early.

Arthur considered going out somewhere—a drink, he hadn't had a proper drink in what felt like ages, but honestly the appeal had faded almost entirely since Morgana—and in the end he just picked up a curry for dinner and went home.

He walked in and was confronted by Merlin coming down the hall, shirtless. Well, not shirtless, per se. He had his shirt in his hand. But it wasn't on his body. And that's what Arthur cared about. He was still too skinny, yes. Pale, yes. But his arms, his chest and shoulders, and part way down his ribs was covered, every square centimeter, in tattoos. Plain black ones, colorful ones, intricate ones, simple ones, clumsy ones, beautiful ones, most of them quite small but some as large as Arthur’s palm and he was alarmed at how easily that comparison came to mind. In the split second it took to see all of that, Arthur lost every breath he'd ever taken.

"Shit, Arthur, hi, sorry!" Merlin exclaimed, jumping back a step. "Mordred sicked up all over my shirt, I was just grabbing my spare out of my… Uh, hey? Alright?"

"Uh," Arthur said intelligently. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. I didn't realize you had… all those." He made his hand whisk up and down, indicating Merlin's tattoos.

"Oh, uh, yeah. My boyfriend during uni was an artist. Some of these are his practice, but after a while he got actually good. They're not a problem, right? You're not like, anti-tattoo?"

"No, no, they're fine. It's fine. You’re fine." Where the fuck had his brain gone? He'd seen men with tattoos before! "Boyfriend?"

Merlin's face got a preemptively defensive look. "Yeah." His voice was curt now. "That's okay, right?"

"Yes!" Great, now he was overselling it. "I mean, that's fine too. Of course it is. I'm bi." The words popped out surprisingly easily considering how few people he'd ever told. Morgana, Gwen and Lance, Leon, the three men he’d ever dated. Now Merlin.

"Oh." Merlin's shoulders visibly relaxed. "That's cool. Sorry I uh… sort of snapped at you."

Arthur shook his head. "No, I was the one... You just caught me by surprise with…" Again the whisk-y hand motion towards Merlin and his tattooed chest.

Merlin seemed to realize he still didn't have a shirt on and went pink from his prominent collarbones to his even more prominent ears. "Right, yes, I'll just…" He darted to the closet where he usually left his rucksack and Arthur heard cloth rustling. "Mordred's in the living room!"

Equally eager to end the situation, Arthur hurried there, and found his nephew lying on the playmat, waving his hands in the air. He left his briefcase and the curry by the sofa and went and sat down crosslegged beside him. "I trust you've been behaving yourself today?" Arthur said. He had no idea how to talk to babies, and mimicking Gwen and Merlin's gentle nonsense just made him self-conscious, so he defaulted to a sort of 'concerned teacher' voice. "Not giving Merlin too much trouble?"

"He'd be less trouble if he did my washing for me," Merlin quipped, pulling the replacement shirt down as he came into the room. "Are you back early, by the way, or have I really lost track of time?"

"I'm early," Arthur confirmed, determinedly not thinking of how well the ink had showed up against the paleness of Merlin’s skin. "Short story, but not interesting. How's he been, besides sicking on you?"

"Fine." Merlin rattled off Mordred's day—this many milliliters of formula, that many naps for so and so hours, no tantrums or anything. They'd gone to the park earlier. Arthur did his best to commit these facts to memory, to draw some sort of sense out of them. Did they mean Mordred should eat soon or not? Go to bed earlier or later than normal? There was still so much he didn't know.

"Thanks," he said helplessly when Merlin wound down. "You, um, don't have to stay til the normal time if you don't want, since I'm here. I'll still pay you for it, but it is Friday evening so…"

"Oh, I, um… Thanks, but I don't have, uh, I mean I don't mind staying. That is, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," he replied, more relieved than he would readily admit. It was true that he was glad to have someone to be with Mordred for a bit longer, but he couldn't deny, at least to himself, that he was glad it was specifically Merlin—and all his tattoos—who was staying. "Actually," he went on, confidently, stupidly, "I ordered more curry than I'm going to eat on my own. You could stay and share, if you wanted."

The silence extended until Arthur was prickling with it. Finally, he let himself look over at Merlin.

He was biting the corner of his lip, regarding Arthur with a look between sceptical and nervous. "Really?" he asked.

"Why not?" Arthur said in that same careless way. "I don't really like curry as leftovers."

"Really?" Merlin repeated, this time all scepticism. And yeah, that had been a huge lie. Curry was great as leftovers.

He just shrugged.

"I mean, okay, if you're sure… Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The curry was good, and it was nice to share a meal with another adult instead of just an infant, even if everything they said sort of revolved around the infant. But Merlin found ways to talk to Arthur through Mordred, saying things like, "Mordred, your uncle gave me half a heart attack when he got home today. Would you remind him that texting was invented for just such moments?"

Arthur caught on at once—how many stupid fights had he had in just this format when he was young?—and returned in kind, "Mordred, would you tell your minder that I am allowed to arrive to my own home at any time I please? Furthermore, if he hadn't been swanning about practically nude, there would have been no problem."

"Nude!" Merlin spluttered. "Mordred, your uncle has a bad memory problem, and apparently not a repentant bone in his body. Pray you didn't inherit any of his genes."

"Mordred, inform your minder that half a heart attack is not worth apologizing for. If it had been a whole one, perhaps then."

Merlin snorted and grinned down at his lamb tikka masala. "Prat," he whispered.

It was all so painfully obvious, so stupidly plain, that Arthur couldn't help but smile at his own food and whisper back, "Idiot."

Merlin did the washing up while Arthur fed Mordred (he'd wanted to reverse duties, but Merlin said Arthur needed practice), and then Merlin went home and Arthur did bath time and bed. But somehow it was easier than it ever had been before.

Chapter Text

It was almost too easy to keep coming up with excuses to invite Merlin to stay for dinners, and pretty soon he was eating with them at least twice a week, Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or some combination, and always Friday. Arthur didn't like Friday evening because it was the beginning of the weekend, and during weekends he had less to distract him from Morgana being gone. And it seemed that Merlin doesn't like them either. So by unspoken agreement, Merlin stayed later and later. Often it was with the excuse of a movie or something, but one night about a month after Merlin's first dinner with them, Arthur came out from putting Mordred to bed and found Merlin still scrubbing at the pan Arthur had used to bake the vegetables.

"You can just leave that to soak," he said. "I'll do it tomorrow."

"No you won't," Merlin replied, laughing a little.

Arthur chuckled. "No, probably not. But I think you're making that pan cleaner than it was when I got it. You don't need to do all that."

"I know. But it's… soothing, in a way."

Arthur glanced at Merlin's face and found it less closed off than he was expecting. He’d rolled his sleeves up to the elbows so they wouldn’t get wet and the water made the tattoos seem to shift and shimmer. Arthur decided to ask. "You like to keep busy, don't you?"

Merlin's hand stilled for a moment, then kept going, scrubbing at something invisible at the edge of the pan’s lip. "It keeps me from thinking."

"About the daycare where you worked?"

Merlin's whole body went still this time, and didn't resume. Instead, he spoke. "I didn't just work there." His voice was a rasp. "My… my dad died when I was little, like, really little, I hardly remember him."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, not knowing what to make of the non sequitur, but willing to listen.

Merlin waved a soapy hand. "That part really is fine. But my mum suddenly needed a way to make enough money to take care of me. And I was just old enough for daycare then, so she thought 'two birds with one stone' and opened one herself." Arthur was beginning to see where this was going and felt a hollow dread build under his ribs. "So I was there til I started real school, and when I got home every day I helped out, all the way through secondary. Then at university, I thought I would do premed, only psychology was too cool, and I ended up focusing on child development. And when I graduated it felt natural to go home again, only working for real. And then… eight months ago, she went for a check up because she'd been sort of achy and tired and it was stage four breast cancer and it had metastasized everywhere and she died two months later. And—" His voice wavered dangerously and he paused to breathe for a minute. Arthur could feel his heart throbbing too hard in his chest. "And I had to handle her funeral and shutting the daycare down and selling the house because we hadn’t any other family and when all that was done I just… stopped. It didn’t even really feel like depression, or not how you expect it to feel, even though it definitely was, like, a very serious case of it. It was like I'd stopped existing. My whole life was gone, so it stood to reason that I should be too. Weeks and weeks like that. We were so close, me and my mum. And now I have to say 'were' close and I can't ever go to my house again and—"

Arthur pulled him away from the sink and hugged him. The sob that had so clearly been building in Merlin's throat broke loose and he wept and shook in Arthur's arms.

"God, Merlin, I'm so sorry. Gwen said it was difficult for you, but not why. You've been going through all this and of all rotten luck you ended up working for me…"

"You're not the worst person it could have been," Merlin said thickly.

"I made an unforgivably bad first impression."

Merlin snorted. His cheek was resting on Arthur's shoulder in a way that probably didn't feel good on his neck, and his back was slumped and bowed under Arthur's hands. He could feel the wetness of tears beginning to soak into the shoulder of his shirt. "You did. But Gwen told me about Morgana, and the situation with Mordred. So I knew where it was coming from."

"Right," he said, throat suddenly tight and clogged.

Merlin's arms came up and wrapped around his middle. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I know. I'm sorry."

And somehow that was enough for Arthur to let himself cry too.

He hadn't done much of it, since the phone call, and the funeral. Between settling Morgana's affairs, learning how to take care of Mordred, going back to work, and everything else that went into life, he simply hadn't had time to sit down and let himself feel everything. And honestly, he'd been frightened that if he did, it would all swallow him and he'd never get back out.

But Merlin grounded him enough that he wasn't as afraid. He could begin to figure out how to work through it all. And maybe he could help Merlin some too.

He wasn't sure how long they stood that way, hugging in the kitchen and crying. But he felt better when they finally let each other go and stepped away. Not good yet, nowhere near it, but better.

"I think I ruined your shirt," Merlin said huskily, wiping his eyes. "Sorry. I can get it cleaned, if you want."

"What? No, don't be stupid." His throat was raw and it came out sounding harsher than he'd intended. He coughed, turning away to wipe at his own eyes. "I mean, it's fine. Sorry. I... Being sad is hard for me."

"I don't think it's easy for anyone," Merlin said pointedly.

Arthur turned back around, chagrined. "No, I know, I'm sorry. I mean..." He sighed. "I'm not trying to start round two here or anything, but when my mum died, my dad, he just got angry. Sort of permanently angry. And he got angriest at me when I was upset. Morgana too, but less so, and she was older and always better at standing up to him anyway. So now, I... I don't know how to be sad without being sort of angry too. I know it’s not good, but it’s hard to work on. I'm sorry it comes out at you."

"That was pretty fucked up of your dad, not letting you grieve," Merlin said bluntly. "How old were you?"

"Six, almost seven."

"Jesus, Arthur."

He shrugged, not able to look Merlin in the face for some reason. "He did the best he could."

"It's no one's best to tell a six-year-old not to be sad their mother's died."

Arthur had no idea what to say to that, but he was saved from having to figure it out by Merlin hugging him again. "It's okay to be sad, Arthur," he whispered. "For your mum, and for Morgana, and for Mordred, and for yourself."

Arthur let out a trembling breath and hugged him back. "I'll try my best."

Chapter Text

“Weeaaahhhh!!!”

5:45. Not bad. Yesterday had been 4:30.

Arthur, sleep-clumsy and still half-dreaming, got himself out of bed and stumbled down the hall, following Mordred’s insistent ‘I’m hungry’ wailing. He picked him up from the crib and stumbled his way to the kitchen, joggling Mordred as Merlin had shown him to try and calm him down while he stuck a bottle in the warmer. He was not successful in the ‘calming’ endeavor, and waited with growing desperation for the warmer to ding that the bottle was up to temp.

He plugged Mordred’s wide-open mouth with it when it was, and blessed silence descended. God, there really was no better feeling than when a baby stopped bloody screaming. If he could bottle it, he would make millions.

He released a breath and leaned on the countertop, letting his head thud back against a cabinet. The sun still wasn’t up, Merlin wasn’t going to be there for hours yet, and Arthur was exhausted. The damage Mordred was doing to his sleep schedule was exactly as bad as all his parent friends always complained. Did people seriously do this to themselves voluntarily?

…Morgana had.

Morgana had wanted a baby so badly, and then she only got to be with him for two months.

Tears rose and choked his breath, and he clung to Merlin’s assurance that it was okay to be simply sad. Morgana had wanted Mordred so much that she had looked Uther in the eye during the last of their ferocious arguments during her pregnancy and said, “If my having a child outside of wedlock is all it takes to make you withdraw your love, then I don’t want you in my son’s life,” and never spoke to him again. And then a drunk driver hit and killed her, and Arthur and Mordred were left with holes in their lives that would never ever be filled, no matter how well Arthur learned to take care of him.

He fought the instinct that wanted to stifle the weeping, letting the tears slide down his cheeks, down his neck, and soak the collar of his t-shirt. It hurt, beyond the primary pain of the loss, to just stand and let it happen. He had a deep need to resist this, to be strong, to be a man about it. But he knew those were ideas his father had planted so long ago that Arthur had learned them as axioms rather than options, and bad ones at that. Morgana had rejected their father because his sexist ideals wouldn’t let him accept her and Mordred, but she’d trusted Arthur to be Mordred’s godfather. So he had to outgrow all his father’s nonsense before he accidentally passed it down to his nephew, before it became a generational whatchamacallit.

Tears still running down his face, he peered down at Mordred, still cradled in his arm, and found that he’d finished the bottle and was staring at Arthur piercingly. The nipple part of the empty bottle was still uselessly stuck in his mouth.

“Oh, sorry mate,” he muttered, removing it and mentally flying two fingers at the part of his mind that had enough distance from the situation to mock him for calling his infant nephew ‘mate’. He dabbed around Mordred’s mouth with a cloth, then put it over his shoulder and burped him. It still felt like all this was pretend, but until someone sane came along and saw that Arthur plus a baby was a certifiably awful idea, he’d just have to do his best.

Burp accomplished (God, what was his life?), he held Mordred out so he could look at him face-to-face, being extra careful to support his head. “Well then. I don’t suppose I could convince you to go back to bed for about three hours?”

Mordred smiled at him.

It wasn’t just a random pull of muscles, it was a full beaming on-purpose smile. His first one ever.

And it was at Arthur.

He was in danger of serious dehydration, but he didn’t try to make himself stop crying this time either.

Chapter Text

The following week, Arthur called Merlin on Sunday a bit before lunch time. Merlin sounded confused when he picked up on the third ring and said, "Arthur?"

"You may not want to come tomorrow," Arthur croaked. "We've both got colds."

To his irritation but not surprise, Merlin burst out laughing. "Oh no," he said, and Arthur could hear his grin. He blew his nose directly next to the phone's speaker as punishment. But it made his head throb so it was not as satisfying as it should have been. "Where'd you get it?"

"Work, probably. I heard a few people were out, but no one was this sick at the office. I'm not going in tomorrow."

"And you're going to look after Mordred? All on you own? Feeling like that?"

Arthur didn't answer. Because yes, that was what he was saying. But hearing it so plainly like that made him realize just how very badly he didn't want to.

"I'll be there in an hour. Do you have soup or should I bring some?"

"You don't have to come today," Arthur protested, against every instinct in him that were all screaming in gratitude.

"Well, I am, so there.” And he hung up.

Merlin arrived an hour later and had another laughing fit to see Arthur and Mordred both still in pyjamas, Arthur wrapped in a blanket where he sat on the living room floor with Mordred in his lap, giving him a bottle. Crumpled tissues and half empty cups of tea were scattered over the floor. He only stopped laughing when Arthur sneezed and jostled Mordred, who started screaming, at which point he came over and took him from Arthur.

"You haven't got fevers, have you?" he asked, pressing a casual hand to Arthur's forehead.

"Taking stock of what you're in for?" Arthur rasped, definitely not having to catch himself from leaning into Merlin’s hand.

"Yep. Definitely not concerned for your and Mordred's wellbeing. All about me, all the time. You don't feel too warm though, so that's good."

Merlin had brought wonton soup, still hot from the restaurant, and cans of chicken noodle for later. He made Arthur eat at the table, but let him keep his blanket cape. (At one point it occurred to Arthur to wonder who was the boss of whom, but he was just too ill and miserable to make a fuss.) Then he made Arthur tea and sent him to lie down on the sofa. He was asleep within ten seconds of his head touching the cushion.

He woke up much later. The sun was coming through the windows at a different angle and he felt better rested than before, but all the snot had drained to one side of his head. He decided not to move.

Merlin and Mordred were not in evidence, but he was sure they were fine. He trusted Merlin. He trusted Merlin more than practically anyone else in his life, and what a damned strange thing to realize all of a sudden. But it seemed his mental inhibitions had left to support his flagging immune system, and the thoughts just kept pouring in.

He really liked Merlin. Not just because he was hot and made his life a million times easier by taking such good care of Mordred, although those were definitely factors, but because he was funny and strong and kind and not afraid to return Arthur's temper back at him when he deserved it.

And he'd come over on a weekend to look after them both. And his laughter sounded like dancing. And his eyes were still like drowning sometimes, though Arthur knew he never meant to let him see him like that because it meant he was thinking of his mum. And his tattoos were fucking sexy.

He'd like it if Merlin thought he was sexy too. Maybe he had to get some tattoos. Did he have to get a boyfriend to give them to him like Merlin had? He'd do it. For Merlin, he'd do it.

Before he could get any further down that trail of thought, the only thing that could have distracted him happened: Merlin walked in. He came over when he saw Arthur was awake. "I've just put Mordred down for nap. How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm dying."

Merlin snickered unsympathetically and plopped down on the floor beside the sofa so that he and Arthur were more or less eye to eye. "You've got a proper man-cold, haven't you?"

"That's sexist and, and presumptuous, and probably something else I can't think of," Arthur said, his snot-filled sinuses preventing the haughtiness he was going for. That and the fact that he was sprawled over the sofa in a manner so undignified he couldn't have done worse on purpose.

"Big words from such a sickly brain," Merlin teased, and Arthur was all ready to retort until Merlin reached over, apparently to touch his forehead. He tracked the motion with his eyes, expecting him to just be checking his temperature again, but no, Merlin carded his fingers back through Arthur's sweat-damp hair. How could such a simple thing feel so amazing? Arthur sighed—a mortifyingly tender sound—and let his eyes slide shut.

"What do you say to some more soup and a shower?"

"Soup, yes. Not moving for shower."

"You smell crusty and look worse."

"Not my problem."

"I think you're a worse patient than Mordred," Merlin laughed.

"Shut up, you like me as much as I like you."

There was a small pause during which Arthur was glad to have his eyes shut, but then Merlin chuckled. "If that's true, you'll want to save my poor nose. Come on, up."

Merlin got him to the kitchen table, plied him with tea and chicken noodle soup, and sent him off to shower. Arthur spent the whole time sluggishly thinking about whether what he'd said counted as a confession or not. On its face, it didn't mean much of anything: they might not have made a point of acknowledging it aloud, but he felt confident that they both knew they were friends at this point, as well as Merlin being Mordred's carer. And friends liked each other. So from one way of looking at it, that was all he had said. They were friends. End of story. There was nothing in what he'd said of Merlin's laughter being like dancing or his tattoos being sexy or Arthur wanting him to think he was sexy too. None of that. So he was fine. Right?

He'd forgotten to bring clean clothes with him to the shower, so he muddled back to his room in a towel. But once he was there the bed looked so comfortable that he just had to sit down for a moment and before he knew what had happened he was waking up.

He'd somehow gotten more than halfway onto the bed, and under a blanket, and the conclusion that it was Merlin—Merlin had been in his bedroom, Merlin had seen him in a towel, Merlin had tucked him into bed—was unavoidable. Arthur dressed quickly in joggers and an old hoodie from uni and went out to the living room.

Merlin's voice drifted to him before he got there, and he stopped in the doorway when he saw Merlin and Mordred lying side by side on their backs on the floor, looking at an alphabet book together. Merlin held it in such a way that it would block his view of the door, so Arthur didn't say anything to interrupt the moment.

"....L is for Lion. The lion says roar." Arthur grinned helplessly at Merlin's gravelly, 'scary' roar. He wasn't usually around much to see how Merlin interacted with Mordred, but if this was indicative, he would have to take sick more often. "M is for… oh." A little silence. "You know, Mordred, it's awfully presumptuous of this book to say M is for Mummy. Especially since D was for Dog. Doesn’t it know not everyone has a mummy?” Arthur’s heart clenched. “M will be for... well, Mordred, there you go. M is for Mordred. What do we think of that?"

A long string if babbling was Mordred's response.

"Yes, that’s a very good point," Merlin said seriously, as though Mordred had actually said something meaningful. "Where should he go then? A for Arthur or U for Uncle?" Arthur’s heart unclenched and even rose a little.

Mordred babbled some more.

"Right you are," Merlin agreed cheerily. "He gets P for Prat."

"Oi," Arthur said.

Merlin lowered the book to reveal a wide grin. "Why, it’s the Lord High Eavesdropper."

"You knew I was here."

"Hard not to hear you coming, with all the sniffling."

"I'm feeling much better, I'll have you know."

"Oh? Good. You can fix a bottle for him and sort dinner for us then."

Arthur spluttered, but without real heat. It was only fair that he take some responsibility for the household's continued recovery. But as he turned away to head to the kitchen, he noticed Merlin was still looking at him. "What?" he asked, worried he had snot dripping out of a nostril or something equally appealing.

"Nothing," Merlin said with a little shake of the head. He lifted the book back up so Arthur couldn't see his face. "I didn't know you had such casual clothes. They look good."

Arthur looked down at his new favorite garments. Good, eh? But he mustn’t let on that he was pleased. “Well, I can hardly wear office clothes when I'm deathly ill. Or exercising." Why had he mentioned that? It was completely beside the point. Except for the point that he wanted Merlin to think of him as strong and fit, not snot-filled and wheezing.

"Right," came Merlin's vague response. "Now Mordred, N is for Nap, and we know all about those, don't we? Your uncle has taken enough of them today for both of us combined...."

Arthur smiled and went to the kitchen.

Merlin didn't stay the night, as part of Arthur hoped he might, but he came round at the regular time the following morning and spent the day caring for Mordred (and caring for and teasing Arthur by turns). But by the end of the day he'd developed the sore throat that had been Arthur's first symptom too.

"You'll feel rotten tomorrow, if we follow the same schedule," Arthur told him unsympathetically. "You don't have to come in if you don't want. I'm taking another day off work, but I can tell I'm on the far side of it."

Merlin snorted, then winced. Still, he said, "Please, we haven't all got the constitutions of orchids. I'll be fine."

Arthur raised his hands in surrender. "Don't forget I offered."

Merlin was truly a sight when he arrived the following day, and Arthur spent several solid minutes laughing at him before charitably fixing him tea.

"You look like the leaking backside of one of those horrible hairless cats," he told him brightly, adding honey.

"Why do I put up with you?" Merlin rasped. "Good morning, Mordred. How are you this morning?"

"He's fine," Arthur said. "You though—"

"Will be perfectly fine, thank you for your concern." He sneezed violently four times in succession. "Absolutely and perfectly fine. Ow."

Arthur raised his eyebrows articulately. "Honestly, seeing you this way makes me realize how much better you've looked lately."

"No one looks their best with a cold."

"No, I mean before the cold. The first time I saw you, you looked a bit like a corpse that had dug itself up and shambled to my house to look after my nephew."

"Thanks," Merlin said acidly.

“But you’ve looked better lately,” Arthur hurried to say. “That’s all I meant. Less corpse-y.” And then, because that still might almost be a compliment, added, “Still maybe a fake corpse, like for a film.”

"Your uncle has gone back to his usual charming self, I see," Merlin commented to Mordred, taking the tea Arthur handed him without thanks. "I reckon that'll be harder to handle than this cold."

And in fact, to Arthur's endless annoyance, Merlin did handle the cold much better than Arthur had. The only sign that he was suffering was the frequency with which he sneezed and blew his nose.

Except that on Wednesday, when Arthur had gone back to work, he came home at the end of the day and found Merlin asleep on the sitting room floor, Mordred tucked safely in between Merlin's ribs and arm, chewing his own fingers and gurgling. The alphabet book was resting on Merlin's chest. Arthur felt a shockingly strong rush of affection and tenderness, but couldn't tell which of them it was aimed at. He snuck a photo on his phone, then went back to the door and opened and shut it loudly, pretending to get home again. When he got back to the sitting room, Merlin was groggily reading, "...and W is for Walrus. See the big tusks on him, Mordred?" Arthur grinned and didn't comment.

Chapter Text

Following some esoteric schedule that Arthur couldn’t fathom, Mordred grew. Arthur took him to all the appointments he apparently needed with the pediatrician, and was glad that Mordred was hitting all his milestones as expected. He followed Merlin’s advice on when to adjust how many naps he should have per day, when to stop swaddling, when to let him try solid food (well, he let the doctor have a say in that one too), and was affirmed, again and again, that Merlin was the best thing that could have happened to him.

But the shifted nap schedule meant that there were times when Arthur got home and Merlin and Mordred weren’t there. He called Merlin in a panic the first time it happened, thinking Mordred had been grievously injured and rushed to the hospital, but no, they’d only gone out for a walk since the weather was nice. Arthur had sat down after hanging up from that call, shaking with adrenaline and fading fear, and cried for Morgana all over again.

He thought he’d cleaned himself up well enough by the time Merlin and Mordred arrived back, but apparently not, because Merlin started texting when he was taking Mordred out after that conversation.

He received one such message just as he was leaving work one Friday: He’s a grumpus, so going to the park. Hopefully back before u get home

Arthur smiled, and decided to call rather than have a whole conversation via text.

“Hi!” Merlin picked up pretty much at once, with Mordred yelling like the world’s worst backup singer somewhere close by. “What’s up?”

“I was just going to ask for dinner requests. I’m stopping at the shop on the way home.” They had maintained the Friday dinner tradition since The Coldening, as Merlin called it, and dinners on other weeknights had become more frequent too. Arthur had yet to broach the idea of a weekend date—hangout—meal—anything, but thinking about that invariably sent him into a mental tailspin, so he simply didn’t.

“Ooh, anything involving chicken,” Merlin said eagerly. “Maybe not in soup though. Or curry. Or—well, ok, I want chicken-and-other-things, not chicken-in-with-anything-else.”

“One ‘chicken with other things’ for the gentleman,” Arthur teased. “Asparagus, maybe?”

“Sounds good,” Merlin agreed. “Do you remember how old you were when you learned asparagus turns your wee green? I was seven and my friend Will said it meant I was a pod pers—”

“Ooooh, isn’t he just the cutest thing!!” The voice was shrill and piercing even through Arthur’s phone speaker, and he winced to think of the damage to Merlin’s eardrums.

“Oh, er, isn’t he?” Merlin said, presumably to the shrill woman.

“What’s his name?”

Merlin didn’t miss a beat. “Daniel.”

“Daniel,” the woman crooned. “Little Danny. Doesn’t ickle Dan-Dan look just like his daddums?”

Arthur’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

“He takes after his mother quite strongly, actually,” Merlin said, much more pleasantly than Arthur would have managed.

“Don’t be modest,” the woman chastened. “He’s your spitting image!”

“Wow, darling, look! An object lesson!” Merlin said, and his voice had gone hard and cold. (Arthur didn’t shiver to hear Merlin say ‘darling’ directly into his ear. He was talking to Mordred, for one thing. So, no, no shivering. At all.) “This nice lady is giving us an example of what it looks like to make an ass of you and me. What do we say to that, love?”

Mordred, apparently still a ‘grumpus’, took the opportunity to hurl what could really only be baby-talk expletives at great length and volume. Merlin let this continue for a bit before saying, “Very well said, darling.” And then, presumably to the woman, “I’m not his father, I’m his nanny. Have a nice day.”

A few moments of indistinct noise went by before Merlin spoke again. “Sorry about that. You still there?”

“Er. Yes?” Arthur said.

Merlin laughed. “Sound a little less certain, would you?”

“Why did you lie about his name?” The question popped out because Arthur couldn’t think of how to frame any of his other thoughts constructively.

“Hm? Oh, at the daycare, we were never supposed to reveal any information about the kids, but sometimes people got persistent. Daniel is my go-to lie, or Danielle for girls.”

“Oh. That’s clever. Did that sort of thing happen a lot?” He worried, for a moment, whether he should ask about the daycare, intrinsically linked to Merlin’s mother as it was, but his fears evaporated as Merlin laughed again.

“More than you’d think! Have I told you about the time someone tried to kidnap me?”

“What?” Arthur spluttered.

“Yeah! Now, I don’t actually remember this, my mum told me, but apparently when I was about three, this guy came and tried to pull a ‘I’m a family friend, his parents asked me to get him because his mum’s in hospital’ and of course Mum bought that…” He carried on with the story, vivacious and funny and bright in Arthur’s ear, and Arthur just sat and listened, and smiled.

Chapter Text

Every other Sunday, Arthur called his father. It had always been an act of duty rather than true fidelity, but ever since he’d taken Mordred in, it had become a task he dreaded.

“You’re late,” Uther said by way of greeting.

“Mordred had trouble going down for nap,” Arthur said, sinking onto the sofa. He didn’t know what deal Merlin had made with the Devil that he consistently did it so easily, but Arthur wanted the same one.

“Ah,” Uther said. “Of course the misbegot would give you trouble.”

Anger slammed into him stunningly hard. He had always hated how his father judged and rejected Morgana for having Mordred without a husband or even boyfriend, but it had been a resigned, regretful sort of feeling. Uther and Morgana had always butted heads. But all at once, Arthur was done letting his father project that anger onto Mordred.

“Never call him that again,” he said fiercely. “His name is Mordred, and he’s your grandson. And moreover, it’s my responsibility to protect him now, so if you can’t get over this stupid, antiquated notion of legitimacy, I will cut you off to keep him away from you. Forever, if I have to.”

“Arth—”

“No, I mean it. I’ll choose him over you if you make me.” He let that hang in the air. Uther must have been too stunned to speak. Arthur was shocked himself: he’d never stood up to his father so brashly before. He should have done it months ago. Years ago. “He’s five months old and you’ve never even held him,” he said quietly. “Never even seen him in person. Are you really going to let your pointless anger at Morgana lose you the rest of your family?”

“Arthur…”

The rest of the words sort of tumbled out on the coattails of his anger. “And by the way, I’m bisexual, so get used to that. You could end up with the son-in-law you wanted so badly after all.” And he hung up in a sudden fit of panic.

He hadn’t had any definitive plans about coming out to his father, let alone after ranting at him about how badly he was failing as a parent and grandparent. But the words were out now and there was no taking them back.

His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen nervously, but it was only a text from Merlin. He opened it, relieved. Forgot to send this on Friday (was too busy cleaning him up lol). So cute! There was a photo attached of Mordred in his high chair, yoghurt smeared around his mouth like a goatee. He was beaming. Arthur felt his throat catch unexpectedly.

Can I call you? he texted back.

Sure? Merlin replied, and picked up immediately when the call went through. “You alright?”

“I, uh. Told my dad off.”

“Are you okay?” he repeated in a different tone, and Arthur loved him a little for understanding even though he’d never told him much about his present relationship with Uther.

“Yeah, I think so. Can I tell you about it?”

“Of course.”

Arthur related the argument, such as it had been, trying to suppress the anger that still bubbled up when he had to repeat ‘misbegot’. Merlin’s incredulous sputter on the other end of the line was reassuring.

“He doesn’t deserve you or Mordred!” he exclaimed hotly when Arthur was done. “Good for you, telling him so!”

“Thanks,” Arthur said, abashed and not exactly sure that that was what he’d actually done.

“And… for coming out too.” Merlin seemed to falter. “That’s a big deal. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he replied, more sincerely.

Arthur wondered if this was the moment to see what Merlin thought about making weekend plans of some sort, but now that he wasn’t speaking he noticed the ambient sound from Merlin’s end of the call. Conversations, flatware clinking on plates, sounds Arthur had nearly forgotten after so long of not going to restaurants.

“God, are you out somewhere? Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Merlin assured him quickly. “I’m—I’m actually out with some of the other teachers from the daycare. We’re having a kind of a reunion. A kind of a memorial.”

Arthur’s eyes stung. “That’s wonderful,” he managed.

“Yeah, it’s, um. It’s really good.” They shared a breath’s worth of silence. “It’s hard. But it’s good.”

“I’m glad. I’ll let you get back to that. Thank you for talking to me.”

“Of course, I’ll always talk to you.” The silence felt a bit different that time, but Arthur knew it wasn’t the time to ask about weekend plans. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “Bye.”

“Til then.”

Chapter Text

A couple of weeks later, as Arthur was getting ready to go to work, Merlin looked at something on his phone, then up at Arthur and asked, "Are you coming to the park on Saturday?"

Arthur blinked at him. "What's on Saturday? What's at the park? What?"

Merlin laughed. "Gwen wants to know. It's Thomas and Rosie's birthday, they're having a picnic for a party. She sent an email but you never answered."

Arthur cringed guiltily. He'd been very bad about socializing since he took Mordred. It still barely felt like he had a grip on work: friends, as much as he loved them and missed them, still felt too complicated to engage with again. The dinners and movie nights with Merlin were about as much as he could handle. But a picnic birthday party for a pair of four-year-olds for a couple hours on a Saturday couldn't be too draining, right?

"Are you going?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Yeah. I haven't seen the twins in a while, and it'll be good to catch up with Gwen and Lance."

Arthur nodded and caught his lip in his teeth. He wanted to go, but he was still so unconfident when he was alone with Mordred, and leaving the house made it ten times worse. But he felt awkward asking Merlin if he would be his backup if Mordred had a meltdown. He'd started to feel almost too comfortable with Merlin, too… too like a partner rather than an employer. They teased and bantered with each other, and while Arthur was still obviously the legal guardian, Merlin was unquestionably the one leading Mordred's development. They were effectively equals in the household, and that made Arthur uncertain about what it was appropriate to ask for.

"I think Lance will probably want a game of pickup footie with the grown ups," Merlin said mildly. "I don't play, but if you do I'd be happy to watch Mordred."

Arthur's eyes met Merlin's, and found a fond and knowing smile that made his heart clench in something that felt too much like hope, too much like anticipation. "Okay," he said, and his voice sounded strange to his ears. "What time?"

The park wasn't far from Arthur's house, but he packed the pram like he was going cross-country, and bundled Mordred up like it was an Arctic expedition. He still felt stupid pushing the pram, like he was pretending to be something he wasn’t. But he looked around and forced himself to accept the fact that no one was looking at him oddly for it.

Gwen and Lance had set out a large blanket in the middle of the green by some picnic tables, and waved him over cheerfully. Unaccountably nervous, he joined them, greeting the several other adults who had arrived before him and making note of the shrieking mob of kindergartners racing around the edge of the grass, Thomas and Rosie at the head.

"Arthur, we're so happy you could make it," Gwen said, standing to give him a hug. "It's been ages! Look how big Mordred's gotten! Hello, handsome!"

"Time was, women would greet me that way," Arthur grumbled, unclipping Mordred's harness and lifting him out of the pram.

Gwen laughed and swatted his arm. "You're still perfectly handsome, Arthur, goodness. Don't you think, Merlin?"

Arthur twisted his head around hard enough to crack his neck and found Merlin had apparently materialized beside him at some point in the last minute. He glanced at Arthur and grinned cheekily. "I've seen better." He had on a t-shirt, revealing some of the tattoos on his arms, and Arthur had to look away before he was caught staring.

"Oh, Mr Maximum Cheekbones here is the adjudicator on male beauty, is that is?" Arthur said, but had to focus on Mordred because he'd suddenly reached for Merlin and nearly fallen out of Arthur's arms.

Merlin took Mordred seamlessly and said, "Mordred, we have to teach your uncle that if he's trying to tease someone, he should point out their unattractive features, not their best ones. Mr Maximum Ears would have been more appropriate. What do you think?"

Mordred jabbered at length.

Merlin looked at Arthur, everything except his dancing eyes the picture of severity. "He says he's very disappointed in you."

"I'll be sure to mock you properly next time," Arthur said, grinning.

"See that you do."

A small noise made them both turn and look at Gwen. Arthur had actually forgotten about her for a second. She had a hand over her mouth, but her whole expression was unmistakably amused. "Sorry," she giggled. "I just—didn't realize how well you two were getting on."

"Getting on!" Arthur exclaimed, and Merlin laughed, though whether at Arthur's shock or the idea itself, Arthur couldn't tell.

"We only stay together for the baby," Merlin said.

Arthur felt a flush rise up his neck. It landed too close to where his own thoughts had been wandering lately, and for once he couldn't read Merlin's tone.

Gwen was grinning though. "Right, I can tell. Anyway, welcome to the party. We're doing cake in a bit, but there's crisps and veggies, and beer for the big kids until then. Oh, Leon, Mithian, hi!"

Arthur got distracted in greeting all his friends at that point, realizing with a guilty pang how long it had been since he'd seen some of them. Merlin and Mordred went off on their own and he only occasionally caught glimpses of them. Merlin eating carrot sticks and talking to some of Gwen and Lance's parent friends—might Merlin know them from the daycare? Merlin kneeling in front of a gaggle of enraptured children, face and hands animated as he told them some tale. Merlin with a beer, laughing at something Gwaine was saying (Arthur denied the jealous twinge). And always holding Mordred, so carefully, so confidently.

He caught up with him as he seemed to be introducing himself to Elena. "...nanny. The baby's pretty whiny and demanding, but Mordred's a darling."

"Hang on," Arthur exclaimed as Elena cracked up.

Merlin grinned at him, completely unapologetic. "Oh, hello Arthur. Didn't see you there."

"You're a bloody terrible liar. I ought to forbid you from seeing Mordred to save him learning from your bad example."

"Sorry, I'll study up. Mordred should only learn from the best liars."

"Exactly."

They grinned at each other.

The afternoon progressed happily. Thomas and Rosie got their cake and their presents, and then there was a great deal of screaming and sprinting around as the kids burned off the sugar high. Lance got his footie game going, and Arthur played while Merlin chatted with Gwen and the other adults who didn't care for grass stains. Arthur, Lance, Elena and Gwaine wiped the floor with the other team, despite Leon’s best efforts, and Arthur had so much fun that he didn't realize how late it had gotten (and what a strange world, where 6pm was late).

"You're in for a fun evening," Merlin said dryly, joggling a fussy Mordred. "He's heading for a meltdown."

Arthur's heart sank. Mordred was pretty even-tempered for a baby (or so Merlin said) but his tantrums were terrifying. Arthur made imploring eyes at Merlin as he clipped Mordred into the pram, until Merlin laughed and rolled his eyes. "You're lucky you're pretty, Pendragon."

A dozen smart retorts lined up, but Merlin was doing him a serious favor here, so he swallowed them down. "Maybe if we get home fast enough," he said hopefully instead.

They did not get home fast enough.

Mordred was in a full screaming fit when they got him inside and all Arthur and Merlin could do was damage control, trading single words through Mordred's cacophony.

"Bath?"

"No, bottle."

"Got it."

"Pyjamas?"

"Crib."

It was weirdly exciting, working in tandem to overcome the challenge of the baby's unreasoning fury. Merlin did the lion's share, changing his nappy and getting him in pyjamas while Arthur warmed a bottle up, and then feeding him and rocking him. Mordred fell asleep unwillingly, fitfully, and stirred and whimpered a couple times when Merlin, with meticulous care, laid him down in the crib. Arthur watched silently from the doorway, heart in his throat. He knew from experience that if Mordred woke up again, he'd take ages to go back down. Merlin crept across the room to him, grinning and making shushing and shooing motions with his hands, and Arthur couldn't help but return the smile. It was the same sort of excitement that came with games of hide and seek in childhood. Only now they were hiding from Mordred's temper.

Merlin pushed him out by the shoulder, silently pulling the door shut, and they gripped one another's arms as they tiptoed down towards the sitting room, grinning and silently hushing each other.

And it felt perfectly natural then for Arthur to slide his hand down to Merlin's hand and pull him to a stop and kiss his smiling mouth. And the blissful relief that went through him when Merlin wrapped his other arm around Arthur's shoulders and kissed him back was enough to make him walk them backwards towards his bedroom. Articles of clothing dropped in their wake, and in the end the kissing and licking, the pressure, heat, and friction, made him forget that they had to be silent and he cried out "Oh God, Merlin!" as he crashed over the edge.

But Mordred didn't stir, and they soon followed him into sleep, still sweatily tangled together.

Chapter Text

Arthur woke up alone. The glowing red numbers of the digital clock said it was past 10pm, and the flat was silent and still. He ran a hand muzzily over his face and hair, memories of Merlin mixing oddly with his dreams.

Merlin.

Where had he gone? Arthur clambered out of bed, not bothering to dress when his shorts weren't readily apparent, and went out into the corridor.

The light was off in the lavatory, no motion or sound was evident anywhere else, and his heart sank as he understood. Merlin had gone.

He found his phone on the kitchen table, with three texts from Merlin. The first: I'm sorry, that was a mistake. As if that weren't enough of a gut punch, the second read, I'll ask around and give you some numbers of other nannies. And then the third, Sorry again.

Arthur stared, slack-jawed, for a long while before he began furiously typing. But he was so angry and so clumsy from sleep that autocorrect made a wreck of his typos and with a growl he just hit the call icon.

Merlin picked up on the second ring. "Arthur—"

"What do you mean a mistake?" he spat. "What was wrong about that? I thought—No, you definitely kissed me back! Do you not like me? And what's this got to do with other nannies? Are you quitting? What about Mordred? Was it so bad you can't even bear to see me again?"

"Arthur, for God's sake," Merlin exclaimed impatiently. "No, it has nothing to do with it being good or bad or whatever. It has everything to do with me breaking the cardinal rule of childcarers: don't fuck the dad. I know you're not Mordred's father, and that adage usually assumes there's a mother getting homewrecked, so it's not really the same, but the fact stands. And what would we do, hm? Go back to normal and pretend it didn't happen? Or are you going to pay your boyfriend or fuckbuddy or whatever we'd be to look after your nephew?"

Arthur scowled. "We're both adults here Merlin, I think we can manage some level of civility, even if we do have to 'pretend it didn't happen'. But there's no reason for you to quit." There was an edge of desperation to that that he resented, and he collected himself before going on. "Mordred loves you." Yes, it was Mordred who loved him, definitely only Mordred. "And... I couldn't find a new nanny in time for Monday anyway."

There was silence from the other end.

"Please." He let the word hang for a moment. "Come over tomorrow so we can talk about it. Please."

Another lengthy pause. Arthur held his breath. "Okay. How's half nine?"

"Fine, that's fine," Arthur said in a rush of relief.

"Alright. See you then." A breath's worth of a hesitation. "Good night." He hung up before Arthur could reciprocate.

He didn't sleep well, even after showering and stripping the bed, and Mordred's good mood in the morning felt like a personal affront. At least Merlin looked rumpled and tired too when he arrived, though he managed to greet Mordred more cheerfully than Arthur had done.

The usual pleasantries felt like they'd be nothing short of parodic, so Arthur skipped them. "So. Are you still quitting?" He leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee held like a shield against his chest. Merlin sat next to Mordred's chair at the table, avoiding Arthur's eyes.

"I don't know. I don't want to, really. I... might have overreacted last night." A huge knot of worry came undone in Arthur's chest, but he didn't react outwardly. "But I don't think we should have sex again."

Arthur swallowed his disappointment. He wasn't surprised—Merlin was right, it would be surpassingly awkward to pay someone he was in a relationship with to care for Mordred. But last night had been really good, and not just because he'd been on a dry spell since taking Mordred. He wanted to do it again. He covered his disappointment in the only way he knew how: teasing. "For future reference Mordred, if you're ever in a situation like this, he's saying that because he used all his best tricks last night and doesn't want me to find out."

Merlin's face flamed red and his mouth dropped open. "That is not—! Don't bring Mordred into—! You prat, you can't try to get me back into bed by insulting my pride!"

Arthur beamed at his outrage. "But you'll stay?"

Merlin scowled at him. "Yes, though it's entirely for Mordred's sake, and now I'm not going to say the second half of what I was thinking."

Arthur's interest piqued at once. "What?"

"Nope, you're a huge prat and I hate you."

"Merlin! Such language in front of the baby!"

"Sorry, Mordred, I'm not proud of that," he said gravely. Then he turned a look that was part amused, part irritated, and part nervous on Arthur. "As I was going to say, before you questioned my skills in the bedroom, was that I won't be Mordred's nanny forever. I was going to suggest that at that point, we pick up where we left off, if we were still interested, which I am not anymore because you are a prat."

Twin cascades of glee and horror smashed into him. Horror won his vocal cords. "But it's months until he's going to day care!"

Merlin shrugged unconcernedly. Now that he had rattled Arthur, he was all self-possession. "Unless you want to fire me. But like you said, you wouldn't be able to find anyone, so..."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "You know what? I think I hate you too."

"Glad to know it's mutual."

Chapter Text

Despite the significant drawbacks of Merlin's plan—mainly that it meant Arthur had to exercise patience, and he was not a patient man—they decided to go with it. They didn't exactly pretend they hadn't slept together, but they didn't bring it up except as significant silences or raised eyebrows or cleared throats and quickly changed topics.

They texted more, though always about Mordred. Merlin might send a video of Mordred babbling and say "he says to say you're a prat", to which Arthur would reply, I'll thank you not to teach my nephew such foul language, and ps your videography skills leave much to be desired.

But sometimes they'd be sincere, like when Merlin sent a video of Mordred laboriously crawling all the way across the sitting room for the first time, cheering him on in the background, and Arthur's heart swelled in pride and happiness. Later, he sent one of himself trying to teach Mordred to say Merlin's name, eventually getting to "Mooloo" which became Merlin's nickname for several weeks. Merlin retaliated by teaching Mordred "uncle prat" which became "unna fat" in baby talk. He turned the camera back to himself and raised his eyebrows. “From the mouths of babes, Unna Fat.”

Merlin still stayed for dinners and movies pretty frequently, though tragically, they stuck to the Netflix rather than the chill. Occasionally at first, but with growing regularity, they would sit through the credits together, pretending they weren't both dying to ravish each other, the silence between them thick and lively with everything they both knew they were thinking. Eventually Merlin would clap his hands to his knees and stand, saying, "Well, sleep is waiting at home" or some other nonsensical thing, and Arthur would walk him to the door.

And very rarely, at the threshold, one or the other of them would break under the pressure. They weren't quite kisses, these moments of brief contact, just pursed lips brushing pursed lips, but they were enough to drive Arthur wild with want. He'd take a long shower afterwards, with nothing but his imagination for solace.

Chapter Text

It was always hard, in some ways, seeing Mordred go from a cheerful baby into a happy toddler. It made Arthur wish Morgana was there to see it. And a deeper part of him feared that as well as Mordred was doing, as contented as he seemed, he would still be better off if he could have been raised by her. He was getting better at being simply sad, and he didn't let himself spiral into self-doubt or resentment. But they all had bad days.

Arthur’s worst day in a long while started in the morning, when Mordred woke up nearly an hour earlier than usual, screaming bloody murder, and Arthur stubbed his toe so hard on the doorjamb as he hurried to get him that he was sure he was going to lose the nail. Mordred refused to be soothed, not by a fresh nappy or a bottle or a cuddle, and Arthur was exhausted and desperate by the time Merlin arrived. It was scarcely any consolation that Merlin couldn’t soothe Mordred’s temper either, and Arthur went and burned himself making tea and was twenty minutes late to work with his hand all slimy with salve.

Work was abysmal between the quarterly deadline coming up and half the computer systems going down. He missed lunch, got shouted at by his supervisor, and spent the whole drive home imagining himself on some sunny beach where his only responsibility was drinking his weight in mojitos.

That wasn’t exactly what he arrived home to.

He could hear Mordred’s furious shrieking even before he opened the door, and for one reprehensible minute, seriously considered walking away, just for an hour, just so he could collect himself a little, just…

But he couldn’t leave Merlin in there, especially if Mordred had been in such a mood all day.

Steeling himself, he opened the door.

Merlin was in the sitting room, pacing in slow circles and holding Mordred against his shoulder as the baby wailed his little heart out. When Merlin’s revolution brought Arthur into his sightline, he gave a very tired sort of smile-grimace and murmured, “Some days are just a wash, aren’t they?”

Merlin stayed for dinner, such as it was. Mordred threw all his food on the floor and screamed at truly eardrum-shattering decibels. Arthur was sweaty and covered in various bits of food by the time they decided to give up and speed-ran bath and bedtime. Arthur couldn’t remember being more exhausted by the time he slumped to the sofa in the blessedly silent flat, Merlin beside him.

For close to ten minutes, they simply sat and breathed and soaked in the quiet.

“Is it bad that I resent him sometimes?” The question bypassed his usual guards, lowered by fatigue as they were. It felt shameful to even admit it, because Mordred wasn’t responsible for any of it, and yet the throbbing anger that was slowly dissipating from Arthur’s chest had a very clear target.

Merlin took a few more breaths before responding. “I don’t think so. He’s the most visceral possible reminder of everything you’ve lost.” They shared a bit more silence. “You mustn’t ever let him know, of course. That would be wrong.”

“No, never, of course.” Arthur was a lot of things, but he wasn’t as awful as that. Mordred was his responsibility, his duty, but more than that, he was a person Arthur was raising. Arthur and Merlin were raising. Arthur knew firsthand what it did to a person, when a father—or uncle—put the onus of his own feelings on a child. He would never.

But he still felt this way.

“I went to the hospital when he was born, you know? And I very clearly thought to myself ‘thank god that’s not me’. I knew I wasn’t ready. And now I have to do it anyway, and if I fuck up, Merlin…”

“You won’t,” Merlin said softly, firmly, taking Arthur’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together. “You aren’t.” Arthur looked at him and found Merlin looking back, all earnest and tired and lovely. “You’re doing your best, and you love him, and that’s enough. That’s plenty. You’re not failing him, Arthur. And you’re not failing Morgana either.”

More than anything, Arthur wanted to lean over and kiss him. He wanted to kiss him and pull him close and just hold him as tightly as he could, and be held in turn. Instead he said, “I couldn’t do it without you.”

Merlin’s lips tugged up into a little smile, and Arthur saw his gaze dip to his own mouth and knew Merlin’s thoughts were likely very similar to his.

But in the end, all that happened was that Merlin sort of slid closer and leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur tipped his head to rest on Merlin’s, and they accidentally fell asleep and woke up the next morning with horrible cricks in their necks and a very cheerful toddler.

Chapter Text

Arthur hadn’t spoken to his father in the months since the conversation where he told him off, and the concern for Uther that squatted sort of guiltily in his chest had started poking him with questions like ‘how would you find out if he had a heart attack? who would tell you if he died?’. But Arthur stuck to his word: he chose Mordred. Uther could call him up at any time if he so desired. Part of Arthur hoped he would.

But he was still pretty shocked when he actually did.

Arthur had just parked the car as he got home on a Monday, and in the jostle of keys and briefcase and jacket and assorted whatevers, he reflexively accepted the call before he fully registered the name on the screen.

And then, despite his horror, he had no choice but to lift it to his ear and say, “Hello.”

“Arthur.” Uther’s voice was tight and rough. The tightness, as Arthur knew from overhearing his father on tricky business calls as he was growing up, meant he wasn’t certain that he had the deal locked in. But the roughness was something new. “I can imagine you have mixed feelings about speaking to me right now.”

“Somewhat, yes,” Arthur allowed, mentally calculating how much he wanted to go inside and put his things down versus how much he wanted to have this conversation in private. But really… he’d just tell Merlin all about it anyway, and it wasn’t like Mordred would understand. And he really wanted to put his stuff down.

Arthur went for the stairs, vaguely aware that Uther hadn’t responded. Did he expect Arthur to add something, to mitigate what he’d said? He’d be waiting a while, if so.

Eventually, Uther cleared his throat. “I’ve written something. That I would like you to hear. And then, if you decide it would be prudent to cut contact with me… that is your prerogative.”

Arthur stopped climbing the stairs out of pure shock. Uther Pendragon, recognizing another person’s autonomy? Uther Pendragon, not trying to bully and domineer so that things came out his way? Uther Pendragon, being a bloody reasonable human being? Had Hell frozen over?

“Okay,” he said, when he realized that he actually had to fill the silence that time.

There came quite a deal of shuffling around and throat-clearing from the other end of the line, and Arthur used the opportunity to hustle up the last of the stairs and get the door open. Merlin and Mordred were in the sitting room, reading (really just looking at) a picture book about trains, but Mordred clambered to his feet and started wobbling to him, calling, “Unna Ahfa!” and making grabby hands. “Uppy, uppy!”

Merlin smiled but raised his eyebrows when he saw Arthur was on the phone, and when Arthur mouthed “my dad,” his eyes widened and he picked Mordred up, quietly saying, “Mordred darling, Uncle Arthur’s on his mobile, see? He’s talking to someone on his mobile for a little while. He’ll come back out when he’s all done, alright?” He was looking at Arthur as he said that, and Arthur knew he meant it’s okay to come talk afterwards if you need to, and Arthur fell just that bit further in love with him for it.

“Have you just arrived home?” Uther asked, apparently glad for a reason to put this conversation off.

“Yes,” Arthur said as he closed himself in his room and divested himself of briefcase, jacket, and all the various whatevers. With that done, he wandered to stand at the window. He felt nervy and cross, wanting to have this talk, whatever it turned out to be, finished already.

“I had assumed you put, Mordred in a daycare.” The use of Mordred’s name, albeit with the briefest hesitation before it, told Arthur that there was a possibility here, however slim, that the whole thing might not go to pot. Hope fluttered its way into the morass of anxiety and anger.

“No, I hired a nanny. Merlin has been… a lifesaver. He’s amazing.” And that was as much as he was going to say about that.

“A man?” Uther said, with scepticism verging on sharpness.

“Yes,” Arthur retorted. “And I reiterate: amazing. I believe you have a prepared statement to make?”

The shuffling came back for a moment, and Uther cleared his throat. “I have hurt you as a result of my actions,” he said, sounding incredibly uncomfortable. “And I regret and repent that. I understand that some of these things may be past forgiveness. I hope you can find it in yourself to allow me to be a part of your life, and Mordred’s life, from now on, and I swear I shall do my utmost to support you both.”

“Are you in therapy?” Arthur demanded after a very shocked silence.

“I had help writing this,” Uther said stiffly, admitting it, but also not. “But the sentiments are mine, and they are sincere.”

Arthur collapsed into a chair. His head was whirling. This was leagues more than he had ever even imagined hearing from Uther. He was admitting wrongdoing. He was acknowledging his own culpability. But…

“You didn’t even come to her funeral.” His voice was choked and small, and hot tears were suddenly burning their way down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Uther said, and his voice was rough too. “I couldn’t handle—”

“You think I could?” Arthur cried. “You think I could ‘handle’ any of that?”

“After your mother—”

“You need to grieve, Dad,” Arthur interrupted again, distantly shocked that he had gotten away with it twice now. “You need to admit they’re gone and you need to deal with that properly. I can’t forgive you all this, not yet at least. This—I’m not—” He forced a deep breath. “I’m not cutting you off. Okay? But talk about this with your therapist, seriously. Call me again after that.”

And he hung up. He felt limp and weak and hollow. He put his hands over his face and started to cry.

But it was only a couple of minutes before there was a soft knock at the door and Merlin let himself in, Mordred on his hip. “Oh, no, darling,” he murmured, and crossed the room to kneel in front of the chair.

Arthur sat forward and pulled him and Mordred both into a tight hug, burying his face in Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mumbled as Mordred clumsily patted his hair and Merlin rubbed his back soothingly. “I’m okay. I’m sad, but I’m okay.” Merlin’s arm tightened around him.

Chapter Text

Mordred's first birthday was a small affair, with only a few people in attendance, mainly friends of Arthur and Merlin's. Arthur still wasn’t sure enough about Uther to invite him, but they were making slow progress.

They copied Gwen and Lance by having a picnic at the same park, with cupcakes and a veggie platter and beer.

Mordred had gotten the hang of walking properly and had a half dozen words he could say clearly (more, car, no, Melon (Merlin), and Unna Ahfa (Arthur)), and had a fantastic time showing these off to all the new adults he was meeting.

Gwen sidled up to Arthur at one point, making eyebrows at him as she sipped her beer.

"Oh Lord," he groaned. "You've got your 'I'm going to say something like it's not a question when it really is' look."

"I don't do that!" she exclaimed.

"You're doing it now."

She huffed. "All I was going to say, Arthur, is that you look well. You look happy."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Ask the question, Gwen."

She scowled at him. But what he lost in patience he made up in stubbornness, and he won the staring contest. "Rgh!" She edged closer to him and whispered, "Are you and Merlin together? He's being terribly cagey when I ask him."

"Merlin? Keeping his mouth shut? Alert the media."

"And now you're deflecting! What's happening with you two?!"

He broke and grinned. "Alright, alright. We're not together," he said quietly.

Gwen's face fell theatrically.

"But," he went on, "we're planning to be when Mordred starts daycare in autumn."

"Ooooh!" she squealed, almost pouring beer on herself in her excitement.

"I wasn't using that ear anyway," he said dryly, rubbing the offended organ.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm just so glad. That's wonderful. I don't mind telling you, it's been awfully difficult keeping my thoughts to myself these last months. Lance has called me a broken record so often he sounds like a broken record!"

"Well, I appreciate your suffering."

"What is he doing for work in the autumn, do you know?" This was much too causal to be anything but extremely pointed, and Arthur stared at her suspiciously.

"I've no idea, frankly. Why do you ask?"

Gwen glanced down, biting her lip against a smile, then back up at him and put a hand low on her stomach. His brain took an embarrassingly long moment to click into gear, but when it did, he shouted, "Gwen!" and threw his arms around her. Then he thrust her back by the shoulders. "You're risking twins again? And what are you doing with this? Shame on you!" He took the beer out of her hand over her protest.

"A few sips don't hurt," she complained, but didn't try to get the can back from him. "We know it's not twins this time. And we're not due til winter, so if Merlin is even interested in a job it wouldn't be until the new year. Um, but, Arthur, we wanted to ask—and off course you can say no—"

"I can't be a godfather again," he says at once.

"No, nothing like that. Um. It's that... Would you let us name it after Morgana? We'd use Morgan if it's a boy. It's ok if not, of course, there are plenty of other names, but—"

"Oh, Gwen," he managed through a suddenly choked throat. He pulled her into a hug again, realizing as he held her that he was trembling. "That'd be wonderful. Just be prepared if the personality comes attached to the name."

She laughed and thumped him lightly on the back. "Be kind, honestly…"

Even knowing it was okay to be happy and sad at once, it was difficult to hold them both at the same time, and soon he had to let her go and wipe at his eyes.

By then others had become curious about their conversation so the news of Gwen's pregnancy became the main event for a while, and the rest of the party was happy and boisterous. Arthur felt happy and contented by the time they packed up and headed for home. Merlin pushed Mordred's pram while Arthur got stuck with the cooler, but he used the opportunity to mock Merlin's skinniness, so all was right with the world.

Chapter Text

When they got home from the party at the park and had started on dinner, Arthur said, "Gwen made me realize: I don't actually know your plans for next year, since you won't be with Mordred."

"Besides shagging you senseless?" Merlin said lightly.

Arthur had to pause to steady himself against the mental image. "Yes," he said unevenly.

Merlin smirked, but then answered seriously. "I've applied to go back to school."

"But you finished school? Child psychology, wasn't it?"

"Yes, this will be for a doctorate. I want to be a family therapist. Losing my mum, and being with you and Mordred this year... I want to be able to help people more. I'm going to focus on grief counseling."

Arthur stared at him, devastatingly proud and impressed. "You'll be brilliant," he said.

Merlin smiled shyly. "Thanks."

"Where have you applied?" Arthur hoped that his ulterior motives weren't showing.

But he hoped in vain, as Merlin's smile widened knowingly. "Only programs here in the city. Don't worry: no gaps in the shagging schedule."

"You are poisoning Mordred's ears with that sort of talk," Arthur reproved, firmly ignoring the heat filling his stomach. Merlin shrugged unconcernedly. Arthur glared at him and sought for something to one-up him with. "You should move in," he said blithely.

Merlin choked on his pasta. (Mordred thought this was hilarious.) Once his airway was clear, he spluttered, "I should what?"

"Why not?" Arthur returned, as though that had been the question. "You're already here all the time, and we'll be together by then."

"Yeah, but—moving in! That's... a big deal? What if we really annoy each other?" ("Already do that," Arthur said.) "What if we’re used to showering at the same time?" ("Don't see the problem," Arthur said.) "What if one of us snores?"

"Well, I don't snore," he said, because to say otherwise would be to admit there was room for error in his idea, which there was not.

Merlin snorted. "Oh yeah? Who's told you that lately? Mordred?"

"What would prove it? Do we have to record ourselves?"

"That's one idea," Merlin said with a shrug. But despite implying there were better ones, he had none to present, and so that's what they agreed to do. It felt stupid to leave the app running on his phone on the bedside table that night, and he felt terribly self-conscious and took a long while to drift off.

And the following day he had to listen to it himself to make sure he really didn't snore (he didn't, not that badly anyway) before sending it to Merlin. He got a message back saying Merlin's phone died in the night because he forgot to plug it in, but he'd do it again and send it.

Merlin came at the usual time on Monday morning. "I emailed you the file," he said, going to make them both tea, as had become routine. "It's eight hours long, because I go to bed at a reasonable time."

"More like Mordred doesn't wake you up at five fifteen," Arthur grumbled. "I'll listen at work. I don't have any meetings today."

"Okay, that makes sense," Merlin agreed easily. "Good morning, Mordred. How did your first day as a one-year-old go yesterday?"

Arthur got to the office, greeted his coworkers, and settled at his desk. The file was in his email, as Merlin said (titled “Proof That Merlin Doesn’t Snore”, which made Arthur roll his eyes), so he popped in wireless earbuds and started the recording playing on his phone.

He heard mostly rustling for the first few seconds. Then Merlin sighed and said, "Well, this is weird," Arthur grinned. He'd been thinking that exact thing when he did it, but he wasn't the one who compulsively narrated everything that passed through his head.

A few minutes of silent breathing. Arthur sorted through his work emails, deciding what had to be dealt with quickly and what could wait and what could be ignored altogether. Then, "I can't sleep." Arthur grinned again. "Counting things helps, isn't that what they say? Sheep are the classic, or the tiles in the ceiling. But it's dark, and sheep are boring, so... how about the number of days until I can get my mouth all over you again?"

Arthur went stock still. Waves of hot arousal and cold shock chased each other down his body, coruscating over his skin like static.

"Let’s see… five weeks and a weekend, right? That’s nearly forty separate fantasies I have to come up with to keep myself from going insane. Well… I don't know about you," Merlin went on, his voice low and slow and rough, "but I’m going to think about that night... frequently. I’ll think about your mouth, and your hands, and your cock, and everything I want to do next time." Arthur caught his breath. "I think I'll strip you from the bottom up. Shoes and socks, trousers, pants... I might get distracted at that point and leave your shirt, quite honestly." Arthur swallowed a groan, gripping the edge of his desk with a white-knuckled hand. "But even after thinking all that, all the lube in the world can’t make my hand feel as good as your—" All at once, Arthur remembered where he was and what he was supposed to be doing, and stopped the recording hastily.

Once he had command of his mental faculties again—his blood slowly migrating north—a crash of disbelieving outrage hit him. That little sod! He leapt up from his desk and slammed his office door shut, and hit Merlin's speed dial number.

"Arthur? Is everything alright?" he asked much too innocently.

"You rat bastard," Arthur said raggedly. "You let me come to work—you let me listen to that at work—you looked me right in the bloody eye not an hour ago and told me 'Oh yeah that makes sense, go ahead Arthur, no problem'—You... You... Your phone didn't even die the other night, did it! You wanted this to happen! You scheming—!" At this point Merlin was laughing too hard for it to be worth yelling at him anymore. He wouldn't even hear Arthur. But that didn't mean Arthur was going to stop. "You were the one who said we shouldn't until Mordred went to daycare! Unless I fired you, that's what you said! Well, I should! I bloody well should after this! God, do you know what I almost—!" He caught himself short, reminding himself where he was and that the office's walls were definitely not soundproof.

"What did you almost?" Merlin's voice was heavy and close, too close through the earbuds.

"Merlin—" His voice was a strangled rasp.

"I want to know."

"Fucking tease," Arthur choked. Sweat trickled down his spine.

"You've got no idea. We weren't even close to my best tricks that night."

"God," Arthur gasped. He shook his head, retrieving his scattered composure. "Damn it, Merlin, I'm not paying you for phone sex."

He heard a breath just as rough and impatient as his own. "I know. Fuck, I know, we agreed. I know."

"Just five more weeks," Arthur said, and it was the most impossibly long stretch of time he had ever contemplated.

"You should schedule that day off."

"I will," he said, digging his nails into his palms.

A short silence.

"How far did you get?"

"Goodbye, Merlin," Arthur snapped, and hung up.

Arthur got no work done that day, and was a mess of frustrated arousal by the time he got home. Merlin smiled at him pleasantly as Mordred toddled over to Arthur, shouting, "Unna Arfa, Unna Arfa!" Arthur lifted him but looked at Merlin.

"Good day?" he asked brightly.

"Tolerably," Merlin said in similar tones.

Merlin didn't stay for dinner that night, claiming he had course enrollment details to take care of, and Arthur didn't protest. Instead he put Mordred down for early bedtime and went and listened to the rest of Merlin's recording and got very little sleep. But it turned out Merlin didn’t snore too badly either.

Chapter Text

Five weeks had never passed so slowly before in all of recorded history, but they did pass, until Mordred's first day of daycare arrived. Merlin came to the house in the morning and the three of them drove over together. Mordred had added more words to his vocabulary and spent the ride using them on objects he saw out the window. Arthur and Merlin sat up front, smiling and steadily not looking at each other.

They'd brought Mordred to visit the daycare several times before, so dropoff was pretty painless, though Arthur was startled by the feeling of pride and loss that accosted him as Mordred went into the classroom with one of the teachers. When had Mordred gotten so big? Where was the tiny screaming thing Morgana had left him with? Why did he miss it? And why couldn’t she be here to see how much he’d grown?

Merlin seemed to get it even though he hadn't made any sign, and patted his back comfortingly. But once they were back outside, he turned to him with a sly smile. "So," he said. "Am I fired?"

"So fired," Arthur said fervently. "Let's go home."

To their credit, they made it into the house before practically tackling each other. Merlin got to live out his fantasy of stripping Arthur from the ground up—and did indeed get distracted before his shirt—and later on Arthur got to enact his dream of kissing each and every one of Merlin's tattoos. And then more and more and more, as they worked through months of built-up desire.

"Move in with me," Arthur said as they came up for air between rounds three and four.

"Ask me again when you're at least a day out from an orgasm high," Merlin laughed.

"I don't plan to go that long for a while," Arthur said, nuzzling a wobbly sort of line across Merlin's tattooed chest with his nose. Merlin chuckled. "Think about it," Arthur urged. "I'm serious."

Merlin traced his fingers over the muscles of Merlin's back. "I'll think about it."

Arthur planted a kiss in the middle of a triskelion design on Merlin's chest. "Okay." He wasn't patient, but he was stubborn. He knew he would get his way sooner or later. "...Want to try something in the shower?"

Merlin grinned and pulled him up to kiss him soundly. "Lead the way."

Chapter Text

Arthur clapped and cheered so hard that his hands and throat got sore, and Mordred stood on his chair between Arthur and Uther (and Gwen and Lance and little Morgana and Thomas and Rosie on the other side of him) and shouted his head off as Merlin crossed the stage, shook hands with the Dean, and took his diploma with the big silly grin Arthur loved so much. After that was a whole lot of boring nothing since Merlin was so close to the beginning of the alphabet, and Arthur let Mordred watch a movie on the iPad with headphones on until the rest of the graduates finished walking, and then through the interminable speeches. Then they all hustled out to the large white tents set up on the football pitch for the reception.

When they had staked out a spot where they’d be able to see Merlin coming, Arthur squatted in front of Mordred. “You know the plan, right?” Mordred nodded somberly. “Okay. You keep hold of this then. It’s very important, alright?” He passed over the little paper bag with tissue paper puffing out of the top. He’d written Merlin’s name with Love, Arthur, and Mordred had ‘signed’ with a handprint of green paint and a shaky M. He couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about letting Mordred hold the bag, but what was he going to do, eat it? …There went another worry added to the list.

It didn’t take long for the newly minted Doctors to stream out and join their families and friends, and Merlin came over with his advisor, Dr Gaius, in tow. Gwen got her phone out to record the whole thing, and they all cheered and applauded all over again, and Merlin blushed and did a sarcastic little bow.

“Congratulations. You look like a daft wizard in those robes,” Arthur told him after their greeting kiss. Insults were their love language and neither of them would have it any other way.

“Abracadabra,” Merlin laughed.

“It’s Avada Kedavra,” Thomas said earnestly.

Merlin beamed at him. “Of course, how could I have forgotten?”

“And your hat should be pointy,” Rosie pointed out.

“It will be for his next Doctorate,” Dr Gaius said seriously. The group laughed.

“I have your present,” Mordred announced, after a small nudge from Arthur. And thank God he hadn’t eaten it, or any of the other ten thousand things Arthur had worried would happen.

“A present?” Merlin said in sincere delight, and knelt to be at Mordred’s height. Arthur’s stomach filled with angry butterflies.

“Unca Arthur says you hafta say ‘yes’ before you can have it,” Mordred said, right on script. Arthur was going to start giving him an allowance. Right after he got his stomach to stop flopping.

Merlin’s eyebrows went up. “Yes?” he said curiously, and Mordred handed over the bag. Merlin tucked his diploma under his arm and pulled out the tissue paper and reached inside. Arthur saw the exact instant he realized he was touching a ring box: his eyes went huge and his lips pinched in complete shock and he looked up and met Arthur’s eyes. Arthur, devoid of anything coherent to say and fairly sure he’d throw up if he opened his mouth, just raised his eyebrows.

“You—” Merlin said, several octaves higher than usual. “You got me to kneel down? When you’re proposing? Wait, you’re not even the one doing it, Mordred is! You got your four-year-old nephew to do it for you, you great coward! And you made me say ‘yes’ before I even knew!?”

“Sounds to me like we’re getting married,” Arthur said, petrified.

“Of course we’re getting married, you horrible man!” And Merlin surged to his feet—scooping Mordred up with him on the way—and kissed Arthur for all he was worth.