Chapter Text
Merlin sat in a nondescript diner somewhere in America, trying to decide whether the burger placed in front of him was worth the potential food poisoning.
In all the years since Arthur’s death, Merlin had experienced a lot. He’d spent quite a bit of time staring at the lake and being a depressed lump, but somewhere along the line he managed to convince himself that Arthur would be disappointed in him if he found out Merlin had hovered about and didn’t do anything useful or interesting the entire time he was dead. He’d been wandering around, assuming different identities now and then as needed, and helping out when he could. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain somebody had noticed. So here he was, in America, in his old man disguise, awaiting the inevitable.
The inevitable arrived in the form of a man in a suit, carrying a briefcase. He was probably in his late forties judging by the way his blond hair had already begun its slow but inevitable retreat, and he had the air of a man who truly enjoyed his job. He slid into the booth opposite Merlin, depositing the briefcase on the seat next to him, and laced his fingers together, leaning in to rest his elbows on the table.
“Mister Wren,” the man said, using Merlin’s current alias with a small twist at the corners of his mouth like they were sharing some inside joke.
Merlin frowned, feigning confusion. “Yes? Pardon me, my memory isn’t what it used to be, but do we know each other?”
The man shook his head. “Not as such,” he smiled kindly, as younger folk tended to do when faced with those of the elderly who did not appear to be completely ‘with it’. “I’m Agent Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We’re an organization dedicated to ensuring the safety of the world. However, it has recently come to our attention that there might be threats out there we just aren’t equipped to handle.”
Merlin pursed his lips, eyebrows drawing together. He already knew about S.H.I.E.L.D. and its motives, of course, but the agent didn’t need to know that. And Merlin had had a long time to perfect his confused and harmless act.
“What?…” Merlin paused as if getting his thoughts in order. “I’m sorry but I don’t understand. What does all of this have to do with me?”
Agent Coulson pressed his lips together to fend off a giddy smile and he reached over to flick open the briefcase, pulling out a manilla folder full of papers. Merlin found himself leaning in, despite himself. The agent spread the papers out so Merlin could see them easier. They were all pictures of Merlin, of course, looking as old as he did now, to the age he’d been when Arthur died, and every age in-between as he’d lived out different lives, stretching back centuries. He even saw some photo copies of old paintings he had been in.
“We’re looking to create a team, people who will be able to protect the Earth from the bigger threats, mister Wren,” Coulson told him. “My superiors believe you could help a great deal.”
Merlin’s eyes flicked over to the folder, reading the card at the top. “M. E. Bird?” He asked, amused but not letting it show. He couldn’t risk giving too much away, not yet, but the evidence in front of him would be too difficult to explain away.
Coulson finally allowed himself to smile, inclining his head to Merlin. “You’ve had a lot of aliases over the years, mister Wren.” He pulled another paper out of the folder and slid it forward. It was a list of names Merlin had gone by at one time or another. “The only common themes we could figure out were a preference for those initials and bird names. You’ve given our intelligence team quite the run-around.”
Merlin hummed, not denying it. He scanned the list, trying to see how many of his identities S.H.I.E.L.D. had cottoned onto. At the top was his current alias, ‘Elliot M. Wren’, then it went back through eight more names all the way to ‘Martin Emerson’, which he recalled using sometime in the fourteenth century.
Merlin looked across the table at Agent Coulson, tilting his head to the side and asking, “And what makes you think I’d be able to help you, Agent? I may be longer-lived than most, but that is hardly grounds for seeking me out like this.”
Coulson nodded down to the photos spread out between them and said, “I’m afraid I’ve gotta disagree with you there, mister Wren. You obviously have some sort of special ability other than your incredibly long life. After all, this photo-“ the agent tapped a painting print of Merlin when he looked positively ancient. If memory served, that one had been painted back when he was going by Matthew Tern in the sixteenth century. “-is reported to have been painted nearly twenty years before this one-” and the agent tapped another picture of Merlin, fresh-faced and young looking again, having just started his new life as Edgar Millar. “-and most people aren’t able to de-age themselves on a whim.
Merlin laced his fingers together, mirroring agent Coulson’s earlier pose as he studied the man’s face. They didn’t know the full extent of his powers, he’d gotten much subtler with the amount of practice he’d gotten, and the agent would have mentioned something else if they had anything else more concrete. They were probably just shooting in the dark at this point, but he needed to know more.
“And what would you have me do, agent Coulson?” He asked carefully.
“You’d be a hero,” the agent breathed, like the words were sacred.
Merlin couldn’t help but snort at that leaning back and shaking his head. “I’m no hero, Agent. I’m just a tired old man searching for something I lost a long time ago. I doubt I’m the sort of man you’re looking for.”
The agent remained undeterred. “But you could be,” he insisted, leaning in again. “And our organization is large- I’m sure we could help you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
Merlin chuckled bitterly and shook his head again, “It’s not the sort of thing you’d be able to look for, Agent. No, it’ll turn up in its own time, not a moment before. All I can do is wait and hope I’m able to fulfill my role in all this.”
He could see the questions swirling around in Coulson’s head, but the man swallowed those down and insisted, “Just consider it.”
Merlin tilted his head, not quite an agreement, but Coulson nodded back and stood to leave, leaving the papers scattered about the table.
Merlin sighed and looked forlornly down at the now cold burger lying neglected on its plate. There was no way he’d gotten out of that so easily.