Archive of Our Own

When Arthur walks into the kitchen at 5 a.m. Merlin's already there, looking crisp as the early morning’s clear air, his eyes bluer than the sky and bright as the first rays of sun. He’s freshly showered and clean shaven, dressed in one of his impeccably pressed suits. Nothing about him betrays how long he stayed up last night – long enough for it to be ridiculous for him to go back to his own place, so he’d stayed over. 

Currently Merlin's engrossed in his iPhone – the latest model, for sure, even though Arthur’d never be able to tell the difference – but he returns Arthur's "Good morning", briefly lifting his eyes from the screen. 

It looks like he'd just begun getting a cup of coffee, when whatever-it-is on his phone distracted him, so when Arthur opens the fridge he asks if Merlin wants milk.  

Merlin peers back at him. "If there's soy?" 

Of course there is. There's always the special low-sugar-increased-sodium-and-iron soy milk just for him.  

"Thank you." Merlin puts down his phone as he accepts the carton. He pours some in his mug. "You're off to surf?" He asks, as the silence starts to get uncomfortable. 

Somehow Arthur still feels like embracing the interaction, strained and uneasy as it is. "Yeah. You're heading to work?" 

Merlin nods. Obviously. 

“Think you'll come over tonight too?" asks Arthur, for no particular reason. 

Merlin considers it. "No, not tonight." Then he adds, "Probably Thursday though." 

"Right." 

They say nothing else until Merlin bids him goodbye and leaves.  

Just as the door closes behind him, it strikes Arthur how much the entire situation feels like an awkward morning-after scene: the way they were both polite but detached, familiar enough to share the same space but not to touch each other, carefully tip-toeing around what might’ve been intimacy, palpable tension in the air.  

For a second, he wishes the carefully-kept distance between them was indeed a result of a casual hook-up. Wishes it could be that easy. 

It couldn't be further from the truth. 

They met at an exclusive high tech “Impacting and Advertising” conference. Arthur – as Pendragon Processors’ Marketing and Customer Relationship VP – was representing the company. His PA, Morris Shields, was running final checks backstage to make sure everything was working properly, as their presentation was up next. 

Arthur had been standing by his father and Olaf, head of Dream Developers and one of Uther's oldest friends, when he felt a nervous tug on his sleeve. He turned to find Morris, wide-eyed and distressed, on the verge of panic. 

"What is it?" He frowned, impatient. 
 
"The presentation, sir. Something went wrong. It won't load, and it's like the code's broken." 
 
Nearby, Uther's face turned thunderous, then even more so when Olaf chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Try closing and opening it again,'' he quipped before walking away.  
 
Morris seemed to shrink a bit more. "I did. I mean, I tried that. It didn't work."  
 
Arthur resisted the urge to throttle him. They had about ten minutes before they were scheduled to present. "What did you do? Before it happened?" 
 
"I… I clicked something." 
 
"Well, un-click it then!" barked Arthur. He didn't care if he sounded ludicrous. He wanted this fixed, immediately.   

"I tried! I tried to undo it, but it only made it worse, so I thought I'd come to you and maybe you'd…" 

Arthur's degree is in business administration. Obviously he has some knowledge of computer science but it's mostly theoretical, about the basics of programming or the functions of finalised products. He's useless when it comes to troubleshooting. Damn it, his secretary still has to help him handle video meetings.  

At this stage the rage on Uther's face threatened to set the whole place on fire and Arthur fully intended locking Morris inside to burn. Morris was visibly sweating, as if he could already feel the heat of the flames. 
 
"Er, mate?" said a new voice behind them.   

Turning, Arthur nearly breathed fire himself as he saw one of the waiters had approached them. "Who do you think you're calling–"  

"Oh no, sorry, not you." The waiter was a tall, messy-haired bloke, with the bluest eyes Arthur had ever seen, focussed directly on poor Morris. "Hi.” He offered a short, genuine smile, that managed to look friendly and encouraging and exposed mile-deep dimples. Morris stared at him in what seemed to be an instinctive response to the reassuring positivity pouring from this unexpected ally. “I overheard you and I thought I might be able to help, if you’d like me to take a look. I have a BSc in computer science, and I'm pretty good with computers in general." His voice was calm and unpretentious, yet something in the way he spoke – casually but with unmistakable confidence – made Arthur picture Beethoven saying he knew something about music.  

That made Arthur bristle even more, as if the infuriatingly gleaming eyes and dazzling smile – which, on top of everything were not even aimed at him – weren’t enough. "If you think I’d let a stranger, especially someone shabby-looking like yourself, access a computer with highly classified information –" 

"Do it." Uther's voice, dry and authoritative, cut in. "You have two and a half minutes, young man."  

It took less than one. Dimply Deft and Demure gave the screen a quick look and then his fingers – long and slim and surprisingly elegant; Arthur’s mind was drawn to music again – ran over the keyboard as he explained something about a simple restoration of a chunk of a code that had been accidentally deleted.  

Uther’s eyes rested on the waiter as he listened to the explanation, steady and assessing, like his voice when he finally spoke. "What's your name, boy?"  

It was a trivial, basic-courtesy question, yet Arthur turned his head sharply towards Uther. He knew that tone, calculating and contemplative. His father was planning – there’d be consequences; this incident wouldn’t end here. 

"Merlin. Merlin Emrys."  

"Well, Mr. Emrys, I’ll ask you to kindly stay here for the length of the presentation, just to make sure everything remains in order. I'm sure Mr. Shields will be more than capable of fulfilling your duties as a waiter meantime." 

Merlin flushed, his eyes turning apologetically to Morris as if he was embarrassed for him, but Morris all but snatched Merlin’s uniform jacket, looking eager to put as much distance as possible between himself and the computer and two obviously still-irked Pendragons. Arthur followed his retreat with a belligerent glare, as he couldn’t justifiably subject and he had to vent his feelings somehow.  

When the conference ended, successfully enough and luckily with no further disasters, Uther had Merlin tracked down and summoned him.  

"You have my thanks for your assistance, and for preventing a great inconvenience to my company,” Uther had offered his hand for a shake, formal as ever, before continuing. “As Mr. Shields has expressed his preference for a career in hospitality rather than technology, I'm more than happy to offer you his job. I think you'll find it a lot more suited to your abilities." 

Both Merlin and Arthur stared at him. Uther paid them no mind.  

“You could start right away, yes? I’ll have someone contact you later today about the formal details.” Uther peeked at his watch and stood up to leave. “Tomorrow at seven o’clock, then. Come along, Arthur.” 

That was how Arthur arrived at his office the next day to find the brat – now in torn jeans and a faded t-shirt – sitting in his office.  

"What the hell are you wearing?" he demanded. 

"My clothes?" Merlin raised an eyebrow. 
 
"This is a first-class company, there are standards–" 
 
"Will anyone from outside the office ever see me?" Merlin interrupted.   

"Not if I have any say in this–" 

"Then everything's all right, yeah?" Merlin's smile was somehow equally insolent and innocent, leaving Arthur spluttering and unable to mention that his PA's presence was, in fact, required at appointments – to sum up the main points, hand Arthur files, and so on.  

"Ah, Merlin," Uther said, walking into the office. Arthur immediately forgot about the glare he was about to direct at Merlin and instead stared at his father. It was a known fact that the CEO seldom bothered with first names. The company’s employees often used the Name Test as a measure of their seniority and success. First day approach – by first name, no less – was unprecedented. "I see you've settled the dress code issue with Arthur." 

Arthur's stare had turned into a gape as the man who'd forced him to wear dress-shirts to school got a seemingly fond expression on his face when eyeing a guy wearing an outfit that wouldn’t have passed muster for the car washer in the Pendragon household.  

Unfortunately, his father seemed to take his disbelieving silence as consent, and moved on before Arthur could make his righteous protest. "Good day to you then, gentlemen. I believe you two will get along just fine." And with a thin smile, Uther had left.  

They don't get along.  

At all.  

Thing is, they started off on the wrong foot and it went downhill from there. Looking back, Arthur can acknowledge rationally that Merlin’s intelligent and kind-hearted and that he totally saved Arthur’s arse at the presentation. But Arthur was rude to him and now he can't back-pedal without admitting he was wrong, which would take considerable pride-swallowing. 

The problem is that at this point his ego's a pretty major part of his professional persona. Ever since he started working for the firm he’s felt entitled, indeed required, to behave in a demanding, patronising manner. Partly because of the example of Uther Pendragon™, but also because the marketing scene was tough and you had a better shot if you were a heartless son of a bitch, or at least behaved like one.  

Only, in contrast to Morris's passive subservience, something in Merlin's direct, open gaze holds a mirror up to Arthur's face, and he's forced to admit he doesn't like what he sees.  

It annoys Arthur, confuses him, and as a knee-jerk reaction, sets him even harder against Merlin, as if that was going to solve his sudden internal conflict.  

So he bosses Merlin around, overloading him with chores, making sure to express his constant dissatisfaction, and taunting him to no end.  

It leads to countless hassles, because Merlin talks back. It's never straightforward enough to be clear impertinence, especially when Merlin makes a point of ending each sentence with a distinctive "sir", even if he makes it sound like "prat". Mastering the fine art of speaking his mind without getting in trouble, Merlin’s always treading a thin line and avoiding outright disobedience. Even when he does as instructed, Merlin has a subtle audacity, a spark of rebelliousness that drives Arthur mad but simultaneously urges him mentally salute Merlin's courage, self-confidence and sophisticated sense of humour.  
 
In fact, the more Merlin's character manifests, the more it makes Arthur wish he could scratch their past acquaintance and start fresh as friends. Which, in turn, increases the likelihood of Arthur telling Merlin he's completely useless and profoundly annoying, because they cannot be friends and it vexes Arthur so much he's got to let loose on someone. And anyway, it's Merlin's fault from the beginning for being so strangely, stupidly alluring.  

It's an endless loop that has Arthur and Merlin spending most of their shared time bickering, which has Arthur sending Merlin away a lot because he's pissed off, and Merlin using this spare time volunteering in the Software Development department.  

Uther is the one who eventually puts an end to this mess, as he usually does. Only most times it ends up with the junior worker being fired, while this time it’s pretty much the opposite, since Uther transfers Merlin to work directly below him – an outrageous promotion. 
 
At least, that’s what most people would think. Except that considering the rate Uther goes through underlings, Arthur wonders if it’s his idea of punishment. He can’t help feeling some petty vindictiveness. Because even if Arthur was a bit of a prat sometimes, he did turn a blind eye to Merlin’s attitude. More often than not, he got caught up in the mouthy git’s banter – fine, they quarrelled, but like equals – instead of kicking Merlin’s arse out for insubordination.  
 
As Uther’s son, Arthur knows better than anyone else that his father will tolerate none of it.  

However, the thought of Merlin leaving the organization makes him alarmingly uncomfortable. Privately, he decides he’ll convince Uther to transfer Merlin back to Arthur’s department if he decides to fire him.  

Meaning, when he decides to fire him.  

But it never happens.  

Under Uther's patronage, Merlin rises quickly in the corporation. Starting as a minor assistant, he soon has a unique, custom-made position. Essentially, the job combines Head Programmer and Software Developer, which fits Merlin’s talents and creativity, with the equally desired and dreaded – and high turnover – position as Uther’s PA. From what Arthur understands, Merlin coordinates all the relevant information efficiently and together they solve every main problem and closely supervise several major projects.  

Considering there’s usually a team of chief engineers and at least two assistants, Merlin’s level of responsibility reminds Arthur of Sherlock Holmes’ description of Mycroft's “minor position” in the British government. 

The company’s employees get used to the sight of the CEO accompanied by the ratty-clothed boy, of Uther attentively listening to – and sometimes struggling to follow – Merlin’s rapid explanations of his ideas. Merlin seems all at once eager, earnest and enthused, his expression intense in a way Arthur’s never seen on him before.  

In contrast to his sloppy appearance, Merlin clearly has an impressive ability to concentrate, sitting with Uther hour upon hour. Most days Arthur finds it hard to endure even fifteen minutes with his father – assuming he’s even managed to schedule it. The average worker usually leaves the CEO’s office hyperventilating, sweating profusely and on the verge of crying. Yet, Merlin seems immune to Uther’s terrifying manner, and is often seen smiling or laughing, a sight hasn’t been seen ever since Chaotic Cara was leaving the room on a hysterical fit, cracked under pressure.  

It doesn’t take long before the t-shirt and jeans look is no more. Merlin’s wardrobe – undoubtedly under Uther’s supervision – has changed into well-cut suits, silk ties and smart shoes. His ruffled coiffure is gone in favour of a neat, cropped haircut, which brings out his angular cheekbones even more. Combined with his narrow frame and height (a very-much-grudged inch on Arthur), he looks like a model in an advert – for razors, for fancy cologne – whatever it is, Arthur would buy in a heartbeat.  

It’s like the gangly village boy’s emerged from his chrysalis into a final shape, something elegant and sharp-edged. And despite Arthur’s personal aversion to ostentatious styling standards, he can’t help but appreciate how much it suits Merlin, with his piercing blue eyes scanning several computer screens simultaneously, his fingers whisking over the keyboard like a concert pianist's, and even his quiet, pleasant voice as he talks on the phone, giving instructions or finding solutions, calm and in control.  

It's not even that Merlin’s really changed, as if his psyche – lit up, easy and kind – and his undoubted skills have found a better, clearer way to shine through his outer shell.  

After his sister’s death a few years back, Arthur returned to live with Uther in his childhood home, knowing his father wouldn’t be able to cope with the empty house. It means he’s well aware of Merlin coming to see Uther after-hours about pressing issues, of Merlin delivering finished materials, or joining business dinners.  

More often than not, Uther has Merlin over regardless of work, especially at the weekends. He said once it was simply human since Merlin's only family was his mother who lived in a small village in the middle of nowhere, but that doesn't fool Arthur. There’s a reason the front of their midtown skyscraper doesn't say “Pendragon Charity” in ten foot neon. If Uther invites Merlin it's because he enjoys his company, plain and simple. He sure as hell looks like he does, especially when they sit on the balcony after a meal, Uther smoking, Merlin not, just talking, companionable and relaxed.  

Arthur can't remember the last time he sat like that with his father, chilling out. He also can't help the burn of jealousy and bitterness over the sight of someone taking his rightful place, both in the corporation and at home. 

Even Uther's spoiled cat, Lady Catrina, shamelessly grovels for Merlin, while she still barely acknowledges Arthur’s existence (giant, grey stinking troll that she is). Morgana's cat, Mordred (aka Moody Mug) follows Merlin around like a love-struck puppy, begging for attention.  

Arthur likes dogs.  

He and Merlin barely interact at all nowadays. Their equal status in the company eased a lot of the strain in the relationship, with Arthur not having to constantly push Merlin back into place, but simultaneously it ended what was nearly a friendship, in the way Merlin sassed Arthur and Arthur threatened Merlin with sacking on a daily basis but indulged him all the same.    

It’s also not that Merlin’s gloating or anything, but the maddening, exciting, burning space between them ebbs back into a bland, practiced professionalism that Arthur struggles to process. He grows aloof and disconnected, which he can’t help although he knows it makes him come across as petty and envious. Which he still is, among the rest of his haywire feelings, so he supposes that’s fair. 

A couple of months later he and Merlin attend a business meeting, Merlin representing Uther – and since when the hell had Uther let that happen, legendary control-freak that he is. They’re just leaving, having spent the last few minutes hand-shaking and smiling after over an hour in an overpriced restaurant, maintaining polite, superficial conversation that has very little to do with actual business, but punctiliously following the complex social codes of their world.  

These outings always tend to leave Arthur irate and exhausted, and it’s somehow worse at the sight of Merlin easily blending in and making everyone at the table like him at first sight. 

It’s not that Arthur’s unfamiliar with this sort of scenes; he’s a natural leader and excels at combining authority with amiability, but despite his ability to play the role flawlessly, the truth is he’s so fucking tired of this world and its façades. 

What truly gets under his skin is the way Merlin doesn't seem to be pretending. Arthur’s familiar enough with Merlin's body language and facial expressions to know when he’s genuinely exhilarated or comfortable. It needles Arthur to see Merlin looking the same at a fancy brunch as he does sitting relaxed on the carpet in front of Uther’s couch, petting one cat sleeping in his lap and playing with the other. 

Somehow, it’s disturbingly unsettling to see how this whole stereotypical businessman image fits Merlin, aesthetically and mentally. He looks like he belongs in these prestigious settings, despite his origins being as far as possible from this world. 

And above all, Arthur's peeved by the way Merlin’s somehow managed to maintain the dashing, devastating, cheeky glint from his torn-jeans-boy days, even in his current suave, James-Bond-incarnation.  

Arthur’s seen plenty of people adopt a high-class lifestyle and shrug off their old selves, dropping previous fashion habits along with their former friends and family. He’s well acquainted with fake toothpaste-ad smiles covering intense narcissism, blind greed, complete lack of empathy, or some combination of those. 

Yet he knows for a fact that Merlin’s still best friends with his childhood neighbour Will, that he talks freely about his working-class origins, that his smiles, goddamn it, are the same as they always were: open and sincere, face-splitting and eye-sparkling, causing Arthur’s brain to short-circuit and making him want to stare and do whatever he can to provoke this smile over and over, until the end of time. 

It was as if their initial acquittance was the friction that now had them locked together, like two pieces of molten steel. So even as they were driving each other nuts, Arthur couldn’t help but feeling a shockingly permanent bond between Merlin and himself. And somewhere along the road it’s developed into a straight-out turn-on, which does nothing to help Arthur’s level of frustration.  
 
Gradually, he realises that in any other situation he'd ask this impossible berk out on a date. If only Arthur had pulled his head out of his arse and hadn’t been a complete jerk. If only Sloppy Merlin hadn’t been his subordinate. If only the current Stunning Merlin wasn't treating him with dismissive amicability. Plus, Merlin’s still his co-worker and, specifically, his father's protégé. Fuck.  

This inner whirlwind of resentment-bewilderment-attraction comes to a head as Merlin gets into their limo in one fluid, effortless motion, perfectly matching the sleek Ray Bans he wears, and Arthur just… cracks. 

"Don’t you feel like a fucking hypocrite?”  

Okay, he didn’t quite mean to snap at Merlin like that. 

“Excuse me?” Merlin raises his eyebrows, surprised. 

This seamless civilized response from the bloke who’d previously have snarked back with “don’t you feel like a giant pompous arse?” brings all Arthur’s snappish instincts back, full power.  

"You just told Annis you remember washing her Porsche when you were a student, over a meal that would have been your approximate day's salary back then. Doesn’t the contrast grate just a bit?" 

Something in Merlin's expression hardens, and there's coldness in his voice when he answers. "You paid the same amount. So it's just hypocritical for me to do it because I haven’t been doing it since birth?" 

No – no! That's not what Arthur intended. The sharp edge in Merlin’s voice catches him off guard; Merlin has never sounded so antagonised before, and they’ve spent months brawling. It has a face-slapping sobering effect, but at the same time causes a spike of alarm, increasing his inner turmoil and making him more likely to react badly. 

He knows he’s actually angry with himself for being caught in a world he despises, with grinding, never-ending, demanding responsibilities. He knows he’s unjustly projecting this aggravation on Merlin and that he’d be better off shutting up. But he can’t restrain himself.   

"You said you grew up on a godforsaken farm in a village that didn't even have internet, and that you had the happiest childhood ever, surrounded by animals and nature. Now here you are, living the exact opposite lifestyle – in the city, in the core of the capitalist industrial complex, and the closest thing you have to nature is the potted plant on your desk. You said your childhood gave you a grasp of what it's like to experience life as simply living, and loving it, but you've traded that away for the most alienated lifestyle possible." 

It’s only when he sees the hot flush on Merlin's face that Arthur fully grasps how even-tempered Merlin is all the time. He’s definitely never seen him so furious before, and it makes him swallow and instinctively lower his head in defense.  

"Well, news flash for you,” Merlin says tightly. “I don't think that in order to feel alive and happy one should be squelching in the mud or feeding pigs on a daily basis. I messed around with broken tech ever since I was a kid. I love technology, and I think it's one of the best things human society has created. It gives people options. Whether it isolates us or not is our own choice, not a default.” He draws breath, but it doesn’t reduce the anger in his voice as he continues. “I'm not blind to social inequalities and I'm not isolated in an ivory tower. I’m paying off my mother's debts because she raised me as a single parent and took out a second mortgage to send me to uni. I know that I’m privileged but I won't apologise for aspiring – through a hell of a lot of effort in my studies and my work – to a higher social position.” The words “silver spoon” are written on Merlin’s face as he glares at Arthur. “I get a salary higher by far than most people but I don't cheat anyone for it, nor steal it. I earn it fair and square in a workday of 14 hours on average. I'm happy with my life, I enjoy my work, and I do it well without hurting anyone in the process – all of which is probably more than you can say for yourself. So don't lecture me about honesty, Mr Entitled.”  

He turns his head to the driver. “Tristan, could you pull over, please?" And with that, Merlin climbs out and slams the car door behind him.  

Arthur flinches. 

After a few more minutes of silence, he asks Tristan to drive to his apartment and calls his secretary to say he’s taking the rest of the day off. He doesn't think he could bear to go back to the office right now. Along with smashingly fucking up on the Merlin front and being unable to face him, he has some thinking to do. 
 
As soon as he gets home he changes into his trainers and goes for a jog. He hasn't done that for a while, being too stressed at work, and he’d forgotten how much it helps clear his head and boost his energy.  

Somehow, concentrating on his breathing and the momentum of his legs allows him to process the incident with Merlin, and frankly the last few months since The Merlin Incident at that conference, with the sharpest thinking he's experienced for a while. As the miles pound by, he's able look further back – to when he started working for his father, his time at uni, high school years, even his childhood. When his major struggle is the burning muscles it’s easier to acknowledge his hard feeling for his life choices, and to acknowledge how badly he's treated Merlin – among others – today and every day since they met.  

Coming to a halt after a final sprint, filling his lungs with fresh air and feeling his muscles ache with sweet, relieved exhaustion, the line between what he wants and doesn't want in his life had never seemed more obvious. 

He sends Uther his resignation letter that evening. He's certain his father's still in the office, so for a while he paces around, waiting for the inevitable phone call with his father's apoplectic outburst. His shoulders tense up in anticipation, ready for the coming fight. 

Except no phone call comes, nor any reprimanding email or even a text with a photo of his letter printed out and torn into pieces. It almost worries him, so just past 11 p.m. he contacts their security chief, who confirms that Mr Pendragon left the building over an hour ago, looking his usual self.  
 
Arthur goes to bed not knowing what to think.  

The next morning he gets a call from his father's secretary, asking him to come to the CEO's office. On an impulse, Arthur keeps on the worn jeans and comfy hoodie he wears at home. It has a strangely grounding effect on him, plus he assumes it’ll help to reinforce his stance on the matter.  

He can feel eyes staring at his back as he makes his way through the corridors, and already foresees the gossip.  

Uther doesn't bat an eyelid when Arthur comes in dressed in a way that got him grounded for a week when he was sixteen. His face also doesn't seem red from contained fury, or masked by the frozen relaxation that indicates he’s controlling himself because he’s about to take draconian measures to make sure things go the way he wants.  

Instead, he’s wearing his calculating, thoughtful expression, which throws Arthur back for a heartbeat to that moment when Uther decided to hire Merlin.  

Arthur takes a seat and accepts a cup of coffee from Helen. Once again he notices – and it never stops astonishing him – that his father’s switched to soy milk. ("It's better for my heart," he'd explained off-handedly when Arthur first enquired. "Less fat than the regular.” Unrelated, of course, to Merlin’s quiet mention the other night that “the milk industry is no less cruel than meat; perhaps even more so, as the animals are kept alive and suffering for longer.” Because God forbid anyone know Uther did something for the reason he had a heart with feelings, too, rather than for his clogged arteries).  

"So." Uther steeples his fingers and looks over them in a way that never fails to make Arthur’s shoulders tense. "What do you intend to do?" 

"What?" Arthur's not sure he's reading the situation correctly.  

"You’ve resigned. What are your plans now?" 
 
"I, um…" Uther's expression is unreadable, even though – or perhaps because – there's nothing special about it. Arthur decides to cooperate. Carefully. "I was thinking I'd stay for another week or so, to hand over to my replacement. I think William’s a good choice – he's ambitious and accomplished… I'm sorry, are you saying you accept my resignation?"  

"I'd have thought that was implied." Uther raises a brow. "Do you wish me to decline it?" 

"No... No. It's just… I wasn't expecting you'd respond like this," Arthur blurts.  
 
"It wasn't my first reaction," admits Uther, a little cautiously. 
 
"What changed?" Arthur has to know.  
 
"Merlin was with me when I got your letter," – Merlin’s at Uther's side approximately 75% of the workday, so no surprise there – "and I asked for his opinion." 

No surprise, again, but also, shit, because considering the timing, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if Merlin had told Uther to kick his arse out of the company and disown him. Or for an even better revenge, if he’d encouraged Uther not to let Arthur go.  

Uther eyes Arthur and continues. "He refused to give it, saying it's not his place." 

Oh. For some reason, Arthur feels slight disappointment at Merlin's neutral stance.  

"So I asked for his... personal opinion, not in any work capacity. Knowing he's very close to his mother, I thought his insight would be a good resource in a field which I know I… lack." 

The words leave Uther’s mouth somehow reluctantly, and Arthur can barley believe they came out at all. That’s literally the Utherian equivalent of saying "I suck as a parent", and Arthur's gobsmacked.  

Uther ignores him, averting his eyes. "Merlin said his mother only ever had one rule for him: to be happy. She said she knew he wouldn't be able to be truly happy if he was dishonest or hurt people, so that was a given, but he also didn't have to make loads of money or even fulfil his potential in order to be happy. And most importantly, he said he knew she'd back him up in every choice he made." 

Arthur thinks about Merlin occasionally excusing himself from the dinner table to take a call from his mum, speaking quietly in Welsh; or wearing the same red scarf, obviously hand-knitted and at odds with his tailored clothes, because "my mother made it for me". 
 
Uther continues. "Merlin said it had given him strength and confidence, and that he thought that was a parent’s essential duty to their children." 

Arthur swallows thickly. His eyes meet Uther's, and he's suddenly fully aware that they're father and son, flesh and blood. Moreover, that he's now Uther's only child and Uther's the only parent he has left.  

For the first time in his life he feels the depth of the connection. That he's the dearest thing in this man's life. That Uther would do anything for him. That he has his father’s unconditional love for the rest of his life. The realisation weighs heavily on him, but it feels good, like an anchor chain loose enough not to restrain him, yet not allowing him to drift. 

"Then, again, what are your intentions?" asks Uther, businesslike again, because Pendragons do have their emotional limits. 

Arthur blinks away a sudden wetness in his eyes and replies. "Um, well. I thought about traveling for a while. To Africa, probably, like I wanted to for my gap year." The gap year he didn't have, because 'Pendragons don't need training wheels for real life'. "When I come back, I guess I'll find something I actually want to do and make a living from." 

"Well. I wish you luck." It sounds a bit forced, but Arthur understands. 

"Thank you, father." 

When he gets up to leave, he wants to ask Uther to thank Merlin for him, but he knows that's a conversation he should have on his own.  

Only, Merlin seems to magically disappear or to be absolutely occupied whenever Arthur searches for him, and to be honest, he doesn't feel certain enough of himself to have this conversation now.  

Six days later he gets on a plane to Nairobi.  

When he comes back, he starts working at Uncle Gaius's place. Gaius is a veteran physician and Arthur’s godfather, so he’s known him his whole life. After he retired, Gaius started a small business specialising in alternative medicine – salves, balms, soaps, and nutritional supplements, all organic and handmade. 

Arthur accompanies Gaius when he buys raw materials at the market, watches his interactions with the vendors – all of them well-acquainted with him, giving him a cordial welcome – and helps carry the bags. Gaius teaches him to distil, concoct and pulverise ingredients.  

The work keeps their hands busy, but not overloaded. It demands focus and precision but doesn’t suck off every ounce of their mental and cognitive abilities. They wear comfortable, practical clothes, the workshop is homey and smells pleasantly spicy with herbs, and Arthur savours the hours spent in companionable silence or quiet conversation. He hadn’t spent time like this with Gaius for years, and the old man’s slow, self-assured movements and his insight have a refreshing, centering effect on him. He feels more mature, more like a grown-up than he’d felt handling projects with millions of pounds worth.  

Day by day, he finds himself more relaxed and content.  

He works about half the hours he used to, and uses the rest to hike, read, surf or play football. He knows he's privileged, as his inheritance and generous trust fund would allow him not to work at all if he chooses. He's decided not to apologise for his advantages, to let himself live a little more comfortably than his salary really allows, but he also doesn't over-use it.  

His expenses drop considerably once he doesn't need to buy designer outfits, once he starts cooking for himself instead of ordering in, and once he gives up his penthouse – which he'd barely used anyway – in favor of a small, pleasant apartment.  

He comes back to Uther’s place once in a while, so evidently he sees Merlin. He finds he has no jealousy or anger left in him and he's eager to make up for what he's done and try to become friends.  
 
The problem is that Merlin won't have any of it. With Arthur’s departure it seems Merlin has risen to another height of professionalism and efficiency, like a well-oiled machine. Mercifully, he didn’t transform into one of the shark-like businessmen Arthur remembers whose smiles never thawed the chill in their eyes – but that’s mostly as Merlin doesn't bother to smile at him at all. When Arthur tries to apologise for his previous behaviour Merlin just nods, says he has no hard feelings and closes the subject as if it’s unimportant, walled off behind an impassable barrier of casual politeness. Arthur learns to accept it.  

On Thursday night there’s an urgent meeting with high-profile clients from Tokyo and Uther doesn’t make it home from the office the night before, which probably means Merlin pulled an all-nighter, too. Arthur knows because he’s been asked to feed Lady Catrina and Mordred – both spoiled creatures who refuse to touch food that's been set before them by a stranger, even if that stranger’s been the family's cook for the past eight years.    

Arthur’s sprawled on the sofa, idly teasing Lady Catrina with light reflected from a mirror, when Uther and Merlin arrive. It's late, as the meeting’s to be held at midnight due to time zones and after finishing preparations at the office they’ve come home for the actual conference. Uther, not as young as he used to be, prefers to be able to sleep in his own bed afterwards, rather than spending another night at the office.  

The following morning Merlin walks into the kitchen just as Arthur’s finishing his breakfast. His hair’s wet from the shower and he’s dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. Arthur’s relieved that at least Uther’s penchant for tailored pyjamas didn’t rub off on him. Merlin looks alert and refreshed despite the black circles below his eyes, and the fact that he’s clearly just woken up. 

It’s not even ten o'clock yet, but it’s outrageously late compared to Merlin’s usual schedule. He’s slept for, what, eight hours?  thinks Arthur. Probably for the first time since last Christmas.  

“Day off?” Arthur keeps his tone light and merely sociable, trying not to sound too inquisitive. 

“Late start,” replies Merlin. “Boss’s orders. Said he won’t have me in the office before two o'clock.” 

Then working until 2 a.m., thinks Arthur. 

If Arthur had worked for two and a half days straight, Gaius would most likely have sent him on a month of vacation, possibly to an extensive health care, too. 

He’s done eating but finds himself hanging around, washing his dishes instead of leaving them in the sink or loading the dishwasher – he can’t stand the damn machine anyway – because all of the sudden he has to see what Merlin will do with his free time. Maybe start catching up on emails, assuming Uther didn’t include that in his limitations. 

But Merlin just drinks his coffee and then heads out, leaving Arthur with nagging curiosity about Merlin’s pastime.  

Come to think of it, it’s odd that he knows nothing about Merlin’s hobbies, especially considering the other surprisingly personal things he does know about Merlin.  

He knows Merlin’s a strict vegan – in addition to the soy milk in the fridge and boxes of granola bars in the kitchen cabinets, their cook takes special care to provide vegan food whenever Merlin comes over. So plenty of greens and legumes are served alongside the steaks that Uther regularly consumes despite his doctor's warnings and the occasional cheeseburger Arthur indulges in, ignoring Gaius's lectures about healthy eating. He bets the old physician would give one of his rare approving nods at Merlin's menu, though. 

Uther once asked Merlin – with his usual no-bullshit, Fuck Politicly Correct attitude – if he didn't get sick of eating "rabbit food". Merlin laughed in his good-natured way. "My mother was a horrible cook, so I've never developed any gourmet tendencies. And anyway, I don’t mind if my food is a bit less tasty if it means no living creatures are hurt in the process." 

That was the first time Arthur saw his father hold his tongue after being exposed to what he usually called "do gooder nonsense". Sure, there wasn’t any judgement or exhortation in Merlin’s manner and there was no doubt his sentiments were sincere, but Arthur still thinks it’s more proof of the respect his father held for his executive assistant.  

However, soon enough Martha takes it on herself to make sure "this awfully skinny dear boy" enjoys his meals. Instead of the simple steamed vegetables Merlin had shyly asked for when he first arrived, she makes him mouth-watering vegan dishes that even Uther can't resist.  

Having had the doubtful pleasure of hearing Uther personally yelling at the tailor about malpractice, Arthur also knows that all the labels on Merlin's clothes must be removed because otherwise they itch his skin. It absolutely, definitely, doesn't make him think about the expanse of pale, smooth, sensitive skin beneath said clothes.  

More than once Merlin’s fallen asleep while working in the living room and Arthur gets to see his peaceful face, innocent and beautiful like a child's as he sleeps. He’s also seen how Merlin leaps into wakefulness in a second, wide awake and in full control, like a soldier.  

Seeing Merlin’s routine from up close,  Arthur knows that despite his scrawny looks and constant lack of sleep, Merlin's immune system must be incredible because he's never sick. Arthur can recall only one time when Merlin caught a brutal flu and developed a high fever and nasty cough. Which of course didn't stop him from working. Even Uther would've sent him home, but Merlin insisted he could manage and the project was important, so Uther arranged for the meetings to be held at their house, where the cook could send Merlin a steady supply of hot soup and tea. Merlin sat there, wrapped in a thick blanket, beanie on his head, cheeks flushed, still taking notes and making remarks in a hoarse voice. The moment they were done he was packed off to bed by Uther, who later sent Arthur to check on him. When Arthur knocked lightly and pushed the door open, he got to see a different kind of waking-up Merlin. Half-conscious and dazed by the fever, Merlin's expression was unguarded and impossibly sweet.   

Suddenly every fiber of Arthur vibrated with the urge to wrap Merlin up and slide in for a cuddle. It made him yearn for the kind of intimacy that would let him sit on the bed and press his lips to Merlin's forehead, checking his temperature.  

Arthur has even met Merlin's closest friend, Will – a radical artist who hates well-bred people indiscriminately, so mutual disdain’s ensured – but, unfortunately, he knows even more about his boyfriends.  

The first time Uther absently referred to "Merlin's partner" over dinner, Arthur wasn't ready for his own reflexive reaction – dim shock and a pang of envy.  

Uther’s never bothered to remember the names of any of Arthur's significant others. Mostly he used "The Blonde One" to cover Sophia, Vivian and Elena, and added "The Decent One" for Mithian. Leon conveniently fitted both categories.  

Yet it seems his father’s fully capable of keeping track of Merlin's boyfriends and referring to each by their full name and characteristics. 

Only this time Arthur's jealousy isn't about Merlin usurping his father's attention – it's about whoever’s captured Merlin's. And as far as Arthur’s concerned, there’ve been way too many of them. 

Honestly, Arthur's pretty surprised Merlin even has time to maintain a relationship at all. That being said, none of them seem to last very long.  

Cedric had been an upcoming star among the employees, mostly thanks to his rare arse-kissing talents, from what Arthur’s heard. He also had a touch of megalomania, trying to convince Merlin to kill Uther, take over the company, and (for some reason) raise a flock of ravens. Arthur’d witnessed the breakup scene along with a bunch of drama-addicted workers when Cedric was taken away after Merlin called the cops.  

Edwin was a surgeon. And a pyromaniac. ("I told you," Arthur overheard his father telling Merlin afterwards. "Never quite trusted ginger men.") 

Gilli had been a world-famous light-weight boxer who had some sort of anger-management issues, judging by the number of times Arthur saw Merlin pacing around repeating, "You're better than that, Gilli, be the bigger man." 

Alator Satta, an old Russian colleague of Uther, had fixed Merlin with a powerful gaze the moment he saw him then declared his "eternal loyalty” and that he was “villing to die for zhe most magical creature I haff ever seen". Mercifully, Uther spared his startled assistant the embarrassment and vetoed any romance, restraining his impassioned friend.

George played in the philharmonic and his suits were better than Uther's. Plus he was a goddamned fruitarian. When Uther asked Merlin what had happened between them, all he got was a mumbled response that "the trombone was too much". 

Deagle, a simple, child-like bloke, was the only one who initiated the breakup with Merlin, baking him an apple cake and leaving a note saying he wasn't good enough for him. Arthur couldn't help but agree on that, although for the first time he also felt sympathy towards one of Merlin's exes. It might or might not have had to do with the excellent cake, which was brought over by Merlin, who was familiar with the Pendragon sweet tooth.  

Arthur was most worried about Gwaine. The guy was confident, good looking (Arthur would hostilely admit), and funny. Or at least, Merlin seemed to think so. The number of times Merlin’s dimples cropped up around Gwaine was straight out frustrating, since Arthur couldn’t figure out whether he was grateful or pissed off about it.  

Gwaine’s only fault, it seemed, was commitment issues. And Merlin was a dedicated guy, if his monthly work-hours were anything to go by. 

Nonetheless, Gwaine had hung on for a long time. He clearly adored the ground Merlin walked on, and despite the differences between them, Merlin revealed a different side of his character when they were together, looser and somehow younger and more carefree, instead of the serious businessman he appeared most of the time. 

Gwaine even made it to a Saturday night Pendragon dinner. But there seemed to be a deep-rooted lack of affection between Gwaines and Pendragons, as Uther and Arthur were in agreement for a change. Uther hid it better, although Arthur marked a small mental victory when his father persevered in calling Gwaine “The One with the Hair”. 

Merlin and Gwaine remained on such good terms that it took Arthur some time to figure out they’d broken up. For a while, he still heard Merlin mention Gwaine, while he didn't bring up any other name.  

Arthur hasn't realised how subconsciously tense he was until he feels his muscles relax as he watches Merlin, talking with Uther as usual, but single. Yet, in the pit of his stomach there’s still a bundle of dread about Merlin’s improving orientation in the boyfriend field, and the possibility that the next one might actually stay. 

So maybe it’s time for you to get your act together, you lame excuse for a man.  

Arthur’s not sure why Morgana's voice suddenly came into his head. She’d crossed his mind briefly earlier that evening, when Merlin mentioned a film that Morgana loved. She’d been the most pretentious teenager, only watching foreign cinema, preferably French or German. She also made a habit of inviting homeless people to the house and held partly anarchistic views. It drove Uther mad.  

Sometimes Arthur misses her so much it hurts.  

He finds himself wondering what Morgana would have said about Merlin. She hated fancy suits, despised their father's company specifically and the high-tech industry in general, claiming they all symbolised and fed the alienation in society and generally add to “the growing population of insufferable stuck-ups".  

Hopefully her perspective would have matured with her if she’d had the chance, but somehow Arthur feels that even radical, idealistic Morgana would have taken a shine to Merlin, despite his twin faults of technology and a posh wardrobe.  

Because Merlin never was stuck-up, not even close. Even in his position as Uther's right-hand man, Merlin’s remained approachable even for the newest apprentices, patient and kind and always willing to help and explain and share a laugh. 

Merlin's laugh lights up his whole face, shuttering the stern lines of his usual grave, concentrated expression. It reveals someone young and open-hearted, eyes shining with his own brand of magic.  

(Arthur sure as hell can’t imagine Merlin ever calling Morgana "Ms. Pendragon", while he himself had suffered through that phase in which Merlin was impeccably and painfully polite to him. It was long after Arthur had stopped drawling the syllables in Merlin's name and way since Merlin's been on first name basis with Uther, but he still insisted on addressing Arthur as “Mr. Pendragon”, using "The CEO" to distinguish them.) 

Morgana would probably have shared the Pendragon penchant for Merlin, but without the ego issue affecting the male part of the family, she'd more easily have been able to admit it and befriend Merlin.  

Frankly, it was almost agonisingly easy to befriend Merlin if you weren’t stupid enough to treat him rudely. But as a graduate of Royal Arse-ness, all Arthur can do now is watch from the outside, raptly drinking in every sign of Merlin's serene self when his defenses are down.  

He gets a handful of that when Uther insists that Merlin and his mother spend Christmas with them. 

Arthur doesn't think any person in their right mind would choose to spend the holidays with their boss, but he also knows Uther means much more than that to Merlin. Growing up without a father, it was natural for Merlin to get attached to the man who’d literally taken him under his wing, mentoring his conduct and well-being both at and away from work. 

Maybe that's why Merlin agrees not to spend Christmas in his hometown, and persuades his mother to come to Uther’s too. Maybe he knows Uther’s affection for him is sincere, and maybe he’s realised that every family holiday spent with just Uther and Arthur in the big house by themselves is a torture.  

Hunith Emrys is dressed neatly in simple trousers and a hand-knit jumper, but something in her face speaks volumes about inner strength and mental endurance. For once, Uther's old-fashioned bow to kiss her hand seems appropriate. As Merlin follows carrying her bags, Arthur discovers that Hunith's head barely reaches her son's shoulder, but something in Merlin's posture seems to lean towards her, attentive to everything she might need, and as if she's the source of power in their force field.  

Arthur was worried about getting the cold shoulder, considering the way he’d treated her son – hell, Sophia's dad tried to drown him simply for having the nerve to be in love with her – but it seems that Emrys are just unable to hold a grudge. Hunith bats away his hesitant outstretched hand and opens her arms to pull him into a hug, tight and warm and unexpected. When she steps back Arthur can feel a lump in his throat, as everything about the woman before radiates a distinct sense of motherhood, of everlasting affection with no judgment, and suddenly he feels like a child.  

"Well, I must say I'm thankful for the invitation," says Hunith as they sit down to the overloaded table. "Especially since it's very nice not to cook." 

"I must say that for me, too, it's very nice that you didn't cook, Mum," Merlin says cheekily and gets a playful tug on his hair in response, as they exchange smiles.  

The Pendragons by the table do their best not to stare at this unfamiliar display of parent-child affection.  

It goes on and on, and Arthur doesn't care if he's being impolite, he can't tear his eyes from the sight: it's as if something in Merlin dissolves and melts in response to his mother's presence, becoming more human and approachable, his lips constantly tugging into a soft smile.  

Hunith is openly proud of him, although the way her face radiates unconditional devotion tells Arthur that even if Merlin was a janitor somewhere she'd still look at him the same way, like he was the most unique and dearest thing in the world. 

She doesn’t stop look at him, either, as if she can't get enough of him, and most of the time she accompanies her eyes with her hand; petting his cheek or threading her fingers through his hair. Merlin, for his part, casually holds her hand and occasionally lifts it to his lips, or leans in to press them to her temple.  

Watching them has an odd, contradictory effect: Arthur can't help a surge of aching, longing for a mother he doesn't remember, yet at the same time it works as a balm, soothing the edges of those raw feelings. Somehow it relieves him to know that a bond like this exists, and to witness its magic on the person he loves. 

On Christmas morning Arthur wakes with the first rays of sunlight. Ever since he was a kid he's loved being the first one to wake. At first it was a competitive thing, to beat Morgana to the presents. Despite her equally competitive nature, she had the sleeping habits of a bear and the resulting tantrums led Uther to forbid any presents being opened before everyone was up. But after that Arthur had kept the habit, finding that he loved the feeling of being the only one up, a strange sense of independence from sitting by his window and looking outside, his breathing subtly different.   

He's standing by the big foyer window in the living room, looking out at the plains of unspoiled, chaste snow, when he hears steps from behind him.  

He doesn't have enough time to hope or worry before he turns around to find Hunith, in thick woollen socks and a large jumper.  

"A morning person?" She smiles at him.  

"Only at Christmas." He returns the smile. "You?" 

"I live in a village, so I'm used to waking up with the sun." She joins him by the window. "I think Merlin's got that habit, too, but I suppose he and your father are a bit sleep deprived." 

"My father probably thinks that since he can't go to the office the day's a waste anyway, so he may as well catch up on some sleep," Arthur says as he gestures towards the kitchen, wordlessly inviting her to join him in getting something warm to drink. "Merlin's just utterly exhausted, I guess, so I don't know if he had much of a choice." 

Hunith takes the mug he hands her, observing him. "You care about him, don't you?" 

"I do." He sees no reason to deny it, since it's obvious he can't hide it, and he looks back at her over the fumes coiling from his mug.  

"He cares about you, too, you know," says Hunith after a slight pause, while she sits down on one of the kitchen chairs, wrapping her hand around her own warm cup. Arthur can't help but notice how her fingers resemble Merlin's, long and delicate. "He'd told me quite a lot about you." 

"Nothing particularly good, I fear." Arthur makes an effort to smile as he sits down to join her, but the words taste foul in his mouth. He knows they’re probably true.  

Hunith blows carefully on the hot tea before answering. "I wouldn't say that. Of course, he said you were a patronising, supercilious prat, but also that you've made quite a change." Feeling his face heat up, Arthur takes a sip, although it burns his tongue. "Anyway, that's not what caught my attention about you." She eyes him again, the tip of her finger tracing the rim of the cup. "When he first started working for you, he wouldn't stop calling me, complaining and going on about his insufferable boss. You really got under his skin." 

Arthur grimaces and hopes she’ll attribute his blush to the heat of his drink, even as he tries to cover his face with his hand. 

"No, you don't understand." Hunith reaches out and pulls his hand off his face, holding his gaze steadily and sincerely. "If it was just any employer being an arse, he would simply have left. Or kept his mouth shut and endured if for some reason he'd really wanted the job. But he stayed, and shot off his mouth – in front of you as well as in my ears, I figured." She gives him a small smile, which he just manages to return, thinking about how Merlin used to sass him relentlessly. "Something in you sparked a response in him, and it's not a trifle.” She pauses for a second, organising her thoughts.  

"You didn't know Merlin as a child, but he was pretty different from how he is now. Not entirely, because he's always been somewhat quiet and introverted, and he always had that sweet, observant expression on his face." Her eyes turn soft and tremendously fond at that. "But he was a lot less guarded and restrained back then. He was so passionate and curious and eager, and his emotions simply burst out of him, uninhibitedly enthusiastic and stumbling over his own feet." 

Arthur thinks he did see something that resembles her description, once when he overdid it annoying Merlin and the other time much later, when Merlin was presented with something he found exceptionally inventive and let out a huffed laugh, grabbing his own hair. On both occasions Merlin's emotions took hold, accentuating the way his ears stick out just a bit too much and how his face is a bit too long for his features, imperfections with their own allure, like a newborn foal with limbs too long, yet somehow graceful.  

"So he might have adopted this stern, focused expression–" Hunith does a surprisingly good imitation of Merlin's serious face, especially at staff meetings, and Arthur snorts out a laugh, "–and he's grown up to be calmer and more controlled, which I respect, but I can't forget him as a bit of a clumsy, unkempt child with a smile too big for his face. Sometimes someone manages to pull him out, and I can’t help but feel affection for whoever manages to do that."  

She smiles at Arthur, who sits there for a moment with the odd feeling he's just received Merlin's mother's blessing.  

A few weeks later the universe throws him another bone. Or, more likely, Morgana decided to take matters into her own hands, probably overpowering the poor fellow who thinks they’re in charge up there. The orders for the workshop’s products are growing and Gaius has to hire another worker for customer service.  

Gwen Smith is the new addition to the little workshop. She's lovely and sweet and excellent with the clients. When she mentions a Merlin who's coming to the community center that she and her boyfriend run together, Arthur can't help but ask. It only takes an exchange of a few details to confirm it’s the same Merlin. Turns out he regularly volunteers on weekends, giving computer lessons, ever since uni ("He and Lance met there," explained Gwen).  

Arthur's first thought is that Merlin could've thrown this in his face in their argument a few months ago, but he didn't.  

"Merlin works magic with the kids, you know," Gwen says, her face beaming. "He's so patient and gentle, I've never seen anyone else who can transform a group of middle school brats into enchanted sweethearts. Even Lance has to give them a good exhausting football session before they're halfway calmed down." 

"Can I come, one day?" Arthur says almost without a thought, captured by a sudden, intense wish to see it, too. "I mean, if you think it'd be okay," he adds, stumbling over the words.  

"Of course!" Gwen smiles brightly at him. "You could come with me today after work if you'd like; or if you prefer, come on Saturday so you'd be with Merlin, since you know him."  

Be with Merlin is exactly what he wants, in more ways than he can say. "I think I'd like that," he says. More than anything in the world, he doesn't add. "I'll do my best to be helpful. I played football at uni" – he was the goddamned captain – "and I can also, um, skateboard? I could teach some? But I'm up for anything else you need help with, of course." 

"Football and skateboarding would be great," Gwen assures him. "I'll keep the floor mopping for some other day." She winks.  

On Saturday in the early afternoon Gwen comes out to welcome him and show him inside. Her boyfriend Lance – a tall, dark haired, caramel skinned, underwear-model-handsome guy – approaches to greet him. He has a kid sitting on his shoulders and holds another one – screaming with laughter – dangling by one heel.  

"Hello!" Lance gives him a warm, friendly smile as he carefully lowers the dangling kid to the floor, allowing the boy to support himself with his arms before gently letting him drop. He holds out his now-free hand and Arthur shakes it. "Sorry for the circusy reception. I'd like to say it's usually more normal, but it's actually not. It’s a mad house here. The only time they sit quietly is in Gwen's sewing lessons, because they learned the hard way that needles hurt, and in Merl’s classes, because he's a supernatural bastard." 

"Bad word!" yells the kid on Lance's shoulders, pulling his hair.  

Lance starts, as if he forgot the kid was there. "All right, I'll put a penny in the curse jar. Here, you can do it yourself.” He fishes a coin from his pocket and hands it to the delighted-looking boy, then lifts him from his shoulders and over his head to the floor and gives him a nudge to send him on his way.  

"Merlin's still with his group?" asks Gwen.

"Yeah, I’m waiting for him to finish so me and Arthur can take them to the footy field." 

They stop in front of a closed door with a window set into it, and Gwen gestures for Arthur to take a look. "Behold, because in a few minutes you won’t believe they're the same kids." 

Apparently, Merlin teaches with a skittish little dark-haired beauty hugging his legs, or holding the hem of his shirt as he walks around. Occasionally Merlin puts his hand on her head, in a natural, accustomed movement, as he keeps talking. His body language, hand gestures and the way he tilts his head are all achingly familiar but even more fascinating to watch in these new surroundings. 

Once Merlin nods towards the door, a small mass of children that somehow manages to look like a herd of buffalo barges out. Lance pulls Arthur back just in time, probably saving him from being trampled. "They have some free time in the field before the official practice," he explains before following them. 

Merlin exits last, holding the skittish girl's hand. He exchanges smiles with Gwen, and says a somewhat awkward hello to Arthur.  

Arthur had asked Gwen to let Merlin know he was coming, concerned about invading his private space. Merlin seems a bit self-conscious, although not downright uncomfortable or upset. However, he does seems a little nervous as Gwen excuses herself and leaves them alone. 

He picks up the little girl and holds her close as if to put some distance between them.  
 
"This is Freya," he introduces her. "Freya, this is Arthur." 

Freya nods shyly but clings tighter to Merlin's neck, resting her head below his chin. Immediately, and seemingly unconsciously, Merlin tilts his head in response, pressing his cheek to her hair.  

Arthur catches her eyes. "You look like a natural skateboarder, Freya. I hope I'll see you when I teach a few tricks later." 
 
Freya ducks her head once more, and Merlin smoothes his hand over her hair reassuringly. "I'm afraid Freya feels less confident in the physical arena," he says, apologetically. "We're all about brain power here, huh, Frey?" 
 
The girl lets out a tiny giggle.  
 
"I have some more secret talents," reveals Arthur, lowering his voice conspiratorially.  
 
Freya peers at him curiously from her safe haven in Merlin's neck.  
 
Arthur makes his next sentence a dramatic whisper. "I can make the most complicated braids you can imagine." 
 
Merlin snorts out a small laugh, raising his brows incredulously, and Freya too seems suspicious, straightening her posture to fully inspect him.  

"It's true," Arthur tells them. "My sister was the dandiest little girl, and from when she was three she made me do her hair 'like a princess'. I can do Cinderella’s hairdo, or Belle – well, Sleeping Beauty is the easiest–” 

Freya chuckles again, seeming intrigued, and Arthur feels a jolt of pride in his accomplishment, growing impossibly as Merlin’s lips crook upward, too. "Maybe later, at story time, yeah? Now she needs to go help Gwen with lunch."  

Freya slides down and runs off, leaving them standing in the hall all by themselves.  
 
"You have a pretty impressive computer lab," Arthur says, because he took a peek at the room and the hardware seemed a lot more advanced than he'd expected to see in a community centre.  
 
"Uther’s been very generous," answers Merlin, confirming Arthur's suspicions. "It's all thanks to him." 
 
"And to you, I'm sure." Merlin shrugs dismissively, but Arthur holds his gaze. "I think it's brilliant," he says candidly.  

Merlin blushes a little and their eyes stay locked for a few moments, until Lance calls Arthur away and Merlin goes to join Gwen and Freya in the kitchen.  

After they part, Arthur turns for one more glimpse of Merlin, then jerks back quickly when he finds Merlin’s done the same. He walks on with a strange lingering feeling, wary but not unpleasant, like a mixture of expectancy and hope. 

Never before has Arthur been so exhausted after football training. It appears a bunch of over-energised kids can easily out-run even pumped-up uni athletes. Not to mention they play a lot dirtier. By the time they're finished, Arthur’s bruised all over but he also thinks it might've been the most enjoyable training session he's ever had. At lunch he digs into his food like one of the kids, and even they cast him a few dumbfounded glances.  

After that it's story time, and Arthur drapes himself over the carpet and the cushions, enjoying the relaxation but also alert with interest.  

Merlin's reading is a one-man show – he does all the character voices and facial expressions, combined with pantomime. Soon enough, Arthur realises he's just as fascinated as the 5 to 12 year olds around him.  

He finds himself thinking what a good father Merlin would be, how he'd be great at talking things out – feelings – and how on the other hand Arthur would be good when what was needed was sitting in silence and maybe raiding a full pizza each. 

Made with real, melting, greasy mozzarella.

He’s thinking about how they could both shake a teenager out of a gloom by taking them bowling or something, when he gets a grip on himself, realising what his subconscious consensus considered an option, and tries to shake off the daydream. 
 
Yet he can't help but feel a strange flip in his stomach when Merlin's soft eyes rest on him as Freya gets up to leave, her hair perfectly braided, after giving Arthur a loose hug.  

Gwen, who's turned out to be awfully perspicacious and sharp-eyed besides being a kind-hearted darling, invites Merlin to the workshop. Then she engages herself with a customer and lets Arthur give him a tour.  
 
He introduces him to Gaius, and smothers his amusement as Merlin naturally recoils from the Greeting Eyebrow, which proves to beat even Uther's Supervising Scowl.  
 
Gaius scolds Merlin about his sleeping habits and orders him to cut down his caffeine intake, loading him up with a box of herbal tea with beneficial energising qualities.  
 
When Merlin leaves Arthur finds himself subjected to the Grilling Eyebrow, something that hasn’t happened since he accidentally tried to hand Gaius a poisonous plant instead of another, similar looking herb. 
 
He returns the gaze, openly admitting what Gaius's figured out about his feelings towards Merlin. The old man probably had already had his suspicions, what with their conversations about Uther's new assistant and Merlin’s frequent presence at the house.  
 
"He seems like a good boy, Arthur. Clear-eyed, honest to the bone, head on his shoulders, heart in the right place. Could use a bit of direction, perhaps, but I believe you'll be able to help with that, after doing it so well with your own life."  

Gaius’ voice is as raspy as ever and the look that accompanies the words is no less piercing than always, but Arthur can feel his face flush in response to this rare praise. He knows, deep down, that his godfather appreciates him, but he doesn’t often express it.  

The affection – somewhat repressed but obvious nonetheless – makes something unexpectedly swell in his chest, as he’s washed over with the feeling that for a change, he’s the favorite one, that someone steps forward and stands firmly by his side.  

The reassurance to the thought that he could benefit Merlin, too, goes through his spine reinforcing and straightening, leaving him more certain of what he has to offer. 

It turns out Merlin was taken by the natural, environmentally-friendly nature of the workshop and has decided to build it a website.  
 
"Nothing fancy," he assures Gaius. "Simple, with clean, aesthetic design, information about each product and its benefits, pictures, contact details and an option to order online. Arthur says you do deliveries anyway, so it won't add anything for you to manage." 
 
Arthur can tell Gaius is about to refuse. He likes the low-key style of his shop, based on a few steady customers and occasional walk-ins. He loves face to face interaction, and he doesn't particularly need the extra advertising. Plus, he's a declared technophobe. But then their eyes meet and something shifts in Gaius's gaze as he gets thoughtful for a moment and then sharpens.  

"Well mister programmer, you have my permission to play around with this site as much as you want," he says. "And since an ancient thing like me can’t possibly be expected to keep up with you young things’ tricks, Arthur will be your contact for anything related to it, on behalf of the shop. I give him a free hand."  

You sneaky, shameless, matchmaking bastard, thinks Arthur, although he’s a bit impressed, and thankful.  

Naïve, well-intentioned Merlin starts persuading Gaius that it'll be so easy that even he’ll be able to––– but he gets another dose of The Eyebrow and wisely shuts up.  

"Arthur it is," he says and shoots him a quick smile.  

For a programmer at Merlin's level it only takes a couple of hours to create such a basic website, but Arthur gets to be present the whole time due to Merlin insisting he makes sure everything will be to Gaius's liking. Arthur doesn't have the heart to tell him that the man has had the same display in his front window for the past ten years, and couldn't give a rat's ass about the fine details of the design Merlin has in mind.  

However, sitting with Merlin while planning it is one of the best experiences Arthur's had with him, nothing like their co-working at the company before. Instead, they brainstorm, throwing up ideas and debating. Merlin prefers to work with the laptop on his knees, so Arthur perches on the arm of Merlin's easy chair so he can see the screen, so close he can smell a faint trace of laundry conditioner from Merlin’s clothes.  

Merlin had suggested they work at the Pendragon house and Arthur accepted it, swallowing his disappointment over the fact that Merlin hadn’t invited him to his own apartment and cursing himself for his cowardliness in not offering his own place. 

They're both present when Elyan, Gwen's photographer brother, comes to take photos of the products. They discuss backgrounds and lighting options and end up ordering takeout while Elyan shows them selections of his professional work from his travels around the world. 

When the website's finally complete, Merlin closes his laptop and reaches into his briefcase to pull out a pack of business cards with a design matching the website, featuring the workshop's name, location, phone number and website address. The considerate gesture is so Merlin that Arthur can barely hold back from grabbing the sweetheart by his collar and kissing the hell out of him. 

The alternative, optional response is depressingly formal. "Thanks so much for all your efforts, Merlin." 

Merlin makes a small it’s-nothing wave of his hand, but Arthur persists. "No, really. Trust me, I know how much your time's worth, and I really appreciate the work you've put into it."  

For a second, Merlin seems shy and embarrassed by Arthur's gratitude and praise, and then he pulls out his usual light, mischievous smile. "Work? That was practically a vacation."  

"You work too hard." The words come out without Arthur's permission and he hurries to backpedal. "Sorry, it's none of my business." 

"S'okay." Merlin stretches, rolling his shoulders. "My mum tells me that all the time. And Will. And the takeout delivery guy." He smiles. "Also, despite what they think, I'm aware that my work hours are way above what’s customary, but," he shrugs and smiles again, "what can I say, I like my job. It's very demanding, but compatibly rewarding. I get to work with the top developments in technology, with the most talented people, and I have the resources to achieve every idea that pops into my head. It's constantly intriguing, interesting, and satisfyingly challenging." 

"You should be a recruiter. Pose for the poster, too." 

Merlin laughs, but Arthur straightens up, picking the opportunity for a real conversation. "All right, when you put it like that it does sound like a dream job, except that your work hours are like a coal miner's back in the fifties. But since you’ve got the opposite social status to a miner, you can't ignore the overall package. All this parade of constant competition between exotic holiday destinations, fancy restaurants, Rolex watches, French expressions. I was part of that crap; I'm way too familiar with it. You can't possibly tell me you like it." 

"I don't. I'm in this profession for the work I love, and I don't mind so much playing the game that comes with it. I agree that sometimes it can get a bit obnoxious. Uther helps, though," he says, smiling at a memory. "He's an old school businessman so he calls people out when they bullshit too much." Arthur can imagine some of his father's "calling out" methods. Uther can leave cocky, smug social climbers stripped down to their pants.  

"What I really don't get, though," proceeds Merlin, "is this whole Rolex thing. They're not even that functional, compared to the simplest smart watch." 

Arthur bristles. "Those things," he snarls, pointing at the object decorating Merlin's wrist, "are an abomination." 

Merlin's eyes crinkle as he laughs, then he raises his hand and snaps a selfie of his laughing face next to Arthur's sulking one and sends it off to Uther with a message – "Another posh Pendragon righteously defending traditional status symbols".  

Since Merlin flat-out refuses any pay for his work on the website – out-stubborning Gaius, which is something Arthur still finds hard to believe – Gaius fixes him a box of vegan snacks and sensitive skin soap from the workshop. He asks Arthur to deliver it himself, claiming it's more personal that way. Arthur suspects his godfather knows exactly how much Arthur’s dying to go to Merlin’s place.  

All the same, he doesn’t want to impose, so when Merlin opens the door Arthur hands him the box – pretty much shoving it at his chest, doing his best to indicate that he’s not expecting an invitation to enter. Nonetheless, Merlin, despite looking taken aback – nearly awestruck – to find Arthur on his doorstep, shows him inside before Arthur can even finish his rushed “Gaius-sent-you-this-as-a-thank-you”. 

The apartment’s clearly been picked out by Uther. Arthur can recognise his father's expensive taste from a mile off. He can also guess how that happened – Merlin said he didn't mind, so Uther chose whatever he wanted.  

Merlin's personal touch is minimalistic, almost ascetic: a few books, some paintings Arthur recognises as Will's, and a huge screen in the living room that shows slides of photos of his friends and family.  

Arthur stares at it for a second before forcing himself to get over seven-year-old Merlin's wide, gappy grin.  

"Why do I get the feeling this is your only use for this perfectly good sixty-inch screen?" 

Merlin blushes a bit, scratching the nape of his neck. "Sometimes I watch, like, National Geographic?"  

Arthur stares. "Are you even real? Could you be any more cliché? You're like an old man. Only I bet even Gaius has his own stash of soap operas on tape." 

Merlin shrugs, almost sheepishly. "I don’t follow sports, and growing up without Wi-Fi helped me avoid any screen-watching habits. And then I was busy with my studies and now work… um, I watched an episode or two of Star Trek and Dr Who with friends at uni, but never systematically." 

Faced with this horror of a life Arthur loses his careful reluctance, instead filled with what Gaius used to call “Pendragon Bossy Caring”. He has to save Merlin, for his own good. "All right. We have to fill in the gaps in your education. What were your plans for this evening? Cancel them. We're having a binge watch. Sit your arse down right here, my young Padawan." 

"Your what?" asks Merlin, looking equally surprised, curious, and slightly intimidated, but he obediently sits down.  

Arthur lets out a sigh. "We have a long way to go." 

They meet up again with Elyan for beers, and go out with Gwen and Lance one weekend after their shift at the community center, and then it becomes a habit. Arthur invites Merlin to watch one of his footie matches, and Merlin reciprocates with an invite to one of Will's exhibitions. Try as he might, Arthur can’t decide if Merlin had actually been bored out of his mind watching the game and chose that as a payback. 

"So what do you think?" asks Will, without even trying to pretend he cares.  

I think it's a terrible waste of canvases and paint, Arthur's tempted to answer. Then he catches the look on Merlin's face, almost a hope that they'll get along.  

"I think my sister would've liked your pieces a lot," he says, refraining from mentioning she was a fifteen year old angry ideologue. "She would've hated you, though," he adds, and for some reason that makes Will bark out a genuine laugh. 

"No offense," Arthur raises his hands.  

"Nicely played, Pendragon," says Will as he moves away. "None taken.” 

If Uther notices the drop in Merlin's work hours (which he obviously does, because come on), he says nothing. Sometimes at the weekly dinner at the Pendragons' Arthur catches his father looking between the two of them, with his signature Mulling Things Over expression, as if recognising the way the atmosphere between them is lighter, closer, more at ease.  

"He sent me home!" comes Merlin's indignant voice from the phone Arthur holds to his ear as he stirs a simmering pot on the stove. "At five fucking p.m.! Like I'm some bloody clerk!" 

Arthur laughs. "Welcome to normal people's lives, Merlin. Are you sure you can find something to occupy you until you go to bed?" 

"I was actually thinking about just going to bed. Corrupt myself with solid twelve hours of sleep." 

"Hmm. You want to come over instead? I cooked." 

"That vegetable stew?" 

"Yeah. And mashed potatoes. Without butter. And I can make some quick tofu steaks." 

"God, you're the best. I'm on my way." 

When they finish the meal Arthur suggests a film, and Merlin pulls out the note he'd made with the must-watch list he needs to catch up on. 

"'Lola Rent'," he reads. "Someone recommended that to me after I said I liked ‘Vincent Will Meer’. That's German too." 

"I know." 

Merlin looks up. "You've seen it?"  

Arthur nods, swallowing with some difficulty. "It was ‘gana's favorite film." 

"Oh." Merlin puts down his phone, looking hesitant. "What… What was she like? I always wondered. Neither you nor Uther talk much about her.” 

Arthur’s throat is tight. “She was… the most hardheaded child. And an overbearing, loud-mouthed, annoying, revolutionary fanatic teenager. But her heart was always in the right place. She was completely honest and in for doing the right thing at any price, and not scared to get her hands dirty.” He stops. "Fuck." He blinks rapidly and musters up a smile. "She'd have given me hell if she'd seen how I treated you when we first met." 

The side of Merlin’s mouth quirks upward. "I think I would've liked her a lot." 

"I think so, too. She'd probably talk shite to you about me, saying I'm not good enough for you." The moment the words leave his mouth he freezes, realizing he's pretty much spilled the beans.  

He gets one of Merlin's trademark grins in response, slow and eye-twinklingly fond and not even a bit alarmed. "I think I already have first-hand knowledge of the shite." 

"Oh God." Arthur buries his face in his hands. "I was a real arsehole, wasn't I?" 

"You were," Merlin confirms heartfully, way too quick and agreeably, and Arthur groans.  

Merlin laughs, and even without looking Arthur can tell it crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Chill, Arthur. It's not like I didn't deliberately push all your buttons." 

"That's hardly an excuse." Arthur raises his head back up, refusing to let himself off the hook so fast. Merlin had been amiable and friendly and above all, new and inexperienced. He might as well have been from another planet, considering his background, and Arthur had been despicable. He stumbles to explain how he was frustrated by his job, caged in the cocky persona, and how Merlin had challenged and antagonized him, when Merlin puts his hand on Arthur’s mouth, shutting him up. 

Their eyes lock, and something shifts in Merlin’s. “Let’s watch Morgana’s film,” he says. 

They do so, without talking. Perhaps it’s because Arthur’s too familiar with the plot that for the next 80 minutes all he’s aware of is Merlin's hand, brushing against his own where it lies on the couch between them. 

The first time they kiss it takes over five minutes – something Arthur considers nothing less than a miracle, the universe's acknowledgment of what just happened – before Merlin's noisy smart watch, the object of Arthur's deepest hatred, beeps a notification. Without hesitation, and for the first time in their acquaintance, Merlin turns it off and tosses it aside. When Arthur recovers from the shock he pounces back to snog Merlin at full power because he wants to, and he can, and because that was the sexiest thing he's ever seen.  

He kicks the watch under the couch, just in case.  

Later, Merlin’s head in his lap, idly tracing his fingers behind Merlin's ear and over his jawline, Arthur gets the feeling it was all inevitable. That if the conference had gone smoothly, he might have just bumped into Merlin anyway, and hit on the cute waiter. Or Merlin would’ve gotten a job in another firm and Arthur would’ve met him as a business associate and fallen for him in some formal meeting. Their paths might have varied but would always lead them to each other. When he listens to Merlin's even breaths, and feels his heartbeat slow down, matching his own, he gets the odd sense of destiny settling down once again. 

A month and a half later they move in together, to Arthur’s place. The choice was obvious, despite Merlin's modern apartment being considerably bigger, ever since Merlin had sucked in a breath when he looked around after first setting foot in Arthur’s apartment. It’s old and cluttered but well-kept and clean and there are lot of plants in the porch and colourful striped carpets. It's cosy and homey, in a way Arthur had never experienced in his own childhood but Merlin clearly recognises.   

One of the first common-life rules Arthur establishes is “no electronic devices in the bedroom”. He puts a small box on the hall table for Merlin's phone, air pods, PDA, and smart watch.  

"But it's my watch!" Merlin makes a token attempt at a protest, faced with Arthur's demanding finger pointing at the box. "I can’t help it if it has a touch screen and a few features. I'd think it's a basic right, to be able to tell the time." 

"There's a clock on the wall." Arthur takes Merlin's wrist and starts working the strap open.  

"And how am I supposed to wake up? I need an alarm!" Merlin persists as he follows Arthur into the room, sans watch.  

Arthur pulls out a small, battery powered analogue alarm clock.  

Merlin gapes.  

"You can set an alarm on it, just for the time, no snooze option, sorry. It'll help you work on your self-discipline. Also it's got one of those classic rings that are so grating you just have no choice but to wake up."  

Merlin makes a small whimpering sound, taking the small clock in defeat.  

Arthur smirks. "You do know how to read it, right, Merlin? Or did they only use sun-dials where you grew up?" 

Absentmindedly, Merlin gives him the finger, as he starts fiddling with the alarm clock’s buttons. “Bloody unbelievable,” he mutters. “Me of all people ending up with a tyrant, technophobe boyfriend.” 

“Well, excuse me for wanting to make sure that when we’re in our bedroom we’ll be able to have actual quality time together, without outside distractions. “ 

“Quality time, huh?” Merlin places the now adjusted clock on the bedside table and turns to Arthur, eyes flashing playfully.  

“That’s right, smartarse,” Arthur captures his mouth for a kiss. 

“Mm. Could be talked into it,” murmurs Merlin, and Arthur shoves him down onto the bed.  

Much, much later, Arthur tries to settle his breathing enough to manage a tease. “Still missing your precious stupid watch?”  

Merlin, still panting, tries to flick him. Arthur catches his hand mid-motion, laughs and presses a kiss to the naked wrist.  

Not that he’d ever admit it, but the main reason for this rule is the fact that he can't shake off the fear Merlin would casually raise his hand some time and the damn watch would snap a picture of both of them in bed and send it to Uther. 

“I have a confession.” Merlin stops at the bottom of their bed one evening when he gets back. 

From where he’s spread out with a book, Arthur barely looks up. When he does, he’s struck by the contrite, guilty expression on his boyfriend’s face. “You do?” he asks carefully.  

“Yeah. I… broke one of your rules. I mean, the violation is just technical, but the thing is, I bought something, so’s to use it in a way that would… ah, go against your beliefs and the guidelines you’ve established.”  

“Okay, er… What… What is it?” 

“It’s an electronic object, and I brought it with me inside the bedroom.” Merlin pulls his hand out of his trouser pocket and reveals a brand new vibrator. “I’m sorry. But I can send it back, get a full refund and all—” 

"Give me that right now!" Arthur snatches the device from Merlin’s hand and tackles him down onto bed, the pretend repentance dropping off his boyfriend’s face as he breaks out laughing. 

As far as Arthur's concerned, Merlin’s treason is a lot more crucial when he comes home one day holding a small heap of white fur and declares “Allow me to introduce you to Aithusa!” 

Arthur groans.  

For a stray cat found by the garbage cans, Aithusa’s awfully picky and a terrible snob. However, Arthur finds that when he’s having a bad day or just feeling tired, a warm, soft little presence jumps up next to his feet or on his chest, rubbing against him as if to offer comfort. She reminds him a lot of his sister’s behaviour patterns, and he finds himself referring to Aithusa as “Princess” or “Witch”, Morgana’s old nicknames. 

It doesn’t stop him from bringing home another stray, Excalibur, a rough-looking mongrel, who immediately falls deeply and embarrassingly deeply in love with their spoiled cat.  
 
Merlin lets out a long-suffering huff at the dog’s habit of biting and pulling on every visible cable. “I didn’t realise when you said you needed an ally you meant on the Luddite front, too,” Merlin complains as he examines the third ruined charger for his mac. Arthur hides a smile, then lets it widen as Merlin pets Excalibur's head all the same.  

At their wedding Arthur gifts Merlin with a beautiful Sky Dweller Rolex. Merlin swears no living soul will ever see him with it on.  

"I guess I'll only be able to wear this in the bedroom, where I'm not allowed to use my functional watch,” Merlin grumbles as he pulls the shining object out from its velvety box. Bitch as he may, Arthur’s well-acquainted with his now-husband's developed sense of aesthetics, and he can tell Merlin’s secretly admiring the elegant design. 

"Hmm. I'd much rather you wore only this in the bedroom." Arthur waggles his eyebrows and pushes his nose into the warm hollow between Merlin's neck and collarbone.  

"No." Merlin shoves his face away and waves a finger at him. "You won’t make me associate sex with a watch that I see your father wearing regularly. No. Bad Arthur. No!" 

"As if I'm the only one sexualizing watches," Arthur counters.  

Merlin's gift to him is a smart watch that he re-programmed so that instead of numbers there'll be randomly popping up messages like “make me dinner little housewife” or "you’re being a clotpole: stop" and awful programmers’ romance puns like "you restart my soul every day”, “I won’t compile without you”, “System.out.println(“I Love You”);”, and “you had me at 'Hello World!'"

Sometimes the watch flashes him a photo of them in bed. At other times it shows his father's disapproving face. One time it was his father's disapproving face photoshopped over them both in bed, and Arthur had to put his foot down on that one.  

When they're back from their honeymoon they bring coconuts for Gaius ("countless beneficial qualities"), and a gorgeous coral bracelet for Hunith. Uther gets a pair of Hawaiian shorts and a colourful t-shirt.  

Turned out they both had a phobia about Uther's tailored silk pyjamas. 

"I mean, we were sitting there at a Saturday check-in, all comfortable and relaxed, and all I could think of was that he has these thin pink lines and a designer symbol on his fucking pyjamas," Merlin sounds traumatised. "I could barely concentrate or keep a straight face while we talked about share prices and expected indices." 

Uther retaliates by actually wearing the outfit, which makes both of them regret their mischief soon enough. 

A couple of years later they adopt Morgan, whose sunny smile and sparkling eyes even compete with Merlin's.  

Gaius supplies them with his entire baby product line, from the most delicate body soaps to bellyache soothers. Hunith finally takes the plunge and moves from godforsaken Ealdor, wanting to be closer to her grandson.  

Morgan’s utterly fascinated by the delicate, entirely non-electronic mobile Gwen and Lance gave him, with butterflies flapping their wings in response to the slightest fluctuations in the air. He never tires of his parents making shadow butterflies with their fingers and tries to catch them in his little hands while bubbling with laughter. 

After being banned from buying Morgan sophisticated robots, remote control cars or a UAV, Merlin settles for a nice plastic computer toy that's bright-coloured, solid and child-safe and makes fun sounds when Morgan presses the buttons.  

It makes a-lot-less-fun sound when Morgan throws it away, wrinkling his nose in dismay and wailing a vocal protest.  

Arthur and Merlin exchange glances. 

“Like father like son,” mumbles Arthur as he picks up the offended toddler to soothe him. 

“The hissy fit tendency’s all you, though,” Merlin points out.  

A couple of days later he brings back from the office a whole box of dismantled and carefully selected computer hardware, guaranteed not to be toxic, sharp or likely to get stuck in a child’s airway. Arthur rolls his eyes but accepts the compromise and Morgan delightedly rummages through his haul.  

Uther, faced with the same bans, finds his own way around them. 

"Your father bought him what?” Merlin’s distracted, staring at the box on Arthur’s knees while Morgan uses the strap of his smart watch as a teething ring (Gaius gave them several, but Morgan exclusively prefers the watch. In general, Morgan's a lot keener on this particular item than Arthur likes, but on the bright side, his overly passionate involvement has already ruined two of them, so he doesn't protest too much).

"I told you he'd get back at us for that batik shirt," Arthur says as he stares in horror at the tiny, silky, striped set of pyjamas.  

Gradually, Uther lightens Merlin’s responsibilities to allow him to get home at a normal hour. During one family Sunday brunch, Uther has Morgan jumping in his lap, laughing uncontrollably while Hunith pretends she's trying to eat his chubby legs. Uther waits for a pause in the game, then clears his throat. 

It’s a sound that usually foreshadows him declaring the next year’s budget, or the arrival of Arthur’s high school grade report, so both Merlin’s and Arthur’s heads snap up in attention. 

Uther pulls a carefully-folded, formal looking document out of his pocket and for a second Arthur frantically thinks he’s fucked. Then he remembers he graduated years ago. 

With honours.  

The heart-attack-inducing piece of paper turns out to be an official retirement announcement. 

The reasoning, printed black-on-white, is “wanting to spend more time with my family – my son, my son-in-law and my extraordinary grandson”. 

For a few long seconds, Arthur’s and Merlin’s faces wear twin looks of complete shock. 

Then Merlin gets up to give Uther a hug, jesting that this way, they’re actually going to spend less time together. His voice doesn’t come out entirely steady, though, as if he hasn’t managed to fully process the news yet. 

Arthur stands paralysed, thinking about Morgana and himself, growing up barely seeing their father, and is startled at the sting of unshed tears in his eyes. 

It’s Merlin’s well-aimed elbow in his ribs that sends him, too, over to his father, but their hug lasts a bit longer. 

It takes time to resolve all the arrangements, and about a week later Merlin tells Arthur he doesn’t want to stay on at the company without Uther, but plans to switch to freelance jobs that will allow him a lot more time at home. 

Somehow Arthur finds Merlin's decision even more astonishing than his father's. "But you said… You said loved working crazy hours, said it kept you challenged and fascinated." 

"True. But I find our son much more fascinating." 

Arthur looks down at the carpet where Morgan is sprawled on Excalibur, Aithusa's head on his leg, wholeheartedly engrossed in making spit bubbles, and can't help but agree.  

Merlin still pulls all-nighter programming marathons from time to time, claiming he needs to keep in shape. Arthur doesn’t object as much as he’d expected, as on those nights he’s never on baby monitor duty.

The technophobe in him is not thrilled to see their son raptly listening as Merlin describes his work in detail, but Arthur doesn’t say a word against it, as this might be the most stunning sight he’s ever seen: wide-eyed baby curled in his father’s lap as he patiently, steadily murmurs explanations, both their faces lit up by the screen.  

Arthur can’t even pull up a pretense of real annoyance on the mornings when he walks into the living room to find his husband sound asleep on the sofa with their son, wrapped in a blanket and in Merlin’s protecting arms, peacefully asleep on his chest.  

“Already infecting him with poor sleeping habits,” he grouches as he carries the toddler back to his cot, his cheek pressed against the soft, warm head.  

"All babies have poor sleeping habits,” comes the drowsy response from the sofa, and Arthur’s mouth twist into a smile. Trust Merlin not to be able to hold back a retort even when he’s all but talking in his sleep.  

When Arthur goes into the kitchen at 5 a.m., Merlin's already there, feeding Morgan. Arthur presses a kiss to the baby's curls, then to his husband's mouth. 

"Coffee?" he offers quietly.  

Merlin shakes his head. "I finished the soy for Morg’s bottle."

"Mm. Herbal tea, then?"

"Yeah. Thanks." 

As they sit together in the sunrise-lit kitchen with their son, Arthur feels this couldn't be closer to the truth.