Chapter Text
“You’re running haggard again, Merlin,” Gaius is waiting for Merlin by his desk, his eyebrows going higher than is possible on a human being.
“I know, Gaius, I’m sorry. Mordred was acting up again. He hates all the overtime I do,” Merlin sighs.
“Look, boy, if only you would let me help you—“
“You are helping me; you’re letting me keep my day job.” He grins wide, hoping his uncle will let it go. And he’s not disappointed. Gaius just rolls his eyes at him, and walks slowly to the elevators which will take him back to his office. Once Merlin reaches his desk and turns on his laptop does he allow himself to think. He’s recently been taking on more assignments and his four-year-old son Mordred doesn’t like it. In fact, he has been having loud tantrums every day for the past week to let Merlin know that he’s displeased. But Merlin needs the money. Mordred is getting older, his needs are getting bigger, and soon he’ll be starting school. It’s all very well for Gwen to take Mordred with her to the daycare where she teaches so that the child can learn his ABCs and other basics, but the kid will go to school at some point in the future. Merlin’s meager salary as a journalist is no longer enough for a growing kid like Mordred. Who’d have thought that children grow up so fast? His Uncle Gaius wants him to take over the company already, but he’s declined because he doesn’t want his career to be tainted with whispers of nepotism and inequity. He can start at the bottom and work his way up just like everyone else.
“Merlin,” Gauis’s PA Carl breaks him out of his reverie, “Gaius needs you in his office.”
“Right, thanks.” Best get to work, then.
Arthur enters his office with a groan. Uther’s just been discharged from the hospital, and Morgana’s driving him back to his home. The lawyers had just finished informing him that the stipulations his father had given for Arthur to gain the company that’s rightfully his are inflexible and without loopholes. And what does he want? He wants Arthur to get married within half a year and, hopefully, have children in the near future.
Yup, the day before he was released from St. Bart’s, his father called him and Morgana into his private room, and told him, in no uncertain terms, that the time has come for Arthur to find someone and settle down. Uther doesn’t even care whether Arthur marries a man or a woman. The bottom line is that he’ll only sign off the company once Arthur’s married. In six months.
Apparently, Uther has grown tired of the seemingly endless stream of men and women in Arthur’s bed, and this is his way of drastically changing things, specifically, Arthur’s civil status. Arthur, on his part, thinks that it’s too much, and that Uther should be committed in a psychiatric facility somewhere. He had brought the subject of mental instability to the lawyers, but their law firm had had Uther checked out by a psychiatrist before they all signed the papers. He hates it, he hates his father for even thinking of it, and he hates Morgana for laughing her arse off when Uther was finished with his announcement. That old bastard. He should be locked up for emotional blackmail.
Arthur does have a choice: either get married and stay married for a year, or lose the company to his cousin Edwin. Arthur hates Edwin, that creep, and Uther’s not above using this particular knowledge to get what he wants. And Arthur, being a Pendragon, will not let his pride get in the way of duty. He knows the company, he’s been trained to take the helm since birth, and he deserves that damned position. Edwin, that lazy bastard, will lose everything Uther has worked hard for in a matter of weeks.
He leans in his chair, thinking up of solutions to his current predicament, because he has a perfect candidate in his mind, though it’s highly doubtful that person wants him back.
“Mordred! For the last time, you eat your food, you don’t throw it!” Merlin knows he’s shouting, and he is also aware that shouting is not the brightest way to reason with a child, but he’s had enough. He’s been holding his temper ever since he got home from the office, but Mordred insists on defying him on every little thing, including eating his dinner. “Mordred, please,” Merlin takes the spoon from his son, and scoops out some stew to feed to the boy, “just eat, please. I need to go out again. For work. And Mrs. Collins will be here any minute, alright?”
“B-but you just got here,” Mordred’s green eyes look wistful and sad and it makes Merlin want to throw his hands in the air and admit defeat. Admit that he hates Freya for taking off and leaving him with a baby; admit that he’s scared that he’s screwing up his own son; admit that he’s in way over his head.
“Look, Mordred—“
“But Daddy, you promised we’d play.” Mordred’s chin wobbles a bit, and he can see that his son is struggling to stop himself from crying.
“I know, but I have to work tonight.”
“But—“
A knock on the door stops both father and son. The knock comes again, and apparently, whoever it was isn’t just going to go away, so Merlin decides that he’d rather deal with the person at the door, than with a crying Mordred. It’s probably just Mrs. Collins from down the hall, anyway, coming to babysit Mordred while he’s out.
“Sorry, Mrs. Collins, if we’re running a bit late today, but a certain little boy—“ Merlin throws the door open to find…Arthur. He raises an eyebrow. “Arthur? What are you doing this side of the city?”
Arthur smiles, but the kind of smile that tells Merlin that his long-time friend has had a trying day. “Evening, Merlin. Mind if I come in?”
Merlin steps aside and closes the door. “What is it? Are you alright? Is it your father? Morgana?”
His friend laughs, and wipes a hand on his face, a sure sign of stress. That’s the exact same look that Arthur had whenever they studied for finals in university. “Yeah, I’m fine. My father’s fine. And last I heard, Morgana managed to convince Leon that they need to take that holiday in Italy, so I’m pretty sure that my witch of a sister has never been better.”
“Uncle Arfur!” Mordred bounces into the room, and throws himself on one of Arthur’s legs.
“Hey, Mordred.” Arthur picks up Mordred and flicks a finger on the child’s shirt. “What’s this?” Mordred looks down, and flushes at the spots of stew on his shirt.
“Mordred’s been throwing his food around,” Merlin informs Arthur.
Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Is that right, Mordred?”
Instead of looking apologetic, Mordred points a finger at Merlin and exclaims at the top of his lungs, “Daddy’s leaving!”
Merlin grabs his hair in frustration. “Mordred! Not now!” he groans.
Arthur puts Mordred down and looks sternly at the boy. “Mordred, why don’t you go play in your room? I need to talk to your dad.”
Mordred nods solemnly, and rushes to his room. Merlin swears that there’s a hint of hero worship in his son’s eyes – as if he trusts Arthur to fight his battles for him and make Merlin stay.
Before Arthur can say anything, though, Merlin beats him to the punch. “Look, I have an interview tonight, and Mordred is in a snit because of it, okay? I’m already running late, as it is, and Mrs. Collins is gonna be here any minute now, and Mordred’s still hasn’t taken his bath because he doesn’t want to eat his dinner like a normal person, and—“
Arthur holds up a hand. “Wait, wait. You have an interview at this time of the night?”
“That’s what I said, Uncle Arfur!” comes Mordred’s muffled voice from inside his room.
“Mordred! What did I say about eavesdropping?” He looks at his friend again. “It’s with a dance instructor. She can only accommodate me after her classes are all done.” He glances at the clock, and seeing the time, rushes to grab his bag and phone from the coffee table. “Look, can you watch over Mordred for a minute? I need to get Mrs. Collins.”
Arthur beats him to the door, and holds a hand against it. “Why don’t I take care of Mordred until you come back? I need to talk with you anyway.”
“Uh…you’ve never babysat Mordred by yourself before.” And he hasn’t. Despite being a doting “uncle” to Mordred—buying his son too many presents, the biggest birthday cakes every year, and an annual trip to the carnival, by god—there’s always Morgana or Gwen to take on the heavier role of parenting Mordred, because he’s the ‘cool’ uncle as the blonde likes to brag.
His friend shrugs. “It’s only for an hour or two, right? And I’m sure Mordred will behave himself.”
“Yes!” Mordred shouts from his room.
“Mordred!” Honestly, that kid needs to learn his manners.
“I don’t like Mrs. Collins! She reads all the boring stories!”
Arthur, the prat, smirks, and leans away from the door. “Go.”
Merlin opens the door to find their usual babysitter about to knock. "Ah, Mrs. Collins, change of plans…”
It is almost midnight when Merlin walks through the door. Arthur is half sitting, half lying down on his couch (which the blonde complains as being ratty and lumpy), with Merlin’s copy of Fahrenheit 451 on his chest. He’s snoring slightly, and with his mouth open a bit to boot.
“Arthur.” He nudges the blonde’s foot with his own. “Arthur, c’mon, get up. Get your arse in the guest room.”
His friend blinks awake. “Mrrlin?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Get up. If you sleep on the couch tonight, you’ll regret it in the morning. Off to bed with you.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Merlin watches as Arthur groggily gets up and heads to the guest bedroom. He shakes his head, checks in on Mordred, then goes to bed himself. It doesn’t even feel like an hour when something huge and heavy landed on Merlin’s back.
“Daddy!”
He opens his eyes to see sunlight pouring through the gap in the curtains. Why do mornings come too fast?
“Daddy!”
Honestly, Mordred has too much energy and too much intelligence and too much…everything for Merlin to handle. But he loves his son, and these are the moments that brighten up his world.
“Mordred,” he smiles, and immediately groans as his son uses his spine as a trampoline, “Mordred, Daddy’s awake.”
“Good! Uncle Arfur making breakfast!” Mordred runs out of the room.
“Morning, Merlin.”
“Arthur.” After a quick shower, he feels almost human again. He’s grateful that it’s the weekend and he can just spend some quality time with his son. He can revise his article later while Mordred’s taking his nap. He accepted the offered tea with a grunt of gratitude. “Thanks for watching over Mordred last night.”
“Hey, no problem.” Arthur, Merlin notices, had also taken a shower and is now wearing one of Merlin’s uni shirts and his dress pants from the night before. The blonde smiles and smartly slides a handful of bacon strips on the plate, then passes it on to the boy. “Here you are, Mordred.”
His son beams at Arthur, and the blonde replicates the gesture. Then, Arthur hands Merlin his own breakfast. They eat in silence, after a while, Merlin breaks it. “So, Arthur, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“It can wait.”
Merlin frowns as Arthur just stares at his half-eaten plate. They stay like that for a while, until Mordred breaks the silence.
“Can we go to the park today, Daddy? Can we?”
“Sure, kiddo.” He ruffles his son’s hair, making Mordred grin.
“Uncle Arfur, you coming, right?”
This time, Arthur’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he says, “Not today, Mords. Perhaps next time.”
Arthur closes the door to his huge apartment with a groan. Yesterday, in his office, the plan had been simple and to the point. But this morning in Merlin’s apartment, it seemed like the dumbest idea he has ever had, and that was excluding most of his and Merlin’s epic (but quite unfortunate) adventures back in uni. So, he backed out because he’s an idiot as well as a pillock and he doesn’t even want to imagine what his sister will say once she hears about this. Oh, and she will hear about it, because she has a way of getting information out of him despite him not wanting to divulge anything, and then she’ll gloat because she’s a grade-A witch who lives solely to torture him.
He turns the idea again in his mind, and still thinks it’s dumb, but serviceable. He gets to be married, and he gets to be married to the man he’s been secretly in love with for ages. He just needs to pluck his goddamned courage from somewhere and actually get on with the asking.
Arthur’s in their usual booth in their usual pub waiting for his best mate to show his face. He’s invited Merlin out to dinner to ask him. He’s planned it perfectly: it’s a Friday, giving Merlin the entire weekend to think about his answer, and it’s evening, which means that Merlin has turned in his article to his editor Rob. Now, he just has to make sure that he doesn’t squirrel out of this. It’ll be easy—he’s presented ideas and contracts and reports to businessmen before and he’s come out authoritative and the perfect business prodigy. It’s only Merlin, for fuck’s sake.
Speak of the devil. His idiot of a best mate just entered the pub, and by the looks of it, he looks like hell warmed over. Suddenly, his good, dumb idea seems like it’s too much to ask.
“So,” and Merlin smiles that idiot smile of his, the one where his eyes crinkle at the corners, and hints of dimples show on his cheeks. They place their orders, and Arthur plays with the hot sauce. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I…” he gulps. This is harder than presenting slides and spreadsheets. “I, um, I need your help.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Of course, you don’t even have to ask. What is it?”
“I need you to…marry me.”
Silence.
Morgana may say a lot of things about him, but he’s not a coward, so he holds Merlin’s gaze as the other man stares at him.
“I’m sorry, did you just say you need me to…”
“Marry me. Yes, Merlin, I said I need you to marry me. I’ve known you’re an idiot, but shall I include deaf as well?” he snaps. Merlin frowns, but ignores his outburst. And really, Arthur already realizes that he’s the one who needs a favour and antagonizing the man who can help him is not, in fact, going to help him in any way.
Still. Merlin raises an eyebrow, a move that Arthur swears is directly off Gaius’s book. “May I ask why?”
And finally, finally, they can get on with the reason why Arthur just made a fool of himself in front of his best friend, and perhaps even put their friendship on the line. The truth spills. But not everything. Not the secret that Arthur has stowed in the deepest caverns of his heart. He still has a bit of dignity—he is a Pendragon after all.
The waitress comes with their food as soon as Arthur stops talking, as if written on a script, but he doesn’t mind. He’s not going to call attention to the reason why Merlin is sitting quietly (for once) and not bashing Arthur’s head in with the napkin holder.
“I’ve tried talking to my father, tried to make him see sense as to why this is such a terrible, terrible, idea, but he won’t budge.” He explains, rather weakly, even to his own ears.
“And this…Edwin…?”
“No.” Steel has entered Arthur’s voice, and he’s not going to apologize because, “Edwin is a spoilt, arrogant child, and he knows nothing of this business. He’d waste away the money, and the company will go bankrupt even before my father recuperates. No, I will not hand over Pendragon Industries to that arse. My employees deserve better than that.”
“Arthur, don’t you think you’re just,” Merlin does quick, jerky movements with his hands that make Arthur wonder if it was a rude gesture, “exaggerating? A bit, yeah?”
“I’ve talked to the lawyers. It’s iron-clad. Either I get up and get hitched or I lose the company. And you’re my best mate, and the only one I can actually ask.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and gathers enough nerve to look Merlin straight in the eye. Again. “It’ll only be a year, and I swear, we’ll get divorced as soon as the company is completely mine. You’ll still your freedom, and I won’t impose on you other than to ask you to move in with me. So, will you marry me?”
“No.”
Arthur is not an idiot, and he knows that in asking Merlin, he risks the possibility of being denied. But still, hearing the word ‘no’ makes the rejection more tangible, yet surreal, both at the same time. He slowly—as slowly as he can so that Merlin won’t notice—sucks in a breath to calm his rampaging heartbeat.
“No,” Arthur repeats, because he never realized that he’s a masochist until now, and there’s also the likelihood that Merlin made a mistake and he really meant ‘yes.’
Merlin shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but I can’t. It’s nothing personal.”
“You’re refusing my hand in marriage! In what parallel universe is that not personal?!” Arthur shouted, and he’s thankful that the pub is always noisy during the weekend as it lessened the degree of his outburst a bit, but his eruption spurred Merlin into a fit.
“Oh, I’m sorry, your highness, but have you ever thought of my son?!” Merlin hisses. “It might not seem like such a big deal for someone of your stature, Arthur, but Mordred is a living, breathing, thinking human being, and he’s going to ask questions, and he needs stability! Furthermore, Mordred and I don’t exist just to be pawns in one of your stupid, corporate tests of will with your father, in the emotionally-constipated connection you call a father-and-son relationship!
I’m sorry, Arthur, but you know I’d help you if we were still in university, but we’re not. And we can’t just do this and expect no repercussions the next morning other than a few hours in jail.” And with that, Merlin stands up.
Arthur can’t let it go, and he knows he should, but he’s a stubborn bastard. “Just…think about it, please. I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate.” And he closes his eyes until he’s certain that Merlin is out of the pub.