Happy Merlin Holidays, fuzzytomato02! [3/3]

[merlin-hols.livejournal.com]

"This is just because you're my brother and you'll owe me till you turn eighty."

Elyan bows his head sheepishly. "Let's make it seventy-five and I promise--"

Leon elbows Elyan mightily, almost knocking him off his feet. "Elyan, your sister is the only security guard who'll let us in without Arthur vouching for us, and without proof I'm not asking Arthur to get us in. It's his family I'd be slandering."

"But," Elyan objects, "she'll blackmail me till the end of days."

"That's what sisters are supposed to do, mate."

Gwen waves them through the security turnstile, turns and punches a set on numbers on a wall grid pad. The door that is usually thrown open on workdays but tightly shut on holidays slides free. "This is more than my job's worth."

"Gwen," says Leon in as reasonable a tone as he can. "I know we're asking a lot of you, but not letting us in would have been worse for your job in the long run."

Gwen scrunches up her nose. "How so?"

"I can't explain." Leon slips through the door. "Not till I have factual back up. Let's just say that Arthur is a better employer that many other people would be."

Gwen smiles radiantly. "Arthur is the best CEO there is. I have faith in him."

Leon has to ask. "That doesn't mean you would let us into a specific office, does it?"

She shakes her head, loose curls brushing her shoulders. "There's no way I'd do that. I don't fancy a Christmas in prison."

Elyan sneaks in past Leon. "That's not a problem. Single office alarm systems are easier to get past."

And that proves true. Elyan manages to get the door to du Bois' office to open without truly breaking and entering.

They pad into the office even though there's no reason to; since it's Christmas Eve morning nobody's on this floor, not even the cleaning crew. Unless Du Bois decides to pop in himself because he forgot something, they're in the clear.

"I'm not touching the safe," says Elyan. "That's more criminal than any bit of hacking."

Leon smiles. "If I'd wanted to steal data that way I wouldn't have called you." He waves his arms at the sleek computer sitting on du Bois' desk. "I want you to retrieve all the files he printed in the last month or so. Can you do that?"

Elyan slides into du Bois' chair. "That's fairly easy; even if the PC's password protected. But why do you think he stored sensitive data in here?" He pats the monitor. "If I had something to hide I wouldn't dream of saving it on the company PC."

"And I wouldn't dream of printing it and putting it in the safe but, Elyan, du Bois went all shifty when he realised I'd caught him putting documents in there. Why would he even look like that if he wasn't doing something he thinks wrong?"

Elyan rolls his eyes and starts the computer. "So basically we're trusting your hunch."

"Yeah."

Leon takes to pacing while Elyan's fingers race on the keyboard. Elyan hums, curses to himself, and tuts a little. There's more finger tapping as Leon's stomach does somersaults.

It vaults right into his throat when a dark-haired suited man stalks down the corridor, Elyan and he dive behind desk and armchair respectively so as not to be seen.

Luckily enough the guy disappears into lift number three without even having noticed any disturbance coming from du Bois' office.

It takes a while for Elyan to surface from under the desk and for Leon to peek out from behind the armchair but they do when the printer starts working.

"What are you doing?" asks Leon in a very low voice.

"Printing everything again."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." Elyan makes a face and collects a stack of some forty to fifty pages. "There's more but I was thinking we should start off with this bunch."

Leon walks over to Elyan, still wary of being surprised while in here. Elyan hands him the files and Leon starts skimming them. After two or three minutes – and if it takes him so little it's because organising files is his daily bread – his eyes light on something that sets Leon's alarm bells pealing.

"Eureka," he says, half-glad he'd been right all along, half-concerned about the discovery he's just made.

"Does this help?" Elyan asks.

"You can bet on it," Leon answers. "We need to warn Arthur."

****

Arthur has always vowed he would change his ringtone and always postponed actually doing so. He swears he wants to because it's loud and obnoxious, particularly so when he's been sleeping nicely, but he's used to it as he's used to his old slippers, which have a hole, and so never does get around to it.

However when he hears it, he sits up in bed and dives for the phone so as not to wake Merlin. He allows himself one small smile before barking a curt and admittedly put out, "Yes!"

"Arthur," comes Leon's voice, "There's something I need to tell you."

Wanting to let Merlin snooze on, Arthur says, "Can you wait a moment?" puts on yesterday's trousers and shirt, and slips out of the room without letting the door fall completely shut. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Arthur," says Leon, paper shuffling noise in the background. "I've found out something and it's very important."

Arthur grins into the phone and starts walking to and fro. "Why, Leon, and here I was believing you wanted me to have fun while on holiday." He about-faces so as not to lose sight of his – Merlin's room – and smiles like a fool once more even though Leon can't see him. "And I followed your advice. I'm having the time of my life, with a great person. So no more calling me a workaholic behind my back."

Leon smacks his lips overly loudly. "Arthur, I'm glad, though I'm sorry it's happened now."

"You're beating around the bush." Arthur suddenly starts feeling cold and Leon's tone is not helping. Leon's always serious, true, but benignly so, tone always calm and modulated. He seldom goes out of his way to express worry or elation.

"Possibly," says Leon. "You sound quite cheery there, more so than I've heard you in a while, and I don't like the idea of being the bearer of bad news."

"But there's bad news."

Leon gurgles but then spits it out. "Yesterday I forgot to ask you for an extra signature so I popped by your uncle's office to get it from him. He did sign but he behaved very oddly. He was startled when I surprised him rifling in his safe."

Arthur bursts out laughing. "Is that your bad news?"

"Unfortunately, there's more," says Leon, contrition back in his tone. "I was sure he was hiding something from me. More so since there was this weird guy slinking out of his office. But I put it all behind me, and then me and my wife had a chat."

Arthur snorts, not needing the verbal detour. "I suppose this is all going somewhere and it's not just a description of your marital happiness."

"It is." There's one more voice in the background and Arthur thinks it familiar though he can't pin it down for the moment. "My wife said her boss advised her not to buy Camelot shares because someone from within had told him Camelot wasn't sound."

"That's preposterous!" snaps Arthur. He'd very much like to wring the neck of whoever had spread that rumour. He has the numbers. Camelot is more than financially sound. As the new CEO Arthur's making investments that not everybody might understand, but he's working for Camelot's expansion and some things are a question of foresight, patience, and instincts.

"But that's what the man said," Leon says gently. "And he might have a reason to say that."

Arthur harrumphs. A hotel guest sashays past him and eyeballs him. Arthur concentrates on his phone conversation. "I seriously doubt that."

"Arthur, I had a nightmare about your uncle and it seems my subconscious wasn't too far off."

Arthur is very sceptical; the noise he makes indicates that.

"Arthur, I'm serious," says Leon. In the background someone says, "Get to the point!" and Arthur starts to suspect it's Elyan from IT, the tech wizard who fixes everything at Camelot.

Leon decides it's time to use the big guns for his tone changes when he says, "Elyan and I found some documents that prove that your uncle is trying to buy out extra shares from Camelot shareholders so he can become the major one and oust you."

"Crap," says Arthur, raking a hand through his hair. "That's impossible. The man's family." And he is, isn't he? He's his mum's brother and for that alone he ought to be trustworthy. If Arthur couldn't trust the man who'd shared a childhood with her, who could he trust? Could he – should he confide in Leon when Leon was basically slandering a family member?

"Arthur, believe me, I don't like this any more than you do but it's all in black and white. There's e-mails attesting to his activities. There's a new order of the day ready for January 3rd and an item he wants to put to the vote. He basically intends to charge you of bad administration. There's a point-by-point illustration of the reasons why you're shit at steering Camelot, and he wants to take the board with him."

"He can't," says Arthur. "I'm still the major shareholder."

"The private correspondence he's got going with old Monmouth and your stepsister says that won't be the case if those two and a few others sell out to him. He's telling them you take too many bets and that their future assets will be in danger if they don't get far-sighted and go with him."

"Leon," says Arthur soberly. "Are you very sure?"

"I can forward you the mails and other scanned documents. If you don't believe me, you'll have to take the hard facts."

Arthur could now choose to be stubborn and refuse to acknowledge Leon's denunciation, or to trust him. Leon's been faithful through the years and Arthur can't close his eyes when the man says he's got proof. "All right." He sits cross-legged before the door to Merlin's room, legs giving out from under him. "I'm flying back home. Whatever my uncle's planned, we'll pre-empt him. Call a meeting for Christmas Day."

"You've got to be joking."

"I'm not," says Arthur sharply. "I'm going to be on the next flight home. Get a car ready. There's no time to lose. I've got to show the other board members I'm on top of things."

"Okay, Arthur." Leon sounds his competent self when he says, "I'll send Percival to meet you."

They hang up at the same time.

Arthur doesn't pick himself up as soon as the call's over, though, and remains seated at the door like a dog before his master's house.

His stomach is churning. The prospect of losing his inheritance and disappointing both his father and his employees scares him. It's everything his father had built and striven for and Arthur is losing it.

He has probably made mistakes in going his own way without explaining his vision to the older board members, but he'd been convinced he'd taken the necessary steps towards the modernisation of the company.

He can see how his uncle might have insinuated himself with the board members, however, suggesting Arthur had never been a pioneer but a madman.

Arthur slaps his thigh. What a fool he'd been. He'd give everything to have reason to suspect Leon is wrong but his instinct tells him he isn't. He'd give a lot to know that Agravaine has nothing against him personally, but right now he isn't too sure of that either.

And then there's Merlin. They've got something fantastic. Right, it's the product of a single night together but Arthur feels he wants to get to know Merlin, spend time with him. He wants to make love, have fun, tell Merlin things.

The mere thought of getting back into that room and telling Merlin that, hey, he's got to fly back, makes his guts twist horribly and his hands shake. He wants to be selfish and stay, stay cooped up in their room, lying naked on the bed till the new year rolls around and he can celebrate it with a snog and shag. A fantastic one. He can picture it already. Because, stupidly, he thinks he and Merlin could work together, could have something glorious if he only gives it time.

True, it might be his lust and his loneliness talking but he's convinced that it's not that and that he could and should grab this thing they've got with both hands. Stick to the idea of them.

But he's got a duty, to himself and to his recuperating father. Fuck. He's got to fly back to London. He gathers himself and slowly climbs to his feet, pushing the door open.

He walks to the bed, light from outside washing in and making Merlin's head glow. He puts a hand on Merlin's shoulder and leans down. "Hey, Merlin, wake up!"

Merlin mumbles something that sounds like lemmesleep, and swats him away.

Arthur shakes him again, but gets much the same result.

He resolves to do some net surfing to book his flight and let Merlin sleep some more. He does it on his phone and finds to his chagrin that all flights but the midday one are booked. Boarding is by eleven twenty and it's a little past ten now.

He's barely got time to wash, dress, get to the airport and through security. He curses and books it all the same. When he's got a booking code, he pronounces himself satisfied but before heading towards the bathroom he tries once more to wake Merlin. He gets a, "Fuck you, Will," for an answer.

Arthur decides to let Merlin sleep.

He washes and puts on yesterday's clothes but for a jumper of Merlin's he feels he needs to filch if he doesn't want to smell too badly. And it's not because he's a sap and wants to keep something of Merlin's.

Ten minutes later he gives Merlin another rattle and shake but Merlin is sleeping beatifically on. He frowns when Arthur touches him and his features smooth out when Arthur lets go of him.

Well, Arthur reflects, they'd both fallen asleep towards dawn.

Nothing for it but leave. He won't do that though without leaving a message first. He wants to see Merlin again and again, fuck it. He tries Merlin's high tech mobile but however up to date and expensive, the blasted little contraption can't memorise numbers – namely Arthur's – when its batteries are so very, very dead Arthur can't even call up the main screen, let alone use any other feature.

He crosses the room and settles for leaving an old fashioned sort of message, using the hotel stationery. He writes Merlin a quick version of what happened, tells him, by underlining the words thrice that he wants to see him again and tops it all off by penning the following,

CALL ME. 07922 442344

He folds the piece of paper in two, thinks better of it because he wants the message to be both legible and in plain sight, and walks towards the in-room breakfast facility.

He props the message on the coffee machine, feeling sure Merlin will see it; it's close to the door, facing the bathroom and right where the caffeine is.

This done, he kisses Merlin's forehead and leaves for the airport.

****

Helga Kreuzter is late. The hotel has six floors and she's barely managed the first two. She's off earlier today because it's a festivity and still needs to clean the rooms on floor 4, 5 and 6.

She will have to be quicker about it today; she wants to be out by lunch time so she can see her nephews and nieces who are coming down from Neuhausen for the express purpose of visiting her.

She does rooms 401 to 414 in half an hour but wastes time when reception tells her to ensure that room 356 has a change of toiletries. By the time she's back in the service lift she's left with less than an hour to do two floors.

They will have to be sorted quickly. She makes good time, doing each room in under two minutes. Since she's on a roll she blusters into room 512. Which is when she notices that there's still clearly someone inside, sleeping on the bed. The curtains are pulled and a soft snore punctuates the silence.

She splutters out a, "Sorry, this is cleaning. There was no do not disturb sign." Her English is tentative but she realises she's made a mistake in speaking at all when the man – the naked man in the bed – actually wakes up. Fuck, she might have slipped out unseen.

"What?" the man croaks, eyes blood shot and hair all standing up. "I--"

"Never mind," she says, "Someone will come back later."

In a flurry she closes the door after herself, not so much because she hasn't seen her share of naked, ruffled men, but because she wants to avoid a dressing down of epic proportions from both the guest and management.

She's about to hurry to the end of the corridor when she notices a piece of notepaper fluttering down. It must have been swept away by her shutting the door forcefully. She bends and picks it up. There's a phone number scribbled on it and a 'call me', but the rest of the note doesn't seem important.

It might be because she doesn't understand English all that well, but she's sure she'd get it if it was something of vital importance.

She looks back over her shoulder at rom 512 and decides not to knock again and tempt fate.

The guest might get angry or think she'd taken the note on purpose. Misplacing personal communications between guests would be frowned upon. She doesn't fancy being sacked over such a stupid incident.

Helga pockets the note and pushes the cleaning cart away from the door to room 512, her conscience only prickling a little.

****

When Merlin wakes up properly, it's to find out that Arthur's not there. At first he thinks Arthur's gone down for breakfast or lunch.

Therefore he whistles under the shower, smiling up at the shower head while he keeps his eyes closed and lets the water rinse away sweat and body odours deriving from a night of sex.

He breaks out into an even wider smile. Who'd have thought? He starts singing I'll Be Home For Christmas as he goes for washing his hair and continues humming carols while he towels himself dry.

He dresses quickly because it's very cold despite the generous heating but then flops on the bed wearing a thick jumper and fleece socks.

As he waits for Arthur to come back, banking on midday sex and then perhaps a visit to the famous Christmas markets, he decides to call his friends back home, and not because he wants to tell them about Arthur, but because he feels like checking on Gwaine's latest adventures and on Will too. Okay, maybe he feels too big for his skin and needs to use some of their bubbling energy powering him up, but he won't mention Arthur. Arthur's too special for a casual mention anyway. How would he even begin to describe him or what he does to Merlin?

"Hello," says Gwaine blearily. "I was sleeping off a torrid night of sex so whoever this is, call back later."

"Gwaine!" chirps Merlin. "It's me."

"Merlin, it's so early."

"Not that early," objects Merlin, switching the phone from ear to ear. "It's late enough for you to be enjoying the day."

Gwaine grunts. "So you got laid."

"No!" Merlin blatantly lies. He doesn't want to be teased by Gwaine. "Just no, Gwaine."

"You're a lying liar who lies." Merlin can hear the noise made by the springs of Gwaine's mattress. "I can hear it in your tone, Merlin. You're perky."

"That would mean that I'm not usually perky," Merlin says. "Which is just not true, because I'm a laid back, good humoured and generally nice person."

"Yeah," Gwaine says, still sleepily, "but you never sound like Tweety on a high either, so I vote for you having had a night of semi-steamy sex with some bloke or other."

Merlin squawks. "Why only semi?"

"Because you're not uninhibited enough."

Merlin laughs. "Yeah because you are..."

"You can bet on it."

Heather's voice – or at least Merlin feels safe to say it's Heather – wafts over. "Don't be so loud, Gwaine, or I'll sleep it off at home."

There's kissing on the other end of the line. "Well, have a nice and sexy holiday, Merlin, I've got to go."

And he really does go, leaving Merlin to flipping channels – mostly German and French ones but for the lone BBC World choice – as he waits on Arthur.

When it's well past lunchtime and Arthur hasn't showed up, Merlin tries to think of reasons that might have prevented Arthur from getting back quickly. Maybe he's gone shopping for clothes or has had to make phone calls to cancel his other holiday. Maybe he's found an internet café and is skyping to tell his people at home where he is.

A lot of maybes dart through Merlin's mind. But the maybes do nothing to blot out the sinking feeling that comes over him as the hours go by.

By mid-afternoon, Merlin is fairly sure that no ordinary setback is keeping Arthur away. So, yeah, Merlin isn't stupid but he still tells himself that Arthur is a good bloke – you can't fake some things, can you – and that he'll be back.

When footsteps thunder down the corridor outside, Merlin goes to the door and opens it. The footsteps don't belong to Arthur though. It's just the room service guy dashing past.

Merlin hangs his head and lets the door click shut.

After a solitary meal and a few more hours spent in his room, Merlin sits at his desk, facing the mirror, and drops his head in his hands. "Stupid," he mutters. "Stupid."

He's got to acknowledge the truth, hasn't he?

He has been dumped.

He waits some more just to be a hundred percent sure but by seven o'clock it becomes irrefutable.

Merlin has been ditched without a good-bye or thank you for the time spent together. Arthur has legged it, preferring not even to face Merlin, to be honest with him and say Merlin's okay for a one night stand but nothing more, not even a friendly pat on the back.

Merlin kicks the mini bar door, leaving a trainer shaped indent. It's not as if he was expecting to get married but he'd thought they'd gone for this thing together, like equal partners, and the fact that Arthur hasn't even said good-bye makes Merlin feel like a loser and like he was no one's equal at all. Which is depressing.

But no, he tells himself, it's not Merlin who's the loser – okay a little bit – it's Arthur Pendragon who's the tosser.

A big prattish tosser who's made Merlin's heart ache for him.

****

Leon intercepts him before he can enter the meeting room. "They're all here but for Ms Faye."

Arthur nods his head and clutches the folders he's brought with him. He spent his time on the plane and at home yesterday printing out data that supports his investment choices, an outline of his intentions and projects, and various spreadsheets and prospectuses.

It's helped that, thanks to Leon and Elyan, he knows which points dear Uncle Agravine made to undermine him so he can counter each one in turn.

He wants to swat Agravaine like he would an insect; reading his bullet pointed reasons why Arthur's been a bad administrator has made Arthur a little more than belligerent.

As Leon opens the door for him, Arthur's stomach flips and turns as the sofas Fred Astaire tipped down and vaulted over during his dance routines did.

All board members are seated around a large oval glass table, dressed in their best suits, upright, stunned and twitching.

As Arthur drops the stacks of folders on the table so Leon can distribute them around, Uncle Agravaine's previously unconcerned, confident smile becomes a touch more tentative though it doesn't evaporate. Yet his posture is still relaxed as that of a man who's certain of his position.

So as not to be encumbered, Arthur unbuttons his jacket and starts pacing around the table, humming and tutting.

After a while, both of Geoffrey of Monmouth's bushy eyebrows shoot up in a clear show of indignation. "What is the meaning of this meeting? On a holiday to boot!"

Arthur loosens his tie and faces Geoffrey. "Some things have come to my attention."

Agravaine goes for a would-be serene smile.

"If you read the brief I've prepared, you'll be brought up to date as to Camelot's financial situation, future quarter revenues, and six month planning schedule as to our buy out proposals and takeovers."

Geoffrey flips through the pages. "I can see there's plenty of graphs."

"It's all in black and white." Arthur leans against the table, satisfied that he and Leon were able to put all this together at such short notice.

David Lamorak frowns. "A board meeting was scheduled for early February. I don't see the reason for this meeting today."

"Wasn't there a board meeting scheduled for early January?" a board member asks.

Agravaine shifts in his seat, eyebrows twitching. He's drumming his fingers on the glass surface of the table in a way that's making even Arthur anxious.

"Indeed, I think you'll find there was," says Arthur, picking at his nails. "Though that didn't come from my office and I knew nothing about it til a certain little bird let me know."

Agravaine smiles a tight smile.

"But I was sure you had to be involved," says Lamorak.

More board members nod.

"Well, no," says Arthur. "Because it came from my uncle."

Most board members relax.

"Bypassing me," says Arthur. "You see--" He stands again and takes to pacing. "My uncle wanted to circumvent me, trying to buy the majority quota of shares. He was in talks with Mr Monmouth--"

"That was just because I want to retire from business." Mr Monmouth has never actually turned so puce in his life nor have his eyebrows ever tried to climb higher.

"And my step sister, who was given shares by my father."

"That was entirely legal," Agravaine defends. He stands up, leaning on the table. "I'm fond of this company and think it's my future."

"Which is why you've been discrediting us on the market, I suppose?"

Agravaine straightens and Arthur walks up to him. They're standing nose to nose, Agravaine's nostrils flaring, colour high on Arthur's cheeks. "That's not--"

"What, true?" Arthur cocks his head as though he's confused. "But it is."

Agravaine steps closer, so their chests bump. "You're willing to bet on the future of a small publishing group and spend money on it. You think it's a good idea but I don't. That's all there is to it."

"It is a very sound idea!" Arthur shoots back. "The world is changing and so does the way we do business. Mass media are the future."

Agravaine hums patronisingly. "I have only one question to ask." He pauses dramatically and tilts his head to address all board members. "Would your father have done this?"

A few murmurs of agreement fall from the board members' lips. They are coming from the old guard, the men who built Camelot together with his father. As he expected, they are expressing their support to Agravaine for old times' sake.

Arthur can see that Agravaine has played it rather well, hinting at the one thing that would sway them, at the beliefs of the one man Arthur loves too much to defy.

"No, he wouldn't," Arthur says. "Of course he wouldn't."

Agravaine's expression is triumphant. He thinks he's winning this, the bastard.

In fact, Monmouth seems to be wavering on the verge of supporting him openly and so is another old friend of his father's.

"I rest my case," says Agravaine, voice smooth. "Uther would not have wanted this."

"My father was an excellent businessman," Arthur tells the board. He makes a sweeping gesture meant to encompass the building that represents the empire his father built. "Was he successful? Yes, he was. Did he make you all a bit richer? He did. But towards the end of his administration, he wasn't the same man he'd been. And how could he have been? He was getting ill. But because of his failing health, he made mistakes. He kept to his business routines and partners while he ignored a large section of the market. In good conscience I can't do the same."

Agravaine places a hand on the table and opens his mouth to begin a new harangue. "And yet this love of yours for the new media," he says, "a love your father didn't approve of, might I add, is what's pushing you to make decisions that might be dangerous for the future of this company. And you dare accuse me..."

Agravaine is being persuasive and Arthur himself would be moved by his tone and words if he didn't have the hard facts.

Monmouth apparently doesn't have them or prefers a dose of old-world panache to statistics, for he juts his chin out and nods vigorously.

Leon makes a panicked face at Arthur, for they both know that if Monmouth sells out to Agravaine and more of his friends follow in his footsteps, Arthur's out as CEO. Arthur makes a quick sign with his hand though and smiles. He hasn't lost this yet. He can't lose this. He owes his people. "I follow stock-markets trends."

"Fluctuating stock-market trends." The sneer in Agravaine's tone would have made the potted plants in the office wither if this were a cartoon.

"That's how the economy works, Uncle," says Arthur.

"It' more complicated than that," Agravaine counters rather smugly. "You're merely betting on outcomes you can't be sure of when there are safer paths to follow."

"But it's not as simple as that either," says Arthur. "I want to expand. Explore other sources of revenue."

"And that is why you shouldn't be at the helm," says Agravaine. "You're too young. You follow your heart as impetuous people might do. But our generation still has a trick or two up our sleeves."

Agravaine garners more general consensus. "Several financial analysts agree with me and think that with a different lead Camelot--."

Arthur is close to doing violence but he keeps still, his voice steely. "Which financial analysts?"

"People from the city." Agravaine's lips become a thin, severe line and his shoulders grow taut.

Arthur knows that this is the route he has to pursue if he wants to show the board members what his uncle has been up to.

"Like the people you told we weren't sound?" Arthur asks. "Why would you do that, Uncle, if you think your future is with us?"

This time more than one board member scowls at Agravaine.

"I--" Agrvaine, says, looking to the door as a source of safety. "I'm..."

"I'll tell you why," Arthur pushes. "It's because you were publicly discrediting me. A thing you wouldn't have done even if you held Camelot dear. Approaching the board? I can see that. People outside Camelot? That's sabotage."

"No, that's not--"

"But I have proof of what you did. Just as I can prove that you doctored data and reports so as to make it look as though I didn't know what I was doing." He points at the documents that were handed to the board membes. "You were doing this because you want Camelot's funds for yourself and you don't care about how you get there."

The game's up; Agravaine's face morphs into a rictus of anger. "And I'd have the right!" Agravaine's veneer of calm is completely gone.

And thanks to that display, Arthur has Agravaine by the balls. "How so?" he asks nonchalantly. "Camelot was my father's brainchild."

A vein in Agravaine's temple is now throbbing and his face is thunderous. "Your mother promised me I'd get something when she was worrying she wouldn't survive her pregnancy, but Uther ignored her words because she died before she could do anything about it."

"So you want the money?"

"Some of that money's mine!" Agravaine yells, hair standing up, spittle flying. "I was your father's advisor for a long time before Ygraine died. I have a right to his money. It's mine."

Arthur smiles, steps back and waves a hand at Agravaine. "And that is the man some of you wanted to back over me."

All eyes turn to Agravaine; some show sympathy but most of them are full of disapproval. Agravaine has never been slow to gauge the mood of the people around him. He places a hand on his stomach, Napoleon-style, turns on his heels and flees the room.

Arthur faces the board members. "I hope that after this you'll come to me if you have doubts."

The board members express their solidarity in chorus.

****

Merlin keeps to his holiday's schedule. As he's told Arthur, he's there to hit the old town Christmas markets and so he does, because he won't let what happened affect him in any way, shape or form.

Merlin is so above being dumped. So he buys gifts for his friends and mementoes for himself, he tastes some of the good food he finds at vendors' stalls and treats himself to some delectable local specialities he can't name but he's happy to chomp on.

Not even the glacial weather, his perpetually runny nose, or the fact he can't feel things while wearing gloves 24/7 affect him. He buys himself a ticket for the circus and enjoys it, clapping loudly, awwing and ahhing along with the rest of the audience.

He takes a walking tour of the town and one of the surrounding areas even though the he has to rush through the first to make it to the second.

He's busy as a bee and very happy.

Nothing's missing. Merlin is perfectly fine. Merlin doesn't need anyone to share this with.

That's what he tells the woman he bumps into on the ice skating rink. "I'm not useless!"

His woollen gloves are all wet and the ice is an uncomfortable surface to sprawl on.

"I didn't mean to say you were. You're just a little graceless on ice," the woman tells him.

"Well." Merlin picks himself laboriously up, slip sliding every three seconds or so until the woman braces him. "You and Arthur can believe what you want but I'm.... I'm resourceful and nice and great in bed actually."

The woman gapes, frowns, gapes some more and says, "And who's Arthur?"

"The right tosser who doesn't know what he's lost."

"Riiiight." The woman takes a step back from him. "Since you didn't break anything..." She points backwards with her thumb. "I'll get going..."

"Yeah, go. That's the solution to all problems, isn't it! Non-confrontation!"

The woman skates quickly away, leaving Merlin to complain to himself.

After that things settle a little. Merlin makes the executive decision not to mention Arthur anymore to anyone and enjoys himself. He truly, truly does. And when New Year's Eve rolls around Merlin goes to watch the fireworks display hosted by the Zurich Hoteliers’ Association. During which he a) gets pissed b) gets a cold because of Zurich's sub polar winter temperatures and c) exchanges germs by way of a couple of filthy celebratory kisses traded when the town hall clock strikes midnight.

Overall it might have been worse. Right, he's been dumped but he's had his holiday and his fun and he's got friends waiting for him at home. That's all perfect. Splendid. He's a lucky guy.

Can Arthur boast all that? Okay, maybe he can cause he's a rich toff, but all things considered, Merlin's superior to all that.

Merlin's confidence supports him all the way to the airport and on the flight back home.

Where he finds that things can get worse. He establishes this when, after having spent two days comfortably sprawled on the armchair strategically placed in front of the telly, he's Merlin-napped by Gwaine, who, on pretext of needing a night out among pals, ambushes him into a veritable blind date.

Hints that have led Merlin to believe he's been tricked into one are:

1) Gwaine's excessive and manic enthusiasm at the prospect of spending the evening at the local
2) Drea and Freya's presence – especially the latter since Freya notoriously disapproves of a) Merlin's local, b) Gwaine's libertine habits.
3) Gwaine's disappearance – in the vein of The Flash – after having said, "Merlin, this is Gilli."

Gilli happens to be Merlin's age, or slightly younger, into IT, and a fan of Skype chats and Tolkien.

"Gwaine says you like elves."

"I like folklore," Merlin specifies, a bit put out. He's got nothing against Gilli but the fact that he doesn't know him, he's been trapped into a conversation with him, and the suspicion that Gilli seems to have been found for him on the basis of a series of ticks on a checklist.

"So you're into..."

"Legends and stuff," Merlin says. "I work at the Evening Gazette and basically I'm behind their web pages and stuff. When I'm off, I like to... delve into other things."

Gilli favours him with a smile that's half determined and half happy. "We could go to a convention together." He puts his hand on top of Merlin's.

"Look," says Merlin, doing his best not to shake Gilli's hand off. "I think you're a great guy but lately I've had to deal with a big fuckwit who sort of made me believe things and a bigger one..." He raises his voice because he's sure said second in command in the fuckwits mother-ship is still around and can hear him (unless he's shagging the barmaid behind the bar). "...Who's so controlling he thinks he can wave a wand..."

There's a raucous burst of laughter from the general direction of the bar counter.

Merlin reddens all over. "Not like that!" he shouts and finishes lamely, "And fix my life by going behind my back."

He makes Gilli angry, takes a punch for the Gilli's Pride team, and spends the rest of the evening at home nursing a bruise of gigantic proportions by applying a cold steak that should have been – if this world was kind – his lunch for the next day.

That Gwaine manages to lure him into another blind date is a measure of how sad and dysfunctional Merlin's life really is. Because Merlin is too soft on his friends and would do everything for them, especially the moment one of them – the usual suspect – comes up stating that he's met the love of his life down at the tennis club, which he frequents in the hopes of picking up nice girls covered in skimpy little flared skirts, and needs Merlin's help. "Stat."

"Life's not ER."

"Do you want me to spend my weekends glaring at the phone while loser music plays on?" asks Gwaine. "Do you really want that? I'll play all Eagle classics, I swear."

"And why would you need me on a date, Casanova?"

"Because she's not like other girls." Gwaine wags his eyebrows. "I mean she hit me on the nose with her racket, made me bleed , and was all apologetic, so I told her I'd forgive her if she went out with me and she was all, no, I don't know, until I mentioned it was casual and I'd be bringing my best mate and then she said yes."

"I'm not going to be your third wheel!" Merlin screeches, more than mildly outraged.

Gwaine pats his arm, stands up and ambles into the kitchen, coming back with a bottle of Merlin's absolute favourite beer. "Did I mention I've got an on-the-side agreement with Pete at the local and that I've got a case of this." He taps the side of the bottle. "All for you!" Gwaine has the guts to bat his eyelashes at Merlin.

"Nuh-uh." Merlin sucks in his lower lip, crosses his arms and shakes his head.

"Did I mention she's tall and blonde and has lovely--"

"That's enough. I can picture what's so lovely about her."

"Do you want me to grow emotionally stunted?" Gwaine settles in the armchair next to Merlin and pouts, looking for all the world like a kicked Schnauzer.

Merlin capitulates.

It turns out that Elena, the girl Gwaine has set his sights on, has a brother who's a year younger than she is, as blonde as she is, and whose name's Galahad.

Galahad looks as though he's just stepped out of a Renaissance painting, all blond curls, clear blue eyes and perpetually rosy cheeks. Perfect casting for the role of nativity angel if someone pasted wings onto his back.

He's also tall and shy and and never looks up from his plate but to flick glances at Merlin and blush. He's cute; it's not that he isn't, but Merlin doesn't much know what to do with him.

Though it's biting cold, they take a walk through the park and Gwaine and Elena, who's as clumsy as reported, vanish into thin air, leaving Merlin in the company of Cherubim Guy.

Cherubim Guy is very proper but for the time he leans a little too close as if casually going for a kiss that might get aborted should Merlin not pick up on the signal. A bit like the arm draped across a sofa thingy that might or might not turn into a petting session if the response from the partner is positive.

Sure of this, Merlin halts in his tracks and says, "You know, you're nice and polite and hot, but nothing's gonna happen."

Galahad's forehead gets creases all over. "But why?"

Merlin breathes out; he guesses he needs to be honest at this point. "Because I'm still thinking about someone else." And I'm not as sloshed as I was on New Year's Eve, he thinks, but doesn't say.

"Oh, Gwaine said..." Galahad hunches in on himself. "That you were free."

"And I am."

Galahad kicks at a conker, the parks fairy lights making him look young and soft around the edges.
"Had it been going on long?"

Merlin wants to laugh because of course he's behaving like a tit and over someone he knew for a night and he's disappointing his friends and probably ruining his chances at having a good time. He takes it upon himself to tell the truth.

"No, not really. But I liked him. Lots. So it was a flash of a thing but it mattered to me. And now I don't feel like going down that road again." Merlin is probably rambling by this point, gesticulating widely so he can make his point. Perhaps there's no point to it all and that's why he's flailing and hoping Gwaine will come back and save him from this, but it's Galahad who does, for he smiles and says, "It's all right. I understand that. But I hope we can be friends?"

Over that question he and Merlin exchange phone numbers.


****



"Okay, thank you." The receptionist hangs up and Arthur crosses another number out. He's still got five on the list.

Leon ambles back into Arthur's office. He's not wearing his suit and tie because today is not a working day. Officially, the Camelot personnel is still on holiday. "Any luck?" he asks in that jovial tone of his that makes Arthur wonder if anyone can achieve it without attending self help or Zen classes.

"Well, I've only got his first name." Arthur wipes at his forehead and puts his pen down. "Those who haven't cut me down because they thought I was hoaxing them asked me for his surname and then assured me they couldn't locate a guest for me if I didn't know his family name."

"You could bribe them."

"I don't think that would turn out well."

Leon shrugs his shoulders and sits on the chair next to the filing cabinet. "And he hasn't rung either."

"No." Arthur rubs at his face.

"Arthur," says Leon, "I'll help you track him down if I can but you need to know that maybe this was just a one off for him."

"I know."

"And that it might be embarrassing once you find him and he has to spell it out for you."

"Yeah."

Leon scratches at his chin, tilting up an eyebrow. "But you still want to go ahead?"

Arthur needs Leon's help; Leon's unbeatable at doing things systematically. "I do."

Leon starts chuckling softly. "You really liked him, didn't you?"

Arthur stiffens, his face getting heated. "I enjoyed Merlin's company."

Leon seems to find that funny for he's slapping his thigh and fully laughing now. "That's the new code word for madly in love like Leo di Caprio in Titanic, is it?"

Arthur's lips twist sideways. "Don't be an idiot, Leon, and help me find Merlin."

Leon stands and moves over to the desk. He picks up Arthur's list and says, "I'll try the last ones; you try the ones that begin with S and T."


****

"So, tell me again why I had to drive you all the way to work?" Gwaine asks as he double-parks next to a Fiat Croma.

"Because today we poor employees of the Gazette get to meet the bigwigs."

Gwaine kills the engine. "And why's that so important?"

"Because," Merlin says. "If I'm not on time I could be fired by the Camelot people or by the editor in chief, numbskull."

Gwaine uses the rear-view mirror to fix his hair. "Who, that hot lady, Annis Carleon?"

"Gwaine," says Merlin, "I'd like to remind you that you're going out with Elena."

Gwaine puts his hand on his heart. "And that's why I'm not coming up with you. I'm an honest man."

Merlin shuts the door, tempted to give Gwaine the finger. He doesn't because Gwaine's been kind enough to drive him when Merlin's car is past hope of ever getting started and Will still nursing his broken leg. As Merlin ducks into the Gazette's building, Merlin waves at him.

He's got his heart in his throat as he runs up the stairs and makes it to the office itself.

Nerves close to the surface, he perches on the desk he uses when not working from home and goes through the notes he'd written down in case he was interviewed by his superiors. Merlin's better at doing things than making speeches and he's aware of this.

Merlin quite loves the Gazette, its tone, his tasks – Cedric and Mordred's hostility notwithstanding – and the fact it's a free paper. So he'd like to keep his job.

He's going over the bit about on-line editions and sensory overload caused by too much content on display, when Mrs Caerleon and Freya walk in followed by three or four suited gentlemen.

All the Gazette's employees stand up but for Merlin, whose eyes are still glued to his notepad and the sentence 'Oppressive bad ads don't tempt the reader to click."

Someone clears their throat, Mordred throws a pencil at him and Merlin falls off his perch on the desk, all the clutter that had been deposited upon it cascading down after him.

When Merlin looks up, covered in office debris, it's to meet Arthur's eyes.

"Arthur!" Merlin says, a little bit choked as the rush of memories makes his blood pump faster and gather on his cheeks and neck.

"Merlin."

"That would be Mr Pendragon," Mark from accounting says.

As he slumps on the floor, bits of paper sticking to him in the most haphazard fashion, Merlin realises two things: that Arthur's the owner of Camelot and therefore Merlin's new boss – by way of Freya, by way of Annis and then the shareholders at Camelot – and that, given the way his face feels as hot as the air currents blowing over the Sahara desert during the dry season, everybody must have guessed that Merlin's embarrassed.

There's a lot he'd like to say at this point, but the words dry in his mouth. 'You chucked me without a 'hey, good bye' is on top of the list, as are the words, 'I'm totally above all of this. So far above I've floated past the stratosphere to come live on the moon.’

He might have just babbled incoherently and regained a seat, but he hears nothing else from Arthur.

Mrs Caerleon says, "I thought you wanted a tour of the premises, sir."

"Why, yes, indeed," says Arthur, voice tight. It's similar to the tone he'd used to berate Merlin when he'd sprayed chocolate all over him.

"Then if you'll follow me," says Mrs Caerleon while Freya explains about the boost in on-line hits.

While Merlin's pointedly not looking at him, Arthur walks away.

Hands clumsy, Merlin picks everything up and dumps it on his desk. He tries to sort out all his notes and the mess on it, when Mordred saunters over and asks, "What was that all about?"

"What?" Merlin painstakingly busies himself with his notes; it doesn't matter that the last page happens to have ended up on top. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mordred cackles; there's no other word for it. "Come on. You know the new owner."

Merlin pinches his lips.

"Merlin, care to tell me why you know the owner?"

Merlin has had enough. He spins around so his gathered notes take flight again and rain on him like snowflakes. "Honestly, no, Mordred." He flails. "Why don't you march over to your desk and re-do the header for the cinema and theatre section?"

Mordred's eyes narrow; there's almost a murderous light in them. Merlin starts thinking about how to tackle Mordred in case it becomes necessary when he shifts to the left and bumps right into a solid wall of human flesh. And muscle. He focuses more and sees it's Arthur.

Mordred scarpers.

Arthur grabs him by the elbow, looking all smiley and dopey now as opposed to the professional aura from before. "Could you step out with me for a moment?"

Merlin's heart is a bit of a traitor and does its worst to beat all out of tempo. Merlin hardens his face and says, "No."

Arthur looks stricken and lets Merlin go. "Why not?"

"Because, you cabbage head," Merlin hisses though he'd much rather raise his voice, "you left! Not even a 'Bye, Merlin. It's been nice'."

Arthur's features twist and do odd things as his expression goes from hurt to angry to shell shocked to puppy-like hopefulness in a few beats. He crowds closer again and whispers, "Would you like to step out so we can discuss this?"

Merlin shakes his head. "No," he says." He wags his head for good measure. "You might think it's all nice as fuck but you tramped all over my h-- ego back there and I'd rather not do all that again. It's not healthy."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't like it when you left. I didn't want to like you when you left."

"You like me."

Merlin snorts. "You'd choose to pick up on that, of course." He makes the mistake of looking at Arthur then and a wave of longing works its way through his body in the shape of small shivers. He remembers; he remembers Arthur's mouth on him and touching him and feeling warm and appreciated. He has perfect recall of the connection he thinks they had. It must have shown in his eyes or something because Arthur decides it's okay to manhandle him out of the offices and onto the mezzanine.

"What the hell, Arthur!"

"I thought you didn't want to hear from me again."

This doesn't really compute. "What?"

"Because I left you my number and wrote you to call me and you never did."

Blood rushes into Merlin's ears producing a booming noise. "There was no note. You didn't leave me any message."

"I did!" Arthur says, throwing his arms up and waving them like flags. "Propped the note up against the coffee machine."

"There was nothing nowhere!"

Arthur smiles like a loon as though he hasn't quite got the finer points of Merlin's grievance. "But if you didn't find it then you didn't not call because you didn't..." He makes a sign with his hand that is half incomprehensible and might have been lewd. "It wasn't because you don't like me."

The way Arthur looks when he says that, a cross between a school boy and a Disney hero, makes it difficult to process everything at first but Arthur flies past the hurdle by kissing Merlin soundly on the lips, rucking up Merlin's ironed shirt – purposely worn to look professional on this oh-so-important day – and licking into his mouth like they're teens and Arthur's just made himself cosy on the sofa while their parents are out.

"Wait," Merlin pants wetly into Arthur's neck. "You didn't mean to disappear without a trace?"

"No," says Arthur, throatily, purring against Merlin's neck. Merlin will have to revise the puppy dog simile. "No, I meant to spend the holidays with you – in bed preferably." Arthur blushes a nice shade of rosy pink that suits him very well.

He says, "Merlin, I wanted to stay. I left a note. I've called every Zurich hotel in the hope of finding you and got hung up on, told I couldn't be put through if I didn't have your family name, or simply laughed at."

"You called every hotel in Zurich?"

Arthur kisses the side of Merlin's neck, swiping a hand up his flank and tickling his ribs. "Yeah. I sicced Leon on you, making him ring loads of hotels. On Boxing day. Paid him extra. And I phoned the airline and.... Bottom line is I had a work emergency but I'd like to... have a chance with you."

Merlin starts grinning and he knows it's not sexy, but he feels light and daring, as if all things have slid into place, and his original judgement call was right as his feelings – churny, stormy, deep, mind-blowing – for Arthur have always been right. "Then you're not a cold hearted wanker."

"Why, Merlin. I'm pleased to hear that."

Merlin puts tiny little kisses to Arthur's mouth., thinking that if he's found Arthur again it's because of the magic of Twelfth Night.

The End