“Turkey sandwich, crisps, there’s drinks in the vending machine but they’re horrible and I’m not getting them,” Merlin announces, kicking the door shut behind him. “Also, I think everyone else is commandeering the third floor for a party of some sort. There may have been alcohol involved, but since I have no clue where it came from, I didn’t grab any. It looked a bit dubious anyway.”
“Do you have any matches?” Arthur asks. “Or a lighter?”
“No,” Merlin says slowly. “We’ve got these things called electric lights, you see, and radiators –”
“To set these bloody papers on fire,” Arthur adds. Merlin takes a step back, and Arthur vainly attempts to tamp down the murderous glare.
“No,” Merlin repeats. “The last time something caught on fire here, we were lectured for three hours on proper safety protocol.”
“Last time was your fault,” Arthur says sulkily, and tosses a folder at Merlin’s face. The folder stops in mid-air, then obediently floats back onto the desk. Merlin turns reproachful golden eyes on Arthur, who determinedly ignores him. “Sign those,” Arthur says.
“No, Arthur, I am not going to commit forgery for you,” Merlin says. “Sandwich or crisps?”
“Either,” Arthur says. Merlin deposits the sandwich into his hand and sits down opposite Arthur. For a moment, Arthur remembers wooden tables, firelight and maps of a kingdom that no longer exists. Then the vision fades and he’s left staring at a contract he suddenly can’t remember anything about.
“When can we get out of here?” Arthur asks, looking out at the blizzard that has them trapped in his office.
“Technically, anytime,” Merlin says, and wiggles his fingers significantly.
Arthur tosses his untouched sandwich aside. “Let’s go,” he says.
“You said you weren’t leaving till you were done with that,” Merlin says, frowning at the papers on Arthur’s desk.
“They’ll keep,” Arthur says shortly, going around the desk to stand before Merlin. “I have better things to do on Christmas Eve. Come on, Merlin. Do I have to make it an order?”
“Because I listen to those so well,” Merlin laughs, standing up and pulling Arthur closer. A whispered word, and then magic surges up around them, familiar and warm and strong as always. It’s comforting, Arthur thinks, that no matter how many bodies or lives they’re reborn into, he and Merlin always find each other and are always, always the better for it.
He closes his eyes and lets the magic bring them home.
no subject
“Turkey sandwich, crisps, there’s drinks in the vending machine but they’re horrible and I’m not getting them,” Merlin announces, kicking the door shut behind him. “Also, I think everyone else is commandeering the third floor for a party of some sort. There may have been alcohol involved, but since I have no clue where it came from, I didn’t grab any. It looked a bit dubious anyway.”
“Do you have any matches?” Arthur asks. “Or a lighter?”
“No,” Merlin says slowly. “We’ve got these things called electric lights, you see, and radiators –”
“To set these bloody papers on fire,” Arthur adds. Merlin takes a step back, and Arthur vainly attempts to tamp down the murderous glare.
“No,” Merlin repeats. “The last time something caught on fire here, we were lectured for three hours on proper safety protocol.”
“Last time was your fault,” Arthur says sulkily, and tosses a folder at Merlin’s face. The folder stops in mid-air, then obediently floats back onto the desk. Merlin turns reproachful golden eyes on Arthur, who determinedly ignores him. “Sign those,” Arthur says.
“No, Arthur, I am not going to commit forgery for you,” Merlin says. “Sandwich or crisps?”
“Either,” Arthur says. Merlin deposits the sandwich into his hand and sits down opposite Arthur. For a moment, Arthur remembers wooden tables, firelight and maps of a kingdom that no longer exists. Then the vision fades and he’s left staring at a contract he suddenly can’t remember anything about.
“When can we get out of here?” Arthur asks, looking out at the blizzard that has them trapped in his office.
“Technically, anytime,” Merlin says, and wiggles his fingers significantly.
Arthur tosses his untouched sandwich aside. “Let’s go,” he says.
“You said you weren’t leaving till you were done with that,” Merlin says, frowning at the papers on Arthur’s desk.
“They’ll keep,” Arthur says shortly, going around the desk to stand before Merlin. “I have better things to do on Christmas Eve. Come on, Merlin. Do I have to make it an order?”
“Because I listen to those so well,” Merlin laughs, standing up and pulling Arthur closer. A whispered word, and then magic surges up around them, familiar and warm and strong as always. It’s comforting, Arthur thinks, that no matter how many bodies or lives they’re reborn into, he and Merlin always find each other and are always, always the better for it.
He closes his eyes and lets the magic bring them home.