Archive of Our Own

March 1964

Merlin sagged back into his desk chair with a sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He hadn't been able to focus on anything for over an hour, and this Ford Cortina ad was being remarkably stubborn about not writing itself. "C'mon, Merlin," he muttered, stretching his neck and loosening his tie a little. His gaze fell on the row of glass decanters on the credenza, their assortment of liquors catching the afternoon sun. Merlin stood and went to them, picking up the different bottles in succession.

Despite nearly four months in this office, Merlin hadn't yet taken to day drinking in the way that seemed to be required of anyone in the ad business. With the afternoon he was having, however, Merlin was willing to give it another chance. He poured himself a small glass of whiskey and swirled it, watching the amber liquid spin.

The circular motion reminded him, suddenly, of the purchase he'd gone out at lunchtime to make. A smile burst across his face and he set the glass down before scurrying back across the room to retrieve a flat paper bag from underneath his desk.

He hadn't yet made it to the record player—he was too busy admiring the curve of Paul's jaw and George's brooding expression—when Gwen buzzed him.

"Yes?" he asked, pressing the button on his intercom.

"Mr Pendragon is on the line for you," came Gwen's reply, her voice staticky in the little speaker.

"Oh thank god," Merlin muttered as he set down the record and grabbed the phone. "Arthur!" he hissed into it, "Where in the hell are you? It's well past two, and Morgana was here for you, in a right state."

There was a pause, during which someone outside Merlin's office shoved their chair back from their desk quite loudly, and then Uther Pendragon's disdainful voice came over the line, "Pardon me?"

Gwen threw open the door, as wide-eyed as Merlin had ever seen her, and began silently mouthing, Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!

"Mr Pendragon," Merlin managed, after staring at Gwen for a stunned moment. "I'm so sorry, sir. Terribly sorry. Bit of a misunderstanding, I'm afraid."

"I dare say," Uther replied coldly. "You might ask your girl to be a bit more specific in the future, if either of you wishes to remain employed here."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Sorry, sir."

"I take it, from your outburst, that you don't know where my son is, either?"

"No, sir. I've not seen him since before lunch."

"You really ought to keep better track of him, you know."

Merlin gritted his teeth. He was employed as one of Arthur's copywriters, not as his valet or his minder, despite Uther's inability to see the difference. "I'll try, sir," he said.

"Send him up the moment he returns. I have Miss Le Fay here in my office, and, indeed, we have urgent items to discuss."

"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir," Merlin said, and Uther hung up without another word.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Gwen said the moment the phone was back in its cradle. "I should have used his first name, I don't know why—I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry—"

"Oh, it's all right," Merlin said. "The only time that man has ever spared a thought for me, it was just to think what a bumbling lower-class simpleton I must be, so there's no harm done, really." Gwen grimaced. "But," Merlin continued, "maybe do try to include his first name, in the future? If he ever deigns to call me again, that is."

Gwen nodded. "Of course. Of course. Sorry." Merlin gave her a rueful smile. Gwen's eyes fell to his desk, and her demeanour changed suddenly. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Is that the new single?"

Merlin glanced down at the record, and grinned. "Yes. Have you heard it?"

"How could I? It was just released today! My mate was telling me on the train that she caught it on the radio this morning over breakfast, but I missed it. Is it amazing?"

"D'you wanna have a listen?" Merlin asked, already making his way to the player, record in hand.

"Of course, oh my god!" Gwen all but shrieked, closing the door just before Paul McCartney's voice filled the room.

By the time Arthur was standing in the doorway, clearing his throat disapprovingly, Merlin and Gwen had the lyrics to "Can't Buy Me Love" memorised. They'd switched back to "Twist and Shout", and Merlin was struggling to keep himself from physically grabbing Leon's hips and manhandling him into doing the Twist without looking like a man made of metal. "Try to relax," Merlin was saying in response to a particularly awkward and stiff turn of Leon's torso, "it really is just meant to be fun," when Leon froze.

"Arthur," Leon croaked, abruptly straightening his posture.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the spinning record and John Lennon's enthusiasm. Arthur just looked at them, and Merlin's eye was drawn to a funny lump between the top two buttons of his black waistcoat. Merlin studied it, and then bit his lip against a smile, realising that Arthur had mis-buttoned the white shirt beneath it.

"What," Arthur said witheringly, "is this?"

"The Twist," Merlin answered brightly. "Leon's nearly got the hang of it."

Arthur looked at Leon with raised eyebrows. "Has he?" Leon opened his mouth, but didn't manage to say anything. Arthur turned to Merlin, who looked back at him with a stubborn smile.

The song was nearing its first climax, voices layering in a building harmony, and then John whooped and Paul wailed and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are they ever going to stop playing this song? Who told this man he could sing, honestly? He sounds like he's in pain."

Merlin just grinned. "They've got a new one! Just out today. Hang on." He went to the record player, ignoring Arthur's long-suffering sigh.

"Please don't," Arthur said, but Merlin already had the "Twist and Shout" forty-five off the turn table, so it was the work of a moment to get "Can't Buy Me Love" going again, not that he had had any intention of heeding Arthur's instruction anyway.

"This is Paul," Merlin explained helpfully, a few bars in, "double-tracked."

Arthur just looked at him, profoundly unimpressed, as Merlin sang along quietly. Leon and Gwen watched uncertainly, clearly wanting to leave.

"Well," Arthur said, after the first verse, "it's certainly good to hear that you don't care for money, because I won't have to lose any sleep over sacking the lot of you. Have you honestly not got any work to do?" He looked at all three of them pointedly.

"I was just going to, um," Leon said, moving to the door, "yes." He left, Gwen scurrying after him.

Arthur turned back to Merlin. "This is work," Merlin said. "You know I get all my best ideas when I'm listening to records."

"Yes, and maybe your best ideas would actually be good if you listened to something worthwhile."

"You mean old? No thanks, this office has more than enough of that already."

"Is that why you're trying to corrupt Leon?"

"He likes it, and so do you, even if you won't admit it. You said yourself that his work has improved over the past two months, since I got him listening."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur said, moving to the credenza and pouring two drinks. "Leon's work has been better because he's started seeing that new receptionist, Lois. That's far better inspiration for any man than your ridiculous dance lessons."

Merlin rolled his eyes but didn't pursue it, because now that they were alone, he had more pressing things to tease Arthur about. "So where've you been?" he asked.

"Long lunch meeting," Arthur replied. He replaced the top of the gin decanter and turned, handing Merlin one of the glasses. "I tried some last-ditch negotiation with the Bass people, but I don't think it worked. So much for our monthly shipments of free ale."

"Really?" Merlin asked. "They couldn't be swayed? Not even when you took your clothes off?"

Arthur looked at him sharply, eyes widening.

Merlin smirked. "You missed a button," he said, gesturing at the lump beneath Arthur's waistcoat.

Arthur looked down at himself and groaned. "Wonderful," he said flatly. He set his drink on the credenza and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair before unbuttoning his waistcoat. Merlin didn't look away until he started undoing the mis-buttoned shirt beneath it.

"So what happened with the Bass account?" Merlin asked, leaning against the edge of his desk and looking down at his drink for something to focus on. "Do you really think they'll leave us?"

Arthur sighed, re-buttoning. "Unfortunately, yes. Apparently Mercia's been courting them for months, and finally came up with something good enough to pull them away. So they've dropped us."

"But what about the new art Lancelot and Elyan were working on? It was great—did it really not help at all?"

Arthur shook his head. "It was great, but they still hate the concept. They want a racier campaign than my father will ever let out the door."

Merlin nodded disappointedly and took a small sip of his drink and didn't watch Arthur's fingers slide under his belt, smoothing down his shirt. "So, was it the Bass people you were taking your clothes off for, or was that not work-related?"

Arthur didn't say anything, but when he looked up at Merlin, he was smirking.

Merlin groaned and rolled his eyes. "Look, can you please stop disappearing in the middle of the day like that? Or at least ring your secretary, so we have some idea of when to expect you. My nerves cannot handle your father calling me again."

"Especially when you mistake him for me, and make a complete idiot of yourself?"

Merlin grimaced. "Who told you about that?"

"Ran into my father on the lift."

"Oh God, of course you did. So you've seen Morgana, then?"

"No. I wanted to hear your side of it first, so I wouldn't go in unprepared. I told my father I needed a few minutes to smarten up, and he was happy to wait." He smirked again, and Merlin couldn't help pulling a face. Uther was bizarrely proud of Arthur's sexual exploits, in Merlin's humble opinion. "So, Merlin, care to explain how and why you've made an idiot of yourself this time?"

Merlin scowled. "It was just a misunderstanding. Why would I expect it to be your father calling me? He never calls me. He barely even looks at me when we're in the same room."

"That's not true."

"It is! He's never going to think of me as a proper copywriter. I'm just one of the hired help, a servant meant to be useful but never seen nor heard from."

Arthur slid his arms back into his jacket. "All right, that's probably true," he said, and picked up his drink. "So what happened with Morgana?"

Merlin sighed. "She finally got wind of the proposed ban."

"Ah," Arthur said, turning his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. "Well, we knew this day would come eventually. How's she taking it?"

"About as well as you'd expect. She's convinced that her world is ending, that without television adverts, not a single person is going to buy another packet of cigarettes ever again, and that she'll be a pauper in the street before you know it."

Arthur leaned back against the desk, right next to Merlin, close enough that Merlin could smell him. He'd had a boozy lunch, for certain, and it didn't smell like ale. Merlin wondered where he'd gone after the Bass meeting, to drink his frustration. The smell of sex on him was strong, too, which should have been repulsive, but all Merlin wanted to do was press his face into the curve of Arthur's neck and bury his nose in his hair.

"And how much worse did you make it, trying to calm her down?" Arthur asked.

"I didn't—oh, shut up," Merlin said, as he pushed up off the desk and moved around it to sit in his chair, putting a safe distance between them. "Only... marginally worse, I'd say."

Arthur looked at him and then gestured for him to continue. "I don't want any surprises when I go up there. What exactly did you say?"

"Same thing we've been saying to each other for weeks. First, it's only a proposed ban, which might not pass at all, and, second, if it does pass, the earliest it would go into effect would be August of next year, so we'll have plenty of time to sort it all out."

"Mmmhmm," Arthur said, "and?"

"And that I'm not actually convinced it will make a difference. People love smoking. It's been two years since the Royal College of Physicians started its campaign, and a solid three months since the American Surgeon General came right out and said that smoking causes cancer, and sales haven't dropped a notch. I think it's a fairly safe bet that Le Fay Tobacco has a long and healthy financial future ahead of it, no matter what we do."

Arthur took a drink, eyeing Merlin thoughtfully. When he tilted his head, Merlin noticed a small lock of sweat-damp hair curling against his face just in front of his ear. Merlin swallowed, and tried to un-notice it.

"All right," Arthur said. "I don't love how impotent you made us sound, but I suppose that isn't too bad. Was that all?"

Merlin opened his mouth, but then changed his mind and took a sip of his drink instead.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, after a moment.

"That was... most of it," Merlin said. "Almost all."

"Almost," Arthur repeated, sounding resigned.

"There was one last part, that she didn't like very much."

Arthur looked at the ceiling again. "What's the last part, Merlin?"

"Don't sound like that, I haven't done anything wrong."

Arthur just looked at him, utterly unconvinced.

Merlin sighed. "She said she wants us to start a new ad campaign right away, so we can squeeze in as much air time as possible before they turn the lights out on us. And she wants the focus of the campaign to be a direct confrontation of the science. She wants more doctors—a whole army of them—disputing the findings."

"But we've run out of doctors willing to make those claims."

"That's what I told her; we won't be able to find one, let alone an army. She said she doesn't care. That it doesn't matter if they're not actually doctors. She wants us to hire actors to pretend to be doctors and tell everyone that all the real doctors don't know what they're talking about."

Arthur frowned. "And what did you say?"

"I said that was out of the question."

Arthur's eyebrows went up. "You what?"

"I refused. I told her we wouldn't do that."

"You refused," Arthur repeated, flatly.

"Of course! We wouldn't actually do that, would we?"

"We'll do whatever she wants, Merlin, she's our single biggest client, and what's out of the question is losing her account to another agency—especially when we have so many unhappy clients as it is. Not to mention that my father watches her account like a hawk, and he'll have my head before we displease her."

"But we can't just lie!"

"We're ad men, Merlin."

"Well, yes, but it's one thing to paint products in the best possible light. Deliberate, bare-faced lying is another thing entirely."

"But we're not the ones lying, she is. Our job is to promote her product the way she wants us to."

Merlin stared at him. "Arthur, no. We have a duty to keep our ads honest. Especially on this scale, it's completely unethical."

"No," Arthur said, not quite looking at him, "our duty is to our clients. And I don't pay you to think about ethics, I pay you to write copy."

Merlin pursed his lips. "Well, don't ever ask me to write copy like that, because I won't."

Arthur looked at Merlin sharply, and for a moment Merlin thought this was about to turn ugly, but then Arthur took a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "I have other copywriters, and there are still plenty other accounts to keep you busy. Just, for God's sake, don't speak to Morgana anymore. At all. About anything."

"She came barging here, what was I supposed to do?"

"Why was she in your office in the first place?"

"I don't know, why does everyone at this agency seem to think I'm your keeper?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking out the window with a sigh. Sunlight illuminated the side of his face, and the sweat-damp piece of hair clinging to his skin was all Merlin could see. "Will you please try not to incite any more catastrophes while I'm upstairs smoothing this over?" Arthur said, turning back to look at Merlin.

He was such a bloody prat, Arthur was, but he was wearing the blue tie that made his eyes look impossibly deep and bright. "I'll try," Merlin replied, with more annoyance than he really felt.

At the end of the day, Merlin put his Cortina notes in his briefcase and pulled his hat and overcoat off the stand by the door.

"Pub tonight?" Gwen asked, when Merlin emerged from his office. "And it's my treat. I owe you after the Uther incident."

"You really don't," Merlin said. "But, yes, the pub is required today, absolutely."

"Is that a new hat?" Gwen asked as she gathered her own things.

"It is." He grinned and put it on. "Who do I look like?"

"Oh my God, that's exactly the hat John was wearing in all those pictures from America."

"I know! Even Arthur recognised it. He claims to hate it, but I think he's protesting entirely too much."

"Obviously," Gwen agreed easily. "I suppose you should be wearing a stodgy old bowler like he still does?"

Merlin rather liked Arthur in his bowler—he had exactly the right jaw for it—but he didn't say so.

"Oh, Merlin, you look fabulous," Gwen continued admiringly as they descended in the lift, "with that tie and everything, you look just like the fifth Beatle. They're going to come back and claim you, whisk you off to a life of rock'n'roll and fame and fortune, and I'll be stuck here, jealously reading about you in all the papers."

Merlin snorted. "Well, there is the small matter of me not actually having any musical talent."

"That doesn't matter," Gwen said, waving her hand, "I'm not convinced that Ringo actually does."

"Oi, he is a very good drummer," Merlin said loyally, and pulled his hat down tighter as they stepped out into the blustery March evening.

Their pub of choice, The Rising Sun, was just across the road from the office and very popular with Camelot staff, so the first several minutes in the pub always consisted of a great many Hello!s and How are you?s and Have a nice weekend!s before they could make their way to an open table in the back. Leon was there with Lois the receptionist, and a few minutes' conversation only strengthened Merlin's conviction that, while she was a perfectly lovely girl and undoubtedly a positive force in Leon's life, there was no way she was inspiring anything new or exciting out of him, whatever Arthur thought. Obviously it was the Beatles.

"Have you got plans for the weekend?" Gwen asked, once they were seated and she'd brought Merlin the pint she'd insisted on paying for.

"Extremely thrilling and exciting plans, as always. Tonight I'm getting a pint or six with you, and then tomorrow my mate Will's coming over to use my telly. He's got an unhealthy affection for Cathy Gale."

"Oi, Merlin, Gwen!"

Merlin and Gwen both turned to see Gwaine, a Camelot account executive, sauntering up to their table with his arm draped over the shoulder of a tall red-headed woman Merlin didn't recognise. Merlin liked Gwaine quite a lot, but still had very little understanding of what an account executive actually did. Gwaine never seemed to be doing much of anything, save for making travel reservations for out-of-town clients when they came to the office to hear a pitch.

"Gwaine," Merlin called back to him, smiling at him and the woman on his arm in turn.

"This is Joan," Gwaine said, affecting a strange accent that was so bad Merlin couldn't place it. "Joan, this is Merlin and Gwen. I work with them."

Joan smiled at them, with an unimpressed but not unkind edge that made Merlin like her. He got the impression she was in the middle of giving Gwaine a rather hard time. "Pleasure to meet you both," she said. "Gwaine here seems to think that talking to you is going to clear up a bit of a misunderstanding we're having."

"Yes," Gwaine said, in his clumsy accent, "quite. Merlin—" and Merlin raised his eyebrows, wondering what the hell was about to come out of Gwaine's mouth. "Could you please confirm for the lovely Joan here that I am, in fact, originally from Liverpool, and that it's common knowledge around the office that I am a childhood friend of Paul McCartney's?"

Merlin didn't say anything for a moment, just taking this statement in, and then barked a deep laugh before he could help himself.

"Thank you, Merlin," Joan said, triumphant.

"Mate," Gwaine said, wounded, as Gwen snorted a laugh, "honestly. I expected more from you."

Merlin shook his head. "No use in us both looking pathetic and insane, mate," he said, chuckling. "That was a lost cause the moment you opened your mouth and started that terrible Ringo Starr impression."

"Indeed it was," Joan said, but the way her hand trailed over Gwaine's back as they walked away left Merlin with the strong suspicion that getting caught in the lie hadn't cost Gwaine a thing.

"Listen, Merlin," Gwen said, when they were alone again, "I'm really, really sorry about this afternoon."

"Gwen, enough," Merlin chided. "It's completely fine. And besides, it was way more Arthur's fault than yours, for disappearing in the middle of the day like that."

"He's been doing it more frequently, hasn't he?"

"Yes. It's very annoying. Not to mention completely crass. Did you see he hadn't even managed to button his shirt back up correctly before he returned?"

Gwen frowned at him. "I didn't."

Merlin's heart skittered a bit, and he blinked, feeling caught out. "Oh, sorry," he said, "You must not like thinking about him like that."

"Mustn't I?"

"Well, I mean. Since the Christmas party."

"Oh," she said, looking away, "right. No, it's fine. That was just a drunken mistake. I'm not pining after him or anything, believe me."

"Good," Merlin said. "You deserve better anyway."

"Go on," Gwen snorted. "All I know is, I'm never drinking champagne again."

Merlin grinned. "I still can't believe you had him on the couch in my office. That's completely disgusting. Not to mention that the couch in his office is way bigger."

"I told you, someone was in there already. Gwaine, probably, since that was the week his secretary had all his couch cushions sent out for cleaning—speaking of things that are completely disgusting. And we knew you'd just left, so your office would definitely be unoccupied."

Merlin ignored the familiar twinge of unhappiness at that thought, that he had probably still been walking home, trying to get the buzz of a drunk, revelling Arthur out of his blood, by the time the two of them had been fornicating in his office. It had only been a month and change into his time at Camelot, but he'd already been completely hopeless where Arthur was concerned.

He'd never been able to hold it against Gwen, though, much as he'd wanted to at first; she was entirely too nice to hold a grudge against, for one. For another, she'd been drunker that night than he had ever seen her since—and flirting with him, Merlin, hard. She hadn't yet realised that she and Merlin would only ever be good friends. And Arthur had stayed so close by them both all night, drunk and warm and friendly, until Merlin, in an act of self-preservation and laudable self-control, had excused himself to go home. It hadn't really been a surprise to learn that they had fallen into each other shortly after that.

"All things considered—including his mid-day exploits," Gwen was saying, when Merlin tuned back in, "Arthur really is much better than all the other men in the office. I mean, save you, of course."

"How do you mean?"

"For one, at least he's not married. The married ones are the worst, even when they're perfectly nice, like Leon, for example. And at least he—"

"Wait—Leon's married?"

"Of course he is," Gwen said. "Anita. She's lovely."

"But," Merlin sputtered, "he never said! He doesn't actually talk all that much, I'll grant you, but he's—he's so bloody nice and... noble and everything, how is it possible that Leon, of all people, is cheating on his wife?"

"Because that's what they all do," Gwen said. "All of these posh bastards, it's like it's bred into them. I'm not sure they can even help it, and they're certainly never taught that it's wrong."

"All of them? Seriously? Is anyone else secretly married? Not Gwaine, surely?" Merlin's voice went embarrassingly more shrill with each fired question.

Gwen laughed. "No, Gwaine is not married, so far as I know. Can you imagine? He'd have to tell her at least one true thing about himself, to begin with. Do you know the story of him and the switchboard girls?"

"No," Merlin said, raising his eyebrows interestedly and taking a drink.

"Last year, a few months before you started here, he was seeing all three Camelot switchboard operators at the same time, and had told each of them a different ridiculous and vaguely tragic story about his circumstances, and why they couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone. Well, of course they talked to one another, because they bloody well work in the same room for several hours a day, so it all came out, and Gwaine hasn't had a single call successfully connected to or from his office since."

Merlin snorted. "So that's why he takes all his calls in Percival's office."

Gwen nodded.

"I wondered why they wouldn't just get his telephone fixed."

"And that's what I was saying—at least Arthur has the good sense to keep it out of the office. For the most part, that is." She stopped to take an embarrassed sip of her lager. "I don't hear rumours about him with any of the other secretaries, whereas most of the rest of them seem to be making their way down a checklist with all our names on it."

"You must have been a special case, Gwen."

She snorted. "I doubt that. I was just a mistake. But at least Arthur has the decency to look you in the eye the next day. And be honest about his intentions. He's way nicer than the rest of them. Not that there've been that many," she hastily added, her eyes going wide.

Merlin just smiled, and took a drink. "Why d'you think he doesn't, though?" he asked. "I mean, shagging a secretary over lunch in his office would take a lot less time than gallivanting off to wherever it is he goes, and it's not actually that much worse, unless he thinks we're all convinced he's meeting his steady sweetheart."

Gwen shrugged. "Maybe he is. It never used to happen this much, so maybe there is some special girl he's running off to."

Merlin mostly managed not to frown at that.

"I'm glad you're not like them, Merlin."

"Are you?"

"Yes. I like that I can actually talk to you."

"They do have a... way with women I don't think I'll ever understand." Merlin took another, deeper sip, and desperately hoped that she wouldn't ask him about his own love life, which in practice had only ever involved a string of impossible, unrequited crushes and a shockingly intimate relationship with his own right hand, but in the telling always involved a pink-cheeked claim about not yet having met the right girl, which Merlin felt sure no one ever actually believed.

He was deeply grateful for the distraction, a minute later, when a familiar voice came over the radio in the pub, followed by a few enthusiastic screams from pub patrons. Merlin and Gwen grinned at each other, wide and shameless, and then jumped up to dance and sing along to "Can't Buy Me Love" for what would not be the last time that day.

July 1964

It was three and a half months before the rest of the A Hard Day's Night LP was finally released. The weekend afterwards was unusually hot, and Merlin spent it sweating even more than he probably would have, since he couldn't seem to stop dancing. By the time he was walking to work on Monday morning, he knew all the songs well enough that the record in his briefcase seemed to actually still be playing in his head, and he couldn't keep the spring out of his step.

He fanned himself as he stepped into the lift at work, and blew a bit of breath up his face to ruffle his fringe, but it didn't do much to cool him off.

"Hot, innit?" said a man Merlin had never seen before. He flashed Merlin a wide smile that was almost entirely teeth, and dripping with false charm.

"Is a bit," Merlin agreed.

"You work for Camelot?" the man asked, after Merlin selected floor seven. Merlin nodded. "Television, by any chance?"

"Creative. I'm a copywriter."

"Oh, bet that's interesting," the man said, with too much enthusiasm.

Merlin glanced at him. "You interviewing for a job?"

"Auditioning. For a commercial. Couple of them, actually." He grinned. "I'm an actor."

"That's lucky, then," Merlin said. They exited the lift together, and Merlin pointed down the hall. "All the way to the end, and turn left. The television office is hard to miss. Good luck!"

"Cheers!" The man grinned at him again and headed off down the hall.

Arthur was waiting in Merlin's office, and Merlin scowled at him. "Well, good morning to you, too, Merlin," Arthur scoffed.

"I have never found you lying in wait in my office for a reason I actually liked," Merlin said, and Arthur huffed. "Especially first thing in the morning. What's the problem?"

Arthur pursed his lips unhappily for a moment, but relented. "It's the Belle Jolie account."

"Leon's on that one, right?" Merlin asked, setting his briefcase on his desk and opening it, taking out his papers. "He's been complaining about it."

Arthur nodded. "He and a few others, handpicked by my father."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Your father's actually involved in the Belle Jolie account? I'd've thought women's cosmetics were beneath his notice."

"Yes, well, he and Richard Godwyn were old school friends. Godwyn inherited his late wife's father's company near the end of the war, in complete financial tatters. My father helped him pull it together, turn it into something profitable, so he's always been proud of it and maintained an active interest. Since Godwyn's death last year, his daughter Elena has taken the helm, and my father has felt even more duty-bound to keep a close watch on it.

"The problem," Arthur continued, "is that Elena has a very different vision for the direction of her company, and the type of advertising that my father continues to insist on is driving her away."

Merlin frowned. "What kind of changes is she making?"

"Anything she can to attract a younger clientele. She's got new products with bolder, brighter colours, and she wants adverts that match—fun, sensual, even a bit sexy, if we can get away with it."

"Oh, wow."

"Quite. My father, as you might imagine, won't even listen to her. She's getting ready to drop us, our fathers' long partnership be damned."

"You father's willing to risk that?"

"He's not taking it seriously. He's convinced she'll come around."

"So what do you want to do? Is there anything we can do?"

"We have one last chance to try, I think. Our final presentation to her is tomorrow, and all we've got is a list of pitches pre-approved by my father. None of them is going to work, so I want to prepare one more to slip in at the end, that my father won't know about. He'll shut the meeting down before he lets us get any further than that, but once we've said it, if it's out there and she likes it, and if it's enough to keep her in the room, he won't be able to argue with it."

"Do you really think he won't? I mean, no disrespect, but your father with his mind made up about something is a force of nature."

"Yes, but I don't think he'll openly argue with a client, even his friend's daughter, once he sees it's the only idea she likes. So it's got to be good. Something fresh and new and fun. Leon's been trying, but we need more men on this. Fresh eyes, new ideas. I really don't want to lose this account, Merlin."

"So, you're hoping that I'll save your arse."

"I'm hoping you'll do your job," Arthur said, arching an eyebrow.

"Which, in this case, is saving your arse." Before Arthur could retort, Merlin grinned and continued, "I'll do it. I promised Elyan and Lancelot I'd have the new Bassett's allsorts copy ready by ten so they can prepare for that pitch tomorrow, but then I'm all yours."

The day started off well enough, with Merlin settling on his allsorts copy quickly and relatively easily, but then there was a hiccough with the brassiere advert he and Elyan had put together the week before, when it came to light that Gwaine had promised the company president's wife that her own enviable chest would feature in all the pictures—a promise he had forgotten almost as soon as he got out of bed with her. Somehow it was nearly three in the afternoon before Merlin had time to start thinking about Belle Jolie lipsticks, so he knew it was going to be a late night, unless he managed some lucky stroke of early brilliance.

Arthur poked his head in at six o'clock. "I've got to get to a dinner," he said, "but how is it going?"

"Um," Merlin said, not looking up from what he was writing, a bit of brainstorming and notes from his meeting with the other copywriters already on the account. "I'm sure I'll get there."

When Merlin looked up, Arthur was still hovering in the door. He went a bit pink when Merlin looked at him, gave an embarrassed nod, and turned to leave.

"Actually," Merlin called after him, "do you have a few minutes? You know Elena, right? What she likes? What sort of things she and her friends, and her clientele, might appreciate? I need to talk this out a little, and I just... need more."

Arthur glanced at his wristwatch. "Sure," he said. "I can spare a few minutes."

Two hours later, Arthur was still there. ("It's just my father and a collection of his favourites from the club," he had said, when Merlin had looked at the clock and realised he'd kept Arthur for over an hour. "I don't mind giving it a pass, truth be told.") Merlin had come up with about a million more ideas about lipstick than he ever thought he could, and Arthur had stopped being legitimately helpful ages ago, but Merlin was glad for the company and the sounding board nonetheless.

"What about," Merlin looked off into the middle distance, "'Colour Your Kisses'?"

Arthur grimaced.

"Yeah," Merlin agreed.

A few minutes passed without them speaking, Merlin scribbling and Arthur drinking and A Hard Day's Night spinning in the corner. "If I Fell" finished, and Merlin started humming the opening bars of "I'm Happy Just to Dance With You" in the few seconds of silence before it actually began.

"Exactly how many times have you listened to this record?" Arthur asked.

Merlin grinned at him. "Dunno. About a million. Isn't it brilliant?"

Arthur just cocked an eyebrow, and a few minutes later added, "These lyrics leave something to be desired."

"Sorry?"

"This song is ridiculous. 'If somebody tries to take my place, let's pretend we just can't see his face'? Who are these children?"

"That's actually really good advice, Arthur. I'm sure you'd rather have a big manly fight or something, but not everyone's so relentlessly macho."

Arthur rolled his eyes and finished his drink. "Another?" he asked, gesturing to Merlin's empty glass and standing.

Merlin knew he should say no, but he was reaching the end of his rope tonight anyway, so he nodded. "Thanks," he said, handing Arthur his glass and standing to stretch his tired body. Arthur refilled both glasses, and instead of just handing Merlin his drink back across the desk, stepped around it and came to stand right next to him, surveying the notes spread out over the entire surface of his desk.

They stood there, silently sifting through papers for a good few minutes, and then Arthur's shoulder knocked into Merlin's gently. Merlin turned his head, thinking it meant Arthur wanted to say something, but Arthur didn't seem to have noticed. He just leaned closer, reaching across the desk for a pad of paper in front of Merlin. Merlin tried not to notice the way their bodies came into closer contact, forming an unbroken line from shoulder to waist.

Arthur didn't pull away, inexplicably, and then there was warm breath against Merlin's neck. Merlin didn't dare say anything, or move to look at him. Arthur smelled strongly of booze, faintly of cologne and deliciously of himself at the end of a July day, and Merlin could barely breathe against the feel of him, loose and warm and so close.

He knew he should pull away, and he meant to, but he hadn't managed it by the time Arthur suddenly snapped to attention, pulling away and standing up straight. Merlin just stared at his desk and tried to look like he hadn't noticed a thing.

"I should go," Arthur said gruffly. "You're nearly there, right? You'll have something by morning?"

Merlin just nodded, eyes trained on his desk, and waited until Arthur was gone to collapse into his chair and down both of their drinks.

He had a liquor headache and a vivid awareness of all the places Arthur had touched him, an invisible but indelible mark all along his side, when the Belle Jolie copy came to him the next morning.

Merlin looked up from his desk at the distinctive sound of Arthur's marching gait down the hall at five-thirty, and when Arthur appeared in the open doorway wearing his hat, he was still beaming. "You'll come out for a drink, won't you, Merlin? To celebrate?" Merlin grinned in answer and stuffed his papers in his briefcase.

As they waited to cross the road, Merlin cocked his head at the sound of someone in the crowd around them humming "A Hard Day's Night". It was a moment before he identified the source, and then he just grinned at Arthur for a long minute. Arthur stared back, confused, and then flushed as he rolled his eyes.

"It's your fault," he said, as they stepped into the zebra crossing. "It's only because you've got it playing constantly."

Merlin just laughed, and hadn't quite managed to stop by the time they were sitting at the bar.

"If you're quite finished," Arthur said, once the barman had served them, and raised his glass. "You really came through for me—for Camelot—today. Cheers, Merlin."

Merlin grinned, and drank. "Elyan's sketch didn't hurt, either. I can't wait to see the final colour version." The ad was a drawing of a man happily—perhaps a bit dazedly—sporting a lipstick mark on his cheek, which would, in the final version, be the exact same shade as the lipstick on the woman staring sultrily out at the viewer over the copy "Mark Your Man".

"It's true," Arthur agreed. "Elyan and Lancelot both seem to do their best work when it's for your copy. I wish they found all my men so inspiring."

"So Elena's definitely staying?" Merlin said, flushing at the compliment.

Arthur nodded as he brought his glass to his lips. "Yes, we've won ourselves at least one more campaign with her."

"I'll drink to that," Merlin said, and did.

"As it happens," Arthur said, "that wasn't the only bit of good news today. We signed a new two-year contract with HP Sauce, who've been shopping around and threatening to leave us for months. Percival, of all people, came up with the winner: 'Good with Bacon.'"

"Good on him," Merlin said, snorting a laugh. Percival wasn't the best with ideas, but once he'd got one—of his own or from someone else—he had quite the knack for whittling it down into something simple and easy, and often monosyllabic. "A good day, then."

"Quite. It eases some of the other blows we've been dealt of late, that's for certain. And I'll be honest, I'm more optimistic now than I have been in ages. Keeping Belle Jolie, given what Elena wants to do with it over the next year or so, is a real feather in our cap. We have to keep evolving, so that's exactly the sort of thing Camelot needs."

"How's your father taking it, by the way?"

"I'm not really sure," Arthur said, shrugging. "He went fire engine red during the meeting, but didn't say anything once Elena reacted positively. I haven't seen him since."

"What do you think he's going to do?"

"Unless he plans to break the contract I signed this afternoon, nothing. I know he's angry, but I also know we have a happy client. I may be the junior partner at this agency, but it is a full partnership, by his own terms."

"That it is," Merlin said, smiling. "So he'll just have to get over it."

Arthur snorted, and they both finished their drinks.

After another, Merlin asked, "Have you talked to Morgana since they passed the Act?" The Television Act had passed a month ago, complete with its ban on televised cigarette ads.

Arthur sighed. "I've tried. When she's done being melodramatic, she'll come to see that we have an entire year of broadcasting left, so there's plenty we can do yet, before we're limited to print."

"Just aim for something memorable," Merlin said wisely.

"Yes, memorable, that's brilliant advice, Merlin, thank you," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "I've actually been thinking that maybe this is a blessing, after what happened with the Strand campaign. Everyone's been dancing around that for years. Maybe it's best we all just back away."

"The Strand campaign?" Merlin asked.

Arthur looked at him and shook his head. "I forget sometimes how new to this you still are. Strand Cigarettes were a short-lived Imperial Tobacco brand a few years ago. Short-lived because of one very specific ad campaign, that so destroyed their sales they had to pull them from the market altogether."

Merlin shuddered. "God keep me from ever making an ad that bad."

"That's just it, though—it wasn't objectively bad. It was an extremely popular and well-received ad: A man standing on a rainy London street corner, looking like Frank Sinatra, smoking his cigarette and brooding, under the copy, 'You're never alone with a Strand. The cigarette of the moment.'"

Merlin frowned.

"The actor became an overnight success, the music in the ad was on the UK Singles Chart for weeks after it aired—but they couldn't seem to sell a single cigarette."

"Because it made people feel lonely," Merlin said.

Arthur blinked at him. "Yes, Merlin. Exactly." He shook his head. "What seemingly no other ad man could predict, you see right away. How do you do it? Sometimes I think you—" He stopped.

"You think I what?" Merlin prompted, wondering if he should be afraid of the answer to that question.

"Boys!" interrupted a genial voice from behind them. They turned from the bar, and there was Gwaine, sauntering up from the back of the pub, followed by a man Merlin thought he recognised as a client and an impressively buxom woman. "All right?"

Merlin grinned at him, mostly relieved for the interruption.

"You remember George Cartwright, of Cartwright Aluminium," Gwaine said, gesturing to the man behind him. "And this is Carolyn, my sister. George, Carolyn, this is Arthur, a Camelot partner, and Merlin, one of the few of my co-workers who ever actually seems to get anything done."

Merlin's eyebrows went up. "I didn't know you had a sister," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Carolyn smiled at him, warm and seductive, and let her eyes trail down his body, before looking back to his face. Merlin felt his cheeks get hot. "I like you, Merlin," she said.

"All right, all right," Gwaine said, putting a hand on her back. "We really need to be going. Tickets, and such!" He guided her out of the pub, the hapless Mr Cartwright trailing behind them.

Merlin chuckled as he turned back to his drink. "Wow. Gwaine and his sister are two peas in a pod, eh?"

"She's not his sister," Arthur said, not terribly kindly.

Merlin blinked. "She's not?"

"She's a prostitute that he's paying to pretend to be legitimately interested in Mr Cartwright."

Merlin stared at him. "She's—He's—What?"

"That's what account execs do, Merlin."

"Hire prostitutes?"

"When they have to. They do what it takes to make your job and mine easier. Tickets to the best shows, entrance to the most exclusive gentleman's clubs, women to take back to their room—whatever the client wants."

Merlin could only stare at him for a long minute. He'd known some of this, of course, but even eight months in, an alarming amount of what went on behind closed doors at Camelot—either for business or for pleasure—was completely foreign to him. "Bloody hell," he said, mystified that everyone around him apparently accepted this as business as usual. "I'm never really going to fit in here, am I?"

Arthur looked at him, almost startled, for a long moment. "You'll figure it out," he said. "Another drink?"

Merlin looked down to find his glass empty, and nodded.

"Are you seeing Gwen?" Arthur asked, somewhere in the middle of their next drink. Merlin looked at him, with something of an expression, apparently, because Arthur laughed. "What? It's a fair question, with the way you two get on."

"We do get on. We're quite good mates, but that's all."

"I thought you were going to go home with her the night of the Christmas party," Arthur said evenly, looking at his drink.

"Oh, you remember that, do you?"

Arthur smiled. "Parts of it. I thought you'd be angry with me the next day."

Merlin shook his head. "No, no, it was fine." Something a bit ugly swelled inside him as he thought to ask, "You're not in love with her, are you? I mean, it's fine if you are—I'm not—don't hold back on my account."

Arthur's eyebrows went up. "No," he said. And after a moment, "No, I'm not. I shouldn't have slept with her that night, and, truth be told, I still feel rather bad about it, all this time later."

"For what it's worth, she wasn't heartbroken or anything, and she's told me that she appreciated how nice you were to her afterwards."

"I don't usually sleep with women from the office," Arthur said, his ears going pink. "The rest of you can get away with it, breaking hearts left and right, but I'm the junior partner. It's really not befitting."

"That's very noble of you," Merlin said, mostly stifling a smile.

Time had passed much more quickly than Merlin had noticed, and he was quite drunk by the time he slid off his bar stool and stumbled back to the loo. He frowned, because he'd really only meant to stay for one drink, or two at the most, and so he decided while he was peeing that he was going to say goodnight to Arthur as soon as he got back to the bar.

But when he got back to the bar, Arthur was smiling at him, big and toothy and blue-eyed, and Merlin forgot what it was he was supposed to say. "Another?" Arthur asked. "Or have you got someone waiting for you that I should stop keeping you from?"

Merlin opened his mouth to say, Thanks, I really should be getting on, but what came out was, "Just one more," and then he was climbing back into his seat next to Arthur.

"I'm sorry you feel like you don't fit in," Arthur said, some blurry amount of time later. They were sort of slumped together, now, with Arthur listing to the side so that his shoulder rested firmly against Merlin's. "I didn't, either, for a long time."

Merlin snorted. "You, not fit in at your own agency? How is that even possible?"

Arthur shrugged, which was a bit dangerous given how much of his weight he was balancing on Merlin. "It's like you were saying, with the women and everything, I wasn't like the rest of them."

Merlin looked at him.

"It just took me a while to catch up. Was a bit of a late bloomer, I s'ppose."

"How d'you mean?" Merlin asked.

Arthur went a little stiff against him. "Dunno," he said, shrugging again, this time hard enough to dislodge himself. He half-slid, half-fell off his bar stool, and then seemed a bit confused to find himself standing. "Need the loo," he said, and Merlin watched him go, noticing how empty the pub was as he did. It must have been nearly closing time.

Merlin rummaged around his pockets for several minutes, looking for his wallet so he could pay the barman and go home, until there was a warm hand on his shoulder, and Arthur was sliding back onto his seat.

"We need to pay the barman," Merlin said, finally finding the right pocket.

"S'fine, he knows me. I pay him once a week."

Merlin snorted. "Of course you do, you bloody posh wanker."

"Merlin," Arthur said earnestly, ignoring this last comment, and Merlin swivelled on his stool to look at him. "I really am sorry that you feel like you don't fit in."

"You already said that," Merlin said, "and s'all right. I fit in fine, really, there's just some things you all do that I don't quite understand, sometimes."

"No, it's not all right," Arthur continued, "because I think you fit in, even though I thought you never world."

Merlin smiled, and then frowned. "You thought I never would?"

"Of course not," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I was so mad at my father for giving you the job without asking me."

"Hey! You'd've turned up dead in an alleyway or floating in the river if it weren't for me. You owed me."

"I owed you the cab fare, nothing more. I would've been fine. It was only a pick-pocket, don't be so dramatic."

"You could barely walk, you were so pissed. And believe me, a pretty thing like you stumbling around that part of the city, that late at night? A pick-pocket was just the start. You'd never have seen the sunrise."

"Shut up, Merlin, I'm trying to say something nice."

Merlin snorted. "You're not doing a very good job of it."

"Because you won't let me!"

"No, because you don't get enough practice."

Arthur squeezed Merlin's shoulder, "Will you just listen. All I'm trying to say is that you surprised me. My father said I only had to keep you for two weeks, if you even lasted that long, but by the end of it, I didn't want to let you go. I don't know why you're so good at this, Merlin, but I'm glad. I'm glad you're here. Camelot's glad you're here."

Merlin couldn't speak for a long moment. He opened his mouth, but still hadn't thought of anything to say by the time he noticed that Arthur's hand had moved up his shoulder to his neck, and now there was a thumb stroking at the soft skin behind his ear. A flush of adrenaline coursed through him, leaving Merlin feeling suddenly far too sober.

"Arthur?" he said, carefully.

"Hmm?" Arthur replied.

Merlin swallowed and was grateful that Arthur was as drunk as he was, because he probably wouldn't remember whatever was about to happen, but of course this wouldn't have been happening in the first place if Arthur weren't this drunk, so it was a bit of a mixed bag. In any event, Merlin needed to stop this before it got bad, before something happened that would ruin everything. He knew how this worked with men like Arthur. They acted on their desires in the heat of the moment, but if Arthur remembered any of this in the morning, Merlin would be out on his arse immediately.

He closed his eyes against the lovely feel of Arthur's thumb, and he wondered what the chances were that Arthur would remember. Maybe he wouldn't, if Merlin didn't let it go too far. Or maybe he would turn out to be unexpectedly nice about it, like he'd been with Gwen. And, God, Merlin was clearly much drunker than he realised, if he was even contemplating this, but he couldn't help imagining it for a moment, tearing open Arthur's perfect fucking tie and making a mess of everything underneath.

Merlin swallowed and somehow managed to pull back. "Let's get you a cab, yeah?"

Arthur pouted. "Already? It's not that late, is it?"

"It is for me," Merlin said, turning away. "Maybe you could ring someone, if you're not ready for home. One of your lady friends, perhaps?"

"Is that where you're going? To a lady friend?"

Merlin shook his head, retrieved Arthur's hat from where it had fallen on the floor and shoved it at him. "I don't have any."

"Besides Gwen," Arthur said, trailing after him as Merlin started for the door.

"It's not like that with Gwen, I told you."

"Do you want a lady friend? I could introduce you to one. Or two."

Merlin clenched his jaw. "No thanks. I'm fairly certain no lady friend of yours would be interested in me."

"'Course they would, you're lovely."

Merlin stumbled, but managed to recover before he landed flat on his face.

"And besides, you don't have to be interesting, Merlin, you just have to pay them. I could lend you the money, if you like."

Merlin stopped dead, a few feet shy of the front door, and turned to stare at Arthur. The barman was in the back of the deserted pub, putting chairs up on tables, too far away to hear. "Did you just offer to buy me a prostitute?"

Arthur nodded, swaying from Merlin's sudden stop. "It's much simpler, believe me. Everything you need, with none of the hassle. I haven't had hassle in ages."

Merlin gaped. "Arthur," he said slowly, "are all your lady friends prostitutes?"

Arthur nodded again.

"Even the ones you run off to be with in the middle of the day in a fit of passion?"

Arthur shrugged and looked off to the side. "It stops my father asking questions, and me mucking things up all the time."

"Mucking things up?"

Arthur swayed another moment, staring at nothing. "A prostitute knows what she wants from me, Merlin. I know what she wants, and it's something I can actually give her. No one's heart gets broken, that way."

Merlin stared at him, something in his chest aching. After a moment, he gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I must be really drunk," he said, or hopelessly besotted, he didn't add, "because I think you just made sleeping with prostitutes sound a bit... noble and... almost lovely, even."

The night was blessedly cooler than the day had been, when they stepped outside, and the first cab Merlin hailed stopped for them. He poured Arthur into it, and gave the cabbie the name of Arthur's street.

"Aren't you coming?" Arthur asked. "We can drop you off first."

"No thanks," Merlin said, because being in a dark enclosed space with Arthur right now was exactly what he did not need. "I'm not far, and I'd rather walk."

Arthur frowned, but Merlin closed the door before he could say anything, and smacked the top of the car like it was a horse, sending it down the road.

The night air was welcome against his overheated face, and the walk home wasn't nearly long enough.

November 1964

It was a crisp, sunny Friday in late November when Arthur came into Merlin's office and closed the door, wearing a distinctly uneasy expression.

"Hello," Merlin said carefully, trying not to let his mind fly in a million different directions at once.

"Hi," Arthur said, drawing back his jacket to put his hands in his trouser pockets. His red tie, Merlin's personal favourite, was tucked neatly in behind the shiny buttons of his waistcoat. "I need you to do something for me," he said, after a moment, and he looked really tired, with heavy bags under his eyes.

"It there a body you need disposing of?"

"What?"

"The look on your face right now is really quite sinister."

Arthur huffed a laugh, and a little of the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate. "No," he said, "no dead bodies. As of yet, anyway."

"Well, that's reassuring. I suppose. What's going on?"

"Le Fay Tobacco."

"What now?"

"Nothing new, really. But we've hit a wall. The entire team is—I don't know, they just can't seem to find it. Morgana's been in four times in the past month, and unceremoniously shot down every idea we've pitched."

"Were they good ideas?"

Arthur tilted his head. "They were—fine. Under normal circumstances, they'd be more than good enough. But given the current climate, and all the public awareness campaigns ramping up, they're not what Morgana wants."

"So you want me to take a stab at it."

"I know I said I wouldn't ask you to work on this account, Merlin, but—I'm afraid it's getting a bit dire. Leon and Percival have been asking for weeks why I haven't brought you in on it yet."

"Is she still asking us to lie?"

Arthur paused. "She is, but I think the right idea could make her see that we don't need to."

"Really?"

"I hope so."

"Because I won't, Arthur."

"I know," Arthur said, "I'm not asking you to. If we use your copy, you have my word that the ad will be completely honest." He was looking Merlin straight in the eye, as earnestly as he ever had, which was making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Arthur seemed to interpret his hesitation as indecision. "It's just," Arthur continued, his expression turning embarrassed and beseeching, "I didn't want to say anything, and no one else knows this, but if we lose this account—that's the game, I'm afraid."

Merlin blinked, and straightened in his seat. "What do you mean?"

"It's no secret that we've had a rough year, and a particularly rough last few months. As it is, I going to have to let two people go by the end of the year so we can afford this suite's rent come January. If we lose Morgana, I—well, we haven't worked out the exact maths yet, but I'm sure you can imagine."

Merlin stared at him, doing his best to ignore the urge to reach out and smooth over the line between his eyebrows. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "How soon do you need it?"

Arthur pressed his lips together before saying, almost unwillingly, "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday. Monday?"

Arthur shook his head. "Tomorrow morning. In the meeting today, she was ready to walk, but I talked her into one more try. She's going to Italy for the rest of the year tomorrow afternoon, and if we don't pitch something she likes, she'll give her board instruction to go with another agency."

"It won't keep until she gets back? The ban doesn't go into effect until August."

"She's digging her heels in, and these are her terms."

Merlin sighed. "Wonderful. The fate of our agency rests on the shoulders of a mad woman, and I have twenty-four hours to bring her around. No pressure, then."

"I know you'll think of something."

"Your faith in me invaluable, but I don't suppose you could do something useful, like magic us up an extra day?"

Arthur grinned. "I would if I could. Eight days in a week, just to show you how I care."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "That's not quite how it goes," he said, and then, over Arthur's smirk, "Hey, I haven't played that one for you yet, and it's only just come out. You've been listening on your own, haven't you?"

Arthur frowned. "What? No. Of course you've played it for me."

"Nope!" Merlin crowed. "That particular record is still sitting on my player at home, and has not made a single visit to the office. You have been listening on your own. Admit it! You like them!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, you impossible fool," Arthur said, waving his hand unconvincingly and turning for the door. "Now get to work before I change my mind and sack you right now."

"Prat," Merlin called after him, grinning like a loon.

It was a long, unfruitful day that was quickly turning into a long, unfruitful night when Arthur appeared in Merlin's doorway yet again. "How's it coming?"

Merlin just sighed, exasperated.

"Would dinner help?" Arthur held up what appeared to be two wrapped sandwiches. "Paltry offerings, I'm afraid, but I sent all the girls home, so we're fending for ourselves."

"You spoil me," Merlin said, waving Arthur into the room and trying not to look as touched as he felt.

"Come up with something brilliant to save my agency, and we'll call it even." Arthur handed Merlin his sandwich and then settled into one of the chairs opposite the desk, and Merlin tried not to remember the last time Arthur stayed with him in his office late into the night. It was a relief that Arthur didn't seem to be drinking as much tonight.

"So you've really got nothing?" Arthur asked, trying not to sound worried and failing.

Merlin sighed again, unwrapping his sandwich and smiling a little at the egg and cress inside, and the toasted bread. Arthur had remembered his favourite. "Nothing I don't hate," he said, and took a bite. "All I've got is a crush-proof box," he continued, mouth full, "and four out of five dead people smoked the other brands."

"Did Leon show you everything she's rejected so far?"

Merlin nodded. "And I understand where she's coming from with a lot of it, it all feels so silly next to the giant elephant in the room. We can't expect anyone to take the slim-your-figure argument seriously anymore, or think that beautiful people on a beach enjoying a smoke with their mates will be enough to make them forget. None of that's strong enough. People aren't going to forget, so we've got to find some way to bring it back to what they love about smoking."

"But isn't that it, though? The feelings they associate it with? If Strand Cigarettes were driven out of the market because they inadvertently associated themselves with feeling lonely, surely associating this brand with camaraderie, fun, and feeling good about how you look is exactly what we want?"

"It was. But the after-effects are a mixed bag now. With one, comes all the others."

Arthur pursed his lips unhappily, and then took a bite of his own sandwich. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"What do you know about how cigarettes are made?" Merlin asked, after a while.

Arthur shrugged. "I imagine there's a factory involved."

"Before that. On the tobacco farm."

"Nothing," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Leon, though, had a couple long meetings with one of Morgana's partners and went to their headquarters at least once. He might know."

"Oh right, he gave me those notes, hang on." Merlin set down his sandwich and dug through the messy surface of his desk, until he found the single piece of lined yellow paper, with Leon's sparse notes scrawled on it. "There's not much, but here we go: 'specially-bred insect-repellent tobacco plants, grown in sunny climes, cut, cured, and'," Merlin squinted at the page, "'toasterised'? I think? His penmanship's a bit wonky there."

"Is that even a word?"

"Industry term, apparently," Merlin said, and smiled when Arthur frowned disapprovingly.

"But we already have a word for that. Why don't they just say 'toasted'? I don't like made-up words."

"I know you don't," Merlin chuckled, "you dollophead." Arthur scowled, and Merlin laughed harder.

One thing led to another, as it sometimes does after a long day, and soon Merlin was doubled over, wiping inexplicable tears of laughter from his face as Arthur glared at him. "OK, OK," Merlin managed, a few minutes later, "clearly, it's time for Step Two. I've obviously had it."

"Step Two?" Arthur asked, as Merlin stood and went to the record player. "Merlin, we don't have time for your ridiculous song and dance right now."

"Arthur, that's all we have time for. Step One: Think about it as much as you can. Step Two: Don't think about it at all, and it'll come to you. I've thought about it as much as I can stand, clearly, so now we just have to hope it comes to me before tomorrow's meeting."

He ignored Arthur's horrified expression over the opening chord of "A Hard Day's Night", and poured them each a drink as he started singing along. "Either relax or leave, Arthur," he said as he shoved the drink into Arthur's hand, "but you can't just sit there glaring at me or this isn't going to work."

Merlin danced around the room and back to his desk, turning at the appropriate moments to sing at Arthur accusingly, "I've been working like a dog," and "I should be sleeping like a log." Arthur rolled his eyes, but he was tapping his foot, and soon he was mouthing along to at least some of the words. Merlin chuckled quietly and took another bite of his dinner.

"When I'm hoooooome," he crooned around a mouthful of egg and toast, "everything seems to be riiii-iiiiight."

"Must you sing with your mouth full?" Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose.

Merlin grinned and took a bigger bite, and sang completely unintelligibly for several lines. Arthur stared at him, increasingly disgusted, and by the time the song reached its final chorus, Merlin was hamming it right the hell up. "But when I get home to you," he pointed at Arthur, with the sandwich still in hand, "I find the things that you do a-make me feel all right. You know, I feel all right. You know, I feeeeeeel aaaaall—" Merlin suddenly stopped, mouth open, staring at both the remains of his sandwich—no more than a single bite's worth of egg and toasted crust, still suspended in front of him—and at Arthur.

After a moment, he closed his mouth and resumed chewing slowly.

Arthur's unimpressed expression slid into something more animated. "What is it?" he asked carefully.

Merlin held up his hand while the song finished. The room was silent for a few seconds, and the opening harmonica of "I Should Have Known Better" was a few bars in by the time Merlin said, "It's toasted."

Arthur looked at him blankly.

"Le Fay Tobacco is toasted," Merlin said again. "Like breakfast."

Arthur tilted his head. "Go on."

"It isn't about what's good or bad for you, or slimming your figure, or looking cool at the beach or on a street corner, it's about home. It's about all those private, wonderful little things people do for each other, like when you wake up to the smell of warm bread and fresh coffee, and stumble into the kitchen to find your mother or your spouse or your lover toasting your breakfast."

Arthur didn't say anything, for a moment, just looked back at Merlin. "That is nice," he said.

"Doesn't it just—warm you up a bit?" Merlin said. He smiled and held up the remaining bit of his sandwich. "Or when someone remembers exactly your favourite sandwich, and even has them toast the bread before he brings it to you, so you won't forget to eat dinner." Arthur blinked, and Merlin grinned at him. "It's toasted!" he proclaimed.

Arthur didn't say anything, and Merlin faltered. "Unless you like 'It's toasterised' better?" he ventured, and he would have taken the joke further except suddenly Arthur was right there, dangerously close—and then just dangerous, full stop, kissing him.

Merlin sucked in a breath, and had only just registered the warmth of Arthur's lips, the perfect scratch of his chin and the smell of his skin, when Arthur reared back. Merlin gaped at him, his eyes unnaturally wide and his breath coming in fast, shallow pants that quickly left him dizzy.

Arthur stared back at him, in exactly the same state of shock, and neither of them moved until a door down the hall slammed shut, and they jumped further apart.

"I think that's, um," Arthur finally said, his gaze darting around the floor, "that's it. 'It's toasted.' I should go—run it past the others."

Merlin tried to agree, but couldn't get the words out as his heart hammered in his chest.

"And Lancelot, so he can start the art. Unless you want to?" Arthur looked up, guiltily. "It's your idea, after all."

Merlin couldn't imagine speaking to anyone. He shook his head. "S'fine," he managed, his mouth dry. "Go ahead."

Arthur looked at him, mouth a bit open, for another moment, and then left. Merlin watched him go and tried to steady his breathing, to get a hold of himself. "Oh my god," he muttered, because this was not possible. This—this was probably going to cost him his job, at best, and—wild images of Arthur coming back to his office started flashing uncontrollably through Merlin's mind, of Arthur locking the door and throwing him down on the desk and tearing both their clothes off, and Merlin needed to get out of there immediately, before he did something irreparably stupid.

"I Should Have Known Better" was still playing in the corner, and John was in the middle of crooning about never realising what a kiss could be. "Oh my god, shut up," Merlin snapped at him, switching the machine off, and then he grabbed his coat and fled before Arthur could return.

He walked home quickly, clumsy with nervous energy, and was still shaking when he mounted the three flights of stairs to his flat. He'd made the short trip home in record time, so it was a shock for more than one reason to find Arthur there, leaning against the door to his flat, overcoat hanging long and unbuttoned around him. He held his hat in his hand, the edge a bit crushed, like he hadn't noticed how tightly he'd been holding it.

Merlin stared at him, speechless. It occurred to him to just turn around and flee right back down the stairs, and he probably should have, because his resolve had lasted entirely too long—he had been so strong for so long—too strong to muck it all up now.

"Oh," Arthur said. "Well, that's good."

Merlin blinked. "What?" he managed, after a minute, and then he couldn't look at Arthur anymore. His eyes darted to the door, to the wall, to the floor.

"I thought you were in there, ignoring me."

"Have you been here long?"

"A few minutes."

"How did you get here so fast? I practically sprinted the whole way."

"Took a cab."

"Oh." After an awkward pause, "How d'you even know where I live? I'm the one who always puts you in the cab."

"You're on my payroll, Merlin. Obviously I have your address."

"Oh."

Silence stretched between them, and Merlin thought about opening the door and going inside, but the logistics of fishing his keys out of pocket, of stepping any closer to Arthur, and then of mastering the relatively fine motor skills necessary to unlock the bolt were entirely overwhelming, so he didn't move.

"Why are you here?" he finally managed.

It took Arthur a moment to answer. "You left before I could—I didn't want—I mean, I just needed to—" He swore as he cut himself off. Merlin still couldn't look at him. "I'm sorry, do you want me to leave?" Arthur asked, sounding helpless.

Merlin didn't say anything, because what he wanted and how he should answer that question were two completely different things.

The silence stretched on, reaching the point of ludicrousness before Merlin finally managed, "Would you like a drink?" and Arthur inflated a little, like he'd been unable to breathe, and could finally pull in air again. He nodded and stepped away from the door, and they didn't speak as Merlin unlocked it with trembling fingers, nor as they removed their overcoats and Arthur followed him into the kitchen. Merlin could feel Arthur determinedly not watching him as he went to the cupboard and pulled out two mismatched glasses and a three-quarters-full bottle of whiskey. He poured in silence, and turned to give Arthur his glass.

Their fingers brushed as the glass exchanged hands, and Merlin couldn't help it when his eyes darted to Arthur's face, and then refused to dart back again.

The blue of Arthur's eyes frayed every last one of Merlin's nerves, and it was only a moment before he was lunging forward, pressing his mouth to Arthur's and trapping the glass of whiskey between them, soaking both his shirt and Arthur's waistcoat with liquor. Arthur grunted in surprise, but kissed Merlin back hungrily, stepping them back to the counter after a minute, so he could reach around him and put down the empty glass. Then he brought both hands up to bracket Merlin's jaw and throat, his fingers sliding hard and perfect into Merlin's hair, and Merlin gave an embarrassingly whimper-like sigh straight into Arthur's mouth.

They stood there against the counter for a long time, consumed with kissing one another. Merlin was dizzy with the wet slide of Arthur's tongue and the dry rasp of his chin. His fingers skimmed behind Merlin's ears, causing him to shiver almost violently, and then there needed to be more.

Merlin's fingers flew to Arthur's wet waistcoat, and scrabbled at the buttons. He pushed it open only to find more buttons and the also-damp fabric of his dress shirt.

"Ugh, you posh wanker," he groaned, "why do you wear so many clothes?"

Arthur huffed a laugh, and was already pulling off his own tie. "Shut up, Merlin," he said. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and Merlin watched, breathless and amazed, torn between wanting to keep watching and wanting Arthur to come back and kiss him again. Arthur made quick work of his cuff-links, then shrugged his coat, waistcoat and shirt off in one, and Merlin's mouth was dry and his cock hard and his chest sore at the sight of Arthur before him in nothing but a thin, well-worn undershirt tucked into his trousers.

He'd never seen Arthur in anything that didn't look brand new, or a least expertly starched and pressed to appear so, and there was something absurdly endearing in knowing that beneath it all, the layer closest to his skin was as careworn and simple as Merlin's own undershirts. Merlin reached out to touch it, needing to know if it was as soft as it looked. It was. He ran the pads of his fingers over Arthur's belly, and felt Arthur's stomach shake with a confused breath.

"I like your undershirt," Merlin said stupidly.

"Does that mean I shouldn't take it off?" Arthur asked, frowning.

Merlin paused. "Only if you'd rather I rip it off."

Arthur huffed a surprised laugh, which turned into a scoff. "As if you could," he said, with more affection than Merlin was quite ready to wrap his mind around, and then Arthur pulled the old shirt up and over his head, mussing his hair.

It took Arthur's raised eyebrows to snap Merlin back into action, pulling off his own tie and unbuttoning his shirt, and he very nearly stopped again when Arthur got impatient and started kissing him, and only finally managed to get it all off with Arthur's clumsy assistance.

Arthur's hands settled against Merlin's waist, strong and firm, and he pulled them away from the kitchen counter as he kissed him hard, and they clumsily made their way into the living room, fumbling open their belts. Merlin glanced at his small sofa and wanted more than anything to push Arthur through to the bedroom, where they'd have much more room to manoeuvre, but that felt big, somehow, risky, and Arthur was undoing his trousers, so Merlin didn't say anything and let Arthur push him down onto the cushions. He slid up and parted his legs so Arthur could follow him down, slot between them.

Arthur stretched out overtop of him, acres of bare chest pressing down against Merlin's, and Merlin's breath caught in his throat and stayed there, leaving him light-headed by the time Arthur had both their trousers undone and was trying to free Merlin's cock from his underwear.

"A little help here, Merlin?" Arthur asked, voice strained.

Merlin grunted and reached down to free himself, groaning when his cock slid free and bobbed up against the starched fabric of Arthur's open trousers.

Arthur didn't move for a moment, just stared at Merlin's cock before running a tentative finger down the length of it. Merlin made his most embarrassing noise yet and threw his head back, knocking it against the solid arm of the sofa.

Arthur glanced up at him, then reached down to free his own cock when he saw Merlin hadn't injured himself. It wasn't as easy as it should have been, in the small space of the sofa, and he had to reach up and hold onto the back of it to balance himself.

"I have a—" Merlin cut himself off.

"A what?" Arthur said, glancing at him as he tried to find a good position.

"A bed," Merlin said, his voice cracking.

Arthur looked at him sharply, eyes wide.

"It's just that it's bigger," Merlin said quickly, "so it might be—but I don't—I mean if you'd rather—" He cut himself off as his face heated uncontrollably.

Arthur's cheeks flushed darker as well, and then he was pushing himself up and off the sofa, away from Merlin, and something in Merlin's chest keened at his idiocy. He sat up, mind reeling with trying to think of what to say.

"Through there?" Arthur asked, against Merlin's silence.

Merlin looked up, and he was gesturing to the bedroom door. It was a moment before Merlin could nod yes.

"Are you coming or not?" Arthur said, a little sharply, as his hands clutched at his open trousers.

Merlin looked at him, his blond hair a mess, his lips wet and red, his chin pink with the beginning of whisker burn, the shiny head of his cock poking out of his trousers, and felt a renewed bout of dizziness.

"Yeah," Merlin answered, before managing to push himself up off the sofa in a rush. "Yeah, c'mon." He couldn't help touching Arthur as he brushed past him, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and pulling him along towards the bedroom, and Arthur resisted only long enough to kick off his shoes and shove his trousers down to the floor, stepping out of them and into complete nudity.

Merlin grinned at him and followed suit, and then they were in the bedroom, and Merlin was pulling Arthur down on top of him on the bed, and Arthur slotted over him perfectly, wrapping his hand around both their cocks, and it was a hot, fast, clumsy bit of desperation before Merlin was coming harder than he had in ages, spilling hot and wet over Arthur's fingers and cock.

And then he wasn't quite all there, for a moment or two, and the next thing he was fully aware of was Arthur flopping down next to him, spent and panting. Arthur's eyes were closed, facing Merlin, and Merlin stared at him, torn between disappointment at missing the look on his face as he came and the huge, confusing feeling of euphoria mixed with dread, because even in the perfection of afterglow, Merlin couldn't help but wonder what the fuck was going to happen next.

Arthur's eyes opened after a few minutes, and Merlin watched his gaze slowly focus. He offered Merlin a tired smile, and adjusted his head against the pillow. His eyes fell shut again almost immediately, and Merlin watched, disbelieving, as all the lines on his face softened, and his breathing became slow and regular.

Merlin exhaled, and it was a long, uncertain amount of time spent quietly losing his mind in the dark before he joined Arthur in sleep.

When Merlin woke up, soft morning light was filtering through his bedroom window, and Arthur was still there, naked and quiet, stretched out in sleep. Merlin didn't want to move for fear of waking him and losing the moment, but his full bladder insisted that he not wait very long.

Arthur was blinking against the daylight when Merlin returned from the bathroom.

"You're here," Merlin said, for lack of anything better.

"Yes," Arthur said, in his familiar You're an idiot, Merlin voice, but it had a slightly softer edge than usual when he added, "You weren't terribly drunk without me noticing last night, were you?"

Merlin huffed a laugh as Arthur sat up. "No, I mean you're still here. I would've expected you to... steal away in the night. But I guess you were too busy sleeping like a log."

"I did wake up, actually," Arthur said lightly, stretching his arms out in front of his chest, "but you were right there sleeping, and I didn't want to leave."

Arthur's eyes went a little wide at the same moment Merlin's heart did a terrific bit of acrobatics against his ribs. Arthur flushed and he opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut and looked down at the bed, attempting to keep casually stretching.

After an excruciating minute, Merlin managed, "Would you like coffee? Or breakfast? I've got—well, not much, actually, I was meant to do the shopping after work last night, but I'm sure I can manage something. Don't want you to starve."

Arthur looked at the alarm clock next to Merlin's bed and shook his head. "The meeting with Morgana is in less than an hour, I should go."

"OK," Merlin said too quickly, nodding, "sure. Do you want me to come?"

Arthur looked thoughtful before he said, "No, it's all right. You'll do the formal presentation to her partners later this week, but you don't have to come in today, unless you want to. You should stay home, enjoy your Saturday."

Merlin nodded. "All right." He sat on the bed for another awkward moment before going to his drawer for some pants, and then left Arthur to sort out his own clothes without an audience. He found the tangle of Arthur's coat, waistcoat and shirt on the kitchen floor alongside the soft pile of his undershirt, and waited to hear the bathroom door click shut before going into the lounge to drape them over the back of the sofa.

He put the kettle on and started toast for himself as he tried resolutely not to listen to the sound of Arthur's 'I didn't want to leave' replaying in his head over and over.

By the time he heard Arthur's dress shoes on the wood floor in the lounge, coming towards the kitchen, Merlin still had no idea what to think about any of this.

"Smells good," Arthur said, appearing in the kitchen door. His clothes were a bit rumpled, and the whiskey Merlin had spilled had left a stain on both his waistcoat and his shirt, but even so, he was very much daytime Arthur, and Merlin felt a small pang of regret at the loss.

"It's toasted," Merlin said, lifting his shoulders.

Arthur gave a small, surprised laugh. "So it is."

"Sure you don't want any?" Merlin asked, when Arthur just watched him for a moment. Merlin's cheeks went hot, as he remembered saying something at the office last night about finding your lover making you breakfast. "Sorry about your shirt," he said quickly, diverting. "Will you have time to go home for a new one?"

Arthur shook his head. "I keep fresh ones in my desk drawer, it's all right."

"That's clever," Merlin said, and tried not to think about why Arthur did that.

"We'll see on you Monday, then," Arthur said stiffly, after a moment. "Have a nice weekend."

Merlin nodded, refusing to feel disappointed. He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say, and after a moment Arthur ducked his head again and retreated towards the front door. Merlin listened to him pull his overcoat off the stand before he grabbed a piece of toast off his plate and hurried after him.

"Arthur," he said, holding out the toast and feeling ridiculous for it, when Arthur turned to him. "Eat it on the way."

Arthur looked at it a moment before taking it. "Thank you," he said, and paused just long enough before turning to leave that Merlin had time to screw up his courage and lunge forward to kiss him. Arthur drew a surprised breath, but kissed Merlin back softly without more than a moment's hesitation. Merlin held his eyes determinedly open and tried to commit everything about Arthur this close up to memory, mostly just to last him the rest of the weekend, but also—just in case.

When he pulled back, Arthur stared at him with large, bewildered eyes.

"Bye," Merlin said, after a moment.

"Good bye," Arthur replied, and fumbled with the bolt before letting himself out.

Merlin spent the weekend vacillating between two extremes. The first was a dopey, rose-tinted euphoria that tended to take the form of lying along the length of his too-small sofa, imagining Arthur stretched out over top of him—comfortably, this time, which he knew was impractical, but it was a daydream and in daydreams you could do whatever impractical things you liked—and just kissing him for hours, slow and sweet and exactly how Merlin knew he'd always be too embarrassed to ask for it. He lay there and imagined it, smiling and pulling at his cock with no particular desire to come.

The second extreme was dread, a dread worse than Merlin had felt in a long time, maybe worse than he'd ever felt, because he knew, with a cold certainty, that it was too good to be true. He didn't actually have experience with this sort of thing close-up—he had only ever had his heart broken from afar, slowly and excruciatingly—but he knew enough to know that men from Arthur's world didn't do this sort of thing in a way that ever ended well.

Arthur admitting that he hadn't wanted to leave only made things worse, and Merlin had horrible fantasies of an embarrassed, vulnerable Arthur lashing out and sacking Merlin before he even got to the office on Monday morning so they'd never have to see one another again, or be reminded of what happened.

Merlin groaned wretchedly and buried his face in his hands, wishing for a way to undo this, wishing that the Doctor would turn up and whisk him away in that rubbish police box of his, back to Friday night so he could stop it, or just away, anywhere, to any distant time or place where he could content himself in bed with Ian Chesterton and never see bloody Arthur again.

Merlin wallowed and thought about compiling a list of people to contact about the possibility of a new job and tried desperately not to listen to the small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind that kept pointing out that it was Arthur who had kissed him first and then followed him home, who hadn't objected to having sex on the bed, and who had stayed the night because he hadn't wanted to leave.

The ride up the lift on Monday morning was both too long and too short, and Merlin focussed on taking deep, steadying breaths as he prepared himself, half-certain that Arthur would be there waiting to sack him the moment the lift doors opened. He wasn't, and despite the fact that Merlin fully expected to find him around every corner, he wasn't in the corridor, or in Merlin's office, or at the tea cart, or in the bathroom. He wasn't in his own office, either, and by eleven o'clock, Merlin was beginning to suspect that Arthur wasn't actually there at all.

His imagination, agile as ever, was outdoing itself by the time he heard Arthur's distinctive march down the hall, coming from the conference room and getting closer. Merlin breathed and tried not to look too desperate or too hopeful as he looked to the door, desperately hoping that Arthur would stop in for a hello.

Arthur's steps got closer, and then he appeared through the open door—and marched right past without a word. Merlin thought he saw Arthur's eyes dart in to glance at him, but not long enough to make any kind of meaningful eye contact, and Merlin just stared out the door for a long minute after he disappeared again, the others from the conference room trailing after, feeling the wind completely knocked out of him.

At two-thirty, Merlin remembered that he still had no idea how the meeting on Saturday had gone. He didn't know if Morgana had liked the pitch, or if Camelot was still on the brink of financial failure.

Solid and reasonable pretext in hand, Merlin marched down the hall to Arthur's office, only to find it empty.

"Is he here?" Merlin asked Arthur's secretary, managing only a weak smile for her.

"He's in and out today, I'm afraid," she answered, checking the calendar, "but he's open from four-thirty on, so you should be able to catch him then."

An hour and not a single bit of productive work later, Gwen buzzed him.

"Yes?" he asked, pressing the button on his intercom, and trying not to indulge the pathetic bit of hope that sparked in his chest.

"Mr du Lac is here to see you," Gwen said through the speaker.

Merlin swallowed, feeling stupid. "Send him in," he answered.

The door opened and Lancelot appeared, a collection of papers under his arm. "Merlin," he said warmly, in greeting.

"Hi, Lancelot," Merlin replied. "Drink?"

Lancelot looked surprised, and Merlin reflected that he wasn't sure when it had become his habit to reflexively offer liquor to everyone who came into his office. "No, thank you," Lancelot said. "Do you have a moment to look at the sketches I've come up with for the Le Fay pitch on Friday?"

Merlin nodded. "Sure," he said, "Of course."

Lancelot spread four concept sketches out on Merlin's desk. "I went for mostly domestic scenes, like you said," he explained, "but I did one of a group of soldiers, as well, thinking that sort of camaraderie might also work."

Merlin glanced quickly at the three scenes in different kitchens, and then picked up the drawing of four men in army uniforms, smoking together over coffee. "Yes, that's wonderful," he said, smiling. "Exactly right." He set it down and took a closer look at the other three sketches: one of a pair of children eating breakfast, their parents watching and smoking happily; one of an older couple, sitting quiet and content at their kitchen table over crumb-strewn breakfast plates and half-finished cigarettes; and one of a young couple, likely newlyweds, smoking and making eyes at each other while coffee brewed and toast popped off to the side.

Merlin stared at this last one, and he knew Lancelot was still talking, but his mind flew immediately back to Saturday morning, to the memory of Arthur in his kitchen. He cringed and wondered how he was ever going to look Arthur in the eye again.

"Merlin?" Lancelot asked, for what was clearly not the first time, and Merlin snapped back into the moment. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry," he said, flushing hot. "Yes. Sorry." He put down the drawing of the young couple, and picked the soldiers back up again instead. "These are perfect," he said. "Exactly what I had in mind. Thank you."

Lancelot studied him a moment. "Are you all right? You don't look so good."

Merlin tried to smile. "Long day," he said. "That's all. Didn't sleep well last night."

Lancelot kept looking at him, frowning. "Try not to work too hard, Merlin. I know Arthur asks a lot of you, and he'd certainly be lost without you, but you're of no use to anyone if you don't take care of yourself."

"Thanks," Merlin said, after a moment.

Merlin returned to Arthur's office at four-twenty-five, and his secretary was already wearing an apologetic smile. "He's just phoned," she said, "and won't be back today after all. I can ring him back for you, if it's urgent?"

Merlin shook his head and thanked her, trying to ignore the iron weight settling into his stomach.

"Everything all right, Merlin?" Leon asked from the doorway to his office, next door to Arthur's.

Merlin looked at him. "Have you seen Arthur today?" he asked.

"Not since lunch, come to think of it," Leon answered. "He and I were in a client meeting until half one, and then he had to go do something."

Merlin's stomach clenched, imagining Arthur fucking several prostitutes in turn all afternoon.

Gwaine walked past, "Have you checked your own office, Merlin? That's where I usually find him."

Tuesday was more of the same, punctuated by all the times Merlin tried and failed to catch Arthur's eye, and by Wednesday he was ready to give up, to let himself sink into the hollow, broken feeling taking root inside him. Anger and hurt flared hotly inside him every time he heard Arthur in the corridor, or someone said his name, or Merlin's mind wandered back to the weekend. It was a more or less constant thing. He couldn't decide who he was the most angry with—Arthur for being like this, or himself for letting it happen.

On Thursday afternoon, Gwen stepped into his office and shut the door. "Are you all right?" she asked. "No, I mean, you're clearly not. What's the matter?"

Merlin looked at her, and he wanted to tell her. God, he wanted so much to tell her. "It's nothing," he said. "Sorry if I've not been very nice to work with this week."

"It's something," Gwen said determinedly. "Don't you want to talk about it?"

Merlin swallowed. "I can't."

"Let's go to the pub after work. Not The Rising Sun, somewhere further afield, where we won't see anyone from the office?"

Merlin smiled at her. "Thanks, but I really can't. And besides, I was thinking of going to see Goldfinger again tonight."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "You like Pussy Galore all that much?"

Merlin chuckled. "Sure. But mostly I just feel like watching Goldfinger get sucked out of that plane again. Nothing like watching a villain die absurdly and of his own stupidity, when you're in a mood."

"Would you object to company?"

Merlin hesitated, only because he didn't love the idea of Gwen trying to get him talking all night, but when the cinema lights went down and Gwen reached into her handbag and produced a small bottle of something that burned on its way down Merlin's throat, he remembered just what a good friend she really was.

"It's to do with Arthur, isn't it?" Gwen asked, hours later, when she and Merlin were settled in at a pub down the road from the cinema. "Only, you two are so close, and usually so friendly with one another, and this week, it's been—" she paused, searching for a word, and then gave up, reaching for her lager, embarrassed.

Merlin didn't say anything. The bottle they had passed back and forth throughout the film was making it hard to think straight about anything at all, but he still knew better than to talk about this.

"Only," Gwen started again, after a minute, "only—are you two lovers?" she said in a whispered rush, leaning across the table.

Merlin's focus was suddenly razor-sharp, and trained on Gwen's face. "What?" he said, in a voice far too high to be his own.

Gwen just blinked back at him, like she couldn't believe what she'd said either, and Merlin tore his eyes from her face to scan the pub fearfully.

"It's all right," Gwen said, voice low. "There's no one close."

Merlin stared back at her, heart rabbitting, and couldn't find a single word of response.

"I've wondered about it for a while now," Gwen continued, unable to look Merlin quite in the eye. "That night, last Christmas, when he and I—well, he only noticed I was there after you left, and it was only after you started at Camelot in the first place that he really began his whole... Don Juan thing, you know, like they all do, and whenever he does, you—you're always so upset about it, about him, I mean, so I thought maybe it was a diversion, or a distraction, because he wanted to cover up his love affair with you."

Merlin could still only stare at her. Her expression began to turned worried.

"Merlin?"

"Gwen, swear to me you've not said anything about this to anyone."

Gwen's eyes went wide. "Of course not! I would—ugh, you prat, of course I would never!"

"Oh, Gwen," Merlin breathed, as something inside him crumbled, because he believed her, and he'd been aching to talk to her about this.

He woke up the next morning exhausted and hungover, but feeling somehow lighter. It was the morning of the formal presentation to the Le Fay Tobacco partners, so Arthur wouldn't be able to keep avoiding him completely, unless he was willing to miss so important a meeting.

His stomach lurched, and he debated calling Gwen to say he wasn't coming in. But that felt altogether too pathetic, especially now that he finally had a confidante in her, so he rallied and went to work.

It was lucky that the Le Fay presentation was at the relatively early hour of ten o'clock, because Merlin had a hard enough time surviving just the first hour of the day, waiting. He drank his coffee as slowly as he could and tried to focus on anything work related, instead of the knots in his stomach in anticipation of finally, finally being in the same room as Arthur for the first time since Saturday morning nearly a week ago now.

"Mate," Gwaine said, poking his head into Merlin's office at nine-forty, "quick drink and smoke before ten? We're convening in Arthur's office."

"Thanks, no," Merlin answered, and gestured to the papers in front of him. "I want to wrap this up first, so I don't lose my train of thought."

"Overachiever," Gwaine said, giving a wink and a salute before leaving.

He wasn't actually anywhere near wrapping anything up, and five minutes later, he gave up blindly staring at his notes about the many and varied advantages of the ring pull beverage can, and went down the hall to check that everything in the conference room had been set up. He walked over to where the sample ad placards were on their stands, turned backwards. He hadn't seen the art since the sketches Lancelot had shown him on Monday, and he'd been too distracted by his own insane thoughts that day to really take it in, so he flipped over one of the cards to take a look.

And his stomach dropped.

The art was lovely, exactly what Merlin had expected: this one was the family in the kitchen in their dressing gowns, smiling at one another over breakfast and a smoke, under the banner of Merlin's copy. But beneath it was a picture of a man dressed as a doctor, giving the viewer a wide smile that was all teeth and false charm. It was the same actor Merlin had met months before in the lift, who'd been back to the office several times since then, filming one ad or another. On the ad placard, he stood tall in his white coat next to a neat bit of text telling the audience not to believe everything they heard, that not all doctors agreed with the claims about tobacco, and that they shouldn't deprive themselves based on what some alarmists were claiming.

Merlin stared at it, disbelieving. Arthur had promised. He had promised, and for every uncharitable thought Merlin had had about Arthur in the past week, it had never once occurred to him that Arthur might do this, that he might go back on an express promise without so much as a word of explanation.

Merlin screwed his eyes shut and had never, ever felt so stupid.

His iron grip on the placard caused it to crumple a bit as he turned, livid and heartbroken, to stalk down the hall to Arthur's office. The door was partially open and Merlin couldn't spare more than a glance for his secretary before he burst inside to find Arthur leaning against the edge of his desk, drink and cigarette in hand, surrounded by his entourage.

"There you are, Merlin!" Gwaine chirped. "You've time for one quick smoke before ten, and trust me, the stronger you smell of cigarettes in there, the better."

Merlin didn't look at him. He could do nothing but stare at Arthur. Arthur stared back, uncertainly.

"You promised," Merlin said, voice low and hard. "You gave me your word."

"Merlin, what's the matter?" asked Leon from somewhere off to the side, after a moment of silence.

Merlin held up the partially-crumpled placard. "This is the matter," he said, eyes still trained on Arthur. Arthur didn't look away, and Merlin couldn't tell if it was because he couldn't, or if he was just being stubborn.

Lancelot stepped forward into Merlin's peripheral vision, careful, like he was approaching a spooked horse. "Isn't that what you wanted, Merlin? It's almost exactly what I showed you on Monday."

"Yes, that part's fine, Lancelot. The art is great," Merlin said. "It's just that this isn't my ad. My ad didn't have any lies in it."

There was a faint swell of noise in the room, as various men shifted their weight uncomfortably, set down their drinks, or stubbed out their cigarettes. "Merlin?" Lancelot asked.

"He's not a doctor," Merlin said, jabbing his finger at the man on the lower half of the placard. "He's just an actor."

"Well, yes," Lancelot said, "we rarely use pictures of the actual experts—"

"But there are no actual experts. It's all a lie. There are no more doctors willing to say these things."

Lancelot faltered. "Is that true?" he asked, turning to Arthur.

Arthur's jaw was tight for a long moment before he spoke. "We do what our clients ask," he said stubbornly. "Our duty is to them. What they deem a necessary part of their ad campaigns, we're in no position to—"

"That's bollocks," Merlin snapped, cutting him off, and every eye the room snapped to his face, shocked. "Utter bollocks, Arthur, and you know it. Our name goes on these ads, too. We can't just lie to people like this. The public trust us, and we can't purposefully, deliberately abuse that."

"C'mon, Merlin," Gwaine said, after a moment. "It's just an ad. Most people are going to keep smoking no matter what anyone says, least of all us."

"You're right, Gwaine." Merlin turned to him. "And most of the women you seduce would happily fall into bed with you even without all your stories and false promises, but that doesn't keep you from making them. It's part of the game, isn't it?" Merlin's heart pounded as he looked around the room. "All of you, how can you look at this—" he shook the ad in his hand "—and then look at yourselves in the mirror? Are you really so morally bankrupt that it doesn't bother you to lie like this? I know you've had plenty more practice than I have, courting clients, and seducing mistresses, and placating your wives, telling all of them anything they want to hear, that you'll give them anything they want, that you'll never leave, that you don't want to leave—" His voice broke a little, at that, and he saw Arthur go rigid in his peripheral vision. It was a good thing Merlin couldn't bring himself to look at Arthur, because he didn't dare, for both their sakes. "But you always do, don't you? And without a glance backwards, because your mind was already a step ahead the entire time, plotting how to seduce the next one."

Profound silence echoed around the room until Merlin tossed the cigarette placard onto Arthur's desk. "I can't do this," he said, to no one in particular. "I quit." He turned, and could feel all their eyes and the reverberations of their shock follow him all the way down the hall.

Inside his own office, he exhaled and tripped a little, catching himself on a chair. Barely able to see straight, he grabbed his coat and hat and, after a brief pause, the potted plant on the windowsill that had been a gift from his mother. He didn't have time to take anything else; he just needed to get out of there before he did something unforgivable, like start to cry.

Merlin was sitting on the floor in his kitchen with an untouched glass of whiskey in front of him and his hands in his hair, staring at nothing, as the grandfather clock in the adjacent flat tolled twelve o'clock. It had only been two hours, apparently, but they could have been days. Merlin had been through the cycle of panic, self-doubt, anger, self-pity and then panic again more times than he could count, and by the looks of it, he was in for a long afternoon yet. His entire body felt hollow and sore. It felt fitting, though, after everything, to be sitting alone in his flat and wallowing, thinking as many horrible thoughts about Arthur as he could manage.

The knock on his door was startling and unwelcome. He almost didn't answer it, indulging in the fanciful notion that if it were Arthur out there, he would happily ignore him. Just leave him out in the hall this time.

But of course it wouldn't be Arthur; Merlin knew that much. It was probably Gwen. There was a small possibility it was someone else from the office, Lancelot or Leon or Gwaine, if they were feeling particularly bad for him, but it was probably Gwen. And Merlin couldn't just leave her out there, so he got up to answer it.

"Hello," Arthur said, as Merlin stared at him stupidly.

It was a long, stunned moment before Merlin's anger caught up with him, and then he very nearly slammed the door shut again—it wasn't too late to make good on his fantasy. But with Arthur actually right there, real and standing at his door again, Merlin was powerless in the face of wanting to know what he'd come to say. He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to stifle the renewed churn of hurt and anger and, annoyingly, longing.

"It's good you're here," Merlin finally managed to say, and Arthur's eyebrows went up. "You've saved me a trip back to the office, to ask if you'll still give me a reference."

"Ah," Arthur said.

"Is that a no?" Merlin asked, when Arthur didn't say anything else.

"Merlin, I'm sorry," Arthur said, and then shook his head when Merlin's jaw dropped incredulously, "No, no, not about that, of course I'd give you a reference, don't be ridiculous. I mean about today. About the ad. I shouldn't have—it was my father. On Saturday, he—I wasn't expecting him to be, but he was in the meeting, and had brought some extra Le Fay people with him, and when they asked about the doctor, he agreed to it before I had a chance to say anything. He told them it had just been an oversight that we hadn't included it, that of course we would never be so brazen as to purposefully leave out something they expressly asked for. And I just—I let him. I shouldn't have, or at the very least I should have warned you, tried to explain. So—I'm sorry."

"Yes, you should have," Merlin managed to snap, after a moment. "I thought you'd lied just to get the copy out of me."

"I know," Arthur said, shaking his head. "But that wasn't—I never intended that."

"Great," Merlin said shortly, and he wasn't sure why this was only making him feel worse. "Brilliant. Glad to hear it."

Arthur looked at him, jaw tight. "Would it help at all if I told you that you were right? And that we fixed it?"

"I don't know. I don't know what that even means. Or if it would be true."

Arthur took a breath and squared his shoulders. "Camelot's duty to its clients has always been paramount," he said, in a tone that made Merlin suspect he'd rehearsed this a few times on the way over. "Meeting it has always been our most basic, primary objective—without our clients, my father's always said, Camelot is nothing. But—but I think you're right that there's more to it than that. We do have a duty to the public, as well, to strive to be trustworthy. And I think perhaps our duty to a client does end where those two conflict."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes," he said, "it does," and managed to bite his tongue against some sharp words about Uther.

Arthur shifted his weight, the floor creaking beneath him. "Merlin, we fixed the ad."

Merlin frowned.

"Before the presentation."

"You what?"

"We cut the bottom half off of all the placards, so they were how you wanted them. So they were what we agreed to. And I told the Le Fay partners that they could accept it how it was, or they could leave, and come back to see us if they ever find a real doctor willing to make those claims, based on actual science and not just what we're paying him. But we won't lie anymore."

Merlin blinked, and felt his eyebrows go up. "And your father let that pass?"

Arthur paused. "My father wasn't there, so I don't know how he's going to react yet. But he's just going to have to see reason." He took a breath, and seemed to grow a little bit taller. "It's the right thing to do, and I've got the whole of Creative willing to back me on it."

"The whole of Creative?"

Arthur nodded, and the corner of his mouth twitched a bit. "I'd never seen Lancelot angry like that before," he said. "But we discussed it and everyone agreed. I explained the risk—what losing the Le Fay account would mean—but they all agreed to it."

"So what happened?" Merlin asked, something warm and small swelling in his chest.

"They weren't pleased about us changing course after agreeing to Morgana's terms on Saturday, but they loved the ad," Arthur said. "They're taking it back to her, and I honestly don't know what to expect. I've put in a call to the villa where she's staying, and I hope she'll listen to me."

Merlin took a deep breath, which came out shaky when he exhaled. "Wow," he said. "I don't—wow." It felt like a lot to take in, especially after the week he had had, and he wasn't sure what he was feeling. The thought of Arthur and Lancelot and all of them standing together like that, in defence of what was right, made Merlin warm all over, and it was tempting—so tempting—to just smile and say that of course it helped, and that he didn't want to leave them, that he wanted to face Camelot's uncertain future standing right next to them. Next to Arthur.

When Merlin didn't speak for some time, Arthur faltered. He swallowed, throat bobbing, and opened his mouth more than once without saying anything. "I know I've not given you much reason to trust me, recently," he finally managed, "but I swear to you that it's all true," and Merlin nodded, because he knew it was.

"You will—" Arthur continued uncertainly, "you will stay, Merlin, won't you? I won't let anything like that happen again."

Merlin closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He knew Arthur was only talking about the ad, about breaking his promise, but he could just as easily have been talking about what had happened between them, and the thought set Merlin's heart racing. He couldn't just ignore it. He knew he should, but he couldn't. He couldn't just say yes and take his place next to Arthur and spend the foreseeable future always wondering, always on edge, always unsure what Arthur was thinking.

He looked at Arthur, and screwed up his courage. "I can't imagine that ad was the only reason you avoided me all week," he said, quiet but determined.

Arthur's face flushed hard, and it took the whole of Merlin's resolve not to look away. "I know," Arthur said, at length. "I know. I've just—I've been a bit... tied up in my own head."

The sound of a door falling shut on the floor below startled them both into remembering that they were still standing half in the hallway, with the door to Merlin's flat wide open. The rest of this conversation really needed to happen inside, behind a closed door, but Merlin wasn't ready for that yet.

Arthur looked at him expectantly, and then with surprise when Merlin didn't move to go inside. It was a long minute before he started speaking again, and when he did, his voice was low and quiet.

"The first person I saw after leaving here that day," he said, "was my father. I thought the office would be empty—just me and Morgana—but there he was, and I just—I don't know. Panicked. I was sure that he knew, that Morgana knew, that they could all tell just by looking at me what we'd done, what I—" He looked down at his hands, and looked so tired, so vulnerable, that Merlin felt all the fight drain right out of him. "What I am," Arthur said.

Merlin could only ache, for a moment, before saying, "I'm sure they didn't, Arthur."

Arthur examined his palm, and then looked up. "No, you're right. Of course not. And I've been a complete ass, I'm afraid."

Merlin huffed a small, surprised laugh. "You have, at that." They just looked at each other for a long moment.

"It wasn't a lie," Arthur finally said, his voice rough. "I didn't want to leave. That night, or even—that morning, I—" He cut off, and something in Merlin's chest split wide open.

"Arthur—" he managed.

"Merlin, can we—is there any way we can—" and Merlin was already nodding, couldn't stop himself "—just start over? I'll do better. I'll be better, I—"

"Arthur," Merlin said again, and then he was in the hallway, his arms wrapped around Arthur's neck and kissing him, without room left inside to care who saw.

Low afternoon light was filtering through Merlin's dusty bedroom window as he sank into the warmth of Arthur sprawled out next to him, one leg tangled in the sheets and the other tangled with Merlin's own. He watched the hair on Arthur's chest catch the light, and then grinned as he rubbed his fingers through it, just because he could.

"At the risk of pushing my luck," Arthur said, breaking the comfortable silence, "you will stay, won't you? At Camelot?"

Merlin looked up to his face, at his stupidly blue eyes, and bit his lip for a moment. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked. "I mean, with this?" He gestured between them. "Assuming it's going to continue—"

"It is," Arthur interjected, firmly.

Merlin grinned, unable to help it, and pressed his palm flat over Arthur chest. "It might be easier to not be in the same office all day. Less risky, I mean."

"Probably," Arthur said. "But I don't care. I couldn't stand it if you worked anywhere else."

"Do you really think we still have jobs?" Merlin asked, reddening. "I mean, without the Le Fay account? You said we wouldn't be able to pay the rent."

Arthur drew a long breath. "So we'll move offices, if we have to. Somewhere less extravagant."

"And what will your father say about that?"

"A lot, I'm sure. But we'll figure it out. It's only money, after all."

"'Only money'?" Merlin repeated a beat later, bemused and incredulous.

Arthur coloured, but brought a hand up to thread into the short hairs at the nape of Merlin's neck. "Yes. And word on the street is that it can't buy me love. So. Don't know that I care too much for it, anymore."

Merlin grinned, wide and silly. "Is that so?"

"It is. Because when I get home to you, the things that you do, they—something."

Merlin snorted a laugh into Arthur's shoulder. "Admit it. You love them."

Arthur scoffed.

"They're geniuses and you love them!" Merlin declared stubbornly.

Arthur growled and suddenly pushed himself up and on top of Merlin, pinning him to the bed with the solid length of his torso. Merlin huffed in surprise and pleasure, and then took a deep breath against the warm weight of him. He looked up at Arthur, who looked back down at him in a way that set Merlin's heart wobbling.

"Admit it," Merlin said.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur replied, and Merlin did, but only because that wasn't what he heard at all.