#[ I USED SOME DIALOGUE FROM THE NOVELIZATION FOR THE POPPYLAND SHIT ]

[singlemaltscott]

5 times the love - harry

SEND ‘5 TIMES THE LOVE’ FOR A DRABBLE ABOUT 5 TIMES MERLIN FELL IN LOVE WITH YOUR MUSE

     ONE: AUGUST 1996

He’s Merlin. 

His mentor has stepped down and retired to the countryside. He finds it ironic that the old goat has quite literally been led out to PASTURE but as amusing as that is he does hold a great respect for the man. He’s been training under his predecessor for almost two years now and it doesn’t matter whether or not he feels ready because he has been GIVEN the alias. Gone is Emrys. He’s Merlin now. And if he’d had any doubts, the title fits like a glove, like he was meant for it. It feels more comfortable than Hamish ever has.

It’s not his first mission handling Galahad. It is, however, his first time as primary handler, the only one on comms, and as Merlin. He’s ready. He’s trained. He knows his job well and he’s fully PREPARED. He’s had enough experience both from his time in the army, the SAS, and the past couple years with Kingsman. Still, there’s a part of him that’s anxious. But there has never been any room to entertain FEAR in his line of work, before or after he was recruited by Kingsman, and he’s neatly packed it away as usual.

They’re two weeks in, and he loses communication with Harry. It’s brief but any break in contact is worrying. The man has made contact with his mark again, the third time in the past two weeks. Bugs have been planted in the man’s OFFICE and now that they’ve recorded the information that they need to intercept the illegal shipment of arms, Harry only needs to retrieve the bugs and they’ll regroup. But he loses contact, video feed going to static and audio cutting out.

He doesn’t need to know what’s going on to know that Harry has likely been compromised. He opens a line of communication with Harry’s backup in the vicinity and orders them to the man’s location but to wait for his signal before breaching the building. The AUDIO feed has filtered back in and he makes a note to work on anti-interference measures in the glasses. Gunshots are the first things he hears and the next is Harry’s ragged breathing.

“Galahad, can ye hear me? I’ve lost visual. What’s going on?”

“Cover blown…Did you know that these suits don’t stop armor piercing rounds? Highly inconsiderate of Mr. Quinlan, really. This one was barely worn in and-”

“Galahad what is your medical status?”

“A mere flesh wound, old boy.”

The lump that forms quickly in his throat is inconvenient and highly inappropriate. Merlin swallows it down quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard as he works to hack into the security cameras of the building, FINALLY getting a decent visual on what’s happening. he brings up the blueprints on another screen. 

“Backup is en route, Galahad. Let’s get ye te yer extraction point. First door te yer left. Unlocking in 3…2…1…”

Harry comes away with some standard bumps and bruises and a bullet to the abdomen, highly undersold via comms. Merlin gives him a thorough tongue lashing once he’s in medical for skirting around the truth but when Harry gives him a wide GRIN and is promptly knocked out by the drugs he’s been given, the anger flushes right out of his system.

He stays a little bit longer, sitting at the man’s bedside, tablet out so he can send the feeds from the mission down to Vivienne. When he stands, Merlin takes another look down at the other man, brow furrowed slightly. He’s RELIEVED. Overwhelmingly so. They’ve grown close in the past couple years, through Harry’s sheer stubbornness more than anything else. But he’s come to care for the man who he can now call a friend.

And if he feels something more he won’t allow himself to consider it.

     TWO: JANUARY 1998

He’s fairly pissed.

They’re at Harry’s flat. It’s not an entirely uncommon occurrence though free time does seem to be a rarity where Kingsman is concerned. The drinks they share are more frequently taken in an office at central or the shop because going to the pub is a COMMITMENT involving a full night and time spent at home is used for rest and caring for the dogs. But they’re off assignment, another SUCCESSFUL mission, and somehow the both of them have mandatory leave at the same time. If Merlin wasn’t aware of Arthur’s badly concealed distaste for him he might’ve thought it was done purposefully.

He’s nowhere to be the next day, Nymue handling the one ongoing assignment. It’s nothing particularly difficult and he trusts his co-worker to be able to take care of it. It’s not often that Merlin ventures into the field but sometimes his particular skill set is needed on site, as was the case. He’s always paired with Harry. They work WELL together. Seamlessly. He trusts the other man with his life and Merlin is certain that trust is returned. He’s also well aware of how their closeness grates on Arthur’s nerves and while he’d never encourage it in front of the man, it does give him secret pleasure knowing that the prat can’t refuse to pair them because even he can’t deny that they’re a force to be reckoned with.

They’re each well into the shared alcohol. Merlin’s switched from beer to the scotch he brought because really, when does he even get the chance to relax and drink it? The football match is on. He made Harry put it on though he knows his friend isn’t much for sport. Not football at any rate. Harry always INDULGES him when the match is on and Merlin’s grateful. He does rarely get to watch them live. They talk throughout, his attention half on the match and half on his friend, occasionally letting out his disappointment in a string of curses aimed at the telly. During the commercials he turns his full attention to Harry.

By the time the match has ended it’s late. Not particularly late by his standards given he’s generally working all hours but late in the mere sense of time of day. Merlin is pleasantly buzzed, chuffed that his team has WON, and warm both internally from the alcohol and externally from Harry’s proximity at his side. It barely occurs to him how close the other man is until he turns his head and their noses almost brush.

Harry’s face is flushed from the alcohol, lips red and Merlin bites his own as the other man licks his to wet them. But it’s Harry’s eyes as their gazes meet, those soft deep brown eyes that betray not so much an innocence as a PURITY so befitting of a knight, that draw him in closer. Closer until his lips meet the other man’s and he closes his eyes, forgetting himself.

But they part and their gazes meet again and Merlin is suddenly reminded of who he’s with and the GRAVITY of what he’s done pulls him backwards. He’s pushing himself up off the couch and stammering, stumbling towards the door, barely remembering to grab his jacket and forgetting his scotch entirely.

“Sorry, I- I should go.”

“Merlin-”

“I’ll see ye at work, Galahad.”

“Hamish!”

He’s out the door and headed towards the street to hail a taxi before he can hear whatever Harry has to say. Because if he stays he isn’t certain what else he’ll do. But there is one thing he is certain of: he LOVES Harry Hart. 

And that’s utterly terrifying.

     THREE: MAY 2003

He’s fucked. 

Still, he’s been in worse situations before. The Falklands. Iraq. It’s not his first time facing down overwhelming odds but this time it’s Kingsman. And this time he’s on his own for the moment, against the DOZENS that have him surrounded in the warehouse. Merlin isn’t certain how his cover was blown but it doesn’t much matter now. What matters is getting out and getting the information on the hard drive to Arthur.

He’s got limited options and Merlin knows that in spite of his previous training, he’s a bit out of practice and Galahad certainly would’ve had a better fighting chance in his place. Harry is his backup and he certainly needs it now. But TIME, as always, is of the essence and the crate he’s taken cover behind is quickly disintegrating in the gunfire. The men are concentrated ahead of him, just over a stone’s throw away behind a bank of crates, which means he won’t be able to do what he needs to from where he is.

Merlin slips a lighter from his jacket pocket- a prototype, one he’s still working out the kinks for but there’s no time like the PRESENT for a field test really -and rushes out from his cover quickly, gun in the other hand. He vaults over a crate, tucking and rolling and placing two rounds into two hostiles before he’s activating the grenade, tossing it over the wall of crates with precision, ready to dive back again.

There’s a sharp pressure in his chest and he stumbles, falling backwards. The explosion of the grenade kicks up dust and splinters wood but Merlin barely registers it. There’s movement, he catches it out of the corner of his eye but can’t see. BLOOD is spreading over his chest, soaking into his shirt and jacket. The blazer he wears is bullet proof like the suits issued to agents but he’s not an agent. He doesn’t get to wear a suit. This is what he’s been afforded and while a few rounds have been caught by the fabric, one has managed to strike him right above where the two sides come to meet in the middle of his chest.

It’s a few more moments before Harry is knelt over him, putting pressure on his chest. Merlin sees the man’s mouth moving but all he barely hears him. The man probes his back for an exit wound, finding none, and tugs him close. One strong arm wraps around his shoulders and Harry’s other hand presses down HARD on the wound. Blood is bubbling up in his mouth, trickling over as he tries to speak, hushed quickly by Harry, who Merlin realizes must be speaking to central now, gaze torn away from him for a few moments before looking back down.

“You realize you’ve absolutely no leg to stand on now, chastising me about putting myself into dangerous situations, you tosser.”

Merlin isn’t certain how long they stay there. Not long before they’re moving. And as he’s being loaded up into medical, PALE from blood loss and quickly slipping under, the last thing he sees is Harry’s face, worry lines etched into his forehead. It’s a shame really. There’s a great deal he hasn’t done, hasn’t said. And he feels it more keenly with Harry’s hand gripping his tight. He opens his mouth one more time, words not coming. 

He wishes he could say it: I love you.

    FOUR: KENTUCKY

It’s chaos.

All hell has broken loose in the church and Merlin can barely keep track of what’s going on in Harry’s glasses feed. There are too many people in the building, there’s too much movement, and Harry isn’t RESPONDING to him, which is what worries him most. No, that’s a lie. What worries him most is that Harry’s shot an unarmed woman in the head. A bigoted arsehole, yes but it’s certainly not the Harry he knows.

This isn’t Harry at all. The man is slaughtering church-goers left and right and Merlin can hardly keep track of the bodies as Galahad cuts through them with near superhuman speed and a laser-like focus. He knows what Harry’s capable, knows how DANGEROUS the man can be when it’s necessary but this is something else entirely. Something’s come over the entire church and all that Merlin can do is watch and wait and hope- but he’s never been much for hope. He’s always been a realist.

“Galahad. Galahad, can you hear me?”

Nothing. Two more bodies tossed aside, more rushing towards the man.

“Harry! Harry, what the heck is goin’ on!?”

All pretense is dropped. It’s against protocol, using an agent’s name but the man isn’t answering him at all, his VITALS are all over the place and Merlin’s heart nearly stops as the grenade goes off with Harry still in the blast radius. It barely fazes the agent, who’s only down for a moment. It’s gruesome. More violent than necessary. Merlin is CONCERNED to say the least. He’s scared for Harry, scared of the uncertainty of it all. He has no idea what’s happening to the man, no idea if his friend will be able to make it out of the church alive with everyone in it going completely mental and there’s nothing that he can do from England with only a computer screen and keyboard.

It was supposed to be recon. They hadn’t sent backup with the man because he shouldn’t have needed it. Merlin feels dread festering in his stomach, that familiar hollow sickly feeling of something terrible approaching.

When it all settles down and Harry moves out of the church, the pieces begin to slot into place. They’re waiting for him. Valentine. His thugs. A TEST. It must have been. And when Valentine begins to talk, begins to explain, Merlin knows that this isn’t ending with a quick escape. He knows what Harry’s doing, knows that the man is trying to extract the information they’ll need to STOP what Valentine is planning, as much as he can before they decide to put him down. But there’s still a chance. Harry is injured but still moving, still upright. From Merlin’s count he’s taken at least a bullet and a knife to the back, plus the shock of the grenade. It’s likely he’s taken further damage as well but there’s only so much he could catch while watching and the man’s vitals don’t give him detailed information.

“Harry, ye need te-”

The gunshot is loud and Merlin’s breath hitches. Harry’s vitals drop off entirely, high pitched tone RINGING in his ears even after it stops. The feed from his glasses is turned upwards. Blue skies, not a cloud in them. There are dead pixels across the visual, spiderweb cracks running through- broken glass -and darker flecks. Blood.

Merlin turns off the feed with a quick keystroke, turning in his chair and removing his glasses. His chest is tight and he sucks in a deep breath, head hanging. There’s no TIME for this. Arthur was watching from the shop. They need to move on the new information. The SIM cards. He wants to VOMIT. Not because he’s squeamish. He’s seen war. He’s seen more violence and death that he can remember. He’s seen agents die, even spoken one through their last moments in an attempt to provide some kind of comfort. 

But this is Harry. His best friend, perhaps the only true dear friend he’s had in his life. The only family that he has, certainly. This is the man who bothered him incessantly after his recruitment and battered and banged at the walls he’d put up out of sheer stubbornness and some strange desire to get to know him, until Merlin had started to LOWER them. This is the man who had seen him at his best and worst and knew more about him than he allowed anyone to. This is the man that he loves- loved. And the thought is enough to turn his stomach again.

He wishes he’d said it: I love you.

But there’s no time for this, so he forces himself to swallow down the bitterness at the back of his throat along with any SENTIMENT, fingers rubbing over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He puts his glasses back on with a heavy sigh. Professionalism is paramount and his commanding officer is waiting.

“Arthur…are ye there?”

“Sadly, I am. Assemble the Kingsmen.”

     FIVE: POPPYLAND

He’s made his peace.

It’s a quick decision, shoving Eggsy off the mine and placing his own foot on the trigger mechanism in one fluid motion. He’s the weak link of the three of them. While he does keep up his training, he hasn’t been in a proper fight in the field in YEARS. Sparring is a completely different scenario and while he trusts himself to be there with the other two men, he certainly doesn’t think he’d do better than Eggsy or Harry in what’s sure to be tooth and nail sort of fight to get to Poppy Adams, judging by her security detail on the outskirts.

“Merlin, what the fuck have you done?”

“The spray only buys a split second. Even if we’d all got clear, it’d detonate. Poppy’s guards come running, none of us make it inside.”

“Then spray it again and let me back on! It was my fuck-up!”

“Did ye ever have balloon debates at school, Eggsy? …Ye pretend ye’re all on an overladen hot-air balloon. Everyone is doomed unless one person goes overboard. An’ ye debate who. Ye argue who’d contribute most te the world if they survived. There’s no debate te be had here, lad. The mission needs the two of ye. The world needs the two of ye.”

He knows he could still contribute, knows that the contributions he’s made thus far in his life are something to be PROUD of. But in this situation, on this mission, he’s already done his job. He’s performed his role. He’s lived a longer life than he thought he would already. And it’s been a good one, if a bit lonely. Harry was right about that, on the plane. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but it wasn’t a huge aircraft.

“Besides, our journey together began many years ago when yer father did the same fer us.”

“Our journey began with a mistake I made. Give me the can. That’s an order.”

His gaze is finally drawn from the young man to Harry. Harry who’s expression is serious as a heart attack, damn near murderous. It’s an expression that he’s not unfamiliar with. One the man wears on rare occasions when he is truly ANGRY. Occasions when he can no longer hold on to his many masks and gives a glimpse of what’s hiding past the surface of the witty, suave picture of a PERFECT gentleman. Harry orders him. Orders him. The man never pulls rank. It’s the first time he’s heard Harry give him in order in years and perhaps that, more than anything else, is truly telling. But it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. And like hell he’s going to let either of them blow themselves to high heaven and bollocks up the mission.

“Can’s empty. Split second’s over. You two need te get going.”

“No, no, no there’s gotta be another way-”

“He’s right. Mission comes first.”

“Bollocks mission comes first, this is-”

“Eggsy. This is no time fer emotion. Remember yer training. Or we all die.”

It’s a bit difficult, treating the young man like this. But it’s necessary. They still have a mission to complete. The world needs saving again and they’re currently the only people in a position to do just that. Time is precious with the VIRUS killing people with each minute that passes. There’s no time to discuss other options, no time to regroup, no time for tearful goodbyes.

“Now get on with it.”

“Do as you’re told. Move it.”

The young agent is looking between them as though they’ve no hearts. Perhaps they don’t. The heart is a fickle thing and it certainly doesn’t serve them in the work they do. They’ve been doing it long enough to have left the useless organs far in their PASTS. But Eggsy does as he’s told and leaves them with just a glance back, moving to take up his position. Merlin’s gaze shifts back to Harry, watching silently as the man salutes him.

“It’s been an honor.”

It’s a simplification. All they have time for right now. Merlin knows that if they had more, more would be said. But there isn’t time and he’ll have to live with those regrets- well, he won’t have to. Harry will. The man’s hand is a COMFORTING weight on his arm and he wants to reach up and take his friend’s hand in his own but he can’t. He won’t distract him further. He’s made his peace with his decision but it’s difficult not to think back on others he wishes he’d made, regrets he can’t make peace with. 

He’d told himself a year earlier that if he’d had more time with Harry he would’ve made good use of it. Then they’d come to Kentucky and the man had been there. Alive. But he hadn’t remembered. None of it. And that had done him no good. Then they’d gotten the man back proper but there had been no time for anything but WORK, the golden circle keeping them plenty busy. And now here they are in Cambodia. It’s ironic, really. A mere week after he gets Harry back, he’s forced to leave him.

He wants to say I love you.

“Good luck.”

He watches Harry walk away through the brush.

@soulscatter