Chapter Text
Arthur scowled at the piles of clothes strewn across his nicely-organized stacks of folded pants and shirts. It was not that he was terribly clean and tidy on a daily basis, but he did hold to a strong belief in detailed trip planning. A belief which bled into a strict packing methodology, which, in turn, started with organized and folded clothes in distinct piles. Piles that were now, thanks to Arthur’s 17th reminder to Merlin to start packing, buried under an assortment of skinny jeans and jersey shirts.
Arthur put down the sack of doughnuts he’d run out to get - fulfilling the terms of the agreement which involved Merlin finally packing - and stalked into the bathroom.
“Merlin, you cannot expect me to make sense of the havoc you have wrought in the bedroom.”
Merlin was in the bath, standing under a stream of hot water, apparently not planning on finishing any time soon. He blinked his eyes open at the sound of Arthur’s voice and pushed his hair out his face as he leaned to crack open the shower door.
“Sorry, love. What did you say?” he tossed to Arthur with a smile, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
Arthur groaned internally, mentally rolled his eyes, and surrendered, yet again, to the adorableness of his lover. He closed the distance between them and kissed Merlin instead, hot steam leaking from the shower and curling around them both. He sidestepped the polite tirade he’d been saving up in favor of eliciting a moan from Merlin, tightening a fist in his damp hair.
“I brought your doughnuts, “ Arthur said, simply, letting him go and walking back towards the bedroom.
“And I pulled my clothes!,” Merlin called after him, his voice muddled by the shower. “Under protest!”
Arthur smiled, rolling his eyes for real, and started moving their things into suitcases. They were headed back to England, for 3 months this time, so the Pendragon Estate, and therefore Arthur, could oversee the Order of the Garter ceremonies.
The mansion would have to be renovated “to meet some minimal modicum of decency,” per his lovely Great Aunt Libby.
“And I assume, since you know Morgana will be the first female inductee, you will see to it that the ceremony carries the utmost care and occasion that such a landmark event deserves,” had been her closing remark, on Arthur’s last trip to home.
Which led immediately to three phone calls from Morgana, all which were declined by Arthur, as he raced back to the airport to catch the last flight going out that would make it back to New York in time see Gwen’s dance recital performance of “Yellow Submarine.” Merlin had met him at the door and they hurriedly stuffed themselves into a center row, hands clasped tightly, as the lights went up on Gwen’s face. As usual, the panicky flight/fight energy that Arthur felt every time he met with the Queen faded with Merlin and Gwen in sight.
He had made three trips alone, two of which heavily involved Morgana, who had prepared reports, conducted staff briefings, and tonelessly and efficiently brought Arthur up to speed on ins and outs of the Estate. When, during a break, he had cautiously tried to open up a dialogue beyond the Estate business, she had simply stared at him wordlessly, and went back to explaining the intricate legal relationship between the Foundation (hers) and the Estate (his). He’d thought maybe he’d try again. In a year or so.
Merlin got nervous every time he left.
“What about your practice?” he’d challenged.
“Merlin, I told you, I’ve covered all of my colleague’s sick days and vacations two years with no breaks and no holidays. They owe me a ton of time.”
And the next time.
“Don’t you feel guilty leaving Gwen? What if she develops an attachment disorder?”
“You realize I’m a pediatrician who is actually aware of developmental milestones and therefore uniquely qualified to call bullshit on such a debased play on my parental guilt?”
And the next next time.
“You know, air travel is not as safe as it used to be--“
“Merlin!”
So when Arthur came back to drop the news of the long trip, of the long trip *with* Merlin and Gwen he’d figured it would be met with excitement. Not so much. Unless you count Merlin aghast with bugged out eyes and flailing hands, excitement.
“What? We’ll have to take Gwen out of school?! What will I do for three months in *England*?!”
Arthur had just blinked at him, swore, then stalked out of their apartment to cool his heels with a long day of work. He dropped Gwen off with Hunith after school and when he came home, he could smell the takeout from Kismet from the door - Merlin’s eternal apology gesture. He bypassed the kitchen for the bedroom however, sucked Merlin until he came, and then slid inside him, hands on either side of his face, and fucked him, until he came again. Afterwords, they sat on the floor in the living room, eating Indian food off the coffee table with Gwen’s toys shoved to the side.
“Merlin. Gwen is nearly half a grade ahead in school, and we already talked about pulling her out early for a trip. You can do whatever you like for three months, as you are the only one here who can, you know, *bend reality* for kicks. So what is it?”
Merlin had sighed and mumbled something about legacy and work and Arthur kicked him, eyebrows raised impatiently.
“I said,” Merlin emphasized, “that I’m…less than excited about what the Queen has in store for me.”
“Translation - you are scared to death you have actual duties and responsibilities that you like to make fun of me for.”
Arthur got a face full of Naan, which he interpreted as hitting the mark right on.
“You know Merlin,” he said gently, “don’t you ever feel like you were made for more than fixing iPods and bad plumbing?”
Merlin nodded and sighed.
“Yeah. *That*’s what I”m afraid of.”
And Arthur got that - understood that pill as the one he’d been swallowing his entire life. He backed off that night, but continued making the plans for their trip. And now it was the day before liftoff and Arthur thought that having to sort, fold, and pack Merlin’s clothes was really a minor hassle in the whole scheme of things.
“Daddy, I’m ready!” Gwen trampled in, with her arms full of a haphazard collection of clothing, books, and what appeared to be glitter pens. She dropped the pile on top of Merlin’s pile, on top of Arthur’s pre-sorted stacks, and looked at Arthur expectantly.
“Daddy said if I packed, I could have doughnuts.”
And Arthur just threw his head back, and laughed.