Chapter Text
Prologue
Arthur said a quiet prayer while facing the luminous display above the elevator’s door. The lift had already stopped at three floors now and the damn thing just wasn’t going fast enough. When number five was replaced by six, the lift slowed down again and Arthur cursed. The door opened, revealing a woman entertained by her mobile phone. As soon as she started entering the lift, all it took was a quick glance his way and she gave a strangled squeak, turning back around and mumbling about having forgotten something.
Arthur rolled his eyes and pressed number seven repeatedly until the door closed again. He sighed and knocked the back of his head against the mirror behind him, immediately regretting it when a throbbing pain spread across his skull. As soon as the door opened again, Arthur strode out, forcing the small group of people gathered at the lobby to make room for his passing through.
“Hey, Arthur-”
“Not now, Elyan,” Arthur lifted his hand, hoping Elyan would get the cue and stop following him. He didn't give him any chance to do otherwise, though, continuing his way without looking back.
“Wow, someone is in a foul mood today,” he heard Elyan say.
"So I'm guessing the foul mood means a hangover?" asked Gwaine’s unmistakable voice. “Hey, Arthur! Good morning to you too!”
Arthur ignored them and walked on, congratulating himself for resisting the impulse of flipping the bird to his friends. Gwaine was cheating, there was no other explanation. Arthur couldn’t figure out how he managed to sound so blissful and relaxed after almost passing out from drinking, the previous night. Whatever it was, it could only be illegal. Gwaine got easily pissed - unlike Arthur, who was more resistant to alcohol -, but hardly got hangover.
However, one thing was certain, Arthur had found a very plausible reason for appointing fridays as official happy-hour day, from now on, and he swore to himself that he would never be dragged to the pub on a wednesday night again.
Once he entered the CRM¹ room, Arthur was welcomed with a shriek from the receptionist, who dropped the pen and notebook she was holding and lifted her hand to cover the headset’s microphone in a pointless attempt to save the person at the other end from temporary hearing loss.
“Mr. Pendragon-”
“Five minutes, Miss Edinger. Give me five minutes, will you? And try not to leave our clients deaf in the meantime.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl all but whispered back.
Arthur entered his office without bothering to acknowledge anyone and closed the door behind him, once again cursing the person who had the unfortunate idea of making this section of walls transparent glass. There was no questioning the argument that it demonstrated transparency before the company employees and Uther usually argued that it was very effective when it came to keeping the staff motivated – in this case, working under the constant pressure of being monitored by their superior. But then, that also meant that Arthur couldn’t loosen his tie nor put his feet on the table, amongst other things. Basically, he had no privacy whatsoever.
Arthur stripped off his jacket and sat at his ergonomically correct chair - no reclining chairs were allowed if he didn’t intent for his spine to pay the price in the near future, as clarified the occupational doctor before confiscating his old seat -, propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, pressing his temple, pretending to read the papers on the keyboard whilst actually closing his eyes and breathing slowly and deeply, trying to convince the aspirin he took that morning to kick in.
“Arthur, my dearest brother.” He startled at hearing his sister's exaggeratedly loud and obscenely merry voice. She stared at him from the door like a supermodel posing for paparazzi. “How nice of you to show up! I was wondering if you would bother to come at all, after last night-”
“Morgana,” Arthur said and waited until the echo slowly faded away inside his cranium. “Would you be so kind as to speak quietly, please?”
“Oh, poor little brother.” She pouted as if talking to an infant. “Are you uncomfortable? If you’d like, I could come back some other time…”
“What do you want, Morgana?” Arthur asked crossly. Sometimes the best way to deal with his sister was to give her want she wanted, quick and painlessly. Or as painlessly as possible.
“You don’t have to be rude,” Morgana stated, closing the door and taking a seat in front of his desk like a queen sitting in her throne. “Is this how you treat the person who lied to her own father to cover your ass and endured a whole evening of complaints and moral lessons while you fooled around with your friends?”
Arthur grimaced. What was he thinking when he asked a favor from Morgana, of all people? She would probably spend the whole week bragging about Arthur owing her one, torturing him with the possibilities of making him pay for that and only being satisfied after humiliating him in front of everybody. Besides, she still didn’t forgive him for sending Gwaine to her department, albeit temporarily.
Arthur sighed and tried again. “What can I help you with, dearest sister?” He enquired, forcing a smile upon his own face.
Morgana flickered her eyelashes angelically and Arthur’s smile died out as he prepared himself for the blow.
“Why, I just wanted to know how you’ve been doing,” she faked innocence and Arthur narrowed his eyes while mentally counting: three… two… one… “Oh, and, of course, before I forget,” she went on and Arthur rolled his eyes as Morgana rummaged through the documents of the file she carried with her, leaning into the table and pointing with a red polished nail. “I need you to sign here. In three counterparts.”
Arthur blinked repeatedly to make sure he was reading it right. “Supervisor…? What the hell is this, Morgana?” He fetched the documents, leafing through it.
“It’s the contract of your newest intern!” She placidly sat down again.
“I did not ask for an intern.”
“But you could make good use of one. This place is a mess.” Morgana looked around in such a way that reminded him of Uther and Arthur had to restrain himself from shuddering. “Honestly, Arthur, darling, I don’t know how you can work like this.”
“There’s no mess in here. I know exactly where to find my stuff.”
“Oh, really? Then why haven’t you handed me the tax coupon of your business lunch with Mr. Odin?”
Arthur just grunted, pretending to carefully examine the document’s content.
Morgana scoffed. “That’s what I thought. You know you won't receive a refund until you do, right?”
Actually, Arthur didn’t remember that damned coupon until Morgana mentioned it. Surely, he took Mr. Odin to one of the fanciest London’s restaurants to keep him well-disposed until the contract was securely signed, but Arthur already spent greater fortunes with minor whimsies such as the yacht he enjoyed once a year, at most, and the absurd amount of Xbox games he didn’t even have the time to play.
“You know what? Screw this. What difference does it make? I don’t need refund and I don’t need an intern either. I’m already surrounded by too many incompetent people, thank you very much.”
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, dearest,” Morgana’s smile faded and her voice became dangerously low. “I’m not asking you what you wish for. I’m telling you it is in your best insterest to sign this document.”
“I fail to see why!”
She shrugged, “Because you owe me one.”
Arthur looked at her through narrowed eyes. This easy? There had to be something else to it, some trick or trap.
“Why me?” Arthur inquired suspiciously. “You've always done it all on your own,” he gestured vaguely to the paperwork on his desk.
It was Morgana’s turn to roll her eyes. “Of course. I always took responsibility for the company’s interns, always put my signature on their activity reports, assuring that everything was well within standards. And all the while you kept ordering them to run the most absurd errands like, oh, I don’t know, doing your laundry or going to Starbucks because the kitchen staff’s tea isn’t good enough for you!”
Arthur stared at her for long minutes, trying and failing to see the logic in her argument. “And what are interns for, besides that?”
Morgana pressed her nose bridge and shut her eyes for a moment, her lips moving in a silent prayer. “Arthur, you know what repercussions there can be if, by any chance, one of them has an accident while doing this kind of outside work? And that isn’t all of it! They could sue the company for performing duties not covered by their contract and who do you think would be liable in case it happens?” She pointed to herself. “So that’s why, from now on, you’ll have your own intern, which will stay exclusively at the disposal of the CRM and entirely under your responsibility.”
Arthur twitched his lip scornfully, lowering his eyes to the spot Morgana pointed on the contract which read ‘Internship Supervisor: Arthur Pendragon’.
“All I have to do is sign here?” He asked and Morgana pressed her lips in a thin line.
“For now, yes, it is. I already arranged all the initial paperwork, but you’ll have to periodically compile a report on his activities for him to present at college.”
Arthur frowned, flicking through the file one last time. “Does that mean you already choose the applicant?”
“Yes.”
“And why didn’t you call me for the triage?” Arthur complained. “If it’s my intern, wouldn’t it be right for me to at least select which one better fits the… requirements?”
Morgana sneered. “Now, Arthur, we both know what kind of requirements you’d stick to.”
“What are you implying by that?” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never got involved with an intern!”
“Are you sure?” Morgana pretended to consider it. “Because I’m quite sure I remember some Vivian girl…”
“Hey, I was seventeen!” Arthur defended himself, outraged. “You got involved with your piano tutor when you were sixteen and I don’t throw it in your face whenever I can, do I?”
“You just did,” she mocked.
Arthur stared at the document in his hands again. “Merlin? What kind of name is this?”
“And what difference does it make?” Morgana asked in a dignified tone. “To me, he seemed competent and clever enough, if you must know.”
But Arthur didn’t must nor want to know, so he kept reading. “Eighteen years old? Do I look like a babysitter to you?”
“Of course not, sweetie. If the boy needed a babysitter, you would be the least qualified for the job.”
“Why so young? He must have just entered college! No, I’m sorry Morgana.” He threw the file back at the table. “If you want me to take responsibility for an intern, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“First of all,” Morgana began in her most flat tone, “if you had bothered to actually read the contract, you’d know he is in the fourth semester of Economics. He finished high school at sixteen, with impeccable grades and excellent recommendations from his teachers and was accepted by Cambridge and Oxford, but opted for UCL. He made some excuses, but I suspect his decision was based in financial matters, since his mother lives here in London.”
In his mind, Arthur formed the image of this skinny, gangly boy, with thick glasses and braces, reciting the previous day’s stock prices. Merlin was probably the youngest of five brothers, all the others named after the Beatles. His mother probably didn’t anticipated a fifth son and, in a moment of despair, chose the most uncommon name she could think of. The boy grew up thinking he was special and somehow ended up as the social project of some unfortunate UCL teacher.
That sounded like something Morgana would do, throw this kid in his lap and watch him suffer.
“Secondly,” she continued, steadfast, “you are in no condition to bargain. If you don’t want me to call our father immediately to clarify some misunderstandings, you better put that pen to good use.” She pointed her mobile at him like a weapon.
“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Morgana.” Arthur forced a wry smile and fetched his pen from his breast pocket.
.Merlin.