One Hour Earlier

The overhead lights hum softly, casting a warm glow over the cluttered laboratory. Paperwork fans out much like a topographical map of Merlin’s mind: controlled chaos in motion. It’s not messy, just well-used and well-lived, much like everything in this office that is always in progress.

Merlin is hunched over the corner terminal, glasses set aside, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His expression conveys that he’s one complication away from declaring war.

The door creaks open without ceremony.

Lancelot steps in, holding a manila folder in one hand and something resembling relief in the other. 

“Got your handler routing. Admin’s stamped it. Command had opinions, but I told them I’d rather eat glass than explain it again next quarter.”

Merlin straightens with a low crack of his knuckles as he takes the file. 

“Cor, you’re a saint,” he says.

“I’m a staff sergeant with patience,” Lancelot replies. “You’re the one who volunteered for her.”

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the couch with practiced ease as if the place already belongs to him.

“I’d take your emotional bandwidth over another Command cycle.  Counted three departments trying to ‘subtly suggest’ she’s too volatile to handle.”

Merlin doesn’t look up as he signs the first six pages with mechanical precision. 

“She’s been off-radar for years. Just needed the right fire under her to reappear.” He glances up. “You’ve been waiting for her to say yes all this time?”

“Kingsman has,” Merlin replies. “I just made sure she doesn’t think they wasted her time.”

He pauses just long enough to meet Lancelot’s gaze.

“Don't get me wrong, she is volatile. That doesn’t mean she’s wrong for us.”

“Just means she’s wrong for them,” Lancelot finishes.

“You get it.”

They fall into a comfortable silence that only comes from shared burdens—the kind that doesn’t need words to support it. Two men who’ve both fought to keep Arthur upright, surviving the worst of Kingsman’s internal warfare, yet still capable of dry humor and quiet grace.

Merlin finishes the file and signs the final line.

“You know most of HQ thinks I took this assignment because they believe I can handle her.”

Lance leans back slightly. 

“Can you?”

“She doesn’t need handling.”

A pause.

“She needs someone who won’t flinch when she sharpens the room.”

Lance grins slowly, knowingly. 

“Then it’s a good thing it’s you. Most of HQ still isn’t sure she exists. Half of them think she’s some off-book weapon Training is using to scare the interns.”

Merlin taps the edge of the file.

“They’ll find out soon enough.”

Lancelot flips through the routing sheet, scanning it with the low-key focus of someone who’s been in the structure long enough to know what parts of the paperwork administration would find fault with. 

“So she’s not internal?”

“External consultant. Independently contracted.”

“You’ve been pretty insistent to be her handler.”

“Can't say I didn't fight for it.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you why.”

“Because no one else would’ve lasted a month.”

Lance watches Merlin lean back, the spark fading into something thoughtful. His fingers tap a rhythm on the edge of the desk. 

“She gives her loyalty to people,” Merlin says quietly. “Not institutions. Not flags. And certainly not Kingsman.”

Lancelot doesn’t interrupt. 

“They’ve been chasing her for years,” Merlin adds. “She never even blinked.”

“So what did she do,” Lance asks softly, “to make you blink?”

“She showed up. She always does.” Merlin exhales, a breath that’s half-smirk, half-confession. “She’ll be good for us, whether she stays or not.”

Lancelot flips through the recitals.

“No dorm?”

“No perks. No cafeteria access. She can use the training wing if her assigned unit is on-site.”

“And minimum load?”

“Hundred fifty hours monthly. Any unit can request her, but only through me. Otherwise, she’s on tech development with me.”

Lancelot nods once. 

“You assigning her to a unit?”

Merlin exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if the question has been clawing at him for days. 

“Nothing permanent or she’ll be turned off. She needs room to orbit. But if she keeps circling the same axis…”

He trails off, and Lance watches him.

“She’ll end up where she belongs,” he finishes.

“Here. With us.”

Merlin meets his eyes. “Exactly.”

A beat of comfortable silence follows.

“Well,” Lancelot stretches slowly and deliberately, rolling tension out of his shoulders. “Arthur’s got enough on his plate letting this happen.”

“Command’s never clean, Lance.” Merlin pulls at his rolled sleeves. “I speak enough of their red tape to know how this needs to go.”

“That’s why he’s got both of us.”

Merlin hums. “You handle the fallout.”

“You preempt it,” Lancelot nods back. 

“I write the plans,” Merlin murmurs, “Knowing you’ll break just enough of them to save lives.”

Their grins mirror each other, weather-worn, familiar, and true. 

Not balance. Not symmetry. 

Compensation.

The terminal pings. One new update from Arthur’s Sensitive Op.

Merlin swivels in his chair and clicks the message open on the big screen behind them.

ACTIVE UNIT CROSSOVER – SOLO OP CMD LANCASTER   ADDITIONAL: CONSULTANT GRAYSON SIGNED IN.

They stare at it for a moment. 

Then Lancelot laughs, full-throated and delighted. 

“Oh, Arthur’s going to implode. That man thrives on order.”

“She’s exactly what he needs.” Merlin’s smile is small, sharp, and certain. “Chaos with a compass.”

Lancelot lifts a brow. "We don't need another reason for Arthur to malfunction."

“Oh, he will.”

“And that’s worth smiling for?”

Merlin doesn’t miss a beat.

“Because if we play our cards just right, she might finally teach him how to feel again.”