#loopstagirl

“Mommy,” he whined. 

“Virgil,” she said, echoing his tone. Looking down at the little boy in her arms, she couldn’t resist placing a kiss on his forehead. He’d be furious in the way only a toddler could if she told him he looked ridiculously cute right now. 

His hair was mussed from where the covers had been pulled up, one cheek red from being cushioned on his hand. Wide hazel-coloured eyes blinked at her and his pout was almost impossible to resist. Almost. She’d grown some defences against it now she was confronted by it each day. 

Brushing her fingers through his hair, she picked her way through the toys and carried him to the stairs.  

“Mommy, nap,” Virgil told her. 

“You’ve just had one.” 

“Wuver one!” 

“You want another nap?” 

He nodded seriously, the pout growing larger when he realised she had no intention of putting him down. Lucy knew exactly where he’d end up if he had the chance to run for it. She pressed his nose with her finger instead. 

“Not until bedtime, sweetheart. Come on, let’s find those brothers of yours.” 

Scott had been kicking a ball around the yard the last time she’d seen him, while John had been trying to help Jeff with some maintenance outside. Given her husband had less defence against their sons’ pleading eyes than she did, Lucy knew those jobs wouldn’t be getting finished today.  

Virgil continued to whine the entire way down the stairs. Lucy stopped listening. She’d developed the ability to know when there was something actually wrong with one of her boys and when they were trying their luck. 

“How about we find you a biscuit? And some milk?” 

Virgil’s pout didn’t lessen, but he looked slightly mollified at that suggestion.  

“Then we can go and find your brothers. Maybe we can play outside for a while?” 

“No, Mommy,” Virgil said obstinately. 

Lucy didn’t ask what he wanted to do instead. She took him through to the kitchen, having to get him some milk one handed from where her sleepy two-year old didn’t want to let go. His head was resting on her shoulder and Lucy knew without looking he would have his eyes shut again. 

“How about you sit in your big boy chair?” she asked him as she took him through to the lounge. Virgil whined and clung closer. Lucy sighed, sitting down herself and letting her baby boy snuggle in. If she was honest, she didn’t mind. Virgil was getting to the age where he’d only let himself be cuddled if he was tired or under the weather. The rest of the time, he was as energetic as his brothers and much preferred to either be charging around or have some crayons in his hand if he had to stay still. 

This was the one time of day where he preferred to nestle into her. 

He drunk his milk and yawned, snuggling back in.  

“You have to wake up now, sweetheart.” 

Scott had hated naps. John was a good sleeper, but he stuck to a routine like clockwork. Virgil offered his own challenges. 

Virgil shook his head. 

Then a noise from the kitchen drew her attention. 

“We’re in here!” 

Scott came bounding through, a grin on his face and oblivious to the mud he’d just tracked in. 

“Dad said you’d be awake!” He ignored his mother completely as he crouched by her knee, watching Virgil. “Wanna come play?” 

It didn’t escape Lucy’s notice that Virgil was suddenly no longer snuggled in. He was sitting up, his pout disappearing now that Scott was here. 

“And I thought I was getting a cuddle,” she teased, winking at her eldest.  

“No, Mommy,” Virgil said again, but this time, he was looking at her incredulously. As if she had said the most absurd thing. “I play wiv Scotty.” 

He was already wriggling free, only her quick hand helping to lower him to the floor rather than his faster-than-anticipated descent. 

“Dad’s letting us paint the fence!” Scott exclaimed. 

Virgil’s entire face lit up. “Yay!” 

He grabbed his big brother by the hand, hustling from the room so quickly that Lucy could’ve sworn someone had just flicked a switch on him. 

They were gone before she stood up, although she could already hear peels of laughter coming from the yard. She took his cup through to the kitchen, watching through the window. There were three buckets lined up against the fence and as she watched, each child grabbed a brush. There was only water in the buckets. 

Scott slapped his on as quickly as possible. John was methodical but clearly trying to catch up. But Virgil had dropped into a crouch, tongue poking out, as he carefully drew his brush along the fence, careful to follow the lines of the slats. The water was drying as quickly as he was managing to put it on. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “But this one had me up all night. I’m going to find a good seat for the presentation.” 

Her hand caressed her stomach as she spoke and Jeff’s gaze followed the movement, smiling. His emotions had bordered on terror when she was pregnant with Scott, but this time, excitement was making itself known. 

“Scotty, you’re going to stay with Daddy, okay?” 

Scott nodded, grabbing his father’s hand. Jeff tried to watch his wife walk away, but an insistent tugging in the opposite direction forced his attention back to his son. 

“Alright, champ,” he said, hoisting the boy into his arms. “What do you want to see?” 

“Planes, Dada! Dada’s plane!” 

Deciding it wasn’t worth telling him again that he no longer had one, Jeff crossed the familiar tarmac to the hangers. 

While it felt good being back, it also felt strange. This was no longer his home. He didn’t have a plane, a bunk, a command. He didn’t have a team or a copilot. But as Scott squirmed in his arms, excitement making it impossible for him to stay still, Jeff knew it was all worth it. 

He didn’t need to follow the murmur of voices to know where he’d find old friends. He paused in the open doorway for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the light. He’d missed the dim interior, the smell of engine oil and fumes and the sound of tools amongst the chatter. 

Scott’s gasp gave away his son’s eyes had adjusted before his. The boy was squirming in his grip, almost vibrating with excitement, as the planes came into view, but Jeff get a tight grip on him. 

“You have to stay with Daddy, understand?” he said, tone gentle but firm. “No running off.” 

“Promise!” Scott didn’t even look at him. His head was swivelling from side to side as he took in the jets lined up. 

Jeff chuckled and set him down, but took a firm hold of the toddler’s hand as he walked him towards a group. While he may trust the Air Force with his life, he didn’t trust them to be a suitable place for an unsupervised two-year-old to be running around. There were dangers everywhere Jeff looked, and that realisation made him smile. How he’d changed in the few years since he left. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” a friendly voice called. Conversation died away as the group turned to look at him. 

Jeff grinned, embarrassed. It had been a surprise to say the least when he’d received the notice that he’d been put forward for a medal of honour and that command had approved it. He thought his Air Force days were behind him. But it turned out some details had come to light about one of his more classified missions and they’d figured out how many men he’d saved. Jeff had tried to tell Lucy he’d just been doing his job, but she’d told him to shut up and accept the award. 

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He certainly didn’t deserve it: there were just as many brave men and women here who’d have done the same thing if they’d been in those circumstances. But he wasn’t going to pass over the opportunity to visit old friends, or show the Air Force off to his son, and show his wife off to the Air Force. 

“Bobby,” Jeff said warmly. He held one arm out as a burly pilot stepped forward, wrapping him in a bear hug and slapped him so hard on the back as he stepped away that Jeff almost stumbled. 

“Heard they’d finally seen sense and decided to give you what you deserved,” Bobby said. 

“I told them you wouldn’t accept,” a woman said, also stepping forward to embrace him. 

“Meaning you owe me fifty bucks, Chris,” another man told her. 

Jeff chuckled. “I missed you guys.” 

The words surprised him; he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But Bobby, Christina and Jim had been by his side for years. Before Lucy, they’d been his family. 

“You seem to have cloned yourself,” Bobby said, looking down. 

Jeff followed his gaze. Scott was clutching his leg, looking up with wide eyes at the adults clustered around. Jeff couldn’t blame him: Bobby wasn’t the sort of man you wanted to meet in a dark alley until you got to know him. Broad and tall, he had tattoos over every inch of bare skin. 

“You remember Scott?”  

They’d all met him, of course, not long after he’d been born. 

Jim whistled. “The bean sprouted.” 

Scott didn’t understand what was being said, but he giggled anyway. Jim bent down to him. 

“How you doin’, kid?” 

“I see planes,” Scott told him. “Where Dada’s plane?” 

Chris chuckled. “You really did clone yourself, huh?” 

Jeff rolled his eyes. Keeping hold of Scott’s hand, he followed the team further in where even more people were waiting to greet them. Both familiar faces and new clustered around, excited for the presentation later that day, although Jeff suspected that was because it gave them a break from their normal routine. 

He shook hands, had his back slapped, and endured the good-natured ribbing that came from stepping away from a life of action to a domestic one, especially given that he seemed to be good at it given his fledgling company was finding her wings. Old friends congratulated him on the business; new acquaintances wanted to know if it was true what he’d done to earn the recognition. 

Jeff wasn’t surprised when the original three slipped away. They didn’t need to hear the story again: they’d been there. They’d gone through the debriefings with him and Jeff was still certain they were the reason he was being honoured today. He’d save them all over again though, no questions asked. 

But as people slowly drifted away back to their assigned duties, Jeff made to tighten his grip on Scott. 

And froze. 

How long had his hand been empty for? When had he last felt the surprisingly tight grip on his pants as Scott stared? How had he not noticed the regular ‘why’ hadn’t come? 

Heart lurching, Jeff looked down. His eyes only confirmed what his heart already knew.  

Scott was gone. 

“Scott?” Jeff called. He tried to keep his voice calm, hoping the boy was just a few steps away. “Scotty? This isn’t the time for hide and seek, buddy.” 

The hanger was full of active military planes. Engineers used the place to service them – there were tools and wires everywhere. So many dangers for someone so small! 

“Scott?” 

Jeff tried not to freak out as a few people glanced at him in confusion. He’d earned a medal in an active warzone: it wouldn’t do to panic now. Scott couldn’t have gone far: he only had short legs! Of course, those calculations would’ve been a lot easier if Jeff knew exactly when his son had disappeared. 

He checked behind large containers, slowly retracing his steps. Scott wouldn’t have left the hanger. Not when there were planes to see. He had to focus his search on this immediate area and no doubt he’d find the boy. 

“What’s wrong?” The girl – woman – in front of him only looked old enough to be a cadet. 

“I can’t find my son,” Jeff admitted. 

“What’s he look like?” 

“He’s two – pretty sure he’s the only toddler running around this place.” 

She nodded, put two fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. Three others appeared and Jeff guessed they were her squadron.  

“Commander’s lost something. About this high.” She lowered her hand to her knee. “Let’s find him.” 

The four spread out before Jeff could come to grips with being called ‘commander’. He answered to ‘sir’, ‘boss’ and, most importantly, ‘Dada’ these days but something about the title made him straighten. Scott couldn’t have got far. He just had to be methodical about this. 

He continued to search near where he’d been standing, reasoning that in a place full of strangers, Scott wouldn’t go far. But when there was no sign of him, he realised his error. The jets would’ve been more of a draw than the security offered by his father. 

As Jeff turned to head towards the nearest fighter, a voice rang out. 

“Over here, Commander.” 

He didn’t run. He was a seasoned veteran here to be honoured for keeping a cool head in a moment of crisis. He didn’t run. But it was a damn fast walk. 

It only took a moment before he hit another crowd. They weren’t waiting for him this time. Instead, they were crowded around one of the planes, listening to someone boast about the speed it could go and the acrobatics it could perform at impossible heights. Jeff frowned when he recognised Bobby’s voice. It wasn’t like the man to brag. 

“That’s nothing,” Chris cut in. “You should see what my girl can do.”  

As one, the crowd surged off, drawing Jeff with them. He couldn’t get free if he wanted to, but images flashed through his mind of Scott being caught in this crowd of feet, unable to get out... 

A squeal of delight cut through his living nightmare. 

Jeff looked up, just in time to avoid walking into the person in front of him, who’d stopped. They’d moved to another plane, gathered around the cockpit. This time, Jeff shoved his way through. As a high-pitched giggle reached his ears, he had a feeling he knew what he was going to see. 

He was right. Chris was crouched on the wing of her plane. The cockpit was open. Only the top of Scott’s head was visible from where Jeff was, but he could hear his son talking non-stop from the pilot’s seat. Jim and Bobby were standing next to the plane, Bobby scowling as Scott made his delight known at whatever it is he’d found in Chris’ cockpit. 

“Don’t listen to her, Scott.” Jim darted forward, scooping Scott up. “My plane is the best.” 

He started moving off. 

“Hey,” Jeff said. He pushed after them. Scott waved happily over Jim’s shoulder. 

“I saw properella,” Scott told him. “Bob’y has big plane with huuuuuuuge properella.” 

He tried to gesture the size and almost hit Jim in the side of the head. 

Jeff smiled, trying to stop the laugh bubbling inside him. It wouldn’t do any good for Scott to realise Jeff was finding the entire thing amusing. Not when he had to remember his first and foremost role right now was being a father. 

“What did I say about running off, young man?”  

“Aww, c’mon, Jeff,” Bobby said, “where’s your sense of adventure?” 

“Where’s Dada’s plane?” Scott demanded of no one in particular. “I want Dada’s plane.” 

“I told you, kiddo. Daddy doesn’t have a plane anymore.” 

“Does,” Scott said obstinately.  

Bobby’s laugh turned into a hasty cough. Jim stopped walking, shifting Scott in his arms so they could both face Jeff together. But before Jeff could argue (and probably lose), a stern voice bellowed from somewhere behind them. 

“What is going on? Standing around here like you’ve got nothing to do! Back to work, all of you.” 

The effect was instantaneous. The crowd all suddenly had somewhere to be and jobs to be doing. From standing amid a crowd, Jeff suddenly found himself alone. It took a few seconds for his senses to catch up and then he turned. 

Walking towards them with a purposeful stride was a man Jeff knew all too well. His old squadron snapped salutes and before Jeff realised what he was doing, he had done the same, body shifting into a military stance that had been honed from years of drills. 

The general smirked. 

“At ease,” he said. The four of them relaxed. He raised an eyebrow at Bobby, Chris and Jim. 

“Don’t you three have work to be doing?” 

“Yes, Sir.” Chris and Bobby shot Jeff guilty looks before moving away, unable to disobey the hint, even if it wasn’t quite a direct order. Jim stepped towards Jeff, Scott still in his arms. 

Jeff’s gaze was drawn to his little boy. Scott had the back of his hand against his forehead, frowning on concentration. 

“What’s up, Scotty?” Jeff held out his arms to the child. Scott ignored him, shifting his hand but still not dropping it from his head. Jeff glanced at Jim, who shrugged, also non-plussed. 

“Like this, soldier,” the general cut in. He gently took, then rotated, Scott’s hand until the boy had managed his very first salute. Scott beamed in delight. 

“This is General Jones, Scott,” Jeff said softly. “He’s in charge of all this.” 

Scott’s eyes went wide even as his hand dropped. Then he looked around. 

“Where your plane?” he asked. “Does it have properellas?” 

“Scott-,” Jeff began. He shot the general an apologetic look. “Sorry, Sir.” 

The general dismissed Jeff with a flick of his hand before plucking Scott from Jim’s arms. He gave the pilot a pointed look, who snapped another salute and hurried off to where he was supposed to be. Jeff held out his hands, intending to take his son, but the general turned on his heel, walking off with Scott. Jeff was left standing there with his hands outstretched, blinking at a now empty space. 

“I’ll show you the really good stuff, kid.” 

“Um, Sir-?” Jeff hurried after them. “The presentation... Don’t you need to be preparing? Let me take him back to his mother.” 

The general shot him a look. 

“You think I rose to my position by not being prepared ten minutes before the green light, Tracy?” 

“No, Sir!” It was an automatic response. 

“They need to give you the run-down on the order of events. Go to the main hall and report for duty.” 

“But Sir-,” 

“That was an order, Tracy!” 

Despite the bark of command, Jeff hesitated, and the general smiled. He twisted until Scott could see his father. 

“You want to go with your Daddy?” It was a completely different tone of voice to the one Jeff had just heard. “Find your Momma?” 

Scott shook his head, his hand fisted in the collar of the general’s jacket. “I wanna see planes.” 

The general chuckled. “Start ‘em young, that’s what I always say. He can stay with me, Jeff.  Go. Be ready for your moment. Today is about you.” 

Jeff felt a swell of emotion, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady. “You sure, Scotty?” 

Scott nodded. 

“Be a good boy, then. I’ll see you afterwards.” 

He saluted the general, received a nod from his once superior and a clumsy salute from his son, and turned. It was either that or deal with the fact Scott had just poked himself in the eye. 

He went to where he was told, but barely listened to a word as a young man gave him the low-down on what was going to happen. Jeff was torn between feeling guilty that he’d handed Scott off, trying to see through to the audience to spot Lucy, and the familiar feeling of not believing he deserved any of this. 

When the young man saluted and walked away, Jeff returned it without thinking, then hoped someone was going to be in the wings with him to tell him what to do given he hadn’t listened to a word. The crowd was growing, uniforms filling every spare space, outnumbering the civilians ten-to-one. Lucy was near the front, looking radiant with her hand resting on her stomach and her gaze fixed on the stage. 

Jeff was supposed to wait until he was called. He tried to make himself comfortable, finding a spot where he could continue to watch his wife. The audience suddenly fell silent as a door opened, then there was a collective intake of breath. Seeing Lucy’s mouth fall open in surprise, Jeff swivelled quickly to look back at the stage again. 

The general had entered, striding into his position with all the authority of a man in complete control of the situation. He was in spotless dress uniform and his bearing was strong and powerful. 

He also had a two-year-old still in his arms, who waved in delight when he saw his mother in the audience. Lucy waved back, before shutting her eyes for a second and shaking her head. Jeff grinned, knowing she’d have a few things to say when they were reunited. The empty seat next to her gave away where Scott was supposed to be, even though they’d both agreed there was no way he’d stay put.  

Jeff was here because he was being honoured for something that had happened years ago. He remembered it like it was yesterday though. When he saw Chris, Jim and Bobby only a few seats down from Lucy, he felt a twinge in his chest. He’d traded one family for another but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about them. Wouldn’t risk everything to save them just like he’d done back then. 

But while it was supposed to be a night he’d never forget, Jeff had no idea what the general said. He could’ve called him a reckless idiot for all Jeff knew. His attention was instead fixed on the small boy in the man’s arms. Scott alternated between practicing his salute, trying to reach everything on the podium (forcing the general to tighten his grip more than once to stop him diving out of his arms) and waving at his mom. 

Given the sniggers in the audience, Jeff knew he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t paying attention to what he was sure was a carefully practiced speech. Finally, the general trailed off, looking resigned. If he’d got halfway through what he intended to say, Jeff would’ve been surprised. 

Instead, the general shifted Scott and picked up a box, making a show of lifting the lid, albeit with only one hand. He captured the attention of the audience again when he lifted the medal from the box. It was on a small piece of ribbon and glinted under the stage lights. 

Jeff’s throat went dry. He didn’t deserve this. Anyone would’ve done what he had done in his position. It had never bothered him that the details of the mission had been so secret that no one even knew until recently. He hadn’t done it for the glory; hadn’t done it to be rewarded. He’d just wanted to keep his friends safe and make sure everyone had got home. 

There was a push in the small of his back and he stumbled forward. It was not an elegant entrance onto the stage, but no one seemed to notice as the audience erupted with cheers. Blinded by the lights, Jeff staggered his way towards the centre of the stage. 

He tried to look at Lucy, needing her grounding presence now more than ever. But the lights made it impossible to see individual members of the audience. Even though he knew she was only a few feet away, he couldn’t see her. 

“Dada!” 

He could both see and hear Scott though. 

Smiling, Jeff fixed his gaze on his son and regained his momentum. He walked across the stage, paused in front of the general and gave his best parade-ground salute. The man returned it, although with the wrong hand due to the squirming toddler in the other. Scott also gave it a go, and the audience let out a collective ‘aww’ even as the applause died down. 

“Jefferson Tracy-,” 

“What that?” Scott reached for the medal. The general moved it beyond his grasping fingers. 

“Jefferson Tracy-,” 

“I see!” Scott demanded, still stretching for it. “I see. Me!” 

General Jones looked at Jeff, as if trying to judge how seriously he needed to take this. This was supposed to be Jeff’s night – and yet he couldn’t be happier if Scott wanted to take centre stage. He gave his commander a small nod and the general pulled the medal back into Scott’s reach, who promptly grabbed it. 

“Pretty,” Scott declared. “Mommy pretty too.” 

While he couldn’t see her, Jeff knew exactly where Lucy was, and winked at his wife to the delight of both the audience and his son, who giggled. 

“Mine?” he asked the general, clutching the medal close to his chest. 

“Not yet, son,” the man said. “Although keep up this plane obsession and maybe one day.” 

Jeff chuckled. He’d known since Scott had been born that he’d never be one to keep his feet on the ground. The sky called to him, perhaps even stronger than it had his father. 

“But-,” 

“I’ve got a job for you,” the general said, cutting off Scott’s protest before he could get started. “But only big boys can do it. Reckon you’re up for it?” 

“I a big boy. I gonna be a big brother!” 

Jeff felt his face burn. Not exactly how he planned to tell his own squad there was another Tracy on the way. The audience erupted again, and Scott beamed, clearly believing he’d said exactly the right thing. 

Trying to cool his flaming cheeks, Jeff swallowed hard. As soon as anyone came face to face with Lucy, her condition would be obvious. It wasn’t like it was a secret. But he certainly hadn’t intended for the entire Base to know. Still, Scott looked so proud of himself that Jeff could only smile. 

“Well,” the general recovered before Jeff did. “Then you’re the man for the job.” 

“I only a boy,” Scott said, looking worried. 

“Then you’re the boy for the job. I need you to give this,” the general motioned to the medal, “to your Dada. Can you do that?” 

Scott looked between the medal and his father. Something in his expression shifted, as if he suddenly realised this was an important moment. He nodded seriously. The general set him down, the spotlight moving to illuminate him and Scott screwed up his eyes at the brightness. 

Scott moved slowly; a speed Jeff hadn’t known was possible for his little boy. He walked carefully, holding the medal with both hands and watching where he put his feet. 

Jeff dropped to one knee when Scott reached him. His son reached out and put one small hand on Jeff’s chest. It was what he did when he was about to grab hold of a coat or collar, but this time, he just rested it there for a moment. Then he held out the medal in the other hand. 

“For you, Dada,” he said, his small voice carrying around the entire auditorium.  

Jeff took the medal, a lump in his throat, and rested his hand over Scott’s. They stayed like that for a long second before Scott started giggling. Jeff stood, scooping his boy into his arms, kissing his head. 

“Thank you,” he murmured into Scott’s hair. Scott hugged him tight, not understanding but sensing something had just happened. 

The lights came up properly, showing the entire hall on their feet. Jeff had a strong suspicion it wasn’t for him though. He caught Lucy’s eye and saw tears running down her cheeks. She’d no doubt blame the pregnancy given how wide her smile was as she looked up at them. Jeff turned Scott so he could see his mom and he waved again.  

While Scott was distracted, the general approached. He shook Jeff’s hand warmly. 

“One of my more memorable award ceremonies,” he said. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeff grimaced, “I-,” 

“No apologies, Tracy. He’s a credit to you and your wife. And one day, I feel he is going to be a credit to this Air Force.” 

Jeff hugged Scott close. His son had a bright future, no doubt, but the father couldn’t think of his little boy in the military right now. 

“Mommy!” Scott cried and Jeff saw that Lucy had indeed made her way to them. She scooped Scott out of Jeff’s arms, kissing his cheek, then Jeff’s. 

Then she stepped back, giving the two men a little space. The general took the medal from Jeff’s hand and pinned it to his lapels, setting it straight. 

“I can’t convince you to come back, Tracy?” 

Jeff looked past him to his friends in the audience. He did miss them and missed the thrill of flying the jets. But then his gaze fixed on his wife as she gently touched her nose to Scott’s, at his son, at her stomach and the life growing within. 

“I’m honoured, Sir, but no. I’m where I belong.” 

The general gave him a sharp salute, which Jeff returned. Then he turned on his heel and marched away, leaving the father to rejoin his family. He wrapped an arm around Lucy’s waist and tussled Scott’s hair. Scott’s little fingers traced the medal. 

“You hero, Dada?” 

“No-,” 

“Yes,” Lucy interrupted, “yes, Scotty. Daddy is a hero.” 

Jeff would’ve protested but his son looked at him with such admiration and trust in that moment that the words died in his throat. In the end, he just gave a short cough and cupped Scott’s cheek. 

“One day you will be too,” he said, and Scott grinned at him.  

But it meant his attention wasn’t completely on Aithusa when she suddenly yelped in pain. 

Merlin sprang forward before the sound fully registered. It had been a cry of pure distress. In the three steps it took him to reach his spaniel, all sorts of horrible scenarios had raced through his head. 

He found Aithusa huddled in a patch of long grass. 

“Here, girl,” he called softly. “What is it? I’m here; it’s okay; I’m here.” 

He kept up the reassurances as he moved closer. Aithusa took a step towards him, but she cried out again, holding up her front paw. He squinted as he advanced, his stomach giving a sickening lurch as he spotted blood on the ground where her paw had touched. 

Merlin lunged forward to close the distance, not wanting her to put her paw down again. As he did, something cracked under his foot. Glass. There was glass all around them, fragments of what looked like several broken bottles. Aithusa whined her distress. 

“No,” Merlin said. “Stay, girl. Stay there. I’m coming.” 

A few more steps, and he had her. Scooping her into his arms, Merlin hurried back to the path, wanting to be on safer ground before seeing what the damage was. 

He dropped to his knees, cradling her on his lap. He tried to reach for her paw, but Aithusa snapped at him in clear warning. 

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he crooned at her. “Let me just take a look.” 

Light was glinting off something in her paw, no doubt a shard of glass embedded from where she’d stepped on it. She was whining in pain and the sound broke Merlin’s heart. 

Awkwardly, he slipped out of his jack to be able to wrap it around her. 

“You alright?” a slightly gruff voice said from behind him. 

Merlin spared only a quick glance over his shoulder. It was him: the god-like figure who haunted him. Or, at least, haunted his walk. 

And Merlin couldn’t care less. 

He didn’t have time for rude, arrogant asses, not when Aithusa was whimpering on his lap. 

“Fine,” he said, shortly. “Don’t go in the grass. There’s g-glass.” 

His voice cracked, knowing some of said glass was in her paw. 

“Stay.” 

“What?” Merlin glanced around, confused, then remembered the man was out here for the same reason as him. Of course, he was talking to his dog! 

The gorgeous long-haired Alsatian promptly sat where it was, head tilted to one side as it watched is master. 

“Impressive,” Merlin muttered. He hadn’t intended to say it out loud. The man shrugged. 

“We’ve worked together for a long time. He’s a good boy.” 

The words registered in some part of Merlin’s mind, but he wasn’t actively listening. His attention was fixed on the squirming dog on his lap as he tried to wrap his jacket around her to make carrying easier. 

“Here.” 

The man dropped down beside them, not seeming to care that his obviously expensive trousers were now getting muddy. He reached for Aithusa, who growled warningly. 

“She’s usually friendly,” Merlin said, “it’s just-,” 

“She’s hurt,” the man finished. He clicked his tongue, and his dog trotted closer, sitting down at Merlin’s side. The man reached for Aithusa again and, this time, the larger dog gave a soft growl of his own. Aithusa shrank back into Merlin, but didn’t snap again. 

The man scooped Aithusa into his arms, jacket and all. He held her in a confident way that suggested he had done this sort of thing before. Aithusa obviously felt safe enough as, other than a small yip at Merlin, she didn’t seem to mind being dognapped. 

“I have to get her to the vets,” Merlin said, scrambling upright. He tried not to think about how he would’ve managed that with Aithusa in his arms. He hurried after the man currently walking off with his dog. 

“My place is closer,” the guy said. “We’ll go straight to the stables; there’ll be something there we can use.” 

“You live in a stable?” Merlin said, baffled. Despite his confusion, he was still impressed when the dog fell into a perfect heel with his master at nothing more than a hand signal. 

The man gave him an incredulous look. 

“Of course I don’t live in the stables.” 

“Ah. You’re a stable boy.” 

The man gave Merlin that look again. Merlin mentally face-palmed. A stable boy? What world had he fallen into, and how did he get back before he made even more of a twat of himself? 

“I’m Merlin,” he settled for saying instead. 

“I know.” 

“You... know?” 

Had they been introduced before? No. Merlin was sure he’d only heard one word from this man before. That had been ‘here’, when he’d passed him a plastic bag when the sole of Merlin’s shoe had fallen off in the pouring rain. He’d been gone before Merlin could even thank him. 

“You talk to yourself,” the man said. He had the type of smirk that might’ve done things to Merlin’s insides if he hadn’t been too busy chanting ‘twat, twat, twat’ to himself. 

Finally, though, the man said, “Arthur.” 

Not trusting himself, Merlin just nodded. Arthur led him who-knew-where, and Merlin was so focused on his injured dog that he forgot to dwell on how gorgeous Arthur’s ass was in those expensive trousers. 

They turned off the public footpath and Merlin realised by the manicured lawns and trimmed hedges either side of them that they must be on someone’s property. It was only Arthur’s long, confident strides that stopped Merlin from saying something. 

He felt like he’d walked at least another mile before a building came into view. Merlin’s jaw dropped. 

He’d thought ‘The Stables’ was just the name of Arthur’s house. But no. He’d meant actual, real-life stables with horses and everything. 

Merlin meekly followed Arthur in. It was well-lit and clean, with a sweet smell of hay overlaying the other, more unpleasant, smells that came with several stalls containing horses. 

Long noses appeared over stall doors as Arthur passed, all nickering for his attention. His dog padded off to an empty stall and lay down, completely at ease. 

“You are a stable boy,” Merlin breathed. It wasn’t just the horses’ obvious familiarity with Arthur. It was as if Arthur’s entire boy had relaxed, his earlier smirk replaced by a soft smile as he murmured something to each animal he passed. 

It was clear that it wasn’t only his dog that felt at ease here. 

A neat, proper, little man hurried from a back room. He stopped when he saw Merlin. 

“Injured dog,” Arthur said, drawing attention to the bundle in his arms before the man said anything. “We need Leon. 

“Yes, S-,” 

“Now, George.” Arthur cut the man off, and the fellow hurried away again. 

Merlin moved closer, stroking Aithusa’s ears.  

“You’re okay, girl,” he said gently, “you’re going to be just fine.” 

He kissed the top of her head, then looked up at Arthur, daring him to say something. But he was met by that same warm smile. 

“You can tell a lot about a man from how he treats his animals,” Arthur said. 

Merlin returned the smile, a little self-consciously, and looked around, continuing to stroke Aithusa. There was a sense of peace in here, the shuffling of horses providing a soothing background noise. 

Arthur had relaxed too, Merlin noticed. His shoulders had dropped and the frown that Merlin had never seen him without had disappeared. Merlin didn’t know the man, but he got a strong sense that this was where he felt most at home: where he belonged. 

Before he could say anything – and maybe make even more of a fool of himself – George reappeared. There was a second, much taller, man with him, with an unruly mop of curls and warm eyes. 

He looked around the stables, as if checking for an issue, before frowning at Arthur. 

“Stepped on glass,” Arthur said, nodding to the bundle in his arms. 

The man moved forward, but Merlin did the same, not wanting Aithusa to be overwhelmed by strangers. 

“Leon’s a vet,” Arthur explained. “Used to working with horses, true, but has a lot of experience with dogs.” 

Merlin bit his lip but nodded, giving Leon space to examine Aithusa. 

“Give her back,” Leon told Arthur. “She’ll feel safer in her dad’s arms.” 

Those words, more than anything, won him Merlin’s trust. He took his dog from Arthur, easing her trembling with a few soft words. 

It was over in moments. Leon removed the shard of glass and smoothed over an interestingly smelling ointment before dressing it. 

“Leave it covered for a few days, and she’ll be okay. Come back, or-,” he added quickly, “take her to your vet if you’re worried but there shouldn’t be any problems if you keep it clean.” 

“Thank you,” Merlin began. Leon dipped his head and walked off while Merlin was still trying to form a sentence about how much he owed. 

“Forget it,” Arthur said. “Leon is contracted to treat any animal in the stables. Never said it had to be a long-term resident.” 

“Thank you,” Merlin repeated. “Actually, talking of these stables... Where exactly am I?” 

He hadn’t been paying enough attention on the walk here. 

An inscrutable expression flickered across Arthur’s face. 

“Pendragon Manor,” he admitted, carefully, as if the words were said under duress. 

Merlin’s eyebrows rose. He knew the richest family around lived nearby. He was friends with the errant daughter, after all. But Morgana never invited friends here, instead living in a flat in town. They all understood it was because she hated her father and wanted nothing to do with him. They usually pretended – on her request – that she wasn’t a Pendragon. 

Merlin had never dreamt that he’d one day be standing here – even if it was just the stables. 

Then his brain caught up with the facts he’d been given so far. 

“Wait,” he said, slowly. He stared at Arthur, who looked away. “She has a brother.” 

Arthur looked blankly back at him. 

“Who has a what now?” 

“Morgana.” 

Arthur scowled. It wasn’t one of dislike, though. Merlin knew that as much as Morgana hated her father, she adored her half-brother. Arthur’s conflicted expression implied that might be mutual. 

“Of course,” Arthur muttered, his tone bitter. 

“What does that mean?” Merlin demanded. 

Arthur gave him a scathing look. 

“You know my sister, and you just happen to do the same route as me?” 

“Huh?” Merlin thought he might have missed a turning in this conversation somewhere. 

“She’s been trying to set me up for months!” Arthur complained. “She knows you’re my-,” his jaw worked furiously for a moment, before he bit out, “type. That’s why you’re there, isn’t it? Every morning with your cheerful ‘hello’s’.” 

Merlin was so stunned that all he could do was blink for a few seconds. Then he found his voice again. 

“Ever heard of being polite?” He shot back. Aithusa perked up her ears at the heat in his voice. “And, Your Highness, not everything is about you.” 

Arthur scoffed and turned away. 

“You might be good-looking,” Merlin continued, ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to shut up. “But you’re far too much of a prat for my liking. I didn’t know who you were! And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t have spoken to you.” 

He didn’t think about his words. Instead, he straightened, careful not to jostle the dog in his arms. 

“Send me the bill,” he said coldly. He would not be indebted to Arthur. Turning, he took a few steps towards the door before Arthur spoke again. This time, his tone was softer, less certain, and definitely less scathing. 

“What do you mean: you wouldn’t have spoken to me? What’s Morgana said about me?” 

Despite himself, Merlin glanced over his shoulder. He wondered if the cool expression on Arthur’s face ever fooled anyone: there was clear pain in his eyes. Merlin relented. He couldn’t walk out on someone who looked more like a wounded puppy than the dog in his arms. 

“You know,” he began, uncertainly, waving his free hand in a vague gesture. 

“I don’t.” 

Merlin took a breath. “She always says that walking his dog is the one time her brother –well, you, I suppose – can switch off from the weight of expectations and trying to prove himself. It’s the one time he could just breathe. If I’d known who you are, I’d have never interrupted that.” 

There had been enough moments in his own life for him to properly understand how important times of peace were when they came. 

Arthur just started at him, without speaking. Merlin eventually shifted from foot to foot, awkward. 

“They say prolonged eye contact means you either want to kill or fu-,” 

“Shut up.” 

But, unless Merlin was mistaken, Arthur’s tone was even softer than before. His expression was still unreadable, but there was something warm in it. 

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he finally said. 

Merlin stared at him. “I know. Well, I didn’t know the second part. Do you really think I would have called you a stable boy if I’d known that?” 

“With you, Merlin, who knows?” 

“You don’t even know me!” 

“Like I said, you talk to yourself,” Arthur said with a grin.  

It was a look, Merlin realised, that he wouldn’t mind seeing more of. 

Then he realised what Arthur had just said and felt a blush rising. 

“When you say I talk to myself-,” he began. 

“Greek god, eh?” 

Merlin groaned, burying his face in Aithusa’s fur. 

“I’m Arthur Pendragon.” 

“You’re mad is what you are. Why do you keep telling me that?” 

“I’m trying to start again!” Arthur shook his head. “Where you know exactly who I am, and I don’t accuse you of stalking me.” 

“Are you apologising?” Merlin said, incredulous. 

“Are you going to roll with this or not?” 

Merlin chuckled. He shifted Aithusa until he could stretch out a hand. 

“I’m Merlin. This is Aithusa. No one meets me without meeting her.” 

Arthus flashed him a grin again, shook his head, and fondled Aithusa’s ears. His own dog chose that moment to come trotting over, leaning lovingly against Arthur’s side. 

“Kili,” he said. “Or Kilgarrah, if you want his full name. Don’t ask: Morgs chose it.” 

Merlin grinned. It was the sort of mouthful of a name his friend would have come up with. 

“Given that you’ve apparently heard from my own mouth that I want to get to know the stranger on my walks, would you like to go for dinner with me?” 

It wasn’t the sort of thing Merlin usually said to a stranger he’d just met. It took more courage than he expected.  

When Arthur responded with a ‘no’, Merlin felt himself flush and go ice-cold with humiliation all at the same time. 

He’d been so sure that was why Arthur had gone down this whole ‘fresh start’ route. But the look on Arthur’s face stopped him from saying anything. 

“Would you like to go on a dog walk with me instead?” Arthur asked. 

Knowing how much Arthur treasured that time alone, his one chance of peace from his stressful life, meant that Merlin didn’t underestimate what he’d just been asked. If Arthur was prepared to offer that, there was only one answer that Merlin could give.