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Entry tags:
Merlin - Important
Title: Important
Genre: Modern AU, Slash (Arthur/Merlin)
Rating: R
Length: ~8,250 words
Warnings: Violence, injury, aftermath thereof
Synopsis: Arthur is the son and heir of Pendragon Enterprises and to call him rich and powerful would be an understatement. However, when his boyfriend Merlin is kidnapped, he learns there are things in life far more important than simple cash.
Author’s Notes: I started this nearly a year ago for a![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kinkme_merlin prompt I came across and have long since lost. Hopefully it either remains close enough to the original prompt for the prompter to recognise it, or can stand on its own as it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
“I have the money,” Arthur announced as soon as he verified the number on the screen. He did not bother hiding the anxiousness to his tone; they were past that by now and it would have been seen right through. “I can give it to you now,” he added with a desperation that further betrayed his emotions.
The answer he received was a deep and distorted chuckle. “Good,” the voice said, sounding rightfully pleased. “But I believe I stated thirty-six hours. We have another thirty four to go and I so look forward to spending them with your little friend here.”
“But I can give it to you now; we can end this now,” he tried.
“Perhaps I should have asked for more,” the voice mused. It did not matter; Arthur would find a way to get whatever he needed. Two million was easy, almost too easy for the heir to the Pendragon legacy. They could double it, triple it even, and Arthur would have it to them just as quickly. No, there was something else going on here, something that was confirmed when the voice said, “I will check in every two hours. You will comply with my demands and will not contact the authorities. In the interim, here is something to convince you that I will uphold my side of the bargain.” Arthur’s email beeped with a new message. “Such wonderful hands this one has. It’s up to you if he ever uses them again.”
The line disconnected and Arthur tossed his phone to the nearest person as he pulled up whatever he was sent. It was a picture, a close up of a pair of hands chained to some sort of metal bar. He would have recognised the pale and elegant fingers even if they had not been wearing his signet ring. There was a scrape along one, but it was nothing in comparison to the already bright red grooves the cuffs had cut into one of the wrists.
“Damn it!” he swore and began to pace. So many thoughts flooded his mind. The last time he had seen Merlin, just this morning as he kissed him goodbye when he left for his shift at the hospital. How they had spent the night before, laughing and joking and curled up together watching some awful programme before falling asleep in each other’s arms. How their relationship had raised a few eyebrows, but garnered support over the past year and a half that they had been together. How someone training to be a surgeon, already top of his class, could be so wonderfully stupid and gullible at times. How he could care less about just how much money Arthur and his family had so long as he had someone to share bad takeaway and even worse jokes. How he had taught Arthur about what was really important and that it did not come from a bank account. How he had supported Arthur through the stress and sweeping changes going on at Pendragon Enterprises. How anyone in their right mind would ever want to hurt him.
“Why won’t they take the money?” he asked the room at large.
The few people gathered looked to be almost as much at a loss as he did himself. It was Gwaine though, an old friend and member of the security his father insisted upon that had originally suggested Merlin have someone assigned to him personally, at least until everything blew over, that spoke first. “Maybe they want something more?” he suggested, which set the room into a discussion of just what that could be and why.
Two hours later and they had no answer. They did, however, have a ringing phone. “I thought you might want further confirmation that we have your man,” the distorted voice sounded without preamble.
There was a click and the buzz of the background scramble faded away to a crystal clear voice of Merlin as he growled, “You sick fuck. He’ll give you nothing, you know. Arthur? Give him absolutely nothing.”
Another click and the distortion was back. “You’re brighter than that, aren’t you, Pendragon? You will give me exactly what I need to save your precious toy.”
“What else do you want?” Arthur demanded, ignoring the implication that Merlin meant so little to him.
“In time,” the voice replied.
There was a far more final click as the line disconnected, followed by another beep that signalled another email. Arthur opened the message and instantly had to look away. It was Merlin, a close up of his normally brilliant blue eyes, only one was swollen with the tinges for purple surrounding it, and there was a gash above his dark eyebrow, blood dripping freely down his temple.
“Bastard,” Gwaine swore, and Arthur could find no better word for it.
Five more calls, five more images, and five more taunts later, and Arthur was a mess. Well, more of a mess than he had been when he had first received word of Merlin’s kidnapping. Each image showed abuse: a cut here, a bruise there – nothing life threatening as of yet, but enough for Merlin to be uncomfortable at the very least, and possibly sporting further unseen damage at the most.
The thing of it was, they could get no further information out of the abductor, or abductors as the case may be as no one could certain of anything yet and the chance of a single person working alone seemed slim. They wanted money, something Arthur could give easily enough, but had hinted at wanting something more as well. So far, all they had managed was to make Arthur a basket case, something Morgana bluntly pointed out when she brought him a cup of overpriced coffee and some takeaway she threatened to force feed him if he did not at least make an attempt to eat on his own.
She listened in on the next call, and then made a call of her own while Arthur looked at the first full-body picture to be gifted to him, seeing Merlin lain atop an unadorned mattress, wrists still chained to the blasted bar, scrubs from work nearly as filthy as the floor littered with several food wrappers and a half-finished bottle of juice. He took comfort in the fact his lover was at least not starving, even as he counted more injuries than he had seen previously, and noticed just how tight the gag was tied, possibly hinting at some colourful language being used, and hopefully not the blocking of screams while they did whatever they were doing to him.
Morgana finished her conversation and snapped shut her mobile. “Morgause has not heard anything,” she announced, and Arthur knew he visibly winced at the name. His half-sister’s half-sister had ties to things Pendragon Enterprises most definitely did not want their name anywhere near. He knew why Morgana called, and knew the information was valuable in its own right, but that did not mean he had to like it.
“Can you trust her?” Gwaine asked with a raised eyebrow.
“On this? Yes,” Morgana replied. Even Morgana knew her sister was a lying cheat who would do damn near anything to reach whatever goal she set for herself this time, and if it was illegal or shady, all the better as she liked the challenge. “She won’t contact the authorities, and can put out feelers to see if anyone has seen or heard of anything suspicious.”
“Her whole business is suspicious,” Arthur muttered under his breath, but nodded in thanks anyway.
Morgana picked at the last bits of her curry. “She did ask something that I think you need to take into consideration, however,” she finally admitted.
“And that would be?” Arthur prompted, pushing away any pretence of eating at this point.
“When the vote is.”
Arthur did not even ask how Morgause knew. He had blocked the entire thing from his mind, really, focusing instead on bringing Merlin home, sod any work commitments. It was only now that he wondered if that was part of the plan all along.
He pulled up his schedule and, sure enough, there had been an emergency motion early in the morning the day before to move the vote to the following morning, citing previous commitments and bank holidays lined up throughout the next week.
He swore, again. The vote itself was not that important per se, but it would set into motion a plan that would change many aspects of Pendragon Enterprises over time, not the least of which had to do with pension plans and stock options for the board members while diverting funds that could only be called slush to charitable organisations instead. He had long suspected certain members of dipping their fingers into those funds and writing them off as extraneous expenses, which was why he supported the tightening of the rules. It appeared at least one member did not and may have found the backing and the means to try to put an end to any change.
As it stood now, Arthur was already near unfit to give the speech to sway the voters. Given another twenty hours of this and he would not only be unfit, but would be still clinging to the phone awaiting news of Merlin’s safe return instead at the head of a podium counting the ballots.
“It’s not about the money,” he sighed. He looked to his laptop and the series of emails providing photographic evidence of what his lover was going through. At least now the delay made sense: this was a distraction, not a bid for wealth. The kidnapper likely could care less about the cash as they were to benefit far more from either the company funds directly, or payoffs diverted from those funds. “It was never about the money.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair before he turned to Morgana and asked plaintively, “What do we do?”
She put down her plate and delicately wiped her mouth with a napkin, the remnants of her lipstick staining the paper. “I have an idea, but you might not like it.”
Which is how, with the sun just beginning to light up the sky and filter in through heavily curtained windows, Arthur found himself face to face with the man himself: his father.
Uther Pendragon entered the room without a word, leaning heavily on an ornate walking stick that left tiny circular indentations in the plush carpeting. He was dressed, as always, in a three piece suit with coordinating tie and pocket square despite the early hour. He waived off the chair Arthur offered him and instead strode over to the open laptop and calmly clicked his way through the series of photographs that declared the fate of his son’s companion. Always companion with him, never lover or boyfriend or partner; nothing that could denote any sort of permanency.
He turned around after the most recent image filed the screen, thankfully at least partially blocking the view of a bleeding Merlin with a red splattered wrench which lay in silent threat beside him. “Despicable,” he sneered.
Arthur glared at him. His dislike of Merlin was legendary, thinking the wayward med student that happened to patch up the up and coming businessman after a rugby match that got a bit rough had lured and swayed Arthur away from a traditional life with a trophy wife and two point five children living in pristine upper London society, possibly with a pet poodle or some such thing. He often pretended he did not even remember Merlin’s name, though he happened to gift him with the precise rare medical text he needed for his dissertation only the semester before, all without a word aside from, “Some interesting reading for you.”
“I meant whoever did this, not your companion,” he clarified with a wave of his hand. “It is cowardly and underhanded and speaks of someone with far too much tied up in the company that he would be poised to lose. He clearly wants you to appear weak and unfit for leadership, just as clearly as he has not read the full bylaws of the corporation.”
“I miss this vote and we lose the Avalon project,” Arthur pointed out. “I miss my speech and we might reach a draw and cause it to be delayed yet again, giving whoever this is a chance to funnel his funds before we can catch him.”
“You will miss the vote as you have matters to attend to closer to home,” his father told him. Before Arthur could protest, he added, “But we will neither lose this project nor those funds.”
Arthur was confused, and knew he betrayed that weakness as he stuttered, “But-”
“But nothing,” his father said with his usual no nonsense tone. “Only one person may stand as proxy for you, as only one person has ever been registered to do so. I may not have attended the latest board meetings, but it’s about time the not-so-retired chairman made an appearance. Only one person is authorised to give the speech for you as you both worked on this project together. Morgana knows the material at least as well as you do. We will go in your stead. She will speak and I will vote.”
“But-” Arthur tried again.
“I cannot cast your vote and my own,” Morgana reminded him, not unkindly. “Father can go in your place. He will stay outside until it’s time for the vote so as to not give the game away.”
She explained it as though it really were that simple, which is why it pained him to remind them both, “The drop off time for the money is at the nearly the same time as the vote. They will figure it out and refuse to release him, or worse. Gwaine can drop off the money and notify me when the exchange is made.”
His father snapped his fingers impatiently and called, “Leon?” His personal guard and head of security instantly appeared at his side. “Explain to my son the proper protocol.”
Leon nodded and did just that. “We block all mobile signals during important meetings and votes to prevent outside influence, to ensure our employees stay on task, and to limit the risk of insider trading,” he recited.
Arthur nodded, vaguely remembering that, though he so rarely pulled out his mobile during a meeting so he would hardly be the one to notice. One did not dally when one was in charge and trying to set an example. Though it did explain why, at times, he would have multiple messages from Merlin without having had any distracting beeps or vibrations throughout the conferences. “And the timing?” he prompted.
Leon did something truly frightening, and smiled. “You make the drop. By that time, it will be obvious that you will not be present for the meeting and whoever it is will report in as such prior to entering the scrambled room. Ms. Pendragon gives her presentation and your father arrives after a few unfortunate technical difficulties that may have caused unforeseen delays.”
“Father will be outside and can confirm with Leon that Merlin has been returned, and then the vote will proceed as scheduled after only a slight hindrance,” Morgana finished for him. She put on an innocent and confused face that he had never fallen for but that had cost others thousands if not millions in the past. “You know how difficult those pesky monitors can be. I must have pushed the wrong button again,” she mock pouted.
“And if he’s not returned?” Arthur voiced a concern he could barely admit to himself.
“Then everyone is rounded up and locked down save for your sister and father, so we can sort out the traitor in our own time,” Gwaine answered for him. As an aside while Arthur processed all that, he added, “Also, I am going with you to the drop. There’s no way we’re letting them get their hands on you as well.”
Arthur looked to him, and then to his father. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the only thing that came out was a simple, “Why?”
“Because they would ask for far more than-” Gwaine started, but was cut off by the Pendragon elder.
“Because this is important,” his father said. He looked to the image on the laptop and closed his eyes for a moment before he returned his gaze to his son. “This project, this vote, the company, all of these are important to you. But this man’s safety? Even I know what takes priority here, Arthur.” He stepped closer and placed a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We will get him back for you,” he promised.
“And if anything happens to him in the process, we will make them pay,” Morgana added her own oath, living up to the cutthroat Pendragon name.
Arthur was not sure why, but he found their words reassuring. Maybe it was the quiet confidence with which they were spoken. Maybe it was because he had seen both his father and his sister in action and neither one of them had ever backed down, not when it mattered.
He was still musing this over when his phone rang once more. He put down yet another cup of coffee and listened as the room fell silent, meeting his father’s eyes as he answered, “This is Arthur.”
This time the voice had instructions for him. The rules if not the location for the drop-off. The fact that they were fine with a bodyguard coming along so long as Arthur himself was present further solidified in his mind that it was not about the money, at least not just the pesky two million, as much as it was about making sure he was not in a certain place at a certain time.
“Oh, and Mr. Pendragon?” the voice paused with a calmness that spoke of surety in victory. “Try to cross us, and he will pay the price. One cannot be a surgeon if one cannot use one’s hands.”
Arthur’s email beeped just as the phone disconnected. He swallowed heavily and dutifully opened the next picture, and then listened to Morgana rant so he would not be tempted to himself. It was a close up of Merlin’s hands again, his wrists clearly swollen and encrusted with layers of fresh and dried blood. A scalpel was held just above the tender skin of the back of a pale and slightly blue-tinged hand.
He tried to tell himself it was an empty threat, that they were after the project funds and their own security, not actually wanting to hurt someone just to prove a point. But then Morgana scrolled down in the message to show a second picture, this one showing the aftermath with a thin and thankfully shallow slice from just below his wrist to just above the second knuckle of his little finger.
“Can you trace these messages?” Arthur’s father demanded, startling him out of his thoughts of grief and just how much his lover was to suffer.
“We have been attempting to do so, but they have the messages routed through multiple terminals and are using an encryption program we have yet to hack. The email address itself is from one of the free mail sites and they chose the incredibly original name of ‘wehaveemrys’ to send them from,” Gwaine informed him. He carried over his own laptop to show all sorts of diagrams and numbers that Arthur ignored. “We have traced through the worst of it and discovered that they should be right here in town, not that this is a surprise given the timeframe from abduction to contact.”
“Specifics?” Arthur requested, his voice not much more than a whisper. “I want specifics. I want to know where and who and how much they will suffer.”
“Heathrow and Main, someone using a custom portable hub, and a great deal,” Gwaine answered for him without bothering to look up from his screen. Arthur was suitably impressed. At least up until Gwaine amended, “Unfortunately, the previous transmission was from Galant and Second, and the one before that was Isaacs and First, and... shall I continue?”
“You said the hub was portable, they are likely moving around to avoid suspicion,” Leon pointed out. He took the laptop from him and pulled up a map of the city. “All are within a six block radius, and only the first transmission was that far out. They go back to wherever they are keeping him, take the pictures and prepare the message, and send it from the different locations. What we are getting is not real time, at least not the images, but delayed by however long it takes them to get somewhere to make the call.”
“So Merlin?” Arthur asked.
“Is probably somewhere around here,” Leon replied, pointing to a rough circle on the map. There were quite a few buildings there, most of them residential, and it would take some time to search them all. Not to mention, it would prove to be an incredibly difficult task to do so without giving themselves away.
Morgana appeared at his side, her turn to be reassuring and supportive. “Everything they have shown us is fixable. Uncomfortable for Merlin, but he can heal from it. There has been neither a body nor any threats that they are going to take it to that level,” she reminded him.
“Yet,” Arthur supplied what she could not. He sat back down in his desk chair, laptop with its gruesome images before him. He could not help but wonder what would happen if they crossed the line, if they took it as far as they could and Merlin paid the ultimate price. He would not even know until they got around the sending him the confirmation, long minutes later. That was something he was not certain he could live with.
Morgana reached over and minimised the file, revealing the wallpaper of an incredibly overwhelmed yet incredibly happy Merlin swarmed by children. It was taken at the last charity event hosted at the hospital, something Pendragon Enterprises just happened to make a rather large donation to. Merlin’s crisp white shirt was about to smeared with fingerprints of cake, sweets, and something they had later identified as paint. It had been a grand time and the image of it now served to make him question if he would ever have times like that again, though he knew it was not Morgana’s intent.
“The next time they call, ask to speak to him,” she advised.
He reluctantly glanced away from the screen to point out, “Didn’t we just sort out that they are not even with him when they call?”
She smiled and looked as though she was trying not to roll her eyes. “It won’t happen that call, of course, though it might serve as confirmation to the theory. They might be willing to allow it with the next one though, which would be better than nothing, right?”
He was grudgingly forced to agree.
The next call, he asked. He told them he needed to know if Merlin was truly alive and well if he was to release any funds into their custody. As expected, he was refused and another picture was sent. He glared at the image of his lover hanging limply from his bonds, either unconscious or asleep. His scrubs were stained with sweat and there was a dark line of what he assumed was dried blood where they had made their earlier incision. His face was hidden too much to see the full extent of the damage there, but he could still make out the earlier gash and what looked to be quite the black eye.
He fumed and wanted to rant and rave and storm each and every place on that damned map. He wanted to find Merlin, and find him now, and hold him close and comfort him and apologise for ever getting him into this mess in the first place. Instead, he was stuck waiting for a plan to play out that may well go horribly wrong and leave his lover in an even worse position than he was in already.
He looked over to his father and watched him sip his morning tea and wanted to know how he could stay so calm, so cold and devoid of emotion. Then he noticed the way his hand shook just the tiniest of bits as he raised his cup, the way his foot jiggled just a bit too much to be casual, and the way he would narrow his eyes and nod every time he met Arthur’s gaze, a silent promise to see this through to the end, no matter what that end may be.
Morgana had left to wash up and prepare for the meeting by the time the next call came through. His father had stayed though, as had his security. Perhaps he was punchy from the lack of sleep and the sheer amount of stress, but he almost wanted to laugh at the situation: he and his father with all their wealth closed up in tiny little room surrounded by what amounted to guards while his boyfriend who never cared a spit about money save for what it could do for others was left alone in the hands of those wanting to control and corrupt and do god knows what else with stupid little pieces of paper and numbers.
“You wanted to talk to him, now is your chance,” the voice said. The distortion seemed different now, the resonation and echo off from before. There was the slightest of background noises as well, suitably fuzzy right up until they were not.
He knew it must have been whatever distortion device switching off, but it still did not prepare him for the thready and trembling voice that next filled the line. “A-Arthur?” Merlin asked, as if unsure what he was being offered.
And it was Merlin, real and true and with the little lilt at the end of the simple single word the way he always did when he was tired or stressed and of course he was both of those things now and it was beautiful and painful and it took Arthur a preciously long moment before he managed, “Merlin? Is it really you? Are you okay?”
It was a stupid question to ask and he knew it, but he could not help it as the words just poured out of his mouth. He was rewarded with a choked sob and a hint of a snort before Merlin replied, “I must say I have been better.”
Arthur breathed out through his nose and rubbed his free hand over his mouth before he forced it down and said, “I am so sorry. I never... I am sorry, Merlin.” He knew time was of the essence and the call could be cut at any moment to prevent a trace, but he needed to say that at least, needed Merlin to know that above all things save one.
“Not your fault,” Merlin told him. Then, proving his boyfriend was not the brightest bulb, he added, “It’s the fault of stupid greedy bastards who think they have far more power than they ever should.” There was the clear sound of flesh against flesh and Merlin moaning in response to no doubt being slapped or punched for his words. Not that such a thing deterred him in the least. He continued, “Don’t give them that power, Arthur. Don’t give it to them.”
His words were rushed and Arthur knew the phone was probably being dragged away from him in reward for his impudence or some such thing. There was one more thing he needed to say though, and he could only hope Merlin could still here him as he promised, “I love you. So much, Merlin, so very much.”
The background noise distorted again for the briefest of moments before he heard a mocking, “Aw, so sweet, really. Let’s see if you love him enough to carry this through.” The click sounded so final, especially when it was not accompanied by the usual beep of his email. He had been gifted with actually talking to Merlin, and yet he still wanted more, wanted to see him, even if it was delayed and processed and a fraction of what he needed.
He sat down heavily in his chair and let Gwaine take the phone from his hand. He hung his head and buried his face and did not bother looking up when he felt a heavy and familiar weight on his shoulder having already heard the shuffle-thud of his father making his way over to him.
He did, however, look up long minutes later when his email finally beeped. He opened the message with shaking fingers and then had to close his eyes and look away. As expected, it was Merlin. Not so expected was the video clip.
He pressed play though he dreaded what he would find. The gag was back in place and there was a drop of red dripping from his bottom lip, no doubt the price for his commentary. A man dressed in all black completed with a face mask came into view. He bore no weapons, but apparently needed none for what he planned. He strode up to Merlin and smashed his hand hard against the bar to which he was cuffed. Then, without preamble, he grabbed two of his fingers, and pulled. Arthur imagined he could hear the sound of the bones grinding though in truth he could hear nothing over Merlin’s muted screams.
The clip ended, but Arthur could not look away. He just sat there staring at the image of Merlin’s mangled hand, repeating, “I am sorry. I’m so sorry,” over and over again.
Gwaine took the laptop away from him and his father pulled him close, the closest thing he had shown to public affection in ages. He patted his hair like he did when he was a boy before he took out his perfectly pressed handkerchief and wiped away tears Arthur had not even felt fall. “They will pay,” he promised low and clear. “We will find them, Arthur, and they will pay.”
Arthur wanted to ask how and when and everything else. He knew his father and his history well enough to know Pendragon Enterprises was not won easily and enemies were made for a reason. He did not know how far his father’s connections went, though he had an inking as Morgause and her own connections were hardly a surprise, but he trusted his father’s word in this, even though it did not feel like it would be nearly enough.
An hour later and after less than fully reassuring comments from Gwaine and Leon that the fingers looked only dislocated, not broken, and he should regain full use if treated soon enough, Gwaine approached him once more, a peace offering of yet another cup of coffee in his hands. He sunk down by Arthur’s side, placing the mug on the desk when Arthur did not immediately take it. “I have good news and bad news,” he announced.
Arthur turned his head slowly to face him, knowing his eyes were not much more than the slits of a glare, and silently dared him to tell him how much worse the situation could be to count as “bad news” at this time.
Gwaine had known him for far too long to be truly affected however, so he continued, “We think we found where they are, but we are unable to get close enough without police involvement or possibly breaking more laws than we can talk our way out of.”
At his questioning look, Leon explained, “We have the suspected place surrounded, but the security is surprisingly tight, at least electronics-wise. To break in would involve a full assault and there are too many incidentals in the way, too many places with potential innocents that could be hurt or worse.”
“Merlin would not want that,” Arthur murmured. Never mind that it was illegal and dangerous and they were talking the potential deaths of those involved, for some reason what stood out most in his mind was Merlin’s reaction should they free him through such methods and just how incredibly pissed his boyfriend would be. He decided that, yes, sleep deprivation was definitely beginning to play a role.
Gwaine made no comment about the ridiculousness of Arthur’s statement, but did point out, “This does mean that we can more easily corral anyone who tries to escape after the release.” After, not if. Gwaine spoke as though it was a sure thing when everyone present knew it was not. “If they leave him there and run, we can track them. If they take him somewhere to drop him off, well, then we can track that too.”
Arthur nodded, mind still flooded with images of everything he had seen, everything he had been shown thus far. “Thank you,” he said, knowing it was not enough but would have to do for now.
Gwaine did not ask for more, nor did Leon. They simply went back to the other side of the room and continued with their tactical analysis or whatever else it was that they were doing. He could hear the low rumble of his father’s voice, probably asking for specifics. No names were given though, which meant that for as much as they now had, they still had nothing.
Another hour and another phone call, this one Arthur answered with, “You bastard.”
“Now, now, such language,” the voice chuckled. It did not pause for him to respond, but instantly went into some ridiculous monologue of needs and wants and then included an added instruction for the drop and quizzed him on it to make sure he was listening before the line went dead once again.
“Did you get that?” Arthur sighed.
“Non-sequential, et cetera, yeah,” Gwaine said with the same enthusiasm he felt. It was not the call they had been waiting for, but the inevitable message that followed it.
Sure enough, his computer pinged. His father reached out a hand to stop him and told him, “You don’t have to do this to yourself.”
Arthur met his gaze and did not know what his father saw in it when he said, “Yeah, I really do,” but the great Uther Pendragon let him go without another word.
This time the attachment had returned to its usual simple picture. It was a close up of Merlin’s swollen and crooked fingers, as though Arthur had forgotten about them already.
He took a deep breath and minimised at the image. He closed his eyes and felt something grow cold in the pit of his heart and was tempted to tell Gwaine and Leon to storm the place now and damn the innocents that happened to be caught in the crossfire. He knew they would do it. He knew they might not even think less of him for ordering such a thing. He knew only one person would, and he wondered if he could talk his way out of the rage that would follow the order.
He opened his eyes and let them slowly focus on the screen once more. Merlin smiling and happy and surrounded by the same innocents Arthur would so readily damn. What if one of the children from the hospital happened to be there? What if they happened to live in a flat within the border his men had set up? Merlin would never forgive him. He would never ask him to do so.
Morgana stopped by again, dressed prim and proper and lethal. She ignored his laptop and produced her own, and together they reviewed the key points of the presentation she would give in his stead. He tried to focus on her words and not on what he had seen over these past long hours, but found it more and more difficult as the time of the next call approached. He felt a hand fold over his own and blinked, noticing now that they were at least five more slides in than he last remembered. He cleared his throat though neither of them said a word and backed his way through to begin again.
The phone rang again as she left and it was only then that he noticed his father had disappeared some time during their review of his notes. It made sense as all the players needed to get into position, but it made him feel that much more alone, notice Merlin’s absence that much clearer, nonetheless.
The man verified the information for what felt like the hundredth time, but did not give the final drop off point. That likely would not be given until whoever he worked for was ready to enter the meeting and had seen for himself that Arthur was absent. Arthur listened and responded by rote and heard just the barest hint of gloating in the man’s voice as though he was convinced that he had already won. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, really. Either their plan worked, or it did not. Either Merlin would be handed over safely, or someone would pay a very dire price.
The picture that followed showed another close up, this one of Merlin’s damaged fingers cradled as near as possible to his bloodied face as though to show the worst of it all. Arthur did not think that it was his family’s absence that made him unable to look away this time. There was no new information, did not appear to be any new damage to catalogue and memorise, the image only serving as verification that the man he loved was still alive and there was a chance he would remain that way if everything worked out the way they hoped and planned.
He looked up when Gwaine listed the intersection this particular message came from, but could not help but to glance back down again a moment later. It was then he saw it. He did not know if he wanted to kiss Merlin through the screen or curse him for pulling a stunt that might leave him even more damaged than he already was.
“Gwaine?” he called, barely able to keep his voice in check. His guard heard the difference and looked up immediately. “Do we have software to enlarge and enhance a digital image?”
The security agent nodded. “You have a basic program on your computer, but I can get something more if you need it, why?”
“Because I think Merlin was just foolish enough to send us a message,” Arthur replied.
Gwaine was on his feet at that, and at Arthur’s side only a moment later. He looked to where Arthur pointed, to the signet ring around Merlin’s finger, a different finger than usual, rubbed clean and shined to reflect what could only be the shadows of the room around him. “He’s really not that idiotic, is he?” Gwaine asked, though there was a hint of a smile upon his face.
Arthur let the other man take control of his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he did whatever it was he needed to do, and sighed, “I really think he is...”
Long minutes later, a blurry and pixilated picture came into view. Arthur ran the rough shapes and shadows through his memory and came up with only one name: “Cenred,” he breathed. The longer than business standard dark hair and neatly groomed scruff was identifiable, as was the history of hatred towards certain aspects of the Pendragon business.
“I thought Morgause claimed to know nothing about this,” Gwaine commented, tossing his own long hair out of his eyes to look over to Arthur.
“They had a falling out nearly two years back now,” Arthur said absently. Morgana had never told him the specifics, but the way her own security had been increased and the rant of conversation he had heard between the two at a dinner party some time later had hinted that Cenred had attempted something against Morgana personally and Morgause had not only defended her sister, but had taken great offence at the attempt.
“And you trust that it has stayed this way?” Gwaine verified. The tone to his words was doubtful, and Arthur did not blame him in the least.
“He challenged Morgana,” Arthur explained. It was not the full details of the debacle but, then again, he did not have those for himself. As it was, it was only because both he and Merlin had been attempting to get a little air that he had overheard anything at all. Morgause was loyal to Morgana, of that he was fairly certain. If Morgana was in danger, she would likely have her own security there in addition to the usual Pendragon affair. If Morgana phrased her inquiry to Morgause to even slightly hint that she herself could be at risk, Morgause would be on the move irregardless of pesky things like innocents standing in the way.
Gwaine whistled low and asked, “And why is he still on the board, let alone alive?”
“He has too many connections,” Arthur answered. The evidence before them hinted at just what some of those connections may be.
He honestly questioned why Cenred would lower himself with a visit to Merlin himself, but then remembered the man’s incredible pride and hubris. If Cenred thought he had the situation well and truly in his pocket, he was just the type to stand around and gloat. He likely had not lain a single finger on Merlin himself, only ordering his men to do so. He also likely had not thought Merlin would even see him or recognise him in the least, let alone be able to send back a message to Arthur as to just who they were dealing with.
Arthur sent a message to both his father and to Morgana whilst Gwaine sent a similar one to Leon. Even this knowledge was not enough though. Yes, they were fairly certain they knew who was behind the kidnapping and horrors that Merlin had faced over these past long hours, but Cenred could still have several fail safes in place. They needed to wait until he was not only in the building, but had sent a message to his men to confirm Arthur’s absence before they could do a single damn thing.
And so they waited. And with the next call, Arthur bit his tongue against announcing he knew who was behind this and that he knew the grand plan. And with the next email, he tried not to imaging the slimy businessman standing over his lover, taunting words upon his tongue.
The final call came and Arthur already had his jacket in his hands, suitcase full of cash at his side. The drop off location was finally revealed and the time only a half hour away. There would have been no time for Arthur to reach it, leave the cash, and await Merlin’s release and still be able to be anywhere near the office building in time for the vote.
He let Gwaine send the message to Leon as he picked up the case and headed out the door. It was almost over, one way or another. He ignored the ping of his email, and refused top open the attachment that it bore. He had quite enough of Cenred’s games by now and was quite done playing.
The drop off was just barely inside the radius Leon had set up. It was barren and abandoned with sightlines from several nearby buildings. He and Gwaine waited until the exact minute to set the suitcase down next to the dilapidated old rubbish bin and then walked away.
He had taken exactly one hundred and twenty one steps when his phone rang. “Very good, Pendragon. Now stay right there for your reward,” the familiar distorted voice cooed.
Gwaine stood back to back with him, not even pretending that he was not armed. Both scanned the streets and buildings for any sign of what was to come, but nothing seemed to offer any clue.
They had their answer soon enough when two vehicles screeched around the corner. One made a line for the cash whilst the other, a white and non-descript van, barely slowed as its back doors opened and a large black object was unceremoniously dumped out the back. Both vehicles sped off as quickly as the arrived, but Arthur did not care, he was already running towards when he knew lay unmoving in the black plastic that littered the tarmac.
Gwaine’s shouts for the team to move in echoed in his ears as he collapsed beside the plastic, ripping and tearing with his bare hands and fighting back against the hands that tried to pull him away and the words the warned it could be a trap. He succeeded though, found his prize before Gwaine could have his way. The plastic pulled back to reveal a bound and bloodied and hopefully unconscious Merlin, face far too pale and bruises far too stark in the bright midday sun.
Gwaine cut away the rest of the plastic, checked for traps or wires, and then cut the rope that bound Merlin’s hands and feet whilst Arthur tugged free the gag and checked for himself that his lover was still breathing. Merlin, of course, had to both one-up him and show that he never did the sensible thing like pass out, and slowly opened his eyes as far as he could pass the swelling, and managed a single choked word: “Arthur.”
Epilogue:
Arthur sat slouched in the uncomfortable hospital chair watching the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest and listening to the near silent drip of fluids and nutrients and medication through the IV line.
Merlin had been asleep for hours now, well and truly asleep and not just unconscious as he had been after Arthur had wrapped his arms around him and held on tight. His fingers were splinted and his wrists and various other parts of him wrapped in crisp white bandages. The damage, though horrific, could have been so much worse; something Arthur kept repeating to himself as a sort of mantra to stop himself from going mad.
He pushed away another cup of coffee as he simply did not have the taste for it anymore, and dared to glance up at the muted telly. The image of Cenred being led away from Pendragon Enterprises in handcuffs was something he would enjoy to his dying day, as was the image of his associates rounded up and dragged away by the police. A more private, yet still memorable image was something his father had sent him only moments ago and involved both the termination of Cenred’s employment with Pendragon Enterprises, and the draining of his private accounts into those of the charities he had so opposed.
A movement from the bed beside him caught his attention and there was no question as to what was more important as he shifted his gaze over to Merlin, who groaned slightly and shifted just so. “Arthur?” the hoarse voice asked, and Arthur instantly stood so that Merlin could see him more easily.
“I’m right here,” he promised. He held up the little cup of water and helped Merlin sip at it until he pushed it away again.
“What did you do?” Merlin asked, voice slightly closer to his usual accusatory tone once more.
“Nothing illegal,” Arthur told him for what felt like the hundredth time. Every time he had tried to go into more detail, Merlin had drifted off again, so he figured now was not the time. He was hoping it never would be, but knew better to count on that.
“You gave them what they wanted, didn’t you?” Merlin asked, resigned.
“I gave them what they deserved,” Arthur corrected. He brushed some of Merlin’s fringe away from his swollen eye and tried not to catalogue all the scratches and scrapes that decorated even that small area of his body. He did not tell him that he would have paid, that he would have paid every last pound to his name to have gotten Merlin back. He did not think he needed to, especially if the glare he received for his efforts was any indication.
“Why?” Merlin asked.
Arthur did not know if he wanted to know why this had happened, why he was chosen to suffer, or why Arthur had so readily given up his wealth and the potential safety of his company for a single man. He decided to answer the last one though, and answered with every drop of certainty he could muster, letting the long hours of wondering and anguish colour his tone as he replied, “Because, some things are simply more important than others.”
Merlin seemed content with that, or else the pain medication had kicked in again, as his lips turned upward into a ghost of a smile and his eyes drifted closed again.
Arthur sat back down and wrapped his hand around his lover’s and thought about how much of an understatement that truly was. Finally, after a last glance at the various monitors and one last look to verify for himself that Merlin was safe and sound, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, knowing without a doubt that Merlin would still be there in the morning.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Modern AU, Slash (Arthur/Merlin)
Rating: R
Length: ~8,250 words
Warnings: Violence, injury, aftermath thereof
Synopsis: Arthur is the son and heir of Pendragon Enterprises and to call him rich and powerful would be an understatement. However, when his boyfriend Merlin is kidnapped, he learns there are things in life far more important than simple cash.
Author’s Notes: I started this nearly a year ago for a
kinkme_merlin prompt I came across and have long since lost. Hopefully it either remains close enough to the original prompt for the prompter to recognise it, or can stand on its own as it is.Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
“I have the money,” Arthur announced as soon as he verified the number on the screen. He did not bother hiding the anxiousness to his tone; they were past that by now and it would have been seen right through. “I can give it to you now,” he added with a desperation that further betrayed his emotions.
The answer he received was a deep and distorted chuckle. “Good,” the voice said, sounding rightfully pleased. “But I believe I stated thirty-six hours. We have another thirty four to go and I so look forward to spending them with your little friend here.”
“But I can give it to you now; we can end this now,” he tried.
“Perhaps I should have asked for more,” the voice mused. It did not matter; Arthur would find a way to get whatever he needed. Two million was easy, almost too easy for the heir to the Pendragon legacy. They could double it, triple it even, and Arthur would have it to them just as quickly. No, there was something else going on here, something that was confirmed when the voice said, “I will check in every two hours. You will comply with my demands and will not contact the authorities. In the interim, here is something to convince you that I will uphold my side of the bargain.” Arthur’s email beeped with a new message. “Such wonderful hands this one has. It’s up to you if he ever uses them again.”
The line disconnected and Arthur tossed his phone to the nearest person as he pulled up whatever he was sent. It was a picture, a close up of a pair of hands chained to some sort of metal bar. He would have recognised the pale and elegant fingers even if they had not been wearing his signet ring. There was a scrape along one, but it was nothing in comparison to the already bright red grooves the cuffs had cut into one of the wrists.
“Damn it!” he swore and began to pace. So many thoughts flooded his mind. The last time he had seen Merlin, just this morning as he kissed him goodbye when he left for his shift at the hospital. How they had spent the night before, laughing and joking and curled up together watching some awful programme before falling asleep in each other’s arms. How their relationship had raised a few eyebrows, but garnered support over the past year and a half that they had been together. How someone training to be a surgeon, already top of his class, could be so wonderfully stupid and gullible at times. How he could care less about just how much money Arthur and his family had so long as he had someone to share bad takeaway and even worse jokes. How he had taught Arthur about what was really important and that it did not come from a bank account. How he had supported Arthur through the stress and sweeping changes going on at Pendragon Enterprises. How anyone in their right mind would ever want to hurt him.
“Why won’t they take the money?” he asked the room at large.
The few people gathered looked to be almost as much at a loss as he did himself. It was Gwaine though, an old friend and member of the security his father insisted upon that had originally suggested Merlin have someone assigned to him personally, at least until everything blew over, that spoke first. “Maybe they want something more?” he suggested, which set the room into a discussion of just what that could be and why.
Two hours later and they had no answer. They did, however, have a ringing phone. “I thought you might want further confirmation that we have your man,” the distorted voice sounded without preamble.
There was a click and the buzz of the background scramble faded away to a crystal clear voice of Merlin as he growled, “You sick fuck. He’ll give you nothing, you know. Arthur? Give him absolutely nothing.”
Another click and the distortion was back. “You’re brighter than that, aren’t you, Pendragon? You will give me exactly what I need to save your precious toy.”
“What else do you want?” Arthur demanded, ignoring the implication that Merlin meant so little to him.
“In time,” the voice replied.
There was a far more final click as the line disconnected, followed by another beep that signalled another email. Arthur opened the message and instantly had to look away. It was Merlin, a close up of his normally brilliant blue eyes, only one was swollen with the tinges for purple surrounding it, and there was a gash above his dark eyebrow, blood dripping freely down his temple.
“Bastard,” Gwaine swore, and Arthur could find no better word for it.
Five more calls, five more images, and five more taunts later, and Arthur was a mess. Well, more of a mess than he had been when he had first received word of Merlin’s kidnapping. Each image showed abuse: a cut here, a bruise there – nothing life threatening as of yet, but enough for Merlin to be uncomfortable at the very least, and possibly sporting further unseen damage at the most.
The thing of it was, they could get no further information out of the abductor, or abductors as the case may be as no one could certain of anything yet and the chance of a single person working alone seemed slim. They wanted money, something Arthur could give easily enough, but had hinted at wanting something more as well. So far, all they had managed was to make Arthur a basket case, something Morgana bluntly pointed out when she brought him a cup of overpriced coffee and some takeaway she threatened to force feed him if he did not at least make an attempt to eat on his own.
She listened in on the next call, and then made a call of her own while Arthur looked at the first full-body picture to be gifted to him, seeing Merlin lain atop an unadorned mattress, wrists still chained to the blasted bar, scrubs from work nearly as filthy as the floor littered with several food wrappers and a half-finished bottle of juice. He took comfort in the fact his lover was at least not starving, even as he counted more injuries than he had seen previously, and noticed just how tight the gag was tied, possibly hinting at some colourful language being used, and hopefully not the blocking of screams while they did whatever they were doing to him.
Morgana finished her conversation and snapped shut her mobile. “Morgause has not heard anything,” she announced, and Arthur knew he visibly winced at the name. His half-sister’s half-sister had ties to things Pendragon Enterprises most definitely did not want their name anywhere near. He knew why Morgana called, and knew the information was valuable in its own right, but that did not mean he had to like it.
“Can you trust her?” Gwaine asked with a raised eyebrow.
“On this? Yes,” Morgana replied. Even Morgana knew her sister was a lying cheat who would do damn near anything to reach whatever goal she set for herself this time, and if it was illegal or shady, all the better as she liked the challenge. “She won’t contact the authorities, and can put out feelers to see if anyone has seen or heard of anything suspicious.”
“Her whole business is suspicious,” Arthur muttered under his breath, but nodded in thanks anyway.
Morgana picked at the last bits of her curry. “She did ask something that I think you need to take into consideration, however,” she finally admitted.
“And that would be?” Arthur prompted, pushing away any pretence of eating at this point.
“When the vote is.”
Arthur did not even ask how Morgause knew. He had blocked the entire thing from his mind, really, focusing instead on bringing Merlin home, sod any work commitments. It was only now that he wondered if that was part of the plan all along.
He pulled up his schedule and, sure enough, there had been an emergency motion early in the morning the day before to move the vote to the following morning, citing previous commitments and bank holidays lined up throughout the next week.
He swore, again. The vote itself was not that important per se, but it would set into motion a plan that would change many aspects of Pendragon Enterprises over time, not the least of which had to do with pension plans and stock options for the board members while diverting funds that could only be called slush to charitable organisations instead. He had long suspected certain members of dipping their fingers into those funds and writing them off as extraneous expenses, which was why he supported the tightening of the rules. It appeared at least one member did not and may have found the backing and the means to try to put an end to any change.
As it stood now, Arthur was already near unfit to give the speech to sway the voters. Given another twenty hours of this and he would not only be unfit, but would be still clinging to the phone awaiting news of Merlin’s safe return instead at the head of a podium counting the ballots.
“It’s not about the money,” he sighed. He looked to his laptop and the series of emails providing photographic evidence of what his lover was going through. At least now the delay made sense: this was a distraction, not a bid for wealth. The kidnapper likely could care less about the cash as they were to benefit far more from either the company funds directly, or payoffs diverted from those funds. “It was never about the money.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair before he turned to Morgana and asked plaintively, “What do we do?”
She put down her plate and delicately wiped her mouth with a napkin, the remnants of her lipstick staining the paper. “I have an idea, but you might not like it.”
Which is how, with the sun just beginning to light up the sky and filter in through heavily curtained windows, Arthur found himself face to face with the man himself: his father.
Uther Pendragon entered the room without a word, leaning heavily on an ornate walking stick that left tiny circular indentations in the plush carpeting. He was dressed, as always, in a three piece suit with coordinating tie and pocket square despite the early hour. He waived off the chair Arthur offered him and instead strode over to the open laptop and calmly clicked his way through the series of photographs that declared the fate of his son’s companion. Always companion with him, never lover or boyfriend or partner; nothing that could denote any sort of permanency.
He turned around after the most recent image filed the screen, thankfully at least partially blocking the view of a bleeding Merlin with a red splattered wrench which lay in silent threat beside him. “Despicable,” he sneered.
Arthur glared at him. His dislike of Merlin was legendary, thinking the wayward med student that happened to patch up the up and coming businessman after a rugby match that got a bit rough had lured and swayed Arthur away from a traditional life with a trophy wife and two point five children living in pristine upper London society, possibly with a pet poodle or some such thing. He often pretended he did not even remember Merlin’s name, though he happened to gift him with the precise rare medical text he needed for his dissertation only the semester before, all without a word aside from, “Some interesting reading for you.”
“I meant whoever did this, not your companion,” he clarified with a wave of his hand. “It is cowardly and underhanded and speaks of someone with far too much tied up in the company that he would be poised to lose. He clearly wants you to appear weak and unfit for leadership, just as clearly as he has not read the full bylaws of the corporation.”
“I miss this vote and we lose the Avalon project,” Arthur pointed out. “I miss my speech and we might reach a draw and cause it to be delayed yet again, giving whoever this is a chance to funnel his funds before we can catch him.”
“You will miss the vote as you have matters to attend to closer to home,” his father told him. Before Arthur could protest, he added, “But we will neither lose this project nor those funds.”
Arthur was confused, and knew he betrayed that weakness as he stuttered, “But-”
“But nothing,” his father said with his usual no nonsense tone. “Only one person may stand as proxy for you, as only one person has ever been registered to do so. I may not have attended the latest board meetings, but it’s about time the not-so-retired chairman made an appearance. Only one person is authorised to give the speech for you as you both worked on this project together. Morgana knows the material at least as well as you do. We will go in your stead. She will speak and I will vote.”
“But-” Arthur tried again.
“I cannot cast your vote and my own,” Morgana reminded him, not unkindly. “Father can go in your place. He will stay outside until it’s time for the vote so as to not give the game away.”
She explained it as though it really were that simple, which is why it pained him to remind them both, “The drop off time for the money is at the nearly the same time as the vote. They will figure it out and refuse to release him, or worse. Gwaine can drop off the money and notify me when the exchange is made.”
His father snapped his fingers impatiently and called, “Leon?” His personal guard and head of security instantly appeared at his side. “Explain to my son the proper protocol.”
Leon nodded and did just that. “We block all mobile signals during important meetings and votes to prevent outside influence, to ensure our employees stay on task, and to limit the risk of insider trading,” he recited.
Arthur nodded, vaguely remembering that, though he so rarely pulled out his mobile during a meeting so he would hardly be the one to notice. One did not dally when one was in charge and trying to set an example. Though it did explain why, at times, he would have multiple messages from Merlin without having had any distracting beeps or vibrations throughout the conferences. “And the timing?” he prompted.
Leon did something truly frightening, and smiled. “You make the drop. By that time, it will be obvious that you will not be present for the meeting and whoever it is will report in as such prior to entering the scrambled room. Ms. Pendragon gives her presentation and your father arrives after a few unfortunate technical difficulties that may have caused unforeseen delays.”
“Father will be outside and can confirm with Leon that Merlin has been returned, and then the vote will proceed as scheduled after only a slight hindrance,” Morgana finished for him. She put on an innocent and confused face that he had never fallen for but that had cost others thousands if not millions in the past. “You know how difficult those pesky monitors can be. I must have pushed the wrong button again,” she mock pouted.
“And if he’s not returned?” Arthur voiced a concern he could barely admit to himself.
“Then everyone is rounded up and locked down save for your sister and father, so we can sort out the traitor in our own time,” Gwaine answered for him. As an aside while Arthur processed all that, he added, “Also, I am going with you to the drop. There’s no way we’re letting them get their hands on you as well.”
Arthur looked to him, and then to his father. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the only thing that came out was a simple, “Why?”
“Because they would ask for far more than-” Gwaine started, but was cut off by the Pendragon elder.
“Because this is important,” his father said. He looked to the image on the laptop and closed his eyes for a moment before he returned his gaze to his son. “This project, this vote, the company, all of these are important to you. But this man’s safety? Even I know what takes priority here, Arthur.” He stepped closer and placed a heavy hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We will get him back for you,” he promised.
“And if anything happens to him in the process, we will make them pay,” Morgana added her own oath, living up to the cutthroat Pendragon name.
Arthur was not sure why, but he found their words reassuring. Maybe it was the quiet confidence with which they were spoken. Maybe it was because he had seen both his father and his sister in action and neither one of them had ever backed down, not when it mattered.
He was still musing this over when his phone rang once more. He put down yet another cup of coffee and listened as the room fell silent, meeting his father’s eyes as he answered, “This is Arthur.”
This time the voice had instructions for him. The rules if not the location for the drop-off. The fact that they were fine with a bodyguard coming along so long as Arthur himself was present further solidified in his mind that it was not about the money, at least not just the pesky two million, as much as it was about making sure he was not in a certain place at a certain time.
“Oh, and Mr. Pendragon?” the voice paused with a calmness that spoke of surety in victory. “Try to cross us, and he will pay the price. One cannot be a surgeon if one cannot use one’s hands.”
Arthur’s email beeped just as the phone disconnected. He swallowed heavily and dutifully opened the next picture, and then listened to Morgana rant so he would not be tempted to himself. It was a close up of Merlin’s hands again, his wrists clearly swollen and encrusted with layers of fresh and dried blood. A scalpel was held just above the tender skin of the back of a pale and slightly blue-tinged hand.
He tried to tell himself it was an empty threat, that they were after the project funds and their own security, not actually wanting to hurt someone just to prove a point. But then Morgana scrolled down in the message to show a second picture, this one showing the aftermath with a thin and thankfully shallow slice from just below his wrist to just above the second knuckle of his little finger.
“Can you trace these messages?” Arthur’s father demanded, startling him out of his thoughts of grief and just how much his lover was to suffer.
“We have been attempting to do so, but they have the messages routed through multiple terminals and are using an encryption program we have yet to hack. The email address itself is from one of the free mail sites and they chose the incredibly original name of ‘wehaveemrys’ to send them from,” Gwaine informed him. He carried over his own laptop to show all sorts of diagrams and numbers that Arthur ignored. “We have traced through the worst of it and discovered that they should be right here in town, not that this is a surprise given the timeframe from abduction to contact.”
“Specifics?” Arthur requested, his voice not much more than a whisper. “I want specifics. I want to know where and who and how much they will suffer.”
“Heathrow and Main, someone using a custom portable hub, and a great deal,” Gwaine answered for him without bothering to look up from his screen. Arthur was suitably impressed. At least up until Gwaine amended, “Unfortunately, the previous transmission was from Galant and Second, and the one before that was Isaacs and First, and... shall I continue?”
“You said the hub was portable, they are likely moving around to avoid suspicion,” Leon pointed out. He took the laptop from him and pulled up a map of the city. “All are within a six block radius, and only the first transmission was that far out. They go back to wherever they are keeping him, take the pictures and prepare the message, and send it from the different locations. What we are getting is not real time, at least not the images, but delayed by however long it takes them to get somewhere to make the call.”
“So Merlin?” Arthur asked.
“Is probably somewhere around here,” Leon replied, pointing to a rough circle on the map. There were quite a few buildings there, most of them residential, and it would take some time to search them all. Not to mention, it would prove to be an incredibly difficult task to do so without giving themselves away.
Morgana appeared at his side, her turn to be reassuring and supportive. “Everything they have shown us is fixable. Uncomfortable for Merlin, but he can heal from it. There has been neither a body nor any threats that they are going to take it to that level,” she reminded him.
“Yet,” Arthur supplied what she could not. He sat back down in his desk chair, laptop with its gruesome images before him. He could not help but wonder what would happen if they crossed the line, if they took it as far as they could and Merlin paid the ultimate price. He would not even know until they got around the sending him the confirmation, long minutes later. That was something he was not certain he could live with.
Morgana reached over and minimised the file, revealing the wallpaper of an incredibly overwhelmed yet incredibly happy Merlin swarmed by children. It was taken at the last charity event hosted at the hospital, something Pendragon Enterprises just happened to make a rather large donation to. Merlin’s crisp white shirt was about to smeared with fingerprints of cake, sweets, and something they had later identified as paint. It had been a grand time and the image of it now served to make him question if he would ever have times like that again, though he knew it was not Morgana’s intent.
“The next time they call, ask to speak to him,” she advised.
He reluctantly glanced away from the screen to point out, “Didn’t we just sort out that they are not even with him when they call?”
She smiled and looked as though she was trying not to roll her eyes. “It won’t happen that call, of course, though it might serve as confirmation to the theory. They might be willing to allow it with the next one though, which would be better than nothing, right?”
He was grudgingly forced to agree.
The next call, he asked. He told them he needed to know if Merlin was truly alive and well if he was to release any funds into their custody. As expected, he was refused and another picture was sent. He glared at the image of his lover hanging limply from his bonds, either unconscious or asleep. His scrubs were stained with sweat and there was a dark line of what he assumed was dried blood where they had made their earlier incision. His face was hidden too much to see the full extent of the damage there, but he could still make out the earlier gash and what looked to be quite the black eye.
He fumed and wanted to rant and rave and storm each and every place on that damned map. He wanted to find Merlin, and find him now, and hold him close and comfort him and apologise for ever getting him into this mess in the first place. Instead, he was stuck waiting for a plan to play out that may well go horribly wrong and leave his lover in an even worse position than he was in already.
He looked over to his father and watched him sip his morning tea and wanted to know how he could stay so calm, so cold and devoid of emotion. Then he noticed the way his hand shook just the tiniest of bits as he raised his cup, the way his foot jiggled just a bit too much to be casual, and the way he would narrow his eyes and nod every time he met Arthur’s gaze, a silent promise to see this through to the end, no matter what that end may be.
Morgana had left to wash up and prepare for the meeting by the time the next call came through. His father had stayed though, as had his security. Perhaps he was punchy from the lack of sleep and the sheer amount of stress, but he almost wanted to laugh at the situation: he and his father with all their wealth closed up in tiny little room surrounded by what amounted to guards while his boyfriend who never cared a spit about money save for what it could do for others was left alone in the hands of those wanting to control and corrupt and do god knows what else with stupid little pieces of paper and numbers.
“You wanted to talk to him, now is your chance,” the voice said. The distortion seemed different now, the resonation and echo off from before. There was the slightest of background noises as well, suitably fuzzy right up until they were not.
He knew it must have been whatever distortion device switching off, but it still did not prepare him for the thready and trembling voice that next filled the line. “A-Arthur?” Merlin asked, as if unsure what he was being offered.
And it was Merlin, real and true and with the little lilt at the end of the simple single word the way he always did when he was tired or stressed and of course he was both of those things now and it was beautiful and painful and it took Arthur a preciously long moment before he managed, “Merlin? Is it really you? Are you okay?”
It was a stupid question to ask and he knew it, but he could not help it as the words just poured out of his mouth. He was rewarded with a choked sob and a hint of a snort before Merlin replied, “I must say I have been better.”
Arthur breathed out through his nose and rubbed his free hand over his mouth before he forced it down and said, “I am so sorry. I never... I am sorry, Merlin.” He knew time was of the essence and the call could be cut at any moment to prevent a trace, but he needed to say that at least, needed Merlin to know that above all things save one.
“Not your fault,” Merlin told him. Then, proving his boyfriend was not the brightest bulb, he added, “It’s the fault of stupid greedy bastards who think they have far more power than they ever should.” There was the clear sound of flesh against flesh and Merlin moaning in response to no doubt being slapped or punched for his words. Not that such a thing deterred him in the least. He continued, “Don’t give them that power, Arthur. Don’t give it to them.”
His words were rushed and Arthur knew the phone was probably being dragged away from him in reward for his impudence or some such thing. There was one more thing he needed to say though, and he could only hope Merlin could still here him as he promised, “I love you. So much, Merlin, so very much.”
The background noise distorted again for the briefest of moments before he heard a mocking, “Aw, so sweet, really. Let’s see if you love him enough to carry this through.” The click sounded so final, especially when it was not accompanied by the usual beep of his email. He had been gifted with actually talking to Merlin, and yet he still wanted more, wanted to see him, even if it was delayed and processed and a fraction of what he needed.
He sat down heavily in his chair and let Gwaine take the phone from his hand. He hung his head and buried his face and did not bother looking up when he felt a heavy and familiar weight on his shoulder having already heard the shuffle-thud of his father making his way over to him.
He did, however, look up long minutes later when his email finally beeped. He opened the message with shaking fingers and then had to close his eyes and look away. As expected, it was Merlin. Not so expected was the video clip.
He pressed play though he dreaded what he would find. The gag was back in place and there was a drop of red dripping from his bottom lip, no doubt the price for his commentary. A man dressed in all black completed with a face mask came into view. He bore no weapons, but apparently needed none for what he planned. He strode up to Merlin and smashed his hand hard against the bar to which he was cuffed. Then, without preamble, he grabbed two of his fingers, and pulled. Arthur imagined he could hear the sound of the bones grinding though in truth he could hear nothing over Merlin’s muted screams.
The clip ended, but Arthur could not look away. He just sat there staring at the image of Merlin’s mangled hand, repeating, “I am sorry. I’m so sorry,” over and over again.
Gwaine took the laptop away from him and his father pulled him close, the closest thing he had shown to public affection in ages. He patted his hair like he did when he was a boy before he took out his perfectly pressed handkerchief and wiped away tears Arthur had not even felt fall. “They will pay,” he promised low and clear. “We will find them, Arthur, and they will pay.”
Arthur wanted to ask how and when and everything else. He knew his father and his history well enough to know Pendragon Enterprises was not won easily and enemies were made for a reason. He did not know how far his father’s connections went, though he had an inking as Morgause and her own connections were hardly a surprise, but he trusted his father’s word in this, even though it did not feel like it would be nearly enough.
An hour later and after less than fully reassuring comments from Gwaine and Leon that the fingers looked only dislocated, not broken, and he should regain full use if treated soon enough, Gwaine approached him once more, a peace offering of yet another cup of coffee in his hands. He sunk down by Arthur’s side, placing the mug on the desk when Arthur did not immediately take it. “I have good news and bad news,” he announced.
Arthur turned his head slowly to face him, knowing his eyes were not much more than the slits of a glare, and silently dared him to tell him how much worse the situation could be to count as “bad news” at this time.
Gwaine had known him for far too long to be truly affected however, so he continued, “We think we found where they are, but we are unable to get close enough without police involvement or possibly breaking more laws than we can talk our way out of.”
At his questioning look, Leon explained, “We have the suspected place surrounded, but the security is surprisingly tight, at least electronics-wise. To break in would involve a full assault and there are too many incidentals in the way, too many places with potential innocents that could be hurt or worse.”
“Merlin would not want that,” Arthur murmured. Never mind that it was illegal and dangerous and they were talking the potential deaths of those involved, for some reason what stood out most in his mind was Merlin’s reaction should they free him through such methods and just how incredibly pissed his boyfriend would be. He decided that, yes, sleep deprivation was definitely beginning to play a role.
Gwaine made no comment about the ridiculousness of Arthur’s statement, but did point out, “This does mean that we can more easily corral anyone who tries to escape after the release.” After, not if. Gwaine spoke as though it was a sure thing when everyone present knew it was not. “If they leave him there and run, we can track them. If they take him somewhere to drop him off, well, then we can track that too.”
Arthur nodded, mind still flooded with images of everything he had seen, everything he had been shown thus far. “Thank you,” he said, knowing it was not enough but would have to do for now.
Gwaine did not ask for more, nor did Leon. They simply went back to the other side of the room and continued with their tactical analysis or whatever else it was that they were doing. He could hear the low rumble of his father’s voice, probably asking for specifics. No names were given though, which meant that for as much as they now had, they still had nothing.
Another hour and another phone call, this one Arthur answered with, “You bastard.”
“Now, now, such language,” the voice chuckled. It did not pause for him to respond, but instantly went into some ridiculous monologue of needs and wants and then included an added instruction for the drop and quizzed him on it to make sure he was listening before the line went dead once again.
“Did you get that?” Arthur sighed.
“Non-sequential, et cetera, yeah,” Gwaine said with the same enthusiasm he felt. It was not the call they had been waiting for, but the inevitable message that followed it.
Sure enough, his computer pinged. His father reached out a hand to stop him and told him, “You don’t have to do this to yourself.”
Arthur met his gaze and did not know what his father saw in it when he said, “Yeah, I really do,” but the great Uther Pendragon let him go without another word.
This time the attachment had returned to its usual simple picture. It was a close up of Merlin’s swollen and crooked fingers, as though Arthur had forgotten about them already.
He took a deep breath and minimised at the image. He closed his eyes and felt something grow cold in the pit of his heart and was tempted to tell Gwaine and Leon to storm the place now and damn the innocents that happened to be caught in the crossfire. He knew they would do it. He knew they might not even think less of him for ordering such a thing. He knew only one person would, and he wondered if he could talk his way out of the rage that would follow the order.
He opened his eyes and let them slowly focus on the screen once more. Merlin smiling and happy and surrounded by the same innocents Arthur would so readily damn. What if one of the children from the hospital happened to be there? What if they happened to live in a flat within the border his men had set up? Merlin would never forgive him. He would never ask him to do so.
Morgana stopped by again, dressed prim and proper and lethal. She ignored his laptop and produced her own, and together they reviewed the key points of the presentation she would give in his stead. He tried to focus on her words and not on what he had seen over these past long hours, but found it more and more difficult as the time of the next call approached. He felt a hand fold over his own and blinked, noticing now that they were at least five more slides in than he last remembered. He cleared his throat though neither of them said a word and backed his way through to begin again.
The phone rang again as she left and it was only then that he noticed his father had disappeared some time during their review of his notes. It made sense as all the players needed to get into position, but it made him feel that much more alone, notice Merlin’s absence that much clearer, nonetheless.
The man verified the information for what felt like the hundredth time, but did not give the final drop off point. That likely would not be given until whoever he worked for was ready to enter the meeting and had seen for himself that Arthur was absent. Arthur listened and responded by rote and heard just the barest hint of gloating in the man’s voice as though he was convinced that he had already won. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, really. Either their plan worked, or it did not. Either Merlin would be handed over safely, or someone would pay a very dire price.
The picture that followed showed another close up, this one of Merlin’s damaged fingers cradled as near as possible to his bloodied face as though to show the worst of it all. Arthur did not think that it was his family’s absence that made him unable to look away this time. There was no new information, did not appear to be any new damage to catalogue and memorise, the image only serving as verification that the man he loved was still alive and there was a chance he would remain that way if everything worked out the way they hoped and planned.
He looked up when Gwaine listed the intersection this particular message came from, but could not help but to glance back down again a moment later. It was then he saw it. He did not know if he wanted to kiss Merlin through the screen or curse him for pulling a stunt that might leave him even more damaged than he already was.
“Gwaine?” he called, barely able to keep his voice in check. His guard heard the difference and looked up immediately. “Do we have software to enlarge and enhance a digital image?”
The security agent nodded. “You have a basic program on your computer, but I can get something more if you need it, why?”
“Because I think Merlin was just foolish enough to send us a message,” Arthur replied.
Gwaine was on his feet at that, and at Arthur’s side only a moment later. He looked to where Arthur pointed, to the signet ring around Merlin’s finger, a different finger than usual, rubbed clean and shined to reflect what could only be the shadows of the room around him. “He’s really not that idiotic, is he?” Gwaine asked, though there was a hint of a smile upon his face.
Arthur let the other man take control of his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he did whatever it was he needed to do, and sighed, “I really think he is...”
Long minutes later, a blurry and pixilated picture came into view. Arthur ran the rough shapes and shadows through his memory and came up with only one name: “Cenred,” he breathed. The longer than business standard dark hair and neatly groomed scruff was identifiable, as was the history of hatred towards certain aspects of the Pendragon business.
“I thought Morgause claimed to know nothing about this,” Gwaine commented, tossing his own long hair out of his eyes to look over to Arthur.
“They had a falling out nearly two years back now,” Arthur said absently. Morgana had never told him the specifics, but the way her own security had been increased and the rant of conversation he had heard between the two at a dinner party some time later had hinted that Cenred had attempted something against Morgana personally and Morgause had not only defended her sister, but had taken great offence at the attempt.
“And you trust that it has stayed this way?” Gwaine verified. The tone to his words was doubtful, and Arthur did not blame him in the least.
“He challenged Morgana,” Arthur explained. It was not the full details of the debacle but, then again, he did not have those for himself. As it was, it was only because both he and Merlin had been attempting to get a little air that he had overheard anything at all. Morgause was loyal to Morgana, of that he was fairly certain. If Morgana was in danger, she would likely have her own security there in addition to the usual Pendragon affair. If Morgana phrased her inquiry to Morgause to even slightly hint that she herself could be at risk, Morgause would be on the move irregardless of pesky things like innocents standing in the way.
Gwaine whistled low and asked, “And why is he still on the board, let alone alive?”
“He has too many connections,” Arthur answered. The evidence before them hinted at just what some of those connections may be.
He honestly questioned why Cenred would lower himself with a visit to Merlin himself, but then remembered the man’s incredible pride and hubris. If Cenred thought he had the situation well and truly in his pocket, he was just the type to stand around and gloat. He likely had not lain a single finger on Merlin himself, only ordering his men to do so. He also likely had not thought Merlin would even see him or recognise him in the least, let alone be able to send back a message to Arthur as to just who they were dealing with.
Arthur sent a message to both his father and to Morgana whilst Gwaine sent a similar one to Leon. Even this knowledge was not enough though. Yes, they were fairly certain they knew who was behind the kidnapping and horrors that Merlin had faced over these past long hours, but Cenred could still have several fail safes in place. They needed to wait until he was not only in the building, but had sent a message to his men to confirm Arthur’s absence before they could do a single damn thing.
And so they waited. And with the next call, Arthur bit his tongue against announcing he knew who was behind this and that he knew the grand plan. And with the next email, he tried not to imaging the slimy businessman standing over his lover, taunting words upon his tongue.
The final call came and Arthur already had his jacket in his hands, suitcase full of cash at his side. The drop off location was finally revealed and the time only a half hour away. There would have been no time for Arthur to reach it, leave the cash, and await Merlin’s release and still be able to be anywhere near the office building in time for the vote.
He let Gwaine send the message to Leon as he picked up the case and headed out the door. It was almost over, one way or another. He ignored the ping of his email, and refused top open the attachment that it bore. He had quite enough of Cenred’s games by now and was quite done playing.
The drop off was just barely inside the radius Leon had set up. It was barren and abandoned with sightlines from several nearby buildings. He and Gwaine waited until the exact minute to set the suitcase down next to the dilapidated old rubbish bin and then walked away.
He had taken exactly one hundred and twenty one steps when his phone rang. “Very good, Pendragon. Now stay right there for your reward,” the familiar distorted voice cooed.
Gwaine stood back to back with him, not even pretending that he was not armed. Both scanned the streets and buildings for any sign of what was to come, but nothing seemed to offer any clue.
They had their answer soon enough when two vehicles screeched around the corner. One made a line for the cash whilst the other, a white and non-descript van, barely slowed as its back doors opened and a large black object was unceremoniously dumped out the back. Both vehicles sped off as quickly as the arrived, but Arthur did not care, he was already running towards when he knew lay unmoving in the black plastic that littered the tarmac.
Gwaine’s shouts for the team to move in echoed in his ears as he collapsed beside the plastic, ripping and tearing with his bare hands and fighting back against the hands that tried to pull him away and the words the warned it could be a trap. He succeeded though, found his prize before Gwaine could have his way. The plastic pulled back to reveal a bound and bloodied and hopefully unconscious Merlin, face far too pale and bruises far too stark in the bright midday sun.
Gwaine cut away the rest of the plastic, checked for traps or wires, and then cut the rope that bound Merlin’s hands and feet whilst Arthur tugged free the gag and checked for himself that his lover was still breathing. Merlin, of course, had to both one-up him and show that he never did the sensible thing like pass out, and slowly opened his eyes as far as he could pass the swelling, and managed a single choked word: “Arthur.”
Epilogue:
Arthur sat slouched in the uncomfortable hospital chair watching the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest and listening to the near silent drip of fluids and nutrients and medication through the IV line.
Merlin had been asleep for hours now, well and truly asleep and not just unconscious as he had been after Arthur had wrapped his arms around him and held on tight. His fingers were splinted and his wrists and various other parts of him wrapped in crisp white bandages. The damage, though horrific, could have been so much worse; something Arthur kept repeating to himself as a sort of mantra to stop himself from going mad.
He pushed away another cup of coffee as he simply did not have the taste for it anymore, and dared to glance up at the muted telly. The image of Cenred being led away from Pendragon Enterprises in handcuffs was something he would enjoy to his dying day, as was the image of his associates rounded up and dragged away by the police. A more private, yet still memorable image was something his father had sent him only moments ago and involved both the termination of Cenred’s employment with Pendragon Enterprises, and the draining of his private accounts into those of the charities he had so opposed.
A movement from the bed beside him caught his attention and there was no question as to what was more important as he shifted his gaze over to Merlin, who groaned slightly and shifted just so. “Arthur?” the hoarse voice asked, and Arthur instantly stood so that Merlin could see him more easily.
“I’m right here,” he promised. He held up the little cup of water and helped Merlin sip at it until he pushed it away again.
“What did you do?” Merlin asked, voice slightly closer to his usual accusatory tone once more.
“Nothing illegal,” Arthur told him for what felt like the hundredth time. Every time he had tried to go into more detail, Merlin had drifted off again, so he figured now was not the time. He was hoping it never would be, but knew better to count on that.
“You gave them what they wanted, didn’t you?” Merlin asked, resigned.
“I gave them what they deserved,” Arthur corrected. He brushed some of Merlin’s fringe away from his swollen eye and tried not to catalogue all the scratches and scrapes that decorated even that small area of his body. He did not tell him that he would have paid, that he would have paid every last pound to his name to have gotten Merlin back. He did not think he needed to, especially if the glare he received for his efforts was any indication.
“Why?” Merlin asked.
Arthur did not know if he wanted to know why this had happened, why he was chosen to suffer, or why Arthur had so readily given up his wealth and the potential safety of his company for a single man. He decided to answer the last one though, and answered with every drop of certainty he could muster, letting the long hours of wondering and anguish colour his tone as he replied, “Because, some things are simply more important than others.”
Merlin seemed content with that, or else the pain medication had kicked in again, as his lips turned upward into a ghost of a smile and his eyes drifted closed again.
Arthur sat back down and wrapped his hand around his lover’s and thought about how much of an understatement that truly was. Finally, after a last glance at the various monitors and one last look to verify for himself that Merlin was safe and sound, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, knowing without a doubt that Merlin would still be there in the morning.
End.
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