This was written for the Merlin Reverse Bang; the art that inspired it can be found on AO3 under art for "Five-Star Hospitality" by rou. Please check it out!

WEEK ONE

Of course this would happen on the one night that Merlin "you might as well just file a change of address since you basically live there" (Fuck off, Will) Emrys arranged to come in one hour late to his twelve hour night shift. Just an hour, that was all he'd asked for, so he could take his mom out somewhere nice for her birthday. All his hard work keeping the hotel pristine and functioning perfectly had earned him that much, at least.

Not that the salary and benefits were bad, either. But he should've been able to take a single hour off without coming back to find that someone left Kara to man the front desk alone. He thought everyone on his team understood that Kara should never be at the front desk, especially alone.

Kara had many lovely and useful skills, and none of them involved people. Honestly, she probably shouldn't have been working in the hospitality business, but that was usually the upside of night work—not a lot of interaction with actual guests. Particularly for Kara, who was supposed to be in the security office keeping an eye on cameras and alarms, not in a customer service role.

Really ever.

Case in point, the man in front of the desk shouting at her and her clearly only moments away from yelling back.

Thank fuck I changed already, Merlin thought. He didn't always, wary of ruining his suit on the subway, but he couldn't fathom trying to intervene in this one while wearing street clothes. He dropped his backpack in the staff hallway and pushed out into the lobby with a smile pasted on his face.

The man fell expectantly silent as Merlin slid in next to Kara. He still had a haughtily superior eyebrow raised, but that was an improvement over the shouting. It was also a pretty typical expression for their business clients even when they weren't throwing a tantrum about something.

"Welcome to the Park Hyatt New York. My name is Merlin, I'm the night manager. What can I do for you?"

He mentioned his title only because their guest had the look of a Businessman who had imperiously demanded to speak to a manager at least once. Sure enough, his mouth pulled into a smug smirk and he flicked his eyes at Kara and back triumphantly. When she opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly scathing, Merlin kicked her behind the cover of the registration desk.

It gave Smug Businessman the opportunity to ask, smugly, "Night manager, really? You're the best they can do for three thousand dollars a night?"

It hadn't been obvious when he was shouting, but Smug Businessman had the kind of English accent that American TV liked to give villains. And not the smart ones, Merlin noted with a certain amount of unprofessional relish—the hired muscle meatheads who couldn't do anything right.

That thought helped him keep the fake smile tight on his lips as Smug Businessman upgraded himself to Asshole Businessman. Three thousand a night was on the low end for an executive suite; Asshole Businessman was either cursed by a rare sane accounting department, or the company he worked for wasn't important enough for the attitude he was trying on.

"Are you going to correct your employee's incompetence," (Mister Bond, Merlin's mind appended treacherously, daring him to laugh) "or are you going to add to it?"

Seeing Kara twitch with rage, he placed a hopefully not too patronizing hand on her shoulder and suggested, "Why don't you go see if Mordred needs help with the conference rooms?"

At no point in his life would Mordred ever want help with the conference rooms, but Kara managed not to punch Asshole Businessman and that deserved a reward—like getting away from him and calming down with her boyfriend. She took the offer for the opportunity at escape that it was and didn't argue the point.

Asshole Businessman watched her go with a satisfied asshole smile. Then he turned it on Merlin, awaiting further capitulation.

I need my job, Merlin reminded himself. I like being able to pay rent.

"What seems to be the problem, Mister...?"

"Pendragon. Arthur Pendragon."

Okay, he'd set himself up for that one. And Asshole Businessman Arthur Pendragon would look pretty good in a tux. Still be an asshole, though.

The system showed no reservations under that name. Merlin was pretty sure he could guess the shape of the problem, but he still asked, "Right, Mr. Pendragon. How can I be of service tonight?"

"The problem, tonight and apparently for the next three weeks, is that you idiots have lost my booking."

Doing his best to keep up reassuring eye contact while also rapidly clicking through the reservation system, Merlin pulled up the list of bookings for the day. There were five outstanding that hadn't been resolved by the guest checking in. Two cancellations and three that were so far no-shows.

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"Your reservation should have been for three weeks, is that right? In an executive suite?"

"Yes, three weeks. Twenty-two nights. I don't know what kind of suite, my assistant booked it."

Merlin's smile took a turn for the genuine, though he very much hoped Arthur Pendragon couldn't see the schadenfreude behind it. "If I may ask, Mr. Pendragon, what's your assistant's name?"

Ire faltering briefly, Asshole Arthur's forehead creased in confusion; it still managed to come off as scornful. "George. Why on earth—Oh. Oh, he didn't. George Harrington. Is it booked under his name?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Pendragon."

Asshole Arthur looked about ready to spin up into a rage again, so Merlin weighed his options and said, in his most reasonable customer-appeasing tone, "He provided a number for the reservation. If you give me a moment, I can give him a call and I'm sure we can get this sorted out."

Adequately appeased, Asshole Arthur agreed.

Given the time difference with London, it was no wonder that George Harrington's voice sounded more like a yawn when he answered.

"Mr. Harrington? My name is Merlin. I'm calling from the Park Hyatt New York."

"Yes. Has something happened? Is Mr. Pendragon there?" He was wide awake now. "Is he all right?"

Merlin's eyes caught on Asshole Arthur's and didn't move. "He's here, yes. Unfortunately, there seems to be a bit of a mix-up with the reservation. It's in your name, not his."

"Oh no. Oh no. How could this have happened? No, it's meant to be for him, please, can you—you'll fix it, of course."

"Of course. With your authorization, we can change it without any further issue."

Before Merlin could even finish updating the database or assuring George it would be taken care of, Arthur said, "If you're done, give me the phone." At Merlin's carefully placid smile, he added, grudgingly, "I need to speak with my assistant. Please."

Merlin passed him the receiver.

"George? Yes. You're fired."

Ignoring the squawking audible from two feet away from the speaker, Arthur held the phone back to him. Merlin took it, stood for a moment in shock as he processed what had just happened, then shrugged it off. It wasn't his problem, and hanging up on George's complaints gave him a little thrill, since he could never do that to actual clients when they got annoyingly whiny. Arthur offered him a wry but seemingly honest smile.

"You're all set, Mr. Pendragon. Can I show you to your room?"

Technically Merlin had better things to be doing, and should have summoned Mordred or Gwaine—or shouldn't have had to summon Gwaine, since he ought to have been at the desk to begin with—but he loaded up Arthur's matching set of three suitcases and a garment bag on a cart anyway. They all had airline tags from London.

"Just leave them by the door," Arthur ordered airily when Merlin let him into the suite. "Hang the bag in the closet."

He strode off to the bathroom and shut the door without looking back. The shower turned on.

Asshole, Merlin thought.

"Asshole," he also said. Just for good measure.

"I shouldn't have assumed the incompetence of your staff when the blame lay on the imbecile working for me."

At nearly one in the morning the next night, Asshole Arthur—Merlin regretted giving up the internal moniker even briefly, and would not be persuaded to abandon it so easily again—found him on his second walkthrough. Both the accent and the sentiment were unmistakable, so Merlin didn't immediately look up from his inspection of the drapes.

"Mr. Pendragon. I hope the evening's treating you well."

"Does it still count as evening?" Asshole Arthur cleared his throat and Merlin, having only met him once, could well imagine the impatient look on his face as he anticipated acknowledgement of his cleverness. Asshole Arthur was an asshole and Merlin had a process, so he didn't want to interrupt his work, but rent.

He sighed, squared his shoulders, immediately reflected that it probably hadn't been a particularly subtle way of bracing himself, and faced Asshole Arthur with his best meaningless smile.

Asshole Arthur did indeed look impatient, and no less smug for it. He also looked dishevelled in the most paradoxically put-together way possible, like a GQ model trying to look relatable. His suit jacket draped over one forearm, covering skin otherwise bare from where he'd rolled up his sleeves. He had that hand shoved into the pocket of his trousers, which were creased from a day spent sitting in just the right way to draw attention to—well, it was clear he liked to sit with his legs splayed dominantly.

His tie was loose. The collar of his shirt was undone. His hair was tousled without being messy. He couldn't have looked more attractively rumpled if he tried, and he certainly made it seem effortless.

Asshole, Merlin reminded himself, but it was much more plaintive and desperate than angry. He continued to smile blandly.

Arthur ran an exasperated hand through his hair and it did nothing to make him less appealing. "Your restaurant is closed and I haven't had dinner. Can you recommend a place?"

Had he just come from work? Merlin was used to long days—or nights, as the case was—but Arthur had left wearing that same suit in a more traditional condition before seven in the morning. Asshole or not, he looked damn good for an eighteen hour day. Good enough to lose the Asshole again. Damn it.

"Of course. Would you like to go out or have it sent to your room?"

"Oh thank god, I wasn't sure I'd have the option. My room. I don't care what, just have it up ASAP."

He turned to leave before Merlin could manage to string together enough words to tell him it didn't work like that. His free hand lifted into the air in a dismissive wave and he called back, "Thanks, Merlin," and Merlin stopped trying to object. He'd figure it out.

Twenty-five minutes later, there was no answer at the door to Arthur's suite. Merlin knocked again, more firmly, but he'd risk waking other guests if he made any more noise than that. He could've gown back down to the desk and called up, but it was already unusual for him to take the room service food up personally and he didn't need any more strange looks from his colleagues.

His keycard got him into the suite where he found Arthur passed out on the couch, one shoe and his tie off, his shirt fully unbuttoned and flopped open to reveal his bare stomach and chest.

How the hell does he have time to work out?

The arrogance had fallen away from his face, might even have been replaced with a bit of drool, and that, too, was an unfairly good look for him.

"Mr. Pendragon," Merlin called as he passed the threshold, but Arthur didn't stir. He set the tray on the table just a few feet away from Arthur and tripped over the rug while straightening back up, and still didn't interrupt his snoring. Merlin rolled his eyes and said, louder, "Mr. Pendragon."

Arthur roused slowly, his eyes slipping shut several times before focusing in on Merlin. His sleepy smile sparked an unfair and dangerous warmth in Merlin's chest. And probably in his face, too, but with any luck Arthur wouldn't notice that. Arthur's nostrils flared pretty quickly and his attention snapped to the food. He let out a groan. Merlin couldn't tell if it was a good noise or a bad one until Arthur sat up, took a bite of the burger, and repeated it.

"God, yes, that's exactly what I needed," he mumbled around a mouthful of beef. Swallowing and tearing off another chunk without pausing for breath, Arthur managed to lose a drip of burger sauce and it trailed down his chest. He made a truly disgusting spectacle.

Merlin couldn't look away.

"Normally George would've arranged to have something ready for me when I got back," Arthur explained around a few mouthfuls of barely chewed beef. "Wouldn't even have to tell him when I was leaving the office. The whole booking business aside, he really was terribly competent most of the time."

"Regrets? He sounded pretty torn up about it, I bet you could get him back without too much groveling."

Eyes wide, Arthur put down his burger and swallowed deliberately. "Merlin," he said, voice stern, "I never grovel. Besides, George always got me awful food—salads, grilled chicken. Boring, tasteless stuff. Just like him. This is much better."

"We pride ourselves on providing the best service." Merlin smiled; he meant it to be his best, blandest hospitality smile, but he felt the edges of it stretching past polite and into—Will called it "goofy" when he wasn't being a dick.

He fought it back under control, but not before Arthur had seen it and answered with a crooked smirk. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

Oh. Having him stay for three whole weeks was going to be trouble, Merlin just knew it.

WEEK TWO

Arthur was indeed trouble.

He was the kind of trouble who knew he was trouble, enjoyed being trouble. He was the kind with a boyish grin and the arrogance to use it, especially when making ridiculous demands of Merlin.

For instance, early enough on a Tuesday that it was still dark outside:

"Merlin."

He stopped and spun around, seeking out the source of Arthur's voice. It came from Arthur, of course, but Merlin hadn't seen him sitting in one of the guest lounges with a newspaper open in front of his face. He had one ankle crossed over his knee, and folded the paper down over his lap. With a smirk and a raised eyebrow, Arthur looked at Merlin and waited.

Merlin let the silence drag on, staring right back, until he gave up and gave Arthur what he assumed he wanted. He didn't even roll his eyes. "Good morning, Mr. Pendragon."

Arthur's grin intensified. "You offer a shoe shine service here, surely. Mine have a scuff." He shook the toe of his raised show, which looked just fine to Merlin.

"Of course. If you leave them out overnight—"

"Oh, no. I can't possibly wear them in this condition." Arthur set down his newspaper, uncrossed his legs, and used the side of each shoe to step on the heel of the other, slipping them off and also assuring further scuffing. "You can take them now. I'm not leaving for another half hour."

He can't be serious.

Arthur waved a dismissive hand that managed to cover both Merlin and his freshly removed shoes, then picked his paper back up and re-crossed his legs. A sleek black sock rested on his knee.

He was serious.

He's like a bully on the playground, Merlin thought, retrieving the shoes. Just wants to prove he can.

But when he shared the story and his theory with Gwaine, Gwaine scoffed. "You're half right."

"How d'you figure?"

"He's pulling your pigtails." Gwaine focused in and poked Merlin in the chest. "And you like it."

"What?" Merlin batted him away. "Do not."

"Please. You've politely told off sweet little old ladies who made fewer frivolous demands on your time. You wouldn't put up with his grade school attempts at flirtation if you didn't want to."

"You're crazy," Merlin told him. He didn't argue further, though; he had to get Arthur's shoes back to him.

The phone rang at eleven forty-five and Gwaine said, "I'm not fucking answering that."

Merlin, in the middle of his audit, looked over and frowned. "Gwaine—"

"Nope. We both know who it is, I'd just be handing it straight to you anyway and this way I have more time to escape your gross, dopey smile. Later."

Scowling at Gwaine's back, Merlin set aside his books and picked up on the fifth ring. "Thank you for—"

"Merlin, you can't take five minutes to answer the phone. Your guests have emergencies, you know."

Arthur's obnoxious voice made Merlin grin until he remembered Gwaine's words and forced it down. He wasn't acting like a kid with a crush.

A grown man with a crush, maybe...

"I have a job outside of catering to your every whim, you know."

"Sounds dreadful. I think there are rats in my suite, come do something about it."

His tone gave it away as a joke, as did the streak of similar calls the past few nights, but Merlin played along for the fun of it. There was noone around and his numbers could wait. "Of course. I'll send our in-house exterminator Mittens McFluff up at once."

After a loud exhale that Merlin assumed was repressed laughter, Arthur put his imperious tone back on. "No, this is clearly something that requires managerial attention. Immediate managerial attention. If you're not here in five minutes, I'll start posting online reviews."

"You're a dick," Merlin laughed, then glanced around guiltily even though he knew the lobby was deserted.

"I'm a very important dick." He'd brought it on himself, but hearing that word in Arthur's lazy accent sent a thrill through him. "Immediately, Merlin."

"I do have an actual job," Merlin repeated a few minutes later—less than five, and damn Arthur for that—when he let himself into Arthur's room.

He'd planned to say more, but he couldn't possibly remember it when he caught sight of Arthur in soft pajama pants and nothing else. Damp hair stuck out all over his head, like he'd just towelled it off fresh from the shower, and that was just so unfair. More unfair, though probably better for Merlin's willpower, was the fact that he wasn't straight from it—he'd been out long enough for his skin to dry and the glass of ice and amber liquid in his hand to gather condensation.

Arthur had only gotten in about half an hour before, which was unusual. After the first couple of days, he was usually back just after nine when Merlin started his shift. But tonight, he'd told Merlin when he wandered in looking flushed, he'd gone out for drinks with the employees of the new office he was setting up for his father's company. They had cleared some legal hurdle or another for their first American branch and wanted to celebrate even though it was the middle of the week.

Arthur had returned from that a bit tipsy, and was on what looked like his second drink from the minibar. He took a sip as Merlin watched, licking a stray drop from his lips, and Merlin's suit felt too hot, too tight. If his slow smile was any indication, Arthur noticed. There was still smugness to it, because Arthur was such an asshole, but it also held also held a deeper, more charged edge.

Raising the glass to his lips again, he sauntered over to where Merlin stood frozen yet burning. Closer into Merlin's space than could be justified by casual acquaintance, he stopped and lifted the drink. He didn't say anything, but his eyebrows spoke a clear invitation.

"I, uh. Job. Jobbing. Working, I'm working. At my job, I can't..."

"That's a shame." Arthur drained the glass, then moved in and kissed Merlin. Just a brush of lips to start, testing his welcome with surprising gentleness given how assertive he was about everything else. But as soon as Merlin leaned into it, Arthur pushed forward and turned it passionate, claiming with an arrogance that was typical but not unwelcome. He tasted like very expensive scotch.

Merlin melted against him, one hand plastering itself to Arthur's bare chest without Merlin planning on it. In return, Arthur's hand slid around his waist to pull him closer, dropped down to grope his ass presumptuously. It was a hell of a kiss, more intoxicating than the alcohol.

Then the phone rang, shrill and shocking.

Fuck.

Pulling back as far as he could with Arthur's arm still around him, Merlin tried to gather his thoughts.

"Let it ring," Arthur murmured low and hot in his ear. He tried to reclaim Merlin's lips, but Merlin turned his head to the side and he backed off, frowning. "Merlin?"

"Might be important."

"I don't care."

"Of course you do."

After a moment's tense consideration, silence broken by the demanding trill of the phone, Arthur cursed. "Okay. Just, stay?"

Merlin smiled, even if it was a little shaky. He didn't regret kissing Arthur, but it gave him a lot to think about. It could cost him his job, in theory—not that anyone he worked with was likely to report him. He should leave, but he didn't want to. "I'm not joking about having work, you know."

"Can't possibly be more important than what we were doing."

Self-satisfied smile back in place, like he knew what was going through Merlin's head, Arthur finally went for the phone. It stopped ringing when he was a few steps away and he turned back to Merlin triumphantly, but it started up again before he could move. Rolling his eyes, Arthur snatched it up.

"What? Oh. Yes, he's here."

"If you're not busy getting busy," Kara said wryly when Merlin, surprised, took the receiver from Arthur, "we've got a burst pipe in the laundry room."

He let Arthur steal one more kiss before he left, but dealing with the plumbing emergency carried him through the whole night and past when Arthur left the next morning.

The next night, Arthur got back at his usual time, but he wasn't alone. A tall, dark-haired woman held his attention apparently to the exclusion of all else; he didn't even glance over to see if Merlin was at the desk, much less come greet him as had become their habit.

It stung to be ignored after what had passed between them, especially when he recognized the smile Arthur kept giving her: wide, happy, genuine. The smile Merlin had only ever seen directed at himself before, and rarely at that. They were both drenched from the heavy rain, laughing despite the sorry state of their nice clothes. She was as beautiful as he was; they looked so good together.

Someone he works with, Merlin thought, but the look on Arthur's face as they crossed the lobby gave him pause. They were past in moments, straight to the elevator and presumably to Arthur's suite from there. He stared even after they'd disappeared, trying to talk himself out of reading too much into it. He didn't know how long it was before the desk phone startled him back to reality.

It was the inside line, Mordred saying, "You seem perturbed."

Merlin looked up at the nearest camera with a pronounced scowl. Mordred must have been visiting Kara, which he didn't mind, but—"Don't watch me, it's creepy."

"Can I watch your fuckboy, then?"

"No! There are so many things wrong with—of course you shouldn't spy on the guests. Look, put Kara on."

Before Merlin could tell her off for giving Mordred the run of the monitoring system, Kara said, "They went into his room. He had his hand on her back. Sorry, Boss, but I'm seconding the fuckboy diagnosis."

"I don't care," lied Merlin. More honestly, he added, "I don't want to know. That's the opposite of why I wanted to talk to you. Tell Mordred that if he's got time to fuck around with the cameras, he's got time to rewire the lounge entertainment system he's been bitching about."

"All right, all right." Voice soft in a rare show of empathy, she asked, "You okay?"

Was he really that transparent?

"Yeah. It might not be what it looks like, you know? And even if it is... Well. Yeah. I'll be fine."

But as the hours wore on and she didn't leave, even the false veneer of fineness wore thin.

"I can go read him the additional guest policy and make him sign off on the charges right now," Gwaine offered around two, because Merlin's infatuation really had been that obvious and gossip spread like wildfire among the night staff.

Slumped over his notebook, Merlin shook his head. "Please don't. The only thing that would make this worse is me being petty about it."

"Says you. I love being petty."

She stayed all night, and left with Arthur in the same dress she'd worn in. Despite technically being a walk of shame, she didn't even look trashy. Arthur looked tired and guilty, though. Or so Gwaine reported later, since Merlin had made himself scarce for the half hour surrounding Arthur's usual departure.

By the time Merlin got to the hotel that evening, Arthur had checked out a week early.

WEEK THREE

The truth was, much as it hurt, that Arthur didn't owe him anything. They'd kissed once and not talked about it. Arthur had been drunk or at least on the way to it. Maybe Merlin had misread what he'd thought was two weeks of flirting leading up to it. Maybe he hadn't, and Arthur had just changed his mind about what he wanted.

Either way, he was gone and Merlin needed to move on. Easier said than done, though, when every hallway came with a memory of Arthur. It wasn't fair; he'd worked at the Park Hyatt for years before Arthur came along,

By doubling the frequency of his walkthroughs and completing all his monthly tasks in the span of three nights, he managed to avoid having any of his team call him on his moping. Or they just felt sorry for him, because they could see the dark circles under his eyes.

It was absolutely ridiculous for him to feel so upset about something that had lasted half a month and not even turned into a proper relationship during that time. They hadn't even had sex.

It was the potential, he told himself. It hurts because I thought it could be something, not because it was something.

He deserved a better ending to whatever it was they'd had than that, though, and fuck Arthur for not having the guts to give it to him.

Asshole.

WEEK FOUR

In the time it took Merlin to change from his jeans and hoodie into his suit in the employee bathroom, Gwaine, Kara, and Mordred had all gathered behind the desk, looking grim.

"What happened? Who died?"

"No one, yet," Mordred muttered darkly. Kara nodded her agreement.

"What? What does that mean?"

Nobody spoke, and Merlin really didn't have the energy for it. His night was just starting and he was already exhausted.

"Gwaine? Can I get a straight answer instead of melodrama for once, please?"

With a grimace, Gwaine said, "We have a Morgana Pendragon checking in tonight."

Of course we do, Merlin thought. Of course, when he'd finally stopped spending every hour of every night missing Asshole Arthur, and just thought about him a couple of times per shift instead. Asshole Arthur, who was married.

"Asshole," he said. "All right. Thanks for the heads up."

"You sure you don't want me on the desk?" Gwaine grinned. "Or Kara."

Merlin almost said no, that he could handle it. But the more he thought about it, the more he didn't want to. Seeing her would make him feel jealous and guilty at the same time; that she got Arthur, that he'd kissed her husband. Then he'd get mad about both of those facts, because Arthur was an asshole and they probably both deserved better.

And he wasn't the best at controlling his mouth when he was angry on a personal level, so he'd be tempted to tell Mrs. Morgana Pendragon exactly what sort of man she'd married and then he'd definitely be fired, and possibly slapped for good measure.

Asshole Arthur wasn't going to ruin his life. He wasn't going to ruin any more than the week he already had. Merlin had friends offering to help him avoid further drama, so why shouldn't he take them up on that?

"You know what? Yeah. That would be great."

The flaw in their plan was that none of them had expected her to ask for the night manager. He'd left Gwaine at reception; Gwaine, who'd never received a complaint or met a human being he couldn't charm, so he couldn't imagine why she wanted him.

"I could take your name tag," Mordred suggested. It was almost tempting, but too likely to backfire. If she really was making a complaint and it got escalated to corporate after he'd sent Mordred out for him, he could kiss his job goodbye. Not that going out himself would make a difference if—Oh god—she knew about him and Arthur and was going to make a scene about it. If that was the case, he was already fucked so he might as well go face the music.

Morgana Pendragon waited right at the counter, staring down the hallway like she could make him appear faster just by sheer willpower. She probably accomplished everything else that way, by the look of her, and she was even more unfairly gorgeous when she wasn't soaked through. Did they have kids? Talk about winning the genetic lottery.

He'd barely made it to the desk, unnerved by the intensity of her pale eyes looking him over the whole way, when she demanded, "Are you Merlin?"

Fuck.

It was personal.

It was about him seducing her husband, or whatever it was she thought had passed between them. He was going to lose his job, which meant he was going to lose his apartment, which meant Will would also be out on the streets, and his mom only had the one sofa.

I can sleep on the floor. It's my fault.

Forcing his dry throat to swallow and free his voice, he put on a smile that he knew wasn't his best. "Yes, Mrs. Pendragon. How can I help you?"

She gave him a look that was more contemplative than fueled by burning hatred. "It's Ms. Pendragon, actually. I have a message for you from Arthur."

Merlin's ears started ringing and he fought to keep his smile and attention focused on Morgana.

"Well," she went on with an exasperated expression, "not from Arthur. My idiot brother insists he needs to talk to you in person to explain everything, which is why you haven't heard from the stupid git. But he's not going to be back for weeks, and he's been pining unbearably and it looks like you have too, so I'm taking matters into my own hands. You're welcome."

In all of that, Merlin focused in on what he thought were probably the two most important details. Arthur was pining for him, and—"Your brother?"

"See, I knew he was a bloody idiot."

Their father had fallen suddenly ill, Morgana explained over tea in her suite.

"He works too much, just like Arthur, and managed to ignore his pneumonia for a week before he collapsed in a meeting. He's recovering now, but the first few days were... uncertain. They only just released him this morning. So that's why Arthur left without saying goodbye, which he's been fretting over since Dad's been stable."

Warming his hands on his undrunk cup of tea and looking at Morgana without the filter of fear and bitterness, Merlin could see that what he'd thought of as her perfect appearance was showing signs of stress, too: dark patches under her eyes, skin more gray than pale, a slight tremor in her hand when she set her cup down.

"I'm glad he's okay," he told her. "And of course, of course I understand that Arthur had to go. I'd do the same for my mom."

She smiled at him. "Arthur needs to stay in London to make sure our father doesn't overwork himself, because god knows he never listens to me. So I'm taking over operations here."

"Right."

It was nice to know the whole story, but did it really change things that much? Arthur was still gone, might be forever from the sound of it. It was no one's fault, but it still hurt.

Morgana seemed to understand his concern, and offered him a grimace when she couldn't offer reassurance.

"He wants to come back, it's just complicated right now and he doesn't want to lead you on without knowing when or if he can follow through. Plus he thinks he's ruined his chances with you, and that's not even knowing that you thought he was a married dickhead."

When Merlin finally took his leave, she caught him in the doorway. "He's absolutely the worst," she said with a small smile. "If you give it a shot and don't come to regret getting involved with him you're insane. But he really is very fond of you."

WEEK TEN

It was nearly noon, and his day off to boot, but Merlin found himself standing in the reception area of the Park Hyatt. It looked different in the daytime, and he felt different being there off the clock; underdressed, in his street clothes.

He was looking at the elevators, waiting for one of them to open and reveal Arthur, which was how he got caught by surprise when arms wrapped around him from behind instead.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered against his neck. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, since Morgana had given Merlin his number and Merlin had called to bitch him out, but there was an added meaning to the apology when he could feel the warm breath of it on his skin.

Merlin turned in the circle of Arthur's arms and drank in the sight of him.

It was the first time he'd seen Arthur out of a suit—well, the first time he'd seen Arthur in casual clothes. Pajama pants didn't count as anything but cruelty, especially when there'd been more skin on display than covered beneath them. But it came as no surprise that in dark jeans and a fitted, long-sleeved t-shirt, Arthur looked good.

He smiled at Merlin, relaxed and happy and still, somehow, unbearably smug.

"Asshole," Merlin declared around a wide grin he couldn't fight back.

Arthur's smirk curled open and he leaned in. Smug, insufferable bastard, so sure Merlin wanted him—which he did, of course he did, but he couldn't just let Arthur get his way all the time. He pulled back far enough that Arthur stopped, confident expression falling away into confusion, then grabbed Arthur by his stupidly flattering shirt and hauled him in for a kiss.

"I'm still pissed at you," he said when he broke away.

With a dazzling smile, Arthur replied, "I bought an apartment," and tried to swoop in again.

Merlin crossed his arms, his elbows pushing against Arthur's chest to keep him back, and raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Just a few blocks away." When that didn't get him any closer to Merlin, Arthur frowned and tried, "I'm heading up the American services." Then, in rapid succession with his voice faltering as his desperation grew:

"I'll be staying in New York.

"Things have settled down, I won't have to work such long hours.

"I have the whole week off. I took vacation to get moved in and, of course, you know, to see you.

"Merlin," he finally begged, "give me something. I'm sorry. Give me a chance, I'll do anything."

The warmth that had sprouted in Merlin's chest at Arthur's touch bloomed into something hotter, deeper than affection. "Mr. Pendragon, are you groveling?"

"I am," he said, "I will."

So Merlin kissed him some more.

WEEK FIFTY-TWO

When Merlin got to work after dropping his mom at home, he was pleased to find Gwaine at the front desk, instead of making Kara risk disaster for a second year in a row. It was nice to be able to come in a couple of hours late and find everything running smoothly. Someone, probably also Gwaine, had even laid out his audit books.

He'd barely settled in when the phone rang, but Gwaine was there to answer. Merlin didn't worry about it until Gwaine's voice tightened with tension and his answers shortened to clipped monosyllables with "sir" at the end.

"He'll be up right away, sir," Gwaine finished, sounding strangled. His eyes were wide as he hung up and looked over at Merlin. "I don't even know what he's upset about. I think it would've made him angrier to ask."

If he'd been in enough of a rage to rattle the nearly unflappable Gwaine, that was probably true.

"It's fine, I'll handle it. What room?"

"Honeymoon suite."

Merlin's fingers stilled on the keyboard before he could pull up the information. "I didn't know we had anyone staying there."

"It was a last minute reservation," Gwaine said. "Just him."

Taking a moment to review the information and brace himself, Merlin said, "Right. If I'm not down in half an hour, I'm probably in pieces in the bathtub."

No one answered his first knock, and Merlin was tempted to shrug it off and go back downstairs—maybe the angry guest had worn himself out and fallen asleep—but feeling ignored would undoubtedly make the man even more irate. He knocked again; that time, a gruff voice bellowed, "Come in!"

Merlin let himself into the suite.

The lights were dim. There was a row of candles leading down the hallway (fake, battery-powered flames, he noted; not a fire hazard). Two dozen red roses bloomed beautifully in a vase at the end of the hall. Moments after he opened the door, soft music started drifting out from the bedroom.

Merlin cracked up.

"You asshole!" he yelled through his laughter, slamming the door shut behind him and stomping towards the room. "I can't believe you got Gwaine to go along with your stupid—"

At the door to the bedroom he froze, rant stuck in his throat at the sight of Arthur stretched lazily on the bed. Naked and hard, smirking, of course, and with—

With a small, rounded box of black velvet in his palm, held out towards where Merlin stood in shock. Inside nestled a silver-colored ring, a small but striking deep red stone set in its center. Merlin stared at it and couldn't find his voice, couldn't move his muscles.

Then Arthur's face managed to twist itself into further smugness, which just shouldn't have been possible, and suddenly Merlin could move after all.

"Asshole," he repeated even as he threw himself onto the bed, straddling Arthur and taking the ring box in both his hands. He stared down at it for a few seconds more, then looked up to Arthur and asked, "Really?"

Expression giving way to solemnity, Arthur wrapped his fingers around Merlin's where they clutched at the velvet. "Really. Marry me, Merlin."

He gently extracted the box from Merlin's hold, then the ring from the box, and slid it home onto Merlin's finger.

"Haven't said yes, asshole," Merlin whispered, but he lunged in to catch Arthur in a heated kiss regardless. Of course he would say yes, was saying yes, would always say yes.

The phone trilled at them and he whined a protest when Arthur actually pulled away to answer it. But without actually putting the phone to his own ear, Arthur held it out to Merlin. "It's for you."

"What?"

"Hey, boss," Kara said cheerfully. "Freya's here to cover your shift the rest of the night. Don't even think about leaving that suite, you've got the night off. Oh, and congrats or whatever."

Freya was another manager, who usually worked days during the weekend. For her to be there and ready to take over, they really must have all been in on the planning. "I hate you," Merlin said into the phone, but he was looking at Arthur. "I hate all of you."

"Have fun!" The dial tone sounded in his ear after she disconnected.

Arthur plucked the receiver from his hand and tossed it more or less in the direction of the base.

"You're a pain in my ass, Mr. Pendragon," Merlin informed him. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy.

"Not yet," Arthur said with a wicked grin, reaching for Merlin's pants, "but I certainly have plans in that direction."