(A/N)
This is only the first chapter of my fic I'm no angel, I'm just me. It is a White Collar fusion fic, and the whole thing can be found on my Ao3. I probably won't be publishing it here, so if you want to read it, you will have to read it there only.
It is a law enforcement AU set in modern New York, where Arthur is an FBI agent and Merlin is a criminal consultant.
****
Goodbye, Merlin."
The day Merlin had chosen to break out of prison had dawned bright and sunny. He decided to think of it as a good omen.
Snip, snip.
Thin black strands of hair floated down the air and into the sink, staying there like an oil spill on the ocean. Merlin looked up in the mirror.
Good enough.
He picked up the makeshift razor, and flicked it twice to get rid of the excess water. Taking in a deep breath, he ran it across his cheek and his chin. More strands of hair floated down.
Repeating the process a few more times, he shaved off the beard which had been growing in the past few weeks; turning him from Prisoner 342 back to Merlin Ambrosius, former conman and art forger, the best in the field.
But alas, his heyday was years ago.
Three years, 8 months, and 23 days, to be exact. It was also the time when he had been caught. Though convicted only of bond forgery, he was also suspected of various other crimes, but there hadn't been any conclusive evidence to convict him.
A small victory. He had still ended up in prison.
He tossed his razor in the sink, pulling out a ziploc bag from the toilet tank. Inside was a dark blue uniform, an exact replica of the ones the guards wore. He pulled it on. Giving himself a last look in the mirror, he wet his hands and ran them through his hair, pushing back the curly locks into place. He cringed. They were, he decided, extremely unfashionable. But unfortunately, he didn't have a choice. Prison didn't exactly have decent barbers.
Or any, really.
Steeling his resolve, he pushed open the door of the staff bathroom open, walking out with confidence he did not feel. But that was the point. Act like you are supposed to be there, and no one will question you. No time to think about the consequences. They will just hinder.
He walked across corridors and around corners, nodding to his fellow guards whenever necessary. He went through the metal workshop, the sound of scraping metal piercing the air. When he reached the cellblock, a line of orange-clothed prisoners were marching back from the Yard to their cells.
And to think, he was one of them yesterday.
And he might be again, if he didn't play his cards properly.
Freya.
If he didn't do this, he would lose her, possibly forever.
At last, he reached a mesh door, the last obstacle he would have to pass before he was out. Pulling out a makeshift security pass he had made from a cassette and a utility card, he swiped it against the machine beside the door. He watched in apprehension as it read the card.
The light blinked green, and the gate opened. He let out a relieved breath.
He tried stepping through, but the guard outside caught the door, giving him a once over.
Merlin's heart caught in his throat. He didn't let it show. It was one the first lessons he had learnt.
A moment later, the guard let him go. Merlin shot him a smile.
He stepped out, and breathed on the fresh air. It felt different, knowing that he wouldn't be called inside any time soon.
But he wasn't free, not yet.
Jogging over to the parking lot, he glanced over the irregular assortment of cars. Finally choosing a green pickup truck, he made his way over to it. It was innocuous, yet a statement. Exactly what he wanted.
He made short work of unlocking it, and when he was inside, he pried open the panel under the steering wheel and picked out two wires, stripping them with his teeth and rubbing them together. The engine roared to life.
Merlin grinned, he still had it.
He pulled out a cassette from a pocket, and placed it in the dock. Fast paced yet subdued music poured out, setting the mood. He set off.
****
Merlin browsed through the collection of jackets on the fence, the shopkeeper looking at him expectantly. It was high noon, and he was on the outskirts of New York City. A car whizzed past behind him, upsetting a toddler in a stroller nearby, sending him into a fit. Wails filled the air.
Finally choosing a bright yellow windbreaker, he tried it on.
"Only 5 dollars." The shopkeeper told him, holding up the same amount of fingers to drive the point home.
"I can give you three." Merlin replied, shooting him one of his more charming smiles, holding up the notes he had salvaged from the dashboard of the truck, which was now parked a few blocks away.
The shopkeeper shrugged.
****
Merlin watched the scene before him like a hawk, picking out who was to be his next victim. An elderly man drove up in a convertible, his wife beside him.
Perfect.
He jogged up to him when he parked, his windbreaker whipping behind him. More men in similar outfits were milling around, and no one gave him a second look. They all assumed he was another valet.
The man got out, handing him the keys and clapping him on the back. "Take good care of her," He said. "I'll be back in a month." Merlin nodded. He had no intention of doing so. It was an airport after all, and he doubted that the man would even remember his face by the time he realised his car was gone. Or maybe it would be returned before then. You never know.
Exhilaration filled him up as he crossed the Brooklyn Bridge in the stolen convertible, the wind threading through his hair and caressing his face. He let loose a laugh.
****
****
Arthur had never felt more stressed in his life.
Okay, maybe that was a lie, seeing that he was an FBI agent and stressed was probably his middle name by now, but it certainly felt like it. This was the first proper lead he had gotten in months, and he wanted to make sure it went well.
"Drop 5." A sound came out from the vault. A man was standing with an ear on the door, rotating a dial with one hand and the other spread out on the metal, feeling for any sign of a trap. A hole had been drilled above him, a flexible camera snaked in. The image was projected on a laptop screen outside the vault, showing a group of bolts which were being closely monitored by another person.
The man rotated the dial again. Another bolt slid back. "Drop 6."
Arthur hummed his acknowledgement, his brow furrowed.
One last rotation. "Drop 4."
Arthur frowned. "5,6,4," He muttered. Something was wrong. The man was opening the door.
"No! Stop!" Arthur yelled, but it was too late. A cloud of mustard-coloured gas burst forth, engulfing the whole crew in a foul smelling cloud.
Sulfur.
Arthur cursed and rushed in the vault, pulling the safe-cracker out. Coughs rang through the air.
"What happened?" The safe-cracker asked.
Arthur let loose an incredulous laugh. "What happened?!" He echoed. "I said stop! You didn't stop!"
"How did you know this will happen?" Someone asked. Elyan, by the sound of it. The air was still hazy.
Arthur shook his head. "Who all went to Harvard here?" He asked. "Don't raise your hands." He added, when people did.
He knew this was wrong, he shouldn't let out his frustrations on his people like that. But this was his first lead to catch the Enigma in months, and it had slipped right through his fingers.
"How did he know we were here?" He asked aloud.
His men were saved from answering by the arrival of Morgana, the only woman on his immediate team. The expression on her face told him that she didn't bring good news. She stepped up to him.
"It's Ambrosius. He's escaped."
It took a moment for the name to sink in. It had been four years since he had heard it last, and didn't really expect to do so again. But it was Merlin for you. Utterly unpredictable.
Arthur cursed. Out loud this time.
****
"Why me?" Arthur asked, hurrying along the marble floor of the ground floor of the FBI headquarters, Morgana walking beside him, her heels clicking.
"Perhaps because you are the only one who ever caught him." She answered, brushing something off his shoulder. Flakes of some kind of dark blue paint had covered his suit in the explosion, but couldn't be bothered to clean it. He had much more important things on his mind.
"Bloody hell." Arthur muttered, increasing his pace.
****
"He came out of the staff bathroom dressed in a guard's uniform. Probably brought online." Someone was speaking behind him, but most of Arthur's attention was on the way to Merlin's cell. Former cell.
"How did he get his hands on the money?"
"No idea. I think someone sneaked it in."
"Hmm." The cell was just a few meters ahead, and he quickened his pace and entered it. It was messy, with sketches plastered all over the walls and a bunch of books and pamphlets littering the small bed. Arthur picked one up. It was a handbook on truck maintenance. A pamphlet fell out. Valet jobs at the airport.
The warden was looking at him, looking like he didn't know what to do. "He shaved his beard," He burst out, not knowing what else to say. Arthur's head shot up.
"Merlin doesn't have a beard."
The warden shrugged. "He did."
"I need surveillance. As back as it goes."
The warden nodded, and started leading the way to the surveillance room. Arthur followed.
"They photograph the prisoners every morning before they leave their cells," The warden told him, while Arthur was peering intently at the screen. Merlin Ambrosious was pacing around, a black beard covering the bottom half of his face. It was decidedly unattractive.
"I hardly recognise him," Arthur muttered.
"I think that was the point."
Arthur straightened. "Why did he stop shaving?" He wondered aloud. "Rewind the video," He told the operator. He did so.
Arthur watched the screen intently, flashes of pictures running across it. "There!" He exclaimed, and the operator stopped the rewind, the screen now showing a clean-shaven Merlin sitting morosely on the bed. Arthur checked the time stamp. It showed a date from a few weeks before. "That's when he stopped shaving. Find out what happened that day."
The warden and operator shared uneasy looks. Arthur had forgotten that this wasn't his team. They won't know what exactly he wanted.
"Get me the logbook," He said at last. He warden picked up a heavy volume from the back of the room and handed it to him. He flipped to the page corresponding to the date when Merlin had stopped shaving.
"There it is," The warden said, pointing out an entry in the book. "Merlin Ambrosius."
"He had one visitor that day. Freya Baston. Pull up the feed."
The operator did so, and Arthur took his earlier place leaning beside him.
"No audio?" He asked. The operator shook his head.
Merlin was facing away from the camera, and Freya was sitting in front of him, the distance between them punctuated by a glass wall. The video was heavily tinged green, but Arthur didn't need to see her. He knew exactly what she looked like.
As he watched, Freya shot up from the seat, glaring at Merlin. "She is not thrilled about this visit." He muttered. The warden shrugged.
On the screen, Merlin was now imploring her to listen. Freya shook her head.
"We need to get a lip reader in here." The warden said.
"No need," Arthur replied, his eyes still trained on the screen. "It has been a good experience, one I would never forget. But I can't do this anymore," He said, watching Freya's lips intently. "Goodbye, Merlin."
****
Arthur had not expected what he saw when he entered the empty apartment his search had led him to.
Merlin was sitting forlornly against a pillar, one of his hands clutching a purple silk handkerchief with red strawberries embroidered on it. From Arthur's vantage point, it looked like he was seeing out of the window. If he was doing so, then he surely had noticed the sirens flashing against the curtains. His whole posture admitted defeat, something Arthur had never seen on the forger before. He was always confident. It didn't suit him.
"I missed her," Merlin's deep voice reverberated in the room. It sounded just like it had four years ago, but a little more raspy this time. Maybe because he had been crying.
"Freya?" Arthur asked softly, moving forward. He had decided to enter the room alone, hoping to make a connection with Ambrosius before he caught him. A team was standing just outside the door.
"Two days," Merlin replied. He turned and peeked around the pillar, meeting Arthur's eyes.
"The handkerchief?" Arthur prompted, curious about it.
"It was cut from the first dress I gave her, when I found her being kidnapped. The strawberries were her favorite fruit. It symbolises the bond between us, and it was her way of telling me that she will always be thankful for all I had done for her. She left it." The last part was mostly said to himself.
"She's disappeared." Arthur pointed out the obvious. Merlin let out a dry chuckle.
"She is good at that. She had done that more than once when we had an argument."
"She won't be returning this time." Arthur tried to phrase it as a question, but Merlin didn't take it that way. His blue eyes flared in anger, the flecks of gold becoming more prominent.
"I was the one who taught her everything she knows. She can't hide from me."
"Or so you think. You shouldn't underestimate anyone." Arthur was now losing his patience with him. He had already had a bad day, and Ambrosius wasn't making it any easier.
He looked up to see Merlin gazing intently at him.
Or rather, his shoulder.
He stood up, and walked towards him, his eyes still trained on his shoulder. He stopped a step away from him, and held up a hand as if to pick something up from the shoulder.
"May I?" Merlin asked, his indecipherable eyes gazing at him, an eyebrow quirked.
Arthur gave a curt nod, extremely confused as to what exactly was he trying to do. The idea of him hurting him flashed through his mind, but a glance at him told him that he was too desperate right now to try anything.
Fingers brushed over Arthur's shoulders, and retreated in the next second.
Merlin studied his fingers for a second, and then rubbed it between his thumb. He looked up at him, eyes shining.
"Do you know what that is?" Arthur asked, frowning at the tiny flakes on his finger.
"If I tell you, will you meet me at the facility in a week?" Merlin asked, his voice carrying a tone of hope and excitement, a stark contrast to just a few minutes before.
"Excuse me?" Arthur asked incredulously.
"If I tell you what this is, will you meet me at the facility in a week?" Merlin repeated. Arthur gave him a long calculating look, trying to figure out what he was trying to do. It didn't work. Merlin's face revealed nothing. Arthur nodded hesitantly.
"Nastrium blue." Merlin said immediately. Arthur frowned.
"What?"
"It was a special kind of blue paint an artist named Herlando used in his works. It had some solid diamond and ruby particles in it, in a specific size and ratio. Herlando used the paint in all his works, and the particles are impossible to replicate. It makes forging his works virtually impossible. But this ," He glanced down at the flakes. "This isn't exactly the same, but good enough to fool forensic analysis."
"How do you know that?" Arthur demanded.
Merlin raised an infuriating eyebrow. "Forgers never reveal their secrets."
Arthur growled low in his throat, and clicked his fingers. The team standing outside the room filed in, a few of the men brandishing rifles and all of them outfitted in tactical gear.
"One week," Merlin reminded Arthur, staring at him with his impossibly deep eyes as his hands were cuffed behind him.
Arthur watched him being whisked away.
****
****
Merlin looked up at Arthur leaning against the window sill, the late afternoon sun streaming through the glass and framing his golden hair in a halo. It was unfair. He should not be this attractive in a prison visit room.
"You wanted me to come here," Arthur said. "I did. What do you want?"
Merlin took a deep breath and exhaled. This was his only chance. He had to play his cards right, otherwise he will be forced to spend another four years in this hell.
"Was it really nastrium blue?" Merlin asked, trying to play off the inevitable for just another few minutes.
Arthur trained his cornflower blue eyes on him, veiled curiosity swirling in it. "It was close. Forensics was very curious as to how you figured that out."
Merlin shrugged, giving him his best ' forgers never reveal their secrets ' smile.
Arthur straightened, and stalked his way towards him, taking the seat opposite his. "What do you want?" He asked again.
"I know why you call him The Enigma. You are not sure what he does, his fingers are stuck in so many pies." Merlin shrugged. "I like to think I gave you a pretty good clue with the nastrium blue."
"So what?" Arthur's eyes were distrustful. Merlin tried not to let that deter him.
"I want to help you catch him."
Seeing Arthur's confused face, Merlin flipped open a file before him, turning it around to face the blond.
"I can be released into the custody of the FBI, and by extension, yours, to consult." He explained, his long fingers pointing out the corresponding lines in the file.
Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he could see him considering it.
And then, without a word, he got up and whisked out. Merlin watched in shock. His last chance had slipped right through his fingers.
A small consolation was that he took the file with him.
****
****
It was nearing midnight, but sleep was the furthest thing from Arthur's mind. He was sitting at his dining table, a myriad of files and notes strewn on it, a mug of coffee set precariously on the edge.
Soft padded footsteps were coming towards him, and a second later, slim arms snaked around his shoulder, locking in front of his neck.
"Are you considering Merlin's offer?" Gwen asked, her voice soft and breathy in his ear.
Arthur let out a small chuckle. "How did you know that?"
"You would be in bed with me if you weren't. Come on."
Arthur shook his head. "I can't. He had said that he could help me catch Enigma. I am not sure if I should trust him, but I am running out of options." He leaned back and massaged his temples. "I have been after him almost as long as I was after Ambrosius."
"Maybe you should come to bed. You'll feel better."
Arthur hummed noncommittally. Gwen realised he wasn't going to come anytime soon, and pulled back, taking a seat beside him.
"Come on, list all the pros and cons. Then we'll figure it out."
****
Arthur watched as Merlin exited the facility, squinting under the sunlight after spending so much time indoors. His hair was still unkempt, but at least he had shaved. The minutest evidence of stubble decorated his jaw. He was dressed in a blue coat and black trousers, not exactly what he used to wear he was captured, but at least a step up from orange jumpsuits.
Arthur clapped his hands once, and Merlin's eyes snapped up to his. "Let's see the anklet."
Merlin pulled up his left trouser leg, revealing a small device wound around his leg.
"Excellent," Arthur said, pulling open the passenger door of the car he was leaning against. "Get in."
****
****
"You've got to be kidding me. I can't live here."
Arthur looked at him, making no attempt to hide his amusement. They were standing in front of the reception of a run down motel, but honestly, the word 'motel' was extremely generous.
"Well, it is the only thing in the FBI's budget for you. If you find anything under 600 dollars a month in the two mile radius, go ahead and take it. Until then, here's your key." He handed him something that looked like it had at least a few dozen types of bacteria living on it.
"There is also a thrift store down the street. You like thrift stores, right?"
Merlin gave him his best death glare. Arthur grinned, clapping him on his back and pushing him in the direction of his room.
****
"Honestly prison was better than this place. At least the toilets were washed once every three months." Merlin grumbled, walking down the street. He had taken one look at his room and decided he needed to forget he was to live here. Arthur had said there was a thrift store here, right? Better than the motel, at least.
The anklet was a weight on his ankle, an unwelcome reminder that his freedom wasn't unconditional. He thought that he would get used to the sensation soon, but until then, it was a stark reminder of his predicament. He pushed open the door and was hit by the warmth. It was filled to the brim with second-hand goods, not really Merlin's style, but it was better than nothing. Maybe he would find something good.
An hour's worth of combing, but he hadn't found anything noteworthy. The only thing he had found was a wide-brimmed dark blue fedora with a beige strap, which was currently resting on his head.
Merlin flipped through the rack for the third time, for the lack of a better thing to do. Arthur hadn't contacted him yet, and he sure as hell wasn't going back to his pigsty of a motel room anytime soon.
The rack was placed close to the billing counter, and had an excellent view of the entrance. As he watched, it opened, revealing a man laden down with plastic-covered coats. He walked (more like stumbled) up to the counter, dropping his load on it.
The man had long brown hair, stubble, and a grin on his face. As Merlin watched, he pulled out one of the coats from its wrapping and showed it to the woman behind the counter.
"Is that a Grosvenor?" Merlin blurted out before he could stop himself. Both the man and the woman turned towards him. The man's grin widened.
"My partner's," He said. "Not really my style, so I didn't have any use for it after he kicked the bucket a few weeks ago. Decided to give it away."
Merlin nodded, and held his hand out for the coat. The man handed it over. It was a sleek black trenchcoat, ending just below his knees. Merlin turned it over, raising an impressed eyebrow, and slung it over his shoulders, trying it on. He looked up to see the man looking at him. "Looks good on you," He said.
"Really?" Merlin asked, fixing the fedora on his head and turning around to look at himself in the mirror. The man nodded. "I'm Gwaine." He said, holding out his hand for a shake.
"Merlin. And do you have any more of these?" He asked, shaking his hand.
"A whole room full of it." Gwaine's eyes slid over him, taking in the shabby trousers and shirt. "You look new to the city. Need a place to live?"
Merlin gave him a smile. "I would love to, but I have a tight budget."
"How much?"
"600 dollars a month."
Gwaine shrugged. "I can make it work."
Merlin's spirits lifted. "Really?"
"Since Brestion died, his room is only being used for storage. I can clear it out for you."
"How far is it?"
"Just a kilometer from here. So is that a yes?"
Merlin grinned. "Hell yeah!"
****
"You've got to be kidding me." This time, it was Arthur who said that, disbelief apparent in his tone. "How did you manage to get this?"
"My charming personality."
"And is it in the budget."
"600 dollars a month?"
"Yup."
Both of them were in Merlin new living space, a good sized room with white and butterscotch-coloured walls, a king sized bed, bookshelves, and a walk-in closet. French windows opened into a terrace overlooking the city, and tall trees ringed the property. To say Arthur was jealous would be an understatement.
Merlin's landlord, Gwaine was also standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and a roguish grin on his face. His whole demeanor suggested that he had once been involved in some not-so-legal activities. Perhaps that was how Merlin had managed to get this place. His eyes narrowed.
"Be at work at nine a.m tomorrow." He told him, walking out of the room.
Behind him, Merlin mock saluted. "Yes sir."
****
(A/N)
The whole fic can be found here.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/28828401?view_full_work=true