A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this up. New job has been keeping me super busy. I'll try to update faster...

4. Candygram

"Yes, yes, that's the one. Can you do it?" Merlin asked into his phone. He was leaning back in the chair in his kitchen with his legs crossed and propped up on the table. "Four days? I can work with that. Mmm? Oh, yes, thank you."

He hung up the phone and slipped it back into the pocket of his trenchcoat. He may as well have turned it off. Only three people in the entire world had that number, and none of them were likely to call. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. It had taken more effort than it normally did for him to get in touch with Mordred.

The kid was bright, but he was even more prone to extended disappearing spells than Merlin was. He also happened to be the best forger this side of the Atlantic, and when you needed the kid's help, you needed the kid's help. Sighing, Merlin slid his feet to the floor and glanced around the kitchen wearily. "What am I going to do for four days?"

He went to the movies. Twice. He bought a copy of Anna Karenina and read the first few chapters before he gave up. There was too much adrenaline in his veins to read Tolstoy. He stopped by the coffee shop at the end of the road a few times; they were always happy to see him coming because he never asked for his change. Ever.

After three days of wandering around London like this, he couldn't take it anymore. Besides, it would probably do him some good to look at the blueprints again. He groaned at the squeak in his door as he pushed it open and tossed his keys across the room to the coffee table. Turning into the kitchen, he realized he'd forgotten to clear everything off the table, so the blueprints and notes and everything else were still spread out in front of him.

Merlin sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he sat down. One or two black strands fell back into his eyes as he pushed a few papers around. Mordred's package was supposed to arrive tomorrow morning, and then the rest should be easy. This wasn't his normal method, but since he'd grown increasingly bored in London, he figured he might as well put on a show. There was a tiny portion of his brain wondering if tomorrow was the day he'd finally get caught. In the end, he decided it was unlikely.

He paced back and forth through the kitchen and the living room for a bit, before tossing himself bodily across his bed. Sighing, he shoved his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. There was one more thing he needed to do, but he had to get the wording just right. He must have fallen asleep thinking about it, because when he jerked awake, panting slightly, it was already dark outside.

Merlin glanced at the clock. 1:15. He stripped off his clothes and chucked them toward the far corner of the room, but he didn't bother to check if they'd made it to their intended destination before he pushed back the covers on the bed and curled up under them. A solid night's sleep would be essential. He had a long day ahead of him.

When he woke, his mouth was dry and he shuffled into the kitchen, half in a daze, for a glass of water. He gulped down nearly two full glasses before he was satisfied that he hadn't been licking the carpet in the middle of the night.

Just as Merlin was contemplating which pair of pants to throw on, there was a soft knock at the front door. He went over and slid the deadbolt out of place and cracked the door. An old, hunched man stared up at him with watery eyes and held a box out to him. It was bright pink and topped with an opalescent bow. "Candygram," the old man huffed, apparently blissfully unaware that candygram delivery people were usually expected to smile.

"Well," Merlin muttered under his breath as he snatched the box out of the man's hands, testing the weight. "Mordred's getting a little too creative for his own good."

"Mmph," The man shrugged noncommittally and flicked the edge of his cap before turning around and leaving Merlin in his doorway blinking down at the pink box. He tucked it under his arm and went back inside, laying it gingerly on the kitchen table.

"Okay," Merlin said brightly, finally feeling all of the pieces fall into place. "Time to have some fun."

He dressed quickly, donning black pants and shoes. He pulled a thick cream-colored turtleneck over his head and slicked his hair back, just enough to keep it out of his face. He flipped a black fedora onto his head and checked the mirror just to make sure it matched the turtleneck. Once that was done, he took a few last minute pictures of the blueprints on his phone, before stashing them away in a closet.

Merlin shrugged his trenchcoat over his shoulders and slipped his phone into the pocket. He slid an expensive briefcase across the table and tossed the normal items inside: pens, day planner, an empty notebook or two. Then he traced across the fabric at the back until he found the catch, opening a hidden compartment.

He took the pink box and ripped off the bow, tossing it idly to the side. Lifting the lid, he smiled as he pulled out the pristine document. He held it up to the light and marveled at the quality. The paper was real. Only Mordred would have 800 year old parchment on hand in case someone called him needing a favor. If he hadn't known it was a fake, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to spot it unless it was sitting right on top of the original.

Carefully, he slid it into the lead-lined compartment and snapped the briefcase shut. He snatched a piece of paper from the table and jotted a few words onto a notecard, stuffing it into his pocket against his phone. With one final sweep around the apartment, he made a mental check to be sure he wasn't forgetting anything, then stepped out into the windy morning.

The walk to the library actually seemed to calm him as he ran his plan through his head over and over. It was either going to go off without a hitch, or he'd be completely done for. There was no middle ground on this one. The heels of his shoes clacked on the sidewalk as he went, keeping him mentally tied to the matter at hand. Before long, he found himself standing across the street, the building looming large in front of him. He took a breath and squared his shoulders, his grip on his briefcase tightening almost imperceptibly.

He crossed the street, just another businessman in the sea of London businessmen. He climbed the stairs and opened the door, striding through like he was a seasoned professor there to do hours of research. A guard stopped him as he went in, nodding to the briefcase without obvious malicious intent. "Gonna have to check that before you can go in."

"By all means," Merlin relied, sliding it across the security desk with an unreadable expression.