CID looks exactly the same in the dark. She expects his absence to be conspicuous, for every place he's ever stood to glow like blood under a black light, but there's still just the desks and the mess and the smell of cigarettes. There's a light on in the Guv's office and she walks across the empty space quickly, the click of her heels echoing, and even though she knows exactly what's on his desk (telephone, lamp, case files, paperwork. ordinary. could be anyone's) she can't make herself look at it.

Annie pushes open the door without knocking, and Gene doesn't look up, sitting at his desk with a glass and a bottle of Scotch. Neither have changed since the memorial service, smart and black and awkward in clothes that feel like giving up. She doesn't know what to say.

"Either come in and have a drink or sod off," he says, reaching for the bottle. She wavers for a second, but then he looks up at her with another glass in hand and she feels herself nodding, a brief twist on her lips, a spark of something from the numbness.

"Thank you," she says softly, taking the glass and sitting opposite him. The only light comes from the lamp on his desk and he's bright against the shadows, something solid and definite and real. She wants uncomplicated.

"Gene," she says, half reaching across the desk. Her fingers rest on top of a personnel file. "We should talk about h--"

"Is that something he taught you, the namby-pamby softly-softly crap?" His glass slips a little as he puts it down and it hits the desk with a loud thump. Annie flinches, her throat too tight to retort and, fuck, her husband just died. She doesn't need this.

"Fine," she snaps, and it comes out a little more choked than she'd like but she stands up anyway and grabs her bag, is three steps to the door before suddenly Gene has her by the shoulders and she's slammed against the wall. She hisses, and then they both recognise the movement for what it is and before she allows herself to think she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, fierce and desperate and unrelenting. He doesn't move, hands still curled over her shoulders and so she pushes closer, squeezes her eyes shut tight and kisses him until he responds, until his fingers are pressing into her skin and it's impossible to stop.

She wants to make it impossible to think. Her hands find the fastening on his trousers and she gets them open quickly, practised, her breath hitching for a moment but she just pushes harder, bites at Gene's bottom lip as he finally pushes back and growls low in his throat. He rucks up her skirt and pulls her knickers down with rough fingers, lets them slide down her legs as Annie's hand gets him hard with a few short tugs and he all but shoves inside her, demanding and shameless. She gasps wetly and he grunts, pinning her against the side of the office and she lifts her legs up and wraps them around him, her knickers still tangled around one ankle, and he exhales sharply but doesn't falter.

Annie curls her arms around him and buries her face in his neck, clinging to him despite how he smells like he's been living at the station for a week. She doesn't think about it. She meets each thrust with a shove of her own and soon she's shaking, sobbing as she comes, her face pressed into his shoulder. He holds her (gently, like she's falling apart) as she drops her feet back to the floor and steadies herself on shaky legs. It still hurts. She still feels sick. He's still missing.

"I'm sorry," Gene says, not looking at her, and she hurries out before her legs give way.

It really is an accident. Arthur has repeatedly told him about knocking and he's looking at the floor as he walks in and then there is Gwen and Morgana and they are, well, he isn't exactly sure because he is blushing and staring at the floor again and stammering out apologies as he backs away and. Wait. What?

"Why are you in my room?" Merlin asks, eyes still on the floor as he's sure they aren't entirely dressed and oh, yes, there's Morgana's dress in a heap. "Um."

"Merlin," Morgana purrs, extending a hand elegantly towards him. He blinks at it, then at her, then looks to Gwen who just grins at him. Everyone has gone completely mad. It's Gwen who eventually takes pity on him and steps forward to curl her fingers around his wrist and pull him close.

"We've been talking," she starts, with a glance at Morgana, "and we've decided we want you."

"A lot," Morgana adds, grinning. Merlin's never noticed quite how scary her smile can be, and, oh god. When did they get so close. Gwen's hand is still warm around his wrist and Morgana is snaking an arm around his waist and he really should protest, or back away, or something, but then Morgana's lips are on his neck and Gwen is angling his face down to kiss him and, well. He kisses back. His arms hang quite uselessly at his sides as he has no idea what to do with them, but then Gwen lifts one to rest on her hip (bare skin, a small, coherent part of his brain manages to squeak) and Morgana guides his other in between her legs, pushing his fingers against warm folds until he gets the idea. She sighs happily and entwines her fingers with Gwen's, leaning in to steal a kiss from her as Merlin watches for a moment, dazed.

"Bed," Morgana breathes, flush against Gwen's mouth, and he can't agree more.

The bed is small and it's almost awkward at first, but Morgana ends up on her back with Merlin and Gwen on either side and it works. The girls know each other intimately, how to make the other throw her head back with her lips parted with the slightest touches and Merlin fits, moves between them with kisses and fingertips like he belongs. It's wonderful, and she reciprocates by sliding her hand down his stomach and finding the hem of his trousers (she's kissing Gwen and can't lift her head, so she's works on touch alone), pulling open the fastening and wrapping her hand deftly around his cock and if he does squeak, just a tiny bit, Morgana just laughs in response, low and sensual. He's hot and aching against her palm and he keens against her shoulder, mouthing nonsense against her skin as Gwen pushes closer and they are just a tangle of bodies, warm and exhilarated.

The door squeaks a little as it's roughly pushed open.

"Merlin, where the hell have-- oh," says Arthur.

"Hi," Merlin says, naked and flushed and apparently unable to stop grinning. Gwen tries to stifle her laughter in Morgana's stomach, and somehow that doesn't help.

"Oh god, my eyes," Arthur moans, staring resolutely in the opposite direction with colour high in his cheeks, one hand on the door and he's not moving.

"I always knew you would be a prude," Morgana calls, lifting her head up a little to smirk at him, and it's all the challenge he needs. In four steps he's next to the bed and his shirt is crumpled on the floor, but then he actually looks and wonders how the hell he's meant to fit in there.

Gwen rolls over and takes his hand, sweet and comforting, and guides him until he's kneeling between Morgana's legs and really, this isn't going to work, but then Merlin cups his cheek and presses their lips together and suddenly it all kind of makes sense. He's still surprisingly hesitant, pulling back too often and catching Morgana's eye like he's not sure he's supposed to be here, waiting for them to change their minds and, wow, Morgana thinks, he's got talented fingers and a lot to learn. She wraps her hand around the back of his neck and kisses him, slow and deep, as Gwen brushes her fingertips down her side and sucks at pale skin between her hip and her thigh and Merlin somehow covers all three, his lips on her neck and his hand between Gwen's legs and another just touching Arthur, because he can and it feels amazing and right.

That is, until Arthur falls off the bed and from the floor demands that next time, they're doing this in his quarters.