I've never seen her before, Arthur Pendragon thinks, sipping his tea in a café near Oxford University. Of course, it is a new term, so there likely will be new people, he reasons, reaching for his scone and turning his attention back to the belated birthday gift from his friend Crane: a new volume all about medieval knights and the code of chivalry.
Arthur was heretofore fascinated by the tome, but now he's finding himself distracted by the petite young lady at the next table drinking what appears to be coffee and checking her email on an iPad.
She tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear with her left hand, giving him a good view of both an empty ring finger and the smooth, brown skin of her cheek and neck.
She's quite lovely, Arthur thinks. Then, she glances over at him and he realizes he's been staring. He looks away too quickly and thinks he sees her smirk as she returns her attention to the iPad.
She has eyes like one of those princesses in an animated Disney movie. Arthur would never admit to actually having seen an animated Disney movie, but he does have a significantly-younger half-sister, so it would stand to reason. And if anyone would ever accuse him of having a thing for Princess Jasmine, he would deny it to his very last breath. Despite the fact that it is 100% true.
He peeks again. She's taking a large envelope out of her bag. It looks like school information. He can see the Oxford letterhead. I wonder what she's studying…
"Look, are you going to talk to me or just keep staring like a creeper?"
Shit. "What? Oh. Sorry. Was I staring? I was staring," he stammers.
She laughs, loudly and with a freedom he's not used to hearing. "Yes, you were staring," she says. "You wanna tell me why, or should I guess?"
Her brash, unapologetic Americanism gives him pause. "Well, I noticed the Oxford University letterhead, and…" He stops when he sees her smirking at him, eyebrow raised. She's not buying it. "You are distractingly lovely," he admits.
She blinks in surprise, and Arthur's ego sits up and preens for a moment. That got her.
"Oh. Um, thank you," she says, tucking that same lock of hair behind her ear. It hadn't freed itself from the last time she'd done it, so Arthur thinks this may be a nervous habit.
"May I join you or would I be interrupting?" he asks, closing his book.
"Um… sure, okay. Why not?" she says, moving her bag from the other half of the table top.
Arthur moves himself and his things across the short space to her table, using his book as a tray to hold the small plate with his half-eaten scone.
"Arthur Pendragon," he says, extending his hand across the table.
"Abbie Mills," she answers, shaking his hand. It's large and warm and just calloused enough to give a girl a wayward thought or two. You just met him. Stop it. Yes, he's gorgeous, but could still be a creeper.
"You're American?" he asks, taking another drink of tea.
"Yes. My sister and I are studying abroad for the semester. Maybe the year, depending on how things go," she says, drinking her coffee. "What's your book?" She turns her head and reads the spine. "The Code of Chivalry. A little light reading?"
Arthur chuckles. "I'm working on my doctorate in History. Specializing in the Middle Ages," he explains. "So, I have a lot of very exciting books just like this." He pats the volume on the table. "What are you studying?"
"Criminal Science," she says. "I'm actually a police officer back home, and decided to come over here and see how you guys do things. You know, take a look at crime from a different angle."
This woman is a police officer? Arthur is stunned.
"Don't give me that look," she knowingly says. "Yes, a police officer. I know how to use a gun and everything. So, if you are a creeper…"
"I promise I'm not," he says. "But, I suppose, why would I tell you if I was?" He chuckles now. "Sorry, you're just so… petite…" he attempts, trying to dig himself out of the hole in which he's suddenly found himself.
"And female and young and black, yes, I'm aware, thank you."
"Apologies, I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't," she says, holding her hand up, stopping his apology. "As you can imagine, I've heard it before."
"Indeed," Arthur says. "Forgive me."
He looks so contrite and, well, adorable, with his floppy blonde hair and blue-gray eyes that Abbie forgives him immediately. "Forgiven," she says. "So. Middle Ages. Why Middle Ages?"
"Why does anyone study anything?" he asks casually. "It's what interests me."
"Fair enough," she allows.
He sighs. "My father claims that we're descendants of medieval royalty," he says. "It's been a source of fascination for me since I was a boy."
"Ooo, fancy," she says, feigning being impressed. He laughs. "If you're descended from royalty, then how come you're not living at Buckingham Palace?" she asks.
"Oh, you know how it was," Arthur says airily. "Someone comes along and decides they like your citadel better than theirs or some bastard child the king fathered with a handmaiden gets ideas above his station, and pretty soon there are grisly deaths and usurpations and the old king winds up hanging on a pike by his nethers in the courtyard. Standard stuff."
Abbie is laughing again, leaning forward, her hand on her forehead. "Oh my God…" she breathes. "You are funny."
"Thank you," Arthur answers, grinning proudly.
"Usurpations?" she asks, cocking that eyebrow at him.
She looks like Crane when she does that, Arthur notes. "It's a word," he defends himself. "Hey, if anyone should know that, it's me. 'Tis my field of expertise, you know."
"Oh, 'tis it now?" she asks, teasing.
"'Tis indeed, my lady," he says, raising his mug in salute.
Abbie's phone buzzes, the screen flashing on with a text message, and she looks at it. "Excuse me."
"Of course," he says.
She reads the text from her sister: Done with interview. Where are you?
Café. I'll meet you at home in 10.
"I'm sorry, I have to go," Abbie says, sliding her iPad back into her bag.
"Boyfriend?" Arthur asks, hoping not.
"Sister," Abbie explains. "She had an interview at the library this morning. She's done now, and we have some shopping to do."
"Ah. What is she studying?"
"English Lit, of course," she says.
"Of course," Arthur agrees, smiling.
"Yeah, we're just a pair of nerds," Abbie chuckles, standing.
"Never," he argues, standing as well. "Um…"
"Thanks for the entertainment, Arthur. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Well, actually, I was kind of hoping to not have to leave that up to chance…" Arthur says, running his hand through his hair nervously.
She stops and looks at him. Waiting.
"Have dinner with me Saturday night?"
"Um, thank you, but I don't know…"
"Please?"
She bites her lower lip, thinking. I do like him. But, I can't leave Gwen, we only just got here. It's our first weekend in England. "I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Damn, you're persistent," she sighs, smiling. "Look, Gwen and I just arrived three days ago. I can't ditch her on our first weekend here just to go on a date."
"Gwen's your sister?" Arthur asks.
"Yes."
"Is she as cute as you are?"
"What? Yes. Oh…" Realization hits Abbie.
"I'll bring a friend – a handsome, intelligent, non-creeper friend – for your sister. We'll double."
"I'll ask her," Abbie sighs, knowing that this handsome blonde Brit is not going to take no for an answer.
"Great," Arthur says, bending to write a number on a scrap of paper. "This is my mobile number. Let me know. Saturday at 7:30."
"Okay," she says, taking it. She now allows herself a small smile. "I'll let you know."
"Great," Arthur says, grinning again.
Abbie notices the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and can't help smiling back. "I have to go. Nice meeting you," she says. Then, she's gone.
Arthur sits back down and pulls out his mobile.
It rings twice before a clipped, slightly surly voice answers.
"You're up before noon?"
"Happens occasionally," Arthur says. "New term is starting next week. Have to wean myself back into regular human hours."
"Indeed. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your call, Pendragon?"
"You could just ask 'What do you want?' like a normal person, Crane," Arthur sighs.
"What do you want?" Crane asks, obediently if tersely.
"I need a favor."
"What now?" he sighs.
"I have a date, but she won't go without her sister, so I need you to come be her sister's date."
"Ask Merlin. Isn't he usually your flunky for these sorts of endeavors?"
"You know Merlin is in Japan this term," he says.
"He'd fly back if you asked him," Crane points out. He's not incorrect, but that's not the point.
"Crane."
"What about Gwaine?"
"Busy shagging Vivian these days."
"Ugh. Dreadful."
"Yeah. And don't even bother suggesting Leon or Percival."
"Why is that?" Crane asks.
"Because they've recently decided they'd rather be with each other over any bird."
Crane is silent for a moment, digesting this new information. Percival, star of Oxford's rugby team, and Leon, captain of the Oxford Crew, together. "About time," he finally says.
"You know it, mate."
"What about Abraham?" Crane suggests.
"Abraham is a ferret-faced git and you know it."
"Abraham is my oldest friend."
"Ferret. Faced. Git." Arthur knows why his friend is putting him off, but he needs his help. He hasn't had a date since the whole Mithian blowout six months ago. "Look, Crane: I need to get back out there. And so do you. And this girl is really cute."
"I suppose her sister is a dreadful troll," he says.
"Claims she's not. They're American," he cajoles, trying a new angle, hoping to appeal to his friend's affection for American History.
"Hmm," he says, and Arthur knows he's breaking.
"Ichabod, Katrina has been gone for two years now. She'd want you to move on with your life. She'd want you to find happiness."
And it's out. Katrina, Crane's onetime fiancée, dead two years this past July.
"All right," Crane finally relents. "But, you owe me an as-yet-to-be-named favor, Pendragon."
"Great, thanks! Saturday night, 7:30."