Almost Doesn't Count

Gwen awoke to a foot in her side, a hand on her shoulder, and a head on her lap.

The foot and hand belonged to Mordred and Morgana respectively. The head belonged to one Arthur Pendragon.

Blushing profusely, she gingerly removed the appendages and hopped off the couch, holding the armrest to keep her steady.

The room looked like a tornado had swept through it. Their GLEE marathon had transformed into something else entirely. Popcorn littered the carpet, curtosy of Morgana, who had gotten mad when Arthur said he found the show 'annoying'. The latter Pendragon had been firm in his dislike from the beginning, but by the midseason finale, he was singing along in his seat to 'Don't Rain on my Parade'. Despite his denial, Gwen could tell he was anxious to find out what happened next, as was she. They would have to wait until the next sleep over, which she'd seen Arthur mark discreetly into his calender.

While the three Pendragons lay on the couch, Merlin lay on the ground at Arthur's feet. He'd valiantly let Morgana take the last space on the couch to sleep on the floor in Arthur's Transformers sleeping bag.

Morgana told her not to ask. It was a 'Merthur' thing she said, using the duo's self proclaimed nickname.

Gwen couldn't remember when she'd had that much fun. Nothing seemed to put a damper on her spirits that night. But now, she felt the inevitable wave of confusion wash over her as she glanced at Arthur's sleeping face.

She had accepted her attraction for her boss. There was nothing she could do about her body's natural reaction and it was perfectly normal when you were living with a beautiful man. However, she was beginning to think her attraction had slipped into forbidden territory.

She wasn't in the deep end or anything, but her toe was definitely in the water. She felt at ease with him, which was strange since they came from completely different backgrounds. She could just be herself, which was nice. And she really enjoyed his company.

Last night, when he'd watched the movie together, she'd ended up in his arms. She'd felt his heart beat against her back and the smell of his cologne surrounded her. Every once and a while, his arm would graze her side or the top of her thigh just below her sundress.

It had been perfectly innocent. He had offered to watch the movie as a favor to her and nothing more. But to her, it'd had been the best non-date she'd ever had and she wanted to do something like it again. Alone. With Arthur.

Lord help her, she had a crush on her boss.

Gwen immediately shook the idea out of her head and turned away from Arthur's face. She already had a boyfriend. A beautiful Chilean…superstar…boyfriend.

Right.

Gwen crept away from the couch so she wouldn't wake Arthur or the others. She wasn't supposed to be up and about and if her boss found out he'd be furious. Again, she felt like a secret agent as she slunk stealthily away.

"Secret…agent, Gwen," she whisper-sung as she hobbled up the stairs. "Secret…agent, Gwen! They've given me an number and they've take away my name—AH!"

She stopped in her tracks. There was a man at the stop of the stairs holding a cereal bar, smirking at her.

Gwen opened her mouth to scream, but the man covered it with his hands. She closed her eyes, trying to remember everything she'd learned in her 'Victim's no More!' class.

JAB!—She used her elbow, the hardest bone in her body to hit him square in the chest.

KICK!— She landed a deft kick to his side since she didn't have a clear shot to groin.

RUN!—She… she…

The man was rolling on the ground, clutching his stomach and laughing at her.

"Were you actually trying to beat me up?" he asked, sitting up on the floor to look at her. "Morgana was right, you are really adorable."

Gwen deflated like a balloon.

"You mean I didn't even—"

"My ten-year-old sister does more damage than that," he said shaking his head. "Aren't you more concerned with the fact that you attempted to beat up your friend's boyfriend?"

Gwen tapped her fist against her forehead.

"Sorry," she said, giving him a hand to help him up. "I thought you were a rapist or murderer or something."

When she pulled him up, he stood less than an inch from her, which made her a little nervous. She could see the faint stubble on his cheeks. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, but the smile didn't seem to reach his toffee colored almond-shaped eyes.

"Lucky for you," he whispered, causing an odd chill to run down her spine.

"Urm, right," she said, stepping away from him. "Lucky."

He leaned against the wall, looking every bit the model.

"Why are you awake so early?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "It's barely six, you know."

She realized she was still wearing her red sundress from the night before and felt a little indecent in front of this stranger. Her hands fingered the hem in her nervousness.

"I've got a lot on my mind," she said, honestly. "My kind-of-boyfriend just dropped this huge bomb on me, you know? I haven't been able to get it out of my head."

She was surprised at how easily the truth spilled from her mouth. Sure, she wasn't one to lie, but she was usually able to keep her troubles to herself. Then again, she'd never been with a guy that made her feel this self-conscious. It was probably his model charisma making her do it.

"Oh yeah?" he said, looking interesting. "What kind of bomb?"

"Atomic," she blurted out.

"Dayum," he said, leaning in with interest. "What'd he do? Cheat? Steal? Crossdress?"

She opened her mouth to tell him, but thought better of it and closed it. What the hell was she doing? Lancelot had probably kept things secret for a reason. Why on earth would she tell some male model she didn't know? Though she had a bit of a weakness for beautiful men (who came along surprisingly often these days), she couldn't betray Lancelot's trust.

"It's… kind of personal," she said lamely. "He wouldn't like me to tell anyone, I'm sure."

"Come on," he said, grinning. "You can't just leave me hanging like that."

Gwen thought about it, but still shook her head.

"I can't tell you," she said after a few moments. "I don't even know you."

"Fine," he said, seeming to give up. "I'm Alvarr, if you didn't already know. And can you blame me for trying to get some entertainment around here? I'm bored as hell. Morgana keeps me up here in my room with nothing to do but count the number of dots on the ceiling."

"That sucks," she agreed. "…I guess I'm free for the next two hours. Mordred wakes up at 8:00 sharp. I can keep you company until then. What shall we do?"

Alvarr looked taken aback.

"Well," he said, recovering from his surprise. "I don't really know. I've been so busy with work, I've kind of forgotten how to relax, you know?"

"I know the feeling," Gwen said.

She was beginning to feel more comfortable with him now that they had something in common.

"I'm sure we can think of something," she said, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder reassuringly.


Nearly two hours later, the pair was laying on Gwen's bed laughing uproariously at her computer screen.

"Oh God," Gwen said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Funniest video I've ever seen."

"And there's a sequel!" Alvarr said, having just gotten over his laughter. "It's coming out in July, I think. If I'm still here, we should watch it together."

"Agreed," Gwen said, pulling the laptop closer to her.

She decided an hour and a half ago that she really liked Alvarr. Sure, she'd caught him looking down her dress on occasion, which made her feel a bit uncomfortable, but other than that, he seemed to be a pretty nice guy. He'd watched all of "A Very Potter Musical!" with her, after all.

Something on the sidebar caught her attention. 'OMFG! LANCELOT AND SHAKIRA!' the link read. Her heart almost leapt out of her chest as she clicked it.

She couldn't believe it.

The man in the video was undoubtedly Lance, but it was Lance, as she'd never seen before. He was standing next to Shakira, a fresh gleam of sweat on his forehead, dancing like there was no tomorrow. His voice, a smooth tenor, blended with Shakira's 'Hips Don't Lie' in beautiful harmony.

The shirt he was wearing should have been illegal and showed off muscles she didn't even know he had until now. This Lancelot, the one gliding across the stage with a startling familiarity, seemed so far away her. Her Lance was kind and down to Earth. Lancelot was sexy and knew it. He looked like a man who would break a woman's heart under the heel of his leather boot.

They did some complicated dance move together and for the final move, he dipped her, his hands on her hips and his head on her heaving chest.

Gwen felt sick and closed her laptop with a resounding click. That was enough torture for one day.

"I'm not really a fan either," said Alvarr after a moment. "He's far too showy. All the girls love him, even Morgana. That's why I can never take her to one of his concerts. Slick little bastard."

"That slick little bastard," she said sighing, "is my boyfriend."

She had been so shocked at what she'd seen, that she didn't have time to filter herself. Her hands flew to her mouth in seconds, regretting her words immediately.

"That is atomic," Alvarr said. "Your boyfriend is a pop God."

The ease that had grown between them seemed to vanish and Gwen wished she could travel back in time and swallow her words. She could tell she'd awoken something within him and the way he was looking at her made her uneasy.

There was a knock on her door.

"Hide!" Gwen said, pointing to her closet.

Alvarr hopped off her bed and leaped impressively into her closet. Gwen closed it quickly, hopped over to the door and opened it.

"Arthur," she said, giving her boss a nervous smile. "So good to see you!"

Arthur gave her a very strange look. "Right," he said, peering above her head to look into her room. "You weren't on the couch. I was wondering where you were."

"You've found me," she said, laughing. "Did you want anything?"

"I thought I heard another voice in here," he said suspiciously. "A very familiar, assholish, male voice."

"I was watching Youtube, " she explained. "That's probably what you heard."

He looked like he was about to say something, but his eyes immediately narrowed again.

"Gwen," he said, slowly, "what did I say about getting out of bed without help?"

She blew the hair out of her face. "I hate sitting in that bed all day, Arthur. It gets to be a little boring after a while, you know? There's really nothing to do and I feel helpless and horrible knowing that you're still paying me while I sit around and do nothing!"

It was a retort that had been building in her chest for ages, and she was so upset at herself that she bit her lip.

"Boss," she added, sheepishly, looking up at him for a reaction.

To her surprise, Arthur was smiling at her.

"So you can get angry," Arthur said. "I've seen disappointment, but never anger. I was beginning to think you were superhuman or something."

"You're teasing me," she said, crossing her hands over her chest. "I'm serious about this. If I'm going to sit on the couch all day, I need something to do. Let me cook or something. I can iron your clothes for tomorrow or organize your closet or something."

"Come to think of it," Arthur said, rubbing his chin between his two fingers. "There is something I'd like you to do."

"You can't cheat and say 'have fun!' or something like that," she warned. "It has to be a real job."

"I wouldn't dare," he said, as though she'd somehow insulted his honor. "I'd like you to come to work with me."

Gwen cocked her head to the side.

"Why? What kind of work could I possibly do there?"

"Every year, someone on the Executive board brings an average, everyday woman to the workplace to do an inspection of sorts," Arthur explained. "You would observe the inner workings of the corporation. Write about what and who you like and how you think things could improve. It's printed right beside the letter from the editor in all our magazines in one issue out the year. It's supposed to be done by contest or lottery, but I've been too bogged down this year to get the word out."

Gwen gawked at him. "You're asking me? This is a big deal. I couldn't possibly… there are thousands of people who would kill for this."

"I don't want a kiss up," Arthur said, shaking his head. "I want someone honest and dependable. I want you."

There it as again, the fluttering in her heart at something completely innocent. She wished she could wash her mind out with soap.

"I'm not right for this job," she said. "I have no experience."

"You're not right for it at all," Arthur said, smiling again, "you're not average or everyday. In fact, you're nothing short of amazing, but I'm sure I'll be forgiven for bringing you in once they see the way you light up the room."

"Stop that," she said, blushing.

"Will you do it?" he asked.

She looked up at his eyes. They were wide, like saucers and he was biting his lower lip. Oh god. It was the face. The one that made him look like Bambi after the hunter shot his mother. The dreaded puppy dog face of doom.

"Alright," she said, shielding her eyes from it's almighty power, "I'll do it! Just stop looking at me like that. You know I can't resist it."

"You know I'd only use it under dire circumstances," he shot back. "You were asking for it."

"I've got to take a shower first," Gwen said. "I feel kind of gross."

"You smell lovely," Arthur said, without thinking.

"Uh, thanks," she said, blushing again. "That' s nice to hear, but I really do need a shower."

"Right," Arthur said, looking embarrassed. "Can you be ready in thirty minutes?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Forty-five then," he said, laughing. "Women."

"Men," she shot back.

"Touche," he said, bowing. "I better get ready, or I'll be standing at your door all morning."

"I wouldn't mind," she said lightly. "You're fun to talk to."

"I wouldn't mind either," he said, smiling, "but I got this thing called a job I might be late for. I kind of have to go to that."

"Best get on that," she said, winking. "I'll get ready as fast as I can."

He waved to her as he went to the room and she closed her door and slid down until she hit the floor with a thud.

She was quite inept when I came to stuff like this, but she was almost certain she'd just been flirting with her boss.

"So you've managed to get Arthur Pendragon under your thumb, too?"

Gwen almost shrieked again for the second time that morning, but she soon remembered exactly what she'd been doing before Arthur barged in.

"He's just doing me a favor," Gwen said, picking at the carpet as her cheeks burned. "It doesn't mean anything."

"He's into you like a train," Alvarr said, wriggling his brows. "He's usually nothing but professional with his employees, but he really likes you. How'd you manage it?"

He was sitting on her bed on his stomach with his head in his palms like an eager schoolgirl friend.

"Stop that," she said, a bit annoyed. "I haven't done anything. We're friends, nothing more."

"Uh huh," he said, not looking at all convinced, "And I'm Beyonce."

"Can you teach me the Single Ladies Dance?" she asked. "I've seen it on TVs all over the square. I've been dying to learn."

"Hardy Har," he said. "I guess I was asking for that."

"As fun as this was," she said, walking up behind him and shoving him towards her door, "I need to get dressed."

He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth.

"I know what you're going to ask," Gwen said, glaring at him. "Don't even."

"You're really no fun," he said, pouting. "Fine. This isn't over."

She shut the door in his face and started picking out what to wear.


After saying goodbye to Mordred and Morgana (and Alvarr, though Arthur didn't know about that), they walked down the drive way to Arthur's car.

She walked to the passengers side, but before she could open the door, Arthur stepped in front of her and opened it for her.

She didn't get in.

"You're driving?" she asked, crossing her hands over her chest. "Where's Charles?"

"He's taking a day off," he told her, looking confused. "What's the problem? You don't want me to drive?"

"The last person to drive me that wasn't Charles nearly gave me a heart attack," she told him, glancing at his sleek black BMW as though it would bite her. "I'm a little skeptical about rich people and driving."

"Just trust me," he said, taking her hand and helping her into seat. "If you feel unsafe at anytime, I'll pull over and we'll take a taxi."

He shut the door and sat down in his own seat, buckling his seat belt.

"If you're being extra nice to me because I'm writing this report," she said, eying him playfully, "you can quit it. I'm giving my honest opinion."

"I wouldn't ask for anything less," he said, turning the key in the ignition.

Gwen gripped the sides of her seat as he backed out and began to drive down the road.

"Gwen," he said looking over at her.

She kept her eyes closed, still frozen in her fear.

"Guinevere," he said more forcefully.

Gwen turned around with one eye open and saw that he stretched his hand out for her to hold. She took it gratefully. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at his profile. "I've driven with Charles, and I was fine. I just get scared sometimes, you know?"

"Your dad," Arthur said, slowly. "Gosh, Guinevere, I'm sorry. If I had known, I would have gotten Charles to drive us."

"But it's his day off—"

"He likes…never mind." He shook his head. "He'd take the day off if he heard it was for you. We'll leave it at that."

"You're not a bad driver," she said, relaxing in her seat. "Even if you are driving with one hand."

He laughed and this and tightened his fingers around hers as though challenging her to let go. She didn't.

"You mind if I turn on the radio?" she asked.

"As long as you don't listen to opera music or classical," he said, cringing.

"What's wrong with classical?" she asked. "I happen to like Beethoven. Mozart's was like the modern day Jay-Z. What's not to like?"

"I'll ignore the fact that you just compared Mozart to Jay-Z, simply because I can't wrap my head around your logic," he said, smiling a little. "You try liking classical music when your father made you take lessons every weekday for two hours."

"Ouch," she said sympathetically. "When did you have time to play outside with your friends?"

"I didn't really have friends," he said after an awkward pause. "I had Merlin."

"Merlin's a great friend," Gwen said, giggling. "You're always selling him short, but I know he's the one you'd call whenever you need a friend."

"Merlin is a great friend," Arthur agreed. "He's really all I had, growing up. Him and Morgana. Kids didn't really understand me, you know? I was a smart kid and… a little arrogant. It gave them all license to hate me."

"Must have been rough," she said squeezing his hand. "I can't imagine."

"I bet you had tons of friends," he said smiling wryly. "You probably had to make a schedule to choose which friend you'd hang out with."

"I did have a lot of friends," Gwen said, wistfully. "But when my dad died seven years ago and I didn't have a house to my name, none of them stuck by me. I lived on the streets for an entire year before I was able to get an apartment of my own. I got through college on a scholarship and have been working ever since to get a better apartment. I haven't seen any of my friends since the day my father died in that accident."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, frowning. "I didn't mean to… I thought since you're so cheery all the time…"

"I don't know what came over me," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry you had to hear that. I didn't really want you to find out about that."

"I like hearing about your life," he said, softly. "It helps me understand you more."

Gwen nodded and turned the radio to 94.7. She laid back in her chair feeling exhausted. She'd never told anyone about those seven years. There hadn't been anyone to tell really.

"Did you go to prom?" he asked. "Please tell me you went to prom at least."

She shook her head and looked away, feeling embarrassed.

"I didn't have time," she said, refusing to look at him. "I couldn't have any distractions. If I didn't get straight As, I wouldn't get my scholarship. It was really important to me."

"I'm sorry you missed it," he said, looking aghast. "It's a monumental high school experience."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It's one of my regrets, you know. Something I've always wished I could go back in time to do."

"When's your birthday?" he asked.

"December 7th," she said. "Why do you want to know?"

"Perfect," he said, under his breath. "Mine's on January 10th and Mordred's is in a few weeks on November 17th. "

"I hope you're not planning to do anything for me," she said, eying him warily. "You've done enough for me already."

"You can return the favor," he said. "I'm the birthday king. I always give the best presents and no one can stop me."

"You sound like Mordred," she said.

"Then I've taught him well," he said, putting the car in park. "We're here."

He took of his seatbelt and walked to the outside of her door to help her out. She was wearing a cast that made it easier for her to walk around. Merlin had whipped it out of the back of his trunk in the morning because he 'sensed she would need it'.

She was rather proud of her outfit, as well. She'd picked a short yellow halter dress with pearl earrings. She'd begged Merlin to let her wear one white heel so she could dress up. She hadn't gotten her pout to Arthur's level, but she could certainly give him a run for his money.

"How do I look?" she asked, smoothing her dress down. "Too much?"

"You don't look ordinary at all," Arthur frowned. "I'm going to have to work harder to dull you down."

She smiled and took the arm that he offered her and the two strolled in through the revolving doors of Pendragon Inc.


Mordred ran out of the school building as fast as he could, holding his picture gingerly in his hands. Per Gwen's instruction, he'd signed his name with the silver crayon. To Mordred, the silver crayon was sacred. Morgana had gotten him a glass-encased container for it to place on his dresser. He only used it in dire circumstances, like when adding the finishing touches to a rocket ship. Even the gold marker paled in comparison to its splendor.

He hoped Annie would appreciate it. It was the best drawing he'd ever made.

In his haste, he tripped over a rock sticking out of the grass and tumbled to the ground. Panicking, her reached towards his picture that had fluttered to the ground.

A shadow loomed over him and, before he could reach the picture, a pair of small white hands picked it up.

"Look at this!"

Gareth had arrived with five of his friends in tow. Mordred stood up and glared at him. Gareth was a third grader. He was bigger and stronger than Mordred, but not nearly as intelligent.

A brown skinned boy on his right laughed and pointed at the picture.

"It's so ugly," he said, wincing. "It looks like it was drawn by a cat or something!"

"Give that back!" Mordred exclaimed reaching for his picture. Gareth handed the picture to the black boy, sneering.

"Look at how he writes his name, Pellinore," he said, pointing at Mordred's loopy signature. "He's trying to be like his father!"

A third boy with dirty blond hair didn't say a word, he just punched Mordred in the jaw, watching in satisfaction as the boy sailed to the ground.

"Good hit, Owain," said Pellinore, looking impressed.

"Stay away from Annie," Gareth said, looking down at him. "She's my girlfriend. She said so at lunch two days ago. I gave her my coloring book and she gave me her hair ribbion. It's offishial."

"You're a freak," said Pellinore. "It was fine when you stayed alone, but now you're trying to steal our friends away! Stay on your side of the playground!"

Pellinore looked at Mordred's picture one last time before tearing it right down the middle. Mordred watched in shock as his picture fluttered to the ground in two torn pieces.

"Stay away, freak," said Owain, finally, giving him one more shove before giving his friends a high five and walking away together.

Mordred pressed his hand to his cheek and winced as he felt the pain shoot up his face. He stared at the two pieces halves of his picture in dismay. He'd spent hours getting the picture just right so he could give it to Annie and, in less than an instant, they had ruined it. Now Annie would never see it.

Got up and started to cry as the pain of his face and the pain of his heart finally got to him. He walked away from the picture and went to sit on the swing, holding his bruised cheek in his hand.

Mordred had never been hit in his life. Not by his father, and definitely not by any of the nannies. He'd hit them, kicked them, bit them, punched them, and scratched them, but he'd never thought about the pain he was causing them. He'd never felt just how painful it was to get hit by someone for no reason.

As he sat there, pondering his actions and the excruciating pain in his face, Annie noticed the torn picture on the ground, smiled at it, and folded the pieces and placed them in her pocket.

He sat there alone on the swing for the rest of the day as the other children played around him.


"And this," Arthur said, gesturing to a pair of frosted double doors, "is where our clinic is. It was set up in case someone got sick on the job."

"You've got a clinic, a small grocery store, and a pool in the same building," she said, counting the amenities off her fingers. "With all that, why would you ever want to come home?"

"This place," he said, looking around him, "makes me feel cold. Closed in, you know? I'd much rather stay home all day."

Pendragon Publishing Inc. was located in a building with 70 floors. They were now on the 67th floor, but Gwen was far from tired. Everything was so interesting! There were so many magazines. There was a magazine for love, for leisure, medicine, law, food, and even one dedicated to proper care of vegetables.

"This is the final magazine floor," Arthur explained as he led her around the room. "This is the conference area where they negotiate deals for our cover shoot models. These meetings are conducted months in advance."

The glass doors to the conference room were tinted so she regrettably couldn't see who was inside.

"We've had Madonna, Florence + the Machine, Shakira, and the entire cast of LOST this year," he said.

"Why couldn't you have brought me then," Gwen squeaked. "I would have killed to meet Josh Holloway."

"They came back in January," Arthur said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I didn't know you then, remember? Those were dark times."

She rolled her eyes. "If you keep giving me complements, I might just have to believe you."

"I think they're almost finished in there," Arthur said, gesturing to the shadows in the conference room that were moving around. "Hold your breath, I think it might be Lady Gaga."

The door opened and a very tall, dark, handsome man walked through the doors with all the pomp in the world. Gwen had watched enough Top Model to know the perfect strut and this man certainly had it down.

It was Lance…olt.

He stopped and turned in a very diva-ish way that caught Gwen offguard. She had not been expecting this. Not today.

"I do dance a lot," he said, turning around, "but I think that's a horrible tagline. I expect more from a magazine of this caliber. I may have to rethink this shoot."

His entourage followed him. There were six of them, three men, three women. All waxed and manicured and looking absolutely fabulous.

Lancelot stopped in his tracks when he saw her and sauntered over. And… good God... he was wearing leather pants.

"Pendragon," Lancelot said dismissively. "You know, you need to hire better features editors for your magazine and perhaps purchase a rhyming dictionary. They lack creativity and vision."

"I guess I'll think about it," said Arthur. Gwen could tell he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes at Lancelot.

"Who's this lovely woman?"

Gwen resisted the urge to gawk at him. Was he seriously going to act like he didn't know her?

"This is Guinevere," Arthur said, through gritted teeth. "She's here to submit a review of our office building."

The hand he had placed on her shoulder was now digging into her skin a little. She winced slightly.

"Nice to meet you, Lancelot," she said, barely containing her anger. "I've heard so much about you."

He lifted her hand to press his lips to it. "You have lovely hands. Ever thought about being a hand model?"

"Not that high on my list of careers, no," she said. "I'll get back to you on that one."

He lifted her hand over her head and twirled her around then dipped her low to the ground a la Shakira.

"Let's go out in a few weeks," he whispered in her ear.

She felt the anger wash away as she heard the normal timbre of his soothing voice instead of the indulgent whining voice of his pop persona.

"We need to talk first," she whispered. "This is just too weird."

He lifted her up. "Go out with me," he said, this time in his other voice. "I can take you dancing or buy you anything you like. I can show you my apartment."

"Guinevere's not that kind of girl, Lancelot," Arthur said, pulling her closer. "I don't think she'd be caught dead in your world."

Gwen and Lancelot locked eyes before Gwen dropped them in an instant. If the glance had lasted any longer, they would have given away their secret. They would continue pretending for now.

"Her loss," he said, winking at Gwen. "Maybe I'll see you around."

He walked past her, trailing his fingers over her back and eliciting another shiver down her back.

"I hate that guy," Arthur whispered when Lancelot was out of earshot. "I only work with him because circulation increases twenty percent when he's on the cover."

"I don't blame you," she said, pulling at the collar of her dress. "He seems like a handful."

She felt Arthur's hand on her shoulder and stopped walking as he peered into her face.

"Are you… blushing?" he asked astounded. "Please tell me you're not one of those girls who posts his picture on their walls and has a life-size doll of him in their beds."

"No!" she said, blushing even harder. "He just caught me off guard. You can't really blame me for being a little flustered."

She really hated lying to him, but she had to make sure what she had with Lance was actually serious before she told him.

He squeezed her shoulder and looked at her imploringly.

"Just forget about him, okay?" he told her. "Something about that guy doesn't sit right with me. I wouldn't want you to get hurt or anything. I'd punch his face in if he hurt you, but I'd rather skip the part where you get your heart broken."

God he was making her feel absolutely horrible for lying to him.

"Alright," she said. "I wasn't even thinking about going out with him, Arthur. I thought he was just joking."

"Why would you think that?" he asked as they walked into the elevator. "You look really nice. You had to have noticed the amount of attention you're getting."

She looked up at him in genuine surprise.

"Attention?" she asked. "You forget that I'm walking around with the head of the corporation. Of course they'll be paying attention."

"They're used to me walking around. Most of the time they turn away so I won't chastise them about not doing their work," he said, giving her the Manhattan 'once over'. "Trust me, they're looking at you."

She pulled down the hem of her dress and blushed prettily at him.

"Liar," she said, looking away. "I appreciate the compliment, though."

"I haven't let you out of my sight for a reason," Arthur told her. "There's a strict dress code here and your dress, though nice, is a couple inches shorter than what the women in our office wear."

"Oh my," she said, trying to pull her dress down again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I know that men will look at you no matter what you wear," he said, sheepishly, "so I figured I might as well let you wear whatever made you feel comfortable."

She punched him lightly on the shoulder, the compliment still lost on her.

"Quit messing with me," she said.

He lightly held the crook of her elbow between his fingers pulling her a little closer.

"I mean it," he said, looking down at her from his superior height. "You may not know it yet, Guinevere, but you're beautiful. I suppose the ignorance is part of your charm."

He pulled a loose curl behind her ear and she leaned into his touch, for once not denying his kind words.

The doors to the elevator slid open and Arthur dropped his hand.

"Erm," he said awkwardly. "This is our stop."

She hobbled after him, berating herself for getting caught up in the moment.

"This is where I spend most of my day," he said, gesturing to a circular office to the left.

As they approached his office, Gwen caught sight of Arthur's secretary, who gave her a very evil glare.

"Vivian, right?" Gwen asked, holding out a hand. "I met you at the party. I really liked your dress. Where'd you get it?"

"It's beyond anything you could ever afford," she said giving Gwen a once over. "I don't trust your tastes what with your trashy outfit. You look like a lemon in heat."

Gwen felt her blood boiling, but knew better than to stop to such a juvenile level.

"You're right," she said. "I probably couldn't afford it. I probably should have never asked because you're incapable of an iota of kindness. I still liked the dress even though the person wearing it could use some manners."

"What have I told you about being rude to my guests, Vivian," Arthur finally said. "Keep it up and I'll fire you regardless of what your father says."

"Yes my lov—I mean, Mr. Pendragon, sir," she said, suddenly leaning forward with interest.

Arthur shook his head in embarrassment and led Gwen into his office, shutting the door behind him.

"I'm so sorry about her," he said, collapsing into his desk chair. "She doesn't know when to keep her mouth closed or to use her brain. I'm beginning to doubt she has one anymore."

"It's alright," Gwen said, hopping onto the desk next to him. "I've dealt with worse."

"I'm sorry for you, then," he said sympathetically. "I wish we could have met sooner. I could have—"

"If we'd met sooner," she said, staring at the wall over her head, "I'd be your charity case rather than your friend. I like it better this way. My father always said that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I believe him now. I would be a different person if I hadn't worked to get where I am."

When Arthur realized he couldn't argue with that, he began shuffling through his papers. As he did so, his elbow grazed her side and she jumped up a little, biting her lip.

He looked at her strangely before continuing to shuffle through his papers to find the form Gwen needed to fill out before writing her review. His elbow touched her side again and, again, she jumped, this time eliciting a little giggle.

He looked at her. She looked at him, inching away from him on the desk.

"You're very ticklish, aren't you?" he asked her, letting the papers fall from his grasp.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about," he said, looking at her side.

"Only on two parts of my body," she said inching away from him even further.

He grabbed her wrist and she gasped.

"Arthur," she said, slowly. "Don't. You. Dare. I'm warning you."

Before she could stop him, he pounced. She tried to jump of the desk, but his hold on her wrist was too tight. His hands tickled her sides and the giggles erupted from her before she could stop them. She fell back against the hard cherry wood surface of his desk as her body wracked with laughter.

"Oh god!" she managed to say through her laughter. "You…stop! Right this…minute!"

He towered over her, relentlessly attacking her sides with his fingers. She felt her back arch up as she giggled, begging him to stop.

In a few moments, he'd stopped ticking her and his hands seemed to just rest at her sides, right below the curve of her breasts.

Laughter faded away, replaced by an odd silence. She looked at him as she lay on the bed, her chest heaving and her legs dangling over his desk. This was dangerous territory.

His hands traced down the curve of her body under her dress and landed right at the hip. He was leaning over her, so closely that she could see the strands of his short blond hair. He didn't move any closer he only moved a hand to touch her hair, which had spread flat against the desk. They just stared at each other, neither willing to cross the line.

Gwen was the first to come to her senses. She sat up and watched as Arthur's hands fell to his sides.

She hopped down from the desk and hopped around to the other side to plop herself down in the chair across from her boss.

She couldn't claim that what had just transpired between them had been innocent and she wasn't sure what to do about that just yet. She was certain of one thing: it would take her months to forget the feeling of his warm hands radiating through her dress.

"So about that paper," she asked awkwardly. "I would like to start writing that review as soon as possible."

He reached for her hand across the desk.

"Guinevere, I—"

There was a knock on the door and Arthur's arm dropped right back down to his side.

"Come in," he said, clearing his throat and still looking right at her.

Uther Pendragon walked in, closing the door behind him. Arthur immediately sat up in his chair as he approached.

He was a man of about sixty with salt and pepper hair. He carried himself with an air of grace and Gwen had in inexplicable urge to curtsy. This urge was overpowered by a sense of familiarity. This man was a stranger to her, but she felt like she'd seen him somewhere before.

"Father," he said, nodding to him. "What's the problem?"

Uther glanced at Gwen and she felt his eyes widen a little before he turned back to his son.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your," he looked at her haphazard state with a snear before continuing, "friend?"

"Dad," Arthur said stiffly, "this is Guinevere. She's the nanny I told you about. The girl whose lasted the longest so far."

"She doesn't look like much," he said, speaking as if she couldn't hear him. "Mordred should have broken her down by now."

"Not, yet," Arthur said.

"Pity," Uther said, still scrutinizing her appearance. "You wouldn't want Mordred to pick up any of the bad habits akin to people of her class. It would be a pain to reeducate the boy."

Gwen bit her lip as the tears stung her eyes. She looked to Arthur. He just nodded. He didn't say anything in response. Was he too ashamed to defend her in front of his own father?

"I never bother with help," Uther said. "That was always your mother's—"

Gwen slammed her hands on Arthur's desk causing both men to jump a little.

"I may not be rich, sir," Gwen said, standing up to face Arthur's father, "but at least I can afford to have some manners!"

"I would hold your tongue—"

"No," Gwen said, shaking her head in anger. "How dare you sit here and talk about wealth when your wealth comes from people like me. Without the lower class where would you be? You should be grateful—"

"How many seconds, Arthur?"

"Fifty-five," he said, whistling. "That's a new record."

"Wha?" said Gwen, still feeling thoroughly miffed.

"Usually my nannies don't blow up at my father," said Arthur, running his hand through his hair. "It's his test to see how good you are for Mordred. Only one other person spoke up after about five minutes of abuse. The rest didn't say a word."

"I trust you'll take care of my grandson," Uther said, eying her with a little respect. "You've got some nerve, I can tell."

"Thanks, Mr. Pendragon, sir," she said, feeling embarrassed. "I'm sorry I said those things to you."

"I take no offense," he said smiling a little, "You meant me no ill."

Arthur mouthed 'sorry' before turning back to his father expectantly.

"I've handed over this company to you son," Uther said, eying him wryly, "under the condition that I still get mailed a copy of all the expense reports! I still have other companies to run and I'm still keeping track of this one."

Gwen leaned back in her chair as father and son argued about things she had no knowledge of, all inklings of her encounter pushed to the back of her mind.


Lily Allen's 'Smile' played in the car as Arthur drove them back home. This time, Gwen kept her hands in her lap as she played with the hem of her dress. Neither of them had spoken a word about their odd encounter in his office and Gwen definitely wasn't going to be the first to break the comfortable silence. It would disappear into time like fanny packs and polka dotted bow ties.

"Your father is… interesting," Gwen said. "I thought he really meant what he said."

"He used to be such a hard man," Arthur said, sighing. "I was terrified of him, always searching for his approval. He's really changed since—"

He didn't continue, as though the sentence was causing him physical pain.

"He seems to like you, anyway," Arthur said. "Which is a surprise, since he usually hates my nannies. Ever since #157 said he was an old man…"

"What number am I?" Gwen asked, narrowing her eyes. "Don't even think about lying to me."

"438," he said wincing. "To be fair, Mordred goes through nannies like a plate of cookies."

"Fair enough," Gwen said. "Do you have a jersey for me or something? Or a sweatshirt?"

"You think you're clever," Arthur told her. "Would you like one?"

"I would, actually," she said, looking up at him sheepishly.

"If you open the glove compartment," Arthur said, "I'm sure you'll find something you have more use for."

Eying him suspiciously, she opened the compartment to find something wrapped in silver paper sitting in the back.

"It's not my birthday," she protested. "Why're you giving me—"

"Open it," he told her, chuckling. "Don't worry, I'm not throwing money at you. This is something I owe you after all."

She removed the package from the compartment and carefully removed the paper surrounding it. A gasp slipped from her mouth as the paper fell to the floor.

He'd gotten her an iPhone.

"Before you tell me you can't keep it or something silly like that," Arthur said, "look at the case."

She turned the phone over and nearly dropped it as she started to laugh. The case was lime green (how'd he known her favorite color?), with the numbers 438 engraved in white in the center. The name 'Guinevere' was engraved over the letters in the same block print.

"How did you—?"

"You wear quite a bit of green," Arthur said. "I needed to get you a new phone after the other one broke. I just put two and two together. It's no jersey, but—"

"I love it," she said, admiring the consideration that went into the gift.

She leaned over and pressed a light kiss on her cheek, forgetting for a moment that she was sitting with her boss rather than just a dear friend.

The car swerved a little to the side before Arthur gained control again.

"Guinevere," he said tentatively as he kept his eyes on the road, "about what happened in the office today…"

She looked at him expectantly, glad she didn't have to say something about it.

"…I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

"Understood," she said.

She didn't know why she suddenly felt disappointed. What they had almost done would have been wrong for many reasons. Lancelot, Mordred, and their employee employer relationship to name a few.

But if it was wrong, why didn't she feel guiltier about it?

"You're my son's nanny," Arthur continued, sighing, "My son would never understand. Our top priority should be to him. He'll really resent you if something like that…happens again."

"You don't have to explain," Gwen said. "After all, we didn't do anything, Arthur. It was just a moment between friends. It's nothing we should worry about really. I mean, you were just trying to…cheer me up. It didn't mean anything."

Arthur gripped the steering wheel harder as he drove. She must of thought it was completely innocent, but in reality he'd wanted to lean over and kiss her on the desk for hours. He wished he could tell her, make her understand that in that moment, he'd not been thinking about her like a friend and it had meant something.

"Right," was all he said as he pulled into the driveway. "Just wanted to clear the air before we got home."

She removed her seatbelt. "Good idea," she said, curtly. "Glad we got the elephant out of the way."

"Uh huh."

"Yeah."

He walked around to open the door for her and this time, when he helped her out of the car, the tow of them were hyper aware of the way their skin touched.

I have a boyfriend, Gwen chanted inwardly, a super hot superstar boyfriend who looks great in leather pants. What more could a girl ask for?

"After you," said Arthur, looking a little shaken.

They walked in silence to the front of the house and Arthur rang the doorbell several times.

It was Morgana who rushed to the door.

"Thank God you're home," Morgana said, looking frantic. "Mordred's locked himself up in your room, Gwen. I was hoping you had the key. He's been up there since he came back from school."

Arthur was about to run up the stairs to her room, but Gwen held up a hand to stop him.

"Let me handle this one," she said.

"I want to at least be at the door," Arthur said, looking extremely worried. "In case you can't console him."

Gwen limped up the stairs as quickly as she could and Arthur followed quickly beside her. When they reached the door, Gwen gave Arthur a reassuring look before unlocking her door and closing it behind her.

Mordred sat on her bed with his hands on his knees, staring at the ceiling. He looked up when she came in, and she noticed the bruise on the side of his cheek.

"What happened to you?" Gwen asked, rushing over as fast as her injured leg could take her. "Who did this?"

"I'm a monster, Gwen," he told her, looking up at her with his wide blue eyes.

"No," she said, sitting down next to him on her bed, "You're not the monster. The monster is the one who did this to you."

This did nothing to console him. It made him cry even harder.

"All I've wanted is for the nannies to go away so I can be with daddy," Mordred said through tears. "I wanted to hurt them so they'd never come back. But if I'd knowned how bad it hurt to get hit, I would have never done it!"

She couldn't believe it. Someone had given the boy a taste of his own medicine and, after all this time, the boy was actually feeling sorry for the things he'd done.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," he said, launching himself at her. "I'm sorry I hit you. I'm sorry I burneded you and threw the thermomometer at your head! I'm sorry I hurted you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

"Shh," she said, hugging him fiercely. "It's okay. You didn't know better. I'm glad whoever hurt you didn't do more damage."

"If you promise not to take daddy away from me," said Mordred, still crying, "I promise I won't hurt you so much anymore."

So much?

Eh, it was a start.

"I promise I won't take your daddy away," she said. "Now will you tell me what happened to your face?"

She gestured for Arthur to come in. As soon as he sat down, Mordred sat in his father's lap and told them the story of what happened on the playground.

"When I get my hands on those horrid kids," Gwen vowed, "they'll wish they never crossed you. Kids can be so—"

She was about to say 'cruel' before she remembered who she was speaking to.

"You've got to show him who's boss," she said. "Go grab a crayon and some paper. We're going to get back at them for what they've done."

Mordred ran out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him. He'd never been one to miss out on making plans. He'd get to use the silver crayon twice in two days. It was unheard of.

"Why don't we just call the school?" Arthur asked, baffled. He'd never seen this side of her before.

"Oh, we will," she said, with a glint in her eye. "But Mordred's got to show those kids who's boss around the playground. There will be no violence involved, of course."

"Aren't you taking this too far?"

"They mess with Mordred," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "They mess with me."

"There's no stopping you I suppose," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Oh, I do," she said, nodding. "Would you mind getting the ice and some ice cream from the freezer?"

"Ice Cream?"

"It's the perfect food when hatching a plan," she said, rather unconvincingly.

"You're full of it," he said smirking. "You just want an excuse to eat ice cream."

"Your point?"

Gwen felt relieved that the awkwardness had dissipated. She didn't want to give up her friendship with Arthur forever for a moments indulgence in what she was now certain was a mutual attraction.

Arthur paused as he walked away, narrowing his eyes slightly at the guest room near the stairs. When he opened the door, the room was dark and, as far as he could tell, there was no one there.

He could have sworn he had heard a familiar voice say 'whipped' under his breath.


Longest chapter in this story's history! Poor Mordred! Poor Gwen! Poor Arthur! I was mean to practically everyone except the Morgana, Alvarr, and the characters you didn't see.

Mordred's seen some kind of light but, honestly, how long do you think that's going to last. Gwen's promise was rather half-hearted after all. After their almost-kiss, how will she be able to keep away?

Lance, who? :) He'll show up again next chapter and there will be some jealousy, which I love.

I was able to finish this chapter because I had a bit of free time, but I won't be updating as quickly since I have a new job now. I'll try to get them up as quickly as possible.

As always let me know what you think and thanks for reading!

Miki-hime

::The title of this Chapter comes from the Brandy song of the same name. (One of my favorite. Bittersweet, like this chapter)::