Title: The Man with the Dragon Tattoo – Chapter Seven.

Author: Woodland Goddess

Rated: M

Author's Note: Thanks to everybody's who's been following this fic so far; I hope you've been enjoying it.

Chapter Seven: Somebody's Eyes

When Merlin woke it was to the King of all Hangovers. For several long moments he did not dare move lest he aggravate his self-inflicted condition, but in the end nature called and he struggled to get out of bed, legs still tangled in his sheets. It was only sheer force of will that kept him from falling on his face. Slowly, carefully, his head pounding and his eyes narrowed in a pained squint, Merlin untangled his legs and, clad in only his underwear, staggered out of the bedroom – a room he most certainly could not remember stumbling in to the night before.

He moved around the unfamiliar hallway, pushing open doors, trying to locate the bathroom. Each room he peeked into, however, made him shut the door hastily; there were sleeping men sprawled across the beds, in various states of undress. Normally, his hormones would cheerlead at the sight of such a thing, but these were his friends and they were most certainly off-limits. When he finally found the bathroom, pushing the door open, his jaw fell through the floor at the sight that met him.

Arthur stood there, leaning over the sink, hands braced against the gleaming porcelain. His hair was a tousled mess and his face looked to be freshly shaven. The only item of clothing he wore was a pair of dark blue boxer shorts. Merlin's brain promptly dribbled out his ear, leaving only enough mental faculties to note the way certain muscles were bunched, the way his skin was golden, the way there was a hint of a tattoo visible under the strands of blond hair at the back of his neck, the way there was not even a stray hair dusting Arthur's chest or lower torso. It went so far as to wonder whether there were any providing a nest for his...

The train of conscious thought derailed there, after hurtling around a sharp bend at full speed. All Merlin could do was stare as Arthur swished mouthwash around his mouth a few times before spitting it into the sink, grimacing at the lingering heat and flavour. The man turned on the cold tap and washed it all down the drain. "Usually people apologise for causing a disturbance and walk back out of the bathroom, you know." The tone was light, but even Merlin, hung-over as he was, knew there was something subtle buried in there, though at the moment he could not fathom what it could possibly be.

"Uh..."

Slowly and torturously, Arthur straightened and half-turned towards him, the muscles dancing under his golden skin. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. That damnable smirk; Merlin did not know whether he wanted to kiss it or punch it off his ridiculously handsome, arrogant face. That had always been his problem, that indecision. Blue eyes sparkled with quiet and very mocking mirth. Both, Merlin decided; he wanted to do both. He did neither, of course; he knew better than to try. "A speechless Merlin; I never thought I'd see the day. I'll have to get you drunk more often if this is the result."

"What makes you think my brain didn't flee in terror at the sight of your ugly face?"

If anything, Arthur's smirk broadened at the comment. The man shrugged one shoulder with a grace that Merlin could never achieve. Blue eyes flicked downwards and back up, narrowing slightly, getting closer as Arthur stepped forward. "You look like death warmed over," he said, throwing tact out the window.

"And you'd know," retorted Merlin, eyebrows knitting together in an irritated scowl. Arthur froze mid-step, his entire body tensing, and Merlin stopped breathing as he realised what he had just said. Just hold me; the words flashed across his mind, forcibly ejecting all trace of his hangover. Swallowing thickly, he squeezed his eyes shut against the surge of pain and misery and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Ashamed of himself, he turned his face away. "I'm sorry; that was uncalled for." He told himself his voice held no tremble, though he knew it was a lie.

Without a word Arthur shouldered past him roughly, almost knocking him over, leaving behind a lingering scent of honey, mint and something subtle that made Merlin's cock twitch in interest and his stomach tighten as he inhaled a deep lungful of it. Merlin whirled around, eyes snapping open to see Arthur stalk down the corridor like an angry cat. It was amazing how badly a person could fuck up when they had a hangover. Merlin let his head hit the doorframe, hard, and squeezed his eyes shut as he clenched his jaw. Idiot, he thought self-deprecatingly and then felt a little winded, for the reprimanding voice sounded remarkably like Arthur.

Sighing, he slipped fully in to the bathroom and shut the door. He took quick care of his business, washed his hands and rinsed his mouth out with mouthwash several times before retreating to the room he had woken up in. His clothes from the night before were strewn all over the floor. The scent of stale alcohol that still clung to them made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. He reluctantly pulled them on, knowing he had no other choice, leaving his shoes for last. Finally, he ran his hands through his messy hair, attempting to make himself at least somewhat presentable.

He went off in search of the kitchen, only to falter in the doorway. Arthur was in there, dressed in his clothes from the previous day, but still devastatingly beautiful. The man scowled at him and sipped at the steaming cup of coffee he held in his hand. Percy, in the middle of frying breakfast for six people, glanced over his shoulder and seemed to notice the tension that had arisen upon Merlin's arrival. "Take a seat," he said, tossing his head in the direction of the table. Merlin hesitated, eyeing the way Arthur turned his head away, avoiding looking at him completely. It was a painful reminder of Arthur's reaction when Merlin had first showed him his magic.

Eventually, he did as he was told, settling in to the chair opposite his former King. "Any chance you've got some tea bags?" Merlin asked, flicking his gaze in the direction of the gentle giant in an effort to alleviate the weight of Arthur's avoidance. Wordlessly Percy pointed towards a cupboard with the spatula in his large hand. His eyes flashed gold and the kettle moved towards the sink, the cold tap twisting; water filled the appliance. The tap turned itself off once the water had reached a decent level and the kettle returned to its base, flicking itself on immediately.

"Handy trick, that," said Percy idly, glancing at Merlin as a pan full of sausages sizzled in melted butter.

"I don't think so; it's just an excuse to be lazy."

"Arthur –"

"Shut up, Merlin."

"No, I bloody won't shut up, you prat; I said I was fucking sorry. You don't need to attack sorcery just because I put you in a bad mood; you're better than that."

"You guys have a lovers' tiff or something?"

"We're not lovers," protested Arthur, even as Merlin dived in to a rant that went something like this: How the fuck can you even say that? Arthur's not a bloody man-whore – not much of one, anyway. Plus, Gwen'd have our fuckin' bollocks served on a damned plate if we ever tried – which we wouldn't. She might look cute and innocent, but there's a lion in there waiting to rip my face off for even looking at him sideways! The rant might have continued in that manner had Arthur not turned to stare at him like he was out of his mind. "What the hell does Gwen have to do with anything? And too right I'm not a man-whore; I have some class, you know!"

"I – what? She's your fiancée! Lance said you're getting married next weekend! You gave me the invitation to the wedding, just yesterday!"

There was a moment of stunned silence and suddenly Arthur was laughing, the sound warm and bright and doing things to Merlin that he could hardly even explain. The skin around his eyes crinkled as the mirth rolled through him. His body shook. His toned pectorals trembled with the motion beneath his shirt, but only slightly – still, it was oddly hypnotic. Merlin struggled not to stare. Luckily for him, Arthur's head tipped back slightly before his entire body folded, flopping down onto the table for support. Fortunately, he did not knock his coffee. Gradually, the full-bodied laughter devolved to a few snorts before silence reigned once more.

Eventually the man straightened once more and wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "Oh, Merlin; you are precious." When Merlin only stared in response, utterly blindsided by the remark, Arthur eyed him curiously. "You really have no idea, do you?" The humour had long since dried up, leaving a desert wasteland in its wake. "Gwen's not my..." he started to say, but fell silent, only to try again. "Gwen and I never...let's just say, Lance is and always will be her first choice."

"Arthur..."

The man in question shook his head, his mouth tightening fractionally at whichever thought was now racing through his mind. Arthur said nothing more, opting instead to sip his coffee in relative silence. The discussion was quite clearly over and would not be reopened. The sizzle of meat in the frying pan and the scent of breakfast filled the kitchen, lending a pleasant atmosphere to the room. The kettle boiled during the silence, the click somewhat loud. Merlin's eyes flashed gold and the necessary items began preparing themselves, the finished cup of tea landing gently down on the table in front of him. "So...how did your time with Mr Smooth go, last night?"

"Um, good." His cheekbones flared with an incriminating blush. He ducked his head. "His pick-up lines were fandom-related."

Blue eyes sparkled with mirth. "Harry Potter?"

Merlin grinned, almost to himself, and took a sip of tea. "Supernatural, actually." Arthur's mouth lifted in an amused and somewhat impressed smirk; it was clear he was familiar with the programme. "Although, you know, Harry Potter was mentioned, of course, once I told him my name. It was kind of expected, considering the guy's name was Harry."

"Whose wand is bigger?" The pair of them looked up, startled at the question, to see Gwaine strolling in to the kitchen, the fingers of one hand scratching idly at his lower belly. The brush of fingers against wiry hair was audible as they moved through his happy trail. His eyes were slightly blood shot, the skin around them lightly bruised, but the grin on his face was dirty, as usual. The tart was wearing only his trousers from the day before, which hung low on his hips attractively. If Arthur had not been in the room Merlin's mind might have been blown to pieces.

"None of your business, you pervert."

Gwaine took a seat beside Merlin, half-sprawling across it as he rested one arm against the back of Merlin's chair and one arm on the chair on his opposite side. "Oh, so you found out, then?" A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Arthur. "You should take some lessons from this one, Princess; all work, and no play, makes Jack a dull boy." The man in question glared at Gwaine and then glanced down at his steaming coffee, as if he were contemplating throwing it at him. But he obviously decided Gwaine was not worth wasted coffee and sipped at it instead.

"I didn't find out anything," Merlin protested, that damnable blush returning to his cheeks instantly.

The man actually looked affronted by that piece of information. "Why not?!"

"I –"

Arthur sipped his coffee again, almost casually. "Don't feed the tart, Merlin."

"Fuck off, Arthur." Gwaine aimed a hard kick under the table, but got Merlin instead.

"Ow! You pillock!"

"Now, look what you've done."

"Shite. Sorry, Merlin. I can kiss it better if you –"

"Fuck off, Gwaine," said Arthur and Merlin simultaneously, the latter throwing the former a grateful grin.

"Oh, my God; shut up, the lot of you," groaned Lance, stumbling in to the kitchen with a hand on his head. "Wankers." He looked horrible, but that was no surprise; the man had not exactly taken it easy on the drinks the night before. Percy laughed in the background and Lance groaned even louder, lifting his second hand to his head. "Where's the paracetamol?" The gentle giant pointed to a cupboard with his spatula, just like he had done for Merlin, and Lance grunted his gratitude. He filled a glass with cold water and washed the tablets down in quick succession. He whimpered. "Remind me never to drink again."

"Never drink again," chorused Arthur, Gwaine and Percy. Loudly. It was obviously something that happened every time they went drinking, because the three of them wore a decidedly fond and amused expression on their faces. Lance groaned and claimed that he hated them all. Merlin could hardly help the grin that danced across his mouth; the man was too adorable for words. Gwen was a lucky woman. After a moment Arthur looked at him. "So, Merlin, what are your plans for the day?"

"To go home and house-sit, since I was rudely interrupted last night." He shrugged and sipped his tea. "I might visit Gaius, though; today's his day off and we don't get to see each other as often as I'd like." The way Arthur's eyes lit up was utterly unexpected and made his stomach do an absurd little flip-flop.

"Forget house-sitting," said Leon as he, too, entered the kitchen. "It's been years since I've seen Gaius! We'll all go; we can take the time to stop off to change our clothes and freshen up, though. I can't imagine Gaius would be impressed with us if we showed up smelling like stale booze." Merlin sighed, but he was not bothered enough to argue. In all honesty, he rather enjoyed spending his time with them, though he would never admit it aloud. "And afterwards you can come up to Caerleon with us."

"I don't think –"

"Just face it, Merlin; now that we've found you we're not letting you go. You're ours and always will be," interrupted Gwaine before Merlin could really protest the idea of being dragged up to Wales. "You belong with us and you can't deny it; you've hardly stopped grinning since we absconded with you last night." The others all made noises of agreement and Arthur went so far as to tip his head forward, blue eyes glinting intensely. Shaking his head and smiling, Merlin drank a mouthful of his tea in answer. Though he seemed to be a thoughtless man, who flirted with everything that breathed, nothing really got past Gwaine; he was too observant for his own good.

"You wouldn't believe how much we had to pester Arthur in the early days," laughed Percy, turning the hob off and heaping a plate with fried food. He grabbed several more plates from the cupboard and carried them all to the table, before fetching cutlery and a roll of Plenty – just in case. "He thought we were right lunatics when we started following him after we bumped into him at the academy. He cursed like a bloody sailor and punched Gwaine in the face because the stupid git wouldn't stop making comments about his commanding gait and domineering attitude. Claimed he was a Dominatrix in disguise, Gwaine did."

"It was hilarious," continued Gwaine, a grin on his face, "even if he did break my nose."

"You deserved it, you arse," Arthur retorted as everyone began piling food onto their plates. Gwaine and Merlin had a fork fight for the last sausage while the others burst in to raucous cheers, egging on their preferred champions, but the latter cheated and made the former's utensil slip from his hand with a flash of gold eyes. Merlin stabbed the sausage victoriously and grinned cheekily as Gwaine jokingly called him a fucker and went diving to save his fork from the floor. Merlin had never felt more at home in his life.

Lance eyed Merlin over a forkful of fried egg. "Remind me never to let you near a dice game." The egg, then, disappeared into his mouth as he continued to eye him, almost suspiciously.

"Too late," groused Arthur, earning a snort of amusement from Leon and a unified bark of laughter from Gwaine and Percy. The sorcerer flashed a look of wide-eyed innocence at the man but it was ruined when he started chuckling, remembering Arthur's instance that he was throwing him off with his coughing. Breakfast continued in this manner, the men exchanging catty comments and laughing at one another and getting to know each other some more, grinning broadly with a happiness that was felt universally among them.

During the meal, Merlin learned; Arthur had been highly affronted to be offered the role of Santa in a primary school musical and had made his teacher cry with a series of barbed words for thinking he was fat, he had also been named the Godfather of Morgana's daughter, Amber; Leon had fought and died during the Second World War, only to crawl out of his grave three days after his burial and being forced to wait thirty years before coming in to the public eye as his own son – his wife, having remained widowed and unmarried, had been so happy to see him alive that she partook in the farce, as long as she got to spend time with him, for she had missed him so; Lance had met Gwen in a sweet shop, bumping in to her as he rushed to find a suitable gift for Mother's Day; Gwaine had promptly kicked the shit out of a guy that tried to bully him in secondary school, resulting in hero-worship from the previous victims – this did not surprise Merlin in the slightest; Percy had two brothers, one of which was in prison on rape charges. Needless to say, they were not on speaking terms.

Of Merlin, they learned many things; he had signed up for tennis camp when he was twelve and, after a mishap with the paperwork, had ended up in the advanced class by mistake and as a result got bashed repeatedly with tennis balls because he was so woefully uncoordinated; he had his head flushed down the toilet during secondary school – this made Arthur's eyes burn with something that suggested vengeance would be taken but Merlin convinced himself he was misinterpreting the expression; he had once tied his bike – now way, way too small for him – to the back of his father's car and ended up with a broken leg when the car took a sharp turn and he ended up in the ditch.

The men looked as though they were torn between wincing in sympathy and laughing at his misfortune but Merlin was sure the latter was closer to becoming a reality. They always had enjoyed taking the piss out of him, but then he had loved doing the same. He still loved it now, in fact, though he had known them for such a short while in this life. They were the same bonds, written in new manuscripts, but carrying with it that sense of history, that sense of a countdown; it was thrilling...and terrifying. The thought of losing Arthur again, of losing any of them again...it was unthinkable, yet Kilgharrah had claimed his life would always run in a pattern.

After breakfast, those who were still only half-dressed finished doing so and Merlin exchanged glances with Arthur as Percy left the room, muttering about his neighbour's cat invading his flower bed. "I really am sorry, you know," said Merlin as he shoved his empty tea cup away, "for earlier."

"We don't need to talk about it –"

"But we do," he insisted, interrupting the man. When Arthur opened his mouth to respond, Merlin raised a hand in the air, a universal indicator that he needed Arthur to let him speak his mind. "I need you to know I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It isn't...I never...I meant everything I said that day; I swear it." Blue eyes burned across the table at him, threatening to rip the breath from his lungs. "I wasn't lying when I said you were my friend, that I couldn't..." Merlin swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut against the rising swell of sentiment as the memories seared across his mind again, etching themselves permanently in to his thoughts.

"Merlin."

The name was uttered so quietly his attention was drawn automatically. His eyes slipped open. Something tender and fragile lived in Arthur's gaze for the briefest moment before it vanished so suddenly it was as if it had never been there in the first place. "Yes?"

"Shut up." With all the grace of a King, Arthur rose from his chair, rinsed out his cup at the sink and put it in the dishwasher, the muscles flexing under his clothes quite noticeably. Merlin called him a prat under his breath and Arthur must have heard, for he smirked on his way out the door. Shaking his head, Merlin moved over to the sink and rinsed out his cup; it quickly joined Arthur's. He sat back down and, smiling, waited for the others to be ready. It was not long at all before they were all piling in to Percy's pick-up, making themselves comfortable.

The first to get the chance to get out of his clothes and have a hasty shower was Merlin, followed by Lance, Gwaine, Leon, saving Arthur for last. Then it was on to Gaius' house, the address of which Merlin did not even need to supply because Gwaine had done some research – he had almost fainted when he heard that and promptly got an elbow in the ribs from the man, who was only jokingly offended. Merlin led the way to the front door, Arthur coming up quickly beside him, a hair's breadth away.

The warmth of his presence, too damn close but also too far away, caused goose bumps to erupt on Merlin's skin. Ignoring his body's reactions to Arthur's proximity to him was quickly becoming a full-time job, just as it had been back in the day. Mouth tightening fractionally, Merlin rang the doorbell. Several moments passed and he was already contemplating the idea of fleeing when the door was wrenched open from the inside. "If you're another bloody salesman, I'm going to kick you in the – oh, hello!"

Gaius blinked in surprise, irritation rapidly fading. The man's face brightened, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "My boys! Come in, come in!" He stepped back and allowed them entrance in to his home. Once the door closed there were many hugs and back-slapping to be had. The most heartfelt embrace was from Arthur, however, who clutched the man tightly, surprising the old doctor. Gaius slapped his shoulder lightly. "It's good to see you, too, Sire. Tea?" The former King inclined his head regally and allowed Gaius to lead them in to the living room.

Something warm settled in the pit of Merlin's stomach. Had Gwen and Elyan been with them, it would have been almost like home. Like Camelot, his mind corrected automatically, voice tinged with slight irritation. Home was in London, with his father, not an ancient citadel that had crumbled to dust centuries ago. Gaius disappeared in to the kitchen, pottering around noisily while Merlin and the others settled down in the comfortable and inviting chairs spread out in the living room. He ended up sitting next to Arthur, the man's arm thrown across the back of the couch as if he owned the place.

Merlin glanced sideways at him, discreetly admiring the way the fabric of his shirt stretched tight across his chest. The man's face was slightly turned to the side; he was engaged in conversation with Leon. The shadow beneath the curve of his jaw was tantalising. Swallowing thickly, he tore his gaze away. It would not do to dwell on things...on Arthur, for he was as likely to get entangled with him as Unicorns were to vomit rainbows – and Merlin would know, considering he had met one once...before Arthur killed it, despite Merlin's protestations. It was that realisation, back in Camelot, that had rendered him even capable of speech in Arthur's presence, once he started to get to know him – the real him, not the hardened, arrogant Uther-clone he had tried to be.

The man who would risk his life for that of a servant, the man who believed he served his people as much as they served him, the man who would ask what bothered you though words had never been his strong point, the man who would deign to sit on the floor because a servant was unhappy, the man who would count the days you never smiled; that was the man...the King that Merlin had grown to love. He would continue to love him from afar and in silence, surviving on discreet glances, brief, meaningless touches and the strength of their friendship.

When Gaius returned, bearing a tray laden with tea, sugar, milk, home-made biscuits and scones and muffins, jams, butter and cutlery, Merlin was relieved. His body acting entirely out of lingering habit from his previous life, he shifted forward and lifted the teapot, pouring tea into the assembled mugs, oblivious to the muted startled light that shone in Arthur's eyes. "Cheers, Merlin," said Gwaine, grinning around a mouthful of chocolate muffin as he reached for the cup nearest to him. He poured milk in first and dumped in what seemed to be half the sugar bowl before stirring smoothly.

Merlin stared as Gwaine raised the mug to his lips and sipped, eyes drifting closed in pleasure. Shaking his head, a small smile pulling at his lips, Merlin began preparing his own cup. Beside him, Arthur did the same, taking considerably less sugar and more milk in his tea than anyone else in the room. Merlin helped himself to a blueberry muffin and flicked a glance sideways; the former king claimed a scone, his large hand deftly selecting a butter knife from the pile on the tray. The cutting motions were precise; hardly a crumb was lost in the endeavour. Butter and raspberry jam were generously slathered over the scone-halves.

Everything was done with a masculine grace that left him feeling decidedly envious. Frowning, Merlin broke off a piece of his muffin and popped it in to his mouth, fingers grazing his lips lightly. A blissful smile graced his face, then, for the muffin was perfect. Alice had always been a wonderful cook and cake had always been a speciality of hers. Gaius was a lucky man to have snatched her up so early enough in his life; it had taken her off the market for other men with sweet teeth.

Merlin flicked his gaze around the room; Gaius was munching happily on a scone; Leon was devouring a sticky toffee muffin with relish; Percy was going doe-eyed over a scone smothered in marmalade; Lance seemed unable to stop stuffing biscuits into his mouth, chewing contentedly, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. A grin danced across Merlin's face and he was pretty certain his eyes were sparkling in a Dumbledore-esque manner in that moment. If Gwen and Elyan had been there, the moment would have been perfect.

Over tea, they chatted about everything and anything. When Lance mentioned his and Gwen's coming nuptials, Gaius had given him a hug and a congratulatory slap on the back. The man did glance in Merlin's direction briefly, one imperious eyebrow arched quizzically, though the young sorcerer had no idea why. It was not as though Merlin had had anything to do with it; they had been engaged for four years before Merlin had ever waltzed in to Pendragon Investigations.

When Arthur had polished off his third scone and a blueberry muffin – much to Merlin's surprise, considering the many times Arthur had shown his insecurity over his physique in the past – the man turned to Gaius and said, "Is there any chance I can get a copy of these recipes? These are the best scones and muffins I've ever had."

Gaius' eyebrows rose in surprise. "You bake?"

Twin spots of faint colour flared on Arthur's cheeks. "No, but Morgana does and she's always looking for new things to try. I visit a lot," he said as calmly as if he was not lying through his teeth. It was impossible to imagine Morgana wearing an apron and oven-gloves, taking trays of cookies and muffins and scones out of the oven like some fifties' housewife.

"Of course," said Gaius, inclining his head. He rose from his chair and looked at Merlin, something subtle but definite burning in his gaze. "Help me look for Alice's recipe book, Merlin," he said, turning to head for the kitchen. Merlin followed after him, thinking the man could not be more obvious. Once they were far enough away from the living room, Gaius grabbed Merlin's arm and gripped tight. He looked up at him severely. "Does Arthur know, yet, about her betrayal?"

Merlin glanced in the direction of the living room. "I'm pretty sure he knows," he replied, looking back at Gaius, frowning down at him.

"Are you certain? He seems to trust her still..."

"Well...he's thirty, Gaius, almost thirty-one," said Merlin, nibbling his bottom lip. "In our last existence he was already fatally wounded at Camlann at this point. I think it's safe to say Morgana's not going to stab him in the back any time soon. She started remembering when she was sixteen; it's been ten years and nothing's happened to him in that time. He's the Godfather to her daughter and the adoptive uncle to Mordred. I'm...I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt...for now."

Gaius frowned thoughtfully and looked towards the living room. "Very well, but keep me apprised of the situation; we may need to act quickly." He moved to a set of drawers connected to the countertop and pulled out the bottommost drawer. There, at the very top of a pile of books, was Alice's notebook filled with her own variations of recipes. "Get me a notebook, would you?" The young sorcerer did so, slipping out to the supply cupboard in the hallway, and returned bearing a fresh notebook.

Gaius took it from him and opened to the first leaf. He held his hands out over the notebooks and his eyes flashed a rusty orange as he muttered an incantation. At once, all of the requisite recipes were magically copied in to the new notebook. Returning the original to the drawer, Gaius closed the new notebook with a snap. The pair of them returned to the living room and Gaius offered the notebook to Arthur, earning a blinding smile that threatened to take Merlin's breath away. Damnable prat, murmured a small voice in his head.

The men spent thirty minutes more at Gaius' house, before Leon stood up and declared that they should probably go if they wanted to reach Caerleon in good time. The old doctor walked them to the door and gave each of them a hug goodbye, asking them not to be strangers and to visit every week, where they could. Notebook in the elbow of one arm, Arthur threw the other one across Merlin's shoulders in a manner reminiscent of their days in Camelot. Merlin ducked his head, a grin pulling at his mouth.

"Those scones were really excellent," the man said as they made their way down the driveway, towards Percy's pick-up. "Sometimes, I envy you, Merlin. Twenty-two years of scones and muffins and biscuits from that man's wife. How is it you haven't put on an ounce of weight in all that time?"

"Magic; weren't you listening last night?"

Gwaine snorted in amusement as he climbed into the passenger seat. "The only part he remembers is you flirting with Mr Smooth."

"That's not true," protested Arthur, voice heated. "I remember the fiasco after he bumped into Morgana." Merlin, his cheeks flushed from Gwaine's words, glanced sideways at Arthur as the man dropped his arm from his shoulders. He nibbled his bottom lip for a moment, wondering... He shook his head fractionally; it was none of his business.

"Don't lie, Princess."

"Arse." Everyone piled in to the back of the pick-up, settling down, and Gwaine looked over his shoulder to aim a smirk at Arthur. Up front, Percy opened up the glove compartment and pulled out a shiny silver iPod. He put it in the jack, turned up the volume and pressed play. They pulled away from the kerb to Green Day's Know Your Enemy and began their two and a half hour journey from London to Caerleon. Unbeknownst to them, a man stood beneath the shadow of a tree some distance behind them, taking a drag on his cigarette as he watched them with narrowed eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth...

To Be Continued.

Creepy stalker is creepy.

Feel free to let me know what you think; I look forward to hearing your thoughts.