Chapter 12

You Could Be Happy

At nearly 2am, Gwen opened the door to the Pendragon Mansion very slowly. At the moment, she felt like she was seventeen, sneaking back into the house after being out all night with a boy.

She tiptoed through the kitchen in her socks, being extra careful not to make any loud movements.

The lights were still on in the living room and the TV was blaring. The bright colors flared, illuminating the faces of the two sleeping bodies on the couch.

Arthur's lean body spanned the length of the couch. His leg dangled off the cushion and his mouth was wide open. Mordred lay against his father, his little hands pressed against his chest.

The picture was far too adorable to pass up. She retrieved her phone from her purse and snapped a quick picture of the two before turning around and making her way towards the stairs.

"Oh no you don't!"

Before she realized what was happening, she was tackled to kitchen floor. Her phone flew out of her hand and skid across the floor in the dark.

"Where's the camera?"

She felt his arms feel around her body in the dark, searching for the offending object.

"Arthur, stop it!" she whispered harshly. "It's me! Guinevere!"

He stopped.

"Guinevere?"

He rolled off of her and helped her up with minimal effort.

"Oh gosh," he said, "I'm so sorry. I thought you were the paparazzi."

She gave him an odd look.

"Do paparazzi normally break and enter? If so, you might want to up the security in this place."

She walked over and retrieved her phone, wincing as she bent over to pick it up.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Nothing to worry about," she said. She turned towards Mordred. "Did we wake him?"

"I wouldn't worry about him," Arthur said. "That boy can sleep through anything."

He walked over and lifted his son off the couch gingerly before returning to her. Together they headed in the direction of the staircase.

"We waited up for you, you know," he said as they climbed the stairs. "Mordred was really excited to start singing. We just watched the rest of your production instead."

"I'm sorry I'm so late," she said. "I feel awful. But I'm certain we can pick up where we left off."

She followed Arthur into Mordred's room and watched as he placed his son under the covers. He placed a soft kiss to Mordred's forehead, just as she did the night before. The sight made her feel a bit odd, like she'd crossed a line she shouldn't have. Like she had been performing a poor imitation of this father-son relationship.

She moved out of the way, allowing Arthur to shut Mordred's door behind himself.

"You smell like him," he said after a moment.

"Like Mordred?" she asked, feigning innocence. She was not in the mood for this.

"No," Arthur said, crossing his hands over his chest. "Like Lancelot."

Gwen sighed.

"Can we not do this right now, Arthur? I'm incredibly tired. It's been a long night. I'm exhausted. I just want to go to sleep."

She turned away from him, strode down the hall and into her room, where she sat on her bed, head in her hands.

Arthur followed her, not willing to let the matter rest. This wasn't fair to him at all. He'd spent the entire night worrying about her. She hadn't returned any of his calls. He needed an explanation.

"Gwen, I really want to know—"

He stopped.

"You're crying," he said, his voice softening.

Gwen looked up at him, tears in her eyes. She frantically tried to wipe her eyes and face, but the tears continued to fall with abandon. He sat down on the bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her to him.

"Hey," he said, rocking her body slowly in his arms. "What's going on with you?"

"Lance is a mess," she said, sniffling. "He's going to lose his sister. In a week, in two weeks, a month… it could happen any time. He's in so much pain, Arthur. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help him."

And the jerk of the year award goes to none other than Arthur Pendragon, pseudo-boyfriend and professional ass, he thought to himself.

"There's nothing you can really do but be there for him, Gwen," he said, smoothing down her hair with his hand. "You can't help his sister live longer. That's out of your hands—"

"He kissed me," she whispered, closing her eyes in shame.

There it was. What he had been waiting for all night. It hurt much more than he was expecting it to.

"Oh," he managed to say.

She loves him. She always loved him. All those times she said she wanted to be with me…

She lifted her head, pulling away from him. His grip on her shoulders fell lax.

"Arthur," she said, "I didn't kiss him back. I didn't want to."

He waited patiently for her to continue.

"I admit, I thought about the possibility for a while," she said, sighing. "I thought… I thought I still had feelings for him. But when he kissed me… I didn't feel anything."

It took all of his power not to smile. He'd also thought about the possibility. The possibility that in one months time, she would decide she wanted the stuck up, rich, rock star instead of him.

"He needed…comfort," she said, sniffling. "I couldn't give him what he needed. I couldn't. After everything that I've put him through…I still couldn't do it."

It was just like her to get upset about something completely out of her control.

"You can't help how you feel, Guinevere." He rubbed his thumb back and forth on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. "I don't think he would have wanted you to kiss him out of pity."

"It would have been okay if I had just realized it then," she said, shaking her head slightly. "But I think… I think I've known it from the beginning. If I'm being honest with myself, my feelings for you… have always been there. I just… ignored them because I didn't think you'd ever be interested in… someone like me."

Arthur looked at her with furrowed brows. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "You're rich. Not to mention one of Camelot's most eligible bachelors. I'm… I'm just a nanny anyway you spin it. So… I went out with Lance. I was so enthralled with him. But, I'm now realizing, I don't know a thing about him. I didn't even know he had a sister…"

"Gwen, what are you saying?"

"What I mean to say is," she said, wiping her eyes. "I made my choice a long time ago. I was never going to go back to him. I never wanted to. I do feel guilty for what I've done… so incredibly guilty… and he'll always hold a special place in my heart as a dear friend. But…I choose you Arthur. It's always been you."

His heart swelled. All the fear and anxiety he'd felt over her long departure suddenly fled his chest. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers.

"You don't know how much I've wanted to hear you say that," he said a smile dancing across his face. "I kept thinking there was a chance that you'd go back to him."

She shook her head. "I'm completely sure of it now. I'm willing to give this a real shot, no timeline."

It sounded almost too good too be true. In spite of his happiness, some part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"And Lancelot?"

She looked down and pulled away. There it is, Arthur thought. There's the catch.

"I promised him I'd be there for him through this," she said, looking him in the eye. "I owe him that as a friend. You should have seen him tonight, Arthur. He looks so broken. I know how it feels to be in that place… and I know how much I wanted a shoulder to cry on."

He sighed. It would be completely selfish of him to keep her from such a noble cause. He knew it would hurt him, thinking of him in her arms. What if he tried to pull the same stunt? Would she let her guilt take over?

"I trust you," he found himself saying. "You should be there for him in any way that you can."

"Thank you," she said, giving him a soft smile.

"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier…I just thought—"

"It's okay, really. I didn't really explain myself. I should have called."

"I just don't want to lose you," he said, placing his hands on either side of her face. "You may think you're dispensable, Gwen, and greatly underestimate yourself, but you're not dispensable to me."

Her face suddenly felt very warm, but her gaze never waivered. Arthur always said the most beautiful, perfect things to her in the right moment. However, it was his eyes that really spoke to her. They were filled with admiration and trust, brilliant blue and unclouded. She could tell he truly meant his words.

She leaned over and kissed him, smiling against his lips as she did so.

"Thank you," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. "Thank you for always believing in me Arthur. You have no idea what that means to me."

"No problem," he said, kissing the crown of her head.

"I suppose I should head back to my room now. I'm exhausted," she murmured into the crook of his neck. "I just don't feel like getting up."

"Stay here with me," he whispered back, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

She looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"I have the most honorable intentions, seriously," he said, holding his hands in front of him in defense.

She faux glared at him for a few moments before relenting.

"Alright," she said, pulling back the blankets. "Only if I get to wear your green flannel pajamas."

"I'm impressed." He smirked, getting up. "You remember random articles of clothing in my wardrobe."

He reached into his drawers, searching for the garment in question.

"I always notice when you wear green." She caught the clothing he threw to her. "It's my favorite color, remember?"

She stared at the clothes for a few moments thinking.

"I prefer red to gr—green," Arthur said.

She had pulled her t-shirt over her head and he suddenly found himself very, very distracted. He didn't understand how this woman could be adorable and so incredibly sexy at the same time. She was wearing a lacy black bra…how on earth did she hide those so well under her clothes? He'd seen her in a bathing suit for sure. But this was different... this was his bedroom. And she was here. Undressing. In his bedroom.

"You… er… you changed?"

"Yeah," she said, slowly unzipping her jeans. "Had a change of clothes in my bag. I hate the feel of bikinis under clothes, you know?"

"Uh—huh." He struggled to focus on her face. But how could he? His eyes couldn't get enough of her soft curves, the expanses of creamy brown skin, the impish glint in her bright eyes.

She pulled the flannel shirt over her shoulders. She spent her time with the buttons, slowly hooking all but two.

She threw the pants back to him and he caught them, in a daze.

"Too big," she said, winking.

How on earth did she expect him to have honorable intentions while she was dressed like that?

Arthur stuffed the pants in the drawer and stumbled back to his bed. He pulled back the covers and climbed under.

Gwen followed suit, crawling into bed. "Can I be the big spoon?" she asked.

"The big what?"

"Basically means I get to hug you from behind," she said. "I ask because the last time I did this, the guy had issues with being the little spoon—the spoonie."

He preferred this for tonight. If their positions were reversed, she might feel the result of her little strip tease earlier.

"Yeah, uh, sure," he said.

Great big gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts, mutilated monkey meat, chopped up birdy feet, he recited in his head. The trusty old camp song had always been successful in curving his arousal.

She snaked her arms around his waist. He was beginning to wonder if this reverse spooning had been a good idea. He could feel the warmth of her body and the curves of her breasts against his back.

French fried eyeballs rolling up and down the street, oops I forgot my…spoon…

"Goodnight, Arthur," she whispered, sidling up even closer.

Good Lord.


Vivian was starting to hate her job. She was the secretary for the creative director. No one told her the job would entail coming to work six days a week at six in the morning. She was also on the sixth floor. Good thing she wasn't superstitious.

It would have been okay if she had something to look forward to. It had once been Arthur Pendragon, sexy CEO. At precisely 6:30, he would walk past her desk, give her a nod of approval, and head into Nimueh's office, likely to have a verbal tousle with the beautiful woman before heading the 49th floor.

He hadn't walked past her desk in weeks. In fact, she'd heard through the secretarial grapevine that he had been taking days off. In the six years she'd worked in this office, Arthur Pendragon had never taken the day off unless it was someone's birthday.

She bet it was because of his new beau, Gwen (Gabby?) or whatever her name was. She didn't understand how Arthur was attracted to that. She had to admit; she had nice hair and pretty eyes. Whatever. But she was the hot blond in the office with the body to die for. She was the one he had kissed in the file room. He had kissed her back.

What the fuck was his deal?

Vivian may have had a C+ average from college, but she wasn't an idiot. She played dumb a lot of the time, laid low. Even when she revealed her intelligence, most guys still wouldn't take her seriously. Arthur was one of the few people that realized it. But he didn't want her. She just couldn't win.

It was 6:30 now, almost time to go to the copy room and make duplicates of the feature spread for Nimueh. Oh happy day.

She looked up despite herself. Her heart leapt in her chest when someone passed by her desk.

"Good Morning, Ar—"

The man who turned around wasn't Arthur at all. It was…Leo? Linus? She hadn't seen him down here in ages. Actually she was convinced he had be avoiding this floor entirely.

"What, Vivian?" he said, snarling. "You going to make fun of my hair? Say that I could stand to lose a few pounds?"

The harshness of his tone surprised her. "I…er… just thought you were someone else."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. He was a far cry from the dorky photographer she'd enjoyed tormenting just a few months ago. He had groomed his unruly locks, cutting them to a reasonable length and… was that product? He'd replaced his bifocals with some sexy thick rimmed glasses. His worn satchel was replaced with a classier black camera bag. Dark blue button down… black slacks… Armani shoes?

"Sweet Jesus…" she managed to say, standing up. "You actually…look… good."

He placed his palms on her desk ready to attack.

"Well you know what? I'm tired of—what did you say?"

"I said you look good," she said, smiling. "I can still tell you're a dork and there's probably a Superman comic in that bag of yours, Smallville."

She covered her mouth quickly, sinking back into her chair.

"Who's the dork now, Vivian?"

"Shut up," she said, turning back to her screen. "You tell anyone…"

"Your secret's safe with me, Miss Lane," he said, winking.

"It's Carlyle," she said with gritted teeth, "Vivian Carlyle."

"Now you know how it feels," he said, crossing his hands over his chest with an obnoxious grin. "My name isn't Ponce de Leon, Ben Linus, Loser, Dork—"

"Fine," she hissed. "Your name is Leon. Hot… shot photographer. Happy?"

"Very," he said.

She rolled her eyes, but turned back to him, appraising his new look.

"What brought about this change, Kent?"

The smirk disappeared from his face, his eyes focusing on his Armani shoes.

"I don't think that matters anymore," he said.

"A woman?" she laughed. "As if you could get a woman."

She didn't know why she liked to push his buttons. It was obvious he was hurting. But Vivian had never given a damn about anyone's feelings. She wasn't going to start now.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," he snapped. "God, Vivian, after all these years, you're still a class A bitch. Enjoy your morning."

"Wait!"

The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He turned around, his eyes still filled with anger and exasperation.

"Look, Leon," she said. "I… shouldn't have said that."

His eyes softened at her attempt at an apology.

"And…I'm sorry… for—treating you…badly. Or whatever."

He nodded. "Good enough for me."

She looked towards the folder in his hand. "Where're you headed?"

"Copy room," he said, looking at her strangely. "Why?"

She stood up, gathering her papers in a neat bundle. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," he said.

She walked around the circular reception area to meet him. As the headed to the copy room, her Milano heels clicked against the floor in a steady rhythm.

"I… I'm sorry she broke your heart," she said, staring straight ahead.

He didn't pause or stumble for a moment. "I'm sorry he broke yours," he said.

They turned the corner, walking by the clear glass doors of Nimueh's sleek office. Her blue eyes met with Vivian's brown ones for a fraction of a second before Vivian turned away, feeling suddenly and surprisingly guilty.

Do you even know what you want, Morgana? Do you?

She couldn't sleep. And it wasn't from the red eye flight. She'd made a horrible mistake. One she would surely pay for in the long run.

That's all you do. Run. When things are going well, you run away because you're scared of what might happen if you just open yourself up to change.

Her hands gripped the handle of her designer carry on as she walked up the path to her apartment. Milan was over, so was, as they say, the honeymoon.

Fuck, Morgana! Did you ever love me? Even for a moment? I came back because I still love you. He doesn't. He never will.

Up the elevator shaft, onto the fiftieth floor. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door, letting herself in. The apartment was dark. She hoped he was asleep. She wasn't sure she could face him. Not now.

"I do love you," she said once again. "I do."

"Just not enough," he said, his voice breaking.

"I'm just going back for a little while," she reassured him. "He needs me. I have to be there for him."

"If you were being honest with me," he said, raking a shaking hand through his hair, "I would let you go, no questions asked. And I would welcome you back, with open arms. But I know you're lying. I can always tell when you're lying. You're going because you think there's some chance that he still loves you. He doesn't. He's moved on, even though you clearly haven't—"

"It's complicated," she said.

"No." He shook his head. "It's remarkably simple. The possibility that he could love you means more to you than the fact that I currently do."

She didn't say anything. She couldn't say anything. Because he was right.

"I won't sit here and watch you torture yourself," he said with finality. "I love you too much…and I respect myself too much. We both deserve better than that."

She wanted to fight it. She wanted to pull him back into the bed, get lost in the sweet bliss that was his body. But it was far too late for that.

He leaned forward and captured her lips again, quickly. Business-like.

"Goodbye, Morgana," he said, standing up. "I really hope you find what you're looking for."

He left her sitting there, naked on the bed. And she remained so for hours before packing her things and purchasing the first ticket home.

And here she was. Home. Despite what she thought, she didn't magically feel better as she crossed the threshold.

"I didn't expect you back for a couple of days."

She heard the telltale sign of the living room lamp clicking on. Merlin was sitting in her white living room sofa, staring at her. Shit.

"Change of plans." She kicked off her pumps and pressed down the handle of her suitcase. "Mind if I ask what you're doing up so late?"

She gestured to the rustic clock on the mantelpiece.

"Thinking," he said, patting the space beside him. "Something tells me you're not going to be sleeping either."

"How can you—"

"Because I know you, Morgana," he said with a half smile. "You have that look in your eye."

She hopped over the sofa, landing inches away from him.

"What look?"

"The holy-shit-what-just-happened look. It's the same look you had when what'shisface died on Skins."

"Which one?" she said, smiling a little.

"Hell if I remember his name," he said leaning back. "Anyways, it's that look times 100."

"Right." She pulled her knees close to her chest and buried her face in them. "Well yeah, this feels a hell of a lot worse than that."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassured her. "We could just sit here."

I said your name. Not his. I said… I shouted… your name, when I dug my fingers into his back. I hurt him because I love you. You, Merlin. What can you possibly do about that?

"Yeah," she said, taking a long deep sigh. "I don't want to… I can't talk about it right now."

I'm not the one with the dying girlfriend. I'm the stupid fuck who gave up something wonderful… just to torture myself.

She laughed suddenly, startling her couch partner.

"You're not… going crazy are you?" he asked. "Because if that's the case, there's only so much I can do for you."

"I just find it funny that you're the therapist here when I flew almost 15 hours to comfort you."

"We're not playing a game of who's life sucks the most, Morgana," he said, chuckling. "I'm not going to ignore your pain just so I can go all woe is me."

He was staring at her now. It was making her feel uneasy, being so close to him. She'd made it a rule to always but a barrier between them. He did as well. They were best friends. Nothing more. She couldn't let it be anything more.

It was ironic that, now that he was off limits to her, they had both allowed themselves to get closer than they had ever been since…the incident.

He placed wrapped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer. Speak of the devil. But it was innocent, and completely so. As it should be.

Nevertheless, she sidled up beside him pressing her head to his chest and closing her eyes.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure."

She opened her eyes, placing a palm on his chest. "I think we're cursed."

"If Uther could hear you talking now," Merlin said, shaking his head. "Any mention of a curse and he'd threaten to ground Arthur."

"But never me," she said. "Because threatening Arthur was enough to get me to stop doing it."

"We're not cursed, Ana." He sighed. "It's life. No one has a perfect life. We all face hardship at one time or another. Some face more hardship than others, for sure. But as long as you have people in your life that you love, you're bound to face it some time or another. But we don't sever our ties to stop ourselves from feeling the pain. Because no matter how difficult it is to lose those people, our lives wouldn't be complete without them."

Ah-na. He was the only one who called her that.

"Hmm," she said, closing her eyes once more. "When did you get so profound?"

"I've had a lot of time to think. It may drive me insane, but I'm becoming a regular John Locke."

Tabala Rasa, my ass.

"I prefer Hobbes, myself," she murmured.

"Nah," Merlin said. "I don't believe it for a second, Morgana. It's remarkable how little you think of yourself."

She wasn't going to fish. That was Arthur's tactic, not hers, and he knew it.

"You're kind and you're fiercely loyal," he continued. "Compassionate. Intelligent. You always say that you're broken. But that doesn't mean you're not beautiful, inside and out."

She let herself smile.

"Don't get me wrong," he added. "You're annoying as hell sometimes. You start arguments you know you can't win, just for the sake of arguing. You can be extremely selfish. And you never throw away the empty cartons in the fridge."

"Just had to throw that last one in there," she mumbled.

"Sorry, pet peeve," he said. "But anyways. What I'm trying to say is… you really are extraordinary. And I'm happy that I know you and that you're in my life."

Wow. She most certainly wasn't expecting that.

"You're not crying, are you?" He shifted to get a look at her face. "Morgana…"

"Fuck," she said, wiping her face with her hands. "Fuck you, Merlin. "

"And you've got the mouth of a sailor," he added, chuckling.

She laughed. "I'm making a complete ass of myself here and you're clearly enjoying it."

"Yup."

"Typical," she scoffed. "And for that, I'm going to use your shirt as a tissue."

"As long as you don't blow your nose or something, we're cool."

They sat there for a few moments, both threatening to get lost in their own depressing thoughts.

"What were you thinking about when I came in?"

"I was thinking about Christmas," he said, without hesitation.

"Your favorite holiday," she said, giggling. "You always made a big show of getting people the most sentimental gifts."

"I bought Freya this gift months ago," he said. "And I was just thinking that she'll probably be dead before Christmas. And from this year forward… I'll probably never think of Christmas the same way again."

And there it was. Her smile fell.

"You should… give it to her then," she said lamely. "It doesn't have to be Christmas for it to mean something. In fact, it'll probably mean more to her now than it would then."

"I know… but I really wanted it to be special, you know?"

She sat up suddenly.

"What?" Merlin sat up too, looking alarmed. "Did you feel a spider? I thought you said, you spider-proofed your apartment."

"Oh, the spiders don't stand a chance in this place," she said, waving him off. "It's just… I have an idea. Something wonderful. It's kind of crazy, so bear with me."

"When have your ideas ever not been crazy? You remember the popsicle heist of 1985? Because I sure haven't."

"This is much bigger than popsicles," she said. "I'm going to need a pen and some paper."

He stared at her for a moment.

"Just trust me on this one," she said. "You'll thank me later."

"I almost never thank you later." But he got up anyways and started rifling through the drawers for the items she requested.

Morgana felt less sad now, knowing there was something she could do for Freya. It had been her dream when she was younger. But she'd let go of that a long time ago, but she'd give up all hope that it'd ever happen for her. It was time to give that dream to someone else.

Maybe then she could start on the long journey to forgiving herself.


Gwen woke up to a pair of arms around her waist, and stubble against her neck.

"Mmm," she said, cracking an eye open. "I thought you said you didn't mind being the small spoon?"

"You're warm," he whispered, kissing her neck. "And you're not wearing pants. I figured I could take advantage of that."

"Devious," she said.

"And," he said, slipping his hand under her shirt. "I have easier access."

"Arthur—"

"I have a half-dressed, beautiful girl in my bed." She gasped as he cupped her breast under her bra. "I'm opportunist."

"Arth—uhhh…Arthur," she said, her words coming out in sharp breaths. "What if—oh! What… what about mmm…"

He had unclasped her bra expertly and his thumbs were moving back and forth, slowly. Now they were making slow tantalizing circles, massaging…

She would never be able to look as his hands the same way again.

"You were saying?"

She couldn't see his face, but she imagined he was mocking her with that smirk, the one that managed to make him simultaneously sexy and obnoxious.

If she were able to think straight, she might be embarrassed at the noises that were coming out of her throat at the moment. She did take the precaution of biting her knuckles to muffle her moans.

He noticed this and silenced her with a kiss. He could feel the vibrations against his lips and her body arching against his. She was driving him crazy. He wanted her. Badly. But he knew she didn't want him like this. Gwen was a sentimental girl. And as much as he denied it, so was he.

The soles of her feet ran up his inner thigh, finally brushing against dangerous territory. This time, he moaned. She smirked against his lips, almost taunting him.

"Daddy!"

Gwen gasped and pulled away before doing an impressive roll off the edge of his bed and crashing to the floor, hidden from view.

Mutilated monkey meat. Chopped up birdie feet…

"I'm in here, Mor," he yelled, still catching his breath.

He heard rapid footsteps down the hall. The door burst open and a bright red blur collided with his chest.

"Happy Birthday!"

"Mor… can't… breathe!"

"Oh! Sorry!" He loosened his grip around his father's waist. "I just wanted to tell you before you went to work."

"Tell me that it's my birthday?" Arthur ruffled Mordred's hair. "I think I'd know that by now. I've had twenty nine birthdays."

"Not that, daddy." He wrinkled his nose. "I wanted to say Happy Birthday, and I love you more than anything in the whole wide world."

"More than your crayons?"

"Much more than my crayons!"

"What an honor." He kissed his son's forehead. "And you should know that I love you too."

"I already knew that, Daddy!" Mordred climbed into his lap. "Do you really have to work?"

"Yeah," Arthur said. "I took yesterday off, remember? For the beach?"

"Oh."

"But Sunday's a slow day," he added. "I might be able to get out at five or six."

"Yes!"

Gwen had crawled under the bed now, being very careful not to make a sound.

"Daddy, why are your pants on the floor?" Mordred pointed to the offending article of clothing. "You yell at me all the time for not folding my clothes."

"It's my birthday, remember?"

"So I can throw my clothes on the floor on my birthday?"

"No…" Arthur wanted to slap himself. "I mean… you're right, Mor. I was tired last night and I didn't pick up before heading to bed."

"I can pick things up for you!"

He hopped off his father's lap and started picking up his father's clothes. Both Gwen and Arthur panicked. Her bra was on the floor… on the bed… somewhere. Her bra.

"Ay, Mordred," Arthur said, his voice betraying a bit of his panic. "You should go brush your teeth and take a shower and stuff."

"Ok! Whatever you say, daddy! It's your birthday."

They let out a sigh of relief as he damn near skipped out of the room, humming Happy Birthday.

Gwen crawled out from under the bed and began hastily buttoning up her borrowed top.

"I thought he almost had us there," Arthur said, breathing a sigh of relief. "We cut it pretty close."

"Oh god, I was terrified," she said, fumbling with the buttons. "Also, I… didn't know it was your birthday. I knew it was soon. But December 1st? Gosh. I don't have nearly enough time…I don't even know what…"

"Hey," he said, placing his hand over hers. "I never told you an exact date. You're off the hook."

"I don't want to be off the hook," she mumbled. "I have less than twelve hours to get you a great gift. No problem. None."

"You really don't have to—"

She pointed to her self. "I am the Birthday Queen, remember. I can't just forget about it. Where would my reputation go then? My dignity…"

"I think you're taking this a little too seriously."

Her sharp look silenced him.

"Ooo…kay," he said, slowly. "Getting up now."

"I wish you didn't have to go to work," she said, collecting her various items of clothing around the room. "You don't even get to enjoy your entire birthday."

"Oh don't worry," he said catching her eye. "If my birthday ended right now, I'd be completely satisfied."

She blushed.

"In fact, you could just put a bow on yourself and call it a day—"

"Aha!"

"Really?" He paused at his dresser. "I really didn't think that would work…"

"No, silly," she said, shaking her head. "I figured out your present. One part of it, at least."

"Alrighty, Sherlock Holmes," he said, smiling. "Have at it."

"Elementary, my dear Watson," she said, holding her chin between her thumb and forefinger.

"You know he never actually said—"

"Shhh," she said, pressing her finger to her lips. "Don't ruin my childhood."

"Alrighty then," he said, slowly. "I'm going to take a shower now. Have fun playing detective."

"Oh I will," she said.

She turned to leave, clothes in hand.

"Wait."

Arthur grasped her arm pulled her to him. He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her. It was so utterly domestic that it shocked her. How on earth had he changed from lusty bed partner to sweet and adorable boyfriend so quickly?

"This is really happening, right," she said, looking a bit dazed. "I'm not asleep or anything?"

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," he said, grinning.

They stood there for a few moments, staring at each other with goofy expressions on their faces.

"I'd better…"

"Yeah, me too."

A goofy smile. A happy glance back. A closed door.

Happy Birthday, indeed.


"What're you looking for?"

Gwen screeched and jumped in surprise. Her had collided painfully from with the wooden frame of the cabinet.

"Owwww!"

"Sorry!"

She crawled out of the lower cabinet, rubbing her head to stop the pain. Mordred was standing over her, leaning slightly to peer into the cabinet.

"A cookbook," she said, finally.

"Daddy keeps all the books on the basement floor!"

"I've… never been down there before."

Basements gave her the creeps. Ever since she read that Goosebumps book about not going down to the basement. Even though she was twenty-three years old, she was still terrified of the proverbial things that went bump in the night.

"Come on! I'll take you!"

She let the excited tiny person drag her through the foyer (what a pretentious name for a glorified lobby), past the gold incrusted staircase (really, Arthur?), to a door with a marble handle.

Mordred opened the door and flew down the stairs. The lights automatically turned on after him.

"Why do these lights turn on by themselves?"

"My daddy bought them to scare away basement monster," he said once she met him at the bottom of the stairs. "He's the monster that chases you when you run up the stairs when it's dark."

"What about closet monster?"

"You know about closet monster?"

"That's why I can't sleep with the closet door open," she admitted.

"Don't worry," Mordred reassured her, "If you close your eyes and count to ten, the monster won't bother you. Doesn't work on shower monster, though. You've got to use the hairdryer."

She giggled as she followed him down the basement hallway.

"Here's the dance studio. Right next to it is the recording studio," Mordred said, gesturing to each room briefly. "Daddy says mommy wanted to let me try everything when I was in her tummy. So he built this basement!"

Her heart lurched every time he spoke of his mother. She knew Arthur was hiding something, something big enough to keep a young boy from his mother. And to see the blind, innocent hope he had in his mother was almost too much for her.

She walked by a game room with table tennis, ice hockey, and… what looked like a rock climbing wall. A dark room for photography, an editing room for filmmaking, …how had she never been down here before?

"Why don't you come down here, Mordred?"

"Daddy's always too busy to come down here with me," he admitted. "And he doesn't want me down here by myself."

And there was the sadness again.

"You should ask him, you know, since he has more time off now," she suggested.

"Yeah!"

They arrived at another door that as slightly ajar. Mordred pushed the door open and gestured for her to follow.

"Holy Sh… Guacamole," she whispered as the lights turned on.

Books, upon books, upon books spanned three entire walls of the room. Built in shelves, each painted a different color. A beautiful rocking chair was positioned against the wall opposite the door. A beautiful mural spanned the entire wall with pictures referencing several childhood stories and movies. Harry Potter, Paddington Bear, Rainbow Fish, Franklin, Ariel…

"Look!" He pointed to the far left. "It's you!"

She giggled. He was pointing to a picture of Aurora dancing with Prince Phillip. "This is such an amazing room, Mordred."

"It's my favorite room in the house," he told her. "Daddy said mommy painted that wall when I was just a baby."

"Your mother is incredibly talented," she said, marveling at the painting. "It must have taken her ages…"

"Cookbooks are over here!"

She walked over to the left wall where Mordred was pointing. "Cookbooks" spanned four cubes on the wall.

"Giada…Ina Garten…Martha Stuart Living…"

Gwen ran her finger over the spine of each book as she searched the bookshelf. She wasn't sure she'd find this fabled book in the house. Arthur had just mentioned it in passing. What if Morgana had it? Or his father?"

"Vegetarian Cuisine… Ygraine's cooking…"

She stopped.

This book had a worn white spine, clearly not professionally bound. The title was painted in yellow. She pulled the book from the shelf and cracked it open.

Chicken Noodle Soup for the Pendragon Soul

Guaranteed to brighten your little dragon's day!

I have never met a little boy who gets sick as much as Arthur. It's absolutely dreadful. And I make him stay in bed all day. I'm certain he hates it. That boy doesn't stay in bed for too long. So I came up with this soup to cheer him up… and now the number of times my son has "gotten sick" has mysteriously doubled.

Below the excerpt was a picture of a young Arthur, possibly Mordred's age in bed with a thermometer in his mouth and a wet towel on his head. He was glaring at the photographer.

She smiled at the picture and continued to flip through the pages. Banana Chocolate Chip Pancakes, Homemade Dragon Pops, Jalapeño Peppers…

"Why do you want Grandma's cookbook?"

"Because I want to make something special for your father," she answered, gingerly turning the pages. "And your grandma… is brilliant."

"Can I help?"

"Of course! You can be my little helper! But you've got to be ready. There's a long day ahead. And I'm going to need your help making daddy's present, okay?"

"Sure!"

"We've got to hurry! We only have 12 hours!"

She lead the way down the long hallway, up the stairs and back into the kitchen.

"What are we making?"

Gwen reached down and lifted him off the floor and plopped him on top of the counter. She grinned at him before opening the cookbook onto the counter.

"Octopus and eel. Fried Gophers. Worm Spaghetti—"

"Ewww!"

She looked up from the cookbook. "What you don't like that stuff? I thought everyone did."

Mordred grabbed the cookbook from her, flipping the pages quickly.

"Daddy really likes lamb," he said. "And mashed potatoes. And cake!"

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't hear a single vegetable."

"Uhhh," he said, flipping through the book. "Daddy doesn't like corn or carrots or peas…. He likes Aspari… Aspara…"

"Asparagus?"

"That," he said.

"Okay… so Jalapeño Poppers, Lamb and Mashed Potatoes, Asparagus…"

"And CAKE!"

"Cake, right," she said, tapping her chin with her finger. "What kind—"

"Strawberry!"

"Alright," she said, smiling. "See how much I needed your help? Your father would have hated the raw onions I was going to serve."

Mordred nodded furiously.


Today was a good day for Arthur Pendragon. All the magazines were on schedule, they were serving tiramisu in the cafeteria, and he'd woken up to a beautiful woman in his arms. Not a grey cloud in sight.

A manila folder landed on Arthur's desk with a definitive thump.

"The prints from the Milan shoot."

Arthur looked up, grinning. "Glad to have you back, Leon. I can see Morgana finally convinced you to spruce up a bit. The starving photographer look was a little outdated. Though… you're missing a button."

He pointed to his friend's midsection. Leon looked down and frantically redid his bottom buttons.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Your hair… is all messed up too…don't tell me…"

Leon coughed. "If you no longer require anything from me, I'll be on my way."

"Who was she?"

"I don't have to answer that," Leon said. "That's none of your business."

"Oh yes it is." Arthur stood up to face him. "I can't believe you! I trusted you with my sister! I never expected…what the fuck, Leon?"

"She didn't tell you, did she?" Leon laughed without a tinge of good humor. "I love your sister, Arthur. But she sure as hell doesn't love me. She'd rather be with someone who will probably never love her back."

"Merlin," Arthur said, leaning back against his desk. "Gosh, Leon, if I had known…"

"Oh, stop it, Arthur," Leon snapped. " I know for damn certain why you set the two of up back up in the first place. You wanted to distract her from Merlin and his girlfriend, but you didn't want her to drown her sorrows in someone like Alvarr. So you set this whole thing up."

"That was definitely part of it," Arthur admitted. "But I honestly did think the two of you could be happy. I knew you would take care of her."

"Well, you were wrong, Arthur," said Leon. "And, quite frankly, I'm hurt that you thought I would cheat on your sister."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, appraising his friend's messy appearance once more. "You certainly moved on fast, though, didn't you?"

"Oh for goodness sake!"

Leon pulled out a shirt from his brief case and shook it in front of Arthur.

"Vivian," he said, laughing. "You know, the pretty blond receptionist on the sixth floor?"

Arthur looked up with pure horror in his eyes.

"You didn't—"

"She spilled coffee all over my shirt," Leon said, rolling his eyes. He pointed to his current shirt. "Stole this from the closet. Versace."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief.

"What were you doing with Vivian? I thought you couldn't stand her. Or she couldn't stand you. One of those."

"How about both," he said. "I can hardly believe it myself. She's actually not as bad as people think. Still hung up on you, I think. She asked me a lot of questions. But eventually, we were talking about other things too. She's wicked smart. Makes me wonder why she hasn't gotten a promotion or something."

"She kissed me one day when we were 'reorganizing the office'," Arthur said suddenly. "She's not interested in a promotion. And it's common knowledge that she wants to marry money. I'd watch out if I were you."

"I think she's misunderstood for sure," Leon countered. "And you don't have to worry about me. I'm steering clear of women for a while."

"My sister did a number on you, didn't she?"

"Your sister broke my heart, Arthur," he said. He was smiling, but Arthur could see the pain in his eyes. "Nice guys finish last, remember?"

"Don't worry, Leon," Arthur said, grasping his friend's shoulder. "You'll find her. Just give it time."

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've found her, Mr. Former Love Cynic. I seriously envy you right now."

"I haven't found anyone," he scoffed. "I am with her if that's what you're implying. And I'm not in love with her—"

"Okay, sorry I mentioned it." Leon put his hands in the air and started backing out. "But for what it's worth, you look happier than I've seen you in a long time. Just don't screw it up, okay."

"How do you know I'm going to screw it up? What about her?"

Leon gave him a look.

"Right, right," Arthur said. "The truth is… I just know it's too good to be true. She's amazing, Leon. And… I can't help feeling as if I don't deserve her."

"You Pendragons and your low self esteem," Leon muttered. "Seriously, just enjoy the moment. Stop thinking of the many ways you could screw it up."

Arthur nodded. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right." Leon grinned. "Now I've got to get back to work. Happy Birthday, Arthur."

"Thanks," Arthur said. "And go ahead and take the next few days off. Distract yourself. Spend time with your kid. Do some soul searching or something."

Leon chuckled. "Sure thing, Boss."

Arthur waited until the door was completely shut before he sunk back into his office chair. He was going to have a long talk with his dear sister. He honestly didn't know what had gotten into her. He'd handed her the perfect guy on a silver platter and she blew it. And Merlin…he probably had no idea.

The office phone rang and he picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Daddy?"

Arthur smiled. "Hey, Mor."

"Gwen wants to know…" he stopped, and Arthur could hear loud shushing in the background. "What time are you coming home?"

"Five, I think."

"Okay... that's good…I think." More whispers. "White or black?"

"Black," he said, slowly. "Mor, what are you up to."

"We're making—"

"That's all we have time for, Arthur, so you're just going to have to sit tight," said Guinevere. "See you at five."

He heard a click and then the dial tone.

Arthur had never been too fond of his birthday. It was a horrible day for his family, and his father never let him forget it. Ever since his 21st birthday, his father would go abroad, and send him gifts, but would never actually say "Happy Birthday". He didn't blame him. It was the same day his father decided to commit his mother to a hospital. She'd burnt his birthday dinner… forgot who it was she was making the cake for…forgotten who he was entirely.

But hearing the excited voices of Mordred and Gwen stirred something inside of him. Happiness. His son was having fun again, with his nanny of all people.

He always had Mordred, and meant everything to him. But now, for the first time in a long time, he had a family to come home to.

"Now just move the spatula back and forth across the frosting and you're done!"

Gwen was leaning over Mordred's shoulder as he bit his lip in concentration. Almost everything was in order. The lamb was on the table, the poppers were in the oven, asparagus seasoned and drizzled with oil. The cake was the last thing on the list.

"Like that?"

He looked up at her, searching for approval.

"That's perfect," she said. "Now what should we write on it?"

"Happy Birthday! We love you!"

Gwen froze.

"Umm… you sure?"

Mordred nodded. "I know I love my Daddy more than anyone. And you love him too because you're his friend. And Merlin and Auntie Morgana love him too. Daddy says you can love someone without being all kissy and gross."

Crisis averted.

"Sounds good," she said.

She slowly wrote the message in her signature curly cue style, replacing the world "love" with a heart.

She carefully moved the cake to the center of the table. She was extremely proud of how the cake turned out. The frosting was bright red with green writing. When she made cakes for her father and brother's birthdays, she could never make the frosting look so vibrant without the entire cake tasting like food coloring. The high quality ingredients made all the difference.

The doorbell rang. Gwen looked at her watch. 4:45. Was he coming home early?

She quickly untied her apron and placed it on the couch.

"Mr. Emrys and Miss Pendragon," the butler announced from the lobby.

She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the counter.

"We're in the kitchen!"

They rounded the corner a few moments later, each carrying gifts with silver wrapping paper.

"Auntie Morgana!"

Mordred ran to her, hugging her leg fiercely.

"Hey," she said, placing the present on the ground and returning the hug. "I missed you while I was in Italy. How've you been, Mor?"

"Great!" He pointed towards the table. "We made dinner and presents for daddy! And we went to the beach yesterday! And I got to jump in a sand castle, and swim in the ocean, and daddy bought me ice cream even though I ate all the Rocky Road!"

"Sounds like you've been having a great time." She retrieved something from her pocket and handed it to him. "Don't tell your father."

"SKITTLES!"

"That there," Merlin said, pointing at the now spastic Mordred, "was a HUGE mistake. The tropical kind is even worse than the original. That stuff is like brightly colored crack for the kid, remember?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "It's just one bag, what harm could it do?"

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," Gwen said. "I didn't even realize it was Arthur's birthday until this morning."

"We don't mind," Merlin said, collecting the two presents and placing them on the table with the others. "We've been trying to get Arthur to celebrate his birthday with us for years. I'm just wondering how you managed to do it."

"I didn't really give him much of a choice," Gwen said. "No one says no to the Birthday Queen."

Morgana and Merlin exchanged confused looks.

"Never mind," Gwen mumbled.

Morgana whistled. "You've really outdone yourself Gwen."

"Thank you," Gwen said. "Though, I can't take all the credit. I had my little kitchen helper to make my life easier."

"That's me!"

Morgana's eyes widened. "You got Mordred to help you cook? How did you manage that? How strong was the sedative?"

"Mordred and I are friends now," Gwen said, very slowly.

"I must be dreaming." Merlin lifted his arm up and pinched himself multiple times. "Mordred doesn't make friends with his nannies. He makes them cry… and question the meaning of life."

"You really are something else, Gwen," Morgana said, reaching over to hug the shorter girl. "Thanks for this. You really didn't have to."

"What'd you get him?"

Morgana placed her hand over Gwen's mouth. "You don't want to tell Merlin that. Tell him a serious secret and he'll keep it a secret, but do NOT tell him about presents. It's almost like he has some compulsive urge to tell."

"He told me I'm getting an autographed copy of the Harry Potter series for Christmas!"

Morgana glared at Merlin who put his hands up.

"And put those skittles away, young man," Morgana said without taking her eyes off of Merlin. "Those are for later. You're going to spoil your appetite."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, stuffing the bag in his pocket.

The doorbell rang again.

"Take a seat, everyone," Gwen said. "The birthday King has arrived!"

"King Arthur?" Morgana laughed. "That sounds ridiculous. Also, we wouldn't want to make his head even larger than it already is."

"Never miss an opportunity to take a shot at me, do you?"

Arthur reached over and hugged his sister from the side.

"Nope," Morgana said.

"Happy Birthday," Merlin said, patting him on the back.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "I know you guys want to hug. No one's judging."

Gwen laughed as Arthur practically shoved his sister away to give his friend a huge bear hug. Adorable.

"It's been a long time since you've stopped by," Arthur said, releasing him.

"Well, you know…"

"I know," Arthur said, looking his friend in the eye. "And I appreciate you coming here despite that."

"It was all Gwen," Merlin said, gesturing towards the sheepish nanny. "She said she was throwing you a party and I had to see it for myself."

"And me daddy! I frosted the cake! And made you a present, and helped mash the potatoes, and…"

"Come here." He gestured at his son then looked pointedly at Gwen. "Both of you."

Mordred ran and hugged his father's waist, while Gwen hesitantly moved towards him. Arthur lifted his son into his arms and pulled Gwen to the side He placed a kiss on both their cheeks… or, at least, he meant to. Instead, Gwen turned her head at the precise moment, and he accidently kissed her on the lips instead.

Miraculously, Mordred didn't notice. But Arthur suspected the two grinning dark-haired idiots in the corner hadn't missed a thing.

"Er… we should sit down," Gwen said, expertly diffusing the awkwardness. "The food's going to get cold."

She tried to take the seat furthest from Arthur, but both Morgana and Merlin rushed towards the other end of the table, grinning. She let out a huge sigh and plopped down in the seat next to him.

"Let them have their fun," Arthur whispered, shaking his head at their shenanigans. "Let's be honest: it's not going to be a secret for very long."

She looked over at Mordred, who was bouncing up and down in his seat.

"Don't worry." He grasped her knee under the table and smiled at her. "He's not going to know before he's ready. And I'll be the one to tell him. For now, let's just enjoy ourselves."

"Alright," she said softly. She cleared her throat and gestured at the table. "Help yourselves to whatever you like!"

And they did. Merlin steered away from the lamp, but took a large helping of mashed potatoes and Asparagus. Morgana and Arthur took a little bit of everything. Mordred had tried to take the entire cake without anyone noticing.

"Nice try," Arthur said, placing the cake far out of his son's reach.

Gwen took a sizeable piece of lamb as well, marveling at how tender the meat was. Her family could never afford such luxury meat or any of the seasonings she had used to marinate it.

"This tastes… familiar," Arthur said, cutting into another piece of lamb. "Those jalapeños too…"

"I helped Gwen find Grandma's old cookbook," Mordred said with his mouth full of food, "There's a lot of funny stories in it."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Mor," Arthur and Morgana said simultaneously.

Mordred sat back in his chair in a huff.

"Amazing," Arthur said. "I can't believe you remembered the cookbook… that you made all of her recipes on this day… you have no idea how much this means to me."

His stare was so intense, so sincere. Her cheeks reddened as she turned away. "It… it was nothing, really. I just wanted you to have a good birthday, Arthur."

"You know what would make his birthday even better?" Merlin grinned. "Giving him—"

Arthur threw his spoon at Merlin's head, silencing him.

"Now I know where your son got his aim," Gwen said, cringing. "Speaking of gifts, why don't you open yours while everyone's finishing up."

"Then cake?"

"Yes, Mordred," Gwen said, passing the presents to Arthur's side of the table. "Then you can have cake."

"Yes!"

Arthur reached for Merlin's present first and shook it vigorously.

"You're going to break it!"

"I'm checking to make sure it's not some type of bomb, Merlin," Arthur said.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "If it were a bomb, I'm sure it would have blown up by now, idiot."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Right."

He tore off the wrapping paper and opened the brown box inside.

"Cassettes?"

"From the Alex and Merlin show," Merlin explained.

"Wow," Arthur said, riffling through the box. "I never thought you'd let me have these. We have one from that time we put gum in Morgana's hair… and from that Christmas."

Morgana glared.

Merlin cleared his throat. "I had some copies made a long time ago. I figured you could show them to Mordred, have a laugh."

"Wow…this is… thank you, Merlin," Arthur said.

"Just had to upstage me," Morgana said, sighing. "You know I'm not super sentimental."

"As long as you didn't get me pumps or anything," Arthur said, placing Merlin's present aside.

He lifted the cover off of the medium sized box and his eyes widened.

"First edition copy… of Fahrenheit 451...how did you—"

"You're a huge dork," Morgana said, grinning, "you used to talk about this much til' your face turned blue and my ears bled. And I've got connections, as you know."

He did know. But he'd rather not think about Morgana and her many connections at the moment. Not while there was food in front of him.

"And you say you're not sentimental," Arthur teased. "You're not fooling anyone."

"Keep talking, and we'll experiment to see what temperature books really burn," Morgana threatened with narrowed eyes.

Arthur quickly replaced the top of the box and placed it safely under his chair.

Mordred reached over and slid his present closer to his father. "Me next, daddy!"

"Alrighty, Mor." He ruffled his son's hair. "I wonder what it could be?"

Arthur ripped away the wrapping paper, holding his present at arms length.

"Wow…"

His son had painted him a picture. Arthur was surprised; Mordred usually stuck to Crayola and was very good at drawing for his age. But this… he'd never seen his son make something like this.

It was a picture of him, Mordred, and Gwen posing in front of the sand castle. The sun was brilliantly colored, the water and sand incredibly detailed for a 7-year-old's art. It was no Monet, for sure, but it made Arthur realize just how talented his son really was.

"Do you like it, Dad?"

"Mordred… this is really amazing," Arthur said, turning his head. "I'm going to frame this and put it on my dresser."

"Really?"

"It's the most amazing gift I've ever received," he said, reaching down to give his son a hug. "From the most special person in my life."

"Merlin… are you crying?"

"Shut up, Morgana," Merlin said, frantically wiping his eyes. "It's just some dust, that's all."

"He worked really hard on it," Gwen added. "All while helping me in the kitchen. Honestly…I should have asked to go next. I realize when I've been completely upstaged in the gift department."

She reached over to grab her gift, but he was too quick for her.

"You've already done all this for me," Arthur said gesturing around the table. "Brought my family together…organized this entire thing… there could be a live rat in there and I'd be completely satisfied."

"Just as long as it's not rat stew," Merlin added.

"Rat…stew?"

"It's a rather long and disgusting story," Arthur said as he peeled off the wrapping paper.

"Ah," Gwen said, watching closely as he held the unwrapped present in his palm.

It was a small, square "book" made of black construction paper. Two white ribbons held the hole-punched pages together.

"Arthur's coupon book…" He looked at her. "You do know I'm rich, right?"

"Just open it."

He flipped to the first page.

"Get out of jail free card," he read slowly. "Use this if you screw up."

"You're a guy," she said, shrugging.

"Better not waste this one." He chuckled as he turned the pages. "Let's see here… one free question, one free action movie, one free song, one embarrassing story, one cooking lesson, one free secret, and…"

He pointed to the last page. It was blank.

"Carte Blanche, " she explained. "Anything you want…within reason."

"What kind of person do you think I am?"

"A guy," she said, grinning.

"You two are oftly chummy over there," Merlin said. "Anything you'd like to share with the rest of the class? Like, I don't know, the obvious change in your rela—ow!"

"What an interesting gift," Morgana said, removing her foot from Merlin's.

"I love it," Arthur said, closing the book and flipping it over. "You really did put a bow on yourself, didn't you? It's the gift that keeps on giving."

"Until you use all the coupons," Gwen added. "And there's an expiration date. Can only be used for the next three months."

"Smart girl," Arthur said.

He placed the book on top of the painting and looked around the table.

"Thank you, guys, " Arthur said softly. "I'm incredibly lucky to have all of you in my life. This is… really great. And I'm sure…my mom…would be happy to see this too. I've spent all these years punishing myself for something that was completely out of my control. And…I wouldn't have been able to move on without your help."

He entwined his fingers with Gwen's under the table and squeezed.

"Thank you."

She smiled at him, holding his gaze.

"It was really—"

Her phone started ringing in her pocket, ruining the moment.

"I should…I'll be right back," she said. "In the meantime, help yourselves to some cake."

She pulled out her phone and walked away from the table, into the foyer.

"Hello?"

"Get in the car," said the distorted voice on the line.

"Excuse me?"

"Get in the car," he repeated. "Or I shoot all of them. I'll make sure to shoot the kid first."

"You expect me to believe that? This place has top of the line security. There's no way you could get past it. You're clearly bluffing."

"You're standing in the foyer," the voice said. "Your friends are sitting in the dining room next to the kitchen eating cake. The model is wiping her face with a napkin."

She froze.

"You've got the wrong girl," she whispered. "I'm nobody."

"Just get in the fucking car." He was angry now and his voice, though distorted, made her shiver. "Do you need a demonstration?"

"Alright." Her hands and voice were shaking. "If you promise you won't hurt them, I'll…do whatever you say."

"Make it quick."

He hung up.

Think fast. Think fast.

"Oh gosh!" she exclaimed as she walked towards the kitchen. "I forgot to make ice cream…so silly of me."

"It's alright," Arthur said, turning towards her. "The cake is delicious on its own—"

"I'd like some ice cream," Mordred said, raising his hand.

I'll make sure to shoot the kid first.

"It's settled," she said, hurrying over to the kitchen. "That was Charles on the phone. I told him to remind me in case I forgot about the ice cream. He's volunteered to take me to the store. I'll only be a minute."

"Of course he offered," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "He'd offer to let you step on his back if you asked him."

"Alright. Cool. Good. Fantastic."

"Are you alright?"

Arthur was looking at her, concern written all over his face.

She wanted to say that it wasn't all right. There was a distinct possibility that she may never come back alive, that she'd never see him again.

"I'm fine," she said, laughing nervously. "I'm just going to drop by Mr. Friendly's. It's the best ice cream in town!"

"Never heard of it," said Merlin. "Is it new?"

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

"No," she told him. "It's been here forever. I've just got to go before they close."

Arthur looked her in the eyes again. "You sure you don't want someone to come with you?"

"I'm sure," she said, her voice much harsher than she intended. "Goodbye, Arthur."

She wished she could say something else…do something else. But she was certain they were watching her and she didn't want to put any of them in danger.

She turned around and walked quickly to the door. And there she stood for a few moments, frozen with fear.

I'll make sure to shoot the kid first.

With enormous determination, she lifted her shaking hands, opened the door, and closed it behind her.

The moment she did, someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a wet towel to her face.

She screamed and struggled with all her might, but it was no use. The arms restraining her were too strong and the cloth was too thick. Her consciousness began to slip away. Her arms grew lax and her eyelids were suddenly too heavy to keep up.

Everything went black.


I'm bad, I know. Things were getting a bit too fluffy for me. I really wish there were a way to have a tertiary genre. If it were possible I'd make this story Romance/Drama/Humor. The last 8 chapters definitely err more on the dramatic side for sure (still trying to figure out if I want 20 or 25 chapters).

Please review and let me know what you think. It always brightens up my day when people leave comments!

-Hime

:: This chapter is inspired by the song "You Could be Happy" by Snow Patrol ::