"You're a new face."

Susan paused in her apple slicing, turning to the kitchen entrance to find two men stepping in. Rather, one of them stepped in and the other limped in. Kingsman. Suit. Stance. Eyeglasses. There's no other choice, really. It would seem that the open knowledge of the branches was long closed. It would seem, that only the Trinity knew of all the branches in intimacy at this point.

She wondered which of the knights these two would be.

"Right. You didn't get to join the emergency meeting."

"She caused an emergency meeting?"

She heard the words and understood what they were implying about her existence. Unfortunately, she was so taken at how the man that spoke first wore crooked glasses. Her mind jumped into figuring out on whether it was the glasses that was crooked, or the man just clearly had his head tilted a bit to the left as a default. Or maybe it was the ears? They did remind her of a mouse's. Mr. Crooked Glasses seemed to be a kind person and a hardworking one.

A baritone laugh had her turn to the other man. With him, it would be it that's going to be his primary distinct quality. The sound reminded her easily of deep caverns and booming drums. How would he sound with a belly laugh? Would it sound like the smithies? His glasses were pristine with sharp edged frames. An almost hawk nose. A five o' clock shadow. Pointed ears? Pointed ears. Mr. Pointy Ears.

Both damn tall. Both in suits. Both dark haired. Both, in Susan's estimate, around their late 30s to early 40s.

"An emergency meeting and she's still here?" That had her eyebrow raising. The implication was again clear and the desire to crush jumped from her throat to her tongue. Patience halted it, her lips opting for a smile instead. She did itch to know how Crooked Glasses would react. She turned to Pointy Ears to find him looking at her with a smirk of his own. Even through the smirk, his eyes looked a bit sad. Curious.

He was the first to look away. "You plan to tell him Miss, or should I?"

She placed the apple down and the knife back to the chopping board, wiped her hands, and fully faced the two of them.

Would first meetings with a Kingsman always be a dance?

"Introduction, gentlemen."

Susan found herself liking how Pointy Ears took the cue. How sensitive could he be with every hint? How fast would he know the repercussions of a hint? Would he grab and own it as bravely as he did this?

"Mordred." He executed a playful bow, making Crooked Glasses raise his eyebrow. He smirked back as he straightened.

"Percival." There's no bow, but there was a nod. Mordred looked slightly disappointed at that. "And who are you, Miss?"

"'Tis an honor to meet you, my Sirs." She curtsied, an action she was surprised was still familiar. "I'm Guinevere."

One. Two. Three. Four.

"Well, that's curious." Percival gave a nonchalant shrug, then smiled. "It's nice to meet you."

She smiled back. "Now that introductions are done, can I tempt you to a snack? I doubt you're here to stare at the… Fridge."

"What're you having?" Mordred gave Percival a pat on his shoulder before taking a seat on a bar stool. Percival took a few moments to follow, having come to a decision.

"I hope you don't expect anything heavy." She picked up the plates of cut fruit and some biscuits. Percival reached out to take one of the plates to assist her. "Thank you."

She placed the rest of the plates and turned around to clean up the things she used. She stumbled upon the kitchen during her first sleepless midnight. That first night. All the shining things both terrified and amazed her, that she returned every chance she got. Slowly she worked through all the things that changed and stayed the same. She never touched anything that seemed complicated and unfamiliar, which was plenty of them. That was why it was a blessing that she crossed ways with Hamlet. A blessing indeed. He taught her most of the basics. She still avoided many of the kitchen gadgets, but she's getting familiar with the fridge, the stove, and the water dispenser. He even taught her how to make hot chocolate, which she now took every morning as was habit.

She wiped the counter clean and still felt eyes on her back. She was ready to say something smart, but it died down when she turned around. They were deep in thought and obviously exhausted.

She took the water pitcher and three mugs.

"Food will be good to your bellies, even just a little." She set it down beside the biscuits and pushed the plate of fruit to Percival. She remembered him limping when they came in. "Maybe it'll get you through until you can get to your beds. Please."

She bit on a biscuit and took a slice of apple, hoping that it would get them to eat. It did, but only when she's halfway the apple slice. They were halfway through everything by the time she finished her second apple slice.

"There's more where that came from." She fetched and set the tin where she got the biscuits before Mordred who was already reaching halfway. "Did you even get some breakfast?"

"We had some coffee and toast on the way." Percival munched on a biscuit while discreetly picking another. Dark eyes. Not black, but dark chocolate brown.

"While in the car." Mordred grumbled with a roll of his eyes. Blue like hers. No. Not exactly. Blue-grey. Like the sky inviting a storm. "That part is important."

Poor dears.

"I think I still have the time, I can cook you something—"

"I'd appreciate if ye go to debrief first before bletherin' around." Merlin stood by the door with a blank face, his clipboard in hand. Forehead creased. Shoulders stiff. His voice held no arguments and was as rough as it was deep.

It sent a shiver down her spine.

Of course, Aslan would drop her in the middle of something big.

Mordred openly sighed and gave a soft groan. Percival gulped his fourth mug of water down before standing up. Mordred followed suit, swallowing his last chunk of biscuit. Percival was already going to Merlin when Mordred finished his mug of water.

Susan rushed to the fruit basket and took three apples. "Mordred. A moment, please."

He paused, question clear. She offered the apples to him, urging him to take it with her eyes. She knew how it was to race from one place to another without anything in her belly. She knew how damaging lack of food was. "Please."

"I don't think Merlin's going to be fine with that." He replied under his breath.
"Please. I'm sure none of you hadn't had a decent meal yet." She glimpsed at Merlin, making sure that she was heard. "All three of you."

Mordred took the apples and slipped one of them in his pockets. He gave her another playful bow and turned to leave. On the way, he tossed an apple to Percival, who caught it midair. He then offered the other to Merlin, who sighed and took it.

His sigh was too deep for her liking. Hamlet had mentioned that calling Merlin's meal times as irregular was an understatement. The only thing regular with Merlin and food was his coffee. She could understand that. Every agent could make small sacrifices, but the term 'small' could be taken depending on a person's perspective. Loopholes and specificities were parts of a spy's lifestyle.

She didn't even get to ask Hamlet if Merlin did get to eat on time yesterday. Heaven help them if other agents share his habit.

"This better not be as hard as shoving food down Ed's throat."

XXXXXX

SOMETHING HARRY HART ALREADY EXPECTED:

1. Susan Pevensie knew how to dance. From the reports, she danced well.

Dance had always been a part of the ongoing training once a recruit becomes an agent. It was expected and required that they're, at the very least, experts of the basic steps of the socialite dances, new and old. A decent mastery of the waltz was a requirement. Those who wished to pursue more of the subject was free to learn through the help of the Kingsman, whether it be through lessons from co-agents or affiliates. Harry was of the former. He was lucky that he didn't need to go too far to find a teacher. The previous Bedivere was the one who taught him almost everything that he knew.

So, in perfect Harry Hart fashion, he brought Susan to a classy but homey restaurant with a ballroom floor. A small orchestra played pieces in batches and Spotify stepped in during their breaks.

"This is fancier than what I expected." Susan's eyes kept jumping from one place to another, taking in the features of the place. It stopped on the roof. "They have a glass roof."

He followed her gaze to said stained glass roof. The bright London day, a surprise, made the rose centerpiece shine like the sun. He looked back at Susan to see her basking in it. Her head bent back resting against the chair and her shoulders sloped down. Her hair was loose and comparable to a waterfall. Her hands rested together on her stomach, fingers slightly intertwined. Her lips were parted, breathing out. Closed eyes completed the image.

He stopped the waiter that was approaching their table with a raised hand and a shake of his head.

It would be a sin to disturb this peace. A sin to defile this picture of elegance.

A stupidity to miss this chance of observation.

He still couldn't believe that she was the Lost Guinevere and he told himself that whenever he was in her presence and whenever he heard her stories. Those were the moments he was so ready to accept it, because there was something about her. Something that he had been trying to define but couldn't. A word that could fit, but he always found lacking. What intrigued him wasn't her wonder of the new world. It wasn't her kindness to everyone, or her perception of her effect on people.

It was this elegance, as if she's following a different set of etiquette. A set that this world still revered, but long forgot. A set that now with someone following, the world craved to have back.

It made one look and wonder why she's there, only to accept that she's supposed to be.

"There's a place in our memory," Her voice started soft. "My brothers, sister and I, of a great hall with its ivory walls, tall columns, and its own glass roof. The embellishments of that one though, were focused on the edges."

And there were these. Statements that implied something and served as little hints to a larger puzzle. Pieces that would lead to a full circle of realization or revelation. Details that were obviously very dear to her, openly shared.

That bothered him as well. Her openness and reaching out halfway, while they wondered if there's a knife somewhere that would jump in the embrace. He had decided to trust her, true, but there was always a chance.

"What do they do during the winter?" Her eyes fluttered open and her body straightened, back to adhering high society's aesthetic of manners. "I doubt someone would want to climb up there to push off all the snow. Unless, they pay that someone enough."

"They installed heaters." He waved a waiter to them. "But there was a time someone did come up to push the snow off."

"So that's what those stairs are for." She took the offered menu with a smile.

"Other than for heater maintenance, they use the stairs to offer a tour atop the place and see the stained glass up close."

She nodded in understanding, opening the menu and skimming through it. He followed suit, even though he had an idea of what he wanted. Who knows? Maybe there's something interesting in today's specials. A quick glance confirmed his theory enough to peruse further to change his mind. He looked up to check on her once he's done.

Brows furrowed. Eyes squinted. Lips pressed tight together. It wasn't even an exaggerated expression. She's flipping through the menu back and forth too. What could be wrong?

"Is there something wrong? Do you have allergies? I can give some recommendations or we can ask the waiter."

"No. No. It's nothing like that." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm still trying to wrap my head around things."

"Ah. May I inquire what's the most difficult right now?"

There was a pause for a few moments, then she leaned forward looking around. "The prices."

"The prices."

"Yes."

Things clicked and he had to smile. "I'm afraid the current economic landscape isn't the best, but I assure you, it is definitely better than long before at some points."

"That eases my heart."

She still ordered the cheapest meal in the menu. In return, he made sure that she order something chocolate as her dessert.

"Shall we dance while we wait?" He offered her a hand. He had caught sight of the orchestra setting up for their next batch just when they finished ordering. It was good timing too, since there's only a few pairs on the floor, also taking advantage of the next batch of music.

"I thought you would never ask."

They entered the ballroom floor with her arm hooked to his. Past pairs that opted to sway in their little corners. Past pairs that were a bit more daring, moving in wider circles but not wide enough. Past pairs that knew what they were doing and changed directions to give way.

Eyes on them.

Eyes on her.

They stopped shy the center of the floor. She slipped out of his hold and stepped back, raising her arms open. The current music bar came to its crescent and when it descended, they stepped forward.

Hands clasped. Her right side settling against his. Feet posed.

The next moment he almost dropped her at the sudden weight. She was heavy. Heavier than he expected and it wasn't just the weight.

Her spine was twisted like a spiral, left arm level to her shoulder with her elbow jutting out, and she held her head far—farther than he was used to—from the hold. It made her lean so far back that he feared she would fall away from him. She was leaning so far back that he had to adjust his hold.

He felt like a vase holding a bowed lily. He could only imagine how they looked. Could she maintain this all through out? Could he support her and lead her properly?

Eyes on them. Eyes on her.

Another bar passed. Could he muster the strength? Another bar passed again and she moved, adjusting to a form he was more comfortable. The pressure on his side disappeared and her spine straightened. The weight eased and the distance grew.

"My apologies." Adjustment. Eyes on them. Eyes on her. Still. Another bar passed without movement or dance. A small part of him was disappointed on how incompetent a lead he was looking. A larger part was demanding he lead instead of thinking too much.

So he did, his mind still trying to figure out the message that incident was supposed to be.

Left foot forward. Right foot diagonal. Left foot close to the right. Everything that followed came almost by instinct. How long had she been dancing? Who taught her to dance in such a hold? Who was her partner in such hold? Was it a Kingsman or not? How many dances did she know? How well? He felt a strong pressure against his hip that moved quickly down his right leg. Before he could even let instinct push back as a reply, the world spun.

One. His body tensed for a moment, seizing some control only to find none. Just a moment. His feet found ground to follow and his body recovered balance to complete the spin.

Two. Muscles bunched in tension beneath his fingertips. An energy filled the air and Harry was overwhelmed at how palpable it was. It pulsed, flared around them and he glanced down to its source. Susan was smiling at him, but not to him.

She was the center of gravity.

Three. Faster the world spun as the tension retreated slowly. His mind out of whatever thought process it had, did its best to catch up with his body. His body which had long accepted its new role to react, did so to whatever this unyielding force was leading him to. When his mind caught up, it was to make sure that his body did it properly.

He was being swept away by a wave.

Four. Awareness came as the shock and confusion faded. His mind now conscious to the signals the one against him was sending. Aware and in control of how he should follow through the execution. She was still smiling. He also took this chance to look around them.

Eyes on them. Eyes on her.

After that fourth spin, they ended in a throwaway oversway position. A figure he learned briefly but never was able to use simply because it wasn't for social dancing. But here he was doing it. His muscles straining but adjusting to make sure that the lines were perfect and his hold steady. They stayed like that for a few more moments, before her body shifted and his own prepared to follow. Their bowed back torsos and bent legs straightened, extended legs pulled back in, and their hold returning to its parallel rest. Back to how they started.

Back to stable ground. That looming energy was gone. The tension almost inexistent. This time she waited. The hijacking never happened in the dance again. It didn't need to. The point, Harry assumed there was one, made a mark.

THE ASSUMED POINT:

1. Susan might have nothing to lose, but control wasn't included in that nothing.

THE TRUTH:

1. Susan really just wanted to dance.

XXXXXX

Bad habits are bad. However, when the cash desk's looking at you because of the amount of uncooked fries packs you're laying down the counter, that's the last thing on your mind. The first thing was the takeout bags full of ready to eat fries, the taste in your mouth from the one you just finished, and the salt still on your fingertips.

That was Merlin's situation a few minutes ago, but now he's out of the grocery nearest the Kingsman tailor shop. He wanted to wipe the knowing smirk of the cash desk personnel, but was too preoccupied with the fries he was trying to keep warm in his coat pockets.

He popped a few into his mouth and sighed. Well tidy scran. He was already walking when he popped another few again. Walking sounded appealing, albeit not too much for his bags of groceries, but it might give him an outlet for the stress he'd been feeling the past few days.

And what a stress it was and still would be. He didn't leave the HQ through it all and now that he was out, his to do list still hovered close to the forefront of his mind. There's still the pull of needing to return, but he knew this could be the only break he got till the next shitestorm. He nibbled at a fry as he rounded a corner, catching a woman doing the same at the corner of his gaze.

"Roxy."

"Didn't think you'd realize this late." She glanced at the grocery bags. Bad habits are—Merlin just ate more fries. "I'm relieved to see you finally out."

"Ye make it sound like it's a prison."

"Not at all. It's your workaholism that's a prison."

"Said the pot to the kettle." He pulled out the other untouched takeout bag from his pocket and offered it to her. She took the bag and in no time, they were both munching fries while walking through the nighttime streets of London. "This ain't yer way home."

"No."

Merlin let the silence reign. He was never one to openly offer out whatever personal information or business he knew about anyone, unless he needed to. And he knew a lot. A definite lot. Another reason was because he knew Roxy. She needed these quiet moments of normalcy as much as he did.

"How was Alistair?" Roxy broke the silence. They rounded another corner. His current bag of fries was nearly empty and he hoped his other still untouched bags in another pocket were hopefully, still warm.

"He'll be limping for a few more days. Nothing serious. I ken he would be fine before he comes back to the doc."

"That's good. Something to say to my brother to reassure his wife about her own brother. I never understood why they don't just ask Sylvia again on this."

"They're not satisfied of the wife's answers?"

"Not at all. They just accepted that Sylvia is as secretive as Alistair and so bother me about it."

He smiled at that. Of course, Sylvia Thompson nee Watson would be secretive about her husband's affairs. She was after all a retired member of the organization. She worked with the Q branch for years under Merlin's own guidance.

"She should know a bit more about acting. Alistair mentioned she's pursuing theater these days." Merlin wouldn't mention that though. Classified information. "Unless, I dinnae, she's using ye as an easy out."

Roxy's annoyance had him smiling wider. "What would I ken though?"

"Oh, you know a lot. You know everything. You want to know so much more that you find the gruelling task more fun than any normal hobby!"

He wiped his fingers on the tissue and gave a small huff. "Be thankful I'm not offended, I should be."

She scoffed. "You won't be. You adore me."

"Don't make me regret it."

"Oh, I plan to never make you regret it. Unlike your inexistent social life." Her smirk had him rolling his eyes. "I understand that it's work, but sometimes you don't even leave the lab for days."

"Exaggeration."

Roxy paused and it was her turn to roll her eyes. They both knew that the lab has its own bathroom, mini fridge, and a hidden sofabed. They also both knew that there was an incident that Merlin stayed in the lab for four days. Roxy knew all of this because it was her mission that required it. And unlike Merlin, she was given a chance to recover the lost sleep after. They both knew that it was what started their closeness. Merlin could even compare it to how Harry had become so fond of Eggsy.

Merlin paused a few steps after and looked back. He stared at her blankly. She stared back just as blank.

"When was the last time you went out to have fun?"

"A week ago. Harry and I went drinking." Her frown meant it was unsatisfactory.

"When was the last time you met someone new—"

"A few days ago."

"—other than Susan Pevensie?"

She wasn't amused. He was.

He was ready for a comeback until he noticed a woman looking at them from the other side of the road. Her gaze jumped from him to Roxy again and again. He watched as she carried on doing it a few more times until it settled to Roxy. He frowned, his mind running and trying to determine who this person was.

"She's my girlfriend."

He blinked. Curiosity warping to surprise.

Kahinoor Farahani, nicknamed Noor, was definitely not completely dark haired when he received the surveillance report a month ago. The bright purple dye on her hair was gone, a very distinct feature that threw him a bit off balance. That combined with the fact that she had crossed the road and now standing before him, looking at Roxy with eyes clear in their adoration, made him blink a few more times.

Noor stood before him a few inches taller than Roxy and with her heels, almost reached his eyelevel. She was also wearing a very interesting outfit. A neon red blouse under a leather jacket. Ripped dark jeans that showed she's wearing leggings of the same neon color.

Lava was the first word that came to mind.

"Noor." The two hugged. In those few moments, Roxy looked like all her burdens were for another time. He had never seen her so effortlessly calm. Her smile was so bright when Noor kissed the apple of her cheek. She looked happy. "I'm sorry for making you wait."

"It's nothing. We're all busy these days." Even when they stepped away from each other, Noor's eyes were on Roxy. A look Merlin was familiar with when his sisters found the loves of their lives. "You sure you're not too tired?"

"I should be asking you that. Was your boss being a piece of shit again?"

"Not too much."

"I swear. You're a saint."

Aye. They're definitely in their own little world. The softness on Roxy's face was definitely new to him.

"You're not talking about work, are you?" Dark eyes turned to him. Golden skin. She turned to Roxy again after delivering that question. Merlin couldn't help his smile. Definitely in love.

"Not at all. I'm actually telling him that he needs to get out more. You can't base workaholism just by how much one talks about work. He rarely talks about work and that's because he rarely gets away from it!"

"So you've said." Noor had a softness in her, while having a very obvious undertone of steel. A strength that seemed to compliment Roxy's own. "Is he the one you keep telling me that's in charge of the tech of your tailor company?"

Roxy nodded, face open in emotions. This was the most animated he'd seen her too. Subtle expressions, but animated. It made him wonder about many things. The small details and emotion that any report couldn't express.

"I'm Kahinoor Farahani."

"Merlin Sutherland. Glad to meet ye." He offered the hand he's not using to eat fries, openly ignoring Roxy's raised brow. He used Sutherland when she asked for his last name. He was sure. "I'm a workmate."

"A greater workaholic."

"So far, at least." After the necessary handshake, her hand immediately went for Roxy's own like it was instinct. "You can join us. Workaholics getting a break together and having fun."

"Good luck inviting him clubbing."

"Azizam..." My dear.

"I'm afraid she's right." He felt honored that Roxy trusted him enough to introduce her girlfriend to him, but he wouldn't intrude what little time they seemed to have in first meeting. It was glaringly obvious that they missed each other. It was cute.

"It doesn't have to be clubbing. There's so many things we can do for fun."

"I think I'm too old for most of them," He lifted the groceries to view. "And I need to get home and put this away before they spoil."

"Ah. If you must. But if you keep missing opportunities saying you're too old, would you call that living?"

He didn't have any reply to that. He turned to Roxy for a clue but found her smirking and proud instead. He shook his head in surrender. "Next time. I'll free up some time for sure."

Noor brightened like the light she was named. Its sincerity was unexpected, especially when they just met and she was only going from what twisted halftruths Roxy told her. "I look forward to it!"

He watched them when they crossed the street hand in hand. He only continued with his trek when they turned to a corner and disappeared from view.

He was happy for Roxy and hoped that her joy continue. He should ask Alistair if he knew about this and plan how he could assist.

Relationships were pretty complicated with the Kingsman.