Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin, but it was just my birthday, sooooooooooo if BBC wants to make me really happy…..

Chapter Four: Rolling Chairs.

Arthur fussed around with one of the hand-out menus that the restaurant had, trying desperately to think of new menu ideas. Morgana was pacing around in the kitchen, her rapid use of French reminiscent of a loud machine gun as she spoke to who he thought was Gwen.

"Consulter ce n'est pas ma faute qu'il a d'être un peu têtu— ce qui est de ce mot Merlin utilise? Oh oui —prat." Wow, it was almost impressive that Arthur knew she was talking about him with only the tone of her voice.

"Morgana, do stop talking nonsense and come help me!" Arthur yelled at her from the lounge.

"Oh, come now Arthur!" Morgana drawled as she poked her head through the doorway. "You're a successful restaurant manager, aren't you? Can't you come up with a menu list without my help?" She smirked at him, leaning her head on the doorframe, though Arthur noticed she had yet to tell Gwen (or Not-Gwen) that she had to go because she was no longer on the phone.

"Well, you are the Head Chef, which—if you think about it—makes you responsible for menu changes," he snapped back, his patience fraying at the ends.

Morgana raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. "Well, here's an idea for you—"

Arthur raised his eyes to the ceiling. "God help me," he intoned with a long-suffering groan.

"—why don't you ask for Merlin's help?" Morgana finished, pretending not to hear Arthur's complaint.

Arthur laughed incredulously until he saw Morgana's face. "Wait," he said, sobering up. "You're serious?"

"Yes, I am." Morgana sniffed, looking as if she was judging him for taking so long to catch on to her brilliant idea.

"I think you've been cooking too many of those fancy French herbs, Morgana—the fumes are getting to you," Arthur tells her in a mock-concerned voice.

"Arthur," Morgana said in that tone she used when Arthur was at his most annoying. "He's a good cook. Get it into your head. He probably has a bazillion good ideas for your new menu if you would actually talk to him."

"I do talk to him," Arthur scoffed rolling his eyes.

"Talking means holding an adult conversation and not insulting each other for at least five seconds," Morgana deadpanned.

"Ugh. Fine, LeFay. But if this goes down in dramatic and devastating flames, I get to blame you," Arthur said with no small resignation, looking terribly put upon.

Morgana only smirked and plucked his car keys from the key rack nailed beside the door, handing them to him with a smug smile as he passed her on his way out.

:i:

Arthur managed to get the directions to Merlin's flat from Gwen, who—bless her kind heart—seemed to have started up a BFF type of relationship with Merlin in record time.

He drove his fancy car down the road where Gwen said Merlin's flat was and parked in front of the lot number she'd prattled out. Exiting the car, Arthur smoothed down his shirt and walked up to Merlin's apartment door—an old blue door that looked to be about 10 years old—and knocked, waiting impatiently for Merlin to answer.

The door opened about 15 seconds later—with Merlin sticking his disheveled head out—and a grin spread over his face. "Arthur what are you doing here?" he asked, opening the door wider in a silent gesture of welcome.

"Morgana suggested I talk to you about the new menu changes," Arthur said as he stepped inside, glancing around the messy flat he had entered. Books and papers were stacked everywhere, and what looked to be packing boxes were strewn around the room. He looked back at Merlin and added, "She seems be under the impression that you had some good ideas. Really Merlin, what have you been doing to give her that impression? And why haven't you been giving me that impression too?"

Merlin simply laughed—as though he hadn't heard the insult—and walked down the small hallway to what appeared to be an office. "I don't know why Morgana asked you to talk to me," he said as Arthur followed him inside. "I haven't been doing that much to warrant such high praise. Maybe you heard her wrong?" Merlin laughed still grinning that obnoxious grin of his.

For a moment, Arthur could only blink as he was greeted with the sight of a box. It had what appeared to be an image of a rolling chair—which, of course, seemed perfectly reasonable since there were pieces of said rolling chair strewn across the small office. Merlin sat down, tucked his feet under his knees, and picked up what looked like an instruction manual off the floor.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, maybe you're right," he said, feeling resigned for the umpteenth time that day. "I can never tell with her anyway. But since I'm already here, I might as well speak to someone about the new menu."

"Isn't that why you have Morgana?" Merlin asked, his eyes still twinkling.

"Well, yes," Arthur acknowledged, his eyes scanning the messy office for someplace to sit. "But all she did was yell at Gwen in French."

"Why would she be yelling at Gwen?" Merlin asked, completely confused. "In fact, why would anybody yell at Gwen?"

"Well," Arthur drawled, giving up on finding a spot to sit on, "I don't know if it was Gwen, and I don't know if it really was yelling. But I think they were talking about me." Arthur scratched his temple, belatedly realizing that Merlin was so easy to talk to.

"If Morgana was yelling and talking about you, then she was probably speaking to Gwen." Merlin told him, flashing an amused smirk that seemed more devious than his normal grin.

"Yes, well, that doesn't matter right now," Arthur said, changing the topic once he heard the near-mocking tone Merlin spoke with. "I still need to talk about the menu changes. I think I want to add the Blanquette to the menu. What do you think?"

Merlin looked positively surprised that Arthur actually wanted to add his dish to the menu, obviously Arthur had been calling him an idiot too often.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Merlin answered in a shaky voice.

"Good," Arthur nodded. "I'm also thinking of removing some items from the menu that our competition have too."

Merlin shrugged noncommittally. "I wouldn't know, really. I haven't had time to eat in many restaurants in Paris since I arrived."

Arthur looked bewildered. "Are you serious? That's like going to the beach and not swimming!"

Merlin looked like he was trying to come up with a snappy retort, but suddenly something in the instructions he had been reading caught his eye. "What? They didn't mention that!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin's outburst. "Something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong," Merlin said sarcastically, glaring at the obviously badly-written manual. "I mean, really! You'd think they would include that earlier in the instructions, wouldn't you?"

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes and holding one of his hands out. "For God's sake, Merlin! How about you give me the instructions, and you can sit down and write the new menu?"

Merlin's eyes brightened. "Seems fair," he grinned.

Arthur took Merlin's spot on the floor and started trying to assemble the rolling chair, and Merlin went to go find a notebook and pen to write down menu ideas. They sat in companionable silence for a while—Arthur twisting screws together making up the chair and Merlin writing down words in his scratchy handwriting.

"So why exactly am I putting together a rolling chair?" Arthur asked, finally looking up from his project.

Merlin looked up from the paper and grinned. "Because I'm slowly turning you into my minion without you even realizing it. Aren't I evil?"

Arthur let out a dry laugh. "So evil, I can barely stand the urge to grab some chain mail and a sword and vanquish you from this land."

Both laughed and they continued on with their assigned tasks. Later, Merlin had a new rolling chair and Arthur had a new menu plan.

"How am I supposed to understand this chicken scrawl?" Arthur asked indignantly as he and Merlin walked out of the office. "It looks like it's been written by a two-year-old with a sugar rush."

Merlin's neck and ears flushed an embarrassed red color. "Prat! At least you got your menu revisions." As an afterthought, he added, "And thank you for fixing the chair, by the way. Now I have somewhere to sit in my office."

Arthur laughed and scratched an eyebrow. "Yes, well, I still need to check with Morgana to see if these menu revisions are actually what we're going to use. Maybe you can drive over to Morgana's flat and you can go through the revisions with her. You know, how you chefs do with your strange food talk."

For some reason, Merlin looked worried. "When?" he asked.

"Tomorrow, Merlin," Arthur said, as if Merlin were a simpleton.

"Um, I don't know if I can make it tomorrow," Merlin confessed scratching the back of his neck. "I don't think Will can drive me there that day. I think he has a date."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in a good impression of Gaius. "And so that impedes your ability to do anything that day how?"

Merlin smiled ruefully. "Will drives me everywhere," he clarified. "I don't have a license, you see."

"You don't have a license?"Arthur asked, baffled. "How do you survive in Paris without a license and only Will to drive you around?"

Merlin laughed."Trust me, it's very hard. I mostly go to Gaius's flat on Sundays, and I can walk to the library and the restaurant. The rest of the time, I just stay in my flat."

Arthur was nearly appalled at the idea. "But you do have your learner's permit?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Of course!" he defended hotly. "I've just been…putting off my driving lessons for a long time."

"How about I teach you?" Arthur asked before his mind could catch up with his mouth.

Merlin had a look of confused surprise on his face. "You?"

Arthur started to get annoyed. "Of course me. Unless you know another Arthur?" he said rhetorically.

Merlin flushed. "Oh no, that would be great, thank you. Will's always offering, but I don't really trust him with teaching me how to safely drive a car."

Arthur nodded and stepped out of the front door. "Alright. And I'll come pick you up tomorrow," he added, earning another surprised look from his companion. "We can meet Morgana together. Is nine all right with you?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Merlin nodded, and his grin was the last thing Arthur saw before he closed the front door.

Quickly walking back to his car, Arthur stuck his key into the ignition and drove off, Merlin's chicken-scratch notes tucked into his breast pocket.

:i:

YEAH! FINISHED EARLY!

Seriously this is the fastest I've ever finished a chapter. I think this is rubbing off on me.

It's going to be Spring Break next week, and I'm going to the beach and that equals maybe/no internet connection, so Magic in Our Stars Chapter seven might be late.

Good news though?

Seven hour car ride, and all I'll be able to do is write on my lap top.

Consulter ce n'est pas ma faute qu'il a d'être un peu têtu— ce qui est de ce mot Merlin utilise? Oh oui —prat- See it's not my fault that he be a little stubborn-what is that word Merlin used? Oh yes- prat.