Hi there, Legs here with the belated chapter 3 of Heads and Tails... sorry about the lateness. Lacrima and I have had exams. If it makes you feel better, we've been slack with our other stories too. Now, enjoy this chapter! I command you!

Disclaimer: Merlin (and Doctor Who, which is mentioned later on) belong to the BBC, not a couple of fangirls, who, if they had their way, would re-name the channel the "BBGAYNESS... SQUEE."

History and Geography [Merlin]

Fortuitously, when the cab dropped us off at Gwen's place, her father wasn't home, so we had the whole flat to ourselves. Gwen's flat was kinda small, but it was homey and it was certainly like a second home to me.

"Arthur," Morgana began as soon as we got in, "tell them about VIVVY!"

Arthur scowled. "What's to tell?"

I rolled my eyes, flopping down onto the nicely-located couch. "Uh, only EVERYTHING! Who when what how WHY?"

"THAT," Arthur said out of what I suppose was habit, "is none of your business."

"This chick tried to chat him up just now at the airport," Morgana explained. "She was a bottle-blonde and all. Nothing but tits and teeth – the full meal-deal."

I laughed, along with Gwen and Morgana. Arthur looked at us harshly. "I don't see what's so funny about it," he snapped.

"What's funny is that you didn't care," Morgana said, "weren't even interested!"

"I DID care," Arthur protested, "inasmuch as I wanted the stupid girl out of my sight!"

"'You can call me Vivvy!'" Morgana said mockingly, ignoring him. She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she spoke.

"She sounds lovely, Arthur," I said with a straight face, "and I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

Arthur frowned. "You are just ASKING for trouble, my friend."

"Bring it!" I said with a grin, flinging myself off the couch and darting behind it.

"Careful, Merlin!" Gwen yelled. "I don't want you bloody breaking anything!"

"His bones or your furniture?" Arthur asked snidely, sitting himself down on the newly-vacated couch.

"Both, neither, whatever," Gwen said.

"Aren't you gonna beat me up, Arfy? You said I was asking for trouble," I said from behind the couch.

Arthur twitched slightly, but kept his cool. "Call me Arfy again, and you'll be signing your own death warrant..."

"Oh, you're no fun. Arfy."

"Right," he said angrily, getting up off the couch.

"Anyone want a drink?" Gwen asked tenuously.

"I'd love one," Morgana chirped, "have you got anything that'll get me completely blotto? I need a bit of fun after that holiday."

"Tell me about it," Arthur murmured.

"I'll see what we've got," Gwen replied. By "we", she meant "what might be hiding at the back of her fridge in a place her father never thought to look". Gwen's father didn't really know what sort of shenanigans his daughter got up to when he wasn't around. And that's probably for the best. That said, out of the four of us, Gwen is the least likely to get absolutely rat-faced and stumble home at midnight with the promise of a hangover the next morning. Not that I've ever done that. Much.

Arthur stood imposingly over me, his hands on his hips. "You. I won't kill you JUST yet. First I'm going to get drunk, then I'm going to lie down for a bit and compose myself, and THEN I will kill you. And it will be most painful."

I shrugged. "In your own time, Arfy."

Arthur glared at me, before joining Gwen in the kitchen.

"You look so silly," Morgana said with a laugh.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, just crouched behind the couch like that... you look like some kind of imp, or something!"

"Maybe I am," I said. But I really did look stupid. So I got up and sat down on the couch again. It really was a very nice couch.

"Hey, Gwen, Merlin," Morgan said suddenly, "I completely forgot – we have souvenirs for you!"

"Brilliant!" Gwen said, emerging from the kitchen with a bottle of slightly old-looking champagne.

Morgana darted over to the suitcases, lying in the corner, and pulled out a big, fancy, boutique-store bag that had something written on it in what I presumed was French. But it might not have been.

"For my dear Gwen," she said, producing a shoebox from the bag with a flourish, "a little something for you to enjoy."

Gwen squealed. "Oh. My. God. Are those Prada?"

"Maaaaybe," Morgana confirmed.

Gwen jumped on her, knocking the shoebox to the floor. She said something that sounded like "ohmygodIloveyoulet'smakebabies", high-pitched and fast.

"Easy there!" Morgana squeaked from within Gwen's embrace, "I still have to give Merlin his souvenir!"

"Oh, alright," Gwen said pulling away in mock-reluctance. Really, though, she just wanted to get her hands on the shoes.

"For Merlin, the finest cologne money can buy."

"Is it eau du toilette?" I asked. "I've always wondered what that smells like..."

"Eau du toilette smells like piss compared to this," Morgana said, proudly displaying a small blue bottle with French text – DEFINITELY French – but I still couldn't make head nor tail of it. I took the lid off and had a sniff.

"Yum, smells like vanilla," I pointed out with a smile.

Morgana grinned broadly. "Glad you like it. Now it's Arthur's turn!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "My gifts are nowhere NEAR as extravagant Morgana's, I'm afraid," he began, "but they're very French, and I'm sure you'll like them."

In his suitcase, he had a small box for Gwen and a massive bloody parcel wrapped up in many layers of tissue paper. "What could this be... ?"

"Oh my god, Arthur, this bracelet is gorgeous!" Gwen said, slipping the silver bangle onto her wrist. If she still had that silly crush on Arthur that she harboured for several months in high school, she surely would've taken this as a sign. Thankfully, now it was just a gesture of friendship.

I had unwrapped my souvenir, the many layers of paper peeling away to reveal a thick, dusty book that looked centuries old. But maybe my mind was exaggerating.

"It's a concise history of France," Arthur said in a boastful tone, completely missing that it wasn't really concise at all. He smiled smugly at me, a glass of champagne in one hand, giving me a look that said "isn't this a great present? Aren't I great at buying presents? Huh? Huh?"

"It's a lovely-looking book," I mumbled, paging through it.

"I simply KNEW you'd love it the moment I saw it," he continued, "it just SCREAMED 'Merlin'."

"That's great, Arthur, but... I don't speak French."

Arthur paled, and his expression soured. "What do you mean?"

"Well, uh, this book is in FRENCH. I don't speak... I don't read French."

The corners of Arthur's mouth dropped, as though to say "I don't believe it".

"But, hey, no worries," I said, attempting conciliation, "you can just read it to me!"

Arthur's face returned to his usual scowl – much better. "Don't be stupid, MERlin. I'm not reading you that bloody thing. You'll just have to learn French."

"Oh, come on, you said it was 'concise'. Surely you can take some time to read me this 'concise' book here?"

"Forget waiting until after the drink, I'm killing you now!"

I put the book to one side and spread my arms wide, inviting Arthur to attack at will. Which he did. He pushed me forward and onto the couch, pinning me down. This was my time to strike. Arthur Pendragon was good, but he wasn't too good to outsmart me.

"Wow, THIS is homoerotic," I said under my breath.

"WHAT did you say?" Arthur almost screamed. Gwen and Morgana stifled their giggles, for fear of Arthur's wrath.

"I said that this situation is incredibly homoerotic!" I repeated, louder this time.

"I—" Arthur began, but he knew that he couldn't continue. I was simply too clever for him. Of course, I could get away with playing on his mild homophobia, because no-one knew that I was gay. Yet. Then again, I doubted Arthur would EVER know, until I started dating some Italian heart-throb with a mansion on the Isle of Capri, wherever that is. THEN he'd know. But it wouldn't matter, because I'd be so rich that he'd have no choice but to talk to me if he wanted to enjoy the privileges of my friendship. For now, though, there would be no way he'd suspect anything.

Arthur jumped up, dusting himself off. "Gwen, more booze. Now."

Several hours, a bottle of champagne and a few shots of rather old whiskey later, I was lying in a heap on Gwen's bed with her and Morgana. Arthur sat slightly off to the side, not taking part in our little orgy physically, but he was there in spirit.

"MERlin," he said with a suppressed giggle, "read my book."

It was a command. "But it's in FRENCH."

"Read it anyway," Morgana suggested groggily, her face half-buried in Gwen's pillow. Usually she was much more, um... shall we say, active... as a drunk, but she was so jetlagged from a short flight (pathetic!) that she was droopy and lethargic.

"No," I said bluntly.

Gwen rolled over, inadvertently slapping me across the face with the back of her palm. "Read it anyway."

Reluctantly, I reached over to where the book lay discarded after Arthur's last attempts to read it (he was too drunk to see straight, as it turned out), and propped myself up against the wall, opening up to a random page.

"Um," I began, "voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"

"No!" Arthur cried, slamming his hand on the floor. "Read it PROPERLY!"

"Giuchie giuchie ya ya dada," I offered.

"MERlin. That is NOT French. Don't you know anything other than a line or two from Lady Marmalade?"

"Uh, voulez-voooous, uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh... Denis Denis avec tes yeux si bleus… un grand baiser d'éternité… uh…"

"Bloody hell, your accent is atrocious," Arthur said with a loud chortle, "and I'm so glad you've got no idea what you're talking about."

"What AM I talking about?" I asked, placing the book gently to one side. I was drunk, but not too drunk to properly respect a good book.

"Tell him," Morgana said, looking up momentarily before collapsing on the pillow again.

"No! I'd rather the poor boy lived on in ignorance."

"Basically," Morgana began, ignoring Arthur completely, "it means you want to bone some guy... called Denis..."

"Lovely," I said sarcastically, secretly thinking to myself that boning some guy called Denis wouldn't be a half-bad waste of my time. Maybe he'd be hot and Italian. With a mansion on the Isle of Capri. One can only dream...

"If you could live anywhere in the world," I began following that train of thought, "where would it be?"

"France," Morgana said immediately, her voice muffled by the pillow over her face, "Paris. The shopping, OH MY GOD."

"Oh, totally," Gwen gushed, "but I'd go for LA. You get imports from France, plus you live near Hollywood and stuff..."

"I'd live on the Isle of Capri," I said. "I've never been there, but it looked nice when I Google-imaged it for year eight geography."

"Geography is boring," Arthur said, "I don't care where I live. I'm fine where-ever."

Out of nowhere, Morgana threw a pillow at Arthur's head. For someone not looking up, it was a good shot. "YOU'RE boring. Boring person. Arthur. You have to pick SOMEWHERE."

"I don't know," Arthur said with a scowl, "Wales."

"Wales is gross," Gwen said, "there's nothing to do there."

"Hey shut up!" I cried, mortally offended. "They film Doctor Who there! Gross, my arse!"

"I imagine it is," Arthur said bluntly, before leaning back against the wall.

I frowned. "Hey, anyone got the time?"

"Got the time for WHAT?" Gwen asked with a giggle.

"... for the time. You know. Time, wibbly-wobbly—"

"SOMEONE GET THE FANBOY OUT OF HERE!" Arthur called, standing up. "I'm going to the little boy's room, Gwen. Too much to drink..."

"The little boy's room," Morgana mocked as Arthur left, scowling as usual.

Several hours later, at midnight, I returned home absolutely rat-faced and with the promise of a hangover the next morning.

Hope you enjoyed that little chapter there! Don't forget to send all your thoughts in the form of a review... !

- Legs