A Walk Through the Notebooks

Survival Training (Oneshot)

cardigankate — Thu, 10 May 2012 04:08:45 GMT

Title: Survival Training
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,000
Warnings: Modern AU
Summary: In which, Merlin and Arthur decide to take a survival training class over a long, holiday weekend. Well, Arthur decided and Merlin, not having the slightest idea how to say no to Arthur, said he’d go with him. But, when things take a turn for the worse, Merlin decides that now would be as good a time as any to admit that he’s just a wee bit magical.
Notes: Written for ravelqueen at glomp_fest 2012. Many, many thanks to sabriel75 for the last minute beta and for being, well, pretty glorious. ;) Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Also available on AO3 here

Survival Training
Merlin Emrys, 21-year-old literature major at Camelot University and self-proclaimed hater of all things outdoors, surveyed his surroundings with disdain.

The evergreens towering high into the sky, full of heavy needles at the top but sparsely covered at the bottom, blanketed the area in a silence Merlin could only describe as eerie and disconcerting. And, without being able to see it at the moment, Merlin knew that when they finally started this ill-advised "holiday" the ground would set at a steep incline, the trees eventually giving way to rocks, the rocks to large boulders and the boulders into snow-covered cliffs. The brochure had promised grand, sweeping views, the chance to become one with nature and instruction in the skills needed to survive in the wilderness.

Merlin snorted. "The brochure should have said, ‘Come to survival training where there are so many trees you'll get lost before you even get started, your odds of freezing to death are pretty spectacular and we can guarantee a brush with death when you stumble across a bear or a R.O.U.S. Oh and good luck! You're totally on your own! Ha. Ha. Ha.'"

Arthur Pendragon, 22-year-old business finance major and Merlin's roommate (slash-best friend), was adjusting his packed rucksack and looking as if Christmas had come early. Merlin was loathe to admit that the outdoors only made him much more beautiful. The sun that was desperately trying to glint through the trees must have thought so, too, because their rays made a beeline for Arthur's golden hair, making him shine and sparkle like some bloody Greek god (or Edward Cullen - only hotter, blonder and less vampire-y). Arthur was definitely made to be in the wilderness.

He quirked his eyebrow at Merlin and huffed out a laugh. "You do realize, Merlin, that this is nothing like The Princess Bride, don't you? Rodents of Unusual Size don't actually exist, even though you swear you saw one that night you went on a tequila bender and passed out in the alley. I thought we went over this."

Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. "First of all, The Princess Bride is a cinematic classic and should get its proper respect, thank you very much." Arthur snorted in amusement and went about looking at his map. "Second of all," Merlin said, raising his voice, "I did see a R.O.U.S. that night, Arthur. Just because you automatically assume it was the size of the ones in The Princess Bride doesn't mean that it was. Rodents of Unusual Size, Arthur. Anything bigger than a normal-sized rodent is a R.O.U.S."

"Mmm," Arthur said, noncommittally. He wasn't listening. He was never listening. Not that Merlin could actually blame him. They had beaten this subject to death and were just going to have to agree to disagree.

But it had been a giant rat. Merlin would never cut down that alley again - even if it was the quickest route from their dorm to the pub.

"Fine then, bears," Merlin adds, folding his arms across his chest and huffing. "I know there are bears up there."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Merlin, there are no bears. They would not send us out on a beginner's survival training to an area known to have bears."

Merlin looked around at the expanse of forest in front of him with an incredulous look on his face. "What?! Of course there are bears in there, Arthur!"

Arthur crouched to set the map on the ground, letting his finger drag across the surface to map out the route he wanted them to take. It was his own little way of letting Merlin know they were done talking about this. Merlin sighed.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd been suckered into this. Merlin was not an outdoorsy kind of guy and even complained when his pale, sensitive skin had to come into contact with sunlight for even the briefest of moments. He liked being indoors, where there was modern-day miracles, like plumbing and coffee makers. He didn't enjoy hiking or rock-climbing like Arthur. He preferred curling up in one of the comfy chairs in the campus library and reading a book or chatting with Gwen, one of the student aids and their good friend.

The truth was, Arthur and Merlin were about as opposite as they come. Arthur, golden-haired and fit beyond belief, was destined to run his father's company, Pendragon Industries (Merlin still wasn't entirely sure what that company did) and play football every weekend in the park with his beefy mates. Merlin, dark-haired and about the size of a flag pole, wanted nothing more than to make his fortune writing fantasy novels that appealed to every age and finding a nice man to settle down with.

Of course, Merlin had already found a nice man to settle down with - even if said man didn't seem interested in him - and that's what reminded him of why he was currently standing at the edge of the parking lot waiting to start this trek through Hell.

Merlin looked down at Arthur, who was concentrating so hard on the map that his forehead was creased into a scowl. Merlin had only said yes to this survival training codswallop because Arthur had pulled out the big guns: an epic pouty face and quivering lip that Merlin did not find at all mesmerizing, thank you. He was just. Well. Yeah.

Merlin was so screwed.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a bit impatiently, Merlin huffed. "Have you figured out which way you want to go yet, Arthur? We're the last ones here and at this rate, we'll be able to spend the night in the car." Merlin smiled. "Never mind. That's a brilliant idea. Let's sleep in the car!"

Arthur glared up at him. "We are not sleeping in the car."

"Fine," Merlin pouted. "Whatever. Can we get going then?"

Arthur sighed and gathered up the map, shoving it into his rucksack and then throwing it over his shoulder. "I didn't think you were so keen on the idea of survival training, Merlin," he teased.

"Oh, I'm not," Merlin answered, adjusting his own survival training-issued rucksack. "I'm just sick of standing around here."

Arthur smirked. "Then let's be off, shall we?"

*****
An hour later and Merlin was short of breath. Arthur had taken them directly to the stream that led down the side of the mountain and promptly told him that they were following it up. Merlin had figured that was as good a plan as any, considering they would always have a point of reference. But now that he realized it was on the steepest part of the mountain, he was ready to run back down to the gathering site, jump in the car and go back to campus.

The trees had thinned much sooner than Merlin had anticipated and after that it had been straight up hill and over rocky terrain. For a brief moment, Merlin was actually thankful that Arthur had bought him his first pair of hiking boots ever (not that he'd be telling him that), but then he slipped off the side of a particularly wet boulder and cursed him to high heaven for even inviting him on this trip.

Merlin sat down on the rock and huffed. "I'm stopping," he announced.

Arthur, a fair ways ahead of him, turned and scowled. "We've only just begun, Merlin. I want to make it another mile, at least, before we stop for the night."

"So we can do what?" Merlin asked, pulling out one of the canteens of water they were permitted when starting, and taking a long pull. "Work another two hours to find firewood, make shelter and freeze to death without blankets. Oh and might I add that we will likely starve, too because we have nothing but four canteens of water and two packages of beef jerky between us - and let's be honest here, Arthur. You're a fan of eating. I've seen you eat an entire large pepperoni pizza, a massive pile of gravy-covered chips and half a pan of Gwen's slutified brownies all in one sitting. And then demand more. If you decide you want to eat both of those packages of jerky, I am screwed."

Arthur didn't look very impressed with Merlin's little diatribe. "Could you be anymore dramatic?"

"Yes!" Merlin added. "On top of all that, I expect we'll be eaten by bears at some point. Bears, Arthur! Big, giant, fluffy bears!"

Arthur shook his head, looking a little more amused than before. "What did I tell you about the bears?"

"I know I'm right," Merlin pouted.

Arthur huffed and dropped his rucksack to the ground. "Fine, we'll make camp here tonight then. On the rocks. I'm sure that will be lovely sleeping. No sense walking on to see if we can find a bit of undergrowth to sleep on. Definitely. Here would be better. Mmhmm."

Merlin looked around him, at the rocky terrain, and sighed. Damn. If he had to take his chances with bears or a broken back from all rocks, he supposed he'd go with the bears. After all, Arthur was probably right. Why would they send them out into the wilderness if there were bears about?

He picked up his rucksack. "Fine," he said. "Let's keep going, but so help me, you'd better find us a soft place to sleep."

*****
Surprisingly, another mile or so following the stream and the rocky ground had given way to another forest, only a little more sparse and with many more low-hanging branches. It was easy to walk a few hundred yards away from the stream and find level, softer ground to make camp.

Of course, Merlin wasn't about to praise Arthur for his foresight.

If you could even call it that.

"Look," Arthur commented, pulling on the branches above them and holding them together. "We even have a makeshift canopy. All we need is something to tie these branches together with and we'll be good." His smile was blinding and cocky. A deadly combination.

Merlin dropped the armload of firewood Arthur had made him "go off and fetch" and rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's going to keep us safe from bears," Merlin mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said you are not gods gift to the great outdoors, Arthur."

"I never said I was," Arthur smirked.

Merlin pointed his finger at him and narrowed his eyes. "I know what you're thinking." Arthur's responding laugh was loud and glorious and when he tipped his head back, Merlin tried to pretend like he wasn't staring at the long column of his neck.

Merlin dropped down to his knees to start arranging the firewood in some semblance of order, while Arthur popped open his rucksack to see if there was something inside that could double as rope.

"Ah ha!" Arthur shouted, jumping up from his crouched position and holding up a precariously knotted and small bundle of twine.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "What kind of survival training is this? We only get one package of beef jerky, but they send us with twine?"

Arthur smirked. "Well, that's alright then, Merlin. I'll go ahead and set up a canopy for myself then with the handy twine they've been so kind to have given us in the beginning survival training course that you insisted we take, because - and I quote - ‘You can't take an expert class before you've started at the beginning, Arthuuuuur.'" Arthur had raised his voice an entire octave to imitate Merlin, which was just grossly unfair, and then laughed. "I'll leave you to make your own canopy."

Merlin silently fumed while he continued to stack the wood in the same fashion he'd seen their instructor do it earlier in the day. It was one of the few things Merlin truly paid attention to, because he was not about to freeze to death. Unfortunately, every time he thought he had it set up, he'd reach for the matches (yes, they got matches, thank god) and it would promptly fall over.

Trying not to grumble too loudly, Merlin re-stacked the wood for the third time and held it with one hand, while he grabbed the matches. It was tricky work, but he managed to continue to hold up the pile and strike the match at the same time. When he set the kindling on fire, he had to let go, but kept his eyes trained on the pile to make sure it didn't move.

"Success!" Merlin cried when the wood caught and seemed to stay put. And if Merlin's eyes looked a little golden when Arthur turned around, well, he was right in front of the fire.

*****
Merlin huddled underneath the sad excuse of a canopy that he'd had to make himself and shivered. The canopy hadn't been a huge deal, at first, so he didn't really take his time tying the branches together.

Of course, that was about the time the clouds had rolled in and the sky had opened up. He and Arthur had worked quickly to use the two pieces of tarp they had been given to cover their area and the remaining firewood, but it wasn't enough to save the fire that was already going.

Also, Merlin's side didn't hold up, and while sitting under the tarp and bemoaning the fact that he had to build yet another fire, his tarp had collapsed down on top of him, soaking him to the bone.

Arthur, after laughing at him for a full five minutes, had helped him put his canopy back together as best as he could, but by the time they got it finished, it had stopped raining. And Arthur was dry and warm in his clothes, while Merlin was wet and shivery.

Merlin looked over at Arthur and rolled his eyes. Of course he was sleeping. Arthur could sleep through anything. He looked over his lean body, the way he had his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles, and wanted.

They had been instantaneous friends when they'd met the first day of uni. And considering how opposite they were, it was a surprise to both of them. But there was a familiarity between them and a sort of unspoken bond, so they'd slid right into the friendship. And even though Arthur had a tendency to rip on Merlin quite constantly, he was known to get his own digs in once in awhile. It was a balance that worked for them. They'd been pretty much inseparable since the day they'd met.

Merlin wasn't entirely sure when he'd started to fall for Arthur, though. If he were honest with himself, it was probably love at first sight, but Merlin wasn't always honest with himself. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that Merlin was arse over tit for that gorgeous, big lug and Arthur just. Well, he wasn't interested.

Merlin shivered again, sending his body into tremors, and he huffed in annoyance. He looked over at Arthur to make sure he was still sleeping and then he closed his eyes. When he opened them a second later, they burned gold and instantly his clothes were as dry as they'd been before the start of their trip.

Sighing in relief, Merlin relaxed a bit, but still felt chilled. He looked over again at Arthur, who had a rosy glow to his cheeks and firelight highlighting his glorious hair. Merlin sighed and made a decision.

After dropping a few more pieces of dry firewood onto the fire, he shimmied closer to Arthur as quietly as he could manage, so as not to wake him. He reached out a hand when he was close enough and touched the top of Arthur's hand. It was extremely warm and Merlin found himself moving in closer without even realizing it.

He was just about to lie down next to him, just to hopefully absorb some of the heat radiating from him, when Arthur's hand shifted and grabbed Merlin's. His eyes widened and shot to Arthur's face, but he was still sleeping. Merlin didn't have time to pull away - didn't even know if he could if he wanted to - before Arthur was dragging him down beside him and wrapping his arms around him.

Merlin found himself as the little spoon, with Arthur's hands wrapped around his waist and his warm nose pressed to the back of Merlin's neck. Shocked, Merlin didn't move, but lay tense, waiting for Arthur to wake up and realize what had just happened.

Instead, Arthur breathed against his neck and mumbled sleepily, "Cold, Merlin. Cold."

Merlin's mind was moving a mile a minute and all that was coherant was cuddlingwitharthurcuddlingwitharthurCUDDLINGWITHARTHUR. What was going on here?

Arthur rubbed his nose against the side Merlin's neck then, brushing it over the shell of his ear, before letting out a soft breath and then passing out completely, if the little snore was anything to go by.

Merlin laid there, trying to get his bearings, but he was tired and Arthur was so very warm and, even if Arthur didn't know what he was doing, this is what Merlin had wanted for what felt like an eternity. So, instead of freaking out - which, really, what good would that be? - Merlin let himself relax in Arthur's arms. He pillowed his head next to Arthur's on his rucksack and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Arthur's arms around him and the warm length of him down his back.

*****
There was a bear.

Sweet mother all of that's holy! There was a bear!

Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand and started pulling him away, but Arthur wasn't coming with him. He was just laughing and pointing back at the giant bear that was not at all fluffy and saying, "That's not a bear, Merlin. That's a bear!"

And then there were two bears. Only the second was twice the size of the giant first one and Merlin was going to die. Oh my god, they were going to die.

"We're not going to die," Arthur murmured.

We are going to die, Arthur! There's a bear! C'mon!

"Shhh, Merlin. There isn't a bear."

There is too a bear!

"Merlin," Arthur prodded. "Merlin, wake up, there's not a bear. You're just dreaming."

When Merlin's eyes finally popped open, things were fuzzy around the edges. His head swam with the idea that they were surrounded by giant bears and that Arthur, laughing in his face, wasn't scared of them at all. And yet, there was something more concrete taking place of that terrible image. Merlin felt his fingers were entwined tightly with someone else's. He could feel a warm body pressed behind him. He could feel warm lips on the back of his neck. He could-

Oh.

"Okay now?" Arthur asked, his breath on Merlin's ear. Quiet. Sleepy.

Merlin swallowed hard and nodded his head only slightly, but with as close as Arthur was to him, he knew he could feel it.

Arthur hummed in response, then let his lips graze over the shell of Merlin's ear, while he let his warm hands slide beneath the hem of Merlin's shirt, touching the bare skin. Lighting it on fire.

"Much warmer now," Arthur mumbled against the side of his neck.

Merlin's brain was short circuiting. He knew that if he just turned his head to the left, he could press his lips against Arthur's. That they'd be kissing. And he wasn't sure if Arthur was even aware that any of this was happening. Like the night before, he sounded half-asleep, in a haze caught between waking and unconsciousness and Merlin wasn't sure what to do.

But when Arthur's teeth scraped the top of his spine and his half-hard bulge pressed into his arse, Merlin sucked in a deep breath and decided that now was better than never. He turned his head just slightly and Arthur met him halfway, their lips slotting together like they'd always been meant to be that way.

A ridiculous noise of happiness bubbled up from Merlin's throat when Arthur licked into his mouth and he quickly twisted in his arms to get a better angle. Arthur smirked, much more awake than Merlin had expected him to be, and murmured, "Hey."

Merlin didn't blush - he was just really warm - when he replied, "Hey," in a hushed tone. He stared into Arthur's blue-blue eyes and then let his gaze slide down to his mouth.

Arthur moved first, his lips attacking Merlin's, claiming them between his teeth in gentle nips and bites, before soothing with his tongue. Merlin fisted his hand into the front of Arthur's jacket and pressed himself closer to Arthur, their bodies shifting together. When Arthur's hard length pressed against Merlin's, a shudder rippled down his back and a loud moan involuntarily escaped his lips.

"Wanted you," Arthur said between kisses, "for so long."

Merlin wanted to agree - figured if they were going to get their thoughts out, now would be a good time - but his brain wasn't functioning properly and all he could respond with was an enthusiastic, "ngh."

Arthur laughed against his mouth and then pressed Merlin back, ready to put his weight on top of him and ravish him properly, when they heard it.

The low, deep growling noise was coming from somewhere behind them, and yet they both knew it was exceptionally close. Arthur and Merlin both stopped moving, they both stopped breathing and they listened. The growl came again and Merlin felt his skin rise in gooseflesh.

A tiny squeak left Arthur's mouth and Merlin clamped his hand down over it. It was an unfortunate move, because Merlin had done enough research before their trip (and a good thing, too, because their instructor hadn't given them any indication on what to do in case of a bear attack - that must have been for the expert class) to know that they needed to stay completely still. And Merlin knew the minute he moved his hand only a couple centimeters to cover Arthur's mouth, he had drawn the bear's attention to them again.

He wasn't sure, but he thought it might be impossible to outrun a bear, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they were about to find out for sure.

Merlin, who had the best angle, carefully lifted his head to see that the bear was probably 20 meters away, digging in the dirt beside a tree where Arthur had dropped a load of berries he'd found the night before. It wasn't a great head start, but it was something.

He let his head drop back down and looked Arthur in the eyes. He tried to give him as many signals as he possibly could with just his eyes, but Arthur just looked terrified. If Merlin hadn't been just as scared, he'd have rolled his eyes and told him to stop being such a girl. As it was, he understood and pleaded with his eyebrows for Arthur to understand.

Finally, Arthur barely jerked his head in acknowledgement and Merlin let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was short-lived though, because in the next moment, he found his fingers counting on their own.

When he had three fingers in the air, both of their eyes widened and they were quickly on their feet.

*****
Merlin's lungs burned and he did not want to be arguing about this right now.

The bear had, of course, taken right off after them as they got up to run. And Merlin, who had kept pace with Arthur the entire fast-paced trek through the woods, contributed to their survival to the fact that they were, in fact, in the woods. The bear had seemed to have a little bit of trouble getting to full speed while navigating the trees and because he and Arthur were much smaller, had the slight advantage.

Their disadvantage, however, came with the fact that they had no clue where they were going. The bear had been blocking their way back to the stream so, in an effort to at least head down the mountain, they'd taken off in the opposite direction of the bear, but also (hopefully) in the downward direction.

And at first, they had been traveling down. Merlin could see the rocky terrain ahead of them and figured at that rate, they'd be to the car in no more than ten minutes. Unfortunately, as they came upon the giant rocks, it only led them to an extremely steep, very much of a dead-end cliff. They had only just stopped their forward momentum in time to not fall over the side.

Merlin clutched his side, hearing the bear huffing behind them, cornering them and waiting to make his move. He looked over, trying not to make eye contact and noticing for the first time exactly how large the bear was, how big its teeth and claws were. As if to make a point at that very moment, the bear stood up on its hind legs and growled loudly.

Merlin wanted to faint.

"What do you bloody mean you might have another way off this cliff?" Arthur was shouting at him.

He hadn't meant to say the words, but when Arthur had seen that they were trapped and instinctively asked what they were going to do now, Merlin might have mentioned that there was another option.

"I just." Merlin stopped, his breath coming out in puffs along with Arthur's. He really didn't want to die on this god-forsaken cliff in the middle of absolutely nowhere on a stupid "vacation" that Arthur had pouted his way into, but dammit, he didn't want to lose Arthur either.

"What, Merlin?!" Arthur shouted. "This isn't a time to think about it! If you have a way down, let's hear it."

Merlin bit his lip. This was not going to be good.

But before he could make up his mind as to which was more important - survival or revelations - the bear, dropping down to all fours, charged at them. Without hesitation, Merlin moved forward, wrapped his arms around Arthur and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the gold burn was fading from his eyes and they were standing in the middle of the parking lot.

Merlin had a brief moment of blinding elation. And then he saw Arthur's face.

*****
Arthur was pacing. He hadn't said much since they'd found themselves out of harm's way, minus calling the instructor on his emergency number and telling him they were pulling out of the weekend early. They'd ridden back to uni without speaking and Merlin was pretty sure he had worried his lip to death. His stomach was in knots and he just wished that Arthur would say something.

"So you're like David Copperfield?"

Okay, maybe something else.

Merlin shook his head. "No," he answered, quietly. "I'm. Well. You see, I was born. I." Merlin stopped, his hands in the air as he shrugged. "I have magic," he finished lamely.

Arthur laughed if maybe a bit harshly. "There is no such thing as magic."

"But there is," Merlin answered, his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed. "You saw it for yourself, Arthur. How else did we get off that cliff?"

Arthur's eyes widened. The shock from earlier crept into his face and Merlin wanted to reach, to hold him and kiss him and tell him that it was alright. Just because he was a little bit magic, didn't mean he was any less Merlin. That what they did earlier, before the cockblocking bear of DOOM!, was something they could get back to really quickly if Arthur would just open up his mind to the possibilities.

Merlin took a chance. He got up from his bed and grabbed Arthur's shoulders. "Arthur, I'm still me," he said gently. "I'm still Merlin. The same Merlin that you met two years ago on the first day of uni. The same Merlin that helped you home the night of your breakup with Viv and the same Merlin who let you puke all over his new shoes. I'm the same Merlin that you text sixty-thousand times a day about the most random things and the same Merlin who sends you cell pictures of every cat I see for no particular reason than the fact that I know, deep down, you love cats. But most of all," Merlin stopped and stared at Arthur for a minute, the deep lines of distrust and confusion dimming in his eyes with each memory. "But most of all, Arthur, I'm the same Merlin that you kissed up on that mountain today. The same Merlin you said you'd been wanting to kiss for so long."

Arthur looked back at him. He didn't move forward, but he didn't pull away and Merlin knew. He knew he had him. He just needed a little push in the right direction.

"I might be a little bit magical, Arthur," Merlin said and he pressed his forehead against Arthur's. "But I didn't feel like it until I met you."

And then Merlin let his lips press against Arthur's. He didn't push, just let them rest there, warm and inviting and finally Arthur kissed him back. Slightly tentative, but full of promise and Merlin thought that maybe survival training was pretty glorious.

What Are Social Boundaries? (Oneshot)

cardigankate — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 15:17:52 GMT

Title: What Are Social Boundaries?
Rating: R
Word Count: ~3,200
Warnings: Modern AU
Summary: The one where Arthur decides he needs a ~~sex~~ social life that might involve kissing ~~and sex, of course~~ and Merlin is an oblivious, socially awkward cockblock to the nth degree. Or is he?
Notes: Written for photo prompt 118 at merlin_games 2012, team Modern AU. Many, many thanks to ayane_tsurugi for the last minute beta and constant support while I wrote this crazy thing. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Also available on AO3 here

What Are Social Boundaries?
"So you... live on a houseboat."

Arthur threw his arm around the back of the couch while he watched his date walk slowly around the main living area.

It had been far too long since he'd been on a date. It wasn't that he had consciously strayed from the idea of a warm body next to him in bed at night, but he'd spent most of the summer trolling the waterways of the Gulf, trying to forget about his father and his expectations and the epic fight they'd had the night of Arthur's birthday in April. Dating had been the furthest thing from his mind for the last four months, but now that the houseboating season was coming to a close for the "winter months," Arthur had moored his vessel on Sanibel Island and decided that he could use a little play time.

And while Arthur wasn't particular when it came to the sex of his partners (his often favorite and cliched response being, "yes, please!"), his last three relationships had been with men. Since each of those had turned out to be epic failures, Arthur had focused on finding a cute and sweet female - preferably with a nice ass, but not a requirement - to flirt with while at the local bar two nights ago.

Enter, Guinevere.

Or Gwen, as she had asked him to call her. Unfortunately for her, Arthur actually preferred Guinevere and had spent the entire night calling her by her full name. At one point he had started to wonder if he'd hurt his chances of getting laid when she'd corrected him for the fifteenth time with a scowl so deep, the corners of her lips touched her chin, but... well, he was Arthur Mother-Fucking Pendragon. ‘Nough said.

Guinevere, he'd noticed over the course of the evening, really was all the things he'd like in a woman. She was sweet and caring, worked a respectable job as the local high school art teacher, and was surprisingly funny. Not to mention, she was gorgeous with a side of sexy. Yes, Guinevere would do nicely.

"It's a temporary residence. I needed a change of pace for a while. What better way to liven things up than by seeing a beautiful new... place every day?" Arthur answered her, a smile on his lips, and rested his left ankle on his right knee.

Guinevere smiled at him and continued to look around, touching the corners of picture frames - most of he and his sister (the nagging witch) - and sipping her wine. She stopped in front of the television, swayed a bit when the boat rocked gently, and turned to look at him, her eyebrow raised. "Don't you get seasick?"

Arthur shrugged. "I grew up on boats. I guess I don't notice the rocking anymore." Okay, Arthur was done talking. "You keep your balance better if you sit down," he said, patting the seat beside him and giving her his most charming smile.

Guinevere smiled at him, her lips curving gently and with a hint of mischief, even as she stumbles and sways with the slight movement of the boat. Arthur crooked his finger at her from the back of the sofa and, with unsteady steps, Guinevere made her way across the living area and sat down beside him. She set her glass down on the side table atop the coaster that Arthur never used, while Arthur's arm came down off the back of the couch and rested heavily across her shoulders.

With his other hand, deft fingers stroked her soft cheek. "You are beautiful," he said, his voice huskier than he'd heard it in a long time. Man, he was on it tonight.

Guinevere smiled and started moving ever so slowly toward him. Arthur was just letting his eyelids flutter closed when...

"You have to meet him. He's a really great guy!"

With a groan, Arthur pulled away from Guinevere before her lips had even touched his and looked past her shoulder. The low, excited sound of a male voice on his water-side deck, could only have come from one person. And yes, as he watched dark movement on his deck, he started to make out the form of a man with dark hair and ears, climbing over the deck railing and yammering on about something. And luck would have it that, Merlin - who was the extremely beautiful, yet amazingly infuriating idiot who lived on the boat right beside his - had brought along a friend this evening. Arthur's eyes narrowed and Guinevere asked, "What's wrong?"

"Hey, Arthur!" Merlin smiled as he burst in the sliding glass door from the deck and didn't even look guilty that he'd obviously walked in on a romantic moment (or, what should have been one). "Who's your friend?"

Arthur, pulling back from Guinevere, narrowed his eyes at Merlin and said, "Guinevere. My date."

Merlin, who didn't even seem to hear the annoyance in Arthur's voice, stepped forward and stuck his hand out at Guinevere, a smile the splitting his face in two. "Hi!" he said in his loud, Merlin-ish way. "I'm Merlin."

"Hi," she said back, reaching out to shake his hand and smiling just as broadly at him. "Gwen."

Merlin and Guinevere were grinning at each other like a couple of loons when Arthur caught sight of Merlin's companion, who was lurking by the door looking indecisive about removing his strappy, "Jesus" sandals. After a second, he decided to leave them on and looked up. It was a knee-jerk reaction that Arthur hadn't anticipated, but his breath totally hitched when he got a good look at Merlin's friend.

Tall, dark, handsome and totally fuckable, were the only words Arthur could come up with to describe exactly how amazing the man was standing at his door, still looking slightly awkward as he looked around the living room. He was contemplating a way he could ditch Merlin and suggest a wildly amazing threesome when he saw the strangers eyes light up.

Unfortunately, Guinevere's were lit up as well.

Because they were staring at each other.

Awesome.

Arthur cursed Merlin under his breath and got up from the couch. He made his way over to the stranger and stuck out his hand. "Arthur Pendragon," he said, and grasped the hand the stranger barely pointed in his direction since he was so distracted by Arthur's date.

"Lance." Their handshake was perfunctory and the moment it ended, Lance was striding purposefully across the living room to Guinevere, who was now standing. Looking like she had spent her entire life looking for Lance.

Fucking perfect.

Merlin grinned. "Meet Lance!" he called enthusiastically and Arthur folded his arms and glared daggers back at him.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★
It could be said that Arthur truly did like Merlin. Afterall, he really was quite adorable, in his gangly and dorky sort of way. And Arthur enjoyed spending time with him because, even though he didn't look it, Merlin was quite smart, very funny and had a smile that could light up an entire room. So, no, the problem wasn't that he didn't like Merlin, or enjoy his company. It was just that Merlin had a bit of a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times.

For instance, there was that one time Merlin came tramping in just as Arthur was coming out of the shower, singing Tina Turner's "What's Love Got To Do With It" at the top of his lungs.

Then there was the time that Arthur had been standing in front of the mirror attached to the bathroom door, flexing and carrying on like some bodybuilder in a competition, and Merlin had come in with a very gorgeous woman who live three boats over.

Or the time Arthur had been foolishly watching porn on his television rather than his laptop (because, God forbid he get to do that in the comfort of his own home, even if it was a boat) and may or may not have been touching himself like a man deprived of sex and Merlin came in, stopped mid-stride, stumbled for a second, recovered, shrugged and sat down next to him with a, "Whatcha doin'?" as if he had not just walked in on Arthur rubbing one off.

Moral of the story? Arthur needed to remember to lock his door.

Or maybe Merlin just needed to learn how to knock.

Either way, Arthur liked Merlin, even though he apparently had no social boundaries and had seen Arthur at his absolute worst and most embarrassing moments. Arthur was willing to forgive him his almighty transgressions.

However, swooping in and using a friend to steal his dates? Arthur might have to rethink their awkward friendship.

Or something.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★
Two weeks later and Arthur had decided that maybe he had been wrong in choosing a female for his first post-summer relationship thingy. Women were fickle little things and he knew that. What man needed to deal with fickle, especially when he looked like Arthur?

Of course, he was very happy for Guinevere and Lancelot (really? Lancelot? Who names their kid Lancelot?). They were actually a lot of fun to hang out with and Arthur had even found himself, on a couple of occasions, thankful that Merlin had stopped by that evening, though he'd never admit it aloud. Although, there were moments when their lovey-dovey public displays of affection were just a bit much for Arthur.

And that, right there. His aversion to PDA. That's what made him decide that he didn't need a relationship at all. What Arthur needed was a healthy dose of sex.

Enter, Gwaine.

Arthur had met Gwaine while wandering the beach the afternoon before. He'd been dipping his toes into the still fairly warm gulf water and contemplating the complexity of his life (which was, admittedly, pretty deep thoughts for Arthur and extremely depressing at moments), when Gwaine had come running down the beach shirtless, sweaty and oh-so-very appealing.

Arthur's mind had instantly put him in slow-motion, his hair swishing in a mesmerizing fashion behind him, his tan shoulders gleaming in the sunlight and the muscles of his torso contracting with each long step.

He had literally slapped himself in the face. Because he was staring like some sort of creeper and, quite possibly, drooling. Not to mention, when had he turned into some ridiculous sap who described body parts with the words gleaming and mesmerizing? He definitely needed to get laid.

So, as the gorgeous man had come closer, Arthur pushed his hand through his hair to mess it up and then put on his most irresistible smile. It had worked and Gwaine had stopped dead in his tracks in front of Arthur, a gorgeous smile of his own. It didn't take long after that for dinner plans to be made.

That's how Arthur found himself pressed up against the door of his boat, a knee pressed tight between his legs, arms pinned mercilessly to the outer walls and Gwaine's tongue so far into his mouth, he was licking Arthur's molars.

Obviously the date had gone exceptionally well. Gwaine had rubbed his foot across Arthur's calf through the entire meal, while alternately shoveling food into his mouth (Arthur quickly realized that Gwaine had a love affair with food that he would never attempt to get in the middle of) and leaning forward to brazenly kiss Arthur stupid.

Needless to say, it had been the fastest meal Arthur had ever eaten.

Just then, Gwaine pressed his hips forward just enough that Arthur felt the hard length of him against his thigh, while his knee pressed in and up, sending a shiver of pleasure rippling through his body and eliciting a moan from deep in his throat.

Fucking fuck he was going to get laid.

"We should go inside," Arthur breathed out when Gwaine let his lips and tongue wander down the side of Arthur's neck. Gwaine's only response was to growl seductively and roll his hips. Arthur bit back a moan and dug his recently released fingers into Gwaine's hipbones. "Do that again."

Gwaine chuckled against Arthur's Adam's apple, but it quickly turned into another growl when he rolled his hips again. "Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Arthur agreed. He agreed so hard.

"Oh, you'll love it, Elena! It's gorgeous!"

Arthur felt like someone had dosed him with a bucket of ice water. Merlin.

"The water is so still and it's so dark and quiet. Blissful peace is the only way to explain it."

Gwaine, who had been trying to hump Arthur's leg, finally pulled back when he realized Arthur wasn't paying any attention now, his body stiff and unresponsive.

"S'matter?" he asked.

That's when Merlin came around the corner with a short, thin, fairly adorable blond woman.

It was unfortunate that Arthur's boat was the first on the dock. And it was unfortunate that there was a flood light right on the corner. And it was unfortunate that Gwaine and Arthur were right in that light. And it was unfortunate that Arthur hadn't thought to drag Gwaine inside the minute he heard Merlin coming around the corner.

Very, very, very unfortunate.

"Arthur!"

Gwaine pulled away from Arthur then, the cool air around them flooding in and instantly reminding him about what he'd just been doing and just lost. "Hey, there!" Gwaine called and hopped down off the boat deck to the dock, where Merlin and, presumably, Elena had stopped.

Arthur watched as Merlin made introductions all around and he threw his head back and cursed Merlin to Hell and back. By the time he made his way down off the deck (which was all of 30 seconds after Gwaine), Elena - who really was beautiful, but looked a hot mess with crazy, unkempt hair and a penchant for stumbling even when she wasn't moving - and Gwaine were already making googly eyes at each other.

Merlin was grinning. "This is Elena," he said. Elena looked at him quickly and nodded, then turned back to Gwaine, who was smirking back at her. "Nice dinner?" Merlin asked.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★
And that was how the next two months went. Arthur would bring home a date and Merlin would show up with his date's soul mate. And even if Arthur didn't bring his date home, hoping that maybe he could avoid Merlin all-together, he would somehow find him! It was like he had magical, Arthur-seeking powers.

Arthur brought home the delectable Sophie. Merlin brought by his friend Elyan (who also happened to be Guinevere's brother).

Arthur took the giant Percival to Club 31 after dinner (in hopes of spending some quiet time in a back corner getting acquainted with his insane muscles). Merlin shows up with the gorgeous and self-assured Vivian.

Arthur brings home the sweet Freya. Merlin brings over Will, his obnoxious best friend from Boring Midwest Town, USA who just moved to the area.

Even when Arthur had decided to take a couple weeks off from dating and have his annoying, yet wonderful sister, Morgana, come visit, Merlin shows up on his water-side deck while Arthur was grilling dinner, with Leon, Morgana's walking fantasy boyfriend!

Arthur really liked Merlin, but this had gone too far.

So what if each of the dates Arthur had been on hadn't been the best. And so what is Arthur was actually happy that Merlin had gotten him out of each one of them without any awkwardness from his end. So what if Arthur was happy that everyone was fucking happy. And so what if he now had one of the greatest and biggest groups of friends he'd ever had.

MERLIN WAS MEDDLING IN HIS LOVE LIFE!

It had to end. Because at this rate, Arthur wasn't going to get laid ever again.

So that's when, on a cool November night - when Arthur was sat brooding in his living room, watching the new Hawaii Five-0 and drooling over Scott Caan (don't judge, Scott is a tight, sexy man in a compact package) - and Merlin came waltzing through the door, Arthur felt compelled to wipe that self-satisfied grin off his stupidly beautiful face.

"Hate to burst your bubble, friend, but I don't have a date tonight." If Arthur sounded grumpy, well, he was.

Merlin flopped down beside him and continued to grin. "Sorry to hear that."

Arthur scoffed. He looked over at Merlin to see his eyebrow quirked a bit, but he was still smiling. Arthur rolled his eyes and said, "Guess you don't get the chance to ruin it for me."

"What?" Merlin asked, laughing. "I would never do that!"

Arthur, mad now, jumped up from the couch. "Are you kidding me?" he yelled. "Of course you would! You have. Every night I've had a date for the last two months, you've ruined it for me!"

Merlin, stupid Merlin, just sat there and smiled like he thought Arthur was crazy. Arthur wasn't crazy! Merlin was crazy!

"Guinevere, Gwaine, Sophie, Percival, Freya, Morgana!"

"Ew, Arthur," Merlin said. "Morgana is your sister."

Arthur growled. "You know what I mean," he said between clenched teeth.

Merlin shrugged. "I really don't, Arthur."

"You're trying to sabotage me!" Arthur screamed in exasperation.

Merlin had the audacity to chuckle and it took Arthur everything he had not to haul off and smack him. "Arthur, none of those people were right for you. And besides, they're all supremely happy now."

"That is beside the point!"

"No, no," Merlin said. "I think that is the point."

Arthur just stared at him for a minute and then blurted out, "Y-Y-You just don't want me to be happy!"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "That's it."

Arthur, thoroughly frustrated, ran a hand through his hair and said, "Whatever! I am done! You think you know so much about me? Fine! You're taking me out to dinner tomorrow night!" Arthur, pissed to the extreme, started walking toward his bedroom, his arms flailing about and his voice getting more and more high-pitched. "You'll pick me up at seven o'clock and you will use my dock-side entrance, do you hear me? You will wear a decent pair of slacks and not those mangy jeans of yours and you'll pay for my goddamn dinner!"

Merlin nodded when Arthur finally stopped yelling. "Yes, sir," he said, with a salute.

"Good! Lock the door on your way out!" he added. "I'm going to bed!" And he slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Merlin could still hear him muttering to himself from the other side of the door and he chuckled. He turned off Arthur's television and locked the dock-side door before walking out the water-side deck sliding glass door. He pulled it closed behind him and looked back inside.

The light was still on under Arthur's door and as he stood there he heard Arthur shout, Idiot!

Merlin laughed and then raised a triumphant fist in the air.

Arthur was so his.

(When I Think of Your Kisses, My Mind) See-Saws...: Master Post (2011 Big Bang)

cardigankate — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 21:32:52 GMT

Title: (When I Think of Your Kisses, My Mind) See-Saws...
Author: cardigankate
Artist: heyhoolou (Check out her art here!)
Beta: eldee & farosdaughter
Rating: R
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin (with some Leon/Morgana & Gwen/Lancelot and multiple other small side pairings)
Word Count: 44,000
Warnings: Uhm... fluff? Lots and lots of fluff. Oh, and I guess all series character spoilers (to make me feel like this is a real warning or something).
Summary: Modern AU. Sometimes the road to love is paved in ridiculous, if not somewhat awkward Facebook and Twitter posts, far too many pop culture references than are strictly necessary, nosy supporting cast members with insanely large personalities, the establishment of “The Land of Giant Sofas", and a little bit of liquid courage. Call it a bonus when destiny lives next door. Loosely based on this KMM prompt.
Disclaimer: Merlin, its characters and its settings are property of BBC and Shine. No money is being made from these fanworks, which are intended for entertainment purposes only.
Notes/Thanks: So, uhm, here’s my story. Whew! This is... this is my baby. It may not be anything special; there might not be any action and adventure, or insane plot twists, or “OHMYGODDIDTHATJUSTHAPPEN?!" moments, but it’s all me. You may hate it, but I’m kind of hoping you’ll like it. I’d even take a little bit. :) I can’t even tell you how nervous I am right now (eek!).

The title, because I’m terrible at them, is a quote by Joni Mitchell.

Long list of thank you’s start now (literally in no particular order):
♥ All the members at gsd_rtfn for the support and good wishes and comforting words and motivation I needed to keep writing. Y’all were wonderful.

♥ ayane_tsurugi for being an instigator and getting me (mostly via inadaze22) into the Merlin fandom in the first place ~~and then leaving me for GLEE~~. And for keeping me grounded during this ridiculous writing process, and letting me bounce ideas off of her, even when she would rather be reading. :)

♥ inadaze22 for allowing me to stalk her years ago in the HP fandom, and becoming my friend anyway. Also for listening to me bitch, whine and complain about my lack of writing skillz and reminding me that I really am not that bad, despite my own insecurities. LOL

♥ Extra extraextraextra big thank you to #CROSSBOW! Dudes, y’all know who you are and y’all know how MEGA AWESOME you are. There are no words that explain what you y’all did for me and I owe you so much. Seriously. Y’all are ah-may-zing and your baked good baskets are going out next week. ;)

♥ yenny2206 for being a fantastic cheerleader and helping me really think about the direction of my story. You were awesome, bb!

♥ heyhoolou who did some of the most amazing art in all the whole wide world. I’ve never had art for any story before and to have someone as talented and awesome as heyhoolou work on my piece... it was like a dream come true. Not to mention she’s absolutely wonderful to talk to and was exceptionally encouraging though the whole process. Just... I’m a lucky girl. :)

♥ To the_muppet for running a tight ship if I’ve ever saw one. This was a great experience because she’s a fantastic mod!

♥ eldee & farosdaughter for holding my hand the last couple of days while I was falling apart. Seriously, you guys... what would I have done without you?!

♥ To everyone else I forgot and/or didn't thank personally here... this story only happened because you listened to me whine, pushed me when I needed, encouraged me when I faltered, and loved me like no other fiends have. You've been amazing and this one is for you. :)

♥ And last, but certainly not least, a great, heartfelt thank you to all of you. The ones who actually took the time to read my ~~little~~ story (and maybe - hopefully - enjoyed it). ♥ ♥ ♥

Alright, shut up, Kate. These people wanna read your stuff ~~maybe~~. LOL.

♦ Part One ♦ Part Two ♦ Part Three ♦ Part Four ♦ Part Five ♦ Part Six ♦

Now available on AO3!
Check it out here
Now available on PDF!
Click here to download

See-Saws: Part 1 (2011 Big Bang)

cardigankate — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 21:24:55 GMT

See-Saws: Part 2 (2011 Big Bang)

cardigankate — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 21:22:38 GMT

Title: (When I Think of Your Kisses, My Mind) See-Saws...
Summary: Modern AU. Sometimes the road to love is paved in ridiculous, if not somewhat awkward Facebook and Twitter posts, far too many pop culture references than are strictly necessary, nosy supporting cast members with insanely large personalities, the establishment of "Comfy Couch of Cuddles and Conversations", and a little bit of liquid courage. Call it a bonus when destiny lives next door. Loosely based on this KMM prompt.

Part 2
Arthur Pendragon pressed the lift button for the 35th floor and waited for the doors to close before using the back of them as a mirror to adjust his navy-striped tie. He was early to work, as usual, and knew he wouldn’t encounter anyone on his way upstairs, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t look absolutely impeccable.

Once he’d straightened his tie and picked all the imaginary lint from his navy blue suit, he adjusted the brown leather satchel on his shoulder and stared hard and practically unseeing at his reflection in the lift doors. He noted the puffiness under his eyes and made a mental note to not stay late tonight, like he normally would.

Going out the previous night with Gwen and Morgana had been a bit of a bad idea. Normally Leon would have come along, being the more practical of all of them (Arthur was plenty practical, he just didn’t get out often enough to find the practicality in going home at a decent time once he was out) and knowing when it was time to call it quits, especially on a weekday night, but his physical therapy appointment had been extra rough that afternoon and Morgana said he needed to stay home and get rest up.

At that point, Arthur should have just said that the girls could go on their own and he was going to call it an early evening, as well - especially since he knew they were going to be working hard all weekend on the move - but, instead, he’d said he didn’t want them to go alone and had tagged along anyway.

And when Arthur had stumbled into his partially boxed flat at 4 AM, feeling light-headed with drunkenness and looking worse for wear, he realized that the following day of work was going to be pure torture. He’d sobered quickly at the thought, took a cold shower, drank nearly 2 litres of water, power napped for approximately 45 minutes and then got up to drink a pot of coffee and get ready for work.

If his mind had been plagued almost the entire time by large ears, thin limbs, dark hair and bright blue eyes, Arthur was fully ready to blame it on the large amounts of alcohol he had consumed.

Arthur shook his head. "Not today, Pendragon," he said to himself and tried to block the fresh images from invading his mind again. He hadn’t known who the man was that had approached him in the pub, but he had been almost immediately attracted to him, despite Ears’ (Arthur had heard his friend call him Merlin, but Arthur - not accepting of all that destiny bullshit Morgana spouts off - refused to recognize him as anything other than Ears) continued use of lame pick-up lines. And that was strange for Arthur in a way he wasn’t sure he could or wanted to analyze. It wasn’t because Arthur was homophobic or anything like that - after all, it was hard to be homophobic when you were an out and proud bi-sexual man - but because Ears had definitely not been his type.

He had, in fact, been so far from Arthur’s type that he wasn’t sure how he’d even zeroed in on Ears when they’d first entered the pub. But Arthur had become aware of him right away and had been watching... stealthily, he’d thought, so imagine his surprise when Ears had walked over to him, pick-up line at the ready.

The whole thing had been hilarious and unexpected and kind of cute, really.

Arthur shook his head. No, it had not been cute. It had been utterly pathetic. At least that’s what Arthur would normally have thought.

When the lift doors opened, he still felt slightly off-kilter, which was something Arthur Pendragon didn’t care to admit ever happened, but he knew that once he got to his desk and started working for the day, instinct would kick in and he’d be back to his business-savvy self. He didn’t have time to think about lithe body frames and defined cheekbones. No, sir.

Arthur stepped off the lift and strode purposefully down the hall to the left. He pulled out his keys and opened up the office, disengaging the alarm.

All business, Arthur thought as he went about flipping light switches. And then he was going over his schedule for the day, even before Vivian would have a chance to know it existed.

Arthur shook his head. Vivian English was beautiful and ruthless, but she was far from efficient. He wasn’t even sure how that particular combination was possible, but he didn’t really have the time to find yet another executive assistant. Thankfully he was quite capable of running his own schedule, even if Vivian thought she was in charge of it. She handled the daily emails and phone calls well, and even set up the following day’s schedule enough that Arthur could easily make changes to it (as he often did) so that it actually made sense, but she just wasn’t cut out to work for someone. Unfortunately, since her father had died and, unknowingly to her, had left her with more debt than money, she was forced to file for bankruptcy on his many businesses and get a "real" job.

Uther had made the suggestion that Vivian be his assistant. Arthur had complied because it was pointless to argue with Uther.

Inside his private office, Arthur dropped his satchel neatly on the chair just inside his door and walked over to his desk. He hit the button to boot up his computer and then made a cup of coffee with his Kuerig behind his desk. And while both of those things happened, Arthur grabbed a bottle of water from his mini-fridge and set it on his desk.

Not thirty seconds later, Arthur was sitting at his desk in his large, comfortable, leather chair and waiting the final moments for his computer to boot. And it was then that he realized that from the moment he’d walked off the lift until that very second, Arthur had been running on auto-pilot. He tried his hardest not to be bitter about the six years that had brought him to this place in life.

It wasn’t that Arthur hated his job, because he didn’t. He loved being the public face of the company his father had built from scratch when he was only eighteen. He loved knowing that their company, Camelot Security & Detail, was the largest home security and personal security detailing company in Europe. And Arthur revelled in the fact that, even during the tough economic times, CSD had never needed to consider laying off any of their employees.

But occasionally, when he had enough time to sit and really think about his life and the things he’d given up to live it that way, Arthur felt slighted. And there was no one to blame but himself of course, which made it all the worse.

Arthur sighed, took a large drink of his coffee, followed it with a drink of his water and pressed a few buttons on his keyboard. Moments later he stared at his Facebook News Feed.

Arthur might be a bit of a workaholic who got to work far earlier than everyone else, but it didn’t stop him from taking a smidgen of "me" time in the morning to check his favorite social networking site.

With little emotion on his face, Arthur clicked the icon that said he had one notification. It was a wall post from Morgana. Arthur didn’t roll his eyes, even though he wanted to, and clicked on the darkened link.

Arthur shook his head and smirked, before typing out his own response.

Arthur minimized the Internet window and pulled open his Outlook. While it loaded his emails from overnight - which there were bound to be at least fifty - his Facebook window flashed at him that he had another notification. Morgana had responded already with the link and Arthur immediately clicked on it.

And gasped in horror.

It was the god-awful ugliest sofa set Arthur had ever seen. The only thing Morgana had apparently heard when Arthur was explaining the kind of couch he wanted for his and Gwen’s new flat was that it be big and comfortable. The set looked exceptionally large, plush and comfortable, but it definitely didn’t hit the marks on colour.

Arthur stared at the black, pink peonies-covered abomination and shuddered. And that was before he looked at the price.

Arthur pounded the "Enter" key so hard, his keyboard jumped. "She’s a bloody lunatic!" he shouted into the empty office. Arthur quickly closed down his Internet window - he really didn’t want to see Morgana’s response right that moment - and maximized his Outlook window again. Fifty-one new emails, none of which were junk mail, stared back at him. Arthur put on his game face and started at the bottom.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
By 11:30 AM, Arthur had drunk three cups of coffee, four bottles of water and one cup of tea, answered all fifty-one emails and the additional fourteen that had come through in the meantime, called the furniture store and purchased a far too expensive living room set to be picked up the following morning, and managed to do three telephone interviews and schedule two television appearances with local media covering the recent botched assassination attempt on one of their biggest clients, Morgause Black.

Arthur didn’t even pretend he knew what Morgause did that required her to have such heavy security, nor did he really care so long as she continued to pay for her coverage. Unfortunately, she was becoming exceptionally difficult to keep secure. The most recent attempt on her life, the fourth in the same number of weeks, had got her detail shot. Thankfully, it had hit Percy’s Kevlar jacket and only broken a couple of ribs. But, of course, that took Percy, who was one of their top guards at the company, out of the rotation until he’d recovered. And those kinds of issues made it difficult to assign and was strenuous for whoever her detail was at the time. That, in turn, raised Arthur’s stress levels and his concern for their employees greatly.

Tapping his finger against the large calendar covering his desk and studying the marks he’d made there to show the number of issues the company had had recently (and frequently) with Morgause, Arthur made a decision he wasn’t even aware he was contemplating.

"Viv!" he hollered.

Seconds later, Vivian came bustling around the corner and stood just inside his office door. "Yes?"

There was no denying it; Vivian was gorgeous. She was petite in all the right ways and curvy where she needed to be. Arthur couldn’t help but remember the many times he’d laid his hands all over those dips and curves (thankfully years before she had started to work for him because that would have been awkward). Of course, dating Vivian had been a short-lived affair and he knew the minute he’d met her that it wouldn’t be anything long-term or spectacular. But he’d decided it was worth it anyway.

Arthur looked over her impeccable white trouser suit and black Oxford shirt, her blond hair pulled off her neck into a tight bun and black-rimmed, square glasses (that he knew she didn’t have to wear because she had perfect 20/20 vision, but she wanted to be more like Morgana, for some reason) covering beautiful blue eyes and thought that maybe he’d made a mistake when he’d broken it off with her all those years ago.

Arthur mentally shook his head as the other memories came flooding back.

Like the time she had purposely started a rift between him and her father, when he was still alive, just to see which would win. Arthur had been just young and cocky enough to think that he could win, even though he wasn’t really even sure what he had been fighting about. And, of course, it had led to arguments all around, that had also included Uther. And that - well that was just taking it a bit too far, wasn’t it?

Or the time she’d confessed her undying love to him. In the middle of the work Christmas party. That she hadn’t been invited to. Because they were broken up. Of course, when she threw an epic-sized temper tantrum when he tried to send her on her way, he called her a child. And that, in turn, had caused a massive ruckus that had, once again, involved Uther.

Arthur grimaced internally. No, he had definitely not made a mistake.

"Arthur?" she asked, when he hadn’t answered her.

Arthur shook his head. "Call Catrina and have her schedule a time for me to meet with Uther before the day is out."

Viv jotted something down in the small, wire-bound, black book she carried with her everywhere. Arthur tried not to roll his eyes, because it was a fairly simple message that didn’t really need documenting, but left her to her ways. Of course, he was assuming she was writing down his instructions, but knowing Viv the way he did, it was probably something for her grocery list or which pair of Prada shoes she wanted to get that weekend.

"She’ll want to know what it’s regarding," she said, looking up.

Arthur sighed. Yes, she would. "Tell her it’s about the Black file." When Vivian’s left eyebrow rose dramatically, Arthur added, "Tell her I said that Father will just have to get over it. It’s time to talk about it."

Vivian snorted, but jotted more notes in her book. "Anything else?" she asked when she’d finished.

"Yeah," Arthur said, already distracted by the three additional emails that had come through in the time it had taken him to talk to her. "Make me another coffee, get Paul to restock the water in my fridge and, for God’s sake, bring me some Nurofen."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Merlin sat in his exceptionally hard chair at his desk with his head in his hands, massaging his thundering temples, while his class worked in the lab. He knew he should be walking around, monitoring their progress and answering questions and commenting on their good work, but he just didn’t have it in him.

And besides, it’s not like they were going to blow up the classroom today. The lab was ridiculously easy and only required a few weights, a couple of beakers, measuring tools and some sodium chloride.

Of course, it was far from the experiment he’d originally been planning to do today. They were far past this sort of elementary chemistry, but after barely making it into the building before his students that morning, and not having a single thing set up, Merlin had stuck his hand in a drawer of old handouts, pulled out the first thing that had enough copies to give to all the students today and said that it was "a refresher" assignment. The sad part about it was that Merlin didn’t even have it in him to feel bad that they were doing something far below their actual level of knowledge. He didn’t have the strength to focus on the lesson plan he’d made for the day, and made an executive decision they’d do it the following week.

Merlin groaned when one of the girls slammed their book shut. Then and there, he decided that he was never, ever, evereverevereverever going to let Will and Gwaine talk him into going out on a school night ever again. It was just not worth it.

Not to mention coming into work hungover was wholly unprofessional. He was counting his lucky stars that Dr. Nimueh, the school’s scary headmistress, was at a conference this week. Everyone else in the school seemed to like him - teachers, lunchroom staff, and even the caretakers - but Dr. Nimueh was dead set on hating him. Merlin was about ninety-eight percent sure that if theboard of governors hadn’t been the ones to make the final decision to hire him, he’d never have have got the position.

In his defense, though, Dr. Nimueh didn’t seem to like anyone. Every smile she gave - which were few and far between - looked calculating and evil, maybe even slightly maniacal, and a lifted eyebrow was enough to make you contemplate the state of your affairs.

Another of Merlin’s students slammed her book closed - the universal signal that class was almost over - and he rubbed at his aching eyes. When he opened them, he lifted his head just enough to look at the class through slits and said weakly, "Read chapter six this weekend and ready yourself for the experiment found on page 230. We’ll be doing it on Monday morning." The girls shuffled feet and rustled paper as they wrote down the assignment - quietly, bless them - and then the bell toned, releasing the first block of classes. Merlin tried not to cringe at the high-pitched sound, but he feared that he’d done a poor job of it. "Have a good weekend, ladies."

He sat up a little straighter in his chair as the girls chatted their way out of the classroom. Several of them gave Merlin tentative smiles and wished him a happy weekend; Merlin smiled (grimaced) in return and prayed that they only thought he was sick, and not hungover.

At last the final girl had walked out of the room and the door clicked softly shut behind them. The blessed peace and quiet that hung in the room instantly made Merlin feel better. He could still faintly hear students in the hallways, talking and moving on to their next classes, but felt utter relief that his planning hour was early in the day.

He hadn’t had a chance to take anything for his pounding headache, as he’d been literally rushing out the door, half-dressed, and Gwaine calling after him from the couch to, "Have a great day, Casanova," so Merlin pulled open his left-hand top drawer and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the emergency bottle of water and sleeve of Nurofen tablets right on top. He quickly popped two tablets out of the sleeve and downed them with a gulp of lukewarm water and then another.

What he’d give for some coffee at that very moment.

Merlin stared at his desk contemplating whether he could pull off a nap during the next hour without making himself feel worse. He decided quickly that, in fact, no he would not be able to do that and opened the top of his laptop instead. As soon as it was connected to the Internet, he refreshed the already open Facebook page. He knew it wasn’t exactly the best idea he’d had in a while but honestly, he just didn’t give a damn.

Merlin clicked on on the icon that said he had three notifications; Freya had left a post on his Wall, someone Merlin didn’t know had made a comment in his favorite cooking group (not that Merlin did a whole lot of cooking - he left that up to Will, which wasn’t exactly a genius idea either - but he liked to think that maybe one day he’d really get into it) and Gwaine had tagged Merlin in multiple photos in the album "Merlin Emrys has a hole in his lip."

If it didn’t hurt so bad to do so, Merlin would have rolled his eyes... hard. Instead, he clicked on the album and started scrolling. All of the pictures were from the night before, and for the life of him, Merlin had absolutely no idea when Gwaine had taken any of them. He never once remembered him taking his phone out of his pocket, where it resided almost all of the time.

Merlin kept clicking forward quickly, his appearance becoming more disheveled and inebriated with each picture, until he got to the end, where Merlin was leaned over a rubbish bin outside and seemed to be hurling the contents of his stomach into it.

He absolutely did not remember that happening.

The caption said: "Merlin getting up close and personal with a trash can. Fortunately, it wasn’t his most intimate encounter all night."

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but chalked it up to Gwaine being... well, Gwaine and clicked back to his news feed. The first item on his list, posted two minutes prior, was from Will to Gwaine. When Merlin read the post, he nearly choked on the sip of water he was taking.

Merlin instantly hit the "Like" button and opened the album once more to see that Gwaine had, in fact, tagged his pictures accordingly. He was only slightly annoyed that he hadn’t been given a more exciting name for tagging purposes.

Then again, knowing Gwaine, maybe Merlin was better off.

Merlin looked up when there was a tentative knock on his door and quickly pushed the lid closed on his laptop. He needn’t have panicked, however, when Lance DuLac - P.E. teacher, cross country coach, exceptionally nice guy and bloody Adonis - poked his head in and smiled. "Hey," he said softly and walked in before Merlin even had a chance to answer him.

Merlin’s return greeting froze on his lips and ended up coming out as a low moan of pleasure when he saw the two, extra tall coffee cups in Lance’s hands. Lance laughed, a sound that rumbled low in his throat (and the first time he’d heard it, had Merlin’s turning to complete jelly), and said, "I thought you'd need this."

Merlin loved how Lance always knew when he was hungover. And not for the first time, Merlin realized just how lucky he was in the friends department. Of course, it was bloody awful to be surrounded all the time by gorgeous men he couldn’t touch, when all he wanted to do was lick them from head to toe, but love was sort of a tramp like that.

"I would have brought them to you sooner, but I had a meeting with my department this morning." He passed one of the cups to Merlin before grabby hands could be made, and at this point, Merlin was really okay with making grabby hands. "Don’t worry, though. It’s piping hot, the way you like it, and has enough sugar and flavored cream in it to rot your teeth. Enjoy." Merlin took a sip and felt his eyelids close in ecstasy. "How are you feeling?" Lance asked, trying not to sound more than a little amused.

"Icky," Merlin grunted, even as the coffee worked through his body, and watched as Lance’s eyebrows quirked. He huffed. "Yes, Lance; don’t look at me like that. I’m icky. Icky, icky, icky." He paused, looking thoughtful. "And crabby." Lance’s lips twitched. "I know. It’s a pitiful combination."

"Yes. Very." Lance grinned at him and took a seat at one of the desks in front of him, taking a sip of his own coffee.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Lance knowing that Merlin really needed the coffee to work its magic before venturing into other topics. Merlin liked everything about Lance and they had hit it off immediately when they’d met.

Merlin had just started at Balor as one of the teaching assistants in the P.E. department, and had absolutely no idea how to find anything - that included his own office. While quite literally wandering around the school, Lance found him. Merlin was, of course, in the complete opposite end of the school that he needed to be in, and Lance was kind enough to show him the way.

And really, that’s all it had taken. They chatted briefly on the way to Merlin’s office and then for a few more minutes after Lance had explained to Merlin how to get back out of the school and to the football field. It had been nothing earth-shattering or other-worldly. It had simply been instantaneous friendship.

And what made their friendship even easier was that even though Lance was practically God’s gift to drooling women - a fact even Gwaine, self-proclaimed (and rightly so) Sexiest Man Alive, agreed to - and even when he had told Lance that he was gay, Merlin hadn’t ever developed a crush on him. Sure, Merlin had no qualms against thinking about Lance naked and sweaty and the things he’d be more than willing to do with him if given the opportunity (and Lance just upped and decided that the straight and narrow was far too boring a life to live), Merlin just didn’t feel that way about him. It was actually refreshing, for once.

And that was exactly how their friendship was. Easy. Simple. No drama.

Merlin smiled at Lance. "Thank you, mate. You have no idea how badly I needed this."

"I had an inkling," Lance grinned and took another sip of his coffee. "Of course," he mused, "I should probably mention that I did see the pictures Gwaine posted this morning."

Merlin groaned. "Oh god."

"They were very enlightening."

"I hate you."

Lance laughed. "No you don’t."

Merlin shook his head. "I really don’t even know what happened last night. I have an unsettling feeling that I did something really ridiculous. Someone should stop me next time."

"Or not allow you out of the house in the first place?" Lance asked, a smirk on his lips.

"That, too." Merlin shook his head again and took a burning gulp from his coffee. "I vaguely remember using some poorly chosen pick-up lines," Merlin grimaced. "But for the life of me, I can’t remember to whom they were directed."

"Black hole?"

"More like a black crater-hole."

"That is not an actual thing, Merlin. And even if it were, I think a regular black hole is far bigger than a crater-hole, don’t you?" Merlin narrowed his eyes at him and Lance grinned back. "You really shouldn’t drink that much, you know?"

Merlin waved his hand dismissively. "I know," he muttered, then looked thoughtful before his eyes opened wide in shock. "God, Lance, I think I actually hit on a couple of girls!"

Lance forgot all about Merlin’s pounding headache when he threw his head back and burst into loud laughter.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
"Arthur," Uther Pendragon said as Arthur made his way into his ridiculously large office on the 48th floor. Before his arse hit the seat of the expensive, high-backed, extremely uncomfortable chair (the way Uther liked it; to keep unwanted "guests" from staying for too long) across from Uther, he asked, "What makes you think we need to re-evaluate our largest account? And I urge you to think before you speak, because I will not tolerate you wasting my time on this."

Arthur resisted the urge to do either of the two things he wanted to (which were 1. turn right back around and walk out of the office or 2. say loudly and sarcastically, "Why, it’s nice to see you, too, Father. Wonderful weather we’re having, don’t you think?") and instead sat fully down in the chair and counted to ten before saying, "She nearly got Percy killed last week."

Uther looked up from his computer and narrowed his eyes, "I don’t think I need to stress to you, Arthur, that Percival is far from dead."

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Thanks to his Kevlar, of course. He does, however, have multiple wounds that are keeping him from working."

"We are a security company, Arthur. It comes with the territory. Percival knows that and I thought you did as well." Uther said it as if he was commenting about the easy flow of traffic on a mid-summer Sunday; bored.

Sweat beaded on Arthur’s brow. He avoided reaching up to brush at it and instead tried to will it away; it wouldn’t do for Uther to see how worked up he got whenever they had to have intense conversations about work (or anything, for that matter). This was not going to go well and Arthur knew it. And if if he could avoid the inevitable just a bit longer, he’d do it.

"Yes, Father, I’m well aware of this fact," Arthur replied, his voice as level and emotionless as he could make it. He had been aiming for Uther’s same bored tone, but knew he hadn’t hit it quite right. No matter how hard he tried (even when he didn’t want to be), he couldn’t be like his father. They were just two different people. It was too bad Uther couldn’t see that, as well.

"However," Arthur continued, "Percy is her twelfth detail in less than a month. If they’re not being shot at or suffering stab wounds to protect her, she’s filing complaints with the department about their lack of attentiveness, their overt affections, or her inability to - and I quote - ‘function like a normal human being because Owain’s stupidity flows by osmosis’."

Uther sighed and looked back over at his computer. "I fail to see your point, Arthur. And I suggest you make it soon."

"My point, Father," Arthur said, straightening his back and sitting toward the front of his seat, "is that if we have to keep reassigning her detail and/or replacing them because of sudden death," Uther scoffed at that, "we’re not going to have much of a company left."

Uther only cocked an eyebrow and pounded on a few of the keys on his keyboard. Arthur sat back again in his seat and forced himself not to rub at his pounding temples.

"And furthermore," he added, as a last minute thought. He told himself when he came in that he wouldn’t say anything, but now it needed to be done. Uther needed to see. "I’ve been getting a lot of questions about the type of people CSA is willing to secure. I know you and Morgause have a very hush-hush relationship in regards to her... career, but maybe it’s time I knew." Uther looked away from his computer once more and Arthur pressed on, not wanting to be interrupted yet. "I am the public face of the company and it’s exceptionally hard to run the public relationships department when I don’t even know what kind of relations we have with our own clients." Arthur sat forward in his seat again; a manoeuvre he’d learned from Uther that was used to drill his point home. "I can’t even begin to tell you the different rumours I’ve heard about the type of person Morgause is, or the type of business she runs."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at his father and he moved forward even further in his seat. He looked his father in the eye and said, very carefully, "If I knew, Father, it would be easier for me to either cover the truth or glorify it. When I don’t know a thing about it, I sound like I don’t know a thing about it and that causes more speculation in the media and confusion with our customers - large and small."

"Arthur," Uther started, but Arthur interrupted him.

"I fully understand that this is your company, Father, but at some you are going to have to trust me with this, don’t you think?"

Uther turned full in his seat, annoyance written all over his face, before he steepled his fingers in front of him and glared at Arthur. "This, Arthur, is not about trust or speculation or confusion. In fact, it’s not even so important that there should even be talk over the kind of work that Morgause does. I think that she just attracts trouble like a magnet."

Arthur sat back in his seat and crossed his legs and arms. Uther wasn’t going to tell him and that was just utterly ridiculous. He could make it sound completely unimportant all he wanted, but Arthur knew better. He was hiding something and he was determined to figure it out.

It upset him more, though, that his father obviously didn’t care enough about him or trust him enough to just tell him what was going on. Arthur didn’t feel good about that particular idea at all.

"Therefore, you’ll drop this whole Morgause issue and get back to your job," Uther finished, and Arthur hadn’t heard a single word of his speech; he knew it all by heart anyway. "Good day, Arthur."

And with that, Arthur was dismissed. As he pulled Uther’s office door shut behind him, Arthur schooled his face into a bored, straight line, and walked to the lift to go back down to his office.

He wasn’t going to let the issue go that easily, though.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It was nearing 7:30 that evening when Arthur finally closed down his computer and let his head fall into his hands, rubbing at his eyes and feeling bone-deep weariness after an entire day of work. He’d only moved from his desk a couple of times all day, and had even eaten his lunch at his desk when his lunch meeting had called to cancel. His bones were stiff and he was feeling so much older than his thirty years.

When had it come to this? When had his life turned into long days at the office, sitting at his desk for hours on end, and going out with his friends maybe once a month? Was this how it was going to be for the rest of his life?

Arthur pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes until white lights popped behind his lids.

"You look like shit."

Arthur lifted his head to see Morgana standing just inside his door, looking smart and crisp in a black pencil skirt and white oxford combo (that he was sure was Valentino or Versace), dark hair hanging down in loose curls, green eyes covered but far from invisible behind square, dark-rimmed glasses, and black, scary-looking, spiked Manolo heels. She looked like she’d just walked out of a magazine and Arthur kind of wanted to hate her for it. He never had perfected the art of keeping his attire sharp all day long like Morgana had. Damn her.

"Thanks, dear sister," he clipped and got up from his desk. He made to reach for his suit jacket, but decided that a good stretch was a better idea. He really was getting too old for this.

As he stretched out his muscles, like he would getting ready for a footie match with his mates on the weekend (that he didn’t really want to think about right now, because it had been far too long since he’d been to one of those), Morgana walked into his office, the usual click-click of her shoes muffled by the lush carpet, and perched on the arm of the couch in the corner.

"You’re welcome," she said, smirking. "You’ve been working extra late the last few weeks."

Arthur nodded and started pulling down his shirt sleeves and doing up the buttons. "It’s one of those things that happens when your largest client somehow manages to have multiple assassination attempts against her every other day." Arthur pulled on his jacket and said, as sarcastically as he could, "Inquiring minds want to know."

Morgana was inspecting her perfectly manicure fingernails. "Hmm. So I see." She looked up at Arthur and her face was serious. "I heard about your chat with Uther today."

"You mean to say that you heard I had a chat with him," Arthur responded, forgoing the tightening of his tie. He’d like to say it was because he wanted to pull off the I’m fresh off work from a long hard day, but I still know how to look sexy look, but in reality, he was just too tired to care at the moment. "Because I know that no matter how many conspiracy theories you have against Catrina, she doesn’t have Father’s office bugged."

Morgana smirked. "Everyone seems to know that but you and Uther, Arthur. You should get with the programme," she said. "And no, that’s not what I meant to say. I had a chat with Uther today, as well."

"About?"

Arthur picked up his satchel and made to walk out of the office, hoping that it would motivate his sister to go as well. He needed to leave and he didn’t want to talk about Uther anymore. Arthur had spent a full hour after he’d left his father’s office scowling at the paper files that he had access to on Morgause Black. However, the only information really in them, outside of her security detail bios and schedules, were her filed complaints and his random notes. An Internet search had only brought up news articles speculating the kind of work that Morgause did - which usually had something to do with firearms dealings, drug smuggling and international terrorism in general - but, as it was all just hearsay and not based on any real facts, Arthur knew he could only take each article with a grain of salt. He had even sat down and called multiple contacts he had in the security business around Europe and a few in America, where he knew Morgause had lived for about ten years, but the most helpful response he received was that they "weren’t at liberty to discuss any past or present clients, no matter how crazy they are."

And really, that hadn’t helped Arthur at all.

Morgana placed a hand gently on his forearm to stop him. "It’s not just you," she said, softly. "I’m concerned about her account, as well." Arthur just stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to continue, but she didn’t.

"Why?" Arthur asked. "You don’t have to deal with her."

Morgana sighed. "No, but I do have to deal with the backlash in HR. Did you know that three of her last four detail have come to me and asked for extended leaves? Leon had to go to Uther last week for permission to pick up new personal security detail just to help cover her account. We’re not equipped for that kind of hiring in this economy, Arthur. And I would say that it’s ninety-eight percent related to the Black file."

"And I’d say it’s one hundred percent related," Arthur said and sat in the chair by his door, his body attempting to give up on him at any given second. Running a full day, on a Friday of all times, on only an hour of sleep and loads of caffeine was probably not the best idea. Arthur briefly wondered if he’d be better off taking a taxi home and coming back in the morning to get his car. But when he remembered the busy weekend they had ahead of them with the move, he thought better of it. He didn’t want his car here all weekend.

"What did he say?" Arthur asked.

Morgana waved her hand dismissively. "Probably the exact same thing he said to me. That it wasn’t that big a deal and to leave it alone." Morgana smirked. "Of course, I probably did a fair bit more yelling at him than you did."

Arthur laughed, despite his annoyance with the whole ordeal with Uther. "I’m sure you did. You two always have been at odds with each other. I’m sorry I missed it."

"I’m sure it’s entertaining from an outsider’s point of view," Morgana said, matter-of-fact. "Who am I kidding? It’s entertaining for me, too."

Arthur smiled at his sister. "I’m sure." He got up from the chair and asked, "Dinner?"

Morgana got up as well and walked out of his office with him. "No," she answered, as Arthur shut the lights down and set the alarm, locking the door behind him. "I have to get home. Leon said something about him spending the entire day in the kitchen and that I’m a terrible girlfriend, even if I am hot, because I can’t get home at a normal time. Next time, though."

Arthur called for the lift and rolled his eyes. "He’s certainly turned into the domestic diva since the accident and surgery kept him home those few months, hasn’t he? I should see about having his man-card revoked."

Morgana winked at him as Arthur got on the lift and she kept on to the stairs to go down one floor to her office. Just as the doors were closing, she said, "Don’t worry - domesticated of not, he’s all man, little brother."

Arthur shook his head when the door closed. "She is a sick woman."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Merlin walked in his door that night to find Will and Gwaine sitting in front of the television playing the Wii, drinking beer and having one of their famous insult competitions. In the past Merlin had, on multiple occasions, told them to just whip them out right then since it was obvious that was going to be the only thing that would stop them from the constant bickering.

Unfortunately for Merlin (or was that fortunately?), one night when he said that, both Will and Gwaine were spectacularly pissed and did exactly that. Measurements had been made while Merlin had tried his very hardest to not look.

Merlin Emrys had totally looked.

They had been exactly the same size.

Things had never been the same.

"Merlin!" Gwaine called. "Join us! Will needs someone he can actually beat at Smash Brothers!"

Merlin rolled his eyes and walked into the living room, dropped into his favorite chair, kicked off his shoes and threw his bag full of essays that needed correcting onto the floor beside him. "Oh, yes," Will said. "You’re so funny, dickhead." Will flashed a quick look over at Merlin. "You look like shit."

"Nice to see you, too," Merlin said and contemplated starting on his correcting right that second. He knew if he put it off too long, he’d end up leaving it until late Sunday night again, and then he’d be exhausted come Monday morning. It was not something he was looking forward to. He just really didn’t have it in him right now. He was still feeling like crap since the night before and he had practice with the girls Saturday morning.

No, it would be best if he just took himself right off to bed and slept for a solid 12 hours.

Will paused the game and looked over at Gwaine. Merlin saw the smirk and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. But before he could move, they had both jumped off the couch and were attacking him in his chair, Gwaine on his lap and Will hanging from his neck, each of them punching softly, slapping lightly or tickling mercilessly.

"Oh Merlin!"

"Merlin, you’re so cute, Merlin."

"Merlin, don’t be so sad!"

"Sad Panda, Merlin? No sad panda!"

"We have missed you so much!"

"Merlin."

"Merlin!"

"MERLIN!"

When they finally got off of him, elbows and palms digging in for leverage (and good measure), Merlin was thoroughly annoyed, but laughing just the same. "I hate you both," he said, chucking each of his shoes at them in turn and missing them each by a mile. "You suck and I’m going to bed."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Three hours later, however, Merlin hadn’t moved from his very comfortable place in his chair, nor was he sleeping. Instead, he had a Wii controller in his hand and was being sufficiently thrashed by both Will and Gwaine in Smash Brothers.

They had got take-away again - pizza this time, which had somehow strewn itself over multiple surfaces in the living room, including the floor (Merlin Emrys is not cleaning that up tomorrow.) - and Gwaine had actually taken a few moments to go out and get more beer.

Of course, he had drank the last one, and house rules stated that last drank is next bought. However, Will and Merlin weren’t going to tell Gwaine that they had a couple of beers stashed in the crisper drawer for such times when Gwaine happened to be over and drinking it all. After all, where was the fun in that?

Merlin was feeling loose-limbed and calm, but completely dead tired. He hadn’t got nearly enough sleep the night before (Merlin Emrys really isn’t going out on a school night again.) and had suffered through the long and exhausting Friday on top of his massive hangover. He had a right to be tired.

Merlin reached for his beer, losing a life in the process. Will shot him a look and rolled his eyes, but Merlin just shrugged and took a swig from the bottle. He definitely shouldn’t have been drinking (no one had ever accused Merlin of making good decisions when Will and Gwaine were around), but it was Friday night and Merlin was still in his 20’s.

Barely.

Merlin lost his last life (not at all on purpose - Merlin Emrys never loses on purpose.) and dropped his controller down onto the coffee table beside him. As he finished off his beer, he watched Will lose to Gwaine - like always.

"Dude!" Gwaine shouted, jumping up from his seat and throwing his hands in the air. "I am the champion!" Will loudly tried to argue that the only reason he had lost was because he’d been distracted by Merlin’s stupid pouting ("HEY!"), but Gwaine just broke out into an even louder, very off-key, exceptionally slow version of Queen’s "We Are the Champions."

It wasn’t enough to shut Will up - who could get far louder than Merlin cared to deal with when they were sitting so close together - and as the volume level in the living room continued to increase, Merlin decided it was a good time to bow out and head to bed.

Will and Gwaine didn’t even notice.

See-Saws: Part 3 (2011 Big Bang)

cardigankate — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 21:18:22 GMT

Every single menu had the letters M, W and G in them next to one item.

And Arthur wasn’t sure if that was just a matter of coincidence or if Gwaine had actually planned it that way? He was inclined to believe the latter, considering Gwaine had said there were many more menus in their flat and it just seemed silly that there would be more than one menu from each place with their initials written in it. Gwaine had definitely grabbed them on purpose, Arthur was sure.

Merlin (as he was still assuming that’s what the M stood for) had some really strange favourite dishes.

Arthur wasn’t sure why, but he had automatically assumed that Merlin was a vegetarian just by looking at him. After all, he was rail thin and looked like a mix between full-on geek and modern day hipster. Weren’t all of those types vegetarians?

Instead, Merlin was not at all a vegetarian, but some sort of meat-eating, vegetable-loving, carbs-are-obviously-the-devil sort of guy. Sure, none of his favourites involved red meat (and Arthur vaguely wondered how Merlin would feel about the purple head of his... STOP THAT!), but otherwise he had decent taste.

Except when it came to his obvious lack of sushi taste and the damn Caterpillar roll.

He had already stopped thinking of them as "the neighbors” and now referred to them by their first names. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Arthur ate the other half of the roll that he’d been holding just a few inches from his mouth for the five minutes.

He had recognized Merlin the moment he’d turned around and, just like Thursday night, he’d been caught off guard by how attracted he was to him. Merlin was far from being Arthur’s usual type. Arthur’s type, when of the male variety, was usually tall and muscled, arrogant and sexy, hard-working and rich. Granted, Arthur never really felt much more than intense sexual attraction to them, but it was enough to sustain a relationship for a few months before moving on.

The females that he dated had, not surprisingly, almost the same attributes as the men, only he liked them short, petite and curvy. Arthur believed it was okay to be shallow in, at the very least, one aspect of your life and for him that was in his choice of partners.

However, Arthur seemed to save all his feelings for his girlfriends. Arthur was absolutely certain that the future Pendragon spouse would, in fact, be a woman, even if he was a very out and open bi-sexual man, so he tried to take better care in choosing his girlfriends.

Sadly, none of them had seemed all that interested in returning his feelings... unless you counted the numerous sexual acts they were willing to do for and to him. Instead, each new girlfriend he acquired seemed more shallow, vapid and self-centred than the previous. And really, Arthur was getting old enough now that he really wanted something more in life.

He was instantly horrified when his perfect little imaginary family in his mind melded his "wife” into a cheery, red-faced picture of Merlin smiling goofily at him.

Arthur, confused and slightly angry with himself by all these emotions and feelings he was having toward a virtual stranger who had hit on him in a pub and just happened to live next door, actually stabbed his chopsticks into the middle of his last roll (when had he eaten the rest of them?) and got up from the table. "I’m tired,” he announced to the group, knowing well that it was far too early to go to bed when there were hours left in the day that could be used for unpacking. "I think I’ll go to bed.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he turned on his heel and marched into his room. Only when the door was closed behind him did he remember that he had no idea which box held his sheets.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The next morning, Merlin’s head was feeling even fuzzier than it had the night before when he’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep. It was stupid, to be honest. What did he have to feel fuzzy about? He’d gone off and been stupid while under the influence of alcohol. Big deal, people did that every day. It’s not like Merlin was the first person in the whole, wide world to make an arse of himself while intoxicated.

And just because that gorgeous, gorgeous man now lived right next door...

Merlin banged his forehead against the front door in annoyance. He wasn’t going to think about his sexy new neighbour or the way Merlin’d made a complete and utter fool of himself anymore. Besides, unless someone invented time travel (or The Doctor showed up because Merlin’s life was really just part of some elaborate alien scheme to create an army of drunken, pick-up line throwing idiots), Merlin was pretty sure he couldn’t go back and change what had already happened. It would just be a lot smarter to move forward and hope that Arthur forgot all about it... eventually, Merlin would as well. Hopefully.

Resolved, Merlin nodded to himself and opened the front door to grab the Sunday morning paper (the only one they subscribed to, because it had the colourful funnies in it - Will really liked the funnies). Unfortunately, the paperboy had, once again, thrown the paper haphazardly toward their door, so that it had landed closer to the fence near the road. It also just happened to land mostly onto Arthur’s property. Merlin groaned. The paperboy’s aim was getting increasingly worse each day.

Clad in only a white t-shirt and his Batman boxers (yes, the bat-signal was on his arse), Merlin looked left and right before darting out quickly to pick up the paper. He ran across the pavement and into the garden, his bare feet getting wet from the dew on the grass and freezing a bit in the cool October air.

He probably should have just gone in, thrown on some clothes and then ventured out to get the paper. Doing just that would have not only saved his poor, delicate feet from the wet, cold grass, but it would have saved him a whole lot of embarrassment, as well. Of course, that was the beauty of hind sight.

Merlin had just bent over to pick up the paper when he heard a stifled giggle behind him. He stood up quickly, thankfully with the paper in his hand and turned. Standing behind him, looking more gorgeous than he remembered her from the night at the pub, was the curly-haired, dark-skinned beauty that had been with Arthur. She was wearing a bright yellow, fuzzy bathrobe with orange ducks floating along the bottom and a pair of equally yellow and fuzzy duck slippers on her feet. She was holding a steaming mug in her left hand and the paper in her right. She was grinning at him.

"Hey,” she said. "Merlin, right?” She stuck the newspaper under her left arm and extended her hand to Merlin. "I’m Gwen.” Without saying a word, Merlin shook her hand (she had a nice, firm grip, Merlin noticed) and then promptly closed his mouth before he started drooling. He may have grunted assent in there somewhere, but he wasn’t quite sure. "I don’t know if you remember me from the other night at the pub.”

Merlin blinked and nearly groaned aloud. Why hadn’t they all just been sloshed like he had, so memories were fuzzy, at best? It was bad enough he had to come face-to-face with Arthur. Now having to deal with his... friends...

Merlin’s eyes darted to the black mug in her hand. It had a giant white letter "A” on the side of it. And just like that, things started to click into place. He felt his eyes widen as he looked back at her. She was still smiling, but her eyebrows were raised in question. "I - uhhh,” Merlin stuttered and cleared his throat. "Yes. I remember you. Sorry about that, by the way,” he recovered. "I’m not normally that outgoing.”

Gwen laughed. "No worries. It was massively entertaining.” And just like that, she stopped and her smile slipped. "Oh god,” she said in a rush. "I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything. It’s just, you know, you were adorably funny. And entertaining. But, you know, not in a bad way or anything. Just funny. And, yeah, entertaining. You gave us a good laugh and... shut up already, Guinevere.”

Merlin stared at her red face, wide eyes that didn’t quite meet his, and body language that screamed RUN! and felt a smile touch his mouth as laughter bubbled up into his chest. It would be so easy to hate her because it was obvious based on her current appearance and the fact that she was using a mug that was most definitely Arthur’s that she and Arthur were an item (at which stage in their relationship, Merlin wasn’t sure - nor was he going to ask). But just because Merlin had, once again, fallen (in the loosest form of the word) for a man who was already in a relationship and quite obviously not gay, well he couldn’t hate her for something he’d done.

And anyway, she was adorable.

Merlin Emrys’ life would be so much easier if he were straight.

"It’s really okay,” Merlin found himself saying aloud, his voice still scratchy from lack of use, but amused. She really was adorable. "I knew what you meant. I’m sure it was quite a sight.”

The colour cleared from her face and she smiled at him brightly again. "I’m glad to officially meet you. Arthur was pretty shocked when he came back over with the menus last night.”

Merlin shuffled his feet in the grass, feeling wetness slide between his toes. It was uncomfortable and cold. "That would make two of us.”

Gwen giggled again and took a sip from Arthur’s mug. "By the way, do you want those back?”

"The menus? Oh no, we have more than is strictly necessary. Besides, this way you won’t be without.” Merlin knew this was the most mundane conversation in existence, but it seemed like the kind of conversation two old friends would have when put in the same situation (that is, the situation of going out in the early morning sunshine to grab the Sunday newspaper at the same time). And that’s how he felt with Gwen... like old friends. Like maybe their souls had spent years and years together. And that just seemed ridiculous when he hadn’t even know her five minutes, but there it was.

"Fabulous,” Gwen said and shuffled her feet in the wet grass, as well. Merlin saw that her ducky slippers were getting wet. He absently wondered if she minded. "I’ll let you get inside,” she added and poked at his arm where his gooseflesh had started. "You should put more clothes on when you come outside.”

Merlin grinned at her. "I’ll remember that next time,” he said and started toward his door as she moved toward hers.

After a few steps, Gwen stopped and looked over at him. "We should hang out sometime,” she said, her eyes bright. "I have a feeling we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

"You know where I live,” Merlin said, nodding his head in agreement before he’d even given it any thought. That wouldn’t eventually lead to awkwardness or anything, Merlin thought sarcastically.

Gwen laughed and walked back toward her door. Merlin didn’t move again until it was shut behind her.

Merlin Emrys’ life is a complicated mess.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Arthur looked up from his toast and coffee when Gwen shut the door behind her. His eyes instantly narrowed. "I see you found my favourite mug,” he said while crispy and minuscule crumbles of toast flew from his lips. He looked down at the ugly orange and green abomination that Leon had given him one Christmas as a really crappy white elephant gift. Arthur was certain he’d thrown it out more times than he could count, but it always mysteriously made it’s way back into his cupboard, so he’d finally let it be.

This morning, however it was the only mug he had been able to find (it helped that it had been on the counter next to the pot - he had an inkling it had been Gwen’s doing... or it was a magic fucking mug). He was only using it because coffee was the only thing that could improve Arthur’s early-morning disposition. And a coffee-fueled Arthur was a happy Arthur.

Gwen smiled at him and tossed the Sunday paper down in front of him. "I did,” she said after taking a nice, deep sip and smacking her lips. Arthur rolled his eyes and unrolled the paper. He’d barely had a chance to read the top headline when Gwen sat down at the cluttered table with him and said, "I met Merlin.”

Groaning internally, Arthur didn’t look up from the paper, though he wasn’t actually reading the words. His thoughts had effectively been diverted to dark hair, bright blue eyes and giant ears. It was bad enough he’d spent the entire night dreaming about Merlin (a man he didn’t even know!) but now he had to think about him during his waking hours, too? Great. Just fucking great.

Arthur took another gulp from the ugly coffee cup (pretending that he couldn’t see the clashing colours that hurt his delicate eyes this early in the morning) and then scowled at Gwen. "Good for you,” he bit out.

Gwen only raised her eyebrow at him, her face incredulous and Arthur instantly felt bad for being so pissy. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” she noted.

"Sorry,” he mumbled and then set the paper down. He wasn’t going to be able to focus on it now anyway. He couldn’t think of anything but Merlin and his stupid, adorable face. "I didn’t sleep well last night.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was definitely stretching the truth. He had fallen asleep almost instantly due to sheer exhaustion, but was plagued by the Merlin dreams all night. He had slept fine. His libido, on the other hand...

"New place,” Gwen mumbled and took another drink from her mug. "You’ll get used to it.” She reached over and pulled the paper out from under his hands. Arthur didn’t have it in him to protest. It’s not like he’d be reading it anytime soon anyway. "Or maybe you could chat with Merlin about it.” Gwen smirked when Arthur choked on his coffee. "Maybe he has some pointers for you.”

Arthur sputtered a moment, his mouth flapping open and closed like a fish out of water and knowing he looked ridiculous. "What? I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She had to audacity to laugh. One giant, "HA!” Arthur was not amused. "You know exactly what I’m talking about, Arthur.” She had her eyes trained on the paper in front of her, pretending to read the headlines (Arthur knew these things), "You forget I used to live with Morgana,” she said. "And to think I moved in with you so I didn’t have to hear sexy moaning and groaning from the next room anymore.”

Arthur glared at her. "I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so sweet and innocent, Guinevere Smithson,” he remarked, completely ignoring her and pointing his finger in her face, knowing that she hated when people did that. "You are an evil, evil little harpy.”

Her eyes rose just above the paper to level him with a look, one eyebrow cocked. They stared at each other for a full minute before he looked back down at his coffee. "You didn’t deny it,” he mumbled.

Gwen scoffed.

See-Saws: Part 4 (2011 Big Bang)

cardigankate — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 21:14:41 GMT

Title: (When I Think of Your Kisses, My Mind) See-Saws...
Summary: Modern AU. Sometimes the road to love is paved in ridiculous, if not somewhat awkward Facebook and Twitter posts, far too many pop culture references than are strictly necessary, nosy supporting cast members with insanely large personalities, the establishment of “Comfy Couch of Cuddles and Conversations", and a little bit of liquid courage. Call it a bonus when destiny lives next door. Loosely based on this KMM prompt.

Part 4
And that was how it had all started. What it was, Merlin hadn’t quite decided yet, but there it was... staring him in the face. And, if he had to give it a title, well then Merlin figured it was the beginning of friendship.

Because somewhere between opening the door for Arthur that first night, meeting Gwen the next morning (and falling immediately and deeply in love with her - he was sure that’s what it was... love... epic, platonic love) and spending almost as much, if not more, time with those two than he spent with his own two best friends, Merlin was finding that they were all becoming friends (except Arthur and Will - Gwaine sure had called that one).

If he weren’t so inexplicably horrified by the idea, Merlin might actually find the excitement in it.

He’d even been introduced to Morgana (heaven help him, she was scary in an a strangely alluring way) and Leon, who were pretty excited to make his acquaintance. Merlin wasn’t even sure why, but Leon had muttered something about “not being his usual type" and “didn’t see that one coming" all while shaking Merlin’s hand vigorously and welcoming him into the “group".

Merlin hadn’t known there was a group, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Gwen and Arthur were definitely a group kind of couple. And since Morgana was Arthur’s brother and Gwen was Morgana’s best friend and Leon was Arthur’s best friend and Leon was also Morgana’s boyfriend (Merlin Emrys is confused.), they were definitely a tight-knit group. Honestly, Merlin didn’t expect to just slide into it.

(Un)fortunately that was exactly what had happened. Gwaine, of course, thought it was all sorts of special. He’d been going on and on about “Arthur and Merlin’s undeniable love affair" for the last month. Every time he’d come from from spending another Saturday out with Gwen (they really enjoyed going to see a movie, followed up by coffee and scones, and then a walk through the park on the way home), Gwaine would comment on how he’d seen Arthur out in the back garden, pouting.

Merlin had scoffed the first time he’d said that and said, “If that’s true, Gwaine, which I’m sure it isn’t, then he was only pouting because his girlfriend is out with another man."

Gwaine’s response had been a loud, “HA!" followed by several loud and off-key versus of Tonight I Wanna Cry by Keith Urban. Damn Americans.

Will, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly happy with Merlin and his new found friendships. And though his reasons were flimsy - for example, “Gwen is ridiculously perky, Merlin. Perky and bouncy and... you can’t trust perky, bouncy people." (Merlin had nearly died from laughter) - Merlin knew that Will was really just worried about him getting attached to a straight man (that he admittedly had a mild crush on) and his girlfriend. It had happened to Merlin more times than he ever wanted to admit aloud, and he appreciated Will’s concern.

But Merlin just liked both of them way too much. He was spending ridiculous amounts of time with Gwen because she was just marvelous, and by extension, he’d spent quite a few days out with Morgana, as well. And nearly every Sunday Merlin had met Arthur in the front yards getting the paper (amongst other nearly daily meetings before and after work - it was like they had the same schedule or something). Each conversation had become less and less strained, until the last week when Arthur had actually laughed out loud at one of Merlin’s lame jokes and thumped him on the back.

And that was how Merlin found himself staring at Arthur’s Facebook page, reading and re-reading his info and quote (Things may come to those who wait, but only the things left by those who hustle. -Abraham Lincoln) and contemplating the repercussions of pressing the “Add as Friend" button. To him, it seemed like they were friends, so adding him as a friend on Facebook just seemed like the natural progression of things.

Gwen had added him the day before. Within ten minutes of him accepting her friend request, she’d written on his wall:

After he’d very unsuccessfully tried to get out of this photo shoot she was determined to have, he’d gone and spent the next fifteen minutes scouring her page. The first thing he noticed was that she didn’t have a relationship status. It was... strange. Of course, Merlin knew lots of people who didn’t have their relationship status updated on Facebook, but he was still shocked to see that Gwen’s was just... missing.

After that he looked over the rest of her information, including her quote by Marilyn Monroe: “If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything." He thought it was wildly appropriate. Once he was sure he couldn’t avoid it any longer, he went and dug through her photos. Gwen was, surprisingly, not big on uploading photos. The little icon next to the Photos link said she was tagged in 157 pictures, but weren’t public. However, he could see her profile pictures and a couple of others of she, Morgana, Leon and Arthur. The group.

Merlin sighed and stared at his cursor hovering over the “Add as Friend" button for another moment. Finally, biting the bullet, he pressed the left button on his mouse and prayed that Arthur would at least consider it.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Arthur’s morning routine was thrown off slightly when he opened his Facebook account and saw that he had a new friend request.

From Merlin.

He stared for a long time at the Confirm button before clicking over to the link to his page instead. Of course, Merlin was one of those guys who had his Facebook page locked up tighter than a drum. Not that Arthur had any room to talk. The only thing a non-friend could see on Arthur’s page was his name and profile picture. Merlin’s was slightly more lax, considering he could see that he lived in Camelot, grew up in Ealdor and was currently single. He could also see that they had one mutual friend (Gwen, of course).

Scrolling through, Merlin had left some of his interests open, which included The Smiths (Arthur wasn’t surprised), football, coaching and a slew of other random things that seemed very... Merlin. Arthur noted that Merlin was tagged in 198 pictures, but could only see his current profile picture from his main page: a simple picture of himself, smiling like a lunatic. Considering who Merlin’s friends were, Arthur figured it was best that no one could see the additional pictures of Merlin. I’m sure the school wouldn’t be happy to have his students see pictures of Will, Gwaine and Merlin drunk and disorderly.

Arthur closed down his Facebook page and opened his email. He knew that he would probably (eventually?) confirm Merlin as a friend. He was just still feeling really weird about things with him and didn’t want to seem too eager. As it was, he had almost added Merlin as a friend the day before when he’d seen that Gwen was now friends with him. He knew then that it was only a matter of time before Merlin and Morgana were friends, and then Merlin would be friends with Leon. Arthur really didn’t want to be the last one to add him, making him look like some sort of prat or something.

And that actually made him sound prattish. Arthur shook his head. He actually really liked Merlin. A lot. But it was confusing, because it was so much more than liking him as a friend. And, as he’d explained to himself (and everyone else who seemed to have an opinion on the matter), Merlin was not his type. Not even a little bit. So, of course, he didn’t - couldn’t - actually like Merlin. It was pretty obvious to Arthur that he was in desperate need of a new girl/boyfriend.

Or a regular sex partner.

Yeah, Arthur would take a regular sex partner. No strings. Just sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Arthur stared at his email inbox, but didn’t really see the words. He was daydreaming about all the sex he could be having with his imaginary, emotions-free partner that was going to materialize her/himself any moment. Arthur was ashamed to admit that his trousers were tight just imagining the kind of fun he could have in his office alone. With all the relationships he’d been in and all the sex he’d had since losing his virginity at fifteen, Arthur had never had sex in his office. Even when he was dating someone from the office. Office sex was sounding better every moment.

He sat back in his chair a bit and cautioned a glance at his half-closed door. No one was due into the office for at least another half hour, so... well, Arthur felt it would be safe to... indulge a moment.

His fantasy partner continuously slipped from a long and leggy woman to a tall and muscular man and back, both nameless and faceless and extremely satisfying, as he slouched a bit in his chair and let his legs fall open. The first touch had made a shiver run down his spine. The second stroke, only a little harder, was far less tentative and made his cock jump in excitement. By the time Arthur pressed down a third time, his cock was straining against his zipper and his fantasy partner was carefully pushing it down.

Arthur unbuttoned his trousers and then pushed the zipper down, the tip of his throbbing cock peeking out through the top of his boxers, glistening. He pushed down the waistband of his boxers until they lodged behind his balls and pressured everything upwards, making him hiss out a breath between his teeth.

Fantasy partner wrapped their hand tightly around his cock and started rubbing in earnest almost immediately, and so did Arthur. He kept the same rushed and thorough rhythm until his hips were bucking forward to meet his palm, sweat was beading on his forehead and he was gasping in between thrusts, trying not to be too loud.

Just as Fantasy Partner decided to lean down and swipe his tongue across the head of his cock, Arthur realized that Fantasy Partner had turned into Merlin - thin, long fingers, skinny neck, big blue eyes and ears. The wanton look on his face as his pink tongue peeked out from between his pretty lips and touched the tip to Arthur’s head, Arthur came hard. His head tipped back and he nearly cried out Merlin’s name loud and clear, but regained enough sense to only allow it to tumble from his lips in a gentle rumble.

Quick and angry, Arthur grabbed a handful of tissue from his desk and cleaned himself up. “Fantastic," Arthur mumbled to himself, tossing the tissues in the bin beside his desk and redoing his trousers hastily. It was bad enough Merlin had featured in nearly all his nighttime dreams for the last month, but apparently he was going to be the face Arthur saw in his daydreams. “Fan-fucking-tastic."

Giving himself a quick look over just in case someone had snuck into the office early, Arthur got up from his desk and walked out toward the loo to clean up a bit. As the fresh, cool air of the outer office hit his olfactory senses, Arthur realized that he needed to clear out the heavy smell of sex (masturbatory sex, Arthur thought, rolling his eyes). He’d need to light that stupid, flowery candle Vivian insisted he keep in his office. She said it brought ambiance. What the fuck did he need ambiance in his office for? (Masturbatory sex, he thought again.)

When he’d cleaned himself up in the loo - which had included straightening his tie, flattening his hair in the back and tucking in his shirt - he walked purposefully back into his office. Once inside, he made sure the door was open wide to let in some fresh air, lit the bloody candle and sat back down at his desk. Minimizing his email, he opened Facebook again and stared at his friends requests. “Merlin Stupid Face Emrys," he said eloquently and shook his head.

He clicked “Confirm Friend".

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
As much time as Merlin had spent with Gwen in the last two and a half months - which was a ridiculous amount that he could only justify because he loved her in a strictly I think you’re amazing, but totally don’t want to have sex with you because I’m gay sort of way - he had never been inside hers and Arthur’s flat. She had been inside his and Will’s many times. Merlin wasn’t entirely sure how or why it had happened that way, but he had an inkling that it had something to do with his not wanting to be in Arthur’s domain with Arthur’s woman and his feelings that he had for Arthur.

They were a lot of feelings.

Stupid feelings.

So the first time Merlin stepped into Arthur and Gwen’s flat, he was instantly hyper aware of the fact that he had crossed into enemy territory (Merlin Emrys isn’t enemies with anyone really.)

However, he got over the immediate feeling fairly quickly because his next astonished thought was, Holy hell, it’s our flat in reverse. As if it wouldn’t be anyway. It wasn’t like they didn’t live in the same row of houses, built by the same contruction firm in the same year, or anything. Merlin Emrys is slow. Merlin’s thoughts were all sorts of ridiculous (yes, even the non-first person ones).

His third thought was, “Oh my god, you live in the Land of Giant Sofas."

Gwen looked at him and grinned. “Eeeeeee! I love that," she squealed. “We are totally calling it that from now on. I’ll tell Arthur when he gets home."

Merlin was suddenly reminded that he was, in fact, inside Arthur’s flat. He fought the urge to run back out screaming, “I swear I’m not trying to stalk you!"

“But it’s lovely, isn’t it?" Gwen said, interrupting his thoughts, and then tacking on quite quickly and in that rushed voice that she used when she was sure she was being rude, “Not that your furniture isn’t lovely, or anything. I mean, you furniture is fabulous. It’s old and worn." Merlin looked over and saw her eyes bulge comically. “Not that old and worn aren’t good things, of course! Especially when I’m talking about your furniture. Because I do absolutely love your furniture."

Amused, Merlin put up his hand to stop her rambling, a smile on his face. “Yes, I know how you feel about my old, worn furniture," he said, teasing her. When she grinned back, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’d like to explore your Land of the Giant Sofas now, Lady Guinevere."

Merlin had gone about calling Gwen Lady Guinevere after he teased her about her and Arthur having such famously historical names. She had tried to protest that it was just coincidence and really didn’t mean a thing, but Merlin got a kick out of seeing her squirm (even if it hurt his heart a little to think about them actually being destined for each other). She’d eventually quit arguing with him when he’d said he could call her Her Majesty Queen Guinevere. Evidently, Lady was far more appropriate.

Gwen grinned, slipped her arm around Merlin’s waist and started walking him toward their living room. They stopped in somewhere near the centre of the room and Merlin could only stare at the massive black and white plaid couch, love seat, chair and ottoman occupying their living room.

“They’re brand new for the new flat," she said. “Arthur said, ‘New home, new furniture, new beginning,’ so this is what we got." Merlin’s heart clenched a bit just thinking of the conversations they must have had leading up to purchasing this new place together. Nope, Merlin Emrys is done thinking about that!

Gwen grabbed Merlin’s hand and pulled him along. “They are so comfy, that you instantly want to fall asleep in them when you sit down." She cocked her head to the side and grinned. “Kind of like your furniture."

Merlin laughed. “Only in giant size!"

Gwen giggled as she pushed him into the centre of the sofa, before sidling up next to him and setting her head on his shoulder. He was so distracted by the soft, plush couch enveloping him in a hug like a long-lost friend, that he almost forgot all about his promise to himself that he wouldn’t be too outwardly affection with Gwen when he was in their flat. Just in case Arthur came home and caught them, thinking that Merlin was only using Gwen to get to him somehow. Merlin had a slightly flawed outlook of this weird relationship, he knew, but it was because he really didn’t want to have all these feelings and spent most of his time utterly confused about everything.

Merlin shook his head and tilted his head back against the couch. He was too tired to think about all this right then. It had been a crazy week at school with a few large tests coming up and longer football practices to get ready for a big game that weekend. On top of that, he’d picked up two additional tutees in each chemistry and maths.

He really hadn’t been awake enough, nor interested in going out that day, but it was becoming tradition for him to spend Saturdays with Gwen and he didn’t want to disappoint her. Her disappointment face was like watching someone bury their puppy. Merlin would not be responsible for that face.

“You’re a little bony, Merlin," she said, her voice a little sleepy as she managed to puff up the sleeve of his hoodie to create a cushion. “You should work on that."

Merlin just grunted in assent, pretty sure she hadn’t been actually seeking an answer and started to feel himself relax completely for the first time in the last two weeks. Sleep was imminent.

Merlin looked down at the top of Gwen’s dark, curly head and tried to remember how the process of speech worked. He wanted to tell her that he should probably just call it a day and head home. He wanted to tell her that he was just ridiculously tired and he wasn’t going to be anymore fun for the rest of the day. He wanted to thank her for getting him out of the house earlier, though, and that he really enjoyed all the time they spent together. He wanted to reiterate how much her friendship meant to him.

Unfortunately, the couch was swallowing him up and coaxing his tired body into a nap he wasn’t ready to take and, against his will and better judgement, his eyes started to drift shut.

When he unconsciously hummed in happiness a moment later, Gwen responded with a chuckle and a hmmm of her own. And just as he was about to fall asleep, Merlin managed to say, “Remind me, when I wake up, that I need a flag." Gwen’s answering hum lifted at the end like a question, so Merlin explained, “I want to stick it in the middle of this mystical Land of Giant Sofas and proclaim it my territory."

Gwen wasn’t sleepy enough to stop her from laughing out loud.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Arthur was packing up his desk and shutting down his computer when Morgana strode into his office. At the same time Vivian’s voice came over his intercom, clipped and annoyed that Morgana hadn’t waited to be announced, “Ms. Pendragon is here to see you."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur pushed down the button to respond, “So I see. Thank you, Viv. You can head home now."

Morgana looked from his hands, which were busy shoving files and loose papers into his satchel, to the giant clock that sat high behind his desk and back again. “Where are you going?" she asked.

“It’s Thursday," Arthur responded simply. It had been four months since Gwen and Arthur had moved into their new flat and four months since he’d walked across their yards to borrow menus from Merlin. In those four months, they had gradually (much slower than Merlin and Gwen) become friends who spent actual time together outside of the occasional chat over the Sunday paper in the yard.

It had started when Gwen had asked Merlin over one night when both Will and Gwaine had been out for the evening and Gwen didn’t want him to have to eat alone. They were only getting Chinese take-away - nothing fancy - but Gwen had felt bad for him. Arthur figured that maybe Merlin would actually like to have some time away from his crazy, loud, obnoxious friends for a change. But he’d not argued with Gwen and had gone over to Merlin’s to ask.

Of course, when Merlin had said he’d love to, Arthur figured it was probably because he couldn’t tell Gwen no and disappoint her, not because he actually wanted to spend time with them. It was like looking at someone burying their puppy when Gwen was disappointed. No one wanted to cause that - or see it, for that matter.

And after that first night, which had been a surprisingly good time, Gwen had gotten in the habit of asking Merlin over once a week when she knew he was alone. On the fourth week of this, however, Gwen had been kept at work extra late each night with a special, full-time patient at the therapy clinic (Gwen specialized in children’s art therapy). Arthur had hemmed and hawed over whether or not he should ask Merlin over that Thursday evening, when he knew he was alone again.

He was still struggling with his feelings for Merlin and, even though he really liked him as person - as a friend - he didn’t know if he could trust himself with Merlin without Gwen there as a buffer. He didn’t want to have feelings for Merlin and when those intense moments of denial inevitably hit, Arthur couldn’t be held responsible for his response, no matter how over the top (and potentially hurtful) it might be.

Finally he had sucked it and asked him to come over, explaining that Gwen wasn’t going to be around, but it was pizza night and he needed to make sure Merlin was there to keep him from eating the whole thing. Arthur tried to forget the way Merlin had chewed on his bottom lip, looking thoughtful with his brow wrinkled and maybe a little skittish, before smiling gently and following him over.

Arthur would like to say that it hadn’t been awkward, but it had been. But only for a short time. And by the time Gwen had made it back to the flat, he and Merlin were laughing loudly at Wedding Crashers and sharing a bowl of popcorn.

And after that night, Gwen stopped joining them for dinner, saying that Arthur deserved a night out without her every once in a while (“It’s not like we’re dating, Arthur. We don’t have to spend all our time together.") and made sure she had plans.

Morgana looked back at the clock again, like it would confirm for her that it was, in fact, Thursday and then back to Arthur, who was pulling off his tie and folding it perfectly to place in his satchel. He shrugged into his suit jacket.

“Yes," she said, sounding confused. “I know it’s Thursday. That doesn’t explain to me why you’re leaving the office nearly an hour before you usually do."

Arthur fixed the collar of his shirt and then gave his sister an exasperated look. “I have dinner plans."

And it was like a light bulb went off over Morgana’s head. “Dinner plans," she said, smirking. “Dinner plans."

Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes again and grabbed his satchel to put over his shoulder. “Yes," he said, exasperated. “And I need to be going, or I’ll be late."

He started toward the door, ready to brush past Morgana and any of the questions she might have that would undoubtedly make him uncomfortable. Instead, Leon popped his head inside and grinned. “Mr. Knight," Vivian’s agitated voice came from his intercom. Arthur didn’t grace her with a response.

“Did you ask him?" Leon asked Morgana, before coming fully inside the door and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Morgana looked annoyed at the affection, but Arthur knew better. She secretly loved the attention, as long as it came from Leon.

“Ask me what?" Arthur asked, looking back at the clock and seeing that if their conversation took much longer, he was going to be late. He hated being late. Even if it was only to dinner with Merlin.

Morgana answered, “I didn’t get a chance. He has plans anyway."

“Plans?" Leon looked at Arthur, confusion on his big, scruffy face and then, “OH!" Leon smirked and Arthur scowled. “Plaaaaaans." Arthur watched Leon nod his head knowingly and wanted to smack him with his satchel.

Instead, he sighed heavily and said, “What were you going to ask me?"

Morgana waved her hand at him flippantly and shrugged. “Nothing." Arthur did roll his eyes that time and Morgana elaborated, “Just wanted to see if you’d like to join us for dinner tonight."

Arthur smiled at his sister, genuinely happy that they’d thought of him for dinner. He’d been working so many hours lately trying to publicly smooth over all the issues they’d been having with Morgause (things were so not getting better on that front), that he hadn’t been able to spend a lot of time with them outside of work. Maybe that was why Arthur had been making it a point to have dinner with Merlin each week; he needed some social interaction and normalcy in his life.

“I appreciate the offer," Arthur said and adjusted his satchel. When Morgana rolled his eyes, he grinned even wider. “Really, I do. Why don’t we make plans for this weekend?" he asked, moving closer to them. “Get some fresh air at the park, or something, and some dinner."

Leon grinned and slapped his free hand against Arthur’s back. “I think that sounds like a great idea, mate!"

“We should invite those neighbours of yours, as well," Morgana added, all exasperated fondness for her brother gone, only to be replaced by her all-knowing smirk.

Arthur shook his. “I’ll ask tonight."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Merlin had never been a fan of the man capri look and had never seen anyone, outside of Zac Efron (Merlin Emrys will never admit to watching High School Musical. One, two or three. Thankyouverymuch.), who could pull them off. That was, of course, until he’d met Arthur.

Merlin had been slightly shocked when he’d wandered over to Arthur’s that evening, knocked on the door, and Arthur had answered in something other than his work clothes. Of course, Merlin had seen Arthur in more casual attire before - he favored jeans, polo shirts and trainers, Merlin had noted - but that was mostly on the weekends. On the nights Merlin showed up for dinner (or when Merlin insisted Arthur just come over to his house because it was only fair), Arthur usually wore his work clothes - shirt untucked, slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled and tie missing.

He would never admit it aloud, but Merlin was highly attracted to that look.

However, this new one was definitely a contender.

Arthur busied himself in the kitchen gathering up silverware, napkins and plates, while Merlin sat at the counter watching. He had quickly found out that Arthur absolutely refused to eat out of take away boxes, even when sat in front of the television during meals. When Merlin had asked why, Arthur had rolled his eyes and haughtily replied, “Because, Merlin. Eating from boxes is the most uncivilized form of food consumption. Ever.". Merlin nearly snorted aloud again at the memory, but refrained - only just - and allowed himself to examine Arthur’s very delectable backside.

Merlin decided that Arthur looked good in his blue-khaki man capris, dark gray v-neck t-shirt and navy Sperry thongs. It was a more relaxed look than he was used to seeing him in and it suited him. Add in the fact that his hair was tousled like he’d run his hands through it a million times during the day and he looked downright shaggable. Not that he didn’t alwayslook shaggable, of course, Merlin thought. It just wasn’t fair for anyone to be as gorgeous as Arthur.

And why did Merlin have to have this impossible crush on Arthur anyway? It was one thing that he’d have a crush on a straight man (because that had happened more often than not), but why did he have to be practically in love with Gwen’s boyfriend? And why did he, all of a sudden, spend more time with Gwen’s boyfriend than Gwen did? It had been the other way around not a couple of weeks ago. He still spent time with Gwen, of course - ridiculous amounts of time that included their traditional Saturday together - but lately Merlin had been spending large chunks of time with Arthur, sans Gwen.

But even then, the time they did spend together with Gwen wasn’t even remotely awkward. Gwen and Arthur had the most ridiculous relationship Merlin had ever seen. They were touchy-feely, but never anything more than Gwen was with Merlin. He would even say that Gwen was more touchy-feely with Merlin than she was with her own boyfriend. On top of that, they never kissed in front of him; they just seemed to lack any knowledge of PDA.

OR! What if they only refrained from kissing in front of him because they both knew he had a gigantic crush on Arthur and they didn’t want him to feel weird? Merlin felt ill at the mere thought and had to consciously keep himself in his seat, rather than follow instinct and run back home, never to be seen by his evil neighbours ever again.

Merlin Emrys is overly dramatic.

What it all came down to was that the whole thing was just so bloody confusing. Sure, Merlin would say that he and Arthur were friends. And he agreed with Gwen that Arthur didn’t need to spend every waking hour with her (even if his opinion was biased in his own favour). It seemed Arthur was happy to have some “guy" time anyway.

Just... well, sometimes it made Merlin wonder. Arthur and Gwen both spent more time with Merlin than they spent with each other. What in the world did that mean?

And that, right there, was a really bad idea. Wondering. Thinking. All of it led to hoping and that was just not something Merlin needed to put on his own shoulders right now.

Or ever, if he could help it.

Breaking from his reverie, Merlin watched Arthur reach up into the cupboard to pull down a couple of glasses (“We don’t drink beer out of the bottle at meal times, Merlin.") and noted the way his t-shirt pulled tight across his strong back, muscles rippling. It took a lot of effort to keep the moan from escaping his lips. A small breath may have escaped, but he was sure it was quiet.

Arthur decided then was a good time to look over his shoulder and smirk.

“You’re ridiculously quiet tonight, Merlin," Arthur said, setting the two glasses down beside their plates. “I figured you’d be prattling on and on as usual about your girls and their awesomeness, or all those things related to Chemistry that I only pretend to care about and understand." Merlin rolled his eyes. “It is Thursday, after all."

“You’re a right prat, you know that?" Merlin asked, not at all upset by Arthur’s jab. He never seemed to actually get mad at Arthur. Merlin was starting to wonder if he even knew how. “Complete tosser."

Arthur laughed while the door bell rang, walking off to answer it. “That’s better," he called.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Merlin looked like a geek, as usual. But damn him if he didn’t look like a cute geek.

Arthur had never met another man who could pull off men’s skinny jeans like Merlin could. As Merlin was sitting cross-legged on the couch, his skinny jeans were sitting impossibly low on his thin hips, never held up by a belt and always looked close to falling off, bare feet and a ridiculous black t-shirt, ragged and frayed at the ends, with the words Stolen From Mr. G’s Furniture in faded red lettering, he looked like some kid who had just finished his A-levels, not a uni graduate and fully-fledged teacher.

Well, with the exception of his five o’clock shadow that, for some reason, made Arthur’s belly turn to gelatin. Stupid Merlin and his stupid stubble, anyway. Arthur poked angrily at his dinner and pretended he wasn’t pouting.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m pretty sure your dinner didn’t do it," Merlin commented, pointing at Arthur with his chopsticks before grabbing a piece of spicy chicken and popping it into his mouth. “Besides, it’s already dead," he added around a mouthful of food. “Poking it isn’t going to do much."

Damn, he’d been caught. Fuck. “Sorry," Arthur replied, not exactly sure if he was apologizing to Merlin over his attitude or the moo shu pork he was trying to destroy.

Merlin shrugged at him and smiled at him, making Arthur’s stomach flip-flop a little bit. “You should be apologizing to your dinner. I’m sure it’s very sad."

Arthur tried not to grin back at Merlin, but even his lame attempts at comedy seemed to be golden. The truth was, Arthur wasn’t mad or annoyed with Merlin at all. It wasn’t like it was Merlin’s fault Arthur was confused about all his feelings.

He hadn’t been able to get Morgana’s smirk and Leon’s grin out of his head since he’d left the office. His whole ride home had been tense and uncomfortable. All because he, apparently, had a crush on his ridiculous neighbour and his ears. And everyone seemed to bloody know about it, even when Arthur wasn't entirely sure he was okay with it! It was turning into the giant pink elephant in the room that, evidently, was only peculiar to Arthur. And he didn't understand it. Didn't know if he wanted to understand it.

And his stupid thoughts were confusing him again.

Arthur picked up a piece of pork and popped it into his mouth, chewing completely before saying, “That’s a ridiculous shirt."

Arthur actually happened to like Merlin’s shirt for once, but really needed something to say. Something to take his mind of all his confusing thoughts and feelings.

Merlin looked down and frowned. “This shirt is awesome," he said, pointing with his chop sticks. Merlin liked to do that. Chopsticks, forks, pizza - all of it was acceptable pointing material as far as Merlin was concerned. “I’ve had it for probably ten years!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It looks like it, too."

Merlin smirked. “You’re just jealous."

“Stolen from Mr. G’s Furniture, Merlin?" Arthur snorted. “Really?" Merlin looked up at him and grinned and Arthur did his best to not smile back. “That’s about the lamest t-shirt I’ve ever seen you wear... and you wear some lame shirts."

“I know I’ve said this before," Merlin said, “tonight I think I’ve said it twice already, but you are such a prat." He smiled cheekily and then grabbed a crab rangoon from the box.

Arthur swallowed hard around a lump in his throat as he watched Merlin’s mouth wrap around a corner of the rangoon. Damn Merlin for being so adorable, even when he was eating (damn Merlin for everything that he was!) “Where did you get it?" Arthur asked to hopefully take away from the fact that he was staring openly, and inwardly berated himself when his voice broke.

Merlin gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes, but Arthur saw the twinkle in them. “I’d thought that was obvious," he replied, swallowing the food in his mouth and gesturing down to the front of his shirt. Arthur just lifted a brow, anticipation at Merlin’s answer - knowing it was going to be a good one. “Stolen," Merlin smirked, “from Mr. G’s Furniture."

Arthur nearly dropped his dinner on the floor when his head tipped back and he laughed.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

See-Saws: Part 5 (2011 Big Bang)

cardigankate — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 20:52:03 GMT

Title: (When I Think of Your Kisses, My Mind) See-Saws...
Summary: Modern AU. Sometimes the road to love is paved in ridiculous, if not somewhat awkward Facebook and Twitter posts, far too many pop culture references than are strictly necessary, nosy supporting cast members with insanely large personalities, the establishment of "Comfy Couch of Cuddles and Conversations", and a little bit of liquid courage. Call it a bonus when destiny lives next door. Loosely based on this KMM prompt.

Part 5
Merlin pulled open the door and there was a harried-looking Gwen standing on the other side, clad in her running shorts and skin-tight pink running top. Her hair was disheveled and face flushed like she’d been out for a run, but her eyes were narrowed in anger. Merlin Emrys should not have answered the door.

"Hey," he said, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "I thought I was supposed to be at your place tonight?" Merlin consulted his watch. "And not for another two hours."

In the last couple of months, his and Gwen’s Saturday days had turned into Saturday nights. And now included Arthur, Morgana, Leon and on the nights it was at Merlin’s house, Will and Gwaine. Since it was the middle of February, spending time walking about the city and lazing in the park had become less fun and less warm. Now they all got together on Saturday night and ordered take-away and watched movies. Merlin was shocked to see how well everyone got along, but was grateful for it. He had spent so many years really being only friends with Will and Gwaine, that he hadn’t realized how nice it could be to have so many close friends.

He really liked it.

Gwen rolled her eyes and walked past him into the house. "Do you have any chocolate?"

"Chocolate?" Merlin asked as he pushed the door closed, before muttering under his breath, "Hello to you, too."

He could hear Gwen in the kitchen opening and closing drawers and cupboards. "Yes. Chocolate. I need it. Lots of it," she answered. When Merlin walked into the kitchen and leaned against the doorway, she groaned and rolled her eyes at him. "Don’t just stand there, Merlin. Find me some chocolate!"

Merlin shook his head and walked the rest of the way into the kitchen. He grabbed a spoon from the drawer across from the refrigerator and handed it to Gwen, then quietly turned and opened the freezer. Inside was a pint of chocolate ice cream; he pulled it out and handed it to her. "Why so needy, Lady Guinevere?" he asked, once she had the lid pried off and the first spoonful in her mouth.

He was not expecting the answering shout of annoyance, coupled by her hands flying into the air, nearly throwing the ice cream and spoon in her frustration, before stalking back out of the kitchen and into the living room.

If Merlin hadn’t been so weirded out by the whole thing, he would have laughed his head off. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and followed her. She was sitting on the couch, her legs crossed under her, and was stabbing viciously with her spoon at the frozen dessert in her lap. Merlin, not wanting to get too close to the action lest she decide stabbing him would be a more appropriate action, perched on the arm of the love seat opposite her and tried a joke, "I think you’re supposed to scoop it up and then put it in your mouth. Not try to kill it."

The heated eyes he got in response were far from his desired goal.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Gwen continuing to stab at the ice cream and Merlin pulling at the loose strings on the frayed edges of his hoodie, before Gwen groaned again and threw the ice cream and spoon onto the coffee table in defeat.

"I hate him," she said, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "I hate him like... uhm... something seriously hated." Gwen paused, looking humorously thoughtful, before, "Like Brussels sprouts. Or waking up five minutes before your alarm. Or... or... or bumbags!" she finished.

And despite the glare he knew he’d get, Merlin burst out into raucous giggles.

"It’s not funny, Merlin!" Gwen tried, but her twitching lips belied her outburst. "I seriously hate him."

Merlin choked back a chuckle, but felt it slip between his lips. "Oh c’mon Gwen. You compared him to bumbags!"

And then Gwen threw her head back and laughed along with him, because really? Who likens anyone to a bumbag? And in the middle of a time of real critical need?

Only Gwen, that’s who.

When they’d finally settled down, Merlin wiping at his eyes and Gwen grabbing up the spoon and melting ice cream from the coffee table, Merlin walked over and sat down on the couch beside her. Gwen dug out a large spoonful for herself, plunked it in her mouth and then handed Merlin the spoon. He didn’t even think twice about using the same spoon as her before dunking it into the pint and taking out his own generous spoonful.

When he’d swallowed his mouthful, he wrapped an arm around Gwen’s shoulder and pulled her into his side. "So," he said with a small smile, "what happened?"

Gwen stopped, the spoon halfway back out of her mouth, and she sighed, defeated. "I feel stupid," she muttered and stabbed the spoon back into the ice cream before moving to put it on the coffee table again. She curled her feet back under her and leaned into Merlin’s side, her hand across his belly.

"You’re not stupid," he said, running his fingers through the riot of loose curls that had escaped her ponytail. "Obviously he is. What happened?"

Gwen sighed and buried her face into his chest. "I think he’s seeing someone."

And Merlin, no matter what he felt for Arthur and no matter how upset he was about the fact that his destiny (Merlin Emrys needs to stop using that word.) was dating this gorgeous woman who just happened to be his new best friend, saw red.

"He’s what?" Merlin growled and moved Gwen enough to look into her eyes. She was crying now, silent tears slipping down her cheeks making jagged lines like rivers down her dark skin, and Merlin’s heart broke for her. "I’m going to kill him," he said, his mind a fuzzy haze of anger, and started to get up.

But Gwen grabbed him and pulled him back down. "Calm down, big fella," she tried to chuckle, but stopped when she saw his murderous expression. "Seriously," she sobered, "I’ll survive. Let’s not go all medieval and kill him with the powers of your mind, alright?"

Merlin just stared at her. How could she be so calm about this? If Arthur was seeing someone else behind her back, then she should want to kill him as well! "How are you being so blase about this, Gwen? Infidelity is... is... it’s bad, Gwen," he stumbled. "Bad like something bad."

Gwen was snickering behind her hand, but no matter that Merlin wasn’t elegant about his delivery, he knew what he was saying. And she was far too calm. Why was she so calm? And then realization dawned in her eyes and her mouth formed a funny, little "o" and Merlin knew they were finally on the same page. But now... well, now he felt like he was the one missing something.

"Oh, Merlin," she said, shaking her head sadly. "Do you seriously think I’m talking about Arthur?"

Merlin blinked slowly, all the fight left from him, leaving him drained. "Of course," he said, eyes wide. "Who else would you be talking about?"

And this time, when Gwen burst into laughter, Merlin didn’t follow along. He continued to stare at her as tears of mirth fell down her cheeks, instead of hurt, and Merlin was feeling more and more frustrated by the second. What the hell did Merlin Emrys miss?

When Gwen finally stopped laughing, wiping the tears from her eyes, she looked at Merlin and grinned. "Merlin, you are ridiculous," she said and chuckled again. "Arthur is like my brother. We are so not dating."

And just like that, Merlin felt the wind punched from his stomach by her words. Arthur was not dating Gwen. Gwen was not dating Arthur. Gwen and Arthur were not dating.

It didn’t matter what spin Merlin put on the words, the conclusion was always the same: he had been wrong. Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong.

"What in the world," Gwen started, interrupting his epiphany, "made you think that Arthur and I are dating?"

Merlin just stared at her, his mouth hanging open in shock, before he pulled himself together and said loudly, but with little heat, "You bloody live together!"

"Oh, Merlin," she said again and shook her head, like he was some petulant child who just didn’t understand the house rules. "Arthur and I have known each other since we were children. We’ve never dated, nor will we ever. He’s like a brother to me, and that’s why he offered to let me live with him when Leon moved in with Morgana and I decided to move out. Because that’s what brothers do."

Merlin was dumbstruck.

"And besides," she said, the smirk on her face classic to a Pendragon, and Merlin wondered how he’d never seen the family resemblance before. "Even though he has yet to admit it aloud, Arthur is pretty much in love with you."

Merlin Emrys is going to faint.

"I’m sorry," Merlin said and shook his head slightly, as if jarring something loose in his brain, "what did you say?"

Gwen giggled. "You have the worst gaydar. Ever."

"I’ll have you know, Guinevere Smithson, that I have excellent gaydar, thankyouverymuch."

"Of course," Gwen said, chuckling. "And that’s why you seem absolutely shocked that Arthur is interested in you."

"That’s because I know for a fact that you’re pulling my chain," Merlin said, determined that this was all some funny joke. It was bad enough that he was just now figuring out that Gwen and Arthur weren’t even dating. It wasn’t in his DNA to be so lucky to find out that Arthur was actually in love with him, too. It would throw off the entire balance of the universe and Merlin could just not be responsible for that, as well! "It’s all well and funny, Gwen," he said, trying to mask his concern for all of mankind. "But seriously."

"Seriously, what?" Gwen asked, pulling away from him and looking up into his eyes. She always had a way of searching his face, like she knew all the secrets and emotions he kept hidden there, and pointing them out to him when he wasn’t even sure of them himself. She was doing that now and it was utterly unnerving.

"When have you ever seen Arthur and I be anything but buddy-buddy together?" she asked and then plowed ahead. "Never, that’s when. I’m more affectionate with you than I am with Arthur."

Merlin felt discombobulated.

"And, Merlin," Gwen said, her voice gentling. "I know you’ve been in love with Arthur for months now; probably even since that first night you hit on him in the pub."

Merlin’s face flamed and he looked away from her. He didn’t want to be reminded of that night he’d made an arse of himself. It’s when all of this nonsense had started. And even though it had brought him to Gwen, he still couldn’t look past the fact that he’d been an idiot.

Gwen grabbed his chin and shifted his face to look at her again. "No, look at me," she said, softly. "And now I know why you’ve never made a move." She smiled her beautiful, warm smile at him. "Because you thought he and I were dating." She shook her head. "I wish I had realized it sooner, Merlin. I would have told you to go for it a long time ago. The only reason I refrained was because I thought you were uncomfortable with it. Now I know."

Merlin just stared at her. Was this really happening? Was it really, seriously true that Arthur was into him? As much as he was into Arthur?

It seemed improbable, until Merlin started remembering the little things, the small signs of affection:

The weekly meals together that had really never been about he and Arthur, but had suddenly become that.

Arthur’s concern over all things that pertained to Merlin’s love life.

The way he would guide Merlin by placing a hand across his lower back. And rubbing. Gently, almost imperceptibly.

"Oh my god," Merlin said, his jaw dropping straight down.

Gwen chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Oh Merlin, you are adorably clueless."

Merlin’s mind was reeling and his gut was clenched in an unfamiliar and painful way. What was going on here? When had his gaydar fallen so far off track that he couldn’t even pick up the fact that Arthur and Gwen weren’t dating? That Arthur wasn’t even one hundred percent straight? Where had his ‘sixth sense’ run off to?

"You realize you’re catching flies?" Gwen mused.

Merlin closed his mouth, but sank back further into the couch. Gwen snuggled into his side again and rested her head on his shoulder. "How did I miss this?" Merlin asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gwen sighed and turned her head to kiss his cheek, before resting on his shoulder again. She was warm against his side and images of her and Arthur sitting the same way just a few days ago ran through his head. "Sometimes, Merlin, you just have to ask."

They sat in silence for a moment, before Merlin shook his head slightly and then started laughing. Not some kind of quiet chuckle, but a deep belly laugh, shaking his whole body and making Gwen slide off his shoulder. He laughed and laughed, bent over at the waist, head in his hands, and shook with laughter. Tears were rolling down his eyes, and even as he heard Gwen’s confused half-giggles beside him, he couldn’t stop.

Merlin laughed until his sides ached and he couldn’t see... and then he laughed some more. He continued on for a full five minutes. And when he just couldn’t laugh any longer, and he was wheezing out the last of his chuckles, his body still vibrating gently, Merlin looked over at Gwen, who looked more concerned than anything, and with a flash in his eyes said, "I’m going to kill him."

♦♦♦♦♦
"What’s the matter with you today, Merlin?"

Merlin quit biting his lip just long enough to look over at Arthur (Merlin Emrys can look cool, even when he’s losing it.), who had unceremoniously plopped himself on the couch beside him ten minutes ago and hadn’t stopped talking since. He couldn’t recall a damn thing Arthur had said, but he was sure none of it had been even remotely important.

At least not as important as the near-constant freak out session Merlin Emrys is having, Merlin thought.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow at him, when he didn’t respond. "You’re acting weirder than normal."

"I’m fine," Merlin clipped and then looked back at the television, even though he had absolutely no idea what he was watching. What the fuck is wrong with Merlin Emrys?

Ever since he talked with Gwen, and Merlin had found out that Arthur was not only bi-sexual in a big way, but pretty much in love with him, Merlin didn’t know how to act in front of him anymore. He was like Alicia Silverstone in Clueless when she figures out she’s in love with her ex-stepbrother.

Except way less creepy. Because Merlin didn’t care if Josh wasn’t actually related to Cher by blood or even marriage anymore, it was just fucking creepy. Who dates their fucking brother?! Ew!

Classic Merlin Emrys tangent. Merlin cringed.

He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him and continued to use his Laser Death Vision to stare holes in the television screen. What he really wanted to do was ask Arthur to just go away, so he could think in peace. But it was Arthur’s flat, after all.

"You are so not fine," Arthur drawled and tried to pass him a bag of crisps. "Eat something salty. I know how much you love salt. Always makes you happy."

Arthur shook the bag at him temptingly and Merlin knew if he turned to look at him, he’d have his eyebrow raised with a smirk on his stupid face. Merlin did not want to see that beautiful, smirking face. So, he just pushed his shoulder into the bag slightly, indicating that he didn’t want them. "I’m fine, really."

"Lies, Merlin," Arthur said and took a crisp out of the bag. Merlin could see with his peripheral vision that he was studying it like it was the most fascinating thing science had ever invented. "Lies and deceit," he finished and tossed the crisp at Merlin’s head.

Merlin, unable to help himself at that point, turned to half-heartedly glare at Arthur. Of course Arthur would have to be smiling like a damn lunatic, his eyes bright as the sun and his dumb face chiseled like a bloody sculpture. It was so unfair that Arthur was as beautiful as he was, because Merlin was sadly unable to resist him.

Merlin shook his head and grinned, despite himself. "Dinner will be here shortly. We’re having pizza."

Arthur only smiled wider and passed Merlin the bag of crisps again. Merlin took them and popped a few in his mouth. Merlin decided then and there that there was no point in worrying about what to do with Arthur, because he was pretty sure that it would all end up the way it was supposed to.

Merlin would never stop sending wishes to the stars, though, that things would end in his favour.

♦♦♦♦♦
"Here’s the thing," Merlin said, tucking his legs up under him and putting the plate on his lap, a fond expression on his face. "I’m pretty much in love with pizza."

Arthur snorted. "How can you be in love with pizza, Merlin? It’s not a living, breathing thing."

Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed as he took a large bite, the cheese stretching away from his mouth in a thin rope and red sauce smeared across his upper lip. Arthur tried to swallow around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Oh," Merlin cooed, his mouth full. "It’s possible."

Damn Merlin for teasing him so much. It was bad enough that Arthur was trying to fight this weird attraction that he had to him, but now it was like he was flaunting it in his face. If Arthur weren’t such a nice guy - and craved Merlin’s undivided attention every possible moment he could, the little voice he had been desperately trying to avoid screamed in his head - he’d kick Merlin out on his arse and tell him not to come around anymore. For heaven’s sake, he had even been at their house when Arthur got home from work that evening.

Granted, Gwen had let him in, but it was totally beside the point, because it wasn’t like Gwen was still there now. It was like Merlin lived with them, or something. Arthur couldn’t figure out why someone hadn’t yet mentioned knocking down the wall between their flats to connect them. That was about how much time they all spent back and forth. It almost seemed more practical than wearing down a pathway between their front doors (since not a single one of them used the pavement - it was far too out of the way.)

Arthur watched as Merlin licked his lips, his pink tongue darting out to lap up the cheese hanging from his chin and sauce covering his mouth, and he ached somewhere deep in his belly. And Arthur didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

"You are a train wreck, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice only breaking slightly. He needed to get over this crush. And quickly.

The pouty face that Merlin made, however, was not going to make it easy on him.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
A week later, Will and Merlin were sitting in the living room playing video games, when Will dropped the controller onto the coffee table and declared, "You two sort of make me sick."

They had been chatting about nothing in particular when Merlin had mentioned that Arthu would be there soon. Apparently that’s all was needed to get Will going.

"What you need to do is work on getting the pair of you drunk and just... let out some frustration. You know what I mean?" Will’s eyebrows waggled and he made a lewd gesture with his hands that Merlin could only assume was Will’s poorly-concocted signal of gay coupling.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, that’s exactly what I think I should do, William. I should most definitely get Arthur drunk and take advantage," Merlin dramatically mimicked Will’s earlier hand motions, "of him. I’m sure things will end up peachy if I do that."

Will pointed at Merlin. "It’s not molestation if both parties are totally begging for it. Which you two obviously are."

What was the world coming to? Will, of all people, could tell that Arthur was interested? Will, the most ignorant and unobservant S.O.B. Merlin knew? Merlin Emrys is in a time warp.

"Look," Will said as he leaned back against the couch and folded his arms across his chest, "all I’m saying is that you should give it a go. You’re not going to know until you try, and all that."

Merlin shook his head. "I think you forget, I do know what will happen." He let his eyes drift down to his ratted sneakers and refused to look at Will when he heard him sigh, deep and heavy. Merlin already knew - all that progress he’d made toward rebuilding his self-esteem and confidence was seemingly gone in the blink of an eye when he was finally allowing himself to even consider another boyfriend. It almost didn’t seem worth it.

"You forget," Will said, his hand gripping Merlin’s shoulder, "that I know you’re not that same scared kid that you were five years ago, Merlin."

Merlin looked up and saw that same Will that had hugged Merlin until he couldn’t breathe when his parents had been killed; the one that had been hurt and confused, but still cared about how Merlin was taking it. Will, despite his rough exterior and his biting wit, was actually a big ol’ softie underneath it all and Merlin hoped that one day he’d show that side to someone other than him.

"You can’t live your life in fear of getting hurt again, mate," Will said, his eyes taking on a glassy, far-away look. Merlin wondered if maybe he was talking to both of them, rather than just him. "Because you’re going to miss out on your life."

Merlin felt tears prick at his eyes and when he went to say I know, the words cut off in his throat. He just nodded his head instead. They sat in silence for a long time after that, Merlin wiping at the tears streaming down his cheeks and Will staring at the paused game on their television.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Will shifted and Merlin started. The moment was somewhat broken, but Will made sure to add, "And just so you know; I might not like him, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy either."

Merlin looked over at Will - his eyes burned and felt puffy - and smiled. "Yeah," Merlin croaked and nodded his head. "I think you might be right."

Will snorted. "Of course I am," he said, matter-of-factly, but still grinned over at his best friend. "Don’t you forget it."

"You wouldn’t let me even if I tried," Merlin grinned, his heart feeling stronger than it had in years. He hadn’t expected his chat with Will to go quite the way it had, but he should have known, no matter what, that it was going to be spectacular. And it had been. Will wasn’t his best friend for nothing, after all.

Will nodded as there was a knock at the door. He stood up and said, "Fair point. Glad to see you’re catching on after all these years." Merlin laughed as Will walked over to the door and opened it up. Merlin could see Arthur’s blond hair, gorgeous face and muscled physique standing on the other side. His stomach instantly tightened and a lump formed in his throat. Will’s words came back to him and he knew he was right. He had to try.

Merlin was about to get up to stop yet another half-arsed argument between the two of them when he heard Will say, "No, I’m headed out. It’s just the two of you tonight."

"Ah, alright," Arthur responded and Will moved aside to allow him inside. Merlin wasn’t sure what was going on and the fact that the words, prat, arse or tosser had yet to be used, gave him the indication that something weird was definitely going on.

"Look," Will stopped Arthur as he set a hand on his chest. Merlin could almost see the wheels turning in Will’s head and he was scared to know what would come out of his mouth. Will made quick eye contact with him, winking and smirking, before bringing his face closer to Arthur’s.

Merlin never did hear what he whispered.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Arthur brought his eyebrows together in confusion when Will stopped him. Their whole interaction had already been fairly abnormal, considering they couldn’t be in the same room together for more than a few seconds without one of them getting in a quick jab (that would, inevitably, start up an entire Jab Fest) and Arthur was feeling a little off kilter because of it.

"Look," Will whispered, stepping close. Arthur figured it was to make himself sound more menacing - Will was like that. "Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?" Will said, his eyes locked with Arthur’s. "If you hurt him, I’ll kill you. No questions asked."

Arthur’s brow knitted together further as he stared back at Will. "I don’t exactly know what you’re talking about, but... yeah. Okay, mate." He rolled his eyes and tried to walk past him all the way and into their flat. He was starving and really didn’t have the energy to deal with Will and his weirdness. At least not before there was some Thai food in his stomach.

Will backed up and started out the door, a smirk on his face. "Just remember what I said," he replied and then walked out, pulling the door closed behind him. Arthur, still a little shocked, just stared at the door.

What the bloody hell was that? Arthur shook his head and turned away to walk into the flat. His eyes immediately fell on Merlin’s, who was sitting on the couch, looking over his shoulder at him, with a strange expression on his face - something akin to confusion and terror. But the thing that really stopped Arthur in his tracks was the blue of Merlin’s eyes. And his pink, plump bottom lip.

They stared at each other for a moment and Arthur had to shift his weight from foot to foot to keep them from collapsing on him with the sheer weight of his feelings.

Sweet mother of all that’s holy, he was turning into a bloody girl.

Arthur cleared his throat and threw a thumb over his shoulder at the door Will had previously walked out. "What’s with him tonight?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could, proud that his voice only cracked a little bit.

Whatever trance Arthur had felt himself in, Merlin must have been in one as well, because his words seemed to jar him back into reality. With a shake of his head, Merlin smiled wide and chuckled when he said, "You mean apart from his normal idiocy?"

Arthur threw his head back and laughed (maybe a little too raucously for the occasion, but who was keeping track?) He walked the rest of the way into the flat and plopped down beside Merlin on the couch, grabbing the Wii controller from the coffee table on his way past. He unpaused the game and quickly started playing Will’s abandoned Mario Kart game.

He knew he should think long and hard on what Will had said to him and what it might mean, but Arthur truly didn’t think he had the mental capacity to actually figure it all out. Everything had been so confusing since he’d met Merlin he sometimes wished it had never happened, so he could go back to the way his life had been before: easy, simple... feeling-free.

And yet, at the same time, Arthur couldn’t imagine going back to the humdrum existence he once lived before he’d met Merlin. Didn’t want to, for that matter. No, Merlin might make things exceptionally dramatic, but it was a much more exciting way of life. He’d dare say that Merlin was his best friend. And that was... well, that was saying something, wasn’t it?

Arthur shook his head when his kart crashed. He was obviously a little too focused on all things Merlin right now, if he was failing to actually win the one Wii game he was master of. Once it was reset, he shot a quick glance over at Merlin, who was surprisingly quiet as he watched the screen. "Please tell me," Arthur said, his hands mimicking the movements on the screen, "that you already ordered the food."

Before Merlin could respond, however, there was a knock at the front door. Arthur cheered as his kart made it over the finish line and said, "Merlin, you’re a genius."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Merlin knew that Arthur had had a rough week at work with another assassination attempt against Morgause Black. Merlin, of course, didn’t know all the details surrounding the event, but he knew that every time something happened with Morgause, Arthur was stressed to the max. And because of the stress and extra hours, Arthur had postponed their weekly Thursday night dinner to Friday night.

When Merlin arrived at the house, he had expected to see a fairly jumpy, but relieved that the week was over, Arthur. What he got instead was an Arthur who was still completely engrossed in work that he’d forgotten about their dinner plans. His eyes had widened and an apology was on his lips before Merlin had even registered that he’d forgotten. When Merlin had tried to explain that it was quite alright that Arthur’d forgotten and they could reschedule for the following week when he wasn’t so busy, Arthur had grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside.

That was one way of shutting Merlin up.

Arthur hadn’t ordered dinner yet, so Merlin called while Arthur sat back down at the kitchen table (a place they almost never sat to have meals) and worked more. He apologized over and over, but kept right on working. Finally, to pass the time waiting for their Mexican delivery, Merlin had started talking. He knew Arthur wasn’t listening to him entirely, but he hadn’t asked him to shut up yet either. So he just kept right on.

He wasn’t sure how the conversation had moved to relationships (specifically Merlin’s knack as a child for finding the one person on the playground that didn’t like him and becoming adorably obsessed with them), but Merlin figured Arthur wasn’t paying attention anyway, so it was a safe subject. Evidently, he was wrong.

"When you were a child, didn’t your mother ever tell you that when a boy is mean to you and pulls your pigtails, it’s because he likes you?"

Merlin’s lips pulled down into a pout. "Yes, well, maybe."

Arthur smirked before looking back down at his paperwork that was becoming increasingly scattered across the kitchen table. Merlin watched Arthur for a second and worried at his bottom lip. He had more to say, but was contemplating whether it was really a good idea to add it. Most interactions that Merlin and Arthur had were of the light-hearted nature. He wasn’t even sure if they had ever had an intensely personal conversation that wasn’t littered with snarky comebacks and witty banter. And Merlin knew if he delved into the subject at hand in the manner in which his heart was pulling him, he would knowingly be bringing about a conversation he was hoping he’d never have to have with the man he was practically in love with.

Or maybe after he’d got him drunk enough to sleep with him first. Then he’d have at least convinced him that, no matter how dorky and ridiculous Merlin was, the the mind-numbing pleasure of having Merlin between Arthur’s legs far outweighed Merlin’s heavy conversation choices.

But as Arthur slipped his pen sideways into his mouth, clenched between brilliantly crooked teeth, and his eyes roamed over the financials spread out in front of him, Merlin knew that he had to tell him. Because it mattered. Because he wanted Arthur to know the real him after all these months. He wanted to make sure that their relationship, even if that meant only as friends, was real.

Merlin took a steadying breath and said, "Besides, even when I was little, no one wanted to be my boyfriend - or girlfriend, for that matter. They were just actually ‘pulling my pigtails’, as you so sensitively put it, and being mean to me because they genuinely didn’t like me."

Arthur looked up, incredulity plain on his face. "Really?"

Merlin nodded. "I was such a dork when I was little. Still am, as you’ve noticed," he said with a slight and crooked smile. "I didn’t even have my first real boyfriend until I was fifteen." Arthur’s mouth opened marginally and Merlin wondered how many people he had slept with by the time he turned fifteen. Quickly, he pushed that thought out of his mind and added, "It was mostly a secret and we were basically friends with a title, I suppose. He never did hold my hand or kiss me good-bye before class... or kiss me at all."

Arthur looked like he was about to interrupt, but now that Merlin was spilling his guts, he was just going to keep at it until he had everything out in the open. "Long story short, it was three months, two dates, and done. He cheated on me with some girl named Amanda - because he was apparently just confused and not actually gay - and then proceeded to be a complete arse about everything for the next two years. It was devastating then, but when I look back now, it was just stupid, childish BS. I got over it fairly quickly."

"Wow," Arthur said.

Merlin nodded again, feeling his face flushing in embarrassment, but continued. "My next boyfriend wasn’t until I was twenty-two. On our first date, he was a perfect gentleman and even kissed me good-night. Two nights later I lost my virginity to him. And three months later, I told him I loved him and he broke up with me. Apparently he’d had plans to do it for a week, but was sweet enough to wait until Valentine’s Day to do it." Merlin sighed. "Two days after that I found out he’d been cheating on me."

Merlin watched Arthur’s face harden and wondered if maybe he was going a little too far with the details of his life. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop now. He was on a roll and he wanted, no, needed Arthur to know these things. He needed him to know who Merlin was, the good and the bad.

"That’s really not a good track record," Arthur finally said through clenched teeth.

"It gets better," Merlin answered, tearing his eyes away from the disappointed look on Arthur’s face and focusing on the wood grain of the kitchen table. "In the five years since then, I’ve had only two other relationships. The longest was three years and he cheated on me a dozen times, if not more. He was also emotionally abusive. I had no self-esteem left, so I just let it keep happening. Will and Gwaine were always trying to get me to leave him and I just wouldn’t. Some irrational part of me felt like I deserved it, or something." Merlin shrugged. "It was, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through."

"Merlin, that’s just--"

"Stupid?" Merlin interrupted. "Yeah, it was really stupid, but it happened." Merlin felt something pull in his chest when he realized that Arthur was actually judging him. Though, he should have expected that reaction, Merlin had hoped that they really were good enough friends that Arthur would see how much he’d changed. How much he’d grown.

Merlin should have stopped then. Should have just left Arthur to decide on his own if he still wanted to be friends with someone who made such horrible decisions in their love life. But now he just needed it all out there. If Arthur really didn’t want anything to do with him after this, then at least he’d have his answer.

"Finally, I met a guy at the restaurant. He was charming, sweet and exceptionally sexy," Merlin thought he’d try for a wink, but his heart wasn’t in it. "And he had been military for a while, so I just figured he would have to be better than what I’d been dating." Merlin scratched his fingernail against a dried waterspot on the table. "Most importantly he made me feel like I was someone, that what I wanted was just as important as what everyone else wanted. So," Merlin sighed, "I worked up the nerve to break it off with The Three Year Nightmare."

"Well, that’s a plus," Arthur said. Merlin looked up and saw that Arthur was staring back down at his paperwork, but didn’t look like he was actually focused on it. Merlin knew he was making Arthur uncomfortable, knew he needed to stop, knew he was making things far worse than they needed to be.

But he kept going. "It was," he answered. "Unfortunately, after a couple of weeks, the new guy just randomly quit the restaurant and pretty much ignored me and my phone calls for two straight weeks. I found out later that he was the only man to not cheat on me."

Arthur attempted a smile at him, but it came off as more of a grimace. "Small favours?"

Merlin shook his head and sighed again. "It would have been if I hadn’t found out that he was married and I was the one he was cheating on his wife with."

Arthur cringed. "Please tell me you’ve had at least one good relationship, Merlin."

Merlin shrugged. "There was. Just the one," he said and tried not to think too hard about how in love he’d been with Gilli and how he’d screwed the whole thing up over a small fib (that had grown into a giant lie). "Unfortunately, amongst other issues like me sabotaging the entire relationship, he lived almost 500 miles away and it was too difficult to spend time together."

"You have really bad luck, don’t you?"

"With relationships, yeah," Merlin answered and rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a sigh. "Probably why it’s been so long since I’ve really had a boyfriend; I don’t want to get hurt again." Merlin thought for a second and then added, "Or that was my excuse at the beginning anyway."

Arthur cocked his head to the side, looking confused. "What’s your excuse now?"

Merlin thought for another minute, until he was certain about his answer. While he was silent, he could tell that Arthur was staring at him intently, and Merlin was regretting even starting the conversation in the first place. "I still think it’s partially because I don’t want to get hurt," Merlin answered, unable to look Arthur in the eye, so he focused somewhere between his chest and the table. "But I also think I’m so set in my ways now, that I just don’t make the effort." Merlin paused and then added, "Dating is hard and dramatic. And my life is stressful enough as it is. It’s just easier this way, I guess."

"That’s just lazy, Merlin."

He looked up to see Arthur smiling at him. Merlin tried a smile back. "Yeah. Maybe."

They stared at each other a bit too long after that, and Merlin felt the intense urge to blurt out how much he loved Arthur. He wanted to tell him that if he were willing to give a shot, Merlin would be more than happy to open up a niche in his already stressful life to slot Arthur into it. He wanted to tell him that he’d been head over heels for him since the first night he’d laid eyes on him and he wanted to show him just how much he wanted him. It would probably end badly, but Merlin wanted to try. He just wanted to know.

But then Arthur was looking uncomfortable and he cleared his throat, looking back down at the paperwork scattered across the table. The moment was broken and Merlin was glad for it. He didn’t care what Gwen had said about Arthur being in love with him. Arthur hadn’t made a move and they had known each other for months. Gwen was mistaken.

"I wonder where dinner is," Arthur said, his pen tapping against the table in a broken rhythm.

Merlin shrugged. "It’s taking an abnormally long time. I’ll call them."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Arthur’s stomach had churned while listening to Merlin’s relationship story earlier in the evening. He had wanted to tell him to stop so many times. He hadn’t wanted to hear how Merlin had been slighted and hurt so much that it was obvious it had had a lasting effect on him. But since it was the first time Merlin had really opened up to him, he craved to know more. Even if it was a heart wrenching tale. He had gotten a a rare glimpse of the Merlin Gwaine and Will knew and loved. So, he hadn’t stopped him.

And it had been hard to listen to. Arthur, more than once, had wanted to get up from the table, grab him by the shoulders and shake him. He had wanted to growl at him that he deserved so much better than those jerks that had hurt him. Arthur had wanted to show him that he could be that better he was looking for.

But those thoughts had been enough to stop him. In the months that he had known Merlin, the only time he had ever hit on Arthur was the first night they’d met and Merlin had been pissed. There had been moments when Arthur thought that maybe Merlin was flirting with him, but it had been there and gone so quickly, he figured he’d only imagined it. Obviously Merlin wasn’t interested in him. Well, as more than a friend that is.

And he didn’t know why it mattered anyway. Arthur just souldn’t be interested in him. Maybe at the beginning, he should have attempted a relationship with him. It could have gone one of two ways: great or catastrophic. In the first instance, Arthur would have had a great boyfriend and regular sex. In the second, he’d probably have had to move. Not so great, but one of the pitfalls of dating your neighbour.

But Arthur hadn’t tried to date Merlin. Instead, he had spent countless hours trying to convince himself that he wasn’t really attracted to Merlin, that he wasn’t his type and that Arthur was only infatuated with him because he was so desperate for a partner.

Now, he couldn’t be with Merlin even if he wanted to. Because Merlin was practically his best friend, next to Gwen. And Arthur wasn’t willing to lose that. Ever.

He snuck a look over at Merlin, who had his head leaned back against the sofa, barely awake, and the corner of his mouth went up.

Arthur had had a stressful week and had felt terribly guilty having to cancel their regular Thursday night dinner and then forgetting that he’d rescheduled it for Friday. He’d felt guilty that he’d spent most of their evening working on paperwork and getting his notes ready for the special broadcasts he’d have to be apart of on Sunday morning. But Merlin, the forever optimist, had taken it all in stride. He had sat across from Arthur and just talked. He had only felt like he had to listen to half of what Merlin was saying and it was like Merlin knew that Arthur just needed the noise. The company.

Arthur hadn’t planned on him going into great detail about his past love life. He hadn’t planned on being sucked into it and feeling so emotionally attached. Then again, Merlin was his friend and he should feel angry about the way he’d been treated in his relationships. When Arthur looked at it that way, it all made a lot more sense.

He and Merlin were friends. Anything else would be awkward and confusing and Arthur just didn’t have the time in his stressful, busy schedule to deal with awkward and confusing.

With that decision finalized in his head, Arthur reached out a finger and poked at Merlin’s shoulder. When Merlin grunted a response, he rolled his eyes. "Wake up, mate."

Merlin’s eyes had drifted shut in the time it took Arthur to work through his feelings and though Arthur knew he was still awake, Merlin kept his eyes closed. "Nrgh."

"Seriously," Arthur said, poking him again, a little harder. "You think this sofa is comfortable now. Just wait until you have to sleep on it for more than a quick nap." Merlin’s bottom lip poked out into a pout and Arthur tipped his head back and laughed. "Get out of here, you nut. Go sleep in your bed, in your own flat. Go, go, go."

Merlin pried his eyes open. "Alright, alright," he said, trying to pout around his grin. It wasn’t working very well. "I’m going. Pushy."

"Well, it is my flat," Arthur said as they both got up from the sofa quite slowly.

"That’s a mirror image of mine," Merlin responded.

"Only decorated better."

"Shut it."

They were both grinning ear to ear when they got to the front door. Arthur stood behind Merlin as he slipped his trainers back on his feet and opened the door. He was on his way out and Arthur was about to tell him good night, when Merlin stopped and turned around, standing on the doorstep. "Listen," he said and looked up from his trainers slowly. "I’m sorry about being so... share-y tonight."

"That’s not a word," Arthur said, trying to keep things light. It was really too late in the evening to be having more serious conversations.

Merlin smirked, but it was only half-hearted. "You know what I mean," he answered. "It was a little out of normal range of conversation and... I just didn’t want you to think--" Merlin stopped and chewed on his bottom lip for a minute.

When he didn’t look like he was going to say anything else, Arthur snuck out his hand and punched him lightly in the shoulder. "It’s no big thing, mate. Don’t worry about it."

Merlin looked at the place Arthur had just punched and then back to his face. It was a weird expression and Arthur was pretty sure the gesture wasn’t what Merlin had expected. But since Arthur had never really been all that in touch with his emotions, this was the best he was going to get.

"Yeah," Merlin said, shuffling his feet. "Just... thanks for listening."

Arthur nodded. "Anytime."

And then he did something he hadn’t done with anyone (outside Gwen and Morgana) in a really long time. He pulled Merlin into him and hugged him. He hadn’t even know he was going to do it until he was already reaching toward him, but now that he had his arms around Merlin’s skinny frame, he knew that it was something Merlin had needed. Maybe it was something they both needed. Arthur couldn’t be sure.

Merlin, stiff backed at first, finally relaxed and wrapped his arms around Arthur. It seemed awkward at first and then nice. But it quickly turned awkward again when the hug held on a bit too long. Slowly, he started to pull away, but Merlin kept one hand on his waist, the other up over around his shoulder. Merlin stared into Arthur’s eyes, intensity there that he had never seen before, making him uncomfortable. Arthur wanted to turn and retreat into the house.

But just as he was tying to pull away, about to laugh off the moment, Merlin lunged forward and pressed his mouth against Arthur’s. Merlin’s lips were dry and chapped, but warm and his eyes were clenched shut. Arthur stared at them, looked at his long lashes, lashes that should have been on a girl, and let Merlin kiss him.

A part of Arthur wanted to kiss him back. The other part of him, the part that had adamantly decided that they were going to be friends forever and nothing but, was resisting. Arthur didn’t want to hurt Merlin. And if they started something and it got awkward, Merlin would inevitably get hurt. Arthur couldn’t be the one to do that.

And selfishly, Arthur didn’t want to ruin their friendship. He needed to have Merlin in his life now. He was going to be a permanent fixture whether Merlin wanted to be or not. Having a relationship with him would only jeopardize that. Arthur wasn’t willing to risk it.

After a moment, Merlin realized that Arthur was not responding and he pulled back quickly. His long fingers went to cover his lips, his eyes wide in shock, and Arthur was instantly aware of how cold his own lips now felt.

"I’m--" Merlin shook his head. "I’m so sorry."

And before Arthur could laugh it off, Merlin turned on his heel and ran across their gardens to his front door and disappeared inside. Arthur watched him go, but didn’t call him back. He stood there staring for a full five minutes before he started to shiver. Looking down at his bare feet, Arthur stepped back inside and pushed the door closed.

See-Saws: Part 6 (2011 Big Bang)

cardigankate — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 20:35:58 GMT

Title: (When I Think of Your Kisses, My Mind) See-Saws...
Summary: Modern AU. Sometimes the road to love is paved in ridiculous, if not somewhat awkward Facebook and Twitter posts, far too many pop culture references than are strictly necessary, nosy supporting cast members with insanely large personalities, the establishment of "Comfy Couch of Cuddles and Conversations", and a little bit of liquid courage. Call it a bonus when destiny lives next door. Loosely based on this KMM prompt.

Part 6

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
"I can’t believe that you wouldn’t tell me about this!" Arthur shouted, after he had barged past Katrina and into Uther’s office completely unannounced. "This of all things, you don’t tell me! How the in bloody hell am I supposed to fix this, Father?!"

Uther was sat behind his desk, staring at an empty spot on the far wall across from him. Arthur didn’t like the disconnected, far away look in his eyes, but it would have to wait.

"I was blindsided in an interview this weekend all because you couldn’t tell me the truth about Morgause. And after repeated attempts! Now, not only do I look like a complete fool, this company is going to suffer." Arthur sat down in the uncomfortable chair across from his father. "I don’t know if what that reporter said was true or not, but it looks awfully bad when I can’t do anything more than stutter through an, I’m not at liberty to discuss that at this time. So, you need to tell me everything and now," Arthur finished. He opened the top of his netbook, a document already open to start taking notes. "Go."

Uther shook his head. "I don’t really know where to start, son," he said, his voice low and soft, defeated. Arthur had never seen his father like this. Uther had always been, no matter what the situation, as stoic and hard as a stone statue. But now he just looked like a broken man, something Arthur never thought he’d ever see, nor did he think he ever wanted to see again.

But at that moment, time was of the essence right now and Athur, the face of the company, needed to be able to go to the public and fix everything before it got out of hand. He could deal with his father’s angst and obvious guilt at another time. Right now, as Uther had always taught him: Business. Always business.

So, Arthur steeled his features and said crisply, "From the beginning. I need to know everything."

"I’ve known Morgause a very long time," Uther said after a moment, still staring at the opposite wall. "And I--" Uther stopped, his head shaking back and forth, like he was trying to dislodge and purge the memories, "I never imagined she would do this."

Arthur resisted the urge to put down his netbook and comfort his father, because there just wasn’t the time - not to mention, Uther would have an epic fit if that happened - but he did say, a bit more softly, "The beginning, Father."

Uther finally looked away from the wall and sighed. He straightened in his chair and cleared his throat and then looked at Arthur. He could tell that his father was trying to be as professional as possible, but the telltale glint in his eye - the one that people feared - was absent.

"As you know, when I first started in this business I was on personal protection detail working for European Security." Arthur nodded his head, knowing the entire story about Uther’s rise through the ranks at E.S., the shoulder injury he’d obtained that removed him from active field duty, and the eventual start up of the empire that was now Camelot Security and Detail.

"My shoulder injury, the reason I was taken off active field duty and decided to start up CSD, occurred one night while I was on duty. Not in a car accident like I’d previously told you."

"You said it was a car accident," Arthur said, confused.

"I lied."

"I’m sorry," Arthur said, his mouth barely opening, making him push the words out through gritted teeth. Arthur was angry. What else had his father lied to him about over the years? "You were injured while on duty? Why was I never told this version of the story?"

"It was just easier to keep on telling you the lie," Uther said wearily. "It wasn’t that I wanted to keep it from you. Only a select few people know exactly what happened that night and we’ve kept it well-hidden on purpose."

Arthur, a muscle jumping in his jaw, tried hard to relax so he wouldn’t scream profanities at his father and storm out. "Explain. Now." If he was a little more harsh than may have seemed necessary, he figured he was allowed it, under the circumstances.

"We were trying to keep Madelyn safe."

"Who is Madelyn?"

Uther looked at his son, the hurt that had evidently been buried deep inside him pouring out through his eyes. "Madelyn is Morgause’s real name. Madelyn Morgause Vintry."

Arthur stopped again, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Vintry? As in Michael Vintry? The French dignitary who was assassinated in his home?"

"One and the same," Uther mumbled, his fingers folding together on top of the desk. Uther sighed and then continued. "Madelyn was Michael’s daughter, and I was their evening detail."

"The Vintrys were killed in their home in the evening," Arthur said, still shocked and confused by everything his father had so far told him. "By your admission, you should be dead, as well."

"Should, yes."

"Father," Arthur started, shaking his head while the anger built up deep in his belly. "None of this makes sense and you’re being needlessly cryptic. I need to know what happened, so just tell me already."

Uther’s eyebrows came together for a moment, furious. But then they relaxed again and nodded his head. "Yes, of course, you’re right."

Arthur’s fingers poised on his keyboard and he willed the adrenaline and anger to stop coursing through his body long enough so he could hear the story and take the necessary notes. "Good," he said, making his voice as cold as he possibly could. There was no more room for family issues here. Business, Arthur chanted in his head. All business. "Begin."

"I was, in fact, the Vintrys night guard and was supposed to be on duty the night of the fire," Uther began, "But Michael and Deena asked me to take Madelyn out for a movie that night, so they could have some time alone. Few knew, but Michael and Deena were on the verge of divorce and they wanted to get some things out in the open that evening with their therapist.

"Because I was Madelyn’s favorite guard, she was excited about the movie and spending time with me. She used to call me her cuddle bear." Uther stopped and the corner of his mouth turned up in an attempt at a smile.

And just like that, it was gone. "I wasn’t supposed to leave the Vintry’s alone, no matter the circumstances, because there had been such a plethora of attempts on his lives over the years, that constant details was required. But, because I liked the Vintrys and Madelyn, I did as they asked. While we were out, Colin Marcus Forks blew up the house, with Michael, Deena and their therapist, Dr. Arlene Curtis, inside."

Uther stopped and took a deep breath. Arthur didn’t push him to continue, even though he wanted to. Instead, he sat quietly and waited while his father collected himself and his thoughts. It was plain to see that even for someone as rich, powerful and stoic as Uther, this was a difficult subject to talk about. The only other time Arthur had seen his father like this was when he talked about his wife and Arthur’s mother, Igraine.

"My supervisor decided with the owner of E.S. that it would be best for Forks to think that Madelyn had been killed in the fire, as well, since we weren’t sure if Forks would want to go after her too.

"It took some finagling and work with the police, but we managed to keep the doctor’s name out of the papers and said there were three dead bodies found, badly burned, in the Vintrys’ home. We changed Madelyn’s last name to Black and started calling her by her middle name, Morgause, and she lived with friends of the family for a few months while Forks was tracked.

"I would visit her all the time," Uther said, looking back at his son. "It was before your mother and it was before you and it made me realize what I wanted in my life." Uther stared hard at Arthur, and Arthur stared right back. Moments ticked by and Arthur focused on the dark flecks in his father’s eyes and the way the blood rushed in his eardrums. He’d never imagined something like this happening to anyone, let alone his own father. It gave Arthur a new perspective on his father; something he never expected to have. It finally made him human.

Uther broke eye contact first and looked at the wall behind Arthur’s head again. Arthur, not sure he could look away, blindly found the keys on his keyboard and waited.

"When Forks was caught, Madelyn was given the option to join her aunt and uncle in New York, or stay with the family friends and resume her life. But she was traumatized, and didn’t want to stay here and face the sympathetic looks. So, Madelyn Vintry stayed dead and Morgause Black left.

"I didn’t see her again until she came to me five years ago, requesting personal protection. I didn’t realize she needed it for anything. I didn’t know who or what she had become over the years, but I was so overjoyed to see her again - and looking so much happier than the day she left - that I told her I’d give her whatever she needed."

Arthur didn’t remember the day they’d picked up Morgause as a client, but he did remember the first guard who was shot protecting her. It had happened only three days into her new detail. Three days. It should have been a sign.

"So how did the reporter find out that you had this dark secret? How did they know that Morgause was somehow connected to it when you say no one knows that Morgause and Madelyn are the same peson?" Arthur narrowed his eyes at his father. "None of that makes sense."

Uther looked at his son and Arthur knew he wasn’t going to like the next part of the story. Not that he’d enjoyed the what he’d learned so far. "Madelyn," he started, but shook his head. "No, Madelyn truly is dead. Morgause came to me yesterday at the same time you were set to appear on the show. She said that she wanted to see my face when I realized my destruction was imminent."

Arthur’s eyebrow rose slowly. "I’m sorry, that just sounds ridiculous."

"I think she’s mentally disturbed, Arthur," Uther responded, maybe a bit too harshly. "I think she’s spent her whole life blaming me for not being there to save her parents that all she can focus on is destroying me."

"It seems a bit... elaborate."

"She always had a flair for the dramatic."

Arthur huffed and closed the top of his netbook. He was barely taking notes anyway. If he ever forgot this day, he’d be surprised (and happy). "Finish, Father."

Uther looked at his son and sighed one final time. "Every detail that had been attacked was on purpose. Morgause had hired men to come after them, but making it look like it was an attempt on her life. She kept putting detail out commission and then this."

"This being?"

"She took her story to the media. She knew you would be the face of the explanations and the reassurance and wouldn’t know a thing about what had really happened. And it worked. As you say, you looked like a fool and it brought speculation about me so that now we have to respond.

"Elaborate, yes," Uther said. "But effective."

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Arthur paced though his office, anger coursing through his veins. Anger and humiliation. He shouldn’t have had to convince his father to call the police about Morgause. She had purposefully tried to have people hurt or possibly killed all for her own personal vendetta.

Uther hadn’t wanted to do it. He’d said she had suffered enough. Arthur wasn’t of that same mind. Innocent people had been hurt. And she was the reason.

Reluctantly, he had finally given in, but Arthur had had enough.

Now what? Did he leave the company? How could he ever trust his father again?

The answer was that it was going to take a really long time, and Uther knew that. Arthur growled and threw himself down behind his desk.

He started typing out a press release, but couldn’t focus. There had just been too much bad happen this week and he was done with the emotions of it all. He’d spent all day Saturday angsting over the kiss with Merlin and the fact that they were apparently not speaking to each other now. Arthur couldn’t help but think that he should have called after him. But it was done now and Merlin, who wasn’t answering any of his texts or phone calls, was going to avoid him. Arthur supposed he didn’t blame him. After all, he hadn’t responded to the kiss and he hadn’t called after him. Merlin was likely humiliated and Arthur had done that. He had done the one thing he hadn’t wanted to do and that was hurt Merlin.

Arthur pounded his fingers against the keyboard and wrote whatever words came to him. None of them made any sense.

He had to give Merlin a chance to cool off. He knew that, but he hated it. He regretted his reaction the minute it happened, but this was where he was now.

But, as if all that hadn’t been enough, now he had to deal with the issue of Morgause and his father. The pounding got louder. He was angry. No, he was furious. And he couldn’t think about any more of this right now.

Getting up from his desk, Arthur grabbed his suit jacket and threw it over his arm. He walked out of the office, his face set in an angry line. When Vivian tried to stop him to ask where he was going, he kept right on walking and said, "Out. I’ll be back later."

Maybe.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Merlin pulled open the door and saw Gwen standing alone on the other side. She beamed at him and wrapped her arms firmly around his neck. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" she said and kissed Merlin’s cheek. "I’m so glad all these people made it!"

Merlin grinned back at her and then grabbed her hand to pull her inside the house. He fought the urge to look back out over his shoulder as he pushed the door shut to see if Arthur just happened to be following. He knew he wasn’t.

He didn’t know why he had even gotten himself excited over the party when he knew the one person he wanted to be there wasn’t going to be. It had been a full two weeks since Merlin had kissed Arthur. And despite Arthur's texts and phone calls the day after, Merlin hadn’t seen or heard from Arthur since that night. He knew he was busy, though, dealing with the Morgause news and the issues with his father (Gwen had kept him well-informed), but Merlin missed him. Even if he didn’t want to.

Merlin missed spending time with him, just being ridiculous. They had a good friendship and Merlin felt stupid that he had been the one that had cocked it all up. He wanted to apologize to Arthur, but at the same time, he knew it didn't matte. If Arthur really hadn't wanted to see him, he'd have come find Merlin.

Gwen had told him that Arthur wasn’t doing well, but he was working though everything. Merlin wanted to be the one to joke around with him or make him feel better.

But there was no point in dwelling. It was done.

"I’m glad you came," Merlin said, aiming for upbeat and happy, even if he didn’t exactly feel that way and tried to push away all the bad thoughts and feelings that were threatening to overtake him.

Gwen grinned even wider. "You knew I’d come, Merlin," she laughed. "I only helped you set up for this thing, since your two flatmates are absolutely worthless." She put her hand up when Merlin tried to correct her about the number of flatmates he actually had. "And yes, I know that Gwaine doesn’t actually live here, but that’s a debate for another time, don’t you think?"

Merlin laughed and hugged Gwen again. No matter how much he missed Arthur, Gwen was like a ray of sunlight in a dark alley; she could always make him feel better. "Let’s get you a drink," he said when he pulled back from her. Gwen nodded her head enthusiastically and they started walking towards the makeshift bar set up on the kitchen island.

As she was mixing together some vodka and Sprite, Merlin looked at her and grinned slyly. She took a long pull from her glass and then cocked an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I have someone to introduce you to!" Merlin said, unable to hold back any longer. He’d been waiting to introduce Gwen to Lance for the last few months, knowing full well that they would be absolutely perfect together (and probably downright disgustingly adorable, too). But Gwen had that silly crush on the guy she ran with at the park and, even though she was sure he was already seeing someone (yes, the one she was talking about when they’d been interrupted by Gwen’s announcement that she and Arthur weren’t dating), she hadn’t given up hope just yet.

Merlin was really hoping that meeting Lance at the party, and hopefully spending some time with him, would change her mind.

Gwen cringed. "Oh no you don’t," she said. "I told you, I already have an unrequited crush. I don’t want to have some awkward meeting with some guy who isn’t as great as everything thinks he is." Gwen stopped, her eyes comically wide, and looked over at Merlin. "Not that you have bad taste or anything," she stammered. "I’m sure you have great taste. It was just a general idea that no matter how awesome a guy seems to be, he’s probably not. I mean, you’re a great guy, but you’re gay, of course. And, yes."

Merlin laughed and linked their hands together. "Yes, Guinevere, I think I get what you’re saying. Now calm down before you hurt yourself."

Gwen scowled at him, but laughed a second later, all the weird awkwardness that she sometimes stumbled out with completely disappearing. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"Come along, then," Merlin said, hoping that she’d not fight him anymore, and started pulling her in the direction of the living room, where he knew he’d seen Lance talking to Will and Freya only moments before Gwen arrived. "You’ll like him."

Gwen, however, stopped abruptly and planted her feet, not allowing Merlin to pull her along anymore. "Merlin," she pouted. "I don’t want to."

Merlin couldn’t help it, but he grinned. She was just too adorable sometimes. "It’s okay, Gwen. You’ll like this guy. He’s bloody amazing, he is. Smart, sweet, funny, sensitive... you name it and he’s it, Gwen."

"Sexy?" Gwen asked, looking a tad more interested than before.

Merlin Emrys is going to win!

"Extremely sexy," Merlin said. "You won’t be able to keep your hands off him."

Gwen sighed, looking resigned, but hopeful. "Fine," she said, finally giving in after worrying at her bottom lip for a minute. "But if I don’t like him, and he turns into some crazed stalker, you’re dealing with it."

Merlin snickered, and linked their arms together. "Deal," he said and started walking them toward the living room again. "But I promise, Lance is not a stalker."

Gwen stopped again, her eyes slightly glazed over and staring off across the room. Merlin followed her gaze and grinned wider. "Did you say Lance?" she asked, prying her eyes off of Lance’s backside.

"I did," Merlin said, nodding enthusiastically. Lance was exactly where he’d been earlier, talking to Will and Gwaine (who had stubbornly refused to remove his toga, insisting that he was now part of the new-age Animal House and had, up until ten minutes ago, been shouting, "Toga! Toga! Toga!" at the top of his lungs while carrying around an ancient-looking beer bong). "He’s just over there," he said, pointing.

Gwen’s eyes were crinkled in the corners and her eyes were nearly gone as she grinned like a lunatic. Merlin wanted to take a picture to show her later, as a reminder to never make that crazy face again. Merlin Emrys doesn’t mean that. Guinevere Smithson is adorbs.

"Did I miss something?" Merlin asked, his gaze flicking between Gwen and Lance and then quirking his head to the side. "Do you know him?"

Gwen nodded, but didn’t answer as she looked back over at Lance, a dreamy expression on her face. And just like that, Merlin understood. "Oh my god! That guy you told me about is Lance? The jogger at the park?"

Gwen laughed, looked back at Merlin (only barely, like it was painful to look away from her destiny across the room), rolled her eyes and then looked back over at Lance. "I can’t believe that Lance is this guy you’ve been mentioning for over a month."

"I can’t believe you’ve been spending time with him almost every day for over a month!" Merlin said. "We need to improve our communication skills, Guinevere. Start using names or something."

"Agreed," Gwen giggled. "We are ridiculous."

"We really are," Merlin laughed. "Alright, so this should be exceptionally easy then! I don’t even have to work hard at this tonight. It’s lovely. Go on over there and talk to him then!" Merlin shoved at Gwen’s shoulders a bit, pushing her in Lance’s direction.

"Wait!" Gwen said and turned back around, her eyes wide. "He’s not seeing some short, cute, brunette then?"

Merlin looked confused for a moment, but then it was like a light bulb went off over his head. "Noooooo," he said, laughing a bit. Just then Freya walked over to Will and smiled at him. "Definitely not."

It was Gwen’s turn to look confused. "Well, who was she then?"

"Freya," Merlin answered simply, pointing at them over Gwen’s shoulder to where Will had slipped his arm around Freya’s shoulder and pulled her tight into his side (smoothly, of course, not at all in a possessive manner.)

Gwen shook her head, a tiny, nervous smile on her face. "Communication," she said, pointing her finger back and forth between the two of them. "We need some."

Merlin chuckled and then started pushing Gwen in Lance’s direction again. "Yes, communication. We’ll work on it. Tomorrow. Now gooooo."

"I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me," Gwen said, stopping again. Short of body slamming her in the right direction, Merlin couldn’t budge her. So, he sighed and dropped his arms to his side again.

Merlin Emrys will win.

"From what I’ve heard," Merlin said, "he does like you. Now, buck up, lady! For fuck’s sake, I have provided the atmosphere and the alcohol. Now you need to work your magic. I’ll even reserve Will’s bedroom for you."

Gwen looked appalled and Merlin wasn’t sure if it was because he had just suggested she have sex with Lance (and soon) or that they were free to do the nasty in Will’s room, of all places.

"You are disgusting, Merlin Emrys," she grimaced. "I would never even think about having...S-E-X with anyone in Will’s Den of Debauchery." Merlin wanted to smoosh Gwen’s face between his hands and coo at her adorableness when she first looked around to see if anyone was listening before she spelled the word sex in a whisper.

"Maybe not, but you would have SEX with him." Merlin laughed when Gwen’s eyes widened and face flushed when he yelled sex. She was too cute for words.

Gwen gasped, "Merlin! Stop! That is exceptionally inappropriate and entirely untrue."

"It is so true and you know it." Gwen blushed as Merlin added, "And besides, you only think it’s inappropriate when it’s you we’re talking about. The minute it’s someone else - like Morgana and Leon - you’re all for discussing things in elaborate detail."

Gwen blushed further, turning a delightful shade of maroon, but she couldn’t hide her smile. "Well, I did live with Morgana for quite some time. I became - errrr - privy to their - uhhhh..." Gwen faltered for a word, her hand flapping about in the air when Merlin graciously added,

"Mating rituals?"

Gwen threw her head back and laughed.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
"I’m headed home for the night."

Arthur lifted his eyes from his computer and saw Viv standing in his office doorway. Even though it was well past closing time and they had been busy all day, she still looked as fresh as she had when she’d walked in that morning. A small part of Arthur envied her - he was absolutely certain his hair was sticking on end from the frustrated pulling and his clothes even felt rumpled - but it was only a small part. Arthur loved his life. Sure, there were parts of it that he just wanted to do away with in the quickest way possible. But, for the most part, he was happy.

And alone.

A little voice in Arthur’s head sighed. He needed to get home, yet he wasn’t going to. Not yet anyway. He didn’t want to see the party festivities going on next door. He wasn’t... ready yet.

"Do you need anything else?" Vivian asked.

Arthur stared at her for a brief moment and contemplated what kind of conversation would turn about if he said, Yes. Fix my love life. But asking one of his exes - especially one of the slightly off-kilter ones - was a pretty bad idea.

He shook his head, "No. Thank you, Viv." Vivian nodded and turned around to walk out, but Arthur stopped her. "You done really well the last couple weeks," he said, his voice soft. "I don’t tell you that often enough."

Vivian was taken aback, but smiled gently. "Thank you, Arthur."

He nodded back at her, slightly uncomfortable because praise wasn’t exactly one of those things that he handed out easily. Sometimes it was hard to give something when you never received it yourself. "Only a couple more days of this and things should settle down again," he added.

Vivian smiled one more time and then, with a quick tip of her head, turned back around and left.

Arthur stared after her, his mind moving a thousand miles per minute. He needed to work longer; even though he’d been at work since before six that morning, he had a lot to still get done. He had three phone, two radio and four television interviews set for the next day to continue rectifying all the damage caused by Morgause’s incident. It had been going on like that for two weeks and Athur was sick to death of seeing himself on television, on the internet and hearing his voice over the radio. For once, he was praying that something else, something big and destructive, maybe - would happen, so the company would no longer be the centre of attention.

But Arthur, now that his concentration had been broken, wasn’t thinking about the hellish next day he had in front of him. Instead, his mind was consumed by dark hair, bright eyes, long limbs and ridiculous ears.

Running a defeated hand through his hair, Arthur turned to his computer again and minimized all this work. With a few more frustrated punches at the keyboard, he was on the Internet and looking at his Facebook page. He was expecting there to be updates and possibly a few pictures of the epic party going on at Merlin and Will’s flat tonight, but Arthur’s eyes widened when he saw that his Newsfeed seemed to be overtaken by Merlin.

Merlin.

Not the party. Though, there were some pictures and posts about other things happening at the party, but everything was mostly focused on Merlin. Merlin, who was uncomfortable having his picture taken on a good day, was in almost every picture and his name was linked in almost every post.

Arthur, his hand shaking after seeing a particularly good picture of Merlin and Gwen laughing together - her head thrown back to expose her long neck and his body hunched forward in his typical Merlin giggle that was far from manly - read quickly through the posts and scanned the pictures.

Even if he hadn’t known it already, he knew now that he was missing the party of the century. And even though it was far from being Merlin’s specialty, he seemed to have pulled it off. Arthur was sorry he hadn’t been there to help plan.

He missed Merlin. It had been two weeks since the kiss and the blow-up with Morgause, and it wasn’t until that very moment that Arthur realized exactly how much he missed him.

And he needed to be there because it was Merlin’s birthday.

Arthur jumped up from his seat without closing any of the windows on his computer or turning it off, grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and fled his office. He only paused for a moment to set the alarm and the pulled the locked door closed behind him. When he stood at the lift, waiting for its ascent to him, he tapped his foot impatiently and checked his watched every two seconds. Not thirty seconds had passed and he’d made his decision. He bolted to the left and ran toward the stairs. He could run the thirty-five flights faster.

As the stairwell door slammed behind him, the elevator doors opened and Merlin bustled out.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Merlin leaned against the back wall of the lift and sighed.

He had finally convinced Gwen to go up to Lance after another five minutes of prodding (Gwen was adorable, but far too insecure - Merlin hoped Lance would help her with that) and they had nothing but heart eyes for each other, like he had assumed would be the case. At that point, Merlin had been surrounded his friends, all coupled up, and Merlin had felt faint, like someone had grabbed him tightly around the chest and squeezed, causing bright, white lights to pop in his vision and cut his breathing down to short gasps. The feeling had been so intense that Merlin had fallen down into a chair, dropped his head between his knees and struggled to breathe.

No one had noticed him sitting there having a meltdown and he’d never felt so alone when surrounded by so many people. And it was then that he realized he and Arthur needed to talk things out. He needed to either fix everything, or he needed to have some closure. And either way, it was happening tonight.

That was when Merlin had gotten up from his chair quickly, ran outside and hurried across their gardens to Arthur’s front door. He’d stood there, the night warm and dry for the first time in over a week, and waited for Arthur to come to the door. But even as he stood there, hope filling his chest and leaking down into his belly, he knew Arthur wasn’t there. There were no lights on and even if Arthur had been home and in bed, he would have been to the door by now.

No, Arthur hadn’t been there and Merlin had instantly felt the need to hyperventilate. Instead, plucking as much courage as he could, Merlin ran back to his own flat, screaming GWAINE! the minute the door closed behind him.

A few people had turned to look at him, worried looks on their face at his harried expression, but he ignored them and fought his way through the crowds of people when he saw Gwaine over by the kitchen door, lips attached to Elena’s.

It had been difficult to shake Gwaine away from Elena long enough to procure his car keys, but it had been done. And without having to answer any weird questions about where he was going, because Gwaine was an awesome friend and just wanted to make out with his new girlfriend. Keys in hand, Merlin had navigated his way back out of the house, ignoring as many people as humanely possible without being rude (like he really wanted to be) and manoeuvred Gwaine’s car out of the driveway.

His hands had shook as he’d pressed the button to the lift up to Arthur’s office and he’d had to lean over, breathing deeply between his knees again as he waited for the lift to make it up the thirty-five flights, agonizingly slowly.

It had been utterly heartbreaking when he’d stepped off the lift, turned left and saw the office door closed and all the lights off inside. Arthur hadn’t been there and the realization had been like a punch to the gut. He’d stared at the door for a full two minutes, before turning back and calling for the lift again.

And now here he was, travelling back down those thirty-five flights in the slow lift and contemplating what all this meant. And really, it only meant one thing.

Merlin Emrys needs to move on.

Tears pricked his eyes. For once his third-person thoughts were dead-on. There was a reason, Merlin thought, that he hadn’t been able to find Arthur: it just wasn’t supposed to happen. And Merlin... well, he was just going to have to move on. Merlin, in the past, had been a bit of a masochist and he swore he’d never be that person again.

They hadn’t spoken in two weeks. Merlin had kissed Arthur and he hadn’t kissed him back. Things were done.

The lift dinged as it came to reception and Merlin pushed away from the back wall. He caught a glimpse of his dejected reflection in the mirrored doors and quickly looked away while they opened. And that was why, when he walked off the lift, he was barrelled into by a very handsome, blond man.

"Arthur!" Merlin shrieked - not at all like a little girl - when Arthur’s arms wrapped around Merlin’s waist instinctively to stop them from falling to the hard, granite floor.

Arthur’s eyes widened and then a smile broke out on his stupidly handsome face. Merlin was trying to squirm out of his tight grasp (because really? Did he have to suffer anymore?) but Arthur held him tighter and continued to beam at him. "Merlin!" he exclaimed, a laugh in his voice, and then he was kissing him, sloppy and excited.

Merlin should have pushed him away, but this is what he’d been hoping for, wasn’t it?

Arthur ran a hand slowly up his back until his warm fingertips rested against the nape of Merlin’s neck. He pressed gently against the skin and it was like a shot of liquid heat generated there and traveled through his body to pool in his groin. His reaction to Arthur’s touch was instantaneous and felt so right. He couldn’t stop the it when his hips thrust forward.

"Merlin," Arthur purred, moving his mouth to align with Merlin’s ear. "God, Merlin. I’ve missed you."

Merlin’s stomach twisted and there was a roaring in his ears. "You’re a bloody prat," he shuttered out when Arthur’s tongue swept down the side of his neck and attached to his collar bone. "Bigger than Will, even," he said and sucked in a breath when Arthur grazed his teeth against his skin, lighting it on fire. "Bigger than anyone I know."

Arthur chuckled against the side of his neck. "Have you been spying on me in the shower, Merlin?" he asked and thrust his hips forward. "I’m glad to know you think so highly of my size." Merlin’s mouth made a perfect "o" when he felt the hard bulge in Arthur’s suit trousers press tightly against the similar one in his jeans.

"I wasn’t talking about that," Merlin muttered, his voice barely over a whisper, when Arthur’s face - eyes blown, cheeks flushed, hair mussed - appeared before him.

His face was determined. "Shut up, Merlin," he said and crashed their lips together.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Arthur leaned against the boot of Gwaine’s car and reached out to put his fingers through the beltloops of Merlin’s jeans. He pulled him forward into the space between his legs and Merlin was instantly hit with a wave of adoration, followed by complete embarrassment, because he refused to be the girl in this relationship.

He tried to pull back a bit, but Arthur was grinning at him and his stomach flip-flopped in an all-too-familiar way. Merlin Emrys can give in this one time.

When he was settled the way Arthur wanted him between his legs, Merlin ran his fingers gently through Arthur’s blond locks, trying to restore order to the mess he’d made to it only a few minutes before. His face flushed at the memory of the way Arthur had pulled him into the lift, gone up a few flights and pushed the emergency stop. The mirrors in the lift had made things extremely interesting and Merlin was going to suggest they have them installed in both of their rooms. Soon.

"I missed you, too," Merlin said, breaking the comfortable silence they had been sitting in - aside from Arthur’s moans of approval.

Arthur’s eyes opened and Merlin could see the exhaustion there. It had been a rough couple of weeks for him, Merlin knew, and he was sorry he hadn’t been there to help him through it in some way. It made him sad to think of the time they lost, even if it was only a couple of weeks. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn’t long at all, so Merlin tried not to ache at the loss.

"I’m sorry I didn’t call after you," Arthur said, his tone hushed.

Merlin’s face fell, remembering the embarrassment and hurt he’d felt after Arthur had rejected him. If Arthur had called after him, he would have come rushing back, even if it was to find out that Arthur wasn’t actually interested. At least then there would have been closure and maybe they could have moved on with their friendship. Strained at first, of course, but then it would have eventually worked out. They would have forgotten about the kiss and things would have been fine.

Merlin might have moved on sooner or later and Arthur would have found someone perfect for him. They would have stood up at each other’s weddings.

But that wasn’t what Merlin had wanted at all. He didn’t know it at the time, but this - right here - was exactly what he wanted.

"I’m sorry I jumped you like that," Merlin smiled.

Arthur smirked. "No you’re not."

"No, I’m not," Merlin laughed.

"You are not funny, Merlin Emrys."

"Merlin Emrys is all sorts of funny," he said, before leaning in to kiss him. Arthur was shaking his head the whole time, laughter bubbling underneath the surface.

When they pulled apart, foreheads touching and breath shuttered, Arthur smiled. "I love you, Merlin."

Merlin wanted to cling to Arthur like a second skin, his stomach twisting and turning in excitement. "I love you, too," he said and attacked his mouth once more.

Tickle Me Colin (Drabble)

cardigankate — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 18:00:09 GMT

Title: Tickle Me Colin
Rating: PG
Word Count: 517
Warnings: RPS, Established relationship
Summary: In which Bradley smirks a lot, Colin screeches like a little girl and Eoin makes a brilliant observation.
Notes: I blame the #GSDMerlin crew. They are a bunch of dirty cheaters who suggest prompts, call "Not it" when I'm idle and then ~~force~~ coerce me into doing it. Dirty, dirty cheaters. Also, this is very unbeta'd and my first RPS experience. Go ahead... judge me.

Tickle Me Colin
Bradley cocked his head to the side and smirked... fucking smirked at him. Colin knew what that meant and he didn't like it. He didn't like it one little bit.

"What?" Colin asked, maybe a bit too defensively. Though, he'd learned with Bradley it was best to be on the defense at.all.times.

Instead of answering him though, Bradley only raised an eyebrow and took a step toward him. Colin was in serious trouble.

Curling his arms into himself and getting into a position that was as close to the fetal position as one could while standing, he cringed. "Don't even think about it."

"I'm pretty sure you know me better than that by now, Cols." Bradley took another purposeful step toward him, his smirk forming into a sly grin. Colin tried to pretend like the sight of Bradley's crooked teeth and brilliant smile didn't make his insides all mushy, but it was a pointless act. Bradley knew how Colin felt about him.

Fucker did it on purpose, Colin thought and stuck out his bottom lip.

Bradley laughed. "Don't pout." He stepped closer yet.

"Just... let's talk about this a minute," Colin said. After all, negotiations were his strong suit.

Except Bradley just kept coming and before Colin could turn and run (which is really what he should have done in the first place - after all, with all that heavy chainmail and armor on, Bradley was ridiculously slower than him), Bradley was on him digging his fingers into his sides.

And Colin crumpled to a pile on the ground, squirming and screaming (not like a little girl, no matter what Bradley said) in between his raucous laughter. Why the fuck did he have to be so ticklish? Why did Bradley have to know?!

Colin couldn't breathe and Bradley just kept at it, his fingers merciless in their assault of his armpits (his most ticklish area) and then toward the back of his knee (the second most ticklish area).

"Give?" Bradley asked, finally uncurling Colin's body and straddling him. He had Colin's hands pinned above his head with one hand and the other was convulsing against his ribcage. Colin tried not to laugh, but it was futile.

Colin nodded his head quickly. "GIVE!"

"Tell me I'm the best," Bradley demanded.

"You're a prat," Colin shouted back instead, which, of course, earned him a few more good digs that had him screeching.

Bradley stopped again,his face flushed and a ginormous smile on his stupidly beautiful face. If Colin weren't already breathless from the tickle onslaught, that face would have done it.

"Tell me I'm the best," Bradley said, leaning down and letting his mouth brush against Colin's.

Colin groaned, a mixture of annoyance and pleasure. "You're the best," he murmured.

Bradley grinned and let him go. He made to stand up, but Colin grabbed him and pulled him down for a bruising kiss.

As Eoin and Tom walked by, seeing the two of them making out in the tall grass beside the practice field, Eoin pushed Tom's shoulder. "Why don't you ever make out with me in the grass?!"

Forget Regret (Drabble)

cardigankate — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 16:38:46 GMT

Title: Forget Regret
Rating: PG
Word Count: 840
Warnings: Modern AU
Summary: Will knows what he's lost... but what he's gained is far more important.
Notes: Written for Round 1 Challenge 3 at camelot_fics.

Forget Regret
Will watched them, their shoulders and knees touching and the familiar looks of longing passing between them, and he made a conscious effort to keep his features indifferent, even though all he wanted to do was stomp (not at all like a child) over there, let his fingers slide into his dark, silky hair and make him remember what they'd had together. What they'd been before it had all fallen apart. What they'd had before Merlin had left – gone to find himself – and Will hadn't followed.

And Will knew that, no matter what had changed over the years, that would be his dying regret – that he hadn't followed. Because, when Will hadn't gone off to beg Merlin to come back home, he had found someone else. Merlin had found Arthur.

"You okay?" Freya's hand touched his gently and Will tore his eyes away from Merlin to look at his wife.

Will nodded, and let a smile touch his lips. "Yeah. Of course," he said, "Just thinking."

Freya, bless her, knew that it was more than that, but was a strong enough woman and held enough faith in their marriage to disregard Will's moments, and she smiled at him. "Well, enough thinking," she chided lightly. "You have a very enthusiastic little one to watch kick around a football."

Will's smile grew, before he let his eyes wander out onto the field to watch the children run back and forth. He had been lucky to find Freya in a time of his life when he had started to believe there was no light left in the world. Freya had been his light, a bright spot in the darkness, and he had been grateful to have her every day since.

And if her light had been a little dimmer than Merlin's, Will knew it was just because it was a softer light, because she was a softer person. And if his heart had argued with his head a bit when he'd asked her to marry him, Will had known it was really just nerves, because he was finally letting go of one part of his life for another, more important one. And if, when times like today came around, his mind wandered to what could have been, Will knew that it would fade again as soon as he was out of Merlin's presence, because that wasn't his life anymore.

He watched his dark-haired, dark-eyed daughter run around after the football with the other 5- and 6-year-olds and felt his heart melt when he saw her wide, vibrant smile. Faylynn looked so much like her mother that it was sometimes hard to tell that he had any hand in her creation. That was until she opened her mouth. The poor thing had been blessed with his lack of tact… and that was not a good thing when children were already less than tactful.

She had, of course, also inherited his fighting spirit (that's what he liked to tell Freya it was). And Will chuckled as he watched Faylynn stiff-arm a little blond-haired, blue-eyed boy right in the chest, and tried not to think about the fact that Jackson Pendragon was Arthur and Merlin's son.

The truth is that Will can't go back and change things, so there's no point in dwelling on the past. All the plans that he and Merlin had made together were gone and, if Will really thought about it, they never were part of his recurring dreams. They only reared their ugly heads when Will was in Merlin's presence – and each time it happened, Will was observant enough to know that they were having less and less impact on his resolve.

Will's dreams and plans and life now revolved around Freya and Faylynn. His family. His girls. They were who mattered to Will. They were who he lived for.

And even if it hadn't seemed fair that he and Freya had somehow ended up in the same small town as Merlin and his family, Will knew that it was just another test in his life… another moment to make him even more of a man. Will may regret letting Merlin walk away, but maybe… well, maybe everything did happen for a reason.

Letting Merlin walk away was a regret, Will could admit, but Will would regret it even more if he didn't have these moments right now. This was what his dreams were made of and would be until the day he died.

Freya's hand slipped through the crook of Will's elbow and tightened. "Look!" she whispered. And Will was looking. He watched Faylynn maneuver the ball like a genius past three of the other teams players, Jackson included. She was only five, but she was a pro in the making.

He tightened his hand on Freya's and watched Faylynn kick the ball with all her pint-sized might and it slipped into the corner of the goal. And when that little girl looked, eyes full of wonder and a wide smile on her face, no one cheered louder than Will.

Of Times and Travels and Cows (Drabble)

cardigankate — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 03:43:16 GMT

Title: Of Times and Travels and Cows
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 809
Warnings: Modern AU
Summary: Merlin muses while Arthur pouts. And really, who doesn't love cows?
Notes: Written for Round 1 Challenge 2 at camelot_fics. Dudes, I won. o_O Right? RIGHT?! MAJOR awesome. Thanks to all who voted!!!

Of Times and Travels and Cows
He didn’t want to say it, but they were lost. So, so very lost.

And even though he’d been thinking it for the last twenty-five minutes, saying it out loud was only going to upset Arthur further – it was obvious he was already frustrated – and Merlin was not suicidal. Of course, he didn’t think that Arthur would actually hurt him, but this trip had already been saddled with problem after problem, and speaking aloud his concerns would only be like rubbing salt into his wounded pride. Arthur would not appreciate that.

So, Merlin kept his eyes trained out the passenger window and watched as the scenery rolled by: small, sloping hills covered in green grass; tall, ancient oak trees with brightly colored leaves; fields of golden corn and wheat, almost ready for harvest; cows. Merlin wrinkled his nose and stifled a small giggle. Cows.

He turned his head, poised to remind Arthur about the time they had been stopped by all those meandering cows on the small road leading to Gwen and Lance’s wedding in Peasmarsh. But when he saw Arthur – knuckles white against the steering wheel and jaw clenched with a pulsing muscle beneath the skin – he sighed (quietly so Arthur didn’t hear) and turned to look out the window once more.

Merlin thought about how they had spent twenty minutes on the side of the road trying to actually scare the cows into moving out of their way. They had started off being annoyed, because really, who let’s their cows just wander into the road? But once they had started using different tactics, like sneaking up behind the cows and trying to startle them or prodding at them with a measly, little stick that they’d found by the side of the road, the whole situation just became hilarious. And, of course, Merlin - the clumsiest man in the world, according to Arthur - had inevitably slipped on a small patch of grass, landed flat on his face, and swallowed a bit of dirt in the process.

When Arthur had finally stopped laughing (Merlin did find the humor in it, as well, because – after all – it really was something he would do), he had set one hand on Merlin’s hip, fingertips pressed into his skin, and the other slipped around his neck, thumb pulling at the corner of his lips. He had pushed Merlin back against the boot of the car and slid his knee between his legs. Arthur’s kiss had been possessive and hot, lips and tongue and teeth. Gasps and groans.

Friction.

Wicked, wicked friction.

Merlin shifted in his seat, his jeans suddenly a little too tight, and cleared the memory fog from his eyes by blinking rapidly. He glanced slightly to the side to see Arthur still focused on the road. It felt like it had been forever and a day since the trip to Peasmarsh and they had been through so much – both good and bad – since then.

They had been planning this trip for months – well, Arthur had anyway, which was probably why he was the most upset about all the issues – and it was supposed to fun. So far, however, it had been anything but. From their flight being cancelled, to Merlin’s missing luggage, and now their random driving around in the country (lost… so lost), their trip had been a complete disaster.

And it had only started less than 24-hours ago.

Merlin pressed his forehead against the passenger side window and sighed. They needed this trip, needed it badly, and he was really hoping that Arthur – the man that he loved more than anything in the world, despite his obviously short temper – would come around. He didn’t want it to be another one of those vacations.

He closed his eyes and thought that maybe a short nap would ease his nerves. And just as he was feeling his body loosen and slide into sleep, Arthur’s hand grabbed his and tightened gently. Merlin opened his eyes and turned to look at him. The line of Arthur’s jaw was finally relaxed and his knuckles on the steering wheel weren’t nearly as white.

And as Merlin watched, Arthur turned his head to look at him. His blue eyes always made Merlin’s heart stutter a bit, but when he saw the apology there – and the intensity of his love – Merlin thought they’d need to find a hospital so he could be resuscitated. Arthur linked his fingers through his and brought Merlin’s hand up to his mouth. He kissed his knuckles and then set their hands into his own lap. Merlin didn’t stop looking at him, even as Arthur turned back to look at the road.

A smile twitched at Arthur’s lips and as Merlin grinned over at him, knowing that things were going to be okay, he swore he saw Arthur mouth the word cows.

When the World Stops Spinning, Time Rushes On (Oneshot)

cardigankate — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 22:43:23 GMT

Title: When the World Stops Spinning, Time Rushes On
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3,200
Warnings: Future!fic (sorta), time travel (does that really count?), spoilers for 2.10 (and shameless pilfering and manipulation of dialog for my own use), mild (and I do mean mild) angst, blatant disregard for Arthurian legend, and some boy!kissy-kissy.
Summary: Time, like life and death, was not something to be meddled with. Or was it? (-OR- The time Merlin uses a spell he shouldn’t, goes back in time and changes the course of his life and Arthur’s.)
Notes: My first canon era fic. Written for scatter_muse at merlin_holidays.

Thanks to ayane_tsurugi for being my rock through this, and convincing me that changing to a Modern AU version at the last minute was definitely a bad idea. OH, and of course for being my excellent last-minute beta. (All other issues are purely my own.) :) Also thanks to inadaze22 for giving me the opening breakthrough I was blindly searching for and ultimately got me writing.

When the World Stops Spinning, Time Rushes On
Merlin used the back of his hand to swipe away the rivers of tears streaking down his cheeks, while he continued to furiously flip through the pages of his spell book. Through the haze of his overwrought emotions, he knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Time, life and death... these were things not to be meddled with, he knew. Hadn’t he learned his lesson the first time?

This time he couldn’t - wouldn’t - stop himself. This was not how it was supposed to happen. This was not how Arthur was to die.

Merlin’s fingers began to shake and the sobs he had been choking back for the last hour started to break through his resolve, and it only pushed him to keep searching. He had run across the spell in the book before and quickly disregarded it. But now, this time, it could not be ignored. It was Merlin’s job to protect the King and now... well, now this was the only way. Merlin would not fail.

Images of Arthur’s broken body, lying beside his fallen horse, sprung into Merlin’s mind. He tried to push them away, knowing that his emotions would make this already complicated spell that much harder, but he couldn’t. He could see Arthur’s blond hair, smeared with the soot and dirt of war, plastered to his pale forehead. He could see the way his body looked as if it had been broken in half before being set down on the ground in an artistic sort of fashion. Arthur’s armor was dented and dirty, with the exception of one small space near his shoulder, which shone brightly in the sun that had started to peak through the clouds. One hand was clenched around the handle of Excalibur and the other was gently folded over his armor-covered abdomen, the glint of Arthur’s wedding ring dull in comparison to his beauty – even in death.

But the part that haunted Merlin the most, the part he didn’t want to think of more than anything, but kept coming back, was Arthur’s eyes. The blue circles had been so full of life whenever Merlin looked at him. Even when things had been hard and the weight of his kingship had been heavily set upon his shoulders, Arthur still had life in his eyes.

But that light had gone flat. It had died with him. Arthur gazed unseeingly out at his broken kingdom. And when Merlin had looked into those lifeless eyes, he felt some part of his own body ripped away from him and tortured agony filled the empty place.

Merlin would fix this.

Even as the little nagging bits of guilt started to spread throughout his stomach, Merlin easily pushed it aside when he turned the next page and saw the spell he had been so desperately searching for. Without hesitation, and with the fresh images of Arthur in his head, Merlin picked up the book and chanted, “Anfonwch yn ôl i amser, yn anfon yn ôl i'r gofod, dwy awr oddi yno felly atgyweiria lle hwn.” (Welsh translation of “Send back into time, send back into space, two hours thence thus fix this place,” via Google Translator.)

His eyes flashed gold and before he was sucked into the blackness of unconsciousness, Merlin had a sinking suspicion that something had gone exceptionally wrong.

&&&&&
When Merlin peeled his heavy eyelids open, he was instantly aware that he was not in his bed, but inexplicably knew that he was. And really, how did that make sense at all?

His eyes adjusted to the brightness and he quickly took in the familiar sight of the old, battered cupboard in the far corner and the small table in the other. As usual, there were garments scattered over every surface and littered across the floor, and his spell book was lying in a haphazard fashion on the chair beside the bed.

Everything looked right and terribly, terribly wrong all at the same time.

Merlin couldn’t tear his eyes away from the book. There was something so very off about this whole entire situation. He tried to think back to the day before, and it was nothing but a blank spot in his mind. And that was, without a doubt, extremely disconcerting.

Had he been enchanted? Was he currently enchanted? Had he been knocked out while trying to protect Arthur? Had he taken a sleep aiding potion the night before that had, somehow, messed with his memory? Why couldn’t he remember what had happened?

And just like that, understanding with an underlying hint of confusion washed over him in waves and Merlin had never been a fan of the idea of drowning. He sat up quickly, not even realizing he had actually been lying in his bed, and felt his head spin with the sudden change of elevation. It didn’t stop him though, and he shot out of bed. Just as he was reaching for his precious book of magic to try and correct his horrendous error, his door burst open and Gaius was nagging, “Were you planning on lying in bed all day, Merlin? Or did you think you might want to finish working out this issue with the Princess Vivian and Arthur?”

Merlin couldn’t have answered, even if he wanted to, because in the next instant Gaius realized he wasn’t speaking to, well, Merlin. His eyes narrowed and then widened in quick succession, before his mouth fell open in surprise. Merlin was certain he looked like himself (or the self that he would be when Gaius would come barging into his room to manhandle him out of bed) – he ran a hand over his only slightly stubbled cheek just to be sure – but knew that Gaius had enough understanding of magic within him to know that he wasn’t actually Merlin.

Oh boy, this was going to get confusing.

“Merlin?” Gaius asked, leaning forward slightly even as he took a slight step backward, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Merlin got up from his bed and quickly grabbed up his book, flipping through it as quickly as he could, searching for the spell he knew he needed to get back. At least, he hoped there was a spell that would get him back. In his emotional state, Merlin hadn’t even thought to check if there was a reversal spell, if that was even what he needed.

With his head spinning, Merlin sighed. “Gaius, you’re not going to believe me, and even if you did you’d yell at me, so please know that I am not ignoring you. I just need to go. Now,” he said, his eyes roaming over the pages. There had to be something.

“Merlin, what is going on?” Gaius asked, his hand falling heavy on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezing gently. Merlin stopped his furious scanning for only a moment to look into his eyes. It had been a long time since Merlin had seen this Gaius. The last few years had been hard on him, and his age was starting to show. But seeing him like this – how Merlin would always remember Gaius, no matter what happened in the future – it was encouraging and heartbreaking all at the same time.

“Gaius,” Merlin said and let his head fall forward slightly, his chin tucking into his chest. “I was just trying to fix--” his voice broke and he cleared it. “Something went terribly wrong. I need to get back. I need to fix things.” Merlin felt the tears well in his eyes again and he sniffed, trying to push them back. He couldn’t lose it right now; he had to stay strong and he needed to get back to where he was meant to be: saving Arthur.

Gaius’ hand was steady on his shoulder, but his voice was quiet when he said, “Then let’s get it figured out together.”

*****
“I don’t understand,” Merlin groaned into his hands before rubbing them vigorously against his face. “How is there no reverse spell?”

Gaius shook his head. “Because, Merlin. I hate to lecture you—“ Merlin rolled his eyes, “—but time really isn’t something you should be meddling with.”

Merlin hadn’t told Gaius exactly why he had been trying to go back in time, but he did explain to him that he was only supposed to go back two hours. There had been a little back and forth, Gaius trying to pry the information out of him, and Merlin trying to side-step it as much as possible, before he confessed that he had been exceptionally emotional when he’d said the spell. Gaius had immediately announced that it had been Merlin’s inevitable downfall, as magic was always sensitive to emotions. Merlin had bite back why he hadn’t told him that before, but kept his mouth shut… barely. After all, this wasn’t the time.

Merlin lifted his head enough to meet eyes with Gaius. “I know I can’t tell you everything, Gaius, but you have to understand: I would not have done this had it not been absolutely necessary. You know me better than that.”

But it occurred to Merlin that maybe Gaius didn’t. The Merlin that Gaius knew probably would have meddled with time without much thought. Or at least Gaius would believe that he would. He didn’t know the older, more responsible Merlin.

And even as the thought passed through Merlin’s mind, Gaius’ eyebrow lifted infinitesimally and he said, “I do.”

Merlin, slightly shocked, yet heart full of pride, he nods his head. “Thank you, Gaius.” And then, as he’s pushing back the tears once more, he says, “I don’t know what to do.”

Gaius sighs and, even before the words leave his mouth, Merlin feels the déjà vu creep up his spine: “Find someone who does.”

*****
“There is no magic that can break this enchantment.”

“There must be.”

“It has too great a hold.”

“I cannot let Arthur die!”

“Patience young, warlock. The solution lies in a force greater than you or I can understand. A force that has puzzled many minds.”

“Please, I have very little time.”

“A force—“

“Just tell me!”

The dragon chuckled, “Why, it is the greatest force of all... love.”

*****
Merlin came back to Gaius and repeated exactly what the dragon had told him. His brow was deeply furrowed; even though the dragon had instantly recognized Merlin as his future self, the conversation had been eerily the same as it had been the first time. And knowing what Merlin knew – knowing that Arthur’s true love at this time was not exactly his true love in the future – it was exceptionally disconcerting. What was he supposed to do?

Gaius looked up from the book he was studying and squinted slightly. “It’s obvious then,” he said. “Arthur needs your help.”

“You forget, Gaius, I do not think that Arthur needs me.”

Gaius shook his head. “Merlin, don't worry. I know.”

“You know what?” Merlin asked, his eyes wide, the déjà vu gnawing at his stomach and screaming, This is wrong, even though it felt more right than he’d like to admit.

“Everything,” Gaius responded, closing the book and staring into Merlin’s eyes. “Anyone who spends five minutes with you can see how you feel about each other. Arthur loves you.”

The snort that came out of Merlin was completely undignified. “No, he doesn't.” He continued to ignore the gnawing at his stomach, even as it turned from familiarity to blind hope.

“Trust your feelings and search your heart,” Gaius sighed. “You know who he loves.”

Merlin stared at Gaius as he stood from his chair at the table and started out of the room. Was this it? Was this really what was supposed to happen? Wouldn’t this change the future? If this worked, and Merlin made it back by making this one change to the past, what kind of future would he go back to? Was this why he came back here and not to a simple two hours before the incident?

Gaius turned at the door. “Merlin?”

Merlin broke from his worried reverie and said, “Coming,” before walking after him.

*****
If Merlin said he wasn’t nervous, he’d be lying. He stood outside the tent opening and rubbed his sweaty palms against his worn pants.

“This is insane,” he mumbled to himself. “This isn’t what is supposed to happen.”

Merlin had been through this once before. And being in the situation again, he could remember the first time clearly in his mind. It was melding in a strange and confusing way with this new day; Merlin wanted to shout in frustration, feeling magic thrumming through his anxious body. He couldn’t get past the fact that he knew - knew - that if he did this, if he went through with this change in the past, that the future he was hoping he’d make it back to would be completely different.

Merlin didn’t know if he could do this. He didn’t know if he should. Time was not to be meddled with.

“Go on.” Merlin jumped when Gaius came up behind him. “If you don’t do it now, Arthur will go back out there and lose, Merlin.” Merlin looked over at him, his stomach twisting when he realized that lose meant die.

The emotions that he had been struggling to keep squelched all day threatened to overcome him, and Merlin shamelessly used his magic to push them back down. If this worked, if changing this day got him back to where he was supposed to be, Merlin could spend as much time as he wanted being emotional. He promised himself that. But right now, he needed to try.

Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

And as if Gaius had heard his thoughts, he turned to look at Merlin and scowled. “Don’t let Arthur’s death come so early.” Merlin frowned. “Go.”

*****
Merlin pushed aside the tent opening and walked inside. Arthur was seated upon a cot and looked worse than Merlin had remembered him looking that day, yet still alive, young and healthy. The lump in Merlin’s throat closed off his airway and he gasped for breath.

Over the years, since Merlin had met Arthur that first time, his feelings for the young prince had gone through a progression of changes: hate, dislike, tolerance, like, admiration, adoration… love. Merlin couldn’t remember the exact moment his love for Arthur turned from friendly to something more, but it had happened. He had never taken that love any further than in his own mind, however, because there had always been Gwen. And even when Gwen had left and went to her true love, Merlin had stayed by his king’s side, but as nothing more than a friend and trusted advisor.

Merlin was certain that when Gwen left, Arthur’s heart had gone with her. But maybe he had read the signs wrong. Maybe the dragon and Gaius were right. Maybe this was where Merlin was supposed to be. Maybe this was what was supposed to happen.

With a sigh, Merlin pushed forward. He’d never know until he tried.

“Ah, Merlin!” Arthur said, good-naturedly. “There you are! Have you come to wish me good luck? I really don't think I need it anymore.”

Merlin shook his head and took another step closer to Arthur. “No, Arthur, I have not come to wish you luck.”

“Well, honestly, that's rather rude,” he replied, a frown on his pretty lips, “and very unlike you, Merlin. I’m disappointed.”

Merlin took a deep breath and walked into Arthur’s space. He looked slightly alarmed, but the enchantment he was under had left him in a happy state of being, so Arthur didn’t pull back. Merlin licked his lips and pressed his body against his, the arms pressing into his body with sharp angles and rough edges. He ignored all of it and concentrated on what he needed to do. “Then let me make amends,” he whispered.

When Merlin leaned forward, their noses bumped uncomfortably together and Arthur pushed away slightly, causing Merlin to clutch at his armor in an awkward fashion that had them stumbling together. But he kept going, because he needed to know – he had to try. And when Merlin’s lips brushed against Arthur’s slightly parted ones, he felt something inside him shift into place. After that, the world was spinning on its axis in a way Merlin was certain was impossible, and he clung to Arthur even tighter.

An arm tentatively wrapped around Merlin’s waist and then tightened in a possessive way. Merlin let his lips slide against Arthur’s gently, memorizing the contrast of his smoother upper lip and his chapped lower one. His hand left Arthur’s battle-worn armor and slipped into his sweaty hair, pulling gently at the ends, and heard a soft moan deep in Arthur’s throat. It gave Merlin the push to bite at his bottom lip, before sliding his tongue against it to sooth the pain.

As the world continued to spin in a dizzying way, Arthur tried to pull Merlin closer to his body, but was hindered by the armor. Merlin felt his toes curl when he did the next best thing, and slipped his knee between Merlin’s legs and pressed upward. Merlin’s answering groan opened his mouth slightly and Arthur took full advantage by licking inside his mouth and tasting the back of his teeth, the roof of his mouth, his tongue.

A whirl of emotions ran through Merlin and he felt magic tingling at his fingertips. Nothing had ever felt so amazing, and he was just starting to wonder why he hadn’t done this sooner, when the ground beneath him jolted. Arthur pulled away from Merlin, but only barely, and he instantly missed the contact. He went to seek Arthur’s mouth again, hoping that maybe they could take things further, when he realized they were no longer in the tent.

Merlin looked around, confused and shaken, to see that they were, in fact, in Arthur’s room. In his present time.

He gasped, “It worked.” He wanted to cry, he was so happy. This really was what was supposed to happen! Merlin took a shaky breath and chuckled lightly, his forehead resting against Arthur’s without thinking. “I can’t believe it worked.”

Firm fingers brushed over Merlin’s bare back and he shivered when Arthur’s breath tickled his cheek. “What worked?”

And just that quickly, Merlin pulled back and looked into Arthur’s happy, blue eyes. He had made it back to where he wanted to be in the first place. He was here to warn Arthur, because even though the past had been changed and now his future, Arthur was still in his armor and Merlin could hear the sounds of war preparation outside. The battle was still coming and Arthur could still die.

No! Merlin thought, his mind racing. No, Arthur would live, because Merlin was ready. It was not Arthur’s destiny to die now. It was not their destiny to lose each other now that they were finally together.

Merlin shook his head, his heart warmed and full for the first time in a long time. “Nothing,” he said, his lips brushing against Arthur’s. “Just, do be careful.”

Arthur tried to pull Merlin into another kiss, but stopped when he saw the serious look in Merlin’s eyes. “I’m always careful.”

Merlin smiled and set his hand gently against Arthur’s cheek, stroking. “You are. Just... live for me, Arthur. That's all I ask right now.”

Arthur nodded, kissed Merlin once more and walked from the room. Merlin watched him go, his heart beating a mile a minute, before he shook his head and followed him out.

My Secret, My Love

cardigankate — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 14:29:58 GMT

Title: My Secret, My Love
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Word Count: 448
Notes: Round 1 Challenge #2 - Blue - written for ronpansy_ldws

My Secret, My Love
“No, Ron, we can’t.” Tears welled into the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had already cried too many nights because of this same argument and she wouldn’t let it happen again.

Ron stood in front of her, his face looking defeated and tired, but he didn’t respond. It hurt her to see him this way. She missed his spark and his fire and his passion.

She wanted it back.

She needed it back.

They needed it back.

Pansy moved forward, but Ron tightened his grip on his wand and took a step back. She sighed, “I know it’s not fair, but it’s also not time.” She watched his jaw tighten, the tense muscles twitched. She wanted to reach out, press her hand against his cheek and gently sooth away his stress. She wanted to tell him that everything was going to be fine, that he just needed to trust her, and that she’d be ready soon.

But it would be a lie.

Pansy had realized their relationship needed to be a secret after their first date...

...The date where he had been awkward and she had been snooty; and she had argued with him over nothing because she had felt unsure; and he had nearly caught himself on fire with the candle on the table while trying to make a hasty getaway; and she had run after him without hesitation, shouting an apology; and he had stopped her rambling explanation by kissing her soundly while standing in the middle of the street, causing her toes to curl and her breath to hitch...

...The date that had ended up in the paper, condemning him as a traitor and she an evil seductress, marring his perfect Auror reputation.

Ron had said it would be okay, that people would get over it.

She knew they wouldn’t.

The decision had been hard on her, because she wanted everyone to know they loved each other, but it had been much harder on Ron. Pansy’s family was gone, and her friends were few and far between. She had no one to tell.

However, Ron desperately wanted to tell his friends. They’ll understand, he’d said. But Pansy was skeptical, so he kept quiet because he loved her.

Shaking her head, Pansy took another step forward and this time he didn’t move away. She gently wrapped her fingers around his rigid, white knuckles, and felt his grip ease, stopping him from accidently blowing up the strawberries left from their forgotten dessert, rather than just turning them blue.

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Soon,” she murmured when he didn’t speak. “I promise.”

She wished it wasn’t a lie.

Something Akin to Attentive (Drabble)

cardigankate — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 03:51:05 GMT

Title: Something Akin to Attentive
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Word Count: 393
Notes: Round 1 Challenge #1 - Red - written for ronpansy_ldws

Something Akin to Attentive
Ron had never been exceptionally observant. There were multiple documented cases, in fact, showing that he was so far from perceptive, it was downright unnatural. Hermione – who had been the one to suffer the most from his lack of attention over the years – had even procured the book Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to prove it. Inside there was hardly any mention of Harry’s year with the Advanced Potion Making book, but Ron’s short-lived relationship with Lavender and Hermione’s feelings on Ron’s lack of awareness were detailed perfectly, if not much too descriptively. Ron was certain the book had been tampered with, considering the title, but Hermione told him that was neither here nor there.

However, there was something about her that made him something akin to attentive.

He didn’t know what had caused him to start watching her, but if someone had asked him how she liked her tea (piping hot, with a smidge of milk), where she liked to shop for dress robes (Madam Malkin’s, because it was familiar and reminded her of home), or when she did her grocery shopping (every Saturday around 2 PM), he’d answer without missing a beat. After all, as an Auror he should be observant enough to pick up ones daily habits, yes?

But it wasn’t just her daily habits he’d noticed. He had watched her enough, without even realizing he was doing it, to pick up the little things, as well.

For instance, when she was feeling tired, she walked with a slight limp, favoring her left leg. He’d learned that when she was young, she had fallen off a broom, breaking her leg in two places. It obviously still bothered her; though, she rarely let people see it.

Or when she was having a bad day, there was a long crease in her forehead that became over pronounced. Ron had noticed it the first time he witnessed her fighting with her mum.

His favorite, though, was when she was happy. When Pansy Parkinson smiled – really smiled –a small dimple appeared in her right cheek and her eyes twinkled. He wasn’t sure many people had ever looked past her (adorable) pug-like nose to notice it, but Ron had.

He’d observed it the first time he’d run into her and, very ineloquently and Ron-like, asked her to dinner.

Maybe he was observant after all.

Anomalies (Oneshot)

cardigankate — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 01:02:55 GMT

Title: Anomalies
Rating: G
Warning: None
Word Count: 1,655
Summary: Anomalies seem to lead to the perfect, confusing gift.
Notes: Thank you to inadaze22 for checking this out for me and helping me give the ending a little boost! And to everyone who nominated me to participate, thank you so much! This was written for dramione_advent. The prompt was "mittens."

Anomalies
Part I
She didn’t know how it had happened, but Hermione found herself following him…again. She hadn’t even been aware that she was, until she noticed his platinum hair blowing gently out of place as the icy, mid-December breeze blew past him.

Hermione sighed.

The first time could be passed off as coincidence.

The second was more like an anomaly.

The third time felt strangely like a pattern.

The fifteenth? That was just plain crazy.

Great, Hermione thought to herself as she saw him pass by the front window of Flourish and Botts with a mere glance. On top of everything else this holiday season has brought, I’m going crazy. Wonderful. What else could go wrong?

“Hey! ‘Mione! Wait up!”

Hermione raised her eyes and cursed the heavens for her luck. She didn’t turn at his voice, but did acknowledge him by slowing her steps. She watched the tall blond pause in front of Madam Malkin’s storefront before opening the door and entering. Hermione’s steps slowed further.

Within moments, Ron had caught up with her, breathing heavily and red-faced from the cold. She took a glance at him and he was smiling broadly at her and she instantly was overwhelmed with the need to smack it off his face. Her fists clenched as she controlled herself and looked straight ahead again.

She didn’t really have any right to be mad at Ron. She was just as much at fault for their breakup as he was. She had caught him in a very sticky situation (she refused to call it anything else, as the mere thought made her want to gouge her eyes out with a dull plastic spoon) with one of his many quidditch groupies one night a couple months ago. Hermione was painfully aware that the only reason it had happened was because Ron was nearly passed out drunk and that busty blond had easily been taking advantage of him. She also knew that it had never happened before then – or after, for that matter. Yet Hermione just couldn’t let it go. She had ended it and Ron, it seemed, had been trying to win her back ever since.

However, Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell him that “the coincidence” had occurred not 24-hours before the situation, and it seemed she had been trying very hard during that time to find a reason to break it off with Ron. Again, Hermione didn’t feel it was necessary to dwell much on the reasoning or logistics of those crazy feelings, but they were there.

Oh, Merlin, I am a hot mess.

Malfoy. That first day had worked a number on her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever recover. Nor if she wanted to. Now, they were nearly to Madam Malkin’s door and Hermione was desperately trying to decide if she should enter or not. She pressed her uncovered fingers deep down into her pockets, feeling for any warmth in their depths – why she couldn’t remember her gloves was beyond her – and weighed her options.

“Fancy meeting you here, huh?” Ron’s voice broke into her silent reverie.

Well, she couldn’t possibly walk into Madam Malkin’s with Ron in tow, now could she?

Hermione sighed. “Well, Ronald, it is Diagon Alley just before Christmas.” She realized she was using her corporate voice on him again, crisp and cold as the weather. She’d been using it on him since their break up and even though Ron had continued to stay friendly – and apologetic – toward her, she couldn’t open back up to him even as a friend. She knew it would devastate him to know what was really going on in her head.

Ron never seemed phased by her icy tone and continued chatting. “This is true. So, all your shopping finished?”

Hermione barely heard him. They were passing by Madam Malkin’s storefront and her eyes drifted toward it. She could see Malfoy just inside, standing on the opposite side of the counter from Madam Malkin, a pair of black mittens in his hand. Her eyes focused on his hands – large and strong, with long fingers – and then to the mittens, which looked much too small for him. And much too feminine. Hermione’s heart sank. She knew his mother had passed only the year before, so he couldn’t be buying them for her and last Hermione had known, he wasn’t seeing anyone. But, maybe she had been wrong.

So very wrong.

“Hermione?” Again, Ron’s voice broke into her thoughts and she turned back to him. She realized then that she had stopped walking and was actually standing in front of the window staring. Her face felt hot. “Looking for something in particular?”

Hermione looked back inside, ignored Malfoy still standing at the counter, and chose the first thing that caught her eye in the display. She pointed, “Those. I’ve wanted them for a while now.”

She saw Ron’s face screw up in concentration for a moment, before he lifted one eyebrow slowly. “Really?”

Hermione didn’t dare look back to what she had pointed at. She couldn’t even remember what they were. “Really.”

“Your tastes sure have changed in the last two months, ‘Mione.” Ron said and turned away from the window. Hermione didn’t chance a glance back, but instead followed him. He had no idea how much they have changed.

☃ ☃ ☃ ☃ ☃
Part II
Draco wandered the streets of Diagon Alley. He was searching. He wanted something that said just enough, but not too much. He wanted something personal, yet nothing too personal. He wanted something unique, but not so much that it drew attention. In short, he needed the perfect gift.

And for the first time in his life, he had no idea what that perfect gift would be.

In addition, he had absolutely no idea why he was looking for this gift for her.

He wasn’t exactly sure when he had become aware of the fact that Granger was following him. He was sure, at first, that it was nothing more than mere coincidence, an anomaly even. But now…now he was wondering if it was just plain crazy.

Ah, but Granger wasn’t crazy. He knew that. She knew that. Everyone knew that. The definition of the opposite of crazy was, in fact, Granger.

Unfortunately, that didn’t explain why she was almost always following him when he was in Diagon Alley. Under normal circumstances, Draco would simply ask her what was going on. This time, he had the distinct impression that his question would go unanswered; out of embarrassment or uncertainty, he wasn’t sure.

As he passed by Flourish and Botts, he gave the storefront a mere glance. She probably had every book and item imaginable from that store already. And what good would his gift do if it was something she already had?

Draco shook his head and ran a cold hand through his hair to flatten it, as the wind was doing preposterous things to it. Granger confused him to no end. Draco was good with riddles and problems. If given enough time and resources, he could work out any issue dealt him. It’s what he did. It’s who he was.

But this issue with Granger was starting to turn his world upside down. He couldn’t figure her out or what her motive was and it was unbearable.

He knew she had broken it off with the Weasel about two months ago. Apparently the git had decided to cheat on Granger with some bimbo quidditch groupie. He had heard through the office grapevine that it was a one-time offence and he’d not repeated said offence since, but Granger had broken it off with him on principle. It was the first time Draco remembered being in her corner cheering for her.

And that thought alone had been enough to raise his brow.

He knew things had changed since the Second War, but he was sure they hadn’t changed that much that he was willing to support that frizzy-haired know-it-all.

And even as the thought crossed his mind again, Draco batted it away. He wasn’t that man anymore.

Draco approached Madam Malkin’s storefront and took an absentminded glance at the window. His double take landed on a pair of black mittens.

Sadly, he had noticed Granger never wore anything on her hands, even though she was bundled from head to toe in wool otherwise. He never understood it, like he didn’t understand many things about her, but it had, at least, given him his perfect gift.

Quickly, Draco strode inside the store and had grabbed the mittens from the display before Madam Malkin could ask him if he needed any help. He strode to the counter with his purchase and said in his crisp, corporate voice, “These, please. Gift wrapped in gold and red.” The last words were out of his mouth before he could even think about it and instantly wanted to take them back. However, he didn’t. It might have been too much, the gold and red, but one would argue getting her a gift at all was risky.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, Draco thought to himself.

“This is a very nice gift, Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Malkin announced as Draco dropped two galleons onto the counter. “Who might they be for?”

As Madam Malkin had her head down, meticulously wrapping the small box she had placed the mittens into, Draco glanced over his shoulder. Granger and the Weasel had just turned from the window and continued on to the next shop. He watched her frizzy hair blow against her face and she moved her uncovered hand from her pocket to push it back. She looked, for the first time over the last two months of the wanderings, to be defeated.

Draco started to wonder about that, but decided against it. He was already too confused by her as it was.

He turned back to Madam Malkin and answered cooly, “A friend.”

Seven Day Lament (Drabble)

cardigankate — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 00:45:51 GMT

Title: Seven Day Lament
Rating: PG
Warning: Character death
Word Count: 499
Notes: Written for June 2010, Week 3 at dyno_drabbles. The drabble was to be inspired by, "I can see the loneliness in you." I won Mod's Choice.

Seven Day Lament
Fred watched from the hallway.

On the first day, he watched her hair become frizzier, as she was constantly pulling the ends and running her worried hands through it. He knew she’d regret it later.

On the second day, she turned to her left, grabbed a rubbish bin, threw up, set it back down and resumed her vacant staring, as if her vomiting had never happened.

On the third day, he watched as her eyes suck into her too-thin face, her cheeks hollowed out and her lips thinned. She slumped further down into the chair she refused to vacate and she looked so small. His heart was breaking with hers.

On the fourth day, he watched as Ginny came in with soup and his mum to gently scold her about joining them for supper.

On the fifth day, Fred observed the way her she could easily ignore the sympathetic looks and kindly words Harry and Ron had for her. Fred wondered if she even heard them.

On the sixth day, he waited for her reaction when George came in the room. Fred saw her flinch slightly when he made a lame crack about his missing ear, a last-ditch effort to make her smile, but George didn’t see it. Moments later, George left, his own grief threatening to overwhelm him. Fred watched him go and sighed sadly, wishing he could do more.

On the seventh day, she doubled over and a sob tore from her chapped lips, wrecked and heartbroken. It came from deep within her belly and up through her parted lips, keening against her knees and hoarse from her lack of speaking. Pain seeped out through her tears and soaked the floor at her feet. He watched her body heave and noted the outline of her spine was prominent through her thin and unwashed shirt. She cried and screamed and begged, crushed and full of despair.

It may have only been minutes, but to Fred’s shattered heart, her lament lasted a lifetime.

And at last, when her sobs were finally reduced to a whimpered moan, Fred swiped at his own tears and stepped inside. He crossed the room quickly and gently placed his hand across the small of her back, rubbing soothing circles into her skin. She stiffened.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Fred choked out, his tears falling freely again. “I’m so very sorry. I love you.”

*****
Hermione went downstairs later that day, her eyes bloodshot and puffy, though a vast improvement from before. She heard the collective sighs of the family and felt the overwhelming tension flitter out the open windows. When she was seated at the table, eating small bites of Mrs. Weasley’s kidney pie and holding George’s hand in comfort, Hermione looked toward the fireplace and could almost see the green flames.

Fred – poised, invisible and ready to finally move on – smiled over his shoulder and blew her a kiss. Hermione didn’t see him leave, but felt him go.

“I love you, too,” she murmured.

Fred, Reverse It (Drabble)

cardigankate — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 17:01:02 GMT

Title: Fred, Reverse It
Rating: G
Warning: None
Word Count: 299
Notes: Written for June 2010, Week 2 at dyno_drabbles. The drabble was to be inspired by a banner created by wildflower4evr

Fred, Reverse It
They had been staring at each other for over three minutes. This was a war of epic proportions. The shrieks coming from a half block down were all but ignored.

Hermione’s shoulders were tense and her jaw set

Freds was relaxed and smug.

He could wait all day.

She couldn’t. “Fred, reverse it.”

For a moment Fred’s smirk turned into a full smile and Hermione felt her breath hitch, but only slightly. “I don’t think I will,” he answered, his voice arrogant.

Her eyes narrowed and she continued to stare daggers at him, “Right now.”

“Why should I?” Fred was aware of the commotion down the street, but refused to take his eyes from hers. “You know he had it coming.”

Hermione ignored his last statement, and grit through her teeth, “Reverse it.”

He lifted his chin in defiance, but kept his smirk intact. “I won’t, Hermione. Let someone else figure it out. It’s extraordinary magic.”

Hermione took a step closer and she pretended she didn’t see Fred’s eyes flicker over her lips; this was not the time to continue the cat and mouse game they had been playing for ages. “Fred, reverse it, please.” She hadn’t intended her voice to be pleading, but maybe that’s what finally made him sigh in defeat.

“Fine.” He tore his eyes away from hers to carelessly flick his wand at Malfoy. The girly screeching finally stopped and Malfoy slumped down to the ground. The wings that couldn’t be controlled, the ones he’d sprouted quite suddenly, had disappeared as quickly.

“Happy?” he asked, turning to find her even closer to him than before.

Hermione softened. “Yes, thank you.”

Fred’s smirk faltered only slightly when she smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Hermione spared Malfoy a quick glance before adding, “You know, that really was extraordinary magic.”

She Saaaaaaw You (Drabble)

cardigankate — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 14:07:22 GMT

Title: She Saaaaaaw You
Rating: G
Warning: None
Word Count: 496
Notes: Written for June 2010, Week 1 at dyno_drabbles. The drabble was to be inspired by, "What the house-elf saw." I won Mod's Choice.

She Saaaaaaw You
Fred shook his head and knew that he was in serious trouble. And not the kind of trouble he and George had managed to get themselves into while growing up (and still did even at the age of 34). No, Fred had been handling that kind of trouble for so long it was like riding a bike.

This trouble, though…

Fred shuddered. He was in serious trouble.

Even Ron had looked pained. “Take it from me, mate. Duck and cover,” he’d said and then bolted out of the room, fear in his eyes.

Fred knew it was pointless to run; she was better at tracking than he was at hiding, and it really didn’t make him feel better that he knew that.

Fred had just started to contemplate the pro’s and con’s of a plan hastily concocted around stolen Polyjuice potion, a ten-speed bike, and his mother’s winter muumuu, when he heard her coming.

“FREEEEEEED!”

His eyes darted, searching unsuccessfully for a way out. His heart leapt up into his throat and his palms started to sweat. He’d made it too easy; like shooting fish in a barrel. Just as the door slammed open, and her frizzy head stormed into the room, Fred grabbed a lamp from the bedside table and placed it defensively in front of him.

“There you are.” Fred watched her eyes narrow, as she ground the words out between her clenched teeth.

Fred pushed the lamp out further in front of him and took a step behind the chaise. “It’s not what you think,” he managed. “I mean, I didn’t do it.”

Hermione’s laugh was maniacal and Fred dropped down to his knees, hiding all but the top of his ginger head behind the chaise, fear ripping through him.

“You didn’t do it? YOU DIDN’T DO IT?!”

“I… you… it…”

“The house elf saw you, Fred. She saaaaaw you.”

Fred cringed and started saying his prayers, even though he wasn’t a spiritual man. He’d cheated death once; maybe he could do it again. God had to be more forgiving than Hermione.

“It’s absolutely, 100% per-ma-nen-t,” she screamed, grabbing at the tips of her green hair, annunciating every syllable. “And now, so is yours.”

“It was just a joke! It’ll fade… eventually!” Her eyes were slits and Fred tried to duck.
*****
Fred worked his hair into some sort of messy spike, hoping he was pulling off the look. After twenty minutes of fussing, Fred finally turned away from the mirror and walked out of the toilets.

“Hey, hey, Violet! Looking good, honey.”

Fred narrowed his eyes and pushed past Ron and George, who were each nearly falling on the floor in laughter. Just before he walked out the front door, he caught Hermione’s eye. He saw her fading hair, an inch of growth at her scalp, and cursed.

“I’ll reverse it when I’m back to normal, Fred.”

He nodded stiffly and walked out, vowing to never pull a prank on Hermione again.

Song Meme Drabbles

cardigankate — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 20:13:48 GMT

Title: Song Meme
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Some language throughout
Summary: I found this meme at merlinxarthur by a few people, so I thought I'd give it a go - Harry Potter/Dramione style. Effin' made of win. :)

Songfic Meme:
1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame
of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when
it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.

#1 - “Gold Guns Girls” by Metric (4:07)
I don’t understand why he can’t just be happy with what we have. It’s like every time I see him, he has to press the issue... like I’ll bend to his every demand like those other slags he’s been with over the years.

Sure, he’s cute and he’s funny (he is, regardless of what Ron says) and beneath that rough exterior, he’s just a scared, little boy looking for some approval. But that doesn’t mean I want to be with him. I’m not interested in getting in his pants. I’m not interested in him getting in mine. I’m not interested in anything other than friendship.

And no matter how many times I tell him that, it always ends the same.

“Come home with me, Hermione,” Draco will say and I’ll roll my eyes. “I’m serious,” he’ll beg.

“No, you’re not,” I’ll answer.

“How do you know?” He’ll look extra pathetic.

“Because, I do,” I’ll answer simply.

----

She always misses the sad eyes when she turns away.

#2 - “Rock Problems” by The Hold Steady (3:33)
I’ve had way too much to drink... and that’s saying something for a Malfoy.

That drawing room is crowded, but my eyes are set on one person. Unfortunately, Hermione refuses to look at me with any sympathy in her eyes. I’m about to beg for it. Honestly, I’m drunk (drunker than any normal person should be), I can barely walk straight and all the people milling around, dancing, and pressing together in the room, the ones surrounded by a haze of my blurry vision and stale smoke, are making my head spin. But she doesn’t care.

And she hates my choice in music.

“Seriously?” The word tumbled out of my mouth in incredulity.

You’d think a Muggle-born would understand the religion that is rock and roll. She just tells me I have rock and roll problems. Very funny.

#3 - “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna (4:09)
“Dad?” Hermione’s father looks up from his paper – the Muggle one, with unmoving pictures on the front – and smiles.

“Hi, sweetie.” He stands and walks the quick three steps to pull her into a hug. If Hermione holds on a little longer and tighter than usual, he doesn’t complain. “I didn’t know you were coming by today.”

Hermione tries a smile, but it crumples under the weight of her burden. Mr. Granger pulled her down on to the davenport beside him. “What’s the matter, pumpkin?”

“Daddy, I’m so sorry,” she sobs. Unconsciously, her hand covers her belly and she cries harder.

Mr. Granger is more perceptive than people would like to think he is. “Not that Draco Malfoy boy?” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but that boy was bad news. He’d been telling Hermione that for over a year, but she was just as hard-headed and her father.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m going to keep it.”

His lips thin into a hard line. “What do you need from me then, Hermione?”

“Advice,” she murmurs. “And for you to still love me.”

The coldness that had involuntarily crept up around his heart melted away. He pulled his daughter into a tight hug. “Always, sweet pea. Always.”

#4 - “Wonder” by Natalie Merchant (4:26)
“This isn’t going to be easy, Draco,” Hermione says to her husband, as they stand over the cradle. He hadn’t even touched the baby since they brought her home 24-hours ago.

Draco has a faraway look in his eyes. Hermione knows he’s thinking. She just hopes it’s about how they are going to continue to love this child and comfort her, when the world would be against her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hermione interrupts his thoughts and he brings his eyes to her. “With all the magic in the world, how did she end up this way?” A tear slips down her cheek and Draco reaches over, silently and affectionately, to swipe it away. “She’s beautiful, Draco. And she has more magic in her than you and I combined. She’s a miracle.” Hermione chokes on the last word and let’s her daughter wrap her tiny fist around her index finger.

Draco is silent for a long time, but soon puts his finger inside her other small fist. “She is beautiful.” Hermione watches in wonder as he bends down to kiss their daughters slightly deformed face, the first visible sign they had to show just how much of a miracle she was. “I love you, Adrianne,” he whispers. “Everything is going to be alright.”

#5 - “Glycerine” by Bush (4:28)
I let her go.
It was the right thing to do, of course, because she wanted to go. Or maybe she didn’t really want to go, but needed to. I didn’t argue with her when she had said both. She was right, after all.

I like to sit in my favorite leather chair and remember the way her hair smelled and how her skin felt... how her mouth tasted. I’ll never have that again, because I ruined it all.

I treated her so badly. And for what? The love and respect of a father who could care less about me?

I saw her, the other day, with someone else. I didn’t know him. Or maybe I did. I wasn’t really looking at him, anyway. She looked good... happy. She had looked like that with me at one time. A long time ago.

I never deserved her smiles, her kisses, her touches, her love. She was too good for me and I was so grateful she was there. I messed it up anyway. At least I saw her smile one last time.

#6 - “Criminal” by Fione Apple (5:43)
Dear Lord, forgive me.
I’ve never been much on religion, Lord, but I think it’s time I started. I read in the Bible that those who seek forgiveness in you, will live eternal life beside you. I know you’re not surprised I read the Bible. After all, I am Hermione Granger.

Here’s the thing, Lord, I’ve been bad. A very, very bad girl and I know the only way I’ll spend life in eternity with you – and I’m really hoping Heaven is full of fluffy, white clouds, angels with harps, and blinding white robes (even if it is a childish fantasy) – is if I confess to you now.

I know he doesn’t want to hurt me. It’s my fault, of course, because I disappoint him so often. It’s only right that he tries to correct my behavior. It’s too much for me to ask that he not bruise my face like last time. It’s too much to think that he’ll take it easy on my arm that he’s twisting. I should never ask him to stop biting.

I’m just hoping you’ll forgive me for being so terrible – so bad that I have to be beaten this way. It’s not Draco’s fault, Lord. He’s just trying to help me. He loves me.

Do you love me, too, Lord?

Will you forgive me for my sins?

I hope you will. Because it looks like I’m coming your way soon. Tell Saint Peter I’m on the way and to hold the door open.

Amen.

#7 - “Gives You Hell” by All-American Rejects (3:35)
Hermione ripped the picture of them off the wall. She tore it in half and then burned it, for good measure.

“He’s an idiot,” she screams into the empty room. “A stupid, little, idiot.”

----

Hermione doesn’t know where she found her date. She can’t remember much, at this point; she’s had far too much to drink. But she knows Draco is on the other side of the pub and he’s draped over some blond slag. Her date is sufficiently sloshed as well, so she doesn’t push him away when his hand caresses her thigh.

----

“I don’t miss him,” she states the obvious to Ginny. “He’s a fool. And if he thinks dating all those women is going to help him move on, he’s crazy.”

Ginny’s head tips to the side. “He doesn’t look very happy, anyway.”

Hermione scoffs. “He can go to Hell.”

----

“She said you should go to Hell.” Harry passed along the message from Ginny. It wasn’t that Hermione asked them to. It’s just that Harry and Ginny thought they should. Draco needed to understand.

Draco looked down into his firewhiskey. “I’m already there, mate.”

#8 - “For the Nights I Can’t Remember” by Hedley (4:04)
She was the only one who had given him a chance after the war. He knew he didn’t deserve it – he had been a Deatheater, after all – but she had insisted that everyone deserved a second chance.

It might have happened then, when she stode beside him at Crabbe’s grave and held his hand, telling him how sorry she was, and that he could change. That she believed he could if he put faith in himself.

He’d like to say it had been easy. He’d like to say he hadn’t fought with her and pushed her away. He’d like to say he was the bigger man and apologized whenever he’d stepped out of line. But changing isn’t always simple, even when you want to, when every inch of your body begs you to change.

She’d forgive him anyway. Hermione was like that. Strong. Caring. He wasn’t sure when he began to realize she loved him, too. He wasn’t sure when he started to believe he actually could deserve her.

All he remembered was the way she looked at him the first time she said I love you.

He could change.

#9 - “Now Comes the Night” by Rob Thomas (4:55)
Warning: Major Character Death
“Don’t worry, Hermione,” he whispered into the dark. Her breathing was shallow and he could smell the blood. “I’ll stay right here with you.”

She coughed and he could hear the gurgle in her throat. His chest tightened. It couldn’t be ending now.

“You’ll be okay. They’re coming for us. Can you hear them? We’re going to be next.” He had to lie. He knew the Healer’s could see them at the long line of the wounded, but he also knew they had no idea it was Hermione lying on the ground. Dying.

Her head shifted in his hands and he bent down to press a kiss to her brow. “Draco,” she murmured so quietly he wasn’t entirely sure he’d hear her.

“I’m right here, Hermione.” Her gasps to intake oxygen were becoming even more erratic. His heart was breaking. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Draco.” This time he had heard her. She went to lift her head and he shushed her, before bringing his ear close to her lips. “Thank you,” she started and then coughed. It made Draco wince. She wasn’t going to make it. “Thanks you,” she tried again. “You didn’t have to stay.”

Draco kissed her forehead again. “Yes,” he choked out, “I did.”

She attempted a smile and just as Draco tried to smile back, Hermione left him.

He bent over her lifeless form and sobbed. “I had to stay, Hermione,” he told her. “No one should die alone.”

#10 - “She Hates Me” by Puddle of Mudd (3:38)
“My gods, Draco! Are you even hearing yourself?”

“Actually, I can hear quite well, thank you very much. I think you’re the one with the hearing problem, Granger.”

“You are so immature.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Point proven.”

“Let’s just finish this, Granger. It’s obvious we are not working out.”

“You’ve got that right!”

“Of course, I do. I’m always right.”

She lunged at him, but pulled back. Huffing and straightening her shirt, she grabbed her purse and stalked to the door.

“This is over, Malfoy.”

When the door slammed behind her, he shouted, “I fucking hate you, too!”

I Walked With You (Once Upon a Dream) (Drabble)

cardigankate — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 04:06:37 GMT

Title: I Walked With You (Once Upon a Dream)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Explicit sexual content
Word Count: 845
Notes: This is a completely original drabble. Please, be kind and respect my work. Do not steal.

I Walked With You (Once Upon a Dream)
She pressed her lips to the pulse point in his neck and tasted his skin, while breathing in his scent. Both his taste and his smell were warm and spicy, masculine and bold, and very uniquely him. She was sure it could never be possible to get her fill of this man. He was intoxicating, her own personal drug made especially for her, and she needed him to survive.
He was everything she had ever wanted and so much more.

She hadn't even realized it, though she had had a good idea, until their first kiss. When his arms had wrapped around her, pulled her body close to his and his mouth descended against hers, she finally knew.

He was home.

Her fingertips grazed lightly over coarse, dark hair sprinkled across his chest. Her nails scratched at an erect nipple, eliciting a moan from his sensual mouth, before travelling further down his body. She forced her lips to detach from his neck to follow the same trail as her digits. She was going to memorize this moment and store it away for the times they weren't together.

Every hitched breath, every guttural moan, every whispered plead was committed to memory, all while sending shivers of pleasure coursing down her exposed spine. She wanted this as badly as he did, but she wanted to savor every centimeter of his body, like he had done to her not one hour ago.

She pushed back onto her knees as her lips continued their southerly descent over his warm stomach, in search of the hard flesh her hand was currently wrapping around. He hissed out a breath through clenched teeth and her stomach clenched.

She couldn't get enough of him. Would she ever be able to say again that she was fully satisfied? There was so much about him she wanted. And she wanted it over and over again. She had never needed someone as much as she needed him. Forever.

Her teeth scraped lightly over his hip bone and she reveled in the way his hips bucked forward, pressing the tip of his erection into her chin. She could understand his impatience and need. They were the exact feelings she had felt the minute he had started his long, erotic and tormenting discovery of her body. She knew how badly he wanted and needed release.
But she wanted just one more moment to enjoy this.

With one final kiss to his lower stomach, she lifted her mouth a fraction from his skin and turned her head. Her warm, wet tongue slid sensually from between her slightly parted lips and touched the based on his hard cock. The slight contact sent him cursing and breathing heavier than before, and urged her forward.

She needed more.

Her tongue moved leisurely along the soft, yet rough skin until she could lick at the precum weeping from his slit. She looked at him from beneath heavy lids and smirked when she locked eyes with him.

"You're torturing me, baby." He could barely speak the words, his breathing labored. She knew he was holding out, but needed release. She wanted to give that to him.

She watched his face as he watched her lick more precum from his cock. She loved the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hips rose involuntarily, pressing the head of his dick into her open mouth.

She wouldn't wait any longer.

Wrapping her lips tightly around the head, she let her tongue sweep across the underside, before letting her mouth sink down the length of his cock. With each curse and moan that left his mouth, she sucked harder, her head bobbing just slightly faster and her hand working the base of his cock.

It only took a couple of minutes before she felt his body tense and as his shout of, "I'm coming, baby" came, she clamped her mouth around his dick and waited.

----

The screeching sound of her alarm broke through the haze of her subconscious mind and cut her intense dream short. She tried to hold onto the memory of it as her arm reached out and hit the snooze button. She made a great effort to keep her body from jostling too much and when her arm retracted back and snuggled tight against her breast, she willed her mind to fall back asleep, to finish what they had started.

It was, however, no use. The last of her dream was dissipating into the sun streaming through her window like the morning fog does at daybreak. A part of her wanted to cry at the loss, but the other part - the more alert part - told her that it would be okay, if she would just wake up and roll over.

When she did, her eyes landed on his face, his brown eyes half open, and his sexy mouth smiling at her.

"Good morning, baby," he said, his arm reaching across the mere inches that separated them and pulled her closer. "Did you sleep well?"

She smiled.

Prologue: What Mrs. Eckleman Saw at 2AM (Homage to the Tiny Towel)

cardigankate — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 03:55:04 GMT

Title: Prologue: What Mrs. Eckleman Saw at 2AM
Story: Mrs. Eckleman Sees Too Much: Homage to the Tiny Towel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: One night of spontaneous passion turns into a night Cho can never (but really wishes she could) forget.

Prologue: What Mrs. Eckleman Saw at 2AM
Vibrant red, metallic orange and piercing blue.

Those were the colors of the fire that had licked at our bedroom ceiling not twenty minutes ago. And besides the color of the flames, the only other thing I can remember is thinking, Oh dear, Mrs. Eckleman is not going to like it if her carpet is singed.

My significant other – and I don’t even know how significant he is at the moment; considering his lack of intelligence in our current situation – would tell me that I have a complex, always worrying about what other people think. He will, quite frequently, say to me, “We could lose everything in a fire and you’d be worried about Mrs. Eckleman’s carpet!” So, I blame him for my thoughts while I watched the flames continue to reach higher and higher, even while I was throwing my best spells, and a couple of glasses of water, at them.

Truth be told, the whole incident was his fault. So for me to think about anything other than wanting to murder him in his sleep is quite shocking. I specifically told him it was a bad idea. Any time he decides we need to try something different or new or “exciting” (insert giant eye roll here) in the bedroom, disaster is bound to strike. I know this! He knows this! I know that he knows that I know this! But, did he listen when I said, “Love, that sounds like a bad idea”? Does he ever? He is a man, isn’t he? Any breathing, living woman should know the answer to that one.

No! No, he never listens. And I am sick to death of it.

I pull the borrowed robe tighter around my body, feeling quite naked despite the warm, terrycloth fabric snuggling my body. Of course, naked is what I am underneath this luxurious robe, but I fear no amount of clothing will ever feel like enough again.

I shake my head. Mrs. Eckleman must have put a comfort charm on her robe. I wonder if it had always been that way. Or did she place it right before offering me the robe off her own elderly back to cover my exposed body? Did she feel sorry for me, knowing what kind of man I’m getting ready to marry? Or was she just a genuinely nice person?

I’m leaning towards the former. She’s lived above us for nearly a year. She knows the kind of man he is.

However, she really is a genuinely nice person. Mrs. Eckleman is always bringing us coffee cakes on Sunday mornings (early, of course, because she seems to have a radar letting her know the days we like to have an extra lie in), this dish she calls ‘slop’ on Wednesdays (that quite literally looks like something you’d feed to some swine, but tastes heavenly the minute it touches your tongue), and a vase of flowers (almost always roses because she – unlike my fiancé – knows they’re my favorite) from the rooftop garden every Friday. Whenever she’d stop by, I’d end up sucked into a conversation with her that would last much longer than necessary, but was delightful none the less.

At first, when she started coming by, I would sit and chat with her because I felt sorry for her. She was alone, after all. But, the more time I spent getting to know her, the more I truly liked talking to her. She was like the grandmother I’d never gotten to know. She once told me that her only son had moved to America to attend university, met a beautiful woman there and never returned. She also happened to mention that they were not interested in having children, so she feared she’d never get a chance to spoil any grandchildren. I had offered instantaneously for us to be her surrogate grandchildren and Mrs. Eckleman had been overjoyed; said she’d always liked us.

Now…

Poor, sweet, Mrs. Eckleman. She’s going to be scarred for life, I just know it. Her eyes had been as big as saucers when she had come running down the stairs from her own flat, robe billowing out at the sides as she desperately tried to close it around her night dress, the fire alarm blaring through the building, only to see the two of us standing just outside our door, naked as the day we were born, being ushered quickly from our flat as smoke poured out the door.

Well, naked, covered in cherry juice, and his – ahem – area covered by a very small washcloth. Bloody idiot had grabbed something to cover himself even if it was a mere scrap of material (and I know that flirtatious, single woman from 4D with the legs and the hair and the eyelashes had been staring at him the entire way down the stairs; she’s so obsessed with him and he just eggs her on with sexy hair, smooth smiles, gorgeous body and barely covered private areas! Grr!), but did he think to get something for me?

I cross my arms over my chest. No, he had definitely not thought of me. Instead, when I complained that the neighbors were staring at me and he needed to configure a robe for me as soon as possible, he had said, “I left my wand upstairs, love. Why don’t you go ask that lovely man from downstairs if you can borrow his jacket?” He’d flashed that pearly white grin and cocked his head to the side like he does when he’s trying to charm me (and every other hot-blooded female in the entire world!), gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, and gestured towards the fire chief that he wanted a word, before turning away from me.

Believe me, if looks (and gritted teeth, skyrocketing blood pressures, barely recognizable mumbled words of death, and small hand gestures) could kill, the man would not have escaped death for the second time in his life.

Mrs. Eckleman, however, had come to my rescue (and his) in the nick of time, though you could see she was traumatized. I think our entire building is quite traumatized by what happened. It’s bad enough to be woken up at two o’clock in the morning to a blasting fire alarm. But when you walk outside and your eyes are assaulted by the nakedness of your neighbors and finding out that they are the reason you’re outside in the middle of the night…

Well, let’s just say we won’t be invited to many building barbeques anytime soon.

“Cho, love?” I turn to see him standing beside me, his body now covered by a large, gaudy and gray (ha! Take that 4D! Can’t look now, can you?) blanket given to him by the fire department. “They said we can go back in now. We should be able to fix the damage tonight, as long as our wands aren’t damaged.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s fine, Cedric. However, don’t think, for one second, you’re sleeping in our room tonight. The couch has your name written all over it.”

I stalk off before he can reply.

Moving On: The Story of... (Oneshot)

cardigankate — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 03:32:20 GMT

Title: Moving On: The Story of A Boy, A Girl, and What Happens When a Dead Professor Just Wants Some Peace and Quiet
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Summary: Death was supposed to be peaceful and quiet, a time to reflect on your ended life and look forward to blissful nothingness. It was not supposed to be filled with two whining Eighth Years and their angst-filled apologies. Severus Snape has had enough. It’s time to take matters into his own painted hands.
Notes: Thanks to inadaze22 for checking this over for me and being my head cheerleader. This was written for pphpficexchange for ayane_tsurugi. Her entire prompt can be found here.

Moving On: The Story of A Boy, A Girl, and What Happens When a Dead Professor Just Wants Some Peace and Quiet

PART ONE
☈ ☈ ☈ ☈ ☈
Harry Potter sat crossed-legged on the dungeon floor, the cold seeping first through his robes, into his trousers, past his skivvies and to his hindquarters. He could feel his skin tingling, prickling from the cold telling him his legs would be numb momentarily. It was a sign, he knew, that it was time to leave; he had been sitting here far too long already.

But Harry didn’t move.

Just as he had since the beginning of term, Harry continued to sit on the freezing, dirty dungeon floor and reflect on the events of the year before, the year that should have been his last at Hogwarts. Not one where he and his friends had to hide away in a tent all over the European countryside just trying to find the right opportunity to...

Harry shuddered. There had been so much hurt, so much death, and even with the ending euphoric result, there had been so much pain, pain that still hadn’t left.

Harry had been wallowing in his self-pity and heartache for too long, but he couldn’t stop himself. He may have saved the Wizarding world, but he hadn’t saved everyone.

Colin.

Tonks.

Remus.

Fred.

Harry shook his head and nearly moaned aloud, the pain taking over his body and settling into his bones, chilling him even further. Why had they all had to die?

One hundred feet to his left he heard laughter erupt when the Slytherin common room portrait opened and three small First Years exited. Harry merely glanced at them, unseeing, and they pretended he wasn’t even there. Harry was glad.

When he had first started coming to this place, the Slytherins had taken to his presence like a cat to water. They would throw things at him, bump into him, and generally taunt him, trying to cause a stir. To them, it didn’t matter that he had risked his life and the lives of so many people he loved, to save their way of life. To them – maybe not all, but some – he was just some nuisance who had taken away their lord. They took his silence and lack of retaliation as an opportunity to kick him while he was down.

And Harry let them. It was no more than he deserved.

But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, they eventually adjusted to his constant presence among them and finally left him alone. Occasionally, an older Seventh Year, pissed on Firewhiskey or something a bit harder, would come along and try to take a jab at him. Normally during those times Harry would just get up and head back to the Gryffindor common room, followed by the taunts of the drunken individual. Harry didn’t feel it was necessary to turn anyone into McGonagall. What was the point? He was done with confrontation and hurt and pain. Done with it.

But other than those occasional issues, the hallway outside the Slytherin common room was quiet and calm. Harry had become just as much of a permanent fixture in the hallway as the reason he was sitting there in the first place: the portrait of Severus Snape.

The Ministry and Hogwarts Board of Directors thought having Snape’s portrait hang with the others in the headmaster’s office was nothing short of a terrible idea. Though it had come out after the war – Harry had made sure of it – that Snape had been working tirelessly as a double agent for the Order and was instrumental in the demise of Voldemort, those two groups felt Snape – after killing Dumbledore, even if it was something Dumbledore had requested of him – wasn’t quite worthy of spending eternity hanging from the wall in Hogwarts School.

Harry – and many of his cohorts – disagreed.

It had taken Harry a full three months after the end of the war to convince the board to hang the portrait and, even then, they wouldn’t hang it the headmaster’s office. However, Harry was just glad Snape was finally hanging somewhere in the castle. He was the only one Harry could talk to anymore.

Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed, the weight of the world still sitting on his thin shoulders. “I know I’ve said it before, Professor, but I am truly sorry.” He brought his eyes up from their fixed point on the floor and guilt shot through his body as he, once again, looked into the face of his former Potions professor. “I should have been able to save you. I should have been able to save everyone.”

Harry’s gaze dropped back to the floor, so he missed the exaggerated roll of Snape’s eyes. “Oy, shut it, Potter,” he said, his nose pointed into the air in disgust and his voice dripping with pure exasperation. “I can feel myself turning into a sniveling Nancy-boy just listening to your whining. You’re bothering me. Get to class already.”

PART TWO
♞ ♞ ♞ ♞ ♞
Severus Snape had had just about enough of this nonsense. This portrait business was proving to be shoddy at best, and he desperately wanted to go somewhere, anywhere but here.

He didn’t realize it at the time, as he wasn’t exactly coherent of the afterlife he was “living”, but he rather enjoyed not being a portrait. It was quiet and peaceful, something Severus had not been able to enjoy for far too long. Actually, Severus didn’t know if he had ever lived in peace and quiet until his death.

Damn that Potter! What made him and all his little followers feel it was necessary to make a big to-do about his portrait being unavailable in the castle? One moment Severus had been blissfully unaware of the pleasantness of death and then the next he woke up, so to speak, and found himself staring at the opposite wall in a dank part of the dungeons. It had taken him nearly two weeks to understand that he was near the Slytherin common room entrance, and even that could not cheer him.

As if Severus could actually be cheered. It wouldn’t have been so bad – after all, he had a space to himself and it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable – had he not been dealing with two particular students on a regular basis (and by regular he meant constantly) one of which was actually sitting on the floor in front of him now.

Potter.

Severus hadn’t been able to stand him when he was alive, so much like his father that one, and now he had to deal with him in death as well. To make matters worse, Severus could not move from portrait to portrait like the others in the castle. It was explained to him, by Potter of course, that it was one of the requirements the Ministry and Board of Directors had insisted upon. Apparently, they felt he may try to harm the other portraits. The thought made Severus roll his eyes into the back of his head and curse the raven-haired wizard in front of him.

And just when Severus was hitting his daily boiling point with the boy sitting on the floor, and as if on cue, those words slipped out of the boy’s mouth again: “I’m so sorry...”

Severus grit his teeth together and thought he could almost taste the paint. The intensity of his teeth rubbing against each other caused a gloppy, painted pulse in his temple to begin popping out in rapid succession. There was only so much he could take of the Boy-Who-Lived (To-Annoy).

“Oy, shut it, Potter!” Severus finally growled out. If he were alive – and fleshy - Severus may have done something much more drastic than yell. An idea consisting of fish flavoring and the Giant Squid instantly came to mind. Instead, he finished with, “I can feel myself turning into a sniveling Nancy-boy just listening to your whining. You’re bothering me. Get to class already.”

Sweet Merlin, he was losing his touch.

Potter didn’t flinch when Severus’ words bit out of the canvas, but instead he picked himself up off the floor and brushed off his robes. “You’re right, Professor,” he sighed. “I do need to get to class.”

Severus watched Potter throw his ratted rucksack over his thin shoulder and then turn away. After only a step, Potter turned to look at Severus again, a pained look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Professor.” The only thing that stopped the vehement response from slipping through his lips was the pathetic tone of Potter’s voice.

“Good bye, Potter,” Severus responded, his voice lacking its usual annoyance. Harry raised his hand in farewell and turned away to walk down the hall.

Severus groaned. Now only was he losing his touch, but he was getting soft in death, as well.

PART THREE
☇ ☇ ☇ ☇ ☇
Pansy wanted to collapse. Who knew NEWT-level classes would be so draining… even after she had taken some of them during the previous year? She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and it fell with a resounding thud on her bedspread, before she turned right back around and left the dormitories.

Pansy shook her head as she walked with a purpose she didn’t really feel deep down in her bones.

All those quills.

Pansy’s shoulders slumped and that feeling of desperation seeped into her body once more.

All those books.

She felt the dull ache of her near-constant headache flair up again and she groaned.

All those teachers’ dirty looks.

Pansy shuddered before righting her shoulders to walk into the Slytherin common room. Even if she felt miserable, she didn’t need to look miserable in front of – Pansy scanned the room and sighed again – no one. Her shoulders fell forward once more and she pushed out through the portrait.

Luckily for her there was no one in the hallway either. She wasn’t really surprised, though, was she? After all, everyone else was down at dinner – or should be. Pansy had found that since the end of the Second War she couldn’t eat. Every time she tried, she either couldn’t force herself to take more than a couple of bites, or all of it would come back up again. Just the thought made Pansy cringe.

She knew it was probably a combination of the stress she dealt with after being made Mistress of the Manor since her parents had both been chucked into Azkaban the minute Aurors found them hiding out (which hadn’t taken long – Pansy knew her parents weren’t always the smartest people in the world. For Merlin’s sake, they were Death Eaters! Of course they weren’t smart!), the demanding class schedule she had put upon herself the minute she had become Mistress of the Manor, and the full weight of the Ministry leaning heavily on the backs of those who were indirectly affected by the bad mistakes of their forbearers (for example, her worthless parents) because – didn’t you know? – everyone related to a Death Eater must, of course, be bad as well.

Sheesh. And people wondered why she had an ulcer the size of a melon!

Oh, and Pansy mustn’t forget her biggest mistake of all – the doozey that had her up late each night torturing herself because she had only made her already bad situation worse: trying to turn Potter over to You-Know-Who.

Pansy rolled her eyes at herself. What had she been thinking? Quite obviously, she hadn’t been.

She shook her head. No, she definitely had been thinking.

She had been thinking about how she could save her own life and the lives of her not-so-deserving parents. Pansy could admit to herself – but not to anyone else – that she had been terrified. Who could have expected that Harry “I’m Not Very Experienced But I Can Take Out a Dark Wizard” Potter would come out wielding a bunch of ancient magical mumbo-jumbo and defeat the greatest dark wizard of all time?

Not Pansy, that’s for sure.

No, Pansy was going to go for the sure win, the ace, the hole-in-one… so to speak. She wanted to make sure that she would be A-Okay in life because she had taken to the winning side.

Yeah, well, look where that thinking had gotten her: taking care of a house that was far too large for only her and a few house elves, drowning in classes she should never have had to take again, losing money as the days went on, not sleeping because she was overwrought with guilt, and dealing with a massive hole in her stomach!

Pansy was in front of his portrait now. And thank Merlin for that, because her legs could no longer help carry her and all the weight of her problems any longer.

“Oh, Professor,” Pansy cried and then quickly checking to make sure there was no one else around. “Why did I do that to Potter? It’s not like I even hate him. I just wanted to survive.” She dropped her head into her hands and continued in a muffled voice, “Why did you have to die? I need you so much! You were the only one who understood!”

Pansy was slipping so far into despair that she missed the snort that came from Snape’s highly agitated portrait.

PART FOUR
♞ ♞ ♞ ♞ ♞
Severus watched Parkinson retreat back to the Slytherin common room before the rest of the students came back from dinner, shoulders slumped, and head hanging in self-pity and defeat. At least she hadn’t stayed as long as Potter had. He couldn’t have taken much more today.

He rubbed his painted hands against his painted face and felt, not so surprisingly, paint seem to scrub away. His peaceful solitude of death had been disturbed and destroyed because of those two whiny, should-be adult, Eighth Years. He had thought it before and he was thinking it again: those two needed someone besides themselves and him to keep them company. Parkinson, apparently, didn’t have any friends left after most of them had been chucked into Azkaban with her parents and Potter didn’t feel it was necessary to spend time with those twits Granger and Weasley anymore because he felt so guilty all the time.

Well, Severus had had enough. It was time to end this debacle. He wanted some solitude in death and he was going to get it!

“Flopsy! Mopsy!” Severus felt the ridiculous urge to shout out Cottontail as well, but didn’t have the chance as the two house elves appeared before his portrait with a loud crack.

“Y-y-you called, P-p-professor,” Mopsy stuttered. Severus couldn’t tell them apart when they were standing next to each other quietly; they were twin house elves, after all – a rarity in their breed. But the minute they started talking, he knew. Mopsy had a terrible stuttering problem and Flopsy had a lisp – each of those traits were also a rarity in their breed.

Severus straightened his spine and looked down his hooked nose at the two beasts in front of him. “Yes, I did,” his voice took on the stern, dull and dry aspect that it had had in life and Severus was feeling better already. If it were his nature, he’d smile. “Have you gathered the students for me as I asked you to do at the beginning of the week?”

The house elves bowed deeply, their noses touching the floor causing Severus to cringe. “We have, Professsssor,” Flopsy answered, “just as you asked: four firssst yearsss, two boysss and two girlsss, one of each from Gryffindor and Slytherin.”

Severus nodded. “Good,” he clipped. “Bring them here this evening at nine o’clock. I want to explain to them everything that needs to happen. My sanity depends on it.”

Flopsy and Mopsy bowed again and then disappeared once more with a crack.

Severus – being simply made of paint and nowhere near human – never got tired of standing, but he wanted nothing more at that moment than to slide into his old easy chair and relax. He wondered quite selfishly if he could convince that sniveling Potter to request his painting to be redone to include his easy chair. It would make sleeping a bit less awkward.

Besides, Potter would owe him even more after his plan was put into action and completed to his utmost satisfaction. And he knew it would work out perfectly because, after all, it had been his idea. He may not be alive, but his brain still worked just as well, if not better, as it had in life. This was going to be a cinch. Severus was only saddened that he wouldn’t be there doing the dirty work himself, but relying on a bunch of pathetic First Years.

No matter, Severus waved off his mounting annoyance. There was nothing more than this that he could do, without looking like a total and complete sap that is.

And no one would ever know Severus Snape as a sap.

Severus paced the small frame of his portrait – one step to the left, then back to the right – and went over the plan one more time in his head. It was foolproof, he decided.

Besides, how hard could it be to get two people – two whiney, annoying, and desperately lonely teenagers – together?

PART FIVE
☈ ☈ ☈ ☈ ☈
One Week Later
Harry looked around in complete surprise. He had been coming to this unused classroom to think – and wallow in self-pity – since the school year had started, just over five months ago. It was his place to get away from Hermione and Ron, when they wanted to just talk about his lack of motivation and angst-filled behavior. It was his place to come to when he wanted to shout and scream and cry for all the injustices done to him, his family, and friends. It was his place of tranquility when he just wanted to shut his mind off to everyone else around him and sleep, because he couldn’t seem to sleep in his dorm room where happy memories swam all around him. This classroom was his. And now…

What had once been his small, dusty and unused classroom he frequented was now spic and span and home to one small table and two chairs sitting opposite each other at the table. The table was covered with red and white checked linens, two silver serving dishes across from each other, place settings, water glasses and a wax-covered bottle in the center of the table, with one lit candle inside its opening.

Harry thought it looked strangely like the scene in Lady and the Tramp when Lady and Tramp have dinner in the back alley behind that Italian restaurant. He couldn’t remember all the details, but he remembered one long piece of spaghetti being shared by the two dogs and them eventually touching snouts in a surprised kiss.

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

Four young students, probably First Years, stood at the back of the classroom, each wearing a white apron and a smile, watched as Harry stood dumbfounded just inside the door. He didn’t know what to do. He was dangerously teetering between the emotions of anger, confusion, and disbelief. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

As if they had read his mind, two of the students – the girls – came forward and each grabbed one of Harry’s arms, pulling him inside, the door clicking shut behind him. “Please, come in, Mr. Potter,” the short, blond one said. “My name is Celia and this is Marta,” Celia gestured to the taller, brunette at his other arm. “We’re going to be your waitresses this evening, along with your waiters, Walter and Marc.” Harry looked at the two boys standing across the room and then each nodded at him. Harry, unsure of what else he could do, simply nodded back, while Celia and Marta led him to the table and pushed him gently into one of the seats.

“We have water available for you,” Marta said, her voice slightly squeaky like a mouse, causing Harry to lift a brow at her. She ignored him and continued on, “Or, if you’d prefer, some champagne.”

When Harry didn’t respond, Marta rolled her eyes and then grabbed the chilled bottle of champagne from the bucket beside the table. Harry hadn’t even noticed it until he heard the ice and water inside the pristine container slosh around. “You should try the champagne,” Celia said once Marta had handed her the bottle and poured it into his glass. He didn’t miss the look they exchanged above his head, though he wasn’t surprised. They were First Years after all – definitely not playing with a full deck, so to speak.

Sitting back, letting his thoughts turn over in his head a few hundred times, a very mute Harry watched the whole act play out in front of him and wondered what in the bloody hell could possibly be going on.

And just like it had been happening since the end of the war, Harry’s resolve burst and his fell off that teetering edge into anger and fell deep down into fury.

“What in the bloody hell is this?” he demanded, his face turning red. When no one answered him and didn’t even acknowledge the fact that he had spoken out in rage, Harry slammed his hand down on the table, causing the silverware to jump. “I demand you answer me.”

Instead, Celia and Marta both patted him gently on the shoulder and Marta replied, “Just try the champagne.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Celia added.

Harry didn’t know what the hell was going on, but he wasn’t having any of it. “No!” he clipped in as sarcastic a tone as he had ever heard himself use. “I will not just sit here and let you little First Years tell me to just wait and see. I want to know what the hell is going on here! So someone had better start explaining or you won’t see the light of day for months because your sorry asses will be in detention!”

Harry knew he could be menacing when upset; everyone had told him so. However, those damn kids just looked at him like he was nothing more than a raving lunatic who needed sympathy, rather than he was someone to fear. It didn’t make Harry feel very good, for one. And two, he wanted to wipe those little smirks right off their faces.

Just as he was pulling his wand out to bind all those self-absorbed prats together and haul their asses to McGonagall’s office, the door to his infiltrated and destroyed sanctuary opened slightly. He turned his head as Pansy Parkinson, of all people, walked into the room, her eyes showing confusion just as he knew his had when he had first seen the debacle in front of him.

When her eyes landed on Harry she gasped. And just as Harry was about to blow a gasket and hex everyone in sight, Pansy fell to the floor in dead faint.

Harry “Hero Complex” Potter – who had actually wanted to talk to Pansy since he’d heard her testimony after the war –was by her side in less than ten seconds.

This was turning into a very interesting evening.

PART SIX
☇ ☇ ☇ ☇ ☇
Pansy sipped the water slowly and carefully, her eyes unable to look up at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t quite sure how she got to where she was at this very moment, nor did she really care to know either. She just knew that she should do something besides sip her water and wring her hands together like a worry-wart.

She knew that Harry, who was sitting quietly across from her, was watching her every move. It had been alarming when she had walked into the room – not even sure why she was there in the first place; she had just had this overwhelming urge to go for a walk and then come into this classro—wait a minute! – to see a romantic table set for two and Harry “I Save Anything on Two Legs and Sometimes More” Potter standing there with a look that could only be shock mixed with a bit a of viciousness. She didn’t really remember much after that… well, until she woke up with the previously mentioned champion hovering above her and pressing a cool washcloth against her forehead. He had looked panicked – a look she had seen on his face a few other times during the Final Battle but never directed at her – and she was quite certain that if he looked at her like that for much longer, she would actually start to think he might like her.

She nearly laughed out loud at the just the thought. Pansy knew that was ridiculous. Harry “I Was Almost Turned Over to Voldemort by Pansy Parkinson” Potter could never have anything but feelings of loathing and hatred towards her. She shouldn’t even think that way. Apparently, raised stress levels, lack of food, and a frightening near-death experience (What?! Fainting is scary!) had brought on delusions and fantasies. Pansy made a mental note to see Madam Pomfrey early the next morning.

“Are you feeling alright, then?” His words broke into her reverie and she was shocked that his voice actually still sounded quite worried.

Pansy couldn’t respond, however, because her throat had seemed to close up on her. Instead, she nodded her head.

The intense silence between them was awkward and… well, intense. It seemed to drag on for ages and it made Pansy genuinely uncomfortable. Add in the fact that those bloody, nosey First Years hadn’t left, but were hovering annoyingly just on the other side of the room, and Pansy was in a right state of discomfort.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat, startling her slightly, before saying, “Look, I wanted to tell you that… It’s just, I was at your testimony after the war and… You see, I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time now… Well, what I’m trying to say is… I forgive you.”

Pansy’s head shot up so far she thought she’d end up with whiplash. Did he just say what she thought he did? “I’m sorry?” she managed to croak out, instantly disgusted with her lack of composure and cracking voice.

She watched as Harry shifted in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I know what you were going through during the war,” he said. “We were all scared.” Some more than others, Pansy thought as she watched his face contort in pain and his eyes tear up slightly. “So, I understand why you wanted to turn me over to Voldemort.” He paused and lifted his eyes to hers. Pansy’s heart jumped up into her throat and she almost choked on the intense feelings bursting inside of her. What in the world was going on?! “I understand,” he said quietly, “and I forgive you.”

Pansy stared at him for a long time, looking into his eyes and seeing all of her own hurt and fears and bad decisions mirrored back at her. Finally, as if the words had wanted to come out of her mouth for the longest time, she said, “I really was scared. I’m so sorry.”

Harry nodded and she watched the corners of his mouth turn slightly into a half-smile. She was sure that, even in the very limited interaction they had had since the end of the war, Harry hadn’t smiled even slightly at anyone since they had started school in the fall. It was a nice look for him, even if he looked like it was slightly rusty. She felt herself smiling back at him, for the first time in a long time.

Pansy thought and hoped that maybe the rest of Eighth Year might not be so bad.

PART SEVEN
♘ ♘ ♘ ♘ ♘
Three Months Later
Severus walked across the expanse of his new, larger painting and eased down into his familiar, yet newly painted, easy chair. Ah, now this was the life. He favorites parts of his living years – his sleeping quarters from Hogwarts, his books, his easy chair – all had been added to his new portrait and he couldn’t be happier, or as happy as Severus could be. Sure, he still wasn’t allowed to move into other paintings, but at least now he had things to do!

Especially since it seemed that he would have a lot more time of his hands from now on. Potter and Parkinson hadn’t been to his portrait more than a couple of times since his brilliant plan was born and executed. The peace and quiet he had been longing for since the beginning of the school year had finally made itself known. It was a beautiful thing.

Severus kicked back his chair and let the footrest come up. This was the life. His eyes had started to drift shut when he heard a clearing of the throat and a chipper, “Professor?”

He tried his hardest, but Severus could not keep the groan from escaping his lips. They really did have excellent timing, didn’t they? And by excellent, he meant absolutely horrific.

His eyes opened slowly and he turned his head to look out. Potter and Parkinson were standing together, each with a smile on their face. “What do you two want?” Severus snapped… he had appearances to keep up.

“We had a chat with those First Years you sent after us,” Potter said, his smile turning into a smirk. “I think I may have underestimated you, Professor. You seem to be a bit of a sap.”

Severus jumped from the comfort of his easy chair and marched straight to the front of his painting. “I beg your pardon, Potter,” he sputtered. “Do not forget that I am still your Professor.”

Parkinson chuckled. “In a manner of speaking, Severus.”

The outrage! Severus could feel his insides boiling. Those little ingrates; after everything he had done for them, they show such little respect? Why if he were fleshy he’d show them all about respect!

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Professor,” Potter said with a laugh, which only caused Severus to get even more upset. “We only came for one thing.”

Knowing he needed to keep his anger in check – he didn’t want to lose his brand new home! – Severus narrowed his eyes and asked through gritted teeth, “And what might that be?”

He watched as Parkinson pressed two fingers to her lips, kissed them and then brought them forward to his portrait. They landed, or he assumed they did, on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said.

All of Severus’ annoyance seemed to dissipate as he watched the two walk off, hand in hand. He shook his head and walked back over to his easy chair. Slipping down into its comfort again, he sighed.

Maybe those two weren’t that bad afterall.

Eleven Things (Oneshot)

cardigankate — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 04:40:38 GMT

Title: Eleven Things
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Draco has a list of things he wants to do before he dies, and Hermione finds out just where she fits in… and how.
Notes: Written for inadaze22's prompt at hp_spring_fling. Her prompt was Alaska, a compass, and eleven things to do before you die. You can see the entire prompt here.
Big thanks to my beta dynonugget. You were a lifesaver, friend, and the summary help was fabulous.

Banner courtesy of girl_trash at The Dark Mark Forums

Eleven Things
Part I

“Eleven things?”

“Eleven things.”

“Why eleven?”

“Why not?”

Hermione bit her lip. He was doing it on purpose, the little ferret. He knew how much she despised odd numbers and answering questions with questions. It was infuriating and he always did it because he knew it would ruffle her feathers. How she even lived in the same flat as him, let alone dated the git, she didn’t know.

She must be insane; it was the only explanation.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “Malfoy,” she trailed off in the warning tone that she was famous for.

“You know that tone of voice does nothing to me,” he answered evenly.

Hermione scoffed. She did know and that irked her even more than his other annoying tendencies. She may be the brightest witch of their age, but when smitten she was a complete pushover.

She watched him for a moment. Eleven things? Merlin, what eleven – she shuddered – things could he possibly want to do before he died? While growing up, Draco had been given everything he ever asked for. What more could he possibly want to do, see, or experience?

“Don’t over-think it, Granger,” Draco drawled from his high-backed, leather chair, where he was reading the Prophet with a slight scowl on his face. He didn’t look up as he continued, “I don’t want to have to call a house elf in to clean up the mess when your head spins off into another dimension.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have to over-think things if you would just answer my questions when I ask them,” she said.

Draco turned the page. “That’s not likely,” he drawled.

Hermione continued to watch him, her blood boiling. She wasn’t really mad at him; he was just being him. She knew that. It was one of the things she loved most about him. No matter what happened to him, no matter how much he suffered once the war was over for his past involvement with Voldemort, and no matter what the Ministry did to try and bring him down he was still Draco Malfoy.

One would wonder, however, how Hermione could end up with someone like Draco. It was simple, really. Everything that had happened to him, how much he had suffered for his involvement with Voldemort, and what the Ministry did to him made him realize that he wanted to be a better person. Hermione had been there, working beside him as a curse-breaker, when it had all transpired, when the changed Draco Malfoy came into work that first day. Four months later, when Draco’s new behavior, in Hermione’s opinion, had proven to be true and not just some guise, Hermione had truly started to see Draco for the first time.

She had been looking ever since.

Draco turned the page, yet again. She needed to know. It was her nature. Hermione Granger knew everything. It was driving her crazy that he could and would keep a secret from her.

“Don’t worry, Granger,” Draco’s voice sounded bored. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She watched him intently, a smile on her face, until he dropped the paper from in front of his face to look at her. Despite his hard-nosed exterior and his snarky attitude, when he looked at Hermione his eyes sparkled.

He smiled back.

Part II

The loud crack of someone Apparating broke into the quiet morning air. However, there was no one around to hear it and be disturbed by it.

Hermione landed with a spin, her arm coming free of Draco’s after the side-along Apparation, and she yawned despite her curiosity. “Where are we?” she asked breathlessly, failing to hide her drowsiness and peering through the darkness to see where they were.

Draco grabbed her arm again once she had made a full circle and started walking her in the opposite direction. “We’re not there yet,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to hurry. We’re going to be late.”

Hermione pulled her parka tighter around her body and shivered. “I don’t know why we needed to be out so early,” she complained. “And for the love of Merlin, Draco, it’s freezing out here. Couldn’t we have waited until – say – noon when it had warmed up a bit?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s bad enough you’ve already made us late this morning, but do I have to listen to you bitch about every little thing?” With his wand, Draco cast a Warming Charm over Hermione and she visibly relaxed beside him. “Better now, princess?”

Hermione didn’t take the bait. “Yes, Draco, thank you.” She wanted to mention that she wouldn’t have had to complain about it had he allowed her to grab her wand before they left the flat. She also wanted to further complain about the early hour in which he had awakened her. He should know better than to disturb her precious sleep – especially at five o’clock in the morning. And even further, she wanted to mention that his weird behavior the last few days was reason enough for her not to accompany him on this oh-so-secret-last-minute trip; Merlin only knew what he had in store for her.

Instead she remained quiet and allowed him to pull her at a quick pace to their destination, all while letting her eyes roam through the darkness around her. About three minutes into their walk, her eyes adjusted to the dark, and with the added pink of the brightening sky, she was able to make out rolling green, frost-tipped hills. She had no doubt that, in the proper lighting, this area they had Apparated to was absolutely gorgeous.

Draco sharply maneuvered her around a large bolder. “What your step, love. I’d hate to miss this because you fell and cracked your head open.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing full-well that he couldn’t see her, before saying, “Where is it we’re going exactly?”

“Soon,” he murmured, his jaw set.

Hermione stifled her instinct to scoff and continued to be led toward their destination. She didn’t, however, have to wait long. Just as the sun was peeking over the horizon in the east, casting a kaleidoscope of color onto the earth, Hermione saw their target.

“Newgrange?” Hermione gasped. “We’re in Ireland? Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.” Hermione felt her face blush with excitement and immediately started to ask questions, as she was known to do. “But why today? Why this early?”

Draco, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself, raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what day it is, Granger.”

Hermione looked at him curiously for a moment and then her eyes opened wide. “It’s December 21st,” she breathed, “Winter Solstice.”

“Winter Solstice,” Draco nodded and took her hand, bringing her closer to the tomb.

It was gorgeous. The ornate carvings into the rocks, the intricate details around the entrance, the sheer size of the tomb was all more than Hermione could have ever imagined it to be. She was running her hand over the carved boulders marking the entrance, when Draco spoke.

“Number three on my list of things to do before I die is to see Newgrange on the winter solstice, and not under the everyday mocked lighting.” Hermione watched him run his hand over the entrance.

“It really is beautiful,” she said with a smile.

Draco smiled back and grabbed her hand. “We have to hurry. We’ll miss the best part.” Hermione had no chance to argue as Draco took off at a dead run down through the passage of the tomb, dragging her along behind him. Soon they were standing in a large cross-shaped chamber inside the tomb. It was seemingly more beautiful than anything that they had seen outside, but Hermione’s focus was stolen almost instantly when Draco turned her around to look back down the passage they had just come.

The morning sun was shining in through an opening at the ceiling of the chamber, illuminating the floor of the chamber. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. This was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

They were silent for a full five minutes as they looked around the chamber, seeing every detail in the light of the sunrise, before Draco stood beside her and grabbed her hand.

“Do you like it?” he asked in a hushed tone. Hermione could only nod and Draco squeezed her hand.

They watched for another quiet five minutes before Hermione whispered, “How are the only ones here right now, Draco?” She couldn’t speak any louder for fear she would disturb the moment completely.

“I called in a favor or two.” He smirked in a way that was purely him, and Hermione felt herself smiling. “I just wanted it to be you and me.”

Seven more quiet minutes passed and finally the sun had risen high enough in the sky that the chamber was no longer illuminated with its light. It was a bittersweet moment, until Draco turned her toward him and smiled down at her lovingly. “Thank you for being here with me,” he said, his voice still quiet.

“Thank you for bringing me,” she responded just as Draco’s lips descended to hers in a sweet kiss.

Part III

Hermione rolled over and reached out towards Draco’s side of the bed. When her hand hit nothing but cold sheet-covered mattress, her eyes fluttered open slowly. She first glanced past the empty spot in the bed to the nightstand on Draco’s side of the bed; it was just after 8:00 in the morning. She frowned. It was 8:00 in the morning on a Saturday and Draco was not in bed. That was odd. Draco never got up that early on a Saturday. He always said he had to get up early every day to go to work; the weekends, Saturday especially, were his day to sleep in and enjoy it.

She ran her hand absentmindedly along the empty spot in the bed and tried to remember if Draco had mentioned anything during the week about being gone early on Saturday morning. When nothing popped into her head, she sighed and focused on his pillow. Lying, crisp white against the black satin sheets, was a note. Hermione smiled to herself, picked it up and read:

I have a meeting this morning. Meet me at 8:30 AM for coffee. Love, Draco

Hermione rolled over in bed and stood up, her feet touching the cool hardwood floor and sending a shiver down her spine. Draco hadn’t had a Saturday meeting in months; why now? She shook her head. There was no point in questioning it; she didn’t really want to get herself meddled in his side job of helping his father run one of the many family companies.

Instead, Hermione thought about something more pleasant.

Since the trip to Newgrange, Hermione had been sitting on pins and needles waiting for the next time Draco would whisk her away to enjoy another event on his list. She didn’t have the slightest idea what else was on his list, but she was sure – based on the trip to Newgrange – that they would all be spectacular.

She had tried to weasel some hints out of Draco, but it hadn’t worked. It had actually caused a bit of a fight between them one evening, causing Draco to sleep on the sofa that night and Hermione to eat her fair share of crow the next morning when she apologized for her behavior.

It had been six months since they spent the day in Newgrange. It had been six months of torture. Hermione was ready to know more.

Moving across their bedroom to the attached bathroom, Hermione continued to think about any fabulous possibilities that might be on Draco’s list. If Newgrange was any indication of what was to come, Hermione was definitely ready.

Hermione turned on the water in the sink and reached for her toothbrush. Instantly, she felt the pull behind her navel as the Portkey activated and carried her off. Only a few moments later, Hermione lost her balance when she was delivered to her destination and fell backward onto her bum. Draco’s hand was instantly reaching out for her to grab.

With a huff, Hermione ignored him and stood up on her own, brushing the minor street dirt from her pyjama pants. It was only then that she realized she had been moved from the comfort of her flat before she could change her clothes or brush her teeth. She was infuriated further.

“You’ve a lot of nerve, Malfoy,” she spat at him as she tried to cover her fairly exposed body. She never went out without, at least, jeans and a t-shirt on. Her thin, plaid pyjama pants and slim tank top were a little too risqué for public.

“I told you to meet me at 8:30 AM,” he drawled. “It is 8:30 AM, is it not?”

“Yes, but my toothbrush?” Hermione was looking around and couldn’t place where they were. “I didn’t even get a chance to brush my teeth.” Her eyes widened. “And the water is running in the sink!”

Draco’s left eyebrow rose slightly, but she saw the smirk on his lips. She wanted to smack it – or kiss it, she wasn’t sure – right off his face.

“I do apologize,” he answered. “I assumed you’d have been ready. And you are still holding your toothbrush, my dear. Might we find you a restroom?”

Hermione glared at her boyfriend, but allowed him to grab her elbow and lead her along a cobblestone pathway. In typical Hermione fashion, her sense of curiosity got the better of her. She felt her anger slipping away, only to be replaced by an overwhelming need to ask questions.

“Where are we?” she asked, her eyes trying to see everything at once.

Draco continued to pull her along. “We’re in Rome,” he replied, his tone even.

Hermione shot him an incredulous look. “For coffee?”

“For coffee,” he nodded his head and continued to guide her by her elbow.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, fuming with anger. “Not a bit of what you said made any sense, Draco!” And then, like a bolt of lightning, Hermione was hit with an intense bout of understanding. “This is something for your bleeding list, isn’t it?” No longer was Hermione excited about Draco’s list like she had been earlier in the morning. Now she was truly angry that she was going to experience something on that list in her pyjamas.

“Of course it is,” he answered, putting his hand under her elbow once more. Hermione snatched it back before he could start leading her away. Draco groaned, “What?”

“You couldn’t have just prepared me a bit?” Hermione burst out, the heat rising to her face as her anger was getting the best of her. “I’m in my pyjamas, Draco.”

Her sarcasm was biting, but Draco didn’t let it bother him. Instead he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you,” he said.

Hermione scoffed. “Why?”

“Because,” Draco shot back. Hermione, slightly shocked at his aggravated tone, took a step back. “You’re so obsessed with my list. You go on and on and on about it almost all the time and I want you to be surprised for once. I mean, wasn’t it nice to be surprised when we went to Newgrange?” Hermione assumed it was a hypothetical question, because he kept going. “This list isn’t just about me, Hermione.” He took a step toward her. “It’s for both of us. I want you to enjoy it as much as I do. But I can’t have you being so obsessed with it. We have our whole lives to get through the list, okay?”

Draco moved his hand over to Hermione’s cheek and rubbed his thumb over it gently. Hermione nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her heart clenching at his words. Though they had talked about getting married, it wasn’t something they brought up a lot. To hear him actually say those words, well it made Hermione regret ever being mad at him.

“Okay,” Draco said before touching his lips to hers quickly. “Now, let’s go.”

Hermione, who was actually quite looking forward to a short little snogging session, groaned and followed him around the corner. They were no longer on an empty, back street but on a much busier front street looking directly at—

“Is that the Pantheon?” Hermione asked, her eyes as big as saucers and her voice sounding confused and awed at the same time.

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Draco said waving her off, “but we’re headed over here.” He pulled Hermione to his left a few paces and then stopped. “Tazza d’oro,” he said with a grand sweep of his arm and an uncharacteristic smile on his face.

Hermione, an eyebrow lifted, looked at the front doors of the café. “A coffee shop?” she asked.

“A coffee shop,” Draco answered. “I did say to meet me for coffee, did I not?”

Hermione hedged, “You did, though,” she turned around to look at the Pantheon that was only a couple blocks away, “we’re in Rome, Draco. We came to Rome for coffee?”

“It’s not just any coffee, Hermione,” Draco said, abashed at her lack of enthusiasm. “Tazza d’oro has the best coffee in the world.”

Hermione turned back around and gazed in shock at her boyfriend. “I’m sorry?”

Draco smiled. “I read about this guy on that internet thing you’re always using. Anyway, he swears that Tazza d’oro has the best coffee in the world. And I want to have a cup of the best coffee in the world.” He stopped and looked at Hermione. She nearly laughed at how excited he looked – about coffee – until he added, “With the best girlfriend in the world.”

Hermione’s heart melted as she let him guide her into the café.

Part IV

“Okay,” Hermione called as she exited their bedroom, pulling her luggage along behind her. “I’m ready to go.”

Draco looked at her small, conservative suitcase and smirked to himself. He was so glad he was dating someone as low maintenance as Hermione. Reaching behind her, he grabbed the handle of her luggage and moved it beside his. Then, with a flick of his wand, they disappeared.

“When is the Portkey ready?” Hermione asked, pulling her jacket on over a light sweater. Draco had warned her it would be chilly this time of year.

Hermione and Draco were taking their first real vacation together as a couple. Draco told Hermione she could choose where they would go, if he could plan the trip. She had been so excited, that she agreed immediately.

Afterwards, however, she regretted that completely. The only thing she knew about their trip was that they were headed for Alaska. She didn’t even know where in Alaska they were headed and it was bloody frustrating. But since their last trip to Rome, where the coffee had been extremely excellent, Hermione had laid off on asking too many questions about anything. Especially anything that had to do with travel or the list.

It was unfortunate that Hermione was such a curious person. Truly unfortunate.

Draco looked down at his watch. “We have one minute,” he drawled. “Do you have everything?”

Quickly, Hermione did a mental checklist of the things she would need while they were gone. Because she didn’t know exactly what they would be doing, she had to over-prepare; the list was longer than expected.

“Grab the compass, Hermione.” Draco interrupted her thoughts. “We have ten seconds.”

She mentally checked the last item on her list and touched the old, weathered compass, just as it started to glow and was instantly pulled into a spin of travel. As they spun around, Hermione felt her gaze being drawn to Draco’s face across from her. He truly was a gorgeous man, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel lucky that they were together and happy.

Life couldn’t get much better than this.

Gently this time, her feet touched the ground and she looked around. “Where are we?” she asked. Though she had no idea what Draco had planned, she assumed they would have landed somewhere near a resort of some sort. Instead, they had landed beside a beautiful lake, looking towards a small fishing village.

Draco turned the old compass over and over again in his hand. “We’re standing on the lake looking over at Little Port Walter in Alaska.” Hermione thought he looked nervous. Draco never got nervous.

“Why? Are we staying here?”

“No.”

Hermione looked him over; he was still spinning that compass in his hand and not making eye contact with her. It was strange. “Well, then why are we here?”

“Because,” Draco answered after a moment, lifting his eyes to hers and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. “Because there is something I need to do first and this place is beautiful. I thought it would be fitting.”

Hermione looked around, suddenly feeling as nervous as she thought Draco looked. He was right, Little Port Walter was beautiful. The sun was starting to set behind snow-capped mountains and the sky was turning pink. The water was calm, minus the occasional movement of fish at the surface, and the trees lining the water near the small town were swaying gently on the cool breeze.

Beautiful might not have been a strong enough word.

A gentle clicking sound against the near-quiet surrounding them brought Hermione’s attention back to Draco. The compass in his hand was open like a container and he was pulling something small and shiny out. Hermione didn’t get a chance to see it before his fingers closed around it.

“What did you have to do, Draco?” Hermione asked, her voice suddenly no more than a whisper.

Draco closed the compass again and pocketed it. Then, dropping to one knee in front of her, looked up at her. Hermione gasped and felt tears prick her eyes instantly.

“Hermione,” he croaked and then cleared his throat. “Let me try that again,” he said with a smile. Hermione felt herself smile back, though she wasn’t sure how she managed it. Her body was numb and felt a bit like gelatin.

“Hermione,” he began again, his voice louder yet shaking, “there are no words that describe how much I love you.” She watched his tongue dart out and wet his lips before he continued. “And everything I could say to you right now would only sound cliché. I don’t want us to be a cliché.”

Hermione felt her head shake gently as tears trickled down her cold and reddened cheeks. This was really happening.

“When we were in Rome and I told you I wanted to share my eleven things with you, I meant it. I want us to have our whole lives together to explore this world and my list.” He smiled and added, “Which, by the way, does not only include travelling, but learning how to make homemade pizza and having a family.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest as she envisioned small, frizzy, blond children running around their home. She wanted it so badly.

Draco opened his hand and a simple, yet beautiful ring was sitting in the middle of his palm. Hermione choked on a happy sob. “Number one on my list, Hermione, is to marry you. Please say you’ll marry me.”

Hermione fell to her knees in front of Draco and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his fiercely on the mouth, her tears wetting both of their cheeks. Draco laughed gently as he wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her close to him and kissed her back.

They had the rest of their lives to experience love, together.

The Anti-Cupid (Oneshot)

cardigankate — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 04:30:55 GMT

Title: The Anti-Cupid
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Not for the faint of heart (mental instability).
Summary: She never did do the right thing when it came to crushes, it seemed. She wouldn’t be where she was right this second had she just acted on her first instinct. Hermione looked around the small, dank, windowless room and sighed.
Yes, just as last time, it had all started off so innocently.
Notes: Written for greenschist's prompt at luvlikerocketz. Her prompt was Drabble: The anti-Cupid.

Banner courtesy of niika at The Dark Mark Forums

The Anti-Cupid

Part I: Innocence
It had all started so innocently.

After working together for the last three years, desks touching, Hermione had found she could actually work easily with Draco Malfoy. It was something unexpected, weird even, but she found comfort in it now. He was her partner - Auror partner - and they had to trust each other implicitly. That trust had formed a bond of friendship between them that even Ron and Harry couldn't dispute.

All of this, however, was expected. One couldn't spend day after day working with the same partner and not find some sort of common ground, especially after saving each other’s lives on more than one occasion.

What Hermione hadn't planned on was the intense romantic feelings that had overtaken her strong-willed common sense.

No rational, headstrong, and intelligent witch would date, let alone have feelings for Draco Malfoy. Draco was a playboy, a serial dater, a heartbreaker. He was the exact opposite of what a rational, headstrong, and intelligent witch should be looking for in a mate.

But Hermione couldn't help herself – she never could. Every time she saw him lean back in his chair, rub his hands through his already perfectly-mussed hair, and announce that he was exhausted, Hermione wanted to straddle his lap, run her hands through his hair, and pronounce a way she would help him wake up.

It’s what she should have done. She never did do the right thing when it came to crushes, it seemed. She wouldn’t be where she was right this second had she just acted on her first instinct. Hermione looked around the small, dank, windowless room and sighed.

Yes, just as last time, it had all started off so innocently.

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠
Part II: Mandy

Mandy had been the first girl Draco had dated after Hermione realized her feelings for him. She could still see her shapely, little body and perfectly blond hair that made all the men swoon. Hermione had hated her. She was always coming into the office, strutting around in her short, little skirts, rubbing herself against Draco in very inappropriate ways.

Draco had seemed to like it, though Hermione was sure any man would, but he didn’t see what was really going on. Mandy was only after his money. Hermione knew she didn't appreciate him. All the long, sultry looks she gave him when they were having lunch in the cafeteria meant nothing. The way she blushed when he held her hand riding the lift to the Atrium after work was just a ploy. The way she kissed his lips gently and smiled at him when she left by floo was her way of weaseling her way to his money.

Hermione saw it. She understood.

And Mandy had to go.

It was a simple plan really. Hermione had done her homework and found that Mandy worked at the new bar on Diagon Alley as a bartender (of course she did). It had been harder to find out her schedule, but a few well-placed “Bug Bytes” from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes caught all the information she needed from a private conversation between Draco and Mandy.

Some would say it wasn’t Hermione’s nature to eavesdrop – let alone go to such extreme measures to find out information on a friend – but she knew she was doing it to help Draco. He was so mesmerized by Mandy the Slag that he couldn’t see straight. Hermione was simply helping him out.

The evening approached and Hermione put on a spectacular Glamour Charm, matching a perfect physical description of Mandy, but with brown hair and a prettier face. Hermione knew that women like Mandy – beautiful and shallow – always flocked to women exactly like themselves. Then Hermione Apparated to the bar and sat down, looking absolutely miserable and defeated.

On a Tuesday evening, the bar wasn’t busy, so Mandy had extra time on her hands. Just as Hermione had suspected, Mandy took an instantly liking to her. And after spending a full two hours at the bar, pretending to drink and get sufficiently wasted on firewhiskey, Hermione started spouting off to her about her new ex-boyfriend.

"And then, do you know what he told me?" Hermione slurred.

"What?" Mandy asked, leaning onto the bar and looking absolutely horrified at the things Hermione had been telling her about the gorgeous blond prat that had recently dumped her.

"He said he was dating someone else!"

Mandy was flabbergasted. "No!"

"Yes!" Hermione did a perfect impression of Mandy's shocked face. "He said he preferred her over me!”

“That bastard!” Mandy answered. “Did you hex him?”

Hermione shook her head and continued to look pathetic and defeated. “No,” she sniffled. “He means too much to me.”

Mandy patted Hermione’s hand. “I know it sounds cliché, but you’re better off without him,” she said. Hermione wanted to scoff at her poor attempt at sympathy, but instead she just nodded her head and sniffled again. “Did he tell you who it was?” Mandy asked.

Hermione nodded again. “It wasn’t someone I knew,” she muttered “M-something. Maggie? Marnie? Mandy? Yes! Mandy! Mandy McWhorter!"

Hermione watched in delight as the one and only Mandy McWhorter shot up from her slumped position against the bar and visibly went through multiple emotions in quick succession: shock, disbelief, embarrassment, understanding, and anger. And when she mumbled an apology, turned on her heel, and left the bar, Hermione actually took a drink of her firewhiskey, hissed as it burned going down her throat, and reveled in happiness.

When Draco came in the next morning, he had looked awful. Hermione had asked him if he were okay and after minimal prodding he was spilling his guts about Mandy breaking it off with him the night before, truly confused by her explanation of another woman, him being a complete arse, and how she never wanted to see him again.

Hermione had dismissed his obvious disappointment in the breakup as simple confusion that someone had broken up with him, and not the other way around. In all the appropriate places, Hermione had cooed and gasped and finally told him that Mandy must be a nutcase to think that Draco was cheating, he had been nothing but attentive to her.

And when he had finished his story completely, Hermione had given him a hug, noting the way he held her tight against his body, and buried his face into her hair. Hermione smiled to herself. It wouldn’t be long now and Draco Malfoy would be hers.

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part III: Jenny
Hermione had masked her disappointment when two months later Draco had not only failed to ask her out, but was talking about a new girl, Jenny.

A week after that, Hermione realized that Jenny was not going anywhere anytime soon.

Two weeks after that Jenny was in the office, just like Mandy had been three months before. Hermione had to hand it to Draco, at least she was a brunette and seemed much more intelligent than Mandy, but Hermione knew she was all wrong for Draco.

Jenny was a pureblood, brought up with all the proper upbringing of a pureblood princess, including the snooty, all-holier-than-thou attitude. Jenny looked at Hermione like she was dirt on the bottom of her perfect Jiminey Choon stiletto and Hermione hated her for it.

Jenny had to go.

It was obvious that Draco had no taste in women and it was Hermione’s duty as his friend to help him. It had been so easy to get rid of Mandy; it would be just as easy to get rid of Jenny.

Hermione Apparated just outside Jenny’s flat and looked around. The street was dark and wet after the rain, but there were no people milling about. Not that there would be at 3:00 AM.

Hermione pulled her wand out of her jacket sleeve and tested the flat for any occupants and wards. Jenny wasn’t home, and Hermione thought she was an idiot for not warding her home. A quick Alohomora had her door open and Hermione slipped inside.

She rolled her eyes immediately when she scanned the large, open flat. Jenny’s home was decorated as snooty as she was; Persian rugs lined the floors, antiques and paintings covered the walls, and the white leather furniture looked as if it had never been sat on.

Hermione ran her hand along the back of the loveseat as she made her way through the sitting room quietly. She had known Jenny wasn’t going to be home this evening. She was a healer at St. Mungo’s, working the night shift. Hermione had gotten the information from a friend of a friend who just happens to work in the same department. A little further digging – though not quite enough to truly challenge Hermione Granger – had given Jenny’s address and now here she was.

Hermione walked down the darkened hallway and stopped at the first door on the left-hand side. Instinct told her it was Jenny’s bedroom, and when she pushed open the door she knew she was right. The room was decorated the same as her living room, though it looked as if Jenny didn’t like to make her bed. Hermione chuckled at the irony.

She moved over to the far side of her bed, the side that had the covers pushed back and away, and knelt down beside it. She extracted a small vial from her jacket pocket and grinned. She set the vial on the side table, pulled on a pair of sterile gloves she had nicked from the evidence room, and then carefully opened the vial.

With a glint in her eye that would make a werewolves skin crawl, Hermione dumped the invisible contents of the vial onto Jenny’s bed, before replacing the lid. She put the empty vial back in her pocket and retraced her steps back out of the flat, casting removal spells as she went along.

Having Auror training definitely had its advantages.

Hermione had known it would take a couple of days before the breakup officially happened, so she wasn’t surprised when a week later Draco came in, his face showing disgust.

The conversation was quicker than the one with Mandy had been – and Hermione had really wanted some details to revel in – but she got what she needed. The flesh-eating virus that Jenny was now infected with didn’t have an immediate cure; it was a special form no one had ever seen (Hermione inwardly cheered – she hadn’t been a potions genius for nothing). Jenny was in quarantine and didn’t want to see Draco anymore.

Hermione had a harder time hiding her delight than she had with Mandy, but comforted Draco just the same. He didn’t hug her as long either, but the quick contact was all Hermione needed.

Soon he would realize he wanted her and no one else.

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part IV: Alyse
A Muggle! Draco had chosen a Muggle over her!

Three months after the demise of Draco and Jenny’s relationship, Draco was dating Alyse… Alyse the Muggle. It made Hermione want to hurl furniture out of a window.

Had she not dropped a million hints over the last three months? Had she not done everything in her power, without asking him out herself, to get Draco to notice she was interested? It made her want to scream!

Hermione wouldn’t even have known about Alyse, had she not overheard Draco talking to Ron about her. Apparently, no one was telling her anything these days and the only way she could get information about anyone was by covering herself with a Disillusionment Charm.

Alyse was going to end immediately.

Hermione had thought it through completely. As long as she didn’t get caught, there would be no legal ramifications. Alyse had no family, besides her aging grandmother that she took care of. Hermione was convinced, however, that said grandmother was far too old to miss her granddaughter for long before she kicked the proverbial bucket, so there would be no guilt.

It hadn’t been hard to get Alyse alone. She had a courier drop a note at Alyse’s office. It was from Draco asking her to meet him at Worthington Park after her grandmother had gone to sleep. Hermione had waited for hours in the small park, sitting upon a swing, watching the children and their parents come and go. She couldn’t help but see herself as one of those moms, holding the hands of a small boy and a small girl, exact replicas of her and Draco. She couldn’t wait until that day.

“Draco?” Alyse’s tentative voice broke through Hermione’s reverie and she stood slowly from the swing.

Hermione took the time to look over Alyse, who was now standing in front of her, a look of shock and fear plastered on her pretty, little face. Alyse was tall, blonde, and thin, but she didn’t hold herself like Jenny did and she simply looked smarter than Mandy. Hermione was going to enjoy this.

“Draco isn’t here, love,” Hermione smiled. “He sent me instead. He does, however, send his condolences.”

Alyse was visibly shaking and Hermione fed on her fear.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Hermione’s smile widened. “It’s truly none of your concern.” Panic settled into Alyse’s eyes and before she could turn to run away, Hermione had drawn her wand and shouted, “Transporto Fugitives Insula.”

A strangled cry erupted from Alyse’s mouth as her body was pulled through an opening in time. Hermione blew her a kiss and silently wished her well as she traveled on to her own private island.

Draco didn’t come to work the entire week after Alyse’s disappearance. She had heard, through use of her trusty Disillusionment Charm that he was helping head up a search team for Alyse. She had also heard that Draco was the prime suspect for her disappearance because of the note he had sent her earlier in the day. Hermione’s heart rate had increased dramatically until she heard that he had a solid alibi. Her Draco could not go to Azkaban or a Muggle prison. How would they get married and raise a family that way?

When Draco returned to work, Hermione tried to talk to him about where he had been. Unfortunately he was extremely tight-lipped about the entire event and refused to talk to her. She did note the sadness in his eyes, but was sure it was because of the stress of being a suspect for a short time.

Hermione, knowing that hints were no longer enough, asked if he’d like to have dinner with her that evening – a bold step that she was sure would work in her favor – but Draco turned her down, stating that he had a lot of work to do.

There had been no hug.

Hermione would get her hug.

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part V: Fury
In the year following Alyse’s disappearance, Hermione became rapidly more obsessed with Draco. And it seemed that no matter how much she tried, or how much she hinted, he pulled further away from her. They barely had a work relationship anymore, let alone a friendship. Normal women would have taken the hint, but not Hermione; it only intensified her feelings for him. It was a challenge – and Hermione never shied away from a challenge, especially one with such a great prize.

So, as time went on, she had his cloak bugged with a “Bug Byte”, so she could hear everything going on with him when he was away from his desk.

She had snuck into his flat and set up “Bug Bytes” in random locations as well, to make sure she didn’t miss anything when he was away from the office.

She had started following him around the Ministry – under a Disillusionment Charm, of course – to keep tabs on him, especially when he stopped talking to her about non-related work subjects.

And when all that no longer seemed to be enough for her, Hermione started following him around after hours as well. One night, when Draco had come in very late from a night out with the boys and, in his inebriated state, forgot to put up his wards, Hermione had come inside the flat and lay beside him in bed. She watched him sleep all night and forced herself to leave early the next morning, just as the birds were chirping outside his window.

She had tried repeatedly after that to get in each night, but found she couldn’t concentrate on getting his wards lifted to do so, and ended up alerting him to her presence – though, he didn’t know it was her.

But then Hermione’s world crashed.

”Ms. Granger?”

Hermione lifted her head to see the head of the Auror department, Sharkey Steelheist, standing beside her desk. She noted that Sharkey’s nose was turned up in disgust as he looked down at her and felt a wave of anger sweep through her body. How dare he—

“Ms. Granger, we need to talk.”

Apparently, Hermione was no longer doing her job to the best of her abilities and was moved off of fieldwork all together. Sharkey explained that he felt she was a little burnt out on the job, which could happen to anyone, and wanted her to take a little time to rest. He felt desk work and paperwork would be a good way to cure her.

What Sharkey didn’t realize was that putting her on desk duty, and taking away her access to Draco as her partner, put her into a full-on uproar or fury. She held it in, however, until later that night.

Sharkey – and every other Auror who worked the investigation – didn’t know who or what had attacked him on his way home that evening, but he was going to be spending a fair amount of time in St. Mungo’s recovering.

Hermione had smiled the entire way home that evening.

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part VI: Kathryn
One year and three months after Alyse’s disappearance, Hermione followed Draco out from work. Draco, Hermione had found, was a creature of habit. Each evening he would leave the Ministry by foot and head towards his flat. On the way Draco would stop at Stelina’s Café and pick up a tall, non-fat, caramel latte, butterscotch scone and the evening edition of the Prophet. When he passed by the fountain at the corner of Wilshire and Freedmont streets, he always threw in a penny and stopped to mumble under his breath a plea for Alyse to be found alive. That last little bit always made Hermione roll her eyes. And finally he would make it to his flat, open the door, and check left and right, enter, close the door, and ward the house immediately.

However, on that particular evening, Draco turned the opposite direction of his flat after leaving the Ministry. Hermione, stunned, almost didn’t follow, but caught her bearings just in time. Draco was already hurrying down the street, glancing at his watch.

Hermione scurried behind him, completely thrown off her game, and feeling overly aggravated that she had no idea what was happening. After an extremely brisk three blocks, Draco stopped in front of Daryl’s Pub. Hermione watched as he checked his reflection in the window and then opened up the pub door.

Hermione knew she couldn’t walk into the pub Disillusioned, so she hurried down the alley beside the pub, lifted the charm, performed a Glamour Charm on herself, and transfigured her work attire into something more pub appropriate.

Hermione watched them dine and with each passing minute, with each shy touch, she felt her body shake with anger and bile rise into her throat. Two hours had passed and Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.

In a huff, she left the pub and stalked her way back to the alley she had transformed herself in earlier. Pulling her wand out of her purse, Hermione quickly blasted away a couple of garbage cans to dispel some of her frustration.

There may have been a cat in there somewhere, as well.

Another ten minutes passed and finally she heard Draco’s voice leave the crowded pub. Hermione snuck up to the side of the building to watch their parting exchange. Though, afterwards, she knew she shouldn’t have done that.

Draco pushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled – a smile that should have been for Hermione. Her blood boiled.

But when he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, Hermione saw red. Gripping her wand tightly in her hand, Hermione willed herself to stay calm long enough for Draco to leave. She watched in anticipation as he kissed her one more time and then let her walk off. Hermione kept her eye on her until Draco finally turned his back and went back towards his flat.

Eyes narrowed, Hermione took off after her.

It had all started off so innocently. Hermione really only wanted to scare Kathryn away. She had never planned on doing what she did. But it had been too easy and she had deserved it.

”What do you want from me?” Kathryn cried, tears streaming down her face. Hermione hated crying; it was such a weakness.

Hermione, who had removed her Glamour Charm, no longer caring if Kathryn or anyone else knew who she was, dropped down in front of Kathryn and sneered, “I want you to leave him alone.”

Kathryn tried to back away from Hermione and the rancid smell of her body and breath, but was unable to go far since she was tied tightly to the chair. “Who?” Kathryn shook.

Hermione cackled and stood to pace in front of her again. “You know who, whore, you know who.”

“I don’t,” Kathryn started, but was instantly cut off.

“Stop!” Hermione screamed and pointed her already sparking wand into Kathryn’s face. “You know who!”

Kathryn sobbed, her eyes never leaving the tip of Hermione’s wand, and her entire body shaking in fear. It fueled Hermione further.

“You’re nothing to him, you know?” she said conversationally, as she pulled up a chair and sat across from Kathryn, her wand still pointed. “Just another fuck. Draco doesn’t actually date women. He just fucks them.”

Kathryn continued to tremble, while Hermione talked. She needed a way out.

“You see, Kathryn,” Hermione said her name with disgust, “Draco wants me. He always has. He’s just confused. He doesn’t think that I want him like I do. He’s blind, like all men.” Hermione looked at Kathryn and smirked. “And that’s why I have to get rid of you.”

Hermione could see the fear multiply in Kathryn’s eyes and it made her heady with excitement. This would be so much better than it had been with Alyse. Hermione pointed her wand at Kathryn and she watched her close her eyes tightly, her chest heaving with sobs.

Hermione grinned and laughed as she flourished her wand and conjured a small knife. “Sorry, Kathryn,” Hermione said as she set her wand down on the table and held the knife in her hand. “I’m going to have to torture you.”

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part VII: Healing
Hermione shook her head. It really had started off so innocently. It always did.

She moved away from the picture of Kathryn, and all the others, posted on the grey wall and over to the table in the middle of the room. She sat down, opened the manila folder and started reading.

There was no testimony from Mandy, simply because Hermione hadn’t done anything terrible to her. Instead she pushed the empty piece of paper with Mandy’s name on it out of the way and started with Jenny.

I’m permanently disfigured from the neck down. Even magic can’t fix what she did to me. I’m just lucky she it’s patchy. I can, at least, cover them with Glamour Charms…

She’s disturbed and should probably get some serious help. Locking her up in Azkaban, no matter what she’s done, isn’t going to help her…

Jenny, though she said she forgave Hermione, now had a protection order out against her. Hermione just shrugged.

I had received a message from Draco earlier in the day. I was a little confused because he had never left me a message by courier before, but I just thought he was busy at work…

I knew I was in trouble the minute she looked at me. Her eyes were wide and wild. I had never seen someone like her before…

I don’t know how it happened, but I ended up on a nice, little island. Unfortunately, there was nothing to eat and I didn’t have anything with me other than the clothes on my back…

She needs help. Is someone helping her?

Yes, Alyse, someone is helping her, Hermione thought as she pushed aside her testimony. Hermione heard Alyse had to be Obliviated her after her interview. She was lucky she wouldn’t have to remember the event any longer, unlike Hermione.

She snuck up on me as I was walking into my flat. She scared me to death…

She smelled horrible. Her hair was disheveled and knotted in so many places I’m sure she would have had to cut them all out. Her teeth were yellow and caked with food and her breath smelled like rotting garbage. Her clothes were stained and I’m sure she hadn’t showered in ages…

She used her wand to tie me to the chair. Each time I shifted slightly, the knots would tighten. That was when I knew I wasn’t going to make it out alive…

I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I kept trying to channel as many survival tactics as I could, but it was just so hard…

I don’t remember much after she conjured the knife. I think I passed out and woke up when I felt her carving it into my skin… Victim required a 20 minute break to gather herself

I just wanted it to end. In the back of my mind, I could tell Draco was there, but it wasn’t until I woke up in St. Mungo’s and heard what had happened did I truly believe it…

She needs help. A lot of it…

Kathryn’s words rolled off Hermione’s back. She knew she had been losing it, she just couldn’t stop herself. Draco was like a drug, but Hermione had been in “rehab” for the last two years. She could handle all of this now.

She was a great friend and partner, but I never thought of her as anything more…

Whenever I brought a girlfriend to the office, she’d follow us around and act funny. I guess I should have taken that as my first clue…

I don’t know why – maybe it was the way she would smirk whenever Alyse’s name came up – but I was sure she had done something with her, I just couldn’t prove it. I started distancing myself from her then…

She stopped showering and brushing her teeth, she constantly smelled like a mixture of body odor and bad eggs. Her hair was never combed and it looked worse than when she was a kid and didn’t know anything about the right way to tame it. She looked like she had stopped sleeping; she constantly had large bags under her eyes. Everything about her was shifty…

I knew it was her watching Kathryn and I in the pub; her Glamour was horrible and I could have smelled her a mile away. I realized while having dinner with Kathryn that Hermione had to have been following me for months. That smell never went away. It was a disturbing thought…

I realized, after I left Kathryn to go home, that I should have walked her home. That smell – that familiar, rancid smell – was gone when I went home that night. It’s when I knew I had to get to Kathryn…

Seeing her standing over Kathryn like that, it made me sick. Kathryn was so cut up and unconscious. Hermione had blood all over her and was just carving initials, and words, and obscenities into Kathryn’s skin like it was something she did every day. She looked happy about it…

I just want her to get help. She needs help…

Draco’s words were comforting, but in a friendly way – not like it had been before. She had been told that Draco and Kathryn had gotten married a year after she was admitted into St. Mungo’s. At the time, it had panged her slightly, but not as it would have at the peak of her obsession. She knew then that she was healing. She wanted Draco to be happy. She was glad he was able to move on from what she had done to him and his friends.

Reading his words now proved that she was better. She wanted to be better. She wanted to be Hermione again.

Hermione closed the folder and looked over at the 2-way mirror. She knew he had been watching her, observing her, to note her reactions from seeing their pictures and reading their words for the first time. Hermione knew she had passed because she felt nothing.

In therapy over the last two years, she had worked through her obsession, her hatred, her indifference, her guilt, and finally her suffering to get to this point. She had said she was sorry, now she was ready to move on.

But would they let her?

The door opened and he walked in.

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part VIII: Interrogation
“What is your name?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Where are we?”

“In a padded room in St. Mungo’s insanity ward.”

“How long have been you been in St. Mungo’s?”

“Two years and some-odd days.”

“What did you do to find yourself in St. Mungo’s?”

“I caused mental and physical pain to multiple women because I was obsessed with Draco Malfoy.”

“Are you still obsessed with Mr. Malfoy?”

“No.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes.”

“The Prophet has dubbed you ‘The Anti-Cupid’. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel they were probably right, at one time. But I’m a changed woman.”

“How will you deal with being known as ‘The Anti-Cupid’ for the rest of your life?”

“The same way I dealt with being ‘the brightest witch of our age’ and ‘the brains of the Golden Trio’. I won’t let what others say about me effect the person I am today.”

“But you did do that at one time.”

“The Second War and the constant danger I was put in being an Auror after that caused a mental block. I never thought I’d be a victim of post-traumatic stress, but I was. I know that now. And I’ve worked through it.”

“If you were freed today, what are your plans?”

“I’d like to go home and be with my family. They promised to bring me in and look after me when I got out of here. I’d like to find a new job – preferably working with flowers – and I’d like to live a normal life again.”

“Why flowers?”

“They represent new beginnings. I think everyone deserves the chance to start again.”

“Will you continue your daily therapy treatments?”

“Absolutely; they have been my life saver.”

“One last question, Ms. Granger, do you feel like you are cured?”

Hermione looked at him. “I really, really do.”

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part IX: Harry
Hermione watched as Harry addressed the Board of Release and brought them his findings. She knew she was in good hands; Harry was the best psychologist in all of Britain, he would get her released.

Besides, she was healed.

“As you can see by her chart and the progress she’s made, Hermione Granger is definitely healed of any post-traumatic stress disorder she may have incurred from the Second War and her job as an Auror, resulting in her obsessive nature and attachment to Draco Malfoy. I feel, at this time, it would be safe to send Ms. Granger back into the world, but armed with a team of therapists – me included – to monitor her progress. She has plans to live with her family again, who assure me she’ll be under lock and key for the first few months as she adjusts to living back in the real world and as a personal friend, I plan to spend as much time with her as needed.” Harry stopped to look each board member in the eye. “I am asking you to let Hermione Granger live a normal life again.”

Hermione kept the solemn look on her face, but inside she was shouting with elation. She may have slipped up this time, but she was getting her second chance.

♠ ♠ † ♠ ♠

Part X: The Anti-Cupid
Hermione walked out the front doors of St. Mungo’s for the first time in two years, three weeks, five days, seven hours, and twenty-three minutes. The breeze was the same as it had always been, the grass was the same color green, and the sky was the same endless ocean of blue, but it all felt and smelled and looked so much better than Hermione ever imagined.

Freedom was liberating.

“So, how does it feel?” Harry asked as he followed her out into the warm sunshine.

Hermione smiled. “It’s wonderful. I feel so free.”

Harry chuckled and hugged her. It felt so good to be hugged again. “It’s because you are free ‘Mione.”

There was something about the way her hands felt across his back, the smoothness of his dress shirt that caused Hermione’s senses to heighten. It had been too long.

Harry pulled away. “Let’s get you home,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes that Hermione hadn’t seen in the two years she’d been locked up inside that wretched hospital. It warmed her heart. “I bet your parents will be excited to see you.”

“I’m excited to see them,” Hermione answered. “You should stay for dinner.”

Harry grinned as he walked to her to the Apparition point. “I just might.” He grasped her arm in his and Hermione felt a tingle shoot down to her fingertips.

Before they were sucked into the dark, empty space, Hermione asked, “How are you and Ginny, Harry?”