A/N: Helllooooooooooooooo, Merlin Fandom.

Disclaimer: I don't own things that make money.

Merlin used to imagine the day Arthur would return. Usually he pictured the newly-risen prince knocking on his door, back home like a loyal dog. Other times he imagined seeing Arthur in shops, scrambling through subways to catch another glimpse of the man who might actually be his best friend from long ago. But Merlin's life has never been that kind of movie, and he stopped imagining over a century ago.

Days seem shorter, and Merlin gets older. Magic has long since lost its wonder. He can carve pictures into flames, make them dance, but his iPhone can tell him how to get to the supermarket, so.

He does particularly like this town more than others. There are hundreds of towns he likes, few cities he loves, and only about a thousand that he remembers. He avoids Europe completely, because he has found that he cannot be on the same continent as that damn sword, that damn rickety boat, without going. Waiting.

So that's why he is watching the news in Rhode Island when he finds Arthur. That's why the first time they meet again, Merlin is bailing Arthur out of jail.

"You look ridiculous," is the first thing Merlin says, because it's true.

Arthur just stares, which is a bit worrisome, but, no, Merlin looks exactly as Arthur remembers him, young and beard-free. The only thing different about Merlin now is his jeans, maybe the way his hair started kicking up in the front for no good reason. Finally, Arthur stops staring, just rubs his forehead. "You're here," Arthur says, and it almost sounds like a question.

"Yeah," Merlin says, opening the car door for him. "And you're wearing overalls."

Arthur stares a bit more before finally taking in his own appearance. They're not just overalls—they're corduroy and about three sizes too big for him. He rubs the sleeve of his shirt between his thumb and forefinger before looking up at Merlin again. Then something in his eyes changes from confusion to anger to something more. "What the hell are you doing here?" Arthur shouts, and Merlin blinks.

"Getting you out of jail, you idiot," Merlin snaps. "What the hell were you doing with a fake passport?"

"I was looking for you, because you were nowhere to be found in the last continent I left you!"

"I wasn't—" Merlin has to stop, has to literally turn away from Arthur to keep from hitting him. He thinks that he was planning to say something else, but he doesn't speak again. He doesn't turn back around.

In the pause that follows, a chipmunk passes in front of Merlin's feet. He hears a gate open and close, notices for the first time how much this patch of sidewalk smells like wet dog. Then something is touching his shoulder, and Arthur says, "Merlin," not yelling, just saying.

It isn't quite what Merlin pictured. But it feels right enough.

Arthur steps into Merlin's apartment, touching nothing. He stops in front of the couch, as if an invisible tether won't allow him to wander from Merlin. "So," Arthur starts, and doesn't finish.

"So?" Merlin asks, closing the door. He can actually see Arthur sweep away whatever was about to come out of his mouth, and instead the former prince says, "Do you have peanut butter?"

"Do I have." Merlin freezes in the process of hanging his coat, trying to hear the subtext. I don't know how I'm back—please don't ask. "Where did you hear of peanut butter?"

Arthur's eyes are scanning everything, not that Merlin has much on display. He looks at Merlin to reply, "I crossed an ocean to get here, Merlin. I've eaten peanut butter, sushi, something called a falafel, and a ridiculous amount of beef jerky." Arthur picks up a pillow from the couch, frowns at the stitching, and puts it down. "I also learned how to say, 'Where is the airport?' in three different languages before I figured out what a passport was."

The disappointment hits Merlin hard, unwarranted. Arthur has already seen more of the modern world than most people do their whole lives, and Merlin wasn't there for any of it. "Yeah, how did you manage to get here, anyway?" Merlin asks, leaning back against the doorframe.

"I had help from a wizard I met the second time I circled back to England," Arthur replies. "He created the passport for me, did some sort of spell called… hacking?"

Merlin is quiet for a moment. "A wizard," he says.

"Yeah. His name was Harold, and he lived in his mother's basement. Very odd, but very good with that new type of sorcery, you know, the computers."

"Oh, my god, Arthur."

"Seriously, Merlin, he showed me a picture game that looked just like our time, but with very strange outfits and absolutely no regard for kingdom boundaries."

"Arthur." Merlin pinches his nose, but he's laughing, because it is a relief. Arthur didn't learn much of anything, did he? "That was a video game, and it's not magic."

And now Arthur is looking at him like he's crazy. "What do you mean, not magic? Magic is everywhere, Merlin. You can't honestly tell me…" Arthur walks to Merlin's minuscule television and turns it on. It glares a bright blue, connected to nothing, but Arthur points at the thing like it just proved his case. "You're telling me that isn't magic?"

Merlin raises his palms, because all of a sudden Arthur is a frightened animal. "It's technology," he explains. "Science. There is no magic."

"But, I." Arthur opens his mouth, closes it, and basically looks like someone punched him in the stomach. "I told you. I told you to be… I thought that people would see magic, see the good in it, you know? I thought that you had gone and made a trend out of the whole thing."

It warms Merlin's heart to know that Arthur believed Merlin was basically responsible for modern civilization. "It was that way," Merlin assures him. "For a while. But people get scared, Arthur, of things that they can't understand, and eventually…" Merlin shrugs, deciding not to go into detail about the witch trials and every horrifying thing after. "There are no more wizards."

Arthur puts his hand on top of the television, brushing dust away. He is quiet for a long time before he responds, his voice very quiet and young, "There's you."

Clothes shopping is the first thing on the agenda, because Merlin cannot take Arthur seriously in those overalls.

"I can dress myself, Merlin," Arthur protests when Merlin drags him to a tiny shop between two pizza places that are for some reason in the same strip mall. Arthur says it so seriously, like he hasn't just popped out of the Dark Ages looking like he got dressed in a Build-A-Bear Workshop.

"I can see that," Merlin says. They walk in, and Arthur jumps at the bell on the door. An employee begins to ask if they need help finding anything, but she stops and blinks at Arthur. Merlin smiles and waves in an I've-got-it-covered sort of fashion.

Arthur has no idea what size he is, but thankfully Merlin remembers most of his measurements from mending his clothing. Arthur nods through this exchange, having no idea why it is odd for another human being to know his measurements. Merlin lets him wander mostly on his own with instructions to pick what he likes. They'll figure out the sizes later.

It takes five minutes. Arthur does all right—sweatpants, thin t-shirts, and six packages of socks. Merlin puts back five packages of socks and then puts the rest in their cart. "Okay," Merlin says. "You're going to need a bit more than that."

Arthur consents to a jacket, and then Merlin has the most unpleasant conversation about underwear and why it "works that way." They don't really hit a roadblock until Arthur absolutely refuses to try on jeans.

"They're… what is this?" Arthur says, but Merlin knows he is putting it on a little. Arthur has seen jeans.

"It's denim," Merlin says. "Just try it."

Arthur tries it. "It's horrible," he calls later, voice echoing in the dressing room. "No."

Merlin is sitting in the bench outside, grateful for the rest but going into slight shock when he realizes how much his life has shifted in the past ten hours. "Arthur you can't just… not have jeans."

"Why not?"

Merlin can't explain it so that Arthur can understand, not with so many people within earshot. "Just trust me, all right?"

The quiet after is what reminds Merlin that they didn't just part ways as good friends. They were quite thoroughly in the middle of something, an argument that had been forced to a close too suddenly, resolved out of necessity. Now it's this, this ridiculous thing that is going to bring it up again. There is a difference, Merlin knows, between, "I have magic," and "The jeans are too stiff and you'll definitely hate them," but it still makes Merlin's heart pick up a bit as the silence gets too heavy.

A minute later, Arthur comes out of the dressing room wearing a pair of dark jeans and a sour look like someone just puked on his shoes.

They buy the jeans. They go to Merlin's apartment. Arthur changes into sweatpants, and Merlin makes him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He even cuts the crusts off, because he figures that Arthur is probably a brat who doesn't like crusts.

When Merlin exits the kitchen with the plate, Arthur has already fallen asleep on the couch.

Merlin is trying to hook up his television when he hears Arthur ask, voice quiet and rough with sleep, "How did Guinevere die?"

Merlin jumps, dropping the cord that he had spent the past ten minutes threading through the wad of other cords. "I thought you were sleeping," Merlin says, hoping to nudge the conversation elsewhere. Arthur stays quiet, and Merlin turns around. Arthur is leaned against the cushions, eyes lifting to meet Merlin's. Patiently attuned.

Merlin turns back to the mess he has just re-created, trying to find that cord again. He doesn't know how to say it. She died like she should have. It was just fine. You'll still never see her again, Arthur, why does it matter? "We used to call it old age," Merlin says. "It was heart disease. The day of, she was teasing me about my hair, how long it had gotten. That night, she was gone."

Arthur is quiet again, but Merlin doesn't turn around this time. He can't tell Arthur how he had cried for weeks when Merlin found out that Gwen was sick, how she held him and explained that she didn't want him to save her this time. He couldn't explain that she was excited to be with Arthur, finally, and Merlin couldn't tell her that Arthur was far away, somewhere she would never reach them.

Then there's the other thing, the other thing that Merlin absolutely cannot tell Arthur. He waits for the next question, but Arthur does not ask who took over the throne. After.

Finally, when the silence lasts a beat too long, he turns again. Arthur is staring at the ceiling, and Merlin tries to figure out if he looks lonely.

Then Merlin's cell phone rings, and they both just about jump out of their skin.

Arthur settles immediately when he sees Merlin dig the phone out of his pocket, but the former prince frowns when Merlin answers with, "Hey, Phillip."

It's about the movie tonight, and Lynn wants to try the new frozen yogurt place after, but Phillip hates frozen yogurt, and can Merlin try to talk some sense into her?

"I'm… not going to make it," Merlin says, fighting the urge to go talk outside. This isn't a secret. Merlin has friends. Arthur should have expected this. "Had an old friend pop in from out of town."

The silence from Phillip makes Merlin nervous, because there is always this moment when the people around him figure out that Merlin doesn't have old friends. He starts as a young man and grows old, then moves on. Everything before is a story, a vague history that Merlin spins from nothing.

But Phillip just says, "Bring him."

Merlin almost laughs. "Maybe another time."

After Merlin hangs up, Arthur says nothing, but his eyebrows are raised. "Friend of mine," Merlin says, waving the phone like Phillip is tucked away inside. He doesn't know what to say after that, because, no, Arthur probably wouldn't like him.

"Uh huh," Arthur says, sounding skeptical. Merlin chooses not to be offended.

The days after, Merlin catalogs everything into two lists: What Arthur Can Do, and What Arthur Cannot Do. Arthur can do car rides. Arthur can do restaurants. He cannot do crowds. He cannot do crosswalks. He can do teeth brushing, but the shower makes him so frustrated that he once threw the soap into the mirror. He can do baths.

Very slowly, Merlin tries to also pay attention to what Arthur likes. He loves the radio, and very predictably gravitates toward country stations. Merlin can really only get him to drink water and, inexplicably, Capri Sun, but Arthur is open to trying foods. He has a bit of experience from the days he spent looking for Merlin, but the tastes still fascinate him. Cereal, according to Arthur, is the most overwhelming, but bread has greatly improved since he's been dead.

"That is horrible," Arthur announces, dropping the burger back into the waxy paper.

Merlin lifts his head from his fist. "You don't like burgers?" he says, and it's not fair, he knows, it's not fair to pigeonhole a man who has been asleep for fifteen hundred years, but Merlin takes this as a personal affront. He knew Arthur in the Dark Ages, he should know him now.

But Arthur is frowning and casting a distrustful eye on the lump of meat and bread. "No," he says, glaring at the burger until he happens to glance up at Merlin. The sudden shift in Arthur's eyes makes Merlin wonder about the expression on his own face. "I mean," Arthur amends. "It's." He clears his throat, waving a hand at the food. "Different."

Merlin picks up the burger, dropping his chicken nuggets in front of Arthur. When he takes a huge bite out of the sandwich, Arthur pretends to gag, but offers, later, "Fries are good."

Old Arthur used to pick at his shirtsleeves, unraveling the loose threads until Merlin had to mend them. New Arthur runs his thumbnail up and down the seam on his jeans, because New Arthur is still fidgety but much less destructive.

"Come on," Merlin says, opening his car door. Arthur frowns at the loss of music when the radio cuts off. Merlin makes a mental note to let Arthur carry his iPod around with him.

They walk to the door in silence, and Merlin is pleased to see that Arthur has stopped jumping at every honk and slam of a car door. He most anticipates Arthur's reaction to the automatic doors, but the former prince simply eyes them warily, spinning in a full circle as he walks through.

When Arthur is finally facing the shelves inside, the rows upon rows of colored boxes and cans, he freezes. Merlin waits.

Arthur shakes his head. "Nope," he says, backing up a step.

"Arthur—"

The head-shaking continues, and Arthur about-faces. "Nope, nope, nope." And he walks out. Merlin watches him cross the parking lot and get into the car. He stabs at the radio, and Merlin can't hear him, but he knows he's cursing the thing for not working.

Merlin sighs and walks back to the car. He taps on the passenger window. Arthur rolls it down, but he's not looking at Merlin.

"I would have thought an airplane would have been scarier than this," Merlin points out.

Arthur crosses his arms, leaning back. "I once rode on the back of a dragon, Merlin," he retorts.

Merlin leans against the door frame. "So what is it about supermarkets?"

Arthur frowns like he doesn't really know, either, but he says, "It's the… I don't." Arthur rolls his eyes. "Nothing is familiar."

It is most definitely not an answer, but Merlin gives up, patting Arthur's shoulder before going back into the market.

Phillip calls again, and Arthur rolls his eyes. "Just go, Merlin. I don't need a babysitter."

Merlin pauses, phone tucked into his shoulder and both hands caught in the shirt he had been folding.

"Bring your friend," Phillip says again, and Merlin sighs.

Merlin expects Arthur to be nervous, but he's not. After coaxing Arthur into a collared shirt and explaining that he can't order a tankard, everything else is basically old territory.

Phillip, bless him, doesn't ask many questions, but his girlfriend does. "Your accents are different," Lynn comments after Arthur answers her questions about travelling here.

"What?" Merlin says. No, they're not.

Arthur is unfazed. "He hasn't been home in a while," he says, nodding to Merlin. The half-truth comes easily, naturally, and Merlin remembers that deception wasn't exactly new to Arthur, either.

"What are you talking about?" Merlin says, turning to Arthur.

Arthur takes a sip of his beer before answering, "Your accent is all…" He makes a general waving motion with his hand.

Merlin resists the urge to sulk. Another thing he no longer shares with Arthur. He really hadn't thought of it before.

Phillip shrugs. "They both sound British to me," he says. "By the way, Arthur, you might want to go stand at the bar for a moment so that your admirer can get the guts to talk to you."

At this, Arthur chokes on his beer. Merlin laughs. "What?"

Phillip points over Arthur's shoulder. Merlin doesn't exactly turns, but he twists as he slaps Arthur on the back, just enough to see a group of women out of the corner of his eye. One girl is ducking her head, and her friend is laughing at something. "She's been eyeing him since they walked in," Phillip explains.

"I'm…" Arthur clears his throat. "I'm good."

Merlin almost teases him, until he remembers that, to him, he's been a widower for less than a week.

As expected, Arthur doesn't seem to think much of Phillip, who is too soft, too boring for someone whose best friends were once knights. But outside of that, Arthur seems to enjoy himself. He hogs the basket of fries that he shares with Merlin, he compliments the beer, and he laughs at everyone's jokes. The two of them seamlessly regurgitate the "how we met" story that they practiced, and they barely have to lie after that. It goes so well, and Merlin's cheeks hurt from smiling, but he can't repress the sigh of relief he lets out when they all move to leave.

Phillip and Lynn lead the way to the door. The bar has gotten busier since they came in, so they weave in and out of the almost-crowd, single-file. One very tipsy girl trips backward, spilling her drink and landing directly in Arthur's arms.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she squeaks, rushing to straighten herself. Her cheeks are bright red, and that's how Merlin figures out that this is the girl who had been staring at him before.

"It's all right," Arthur says, steadying her. He takes the now-empty glass from her hand and places it on the bar behind her, trading it for a napkin. "Here."

The girl takes the napkin, flushing even redder. "God, this is horrifying. You must think I'm a stalker."

"A what?"

The girl wipes very blue liquid off of her hands, glancing up. "Your friends caught me staring earlier," she admits. "I swear, I didn't run you over on purpose."

"Oh," Arthur says, and Merlin swears he can see a red tint in his cheeks, too. Then, smooth as can be, Arthur takes the girl's free hand and kisses it. It is an archaic gesture that makes Merlin nervous again, like this is the thing that's going to give them away. The girl's eyes go wide, but she's grinning. "Think nothing of it," Arthur says, holding her hand a second later before dropping it. "It was a pleasure getting stalked by you this evening, m'lady. Have a wonderful night." And with a nod, he turns to leave, passing Merlin on the way.

"M'lady?" Merlin says, jogging to keep up. Arthur has never talked that way in his life.

Arthur glances sideways. "I saw it in a movie on the plane," he replies.

Merlin would laugh, except in that exact moment Arthur disappears from his sight. A giant man has shoved him into the open door.

Arthur, slightly winded, says, "Hey!"

The giant man towers over Arthur by about four inches. He looks to be in his thirties, but his clothes remind Merlin of a college student. Plaid shorts and polo shirt. Sunglasses at night. Oh god, Arthur will kill him.

"I saw you give my girl your number," Giant Man says, tightening his hands in Arthur's shirt. Sure enough, the girl from earlier pushes back through the crowd to yell, "Jeff, what are you even doing here, are you crazy?"

"Uh?" Arthur looks at Merlin. "Am I missing something?"

At that point six other men have wormed their way through the crowd. They are also wearing plaid shorts, except for one rogue who is wearing khakis. One of the bartenders is stalking toward them, nodding to the man checking IDs at the other entrance.

"Time to go, Arthur," Merlin says, trying to grab for his arm. One of Giant Man's friends pulls his shoulder back. Giant Man rears back to punch. A woman behind the bar is picking up the phone.

Merlin closes his eyes.

They are in the parking garage. Phillip and Lynn are waving goodbye from their car. Merlin smiles and waves, but his hand shakes.

Arthur swivels in a full circle, breathing too quickly. "What just."

"Get in the car," Merlin says, letting the smile slide away.

"Get in the car?" Arthur says. "You just… I don't know what you just did. Was that magic?"

"Yes," Merlin says, sliding behind the wheel. He needs to be sitting. He figures he'll be all right long enough to drive home. "Arthur, please."

Arthur opens the passenger side door. "You'll explain?"

"Yes," Merlin says again. If I don't puke first, he mentally amends.

Arthur gets in the car and pushes every button on the radio. Merlin's presets are now officially static. "Go ahead," Arthur prompts.

Merlin pulls out of the parking lot. "It's a timeline spell," Merlin explains. "I went back, picked a course of action that avoided the fight, put us on it, and fast-forwarded."

Arthur stops stabbing at the radio. He looks up, pointing back at the bar. "We just traveled through time?" he demands.

The raindrops on the windshield are starting to blur together. Two more blocks, come on, Merlin. "Yes."

"You couldn't do that before."

"I had a lot to learn." Any other time, Merlin would have been afraid that this would tip Arthur off the edge, that the true scope of his power would scare him away. Right now he cares about nothing but getting them home and falling into bed.

Arthur is quiet through the rest of the drive, but he glances at Merlin every now and then. A minute later they are pulling into the lot of Merlin's complex. Merlin fumbles for his keys until Arthur snatches them away, grumbling about having to pee. Once Arthur has unlocked the door, Merlin brushes past, heading for the couch. The bed is too far away. Couch.

He makes it two steps and has to settle for hardwood.

"Whoa!" Arthur catches his arm just before his face hits the floor. "What the hell, Merlin?"

Merlin settles for sitting, head in his hands. "Can you get the Tylenol from the medicine cabinet?"

A pause. "Get the what from the what?"

"White bottle. Red cap. Behind the mirror in the bathroom."

He hears Arthur stand, but he pauses after three steps. "Why am I getting medicine?" Arthur asks.

Talking is starting to make his head throb more, so Merlin doesn't answer. Eventually, Arthur goes and returns with the bottle. Merlin hears rattling, and then a few muttered curses. "I'll do it," Merlin says, reaching out a hand. The bottle presses into his palm, and Merlin opens it. Child and Arthur proof, he notes.

"So?" Arthur says.

"Water?" Merlin counters.

This time Arthur stays quiet as he gets the water and trades it for the bottle. He tries to read it, but gives up after a second. He told Merlin once that the words were all different, and though he can make out most things, he struggles.

Arthur sits with him in the floor until Merlin can lift his head and blink the spots away. "It's the magic," Merlin murmurs, pinching his nose. "It was a bit much."

"Because it's… time travel?" Arthur asks.

Merlin considers lying to him. Then he pictures all the other times this might come up, and decides that lying isn't really a suitable option. "I haven't used magic in… over a thousand years."

Arthur sits back on his heels. "At all?"

Merlin sighs. The lights have stopped flashing, and he wobbles to his feet. Arthur stands, too. "Just the aging, to keep appearances," Merlin says. "But that's not exactly spells, it's just… being. Tonight was like working an atrophied muscle."

"A thousand years, Merlin?" Arthur says, almost accusatory.

"That's what I said." Merlin slides off his jacket, noticing that Arthur hasn't bothered with his yet.

"I thought I said… I told you…"

"Yeah, I heard you," Merlin says, throwing his jacket with a little more force than necessary onto the back of the couch. "You do you, Merlin. I heard it. Did you hear me, though?" He spins back to Arthur, not sure why he's so angry all of a sudden. He shouldn't let this escalate. That would cause yelling, and yelling would cause his headache to creep back toward migraine territory. "I told you that I only use magic for you."

As expected, Arthur finally raises his voice. "So when I died, you just stopped, then?"

Merlin matches him. "No, I protected your family for five hundred years."

Arthur blinks.

He steps back.

Already Merlin can see it, can see the wheels spinning in Arthur's head, but it's like watching a wreck that you can't stop. He hadn't meant to say that. He was going to wait to tell him. Not like this.

"My family?" He's figured it out.

Merlin swallows, feeling a tightness in his throat, because seeing Arthur look so shocked and so lost makes Merlin feel very young. "When you died," Merlin says, though by now it doesn't need saying. "Gwen was."

Arthur is pale now, and he sits down on the couch. Merlin pushes his jacket to the floor so that he can sit next to Arthur.

"You had a son," Merlin says. "His name was Thomas."

"Thomas?" Merlin said, pretending to wrestle his finger from the baby's tiny hand.

Gwen understands the question that Merlin didn't exactly ask. "I don't want my son to have the name of a hero," she says. "Such a long legacy of dead heroes and fallen knights… Maybe this one can live to see his grandchildren."

Merlin meets her eyes, one hand resting in the baby's soft hair. "He will."

Arthur doesn't say anything. He sits for a while, half his face resting in his hand. Merlin reads the moment, and decides not to say anything more.

After nearly twenty minutes, Arthur gets up and goes into the spare bedroom. Ten minutes after that, Merlin falls asleep on the couch.

He wakes up in his bed, somehow. The Tylenol is on his nightstand, along with a water bottle. Deep streams of moonlight trickle along his walls, and Merlin drifts back to sleep.

"Merlin?"

It's the middle of spring, a day too beautiful for what's about to be done. The gallows arch up, so high, almost reaching the clouds.

"Good job, Merlin, I'm officially worried. Wake up, now."

He pushes through the crowd, the crowd that isn't even bothering to look. They're all facing the wrong way, watching the queen and her new baby. At first it's Gwen, and then it's not. He didn't know all the queens, but he recognizes a few whose faces fade in and out, and the crowd changes too, changes with the times. It stops with Elizabeth, tiny hands grasping her mother's necklace. That person at the gallows, though, that face never changes.

It's not the first woman he's ever loved, not the first to die, but she is the first to be called "witch" and killed with a snap of rope.

"Damn it, Merlin!"

Merlin gasps awake, almost head-butting the face looming over him. Arthur pulls back, his eyes going from worried to relieved to annoyed in two seconds flat. Merlin watches it all, getting his bearings and remembering that the dream hasn't been real for a very long time, but that Arthur is here and not as dead as the rest of his friends. And it's that thought mixed with the post-traumatic dream disorientation that launches Merlin forward so hard that Arthur lets out an "Oof!" when Merlin's arms wrap around him.

After a moment, Arthur returns the hug, awkward and hunched over. Merlin fights back the sudden and absurd urge to weep like a child. Then Arthur tilts his head back and away so that he can say, "Merlin, you're feverish. Maybe out of your mind."

"Shut up, you stupid prat."

Arthur sighs, patting Merlin on the back. "All right," he says. The moment seems to weigh him down, deflating Arthur into a relaxed embrace. "All right."

Merlin has been dumped on the couch with strict orders to "stay right there, no matter what you might hear coming from the kitchen."

It is not an easy task.

"So if you haven't used magic in so long," Arthur calls around the banging of general pot/pan-sounding objects. "Why did you use it just to get out of a fight? I was a knight, you know?"

Merlin twists his head, trying to peek through to the kitchen. "You've got a court date already," he calls back. Something sizzles from the stove, and Merlin cringes. "I didn't bail you out of jail just to see you thrown back in a week later." Only for you, you stupid prat.

"Well I wasn't gonna kill him."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You're not the law, anymore, Arthur. You get bar fights, you get arrested." Something falls to the floor, too light and hollow for any cause of concern. Merlin smirks. "All right?" he asks.

There is some general grumbling before Arthur says, "Damn this era and its damn laws and clothes and—and what the hell was that guy wearing? I thought you said sunglasses were meant to keep out—you know. Sun."

Merlin doesn't answer that one. He just leans back, closes his eyes, and tries not to smell anything. The clinking from the kitchen dies down to a low buzz, soothing in a way that lulls him into drifting off for a bit.

"Aha! Wondered why you were so quiet."

Merlin jumps at the sudden plop of a bowl on the coffee table in front of him, and he looks up into the wide grin of the former prince of Camelot. "What the hell is this?" Merlin peers at the bowl of probably noodles.

Arthur's grin shrinks. "I made it," he says.

"No you didn't."

"I sort of made it."

"No, you didn't."

"I added chicken."

Merlin pokes at the okay definitely noodles, skeptical. He lets Arthur fidget for a bit before finally pulling some noodles up with a fork and taking a bite. It is surprisingly okay. "These are the chow mien noodles from the cupboard," he notes. At Arthur's silence, he looks up. "I never thought to add chicken."

Arthur's grin comes back, and he says, "Scoot."

They eat, not bothering to turn on the television. Arthur can't stand watching television while they eat, which cuts out about half of Merlin's former pastimes. "Where did you learn to cook chicken?" Merlin asks to cut the silence.

The pause that follows is brief, a minor glitch as Arthur twists his noodles onto his fork. "Gwen taught me," he says. It's light. They have crossed this bridge. They can talk about Gwen.

Someday, Arthur might ask about Thomas. Merlin looks forward to that.

Once they've finished and Arthur has barely consented to watching America's Next Top Model, Merlin asks, "So did you really give that girl your number?" Well, a number? Arthur doesn't have a phone yet, but he has Merlin's memorized. Merlin hopes he doesn't start getting calls from angry men named Jeff.

"No." Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out a torn receipt, handing it to Merlin without taking his eyes off the television. "She gave me hers."

Maybe it's the revelation, or the bewildered way he says it, or the second after when one model's shoot makes Arthur's eyebrows jump to his hairline that has Merlin throwing his head back and laughing harder than he has in years. And then even more when Arthur gives him a cross look and tells him to shut up and let Tyra speak.

Merlin takes it back. It's just as he pictured.

Fun Fact: Arthur likes burgers. He doesn't like pickles.