Author's note: Oh dear, what have I done? This is a modern AU and now that it is in a tangible form, I feel as if I am risking offending Merlin fans by posting this. But the story-teller in me is asking me to go for it. It is also my first attempt at a multi-chapter story.

If you like it, do tell, so that I can post the next chapter.

And if you don't, do tell, so that I can take this one out.

This chapter is rather rambling, a long-winded prologue, if I may. I just let loose and hopefully did not stray too far from their characters.

I appreciate feedback, but pray be gentle.

I do not own Merlin. Still fervently hoping to own the Crowned Prince of Camelot.

Merlin shivered as he opened the door to his flat. It was late autumn, but the weather tends to lean more towards winter and London was gripped with unrelenting chill that made Merlin regret his decision to decline Arthur's offer to follow him on his business trip to Barbados. He entered the flat and switched on the light and the heating, shedding his coat into the cloakroom. He took off his shoes and went into the living room. Throwing his keys into a bowl on the coffee table in the middle of the room, Merlin turned to the answering machine, blinking red and ominous. There would be messages for him, he was sure. His mobile phone battery died somewhere during lunch and he knew at least two people who would have rung him. He was right. There were two messages for him.

"Merlin! Where the hell are you? You are not dead, are you? I have rung twice already. Are you with a woman? Or is it a farm animal? Glad you're getting some, mate, but be at the airport at quarter past two, all right? And, Merlin, DON'T BE LATE!"

"Hey, Merlin. I got bumped up to an earlier flight out of Milan, so I should be arriving at two. Pick me up, mate? Thanks a whole bunch and there's a set of miniatures I swiped from the mini bar for you."

Merlin rummaged through the drawer's of the side table where the answering machine was, listening to the messages play out as he searched the charger for his mobile phone. He found it and plugged it in, switching on his phone.

Sixteen missed calls.

Nine from Arthur, who probably thought he was killed and checked to confirm it.

Two from Lance, who probably knew Merlin was busy and decided not to bother him after that.

Three were from Morgana, probably in response to Arthur telling her that Merlin might be mortally injured in some accident with a palette and a paintbrush.

One from Gaius, to check in, because no doubt Arthur would have gotten hold of him too.

And one more from a long line of numbers that Merlin was sure was all the way from a posh hotel in Barbados.

There were also three text messages. All with the same message.

WHERE ARE YOU? WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER??

Only one person always texts in full words and in capital letters. Arthur was relentless when he feels one of his friends was in peril. It sometimes never occurs to him that other people might be busy or occupied with doing something else. And only Arthur would be inclined to think that a dying man would have time to read and send a reply to a text message.

Merlin quickly punched in his response to all who had called him, before Arthur sent in the Scotland Yard to look for him.

Am safe been busy

To Arthur and Lance, he added an extra line. Will wait at airport. Cheerios

Almost immediately, he received replies to his text messages.

BRING THE JAG. NOT YOUR BLOODY VAN.

Ur safe. Thot u fell in2 ur cereal. Bring A's Jag. X ur van. Please.

Merlin smiled when he saw the texts from Arthur and Lance. Since they both asked so nicely, Merlin decided that he must do as they asked.

Promise. Jag it is.

***

"Arthur is going to kill you."

Lance stood in front of Merlin, regarding the vehicle that the latter had brought to pick him and Arthur from the airport. It certainly was not the Jaguar that they both had insisted Merlin brought. Lance wondered if they should have text Merlin with serious bodily harm should he refuse to bring the specified car. Well, it was too late for any of that, and in any case, threat or no threat, Merlin would have brought his ridiculous van anyway, just to get a good laugh out of annoying him and Arthur.

"You're here to protect me," Merlin replied, as he opened the passenger door of his van for Lance to stow his things in. The van, if that is what one calls the ancient vehicle that would not have looked out of place in a scrap yard or a period film from the 1940s, was an ugly brute of a machine that emitted enough black smoke to single-handedly engulf London in a perpetual haze. It could seat five or six person; could being the operative word here for there were only seats in the front, with the driver. The seats at the back have long ascended to PVC heaven, for Merlin had taken them out so that he can keep his art supplies at the back. The van moved on diesel and prayers. It was more of a hazard than a novelty on the road, but Merlin loved it too much to sell it off. He also lacked self-preservation or dignity whenever he chooses to bring out the monstrosity for short drives.

"I would not mind being an accomplice this time," Lance muttered, as he swung his suitcase into the van. He dropped his carry-on next to the suitcase and pulled the door shut, with a bit more energy that necessary. "You promised, Merlin."

"I did," Merlin said, grinning. "I just didn't mention that I will bring it today. Maybe the next time when I pick you guys up!"

"He is going to kill you," Lance said, looking rather downbeat. "You were a good friend, Merlin. I'll make sure they inter your van into your tomb as well."

Merlin laughed, though he was beginning to wonder if the van had been a bad choice. Arthur would be in a bad temper, with Merlin not answering his calls yesterday and from the flight. And when he sees the van…yes, it is certain. Merlin is dead.

"I'm going to give Morgana a call," Merlin said, taking out his mobile phone.

Lance laughed when he saw that Merlin was really spooked. Putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder, he guided his friend towards the airport to wait for Arthur. "It's no use, Merlin. As protective as Morgana is of you, you know very well both Pendragons hate that van," Lance told Merlin, as they walked towards the arrival terminal. "Sorry, mate. You're finished this time."

Merlin groaned. Then, an idea struck him. "We'll just go home and bring back the Jag."

Lance was not looking at Merlin when he said this. His eyes were on the arrival gate of the flight from Barbados. A crowd of tired, but decidedly happy and badly tanned passengers were coming out. And as if the people knew Arthur Pendragon was making his way to the terminal, the crowd parted and Arthur was seen entering the terminal, a gaggle of giggling air stewardesses around him. The girls were looking at him as if he was their personal gift from God and Arthur was using his smile and charm to its maximum wattage.

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for pretty stewardesses. Lance patted Merlin's back, indicating that the younger man would live to see another day.

Arthur cleared Customs and came towards his friends, impeccable in his business suit and coat.

"I thought you were dead," he greeted Merlin. "How was Milan, Lance?"

"And yet you still sent in three text messages," Merlin pointed out, as they walked out of the airport.

"United kicked Milan's arse all over the San Siro," Lance remarked. To which, Arthur held out his fist for Lance to bump. "Next stop…"

"Old Trafford!" Arthur exclaimed. "We must be there, mate!" They bumped fists again. Merlin rolled his eyes, but did not comment. He was in the verge of mortal danger and suddenly realized the usefulness of the art of silence.

They were out of the airport terminal and were headed towards the parking lot when Arthur saw the van. Its neon yellow paint was unmistakable, even under the feeble afternoon sunlight. The choice of paint was Merlin's, who thought that his van should be an expression of individuality and boldness.

As if the van needed more attention than it already gets.

Arthur saw the van from where they were standing. Eyes narrowed and teeth gritting, he turned to Merlin, who suddenly became very interested in his sneakers. Lance turned his face away, a futile attempt to suppress his laughter.

"Let's go," Arthur's voice was cold. He marched determinedly towards the neon monstrosity, Merlin and Lance a few steps behind. Merlin groaned inwardly. Arthur should just kill him and get it over with. Now, Merlin has to be on the look out on when he was going to strike. Somehow, Merlin knew that even if he survives the day, there is no telling when Arthur would get his retribution. And there was no doubt, Arthur will.

***

"For God's sake, Merlin, you're just ordering salad! What is taking you so long?"

Arthur's exasperation was reaching boiling point. They were at the restaurant at the Dorset Hotel, at the behest of Lance, who insisted on a real English lunch before they went home. It was rather late for lunch, but the Pendragon name and reputation ensured that they would get their meals at whatever times they wished. It is just not Arthur's surname that gives them this privilege; Merlin's donated several of his artwork to the hotel and Lance has always shown impeccable manners to the staff, which makes the trio's imposition hardly a burden. It certainly helps the trio's cause that the head chef at the restaurant was a woman, happily married with three daughters, who thought that they were the most gorgeous boys in London.

Merlin frowned as he studied his menu, ignoring Arthur. Both Arthur and Lance had chosen steak, medium done, potatoes and the whole works. Merlin, a vegetarian, tried to convert them from covert killers of animals into pacifists, but the Neanderthal in them were too hard to suppress. Finally, he chose his salad; lots of green vegetables, carrots, almonds with a French dressing. He was about to turn his attention to the wine list when Arthur grabbed the menu from him.

"It is too early for us to unleash a drunken Merlin into London," Arthur said to the waiter who was there to take their orders. "Two beers and a glass of chocolate milk for the little 'un!"

"You can't handle a pint, mate," Lance added, possibly taking sides with Arthur because he had to ride in the ridiculous van, sandwiched between his two friends.

"Not fair!" Merlin argued, self-preservation flying out of the window for being denied his wine. He probably had forgotten about his vow of silence in front of Arthur. "It's early still and you're both having a beer!"

"But we are suffering from jet-lag," Lance said stoically. "Our bodies have not adjusted to the UK time zone." By then, the waiter had moved away from their table, the only occupied table in the restaurant, not waning to be dragged into their argument. The logic of the trio was singularly or collectively warped, so the best would be stay away from them when they started one of their arguments.

"True," Arthur added. "Besides, you're the designated driver. So, it's our responsibility and yours to make sure that everyone arrives home safely."

Merlin gave up the argument because the issue of him bringing the van was still out in the open. Arthur and Lance may have been docile on the way to the restaurant but that does not mean that Merlin was in the clear. He sighed, nodding his head as if admitting defeat. "It takes a bigger man to concede defeat."

"You stick to bigger, mate. The rest of us prefer longer and harder," Arthur said. The statement was punctuated by a snort and another fist bump with Lance.

"You are sick," Merlin said. "Both of you." Which only caused the both of them to burst out laughing.

Once Arthur and Lance got over their laughing over the extremely juvenile joke, Arthur asked, "So, what's new?"

"Lancesgotanewgirlfriend!" Merlin said excitedly. He had wanted to tell this the moment he saw Arthur, but the predicament with the van had sort of pushed the whole thing to a side.

Arthur frowned as he looked Merlin. "Merlin, I thought we agreed to only speak Elvish during our 'Lord of the Rings' marathon in December." Turning to Lance, he added, "Mate, that was my feet you kicked."

Lance groaned and banged his head on the edge of the table. Arthur knew then that whatever Merlin was telling was big.

"Lance has got a new girlfriend!" Merlin said, grinning triumphantly.

"Lance always has a girlfriend," Arthur pointed out. "You may be discreet, Lance, but I really don't think you've been spending the evenings you claim to be working, alone in the dark room."

Lance sputtered in indignation, appalled that his friends would think he has been engaged in some kinky business when he is working. The sad truth is, such a thought has never occurred to him. He wondered if he needed to re-evaluate certain principles in his life.

"He took the girl to Milan," Merlin said quietly, watching the stunned look on Arthur's expression and the deer-caught-in-the-headlight look on Lance's.

"I…" Lance began, but sure enough, Arthur interrupted.

"You didn't take me to Milan!" Arthur stated. Rich as he was to actually afford buying either one of the club in the Champion's League quarter-finals Lance was covering for his newspaper, Arthur loved nothing more than tagging along with Lance on his sports assignment. 'Press Pass' meant access to the changing rooms and dug outs, which are more worthwhile experiences than sitting in the VIP box and browsing the merchandise store for replica jerseys. Arthur was in Barbados when Lance told him of the assignment and would have flown back earlier, had not Lance told him that this time his pass was restricted to the pitch area. That had not deterred Arthur much, until he got the call from his father's office informing him that Uther Pendragon was flying to Barbados to personally seal the deal with the government officials there. Arthur was ranting on speaker phone for two hours that evening.

"But you're not an attractive woman," Merlin pointed out helpfully.

"That is bias," Arthur replied quickly.

An uncomfortable silence fell at the table, as each pondered Arthur's words. But before the silence got awkward, the waiter returned with their drinks order; two pitchers of beer and another pitcher of chilled chocolate milk. Lance made a mental note to leave a nice tip for the waiter because the look on Merlin's face when the waiter put the chocolate milk in front of him was just priceless.

"Guinevere had an assignment in Verona…" Lance attempted to explain, ignoring Arthur's last statement. He was sure he would be interrupted any moment. Honestly, these two were worse than women; they would never keep quiet long enough to listen.

"So her name is Guinevere," Arthur said, taking a sip of his beer. He smacked his lips in appreciation; the bar at his hotel in Bridgetown was full of cocktail crap and not a single British beer.

Lance groaned. He hated being in the spotlight; hated more so if it involved a girl. A discreet guy, he rarely brought any girls home and in the occasions he stayed out late during a date, he always returned to the flat, no matter how late it gets. Of course, he shared everything with his two best friends, but it was just too early to talk anything about Guinevere. Not there was anything to talk about in the first place.

"Yes," Lance replied. "She's an architect. She was in Verona when I told her I was going to Milan," Lance said quickly. He saw Arthur opening his mouth to say something, but interrupted him by holding up a hand. Merlin got a glare, so that held the peace for a bit. "She said she wanted to check out the Cathedral in Milan and wanted to know if we could meet up. She came to Milan, spent ALL her time in the Cathedral and then rung me up to tell me that she too got bumped up to the afternoon flight. I…"

"Gave up the Business Class seat paid for your newspaper to be with her in the romantic confines of Economy Class?" Arthur asked, innocently.

Lance closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. If only it had been that, he thought to himself. "No, I was in Economy and she was in the Business Class seat paid for her by her company. But," he turned his head away from them to hide a shy smile that he could not suppress. "She exchanged seats with the passenger next to mine…"

"And?" Arthur asked, not realizing that he and Merlin had leaned forward towards Lance as if not wanting to miss anything he said.

This time, Lance looked up and was grinning. "Three hour flight, mate, and Guinevere was afraid crashing in the ocean. She held my hands all the way to Heathrow." This time, Merlin was included in the fist bump.

"And as a thank you, Guinevere gave Lance a little reminder of herself when she snogged him at the Custom's checkout," Merlin told Arthur what he saw while he waited for Lance at the airport.

"We weren't snogging!"

"Another few minutes and you would have arrested for inappropriate behaviour in public. There were kids and old ladies in the airport, mate!"

While Lance protested his innocence; it was a normal kiss and Merlin was prone to exaggeration, Arthur nodded in approval. "Good for you, mate. You utilized a woman's irrational fear and emerged a hero."

Lance shook his head, chuckling. The waiter returned with their food and hunger overwhelmed the urge to gossip. Merlin told them about the commission he got from Royal Albert Hall for some portraits in the foyer, which was congratulated by Arthur and Lance. Arthur then declared that lunch was on him. They finished their meal just as the first few customers for teatime began trickling into the restaurant. As Merlin finished his chocolate milk, Arthur suggested that he should get his van from the valet parking, just so that they would not be embarrassed by standing outside the hotel too long waiting for the van to arrive. Merlin obliged and went to get his van, surprised that Arthur had not thrown in another insult with the request.

The moment Merlin left the restaurant, Arthur took his credit card and gave it to Lance, "Deal with this, mate." Surprised, Lance did as he was told, wondering why Arthur was rushing after Merlin. Then, through the glass walls of the restaurant, he saw Merlin outside the hotel, waiting at the valet parking booth. He was talking to the attractive blond girl there, who looked as if she appreciated Merlin's attention. She was probably new to the hotel, which would explain her taking a quite unprofessional interest to a patron of the hotel, something quite forbidden for the staff.

And just then, Lance knew exactly what was going to happen. He collected the receipt from the waiter, leaving a cash tip and made his way out of the restaurant, shaking his head at the events unfolding in front of him.

Arthur had approached Merlin by then, and though Lance was still too far way to hear what they were saying, he had no doubt Arthur addressed Merlin with an intimate endearment. The smile on the girl's face dimmed a little and then completely disappeared when Arthur put a hand around Merlin's waist, pulled him close and planted a big kiss on his cheek. Just then, Merlin's van was delivered and Arthur, death grip on Merlin's hand to stop him from squirming too much, almost skipped to the van. Lance got into the van with them, bursting in laughter as Merlin sped away from the hotel.

"You have no shame, Arthur Pendragon!" Merlin yelled, over the sound of Lance's laughter and the roaring engine.

Arthur was stone-faced, although there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. I have no shame. Or I would not be riding in this ridiculous van as you have subjected me to."

Merlin groaned. He should have known. He should have suspected something was amiss when Arthur asked politely to get his van. But, he brought it upon himself. It was painful and humiliating.

And Lance was still laughing.

"Shut up, Lance!" Merlin said, which only caused Lance to laugh out even louder, clutching his sides. When he calmed down enough, Lance saw Arthur holding up his fist to him. They bumped fist and then, Arthur started laughing as well. The rest of the drive turned out to be quite enjoyable to Lance and Arthur, who exchanged minute details on Arthur's little prank and Merlin's expressions of horror. Merlin had half a mind to just abandon them on the freeway, van and all, but then again, Arthur and Lance will grab the opportunity and push his van into a lake or something. The idea of throwing them out of the van did not occur to him, because what are friends if not the people who drive you mad and then would kill for you when the situation called for it?

They arrived at the flat, Arthur and Lance in considerably good mood despite riding the van and Merlin looking as black as thunder. Waiting for them was Morgana, sitting on the steps leading to the front door, looking every inch the high-end fashion goddess she was. Merlin parked the van and killed the engine and quickly got out of the car to complain to Morgana.

"Arthur's being a pain," he told Morgana, as he kissed her hello and made his way to open the front door.

"But that's what he is," Morgana said, loud enough for Arthur, who was unloading his things from the van, to hear.

"Hello, evil person," Arthur greeted her, shouldering his carry-all. He approached Morgana and threw her a plastic bag containing coral jewellery he picked up at the gift shop in his hotel as he rushed to the airport. Morgana would have made him go all the way back to Barbados if he failed to bring her any keepsake. He once gave her the complementary shampoo and bath set, but she emptied it into his wine when he went over for dinner at her place. After a few hits and misses, Arthur realized that clothing and jewellery worked best for Morgana.

"Thank you," Morgana said and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. Though he stepbrother had never kissed her hello, she always did. "What did you do to Merlin?"

"I didn't kill him, or harm him physically," Arthur answered, lugging his things to the front door, which Merlin held open. "That's more than what I can say for you if you had to ride in that van!"

"True," Morgana conceded. "Then why is he sulking?"

"We didn't give him any beer during lunch," Lance said, trailing behind Morgana. "Hello, Morgana."

It may not have been noticeable but Morgana's previously relaxed stance stiffened just a bit as Lance spoke. Lance, the true gentleman he was, kissed Morgana hello and commented on her new dress. It was just the generic, "You look lovely", but it was enough to flush her cheeks. Thankfully, Arthur and Merlin were already inside the house, so they did not notice this. And apparently, so did Lance. Morgana went in after them and had to wait ten minutes for Arthur and Lance to unload all their things before telling them the reason for her visit.

"Why do you have so many luggages?" Morgana asked Arthur, as he brought in the last of his four suitcases. Arthur's luggage comprised of the suitcases, two carry-alls and a briefcase.

"Vanity," Arthur replied, nonchalant.

"Closet metrosexual?" Morgana inquired, eyebrows raised.

"Not out aloud," Arthur said, feigning anxiety. He was too tired to explain to Morgana that he was on a ten day business trip that included meetings with government officials and ministers and that he had to look suitably impressive at all times. She would only suggest shopping and things would escalate from there. "You've already gotten your gift, what are you waiting for? Go and spread misery somewhere else."

Merlin muttered something about Arthur and misery and being a pain, but his voice was drowned by the sound of the television that he switched on.

"I'm reviewing a French restaurant this evening and was wondering if you guys would like to join me?" Morgana asked, perching on the arm of the couch, as Arthur and Lance sat down in their favourite chairs in the living room. Merlin was slouched in a giant bean bag that looked as if it could engulf him entirely, while Arthur was on his massage chair and Lance in the large office chair he nicked from his office.

"United game on the telly. Sorry," Arthur said, holding out his hand for the remote from Merlin, who had buried it deep in his beanie bag.

"But you have already watched it," Morgana pointed out. There was no doubt Arthur would miss any of his favourite club's matches even he was in different time zone.

"Not in high-definition," Arthur replied.

Morgana rolled her eyes, turning to Merlin. "Well?"

"I am day behind for my first painting for the Hall," Merlin answered, looking very guilty for turning down Morgana's offer and for his own procrastination. "Lance loves French food," he added, hoping it would appease her.

Morgana turned to Lance, just a little apprehensive. "Lance?"

"I'll pick you up half-past seven," he said, smiling. "If that is all right with you?"

"That will be perfect. Thank you." She stood up and regarded the guys in front of her. "Well, one out of three is not bad. When I die, it cannot be said that I did not try to enhance your choice of food and culture."

"We don't need culture, Morgana," Arthur said, tiredly. "Just food...medium done."

"Of course," Morgana replied, gathering her things to leave. "You're just much too much of an English Neanderthal..."

"I think it's probably due to aristocratic inbreeding for centuries," Merlin gave his two penny's worth.

"And Merlin does not need culture because he is just another unidentified species of rabbit!" Arthur countered back.

Morgana rolled her eyes, unable to believe what she was hearing. "See you later, Lance," Morgana called out, as she left the flat. She did not see him wave. And he did not see the lovely flush that had crept to her face again at the very thought of spending the evening with Lance at a newly-opened posh French restaurant.

***

Arthur had timed his shower precisely so that the moment he came out, he would be able to catch the Arsenal game kick-off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he whistled an unknown tune that prompted Merlin to yell, "Shut up, Arthur!". Which was, naturally ignored. He made his way out of his room and into the living room, his hair dripping wet. Lance had already left for dinner with Morgana and Merlin was no where insight.

"Merlin, where the hell are…"

He did not get to finish his sentence because just then, his eyes fell on the woman standing in the middle of his living room. She had her back turned to him, her attention on their entertainment cabinet. She must have heard Arthur so she turned around. She gasped when she saw a half-naked man standing in front of her.

In what seemed like an eternity, Arthur stood in front her, opening and closing his mouth, unable to tear his gaze away from her eyes. His brain activity seemed to have ceased for he had trouble with articulation.

"Here you go," Merlin's voice seemed very distant, but it did help Arthur to snap out of his reverie. Only then he became aware that he was clad in nothing more than a towel. "Arthur! Looks like you've met…"

"Guinevere," Arthur was finally able to speak but found himself quickly loosing that ability as he turned to look at her.

"Arthur," Guinevere said his name. "Nice to meet you."

"My pleasure," Arthur said, wondering why he voice sounded so breathy. An awkward moment ensued as Arthur debated between kissing her hello and shaking her hand. Before he came to a decision, Merlin spoke up.

"Lance accidentally took one of Guinevere's bags," Merlin explained her presence in the apartment.

"I called him, but he was at dinner…" Guinevere continued, shrugging. "I really need that bag, so Lance told me to get it here."

"And I got it for her," Merlin said, handing her the bag.

Guinevere sighed in relief when she saw her bag. "Thank you, Merlin," she said. "I am so sorry to trouble you." Glancing at Arthur, she added, "All of you."

"No problem at all," Merlin replied, grinning. "I am glad to have met you. Lance spoke so much of you." Only those trained to Merlin's speech pattern would have discerned the sarcasm aimed at Lance.

"Well, I better get going," Guinevere said, making a move towards the door. Arthur just stood immobile, blocking her way to the door. Merlin gently pulled him aside, allowing Guinevere to pass. He then went and opened the door for her.

"Thank you, Merlin," Guinevere said.

Merlin waved it aside. "It's no problem, Guinevere," he said, kissing her goodbye. "Take care." Merlin closed the door and turned towards the hallway, only to bump into Arthur, who stood there, unmoving and with a dazed expression on his face.

"What's wrong with you?" Merlin asked, hoping that Arthur's dazed expression was a temporary lapse of his senses.

"Nothing."

It really did not look like nothing at all to Merlin. But he held his peace. Maybe it was just a temporary lapse of senses. Maybe…

Merlin pushed aside all the maybes as plopped down on his beanie bag. He should not make a big deal out of nothing, he told himself. Arthur joined him after putting on some clothes and they watched the game in comfortable silence.

Lance came home just before the final whistle and watched the last few minutes of the game with them. He did not talk about his dinner Morgana because they were concentrating on the game.

It turned out to be nothing after all, Merlin though as he got ready for bed later that night.

But then, why does it feel as if something profound had occurred in their lives in the course of one evening?

***

Extra note from author: Should I continue? Should I not?