I Am Gwen (the cutest cat on the Internet!) - Part 2

[gwylliondream]

Title: I Am Gwen (the cutest cat on the Internet!)
Author: gwylliondream
Genre: Modern au
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 58,347
Author’s Notes: I Am Gwen was written for paperlegends and as a kinkme_merlin fill for this prompt.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime! Thanks so much for reading!



Fortunately, for Merlin’s sake, the second rule of being a bicycle messenger was that he didn’t earn enough money to have to follow the first rule of being a bicycle messenger. Well, at least not all of the time-especially not when your client was someone as gorgeous as Arthur Pendragon.

“I’m sorry to hear you’ve suffered a loss in your family,” Merlin started. “Was the death recent?” He kicked himself for not having any tissues in his bag. He always kept a packet of them on-hand because sometimes he needed them for when he encountered damsels in distress along his delivery route. He had just used the last of them when a law-breaking female burst into tears after Merlin announced that she had just been served. Perhaps if he offered Arthur a tissue, as well as a shoulder to cry on, he’d be able to comfort him while he sobbed.

Arthur sneezed.

Maybe he wasn’t going to cry after all.

Merlin was confused. “Are you alright?”

“Excuse me for a moment. Step inside. You’re letting all the cool air escape, and besides, there’s something about you…” Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“Merlin,” Merlin said.

“Merlin...” Arthur said, drawing out the first syllable of his name for a ridiculously long time. “There’s something about you, Merlin… are you sure you haven’t brought in pollen or some kind of tree mold from outdoors?” Arthur asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Merlin replied, giving himself a sniff for good measure.

“Very well, excuse me for a moment,” Arthur nodded before setting the envelope and documents on the hall table and disappearing into the next room.

Merlin stepped inside the doorway and let the door close behind him. The apartment was much larger than Merlin would have thought. Arthur headed toward what must have been the kitchen. If Merlin tilted his head to peer around the wall of the entryway, he could catch a glimpse of what appeared to be dining chairs arranged tastefully around a small table with a hanging lamp overhead.

Arthur blew his nose loudly.

Merlin almost got caught looking when Arthur rounded the corner from the kitchen and walked toward him waving a box of tissues in one hand and holding an unused tissue in the other.

“Allergies,” Arthur explained, handing the papers to Merlin.

“The story of my life,” said Merlin as he watched Arthur slide the documents back into the envelope.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“Nothing,” Merlin recovered.

“You can take these back to Morgana’s attorneys. I won’t be signing anything,” Arthur said. He pressed the envelope to Merlin’s chest.

“I understand,” said Merlin, dismayed by Arthur’s attitude, but unwilling to end their acquaintance there. He figured the least he could do was to try to get this gorgeous creature to use his services regularly-Gwaine’s route be damned. “And if you should require Kilgharrah Kourier’s services in the future, please feel free to ask for me.”

Arthur scowled at him. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re the most incompetent bicycle messenger I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I hope I don’t suffer such a misfortune again.”

“Uh, alright then,” Merlin said. “Have a nice day.”

Merlin shoved the envelope back into his bag and gave Arthur one last grin before retreating from the cool apartment.

As Arthur closed the door behind him, Merlin could have sworn he heard a cat’s meow.

=^.^= )

“He was gorgeous,” Merlin said, fishing into his container of Pad Thai with a pair of chopsticks. “Blond, blue-eyed, and intelligent too. I think he went to Harvard.”

“And what gives you that idea?” asked Gwaine.

“Well, he was wearing a pair of Harvard sweatpants,” Merlin said confidently.

“Not the sweatpants, Merlin- look around! Half the homeless guys wandering around The Common are wearing Harvard sweats,” Gwaine said between bites of sandwich. “Either Harvard or MIT.”

Merlin’s brain was running on overdrive, hoping he could convince Gwaine to give up the Pendragon account from his route. When riding through Brookline this morning, he got the idea to butter Gwaine up by bringing him one of those disgusting tongue sandwiches from Zaftigs that he was so fond of. So what if Brookline was a few miles away from where they normally met for lunch? If Merlin was going to get a chance to peek further into Arthur’s luxury apartment and get a chance to peek into Arthur’s Harvard sweatpants, by God, he was going to have to convince Gwaine that giving up the account was for his own good.

“So, if he needs a pick-up, you’ll let me do it, won’t you?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine’s bare feet twitched in the grass. He turned his face to the sun and grinned.

“Gwaine!” Merlin leaned forward from the tree he was sitting against to give Gwaine’s elbow a shove.

“I don’t understand you, Merlin,” Gwaine said. “You blew off Lance, but you’re interested in this guy? He has allergies too!”

“He’s not necessarily allergic to cats. It could be ragweed or tree mold,” Merlin said hopefully.

“Right. Whatever you say,” Gwaine said smugly. “Maybe I’ll have to meet him myself first to see if he’s worthy of your affections. At least I could find out what sets him off sneezing.”

“I don’t think he’s allergic to cats. I swear, I heard a cat meowing as I left,” Merlin said.

“Really?”

“It was just a faint meow. It sounded like it was coming from inside the apartment,” Merlin assured Gwaine.

“If it was his, why wouldn’t you have seen the cat when he opened the door? You know how cats are. They usually run to the door to rub all over a visitor, especially if they are allergic. Either that, or you catch a glimpse of them running away when their owner opens the door to the big bad stranger,” Gwaine said.

“Come on, Gwaine,” Merlin laughed. “If there’s a call, you’ll let me take it, or no more tongue sandwiches for you.”

Those words earned Merlin a glare from a woman who was shepherding a group of noisy youngsters toward the Make Way for Ducklings sculpture.

“Well?” he prodded Gwaine with a chopstick.

“How can I say no?” Gwaine said. He crumpled up the paper wrapper from his sandwich and tossed it into his bag.

“Thanks, Gwaine,” Merlin said. He got to his feet and extended a hand to help Gwaine up. “You won’t be sorry. Hey, if he has a friend, maybe I can fix you up with him?”

“I’ll just settle for sandwiches,” Gwaine said slipping on his bike shoes and getting onto his bike. “For now, at least.”

Merlin slid his messenger bag over his head and fastened his helmet.

“Safety first, fun second,” he said, giving Gwaine a fist bump.

As they rode off in opposite directions, Merlin wondered how long it would be until he got a call from Freya that would send him to Arthur Pendragon’s again.

=^.^= )

That night, Merlin puttered around his apartment. There had been no call from either Arthur or Morgana Pendragon to request his services, but he was confident that Gwaine would pass the job on to him when the request came through.

In the shower, he turned the hot water on full blast and let the pounding spray ease the aches and pains from a day spent riding the streets. Attorneys and business owners, artists and architects, none of the city’s inhabitants had intrigued him like Arthur Pendragon.

He supposed it was high time that someone intrigued him.

When he was clean, he wrapped a towel around his waist and let the droplets from his hair course down his back. The steam from the shower had blurred the mirror on the medicine cabinet, so he couldn’t see his reflection. It was just as well.

Merlin grabbed the waste basket from the floor and perched it on top of the sink. He opened the door of the medicine cabinet and surveyed the remains of what Cenred had left behind. Shampoo samples and a spare razor, a half-empty tube of hair gel, a bottle of vitamins with only one capsule remaining to rattle lonely against the plastic.

It was time he made a clean break.

One by one, he tossed the items into the trash. A part of him cringed to think that he was being wasteful, but the likelihood of his using the items Cenred had left behind grew slimmer every day. Even slimmer than the chance that Cenred would someday return to him. That was a lost cause now, although Merlin had once held out hope.

No, it was better this way, Merlin thought, as he listened to the containers of herbal remedies and miniature spools of waxed dental floss bounce off the side of the waste basket.

He should have done this weeks ago. He had already wasted almost the entire summer moping around, feeling sorry for himself.

When he was satisfied that he had gathered all Cenred’s toiletries, he went to the closet and rummaged around for a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to throw on.

Cenred had taken most of his belongings when he left, and Merlin had long boxed up the items that Cenred had left behind-a pair of old sneakers, a few CDs with cracked cases, and a Waterpik that took up most of their available space on the bathroom counter. Aside from the toiletries, he knew of only one last piece of Cenred’s clothing that still haunted their apartment.

He pulled the T-shirt out from where it was hidden beneath a tattered bathrobe he had meant to throw away. He tried to remember why Cenred had a Pussycat Dolls T-shirt in the first place. Maybe something from his days in the closet when he tried to convince his parents he was straight by following the lingerie-clad songstresses.

Merlin held the shirt up to his nose and inhaled.

It didn’t even smell like Cenred anymore.

He tossed it into the waste basket from the bathroom and brought the whole mess out to the dumpster in the alley. Better to be done with it once and for all.

When he closed the door to the small apartment, a wave of relief washed over him. Somehow, he had turned the page and a new chapter of his life could begin. There would be no more wallowing over having nothing to do but hang out with Gwaine. And no more crying over the spilled milk that was his relationship with Cenred. His search for a date to accompany him to his mother’s wedding was on!

The first conquest: Mr. Arthur Pendragon. And if Merlin’s interest was refused, he’d move on to the next man who put a sparkle in his eye.

Merlin had a lot of catching up to do. But for now, he flipped open his laptop, checked his email, and fell in love with Gwen all over again.

=^.^= )

“Get over here, Merlin. I have just what you wanted,” Freya yelled. She typed away at her keyboard and hit the print button like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Kilgharrah Kourier was as busy as ever and Freya was handling calls and texts as quickly as they arrived.

“What’s that you’ve got?” Merlin asked as he rode through the door, his messenger bag bursting at the seams.

“Hold please,” Freya said into her headset. She turned around and tore the label off the printer. “A pick-up at Pendragon’s. You wanted that one, didn’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” Merlin said. “I’m glad you remembered.” He positively tingled as he dumped the contents of his messenger bag onto Freya’s sorting table while she continued to take calls from clients. The day had been as hot as it was busy. Earlier in the morning, Merlin had passed Gwaine on Washington Street, but they were in too much of a hurry to decide on lunch. Gwaine had simply taken his hands off the handlebars, pointed at his imaginary watch, and threw his hands in the air while he pedaled. They’d catch up later, Merlin supposed. For now, a visit to the cool luxury of The Devonshire was just what Merlin needed. He’d try to act a little more suave this time… at least he’d keep a tight grip on his bike helmet.

Freya slapped the label onto an empty manila folder. “Here you go,” she said, handing him the envelope before turning her attention to the heaps of incoming paperwork that Merlin had deposited. She shook Merlin’s messenger bag to make sure that nothing was left behind, no envelope or receipt stuck in a crevasse or against a seam. When she was certain the bag was empty, she reached behind her desk to retrieve a large plastic bin full of envelopes, some empty, some stuffed fat with documents. “And here’s the afternoon batch for you.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said, watching her pack the envelopes into his messenger bag. He reached into his pocket and felt around for the Powerbar that he had stashed there this morning. It had melted into a soft glob from the heat of his thigh and the hot summer sun. Merlin peeled the package open and bit off a hunk of liquefied goo. It would have to suffice for lunch today.

“You do know those aren’t good for you, right?” Freya asked, a look of disgust on her face as she slid the manifest into the outside pocket of Merlin’s bag.

“They’re tasty, though. Next time, you can make me a nice salad for lunch if it will make you feel any better,” Merlin laughed as he heaved the full bag over his head.

The phone at the switchboard began to ring again.

“Salad? You think I have time for salad? Good luck,” Freya said. She was already taking another call as Merlin rode out the door.

=^.^= )

Merlin was thrumming with energy. He pedaled up to The Devonshire and locked his bike to the light pole. The same doorman greeted him again. Merlin had committed the number forty-seventeen to memory. He waited while the doorman buzzed up to Arthur’s apartment.

“There’s no answer,” the doorman said. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

“That’s odd,” Merlin said, tapping his envelope, which clearly said Pendragon on the label. “Can you try it again?”

The lobby was nearly empty at this time of day. A couple boarded the elevator, pushing a large potted plant on a cart. A maintenance man swept the marble floor, making sure to get the dirt from the corners where the revolving door had scattered debris from the sidewalk.

“There’s still no answer,” the doorman informed Merlin.

“You’re sure, it’s Arthur Pendragon, forty-seventeen?” Merlin insisted.

The sound of a man clearing his throat echoed in Merlin’s ear. He turned his head to see what sort of rude person would do such an annoying thing. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur stood there behind him.

“Arthur?” Merlin said. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

“I knew my ears were burning for a reason,” Arthur said.

“You’re just who I’m looking for,” Merlin said, motioning to the security guard.

“Me,” Arthur asked, none too impressed. “Why?”

Merlin couldn’t begin to guess where Arthur was going. His tight jeans hugged his hips nicely and the black fabric of his shirt clung to all the right places, as far as Merlin could see. A hint of dusky hair was visible on his chest where his aviators tugged his neckline into a vee.

“You called for a pick-up. I’ve got the envelope right here,” Merlin held the envelope out for Arthur who took it from him and examined the label.

“Wrong,” Arthur said. “There’s no Morgana Pendragon in The Devonshire. In fact, I think if you paid closer attention to your job, you’d see that this is addressed to Morgana at her condo in the South End.”

Arthur slapped the envelope back into Merlin’s hands.

Merlin couldn’t believe it. How could his manifest get so screwed up? He scanned the envelope for the name and the address.

“Oh,” he said, now recognizing that he had instructed Freya to let him handle anything to do with the Pendragon’s account. It was an honest mistake on her part. Morgana was a Pendragon, after all. Merlin kicked himself for being so enthusiastic in his desire to see Arthur again.

“Oh?” Arthur asked.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin bit his lower lip. “It was my mistake. I’ll get right over to her place to pick up whatever she has for me. So sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased when you arrive there late,” Arthur called after him. “I wouldn’t expect a Christmas bonus from your employer this year. That is, if you still have a job by then.”

Merlin clenched his fists as he walked away, wanting to leave The Devonshire before he could be further embarrassed. He wished he could come up with a clever defensive retort. It was a simple mistake, something that could happen to anyone. He didn’t have to put up with Arthur’s taunts. When he reached the revolving door, he turned to say something that he probably would have regretted in the long run, but when he made eye contact with Arthur, he noticed that Arthur was smiling smugly at him.

Instead of following through with his thoughts, Merlin waved to Arthur and the doorman, saying, “Have a nice day, gentlemen,” before exiting the lobby.

=^.^= )

“It was the most embarrassing moment of my life!” Merlin said as he and Gwaine rode out the door at the end of their workday.

“Not quite what you expected when you learned you had a pick-up on the Pendragon account,” Gwaine confirmed.

Merlin wanted to scream. They turned onto Tremont Street where the rush hour traffic had jammed the road for as far as the eye could see.

“I suppose it was more my fault than Freya’s,” Merlin said. As they rode through the city, the waves of afternoon heat shimmered off the road like a mirage.

“Glad you’re not planning to rip Freya a new one. I know what happened to the last messenger who tried that,” Gwaine said.

“Yeah?” asked Merlin.

“Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty,” Gwaine shook his head.

“No, I don’t suspect it was. No worries. Really, I know she was only trying to help,” Merlin said. “I don’t want her to give the account to anyone else next time, so I’ll play it cool. Man, you should have seen my face when it dawned on me that I was at the wrong Pendragon’s. I wanted to crawl under the desk.”

Gwaine reached over and slapped Merlin on the back. “There are worse things that could happen. I assume you recovered nicely, since you think there’ll be a next time?”

Merlin came to a halt at the red light that stopped them at the crosswalk. He balanced as long as he could on his two tires before having to touch a foot to the sidewalk. “He smiled at me, Gwaine,” Merlin said. “I think there’s definitely going to be a next time, whether he complains about my shoddy work or not.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gwaine said. “When you fall off that bike, get right back on and keep pedaling. You’ll get there eventually.”

“And that’s not even the best part,” Merlin said.

“What are you talking about?” asked Gwaine.

“He was wearing a black shirt,” Merlin said, popping a wheelie like an idiot on the crowded sidewalk.

“What’s the big deal about wearing a black shirt? I’m wearing a black shirt,” Gwaine said, taking a moment to gesture toward his own shirt, which was, indeed, black. Then, he asked quietly, “Did he have dandruff or something? You think your chances with him will improve if he has some kind of social stigma?”

“Nope, not dandruff,” Merlin said, positively beaming. “Something far more interesting than that, my friend.”

“Well don’t make me guess,” Gwaine said, shoving Merlin as they rode side by side.

“I swear, he had a few tiny strands of hair on his shirt,” Merlin said.

“Really? He’s going bald?” asked Gwaine. “Maybe your chances are better than you think.”

“It wasn’t his hair,” Merlin said. He wondered why he hung around with Gwaine when he could be so stupid sometimes. “It was cat hair.”

“Cat hair?” Gwaine looked stupefied.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure it was cat hair,” Merlin said. “I didn’t live with a white cat all my life to not recognize what white cat hair looks like on a black shirt.”

“So he does have a cat there?” Gwaine asked.

“It’s almost certain. I’m going to find out for sure next time.”

=^.^= )

“Freya, are you sure there’s nothing for me at The Devonshire? It’s been days,” Merlin pouted in a way that he was sure Freya would find irresistible.

“Quit your whining, or I won’t page you when the call comes in. It’s not like he’s waiting for an organ transplant,” Freya said from her command post in front of her computer screen.

“Hey, don’t be so snarky. I think you owe me one after that case of mistaken identity earlier this week,” Merlin said.

The phone rang and Freya threw Merlin an exasperated look before she tapped a dangerously manicured fingernail to the button on the telephone console. “Kilgharrah Kourier: We don’t fly by night-unless you want us to.”

Merlin sulked, while Freya took the call. He let the front tire of his bike bump against her desk as she typed the client’s information into the computer.

“Yes, we can be there by noon,” Freya said.

Thump, thump, thump, the rubber bounced off the battered laminate of Freya’s desk where a hundred other bike tires had left their marks over the years.

“We’ll just bill your account,” Freya said as she glared at Merlin. “All right, thank you. Goodbye.”

Thump, thump, thump.

“Knock it off,” Freya said when she finished the call. “Besides, Gwaine made me promise to page you if a call comes in from Prince Charming, so just chill out.”

“I was only asking, darling,” Merlin said with a small smile.

“You gay guys are all the same. Every one of you believes that you’re irresistible to women,” Freya sighed.

“It’s not bragging, if it’s true,” Merlin reminded her with a wink.

Freya smiled sweetly and flipped him the bird.

Merlin turned his bike around and yanked the handlebars until his front wheel left the ground. Pedaling toward the sliding glass door, he managed to trigger the electronic eye at the last moment before bringing the bike onto two wheels and heading out the door and down the sidewalk.

The morning flew by with a trip over to Beth Israel Hospital for a pick-up, a loop back to Mass General, and a straightaway down to the golf course in Brookline. Merlin wondered if he should pick up another tongue sandwich for Gwaine, but decided that twice in the same week might be overkill.

Each time he felt his cellphone vibrate, he got his hopes up that Freya was calling him with a request from the Pendragons. He willed himself to relax and stop worrying about it. He tried daydreaming as he pedaled through the city streets on his rounds.

For the first time in months, Merlin’s eyes were open to the possibilities of life after Cenred. There was a cute guy getting into a taxi on Arlington Street, a pair of students playing Frisbee on the grass in front of The Prudential all hot and sweaty with their shirts flung aside in the summer heat, and a bodhran-playing homeless dude who Merlin could swear winked at him.

When Merlin found himself near the MSPCA on Huntington, he decided that it was time to give his ass a break from the bike seat. He slid his bike into the rack outside and made his way through the doors of the adoption center. He had been a frequent visitor to Angell Memorial Hospital and the MSPCA’s adoption facility in recent months. Usually he had a delivery to make, but today was different. He waved to Gilli, the guy who manned the front desk. The antiseptic air wafted to his nostrils and his ears rang with the distant yips of barking dogs. He wasn’t heading in that direction. Instead, he followed the signs that led to the cat adoption rooms.

There, he mingled with the brown tabbies and striped tigers. More cats than humans were under the shelter’s roof no matter how busy they got with customers.

He admired a pair of men who had apparently chosen a smoky gray longhair to be their companion. They spoke to each other in murmurs as they made their decision among the cat crates and scratching posts.

Merlin smiled as he watched them negotiate with each other. Their concern for the tiny beast gave him a large measure of hope.

There had to be more men who loved cats. If Merlin couldn’t have Arthur Pendragon, he could at least dream of a guy like Gwen’s owner-or perhaps someone new who would share his love of all things feline.

Just then, Merlin’s phone began to vibrate.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Merlin answered the phone excitedly. “I just had a feeling it would be.”

“You have a strange way of answering the phone, young courier,” old man Kilgharrah’s voice boomed from the speaker.

Oh shit! Merlin paced up and down the shiny linoleum floor, recognizing that he needed to recover quickly from this blunder or he’d be out of a job. “Hello, Mr. Kilgharrah. Just something I was speaking to Freya about earlier. Sorry about that. What can I do for you today?” he tried his best to sound professional.

“Freya had to step away from her desk for a moment and I got a request for your services at forty-seventeen Devonshire. I take it you know the place? Freya lists you as the client’s regular courier,” Kilgharrah said.

Merlin’s stomach was in a knot as he tried to process the information. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

Merlin hung up from the call, headed out the animal shelter door, and hopped onto his bike without so much as a wave to Gilli. The Devonshire was about three miles away. Thankfully, it was all at a slight downhill grade.

He cruised down Beacon Street hoping the surge of motion-induced breeze would wash some of the stink out of his clothes. Tonight was laundry night and he had pulled on a Red Sox shirt before he had left the apartment this morning, hoping the rain would hold off until the day’s deliveries were finished. It was hell to ride in a cotton shirt when it was raining, but the soft fabric made the air feel cool against his skin, especially on the downhill stretch.

Merlin’s mind raced more quickly than his bike wheels could turn. That’s it, he told himself, get all your nervousness out of your system before you show up there looking like a lunatic. He let his hands leave the handlebars and dangle by his side. His legs pumped faster, the pavement sliding neatly below the rubber as he helped the force of gravity lead the way downtown. He flexed his fingers as the breeze slipped between them, evaporating the sweat.

After dodging an inordinate number of pedestrians for an early afternoon, Merlin arrived at The Devonshire. He locked his bike and strode through the cool lobby. This time, the doorman was able to secure Arthur’s permission to allow Merlin to ride to the fortieth floor. Knowing the way on his second visit, he barely had time to gather his thoughts before he stood at the Arthur’s door again.

He removed his helmet, straightened his back, and took a moment to smooth the hem of his Red Sox shirt neatly against his shorts. The icy doorknocker, chilled from the air-conditioning, slid into his fingers. He knocked a few times, trying to sound confident as he announced his presence.

Merlin couldn’t help but smile when Arthur came to the door.

“Not you again,” Arthur said. “Are you the only employee of Kilgharrah Kourier, Merlin?”

Merlin’s stomach did a little somersault, knowing that Arthur remembered his name.

“Just your luck, today,” Merlin shrugged.

Arthur was dressed to kill, in a light gray suit and a silk tie that looked like it was patterned with hundreds of images of Garfield the Cat. Arthur’s appearance was a far cry from the casually lounging sex-god of earlier in the week. He just seemed to look better and better each time Merlin saw him.

As soon as the door opened, Merlin made certain to pay close attention to Arthur’s apartment. He peered inside, trying to get a glimpse of a cat’s antics that Gwaine insisted he’d see if a cat was in residence. To his right, the room opened into the living area with the long span of windows facing the harbor. To his left, there was the hall table and a short flight of carpeted stairs leading upward before twisting to the left. Beyond the stairwell, the kitchen was only partially in view and he could see into the open dining area if he leaned over far enough.

“Are you looking for something?” Arthur asked running a hand through his tussled hair.

“No, it’s nothing… it’s silly really,” Merlin said, trying to contain his excitement as his eyes scanned Arthur’s suit for further traces of white fur.

Arthur squinted at him. “Do you find something humorous in all of your clients’ homes?”

“Hah,” Merlin laughed, fidgeting. “Not really, not at all. It’s just… I thought you had a cat.”

Arthur’s face dropped. “A cat? Why would you think that?”

“I thought I heard a cat’s meow when I was here before,” Merlin said, toying with the strap of his messenger bag. He immediately wished he hadn’t brought the cat into the conversation. Clearly Arthur was uncomfortable about it, as evidenced by his bewildered expression. Merlin hoped he hadn’t startled him into revealing something about himself that he wanted to keep a secret. He wondered if The Devonshire even allowed their residents to own cats, not that it would matter if a man of Mr. Pendragon’s status were to sneak an animal into the building.

“I may be a man with many interests…” Arthur said, taking a step closer to Merlin.

Merlin opened his mouth, then tried without success to get the look of utter delight off his face.

“But I’m afraid pet ownership isn’t one of them,” Arthur said as his feet came to a stop.

The remark put Merlin at ease, although it shattered every illusion he had conjured up about Arthur as a cat lover over the past few days. He didn’t bother to ask about the cat hair he saw on his shirt. Maybe he was mistaken about it after all. Perhaps Arthur had a white-haired aunt or a fetish for stuffed animals with hair that resembled white cat fur. Merlin raised his hands in a casual surrender, only realizing how close they were standing when the tip of his finger grazed the lapel if Arthur’s jacket. “You’re right, it’s entirely inappropriate of me to even wonder such a thing about a client.”

“Believe me, I understand completely,” Arthur said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I’m sure that I’d be curious about my clients if I were in your position. It’s only human nature.”

“Well, we’re not supposed to intrude on a client’s private matters. We’re just supposed to pick up and drop off, nothing personal,” Merlin said.

“Oh, I see. So if I were a messenger, I shouldn’t remark that the Sox are doing terribly this year,” Arthur said, gesturing knowingly at Merlin’s shirt.

A wave of nervous laughter rolled through Merlin. “I think it’s because of the new manager, but yes, that’s it exactly. See, you’d catch on quickly as a bike messenger. You’d get all sorts of useless information since you already have that unobtrusive questioning thing down pat.”

“I’d just need to learn to ride the bike,” Arthur said, taking his hands out of his pockets.

Merlin became so caught up in the thrill of seeing Arthur again, he nearly forgot why he was there in the first place. He simply stood across from him in the entryway, grinning like an idiot.

The sound of a horn bellowing from a cruise ship in the harbor startled Merlin back to the task at hand.

“Um, you requested a pick-up today?” he asked, sorry to end their easy conversation.

“Oh, yes,” Arthur said, unfolding his arms to throw his hands in the air. “Let me get it for you.”

Merlin stepped inside the beautifully appointed apartment for the second time, as Arthur disappeared around the corner, leaving him to wait. He noticed that the long span of windows was open today, revealing the narrow balcony beyond. If he took a deep breath, he could swear that he smelled the ocean.

Outside, the distant harbor was dotted with the white hulls of powerboats as they crisscrossed the sparkling water. Merlin could hear the seagulls through the open windows along with the clang of a ship’s bell and the loud rumble of a speedboat as it outpaced the traffic on the water.

“Here you go,” Arthur said, handing Merlin a large manila envelope.

“Thanks,” Merlin said, checking the address label that was already in place. He was able to gain a bit more control over himself on this visit. He even stopped himself from blurting out for the second time that the documents were to be delivered to Taylor, Ganson, & Perrin, the attorneys who specialized in estate settlement.

“These will be going back to Morgana,” Arthur said.

“Morgana, your sister,” Merlin nodded. The words escaped before he could catch himself and he fought to keep from seeming too forward. “I remember you sent the documents back to her last time. In the South End.”

“You have a good memory, Merlin,” Arthur said. “Perhaps you’re not completely useless after all.”

“I try,” Merlin said sheepishly.

Arthur looked at Merlin warily. “This may be only the first of many documents that will change hands over this issue of my father’s estate,” he said. “I trust that your service will be able to handle future deliveries between my office and hers.”

Merlin grimaced. “Your father?” he asked.

“My father is recently deceased,” Arthur said. He gave the envelope a shake before handing it back to Merlin.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize the estate settlement matter involved someone so closely related to you.”

“His death was not unexpected,” Arthur needlessly continued. “And frankly, it wouldn’t be so bad if my own sister weren’t out to claim most of his fortune for her own. I always suspected she was up to no good. Always coming around his bedside, sneering behind his back, conspiring with his nurses.”

Merlin seemed to be winning with his effort at making small talk, so he pressed his luck, “Had your father been ill for long?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Arthur. “He suffered a stroke. And he must have had some grave mental health issues. Especially if he insisted on allowing Morgana to determine how his children would divide his earthly possessions.”

“Well,” Merlin said, struggling to find something that would put Arthur at ease with him. “I hope the timely delivery of documents will help your case.”

Arthur nodded, tight-lipped.

“I’ll get going with this, then. You look like you’re on your way somewhere yourself?” Merlin asked, feeling stupid for asking it as soon as the words left his mouth. Arthur was dressed impeccably, right down to the gold cufflinks and the Rolex that peeked out from beneath his cuff. Nobody dressed like that every day, at least nobody that Merlin knew on a first-name basis.

“I am, in fact. I’m meeting Morgana in a half hour,” Arthur said, checking his watch. “It’s probably overly-optimistic of me to believe we’ll be able to resolve this issue amicably, but I’m willing to try. I’ll catch the elevator down with you.”

Merlin could only think it was a positive sign that Arthur was so talkative regarding his feud with his sister. He wondered which of his father’s possessions had caused such a rift to develop between the siblings. He thought it would be best to keep his thoughts to himself and enjoy the shared confines of an elevator with Arthur for now. He hoped there would be plenty of time to find out what made Arthur tick during future document deliveries. He slid the envelope into his messenger bag. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

Arthur took one lingering look around the apartment, nodded, and stepped around Merlin to open the door.

Together, they boarded the elevator for the ride to street level. As the elevator stopped to pick up more passengers on its descent, Merlin let his back rest against the mirrored wall. Arthur made room for other riders, an easy presence at Merlin’s side.

When the other passengers disembarked for the parking garage entrance on the second floor, Merlin pushed himself off the wall to take advantage of the additional space. Arthur remained exactly as he was, never moving out of Merlin’s immediate vicinity. Merlin grimaced at their reflection on the mirrored door of the elevator as it closed. The two of them couldn’t have been dressed more differently, nor did they look as if they belonged together in the least. The improbable notion of it made Merlin’s eyes twinkle.

They finally came to their destination and strode through the lobby, Merlin walking in step with Arthur. The doorman opened the glass door and shepherded Merlin and Arthur outside.

The bike lay waiting, chained to the pole where Merlin had left it. Merlin ran his fingers through his hair before donning his helmet while Arthur nodded to the doorman, who moved instantly to hail a taxi.

Merlin secured the chain around his waist and mounted the bike, standing with one foot on a pedal and the other on the ground. To his surprise, Arthur leaned toward him and whispered, “I’ll see you around.”

Merlin licked his lips. “Good luck with your sister,” he said. When the taxi pulled alongside the curb, he watched Arthur nod to him again before entering the taxi and speeding down the city street.

=^.^= )

“It’s about time you got here,” Merlin said. He threw open the door and tugged Gwaine’s arm, pulling him into his apartment, completely disregarding the fact that he was carrying a box containing a large spinach and eggplant pizza with extra anchovies.

As bicycle messengers, they needed to keep their salt intake up so they would naturally consume more water to stay hydrated. Tonight’s beverage of choice was not their typical watered-down Gatorade or sugary caffeinated treat, but a special brew that Percival had concocted in the microbrewery he had established in his parents’ basement.

Since Percival was new to brewing, his fellow messengers were often the first place he offloaded some of the less-than-savory batches. Free beer was free beer. Percival’s sub-par samples quenched thirst as well as a pricy Guinness, so that’s what Merlin and Gwaine used to accompany their pizza while they watched the game.

“What’s the hurry?” Gwaine asked, kicking off his shoes and dropping the pizza onto the low table in front of the futon. “The game doesn’t start until seven.”

“Come look at this,” Merlin said. He was certain that he was beaming as he dragged Gwaine over to his laptop that was perched on the kitchen counter.

“No! Not that cat again,” Gwaine yelped when he saw Gwen’s screen-saving image pouncing across the screen.”

“Look, Gwaine. This is important,” Merlin pleaded.

“What the hell could be so important about a cat?” Gwaine asked before settling in on a barstool.

“Here,” Merlin said, starting the video. “Watch this.”

Merlin loaded the video and Gwen flew across the screen, her pudgy body prancing on four impossibly swift legs. Into the box, she jumped. An occasional murmur from her human roommate could be heard through the laptop speakers. His hand appeared at the screen’s edge. He held a cat toy in his hand, a plush mouse that he rotated with his fingers.

“What? It’s a cat. It’s that same Gwen cat you like so much. So what?”

“Listen,” Merlin said. “Listen closely to it.”

Gwaine hit the replay and turned up the volume.

“I hear some mumbling,” he said.

“No, not that!” Merlin berated him. “In the background! Listen to the sound in the background.”

Gwaine started playing the video over again. Both men hunched over the screen, their ears pricked for whatever Merlin thought he had heard before Gwaine arrived.

“There it is! Did you hear it?” Merlin bounced up and down excitedly.

“It sounded like a ship’s horn? Something on the water, like you would hear on a cruise,” Gwaine looked at Merlin questioningly.

“Yes, I knew I wasn’t imagining things!” Merlin could not have been more thrilled. “Gwen must live near the ocean.”

“So? What does that prove?” Gwaine asked skeptically.

“Gwaine,” Merlin stood with his hands on his hips. “Have you ever been curious about anything?”

“This is more like an obsession than curiosity, I would say,” Gwaine said, heading for the pizza.

Merlin tried to not act disappointed. He grabbed two beers out of the refrigerator and slumped down onto the futon next to Gwaine. He turned on the television just as Price took the mound.

“When I figure out which exotic seaport Gwen calls home, I’ll be sure to not invite you on vacation there with me,” Merlin said.

Gwaine cracked his beer open and struggled to capture the foam that overflowed from the top of the bottle. He put his feet up on the table and grabbed a handful of napkins.

“What ever happened to that Pendragon guy? I thought he was your newest obsession?” Gwaine asked.

“Oh, he is,” Merlin said, between bites of pizza. “I saw Arthur again yesterday,” Merlin said, his face flushing as he spoke Arthur’s name.

“Arthur? You’re on a first-name basis. Do tell,” Gwaine said, hoisting another slice. “Did you find out if he has a cat?”

“No, but I think he was coming on to me,” Merlin said. He snagged an anchovy off the slice of pizza before Gwaine could get it from the box to his mouth.

“Well done!” Gwaine pumped his fist.

“He leaned over and whispered in my ear-did it right on the sidewalk in front of his building. No flies on him,” Merlin said.

“And-” Gwaine said.

“Nothing more to tell, except that he looked even more gorgeous in a suit than he did in the Harvard sweatpants or the black shirt with the cat hair on it,” Merlin said, flipping on the television.

With Pedroia and Crawford already on base and Big Papi at bat, Merlin and Gwaine’s focus turned to the game.

=^.^= )

“Merlin? Is everything alright? Merlin?” Hunith sounded as if she truly had been caught off-guard.

Merlin couldn’t suppress the bright smile that crossed his face when he heard his mother’s surprised voice. He really loved her and he knew she had done whatever she could to make his childhood happy. It couldn’t have been easy to be a single mother, but you’d never know it from Hunith’s cheerful attitude.

“Calm down,” he said. “I’m just checking in to see how your wedding plans are coming.”

“Are you certain that you’re my son? I’m hanging up now to call the police. Someone has obviously stolen my son’s cell phone, and now they are using it to play tricks on his poor old mother,” Hunith said.

“You’re being ridiculous, Mom. Just learn to appreciate it for what it is,” Merlin said.

“Okay, I’m sitting down now. So really, why are you calling?” Hunith asked.

“No reason,” Merlin said. “Can’t a guy call his mom every once in a while?”

“You’re not in any trouble? You’re not in jail?”

“No!” Merlin said.

“Do you need money?”

“No, Mom. Things are a little tight since I’m on my own, but no. I wouldn’t take money from you anyway. I’m supposed to be an adult,” Merlin went to the refrigerator to survey the contents there, deciding immediately that it was time to make an actual shopping list. He might as well multi-task, if Hunith was going to continue with her line of questioning.

“You’ve met someone new!” Hunith said excitedly.

Both the refrigerator door and Merlin’s mouth clamped shut.

Merlin could swear he heard a cricket chirp somewhere in Quincy.

“Bingo!” Hunith exclaimed.

Merlin felt his face flush from the bottom of his chin to the tips of his ears.

“Um… it’s nothing, really,” Merlin said, fidgeting with the magnets on the refrigerator door.

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. I can hear it in your voice. Who is he?” Hunith asked.

“It’s just one of the clients I deliver to,” Merlin said shaking his head, as if the motion would convey the insignificance of this particular client to his mother.

“Are you dating him?” Hunith asked.

“No, no! Nothing like that,” Merlin said. “It’s just… I don’t know. You know how you can sense when someone likes you? They get all sparkly around you and they make you feel special?”

“Don’t think I’m so old that I can’t remember those days. It wasn’t too long ago that I fell head over heels with Iseldir. Of course I can remember,” Hunith said.

“Good,” Merlin said. “I’m glad.”

“I do worry about you. I know you’ll be careful, Merlin, but it’s so easy to think something is real, when it’s not. I hope you won’t get your heart broken again-”

“Mom! It’s just a cute guy. That’s all! Now, how is Aithusa doing without me? Catch any mice lately? And how are those wedding plans coming along?”

Merlin’s diversion was a success. Hunith happily told him about all the plans she had made. Since Christmas fell on a Tuesday, the date had been set for the previous Saturday, the first full day of winter. Both Hunith and Iseldir’s families were from Connecticut, so it served them well to keep the festivities local. Relatives from out of state would be traveling home for the holiday anyway, so the happy couple had wisely planned to hold their ceremony at a convenient time of year.

Merlin could hardly believe that winter would ever arrive, such was the heat of the city he rode through every day. The summer seemed to stretch on endlessly, with cooler nights becoming a distant memory of when he and Cenred had hung their jackets on the hooks near the door and a bevy of scarves and hats filled the trunk in the hallway.

There was no sense in reminiscing about Cenred now. The seasons had changed since they were together, and they would change again soon for Hunith’s wedding. For the first time in a long while, Merlin was content. He had friends, a job, mother who cared about him, and a hot guy for a client who provided wank material for his midnight solo sessions. He had turned the corner. The only thing better would be if he had a new boyfriend at his side and a cat on his lap.

=^.^= )

Merlin had made his third run of the day between Beth Israel and Mass General. He hoped the sets of X-rays would do the trick for the poor souls who relied on the films to be delivered. Although he knew what it was like to strain a calf muscle or roll an ankle, fortunately he had never suffered anything that couldn’t be remedied with a handful of Ibuprofen and a bag of frozen peas.

Freya had sent Gwaine off to the North End for the afternoon. Merlin expected him to have stuffed himself with pasta and gotten drunk on red wine by the time he returned to the dispatch office. The impromptu violin serenades that the Italian eateries were famous for were Merlin’s favorite thing about visiting that part of the city.

A sprinkle of rain had begun to fall when Merlin found himself between deliveries. He pedaled over to the SPCA, locking his bike beneath the awning that covered the walkway.

“Looks like we’re in for a downpour,” Gilli said, his faced pressed to the window when Merlin entered the lobby.

“It might be a wet afternoon,” Merlin said. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad for your business.”

“The end of summer is a lousy time to adopt a pet,” Gilli said leaning back, his breath fogged on the glass. “It could go either way with the rain.”

“Oh?” Merlin asked. He had stopped in front of a Plexiglas-encased play area, where a pair of black kittens engaged in mock warfare, making leaps at each other with outstretched paws.

“The bad weather could ruin people’s outdoor plans,” said Gilli with a smile. “Hopefully, they’ll decide to come here.”

Merlin turned to watch the raindrops slide down the windowpane. The soft yips of dogs in the kennel made him grateful that the animals were safe and well cared-for here, instead of roaming the busy streets where they could get killed, or worse-abducted by the product testing division of a pharmaceutical company or used in some kind of cult ritual. Merlin shook his head. He clearly paid too much attention to those PETA alerts. A rumble of thunder sent the dogs howling.

“On the other hand, the thunderstorms frighten dogs and they might bolt from their owners or escape from their yards. Then, we’ll see an influx of a different sort,” Gilli said. “Strays.”

“I hope that means happy owners reunited with their lost pets,” Merlin nodded, smiling at the playful kittens.

Gilli grabbed a pair of toys that looked like miniature fishing rods with feathers attached to them by a length of string. “I’ve seen you before, visiting the shelter,” Gilli said, handing a toy to Merlin. “Do you have a pet?”

Merlin dipped the feathers into the kittens’ enclosure to get their attention. “I have a cat-Aithusa. He’s exactly the opposite of these two. He’s solid white,” Merlin said. “He lives with my Mom in Connecticut. He’s mine, but I just can’t have him where I live now.”

“Landlord?” asked Gilli knowingly as he flicked his fishing rod, making the feather flit through the air.

The kittens leaped at the imaginary bird.

“Yes, I searched everywhere, but it’s so difficult to find an apartment where pets are allowed. They’re charging more than two grand for an unfurnished studio. Too rich for me,” Merlin said. “Besides, it would be unfair for me to bring him to the city. He loves going outdoors too much.”

“At least your cat is taken care of,” Gilli said. “Animals are relinquished to us every day by owners who either move to a place where pets aren’t allowed, or can’t be bothered to take them when they move.”

“That’s awful. I could never do that,” Merlin nodded sympathetically as a black kitten chased the feather attached to Merlin’s string.

“Well, I suppose all cats can’t live the life of Gwen,” Gilli said.

“Ah,” Merlin said, turning to Gilli, “I see you know about the queen of the Internet.”

“Who doesn’t?” Gilli laughed, making the kittens chase the feather as he trailed it across the floor of their enclosure. “But if she were my cat, I don’t know that I’d put her on the web like that.”

“No? Why not? She seems well fed and well cared-for. She’s certainly doesn’t lack entertainment with all those boxes,” Merlin laughed.

“That’s true. But I’d worry about a cat like that getting into the wrong hands,” Gilli said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean? Do you think she’d be stolen?” Merlin’s eyebrows shot up.

“No, not stolen in the sense you’re thinking,” Gilli said. “She could be stolen in the sense of having her life taken from her.”

Merlin looked at Gilli questioningly, his feather coming to a standstill, losing the kittens’ attention with the inactivity.

Gilli stopped playing with his feather. “Maybe you remember Morris the cat. He was the spokes-cat for 9-Lives cat food?” Gilli asked.

“The big orange cat? I remember him,” Merlin nodded. “He was the model for Garfield the comic strip cat, I think.”

“Morris’s owner worked hard to market the cat as the image of 9-Lives-television commercials, radio, public appearances… he was even on Oprah. The cat made millions for his owner,” Gilli said.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Merlin said, resuming his play with the kittens. “Or is there?”

“There was a slight problem,” Gilli said. A crash of thunder echoed, sending the unseen dogs into a barking frenzy. “When the original Morris died of old age, his owner searched everywhere for his replacement-even all the SPCAs and Humane Societies. And those were the days before the Internet. He had to do it by phone, and then he had to wait for the photographs of similar looking cats to arrive in his mailbox for him to decide whether they had a chance at replacing Morris.”

“I can’t begin to imagine the amount of work that must have taken,” Merlin said.

“He flew all over the country, visited countless animal shelters, until he found a cat that looked exactly like his beloved Morris,” Gilli said, his tone somber.

“I bet he offered a small fortune to the shelter where this Morris look-alike was found,” Merlin said. The black kittens mewled in frustration when he raised the feather out of their grasp.

“He did,” Gilli said.

The shelter lobby was silent, except for the windswept rain that that pelted the windows.

“And-why do I get the feeling that there’s more to this story?” Merlin asked, turning to Gilli.

“My grandmother worked here at the shelter then. The cat she loved… Lucky was his name before he made it big with the endorsements and the advertising campaigns,” Gilli said. “My grandmother couldn’t have a pet where she lived. Lucky was like a child to her. He lived here at the shelter. Of course, he wasn’t caged. He roamed freely as if he were an ordinary pet. My grandmother loved him. He wasn’t meant to be adopted by someone else.”

“But your grandmother… she must have been happy for Lucky to go to a real home?” Merlin asked softly, the feather toy coming to a standstill.

The revelation hit Merlin like a ton of bricks.

He felt sick.

“Oh,” He said. “All that travel… the endorsements… the television appearances…. It was nothing like a real home.”

“No. Nothing like a real home at all. He spent his life traveling from one media circus to another,” Gilli said, replacing his toy in the bin outside the kittens’ enclosure. “My grandmother died of a broken heart. There are some things more dear to people than their own relatives. For my grandmother, Lucky was her life.”

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin said, handing his toy back to Gilli.

“Me too,” Gilli said. “That’s why I work here-that’s how I came to work here. I want to protect animals against such exploitation.”

“And you do good work,” Merlin said. “It’s a noble cause.”

“Imagine if a manipulative businessman got ahold of Gwen,” Gilli said. “I shudder to think. In this day and age, with her videos going viral, and all of her followers in place already. Move over, Nike and Google… if a marketing pro wanted the best ad campaign of the twenty-first century, Gwen is the answer.”

“And it would bring only heartbreak to Gwen’s owner, if Gwen’s future happiness was mishandled like Lucky’s,” Merlin said in a deep reverie.

The silence was broken when the doors to the lobby burst open and a group of a dozen children squeezed into the entryway, herded by their chaperones.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Gilli said, slapping his hand to his forehead. “I’m giving a tour to the YMCA camp today.”

The children squealed at the sight of the kittens. They ran up to the enclosure and pressed their grimy fingers against the Plexiglas, their muddy feet and dripping clothes sullying the lobby floor. The adults tried to keep the children quiet, with whispers to respect the kittens’ personal space and reminders of how they practiced their indoor voices earlier in the day. It was to no avail. Like most people, they couldn’t contain their squee when confronted with a pair of adorable kittens.

“It looks like you’re going to have your hands full,” Merlin said.

“I’m used to it,” Gilli laughed.

“I’d best be going now, anyway. It looks like the rain has finally stopped,” Merlin said.

“I’ll see you later,” Gilli said, turning his attention to the task at hand and the visitors that awaited his attention.

Outside, Merlin swiped an elbow across the bike seat, damp with raindrops. He pedaled away, hoping that Gwen would always be safe from any misguided entrepreneurs.

=^.^= )

“But, these are for this Friday night,” Merlin said. He took a step forward and held the pair of tickets up to the light, as if better lighting would confirm that they were the real thing.

“The first game of a three-game series,” Arthur said, folding his arms across his chest.

Merlin could feel Arthur’s eyes on him as he stood in the entryway to his apartment. He had long since given up on trying to look fresh when he arrived at The Devonshire to pick up more of Arthur’s documents. If Arthur was going to be interested in him, he’d have to accept the fact that life as a bicycle messenger didn’t allow for midday showers. That didn’t stop Merlin from at least removing his helmet and fussing with his hair a bit before knocking on Arthur’s door when he was called for yet another pick-up.

“Tigers,” Merlin huffed out an excited breath. “And I’m pretty sure Verlander is pitching.”

“I don’t follow the pitching rotations that strictly,” Arthur said, slumping backwards to lean against the wall. “Verlander is their ace, right?”

“Yeah,” Merlin nodded. “I’m not sure if the Sox will have a chance against him, even if he’s up against Lester.”

“It ought to be a good game then,” Arthur said, his voice making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“You’re lucky to have gotten these,” Merlin said, holding the tickets as if they were a fragile piece of hand-blown glass.

“That’s what I thought,” Arthur said, unfolding his arms and taking a step closer to Merlin.

“We’re still in the wild card race. These games have been sold out since April,” Merlin said. He pressed the tickets into Arthur’s hand and laughingly added, “If you wanted to scalp them, you could probably get big bucks for the pair of them.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not looking to scalp them. A friend of my father’s gave them to me,” he said, tapping the tickets with his index finger, the nail perfectly trimmed and shiny with a clear coat of polish. “I wasn’t going to accept them, but I remembered you were a fan from my lesson in courier etiquette, and I thought if you weren’t doing anything on Friday, you might like to go with me.”

Merlin’s heart thundered in his chest when he observed the way Arthur looked at him through lowered lashes, his gleaming eyes as blue as the windows on the Hancock Tower.

“Friday?” Merlin asked, the realization dawning on him that yes, Arthur had the hottest tickets in town and yes, he also had the hottest everything, and yes, he’d be crazy to decline the invitation.

“It’s the least I can do, considering you’re running yourself ragged with deliveries between my sister’s attorneys and me,” Arthur said. “You can consider it a business meeting, if you’d like.”

Merlin couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “I’m sure I can find an excuse to go with you. No need to make it a business obligation.”

“Good, then I can complain to you about my annoying sister, instead,” Arthur smiled. “You can use the information in case you ever decide to quit this courier gig to become a family therapist.”

“Not a bad idea, when you consider how many disgruntled siblings I see on any given day,” Merlin said.

“Hold that thought,” Arthur said. “As you might guess, I have enough issues of my own without having to hear about others.”

“On the other hand, it might make you feel better about your own issues,” Merlin quipped. “Contemplating the hardships of others has its merits.”

“Ah, the grass is always greener, is it?” Arthur asked leaning closer.

“So they say,” Merlin said. He could feel Arthur’s breath against his cheek, but he didn’t back away. He could smell the faint scent of his toothpaste and he had to shake himself to keep from smiling at the knowledge that Arthur had brushed his teeth to prepare for Merlin’s arrival. Merlin needed to say something. He knew that if he stayed a moment longer, he’d abandon the rest of his manifest. He’d probably lose his job. Then he’d have to move back home with his mother. And Iseldir. Then, he’d certainly never get to find out what lay beyond the entryway to Arthur’s realm, although he would be treated to a dead mouse on occasion. “Should I meet you here, or at Fenway?”

Arthur straightened up. “Why don’t you meet me here. We can catch a taxi or just ride the T over to the park,” Arthur said.

“Okay,” Merlin smiled. He moved backwards until he felt the doorknob brush against his back. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

“If not, sooner,” Arthur said, sliding his hand along the doorjamb as Merlin made his exit.

=^.^= )

Merlin grinned from ear to ear as he rode the elevator to the lobby. He couldn’t believe his luck. He just had the invitation to perhaps one of the most important games of the year handed to him. And he’d be going to the game with Arthur.

Gorgeous, funny, sexy, baggage-laden Arthur.

Merlin was pretty sure Arthur wasn’t a rabid baseball fan, so it meant even more to him that Arthur recognized the significance of this game. And he had thought of Merlin because of his shirt! Letting laundry pile up had its advantages, after all.

Merlin strode across the lobby of The Devonshire and hopped onto his bike.

The realization that he and Arthur were quite possibly going on a date, a real date, washed over him like dawn breaking over Marblehead.

Merlin sped across two lanes of traffic stopped at the red light on Water Street.

He was going on a date with Arthur. “Arthur Pendragon,” he let the name roll off his tongue.

Turning onto Washington Street, Merlin had to wait for the usual annoyingly slow pedestrians to cross. If he stood up on his pedals, he could see nearly all the way to Chinatown, where his next delivery was already overdue.

Arthur, with his blue eyes.

When the traffic cleared, Merlin took off like a line drive, pedaling down the street, keeping ahead of the cars that fell into a procession behind him.

Arthur, with his dead father and his crazy sister. Merlin smirked.

Faster and faster he pedaled, well ahead of the congested city traffic, the road a long ribbon of blacktop stretching before him to Kneeland Street, the fish market, and beyond.

He was going on a date with Arthur. Arthur, with his allergies to tree mold.

The breeze rippled past him, washing away everything about Merlin that was stationary, that had been plastered into one place, his hair, his clothing, the sweat from his skin.

Arthur, with his glorious view of the city from his apartment.

Merlin took his hands off the handlebars and tilted his head back while his legs pumped out a rhythm that made the tires sing against the polluted street.

Arthur, with his infuriatingly low-slung Harvard sweatpants.

Merlin closed his eyes and reached into his belly for a voice that expressed himself best, and yelled, “I’m king of the world!”

=^.^= )