(FYI all three of my cousins are sprawled across my bed right now. One is reading this over my shoulder and asking me a million questions. She does not approve of our swearing. Have told her to fuck off. Yay family. Currently I'm thinking this is New York-- possibly pre-Giuliani if we want to be authentic? Nominate another city if you like, but I've already used American language.)

"This is a friend, not a C.I.," says Merlin. "I would like for him to remain my friend at the end of this conversation." The chances of that, Merlin thinks privately, are very slim.

"From the old neighborhood, eh?" Arthur teases obnoxiously.

They are on the subway, and the train is so crowded that they are pressed awkwardly together. Merlin can smell Arthur-- his sweat and his deodorant and the detergent that he uses for his laundry. He can see the little blond prickles on his cheeks and chin where his beard is beginning to grow back. None of this should be charming.

"Speaking of the old 'hood," Arthur continues cheerfully, "while we're there, let's stop by your mom's. I could really go for a slice of her apple pie."

"What makes you think my mom will give you pie?" asks Merlin, in his best put-upon voice.

"Of course she'll give me pie. Hunith loves me. Possibly more than you."

Someday, Merlin hopes, he will learn how to say no to Arthur.