HQ – 19:13

Percival sat at the edge of the couch in the ready room, flipping a protein bar between his hands like he was deciding whether or not to commit to dinner.

Bedivere hadn’t looked up from his screen in twenty minutes.

Then he paused.

“Merlin just left,” Bedivere said.

Percival grunted. “And?”

“On time.”

That got Percival’s attention.

He turned.

Bedivere was still staring at the door like it had said something rude. “And he was...dressed.”

“He’s always dressed for Command meetings,” Percy said, confused.

“Left HQ dressed well,” Bedivere clarified. “Like intentional.”

Now Percival frowned too.

“...Where’s he going?”

Bedivere didn’t blink. “Said ‘catching up with a contact.’ And smiled.”

The two of them sat there for a moment in increasingly suspicious silence.

Then Bedivere opened the team group chat and fired off a message.

[Bedivere]: Merlin just left HQ on time
[Bedivere]: He’s wearing his nice blazer.
[Percival]: he SMILED on the way out
[Gawain] Forreal???
[Lancelot]: I’m concerned
[Galahad]: So either the second coming is upon us or he’s meeting someone
[Tristan]: I wasn’t even aware romance came preloaded in his system.

Pub – 19:26

The watering hole wasn’t fancy, but it was neutral ground.
Lancelot and Tristan had been dragged there by two other unit heads, half-listening to someone gripe about quarterlies and gear shortages.

Tristan nursed a pint. Lancelot was making slow work of a whiskey.

Then Lancelot blinked. Sat up straighter.
“Elbows down,” he muttered.

Tristan followed his line of sight.

Across the pub, tucked into a corner booth, sat a white-haired woman with her legs crossed at the ankle and a bowl of fries between her hands.

Crown.

Dressed down in a slouchy jacket and civilian boots, expression blankly curious, like she’d wandered into the bar by accident and stayed out of spite.

The table was set for two.

She dipped a fry into hummus. Ate it. Scrolled through her phone.

“She’s not supposed to be here,” Lancelot hissed.

“Is she ever supposed to be anywhere?” Tristan asked.

Lancelot reached slowly for his phone.

“Don’t,” Tristan said, but too late.

Lance lifted the camera. Focused. Tried to snap a quick photo from across the room.

At the exact second before the shutter clicked, Crown turned—deadpan—and posed. One eyebrow arched. Chin tilted.

Lancelot yelped and dropped the phone.

Tristan barely caught it.

The group chat lit up instantly.

[Lancelot]: SHE’S HERE
[Lancelot]: CORNER BOOTH PUB 12
[Lancelot]: TABLE FOR TWO SHE’S EATING FRIES
[Tristan]: She posed for the camera. He dropped the phone. It was very embarrassing.
[Galahad]: she WHAT
[Gawain]: I THOUGHT SHE VANISHED
[Percival]: what do you MEAN “posed”
[Bedivere]: i KNEW something was off
[Percival] well shite, I NEED to see this

Tristan looked up again just in time to see the door open.

Merlin walked in.

Wearing his blazer with actual buttons and no tablet in sight.

Crown stood up, calm as ever. She walked up to him like this was routine.

Merlin raised a hand and gave her a light karate-chop to the top of the head.

She pouted.

Rubbed her scalp like it stung. Then stole his phone.

Tristan and Lancelot watched, stunned, as Crown led Merlin back to the booth, pointed at the plate of food like she was giving him an assignment, and watched until he took a bite.

Merlin didn’t argue. He ate.

Then he said something, and even from across the pub, they could hear the fondness in his voice:

“Your cooking’s still better.”

Tristan flinched.

Lancelot made a strangled sound in his throat.

[Lancelot] …I think we figured out who Merlin was meeting.
[Percival] NO
[Bedivere] Called it
[Gawain] WAIT I'M COMING OUT OF MY MEETING I WANT TO SEE THIS
[Tristan]: i think we’re witnessing courtship
[Galahad]: domestic espionage??? On my Wednesday evening??
[Lancelot]: i want off this team
[Percival]: she is going to kill us and make it look like an accident
[Bedivere]: she probably already has the plan written out

Lancelot looked over at Tristan, pale.

Tristan just took a slow sip of his pint and said:

“Maybe let’s pretend we didn’t see this.”

Party at Corner Booth 12

The Knights didn’t sit together.

Not officially.

Lancelot leaned against the bar with a half-finished drink and a very intentional line of sight.
Tristan had migrated to a high-top with a direct angle on the back booth.
Gawain claimed the stool nearest the door, legs stretched like a man who could relax if he wanted to. He didn’t.
Galahad was “reading” a drinks menu he had memorized.
Bedivere hadn’t even ordered anything—just held his phone and occasionally looked at nothing.
Percival stood near the arcade corner, pretending to be engaged by a dart game.

All of them were listening.

They didn’t have to strain.

Crown and Merlin sat in the far booth. Back wall, biggest table in the room. 

A plate of hummus and fries sat between them. 

Her jacket was shrugged off, sleeves pushed up. Merlin’s collar was undone. Both had drinks they weren’t touching.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be there,” Crown was saying.

Merlin raised a brow. “No?”

“Flew in for something last-minute. Was meant to head out next week. Was only gonna drink a few then pop on out but I... noticed your drones.”

“You always were nosy.”

She scrunched her nose at him. “You painted them black against the midnight blue sky. What did you think would happen?”

Lancelot flinched like she’d aimed it at him.

Tristan sipped his beer. Didn’t blink.

“This wasn’t your op,” Merlin said.

Crown shook her head. “Got invited by a high society sorority girl. Saw the pattern. Recognized your tech. Got curious.”

She plucked another fry off the plate and popped it into her mouth. Casual.

“And then?”

She shrugged. “Saw how bad it was going. Decided to help.”

There was a pause. Not tense—just quiet.

“I saw the feed after,” Merlin said.

Her fingers slowed. Just slightly.

“I saw your face when you thought no one was looking. When you realized everyone got out.”

She didn’t deny it. Just looked at the fries like they might say something clever if given time.

“They’re a solid team,” she said eventually. “Sharp. Clean movement.”

“They’re not used to chaos.”

“They handled it.”

Merlin watched her for a long moment.

Not soft. Just steady.

There was something in his posture that hadn’t been there since she landed. Something that looked like… relief.

He picked up his glass. Sipped.

“Onboarding is in the works,” he said, voice even. “Now that you’ve made yourself available, Kingsman wants to formally bring you in as an asset.”

She groaned and dropped her head to the table.

“Oh god, more paperwork.”

He reached over and tugged her cheek like an older brother trying not to smile. “Dignity, Grayson.”

She muttered something unintelligible into the tabletop.

“Say it like an adult.”

She lifted her head. “Fine. I accept your boring bureaucratic offer.”

“Good.”

“Are you gonna be around at the very least?”

“Can’t have you galavanting too far without your handler.”

She beams a little from where she’s cheek planted on the table. 

He huffs at her fondly.

A pause.

Then: “Are they joining us for dinner?”

Merlin blinked. “...Who?”

Crown tilted her head.

“You didn’t notice?”

He turned slowly.

Caught the precise way Lancelot looked down at his glass.
The way Gawain had gone suspiciously still.
The fact that Tristan hadn’t looked away once.
The clatter when Percy dropped all the darts he was holding.
The way Bedivere was half hidden by a pillar but very much staring.
And the way Galahad was still flipping the same page of the drinks menu like it contained state secrets.

Merlin closed his eyes. Let out a sigh.

“They’ve been listening.”

“Of course they’ve been listening,” Crown said, smug. “That’s why I got the biggest booth. You’re all so nosy.”

For Lack of Introduction

They didn’t walk over all at once.

It started with Gawain, of course. He slid into the booth like it was a diplomatic maneuver, all grin and false chill, clearly hoping that if he acted casual enough, no one would call it out.

Then Percival followed. Tristan next. Galahad sat down like the seat had been reserved for him. Bedivere ghosted in with a drink he hadn’t paid for. Lancelot sat last—stiff and too quiet.

The energy shifted.

Crown looked up from her fries, chewed slowly, then gave them a small, polite nod.

No handshakes.

Just: “What are you all getting?”

There was a beat.

Then Lancelot, ever the brave one, gestured toward Merlin.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Merlin didn’t look up from his menu.

“You’ve already met.”

Crown smiled faintly at her plate. Dipped another fry in hummus.

They hesitated.

One by one, they began placing orders, awkwardly paging through the menu like it might protect them.

Then the door opened again.

Arthur entered, coat sharp, expression unreadable, eyes scanning the table like he already knew what he was walking into.

He slid into the only open seat—between Lancelot and Merlin.

“I saw the group chat,” he said, voice low but level. “Figured this saved me the hassle of trying to contact you.”

Crown didn’t miss a beat.

“If you’re that kind of man,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him, “I’m very good at being chased.”

The table flinched.

Merlin didn’t even blink.

He rolled up the menu and smacked her lightly on the back of the head.

“Easy,” he said, then passed the menu to Arthur.

Crown pouted. Rubbed the back of her head like she’d been mortally wounded.

Arthur accepted the menu without comment.

No one spoke.

Not right away.

But the tension had shifted.

Just slightly.

Like they’d stopped bracing for her to run—and started bracing for her to stay.