Welcome to the Dark Side

FIC: Along the Way (5/7?)

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 18:17:10 GMT

Title: Along the Way
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Fast and Furious
Characters: Dom, Brian, Mia, Rico, Tego, and Leon
Spoilers: All four movies
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer and fantastic raynedanser
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Fast and Furious and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Dom has questions. He hopes Brian has answers.

Dom watched Brian retreat inside the house. He knew he’d just screwed that up, but he didn’t know what else to say. How could Brian know how he felt? Brian had known the team for less than two months before Race Wars. Sure, he could apologize, he probably meant it too, but words could never fill the void of Jesse or Letty or his makeshift family that he’d worked so hard to protect.

He hadn’t expected Brian to apologize, though. Dom knew he’d been doing his job. He’d never in a million years thought Brian would jump on that semi truck to save Vince. He’d never expected the look of rage on Brian’s face when he watched Jesse being gunned down by Tran and his cousin. He’d never expected Brian to be the one to kill Johnny. He also hadn’t expected Brian to let him go after he’d crashed the Charger.

Then, five years later, Brian had allowed Letty to infiltrate Braga’s drug ring to bring him home. It had ended in her brutal death. Would she have even been there if Dom hadn’t left her in the middle of the night with no explanation and no goodbye? Brian had willingly left his jurisdiction, his safety net, to get Braga, to bring him to justice. And when Dom’s trial hadn’t gone the way Brian hoped it would, he’d been the one to orchestrate the plan to get Dom out.

It was a cluster fuck, and frankly, it was making Dom’s head hurt. Cars were so much easier, all metal and parts. Parts that worked like they were supposed to. If there was a problem, Dom could find it, fix it, and everything was as good as new.

He couldn’t fix this. He didn’t know where to begin or even if he was supposed to.

Dom was frustrated with his life, with how things had turned out, with the choices he had made, but it seemed a whole lot easier to put that on Brian.

He grabbed another beer, twisted the cap off and tossed it on the stairs.

Maybe this wasn’t about Brian at all or maybe everything was about Brian. He didn’t know anymore, and that was frustrating him more than anything. Dom was used to having all the answers, to each movement being calculated, planned, except for those treasured ten seconds on the track. That was when he allowed himself to cut loose, to forget everything and everyone, his responsibilities and his wrongs; it was when he finally allowed himself to be free.

No one made him hijack those trucks. It had been his idea, and it wasn’t like he needed the money. Granted, his team had been more than willing participants, but the idea had been his and the responsibility was his alone. Brian being a cop had nothing to do with what happened. If it hadn’t been Brian, it would have been someone else, and it was highly unlikely that person would have let him go. It was even more likely that Dom would be six feet underground right now if it hadn’t been for Brian.

All of this inner exploration was enlightening, but maybe he should be sharing some of this with Brian. He wasn’t sure what he’d say, but Brian had a right to know he hadn’t been wrong, and Dom didn’t blame him for doing what he did. Dom had felt betrayed, he wouldn’t deny that, but he never expected Brian to apologize for being a cop. Just like Brian never asked him to apologize for breaking the law.

“What the hell is in this beer?” Dom muttered, glancing at the bottle before starting up the stairs. The house was quiet, and Brian wasn’t in his room. That left one place, the place where Dom knew Brian found peace just like he did, the garage.

He saw yellow light emerging from underneath the wooden door. He pushed the door open, walking through with purpose. They could settle something tonight, here, in this shabby makeshift garage. It was high time they both moved forward because, frankly, Dom didn’t they could sink any lower.

Brian glanced up, his eyes hooded and wary. His movements were deliberate as he wiped his hands on a rag, swallowed, and tossed the dirty cloth on the ground.

“All right, Toretto,” he said. “Let’s have it.” His arms were at his sides, his shoulders tilted in as if Brian was forcing himself to hold still.

Dom froze, the train of thought in his head thrown of its tracks by Brian’s resolute posture. “What?”

“Go ahead,” Brian said, a hand waving in invitation. “I won’t fight you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Brian’s eyes closed, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “Will you just finish it already? I can’t do this anymore.”

Dom took a step forward, his hand out and Brian squared his shoulders, waiting. “You think I’m going to hit you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to.”

Dom withdrew his hand and rubbed his chin instead. “The thought had crossed my mind, but I doubt for the reasons you think.”

“Letty wasn’t reason enough?” Brian growled, his eyes sharp underneath the hazy light.

Dom winced inwardly, and he forced himself to keep his breathing even. He might not be as calm and collected as Brian, but he knew when he was being pushed.

“I don’t blame you, Dom. I’d want to kill me too if I was you.”

“You’re one fucked up guy, do you know that?” Dom snapped. Brian was actually providing justification for Dom to beat him into the ground. “So you’ve just been waiting around for me to kill you? Do you realize how warped that is?”

Brian shrugged. “You don’t need anymore unfinished business.”

“Jesus Christ, Brian. I’m not going to kill you.” Despite how angry he’d been, how betrayed he’d felt, the idea of fighting Brian hadn’t crossed his mind since he found out about Brian running Letty.

Truth be told, he actually felt like hitting Brian for thinking up something so insane. “I don’t know what you think I am, but I don’t go around killing people who are –“

What exactly was Brian, anyway? He didn’t know how to finish that sentence so he opted to repeat his previous message to make sure Brian got the point. “I’m not going to kill you, and if I hit you, you’ll know exactly what it’s for, and it won’t have anything to do with our past. You understand?”

Brian never got the chance to respond, to tell Dom that no, he really didn’t understand, because the sound of tires driving across the packed dirt pulled their attention away.

“Mia’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow,” Dom mused, reaching for the door. “We’re not done here,” he said as an afterthought.

“Um, hello?” a hesitant voice called.

“Holy Christ,” Dom whispered, walking across the yard. Brian stood in the garage doorway, his eyes on the car with its engine still running and the driver that was standing next to the open door. “Leon? Leon??” He felt like he was seeing a ghost.

“Dom!” Leon yelled, his voice close to a shriek. He’d deny that later, of course.

It was a cross between a tackle and a bear hug, and Leon was bodily lifted off the ground for a second. It had been too long.

“How the hell did you find me? Where the – just – what?“ Dom wouldn’t have been more surprised if Tanner had shown up and offered him international immunity. He also knew if Leon could find him, chances were that anyone could including multiple law enforcement agencies that would love to have his head on a silver platter.

Leon grinned, pushing his hair out of eyes. “I got your message. Finally.” He waved a tiny model Volkswagen in front of Dom. It was an exact replica of Jesse’s car. It even had the stickers on the sides.

Dom held the car in his hand, eying the tiny rims and the tires that actually spun. “Where did you get this?”

Leon cocked his head. “You should know. You left it, didn’t you?”

Dom didn’t respond, and Leon passed him a small piece of folded paper. The numbers were blurred, and the scrap paper was crinkled as if it had been folded and unfolded multiple times. “A phone number.”

“Yeah, for some crazy guy in Barstow. I gotta tell you, man, you have some weird friends.”

“Barstow, huh?”

Leon continued, his hands wildly animating his tale. “Oh, it doesn’t stop there. Then he told me to buy a new phone, call some guy in Miami then I had to get rid of the phone.”

Dom shook his head. This was going to be a long explanation. “Grab your stuff and come inside.” Leon leaned inside the car and turned the engine off. “Need some help?”

“Nah, only got one bag. You can take this, though.” He passed a cooler to Dom. When Dom opened the lid, it was filled with Coronas. He could only laugh.

“You bring nothing more than a change of clothes, but manage to come with a cooler of beer?”

Leon shrugged. “I wasn’t even sure if I’d find you, but if I did, I couldn’t show up without the goods.”

“Smart man,” Dom said, clapping him on the back. As they started for the house, he noticed Brian wasn’t around. The light in the garage was still on, shining underneath the closed door. Dom would get him later. Right now, he had five years of lost time to get caught up on.

He put the warm beers in the fridge and passed Leon a cold one after twisting off the cap. He still couldn’t believe Leon was here standing in front of him.

“So tell me again how you got here?” Dom asked, settling on the couch.

“Man, forget about that! What about you? What have you been up to? Where’s Mia?”

“It’s not that I’m not glad to see you because I am. I really am, but I have to know if there’s a chance you’ve been followed. There are a lot of people lookin’ for me.”

Leon held the tiny piece of paper in his hand like it was his lifeline. “But you left this note.”

Dom didn’t say anything different. "Tell me about this guy in Barstow.”

“Oh yeah! Your crazy friend!” That was the beauty of Leon, he was easily distracted. “So he had told me to get another phone, one of those pay as you go deals, and call this guy in Miami. So I got the phone and called him, TG or something like that, and he told me the name of a custom auto body shop and hung up.”

“So what’d you do?” Dom asked.

“What do you mean ‘what’d I do?’ I fucking drove there!”

This story was getting crazier by the second. “You drove to Miami?”

“Fuck yeah, I did. Again, you have some crazy friends. He told me the name of this border town in Mexico and said I’d find my answers when I got here.”

“How’d you get across the border?”

“Uh, it was easy with the money you left. You can buy anything, including a trip in the back of a semi hiding between metal boat parts.”

It wasn’t funny, but between the way Leon was waving his hands and his animated voice, Dom found himself laughing. In that moment, it didn’t really matter how Leon got there. He was here, and Dom was happy.

“So, what about you? Mexico, huh?” Leon said, pausing to open another Corona and toss the empty aside.

“Yeah, it’s nice enough,” Dom replied.

“I spent some time in Costa Rica after all the shit went down.” The conversation lulled for several minutes before Lean asked, “Mia’s here?”

“Yeah, she’s here.”

Leon nodded. “Good, I can’t wait to see her. I really wanted to visit her after everything happened, but with all the heat, I had to stay away.”

“I can’t believe you managed to stay off the radar,” Dom commented.

“I don’t think the cops tried that hard,” Leon said. “Bigger fish, you know?” And that bigger fish was Dom. Leon studied his beer, rubbing at the damp label. “I heard about Letty. I’m sorry, man.” It meant more coming from Leon because he’d known her, cared about her.

“Yeah,” Dom said, looking away. “Me too.”

“So what else have I missed?” Leon asked, opting to change the subject.

The side door of the house opened, and Leon turned around. To say he’d been surprised to find Dom paled in comparison to the look on his face when he saw Brian walk through the door.

“Holy shit.”

Dom cleared his throat and kept an eye on Leon as he watched Brian pad to the kitchen to wash his hands in the sink. “There’s cold beer in the fridge,” Dom said. It was more than an offer of beer; it was a statement that Brian was here with Dom’s blessing.

“Thanks.”

Leon kept staring at Brain through wide eyes. “Holy shit.”

“You said that,” Brian commented, leaning against the wall and slowly drinking from the bottle. He watched Leon through cool, blue eyes. Dom knew those eyes – unshakable, unfathomable, like nothing in the world could touch him. He was waiting for Leon to make the next move.

Leon glanced at his hands, scratching at a scar from an engine burn that had healed years ago. “Thanks.”

Brian tilted his head to the side as though he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Thanks for Vince. You didn’t have to do that,” Leon said quietly.

“No worries, man,” Brian replied.

“So, I have to ask,” Leon said, grinning, “How the hell did you end up here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Brian replied.

Well, there went Dom’s idea that Brian had planned this little reunion.

Leon held up the replica of Jesse’s car. “I found this.” He lifted the tiny hood. “There was a note inside, a phone number.”

“Crazy shit,” Brian said, picking up the car carefully and running his finger over the sticker on the side. In that moment, Dom knew he was remembering Jesse. He spun the tires a few times before giving the model back to Leon who set is aside on the table.

Leon eyed Brian for a moment. “I gotta ask – what the hell happened to you? You look a little singed around the edges.”

Brian smiled, shrugging it off. “My mother always told me not to play with matches.”

Leon laughed. “I feel ‘ya, man. Lessons hard learned, right?”

“You mean I was supposed to learn something?”

Watching the display, the way the evasion rolled so easily off Brian made Dom want to yell bullshit at the top of his lungs. He doubted Brian even knew he was doing it, avoiding and evading, answering with a question of his own, and if that didn’t work, make a joke about it. And everyone bought it hook, line and sinker.

Leon yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m beat. I’ve been driving for over twenty hours.”

“Hang on, let me clear my stuff out,” Brian said, starting down the hallway. “I should have done that as soon as you got here.”

“What?” Dom said, trying to catch up with the conversation.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Leon said. “Beats sleeping in the back of that beater.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as he referenced the car he’d bought for three hundred dollars after he’d crossed the border.

“No,” Dom said, taking control of the conversation. “You can take Mia’s room tonight. She won’t be back until tomorrow. We’ll figure it out then.”

Old habits die hard and Leon nodded his agreement. “No problem.”

“Really, it’s not a problem for me to get my stuff –“

“Brian, shut up,” Dom said, glaring. Leon, who was only yawning, snapped his mouth closed. “I said we’d figure it out tomorrow.”

Brian stared at Dom, his eyes the same stony blue color. When he relented, it was visible and the muscles in his jaw relaxed. “Okay.”

“And in the morning, I’m making waffles!” Leon declared, standing up. “Bathroom’s over there? I have to shower. I know I reek.” He sniffed his shirt and winced.

“Yeah,” Dom said, pointing down the hall.

“I’m going to hold you to those waffles,” Brian called after Leon closed the door.

“You’ve obviously never tasted Leon’s cooking,” Dom said.

“Nope, can’t say that I have,” Brian replied. “Always up for a challenge, though.”

“I’m going to remember you said that.”

“You do that.” Brian started for his bedroom, pausing to lean against the wall. “You know I really don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Dom said, shaking his head.

“What? With Mia, Leon and you, that’s three people, and there are three bedrooms in this house. It’s not that difficult to piece this together.”

“This from the man who thought I was going to kill him,” Dom replied. “Forgive me if I’m not quick to trust your deduction skills.”

Brian paled for a second, squeezed his eyes closed, his composure returning so fast if Dom had blinked, he’d have missed it.

Opting for another approach, Dom said, “It might not matter in a few weeks anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mia went to the city to see about finishing college here. She never got the chance in the states.” Dom didn’t bother owning up to that one, and Brian was nice enough not to mention it.

“You said she was doing laundry,” Brian accused.

“And you were freaking out,” Dom replied. “It was the first thing I could think of.”

“I remember it differently,” Brian said, tapping his lips as if he was mulling the incident over his mind. “Well, hopefully it will work out for her. If anyone deserves a college degree, it’s Mia.”

Dom didn’t ask if Brian would hang around after Mia left. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know the answer especially after just getting Leon back. He gained one only to lose another.

“Don’t forget those waffles!” Brian called, knocking twice on the bathroom door as he started toward his bedroom. “Night, Dom.”

“Night,” Dom said, watching as Brian closed the door. He picked up the tiny Volkswagen before dropping his head on the couch and trying to make sense of the day’s events. He rubbed his calloused fingers over the stickers marveling at the accuracy of the replica. Jesse would have liked it.

The sound of Leon singing in the shower filled the house, and for a second Dom reconsidered just how glad he was to have Leon back.

TBC

FIC: A Fire That Wouldn't Burn 1/1

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 16:23:52 GMT

Title: A Fire That Wouldn't Burn
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG - pre-slash
Fandom: Merlin
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: “Merlin had envisioned his outing as a sorcerer to be something heroic, dramatic and generally so mind blowing Arthur could do nothing but accept the knowledge that his longtime servant was a warlock and embrace their new relationship with grace and dignity befitting his station. And Merlin nearly got his wish. Almost. Well, the dramatic part was there at least."
A/N: This story takes place approximately one year in the future of the current BBC series. It starts like it's going to be a dark, emotional story. It's not. Really, it's not.

Merlin had envisioned his outing as a sorcerer to be something heroic, dramatic and generally so mind blowing Arthur could do nothing but accept the knowledge that his longtime servant was a warlock and embrace their new relationship with grace and dignity befitting his station.

And Merlin nearly got his wish. Almost. Well, the dramatic part was there at least.

Camelot had been attacked by sorcerers, four sorcerers, if Merlin was counting correctly. It was difficult to tell because he was busy avoiding chunks of castle wall flying past his head. The castle was nearly in ruin as knights stumbled; bloody and bruised, still trying to obey the orders Uther shouted from the far wall that somehow remained standing.

Arthur rolled by him, knocking a small chunk of stone out of the air as he rose from the ground. “Merlin, get out of here!”

“But I can help you!” Merlin shot back, falling to his knees to dodge a piece of split wood.

The ground trembled around them as if the castle was waving the white flag defeat. Total destruction was imminent as the sorcerers converged around them.

“Save yourself!” Arthur yelled, swiping at a sorcerer that merely disappeared and reappeared several yards away.

“You should know that never works,” Merlin huffed, pushing to his feet. He’d had about enough of this silliness.

Merlin glanced at Arthur as he raised his hand. “I’m not sorry for this.” Then he shrugged, grinned and opened his fingers.

“Merlin, as impressive as your open hand happens to be –" He was brought up short by the frustrated screams of the sorcerers as their eyes burned gold and their feet remained stuck to the ground. Massive boulders that once belonged to the castle wall flew through the air, hovering above the heads of the sorcerers.

Chants of spells were screamed through the air and remained ineffective as Merlin closed his hand into a fist and the boulders dropped on their targets.

Arthur watched with his mouth hanging open. He pointed at Merlin then at the boulders before returning to Merlin. “That was – well, effective.”

Merlin nodded, leaning against one of the massive boulders. He was a bit out of breath after that. “Yes, I thought so.”

“So that begs the question – why didn’t you do that sooner?” Arthur yelled.

Merlin didn’t get a chance to responded, Uther’s booming order overshadowing everything else. “Guards, seize him!” Several knights pushed themselves off the ground, still shaken by the attack of the sorcerers, but managed to stumble in Merlin’s direction.

Arthur stepped forward, holding his sword in a defensive posture. “No!”

“Arthur, it’s all right,” Merlin said calmly.

“Shut up,” Arthur growled, waving his sword as several guards approached.

“Step away, Arthur,” Uther yelled, his face as red as his tattered cloak.

Merlin reached out and held Arthur’s shoulder, his fingers pressing hard enough to be felt through the chainmail. “It’s all right. Trust me.”

Arthur glared at him over his shoulder. “Yeah, because you’ve been so honest with me up to this point.”

“That was my only secret,” Merlin promised. “Well, sort of. There might be another one.”

Arthur growled and shrugged Merlin’s hand away so he could grip his sword. “You should be running.”

“Why? I’m not afraid.”

Arthur wanted to scream. “You’re such an idiot! They’re going to kill you!”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, “Trust me.” He smiled as guards surged around him, locking their arms over his shoulders and started dragging him away. Arthur watched, his sword tip now resting on the stone, defeated.

Merlin was pulled to stand before Uther who glared down at him from his position on the cracked and broken castle wall. “You will be burned at the stake for your crimes against Camelot. Immediately.”

“Father!” Arthur yelled, running forward to stand alongside Merlin.

“I witnessed his crimes with my own eyes,” Uther said, his voice teeming with barely restrained anger.

“His crimes that saved Camelot, you mean,” Arthur snapped.

“The ends do not justify the means,” Uther replied. “I have taught you better than that. This boy performed magic in Camelot. He cannot be trusted.”

Several knights were pulling wood across the courtyard that had been blown around by the sorcerers attack. A makeshift woodpile was created, and Merlin was soon dragged over to the pile.

“Ouch,” Merlin muttered. “There’s no reason to be rough.”

“Merlin, do something,” Arthur hissed as Merlin was tied to the wooden pole that had conveniently been taken from a destroyed market shop.

“Like what?” Merlin asked.

Arthur lifted his sword to take matters into his own hands. His father be damned. Merlin wouldn’t burn for saving Camelot. Despite being told magic was wrong his entire life, there was no justice or honor in Uther’s hasty decision.

“Arthur, no,” Merlin repeated. “Do not defend me. What I’m being charged with is true. I do not deny the allegations.” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as Uther in the distance. “Do you hear me? I am a warlock! A warlock!”

Arthur shook his head, his emotions surging. “But what about Gaius?”

“Oh, Gaius. I almost forgot. He’s locked in my bedroom. Let him out later, will you?”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth. “Yes, of course, but Merlin –"

“Burn him!” Uther yelled.

“Do not fear,” Merlin repeated, his eyes on Arthur as one of the knights hesitantly approached with a torch.

Arthur swallowed and watched as the torch was lowered to the dried wood. It went up in an instant, the smoke and salty tears that he stubbornly refused to release stinging his eyes. The courtyard was eerily quiet; the only sound was crackling fire.

The ropes burned and gave away, and Merlin – Merlin stretched his arms above his head. “That’s much better,” he said conversationally. Arthur saw that his eyes were gold, and he doubted it was only a reflection of the fire.

The guards stepped away, stumbling over themselves to get as far away from the warlock as possible.

“You’re not burning,” Arthur said.

“Nope,” Merlin agreed.

“You’re not burning,” Arthur repeated, at a loss to do anything but restate the obvious.

Merlin glanced around the fire that burned around him, checked his arms, his legs and lifted up his shirt to examine his stomach. “It would appear that way, yes.”

“You didn’t think to share with bit of information with me prior to the fire being lit?” Arthur nearly yelled.

Merlin shrugged. “I wasn’t entirely sure it would work.”

This time Arthur did yell. “What?”

“Guards, seize him!” Uther yelled.

“And do what exactly?” Merlin asked, stepping away from the wood that had been reduced to embers. He muttered a quick spell and the fire vanquished. “You can’t kill me, your highness,” Merlin yelled.

“You can’t stay here,” Arthur murmured.

“Right, of course. I suppose I need an escape plan then?”

Arthur nodded. “Perhaps you could have thought of that while you were sunning yourself in that fire.”

Merlin yelled several words that Arthur couldn’t understand. The sound of pounding hooves soon echoed across the stone steps that led to the courtyard.

“Quick, try to kill me,” Merlin instructed.

“What?” Arthur spat. “I’m not going to –“

“Hurry! Make it believable. Uther’s watching.”

“Think of something else because I’m not –"

“Will you shut up and try to stab me? The unicorn isn’t going to slow down!” Merlin ordered.

“The what?!? Arthur glanced over his shoulder in time to see a flash of white, and he made several attempts at a clumsy jab before Merlin somehow managed to leap onto the unicorn’s back and ride through the castle gates.

Merlin stopped, the unicorn rearing on its back legs. “Now that’s impressive,” Merlin murmured, grinning to himself. He smiled a final time at Arthur before lifting his hand in the air and recanting a quick spell. He rode away to the sounds of Camelot being rebuilt to its former glory.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It had been two days since Camelot was attacked by sorcerers, and Arthur’s manservant was revealed as being a sorcerer who thankfully turned out to be more powerful than the sorcerers that were attacking the great city. Then said manservant turned sorcerer had been burned at the stake, only he didn’t burn, and then he rebuilt Camelot with a flick of his wrist as he rode away on a unicorn.

Arthur refilled his goblet for the sixth time. Merlin would be impressed – he could pour his own wine.

Following Merlin’s departure and Uther’s quick order for him to be followed, he’d questioned Arthur mercilessly. Had he known Merlin was a sorcerer? Luckily, all of the questions Uther had asked Arthur had been able to answer honestly. As much as he hated to admit it, he had a feeling Merlin intended it this way so he wouldn’t have to lie to his father.

“Idiot,” Arthur muttered.

He got up, the constricting walls of his chambers were becoming stifling. Arthur had thought he’d be sitting in the dungeon, but Uther somehow interpreted his few clumsy jabs at Merlin as a real attempt on the young warlock’s life. Arthur wondered if Merlin had something to do with that as well.

He walked down a dark corridor that led to the castle wall that faced the west. Nearly everyone asleep save a few guards that were unlucky enough to have night watch. Arthur positioned himself where he knew he couldn’t be seen and stared out at the expanse of his kingdom, and a unicorn pawing restlessly at the stone ground next the wall.

“Shhh,” Arthur hissed as the unicorn snorted at him and stomped the ground with its hoof. “Someone will hear you.” The unicorn looked up at him with a lopsided expression that reminded him of Merlin. “Please tell me you haven’t turned yourself into a unicorn.” The unicorn whinnied rather loudly, and Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”

He strode through the halls quietly and managed to sneak by the guard who was most likely sleeping against the wall.

Arthur approached the unicorn cautiously and held his arms out. “Well?” The unicorn looked at him for a second before turning and walking away. “Hey,” Arthur hissed. “Where are you going?”

He followed the magical horse until it stopped on the grass. “Now what?” Arthur asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The unicorn nickered at him. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” he said apologetically. “Ugh, of course I don’t know what you’re saying. You’re a horse!”

The unicorn whinnied again as if was frustrated by Arthur’s lack of comprehension. “You want me to ride you, don’t you?” Arthur nodded as if he was assured by the unicorn’s lack of response. “I can do that.” He carefully eased himself onto the unicorn’s back, without the aid of a saddle it was more difficult than it looked. “I’ll have you know I’ve been trained to ride since –“ The rest of his words were swallowed by the wind as the unicorn started running at a speed that couldn’t be matched by an animal that didn’t possess magic.

The unicorn ran and Arthur could do little else but grip its mane and hang on, his thighs shaking from the exertion. As quickly as the magical ride began, the unicorn stopped, and it was all Arthur could do not to go flying over its head.

“Ah, he found you, then,” a cheerful voice said.

“Merlin, you idiot,” Arthur growled, sliding off the unicorn and leaning against its side for support as his legs stubbornly refused to support his full weight.

“I believe the words you meant to say were ‘Merlin, you’re a great and powerful warlock. Thank you so much for saving Camelot from total destruction.”

“No, I meant to say idiot,” Arthur clarified.

“No appreciation,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur glanced around a forest he didn’t recognize. He was pretty sure it wasn’t autumn in Camelot. “Where are we?”

Merlin scratched his neck. “It’s hard to explain.”

A lot of things involving Merlin had become hard to explain. “Never mind.”

Merlin stroked the unicorn’s nose and whispered words Arthur didn’t understand, words he actually found rather soothing.

After several seconds, Arthur shifted his weight, his legs finally deciding to cooperate, and cleared his throat causing Merlin to look up. “So, you’re a warlock, then?”

“Um, yeah.”

“And you decided not to tell me,” Arthur continued.

Merlin nodded.

“And then you revealed yourself as a warlock to my father, over half his knights and nearly every citizen of Camelot.”

“Well, I suppose so, yeah,” Merlin agreed hesitantly.

“So why, in all of Albion, do you stay as my manservant?” Arthur asked. It was the one question Arthur had been unable to answer, well, that, and the other hundred questions he had in his mind about Merlin.

Merlin grinned, his hands lifting with excitement. “It’s simply, really. It all had to do with my destiny. Would you like to hear about it? You see, there’s this dragon -”

“No, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Merlin lowered his arms. “But you’re a part of it. A big part, in fact. There’s this coin and -” Merlin stopped short and narrowed his eyes as he studied Arthur. “Are you all right?”

“Merlin, you’re a warlock!” Arthur yelled.

“I thought we’d covered that,” Merlin said, kicking at the ground.

“Can you change?” Arthur asked curiously. He didn’t have a lot of experience with living warlocks so he took this as an educational opportunity.

“No, not really. Is that a problem?”

“No, not as much as it should be,” Arthur replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re not making any sense,” Merlin accused.

“I’m saying you being a warlock should bother me, but it doesn’t. Not really.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, smiling. “Well, that’s a good thing.”

Arthur made a disgruntled sound in his throat like he didn’t entirely agree with Merlin’s opinion on the situation. “What are your other secrets?”

Merlin tilted his head to the side. “What?”

“In Camelot before the guards took you away you said you had another secret. I want to know what it is.”

“Oh – oh,” Merlin said, his cheeks flushing vibrantly. “I don’t have any other secrets.”

“You can’t lie,” Arthur said flatly.

“That’s not true! I lied to you for over a year!” Merlin said triumphantly.

“Do you really want to remind me of that?” Arthur asked.

“Good point,” Merlin mumbled, looking away.

“Tell me,” Arthur repeated. “No more secrets.”

“It’s nothing, really. I was about to die and not thinking clearly.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You weren’t about to die. Now tell me. I want to know.”

Merlin cleared his throat, his eyes everywhere but Arthur’s face. “It’s stupid.”

“I realize I can’t order you, but –"

Merlin jerked up. “But I’m still your manservant!”

“Um, no, you’re not. You’re a warlock, remember? Not to mention you’ve been banned from Camelot as long as my father is alive,” Arthur explained.

Merlin looked away, the realization that he was no longer allowed in Camelot would make protecting Arthur an even more difficult task. Still, he would remain loyal to Arthur to whatever end. “Just because I’m banned from Camelot doesn’t mean you’re not my prince.”

Merlin’s stubborn response caused Arthur to laugh. “I didn’t realize being my manservant meant that much to you.”

“It’s complicated.”

Arthur nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Are you hungry?” Merlin asked, changing the subject.

Arthur glanced around the forest. “Do you even have food out here?”

Merlin lifted his eyebrow. “Warlock, remember? Would you like an apple?” He whispered a spell and plucked an apple from what looked like an oak tree. “Something else, perhaps?” He pulled some type of citrus fruit that Arthur had never seen off the same tree.

“Now you’re just showing off.” Despite his weak objection, Arthur took the fruit, smelled it before biting carefully into its soft exterior. It was good, very good, and his expression must have showed this because Merlin smiled.

“So, your other secret,” Arthur pressed, reaching out to prod Merlin’s side. “Tell me.” Merlin swallowed, unable to meet the prince’s eyes.

“Oh, come on!” Arthur said. “It can’t be any worse than being a warlock!”

“Hey, being a warlock isn’t a bad thing!” Merlin replied. “I saved Camelot! More than once, mind you.”

Whatever it was, it was obvious Merlin wasn’t ready to release this burden yet, and Arthur thought perhaps he’d had his fill of secrets for the time being.

“All right,” Arthur conceded. “Next time I come you’ll tell me.”

Merlin looked him, eyes wide. “You’ll come see me again?”

“Of course,” Arthur replied. "Where else will I get one of those delicious fruits?”

Merlin blushed, rubbing his hand down his arm. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“So how do I get home? The unicorn?” Arthur and the unicorn shared a glance that clearly said neither of them was interested in a repeat performance.

“Actually, no,” Merlin said. “I can get you home.”

Arthur looked at him skeptically. “Oh? You’re going to escort me through the castle gates? Would you like to say hello to my father while you’re there?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Hello? Warlock? How many times to do we have to go over this?”

“Okay, warlock, send me home,” Arthur said, raising his eyebrows as if he was challenging him.

“As you wish, your highness,” Merlin said as he stepped forward and rested his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, his eyes shining gold.

Arthur blinked, raising his hand to shield him from the light, and when he lowered his arm, he was in his chambers. It was still dark outside; his chambers had stubbornly remained the same even though Arthur felt as if everything had changed.

He started for the bed, actually welcoming the sight for the first time in two days. He pushed his boots off and set his coat aside. When he reached the side of the bed, the covers pulled themselves back. Arthur blinked, and the pillow fluffed itself.

“Idiot,” he muttered as he rolled onto the soft mattress. Only Merlin would refuse to release all of his duties as Arthur’s manservant. The covers pulled themselves up and under his chin.

As Arthur drifted off on the wings of slumber, he realized Merlin’s other secret might not be such a secret after all.

~Finished~

FIC: Along the Way (4/7?)

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:30:47 GMT

Title: Along the Way
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Fast and Furious
Characters: Dom, Brian, Mia, Rico, and Tego
Spoilers: All four movies
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer and fantastic raynedanser
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Fast and Furious and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Dom has questions. He hopes Brian has answers.

Brian woke, his eyes slowing adjusting to the darkness in his room. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep. He took an assessment of his injuries, pain surging through his body as he carefully moved his arms and legs. Memories of the previous day flooded back – the fire, the little girl, Dom’s questions and his lack of answers.

He considered staying in bed, his body content to protest every movement, but sooner or later he’d have to get up and face reality. He could do that, though. Face the inevitable and act like everything was okay because in actuality, what choice did he have?

He rolled out of bed carefully, the blisters and contusions from the previous day aching and sore. Sighing, he pulled on a tee shirt and carefully opened the door. The house sounded quiet and for that he was grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was avoid Mia’s inquiring looks or play twenty questions with Dom.

Brian’s first stop was the bathroom where he brushed his teeth and washed his face. He surveyed his injuries in the mirror. It wasn’t bad. Hell, it was barely worth mentioning considering some of his previous exploits.

He walked to the kitchen quietly and stared at the refrigerator. It was an odd predicament, not knowing if he was hungry or not. He heard the screen door slam and Dom’s heavy footfalls through the house. Dom didn’t slow down as he eased around Brian and pulled open the fridge door. Brian watched him intently as if he was performing some complex science experiment. A turkey sandwich was the final product, and it was slapped on a plate and plopped on the table. A glass of water was placed beside it.

“Eat,” Dom ordered.

Brian stared at the offered meal. “I’m not hungry.” He wasn’t sure what he was, but he knew enough to know he didn’t like being ordered around, even if the person doing the ordering was Dom.

“I don’t recall asking.”

For a second Brian considered arguing with him, telling him where to go and on what bus to use, but he quickly decided the energy required to engage Dom in a battle of wills was more than he had to spare.

After pulling out a chair and sitting down, Brian said, “You’re an asshole.” There was little emotion behind his words.

Dom leaned against the counter, his arms folding casually across his chest. “Get over it.”

The turkey actually tasted good, sliding easily down his throat with the aid of the glass of water Dom had provided. Brian wasn’t going to tell him that, though. He ate quietly; chewing slowly and forcing each bite down.

“How are you feeling?” Dom asked, his gaze resting on Brian. His eyes hadn’t left him since he turned to lean against the wooden counter.

That question was easy, safe, and Brian knew the patented response without having to think. “Fine.”

“Bullshit,” Dom snapped.

Brian looked up, his eyes wide. “Hey, you asked.”

Dom responded with a raised eyebrow of his own. “Yeah, and I expected a real answer.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Brian replied.

“And that’s all it takes to be fine?”

Brian glanced at the half eaten meal. He was breathing, wasn’t he? He was eating. Hell, that was a good day in his book. He didn’t know what else to do or what Dom expected from him so he nodded.

Dom looked down, shaking his head. He wiped his hand across his face.

“You should get some sleep,” Brian said suddenly. “You look exhausted.” He jerked his head up, pushing the plate away. “Is Mia okay? Where is she?”

“Whoa, slow down,” Dom said. “Mia’s fine.”

“Where’s Mia?” Brian repeated, his eyes not leaving Dom.

“She went to do laundry. She’s fine, Brian.” Dom watched him carefully, Brian’s gaze shifted between Dom and door, as if he was considering going to look for her. “I give you my word she’s fine,” he repeated.

Brian shifted, resettling in his chair and nodding once. He knew Dom wouldn’t lie about something as important to him as his sister. He picked at his food for several minutes, whatever appetite he’d had before evaded him and now the food tasted like cardboard.

“So I look tired?” Dom prompted.

Brian looked up, his gaze even. “You look like shit.”

Dom inclined his head. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You always were a smart ass.”

Brian’s mouth lifted to a half smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Dom rolled his eyes and snatched Brian’s glass off the table, refilling it in the sink.

“You don’t have to wait on me, you know.”

“Once again, get over it.”

Brian opened his mouth to reply, several insults at the ready, but they died on his tongue. Dom really looked tired. “Are you sure Mia’s okay?”

Dom cocked his head to the side. “Would I be standing here if she wasn’t?

Brian nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing when his fingers graced a large blister. “Good point.”

“Why’d you think there’s something wrong with Mia?” Dom asked.

Brian shrugged, his eyes drifting to his half eaten sandwich. It was obvious, wasn’t it? Even Dom wasn’t that thick.

“Brian,” Dom prompted.

“You’re obviously worried,” Brian said. “You look like you haven’t slept in two days.”

“That’s probably ‘cause I haven’t,” Dom concluded.

Brian pushed away from the table and stood up. If Dom had lied to him about Mia, he was going to be pissed. His fingers curled, his eyes narrowing. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Brian, I wasn’t worried about Mia.”

He was shaking. He could feel his muscle contracting and the blood pulsing through his veins. “Don’t lie to me.”

“You must think I’m a complete bastard,” Dom said flatly, shaking his head. He stopped suddenly, his voice perfectly even and said, “Brian, calm down. Now.”

Brian swallowed, his mind wondering if he’d gotten up too soon. Bile scratched at his throat. He was going to -

Stumbling through the hallway, Brian managed to make to the bathroom and slam the door closed before emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet. He knelt on the floor for nearly a minute before leaning back and resting against the wall. A damp cloth was passed in his direction, and Brian wiped his face.

“Thanks,” he muttered. He stared at the wall for several seconds before forcing himself to his feet. He flushed the toilet and stumbled out of the room, using the wall to guide the way back to his bedroom. His knees gave away, but he managed to roll into bed and curl on his side. “Sorry about the food,” he mumbled, his eyes closing to fight the nausea.

“We’ll try again later,” Dom said quietly.

A sheet was pulled around his neck and he pressed his face against the pillow. He heard Dom’s footsteps fading. He had to be sure. “Mia’s okay?”

“She’s fine.” The footsteps paused and weight was shifted. “I was worried about you.”

Brian snorted, pressing his face against the pillow. “Well, that was stupid.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Dom asked.

“Not worth it,” Brian said. “'Cause I’m fine. Always.”

Dom nodded. “Yeah, of course you are.”

In that moment, Dom realized the truth behind what Mia had been telling him. Brian was everything but fine.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dom needed to go out, do anything, be anywhere but here. It was too much, his mistakes all culminating at once. All of his faults were manifested in Brian. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t be here waiting for Brian to wake up from his last heroic endeavor. He didn’t want to see the bruises on Brian’s skin, the pain thinly veiled in his eyes.

He could do a lot of things, but this was too much so when Tego and Rico showed up, it was the perfect out. He’d told them to keep an eye on the white boy, and if he wakes up, offer him food and water, but don’t force him. They’d looked skeptical at first, but denying Dom wasn’t something anyone was good at so they’d hesitantly agreed. Screeching tires on a dusty road was all that was heard as Dom pulled away from the house.

Unfortunately screeching tires was something Brian had trained himself to wake up for. His hand automatically reached underneath his pillow, his eyes blinking to adjust to the vacant light as his heart pounded against his chest.

Mexico. He was in Mexico. With Dom.

“Get your shit together, O’Connor,” Brian whispered. He rubbed his eyes harder than necessary.

He remembered the prison bus heist, the drive to Mexico, the house fire, and vomiting up a turkey sandwich. “Nice, O’Connor. Really nice.” He could see Bilkins shaking his head disapprovingly. He’d been trained better than that. When on assignment, he ate when he could, whatever food he found, and he shut up about it.

But he wasn’t on assignment anymore. Dom wasn’t his assignment. He wasn’t just another case, another manila folder with pictures and a rap sheet. He was his friend. Brian swallowed, his mind rolling the word ‘friend’ around as if trying it on for size.

Mia had been right. Dom was like gravity. He’d gotten sucked in, and truth be told, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Much like Jesse with his cars, Dom had the same soothing capabilities. Something about him calmed Brian down.

He rolled out of bed and went to find the man in question. What he found instead was Tego and Rico playing cards in the living room.

“It’s alive!” Tego joked.

“Yeah, I was beginning to think you’d never wake up,” Rico said, scowling as he stared at his cards.

Brian smiled, leaning against the wall and hoping it looked more casual rather than for actual support. “If I’d known the two of you were here, I’d have stayed in bed.”

Tego clutched his chest. “You wound me.”

Brian rolled his eyes, glancing around the room. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Rico followed Brian’s eyes, shifting his glance to Rico. “It’s just us tonight.”

“Oh? Yeah, sure,” Brian said, acting as if that hadn’t surprised him. Dom had every right to go out, after all. It wasn’t as if Brian blamed him. He glanced around the small house, the walls constricting around him as the house had suddenly gotten three sizes smaller.

“You guys wanna get out of here?” Brian said suddenly.

Tego set his beer on the table, his eyes on Brian. “You sure that’s a good idea? Dom said you weren’t feeling well.”

Brian knew how to play that card. “Well, if Dom was that concerned, he’d have stayed, wouldn’t he?” He smiled, showing his teeth in a way that made him look ten years younger and completely carefree.

Rico nodded. “Good point.”

“Where do you wanna go?” Tego asked.

Brian shrugged. “Anywhere but here.” He wasn’t sure if he’d ever spoken a truer sentence in his life.

Rico smiled. “Know the feeling, man.” He got up, pulled the keys to the pickup out of his pocket, and started for the door.

They ended up going to the quarries, stopping only for a couple of twelve packs of beer. Brian lay in the back of the truck staring at the stars while Tego and Rico bickered back and forth. It was idle and mind numbing and amounted to nothing. It didn’t solve any of Brian’s problems, but for two hours he didn’t have to think. He drank a lot of beer and practiced his Spanish, and might have even dozed for a few minutes. He heard Tego’s phone ring several times and managed to translate several curse words in Spanish.

“We have to go,” Tego said. “Dom’s looking for blondie.”

“I have a name, you know,” Brian said, waving the beer bottle above his head. Yeah, some authority figure he was.

“What’s going on?” Rico asked.

“Don’t know, but I ain’t touching it with a ten foot pole,” Tego replied.

Brian sniggered. “You can’t tell me you two are afraid of Dom.”

Tego and Rico shared a glance. “Yeah, we are.”

Brian stared at the star filled sky. Huh, that was interesting. “I’m not.”

Tego snorted. “That’s ‘cause you’re a crazy ass white boy that don’t have the sense God gave a goat.”

“When I’m sober I’ll resent that.”

“Resent it all you want, kiddo. Either way, we’re taking you home,” Rico said.

Brian even ordered Tego to drive slow because he didn’t feel like hauling his lazy ass out of the back of the truck to get in the front cabin. He had enough sense not to complain about the empty beer bottles that knocked against his body as Tego sped back to the Toretto household.

Brian felt the truck roll to a stop and briefly considered staying where he was. Even though the back of the truck wasn’t what he’d call comfortable, he enjoyed looking at the stars. That was something he didn’t get to see a lot of in Los Angeles. He felt someone shaking his foot.

“You coming?” Tego asked.

Brian pulled his legs underneath him, grabbed the tailgate and jumped out. He paused, reconsidered, and grabbed a few beers. He made it to the doorstep before turning and settled on the stoop. Tego and Rico had gone inside to find Dom. Judging by the quickly spoken Spanish, they’d found him. It was less than two minutes before they were back in the truck pulling out of the driveway.

He didn’t have to turn around to know Dom was standing on the porch. He could feel his eyes on the back of his head. “Wanna beer?” Brian offered, holding a bottle in the air without turning around.

“You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” Dom said, stepping outside and taking the offered bottle.

Brian snorted and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You’re joking, right?” Dom was standing several feet in front of him, and Brian met his gaze.

“So where were you?” Dom asked, pointedly ignoring Brian grabbing another beer.

“The quarries like Tego said.” He didn’t say anything else. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he was expected to leave a note every time he left the house.

Dom drank from the bottle slowly as if he was stalling for time.

Brian sighed, setting the empty bottle on the step next to him. “Just say it.”

“I shouldn’t have left today.”

Brian shrugged. “You don’t answer to me.”

Dom shook his head, his voice echoing his frustration. “Everything’s so easy for you, isn’t it? All black and white.”

Brian felt like his world was nothing but gray. “Yep.”

“Trying to have a conversation with you is like conversing with a wall.”

“What?” Brian held his hands out. “I’m answering you, aren’t I?”

Dom shook his head. “You might be answering me, but you’re not saying anything.”

“What exactly do you want me to say?” Brian asked. He was genuinely confused. It wasn’t like Brian was ignoring him.

“Something. Anything. Hell, I don’t know.”

“I think your expectations are a little high,” Brian replied. “I’m not that deep. I used to be a cop, remember?”

“I’ll never forget that.” The words were hard, clipped, and all evidence of any type of friendly conversation dissipated in the warm night breeze.

“Good, ‘cause neither will I.”

They stared at each other, fingers clasping the necks of bottles harder than necessary. “I’m sorry for what happened,” Brian said suddenly. “I’m sorry for Jesse, for Mia, for Vince, and for Letty.” His words sounded cheap, and he knew it. It was the best he could do. “But I won’t apologize for being a cop.” He shrugged, leaning against the step again. “I just won’t.”

“They were my friends, my family.”

Dom couldn’t have drawn a bigger line in the sand if he’d tried. His friends. His family. And Brian was the bastard cop that had destroyed them all.

Chapter 5

Why am I always the last to know?

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 00:02:14 GMT

So there's going to be a Doctor Who convention in Florida. Naturally it's during the weekend I'll be moving. *facepalm*

Hopefully it will be a huge success and they'll host another one next year. That should give me time to force other Who fans to join me. ;)

The main reason why I'm posting is to spread the word. I'd like to see a big turnout to support Who in the states!

FIC: Along the Way (3/5?)

Sat, 26 Sep 2009 22:44:53 GMT

Ficlet: Across the Border, Into the Sunset 1/1

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:52:55 GMT

Title: Across the Border, Into the Sunset
Author: NightRider
Rating: G
Fandom: The Fast and Furious
Characters: Dom, Brian, Mia, Rico, and Tego
Spoilers: Fourth movie
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer and fantastic raynedanser
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Fast and Furious and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Brian has no plans for the future. Everything up to this point had been consumed by Dom.

They pulled off onto the side of the road, clouds of dust and sand billowing around them. Brian watched as Dom all but jumped out of the car and pulled Mia against him.

Mia melted into Dom’s embrace, and Brian could see Dom murmuring into her ear. He didn’t know what he was saying, the conversation wasn’t meant for him, but Brian imagined it was something like 'you shouldn’t have come, thank you for saving my life, I’ve missed you, and I love you.’

Dom kept one arm around Mia, but he still managed to shake Rico’s hand and slap Tego on the back. They bickered back and forth, laughing with smiles that threatened to stretch off their faces, it was a conversation meant for friends. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t the family Dom had had before, but it was the best Brian could do.

Brian smiled, watching from a distance, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. His work here was done. With a final nod, he turned, reaching for the door handle.

Dom’s booming voice echoed across the desert. “O’Connor.”

Brian froze, swallowing hard before slowing turning around. Four sets of eyes were watching him curiously. “Yeah?”

Dom raised an eyebrow. “Where you going?”

Brian jerked his thumb towards the Skyline as if that answered everything, as if he actually had someplace to go. He’d strategically left the car on the outskirts of the border town in Mexico. The last few months of Brian’s life had been consumed with Dom’s trial; the last few weeks had been filled with planning Dom’s escape. Truthfully, he hadn’t put a lot of thought past that.

Whatever decision Brian was going to have to make was taken out of his hands when Dom said, “I’ll drive.”

Brian watched Dom stride across the packed dirt with a look of determination. “Drive what?”

“The Skyline, you idiot,” Dom replied, tossing the key to the Charger to Tego. “We can make it another hundred miles before we need to stop again.”

Brian continued to stare, wondering where in the conversation he’d made the wrong turn. Then there was a hand on his shoulder and he was shoved around the front of the car. Normally Brian would fight back, say ‘what the hell, man,’ but this was Dom, and Brian was really confused. He watched Dom climb into the driver’s seat, the engine purred to life a second later. Not knowing what else to do, Brian opened the passenger door and got in.

“I could have driven, you know,” Brian said quietly after several miles of bland landscape blurred into the background.

Dom looked at him for a second. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.” If there was a joke in there somewhere, Dom wasn’t smiling.

The quick retort died on Brian’s tongue when Dom reached out and squeezed his knee. His grip was firm, and Brian could still feel the imprint of Dom’s fingers after he pulled his hand away.

For the first time in five years Brian didn’t feel lost at all.

~Finished~

FIC: Along the Way (2/5?)

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 18:44:37 GMT

Title: Along the Way
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Fast and Furious
Characters: Dom, Brian, Mia, Rico, and Tego
Spoilers: All four movies
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer and fantastic raynedanser
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Fast and Furious and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Dom has questions. He hopes Brian has answers.

A/N: This chapter is direct result of everyone who read, responded and offered such wonderful encouragement after reading my first story in this fandom. I offer a heartfelt thank you and a story that looks like it's shaping up to be much longer than I intended.

Brian jerked awake, his body lurching forward, his hand involuntarily reaching for his gun. He swallowed, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as his heart pounded against his chest. He ran his hand over his face – he was safe. More importantly, his friends were safe.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head falling into his hands. He pressed his fingers against his eyes as if he could stop the images, as if he could quash the people in his mind forever – Vince, Jesse, Letty, Bilkins, Tanner, or any number of others along the way – none less important than the rest, but always there. Always there lurking, waiting for him to stop, to rest, to think.

He’d fallen asleep wearing his jeans. He pulled them off, opting for a pair of running shorts and a tee shirt that wasn’t covered with engine grease.

He heard the bathroom door open as the screen door slammed closed. Someone might have called his name, but he didn’t stop. The sounds of his tennis shoes hitting the packed dirt drowned out everything else.

The first mile was filled with Johnny Tran and the lack of pulse he’d felt when he touched his throat. Then he thought of Jesse and remembered Dom, covered in Jesse’s blood. He remembered the look they’d shared as if it was yesterday. He ran faster.

The second mile was filled with street races, too many to count, and Carter Verone and rats. Brian hated rats.

The third mile was reserved for the Toretto family and everything Brian had done to rip them apart.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth mile Brian stopped thinking, his mind solely focused on the steady ache in his muscles and keeping his breathing even.

When he ended up on the doorstep of the makeshift Toretto home, he was sweaty, dirty, and running on fumes. It was barely light out, the hazy dawn just beginning to filter through the brown curtains in the living room. Brian had gotten used to everyone’s routine – Mia would be up first and Dom would show signs of life sometime before noon.

He showered and pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt that at some point in its life had been white. He was going to have to do laundry soon. Mia mentioned there was a laundry mat a few miles up the road.

He pulled a soda out of the refrigerator and walked down the steps to the garage. When he opened the door, the single light bulb was already lit, swinging from its chain above the Eclipse.

“Dom?”

“The roadrunner returns,” Dom replied, not looking up from the engine. He’d been there for awhile if the tools that were strewn across the garage were any indication.

“Roadrunner?” Brian looked down, shrugging. “I guess, yeah. Gotta keep in shape, you know?”

“That left over from being a cop?” Dom asked. Brian’s hand tightened around the soda can. Even though Dom’s tone was conversational, Brian didn’t feel like analyzing his less than stellar police career first thing in the morning.

“Not really. Always was good at running.” Dom had finished putting the headers in, which knocked about three hours off Brian’s plan for the day. “Looks like you got it under control,” Brian commented, pointing at the engine before turning on his heel and starting for the door.

“You’re not.”

Brian froze, his back facing Dom, his shoulders square. “What?”

“Good at running,” Dom finished. “In fact, you suck at it.”

Brian didn’t know what to say. His usually quick mind was sluggish and hazy and whatever bullshit response he’d come up with died on his lips when Dom said, “Hand me that adaptor fitting.”

Brian swallowed, his eyes blinking at the closed door. “Yeah, sure.”

It was mindless work, passing Dom whatever he asked for. A few minutes later he was taking apart the fuel injection system.

Somewhere in the middle of pressure gauges and steel brake lines, Dom asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

“The fuel mix should be three – wait, what?”

“You know, brothers and sisters. Hermanos and hermanas. Fratello and –“

“I get it,” Brian interjected. “No.” He hoped he’d put enough firmness and general disinterest to sway Dom for pursuing that conversation any further.

Dom made a noise in his throat and wiped his hands on a rag. “What about your parents?”

Brian looked up, his jaw set. “Why?”

Dom shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Don’t be. There’s nothing to tell.” Brian wiped his hands on his jeans. “You finished reattaching those wires?”

Brian should have known better because if there was anything he knew about Dominic Toretto, it was that he never let anything go. Not until he’d extracted each and every bit of information he wanted in vivid, graphic detail.

“I don’t think that’s true. I think there’s a lot to tell,” Dom said, his eyes slowly drifting to meet Brian’s gaze. “You know everything about me – my family, how my father died, my sister, my past, everything. And I don’t know shit about you.”

Brian looked at the ground, his eyes expressive and vivid, the storm waging just beyond Dom’s reach, and when he looked up again, it was gone, and there was nothing but frozen glass staring back at him. “You ever think there was nothing to tell? This is it, Toretto.”

Dom didn’t respond. He just raised an eyebrow that all but verbally called Brian on his bullshit.

Brian’s temper flared in an instant – why, he had no idea – but there was something about that smug expression on Dom’s face, like he knew something Brian didn’t, that sent his temper into overdrive. “I hate to disappoint you, but what you see is what you get, and as much as I’d like to stand out here and play twenty questions, I’ve got someplace to be.”

“Yeah?” Dom looked mildly interested, his arms crossing over his chest out of habit. “Where?”

“Get out of my way, Dom,” Brian said, his voice low. Dom cocked his head to the side as if considering Brian’s request, as if he had some right to keep him here. Finally, Dom stepped back, watching quietly as Brian disappeared out of sight.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Brian knew very little about Mexico, especially the southern border where they were living now. His grasp of the Spanish language was barely passable and he all but screamed American tourist everywhere he went.

He walked for the better part of the afternoon. It was a chilling thought to realize he had no place to go, no money, and basically no friends except the ones that were sitting back at Toretto’s place, and to call them friends? Not so much. People whose lives he’d ruined was a more apt description. He’d been waiting for the ax to fall since they got here, waiting for Dom to finally snap and finish what he’d started back in LA, to finish Brian because of Letty. Truthfully, Brian wouldn’t have blamed him. At least it would be over. Finally. After five years, one way or another, he needed it to be over.

Brian smelled the smoke before he saw the fire. He heard the screams before he saw the faces. As he rounded the corner, he saw it, a house fire, burning brightly against the falling sun. Two women were holding another woman back as she fought against their grasp, her small hands wildly clawing at their arms.

Despite his dismal Spanish, he knew to enough to know absolute panic, abject horror and the phrase ‘my daughter’ and ‘Maria’ being screamed over and over. And then Brian was running again. His elbow was through the glass window, his shirt was covering his mouth, and he was yelling Maria at the top of his lungs.

The smoke was burning his eyes, squeezing his lungs. He ducked as part of the ceiling gave way, the wooden frame collapsing as flames engulfed the roof. He rolled away, underneath the dining room table, his eyes blinking against the red, hot heat. He felt a hand against his, tiny fingers wrapping around his ring finger.

“Maria, it’s all right,” he said. Brian realized she had no idea what he was saying, but he smiled, all teeth and confidence, and pulled his shirt over his head, covering her face. Then he was up, running with Maria cradled against his chest. He turned and threw his shoulder against the door, the old wood splintering and falling away, and Brian dropped to his knees outside. Again, a woman screamed, and Maria squirmed in his arms.

He let her go and pressed his hands to his knees. There were more voices still yelling in Spanish, and two people grabbed his biceps and pulled him away. He struggled, his legs stubbornly refusing to carry his weight, and finally he managed to get his feet underneath him.

Somewhere behind him, what was left of the house collapsed, the flames engulfing every inch of wood, and Brian stared at his tennis shoes. Fuck, they were the only shoes he had.

Someone was pulling at his arm, talking a mile a minute, and Brian stared at her, trying to blink the smoke and ash out of his eyes. He thought she was thanking him, but she was talking too fast and Brian just kept staring at her.

A man approached and pointed at Brian. “Hospital?”

“Why?”

“'Cause you’re bleeding,” he said.

“Am I?” Oh, his elbow. His hands throbbed suddenly and he realized he was probably burned as well. Eh, this didn’t even make his top ten. “I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

“You need a ride home?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Unfortunately Brian had no idea how to tell him where he lived, and really, he was more concerned about how the hell he was going to afford a new pair of shoes.

People milled around, watching the fire burned down to embers, and occasionally someone pointed at Brian and whispered. Eventually Brian figured he should attempt to amble home, and fortunately his legs decided to cooperate – if stumbling and busting his ass twice counted as cooperation.

He did manage to find Toretto’s house, though, and considered it a personal victory when he made it up the stairs without falling flat on his face.

“Brian, what the –“ Mia stopped, her eyes wide as she stepped back against the screen door so Brian could pass. “What happened to you?”

“I ruined my shoes,” Brian said, pointing down as his dirty, half charred trainers. His big toe poked out a hole in the fabric and wiggled as if adding necessary confirmation to Brian’s statement.

There was a screech of tires outside and a car door slammed. Someone was running.

“Mia, is he back yet?” Dom called.

The front door opened, and Brian continued to the refrigerator and pulled out a Corona. He paused, considering, and said, “You guys want a beer?”

“He just got here. Dom, he’s hurt,” Mia said softly.

The beer tasted good, cool and refreshing against Brian’s tongue as he swallowed the entire contents in less than twenty seconds. He reached for another, twisting the metal lid off and tossing the cap over his shoulder into the trash. When he turned around, Dom was somehow managing to fill the entire doorway.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dom asked, his eyes scanning Brian’s body. Brian scratched at a spot on his chest, a piece of ash falling away to reveal a small blister. Someone had been nice enough to give him a flannel shirt which he hadn’t bothered to button. He wondered if he’d thanked them.

“Earth to O’Conner! I asked you a question. What happened?”

Brian wondered why the hell Dom was yelling. He also wondered why everything in the house smelled like smoke. Dom grabbed his elbow and Brian hissed, his jaw clenching as he swallowed the pain along with a mouthful of Corona. Dom released his arm as if he’d been burned.

“Come over here, Brian. Sit down,” Dom suggested, easing back from the doorway. He made eye contact with Mia and might have said something, but Brian wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he padded across the living room floor and flopped on the couch. Pain registered somewhere in Brian’s mind, but he didn’t give it much notice. Instead, he focused on his toe that was mocking him through the hole in his shoe.

“Car fire?” Dom asked, sitting on the coffee table across from Brian.

“House fire,” Brian corrected.

“How exactly did you end up in a house fire?” Dom asked. Brian noted Dom didn’t sound angry anymore and figured that was a good thing. If Dom was going to finish what he’d started back in LA, two well aimed swings would probably do it tonight.

Brian pointed at his feet. “I ruined my shoes.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dom asked, rubbing his eyes.

“He’s really worried about his shoes,” Mia said.

“We’ll get you new shoes, Brian. Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t take handouts,” Brian said automatically, his voice firm. “I’m no one’s charity case.”

“Whose house were you in?” Mia asked, flashing a quick look to Dom.

“Not sure,” Brian said, reaching underneath the flannel to scratch his elbow. There was blood on his fingertips when he pulled his hand away. “I didn’t get her name.”

Dom leaned forward, his gaze not leaving Brian’s face. “Brian, where was she?”

“Outside.”

“And you were inside her burning house?” Mia asked, obviously confused. Brian felt for her. He was confused too.

“Brian, who was inside her house?” Dom asked quietly.

Brian crossed his arms over his chest. His brain was starting to hurt. Good, his hands, feet, and the rest of his body would have some company. “I thought I said I didn’t want to stand here and play twenty questions.”

“That was this morning, and you’re sitting not standing,” Dom replied, his voice completely even.

“I’m taking a shower,” Brian said, pushing off the couch and sidestepping around Dom. He didn’t owe them any answers and he certainly didn’t have to explain this.

“We’re not done here,” Dom said, standing and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Can’t it just be a stupid fucking house fire?” Brian yelled, yanking the flannel shirt off as he stalked to the bathroom. “Wrong place, wrong time, okay? No big story, just a stupid fire.”

He slammed the door with enough force to shake the house. The house wasn’t the only thing that was shaking.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dom was standing at the bathroom door ready to kick it down when an old pick-up rolled to a stop outside. Dom swallowed and pulled himself away from the door, walking to the screen to meet the newcomer.

“Can I help you?” Dom asked, his tone neither helpful nor polite.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the man said quietly. “Name’s Tony.”

Tony, the next door neighbor of Maria and Ms. Cruz gave a short, detailed account of what happened earlier. He talked about the crazy, heroic white guy that busted through the living room window and rescued a little girl that he didn’t know and by all rights, shouldn’t have been able to save.

“What’s his name?” Tony asked.

“Brian Spi –” Dom paused – “His name is Brian.”

“How did you know where he lived?” Mia asked.

Tony shrugged. “He wouldn’t go the hospital or let me take him home. He could barely walk so I followed him. Wouldn’t be right for him to collapse in the street after what he did.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Dom said, reaching out and shaking the other man’s hand. “I appreciate you looking out for him.”

“Are you kidding? It was the least I could do. I should have –“ Tony glanced at his hands. “I should have gone in that house, but –“ he shrugged, fear clouding his eyes - “I was afraid.”

The conversation died away, each lost in their own thoughts. Dom didn’t know if he’d have gone in that house either. For Mia or Vince or someone else he loved, sure, but for a stranger? He doubted it.

“You all should come by for dinner in a few days. Ms. Cruz asked, well, demanded that I bring the angel by for dinner on Thursday.”

Dom coughed and Mia smirked. “Angel?”

“Now I can tell her his name,” Tony said, smiling.

“If you call him angel, we’ll never get him to show,” Mia said.

“He’ll be there,” Dom promised, walking Tony to the door.

“All of you should come. Brian should know where it is,” Tony said.

“In case he doesn’t –“ Dom passed him a pad of paper and a pen and Tony jotted down directions. The house was nearly two miles away.

“Good night, Tony,” Mia said. “Give our regards to the Cruz family.”

Mia and Dom watched as Tony started his truck, the engine coughing and sputtering to life, before he pulled down the dusty driveway and onto the street.

“Dom?” Mia said, resting her hand on his arm.

“What?” he said, turning to meet her gaze.

“Breathe.”

“I’m fine, Mia. Really.”

“Are you sure? Because you don’t look fine.”

Dom rubbed his hand over his face, hoping when he met Mia’s gaze again he’d look perfectly composed and completely in control. “I don’t get him,” Dom admitted finally.

“What’s to get? He saved a little girl today,” Mia said.

“So why wouldn’t he just tell us that?”

She shrugged, pulling her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

“Not worth mentioning?” Dom barked.

“Hey, don’t yell at me,” Mia snapped. “Brian’s had a long day. Hell, he almost died today. Again.”

Dom’s jaw twitched. How many of those O’Conner near death experiences were his fault? At least he couldn’t claim responsibility for this one. That was something, wasn’t it?

“He’s been in that shower a long time,” Mia commented, her eyes focused on the bathroom door. The water was still running.

“Maybe you should check on him,” Dom suggested. He rubbed his palms together, the desire to push through the bathroom door returning with a vengeance.

“I’m not the one he wa-" She stopped, the words dying on her lips as Dom spun to face her. “Never mind.”

“What were you going to say?” Dom asked, his voice hard.

“Dom, he needs you. Okay? He needs someone who knows what they’re doing because right now, he doesn’t have a clue. Just, be there for him. You owe him that.” She crossed her arms over her chest like she was daring Dom to challenge her.

Dom nodded because, really, there wasn’t anything he’d deny his sister. And if he was going to be honest, he owed Brian everything. If he could get him to sit still long enough, he might tell him that. Maybe.

“I’m going to bed,” Mia said, wrapped her arm around Dom’s shoulders for a quick hug. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Dom smiled with confidence that was flagging and humor that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

Truthfully, he didn’t have anything except a life-size riddle named Brian O’Conner who was an enigma wrapped in a mystery with a hero complex the size of a small country. Yeah, he had this all right. Suddenly racing cars and semi truck heists seemed a whole lot easier than whatever was standing on the other side of the bathroom door.

Chapter 3

FIC: Along the Way (1/7?)

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 18:32:11 GMT

FIC: You Will Win 1/1

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 17:12:05 GMT

Title: You Will Win
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Uther, and Gaius
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: “You will win,” Merlin said, his eyes and his voice speaking with confidence and surety that Arthur never knew he possessed. “You will win,” he repeated. What was even stranger was Arthur found himself believing him.

The threat of impending battle did strange things to a man.

Arthur’s senses were heightened, he felt Merlin’s arms around his body as he tightened his belt, he smelled the salt on Merlin’s skin when he adjusted his armor, he heard the barest hitch in Merlin’s breathing when he passed him his sword.

“You’re outnumbered,” Merlin said quietly as he stepped away from the battle ready prince.

Arthur felt the weight of his sword at his side, taking a small measure of comfort in the familiarity of it. “Thank you, Merlin. I know.”

“Four to one,” Merlin continued.

“I was there for the scout’s report in case you’ve forgotten,” Arthur barked. “And the second one.”

Arthur spun on his heel and stalked out of his chambers with Merlin trailing behind him. “There was a second report?”

“Pity you missed it,” Arthur said over his shoulder. “Not only are we grossly outnumbered, but apparently they’re aided by sorcerers. Magical, isn’t it?”

“Sorcerers?” Merlin asked.

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Arthur snapped, rounding the corner and to the massive chamber where they were planning their strategy. Where Arthur would tell his knights they would emerge victorious because God and country were on their side. They’d cheer, raise their goblets and claim allegiance to the throne. Then Arthur would lead to them to a battle they couldn’t win.

“I’m not excited,” Merlin said, sounding offended. “It’s just – doesn’t that change things?”

“All it does is increase my father’s dedication to the cause. It’s war, Merlin. We have to fight.”

“But you’re out numbered, and they have sorcerers.”

Every now and then Merlin could say something surprisingly intelligent and introspective, this was apparently not one of those times. If all he was going to do was state the obvious, he could go bother someone else for awhile.

“If you don’t have anything useful to say, go help Gaius prepare.” Prepare for the wounded if there were any wounded left to tend to.

“Arthur, Arthur wait,” Merlin said, reaching for his arm.

“Merlin, what on –"

“You will win,” Merlin said, his eyes and his voice speaking with confidence and surety that Arthur never knew he possessed. “You will win,” he repeated. What was even stranger was Arthur found himself believing him.

Arthur glanced at Merlin’s hand that was wrapped around the chainmail on his upper arm. His knuckles were white. “Go see to Gaius,” Arthur ordered.

Merlin glanced at his hand that was holding Arthur in place, his eyes widening as if he was surprised it was there. “Right, sorry. And good luck.” Merlin smiled at him, as if this conversation somehow solved everything and all was right with the world. Arthur shook his head and watched as Merlin disappeared down the corridor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“It’s not possible,” Uther repeated as they rode through the gates of Camelot. “An army that large does not retreat.”

“Judging by all the tracks, they were there. The scouts weren’t wrong,” Arthur replied.

“But why would they retreat? They were aided by magic.” Uther rubbed his chin, his expression a mix of frustration and grimness. “What did they see that made them turn back?”

“There was no bloodshed. No bodies,” Arthur said. “The only thing that was exchanged was words.”

“Something happened there,” Uther continued. “Those tracks – the army fled. They were running away. Why?”

“Or they’re planning a better attack,” Arthur suggested.

“Victory was at their fingertips,” Uther muttered, his voice low so only Arthur could hear him. “They had no reason to retreat.”

Arthur made a noise in his throat, knowing whatever he said wouldn’t ease his father’s tension.

“We will continue to prepare,” Uther said. “Camelot will not fall.”

“Yes, father,” Arthur agreed.

Arthur let one of the stable hands take his horse and started for his chambers. After riding for nearly two days, he felt like he’d been to battle even though he’d never lifted his sword.

For whatever reason, he ended up Gaius’s chamber door. The door opened before he could knock.

Camelot’s armies weren’t due back for days, weeks even yet Gaius didn’t look surprised to see him. “Prince Arthur, are you well?”

“Yes, Gaius,” Arthur said, his eyes narrowing. What was Gaius hiding? “I was looking for Merlin,” he finally said. It was a good excuse, and not far from the truth. He actually felt like listening to Merlin blather on about nothing.

Gaius glanced at the closed door that led to Merlin’s bedroom. “I’m afraid he’s indisposed, sire.” Gaius shrugged. “Asleep.”

“Well, wake him up. It’s the middle of the afternoon!” Arthur started stalking across the room, pushing the wooden bench out of the way as he went.

“Prince Arthur,” Gaius said, his voice firm, as he managed to place himself between Arthur and door. Arthur had no idea Gaius could move that fast. “He’s not feeling well and needs his sleep.”

“He’s sick?”

“Yes, very sick. And contagious. I would hate for you to fall ill.”

“I’ll take my chances. Move, Gaius.” He pointed away from the door and eventually Gaius relented, stepping aside. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw his hands nervously clinching in front of his stomach.

Arthur opened the door slowly and stepped inside. He stood over Merlin’s bed and realized there was some truth in what Gaius was saying. Merlin was pale, extremely pale, and his chest barely moved.

“Merlin?” Arthur said softly. He picked up Merlin’s hand and squeezed. He got no response for his efforts. He held Merlin’s hand over his body and released it, watching as it dropped lifelessly back onto the bed. “He’s not asleep. He’s dead.”

“Sire, please,” Gaius pleaded. “He needs to rest.”

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated. “I’m the one that went to battle, you idiot, and now you’re the one that’s lying here half-dead.”

Merlin’s mouth opened as if he was moaning, but no sound emerged. His eyes opened to half slits, and was that gold? His eyes were gold? Merlin’s eyelids lowered, his head rolling to the side as if that meager effort sapped whatever energy he had left.

You will win.

As soon as Arthur told Merlin about the sorcerers, something had changed. It was as if Merlin now had cause, had reason to believe Arthur would emerge victorious. It was as if Arthur had somehow provided justification for action, as if the battle was over before it had ever started.

You will win.

Merlin hadn’t begged to go with him. Merlin always went with him when he thought Arthur was going to be in danger, but for whatever reason, he’d let Arthur go without a fight.

He heard Gaius shuffling in the doorway, his eyes wide and full of fear. “Prince Arthur, I can –"

“It’s fine, Gaius. I’ll wait.” He pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down, his eyes never leaving Merlin. “I’ll wait.”

He leaned forward, his lips close to Merlin’s ear. “When you wake up, we’re going to have a long talk.” Leaning back, he settled down to do exactly what he’d said – wait.

~Finished~

Ficlet: Humanity, Even in Death

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 21:36:50 GMT

Title: Humanity, Even in Death
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Arthur/Merlin
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer. I tinkered so all remaining mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Every life has value, even a life that was meant to end.

The first time he watched Merlin take a life, several lives; it took little more than a flick of the sorcerer’s wrist before the witches burst into bright flames. Arthur turned away from their screams, yelling for his knights to fall back as the orange heat of the inferno licked the skies above.

Merlin did not turn away, his shoulders squared and his eyes gold, and not just from the reflection of the fire. Arthur swallowed the rising sensation in his stomach. This was not the first life his friend had taken. Somewhere between the rising flames and the acrid smoke, Arthur realized, once again, that Merlin really was a sorcerer.

There was no regret or remorse when Merlin turned and walked away, and Arthur watched him go.

Arthur wasn’t afraid of him, fear wasn’t an emotion he entertained, but Arthur was no stranger to battle, no stranger to watching lives ended at the edge of his sword. He was shocked to realize that somewhere along the way he’d lost count – ten men? Fifty? It was most likely more, many more, but he didn’t dwell on it. Still, he always remembered. The nearly black eyes of a dying man, the soft spoken pleas for leniency barely wheezed from a collapsed lung.

Later that night when Merlin was stretched out beside him, one arm folded behind his head and the other casually tossed over his eyes, Arthur spoke, his voice quiet in the darkness of his chambers. “Why did you watch?”

“Hm?” Merlin’s voice was surprisingly alert for someone who claimed to not have understood the question.

“In the forest, you watched them burn.”

He heard Merlin swallow and watched as his head rolled to rest against his bent arm. “Yes, I did.” There was no hesitation in his response.

Arthur turned on his side, curling one arm underneath his body. “Why?”

One candle burned on the table, and Merlin’s face was cast in eerie shadows. Arthur wished he could see him better, his eyes, his expression. Time crawled by, and Arthur figured Merlin wouldn’t answer, didn’t want to or simply couldn’t, as if he didn’t want Arthur to know the truth. Another thing Arthur tried not to dwell on – the power of Merlin. He didn’t know why he was surprised that Merlin had killed before. When Merlin had come to him and admitted he was a sorcerer, it was soon after Arthur had taken the throne. He’d said he’d been magic all his life, and for whatever reason, Arthur had let it go at that. Now he wondered if he should have extracted each and every detail of how Merlin had used his magic in the past. If Merlin had killed, Arthur knew it was most likely for him, but it was his callousness, the nothingness in his eyes as he watched them burn. It was an expression he’d never expected to see on the gentle face of his closest friend.

Merlin’s voice drifted through the darkness and sliced through Arthur’s thoughts. “Because I owed them that much.”

Arthur pushed up on his elbow, leaning over Merlin, unsure if he’d heard him correctly. “What?”

He saw Merlin blink, his eyes focus. “I owed them that much,” he repeated. “I killed them. It was the least I could do.”

“Do you regret it?”

Merlin laughed – it was more of a bark, inconsistent and short lived. “They threatened you. They would have killed you. No, I feel no remorse. None at all.” His voice wasn’t cold or harsh; he was simply stating fact, truth as seen by Merlin.

Arthur reached out, his hand gently shifting Merlin’s face so he could see his eyes. The embers in the fireplace rekindled, and they were bathed in warm light. “Better?” Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded, noting Merlin’s unwavering attention no matter the circumstances.

“I’ll always pick you,” Merlin continued, his eyes nearly black. “Make no mistake, King Arthur, it always was and always will be you.”

“But you watched,” Arthur repeated. “Why do that to yourself?”

Merlin glanced at the stone ceiling, searching for words to answers he didn’t know how to form. “Because it was the right thing to do,” Merlin said. “I took a life today – three lives – and it shouldn’t be easy. I don’t want it to be easy.”

Arthur pushed the hair off Merlin’s forehead, noting the tiniest shift as Merlin leaned against his touch. “Are you punishing yourself?”

Merlin caught his wrist and pressed his lips against the sensitive skin underneath Arthur’s forearm. “I’m not suddenly going to start flogging myself or developing masochistic tendencies if that’s what you think. I just…need to remember.”

“For being a great and powerful warlock, you’re more human than anyone I know,” Arthur said as he dropped his head on the pillow and wrapped his arm around Merlin, drawing him against his chest.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Merlin replied, his body naturally curving to fit against Arthur’s side.

“You should,” Arthur agreed. “I’ve never called you a great and powerful warlock before.”

The fire died down, the light vanquishing from the room as quickly as it came.

Merlin’s voice drifted through the darkness. “That wasn’t the part I was referring to.”

Arthur kissed him just behind the ear. “I know.”

~Finished~

FIC: Borrowed Time 3/?

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 01:16:52 GMT

Title: Borrowed Time
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Merlin
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Merlin starts having a reoccurring dream, and he realizes he's going to die. How far will he go to save his own life, what happened to his destiny, and where the hell is Arthur?
A/N: This was written for vail_kagami after her generous donation to the Support Stacie April Auction.

I apologize for the extremely long lapse between updates. I really have no excuse and greatly appreciate everyone's patience. I promise I'll try harder in the future!

Merlin was exhausted, weariness pricking at the back of his eyes. He remembered Morgana’s instructions – his friend should spend more time sleeping – yet he feared the knowledge that might be gained from his dreams. What if this was his destiny? What if it wasn’t? What would happen to Arthur if he were to die before his destiny was fulfilled? Who would protect the future king? Who would look after Gaius? What would become of his mother?

Merlin shook his head; the string of endless questions was getting him nowhere, and he adjusted the covers, his hands plumping the thin pillow before flopping down on his bed again.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep didn’t come easily. He tried to fill his mind with idle things – unicorns, counting unicorns, swords, a sword in a stone, a unicorn standing next to the sword in the stone. Unfortunately this tactic wasn’t working either.

He rolled over and pressed his face into his pillow, resisting the urge to scream. If this kept up, his dreams and destiny would be for naught because he was going to drop dead of sleep deprivation. Merlin saw the irony of this and began to giggle. This gave way to Merlin questioning his sanity.

“What’s wrong with me?” he grumbled aloud, his voice muffled by his pillow. Everything considered, he thought he was handling his impending doom rather well. If there was one thing Merlin knew, he knew he had to trust himself to find a way to fix this, a way around it. He’d beaten death before. Gaius had told him he had the power to control life and death. He would find that power again and use it. He had to live. He had to protect Arthur after all, and that was more than a full time job.

He took a deep breath, holding it until his lungs ached. The muscles in his shoulders started to relax as he turned his head to the side and focused on exhaling slowly. His thoughts drifted from his breathing to nothingness as the remaining tension drained away.

Merlin felt like he was somewhere between sleep and being awake, his body trapped in that eerie space where there’s awareness but lack of control. Deep inside he knew this was not a place he wished to be. There were sensations, feelings of hopelessness and heat, searing, burning heat.

Fire. He could smell it, taste it. The sharp tang of roasting meat, of human flesh. He knew that smell. He was burning, and it hurt.

He heard laughter. Loud, booming laughter through the pain. He wasn’t the one laughing.

“Ack!” Merlin yelled, pushing with his arms and rolling off the side of the bed, landing with a loud thump that he didn’t feel. He shook his head, sending water droplets flying. His breath came in short, hard gasps, and his eyes barely opened as Gaius’ bare feet came into view.

“There was smoke coming from underneath your door,” Gaius said quietly. Merlin looked up at him from his position on the floor. “You were smoking,” Gaius clarified as he set the empty bucket aside.

When Merlin didn’t respond, Gaius asked, “Are you all right?”

“I…I think so.” Merlin glanced at his arms expecting to find his skin marred by blisters and burn marks. He saw nothing but pale, normal flesh.

“Come on,” Gaius said, reaching for his hand. “I want to look at you in the light.” Instantly a ball of circular light appeared over his head. “That’s not what I meant.” What was meant as mild exasperation was veiled by his obvious concern.

Gaius tugged on Merlin’s hand until his legs uncurled and he pulled himself up. Merlin’s eyes focused on the ball of light, his eyebrow arching as if he was surprised it was there. He blinked once and the light was gone, the room instantly falling to darkness. Gaius didn’t release his hand until he’d deposited Merlin on the bench next to the table.

Gaius stoked the fire, the embers flaring brightly as he added several logs to simmering coals. After lighting the candles on the table, he turned his attention to Merlin once more. “Let’s get your shift off.”

Merlin didn’t speak as Gaius prodded his shoulders, arms, and back. Gaius also remained quiet, and for that Merlin was thankful. He wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter.

Gaius hovered beside him. “Your legs?”

“They’re fine.”

“I should take a look.”

“Gaius, its fine. I’m fine.”

Gaius sighed. “All right.” He sat on the opposite side, his fingers lacing as he dropped his hands on the table. “Tell me what happened.”

Merlin’s gaze never left his hands. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t lying.

“Were you dreaming?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Gaius reached out and wrapped his hands around Merlin’s, squeezing once to offer reassurance. “I want to help you, Merlin. Please…”

Merlin considered telling him everything – he was going to die, be burned alive perhaps. And soon. Very soon. His life, his destiny, everything he was and should have been would be for naught. It would have been so easy to open his mouth and release his terrible burden. The sordid tale very nearly tumbled out in broken words and erratic sentences until he looked at Gaius’ face and saw tired, weary eyes staring back at him.

What came out instead was a lie. “It was a spell.”

Gaius’ eyes widened. “What?”

“I was trying to conjure smoke and work on my control of fire. I must have fallen asleep while reciting the spell.” He shrugged sheepishly, a toothy grin appearing on his innocent face.

Gaius didn’t look convinced. "If you’re lying to me –"

“Lying? Of course not. You know I can’t lie to save my life. Well, to save my life, perhaps, to keep the magic a secret and all.”

“You’re not going to keep anything secret if you keep conjuring up spells in your sleep. No more magic before bed.”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, right.”

Gaius waggled his finger in Merlin’s direction. “I want your word.”

“No more magic before bed,” Merlin repeated obediently.

“Good boy.” Merlin almost felt guilty until Gaius stood and rubbed his shoulder, his eyes wincing in pain. “Back to bed. It will be daylight soon, and you look exhausted.”

Merlin paused at his doorway and turned back to see Gaius lying down on his bed. “Um…”

“Yes? What is it, Merlin?”

“I know I don’t tell you this enough, but thanks Gaius.”

“Now you’re really worrying me,” Gaius said.

Merlin smiled. “Good night.” The old man made a noise of acknowledgment and rolled onto his side.

He didn’t try to sleep again. He could smell smoke with every breath, and each time he looked at his arms he expected to see charred skin. He waited until he was sure Gaius was asleep before tiptoeing across the room and slipping out into the hazy fog of the early morning.

The stables were deserted. Few servants were required before dawn, and Merlin was thankful for the peaceful solitude. Even Arthur’s horse snorted with irritation when Merlin pulled open the door to his stall, entered and latched it behind him.

“Good morning to you too,” Merlin muttered when the stallion pushed him with his nose and turned away to face the wall. “Don’t tell me you’re pretending to be asleep,” Merlin said after noticing the stallion’s eyes were stubbornly closed. “You’re worse than Arthur.”

He gently dragged the brush he’d brought across the horse’s back, watching the muscles quiver as he went. “See, this isn’t so bad. I know you like the attention.” He continued his gentle ministrations, the monotonous movements kept his fatigued mind occupied.

When light began to creep through the stable, Merlin led the horse out of his stall. He prepared Arthur’s horse with care, paying close attention to where he placed the saddle and the position of the bridle. The stallion didn’t seem to mind the extra attention, and Merlin was thankful for the distraction.

He heard Arthur’s command before he saw him. “Gregory, my horse.”

“Of course, sire.” Merlin noted the inflection in the young servant’s voice. He probably said sire while bowing.

“That won’t be necessary,” Merlin said as Gregory appeared around the corner, nearly falling over himself to do Arthur’s bidding.

Merlin led the stallion to the courtyard where Arthur was waiting, conveniently leaving the animal between himself and the prince. “Your horse.” He silently hoped Arthur had forgotten his previous night’s command.

Arthur, however, had not forgotten anything. “I told you I’d have someone else take care of it.”

“Did you? I must have forgotten.”

“You’re not that big of an idiot,” Arthur snapped.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Merlin replied, stepping back as Arthur stepped forward.

Arthur patted his horse’s nose. “Did you sleep?”

Merlin was swatted in the face by a flicking tail. “Some.”

"What does –" Arthur took several steps forward only to be countered by Merlin – “Would you stop that? Come here!”

“Erm…”

Arthur sighed. “Merlin, it’s way too early for this. Come here.” Short of running in the other direction, there was little else he could do. Merlin approached Arthur slowly, his fingers twisting nervously in front of his stomach.

“Good, now we can have a proper conversation.” Arthur waited, and Merlin continued studying his hands. “Well?”

Merlin lifted his head. “Well what?”

Arthur’s expression shifted from exasperation to frustration, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “You look terrible.”

Merlin glanced down at his rumpled clothing and shrugged. “It happens.”

“Not your clothes, you idiot. Although they’re barely passable as well. I’m saying you look terrible.” When Merlin couldn’t think of a suitable answer, Arthur added, “People are starting to talk.”

“Since when do you care what people say?” Merlin asked. He’d meant it as a joke, but Arthur didn’t look amused.

“You don’t get it, do you? How you look is a reflection on me. You’re my servant. People are starting to think I’m not taking care of you.”

It was a sad realization. Arthur didn’t care after all. It was all about keeping up appearances, and Merlin was a poor reflection on Arthur.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. It’s not true,” Arthur said, his voice firm.

Merlin’s jaw dropped. Arthur could barely dress himself. Since when did he read minds? “What?” Merlin squeaked.

“You look like I just kicked your puppy,” Arthur replied, swinging up and into the saddle. “I don’t need you over thinking this and ultimately doing something incredibly stupid that requires me to save your sorry hide.”

“What?”

“I’m ordering you to get some sleep. Sleep, Merlin. Not spending time with Gwen, not assisting Gaius, not doing whatever it is that you do when I’m not around – sleep.”

“What?”

Arthur gathered the reigns before looking down at Merlin. “Do you understand?”

Despite how little Merlin understood of the conversation that just took place around him, he did have enough mental facilities to know Arthur had ordered him to do the one that he couldn’t do. He’d rather clean the stables from top to bottom, polish armor till his fingers bled, entertain Uther with magic tricks –

“Merlin!” Arthur prompted, nudging Merlin’s shoulder with the toe of his boot.

Arguing was a futile battle anyway. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Arthur said with a nod. Two of Arthur’s knights emerged from the stable leading their horses. “Nice day for a ride,” Arthur said in greeting before returning his gaze to Merlin. “An important friend of my father’s is arriving this afternoon. I expect you to be at the evening meal.”

Merlin nodded, his gaze shifting to the ground as he noticed several raised eyebrows from Arthur’s knights. He stayed until Arthur had ridden from view before turning and stalking back to his chambers.

Gaius was awake and bustling around the room collecting vials and herbs to prepare the daily medications for his patients. “I didn’t expect you back this early.”

“I wouldn’t have been if Arthur hadn’t sent me home,” Merlin replied petulantly.

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Sent you home? What happened?”

Merlin plopped down on the bench, dropping his chin onto his hand. “Apparently I’m unfit for service.”

“Did he say why?” Gaius pressed.

“He thinks I look terrible, and that’s somehow a bad reflection on him.”

“Some might say the prince is trying to be nice,” Gaius said reasonably.

“Others might say he’s being a prat.”

“You’re tired, Merlin. Don’t you think you might be being unreasonable?”

“Since when was being tired an excuse for getting out of your duties?” Merlin asked. He wondered when Gaius had put the three apples in front of him. When he reached out for one of them, he realized there was only one.

“Since you worked for someone that cared enough to notice.”

“Hmph.”

“Well, you better do as he says.”

Merlin swallowed the bite of apple he’d been chewing. “What?”

“I’m not going to go against the prince’s order. Go back to bed.”

“Everyone is becoming way too concerned with my sleep cycle,” Merlin grumbled, making no effort to stand. On any other day, the concern would be considered flattering; however, today was not any other day.

Gaius added a few herbs and powder into a goblet of water and placed it on the table within Merlin’s reach. “Drink that.”

Merlin took the goblet and sniffed the contents, his nose crinkling at the foul odor. “What is it?”

“It will help you sleep.”

Merlin shook his head, his mind filling with images of Morgana. “I don’t need –“

Apparently Arthur wasn’t the only one with mind-reading capabilities. “It’s not a sleeping draught. It will only take the edge off, relax you.”

Merlin gripped the base of the goblet until his knuckles turned white. “Do I look like I need to relax?”

Gaius’ eyebrow rose once more like he wasn’t sure if Merlin really wanted an answer to that question. “Drink it.”

Too tired to continue the struggle, Merlin complied, the concoction disappearing down his throat in two swallows. “Sleep well, Merlin.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said, pushing to his feet and plodding into his room. He closed the door, not bothering to undress, and flopped onto the bed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When he peeled his eyes open much later, he realized he’d actually slept. There had been no dream, at least that he could remember. Merlin blinked several times, stretched out his legs and arms, and realized he actually felt better.

He thought he could sleep for another ten hours, but remembered Arthur’s instruction that he was to attend the evening meal. Merlin changed into what he deemed presentable to a noble visitor.

Merlin knocked twice on Arthur’s chamber door and waited for the instruction to enter. He closed the door and turned around, his body freezing in place once he got a clear view of the prince.

“You’re dressed!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I realize this may come as a shock to you, but I do know how to dress myself.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but noticed something – what, Merlin had no idea – and he smiled instead. “You’re feeling better.”

Merlin tugged at his sleeves. “So I don’t look terrible?”

Arthur’s gaze raked up and down his body. “I wouldn’t go that far. Barely passable is more like it.”

“But still passable.”

“Get through tonight’s feast without tripping over your feet or pouring wine on one of the knights and we’ll see.”

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. “That only happened one time!”

Arthur turned away. Merlin knew he was hiding his smile. When he turned around, his expression was neutral. “Let’s go. And do try to keep my goblet filled tonight.”

“You’re such a prat,” Merlin muttered as he followed him out the door.

Arthur stopped, nearly causing Merlin to collide with him. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re wearing that?”

Arthur bumped him with his shoulder and continued down the corridor with Merlin trailing behind him, smiling for the first time in days.

The doors opened as Arthur approached the massive hall. Uther’s voice echoed off the walls as he greeted his friend who had arrived moments before.

“Lord William, it’s an honor to have you in Camelot,” Uther greeted, one hand grasping the nobleman’s hand and the other holding his wrist.

“It is my honor, your highness,” William responded warmly. “How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Uther replied, his eyes narrowing. “You haven’t aged a day.”

Lord William laughed – it was a loud, booming sound – and Merlin froze in the doorway, the color draining from his face.

“If only that were true, your highness,” Lord William replied.

Merlin knew that laugh. He smelled the smoke from the fire that wasn’t burning and felt his flesh scorching from the flames that didn’t exist. Yes, he knew that laugh.

TBC

Stump the Author Meme

Thu, 04 Jun 2009 01:40:09 GMT

Snagged from various people on my flist.

1.) Go to my master fic list and pick out a line or two from one of my stories. (Must be a full line, please -- no sentence fragments or speech tags or other such nonsense.)
2.) I will respond with which story of mine I think it's from.
3.) A drabble to anyone who stumps me. If you do stump me, feel free to request a situation and characters.

All of my fic can be found here.

If you manage to stump me, please request a drabble from Doctor Who, Torchwood, The OC, or Merlin.

Thanks for playing! :)

FIC: The Day Camelot Didn't Stand Still 1/1

Wed, 27 May 2009 00:35:54 GMT

Title: The Day Camelot Didn't Stand Still
Author: NightRider
Rating: G
Fandom: Merlin
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer and the wonderful starxd_sparrow
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: “So, really, the whole magic thing. It’s good for party tricks and not much else, huh?”
A/N: This story takes place several years in the future of the current BBC series.

Arthur yawned, his hand idly rubbing his full belly, as he watched Merlin tidy up his chambers. “So, really, the whole magic thing. It’s good for party tricks and not much else, huh?” His voice trailed off, and he gestured with his goblet which sent half a cup of wine flying through the air. The droplets froze midair. “See, party tricks.” He gave a vindicated nod, and Merlin’s jaw clenched.

“I’ll have you know, your Highness, I’m the most powerful sorcerer in all of Albion,” Merlin replied. Granted, when Arthur finally learned of his magic, it was several weeks after Uther’s death when Merlin managed to set half of Arthur’s chambers on fire. Arthur had looked between Merlin and his smoking bed, shook his head, and laughed until tears streamed down his face. Considering the circumstances, Merlin didn’t really mind.

“Oh, really?” Arthur responded, drawing Merlin out of his daydream. Arthur’s crown was slipping down his forehead and nearly covered his left eye. He pointed to the leftover pork on his plate. “Turn this into a woman.”

Merlin eyed the few bites of grizzle and leftover grape stems on the plate. It shouldn’t be too difficult to – he shook his head at the absurdity of even considering Arthur’s demand. “As if I’d use my magic for your –" he waved his hand, unable to think of a suitable answer – “entertainment.”

“I could order you to,” Arthur replied, grinning. “I am king, you know.”

“As if you’d ever let anyone forget it,” Merlin grumbled.

“A lot of people would kill to be in your position,” Arthur replied, leaning the chair back on two legs. Whether it the alcohol or Arthur’s need to push even the simplest things like sitting down to their very limits, the chair slipped and he nearly fell to the floor. He reached for the table, his fingers grasping the wood until the chair settled underneath him. Arthur collapsed onto the chair again and reached for his crown that had rolled several feet away.

“You’re welcome,” Merlin muttered.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try to take credit for my clearly spectacular and well-honed reflexes. Honestly, Merlin, just because your magic is so obviously rubbish doesn’t mean you have to resort to lying about your abilities.”

Merlin’s jaw nearly fell to his knees. “You arrogant bastard!”

“Now, now,” Arthur chided, his eyes alight with amusement, “there’s no need for name calling. I could have you beheaded in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Merlin challenged, his arms crossing dangerously over his chest. Whatever Merlin considered a very threatening display of his sorcerer prowess only caused Arthur to laugh.

When his laughter had calmed, Arthur said, “We’re hosting important guests tomorrow evening. I was thinking you could help with the entertainment.”

Merlin eyed him skeptically. “Help how?”

“You know –“ Arthur wiggled his fingers – “party tricks.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be joking. Do you any idea how powerful I am?”

Arthur tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “I’ve weighed the risks of you possibly setting our guests on fire. I’ve asked a few of the servants to be prepared with buckets of water.”

Merlin spluttered, his fists clenching and releasing at his sides while his mouth opened and closed, too shocked to even force out the easiest of insults.

“Great, you agree, then. Not that you had much of a choice, but I’m glad you’re not putting up a fight. I do hate it when we argue, Merlin.” Arthur pushed away from the table.

“If you think –"

“I’m going hunting in the morning. I was thinking of looking for a white rabbit. Perhaps you can pull it out of that hat. You know, the one with the feathers,” Arthur explained.

“I can tell you what you can pull out of your arse, if you’d like,” Merlin offered, his face twitching with barely concealed rage.

Arthur sighed. “Has it really been that long since we’ve discussed your attitude and the proper way to address your king?”

“If my king wasn’t being such an unreasonable, stupid, arrogant, pompous, narrow minded –"

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Merlin,” Arthur said jovially. “Oh, and wear the hat!” He closed the door on Merlin’s string of colorful curses.

*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*

Arthur’s hunt was successful, and he and his knights started for the castle in the afternoon. Despite having people who were more than willing to bring him whatever he desired, Arthur still enjoyed the thrill of stalking his prey. His knights didn’t comment when Arthur insisted they trap the rabbit instead of killing it.

He joked with Gawain and Kay, their spirits high, as they rode across the meadow and over the rolling hill.

Arthur froze, his mount skittering to a halt and his eyes widening as he pointed at…nothing.

“Well, where is it?” Arthur asked. He blinked several times.

“Sire, it was here this morning,” Sir Gawain offered helpfully.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, Gawain. Thank you.”

“Perhaps we took a wrong turn?” Sir Kay suggested.

“I know where my own castle is,” Arthur growled.

Arthur nudged his mount forward, and he rode across the packed dirt, his knights whispering behind him.

“Castles don’t just disappear,” Arthur muttered. No one said the obvious that, yes, apparently they do.

“Lose something?” a cheerful and very familiar voice asked.

“Merlin,” Arthur barked. He turned his horse and saw Merlin sitting on a log several yards away. He pointed to the wide expanse of black dirt. “Put it back.” His knights looked on, slack-jawed at the inconspicuous man. Yes, they knew he was a sorcerer - Arthur had told them the moment he found out (though most of them had already suspected it). If it took a sorcerer to keep their king safe, then so be it.

Merlin coughed and continued sorting herbs into carefully constructed piles. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The castle, Merlin.” Arthur slid out of his saddle and passed the reigns to Gawain before stalking forward.

“What castle?”

“My castle! What have you done with it?”

“You wanted party tricks,” Merlin said, leaning back and waving his hand casually. “I gave you party tricks.”

“You made my entire castle disappear,” Arthur said, his voice deceptively calm.

Merlin glanced around him. “It would appear that way, yes.”

“Put it back.”

Merlin tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Let me think about it.”

Arthur tossed his hands in the air. “You idiot! What can there possibly be to think about?”

“That didn’t sound like ‘Wow, Merlin. You’re actually a great and powerful sorcerer after all.’”

“If you’re fishing for compliments, you’re not going to get any from me,” Arthur snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine, enjoy your feast. That is if your guests can find the castle.” Merlin rolled to his feet and started walking away. “I wonder if Mercia is hiring,” he mumbled.

“Sire, a word of advice?” Gawain offered quietly.

“Unless you’re offering to bring me his head, I don’t want to hear it.”

Gawain shared a knowing look with Kay who barely suppressed a smile. “You do realize what he did today, don’t you? That’s not your everyday party trick as you like to call them.”

“He’s showing off!” Arthur snapped.

“For you,” Kay said reasonably.

“If you expect me to believe this little display of temper is somehow for me, I’m going to have Gaius examine you both as soon as I figure out where he and the rest of my loyal subjects went.”

“To be honest, sire, I haven’t seen that boy do something that wasn’t for you since he arrived at Camelot years ago.”

Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. Okay, so they had a point. Maybe.

“Merlin,” Arthur called. “Wait a second.” He jogged across the grass to where Merlin was walking slowly toward road. “We need to talk.”

“Still deciding that, are you?” Merlin asked. Arthur grabbed his shoulder when he didn’t stop walking.

“Stop being an idiot,” Arthur snapped.

“Great way to start the conversation,” Merlin deadpanned.

“Look, you don’t have to wear the hat, okay?”

“If you think this is about that stupid hat –"

“I never actually expected you to entertain my guests either.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Arthur asked.

“I made your castle disappear,” Merlin said flatly. “Do you really think entertaining a few noble visitors would be that much of a challenge?”

“The way you were blathering on about it, what was I supposed to think?”

Merlin glared at him. “Would you like to see what else I can make disappear?” He lifted his hand like he was going to snap his fingers, and Arthur’s hand closed tightly around his own.

“Stop it.” He didn’t release Merlin’s hand, and Merlin made no effort to pull away. “Tell me what you want.”

Merlin looked away, his foot kicking at a stray pebble. “What I’ve always wanted.”

Arthur used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Which is?”

Merlin shrugged, his eyes downcast. “To serve you.”

“Did you ever stop to think I knew how powerful you were, and I didn’t want you to become a weapon for me? Did you ever consider that I didn’t want you to think I just kept you around because you were a powerful warlock rather than just my bumbling Merlin?”

Merlin blushed, his hand tugging on his handkerchief. “Oh.”

Arthur smiled and shook his head. “Idiot.”

“What if you could have both?” Merlin asked. Arthur lifted an eyebrow curiously. “A powerful warlock and wise, intelligent, and so very brave Merlin?”

Arthur considered this for a second. “I prefer bumbling Merlin.”

“That’s good,” Merlin said, bumping Arthur with his shoulder. “I happen to know him. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Arthur growled; it was a sound deep in his throat, and wrapped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, squeezing a bit harder than necessary. “So if you’ve quite finished with your tantrum, will you put my castle back now?”

Merlin sighed. “If I must.” His eyes flashed gold. Arthur’s gaze didn’t leave Merlin. He knew his castle would be standing there when he turned around, and actually, he quite liked the view from this direction.

~Finished~

FIC: Borrowed Time 2/?

Mon, 25 May 2009 16:09:41 GMT

Title: Borrowed Time
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Merlin
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer, starxd_sparrow and silverindie80
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Merlin starts having a reoccurring dream, and he realizes he's going to die. How far will he go to save his own life, what happened to his destiny, and where the hell is Arthur?
A/N: This was written for vail_kagami after her generous donation to the Support Stacie April Auction.

Dawn had just begun to creep over the horizon when Merlin stumbled out of the front door of the home he shared with Gaius and went to the stables. He hadn’t tried to go back to sleep; the sinking feeling of dread in his stomach had chased away Merlin’s exhaustion.

His mind worked in overdrive as he prepared Arthur’s horse for patrol. His dream had left with him with the knowledge of his own demise and nothing else. It wasn’t a vision – there were no images and no scenes unfolding while he slept. He had only the vivid emotions and the simple knowledge that he was going to die.

He needed to talk to someone, someone who would understand and not think he was completely insane. Unfortunately that posed another problem – what would he say? Sure, he could announce he was going to die and what exactly would he base that on? Arthur would most likely tell him he was being dramatic, as usual, and trying to avoid his duties as a manservant, and somewhere along the way Merlin would probably reveal himself as a sorcerer and have his head lopped off a half an hour later. Merlin wondered if that would prove his point - he had said he was going to die, after all.

Merlin stroked the restless stallion’s nose. He could always go to Gaius. Merlin knew his mentor would listen to him, nod thoughtfully, and probably believe him. Then Gaius would consult his treasured books and Merlin would have to choke down whatever hideous draught that Gaius concocted, and if that didn’t kill him, Merlin knew he’d wish he was dead. He also knew Gaius wasn’t getting any younger; even the daily tasks of being court physician seemed to wear on him even though he never complained. The last thing Merlin wanted to do was worry him. After all, Gaius was already risking so much by letting Merlin live with him.

There was one person who he knew would understand – Morgana. They were friends, after all - at least he considered her a friend. But what if she –

“Honestly, Merlin, you’re going to remove all his hair if you keep that up,” Arthur chided.

Merlin jerked around and wiped his hands on his trousers. “He likes it.” The horse nudged his shoulder as if confirming his statement. “See?” Merlin said triumphantly. “Why are you sneaking around the stables, anyway?”

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. “I assure you that I wasn’t sneaking. A prince doesn’t sneak around his kingdom.” He took the reigns and adjusted the saddle. “You’re the one who’s daydreaming again. I called you three times.”

“Oh, I didn’t hear you,” Merlin said, shrugging.

“Obviously,” Arthur replied with a sniff. “I suppose I should thankful for small miracles. I expected to have to send someone to fetch you.”

“Well as you can see, I made it, and your horse is ready for patrol so off you go,” Merlin said, gesturing toward the castle gates in the distance.

“I realize you didn’t have a lot of schooling, but you do know what accompany means, don’t you?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, I know what it means,” Merlin said through clenched teeth. Unfortunately, he was distracted. Knowledge of your impending doom can do that to a person. He opted for the first excuse he could think of. “I wasn’t thinking and didn’t prepare a horse for myself.”

“I figured you would say that,” Arthur said, signaling one of stable hands who approached leading a brown mare. “Oh look, a horse,” Arthur said dryly, tossing a pair of his personal gloves at Merlin’s head. “Put those on.”

Merlin managed to catch one of the gloves and bent down to retrieve the other. “What are these for?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Your hands, you idiot. I don’t want you reopening those blisters and bleeding all over one of my favorite mares.” He waited until Merlin slid the gloves over his hands. “Let’s go.”

Arthur left him with no other option but to take the reigns and go with him. After muttering a quick thank you to the stable boy, Merlin slid onto the horse and followed Arthur out of the gates.

After riding for nearly half the morning, it became apparent Arthur was in no hurry. He talked with some of the villagers, asking them about their crops and how their preparations for the winter were coming. Merlin was surprised when Arthur knew most of their names.

By late afternoon, it was all Merlin could do to stay to awake. He slumped in the saddle and his head fell forward, his nose hitting the back of the mare’s head. He jerked awake, his hand covering his nose that was now leaking blood.

His hopes that Arthur hadn’t seen his little mishap were dashed when he turned to find Arthur’s horse pulled to a halt with Arthur staring wide-eyed in his direction. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

Merlin shrugged, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe a little?”

Arthur’s wide-eyed expression melted into a frustrated glare. “Can you make it back to the castle or do I need to tie you to the horse?”

Merlin had no doubt that Arthur was being completely serious so the waving of the rope was just overkill. “No, I’m fine.”

Arthur made a noise in his throat that made Merlin think he didn’t believe him. “Let’s ride back.”

“But you’re not finished! There were two more villages you wanted to visit.”

“And they’ll still be there tomorrow.” Arthur nudged his horse forward, and Merlin stared at his back as he rode away. “Now, Merlin.”

“Prat,” Merlin muttered.

The castle gates were on the horizon, and Arthur slowed his mount to a walk. “I realize you’re absolutely terrible at caring for yourself so if I need to handle your sleeping schedule for you, I will.”

Merlin glared at the prince, toying with the idea of turning him into a wide assortment of insects. “I already told you I was fine.”

“You nearly fell asleep while riding today,” Arthur said, as if Merlin had forgotten that little snippet of information. “I’m ordering you to get some rest.”

“Yes, fine,” Merlin snapped, sliding out of the saddle once they reached the stables.

“Don’t test me, Merlin.”

“If you keep this up, I’m going to start thinking you actually care.” That had the desired effect, and Arthur’s mouth snapped closed. “I’ll have your horse ready in the morning so you can finish your patrol.”

Arthur shook his head and passed the reigns to one of the waiting stable hands. “Someone else will take care of it.”

Merlin stopped short. Early this morning he was falling over himself for reprieve, and now the idea of someone else taking care of Arthur only angered him. “There’s no reason to have –“

Arthur lifted his hand. “Leave it.”

“You’re being –"

“Considerate? Yes, I am.”

“I was going to say –“

Arthur cut across him. “Do yourself a favor and shut up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Merlin tossed his hands in the air and stalked across the courtyard. In the back of his mind he knew Arthur was trying to help, but that nagging sensation did nothing to lessen his worsening mood. Unfortunately, the idea of his warm bed and actually having to sleep didn’t either.

Arthur had ordered him to get some rest, but he hadn’t been specific as to when. If he went now, Merlin hoped he could catch Morgana before the evening meal.

After knocking on her door, he waited and wondered why he hadn’t put more thought into what he planned on saying.

“Enter.”

Merlin pushed the door open, hovering awkwardly in the entryway. “Um…hello.”

“Oh, Merlin. I wasn’t expecting you this evening. Is everything well?” she asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He glanced around the room and was quickly regretting his decision to come to Morgana.

“Gwen’s not here,” she said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Right, yes,” Merlin said, trying to get his brain to join the conversation. “I was actually looking for you.”

She looked pleased, and Merlin felt a pang of sympathy for her. Being the king’s ward came with its own hardships. “Come in and close the door.” He managed to accomplish that simple task without any major mishaps. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look dreadful.”

“Long day,” he said, shrugging.

“Is that blood on your sleeve? Merlin, are you hurt?” She crossed the room in several quick steps and placed her hands on his face. She titled his head and clicked her tongue several times disapprovingly. “Did Arthur do this? It was another one of his silly training lessons, wasn’t it? I swear I’ll-“

“No, it’s fine,” Merlin said, stepping back. “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to speak with him. He has no right to –"

“Morgana, please,” Merlin interjected. Morgana wasn’t the only one surprised by the firmness in his voice. “It wasn’t Arthur. I just bumped my head.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but she let it go. “So you wanted to see me?”

“Did I? Oh, right. Well…”

She waited patiently, resting her slender hip against the dressing panel.

“You see, I –“ he rubbed the back of his neck – “I have this friend.”

“Go on,” she prompted, gesturing for him to continue.

Feeling creative and safe that his secret was secure, he continued, “He’s been having a dream. The same dream or at least it feels like the same dream.”

“How long?”

Merlin sighed, his hand falling to his side. “Days, maybe weeks. He can’t remember the last time he’s slept well.”

“What does he dream of?” Morgana asked, her expression attentive as she watched Merlin carefully.

“He doesn’t remember the dream. Just the feeling afterwards. And –“ He swallowed as the feeling of dread clawed its way down his spine. “He thinks…he knows he’s going to die.”

Morgana rubbed her arm nervously as if she’d suddenly caught a chill. “Do you think this friend is telling the truth?”

“I think he’s pretty convinced he’s going to die. And, no, he wouldn’t lie to me. We’re…close.” Merlin held his breath hoping she wouldn’t press the issue. When she didn’t say anything else, he added, “What do you think?”

“I believe dreams can reveal the future,” Morgana said quietly. “And if he knows what will bring his demise, there might be a chance it can be changed.”

Merlin felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest and his lips curled into a slight smile. “That’s a relief.”

“A word of caution,” Morgan began, and Merlin felt like he’d spoken too soon. “Be careful who you share this information with. Not everyone is as understanding as I am.”

“Of course, m’lady,” Merlin said, inclining his head before starting for the door. “But, how do I – I mean how does he find out how he’s going to die?”

“I suggest he spends more time sleeping.”

Merlin nodded, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. “And-“ he swallowed – “what if he can’t change his future? What if that’s his destiny?”

Morgan frowned. “Then I’m very sorry for your friend.”

“Yeah, me too.” He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Merlin.”

She could hear Arthur’s annoyed voice drifting down the corridor.

“I thought I told you to –“

Merlin cut across him. “On my way now. I…got lost.”

“Idiot.”

Morgana didn’t hear Merlin’s response, but noticed Arthur’s frustrated expression when he appeared at her open door. “One day I’m going to find myself a real manservant.”

“When that happens, I’ll start obeying Uther’s every command,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted to a half smile, but his eyes were focused on the corridor, watching Merlin until he was out of sight. “Something’s wrong,” he said finally.

“I know.”

Arthur shifted and their gazes locked. “What did he tell you?” When she didn’t respond he changed tactics. “Fine. How do we help him?”

“Right now we keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Morgana said.

Arthur’s eyes widened. “You do realize we’re talking about Merlin, don’t you?”

She tossed her hands in the air. “Of course we’re talking about Merlin.”

“I want to make sure you understand the depth of challenge we’re undertaking,” Arthur clarified.

“This is serious, Arthur,” she snapped.

“Don’t you think I know that?” He ran his hand through his hair, a sign he was agitated.

“He’ll be okay,” Morgana said softly, walking forward and resting her hand on his shoulder.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’d better be,” Arthur grumbled.

Morgana let the threat slide past. Arthur wasn’t used to having an adversary he couldn’t pound into the dirt by physical means.

“Will you join us for dinner?” Arthur asked.

“Of course.” After Arthur nodded his acknowledgment, he turned to start down the corridor before Morgana’s voice stopped him. “Arthur, no one can know of this.”

“Who exactly do you think I’d tell? Most of Camelot already thinks he’s mentally afflicted. I’d hate to add to the rumors.”

“Not even Merlin,” she amended.

“You’re not making any sense,” Arthur said.

“For whatever reason, he doesn’t want us to know anything is wrong. I do not wish to betray him.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “He’s my manservant. I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed him to flounder on his own. Well, flounder any more than usual.”

“We would drive him away,” Morgana said sensibly. “There could be something far more dangerous than he’s realized working against him. We don’t want him rushing off to face this alone.”

Arthur watched her carefully, his hand fiddling with the hilt of his sword. “Would you care to elaborate on whatever evil you think we’re facing?”

Morgana sighed. “I don’t know, but if you rush in there and act like a complete arse, we won’t have the chance to find out.”

“As if I would do such a thing!” After noticing Morgana’s raised eyebrow in response, Arthur said, “Fine. We’ll give him some time, but at the first sign of a sorcerer or magic of the sort, the one responsible will meet the end of my sword.”

Morgana tilted her head in agreement. “I’ll see you the evening meal.”

“Yeah,” Arthur replied and stalked off to grab the first knight he found for a quick sparring session.

Chapter 3

Music Video Rec - A Not So Epic Love Story

Sat, 23 May 2009 13:25:03 GMT

vail_kagami has done it again. She's made a gorgeous music video about Owen and Tosh from Torchwood. I highly recommend taking a few minutes to watch it. It will give you chills and make you want to cry, but it's definitely worth watching. :)

I hope everyone has an enjoyable weekend!

Ficlet: A Moment of Truth

Fri, 22 May 2009 19:40:29 GMT

Title: A Moment of Truth
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Arthur and Merlin
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this.
Summary: "I could have saved him."
Dedication: vail_kagami - she's never afraid to embrace the angst!
A/N: This is unbetaed and rather depressing.

“I could have saved him.”

Arthur’s gaze didn’t leave Gaius’s body, his expression distant but not surprised. “No, Merlin. You couldn’t have.”

Merlin’s eyes darkened as his hand fell away from Gaius’s cold brow. “I could have saved him.”

“No, Merlin,” Arthur repeated. “You couldn’t have.”

Merlin shook his head. It shouldn’t have ended like this. “You don’t understand.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I do.”

“I could have saved him.”

“It was his time.”

Merlin met Arthur’s gaze for the first time, his eyes shining gold. “You knew.”

Arthur didn’t deny it. He didn’t tell Merlin that Gaius had asked him to take Merlin away from the castle for the day, had asked him to look after Merlin after he was gone. “Gaius was ready to die.”

“I could have stopped this. I could have saved him.”

“Magic isn’t always the answer,” Arthur said softly. Merlin froze, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Arthur paused with his hand on the door. “I’m sorry.”

~Finished~

New Comm - Finishing WIP's

Sat, 09 May 2009 01:03:01 GMT

I know what everyone is thinking - the last thing I need to do is join another comm!

Still, I wanted to throw this new community out there. If you're like me, you have more than one WIP hanging around you've been meaning to finish. For me, it's an OC story, A Willing Sacrifice. There's also more than one Doctor Who story I have still unfinished.

A comm was just created by my dear friend vail_kagami called finishing_wips. It's purpose is to provide encouragement to finish those stories you've always been meaning to get to but never seemed to find the time.

It's brand new and open to any and all suggestions. If you have a chance, please check it out. :) Let's finish some old stories!

Ficlet: Yield

Sun, 03 May 2009 00:21:42 GMT

Title: Yield
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Arthur/Merlin
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Images of death
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this.
Summary: There's comfort in the knowledge you don't always have to be in control.
A/N: This is unbetaed and was written in about twenty minutes. My apologies if it sucks, but it needed to be written. This ficlet is set several years in the future of the BBC show.

Merlin struggled, his hands pushing against Arthur’s chest. He was a powerful sorcerer, the greatest warlock in all of Albion, but here, with Arthur, he was powerless, he was mortal, and most importantly, he was loved.

Arthur continued to hold him in place, taking his wrists and pinning them easily above his head. Merlin tugged against Arthur’s hold, bucking in place in a futile attempt to free himself. Arthur didn’t move, his legs tangling around Merlin’s so he was held perfectly still because Arthur knew, as he always did, Merlin didn’t want to win. Not here. Not like this.

“Yield,” Arthur ordered, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the fire.

Merlin shook his head, his eyes closed. He saw the bodies of four sorcerers he’d killed today, twisted arms, mangled legs, and burned flesh. He saw fear in the eyes of Arthur’s knights as they quickly stepped back to let him pass. He felt their eyes on his back as he walked across the scorched grass.

He opened his eyes when he felt Arthur’s fingers tighten around his wrists. “Yield,” Arthur repeated, hovering patiently above him. He’d wait. Arthur would always wait.

Merlin could feel his magic stirring deep in his stomach – the all-consuming power threatening to overtake him, but what he savored, what kept him grounded, was Arthur’s breath against his cheek, the weight of Arthur’s chest against his own, and pull of Arthur’s command on his heart.

“Yield,” Arthur murmured, his thumbs rubbing reassuringly over the underside of Merlin’s wrists.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered, relinquishing control to only person he’d ever deemed worthy.

When he closed his eyes, he saw only Arthur.

~Finished~

FIC: Borrowed Time 1/?

Sat, 02 May 2009 21:47:30 GMT

Title: Borrowed Time
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Merlin
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing souleswanderer and silverindie80
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Merlin and no money was made from writing this story.
Summary: Merlin starts having a reoccurring dream, and he realizes he's going to die. How far will he go to save his own life, what happened to his destiny, and where the hell is Arthur?
A/N: This was written for vail_kagami after her generous donation to the Support Stacie April Auction.

This is my first Merlin fic. I'm sure you'll be able to tell.

Merlin woke, his fingers curled around the edge of the tattered blanket. He blinked several times and breathed deeply, holding each measured breath until his lungs ached and his eyes watered, tears finding their way from the corners of his eyes. Merlin abhorred pain, but in this case, the incessant ached served as a reminder – he was still alive.

He never remembered the dream. He didn’t even know if it was the same dream or a variety of nightmares haunting his sleep. What he did remember was the emotions, the bitter feeling of dread and utter hopelessness that slithered down his spine when he finally forced his eyes open. It usually took him several seconds to work out where he was and to verify he was still alive.

Kicking the blanket aside, Merlin rolled out of bed and managed to get dressed without falling flat on his face. Considering the amount of sleep he’d had over the last two weeks, he considered that an accomplishment.

He smoothed down his clothes and ran his hand through his hair, hoping he looked more presentable than he felt. He reminded himself he was a great sorcerer, wise and intelligent beyond his years, and he wouldn’t worry anyone by entertaining the idea his silly dreams meant anything. He wasn’t a seer, after all.

“You look terrible,” Gaius commented when Merlin emerged and plopped down at the table.

Merlin’s eyes widened and he wondered what gave him away. He reminded himself that Gaius was the court physician, and it was his job to notice the minor details.

“Not sleeping well?” Gaius prompted.

Merlin forced a smile that was all teeth and hoped he wasn’t overdoing it. “I’m fine. Arthur kept me out half the night.” After noticing Gaius’ raised eyebrow, he quickly added, “You know, the feast for Sir whatever-his-name-was and, well, Arthur can’t even pour his own wine so I had to stay and…”

“Help the prince drink his wine?” Gaius interjected.

Merlin recognized an out when he saw one. “Yes! That’s exactly what happened.” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “I’m actually not feeling very good this morning.”

Gaius rolled his eyes and dropped several vials on the table. “You’ll get no compassion from me, young man. Take these potions and hurry. You’ve slept through most of the morning.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Merlin asked, grabbing the vials and starting for the door. “Arthur’s going to have my head.”

“Oh, if I’d known why you were you sleeping the day away, I certainly would have. And Merlin –“ he tossed an apple across the room causing the young warlock to nearly drop all the potions in the process of catching it – "if Arthur had half as much to drink as you did, I wouldn’t worry about him missing your presence this morning.”

Unfortunately, Merlin knew the feast ended rather early, and Arthur was too preoccupied with whatever his father had said to choke down more than two goblets of wine. He spent the next hour trying to think of a passable excuse for his absence, something that wasn’t purely a lie because, despite his secret, he didn’t enjoy lying to Arthur.

After delivering the vials to the respective patients, Merlin carefully balanced Arthur’s noon meal on his arm and opened the chamber door with his other hand.

Arthur was standing with his hip resting against the wooden table. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

Merlin nearly dropped the serving tray on the floor. “What?”

“Obviously not, then. I’m Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot. And you are –“ Merlin racked his brain trying to remember if he’d been working with any memory dampening spells recently – “the most useless manservant it’s ever been my misfortune to encounter.”

Merlin scowled, relief warring with annoyance. “You’re not funny.”

“Do you know what else isn’t funny?” Arthur asked, snatching the tray away and dropping it on the table. “Missing my morning meal. I’m starving.”

Merlin poured water from the pitcher into the empty goblet after Arthur sat down. He tactfully waited until Arthur had a mouthful of pork before saying, “If you were that hungry, you could have gone to the kitchens. You do remember where they are, don’t you?”

Arthur swallowed and set his fork aside. “No, Merlin. That’s your job.” Merlin was easing himself toward the door when Arthur’s gaze pinned him and he froze. “Last time I checked you were my manservant, and –“ his gaze never wavered, an eyebrow creeping up his forehead – “you look terrible.”

Merlin shrugged, the abrupt shift in conversation leaving his exhausted brain struggling to catch up. “You say I always look terrible. Barely presentable, hardly passable, poor excuse for a –"

“Merlin, shut up.”

“What? I was agreeing with you.”

Arthur fiddled with his goblet, two fingers running over the rim of the cup. “Not that I care, but are you all right? If there’s something that’s keeping you from performing your duties, I need to know about it.”

“I’m fine.” Merlin shrugged again, searching his mind for an answer that Arthur would find acceptable. “Long night, that’s all.”

“Oh, were you with Gaius?” Arthur asked before popping a grape in his mouth.

“Gaius? You know he can barely stay up to watch the sunset,” Merlin said. “Unless he has a patient which he didn’t. It was just a long night.”

Out of all the answers his mind deemed acceptable, that definitely wasn’t one that Arthur seemed pleased with. “Long night?” Arthur snapped. “Well, far be it for me to keep you from whatever it is you’re doing that’s keeping you up so late.”

Merlin stepped back, surprised by Arthur’s sudden agitation. “Wait, I didn’t mean –"

“I want my armor cleaned. All of it. The stables cleaned. All of them. And hopefully when you’re finished with that, you won’t have so much energy for your nightly pursuits.”

Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t force the words past his lips. He’d need his waning energy if he was going to accomplish all of Arthur’s tasks.

“Sire,” Merlin said, inclining his head and leaving Arthur to his meal.

With the aid of magic, Merlin managed to clean all of Arthur’s armor until it shined like new. He’d tried polishing Arthur’s armor by hand when he didn’t feel safe using his magic and realized he could never obtain the same sparkling gleam. Since Arthur deserved the very best - not that he’d ever tell him that - he recanted the simple spell, his eyes flashing gold, and watched the armor transform before his eyes.

He opted not to use magic to muck out the stables. No, he wanted to work, needed to, in fact. He wanted to be exhausted by physical means, to have his body ache and his mind encompassed with the simplicity of a hard day’s labor so when he fell into bed tonight, he would know nothing beyond sweet, dreamless sleep.

The stables were unusually quiet. Normally other servants would stop to chat and complain, but today everyone hurried by, muttering quietly to themselves. Being used to avoidance and entertaining himself, Merlin paid them no mind. He lost himself in the motions, ignoring the ache in his shoulders and the sweat burning his eyes.

The sun had long since descended behind the horizon when Merlin finally finished. His hands trembled, and he pressed his back against one of the wooden stalls. Sliding down, he collapsed in the hay. He thought of nothing as his eyes drifted closed.

Destruction. Pain. Death.

Merlin jerked awake, his head slamming against the wooden wall, his mouth forming a silent scream. It was the same emotions that haunted his sleep previously and forced him to wake prematurely. He blinked several times and struggled to control his breathing as his heart pounded against his chest.

There was something new, a need – he had to see Arthur. It wasn’t the normal desire he had to be close to the prince. It was bigger than that, deeper. He had to know Arthur was okay.

He forced himself to his feet, ignoring his quivering muscles that were protesting the quick, jarring movements, and started for the castle. It was late, and hopefully he’d be able to catch a glimpse of Arthur sleeping soundly before retiring to his own bed to – stay awake for the rest of the night.

The stone corridors were lit by torches that cast an eerie glow on the walls. Merlin didn’t notice, his feet retracing the familiar steps to Arthur’s chambers. He knocked once and eased open the door, poking his head halfway through so he could see the bed.

“Come to beg leniency since you couldn’t finish your assigned duties?” Arthur asked, his tone flat.

Merlin’s eyes closed, Arthur’s strong voice reverberating in his mind as his hand gripped the door. “Well?” Arthur prompted, sounding annoyed.

“Um…I – what did you say?” Merlin asked.

“I asked if you had come to beg leniency since you couldn’t finish assigned duties,” Arthur repeated very slowly. He was sitting close to the fire, an open book resting on his knee.

“Oh, no, I finished everything,” Merlin replied, allowing himself one more visible confirmation that Arthur was fine, albeit rather annoyed. “I just – yeah, good night, then.”

“That’s impossible,” Arthur snapped. “And would you close the door?”

“Sorry,” Merlin said, starting to pull the door closed.

“Merlin,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “With you on this side of the door.”

“Right, sorry.” Merlin stepped through the doorway, pushing the door closed behind him. He didn’t move from the entryway.

“You said you finished everything,” Arthur prompted.

“Yes, that’s what I said. I know because I was there, you see, and it was actually –“

“What is wrong with you? You’re even more mentally deficient than usual, and that’s saying a lot,” Arthur said, watching Merlin closely before closing the book he was reading and setting it on the floor.

Merlin shrugged, his palms outstretched. “I’m fine.”

Arthur was on his feet, striding across the room, and Merlin was wondering what he had said. “What happened to your hands?”

“I don’t –“ Merlin looked down at his palms, the sensitive skin on the underside of his knuckles was abraded and dried blood covered the abused area. “Oh.”

“You idiot,” Arthur said, taking Merlin’s arm and jerking him across the room towards the bright firelight. He examined the remains of what were blisters that formed, been split then shredded, and now left open sores. “What did you do?”

“It must have happened while I was cleaning the stables,” Merlin said, wincing as the pain from his hands finally registered in his brain.

“You didn’t get that from mucking out a few stalls,” Arthur replied, releasing Merlin’s hand and collecting the water basin and a clean square cloth from the corner of the room.

“Not a few stalls,” Merlin corrected. “All the stables, like you said.”

Arthur passed him a damp cloth, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s hands. “Why in the world would you go something stupid like that?”

“Um…because you told me to?”

Arthur shook his head. “And when did you start listening to me? Honestly, Merlin, I’m beginning to get concerned.” When Merlin didn’t respond or do anything besides stand there like a fish out of water, Arthur snatched the damp cloth away and started cleaning the blood off his hands. “Obviously I didn’t make myself clear: you were supposed to see to your injuries. Really, Merlin, must I do everything myself?”

Merlin winced and he forced himself to remain still. After years of treating injuries received in battle, Arthur wasn’t exactly known for his gentle sensitivity.

Arthur dropped the soiled cloth in the water basin. “Didn’t you notice while you were working? There’s probably a trail of blood from the stables to my chambers.”

Merlin shrugged, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. He actually felt better. “No, it didn’t hurt, at least not until you said something.” He scowled because blaming Arthur was definitely the easiest thing to do.

“I expect you to use better discretion next time,” Arthur said, resting his hand on the back of the chair and fixing Merlin with his best authoritative look.

“You do realize I was just doing what you ordered me to do,” Merlin pointed out.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you pay attention when you start bleeding. It’s common sense, Merlin. Have you ever heard of it?” Arthur asked.

Being the sole subject of Arthur’s attention definitely had its low points, and Merlin opted to change the subject. “Is there anything else you need tonight?”

Arthur glanced around his chambers, but eventually said, “No.” As Merlin turned to leave, Arthur added, “Get some sleep. I expect you to be on time in the morning. You’re going to accompany me on patrol.”

“Of course,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes as he reached for the door. “Good night, sire.”

“Night, Merlin.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Merlin slipped passed Gaius who was snoring loudly and quietly closed the door to his room. Not that he’d wish sickness on anyone, but Merlin had hoped Gaius would be awake. At least it would have been a distraction.

He eyed his bed warily. It was deceptive, offering comfort and peace, when in reality, it provided neither of those. He pulled his magic book out from beneath the floorboard and settled on the floor, his back pressed against the bed.

The worn pages turned easily and the enchantments rolled of his tongue with practiced ease. Soon the words blurred in front of his eyes, his chin nearly hitting his chest before he forced his eyes open and continued reading.

It was close to dawn when exhaustion eventually prevailed and the book slid off his lap forgotten.

Destruction. Pain. Death.

Merlin kept his eyes belligerently closed, forcing himself past desperate emotions, past the feelings of hopelessness and loss, past the knowledge that he was going to die.

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of freezing water over his head. He was going to die. If Merlin knew nothing else, he knew that.

And now he was going to have to find a way to stop it.

Chapter 2

Support Stacie April Auction Opens Tonight

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 00:48:01 GMT

The Support Stacie April Auction opens tonight! I'm participating in two fandoms this time around - Merlin and Doctor Who. I'm offering a printed, signed copy of the story to the winning bidder if interested.

A lot of wonderful authors in a variety of fandoms have signed up. Please show your support and bid on your favorite author if you can. :D

FIC: All in a Day's Work 1/1

Sun, 29 Mar 2009 18:14:46 GMT

Title: All in a Day's Work
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing starxd_sparrow and souleswanderer
Characters: The Tenth Doctor and Jack Harkness
Summary: The TARDIS breaks down in Cardiff and Jack helps out with the repairs.
Dedication: This was written for the wonderful off_the_post18.

Jack leaned over the railing and watched the Doctor – well, what he could see of the Doctor - sticking out from beneath the console. “So tell me again what happened?”

The Doctor’s voice was muffled when he replied, “I’ve already told you. I landed in Cardiff to refuel and then…”

“Half the console blew up,” Jack finished, barely concealing his laughter.

“I prefer to say I’ve encountered a ‘minor malfunction.’”

“You were picking up levers and coils halfway across the room when I got here,” Jack pointed out, and because he was so helpful, he added, “not that I could see that well through all the smoke.”

“As I said, minor malfunction.”

Jack made a thoughtful noise. “Sure looked like an explosion to me.”

“Just about – there! I think that does –“ A shower of sparks cascaded down and the Doctor yelped before the sound of a pounding hammer drowned out his curses.

Jack cleared his throat. “You were saying?” He could see the Doctor’s toes curl underneath the fabric of his trainers. No doubt he was counting to ten in several different languages.

“Are you going to make yourself useful or just stand there like a stupid ape?” the Doctor snapped.

Jack considered this, tapping the railing thoughtfully. “You know, the view isn’t bad from here.”

“I could use a break actually,” the Doctor said, sliding out from underneath the control panel. “Why don’t we take a tour of Torchwood instead? I’m sure there are a few things I’d be really interested in seeing.”

Threat sent and duly received. Jack leapt off the stairs and onto the metal grating. “What can I do?”

“So nice of you to offer, Jack,” the Doctor said, the corners of his eyes creasing as he grinned.

“You know me,” Jack said, running his hand along one of the panels. “I’m a giver.”

“How about a little more fixing and a little less giving?” the Doctor said disapprovingly, eyeing Jack’s hand that was resting a little too comfortably on his TARDIS.

“Jealous?” Jack teased, dropping to his knees and sliding into the crawl space beneath the controls.

“Does everything have to be a contest with you?” the Doctor asked, his voice clearly conveying he was far too old and too brilliant to play the silly human game of who’s better than who. “Anyway, we all know who she likes best.”

“Do we now?” Jack said, squeezing against the wiring to make room for the Doctor. “I wasn’t the one that nearly got burned alive a few minutes ago.”

“Can’t you move over?” the Doctor asked, accidentally elbowing Jack in the stomach as he inched past.

“This is far as I can get, and would you watch your damn elbow?” He rubbed his stomach ruefully. “Were you always this skinny? Eat a cheeseburger or something. Your elbow is like a metal rod.”

The Doctor managed to roll over and Jack narrowly avoided getting the same elbow to his nose. “So much for ‘bigger on the inside,’” the Doctor muttered.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jack said, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m used to working in tight spaces.”

The Doctor groaned and pressed his fingers against his eyelids. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Loosen up, Doc’,” Jack said. “I’d say I was joking, but we both know I wasn’t.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase quit while you’re behind?” When Jack opened his mouth to respond, the Doctor was quick to say, “And if you make some sort of sex joke out of that, I’m going to hit you with this hammer.” As if to prove he’d do it, he waved the hammer in front of Jack and ended up hitting one of the wire coils in the process, sending another shower of sparks flying. The onslaught left the Doctor with singed hair and Jack conveniently unaffected. “I think she’s mad at me,” the Doctor said, sighing.

“Well, you did just hit her with a hammer,” Jack, ever helpful, pointed out.

“Of all the places, she had to break down in Cardiff,” the Doctor said glumly. “Honestly, an imploding nebula, a black hole, a forming sun, a –“

“I didn’t realize my company was such a hardship,” Jack interjected, sounding despondent.

“It’s you, Jack. Of course you’re a hardship.”

Jack blinked several times. “Did you just make a joke?”

The Doctor grinned. “It was funny too! Why aren’t you laughing?”

Jack started laughing then and took some of the broken wiring to work on making new connectors. They worked in silence for awhile, their shoulders and arms brushing against each other.

“I am funny, you know,” the Doctor said as he wiped a coil on Jack’s shirt while he was looking the other way. Jack made a noncommittal noise and kept reconnecting wires. “A lot of people think I’m hilarious,” the Doctor continued.

“You’re many wonderful things, but funny? Not so much. Now if we’re going to talk about how sexy you are…”

The Doctor’s voice was muffled by the sonic screwdriver that was now wedged between his teeth. “Tha’s na ‘en a compa’ment com’ um you.”

Jack turned his head to the side. Seeing the Doctor’s open mouth, his brown eyes reflecting the green hues of his ship further proved Jack’s previous statement. “What?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Tha’s na ‘en a compa’ment com’ um you.”

Jack took the screwdriver from the Doctor’s mouth, forcing himself to ignore the damp handle and repeating over and over in his mind that shouldn’t be a turn on for a normal person. “Now – what?”

“I said that’s not even a compliment coming from you.”

Jack held the screwdriver away when the Doctor tried to reach for it. “What do you mean by that?”

“Jack, give me –"

“Answer the question.”

Rolling his eyes again, the Doctor said, “You saying I’m sexy is like saying the Earth is round or you work for Torchwood.”

If there had been enough room, Jack would have crossed his arms over his chest. “My, don’t we have a high opinion of ourselves.”

The Doctor, however, did manage to cross his arms and Jack was on the receiving end of a rather pointed elbow against his sternum. “I meant to say because you say that to everyone. You’d flirt with a houseplant if you thought it’d give you the time of day.”

“Now that’s not true!”

The Doctor uncrossed his arms and snatched his screwdriver back. “It is true. I saw you. Lobnardet, remember?”

Jack did remember, actually, but in his defense, it was a very nice houseplant. He didn’t think Rose was ever going to let him live that down. “Well, yeah, but you have to know you’re different.”

“Do you tell that to everyone you chat up?” the Doctor asked, using the sonic screwdriver to reattach a wiring panel.

Jack continued to stare wide-eyed at the Doctor. “I know you’re thick, but you can’t be that blind.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Jack suddenly felt like he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere in the conversation. It was a typical feeling when he was talking to the Doctor.

The Doctor continued staring intently at the panel overhead. Suddenly his eyebrows lifted. “Do you smell – ouch!” He jerked his hand away, the screwdriver falling and rolling away.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, reaching for the Doctor’s hand only to have him jerk away.

“I’m fine.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Stop being such an ass. Let me see.” Despite his harsh tone, he was remarkably gentle when he pried the Doctor’s hand away and uncurled his fingers. “It’s not too bad. You might blister, though.”

“Thank you so much for the medical evaluation,” the Doctor muttered. “I feel so much better now that you’ve had a chance to –“ His mouth snapped closed when Jack stuck his two burned fingers in his mouth, his tongue surprisingly cool as he soothed the abused skin.

When Jack released his wrist, the Doctor pulled his hand back slowly. “Better?” Jack asked, his tone low, questioning.

The Doctor managed to nod, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. “Actually, yes. Um…thank you?”

Jack rotated his shoulders off the grating in what was supposed to be a shrug. “Don’t mention it.”

They managed to reattach all of the wiring when the Doctor spoke again. “So did you mean it?”

Jack turned his head, his nose nearly brushing against the Doctor’s hair. “Mean what?”

“When you said –“ the Doctor coughed and he tried for a casual wave – “I was different.”

“Of course I meant it,” Jack replied, eying the Doctor curiously. Being this close, he could hear the Time Lord breathe, and he knew when that breathing stopped. “And not because you’re a Time Lord either so don’t think that. You’re – hell, I don’t know. You’re –“ He tried and failed to list all that the Doctor was to him. He couldn’t put it into words if he tried, and he was trying. Very hard.

“Why does it matter, anyway? It’s not like you care what anyone thinks.”

“You’re not anyone, Jack.” The Doctor slowly rolled his head to the side, his gaze locking with Jack’s.

Jack opened his mouth to ease his breathing, pulling on the suddenly constricting collar of his white tee-shirt. “Is it just me or is it –" His eyes widened and he grabbed the Doctor, yanking him against his body as sparks rained down around them. One hand rested against the back of the Doctor’s head and the other was wrapped around his waist. Brown eyes reflected gold and shined with passion, and he could feel the Doctor’s grin when they kissed.

Sparks continued to fall around them, neither caring as they finally allowed themselves what they’ve been dancing around for over a century.

Jack finally pulled away when the danger of passing out from lack of oxygen became a very real possibility. He didn’t move his hands, though, and he massaged the back of the Doctor’s neck, feeling the Time Lord’s racing pulse underneath his thumb.

“So maybe Cardiff wasn’t such a bad place to break down after all,” Jack suggested, closing his eyes when the Doctor’s lips ghosted over his eyelids.

The Doctor reached out to pat the grating which was cool to the touch despite the sparks that were falling on it moments before. “Well, she can be rather clever when she wants to be.”

Jack threaded his fingers through the Doctor’s. “So she won’t mind when we take a break and move to a more comfortable location?”

The area they had been working in seemed to widen when they slid out from underneath the console. Jack was going to mention it, but then the Doctor was kissing him again, and, well, nothing else mattered at that point.

The TARDIS dimmed the lights when Jack pulled the Doctor in the first bedroom he found. She hummed, pleased, and set about solving her other problem - doing the repairs properly because, really, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

~Finished~

FIC: Playing by the Rules 3/4?

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 23:14:47 GMT

FIC: Playing by the Rules
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing starxd_sparrow and souleswanderer
Characters: The Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler
Summary: "You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else." -Albert Einstein
A/N: This was written for the 2009 OT3 Ficathon. I'm writing for callme_al0

The Doctor stood still, his spiked hair blowing in the wind, his hands casually tucked in his pockets as he waited for his challenge to begin. Jack was holding Rose’s hand, their eyes focused on the arena.

Massive gates on the right side of the arena creaked open, and several men holding large chains stumbled through and tugged mercilessly on the metal links. The ground shook – whatever they were bringing in to the ring was big, very big, and judging by the sounds coming from the other side of the gate, it wasn’t amused.

The Doctor watched with detached interest as his challenge was lead into the arena. It appeared to be an ogre of some sort, a Cyclops, standing the height of three men. Bulging muscles were visible underneath the tattered remains of what was supposed to pass as clothing. One large eye on the monster’s head blinked several times as if it was unaccustomed to sunlight.

“Remove the chains!” the announcer ordered before piercing the ground in the center of the ring with a spear. He looked at the Doctor who was watching the ogre through sad eyes and said, “You will rid Ineokajith of this evil.”

The men who delivered the creature nodded, and three were able to release the chains. The fourth man tugged several times trying to undo the rusty clasp. The ogre turned on him, his large brown hand swiping outwards and sending the man flying until he slammed against the wall. The audience shrieked in horror as his unconscious body was carried out of the arena. The gates closed with an ominous clang and only the Doctor and the ogre remained in the ring, the spear forgotten in the grass.

The ogre watched the Doctor, its head tilting to the side as if contemplating the best form of attack. It lumbered forward, long arms hanging awkwardly down to its knees, and breathing heavily through its nose.

“He’s not doing anything,” Rose murmured as the creature ambled closer to the Doctor.

“I think he’s waiting for the right opportunity,” Jack replied, his hand tightening around Rose’s.

The Doctor stepped aside when the ogre lunged towards him. The creature was powerful, but fortunately, it was also slow. The Doctor avoided several more attacks with the same graceful ease, his hands never leaving the pockets of his greatcoat. This went on for the better part of twenty minutes. The audience that was gasping and shrieking from fear was now screaming for action and bloodshed; they cared not whose blood was spilled.

The ogre stopped, its massive hand rubbing the back of its neck, wide, stubby fingers trailing across long scars in various stages of healing. If anything, it looked puzzled as it blinked at the Doctor. Finally, its gaze drifted to the spear and it ambled over and yanked the weapon from the dirt.

The crowd surged to their feet, screaming for the Doctor to run, to fight, to withdraw. Jack and Rose leaned over the rope, both silently willing the Doctor to action. The only person who didn’t look even slightly concerned was the Doctor.

To Jack and Rose’s horror, the Doctor turned in a circle several times before plopping cross-legged to the ground. The audience gasped and concern for the Doctor’s sanity was muttered throughout the crowd. He leaned to the side, his hand digging in his pocket, and grinned when he pulled out an apple.

“What’s he doing?” Rose asked, her eyes wide.

“Do something!” Jack yelled.

The ogre approached with the spear hanging loosely in its hand, the metal tip dragging on the ground and leaving a trail of parted soil in its wake. Only when the shadow of the creature fell over him did the Doctor look up. “Oh, sorry, did you want one?” He leaned to the side again and pulled out another apple, wiping it on the sleeve of his coat before holding it out. “Well, go on, then,” the Doctor encouraged.

It lifted the spear, and Jack was halfway under the rope when the apple was pierced and the ogre held the fruit in front of its eye.

“It’s not a banana, but it’ll do,” the Doctor said. The ogre watched the Doctor intently as he slowly ate the fruit.

The ogre looked at the ground then back at the Doctor. “You can sit,” the Doctor offered, gesturing to a spot next to him. The creature was lacking the Doctor’s grace, but it was no less impressive when the ground shook as the ogre plopped on the soil. The entire apple disappeared in the ogre’s mouth; the spear was pulled out between a large gap in its teeth. It munched for several seconds and swallowed, its attention once again focused on the Doctor.

A massive hand closed around the Doctor’s shoulder and nearly pushed him over as the ogre tried to cram several stubby fingers in his pocket.

“Oi! You’re going to rip it!” the Doctor yelled, snatching his coat away.

The ogre actually looked apologetic, and it patted the Doctor’s shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground.

“You’re hungry,” the Doctor said quietly and handed the ogre an orange.

Jack and Rose watched as the Doctor managed to pull various fruits, vegetables, and a cooked turkey out of his coat, all of which the ogre gobbled up quickly. The audience no longer screamed for bloodshed, most just looked confused and pointed frequently at the strange man with the obvious mental affliction.

The announcer approached warily, keeping as much space as possible between himself and the treacherous beast. “You must finish the challenge,” he ordered.

The Doctor stood gracefully, one hand reaching up to rest on the shoulder of the sitting ogre. “I’ve already completed your challenge.”

The announcer shook his head, pointing with disdain at the ogre. “The beast still lives.”

The same disdain was in the Doctor’s eyes when he looked at the announcer. “My challenge was to rid Ineokajith of this evil. There is no evil here; therefore, I win by default.”

Again, the announcer shook his head, cautiously moving to retrieve the spear. “You must kill it to be victorious.”

“Ah, I see.” The Doctor tapped his lips several times with his finger as if considering the announcer’s instructions. “Well, you should have been more specific. I answered the challenge you issued.”

As the announcer brandished the spear, the ogre clambered to his feet.

“Put that down,” the Doctor ordered, teeth clenched.

The announcer approached the Doctor, holding the spear so the Doctor could take the handle. “You must take it. You have to finish it.”

The ogre bellowed, shoving the Doctor behind him and lumbering dangerously towards the announcer.

“Don’t you see?” the Doctor yelled as he slipped underneath the ogre’s lifted arm and grabbed the spear, breaking it over his knee. “It mirrors your emotions!” He paused, his hand outstretched and splayed over the ogre’s stomach. “It’s all right. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”

The announcer backed away quickly, frightened and trembling. “You shared a meal with this beast. Why does it attack now?”

“You want him dead and hate him without cause or reason, and he feels it,” the Doctor replied, attempting to control his anger.

The announcer had moved to the wall of the arena, and he called, “He has killed before.”

“Was that before or after you chained him, after you tried to whip him into submission?”

With raised eyebrows, the announcer said, “You’re defending this monster?”

It would have been a laughable sight if the situation wasn’t so dire: the Doctor standing with his arms crossed over his chest in front of a massive ogre nearly four times his size.

“No one has to die,” the Doctor said quietly, stepping away from the ogre and raising his voice to address the audience. “The people of Ineokajith are known for their hospitality, their friendliness and kindness. Now you want this ogre killed for sport? So you can watch him bleed?” The audience didn’t respond, most looking away, their eyes downcast.

The Doctor shook his head. “No, I won’t allow it.”

The announcer looked at the Doctor curiously. “And if I called the guards, would you still defend him?”

The Doctor straightened, his heavy gaze falling on the announcer, and said, “Yes.”

Rose and Jack were half way across the arena, ready to stand with the Doctor, when the announcer said, “Then I must concede. Your strength was not wrought from weapons, but internally, from your heart. You are victorious in this challenge.”

Moving forward carefully, keeping an eye on the ogre, the announcer whispered to the Doctor, “Is it safe?”

The Doctor patted the ogre’s forearm. “Be mindful of your emotions, but, yes, you’re quite safe.”

“Good,” the announcer replied and reached for the Doctor’s hand, stretching his arm high. “People of Ineokajith, your champion!”

The audience erupted with cheers, people screaming and waved their hands in the air. It might possibly have been louder than the reception Jack received following his victory. The only difference was the crowd was rather leery of pouring into the arena.

A young girl escaped from her mother’s side and ran onto the grass, holding a delicate flower in her dirty hand. The collective gasp was audible as she ran towards the Doctor. She stopped a few paces from him and reached out, offering her battered flower that was now missing most of its petals to the ogre.

The ogre tilted its head to the side, reaching out carefully, its hand nearly covering half of the girl’s arm. He pinched the flower between two stubby fingers and brought it to its nose, inhaling so deeply the flower disappeared and caused the ogre to sneeze. The girl looked up, blinking rapidly, her precious gift now lost. The ogre rubbed the back of its neck, and looked at the Doctor helplessly. Soon, its eye widened as if struck by an idea, and the ogre tried to cram several fingers in the pocket of the Doctor’s coat.

“Oi! We went over this!” the Doctor admonished, pushing the ogre away and reaching into his pocket. He dug around for several seconds before he pulled out a stuffed bear and handed it to the ogre who revealed several stained, chipped teeth as it grinned. The ogre handed the toy to the delighted child who laughed and managed to wrap her tiny arms around the ogre’s knee before trotting away. The girl was lifted into the arms of her mother, who paused to look at the ogre a final time. If anything, the woman was seeing the creature for the first time, her perception forever changed.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned that,” Jack said quietly from somewhere behind the Time Lord.

The Doctor turned, his hands now hidden in his pockets, and grinned; looking every bit the champion Ineokajith claimed him to be. “Of course I did! I am clever, after all.”

Rose wrapped her arms around the Doctor, pressing her cheek against his chest as he returned the warm embrace. “You had no idea what you were going to do, did you?”

“Nope, not a clue,” he replied, still grinning. He reached out his arm and grasped Jack’s shoulder, a nod and a wink of understanding was shared. “Oh, I want you to meet someone,” the Doctor said, backing away and gesturing towards the ogre who looked overwhelmed.

“I didn’t ask you your name,” the Doctor said apologetically. “I’m the Doctor and these are my friends, Rose and Jack.”

The ogre pointed to himself and said, “Simon.”

“Simon,” Jack said, reaching out to shake the ogre’s hand, “Captain Jack Harkness. Nice to meet you.”

Simon held perfectly still when Rose placed her hand on his, her entire hand fitting easily in his palm.

“So do we take him home now?” Jack asked, watching as Simon gently touched Rose’s hair and announced it was spun gold.

“He is home. Well, the other side of the planet if we’re going to get technical about it,” the Doctor said.

“Home?” Simon asked eagerly.

“Yeah, we can take you there,” Rose said, gesturing for the Simon to follow her.

Jack started walking next to the Doctor as Simon and Rose walked ahead of them out of the arena. “Are they just going to let us leave with him?” Jack asked, mindful of the curious glances from the crowd.

“Ineokajith follows the ancient rules of combat,” the Doctor replied. “The challenge pitted us against each other, and as the victor, his life belongs to me to do with as I choose. They won’t challenge us.”

“For a pacifist, you seem to know a lot about rules of combat,” Jack said.

“Well, having that knowledge came in handy, hasn’t it?” The change in the Doctor’s tone was noted, and Jack let it drop.

The TARDIS was definitely bigger on the inside, but getting Simon through the door proved to be more of a challenge than the Doctor was expecting. In the end, Simon managed to squeeze his shoulders through and stumble the rest of the way, and in a matter of minutes he squeezed through the door again and walked into a lush forest.

“Thank you,” Simon said gruffly, grasping the Doctor’s shoulder. The Doctor inclined his head in acknowledgment.

They watched him lumber into the forest, a female ogre emerging from the shadows to take Simon’s hand and lead him home.

“Well done,” Rose said, reaching for the Doctor’s hand.

Jack watched the ogres disappear from sight. “Not that I needed a reminder, but traveling with you is –“ He let the sentence hang in the air, opting to reach for the Doctor’s other hand instead.

“Right, that’s finished,” the Doctor said abruptly, leading them back to the TARDIS.

“So where to now?” Rose asked as the Doctor bounding up the stairs to the console.

“Where to?” the Doctor asked, shocked. “We’re going back to the games, of course. About a minute from when we left.”

“You want to go back there?” Jack asked.

After the TARDIS dematerialized, the Doctor said, “Well, you got to savor your victory. Seems only fair that I get to enjoy my reign as the current champion.”

Rose leaned against one of the struts as the TARDIS landed. “But you hate all that – the parties, celebrations, and what not. Normally you’re out the door before anyone can even say thank you.”

“Well, it’s nice to be appreciated once in awhile,” the Doctor replied, walking towards the door.

Rose and Jack shared a private glance that clearly indicated they were going to keep a watchful eye on a certain Time Lord. After leaving the TARDIS, walking into town, and being bombarded by the locals, it became clear that Rose, Jack, and all of the Doctor’s adoring fans were going to be watching him tonight.

TBC

Support Stacie April Auction

Sun, 08 Mar 2009 17:17:23 GMT

It's time for the Support Stacie April Auction. :) It's for a great cause! I encourage all you talented authors out there, no matter what fandom, to sign up! March 27th is the deadline for author registration forms.

FIC: Fixing What Isn't Broken 1/1

Thu, 05 Mar 2009 00:05:06 GMT

Title: Fixing What Isn't Broken
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Spoilers: Journey's End
Beta: The forever amazing starxd_sparrow and souleswanderer
Characters: The Tenth Doctor and Jack Harkness
Summary: The Doctor didn’t believe in luck, fate, or karma, but for some reason the Universe had a way of giving him exactly what he needed despite the fact that he rarely knew he was in need.
A/N: This was written for wendymr after her generous donation to the Support Stacie Holiday Auction. I'm not entirely pleased with the story, but I hope she enjoys it. :)

We had the best of times.

The Doctor meant what he said – every single word. They had the best of times, and now he missed her terribly. Donna was his friend, his brilliant companion who wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth, to call him on his shortcomings, and to listen and offer a hug when things hadn’t turned out the way he’d originally planned.

He didn’t believe in luck, fate, or karma, but for some reason the Universe had a way of giving him exactly what he needed despite the fact that he rarely knew he was in need.

He’d found Rose after the Time War, after he committed unspeakable acts and carried the burden of the demise of his people on his shoulders. During that time he was shrouded in guilt, cloaked in such an overpowering remorse, he thought he’d never recover. At the time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to recover.

And then there was Rose – brave, beautiful, and fantastic. For a time there was Jack – heroic, charming, and definitely bigger on the inside.

He had returned to a dark place when he met Martha. She deserved better, and he knew that; the things she wanted he wasn’t able to give. He was grieving, and he’d been selfish. Still, Martha was courageous, brilliant, and a far greater hero than he could ever hope to be.

When he’d found Donna again, he’d meant what he said – he wanted a mate. Donna fit the bill perfectly.

There were no expectations, and what little she had asked of him was in his power to do. Donna wanted to say goodbye to her granddad; the Doctor took her soaring into Wilf’s telescope’s view so she could wave goodbye from among the stars. She’d asked him to save one person from the fires of Pompeii; the Doctor had saved a family. But as always, there’d been limits. He refused to watch her die as her mind was overrun with the intense thoughts of a Time Lord.

Donna told him she was going to stay with him forever, that she was going to spend the rest of her life by his side. The Doctor thought she might have made good on that promise if things had turned out differently, but things hadn’t, and he did the only thing he knew to do so she’d survive.

He returned to the TARDIS sopping wet and feeling every bit his age. Then he did what he was best at: he left.

For a time he was running – travelling from planet to planet and tossing himself into every crisis he stumbled upon. Running gave way to wandering, and the Doctor began aimlessly drifting, helping where he could and returning to the TARDIS alone when the situation was resolved.

At the TARDIS’ insistence, he found himself wandering the streets of Thenatious. He’d tried avoiding the planet more than once, but for whatever reason, his ship kept landing in the alley inside a bustling market. The planet and its inhabitants looked harmless, but there was something unsettling, as if time itself was crawling down his spine. The Doctor dismissed the notion as he pulled his coat tighter around his body, no longer trusting his instincts.

The market was filled with vendors selling everything from food to discarded bits of foreign technology, most not native. Considering the Thenations had yet to discover space travel, it would stand to reason the assorted bits of metal and other artifacts were either being brought onto the planet for trade or falling out of space itself.

The Doctor stopped browsing, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the three suns, as he watched the mob. He froze when his gaze locked on a young man weaving through the crowds unnoticed - one hand concealed underneath his greatcoat, fingers most likely resting on the hilt of a blaster, the other arm resting at his side, a vortex manipulator peaking out from underneath the heavy fabric of his coat.

The Doctor smiled, a warm feeling spreading through his hearts for the first time in months, as he watched the familiar figure. The man stopped, his eyes focused on something in the distance. Another man approached, hidden in the shadows of the buildings, his hand reaching for something concealed against his hip.

“Jack,” the Doctor murmured, watching the assailant approach undetected. “Jack, behind you!” He ran across the alley, slamming a wide-eyed Jack against the concrete, as several gunshots echoed through the street. The chaos was instantaneous, and people screamed and ran wildly in a hundred different directions.

Jack’s face was mere inches from the Doctor’s – the wide-eyed expression remained unchanged. “What the –“

The Doctor stood, extending his hand and pulling the other man to his feet. “Come on. We need to get out of sight.”

Jack ran alongside the man who had just saved his life. The Doctor ducked into a vacant building, sealing the door with his sonic screwdriver after Jack was safely inside.

“Not that I mind the rescue, but do I know you?” Appreciative eyes scanned the Doctor several times. “I doubt it. You seem pretty unforgettable.”

The Doctor lifted his eyebrow, recognition dawning in an instant. Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? This man wasn’t a fixed point in time and space and judging from the weapon and convenient period appropriate outfit, he was also a Time Agent. He had been so happy to see a familiar face, to see someone he cared about, he’d run headfirst into a potential paradox.

Jack waggled his eyebrows. “It’s not often that someone saves my life. Is there something I can do to repay you? Hopefully something I can do to you?” He approached the Doctor, his hand reaching for the other man.

“Jack, no,” the Doctor chided, stepping back. “It’s not like that.”

Jack dropped his hands to his sides. “Well, can’t blame a man for trying.” He winked, flashing a megawatt grin, and the Doctor sighed. “So you think my name is Jack?”

“You remind me of someone.” The Doctor ran his hand through his errant hair. “A friend.”

“Jack,” the man repeated as if trying the name on for size. “Been called worse, I suppose. I like it.”

“You could tell me your real name, you know,” the Doctor commented, leaning against the dusty wall.

“And spoil the mystery?” That wasn’t unexpected; the Doctor knew a Time Agent would never give his real name. “So what can I call you?”

“The Doctor.”

Jack raised his eyebrow, but didn’t comment. Avoidance was often answered with further evasion. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Doctor. I need to be off. Business to attend to, you see.”

The Doctor watched him tug on the door a few times. “Does this business have anything to do with someone trying to kill you in the middle of a crowded market?”

“I appreciate the rescue, Doctor, but my business on this planet isn’t your concern.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the Doctor said, tugging on his ear as he watched Jack struggle with the door. “I might have a vested interest in what happens to you.”

“Yeah?” Jack said, turning around with his arms crossed over his chest. “And why’s that?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Let’s just say I see your potential.”

Jack laughed, his tone hollow. “Potential? That’s nice, Doctor.” He jerked his thumb towards the door. “As intriguing as this conversation is, I have work to do. Unlock the door.”

The Doctor pulled his screwdriver from his pocket. “As you wish,” he said, unlocking the door. “Just so you know, whoever your target was, whoever you’re here to kill, I’m going to find them first.”

Jack stood in the doorway, his back to the street as he stared at the Doctor. “Charming, but unrealistic, Doctor. After I walk out this door, you’ll never see me again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’re a Time Agent, aren’t you? You know how –“ He was slammed against the door, Jack’s blaster pressed against his temple.

Through clenched teeth, Jack asked, “Who are you?”

“A friend,” the Doctor repeated, “and someone who really hates guns.”

Jack pressed his fingers against the Doctor’s shoulders, shaking the other man. “Who are you working for?”

“If I was working for someone, why would I save your life?”

“You obviously need me alive,” Jack said logically. “Who sent you? You’re an Agent, aren’t you?”

The Doctor laughed, reaching one hand over Jack’s arm to rub his eyes. “An Agent? Don’t be silly.”

“Whoever you’re working for, the sonic screwdriver is a nice touch, but a blaster is much more effective.”

The cool metal pressed more firmly against the Doctor’s temple, and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

Jack watched the Doctor continue to chuckle. “I could shoot you, you know.”

The Doctor looked at him - seeing things Jack could only imagine - his expression unfazed. “You won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You’re not a killer. Of that, I’m certain.”

The Doctor spoke with such certainty, and without reason or knowledge, Jack found himself lowering his gun and replacing it underneath his coat. “You obviously don’t know me, then.”

The Doctor smiled, his eyes kind. “I’ll see you around, Jack.”

Jack stepped back as the Doctor walked past him and into the street. “Yeah.” He watched the mysterious man walk away, shaking his head. “Get it together,” he admonished softly. “You’ve got work to do.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

His instructions had been very clear. He was supposed to find the scientist, engineer, or whoever possessed the knowledge and technology to repair the Rift, and he was supposed to stop them. He didn’t ask why. He knew he’d just be told it was above his pay grade.

Well, if he was supposed to find this Rift expert, there was one sure place to look – where people tend to congregate after a long day.

It resembled an ordinary pub, people were standing around laughing, sipping an assortment of fermented beverages.

The Doctor spotted Jack immediately. He was surrounded by a group of people, a pretty young brunette was giggling as Jack’s hands were animating his tale. The Doctor watched him, the familiar half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as Jack lifted his arms, his voice carrying easily through the crowd.

Jack lifted his head, his eyes meeting the Doctor’s gaze across the room. His arms fell to his sides, and he stepped away from the group. “I’ll be right back.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following me,” Jack commented. “Now the question is, should I be flattered or concerned?” He paused, one finger pressed against his lips. “I’ll go with flattered.”

The Doctor’s hands slid into the pockets of his coat, one eyebrow casually raised. “This is also the only place to get food at this hour.”

“Does getting food entail gawking at me from across the bar?” Jack asked.

A plate of food was placed in front of the Doctor. It contained an assortment of bananas prepared in thirteen different ways.

“So you’ve got a thing for bananas,” Jack commented, pulling out a stool and sitting down.

“Bananas are good,” the Doctor said around a mouthful of pudding. He continued to eat, his eyes not wandering past his plate as he sampled each treat. He wiped his mouth, folded the napkin and laid it aside, acutely aware that Jack hadn’t moved. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” he asked finally.

Jack grinned, a devious smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “How do you know I’m not?”

“If that’s work, I need a career change,” the Doctor muttered.

“A career change from what?” Jack asked casually. To the untrained ear, it was friendly conversation; to the Doctor, it was a leading question designed to glean as much information as possible from the other person.

“Oh, you know, always busy, me,” the Doctor replied.

Jack glanced around the bar, not thwarted by the Doctor’s evasion. “So where are your friends? I can’t imagine someone like you traveling alone.”

That struck a nerve, and the Doctor rubbed his thumb across the closed fist of his other hand. “And why’s that?” He paused; his voice was flat when he spoke again. “I could be a local, you know.”

Jack rolled his eyes, turning on the stool until his back was against the bar, his eyes studying the crowd. “You’re no more local than I am.”

They sat quietly, Jack watching the mingling people and the Doctor studying his folded hands. “Just so we’re clear, I wasn’t going to kill him,” Jack said suddenly. His eyes widened as if he surprised himself by that open admission. Why did the opinion of this stranger matter to him? He certainly didn’t have to justify his actions to this man.

The Doctor turned on the stool, adopting Jack’s position with his back pressed against the counter. “Are you talking about the person from the market?”

“My blaster was set to stun,” Jack continued. “I just wanted to talk to him.”

“You could try walking up and saying hello,” the Doctor replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d wager he’d be more likely to talk to you if you weren’t trying to shoot him in the back.”

“I suppose it was for the best,” Jack said, sliding off the stool. “As it turns out, he’s not the person I’m looking for.”

“Oh, really?” The Doctor leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Who are you looking for?”

Jack shrugged, his eyes on the exit. “Not sure, but I’ll know when I see him.”

“Happy hunting.”

Jack smiled. “I’ll see you around, Doctor.”

“Yep.” The Doctor watched Jack leave, smiling as he paused to flirt with several women and one man before finally exiting the pub. He felt it again, twisting in his stomach, gnawing in the back of his mind.

It was the ebb of time, insistent and inappropriate. It was time that didn’t belong. He felt it when he arrived on the planet, dismissing the feeling as it slithered down his spine. He didn’t trust himself, his instincts. He’d been wrong so frequently the notion of bleeding time seemed too farfetched.

He could leave this place, off in the TARDIS. The inhabits of this planet would be forgotten, their memory disappearing in the vast recesses of his mind. He owed them nothing, after all, after everything he’d been through, everything he’d done, he’d most likely be doing them a favor if he didn’t get involved.

The Doctor glanced at his hands, rubbing the backs of his knuckles with the pad of his thumb. Was this to be his fate now? Always running? Well, if he was going to be honest with himself, he was running before, but not like this. Never like this.

He might be weary, but he was never too tired to stand up for what was right.

The Doctor placed his hands on the bar, pushing away as he stood to his full height. He had a riddle to solve, and fortunately, he knew exactly where to look.

He returned to the market that was now deserted due to the late hour. He quietly rummaged through closed booths hoping to find anything resembling the piece of tech he needed. The Doctor saw it in the distance, discarded and forgotten, laying next to a rubbish bin in the alley. He tugged on the oblong metal object, stumbling as the boxes shifted and the instrument was released.

The Doctor grinned, tucking the object under his arm, and started for the TARDIS. With any luck, he’d be able to fix this. Finally, he could do something right. Granted, fixing a Rift was always easier with other Time Lords around to help. Considering the most recent Time Lord that had stumbled across his path, he figured it was better he was alone. Anyway, a leak in Time wasn’t as bad as a Rift. Well, that depended on the size and location, and on lots of random other details only a Time Lord would understand.

A man stepped in his path, hands hidden in the pockets of a greatcoat.

“Nice night for a walk, wouldn’t you say, Doctor?”

“Yes, lovely night, indeed,” the Doctor replied, attempting to side step the man. “I really must be going. Always busy, me.”

Jack grabbed the Doctor’s arm, eyeing the metal object the Time Lord held close to his body. “That looks heavy. Let me help you.”

The Doctor looked down nervously. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

Jack managed to twist the object out of his grasp. “I knew it!” There was accusation in his words.

“I won’t let you,” Jack said, his hand still hidden from view.

The Doctor straightened, his gaze locking with Jack’s. “You’re no fool. You know what will happen if I don’t stop the leak.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I know nothing!”

“Well, finally we agree on something,” the Doctor muttered.

“I have my orders,” Jack said.

The Doctor shook his head. “I never thought you one to blindly follow orders.” When Jack looked away, he continued, “You know I have to stop this. You know what will happen to this planet if I don’t. Take it from me, time implosions aren’t pretty.”

“I’ll stop you,” Jack repeated. To a stranger, he sounded convincing and forceful, but the Doctor was able to detect the slightest bit of indecision in his words.

The Doctor pulled the object away from Jack. “Well, go on, then. Stop me.” He didn’t wait for Jack’s reply, starting down the street again.

Jack caught up with him again, falling into step by his side. He kept his eyes forward, not acknowledging the Doctor walking next to him, but staying close to him anyway.

He stopped several steps from the TARDIS. “If you’re going to stop me, now would be the time,” the Doctor said quietly, nodding to the Police Box.

Jack’s gaze shifted to the metal instrument the Doctor had tucked loosely under his arm. “Why does it matter to you?” Jack asked suddenly, his tone more curious than accusing. “You’re not from here. You don’t owe these people anything.”

The Doctor sighed, wondering how he could possibly explain to this man, the same man who’d fought and died for him more times than he could count, the reasons behind his actions. Because, if he knew anything about this man, Jack didn’t need a speech on loyalty and honor; those traits were as much a part of him as breathing no matter how old he might be.

He met Jack’s gaze evenly. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” the Doctor replied. “As I was saying, if you’re going to stop me…”

Jack sighed, his hands jammed in the pockets of his coat. “I think we both know that’s not going to happen.” He shook his head, his expression contemplative. “I’ve never met you before and after a few hours in your presence, I’m willing to throw my career away. Apparently I’m losing my edge.”

The Doctor watched him, his hand pressed against the door of his ship.

“I was supposed to stop whoever was building an instrument to plug the time hole,” Jack explained, his eyes staring at the star filled sky. “They’ll know I let you go.” There was no fear or trepidation in his voice. He was merely stating a fact.

“Jack, I’m sorry,” the Doctor murmured. “You could…” He gestured to the TARDIS, a silent invitation hanging chilly air. He could sense the paradox. He felt it, all the possibilities circling and twisting in his mind. It was a crystallizing moment when he realized when this Jack was from.

“They’ll never stop looking for me,” Jack replied. “This is just one more screw up in a long line of mistakes. Anyway, I’m not a coward. I don’t run from my responsibilities.”

The Doctor winced despite the knowledge that this man knew nothing of the Doctor’s past or his future and meant no harm by his words. “I know, Jack. Trust me, I know.”

It felt like several minutes before Jack finally tore his eyes away from the sky and met the Doctor’s gaze. “You seem to know me pretty well, Doctor,” he said suddenly. “Maybe, wherever I am, you could pay me a visit.”

Maybe Jack knew the TARDIS traveled in time and maybe he didn’t. The Doctor didn’t ask.

The Doctor nodded. “I’ll do that.”

Jack grinned – it was wild and enigmatic – before turning on his heel and jogging away. “I’ll see you in hell!”

So many things were left unsaid, but that always seemed to be the way when Jack was around. Apparently that carried to all the Jacks strewn throughout time.

Once again, he witnessed what Jack was willing to sacrifice for him. What had he ever done to deserve that loyalty, that kind of friendship?

It was rather anticlimactic when he was able to mend the hole with the assistance of his marvelous ship and the pieces of alien technology he’d brought back with him. It had taken several hours, and he was left feeling exhausted, more mentally than physically. He pushed it aside, fully intent on honoring the promise he made to his friend. It was more than a promise, though. He needed to see Jack again, to remind himself that Jack, his Jack, immortal and loyal until the bitter end, was all right. He’d been avoiding everyone that knew him for nearly a year, and now, because of a promise, he was ready to face his past again.

He opted for the middle of the night, hoping the Hub would be deserted. He didn’t have to stay long, after all.

The Hub was eerily quiet when he stepped out of the TARDIS. He swallowed the slight trepidation that swelled in his throat and reminded himself that Jack ran Torchwood now.

At the sound of his name, he jerked his head around and saw Jack approaching him, wiping his hands that were covered with some type of grease on his trousers. He felt the hum of Jack’s immortality licking its way down his spine and was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. What was more disconcerting was that he actually rather liked it. It was a reminder, a fixed point that said here, right here, forever and always, was Jack.

“I called you three times,” Jack said. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?” He glanced over the Doctor’s shoulder through the open door of the TARDIS. “You’re alone.”

The Doctor turned as if he expected someone to walk out of the TARDIS after him. “Alone?” He shook his head. “Right, yes, of course I’m alone.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched the Doctor skeptically. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I already said I was fine,” the Doctor replied.

“No, you said you were alone,” Jack pointed out.

The Time Lord rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how he expected this encounter to progress. In typical Doctor fashion, he continued rambling to fill the void. “So how’s Torchwood these days? Any new aliens I should know about? How’s that friend of yours?”

Jack cut across him. “Doctor.”

“Ianto, wasn’t it? And Martha, I imagine she’s working for you now. It wasn’t that hard to figure –“

“Doctor,” Jack repeated loudly, waving his hands in front of Time Lord’s face. He gave a satisfied nod when the Doctor’s mouth snapped shut. “How long have you been gone?”

“Not sure, really,” the Doctor replied, shrugging.

Jack rolled his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest again. “You’re a Time Lord. If there’s anything you know, it’s time.” Jack continued to look at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Awhile,” the Doctor said lamely.

Jack thought for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and for whatever reason, let it go. “So where’d you go? Save a lot of planets while you were gone? Did you meet anyone interesting?”

The Doctor froze, his fingers half-threaded through his hair. “You could say that.”

Again, Jack rolled his eyes. “Did you actually have a reason for coming here tonight, or did you just want to talk in circles?”

The Hub was silent save the hum of the computers across the room. The Doctor looked at him again, the retort dying in his throat. Idle banter was too easy, and if there was anything the Doctor knew it was that Jack deserved better, deserved the truth. “I’m keeping a promise to a friend.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. “And that promise was to see me?”

“Well, you know, I said I’d pop ‘round and see how you were doing. Seems you’re fine.”

“Okay, let’s recap, shall we?” He started ticking on his fingers while he spoke. “You’ve been gone for an undetermined amount of time and while you were gone, you made a promise to a friend to ‘pop round and see how I’m doing.’”

He paused, and the Doctor nodded. “Yep. That sounds about right.”

Jack sighed, rubbing his temples with the pads of his fingers. “You’re the only person I know that can talk for hours and never say anything at all.”

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder at the open door of the TARDIS. “I could leave, if you like. I wasn’t trying –“

“No, it’s fine,” Jack interjected. “Are you hungry?” Jack looked at him again, his eyes widening briefly as if seeing him for the first time. “You look like hell.” The Doctor opened his mouth to respond, but Jack continued, “Come on. There’s some leftover pizza in the conference room.” He didn’t wait for a response, spinning on his heel and walking away.

Jack lifted his head, his expression surprised when the Doctor plopped down across from him.

He was on his second mouthful of pizza when he noticed Jack staring at him. “What?”

Jack looked down at his empty plate. He never intended on eating; he just didn’t want to watch the Doctor leave. Again. “I didn’t think you’d stay.”

Scratching the side of his throat, the Doctor said, “I suppose I haven’t given you much reason to think I would.”

“No, you haven’t,” Jack replied honestly. He selected a slice of pizza from the box and dropped it on a paper plate. “So tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to.”

The Doctor recounted some of his adventures, opting for the stories where he helped people and stopped world disasters. He didn’t mention the handful of deserted planets he’d visited, the days he’d spent walking along barren beaches alone. He even managed to make Jack laugh a few times. It felt good; it felt like friendship.

They talked the remainder of the night, and Jack started checking his watch frequently towards the morning. “Your team will be arriving soon,” the Doctor surmised.

Jack nodded and didn’t seem overly enthused at the thought. “Ianto comes in early.” When the Doctor didn’t comment, he added, “To get the coffee started.”

“I should be leaving anyway.” He pushed away from the table, waving his hand over the discarded cups and paper plates. “Thanks for this.”

“It was cold pizza.”

When the Doctor smiled, it wasn’t his maniac or half crazed smile. It was simply him. “It was nice.”

“If you let me know you’re coming next time, I’ll come up with something better.” Somehow the words ‘next time’ were cloaked in question, as if he wasn’t sure if there would be.

“You’re a good man, Jack,” the Doctor said suddenly, causing Jack to lift his head. “I imagine you always were.”

Jack’s gaze dropped, the picture of a man that didn’t believe. “Even you don’t know that, Doctor.”

The Doctor stepped forward and placed his hand on Jack’s chest, his fingers splayed over a single beating heart. “No, I want you –" he paused, his eyes closing for a second – “need you to understand this. You’re a good man.” He swallowed, remembering all the times Jack had fought for him, believed in him, died for him. “You always have been, always will be.”

Jack met his gaze, his breathing slightly labored as he wrapped his fingers around the Doctor’s wrist. “You met me, didn’t you?”

The lack of response on the Doctor’s part was all he needed to hear. “But…I don’t remember. How –" He froze, unable to speak, think, or even breathe.

If Jack’s eyes were shining, the Doctor didn’t mention it. “Would you like me to tell you about it?”

Jack stepped away from the Doctor, his hand idly rubbing his arm. “Wouldn’t that risk a paradox or something?”

There was a risk involved if the Doctor told Jack about what happened because, in reality, Jack could blame the Doctor for losing his memories, but if it would bring him peace, the Doctor knew it was a risk he’d have to take. Jack didn’t hold the monopoly on sacrifices, after all.

“I always wanted to know,” Jack murmured in a tone wasn’t clearly directed at anyone. “And now that I have the chance, I don’t know.” He glanced down before meeting the Doctor’s gaze hesitantly. “I was a good man?”

The Doctor answered him with all the honesty and sincerity in his hearts. “The best.” He watched the uncertainty cloud Jack’s features. “You know,” he continued, gesturing towards the TARDIS, “she does travel in time.” Although he couldn’t fix the pain of Jack’s past, he could offer him a reprieve, a chance to just be for awhile.

A fleeting smile ghosted Jack’s face. “Are you offering?”

“You’ll be back before your team arrives,” the Doctor promised.

This time the smile stayed as Jack followed him inside. “So did we…” He nudged the Doctor with his shoulder.

“Did we what?” After noting Jack’s mischievous grin, he rolled his eyes. “Is that all you ever think about?”

Jack pressed his hand to his heart, sighing dramatically. “Good, I wouldn’t want to forget that.”

The Doctor leaned against the console, one hand hovering over the controls and the other resting on his hip. “Trust me, if we ever did that, you wouldn’t forget it.”

Rolling his eyes, Jack said, “Promises, promises.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been rather good at keeping my promises lately.”

Jack swallowed, his eyes wide. “Are you offering?”

He waved his hand over the controls, a smile speaking of promise tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Where to?”

“Somewhere deserted. Definitely deserted. That’s warm. With a beach, too.”

The Doctor nodded, keying in coordinates before yanking the initiation lever with a bit too much enthusiasm. “As you wish.”

After losing Donna, he tried to disappear and as fate, luck, and time would have it, somehow managed to find Jack. The Doctor laid with his head resting on Jack’s chest as the immortal combed the sand out of his hair, he realized Jack helped him fix what he thought was broken beyond repair – his hearts.

~Finished~

FIC: Playing by the Rules 2/4?

Sat, 14 Feb 2009 23:05:59 GMT

FIC: Playing by the Rules
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG
Fandom: Doctor Who
Spoilers: None
Beta: The forever amazing starxd_sparrow and souleswanderer
Characters: The Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler
Summary: "You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else." -Albert Einstein
A/N: This was written for the 2009 OT3 Ficathon. I'm writing for callme_al0

The Doctor’s earlier statement that Ineokajith was known for its nightlife and hospitality was validated when the crowds poured from the wooden stands and surrounded Jack. People spilled onto the dirt packed streets and the celebration ensued. By the time Rose and the Doctor bullied their way to Jack’s side, he was sitting at a table with a mug in each hand, a bandage covering the cut over his eye, and a silly grin on his face.

Rose immediately tilted Jack’s head up and turned it side to side to inspect the covered wound and look for other injuries. The Doctor had already noted Jack’s torn trousers, battered and dirty knuckles – two on the left hand and three on the right – and counted the women and several men hovering extremely close to their newfound hero.

Rose resisted the urge to slap him on the shoulder, remembering multiple tumbles he took while fighting. “We’ve been looking for you for ages,” she said, hooking her foot around a chair and pulling it out.

Jack raised his eyebrow, gesturing with a mug of ale to the surrounding crowd. “Was I that hard to find?”

She thumped him on the arm, albeit gently. “How are you feeling?”

His smile widened. “Try the ale. It’s incredible!”

Rose took the offered mug. “It sounds like you’ve had enough for all of us.”

“Well, being such a compassionate man, how could I refuse? They were offering, after all,” Jack pointed out.

The Doctor stepped forward, resting his hand on Jack’s shoulder and inspecting the mugs scattered across the table. “How much have you had, really?”

“About half a pint,” Jack replied honestly, his fingers idly circling the rim of one of the mugs. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” The Doctor’s fingers tightened on Jack’s shoulder for a fraction of a second before he plopped down on a chair next to Rose.

Rose reached for Jack’s hand, squeezing briefly once their gazes locked. “We were told no one’s ever won a challenge before.”

Jack leaned back, smirking. “Well, I don’t like to brag.”

“Since when?” the Doctor asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I wonder if there are more games today,” Rose mused.

The Doctor was thrumming the table. “I’d hardly call those –“

“The king has declared that the games will continue tomorrow! Tonight we celebrate our traveler’s victory!” The man who jovially made that statement raised his brimming mug and sloshed half his ale onto Jack and Rose.

“The king told you this?” the Doctor asked, pushing away from the table and standing up.

The man shrugged, finding his ale suddenly interesting when he noticed the Doctor’s heavy gaze. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Was the king at the games today?” the Doctor persisted.

“I didn’t see him, but I’m sure he was watching.”

The Doctor seemed to notice the man’s discomfort and handed him one of the full mugs on the table. “Well, enough questions, then. Enjoy tonight’s celebrations!”

“Thank you, sir! Same to you!” With a final look of admiration in Jack’s direction, the man disappeared in the crowd.

“Something on your mind, Doctor?” Rose asked.

“When isn’t something on his mind?” Jack replied, shaking his head. Like Rose, he was intently studying the Doctor who was unfortunately facing away from them. Even though the Time Lord had a self-proclaimed big gob, it was the subtle nuances, the slight shifts in his behavior that shed more light on what he was thinking.

“We could leave,” Rose suggested, pushing her chair back and standing. “I remember an offer of a sunset on Carseng.”

“Only if I get to apply the sunscreen to the two of you,” Jack said, smiling.

“We’re staying.”

Rose nodded and reached for the Doctor’s hand. “Okay.”

When the Doctor turned to face them, the wide grin on his face didn’t reflect his previous tone. “Wouldn’t want to miss the fun, would we? It’s like the Olympics or gladiators! Not that I was a huge fan of the gladiators, mind you. Wasn’t their fault, I suppose. It was the animals that -” The Doctor paused when he noticed Jack and Rose’s curious and slightly concerned looks. “You two don’t have to stay. On second thought, you probably need to rest, Jack. The TARDIS is –“

“Don’t be stupid,” Rose interjected, tugging on his hand.

“Yeah, we’re not leaving,” Jack confirmed as he stood and moved to stand across from the Doctor. “Anyway, I was just getting used to this hero gig.”

When the Doctor smiled, it was warm and genuine. “You were always a hero, Jack. Both of you.”

Jack coughed and reached for the forgotten mug on the table. “If this keeps up, we’re going to need more ale.”

Rose smiled, taking Jack’s hand and pulling him and the Doctor down the street. “Come on. If we’re going to be staying, we might as well enjoy the great nightlife and hospitality you two keep going on about.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Despite the strange “games,” Ineokajith continued to warrant its reputation for hospitality. That evening everyone opened their doors, even doors that didn’t belong to pubs and eateries, and people conversed, drank, and were generally merry. From speaking with the villagers, the Doctor learned the games occurred every year and typically lasted three days. For whatever reason, people loved to watch even though those who participated were never seen again. That was until Jack accepted the challenge and emerged victorious.

No money was accepted during the games by order of the elusive king. They planned on returning to the TARDIS for the night, but after declining the sixth offer for a place to rest, Jack decided they should be polite. After all, wasn’t traveling about immersing yourself in the culture of the place you were visiting?

“Isn’t this special,” Rose muttered, rolling over on the grass mat and reaching for a particularly ruthless piece of straw that was poking her shoulder.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is quaint,” the Doctor replied, fidgeting underneath the makeshift blanket. He was using his coat as a pillow. Rose was conveniently using Jack who certainly wasn’t complaining.

“It’s not so bad,” Jack said before taking a deep breath and blowing Rose’s hair off his nose. “I’ve certainly slept in worse places.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Rose teased. She felt Jack’s laughter reverberating underneath her. The Doctor who was normally quick to continue poking fun at Jack was uncharacteristically quiet. “Doctor, what’s on your mind?”

Jack managed to poke him with his toe. “Come on, Doc’. This is where you tell us all the brilliant things you’ve managed to work out, and we applaud your unrivaled intelligence and tell you how generally clever you are.”

The Doctor flopped onto his back, kicking the blanket off in the process. “Something isn’t right.”

Somehow Jack’s toe managed to poke him in the ribs without unsettling Rose. “And you think this because…”

“If the king’s so fond of these games, where is he? Let’s not forget the snake you were fighting, Jack. If the people who normally compete end up disappearing or dying, why is everyone so quick to watch the games?” The Doctor folded his arms behind his head, a thousand more questions lying unanswered in his head.

“Morbid fascination, I suppose,” Jack said quietly. “The more morbid, the more entertaining.”

“So what are we going to do?” Rose asked, reaching out in the darkness and folding her hand around the Doctor’s. “I know you’ve got a plan.”

“Get a better look at those games,” the Doctor replied.

Rose lifted her head. “When you say get a better look, do you mean you’re going to participate?”

Despite the darkness, the Doctor’s wide smile was still visible. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how they choose the contestants. I can’t exactly walk up to the announcer, jump up and down and say ‘pick me’, can I?”

Rose smiled and resettled against Jack, her hand still wrapped around the Doctor’s. “Right, that would be silly, wouldn’t it?”

When Rose and Jack woke the following morning, the Doctor was gone. They shared a grim look before starting towards the arena. There were only a few people milling about in the streets. From the gossip, they were able to gather that some deranged idiot actually walked up the announcer and demanded to be the next challenger. Since he was the first person who actually volunteered and was making such a fuss about it, the announcer agreed just to shut up him.

Jack and Rose pushed themselves through the crowd who were pointing towards the ring and muttering about the lack of services for the mentally afflicted. Jack didn’t stop at the edge, lifting the rope for Rose and striding into the ring.

“Might I have a word with today’s challenger?” Jack asked the announcer with a nod in the Doctor’s direction.

“Maybe you can get through to him,” the man muttered. “Be brief. The games will start soon.” He spun on his heel and stalked away.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked flatly.

“Playing, obviously,” the Doctor replied, raising an inquiring eyebrow. “You got a turn. Seems only fair that -”

“Immortal,” Jack interjected quietly, his jaw clenched.

“So does that mean you have the market in heroic sacrifices? Really, Jack, learn to share.”

Rose touched the Doctor’s shoulder, running her fingers down his arm. “You realize we’re going to help you.”

“I suggest we knock him out and drag him out of the ring. Everyone already thinks he’s insane,” Jack said.

The Doctor grinned in a way that made Jack think everyone was at least partially right in their assumption. “The way I see it, if I take up this challenge, someone else doesn’t have to.” He shrugged. “Might not be a planet, but still worthwhile.”

The announced approached them again. “It’s time.”

“You don’t have to sound so ominous about it,” the Doctor said.

“It’s your funeral,” the announcer muttered. He focused his attention on Rose and Jack. “You two must leave the ring.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed,” Jack ordered, grabbing the Doctor’s shoulder and squeezing hard.

“Or maimed or hurt,” Rose added, standing on her toes and kissing the Doctor’s cheek.

They exited the ring but stayed just on the other side of the rope. The Doctor was whispering something in the ear of the announcer, grinning when the man nodded.

Tossing his hands in the air, the Doctor yelled, “Let the games begin!”

Part 3