Fanfiction as a collective exists as a combination of the ideal state and all the broken pieces that are left behind. Fanfiction shows us all the things that should have happened, if the world was a little bit kinder: someone adopts Harry Potter, the Avengers live domestically together, people fall in love and admit it. Fanfiction says, things are awful but we’re kind anyway, because we can be, because kindness costs little and gives much. It is democracy at its best, a collection of people solving problems together, solving plotholes and heartbreaks and deaths, a conversation of solution responding to solution because the whole of fandom is, itself, its own canon.
But at the same time, fanfiction is about all of those holes and jagged edges and wounds left unhealed, about what happens when the war is over and everyone who’s left needs to go back home. It’s about the fact that surviving is usually the hardest part, and we rarely get to choose what’s done to us but we do get to choose how we survive afterwards. It’s about the child soldiers who no longer have a war, and about the trauma of getting past the trauma you’ve survived. It’s about injury and depression and PTSD. It’s about recovery, yes, but also about those things that do not recover, those things that will never recover. It is a reminder that we live in a world where many people don’t get white picket fences and 2.5 kids and a happily ever after, but also a reminder that there is life beyond that, survival, yes, but also life. It is a reminder that characters’ lives don’t end with the last page and nor too do people’s lives end with their trauma, but that after that hurt comes comfort and healing and putting one foot in front of another because the best way to get through hell is to keep going.
The coming of the golden flowers and red roses of spring was a welcome thing. Winter had come and gone quickly that year, by the measure of farmers and foresters. To some, however, the cold lingered longer than it was wanted. For those, their winter was measured in misery. These sorts awaited hope. The sorts such as those who lived within the white walls of Camelot, that crown jewel of a city. They needed spring more than anyone else. So the rejuvenation of the lands in all the world was a doubly welcomed one, for the new winds might bring news from Merlin.
“My lady, won’t you eat?” said Gwen. She held a basket of clothing in her hands, poised at her hips as she leaned over to look at Morgana. She addressed her like a superior, but watched her with the eyes of a steadfast friend.
Morgana turned from her post near one of the grand windows of her chambers. “I’m not so hungry, Gwen. Thank you.”
Gwen gave her a soft smile. “He’ll be back, Morgana.”
“I don’t think he will, Gwen. He would have been in touch by now.”
“It was a strong winter.”
“He’s a strong warlock,” Morgana pointed out.
“Ah, right...”
Morgana sighed. “I’m sorry, Gwen. It’s unfair for me to take it out on you. It’s just lonely now.”
Gwen cleared her throat and spoke softly. “It must be stressful, taking up Merlin’s… duties.”
Morgana moved to her bed, took a seat. “I’m not even sure how on Earth Merlin did it. Arthur is a magnet for trouble.”
“Well it certainly helped that he spent a majority of his daylight hours with him anyways.”
Morgana laughed, it was dry but the inklings of humor were there. “Which I refuse to do.”
Gwen sat by her, and grabbed her hand. “You’re doing wonderfully Morgana, Merlin will be proud.”
Morgana scoffed. “Merlin’s an idiot. I’d tell him so, but he isn’t even here for me to do that. And in any case… Arthur’s gotten injured far more often. I have to find a way to keep him safe without me being there. Or drag Merlin back by those great big ears of his.” She huffed.
“He’s still quite alive. Arthur’s injuries have never stopped him from bouncing back.”
Morgana looked at her friend slyly, “I’m sure it helps that he has such enthusiastic help.”
The maidservant blushed and started to put together a response, but a tapping at the windows interrupted her rebuttal. “Morgana, look… it’s a falcon.”
Morgana rushed there, released the latch and allowed the elegant creature entrance. Mighty but lithe wings carried it to a desk where it dropped off a letter. It ruffled its feathers, bold and bronze, and took off in graceful flight -- skimming over fresh breezes.
Morgana’s hands opened the sealed letter in a flurry, taking time to note, briefly, the bright blue of the wax. She scanned through it quickly.
Gwen leaned over. “What does it say?”
Morgana smiled.
~{(0)}~
“This is ridiculous.”
“You’re a child, Arthur.”
“And you’re a lunatic, Morgana. We’ve been walking for hours. Father’s going to be asking soon.”
“This is more important than your comfort.”
“And that! You haven’t even told me what we’re doing.”
Morgana rounded on him. “It has to do with Merlin.”
She registered pain flickering in his eyes, but he cleared his throat and looked away before she could capitalize on it. “I told you, Morgana. I don’t want anything to do with that. If he wanted to see us, he would’ve figured something out himself.”
“He’s your greatest friend.”
“He’s a liar, and a terrible servant anyways.”
She glared at the prince. “And a good man.”
“Good men don’t lie about--”
“Oh come on, Arthur! You’ve got to understand--”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. That’s final.”
Arthur took a deep breath, and looked around the clearing they had stepped into. His head was drawn towards a voice that came from the trees.
“Well I suppose you’re right on account of me being a terrible servant. I only delayed so much because I wasn’t too keen on folding your underwear.”
The voice was familiar, teasing, and a little ethereal. Confident. The accompanying figure was garbed in blue and reds familiar to both the nobles, but the cut of the cloth was trim and carefully done. The fabric flowing and long. He stood by an old and withered tree, touching it gently like a friend. His eyes, like glimmering oceans cast in shades of wizened blue, sparkled with mirth and joy. It was a comfort to behold him at long last.
Arthur, being nearest, pulled him in for an embrace and held him tightly for a long moment. Letting the warlock go, he commented on something that had slipped his notice. “By grace Merlin… have you grown a beard? It’s like there’s a mitton on your face.”
Merlin ignored the remark entirely -- he had caught sight of Morgana in the streams of sunlight that adorned the clearing. Her eyes were wide and shining, but she did not move.
He stepped into her arms and wrapped her up in a strong embrace, an embrace she accepted and returned with equal longing. Merlin set aside a strand of soft, dark hair and whispered in her ear “I have something to show you. I think you’ll be proud.”
She nodded against his chest, but she did not speak and they did not move. It wasn’t until Arthur, who had studiously been observing every detail of the trees in the opposite direction, cleared his throat that they let go.
“Well this is all well and lovely Merlin, but where’ve you been staying? Not a hovel I expect?”
Merlin shook his head, laughed. “No, not a hovel. Come.”
{(0)}
“Frankly Merlin, when you said it wasn’t a hovel, I actually believed you had come across better accommodations. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed…” Arthur glanced about him with an abundance of obnoxious self-righteousness. “There’s nothing here.”
They stood at the edge of a forest, staring out into the opening of a large and mighty lake. It was framed by mountains, stout and white-capped, and tranquility, calm and quaint. Only the song of birds and the quiet drop-drumming of dew on fresh green leaves made any noise.
Merlin smirked, and stepped closer to the shore. “Come on, then.”
Morgana didn’t hesitate. She moved forward, her feet brushing water. Arthur raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms. “We have to swim?”
Morgana challenged him. “Aren’t afraid of a little water are you Arthur?”
He scoffed, but moved forward anyway. Annoyance filtered through his eyes, but it was a weak veil for burning curiosity and a sense of adventure he had missed in Merlin’s absence.
Arthur waded into the water doubtfully, but as he walked further in, he found that he didn’t sink down at all. He stood on the surface of the water. “Merlin!”
The response was quick and annoyingly smug. “Look down, Arthur.”
“I already am, you bloody--” Arthur looked up from his boots to bellow at his friend, but found upon raising his head that he was not on a lake but a landmass. An isle seated in the middle of the empty lake he had seen mere minutes ago.
The trees around them were hardy pines, reaching skyward, and they opened up a passage ahead from where they stood. Music filtered through the opening of the path, sprinkled faintly with laughter and busy-noise.
“Merlin?” Arthur repeated, staring at his surroundings in disbelief.
“Magic” said Merlin, patting the prince on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”
They began moving forward, Morgana trailing behind, admiring the leaves of the trees, the unique construct of the bark, threaded with age and wisdom. The presence, the sentiment, of home lurked in every blade of grass, every speck, every shade.
Merlin beckoned her on from where he and Arthur stood. He watched her careful deliberation with fondness. It was well-merited deliberation, but she was merely tasting the beginnings of the emotions to come. They had some ways to travel still, and he was excited for her to feel what he has felt every waking hour in the time he has been there. The Isles of the Blessed called him forward.
He spoke in her mind. Come, Morgana. You need to see this.
She tore her eyes away from the greens, turned them his way.
I feel nostalgic, but I don’t know why, she said.
He smiled and began walking. He gave Arthur a small shove to nudge him out of his own reprieve.
“It’s a beautiful forest Merlin. Good for hunting, don’t you think?”
Merlin agreed with the first half of the statement, not so much the second half. But it was Arthur’s way of connecting, so he said “Just stay away from the unicorns this time around.”
The prince rolled his eyes and readied a remark to fire, but found himself silenced by their arrival at the edge of the forest.
Before them was a vision of merriment and joy, festivity and bustle. Market stalls and humble homes littered either side of the cobblestone path leading them away from the trees, a path uninterrupted except for a fountain ahead. The water it spouted glimmered in the sunlight, its construction shined with charisma. Haphazard white stones, carefully uncaringly placed, composed its entirety.
Around the fountain concentrated larger homes and hearthfires, brightly colored tents that sat by oaks with banners tied around their trunks. Children ran about, snapped magic sparks at one another like pebbles, gleeful giggles bursting from them when sparks caught their clothes.
All of this served only as a foreground to a magnificent keep, humble in size but tall in stature. It emanated power. The keep was nothing like Camelot’s citadel, which had power aplenty, but little subtlety in its brandishing, whereas the very heart of the Isle pulsed proudly with tranquility.
Morgana stopped short when a child threw a spark her way, Arthur tensed, but Morgana picked it up from where it fizzled on the ground, tossed it back. The child offered a toothless grin and ran off.
Tears streamed down her face. Magic had been denied her and Merlin all their lives. To see it on such innocent, delightfully blatant display sung to her soul. She felt fulfilled and crushed and utterly joyful all at once. She could not but sit by the fountain and let her tears fall in the water. Morgana held her reflection’s gaze, wondered if this was the moment her entire existence was meant for. She felt free.
This was beauty beyond which any Morgause had promised, beauty made all the more true by its peaceful acquisition. A moment like this could only have been won with softness and patience. Any land, any aim achieved with violence would have had its sanctity tarnished in its achievement. But this? This was…
Arthur stood by her side, worried. She gave him a bright and dazzling smile, watery as it was. He relaxed a little, and gave her time to collect herself.
A crowd gathered and Morgana wondered if she had made a spectacle of herself, but her fears were soon dismissed and curiosity soon alit. Folks in fair and colorful clothing gathered around Merlin, greeted him in tongues. Druids. He was graceful in receiving them, though the tips of his ears still bloomed red. They regarded him with kindness and deference. Respect and familiarity.
Arthur walked up to his friend between greetings, pulled him aside as Morgana began to make introductions herself.
“Is this who you’ve always been, Merlin?”
“A warlock?”
“No. A leader.”
Merlin swallowed away sudden emotion, He spoke to his friend with sincerity. “No, not always. I didn’t learn to lead until I came to Camelot. I learned everything I ever needed to learn about it from you.”
Arthur’s eyes glistened, and he did not trust himself to speak. He squeezed Merlin’s shoulder once, gave him a nod. They moved to gather Morgana.
{(0)}
The tower-keep that pulsed with power even from a distance was not nearly as imposing when viewed from the inside, though it certainly emitted power. Wooden floors were a welcome contrast to the stone walls around them, walls that stretched ever-upwards. A spiral case of stairs would have stepped them to levels far above, but Merlin shook his head. He pointed to a corridor that led a fair ways away from the entrance.
They followed, torchlight guiding them. Morgana felt her inner core respond to something in the air as they moved deeper into the corridor. She wasn’t sure, but it felt very much like they were going downwards. The magic around them was stifling, but not dangerous. It felt like breathing while lying facing downwards. The sensation of peace she experienced in the forest pervaded her senses now, five times as strongly. Tranquility resounded in her being.
Nobody spoke for some time, not even Arthur. Finally, when it had felt like they were just shy of forever away from their starting place, Merlin broke the silence.
“Don’t mind the darkness, just give it a moment,” he said.
Arthur and Morgana blinked once, then twice, as they entered the tower-keep’s heart, but still darkness composed the whole of their vision.
Morgana saw first. It was a finely decorated interior for a tomb. Luminous specks of dust kept everything aglow, as if the world around them was too fragile for the natural light of day. It was a hue of blue, like the shade of lightning. Almost white-hot. She reached out and touched one. It was perfectly cool.
Merlin whispered a word and torches came alight around them, the blue hues now mixing with the orange of flame. The play of colors was beautiful in its own right, but Morgana was too busy staring at her sister’s prone body to appreciate the lighting situation.
Morgause was resting with her arms crossed on her stomach, lying on what looked like an altar. Morgana was almost afraid to touch her. Would she be alive?
She wasn’t sure what she was more terrified of. She stared at Morgause for some time, until she noticed… It wasn’t obvious, but her sister was breathing softly. Her stasis spell had worked.
Morgana turned to Merlin and brought him into a crushing hug.
“I’m sorry-” he started.
She interrupted, put him at arm’s length and held him there. “When my sister awakens, she will come to a better world. Thank you Merlin.”
Morgana glanced at her sister once more.
Merlin nudged Arthur. “Let’s go Prince Prat, I have some people that want to meet you” he whispered.
They gave Morgana a moment with her sister.
{(0)}
Merlin and Arthur trekked their way up the staircase. Merlin toured Arthur around every level. Interesting and unique things occurred in each, but it wasn’t until they reached the fifth floor that Arthur interrupted.
“Merlin. Let’s take a break here.”
It was an opportune place to stop. The level was empty.
“Oh come on now Arthur, don’t tell me you’re getting thick around the waist already, I’ve only been gone-”
Arthur rolled his eyes. Glanced about the room. It was cast in colorful lighting through stained glass windows on both the left and right sides.
He ignored Merlin’s remark entirely. “Why didn’t you tell me about your magic Merlin?”
Merlin’s face withdrew a little. “Arthur...”
“Friends don’t lie to one another Merlin, and you’ve been lying since we met.”
Merlin cast his eyes down. “I know, but it was the only way to-”
“Oh enough with that. Morgana told me about all the times you’ve saved my hide.” Arthur sighed. “When Morgana told me about her magic - when I saw you use magic - I had to do a lot of unlearning concerning my knowledge of…” He motioned at the room around them.
“I just need to know why you didn’t trust me, Merlin.”
“It’s not that I didn’t trust you Arthur. It’s just...” Merlin sighed, exasperated. “Complicated. I think the word for it is cowardice.”
Arthur watched him steadily. “I’m not angry Merlin. Morgana and Gwen helped me sort through my…” He cleared his throat. “Feelings, about the subject.
“But it’s important to me that you know, I would never have harmed you for your magic. Not even before I knew about Morgana’s as well. You’re my friend, Merlin. You must know I will always have your back.” He clasped Merlin’s arm with a firm thud. “Always.”
A moment passed between them. Merlin broke out in a grin. “So… Gwen helped you sort your feelings I see.”
Arthur hit Merlin up the back of the head. “Just walk.”
They claimed two more levels, and arrived at the very top of the tower. There was gathered a council. It was a strange assortment of individuals. Old and bearded men, old and not-bearded women. All gave off the impression of leaders. All were sorcerers. Arthur couldn’t help but be fairly intimidated. But Merlin stood by his side, proud and tall.
“All rise for Prince Arthur,” he said.
The council rose.
{(0)}
The meeting was long and eventful, and afterwards Merlin felt an inclination to see Morgana. He searched for her first in the tomb, but Morgause slept on, alone. The next logical step, of course, was perusing the entire tower in search of her. He could have felt for her presence, but if she still wanted time alone then he didn’t want to use magic to get to her.
The search was fruitless. He passed by Arthur’s quarters, but the prince was sound asleep. He checked on his mother in her own chambers, but she was asleep too.
He went out into the forest.
There was light as he moved through the trees. It was unearthly, pale, a shadow of the sun’s own rays. It was beautiful, gentle, caring, and older than Kilgharrah himself. She stood in the clearing she had marveled at earlier in the day, the light playing at her fair skin and her green eyes with the aim of making her all the more ethereal. She was peaceful, and gorgeous.
Merlin approached her, and stood by her side as she looked at the sky.
There were a million things to talk about. Would she be returning with Arthur to Camelot and taking up his own responsibilities? Or would she stay while he returned with Arthur? It was his hope that she could rule here in his stead. Until the time of Prophecy came to pass, and he could come to her side. He didn’t belong there, but right by her side is where he’d rather be. Forevermore, preferably.
Either way, Morgana would have to decide.
So much to talk about, and still no words were exchanged. For now, for this very moment, there needn’t be any speaking. Morgana pulled him in for a kiss.
the idea of a clutch purse is nightmarish to me. the whole point of bags was so we could escape the torment of holding things. and now u gotta hold a bag.
Illusions and conjurations and restorations, healings of all the things that matter. That’s what Merlin had taught her in that time. That precious time. Months now, almost a year since that night they had made reparations over wine and whispered confessions. She had learned to make of things that were not there, or not wholly there, things that were more whole than ever before. Her heart being one such thing, in one way or another...
Morgana had learned in that time also what it meant to be struck in a perpetual wonder of things. To appreciate the glory of all that wasn’t within her grasp. She quickly came to realize, under Merlin’s instruction, that he was fond of not knowing things as much as her sister was fond of knowing everything. It was a tremendous dichotomy of truths and Morgana wasn’t sure which one to hold on to.
Despite all of her lessons with Merlin, despite helping him in the situations that came up every now and again, a large part of her did not fail to sympathize with her sister. That same side of her compelled her to attend every meeting Morgause arranged in the forest near Camelot, but the compulsion wasn’t nearly strong enough for Morgana to pay much attention to what Morgause planned or soliloquied about.
Morgana had come to notice, during the past year, that Morgause was partial to monologuing. It was an ironic little quirk, and she firmly believed she only noticed it at all because of Merlin’s influence. He was constantly making such quippy little observations. He’d make one about how much time she spends thinking of him, or some of the things he says, but he was clueless as could be in that regard. Thank the gods for small graces.
Morgana walked into the forest’s clearing. She passed the fifth tree with a notch carved into its trunk and turned right. Morgause was there, waiting.
“Hello, sister.”
“Morgause,” Morgana moved to hug her sister, and what she said as she held her close was true. “I’ve missed you.”
The sorceress agreed. “It’s been a long time.”
Morgana nodded warily, “Longer than usual. It’s been a month or two.” She pointed to the treescape around them. “Fall is rolling out now.”
Morgause offered a mysterious, mischievous smile. The sort that unsettled Morgana the most. Much as Morgana loved Morgause, her sister had a tendency to act a little erratically. Rashly, even. Her cool demeanor meant she had something up her sleeve. She did.
“I’ve been planning,” said Morgause. “And now all my time and effort will be brought to fruition, sister. Has anything changed in the castle?”
Morgana offered the truth. “Everything has been the same. Not many invasions or attacks or anything of the sort, just the dreadful routine.”
Morgause’s smile was wicked now. “Good, then they won’t be expecting the trouble that’s coming for them.”
“What trouble?”
“The type that will put us on the throne, sister. The type that will bring Uther to justice.”
The idea would have once thrilled her. Part of it did. The thought of putting Uther to justice was more appealing than anything in the entire world could have been. But being on the throne? That was trickier. But that’s what she wanted, ultimately, wasn’t it? If they were on the throne magic could be returned to Camelot.
Merlin wormed his little warlock words into her head. It’s never that simple, Morgana.
It had been one of the many discussions they shared throughout the past year on the topic. For the most part they left it aside in favor of nurturing friendship, but it was a major issue. Clearly ignoring it had led to nothing. Morgana would have to make some decisions.
Frankly, she didn’t want to.
She cleared her throat and pulled nervously at the bracelet her sister had gifted her. “What’s the plan, then? When will we be attacking?”
Morgause’s smiled widened, it was malicious now. “The plan is not the typical affair. I’ve decided it was time to innovate, sister. Don’t you think? I see it as a great way to begin our reign.”
“Innovate?”
“I think I’m spent on armies.” Morgause moved around the clearing, glancing about the trees. “It’s all so boring. Seducing kings, killing them. And then on top of that I have to manage their armies. Even the undead ones are a handful.” She stopped short. Shook her head. “No. Enough of that. We’re High Priestesses of Magic itself, Morgana. I don’t believe we’ve been using it enough.”
Morgana shook her head. “I can’t seem to follow.”
“A small force. They’ll be expecting armies and brute forces. But subversion? Sneaking? A small team for infiltration. We’ll kill the Pendragons and take down the citadel.”
Morgana’s heart beat much faster. “You have a team?”
“No, we have a team Morgana.”
Morgana offered a shaky smile. “Yes, of course… when will we be attacking?”
Morgause looked to the sky. “It’s a full moon tonight.”
It was. The moon was starting to peek through. Morgana had come to the clearing right after supper with the king. It was dusk, but not dark.
“Will we wait for the new moon?”
Morgause laughed. “A time of darkness? You always had a flair for the dramatic. We share that in common, you and I.”
She continued. “But no. We’re attacking tonight.”
Morgana’s heart dropped. She had run out of time. “Tonight?”
“I will see you at midnight, dear sister. By dawn we will be queens. We’ll be the saviors of every sorcerer in the land.”
“How will I know when to do my part? I’m not even sure what my part will be?”
“You’ll know when it’s time sister. I can’t share anything more.”
Morgana curled her fingers in frustration. She moved up to Morgause, imploring. “Don’t you trust me, Morgause?”
Morgause was astonished by the concept. She took Morgana’s fingers in her hand and said “Of course I do my darling. I trust you with my life. But the plan must succeed. It’s our only hope, you understand?”
Morgana nodded numbly. Morgause disappeared into the night with a curl of wind. The sun had set.
Morgana ran back to the castle.
~{(0)}~
“Merlin!”
She had burst right through the door to Gaius’ chambers. The old man startled from where he was, presumably pouring over a text on medicine. It was a gift Merlin had given him recently. She recalled its spine and binding. Merlin had talked to her about it for weeks.
“Ah, Lady Morgana. I did not expect you at this hour. You haven’t had a resurgence of your dreaming, have you?”
His eyebrows suggested something Morgana did very much not like him suggesting. She blushed anyways. “I came to see Merlin.”
“Now that’s a surprise.” The old bastard knew it wasn’t, and she did not appreciate being teased over it at all. “Unfortunately, it seems that Merlin is still with the Prince. He hasn’t come in yet.”
She said “I see” and left the room. Morgana was annoyed at the pace she walked at, but within the citadel she had to keep up appearances of grace. The walls had eyes.
It didn’t take too long to find Arthur and Merlin. She heard their bickering from two halls down from where she was, and they were approaching her.
“Arthur, it’s impossible to do.”
“Now, Merlin. That might be the case for your, but fortunately for me, I am not an idiot.”
“Actually, you know what your Highness? Please, by all means. I invite you to -- Morgana.”
She had basically run into them, her feet moving quicker and quicker as their half-hearted disagreement sounded around the corner. “Merlin!”
Arthur bristled at the lack of acknowledgement. “Morgana? What are you doing all the way over here?”
“I need Merlin.” Her tone was final. She had presumed Arthur’s protest at having his servant whisked away. She didn’t pay much mind at the way that Merlin flushed when she said that. She didn’t pay it much mind at all. Really.
Arthur began the slow process of forming a witty remark, but Merlin cut him off with a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. As your friend, I’m bound to express my complete confidence that you’ll live two minutes without me. Beyond that, though…”
The prince narrowed his eyes a little but broke into a grin not long after. “Don’t you know Merlin? I can live up to even a whole three hours without you by my side. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to put it to a test. You can clean the stables for a few hours tomorrow, all alone.”
Merlin groaned and began a remark that sounded suspiciously like “clotpole” before Morgana tugged at his sleeve and guided him away.
“All things considered, I think I won that one.”
She could hear the mild smile in his voice, but she couldn’t bring herself to share in the humor. Her heart trembled, uneasy.
An alcove a few corridors down proved to be a perfect spot for the sort of conversation they were going to have. Moonlight filtered in through an opening in the walls, and it illuminated Morgana’s face grimly. Light caught in the green in her eyes which were wrought with desperation.
“What’s going on Morgana? Have you had a dream?”
“It’s Morgause.”
Merlin tensed. “Did you meet with her again?”
She’d told him she hadn’t in other occasions, just to circumvent the very argument brewing in the alcove. “Yes.”
“I see.”
“Merlin…”
“You’re going to have to make a choice Morgana. You know this. I won’t force you either way, but there are forces out there that would have your choice removed.”
“Maybe they’re right?”
“You’ve never been the sort to believe in Destiny before.”
“And you’ve always been the first to believe in it.”
“Things changed over this last year Morgana.”
She looked out through the opening, staring down at the city that had adopted her with open arms. In a few hours, for better or worse it could belong to her.
“So what do you believe in Merlin?”
“I believe in you, Morgana.”
She spun around to look into his eyes, but the customary depths of blue were exchanged for flashes of gold. He had a finger to his mouth. “Shhh.” He pointed through the entrance of the alcove, beyond which stood two people. Arthur and Guinevere, exchanging soft words and chuckles. Shy and sweet. “And I believe in them,” Merlin whispered.
She looked to him once more, his eyes twinkled in the moonlight. Maybe it was hope. Whenever she was around him she could feel it too.
Morgana extinguished it. “Morgause is attacking. Tonight.”
His eyes stopped shining.
“I don’t know what to do Merlin,” she continued.
“We have to do the right thing Morgana.”
This. It was always this. “I think you and I have different definitions of what it means to do the right thing.”
“I can’t -- I won’t let you kill Uther.”
“So you’re still willing to let others suffer for--”
“You know for a fact Morgana that hasn’t happened here in a long time. We’ve been able to prevent instances like that. By working together . Don’t pretend this isn’t about something more.”
She bit at the inside of her cheek and looked away from him again. She moved on. “Morgause is attacking with a smaller force of powerful sorcerers. Their aim is to infiltrate the citadel and take control subtly.”
He nodded. Merlin looked calm, but in the small space of the alcove she could feel his legs tapping on the ground incessantly. He was itching to go plan something. He stayed. “And what is your role going to be in this, Morgana?”
“I.. I don’t know. She told me that I’d know when it was time.”
He sighed and slapped his hand against his forehead. “It never ends.” Merlin joined her in looking out the window, but only briefly. He clapped his hands together once, loudly, obnoxiously. “Right then, let’s get on with it.”
She didn’t move.
“Oh come on now. You can be dramatic later. Or actually, just it get it all out now. Deliver a monologue into the open night. I wouldn’t want you delivering any when we kick your sister’s arse.”
She glared at him, but a small smile played at her lips. “I think I’m starting to sympathize with Arthur.”
“As far as I’m concerned, that’s character growth on your part and I think you should thank me.”
She had grown to sympathize with Arthur more recently. And not just about Merlin’s infuriating remarks. She had come to see that he had the potential to be a great man.
Her smile faded into melancholy and her eyes shined, but not with any measure of hope. “I’m not sure what to do.”
Merlin took her hand. “Like I said, Morgana. I believe in you. And whatever happens... I’m grateful to have been your friend. Even if it was just for this year.”
She stared down at where their fingers touched, she felt Merlin’s magic thrumming just under the surface of his skin, pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. The connection was golden and sparkling and all too brief.
“She’s my sister, Merlin.”
He sighed. “I know. But I have a duty. My place is by Arthur’s side-”
Morgana grabbed his arm. “Can’t something be sorted out?”
“There’s nothing to be sorted out. You know that.”
Her eyes flickered with annoyance. “Now you’re an absolutist? Aren’t you always the one saying that we can find another way Merlin?”
“That’s not-”
“Or is it just that we can only find another way if it’s your way?”
“Morgana, please.”
She scoffed in disgust. “Forget it. You’re a self-righteous ass Merlin.”
He intoned once more, calmly, maddeningly “It’s the only way.”
Morgana looked right into his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”
A moment. “It must be.”
She stepped back, keeping her eyes on his. “I just want to keep us safe, Merlin. I want to give us a chance at happiness. At living a life unafraid.”
Morgana turned out into the corridor, but Merlin caught her arm. “What role will you be playing in this, Morgana?”
“I told you I don’t know, Morgause said-”
“What role do you want to play in this Morgana?”
She stared at him, tears collecting in her eyes. She swept away without answering.
~{(0)}~
There was fire and tremors and terror abound for the noble blood of Camelot. Morgause’s “silent and stealthy” attack on Camelot proved to involve a few more pyrotechnics that Merlin imagined. It was something about the citadel. Its white, tall, untarnished walls. Surely it begged for destruction from a vengeful witch. A castle so glorious surely couldn’t belong to a king with so much blood on his hands.
The attack was well-orchestrated. Arthur’s forces were stretched thin and Merlin was stretched even thinner. Despite the bountiful warning, it was a struggle to get Arthur to listen without asking too many questions, and it was even more of a struggle to assemble a group of knights as late as it was.
“Arthur!” Merlin said.
The prince heard his bellowing and ducked down without even thinking about it. He swiped at the feet of the would-be assassin.
A sorcerer turned up from around the corner, a ball of flame in his hands.
Arthur insisted “Merlin! We have to retreat into the throne room.”
Merlin’s heart dropped. “We can take him.”
The sorcerer, dressed entirely in black, let out a nasty grin and extinguished the fires that lit the corridor and darkness consumed their vision.
“Merlin?”
“I’m here!”
A fireball zoomed past him and flared out as it struck a body next to him. Merlin heard a pained scream and the sound of metal hitting the floor. “Arthur!”
He threw his hands forward and closed his eyes. He felt for a presence with his magic and felt the sorcerer approaching. Merlin was certain that he was doing something similar because he felt the figure stop short and prepare a spell.
Merlin lunged at him with a sword and struck his abdomen. His body broke the fall, but the blade was shattered by the weight and the hilt bruised one of Merlin’s ribs. Grunting in pain, he willed the torches to come alight.
“Arthur, where are you?”
Merlin stood up uneasily against a wall and made his way towards the prince. Arthur was standing up shakily. His armor was singed and his face was grimy. “My father, we have to…”
The warlock nodded and raised his friend’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him towards the throne room with the certainty that Morgause planned for them to do exactly that. He went anyways. The door was ajar, but only because Morgana and most of the remaining guards had just gone in. They were fortifying it against attacks as best they could. Merlin caught her eye from across the room.
“Arthur!” Uther said. “What happened to you?” He looked at Merlin and barked. “Explain!”
The prince answered for him. “We were defending the north corridor father. Merlin killed a sorcerer but there’s bound to be more.”
Uther swept his hand in the direction from where they came.“Close those doors! Barricade them as best you can and get in your formations.”
The room was busy with all sorts of people. It was nearly full to the brim with nobles and soldiers and the anxiety of an attack. Merlin didn’t see or hear Morgana come up by his side what with all the chatter.
“You can’t stop this alone.”
He looked at her intently. “I’m not alone.”
“I won’t stop her, Merlin. But…” Morgana busied herself helping one of the older nobles and a few servants find a place to sit. “I’ll try to minimize the damages.”
“Morgana...”
“It’s the best I can do.”
His head dropped. “I see.”
Merlin looked her in the eyes and she hurried off. He was alone for the first time in a long time.
The room shook with a tremor more ferocious than the previous one. Darkness crept in and nervous whispering ensued. Uther demanded silence and barked commands at his sorcerers. Merlin sensed for Morgana’s magic. It had become familiar now, and he did not struggle much in placing her in the room.
She stood by one of the arcades that lined the windows. Despite this, she was perfectly calm when they exploded into the room. Screaming ensued, but no sooner had it started than silence swallowed the chambers. It was a contrived quiet, the works of a sorcerer. Nobody had even heard the rest of them bombard their way through the chamber door. The only warning Merlin had was the glow of a growing flame in the distance. Morgause wanted to roast them all alive.
So much for subtle.
Merlin looked to Morgana in desperation and she gave him a slight nod. Tears had slipped down her cheek. She would only help him to an extent. He wasn’t willing to test the limits.
Dismantling the ball of fire ferociously flying its way towards the hall was an act of extreme will and Merlin struggled to make his efforts unnoticeable. The enchantment of quiet upon them served in his favor in this regard, but it was a bigger burden than it was a boon. Somebody would get hurt because the sorcerers were too quiet and too well hidden to be fought.
The flame was smothered in the air, and Merlin only just had time to cancel the silence charm before Morgause prepared another spell. Merlin kept low to the ground as the soldiers began shouting orders at each other. He couldn’t see Arthur, but he was sure the prince was somewhere in the front. Fighting, even blind.
Merlin fixed the lighting situation by summoning a floating orb into the air. It became bright enough to see that they were in a rather difficult situation. Twelve sorcerers in all, not including Morgause, had the chambers surrounded.
He would be revealing his magic today. There were very few ways for him to do anything even remotely useful without it being obvious. Part of him wanted to blame Morgana, but she was right. Despite proposing that she could choose her path, Merlin had been strong-arming her into his way of thinking. Before, he would have been comfortable with this. It was for the greater good, no? But these days Merlin respected Morgana’s autonomy more than the greater good. If this was her choice -- at least it was hers.
Now able to see where they were and who they were fighting, the knights moved into action in a flurry of yelling and the clinking of armor. He kept by Arthur’s side in the middle of things, discreetly trying to take down any sorcerers he could, or impede on their progress. Morgause was nowhere to be seen yet, but he expected her soon.
Merlin spotted a sorcerer preparing to attack the group of nobles and blasted him across the room with a flick of his wrist in his direction. Merlin did it with such vociferous conviction that the back wall was marred by a new opening into a hallway. The majority of the nobles scurried through the hole.
None of the knights saw him, but plenty of the sorcerers did. Seven remained of the original twelve, and they almost all began to converge on him. Across the room Morgana’s eyes widened and she began weaving an enchantment. Merlin abandoned the remains of his desire to hide his magic as he desperately battled against the onslaught of spells and curses.
Morgana’s enchantment proved to be among her greatests so far. Mist rolled in from nowhere and swept them up in grey. Only Merlin and the sorcerers could see one another. The knights were blinded and further immobilized by the sparking, crackling, and popping of sparks in the air. They took strange forms of creatures long since gone from the world.
This gave Merlin just enough breathing room to defend himself. He motioned at one of the sparks in the air and fanned flames into it from his hands. The spark-beast, potentially a hydra, came to life with vigor and began an assault on the assailants.
The fire beast was enough to paralyze some of the attackers, but it soon grew so large that it escaped Merlin’s control entirely. It raged across the room.
Morgana watched in horror as it moved towards the knights. She took the reins on the enchantment from across the room, guiding it towards sorcerers amassing in the corner to form a spell. She snuffed the oxygen out of the air around it. She gathered the clouds in the room and sent it their way, condensing it until it began to soak their efforts.
Merlin smiled at her, but she watched him warily. The knights began to converge on the remaining sorcerers in the corner, but one of the columns by the window toppled over Arthur and Uther’s path. They were isolated. That was no accident. That was the work of Morgana.
Rain barraged the interior of the throne room. It had begun to storm at some point, but Merlin was so caught up in himself he hadn’t noticed. He ran towards Arthur, jumping in front of him just as a bolt of lightning struck from outside. Morgause appeared in the room with a rush of wind.
The breeze of the rain was cold and sharp against his skin and his sides ached too much for him to bother breathing. He hadn’t died because a shield of shimmering energy had protected him, it had the texture, the fingerprint of Morgana’s magic -- and her indecision.
Merlin stumbled up as Morgause approached Arthur and the king and laughed with mad, almost drunken glee. Morgause was the sort to indulge herself with abandon, but Merlin had no doubts she would reserve any indulging until after Arthur and Uther’s heads were on sticks outside the castle walls. They had escaped her clutches too many times. No chances would be taken.
As he weakly leaned against a wall, Merlin wondered if he could let them escape just one more time. Arthur watched him with horror from where he stood as Merlin drew a sword, bloody at the hilt, from the ground.
“Merlin! Don’t!”
Merlin threw the sword, knowing it wouldn’t even make the halfway mark. It was more of a distraction than it was an attack. There was only one course of action now.
Merlin tapped deep into the roots of his being, reaching for a part of him that had been smothered and oppressed for as long as he could control it. He felt the heat under his skin flare up. He opened his eyes, which he was sure were blazing gold, only to find himself inside of an illusion. The world around him sounded distant and muddled, like he was listening from underwater.
Morgana was shaping the world around them to a two-fold image. In the right light, he caught glances of her fighting him with all her might. In another, he caught saw his prone figure on the ground as Morgana assaulted Morgause with a sword.
He understood one was for the benefit of Morgause, and the other was to hide his magic from Arthur and Uther.
The reality, however, was that Morgause stood five feet from him, looking down imperiously, a vision of Morgana standing by her side with an evil glint in her eye. Merlin caught his second wind and began attacking Morgause with more vigor than he had ever fought anyone. Fire and bolts of lightning struck out around the throne room, blazing energy was exchanged in flurries of blasts.
Morgause’s spells were all tremendously flashy affairs, but Merlin preferred the indirect approach mostly. He shifted the wooden floor around her, disbalancing her as best he could. The debris of glass and stone began to form into golems. Morgause’s eyes widened and her attention was shifted, momentarily, to the task of a fist of glass making its way towards her.
She let loose a scream and a radius of light emanated from her body instantly. The golems were pulverized completely and Morgana’s illusions fell apart. Merlin and Morgause stared at one another from across the throne room. Morgana stood by the window, wind blowing at her hair, darkness framing her figure.
She knew for certain that Merlin and Morgause’s confrontation was one of a final variety. There was little choice left to either of them now, and all the choices came down to her. Merlin or Morgause?
But despite Merlin’s newfound absolutism, Morgana’s thoughts tended back to his hopeful words in the Catacombs of Camelot, such a long time ago. And yet, not. The promise of another way. She fiddled with her sleeping charm in a brief flare of anxiety.
For a moment, she felt something akin to what Merlin had described as the sensation of time coming to a stop. This, she was sure, was not the work of magic.
The flickering sparks of magic Merlin had shown her that drunken winter night, the image of Freya he had conjured resounded within her. Not all magic was lethal. Not all spells need be.
Her eyes snapped towards Morgause as she toyed with her charm.
“Sister!” she shouted.
Morgause glanced at her in time to catch the sleeping bracelet she had crafted for Morgana. In a flash of light, the sleeping spell shattered itself free. Her sister’s body dropped to the ground, the bracelet nothing but pieces of charred metal.
Knights began to rush in as rain continued to pour through the opening where stained glass used to be. Uther and Arthur stared at her dumbly, but Uther was the first to begin making demands. Morgana ignored him as she made her way to her sister’s prone form. Morgause’s chest rose and fell in even breathes. Morgana sighed in relief and fell to the ground, spent.
“Sorcery!” Uther shouted. “M-”
“It was me” Merlin said, limping from his place. “I did it.”
Arthur stood up, made his way towards his friend. “Merlin. What are you doing? This is ridiculous.”
Merlin shook his head.“No Arthur. It was me.” His eyes flashed gold and the form of a dragon shimmered in front of Arthur, taking flight soon after. “I’m sorry,” he continued, “that I didn’t tell you. You’re my friend and I should have told you.”
“Guards!” Uther ordered.
Morgana’s heart dropped. Her throat constricted itself and she could barely whisper his name. “Merlin, no. Please.”
Nobody heard her, except for him.
I’m sorry, Morgana. I can’t let you live in fear of Uther. Not for my sake. His voice was clear and strong in her head.
Please she said.
Take care of the prat. Don’t let him hate me.
Merlin why are you doing this?
Because. He smiled at her from his place in the room as the guards began to converge on him and Arthur pleaded with his father to stop it. I trust you, Morgana.
Merlin stepped towards Morgause’s form, and kneeled down. He took her hand and they were gone in a flurry of wind.
Chaos broke out in the throne room as Morgana stared at the ground in disbelief. She stayed that way for some time. But Merlin spoke in her head once more, his voice soft and intimate. They faded as he went off into distances she knew not.
Talk to Gaius. He will know what you must do. In the meantime, I’ll keep your sister safe, Morgana. There’s a lesson, a hope that I gave you once. It was the most important one. I’m sorry I failed my end of it. There’s always another way.
“I just think goodness is more interesting. Evil is constant. You can think of different ways to murder people, but you can do that at age five. But you have to be an adult to consciously, deliberately be good – and that’s complicated.”
Natasha’s been sent to collect or protect the good Doctor a little earlier than intended, whichever comes first. With her luck, it’s no surprise that it’s the latter.
To evade capture and get him to SHIELD, Bruce and Natasha go on the run as the US Military pursues them and the threat of the Hulk looms like a shadow. All things considered, though, Natasha doesn’t mind too much. The Doc is pleasant company - when he’s around, that is.
Chapter 3: Tanks and Trains
Gotta get up,
Gotta get up,
Move!
-----------------------------------
"This one here, Banner."
"Oh, my bad." He turned around and squeezed into the carriage she nodded towards. Natasha followed after and shut the door. They were surrounded by a bountiful amount of empty seats, all paid for by SHIELD. No one would bother them.
She took one by the window on the left side of the train, and Bruce took the aisle. "Leg room," he explained.
They didn't bring much in the way of luggage. Bruce traveled light, and she wasn't expecting to be in Calcutta for more than a few hours.
It was around 8 AM, and the trip to Dhaka would be about 9 hours. Natasha was somewhat annoyed that Fury couldn't pick them up with one of those handy-dandy quinjets of his, but she understood why he didn't. They had been compromised in a big way, and Ross would be on the lookout for just about everything.
She leaned her head back into her chair and closed her eyes, only for a little. "Maybe we should invest in teleportation."
Bruce lifted his head away from his headrest and looked at her. "Huh?"
"You know, teleportation. You're here one second and then there the next. It'd make life easier." She made a little motion with her hands. It must have looked ridiculous, but she wouldn't know. Her eyes were closed.
Bruce chuckled. "Is that a proposition? I make you a, uh, teleportation machine and you don't involve me in this mess at all?"
Natasha opened her eyes and faced him. A smirk. "I'm starting to get the feeling you don't like me."
He grimaced slightly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. It's just…" He waved his hands, pointing out the distinct absence of other people. "The spy games…" A shrug.
She'd made some progress with him last night, and Natasha wasn't about to squander that by letting him think too much about what he was giving up to help them.
"It's not what you'd think, really."
"Oh? Tell me what I think Agent Romanoff."
"Well it's not nearly as exciting as you'd like to imagine. You've got the fighting and the intrigue and the dispatching of enemies, sure. That's true. We've got plenty of toys and gizmos and stuff. The hierarchies are mostly right. Bosses that clue you in on everything but tell you nothing? Check."
"It's like they've watched all the movies."
"That's right. But the movies don't tell you about this." She nodded towards the train's ceiling. "All the waiting between the fun stuff."
The narrative about spies was one that was masterfully woven by people who understood that it was more palatable to show it as it really wasn't: fast paced, exciting. If you showed the waiting and all the in-between, people would come to see something they'd much rather not - espionage is just like any other job. You work, and then you take some time off and then you work again.
Nobody wants to believe that some people betray, kill, spy, and steal with the same ease, the same bored resignation that your IT guy updates the office computers.
Bruce leaned his head back onto the headrest and closed his eyes again. "So that's what it's like being a spy? A lot of waiting and a little bit of fun?"
She indulged him. "Got it in one, Doc. Your definition of fun might vary, though."
He hummed, as though actually contemplating it. Maybe he was. "So what's this? The waiting or the fun?"
She side-eyed him and a smile played on her face. The train started to move.
"Is there any particular reason you chose Calcutta, Doc?"
"It's really far."
Natasha groaned. "You're doing nothing for my curiosity, Bruce."
He shifted his position, sat up and faced her completely. One of his legs came up under an arm rest, which he tapped at with his fingers. "Well, distance was a factor. It's easier to go off the grid here, too. It's not war-torn, but there's enough room for me to help. To be… to do something nice for people."
"Where would you have gone after?"
"Who says I would have gone?"
She kept her gaze on him, amused.
He gave in. "Maybe Tokyo."
"Interesting choice."
"Not too long though, maybe just to visit. For a while."
She nodded, watched the train pass the city limits.
"Why'd you come?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Well it seemed pressing."
"You could've said no."
He evaluated that statement. "I could have… but you said something about a lab?"
Natasha laughed. "Ha! Should have known I got dressed up for nothing. It was the science you wanted."
Bruce blushed a little. It was charming. "Not that I didn't appreciate the outfit, but I did miss the science."
"Didn't know you could have cravings for the Scientific Method."
His voice took a teasing tenor. "Well, it's not what you'd think, really."
She played her part. "Oh? Tell me what I think Dr. Banner."
"Well it's not nearly as boring as you'd like to imagine. You've got the paperwork and the sleepless all-nighters, sure. That's true. The snotty colleagues are there, too. Plus the lingo."
"Wow, it's like they've watched all the movies."
He smiled. "That's right. But the movies don't tell you about the excitement of making a breakthrough. The, uh, the rush of switching your perspective to approach a problem in an innovative way. The thrill of getting a project funded, of being on the vanguard of world-changing developments."
"Y'know, I think I'm starting to see some parallels between spying and science."
He snorted, and leaned back into his chair.
She had an idea, for a moment. It slipped out before she thought better of it. "I have a colleague you might like to meet."
"Is their first name Agent?"
"He wishes. Ever heard of Tony Stark?"
"Rings a bell."
"You'd get along great."
"I doubt it. I'm not very…" he smiled ruefully. "I'm not very good at getting close to people."
She nodded. The train kept moving.
"Get some rest, Doc. There's going to be plenty of sleep-less and science-y days ahead for you to exhaust yourself on."
Bruce shook his head, cast his eyes around the carriage. "Anything can happen."
"I'll keep watch."
"It's fine, I can stay up until we get there."
She touched his forearm and looked into his eyes. "Trust me, Bruce."
Natasha kept her hand there until he tore his eyes away from hers and nodded.
He removed his glasses, put them inside his shirt pocket, and soon she was alone. The train kept moving.
/-\
The train stopped in Darshana for twenty minutes. Or that was what the schedule said. It's been about twenty five.
She nudged at the sleeping scientist, whose hair was a mess of darkness on his head. He curled into himself a little in his sleep.
"Bruce, I'm going to need you to wake up now. Something's wrong."
He was up and moving faster than expected. "They're here?"
She wasn't sure, but she gave him her hypothesis. "Train's been stopped five minutes too long."
"Maybe they're over-crowded?" He didn't sound hopeful.
She guided him to the middle row of seats, made him sit. "It's awfully quiet for an over-crowded train isn't it?"
The electricity went out. Light filtered in through the windows and given that it was only about 10AM Natasha wasn't too concerned about visibility, but Bruce looked antsy.
"Alright big guy, we've got this."
He nodded, and she knew he didn't quite believe her. Oh well. She could work with that.
Natasha walked towards the window she was nearest to. The station was completely empty, and it was completely quiet.
She moved towards the carriage door in the front and found it was locked. "They're trying to draw us out."
"So what do we do?"
Natasha mulled it over. She moved towards the back door, and checked the knob. It was open. They were the last carriage, so walking through that door would lead them right out.
She turned to Bruce and her lips took an ironic form. "We wait."
She took a seat right next to Bruce in the middle row. "I'm pretty sure they cut off air conditioning so hang tight, Doc."
"Are we…." He trailed off. "So the plan is to have them come to us?"
Bruce didn't like that plan.
"Well that's half the plan."
"That's the waiting half. What's the fun half, Agent Romanoff?"
She had no clue, but she was starting to put one together.
"Oh, you know," her voice was husky, her volume low, "just spy stuff."
She tapped away at her phone while Bruce started doing some breathing exercises. "Does it work?"
He continued his exercise. "Somewhat. Are you getting back-up?"
"I'm trying, but Fury is hesitant to take on the US Armed Forces."
"Yeah? Me too."
She snorted and put away her phone. She listened. It was silent save for Bruce's breathing, and the air was perfectly still. She could hear leaves rustling just outside. And then… a click.
She turned to him. "Get ready. Follow my lead. Got it?"
He nodded, but didn't say anything.
Natasha found herself dearly wishing for her tactical suit as she pulled out her gun. She kept low, and motioned for Bruce to do the same. Anybody who looked into the train carriage would see nothing.
She kept to the middle in order to minimize visibility, but ultimately they were probably surrounded. They'd have to take a risk.
"Bruce," she said, "we're going to have to make some choices. From what I know, we're surrounded. They've locked the front carriage exit, but the back is open. They're expecting us to go through there.
"See that hatch over there?" She pointed up at the roof from between two seats. Bruce spied it faintly.
"I see it."
"That's our best option. They could still fire at us, but right now things aren't looking great anyways."
Bruce smiled. "Things never go great." He started getting up.
"Wait." She put a hand on his shoulder, watched the windows. The soldiers were getting closer. She needed them close enough that they couldn't clearly see anything that would be on the roof, but not close enough they could see through the windows of the train.
"My mission is to deliver you to Fury safely, Doc. Don't be a hero."
"No worries there, Agent Romanoff. I'm just a scientist. Ready to go?"
She looked outside one more time. "Lab-coats first."
Bruce made his way just under the hatch, keeping low to the ground until he was right under it. He jumped up and pulled it down. A small ladder unraveled and hit the floor with a muted thunk.
He began his climb up, carefully, and she moved close as well. She kept her gun up, watched the back door. She could see the soldiers approaching the train faster now, guns drawn.
"I'm up." Banner's face looked down at her from the hatch, daylight silhouetting him.
She worked her way up the rope ladder deftly, and pulled it back up as soon as she was on the roof. She closed the hatch gently, careful not to make noise.
She could hear the soldiers just beneath them, getting ready to attack the carriage. Bruce was a small ways ahead of her, crouched and waiting for her. Natasha came up next to him, careful not to touch the roof too much. The metal sizzled with heat at contact.
Natasha spoke quietly. "Watch, and do the same."
The gap to land on the next carriage wasn't that big, but she'd have to jump a little.
She didn't make much noise as she landed, and she moved forward far enough to give Bruce space to jump.
Sweat dripped down his face, and his eyes were scrunched up in the face of sunlight. He jumped across, and failed to land with as much grace as she did. That said, he did land, which counted for something.
The noise of his impact was masked by the sound of glass breaking as the soldiers tried to smoke them out. They'd be waiting a little bit.
"Let's move, Banner."
They moved across one carriage and then the next. Soon enough, sweaty and with bright red hands, they made it to the very first carriage. The soldiers were inspecting the carriage they had abandoned. Getting back on the ground was a matter of jumping off the roof, which wasn't too bad. Bruce didn't complain.
Natasha kept her gun handy and checked the conductor's cabin. Empty. She smiled a little. Thank God for small graces.
The train station was an empty field, more or less. There was a building with some soda machines, a bathroom, and a ticket stall, but that was just about it. The rest of it was long blades of grass for at least a mile, up to where the town of Darshana lay.
"I've got a plan." She entered the cabin completely, locked all the entrances as Bruce followed.
"You didn't have one before?"
"I'm going to start the train, and then we're jumping off."
Bruce's face was picture-worthy. "We're jumping off?"
"Yes."
"While it's moving."
"Actually," she said, looking over the control board, "change of plan."
"Well that's good."
"You're starting the train, and then we're jumping off."
He sighed, and started inspecting the console. "I'm turning green today, aren't I?"
She paused to look at him. "No. You're not."
He glanced at her, briefly, and started the train. Or something like that. It began moving slowly.
"Can it go any faster?"
Bruce raised his eyebrow. "It's a train."
Natasha eyed soldiers starting to run their way, even as the train picked up speed they were gaining.
One of them yelled something and bullets started whizzing past them. "What a waste of bullets."
"Don't tell them that," Bruce said. He watched the console, silently willing it to pick up speed.
Natasha palmed the hilt of her firearm. The train was picking up speed, and soon enough the soldiers couldn't quite catch up. She looked through the window into the carriage on the inside. Soldiers were approaching from inside the train. That wasn't good.
She took a position right by Bruce on the console and looked for any button that looked like a door. She found it, and clicked it experimentally. The soldiers approaching were locked three whole carriages down. The train was moving quickly now, and it would be time for them to jump soon.
"Now's the fun part, Bruce."
"I think I've decided that any parallels you've come up with between science and spying are total bullshit, Agent."
"Really? What's the difference?"
"This is more dangerous."
"And here I was thinking that experimenting with a super-serum and gamma radiation were pretty risky tasks."
"That's… that's actually a fair point."
She opened up the door on the right. Wind rushed into the cabin, going straight for her hair. And his, for that matter. "Ready?" She offered a hand.
Bruce took it. They jumped.
Everything considered, it wasn't her worst landing. Except that it probably wasn't one of Bruce's finest, and given she was holding his hand, they both shared in the pain of the landing. It wasn't terrible, since they landed on grass, but it wasn't particularly fun.
Her arm was bloody from a scrape with some pebbles, and Bruce's nice purple shirt was probably out of commission too. He was bleeding lightly from the side of his abdomen, where the shirt was ripped.
They stayed there for a little, staring up at the sky and catching up on breathing before she got up and pulled Bruce further into the grass fields. His eyes were flecked with green.
He joked anyways, "I've always wanted to do that."
She chuckled, but it was dry. She wanted some water. "Weird thing to have on your bucket list."
"Well I watched a lot of westerns as a kid, so…"
They walked on, Bruce limped ever-so-slightly. Her leg hurt too, now that she thought about it. "You're full of surprises, Doc."
He huffed as they trekked towards Darshana's town center. "I've got a really compelling reason to keep my cool."
"Yeah?"
"You promised me a nice lab."
She really did chuckle then. They began moving towards Darshana.
They reached it by noon. It took them a little longer than it would have if they followed the main road, but on account of the fact that they were trying to out-maneuver the US Army, they had to take a rough path.
Bruce got them both a water bottle, for which she was grateful. She could have used some food too, but they were a little too pressed for time to be picky about those things. Though she did manage to swipe some pastries.
The scientist munched on his. "Do we try to find a place to stay until Fury comes to get us?"
Natasha shook her head. She guided him to an alley, keeping an eye out as she ate. "We keep moving. Fury's not coming to collect us here. He's arranging for a town a few miles from here."
"So we take a bus?"
"I don't think that's quite the plan."
He considered that. "Do you think they'll find us here?"
"I'm sure they know. Right now, the guys on the train have probably figured out no one's conducting. And regardless, Ross would do a sweep of the area. They're just collecting themselves. We have to go."
He finished his pastry. "I'm ready when you are."
She pulled up a map on her phone. She'd be out of battery soon enough. "We're going to that little town over there."
Bruce nodded. It was far away, but he wasn't precious about walking long distances. That helped.
/-\
It was around six in the afternoon, and they were about fifteen minutes away from the town Fury had selected for their escape to happen. So far, nothing had gone amiss.
There wasn't much around them except for the occasional house. There were a few abandoned industrial buildings, though, and it was just as they were coming up on one right ahead that they heard the helicopters.
"Shit." Bruce said, looking up at the sky. The sun was still up, but it was mellow, beginning a quick downwards descent.
They started jogging, then running towards the abandoned structure as the helicopters approached.
It was made of cement bricks, reaching two stories tall. There was no light, or furniture. There wasn't even a concrete floor on the ground level, just dirt. Weeds managed to sparsely decorate a few nooks here and there, but plant-life still hadn't made its way inside. Mostly it was dark and humid. Banner's glasses fogged up as they scouted the place for a hiding spot in case they had been seen by the helicopters.
Rusted machinery replaced furniture, and Natasha wished they had somewhere to sit. Just for a minute, at least. She kept moving.
"Natasha," Bruce whispered, "I think we should go upstairs." His voice echoed. He was probably right, but she worried about the presence of a ceiling on the second floor. Would they be visible?
They stepped carefully towards the stairs. They definitely looked like a safety hazard, but getting rushed by a unit of soldiers was also generally considered a safety hazard, so she took it.
The steps were wooden, and creaked as she climbed them. Natasha cringed, but kept going up. Bruce followed.
It was dark, and so quiet that she could hear his clothes scrape against the wall. Finally, they reached the top. Light filtered in through the windows, windows that were just square holes in the wall. Any glass that once existed there was gone.
"I think we should stay here for a bit. Until they pass us by."
Mercifully, there was a ceiling.
Bruce nodded and sat down by a wall that wasn't covered in graffiti, just under a window. She took one opposite of him. She faced the stairs.
It was a relief to finally sit down. She offered Bruce a weak smile. It wasn't the toughest mission she's been on, not by a long shot, but walking for miles and miles without very many breaks would test anyone's patience.
Also, the shoes she was wearing wouldn't have been her first choice. She really missed her tac suit.
"And now, the waiting again." Bruce's voice was low, ironic, and pleasant. There hadn't been much speaking for most of the way. She wasn't used to being with a… target? Well, for lack of a better word, Natasha wasn't used to being with a target for this long on a mission. Even when she was partnered with Clint, there were long expanses of comfortable silence as they focused on the mission. For the most part, they could cue each other without speaking.
Banner wasn't used to talking much period, but somehow the silence wasn't entirely uncomfortable either. Maybe target wasn't quite the right word. He'd turned out to be more of a partner in this whole ordeal. Or maybe a trainee.
"Y'know, if we manage to get out of this one Doc, I think you'll officially qualify for Spy School."
He chuckled softly. "Well, I-"
Bruce was interrupted by the sound of a loudspeaker. "Dr. Banner, this is Sergeant Arnold speaking, on behalf of the Army of the United States. I'm going to ask that you exit the building with your arms raised. You're under arrest by the directive of General Ross. You have five minutes."
Bruce's eyes met her, and she caught his panic. "It's okay, we'll figure this out, Bruce. Just like last time."
He shifted onto his knees and waited for her call. She didn't need to take his pulse to know his heart rate was elevated.
She took a moment to check her phone. One percent battery. She shot off a text to Fury before it shut down on her. She clenched her jaw and got up. She moved right by the side of a window and peeked out. The Sergeant was in the front with a squad of men. Surely they couldn't have just come with a team?
Natasha checked the window on the other side and said "Shit."
"What is it?" Bruce was on his feet.
There were three tanks stationed in the back of the building. She would bet that there were two more on either side. The helicopter circled overhead. Where'd they even get tanks?
"Jesus Christ." Bruce was getting antsy.
Natasha defaulted to a joke, but she knew that wouldn't do anything for him now. "Hey Bruce, listen to me. You're going to be okay, alright? I promised you. But we should evaluate our options."
Half of her job was evaluating options. Confronted with any situation, the amount of responses she could offer were limitless. If she didn't limit them fast enough, the price was death. Sometimes it felt like an eternity in her head, weighing every scenario, even if it only took a second.
This time it didn't feel like an eternity at all. The options had been limited for them.
He nodded, rubbed his hands together. Didn't trust himself to speak. She was close to him, kept contact with his forearm. "It might be prudent to surrender and recoup."
That wasn't an offer. It was the only viable choice.
Bruce shook his head, removed her hand and started pacing. "Agent Romanoff, I don't think you understand… that's not a good idea."
The fear in his eyes, the pain, the utter terror of what he expected gave her all the explanation she needed. Natasha understood. Maybe better than anyone.
But it was still the best option. "Bruce…"
"Please."
"I don't know if we have a choice."
She thought about it. That wasn't strictly true. There was one more, but…
Bruce caught her train of thought. "If I Hulk out you'll be a casualty, Agent. He doesn't care what side anybody's on."
She said nothing, watched him decide.
"If I surrender, you'll come get me?"
"If we surrender, Doc. I don't really trust anybody else at SHIELD to break us out competently. The only guy I would trust for that is currently playing bodyguard to a blue cube. So if you go in, I go in."
The loudspeaker crackled again. "Dr. Banner, we're sending in a unit of men to arrest you. Any hostile action will result in reciprocal treatment."
Guns loaded outside.
She tried for a smile. "We'll be out in no time, okay?"
Bruce nodded, his head bowed down.
Natasha heard the stairs creak and came to stand by Bruce. She went to take his hand, but it was shaking. She looked up to his eyes again and saw green, kept under iron-clad control. Bruce's entire being rebelled at the idea of surrendering. Frankly, she was afraid for him.
If he turned into the Hulk, he would be spared experimentation. If he turned into the Hulk... she would die.
There would be no way to convince him to let go. She'd come to know that much about him over the past few days. He'd keep the rage boiling under his skin until there wasn't any skin left if it meant sparing her life.
She had half a plan and it was stupid and risky and it would get her killed. Damn Banner and his stupid eyes. She'd have to trust him in order to trick him into saving his own ass.
And if it did work, maybe she'd survive the Hulk too. If the plan didn't work… at least she was in control.
A soldier appeared, gun pointed at them.
She pulled her gun out and shot at the wall next to him.
He fired back. His aim was perfect.
"Natasha!"
She was on the ground, her gun a few feet away. In front of her was Bruce, lying in a pool of blood on the floor. A bullet hole marked his chest.
"Bruce?" Her voice cracked. For a flicker of a moment, she was afraid that he was dead. Then the screams started. It was horrifying, and the soldier who shot Banner widened his eyes, started backing away. His unit kept their heads though, and began firing at the form that started twisting from what would have been Banner's corpse.
Natasha scurried away, made herself as small as possible by a corner, away from the gunfire.
The screaming settled into a growling. The ground shook with the weight of lumbering steps.
"Back away now! Get downstairs! Somebody give the order to fire!"
Hulk roared and she felt it in her bones, her heart accelerating to match. He leapt towards the soldiers. Their bullets didn't even pierce skin.
Hulk's hand broke through the concrete wall and he snatched a soldier that was about to escape, threw him against the opposite wall. Natasha heard the crack from where she was.
The others started screaming, and the one nearest Hulk was on the receiving end of a ferocious kick. He flew right out the window and onto a tank. He didn't live either.
Hulk roared at the idiots still firing at him and jumped up. The back of his neck dented the ceiling and the floor gave out under his weight when he landed. The surrounding section of the second level collapsed.
A moment of quiet stillness. Dust decorated the air, and even the particles held perfectly still.
Then he roared again. There was firing, but not from guns. The tanks had started their assault.
Natasha watched as the armored vehicles did their very best to fend him off, but their projectiles only hindered him. His skin was a forest green, covered in blood and debris, which would have made him an easy target if he wasn't moving so damn fast. He jumped around with vigorous agility, assaulting the vehicles. He grabbed one by the gun, and lifted it up. He threw it - oh shit.
Natasha dove for the other corner as the tank came flying towards her building. She didn't have too much room to move, given that Hulk had collapsed half the floor, but it'd have to be enough. The tank crashed through the wall she had just abandoned, and right out the other. The building shook and part of the roof on the other side of the room gave in.
She heard the tank explode as it landed right in front of the Sergeant, who was quickly preparing an evacuation. He fired up his vehicle and hauled ass back to Darshana. Hulk was too busy playing with the tanks to notice him, and she didn't care enough to fire at his fleeing form.
She took the time to collect herself, and she couldn't help the laugh that came out of her. It had worked.
She laughed until there were tears in her eyes. This was one story she couldn't wait to tell Clint and Laura. Banner would hate it. And speaking of Banner… she moved to the front of the building, where there was a tank-sized chunk of bricks missing. Hulk was down there, grunting and kicking at metal.
Her heart picked up as the Hulk felt her gaze. Maybe she laughed too soon. He roared at her, and Natasha flinched a little, her hand going to her hip, when she realized her gun was gone. Probably somewhere in the rubble downstairs.
The Hulk moved closer to the building, looking up at her. She crouched down, and put her hand up. She said the first thing that came to mind. "Hey big guy."
Her voice came out lower than she hoped, but she was still a little shaken. He heard her anyways. Hulk narrowed his eyes, took a step closer to the building, then grunted. He turned around and roared.
He looked back at her one more time before grunting again, and leaping off into the distance. Natasha watched him go, letting herself sink down to the floor. Her legs dangled on the edge of the second floor. Only then did she notice the pain on her left side. One of her ribs was broken. Maybe Banner pushed her away from the bullet a little more strongly than he had meant to.
She saw Hulk's silhouette flash once more as the last remnants of the sun's light withdrew. Then he was gone, at least a mile away.
"Yeah, sure, big guy. You can go. I'll just be here. Sun's getting real low anyways."
Natasha held her abdomen as she walked downstairs. She ignored the bodies, sidestepped the debris of torn-apart tanks.
The candles flickered in all of the ways that candles shouldn't flicker - just on the edge of being extinguished by a vengeful draft in her chambers, the light within a sharp contrast to the world outside. The moon hoisted itself up an inky Yuletide sky, brandishing light onto the courtyard of the castle, which itself was empty but for one or two couples chatting near the doors to the central hall. Music danced across the castle, but it had began to dwindle, sweeping inwards until there was no more music at all, just the silence of slumber. The feast had come to a successful finale. It was a feast marking the new year, which meant that she was fairly tipsy on wine. Red, of course, to suit the occasion.
Winter in Camelot was a wonderful affair most years. This year it was not. This year the snow struck firmly against the ground, obscuring what little was left of autumn's remains with no small measure of ferocity. Under the barrage of snow that had been going on for weeks, it was perfectly natural for her to feel an inclination to drink more than usual. If only to do away with the boredom.
A part of her she very much resented suggested that maybe she was drinking away the nerves over her looming meeting with Merlin and not boredom. She dismissed the notion entirely, she chose instead to look out her window into the nothingness below. The city was slipping into sleep, and only the glow of hearthfires suggested life. It didn't make for great sightseeing, but it was a tranquil enough image to make her think - which was something she wanted to avoid entirely. Again she turned, this time away from the window, just in time to hear knocking at the doors of her chamber. Her heart answered with four knocks of its own, and her mind was quick to interject: was this worth it? Maybe it'd be better to just kill him and be done with it. She contemplated feigning sleep. Perhaps this conversation wasn't worth having after all?
Morgana stomped her foot physically. What was she, some ditz? What would Morgause say about all of this? She was Morgana, daughter of Gorlois. She didn't hide in her chambers. She wanted the truth. She wanted justice. She deserved a proper explanation of just about everything. And what she did with the information after… well, whatever she did, Merlin asked for it.
Morgana finished her wine and left the chalice by the bed. She took her time on her way to the door. Any discomfort she could cause the manservant was discomfort well-earned.
She opened the oak barrier and he stumbled in a little bit. His ears were bright red and she couldn't tell if it was because he was embarrassed or because he, too, was a little inebriated. She was comforted by either of those two concepts. Even Merlin needed a drink to deal with nerves. But was it really surprising? And when had her idea of him shifted so very much? Before, she might have said that Merlin especially needed drinks to deal with nerves. She avoided him for weeks for a plethora of reasons, all valid (of course), but that one ranked high among them. She couldn't yet properly reconcile the three versions of Merlin she had in her head.
Was he a bumbling, clumsy manservant? Was he a betrayer and a murderer? Or was he a creature so singularly powerful as to be capable of taking apart, with his hands, a conduit of magic forged by a deity?
She left the door open and moved back to her chalice, refilling it and taking a swig at it in quick succession. If anybody were to ask her, wine was without a doubt the greatest innovation in history.
Merlin closed the door behind him softly and offered a "Hello, Morgana."
She wanted to shove him out the window. "Merlin."
He glanced at the chalice in her hand with a good measure of longing and she smirked into her drink as she took it to her lips. For all that she was confused and angry, she was desperate for small victories. They were just about all she had. "Finally come about enough courage to explain yourself?"
That was unfair, and Morgana was well aware. She had been the one to avoid the meeting, but he wouldn't call her out on it.
He raised an eyebrow, but that was all. Merlin took retribution by walking around her chambers with more confidence than he had the right to. Any lingering sense of clumsiness from him was quickly dispelled. His face and his body were a study in contrasts - suspended between the face of a sorcerer, sharp eyes singularly focused on her, and the lean anticipatory stance of a servant, hands behind his back clasping each other, feet shoulder-width apart. Morgana wished very much that he would stick to one. Still, her remark got him into a liminal place. He had come as a servant. Or maybe it was actually just Merlin? Now she had to choose. Who did she want to talk to tonight? The Sorcerer or the Servant? Who had the answers she sought?
She decided on pawning off the decision to Merlin. "So, would you like to start off by talking about the time you killed me? Or maybe just everything that led up to that?"
There was much more bite in her comment than he had probably deserved, but if Merlin was of three natures then she was of four. Just because she refused to be out-classed. The weeks since Merlin's confession had done very little in the way of softening the blow, let alone placating her. Her outrage festered faster than her peace with the past. But Morgana was seeking resolution and she was willing, perhaps foolishly, to give Merlin the benefit of the doubt.
He ignored her comment, and she was mildly infuriated that he, he, wanted to take the high road. "Well, I believe I've told you a fair bit about the circumstances that led up to my arrival here in Camelot."
He took a seat at her table.
Morgana nodded and followed. She remembered. She replayed it in her head nightly. The scene had even come to dominate her dreams, despite Morgause's dream bracelet.
"So, a dragon told you that you were meant for great things. That explains your self-righteousness, but it doesn't do much to explain how you became Arthur's manservant."
He took the reigns, and settled back into being just Merlin. "Well I guess I should have known I was going to pay for calling him a prat, that first day. Yet here we are.
"It was really simple, actually. That poor woman, the witch, she wanted to kill Arthur. Naturally, I couldn't let that happen. Even though Arthur really was a prat. I saved his life, and what was my prize? Servitude. On the bright side…"
Merlin took a moment. "Actually, you know what? Not much of a bright side. Arthur doesn't even really pay me well. I suppose meeting Gwen was a good thing, but honestly, I had met her before I was Arthur's manservant, so I don't really think that counts?"
Morgana snorted. Surely the result of wine. Merlin raised an eyebrow at that, which she felt was a facial gesture likely acquired from being around Gaius too long. But the way he rambled? That was certainly one hundred percent Merlin.
"It's interesting that you complain about Arthur so much and yet you're so quick to defend him. Even at the cost of others."
Merlin's countenance withdrew upon itself a little at that, and Morgana found herself to mildly regret her remark. All things considered, this was the most pleasant they've been to one another in months. But she had to push him in the direction she wanted — the truth. Unfiltered, unadulterated. Admittedly she wanted this conversation to sting a little. If not her, then at least him. It'd feel almost unsubstantial if it didn't. And this, this was anything but unsubstantial.
"I complain about him because he needs to hear it. I defend him because he's my friend, Morgana. I don't see the need for any more reason than that."
She reached for some more wine and offered him the pitcher. His eyes glowed and the pitcher floated away from her hands and towards him. It poured its contents into his chalice.
The showmanship of magic was bold and offensive and utterly enchanting. Never before had Morgana seen magic used in such a frivolous, simple way. There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke.
"Did you have friends," she asked, "before coming to Camelot?"
"I had Will," Merlin said, "but aside from that I can't bring to mind many more than that."
"Will?" Morgana furrowed her brows. "Was he the sorcerer who saved us at your village? The one that…"
"The one that died?" His voice was even.
"Yes."
He pulled at his drink. "Well technically, I was the sorcerer who saved Ealdor. He was just a great friend."
"He took the blame for your magic as he died."
"Like I said, Morgana. He was a great friend. And I guess in some regards there is more power in that sort of friendship than there ever was in any magic. I should know, I've had magic all my life."
His implication was delightfully hypocritical. She made sure he knew. "Is there? Magic doesn't betray. It doesn't poison."
"But magic doesn't sacrifice itself for your sake either, Morgana. It doesn't pretend to be a servant to protect you. It doesn't scrub floors or clean stables."
"Well, clearly it's never done so for me, no. I wonder what makes me so undeserving."
Merlin said nothing, and she became impatient with the quiet.
Morgana scoffed. "All of that power, and look at you… You kneel before mortal princes."
"Yes, Morgana. I do. I've called forth lightning from the sky. I've commanded dragons. I've wielded a blade forged in a dragon's breath." He smiled. "And never in my life have I felt more powerful than I do when I stand by the side of a good man."
She narrowed her eyes. "You get awfully philosophical when you're drunk. Would you like to open a window next time you have a monologue to deliver? It'd complete the image."
"And give you the opportunity to push me out of it? I don't think so."
Morgana wondered, briefly, if he had overheard her thought about doing just that earlier.
"You think Arthur is a good man?"
"Don't you?"
She paused. "He will never allow magic in Camelot. It doesn't matter what he is."
"Sometimes achieving the greater good isn't worth sacrificing good people."
"Aren't we sacrificing enough good people as it is, Merlin? Every time Uther hears anything to do with magic he goes on a killing spree. Innocent people damned for something so beautiful."
Merlin groaned in exasperation. "Do you think I just twiddle my thumbs all day Morgana? I spend all of my time here helping sorcerers escape the dungeons. Or, at least the ones who aren't, you know, trying to kill Arthur. Or the king. Or me. Which is a surprising minority of the sorcerers who come to Camelot."
Morgana swirled her chalice and leaned forward, tilting her head. Her hair brushed against the wooden grain of the table. "Tell me about that."
Merlin sighed. "Which one? The stories are plenty but the hours of tonight are very much not. You may not have a job Morgana, but I do. And waking up Arthur when he has a hangover is a feat worthy of its own feast so…"
"How many people have tried to kill Uther? Or Arthur?"
"A sizeable and diverse amount of people. From peasants to high priestesses. Even you gave it a go once."
Morgana's eyes sharpened onto him. "How did you know?"
Merlin shrugged. "I watched you choose against killing him. It was sweet, really. Not murdering him was awfully considerate."
Morgana parted her lips but nothing came out. A moment passed. "You didn't stop me?"
"I let you stop yourself."
"Did you know that I would… that I wouldn't kill him then?"
"Well, no. Yes. Actually, I had no idea. But I had faith."
"You're a fool, Merlin. And so am I. For not killing Uther then."
"Yes, we're both idiots. Will that be all for tonight?"
Merlin moved to the window she had stationed herself at earlier. He watched the night march on as flitting little snowflakes danced the distance from the sky to the ground. He made no move to leave.
Morgana stood up herself and neared the window as well, unsure if the burning she felt within was ire or wine. "I'm not the only one here with things to be ashamed of Merlin."
Merlin turned to her. "I never said you were."
"Well then why do you look at me like I'm some unfortunate black sheep?"
Her voice was low and thick with frustration. Merlin kept his eyes on hers, listening carefully.
A sigh. "Despite your conviction otherwise, not everything is about you, Morgana."
She scoffed immediately. "Oh that's just rich coming from you, isn't it Merlin?"
"I don't ask for these things to happen to me Morgana!"
"And that's your problem isn't it?" She sized him up. "You lack initiative."
He glared. "And you lack perspective."
More wine. "Then give me perspective, oh mighty sorcerer."
Merlin was ready to bite back, but then "Did you call me 'oh mighty sorcerer'?"
Morgana blinked. "I… yes?"
Merlin covered his mouth, eyes twinkling.
"That's not funny Merlin, it's insulting."
His shoulder shook with laughter and a giggle broke free. Morgana was flustered and utterly bewildered as he began to laugh.
"Oh, that's hilarious. If only Arthur could hear this."
Slowly his laughter made her giggle involuntarily. "Merlin the Almighty Sorcerer. Who would have thought?"
He laughed harder until there were small tears collecting at his eyes. He wiped them away and they settled into silence.
It was a strange encounter, really. But it was a strange night, too. That the weather should be terrible on a great evening, that enemies laugh together, these are the sort of odd occurrences that make the world so genuine.
But were they really enemies? Merlin toyed with his chalice as the silence marched on with soft steps.
"I didn't want this destiny, not at first."
Morgana's eyes settled on him.
"I told the dragon that Arthur couldn't possibly be the right king. He said 'Arthur will be the greatest king to ever live.' I thought the dragon was crazy. I didn't really believe until I drank the poison. Arthur risked his life to save me."
She didn't respond.
"And even after that I still doubted. At least a little. But he always proved himself when I wasn't expecting him to. I never really had a lot of friends, growing up. It was just Will, really. So if Arthur isn't the Once and Future King? I'd at least have made a good friend. But I think he is the king." He stopped briefly, then said. "Do you remember when he helped us smuggle out Mordred?"
Morgana nodded. Her green eyes were focused. "Why did you help me?"
"Like I said, Morgana. I don't twiddle my thumbs all day. My goal is to make sure Uther can't cause any damage to anyone who doesn't deserve it."
She contemplated it for a time. "And you? Who's going to stop you from doing damage to people who don't deserve it?"
It was a sharp remark, but tonight wasn't about making any sort of amends. Tonight was about discovering how deep the wound between them goes.
Merlin bit the inside of his cheek, and then grinned. "Gaius constantly tells me off if I don't do things the right way, so I suppose he would be a significant safeguard against me dropping the ball."
Damn him, it was back to this.
"You care for the old man a great deal."
He raised an eyebrow. Like Gaius.
She was careful with her words. "Back in Ealdor, you introduced us to your mother but… we never got to meet your father."
Merlin took a big swig of wine at that, and Morgana was briefly concerned that soon they'd run out of the fuel of the conversation.
He maintained his disposition. "To be fair, at that point, neither had I."
"At that point?"
"I had the opportunity to meet him later on. Briefly."
"Briefly?"
His smile was rueful. "Complicated."
"Tell me about it."
He raised an eyebrow, tapped his fingers on the wood of the table. "Any particular reason you want to know?"
She put a hand under her chin, and watched him. "Complicated."
He shook his head. "When I released the dragon, there was only one person who could command him to cease his war against Camelot, a dragonlord. The last one. Take a lucky guess who it was."
"Oh."
"The power is passed down generation to generation. My father died in my arms. He took a blade meant for me."
She surprised herself and moved her hand to his before thinking better of it. She settled for "I'm sorry."
"What for? You were off with your sister by the time that happened. Not your fault." He swirled his chalice. No more wine.
"Regardless, I got the man who did it. Not that it made me feel any better."
Morgana knit her brows. "Did you…"
"Yes."
"Oh."
He nodded, and silence followed.
Morgana cleared her throat to speak but whatever she meant to say came out in a whisper. "How many?"
"Enough for me to understand that I am not a good man, Morgana."
She wasn't sure what to say about that. As much as she had dreamed of putting an end to Uther, she had never had to actually kill or even hurt anyone. The idea that Merlin had… it was unsettling. But she should know, shouldn't she? She was one of his victims, in a way.
His face was blank, but his eyes were clouded with regret. Or pain.
"Is that why you… you believe in Arthur so much? Because he's a good man and you're-"
"A monster?"
"That isn't what I was going to say."
He chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, wasn't it?"
Merlin was withdrawing fast. She wished desperately that she hadn't pushed him into exploring his own morality, but she was getting close. To what, she wasn't sure. To something. Too bad she couldn't conjure up anything to say.
"I don't think you're a bad person Merlin."
He flicked his gaze over to her, and he maintained it.
She continued. "I just think…" Morgana offered a weak smirk. It was more of a bashful smile. "I think you're just a little misled. A bit dramatic. Certainly self-righteous."
He snorted, and she wondered at whatever spell she cast to lift the mood.
"You forgot to add charming, handsome, and utterly enchanting to that list."
Morgana scoffed. "And arrogant."
"An argument could be made for the word confidence being more suitable."
Morgana watched him as his gaze began to roam the room. "I'm sorry for pushing you about all of that, Merlin. It wasn't… right."
He shrugged. "I think we've both done a fair share of that."
She nodded, and looked out the window.
Merlin observed, "It's dark."
She couldn't quite bite back the remark. "Very astute of you Merlin."
He grinned. "I know. I just can't help being clever. But that said, I should be going now. It's getting late."
She smiled. "What's the rush? Got a peasant girl waiting for you?"
Merlin laughed heavily. "I wish I had the time. But I'm always so busy stopping you from your scheming that I haven't been able to do any romancing."
This question was one posed out of sheer curiosity. It would hardly harm anyone. "Have you ever had a girlfriend, Merlin?"
"Uh… no? Well, definitely not at the village. And here in Camelot, I've been too busy for that. I suppose I had a small crush on Gwen at some point. But… I mean…" He swallowed and offered a name, but he spoke it so quietly that she couldn't hear it.
"So there was someone?"
He nodded and cleared his throat. "Her name was Freya."
Was? Morgana's heart dropped. Had she just stepped on another landmine in this conversation? Again?
"She died." He explained. "I was in love with her, but it was all so fast that I wouldn't call her a girlfriend."
Morgana shouldn't have felt as bad for Merlin as she did. He poisoned me she said in her mind, like a mantra. It brought up no emotion. She couldn't bring herself to hate him for that anymore.
Merlin continued, answering her questions before she asked them. "She was cursed to turn into a beast at night by a sorceress. I freed her, and we were going to run away together. I was going to leave my destiny behind for her."
He smiled a little. "Actually, I even stole one of your dresses for her. Arthur caught me with it and thought I was going to uh… wear it myself."
Morgana covered her mouth. "And I missed that?"
Merlin chuckled. "You missed quite a bit, actually."
"Why didn't you leave with her, Merlin?"
"I tried. I was ready, but that night she turned into the beast, and Arthur and the Knights took her down."
Morgana's heart dropped.
"It's not their fault. They didn't know. I wasn't fast enough, I didn't know enough magic to prevent it at the time."
"I'm sorry I brought that up Merlin, I didn't mean to-"
He shook his head and gave her a closed-lip smile. "It brings me no more pain, Morgana. Whenever I think of her, I just remember the good parts."
"What did she look like?"
"She was beautiful." He meant to get up, and gave it a second thought. "She looked… like this."
Merlin waved his hand in the space between them, and the sparks flew from the candle on their table, shaping themselves into the image of… Freya. The air shimmered with magic, hummed with hints of longing and peace. The sparks faded. There was nothing between her and Merlin now.
"That was beautiful."
"I'm sure you've seen more impressive things by now, Morgana."
Morgana was exhilarated by the magic show. Even still. Her sister had never done anything like that. Morgana only knew combat magic.
She shook her head. "Not things like that."
Merlin watched her face for a moment or two, which gave her time to realize that they were fairly closer than she had thought.
"I can… teach you? Only if you want, that is. And only if you promise not to kill me with it."
Morgana smirked. "You owe it to me anyways. We're going to have to work on that last condition a little. I can't quite promise anything so far as that's concerned."
He got out of his seat. "Good enough for me. I'm going to go now. I have to wake up the princess early tomorrow, so…"
"Good night Merlin," she said.
He turned to her at the door. "Good night Morgana."
And he was gone.
Morgana stayed at the table for some time, thinking. Merlin was… something else. But she understood now, to a degree, even if it was only a little, exactly who Merlin was. That would be enough.
An essay on why "Harry Potter" will become one of the classics.
Hey all, sorry I haven’t worked on any pieces lately. I’m working my way through the second chapter of “Another Way” and then I’m going to outline the remainder of Complications of Calcutta.
In the meantime, however, I decided to write this article on Medium! It’s about the relationship between Fanfiction and the Future of Harry Potter.
The Mythbusters tested what would happen if a ball was shot at 60 mph off the back of a truck travelling at 60 mph to see what would happen.
It became a perfect example of the relative nature of physics - showing that velocity can vectorially add together. 60 mph in one direction cancels the 60 mph in the other, meaning a net velocity of zero.
Just to add, before the Mythbusters did this it was purely a thought experiment and had never been empirically tested at that point. So you are seeing in those two gifs the first actually test of that hypothesis since it had been proposed back in Newtons time.
Natasha's been sent to collect or protect the good Doctor a little earlier than intended, whichever comes first. With her luck, it's no surprise that it's the latter.
To evade capture and get him to SHIELD, Bruce and Natasha go on the run as the US Military pursues them and the threat of the Hulk looms like a shadow. All things considered, though, Natasha doesn't mind too much. The Doc is pleasant company - when he's around, that is.
Chapter 2: Bruce and the Black Widow
Head, shoulders, knees, toes
Look alive, it's time to go.
Ross' plan was terrible. Actually, she was certain it was half-baked at best. Maybe his soldiers did have a plan, but if they did, it was quickly abandoned in the face of SHIELD. She wasn't sure what exactly Ross hoped to accomplish with an ambush on Banner. Did he hope to sedate him before he transformed? Or was the objective to set him off, make the world see the monster?
Whatever his intentions, he clearly wasn't expecting SHIELD. His men weren't either, and thus a skirmish came to fruition. She knew her field soldiers wouldn't have too much trouble with the military men, but from the sound of it, they were quite outnumbered. It seemed that Ross chose to make up for firepower with manpower.
A few of Ross' boys, the more foolish or brave ones leaked into the shack. Black Widow fully intended to make the foolish ones wise up and the brave ones a little more afraid. The first one was quick to fire at her with a rifle, hoping that his bullets would catch her by surprise. They didn't.
She kept an eye on Banner from her peripheral. He seemed to have a handle on himself, but he was clearly not overly fond of the situation. As she launched herself at the idiot with the AR-15, she wondered if this even ranked in the doctor's top ten worst days ever. From what she read in his file, though, it probably didn't break top five. She'd ask later.
She kicked up the nozzle of the first guy's gun. Bullets pounded at and through the ceiling, splintered wood and dust raining on them. She jabbed at his jugular and hooked a hand around his neck, bringing his head quickly down to her knee. He resisted, but it wasn't enough. She felt his nose crack and his body droop. Spotting a second and third man filtering into the room, she used her victim's body as a launching pad and kicked out at the other two.
Her momentum propelled her foot into the jaw of the one on her right and she felt the hit connect with a grim satisfaction. He spun from the impact. His body obstructed his pal from lifting up a weapon and she took his hesitation as an opportunity to make sure he couldn't do much harm either. She fired her fifth shot that day, bullet landing right where she wanted it: his shoulder. It was non-fatal, but she wasn't aiming to kill. Ross had already done enough damage to SHIELD and US Army relations, Natasha didn't want to give him more reasons to stray from their grasp.
She felt the gunfire outside quiet slightly, and she knew that her boys were commencing a retreat. The plan, if there was a Hulk-out, was for them to return to the carrier jet. The unspoken assumption was that she likely wouldn't live through a Hulk incident, or that if she did, that she would find her way to a safe house and send for pickup. Yet here she was. Natasha was grateful they had the presence of mind to retreat in the face of their unexpected assailants.
All things considered, an attack by the US Army was probably one of the better outcomes.
She walked over to Bruce and offered him a hand up. He took it. It was as much an act of chivalry as strategy; she wanted to know his pulse, and she got it. She felt his heart thrum steadily where her index finger met the inside of his wrist. She checked his eyes, no green. Just brown.
He smiled toothy and grim. There was a secret there, like he knew something she didn't. He didn't comment, except to say "I'm good."
He called her on her bluff, again, but she wasn't terribly bothered by it. There were other things at stake that were more pressing than her pride alone. Natasha elected to deal with getting caught red-handed by ignoring it entirely, blowing right on through with the conversation. "Doc, listen to me. They're probably still out there. If I tell you to duck, you duck. I tell you to run, you run. I'll find you. Got it?"
Banner nods, watching her steadily. "Clearly," he waves his hand in the direction of the bodies on the ground, some of them writhing still writhing in pain, "you know what you're doing."
She smirks and motions her head over in the direction of the room the girl she hired escaped through earlier. She decided that the best place to escape from was through there. There was certainly going to be fighting in the front, but she had no doubt some of Ross' men took the opportunity to circle around back. The smart ones at least. She doubted there were many.
Gun steady on her right hand, she put her ear to the wall and listened. The wood of the shack was not awfully thick, so it wasn't too much trouble to hear the clamoring of weapons and whispered instructions. She stood away from the wall, and put her gun right to where her ear was before. She fired, and was rewarded with a yelp of pain as the bullet hit one of the men. She tossed herself through the window, landing on the other side with her shoes digging into the dirt beneath her.
She didn't dedicate any time at all to looking at her surroundings. Not that she needed to, but she was particularly pressed for time. There were three men by where she landed. The one she injured was clutching at his thigh, and the other two were far too surprised to do much as she started an attack. This was time sensitive, Ross would have known about SHIELD's presence and either doubled down with reinforcements or pulled out altogether. Given that she was still kicking some of his soldier's asses, he had chosen to double down.
She would too.
With two down, she had one more left. She was going to take the opportunity to restore her energies a little, but she heard grunting from the inside, and fists hitting flesh. She didn't waste any time on her last victim, sending him into a long nap by butting her gun against his temple.
She peered in through the window to assess the situation. No green guy yet. Banner was exchanging blows with a soldier, and a gun was lying in the corner. Which means that he had knocked it out of the man's hands. She raised an eyebrow when he delivered a heavy punch, knocking his opponent back a little. His eyes flickered over to her and she noted they were green. She shot the soldier who sneaked in through the front and motioned for the doctor to climb out the window. He was breathing heavily. Clawing for the humid air of the night to come into his lungs. It was dark outside.
"Didn't know you had it in you, Doc."
He grunted in amusement as he sucked in air, hands on his knees. It was unruly breathing at first, as he sought to settle himself, but his breathing gave into a pattern quickly enough. Soon, he was calm enough to nod his assent on moving forward. It was about time, too. She grabbed his left arm and moved cautiously through the back of the shed, keeping Banner's body slightly behind hers. She was pleased when he ducked a little, to match her height. At least he had some semblance of self-preservation. Or maybe it was everyone-else-preservation. Whatever it was, she was glad. It made her mission somewhat easier.
The field was empty and quiet, except for the sound of about two tanks heading in their direction. No doubt the local law enforcement had gotten word of the debacle. Natasha wouldn't have been at all surprised if Ross had worked some deal with the local army to help his persecution.
They needed to get out of here. She looked out to the sky and spotted the carrier jet taking off. They were alone.
Banner tracked her eye line and sighed, spotting their ride. He took her brief moment of hesitation to mean that she wasn't sure what to do now, and he tapped her shoulder, walking forward. "Follow me. I know where to hide."
It was only somewhat presumptuous, and she might've been offended if she actually was sure what to do. She knew where they had to get to, but was planning on winging it in order to avoid the soldiers. Natasha made back-up plans for her back-up plans, but most of those revolved around a Hulk-incident for this mission. The army showing up never really figured into her calculations. She really was hoping to wing it.
Still, she chastised him. "Who's protecting who here?"
There was no delay in his response. "Do you frequent Calcutta often, Agent?"
Fair point. Moot, given that she had memorized the satellite imagery of the immediate area, but fair nonetheless.
She was going to offer a response of her own, but they heard the sound of helicopters approaching. "We have to move Banner" was what she said instead. Clearly local enforcement was ready for a Hulk incident. She had been too, but today was full of surprises for everyone.
He began walking and she followed, hiding her firearm. She had to get creative, given her current apparel, but Natasha wasn't anything if not innovative.
Bruce glanced back every now and then, but he was surprisingly discreet about checking for his hunters. As they moved into the city, she relaxed, but only infinitesimally. Crowds were always a good thing to be in for someone with a job like her. Bruce navigated them like a pro.
It was quite an interesting thing to behold, how he shifted ever so slightly into the delicate state of being totally invisible. Bruce kept his shoulder set, but not too high and not too rigid. His posture was rooted in a pliable place. He could look confident to the people who were looking to impose on the malleable. He could look meek to the people who needed the assurance that they were stronger than everyone else. And all of this accomplished with the bearing of his body and the dispositions of his mind.
It was effective because it was true of him in either case, he just had to choose which personal truth to admit to depending on the circumstance. She could appreciate that. Understand it. It was a language she spoke fluently. She was intrigued that he had stumbled upon the grammar of it by sheer necessity. The tongue of fluidity was hard to spot and harder to learn in a world rooted in foolishly firm dialects of being.
But as good as he was, Bruce slipped up. A Sargent from the local forces was scanning the crowds of the bustling street market they had just entered. It was firmly nighttime already, but the city was alive and well. Bruce stopped firmly in his tracks when he saw the official, and he looked to her. She tugged on his hand and guided him towards a stall with bolts of clothing. The very one she had stopped at earlier, in fact.
"Pretend like you're browsing." She instructed. He did. Natasha took the opportunity to sweep the market.
Military personnel were filling in the cracks between pedestrians. A trap for Banner, which indicated they knew he was on the run. People became uneasy, a frantic quiet swooping in. No guns were being wielded, but nobody was particularly happy to have their evening interrupted.
She spotted Bruce inspecting a red silk. He was in a corner by the back exit. She made to move closer to him when a soldier stepped into the perimeter of the shop, browsing for anything suspicious, or maybe some fabrics for himself. Whatever it was, he found it. Near Bruce.
He glanced over at her briefly, eyes flecked with the colors of fear. She had to act soon or he would bolt. That wouldn't be particularly good.
Natasha chose an old trick. Notching her vocal range up a few levels and orienting it towards a Californian inclination she squeaked in surprised glee, loudly. "Ben! Is that you?"
Both the soldier and Bruce were startled enough to look her way, but Bruce was careful to keep his back to the soldier. She moved towards him with quick steps, arms open for an embrace. "What on Earth are you doing here?"
She didn't give "Ben" any time to do anything other than accept her embrace. Bruce's height was a tactical advantage here, and she made sure that her hair would cover his face from the soldier's line of sight as he bent down to wrap his arms around her. The man looked as uncomfortable as Bruce probably felt. The Doc's hands hovered on her skin, not really committing to touching her.
She was partially amused, partially annoyed. All that brain power and it's gone in an instant with a hug. "Act like you're happy to see me."
She felt Bruce nod a little and she let go, shifting back into her persona. She'd let Bruce name her. As much as this situation was dangerous, she was curious what he'd come up with. And besides, she needed to think of exit strategies. That meant she didn't have time to deliberate on things like names.
"Nora!" He smiled brightly, but his eyes were tense. "I didn't know you'd be around here." He didn't do much to his voice, but his posture changed, and the rhythm of his speech. Nora was an interesting name. She had expected him to go for something more generic, but she was pleasantly surprised. Natasha expected that this would perhaps become a common trend with the scientist.
There was an alley behind this building that could lead them out to another crowded street. That might give Bruce the flexibility to get to his safe place. The soldier was looking away now, deciding that both of them were harmless, and more importantly, not Bruce Banner. It was common knowledge that Banner traveled alone. Well, common knowledge was a bit of a stretch. The Military knew, at any rate.
"Well, all my friends have come to India for vacation so I figured I'd do the same, y'know? Gotta love the culture!" She was being obnoxious, but Ben-Bruce nodded enthusiastically.
"Great food, too!" That was an offer at an exit, whether he knew it or not, and she took it happily.
"Absolutely. I just got to this city though, so maybe you can show me somewhere good to eat?"
He nodded again, and motioned for the door when she stopped him with a squeak. "Wait! Nikky's never gonna believe this. I have to send a picture."
She angled him so that she could get the US soldiers in the background of the photo as she wrapped an arm around his waist and snapped a photo with a "smile!"
She got a reply within five seconds of sending it. "Dhaka" was Nick Fury's response to her selfie with the Hulk in front of a group of soldiers. Incredible. "Ready to go?"
"After you" he said, sweeping his hand towards the more discreet side-door. She took that to be Ben-Bruce speak for Get me the hell out of here.
They chattered aimlessly as they left and they didn't stop until they were just outside of the building. She motioned for Bruce to pause and listened to the soldier inside give the all clear for Banner. Once he did, they began walking in the opposite direction, to another busy street. She wasn't speaking, but her bearing was her own once more, and so was Bruce's. Natasha walked near him nonetheless, swiping a cap from a vendor and pulling it onto Bruce's head. She set the pace, making sure they were moving at a respectably calm speed. Leisurely, like the tourists they were supposed to be. She felt Bruce's arm tense whenever she bumped into him, but other than that he focused on getting to his destination, though he was clearly fighting the urge to run away. He probably knew that most certainly wouldn't work.
Although a small part of her wished he did. She wished he'd go away to another foreign country, manage to escape their reach and find a little bit of peace. But that wasn't the mission, and for their purposes it wouldn't be ideal at all. "You didn't do too bad, Ben."
He smirked a little. "Ben, huh?"
"Better than Nora."
"Nora's unique."
They turned a corner. "It's not terrible."
Bruce didn't comment as they made their way up the stairs to the green house he was in earlier, where she had sent the girl to collect him. Not going back to his own place was very likely a good call.
He knocked on the door and began a sheepish explanation of his situation in the local dialect. It was heavily redacted from what she could understand, but whether because of language barriers or a desire to continue pretending to be a somewhat regular civilians, she couldn't tell. The woman smiled happily and cut him off before he could finish stammering through an apology, waving them in.
"She had offered dinner before but..." Bruce scratched at the back of his head as he put down his bag in a corner of the room.
Natasha decided that she was going to mess with him. It's what he deserves for the stunt he pulled in the shack. "Isn't she a little too old to take you out for dinner? Not that I'm judging of course, but..."
Bruce blushed furiously, but fired back even as his face reddened slightly. "Looks like Nora isn't the only one who wanted me to take her to dinner, Agent Romanoff."
She chuckled at that. They would definitely be getting along.
The older woman offered them a room, but it was a humble home, and both she and Bruce rejected the notion outright. They'd sleep on the floor. Besides, they'd be on the move come morning anyways. There wasn't too much time for sleep. Natasha had gone days without it, and has slept in more uncomfortable situations. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that the same applied to Bruce.
Bruce had to kindly decline dinner three times before the woman assented to not cooking them dinner. She had wanted to re-heat some food for them, but it was clear she had already put away her pots and pans, cleaned the plates. He didn't want to make her stay up any later than she usually would.
The lady set out some sheets and pillows for them, determined to make the floor as much of a comfortable experience as possible as a sort of recompense for not cooking for them, and she didn't leave until she was certain that neither of them would be overly uncomfortable. They thanked her, and they were engulfed by darkness when she turned off the lights on her way to her own bed with her now-healed husband, who slept through the whole situation.
"Y'know," Natasha said, "I really could have used some dinner after all."
Bruce scoffed from where he was, a few feet away from her, where he could watch both her and the door. He was wary, but he trusted her enough for this. Whatever this was. She doubted he would sleep, and frankly neither would she. But plunging anyone in the darkness with her was a veritable danger, and he had enough trust in her to sit tight. Not run away. To join her, even. She could work with that. She appreciated that.
She decided that Dr. Banner best responded to earnestness, honesty. He expected none of that from her, and she set out to get revenge for all the times he threw her off a little by throwing him off too. "Thanks for coming along, Doc."
A pause. It was deliberating. She could sense his tension from where she was. She could read him better in the quiet dark. Like his thoughts were tumbling out of his head and right onto her lap. He recognized she was being genuine, but wasn't sure for what.
"Me, or the Other Guy?" His voice was darker than the room, but gentle in a peculiar way. As if he knew the answer but wanted her to voice it. She was a little annoyed that he had deflected her, but all things considered, he really was in a position to do so. She was an agent, after all.
"Well, I don't know if that blanket would have fit the Other Guy, to be completely honest. And finding a disguise might've been a bit of trouble, but I'm sure I would've come up with something."
There was another pause now, but the weight of it was different. He was deciding on something.
A soft chuckle, the sort that came from the chest. "Good night, Agent Romanoff."
"Natasha" she said, as quietly as he said good night.
She could see the vague outline of his head giving a nod in the dark. "Good night, Natasha."
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