A/N—I don't own this. Michael Scott does.

Okay, first of all, I really want to apologize for my long absence. My Flamel muse abandoned me, and I missed her a lot. I'm glad she's back. Hopefully a few others are too. Secondly, I want to thank everyone for being patient with me. Thirdly, I want to say: on with the story!

Summary: Contains SPOILERS for The Sorceress, by Michael Scott. Gabriel knew that Shakespeare never meant to leave.

Never Meant to Go

Gabriel knew.

His master never meant to go.

He could sense it in Shakespeare's body language: the stiff pose of his slight form as he faced the Saracen Knight—the sparkle in his pale eyes—the way the Bard's heels dug into the ground as if bracing himself for a fight. He could smell it on the air: the emotion high—taut—burning with the defiance that radiated from Shakespeare—the concern and frustration that emanated from Palamedes—

The Saracen Knight knew as well—Gabriel felt it, the large knight's worry palpable—a bitter turmoil that made his Gabriel's inner hackles rise—made the twins shift from foot to foot—made Flamel avert his eyes, unable to let the knight see the impatience burning there—

Shakespeare never meant to go.

Even as Palamedes pushed him towards the opening beneath the hut, still giving orders—as Will waved farewell to the twins and then vanished—as the knight asked for Gabriel to protect Shakespeare—as Palamedes walked towards the car—as Gabriel joined the impatient Will—

Gabriel's master never meant to go.

While they stood by the Henge, the hours ticking away—Shakespeare's lemon aura glimmering slightly as he recharged—never a word between them—the sun rose—they hid—

Will never meant to go.

Sundown—Will led the way back to Stonehenge—Gabriel could see the dare, the taunt almost, in his eyes as he looked back—Make me leave, then—make me—you'll have to drag me—make me, make me, make me—and Gabriel knew that argument was useless.

Gabriel had always know that Shakespeare had never, never, meant to go.