Two sides of One coin.

Summary: Bartimaeus had never liked Gladstone, having fought on opposite sides in a war. But just this once, he was a mite grateful. Alt-ending for my Nat-mourning soul.

So, I bought the Amulet & the Ring books in the trilogy (quartet?) just some weeks ago, which prompted my re-reading of the entire series. It had been twelve years since I last picked up those books, so the ending came as a surprise despite my earlier experience with it. I spent all last night mourning the loss of Natty, so… without further ado, I soothe my wounded soul with a slice of fanfiction.

There are a few things that Jonathan confirmed to the fans:

1. Bartimaeus does assume Nathaniel's form in the future.
2. Bartimaeus' last words to Nathaniel was that he'd grown to love him.
3. Both Nathaniel and Bartimaeus loved and cherished each other as friends.

So, with that, I spin my little tale.

One-Shot

The Other Place never really offered much in terms of entertainment, but it's solitary enough that Bartimaeus can mourn in peace. Home was still that ceaseless swirl of light, energy and endless colors. The continual movement of power, shapes and textures was constant and soothing. In his aimless floating in that shapeless eternity, he could wallow comfortably in misery.

Many, many years ago, Ptolemy had offered him a gift of a similar nature. In the midst of fighting against assassins, his greatest friend had snapped a dismissal and died all alone. Leaving Ptolemy behind had been a blow to Bartimaeus; being forced to live with survivor's guilt had weighed on him heavily even while he healed for two thousand years in the Other Place. Now, Nathaniel had gone and followed his example. They were supposed to have died together in a blaze of glory! If not dead by the flash of the Staff's impressive power, then crushed under the weight of iron in the Glass Palace. Bartimaeus, for the second time in his life, had been willing to face an enemy head-on. He had been willing to put his life on the line and risk the eternal embrace of death he'd avoided for nearly five thousand years. Nathaniel, following Ptolemy's not so stellar example, had robbed him of this. That young, fledgling, sniveling, silly, workaholic, stupid stupid stupid magician had dismissed him at the height of battle.

Their oneness had allowed Bartimaeus a glimpse into the tender mind of his old master, just as it had allowed Nathaniel to see into his essence with clarity. Bartimaeus had, at least, been given the right to a last word. Unlike with Ptolemy, who had never known the depth of Bartimaeus' devotion (but had probably guessed with accuracy), Nathaniel had known. The boy had colored at the last second, being told for the first time in his life that he was loved. That blossoming feeling of delight a split second before his dismissal told Bartimaeus how surprised and pleased Nathaniel had been.

And with no small amount of wonder, Bartimaeus had felt the echo of his own mind in Nathaniel's. In his short life, Nathaniel had loved precious few. It was an honor, Bartimaeus decided, to rank among them. Typical master, that one… but so very unlike the others.

So, Bartimaeus continued to float in the Other Place, mingling with the spirits around him. Time worked differently in the Other Place, but it favored him. The sawing of grief had decreased enough over time that he could finally relax a bit. The other spirits, though one with him, did not share in his pain as they could not understand it. Their lack of understanding pained Bartimaeus so much, he'd taken to separating his essence from them at first. He'd sit as Ptolemy on the steps of the library in Alexandria, formed out of his memory. The other spirits hated this and fled from him, keeping their distance until he would stop trying to impose order onto their chaos. In human terms, perhaps a year passed before he could mingle freely.

He did not know how long he'd been there, floating aimlessly and waiting for the grief to fade. He replayed memories in his head of both his greatest friends. With Ptolemy, he'd had the freedom of discourse. He had been given the right to love that tanned, idealistic young man with all his strength. With Nathaniel, there had only been the echo of "what if". Their separation was worse for the "it might have been" that showed Bartimaeus he could have loved Nathaniel with equal or even greater ardor than Ptolemy. The shy Nathaniel that took pleasure in sitting in a garden, in drawing flowers and had childlike delight in seeing the world as Bartimaeus did. So very different from his questing, ever-curious Ptolemy… but worth every bit of his devotion.

No one summoned him, and for that he was grateful. Perhaps, after Nathaniel's great feat, people feared him as they would Nouda or Ramuthra. It would probably take over a hundred years for someone to summon him at all. He did wonder how Kitty got on from time to time, the plucky lass probably ruled the world by now. Or perhaps her adventures had given her a fresh new perspective and she would travel the world, as he had once done.

Thus, it's a great surprise to Bartimaeus when he feels the beginning stages of a summons. The inexorable pull of the opening gateway and the use of his name sucks him before he can even muster a single protest. Angry, he fills his pentacle with vapid smoke and roiling lighting, deepening his voice to a growl of thunder.

"WHO DARES?" He snarls, putting venom into it. Due to his own theatrics, he has yet to see the face of his master, but he uses his smoke to seek any mistake in the pentacle at his feet. The chalk drawing is crude, but sound; Bartimaeus wonders if he can lure the silly chit summoning him out of their circle.

A voice makes his veins freeze.

"I dare," Kitty Jones proclaims, staring straight at the djinn without flinching. Bartimaeus drops all pretense and draws in on himself, forming Ptolemy to stand in the center of the pentacle. "I dare summon you, Bartimaeus. And I am glad to see you."

"So it's you," he drawls, hands on his hips. He stares at her with a clinical eye, noting the various differences the years have brought. She's older by at least three years, her gray hair still cut pragmatically short. She's also taller, slimmer and with dark bags under her eyes. Most of the aging from the Gate had faded as she got accustomed to her body once more. She still dresses in boyish clothes, but he can tell they're of a much better cut and cloth than before. "You look like you've been moving up in the words, Jonesy."

Kitty cocks an imperious brow, a gesture than pains Bartimaeus for it's likeness to Nathaniel. "I didn't summon you to chit-chat about my life, Bartimaeus." She says, but there's a hint of a smile that takes the edge off her words. She may be older, but there's still a spark and spunk to this girl. "Nathaniel would have wanted to be the first one to summon you back, but-"

Bartimaeus cuts her off, "Don't," he warns in a low voice. Kitty blinks and spots the raw pain burning in his eyes. His form wavers for a moment and changes. She stifles her smile when a young, pale-faced, blue-eyed boy stares at her. Instead of his usual Ptolemy, Bartimaeus glares at her from his pentacle in the guise of Nathaniel. She hungrily looks at her old friend, noting all the exact details of a person whom she misses dearly. Bartimaeus had opted for his friend as he last remembered him; a tall, refined young man in a prim suit. His hair is the only difference, long enough to brush over his brow and his ears.

Solemn blue eyes watch her and Kitty wonders if perhaps Bartimaeus changed without really knowing he did.

"Bartimaeus, I need your help with something important," Kitty finally says.

"When don't you," he snaps waspishly. He'd considered Kitty to be smarter than to blatantly pour salt on his open wound. He dearly wishes he could dismiss himself, being here is already painful for him. At this, his line of sight widens and he looks about, staring at the white, clinical walls surrounding him. "Well, hello. What is this place?" The room is rather sparse and has the look of some sort of storage. There are a multitude of machines and implements lining the metal shelves on the walls, filling the cold room with clutter. Behind Kitty, he can see a pair of double doors that lead to a quiet hallway. Beyond that, his superb hearing picks up the murmur of conversation, the quick movement of bodies and a cacophony of strange beeps and whirs. He can also smell blood.

Kitty starts and looks about herself. "It's a hospital, Bartimaeus. It's a place where humans go to receive medical attention." She informs him steadily, glad the djinn had overcome his bout of fury at her mention of Nathaniel. If the djinni couldn't focus, there was going to be trouble.

"I know what a hospital is, Kitty. Why are we here?" He asks, sitting down on the cold floor. As he does this, he starts and stares at his pale hands. With a twist of his lips, he's Ptolemy once again, sitting cross-legged in breeches and a simple white chemise. Kitty doesn't comment on his change. Perhaps using Nathaniel's form is too painful, still, for the djinn.

"This is the best place I could choose for what we need to do. It's taken nearly five years, but with your help, I think we can pull it off. I have an army of commoner doctors on call, because he will probably wake up just as you left him. I also have a mage-medic here, she's sworn to secrecy by her birth name." Kitty realizes that she's babbling and hopes Bartimaeus doesn't notice.

His eyes narrow and he steps forward, looming as close as her protective pentacle allows. "You're not making sense on purpose, Kathleen Jones. Talk straight."

"Nathaniel is alive," she says, a little breathlessly. "Well, sort of."

Bartimaeus is deathly still, staring at the young woman with too-wide eyes. His voice is barely above a whisper. "What did you say?"

Knowing she doesn't have to repeat herself, Kitty continues. "The Staff had a failsafe for when the safeguards were removed and used at full power. It seems that, for protection from the blast, it was set to cast a Petrification on the user who removed the seals. When Nathaniel Dismissed you, he activated that failsafe unknowingly. The charm protected him from the blast and from the falling iron that fell and ultimately killed Nouda." Kitty rubs her eyes tiredly, her shoulders slumping slightly as she sits in the pentacle, imitating the way he had been sitting before. "It took us nearly two years to remove all the rubble from the Glass Palace and find him. I've been looking for spells to remove the Petrification, but… well, most magical records and books have been burned to crisp by the Resistance. I was never much of a magician to begin with and the only texts left are in Coptic." As someone not raised to become a magician since she was a toddler, Kitty's studies had many, many holes. Most of those holes in her knowledge came from a lack of studies in the ancient languages that a magician's curriculum required. As such, she could only read the most basic of texts in Middle English, French or Latin. Her knowledge of Hebrew, Aramaic, Sumerian and Coptic was next to null. This, of course, made it rather difficult for independent study.

She sighs, placing her chin on her hand as she stares at the frozen djinni. "I summoned other spirits, but none of them wanted to help a magician. Especially not one who killed a greater spirit like Nouda." She looks Bartimaeus in the eyes and the djinn can see the spark of hope in them. "The British government has been… understandably reluctant to wake him. He's the strongest magician alive and a lot of people fear that kind of power right now. But you know me, Bartimaeus. I don't always play by the rules." Her grin is roguish and finally Bartimaeus moves.

"Give me my charge," he growls, low and guttural. He opens and closes his hands, wanting nothing more than to get out of the pentacle and get to work. The Petrification spell is a tricky one, but he wasn't five thousand years old for nothing.

Kitty smiles, knowing she'd done the right thing in calling him. She had stalled in bringing him in, since she hadn't wanted the poor djinn to see Nathaniel as he was now. She had been sure it would only cause Bartimaeus more pain to see him like that. Still, no one else was willing to lend her a helping hand and she was pretty sure that the longer a Petrification lasted, the more difficult it's removal would be.

"I charge you, Bartimaeus, to aid me in the resurrection of Nathaniel, aka John Mandrake, from the Petrification spell laid on him." Kitty pronounces with care, gesturing toward a door Bartimaeus hadn't noticed was to his left.

With a triumphant smirk, he slams into the room beside the storage, where a small group of people stand by a bed. The group jumps on his entrance and retreat, giving him a clear path to the bed. He's beside it in two ground eating steps. On that bed, Bartimaeus feels his heart thud in his chest, lays Nathaniel. Or what was left of him, really. The Petrification really had kept him as he had been those final moments, to the most minute detail of the blood trailing down his brow, his split lip, his mangled shoulder and the horrific hole on his left side. The expression on his face arrests Bartimaeus' attention for a moment. There's a fierce determination and unwavering strength there, of course. It's the look of a hero. But, unless his eyes deceive him, there's also the soft indent of a single tear rolling down his face. Bartimaeus' eyes burn in response and he wonders if it's appropriate to punch his petrified face in.

Kitty's beside him, her hand on his shoulder. "Do you need anything? Candles, a specific pentacle, incense? I have pretty much everything. I even have the Amulet." She holds up the trinket hanging from her neck, where the green stone at it's center glitters at Bartimaeus.

"I just need space," the djinn responds, making a shooing motion with his hand. "Keep the Amulet. It should help absorb the magic I'll toss out of this bastard."

Somehow, Bartimaeus insulting Nathaniel feels reassuring for Kitty.

She and the doctors stand back, watching as Bartimaeus steps forward and gasps Nathaniel's outstretched hand. He'd probably been holding the Staff of Gladstone in this hand, holding it forward and out toward the approaching Nouda during that fateful battle. The Ptolemy doppelganger closes his eyes and furrows his brow, concentrating on the rough, acid scent of the spell on Nathaniel's body. It's over him like a second, thicker skin; keeping the body suspended in time, as though he is merely sleeping. Well, Sleeping Beauty, Bartimaeus is here!

"Wakey, wakey," he says between clenched teeth, his entire body tense with the effort of wrestling with the staff's final spell. His muscles clench and he grasps Nathaniel's hand a little harder. The spell struggles to remain in place, trying to slide out of his grip and remain happily glued to the boy. But Bartimaeus is wise to its tricks and snarls, sending out a hot wave of energy over the spell. It hardens and with a grunt of effort, Bartimaeus smashes it to smithereens under his power. The hand in his turns limp and, in the quiet hospital, everyone hears the sharp intake of breath from the man on the bed.

The doctors rush forward, almost running Bartimaeus over in their haste to get to their patient. As Kitty predicted, his wounds were just as severe as when Bartimaeus last saw him, so it would take a Herculean effort just to keep him from bleeding out on the table after taking his first breath. Stubborn, Bartimaeus merely scoots forward, keeping clear of the doctors, but determined to stay with his friend. The head surgeons gives him a disgruntled glare, but the mage-medic asks him to siphon energy into the healing bandages she was laying over the ugly wound on his side. Nodding, Bartimaeus feeds her energy as he stares at Nathaniel's face from his position behind his head. When the magician's brows knit, Bartimaeus crouches to look closer. Nathaniel groans in pain as his body begins to really wake, though the anesthesiologist was already inserting the painkillers into his system.

His lashes flutter as he gains enough wakefulness to try and look at his surroundings. Groggy, blood-shot blue eyes open sleepily, fighting the drugs and heavy pain in his body. Sluggish, but awake, Nathaniel looks up at the bright lights above his head, then the tan young man hovering uncomfortably close.

The whisper is so soft, Bartimaeus doesn't even bother to hide his tears. "Bartimaeus..?"

"It's me, Natty," the djinn says, smiling. "I'm here."

"Am I de'd?" the magician asks, slurring. "Are you de'd?" The second questions seems to distress Nathaniel and his hands twitch at his sides. Bartimaeus wonders if Nathaniel would have reached for him if the doctors hadn't strapped him to the table.

"No, kid. You're alive. I would think you hurt too much to be dead." The djinn counters, laughing a little. Nathaniel's eyes flutter as he begins to lose the fight against the drugs they were pumping into him.

"Good," Nathaniel breathes softly, sounding relieved. His eyes close and Bartimaeus leans down until they are forehead to forehead, seeking comfort. With a voice made hoarse by tears, Bartimaeus thanks whatever powers that be. He grows silent and merely repeats his gratitude in his own mind, fighting to remain calm. He breathes in the scent of blood, sweat and dirt on Nathaniel's skin; he'd been in that body, he knew how much it hurt. Still, the Staff had kept his boy safe. In all his years, Bartimaeus had never thought he'd be saying this. Having suffered a sound defeat at his hands and having feared his Staff as an enemy, Bartimaeus never would have thought to say this to the man's face. Still, credit where credit was due, right? He really meant it with all his heart, even as Kitty pulls him out of the way to let the doctors work in peace.

You're the best, William Gladstone.

The End.

Words: 3,007

I did not mean for Bartimaeus to monologue quite so much in the beginning, but that mouthy djinni probably deserved it. He ran away from me, cackling all the way. Nearly eight hundred words, all for his own misery. Kitty vanishes as Bartimaeus has his moment with Nat, but she's there and she's the best.

I mistakenly wrote "pentagon" instead of "pentacle" in the first draft of this story. Somehow, even after looking up the proper word, it snuck into the final draft. I've corrected THAT horrid mistake. If anyone spots a mistake, do let me know. I'll fix it right up.

It's not very long, but this makes me very happy. So that's my tale. Hope it cheers all my fellow trilogy lovers who miss Natty as much as I do.