Warnings: First and foremost, this will be slash. Depart, nonbelievers! For this particular reincarnation fic, characters have been renamed, and perhaps not in ways that are entirely intuitive and acceptable. I cry your leave (nonbelievers). It's meant to be funny (meaning it probably isn't), but I hope you can find at least some entertainment value herein. Also, you've got my 'funny' idea of characterization to contend with. Also violence, foul language, and irresponsible magic-using. Same old, same old.

The Things I Do for You

Chapter One: In Which Haden Does Not Appreciate Being Woken Up at Obscene Hours of the Night

In the grand scheme of things, it was also actually sort of cute (granted, Haden was working on how it managed to convey 'fuzzy' while being totally hairless). The bunny was the color of Haden's mother's bathrobe—a hideous, eye-gouging pink—over ten feet tall, and making a racket. Oh, and floating. None of which was unusual for Haden's daily life.

Which says a great deal about aforementioned life right there. So there you go; introductions complete.

Haden, in pajama-clad, umbrella-brandishing glory (where that umbrella had come from, he had not the faintest idea) faced down the rabbit with his gravest stare. The horrid Death to Your Spoons noise wasn't letting up, and Haden assumed he was either meant to comment on it or stab himself in the eardrums.

"You have a preoccupation with stabbing things," Haden's roommate Max delighted in informing him at every opportunity. With the authority of wisdom, he would add, "I think it's probably your sexual frustration."

Max thought everything was sexual frustration with Haden, mostly because Haden made no effort to get out and take advantage of the comfortingly low standards of sorority girls. Max was also an idiot. And there was no way rabbits had anything to do with sexual frustration, anyway.

Shut up.

"WOW, THAT'S SO CATCHY!" Haden bellowed over the nightmarish sound. For the record, it was not at all catchy. It sounded like a cutlery drawer being tortured. Slowly. "Um. ITS GOT IMPRESSIVE… uh, VOLUME!"

Translation: please cut that out.

The horrible medley of shrieking and clanging continued and Haden's hands inched towards his ears. Would covering them be rude? Because a ten foot tall rabbit had plenty of means of punishment at its disposal. Stepping on Haden, for one.

While he was preoccupied with this train of thought, the rabbit abruptly went silent. Haden's relief was epic. "Hey, I can hear again! So. How's life?"

ClangcrashbangBANGtinkle

"Gnarlump," Haden grumbled, and blinked himself awake. New ringtone. Argh. Horrible noise. Sounded nothing like an 'Asian symphony.' If it wasn't the torment of someone's silverware, that was a robot dying in agony if he'd ever heard it.

And if it signalled Max calling about being locked out at (Haden glanced at his alarm clock) two o'clock in the morning, there would be retribution, which would prove both terrible and swift. In addition to his belief that sex was a panacea to mankind, Max was also allergic to his ID card. If he'd called Haden about this problem once again, Haden was going to staple that ID to his forehead.

Not that Haden tried to SLEEP during the NIGHT. Goodness no, what be that craziness?

Reluctantly, Haden groped in the darkness for his phone. "H'llo?" He groaned. After a moment's confusion he remembered that he had to open the phone first. He stopped mashing it against his cheek to correct this. "Hello. 'S Haden. Can this wait until morning?"

"…Haden?"

Haden concluded that this wasn't Max. He was reasonably sure that his roommate was male, for one. Thus befuddled into civility, Haden prompted, "Yeah, Haden Riley? This is his phone." Silence met this declaration and Haden stifled a yawn against his sleeve. "Look, it's fine. Think you have the wrong number—"

"No," the girl said. "Haden? You're who I wanted."

"Okaaay," Haden agreed, drawing the syllable out. He waited for a moment; the girl opted not to talk. Haden cast his pillow a mournful look and reminded himself that karma bit you in the ass if you hung up on people who might be contemplating suicide or mass-murder. "So… who's this? Dunno know your voice."

"I'm Morgan," the girl answered. So, definitely not someone Haden knew. And now, grudgingly dragged further away from unconscious, he could tell that she had a British accent, as opposed to Haden's choppy, sleep-deprived Colorado slur. So… exchange student friend of a friend? Or was Haden still dreaming—

Reality set it with the gentleness of a steel girder between the eyes. Shit. Haden knew exactly what this was. Max was passed out at this girl's place and now this girl was going to make Haden come pick him up, wasn't she? Goddammit. Not again.

A pause followed in which Haden seethed and the girl added almost hesitantly. "Morgana?"

"Well, which is it?" Haden asked, reaching the end of his pre-dawn patience. He glared at Max's bed, all goodwill towards the earth evaporating in the face of stumbling through Thursday morning with one hour of sleep in his belt. "Is this about my dickhead roommate? Because if it is—"

"No," the girl said quickly. "This is about Arthur."

"Don't know him," Haden grumbled into the receiver. "Wrong number. Goodb—"

"Arthur Pendragon," the girl hastily added. Haden paused, skin prickling uncomfortably.

"What, legendary king guy?" Haden asked, and immediately kicked himself. Yes, Haden, that's really a common name. Why did this have to happen now? "Fuck's sake, lady. Do you have any idea what time it is? I have a test tomorrow. This is not the best time for random strangers to prank call."

"It's not a prank," the girl snapped, apparently offended. "It's important. Don't you remember anything at all? I expected better from you, Merlin."

'Merlin?'

Haden took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. No ten-foot tall rabbits. Nothing but a menacing lack of caller ID. When he brought it back, the girl was growling—

"—Needs your help—"

"Stop," Haden muttered. Ice crawled up his spine and his mouth went so dry he almost didn't manage to force out the words. "You've got the wrong person. Glad we had this talk. Or not. Bye."

And then he hung up. He also hurled the phone at the wall, but his aim was off and it fell safely onto Max's bed. Haden was left sitting in his rumpled sheets, breathing too hard and sweating. The phone was ringing again. He should get up and turn it off.

He managed to move the third time it rang. He debated on throwing it at the wall again, and somehow his thumb hit the answer button.

Way to fail at life, Haden.

For a moment both ends of the line were silent. And then.

"Merlin." The girl's voice was pleading. "Please. I wouldn't bother you if the situation wasn't absolutely dire."

Haden punched Max's mattress. Just because he could. "This isn't funny, alright? I have no idea how you know about this. Merlin or whatever—it's just a weird game I played when I was a kid."

"The game where you were Merlin, greatest warlock in Albion?"

Haden dragged a hand through his hair, groaning. "I wasn't on ADD medication back then. I had an overactive imagination. I just…"

Out of nowhere the girl snorted. Haden found himself jumping slightly at the sound. "It's not a fantasy," she declared matter-of-factly. "It's a memory."

"…Right."

He was talking to a crazy person at two o'clock in the morning.

Why is this my life?

0o0o0

It turned out that the girl—who decided that she preferred Morgan ("we're all a lot different than how we used to be")—lived in Japan, explaining why she thought two in the morning was a decent hour. Time zone fuckery. Haden abandoned the phone in favor of a video chat, and when he saw the girl's face, the sinking feeling in his stomach was very far from surprise. She smiled smugly back.

"Believe me now?"

"You're definitely not Japanese," Haden muttered, wishing strongly that he'd put on a shirt. Morgan looked like some sort of fairy creature masquerading as one of the lowly mortals. Haden would never forget that sort of beauty—and he hadn't. When he was younger, Morgana had been something of a vital presence in his life. Like Saturday morning cartoons. Or cheerios.

Only extraordinarily more evil.

Right now she was wearing a fuzzy polka dotted bathrobe, and looked disproportionately regal. Haden made a vain attempt to tame his bedhead. "For the record, I'm still convinced this is some kind of fucked up dream."

"This isn't a dream." Morgan shrugged. "Although you're welcome to think that if you wish." You wimp, said her tone. Haden ignored it. "When we're finished, that is. Right now I require your help."

Haden scoffed. "Right. If what you're saying is true, then you were kind of a bitc—" Morgan's eyes narrowed and Haden rethought his word choice. "Um, you tried to kill me when I played prete—er, in those memories. A lot. AND my friends."

Morgan rolled his eyes, which was probably more impressive without Haden's computer screen freezing mid-roll. He gave it a smack to restore it as Morgan replied, "As I've said before, we've all changed quite a lot. You're quite a bit more rude than I recalled, Merlin."

Haden's eye twitched. "Haden."

"Sorry." She actually did look a bit apologetic. She fidgeted. "Look, things have changed. Can you take my word that I didn't hunt you down just to kill you immediately?"

"Because phrasing it like that inspires confidence out the ass," Haden replied, which made her chuckle.

"Arthur's in danger."

"Arthur's always in danger." Haden's mouth said this without his brain's permission. For the record? Haden was really not liking how every passing minute made this feel more normal. The world seemed to have a perfect Haden-shaped space for exactly this conversation. Only no, it was a Merlin-shaped space. Haden was Haden, and utterly without the desire to remember being anybody else. "And anyway, it's not my problem. I don't even know Arthur." This time around.

"No you don't," Morgan agreed, which was a relief. The alternative was Haden spending the next few days frantically going through the mental Rolodex of everyone he knew and suspecting that his neighbor Fred was actually Gaius or something. "But of course it's your problem! He'll die without your help."

Haden sighed wearily. "What do you want me to do about it? And before you say anything, I don't have magic. I can't wave my magic fuck—Um. Fricking wand—"

"Dear lord," Morgan lamented with another roll of her eyes, which Haden's computer this time detailed beautifully. "You can touch someone when they're asleep and see their dreams, right? Magic." Haden's mouth, which had opened to protest, snapped closed again. That wasn't supposed to count. The Merlin from his imagination—memories—whatever—was one badass motherfucker. He summoned whirlwinds and shot lightning at people who screwed with him. Haden's weird ability to guess what someone had been dreaming about didn't really compare.

"Yes," he deadpanned, "Let me just go ahead and save the world by telling my mom that her dreams are psychologically scarring."

Morgan glared at him, and visibly gave up on being gracious. "Arthur is in a coma. He's being kept there by a creature called a nixeth. If he doesn't wake up, not only will he die, but the nixeth will devour his soul." She leaned closer to her computer screen, eyes flashing. "His soul will be destroyed forever."

"That sounds like a problem," Haden said, feeling something inside of him—but at the same time very much not him—go cold at her words. He grimaced. "Look, I do… care, but… There's gotta be someone better for this job? I'm not Merlin. I'm just carrying some of his recycling in my head. Honestly, Morgan, you seem like you'd be able to handle this way better."

Seeing as you found this private number, know about my 'magic,' and apparently were able to discern my identity as a reincarnated wizard. I, uh, think you might be just a little better at this magic stuff than I am.

"Arthur doesn't know me," Morgan replied shortly. "He doesn't recognize me and he's shutting me out."

"I never met him either," Haden pointed out. "…I bet his name isn't even Arthur."

He proceeded to imagine a blond, sword-wielding ass named Hubert and cracked a smile.

Morgan beamed back. "It shouldn't matter. Not once in all our lives has Arthur not recognized you."

"What?" Haden's eyebrows rose. "This has happened before?"

"Will you help him?" Morgan asked, ignoring his distress.

"No, wait—go back to what you were talking about before." Haden felt an inexplicable sense of panic. "What 'LIVES'?!"

"Haden." Morgan's voice was sharp. "Will you help him?"

Haden sat back on his bed, realizing that he'd grabbed onto the computer screen in a fit of panic. He let it go. And suddenly, as though it was in an envelope shoved across a table to him by some smirking, white-bearded fellow, he had a very clear picture in his head of just what sort of person Arthur had been. The words 'noble' and 'kind' and 'forgiving' all featured heavily.

Stop being such an ass, the white-bearded fellow seemed to say. And go save your king.

I, Haden sniffed internally, am a proud adherent of democracy.

He had the strangest sense of wizardly eyes being narrowed at him.

As Haden looked Morgan over, he realized that for all her glamor, she looked like she was about to cry.

I'm probably her last resort, Haden realized. Why else come to me?

"Oh, fuck it," Haden heaved a sigh. "Where is he?"

0o0o0

A/N: I HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK LEAVE ME ALONE so I decided to write this. Again, modern kinda angsty Merlin (sorta). And American! Couldn't resist. I do actually like writing Merlin being all sweet, but I'm crap at it (you will all agree with me later in this story). I'll get better eventually. Lemme know whatcha think! I can always be bribed with critiques.

(P.S.: Special thanks to Veilwuarrah for pointing out my grammatical fails. Should now be patched up!)