2. Blueprints

He walked casually down the steps of the station, flipping the collar of his dark wool trenchcoat up against the wind. His dark hair had been neat when he'd left his flat, but the wind was whipping it in all directions now. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Merlin crossed the street, eliciting angry honks from oncoming cars.

He sincerely hoped Pendragon was a more interesting man than Carleon. He could steal as many things as he wanted, but unless someone with at least half a brain in their head was out to stop him from doing so, there wasn't really much sport in it. He was beginning to get a bit bored with London already. Magician was one of the better nicknames he'd been given over the years, though, so he was willing to wait a bit longer, if only to keep the sobriquet.

Once he reached the other side of the road, he slowed his pace, walking lazily through the morning chill. He lived less than a mile from the station, but he was in no hurry to get home. He carefully observed the few people that passed him as he walked along. Not many people were out; it was too late for the ones who stayed out all night, and too early for those rising to go to work.

He couldn't stop his mind from wondering about his new nemesis. From what he'd gleaned already, Arthur Pendragon would be much more tolerable than the detective he replaced. A little part of him even dared to hope that he'd enjoy playing the game, that maybe, finally, someone would outsmart him. It was unlikely, but having never been outsmarted before, Merlin was rather curious as to what it would feel like.

Turning onto the corner of his own street, Merlin stopped in front of a coffee shop on the corner, debating whether or not to go inside. After a few minutes, he stepped inside, very aware that he was the first customer of the morning.

"Hello, sir," an elderly man with a broad smile popped out from behind the counter, looking a little frazzled. "What can I getcha?"

"Coffee. Black, if you would," Merlin said politely as he approached the counter.

"Oh, sure, sure," said the man while he set about pouring the liquid into a paper cup and affixed the travelers lid. "Will that be all, sir?"

"That's all," Merlin replied and handed the man triple the amount of money necessary to pay for his simple order. "Keep the change." He turned on his heel and walked back out into the brisk morning air, taking small sips of his coffee as he headed back home.

When he reached his flat, he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. It creaked open and Merlin cringed. The only complaint he had about this place was the damn squeaky doors. He shut the door behind him and put his cup of coffee down on the kitchen counter without bothering to turn on any lights.

He stood there for a few seconds in the darkness, the silence, hoping Pendragon found his letter soon. The anticipation was killing him. "Ah, well, back to work," he mumbled to himself and he leaned over the counter to flip on the kitchen light.

The dining room table was covered in papers, wires, blueprints, pencils, calculators, surveillance photos and a number of other oddities that helped Merlin perform his magic. Hanging on the wall above the table was a Monet, recently acquired from the National Gallery. Flood Waters it was called, and it had always been one of his favorites. He smiled up at the painting, then sat down across from it at the table.

He shrugged off his coat, letting it fall against the back of the chair. He leaned back, intertwining his fingers at the back of his head. "Mmm, you are going to be a tough one to get into."

Leaning forward again, he hunched over the table and pulled a set of blueprints toward him and snatched a pencil from a jar on the table. He stared at the blueprints, unblinking for a few minutes. There were two ways in, but neither were foolproof. As he pondered his options, Merlin smacked the pencil on the edge of the table, hoping it would help him think. When that didn't work, he tried biting the pencil and eventually, snapping the pencil in half. While the latter was somewhat gratifying, it didn't help him make his decision.

He stood up, pacing the kitchen a few times before grabbing his coffee from the counter, chugging it, then tossing the cup into the trashcan in the corner of the room. "You're a damn LIBRARY," he yelled at the table, waving his arms in frustration. "Why are you the most complicated building to break into in all of England?"

Sighing, Merlin pulled his white t-shirt over his head and tossed it across the room to the couch, He slid out of his pants as well, tossing them onto the couch, too, and then wandered in the direction of the bathroom.

He turned the shower on, making sure the water was as hot as he could get it. He waited a few minutes for the room to steam up, drawing pictures on the mirror with one long finger. When he decided it was steamy enough, he turned the knob a little, just enough so the water wouldn't burn him. He stepped into the shower and let the water wash over him.

Closing his eyes, he envisioned the British Library. He ran scenario after scenario in his head, and none of them ended well. Instead, he let his mind latch on to his new case detective. How would he react to the letter? Was he even good enough to figure out who he was just from the information he'd been given? Probably not. But if he was…oh, if he was…

He stopped that thought process. Couldn't get his hopes up yet. Pendragon hadn't proven himself at all, he'd just proven that he wasn't Carleon. And while that was an achievement in and of itself, it was nothing to hang hope on.

Merlin closed his eyes again and ran his hands through his hair as he considered his options. He'd been under the water long enough that his skin was red and it was starting to hurt in the spots that the water hit most often. He ran the plans through his head, watching every step, playing out all of the possible outcomes.

Suddenly his blue eyes snapped open and a wicked grin crossed his face. He was considering doing something so incredibly reckless, so wildly stupid that it would just have to work. He turned off the shower and snatched a towel from behind the door, wrapping it around his waist as he walked back to the kitchen.

Water dripped along behind him as he went, but he didn't pay it any attention. He sat back down in his chair and glanced up at his Monet before turning to the blueprints in front of him. He grabbed another pencil and mapped out a few calculations on the margin of the paper. He reached out and snagged a camera from the other side of the table and played back a video, making sure it corroborated his math. It did.

"Oh, my dear Detective Inspector Pendragon, you're going to love this."