Ladies and gentlemen of the review box: a note from the Nightrunners...mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! *shows all three Nightrunners rolling on the floor in laughter* For those who want to know when the story's going to end. We don't have a clue. This poor project's snowballing out of control, and there is *no* end in sight. We expect that Part 1 (Part *One*, mind you) will be completed and posted by the Christmas holidays. After that...who knows? Least of all the Nightrunners. We sincerely hope you aren't getting sick of this story yet, because as Dru says, "We're just getting to the *fun* parts!" And it will be fun. We promise you. Mwahahahaha. Enjoy.



A Visit in the Night

Soundtrack: Bent (Matchbox 20)

If I fall along the way
pick me up and dust me off.
and if I get too tired to make it
be my breath so I can walk

If I need some other love
give me more than I can stand
and when my smile gets old and faded
wait around I'll smile again

shouldn't be so complicated
just hold me and then
just hold me again

can you help me I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never
get put back together
you're breaking me in
and this is how we will end
with you and me bent

If I couldn't sleep could you sleep
could you paint me better off
could you sympathize with my needs
I know you think I need a lot

I started out clean but I'm jaded
just phoning it in
just breaking the skin

start bending me
It's never enough
I feel all your pieces
start bending me
Keep bending me until I'm completely broken in

shouldn't be so complicated
just touch me and then
just touch me again

Whilst Arwen trashed Legolas' apartment, two figures ran stealthily through the shadowed streets, aided by years of practice.

"Where are we going?" Sam hissed.

"We can't go back to our place," Felix replied quietly, without slowing.

Sam shrugged in mid-stride. "They might be watching it."

"Let's head for the loft above the old electronics store. We've got a stash there good for a couple of days."

With a solid destination in mind, they sped up, their feet making no noise on the cracked pavement. Their long coats flew behind them like wings, snapping in the night air.

***********

Five minutes later they slowed, ducking into a dark alleyway. Felix stumbled and almost fell over a homeless man hunched against the concrete wall, dressed in tattered grey rags. Muttering a hasty apology, Sam dragged his friend past without glancing down.

They slipped through a hidden side door, entering a squat, dilapidated building. They passed swiftly through the main store, which was filled with gutted electronics too large to carry off. Anything smaller was long gone, carted away by thieves. Ignoring this, they entered a back room and climbed the stairwell to the second floor. Opening a small, disused door, Felix glanced in and nodded towards Sam. "Lucky for us it's warm tonight. No squatters to get rid of."

The loft was not large by normal standards, but both young men could move about without too much difficulty. The dust and cobwebs about the place hinted that the place had not been inhabited for some time, to Felix's relief. Old metal filing cabinets, covered with drop-cloths, were the room's only adornments.

Sam crouched over one cabinet, producing a small pin to pick the lock. A few moments later, a drawer slid open and he grinned. "Stuff's still here," he said triumphantly. Reaching in, he pulled out a cloth bag and tossed it to Felix.

Opening it, he found, to his continuing relief, all the supplies they had left here some months ago: six bottles of water, a bag of dried fruit, two boxes of Oreos, and forty dollars in small bills.

Ripping one package apart, he grabbed a cookie and ate it quickly. "It's pretty stale, but it's good enough, if we have to drop out of sight for a few days." The two of them pulled all the dust covers to the floor, assembling a make-shift bed in one corner.

Falling into the bed beside Felix, Sam sighed. "You know, I always thought you were crazy, making us hide these caches all over Necropolis. And here we are, actually hiding from people crazier than us." He shook his head. "God, we're pathetic."

Felix grinned and punched Sam in the arm. "You called me paranoid, didn't you? I've half a mind not to share the cookies with you," he said, faking a petulant tone.

"What? You wouldn't want me to wither away and die, would you?" Sam replied, reaching over and pulling him into his arms. Felix smiled softly and settled his head comfortably against Sam's shoulder.

"No, I guess not," he finally allowed. "You do make a damn fine pillow at times."

Sam's quiet chuckle rumbled through his frame; Felix could feel it from where he lay. "That's it? Just a pillow? Is that all I'm good for?"

His smile now suggestive, Felix craned his neck to see his lover's face. "Well," he admitted, "I guess you're good for one or two other things as well."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I think you can guess."

Reaching up, he pulled Sam's head down, and kissed him. Sam returned it, and Felix twisted around to better snake his arms around Sam's neck, moaning softly.

They broke away, gasping, some time later, and Felix ran his fingers lazily through Sam's shaggy blond hair. "You're good," he grinned, allowing himself to fall back into the dusty drop-cloths.

"Thank you. Will you give me a freaking Oreo now?"

"It's a good thing I love you," Felix said mock-disapprovingly. "No manners at all."

Sam bit into the stale cookie thoughtfully. "It's a good thing we ate at that guy's apartment, anyway. We're not likely to see real food for a couple of days."

"I'm not so sure," Felix replied, frowning. "I mean, the stuff they fed us had to be drugged. Why else would Mark and Peter go nuts like that?"

"Dunno. They actually acted like they understood that blond guy. We should go back for them, you know."

Felix nodded. "The blond guy, whatever they called him-"

"Legolas," Sam interjected.

"Right, Legolas. He didn't seem like the type who would hurt them, but you can't trust anybody. We'll head back once the sun comes up. We were crazy to run away like we did, and lucky to even get here alive."

Nodding, Sam replied, "That's a good plan. But what was with him anyway? Both he and that Gabe guy referred to him as an elf. And those ears! They've got to be on flight, the two of them. Or maybe they're mages, or something..."

"Nah, can't be evil magic-users. They were both mage-killers. Didn't you see their tattoos?"

Sam grimaced. "That's just great. They're not ordinary insane people. They are both very *dangerous* insane people."

"Morning," Felix repeated, nodding wearily. "We'll go back in the morning."

"Then again, who knows?" Sam said, his voice suddenly optimistic. "Maybe this is Mark and Peter's twisted idea of a joke. If it is, I plan to cheerfully mash their faces into the waffle iron, set fire to their clothes, force-feed them dead bugs -"

Felix found himself giggling rather hysterically at Sam's litany of kindergarten retribution tactics. Which, he decided, had probably been Sam's purpose, the sneaky bastard.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he opened his mouth to add his own possibilities for revenge. But a tiny, almost imperceptible movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. Holding up a hand to warn Sam, he scanned the room quickly, searching even the deepest shadows, but, save for them, the room was empty.

Deciding that he was being jumpy, Felix relaxed. At that moment, a voice echoed through the room: "So this is where you've been hiding yourself, Frodo Baggins."

Felix had always thought, that at the moment of his death, he would have something clever and memorable to say. Apparently not, because the only thought in his head at this point ran along the lines of: "We're screwed".

It was not exactly clever, nor was it memorable, but ultimately, it would prove to be true.

Some people were just portents of doom.

At that moment, Frodo Baggins, Felix Baker, and all combinations thereof, remembered everything that he had ever forgotten.

The tattered beggar from the alley, cloaked in grey, stood in the doorway, as Felix collapsed in the pile of bedding. Unsurprisingly, his last thought as he passed out from the onslaught of memories, was still: "We're screwed."

Gandalf had come to call.