One hour and three coffees later, Win finally came to the conclusion that when she'd told Tom to come meet her for coffee she should have specified 'right now, you lazy bastard'.
For what felt like the millionth time Win looked down at her watch, sighed, and took another swig of her drink. It burned her throat. The caffeine high she was riding on combined with the after-effects of last night's drinking had her buzzed and impatient. She strummed her fingers against the metal tabletop and stared fixedly at the door of the café, willing it to open up and reveal Tom in all his mussed and puppy-eyed glory. Of course the door stayed shut. Knowing her luck he'd make her wait for another hour before he deigned to show his face.
Maybe he wasn't coming after all.
Hell, since he'd abandoned her last night he should have been running over to grovel for her forgiveness. Not that she'd felt very abandoned at the time. There had been a few nice blokes who were more than happy to buy her drinks and keep her company on the dance floor – only keep her company, mind. Still, it was the principal of thing. He was her best friend. She knew him better than anyone else in the world, and it wasn't like him to just run off. She'd literally spent hours trying to find him after the club had closed and she'd realised he was gone. And she was never, ever going to let him know how relieved she'd been when he'd picked up his phone, sounding tired and wrung out but still alive and not, well, dead in a gutter somewhere or something equally horrible. Of course she'd known it was unlikely that he was in any trouble – Tom wasn't the kind – but fear didn't care much for logic.
Stupid Tom. He owed her. And she was really, really going to have to force him to get a mobile. He was always so careful about spending money – she'd noticed yesterday evening that even his best clothes were a little worn out and overused. Her heart gave a little pang as she thought back, fingers tracing the rim of the cup gently. I wish I could do more for you, she thought wistfully. I wish you could know how much you matter.
"How 'bout some breakfast?" piped up the waitress from behind the counter. Half her face was hidden behind her copy of Heat magazine, but the eyes that peeked up above the cover were hopeful.
Win was one of only two patrons in the café, and the only one who'd bought anything more than a single drink. She and Tom had always liked this café precisely because it was always so empty, which made it a great place to sit and chat. On the down side, the food it provided always had an unfortunate resemblance to road kill.
"No thanks," Win said, then looked down at her cup. It was almost empty. "Another one of these would be good, though."
"'Course," said the girl, and dumped her magazine down onto the counter.
By the time Win had almost finished her fourth cup Tom finally stumbled in, shoulders slumped and his hair alarmingly fluffed. He looked like an angry duckling. Win heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a narrow-eyed look of displeasure plastered over her face. "And where have you been, huh?"
"Hi Win," Tom said faintly, his face hoarse. He pulled out a chair, not looking at her. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to be late."
Win wasn't the sort of girl to let anything stand in the way of her goals. When her mother had dealt her an unfortunate name – in honour of one of her crabby grandmothers – Winifred had made the best of a bad hand and shortened her name to Win. When she'd failed her A-levels she hadn't let herself despair, and now she had a steady job and didn't have to rely on anybody but herself. No, nothing ever stood in Win's way. But when Tom slumped into his chair looking for all the world like he'd been run over by an emotional bulldozer, even Win had to take pity on him. Questions about his sudden disappearance last night would have to wait until later. Right now he clearly needed comfort, and Win was the only one around the provide it.
"You look like shit," she said, expression softening. She unfolded her arms. "Want me to buy your drink for you?"
He forced out a laugh. "S'okay. I can pay for myself."
"I know." Win shrugged. "So?"
He smiled at her, his eyes not quite meeting her own. There was a distant look on his face and… was that a bruise on his cheek? Win bit down on her tongue. Tightened her hands to fists. Now wasn't the time to mention it. Later, maybe. Later.
"I don't about you," she said, "but I'm fucking starving. We can't eat here obviously, but do you want to come over to my place after? I make a mean bacon sandwich. I know you haven't got anything to eat at your place. I looked in your fridge when I came over, it was a bloody mess. I swear your milk was trying to crawl out and attack me, it was so mouldy. How the hell aren't you a skeleton anyway, Tommy?"
If this had been a normal day Tom would have given her a proper look and one his real, tentative smiles. He would have teased her gently, because when she was worried for him she always gave herself away by rambling incessantly until he finally took pity on her and intervened. And then he would have told her he was fine, and that she worried too much – and then they could have gone back to normal and everything would have been just dandy.
But everything wasn't fine. Tom gave her a blank stare. He said, "Why can't we eat here?"
"Um," said Win. Was he teasing her? Had he knocked his head last night? "Earth to Tom. This place is a hole. Last time we tried something here you were puking for days."
"Right." He closed his eyes briefly; his forehead creased with weariness. "Right. I knew that."
An awkward silence followed. Win began reaching for his hand and then, thinking better of it, drew back her own hand and stood up. She shrugged on her jacket and pushed her straight dark hair back from her face with one hand. "C'mon," she said. "Let's get you back to bed. You're not fit to be out."
He tilted his head so he could look at her face. He murmured, "I'm okay, Win. I'm sorry I'm so – "
"You don't have to be sorry!" she snapped. "At least not right now. Save that for when you're not acting like a zombie, okay?" There were so many things she couldn't say to him like, I haven't seen you this bad since we were kids and your mum hit you so hard you had a bruise and I never – I never told anyone that you cried. Their relationship wasn't like that. Tom wouldn't want her pity. They were friends. "Let's go to your flat." Her voice softened, cajoling. "I'll order some pizza or something. Make you some coffee."
Tom continued to look at her. Then he straightened up. Nodded. "Win," he said slowly. "I'm still sorry. That I'm not being myself." He stood up. Looked away. "I'm sorry," he said again.
"I told you not to say that," she muttered, but she didn't continue to push the point. Tom would explain himself in his own time. Or so she hoped. Hell, if he could trust anyone to listen to him, it was her.
The waitress gave them a disappointed look as they pushed in their chairs and moved to leave the café, but Win put that down to the fact that the girl was probably hoping to foist a few more drinks on them before they scarpered. Their shoulders – Win's and Tom's - bumped together as they stepped out of the door; Win blinked, eyes adjusting to the gleaming light of morning. The cold of outdoors was a shock. She shivered a little, pulling her jacket tighter around her.
They kept walking. It was late morning now, and the streets were crowded with people. Luckily it was a weekend, so there was none of the usual rush hour bustle of people travelling to and fro from work. Despite all the noise around them Tom was silent. Win, of course, couldn't manage to keep her mouth shut.
"I can't wait for summer," she said, lightly, hoping it would break up some of the gloom of Tom's mood. No such luck. "Might even go on holiday this year even though I bet I won't be able to afford it. You know, it always goes like that. I…"
She trailed off, noting with a sudden, sick thud of her heart in her chest that Tom had gone very, very still and very pale. Someone jostled past him; she saw he was shivering. "Tom?"
"I thought I saw something," he said in a whisper. Then, urgently: "Win, we need to get away from here. Right now." He gripped her sleeve, so tight that his knuckles were going white around the bone.
"I – "
"Do you trust me?" he asked. And for the first time that morning he looked at her, not with vague dull eyes but really looked at her as if he knew who she was and how much she mattered. "Win," he pressed. "Do you?"
"Duh," she choked out. "But Tom, I'm sorry, you're acting like a nutter. Let go of me, okay?"
"Win, please."
"Let go," she said again – insisted even – and gave the wrist he was holding a sharp tug.
That was when his skin touched hers.
It was barely a touch. Barely her sleeve crumpling, barely a hint of her wrist meeting the crease between his thumb and forefinger. But it was enough. For a moment the world seemed to stop. Her breath froze in her throat.
(She remembered - )
She remembered a woman. There was a sunlit day, her feet crushing fragrant grass, and the woman – the woman rolling her eyes, gesturing towards – somebody – in front of them both, saying, "Those boys, they'll never say a civil word to each other." She remembered saying something in return, a smile framing her words and then there was the woman's smile in return. And the woman said, "You don't have to defend him Gwe – "
Guinevere.
A hundred flickering images cut off the memory, twisting everything about in her mind until her thoughts were lurching like a circus ride and she couldn't hold on, couldn't hold on. She felt someone gripping her arms, someone repeating her (new, wrong) name urgently. But she couldn't respond.
"Win!"
Her limbs folded softly as she slipped into unconsciousness.
xxx
Win collapsed against him, her body a dead weight. Cursing, Merlin tried to stop his knees from buckling and held onto her tighter to stop her from slipping from his arms. Her head drooped forward to press against his chest, the short curls at her forehead tickling his skin. He didn't look down at her. His gaze darted around as he tried to find the figure that had so alarmed him: the figure of a very normal looking woman, plainly dressed with her hair pinned up from her face. The figure of the woman – the creature - that had attacked him last night.
I killed it, he thought frantically, holding Win closer. I know I did. The image of her body sprawled across the floor with ice spilling from her cracked skull was still burnt into his brain. He'd melted her body away, destroying the evidence of her existence entirely. And yet, just a second ago…
He'd seen her. He was sure of it.
There were too many people around to make the creature out anymore, a sea of blank and uninterested faces. None of them even bothered to pay a glance to the sight of Merlin with Win's obviously unconscious body propped against him. Merlin was suddenly very, very thankful for the blasé attitude of most Londoners. He was less thankful for the fact that the creature had vanished entirely. For all he knew she was walking up to him right now.
Had she done this to Win? He looked down at Win again. Her eyes were closed, lashes a brush of dark against her tanned skin. He could tell that her mouth was slack and slightly parted. With her cheek pressed against his chest it was difficult for him to make out her expression, but he was very sure that she was unconscious and not, well, dead. He could still feel her breathing.
If that creature really had done this to her then he needed to get Win away, and fast. Maybe when he got back to his apartment he'd be able to help her, but right here, out in the open and surrounded by people, he was helpless. He couldn't just start using magic in a public place. Even though Camelot was long gone, some lessons were too ingrained and too sensible to let go off. Falling back on old instincts Merlin straightened up as best as he could and tried to calm his fast-paced heartbeat. His hands clenched tight at Win's jacket. He tried to move and found himself staggering. For all that she was a small girl, Win was bloody heavy.
"Win," he hissed. "You need to wake up."
Nothing.
"Win."
He couldn't just stand here forever. Deciding a little magic was worth the risk, Merlin lowered his head, his forehead pressed to Win's dark hair to hide his eyes. His blood was roaring in his ears. Eyes flaring, he leaned some of Win's weight into his power, lifting her a little from the ground and giving her an artificial lightness. He didn't bother to whisper a spell. There was no point.
He began to walk backwards – slowly. He bumped into someone, felt their shoulder against his back; he mumbled an apology. The creature – was she still around, somewhere? Was she coming towards them? Had he just imagined it? Had he –
The sensation of Win shifting in his grip instantly derailed his thoughts. He felt the rhythm of her breath change as she lifted her head and something tense and knotted inside him eased. She was okay. She was okay. When he felt the tip of her shoe scuff his leg he released the spell, his hands still fisted in her jacket.
"Win?" he questioned, hesitant. "Are you…?"
"I…" Like him, she trailed off. He still couldn't see her eyes. She reached up. Her fingertips brushed his sleeve. "Merlin?" she asked in a small voice.
Maybe it was the way she was speaking. Her voice was the same as Win's, but the inflection was totally different: the tone was too soft, and hesitant in a way that Win would never have allowed hers to be. She looked up at him. He stared down at her, breath catching in his throat. Underneath the sleek hair and the make-up was a face that was familiar to Merlin, not Tom. How had he not seen it before?
Maybe, just maybe, he was more of an idiot than he thought he was.
"Gwen," he said, caught between joy and sadness. He settled on the latter. "Gwen, I'm… I'm sorry."
"I told you not to say that anymore," she said, eyes searching his face; her own was all pale with surprise, and confusion. And he couldn't help it: he tightened his arms around her, drawing her into a bone-crushing hug. She squeaked and hit his arm. He wasn't alone. Thank God he wasn't alone anymore. "What… what are we doing here?" Gwen asked breathlessly.
"Uh," he said. Paused. "I think we're meant to be running."
"What?"
"I'll explain later!" He pulled back and took hold of her wrist. "C'mon."
This time she didn't argue.
xxx
They got back to his flat safely. Merlin had no idea if they'd been followed – and he knew he should have checked, but it wasn't as if Gaius was around to tell him off for being careless, or as if anyone would mind if he was careless anymore. Besides, Win – Gwen - looked like she was ready to keel over. Her skin was wan and she was shaking continuously, one hand pressed to his arm the whole way home. He ushered her quickly into the flat and onto the sofa, dithering for a second before deciding it probably wouldn't be a good idea to offer her a drink.
For a long time she didn't pay him any attention at all. The look on her face reminded him of how he'd felt when his old memories had awakened last night: confused, anxious, afraid and most of all alone. As selfish as it was, Merlin couldn't help but feel relieved that Gwen was here along with him, experiencing the same turmoil he had. He'd been so afraid that he was alone in this new world.
Eventually Gwen looked up at him and managed a weak smile. It faded quickly.
"I bet I look worse than you do now," she sighed, pressing her face into her hands.
"Thanks," he said dryly.
"What? No!" She lifted her head, eyes wide. "I didn't mean – really, you look just fine - well, fine for someone who hasn't slept, I mean…" Giving a frustrated groan, she buried her face in her hands again. "I give up."
Merlin felt a grin tugging at his lips. "You told me earlier that I look like shit."
"Well, I'm not saying anything now. And I didn't say that, really. That was me as Win and I'm, I'm not…" She shook her head. "I can't even make sense out of this," Gwen said, dazed. "It's like I'm two people at once."
"That feeling won't last," Merlin said. He moved to sit beside her, propping elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. From between her fanned out fingers he could make out that her forehead was creased into a frown and her mascara was a little smeared. "Believe me, I know."
Gwen lowered her hands. "When you touched me it did something to me. I can't even explain it," she whispered. "It was as if I… I knew myself. For the first time. As if my whole life before this didn't matter anymore and I'd just been waiting. You woke that up in me."
"I don't know why it was like that. It wasn't that way for me. What I mean," he amended. "Was that no one made me remember. I just did." He intertwined his fingers, suddenly uncomfortable. There was a long silence.
"Tell me," Gwen said. "Tell me how it happened."
Merlin thought for a moment, trying to ignore the (very obvious) blush creeping up his neck. He didn't want to tell Gwen about the man. That was still too embarrassing; too embarrassing and too secret. So he kept the details sparse and prayed that his pale skin wasn't giving him away. Win had used to laugh at the way he'd flush at the littlest thing. You're too easy to read, she'd teased.
"I was walking back home when something, something that looked like a woman, attacked me. It was some kind of magical thing and it kept asking me for the Pendragon. When it tried to hurt me I just… remembered." He shrugged tightly. "I thought I saw her today, just before you fainted. That was why we had to run."
Gwen swore – colourfully because she did, after all, have Win's memories. She squeezed his arm. "How did you get away from her the first time?" she asked. "Fuck, do you think she'll come here?"
All sorts of lies popped into his head and he opened his mouth, ready to slide one easily off his tongue. I ran away really, really fast. I don't think she saw where we were going. She just left me. Didn't think I was worth the trouble of hurting properly. The words died before he'd even spoken them.
This wasn't Camelot and Gwen… Gwen deserved better than that. Merlin didn't try to resist the impulse to speak. He was so lonely and there was no one – no Gaius, no Dragon, no Arthur with his sneers or Morgana with their shared unspoken secret. Nothing. And there was nothing to lose.
Except Gwen's trust, of course. But he tried not to think about that.
"I'm a sorcerer, Gwen," he said softly. "Trust me. I can take care of both of us."
Silence.
"Gwen, I…"
"If you even think of saying you're sorry, I swear I'll hit you," said Gwen.
"I – "
"Don't." She clenched her hands together in her lap, looking at him with a kind of fierce hurt in her eyes. "You could have trusted me, Merlin. We were friends."
"That's why I didn't tell you," he said, willing her to understand. "Gwen, Uther was killing so many people. I couldn't risk you. I couldn't be the reason anything happened. You would have done that same thing."
Gwen looked away. He knew, without having to ask her, that she was thinking of her father. Jaw tense, she reached for his hand and took it in her own. Her fingers were smooth, with chipped polish on the fingernails. He laced his fingers with hers. It felt a lot like forgiveness.
"I think I should stay here tonight. I'm not going home alone when there's a magical monster on the loose. God knows what could happen, right?" She tried to couch her words as a joke, but it fell flat. There was too much truth in it.
He squeezed her hand.
"I'll protect you," he promised. "I used to protect Arthur all the time."
Gwen laughed. "You miss him, don't you?" she asked.
Merlin smiled wistfully. "Yeah. And from what the creature said about the Pendragon, I think he might be in trouble again. Wherever he is."
"We'll find him," Gwen said, with such total conviction that he almost believed her. But what were the odds of that happening?
As they stood up from the couch, Merlin gave Gwen's face a longer, more attentive look. With her straightened hair, her piercings and her heavy makeup Win had looked like a totally different person from Gwen. But it had been more than that. Until that moment on the street he hadn't recognised her, and he should have been able to – her facial structure and her eyes and everything were still identical to those of the old Gwen, Gwen from Camelot.
"I should have recognised you before," he said, unable to hide the confusion in his voice. "I don't know how I didn't."
Gwen smiled. Shrugged.
"Magic, I guess," she said. "C'mon, I'm going to try and find some real food in your kitchen. And throw out your milk."
xxx
Around one a.m. it began to rain. The woman standing outside the apartment block where Merlin lived carefully did up her coat, one button at a time. Then she pulled her hood up. There was a rain puddle forming around her feet but she paid it no attention and simply continued to stand as she had stood all night, staring up at the window of the apartment of her prey. She did not feel the cold or the biting wind. She was in her element.
The creature did not have an independent, mortal mind. Its thoughts were limited. But it was a creature of magic, and it could see and smell magic everywhere in the air. The ground shimmered with it. The window of the flat of the Emrys was like a beacon in the dark, drawing the creature's eyes towards it time and time again. The Emrys was bleeding magic. He bled it like pheromones and air, like the desert bled dust. She had been surprised when he had sensed her earlier that day on the street. She had thought that her magic would be below his interest. But the Emrys was ignorant of his true power, and that ignorance made him weak. Or so her mistress said.
He was sleeping. The lights were off, which signified human rest. In sleep he was vulnerable. His companion had no magic. It would be easy, so easy to slip into his home and cut out his eyes so he could not harm her; so easy to threaten the mortal companion until he gave her the Pendragon. That would please her mistress.
But no. She would not attack him outright. Not tonight. Her mistress wanted no more mistakes – one was enough, and all her mistress could afford.
The creature lowered her head and stared at the gold glow of power in the water. It reflected back into her eyes. There was still a long vigil ahead.
Emrys would lead them to the Pendragon eventually. It was just a matter of time.