The Monster.

'You want me to be a field agent?'

'You've been in their nest before, Mordred. A victim, yes, but you're not as emotionally … unstable as DS Emrys has become, and we need your experience,' the Commissioner explained. Mordred still felt the icy blast of Merlin's magic when they saw each other. He probably thought he was still enchanted. How could he know any different? The mask he wore was impeccable.

'Will I be reporting to you?' he questioned, lacing his hands together in his lap, feeling out of place in the office. Mordred faced one of the most powerful in the Met. Responsibility barely covered what he'd be feeling, no matter how appealing the thought was.

'Gods no. You'll have a supervisor within the Met Intelligence,' the Commissioner said, drinking his tea peacefully. 'After this I won't know a thing about your individual movements, for security purposes. I am endorsing it, however.'

'Do you think Old Religion will kill again, then?'

'We're going to stop them before that happens, Mordred,' the Commissioner told him. 'This will be an immersive role. No contact with anyone outside of your cover. You'll be given a room to stay in for the duration of the task as well. Today you'll be getting to know how it all works, your duties, the goals of this little operation, and tonight you'll be saying goodbye to whomever.'

'Goodbye?'

'I doubt you'll see anyone, or at least I hope you won't. Indefinitely.'

'Indefinitely,' Mordred said, feeling the word on his tongue. Secret, get revenge, protect people. It was tempting, but death wasn't. Not anymore.

'We've lost a few agents already, Mordred,' he elaborated, both hands wrapping around the mug. 'You do accept this job, yes?'

A partly hysterical smile flashed onto his face. 'Yeah, I accept.'

It was ridiculous. Ludicrous. His magic hummed in preparation. One mask for Morgana caused trouble as it was, and he was going to pull another one over that to trick an underground branch of Old Religion. Everything seemed clearer, the scent of tobacco poorly disguised, the old leather of the chairs, the tasteless age of dust resting on books in the shelves.

'Your new supervisor is waiting outside,' the Commissioner told him, and Mordred took his cue to stand, shake the ageing but strong hand, then leave.

.

.

.

Gwaine finished some brief notes before he moved onto the question. 'You left to visit your mother on Friday?'

'Yes, she did,' Mrs Thornberry's sister snapped at him, squeezing her sibling's shoulder from her seat on the sofa's arm. Gwaine glanced up to her, then back down to Merlin who shared the actual sofa seats with their real suspect.

'Do you know anything yet?' Mrs Thornberry asked, the question left hanging in the room for anyone to answer if they could.

'We've launched a full investigation,' Merlin answered, to which she looked up with watery eyes. 'We'll find whoever did this.'

'Why would anybody do this? Tommy never hurt anybody,' she croaked out, squeezing her eyes shut and crying softly, leaning into her sister's side.

'Thank you for getting her to me,' her sister said as she stroked arm.

Gwaine shut his notebook and tucked it into his pocket. 'It was our pleasure.'

'We don't need to ask anything else right now,' Merlin assured them and got to his feet. 'We'll have someone watch your house tonight.'

'Thank you,' her sister said again, Mrs Thornberry's cries growing more desperate and unsightly.

Merlin marched to the front door and stepped into the cold air. The warmth had been sucked out of it after only four hours.

'I hate doing that,' Gwaine complained as they headed to their car.

'And you work in the CID?'

'I'm a man of many faces, what can I say?'

Merlin chuckled and pulled out his mobile to call Arthur.

'DS Pendragon,' he answered.

'Anything new?' Merlin queried as he got into the car, the fabric of the seats a welcome relief from the unusual texture of the sofa.

'Besides Gaius' gruesomely vivid explanation of human anatomy? No,' Arthur said, the sarcastic tone not fading at all over the connection. 'I think you were right about it being magic. This is no way natural. You don't think Morgana-'

'It wasn't her or Mordred.' Merlin had established that without any thought. Today had proved he'd recognise their presence anywhere.

'Their timing is a bit-'

'I know what their magic feels like. Used to feel like anyway,' he said definitively, buckling the seatbelt as Gwaine pulled into the quiet street. 'Trust me.'

'Do you think your spell still holds?' Arthur whispered.

'That stops them from using any magic? There's no way to know for sure unless they try using it. It's been over sixth months,' he said, trying to keep the concern from leaking into his voice.

'You can sense it?'

'You have no idea.'

'I'm going to check the stuff pulled from his study,' Arthur told him, needlessly, and Merlin heard him move around on the other side of their call. 'Maclain's already found something. Talk later?'

Merlin grit his teeth. 'Yeah.'

He put away the mobile and shot Gwaine a poor smile.

'How're you doing with everything that's happened?' his friend pressed, leaving his full attention to the road and traffic.

'Fine,' Merlin murmured.

'If you want me to give that dick a good punch, just say the word.'

He laughed. 'Arthur?'

'Meant Mordred, but him too if he really deserves it.'

'Thanks for the offer,' Merlin said through a smile. 'I'll let you know.'

'You better.'

.

.

.

The leather was soft on his skin as Arthur held the journal open. 'He met with a reporter?'

He'd been trying to decipher the scratchy letters with no success, but DC Maclain insisted.

'Same night he kicked it,' she added, giving him an expectant stare.

'How can you get that from these scribbles?'

'My dad always wrote in shorthand. It's pretty easy to figure out. They work for the Independent too,' she explained, leaning forward and pressing her finger down on one of the messy markings. 'See, "IDPT". The main shapers of the word. "RPT". Reporter.'

'Huh. We need to tell DCI Kilgharrah, then bring them in. Voluntarily. We don't have enough for an arrest.'

'Do you always state the obvious? Or being careful to follow procedure? I heard that you were a man of action,' she practically purred. 'Impulsive, even.'

'I'm just doing my job,' Arthur said, closing the journal.

She beamed at him. 'Sure you are.'

Their journey back couldn't be any slower. Merlin's words kept drumming up in his thoughts to the point DC Maclain's voice became a senseless drone. You have no idea. No idea. We failed. Adapt. Merlin had been sleeping in their living room for four months, and every night in the bed alone was restless.

Small drops of rain hit his head as the two of them strode to Scotland Yard's entrance, the protection of the bus left behind. They had the team up to speed within ten minutes and five more gave them a name. Arthur was watching the red lines being painted onto the transparent surface as he added it to the board. Play the game. Adapt.

'It's not his wife,' Gwaine's voice announced. Arthur turned and saw Merlin ambling towards them, droplets caught in his dark hair and sprinkled over his dark shoulders. Merlin avoided his gaze and ducked into his desk chair.

'We have a new main suspect,' DC Maclain chimed, moving to stand by him. 'According to his boss he goes abroad a lot, documenting crises, but got back last week. Had a meeting booked with Thomas Thornberry the night of the murder.'

'Not very bright, if he did it,' Merlin said bluntly, bringing out a smile from Arthur.

'We're going to organise our own meeting with him,' she continued. 'Cause of death is still an issue. If the press catch wind of it, we have a problem. All the nut cases will be knocking on our doors.'

'It's an active case, we won't reveal details anyway,' Merlin remarked with the crease between his brows deepening.

DC Maclain smiled at Merlin, knives in her eyes. 'Let's keep it that way. We need a name for this whole operation as well.'

Arthur groaned.

'We haven't bothered with one before,' Elyan argued.

'Not something to be proud of. Names have power, and we need one for an investigation that will end up in some reporter's hands or another's. We're interviewing one of their own, for goodness' sake.'

'Nova,' Arthur suggested, refusing to leave the struggle up to the others. There were more important things to think about. Play the game.

She faced him with her own frown. 'Nova?'

It was nothing compared to Merlin's.

'Operation Nova. Guy was burned to death, but no external signs of it. Burning, but not,' Arthur tried to explain. 'Like a nova. Sort of.'

'I like it,' Gwen said and was met with nods and agreements.

Merlin nodded too. 'It's ambiguous enough.'

Gwaine cleared his throat. 'What's the reporter's actual name? Failed to mention it.'

'Oh,' Arthur started, realising he'd been stood in front of it. He shifted. 'Aredian.'

Merlin's eyes widened, hands tightening their grip on the chair arms.

'You alright, Merlin?' Arthur asked.

'Fine.'

Tapping the board marker against his palm he bit his tongue and pursed his lips, turning away from the lie to write the name up.

'Good luck,' Kilgharrah said as he opened his office door, a file in hand. Mordred was leaving it.

'Thanks,' the reinstated bastard returned. Arthur left the writing to follow his movements, saw him saunter away from the DCI then face their team. Mordred didn't even notice him. Merlin took in a sharp breath and Arthur took a step towards him instinctively, but his dark blue eyes flashed the molten gold. Had he just used magic? On Mordred? Did Mordred do something to him? The bastard pulled a leather jacket on and walked away.

'Where's he going?' Percy questioned, folding his thickly muscles arms.

'Afraid I don't know,' Kilgharrah replied with a long pause. It wasn't like the DCI to fall into silence. 'He's no longer working in homicide, so no longer under my jurisdiction. All for the better, I'm sure.'

'Trying to avoid conflict?' DC Maclain proposed. 'DS Emrys is a grown man. Working with him shouldn't be a problem, should it?'

'It was the Commissioner's choice, not yours, Vivian. I support his decision and that's the end of it,' Kilgharrah silenced her and Arthur felt a bubble of glee. 'I want DS Emrys to conduct the interview with you. DS Pendragon, you'll be watching. An audio and visual record is to be kept and this Mr Aredian needs to give his full consent. We will not screw this up.'

Leon picked up a phone. 'I'll call their head office.'

'Gwen, find anything in Thornberry's mail that might help?' Arthur asked, Leon having stepped away for the call, his voice quiet in the background.

'Everyday admin, that's all. Nothing helpful.'

'Worth a shot.'

'He's scheduled to have a meeting with the editor at five,' Leon updated them. 'Until then he could be anywhere,'

'Let's find out everything we can about him then. We've got three hours,' Arthur instructed.

'This could spook him,' DC Maclain said, her hands sitting on her hips. They were too wide.

Percy scoffed. 'Isn't that the point?'

'He's a reporter, so probably an expert at mind games,' Merlin started. Everyone listened in silence. His voice had gained a gravity over the past few months. It was deeper, rougher, guttural almost. Arthur didn't know if it made him sad, even more attracted to the man or if he simply didn't care. Adapt. 'It might be worth postponing direct contact. His boss will let him know we've been asking about him. Whatever his next step is might give us something more conclusive.'

'What if that next step is killing someone else?' Gwaine countered in an inappropriately jovial tone.

'He might not be the killer,' DC Maclain reminded them all.

'I'll arrange for a surveillance team to keep tabs on him from the meeting onwards, and somebody from this task force will always be in contact with them,' Arthur concluded before drawing up the 'NOVA' at last. He took a second to study their board. Second day in and it was going well. OPERATION NOVA. VICTIM: THOMAS THORNBERRY. MAIN SUSPECT: AREDIAN. C.O.D: INCONCLUSIVE. All he could really think was Merlin. Missing him. The desperate passion in the kiss which collapsed into that distance in his eyes. Arthur knew something was changing again. Merlin's ongoing lies and secrets, Maclain, Merlin's moving out. That bastard and Morgana back. It all spelled something catastrophic. Perhaps he'd just become a cynic.

.

.

.

Mordred came up to the dark double door entrance. Next to it the french bistro, La Petite Auberge, had people laughing and candlelight spilling over into the street. The hazy amber hue signalled the ending of the day and he knew it meant the ending of something else. Up the stairs he climbed, down the hallway, into the new flat.

Morgana's slender arms were hanging up a framed painting above the square of a fireplace. Flames inside it flickered with the wind swirling into the room from the open balcony doors.

'Mordred,' she said, craning her head to face him with a smile. Hair pinned up behind her head with a few loose curls framing her face. It seemed gentle. He grit his teeth. She wasn't gentle. Not after what she'd done. Destroyed. 'When's the last time you shaved?'

'It's been a while. Thought I'd try it out,' Mordred answered running his fingers across the bristles decorating his jawline.

'Looks good,' Morgana complimented. She hooked the painting up and gave it a once over. 'They've assigned me to Trident.'

He waited at the door. 'Gang crime?'

'Yup. Since it's such controversial stuff and the public's taken a shine to me, they thought it might help. Keeps me away from Arthur and the rest of them, too,' she explained, tucking a curl behind her ear. He felt her magic snake towards him but it didn't invade or attempt to. It floated around him, like static in the air. 'How about you? You seem preoccupied.'

'I'm joining a specialist task force,' he replied, recalling the countless conversations he'd had that day. 'Counter-terrorism. Training starts immediately.'

Her smile faltered. 'Oh.'

'They've given be an hour to grab essentials, then I'm moving to the Academy's accommodation,' he finished, stepping back into the doorway. He hadn't done much unpacking since moving into the place a week earlier.

'But I just got back,' Morgana said, the usual power and arrogance hiding somewhere for the time being. 'We just got back.'

'The rent for this place is still covered, so don't worry about that.'

'How long? How long will you be gone?'

Her entire demeanour had shifted. It put him on edge. 'No idea.'

'Why didn't you say no?'

'You know what they say happened to me. Manipulated, kidnapped, escaped,' he listed, replacing his bitterness with a joking tone. It took effort. 'Wouldn't follow my psychological profile if I rejected the proposal, would it?'

She couldn't reject the logic. 'Can you come back to visit?'

'You know how it works. For such high level training it's an isolated thing. I'll call though. It's not permanent either, so,' Mordred said, running a hand up his own forearm, comforting himself. He was entering a tangle of lies that would be hard to get out of if caught. 'This will give a good breathing period before we get any projects rolling.'

The look of loss in her green eyes dissipated. 'I can't have any fun while you're gone?'

'No. You can't.'

'Not even messing with Merlin?'

'That's my job. Arthur's fair game, though,' he reminded her, fighting hard against the agony of seeing Merlin's hurt expression when he'd seen him that morning. 'Well, I've got to pack. Shouldn't take too long. I like the painting by the way.'

Morgana rushed into him, arms encasing him in a hug. 'Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you. Can't believe I'm even saying that.'

His magic slammed up extra defences before he reciprocated the embrace, noting her faint smell of flowers. 'Why not?'

'I never thought my enchantment would lead to a genuine friend, not just a means to an end,' she murmured pulling away. Mordred hid his bafflement behind a fake smile. 'After all, it didn't take away your will.'

'The spell?'

'Yeah. It only fed off what was already inside you,' Morgana said, her hand falling down to hold his own. His skin crawled. The triumphant cruelty he'd felt radiate off her for the last two days was nowhere to be found. She was earnestly telling him he had the monster inside him without her help. It stung. 'Within the realm of possibilities. I regret the pain it put you through but … It all worked out in the end.'

He took his hand back. 'I've got to go.'

'Let me help?'

Mordred's head was spinning and he tried to rope it down with any magic he could spare. Her touches lingered on his body, the static, the anger, matched with her disturbing fragility. Morgause's death had changed her differently in this lifetime. Had she remembered the past as well? Was her shift in behaviour, a possible façade, the result of remembering it all? 'Sure.'

'Did she believe you?'

'Yes,' Mordred answered as he ducked into the car waiting outside the flat. She believed her spell held, and that he was training for counter-terrorism. Surreal didn't cover how he felt as his new supervisor, Aglain, drove him away into the night.

'We'll drop you off at the hotel, then you need to head to the tracks and get noticed,' the man informed him, street lights flashing into the car as they sped away, highlighting his dark-skin and sharply angled eyebrows.

'Just need to grab their attention, at night, by railway tracks, do I?'

'Bring up something only Old Religion know about,' Aglain said, ignoring his meagre attempt at lightening the mood. Met Intelligence seemed to be weighed down by an unfair sense of responsibility and importance. For good reason, but still.

'Surprised you haven't interrogated me about that,' Mordred noted, fiddling with the strap of the bag he held on his lap. It wasn't as full as he'd expected, but then with magic it became irrelevant. Magic. That was something Old Religion knew a lot about. It was almost sad how out of the loop the Intelligence officers were.

'Human rights. Psychologists argued it would break you. We still have a use for you though, and that information.'

'Clearly,' he muttered. ' Will you be watching?'

'No. They're too dangerous for that. We still don't know how they killed their past victims, or what happened to the operatives we lost. You'll wear a small microphone to give us audio at least,' Aglain said, and Mordred took a mental note. He'd need to disable the connection.

'Do you have any clue what happens once I gain their interest?'

'It might be better if you don't know,' Aglain said and Mordred smiled. They had no idea.

'It'll make my performance more convincing, right?'

'Precisely,' Aglain agreed, slowing down and changing gears as they turned onto a new road. 'We'll call your room at the Shelton hotel tomorrow morning, seven a.m. sharp. Make sure you pick up.'

Mordred left the company of his supervisor and got his room at the Shelton hotel. Throwing the bag down to the floor he took in the small area, with simple furnishings and clean smell. One of the better places he'd stayed in the last six months. He read through the information they'd gathered so far, of dramatically decreased crime and missing persons reports all pointing towards something scaring and taking people.

Trains scraped past on the Great Northern tracks, the vibrations running through to the building. Mordred amplified the sound in his own mind to block out the fighting couple in the room next to his. The entire area had been investigated but the source of the strange behaviour, disappearances, was never found. Flipping the file shut he dropped it onto the bed and got up with the goal clear in his mind.

When his foot hit the pavement outside the hotel and he took his first breath of the cool night air Mordred began to pulse out waves of magic. He was going to find them. Ruin them.