AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This chapter is a bit shorter. I was going to continue it, but it just got awkward. But that means that I'll get the next chapter out quicker! With no further delay, here's the chappie!
Marc Emmy was unconscious on a steel examination table. Bruce Banner was conducting a medical examination, growling as he removed the bullet from Emmy's shoulder. Natasha had bandaged the wound well, but as the ride back to New York alone took an hour or two in the Quin-Jet, she had figured that it was best to leave the real medical stuff to Bruce.
"Did you have to shoot him, Natasha?" Bruce asked, stitching the small hole closed. Bruce gently wiped away the dried blood, and taped a bandage over the sutures. He checked the IV in the man's arm. They were administering a sedative while they were caring for Emmy's injuries, to make sure he didn't blast someone to bits.
Natasha frowned from where she was watching near the door. "Sorry," she grumbled. "I was just trying to make sure that he didn't cause world chaos or something."
Bruce frowned. "Fine. But why didn't you take care of him on the Quin-Jet? That was extremely irresponsible. He could've gotten an infection."
Natasha blushed. "Sorry." She did feel bad about it, but she had been a little more concerned about Clint, who had a concussion, and, if she had to admit it, she might have forgotten about Emmy in the confusion.
Bruce grabbed a pair of scissors and carefully cut Emmy's shirt away from his torso, discarding the threads next to the sleeve he had cut off to get to Emmy's shoulder. Emmy was well muscled, but pale, and several white scars were visible.
The most prominent was a scar on his right shoulder. It was nearly the size of a small apple, and almost star-shaped. Another was a barely visible shadow of a burn, large and circular on the left side of his chest. One looked more like a bullet wound, but the hole was too jagged and messy. Possibly an arrow?
What happened to this guy? Bruce wondered. Bruce shook his head, focusing on the blue and purple area on the man's lower ribs. He pressed gently on the bruised flesh. They were definitely broken, though as far as Bruce could tell, it was only a minor break.
Bruce took an x-ray, examining the break. The broken edges were still together, on all four of the damaged ribs. That was good.
Bruce carefully dressed the rest of Emmy's injuries, which were only minor scrapes and scratches. Bruce turned to Natasha. "He should be fine," he said, a bit coldly. "Just make sure that he doesn't move around too much. And it's now your job to keep an eye on him."
Bruce handed Natasha an ice pack. "Wait for him to wake up, then put that on his ribs for twenty minutes at a time, every hour."
Natasha nodded contritely. She knew that she had messed up. Bruce helped Natasha situate Emmy on a wheeled gurney, then left her to take Emmy to a containment unit.
Natasha wheeled the gurney into an elevator. They were currently at Avenger's Tower. There were a few containment cells in the basement. The elevator dinged, signaling their arrival. Natasha pushed the gurney into a special, maximum-security unit.
The room was Spartan. There was a toilet, a sink and a metal cot which was bolted to the floor. Glow-Strips along the ceiling lit the place with an even, white light. The entire cube was constructed from vibranium. It was ridiculously expensive, and had never been used before, but this guy seemed to do a lot of things regular people didn't do.
Natasha left the gurney next to the door and sat on the cot. Babysitting duty. What fun.
Merlin woke up slowly, groggy and in pain. His shoulder stung, and his ribs were aching to high heaven. His throat didn't seem very happy either. He opened his eyes and blinked. The sky seemed to be made of metal.
Merlin blinked again, and shook his head. It felt like his brain had come loose and was sloshing around inside his skull. One more blink, and Merlin's foggy mind cleared slightly. He had been injured. That much was obvious. And there had been people attacking him. And magic….
Then Merlin remembered. The Avengers had wanted information about… magic, he guessed. After that, it was all pretty blurry.
A voice interrupted Merlin's thoughts. "Glad to see you're alive," it said.
Merlin glanced to his right. A woman sat on an uncomfortable-looking metal cot. Merlin groaned. He had been caught. "What do you want?" Merlin rasped, trying, and, surprisingly, succeeding, to look unperturbed.
Natasha stood. "First things first," she said. "Put this on your ribs. It'll help with the swelling." Natasha passed Merlin an ice pack. She pressed a button on the edge of the bed. It rose slowly so that Merlin was more in a sitting position.
Merlin winced as he pressed the ice pack against his sore ribs. He was shirtless, but he could feel a pair of soft sweats on his legs under the white sheet covering him. He glanced back up at Natasha. "Black Widow, correct? Natasha Romanoff?"
Natasha nodded.
There was silence for a long while as Natasha watched him. And Merlin realized something. His connection to magic was bleary. He tried to touch his power, but it was slippery. He figured that if he concentrated hard enough, he would be able to use it, but right now, his mind was too blurred.
"So what do you people want?" he asked, staring Natasha straight in her eyes. "You have me. Now tell me what you want."
Natasha sighed. "We just want you to tell us what created those readings we found at that lake. Was it you? And don't lie."
Merlin considered for a second. It wasn't like he could just blurt it all out. Or could he? He didn't have anyone to protect other than himself; he was the last creature of the old religion. Well, except for Aithusa, but she could take care of herself.
"Give me an hour to recover," Merlin said. "Gather your people, bring me a shirt and a snack, and I'll tell you."
Natasha stared him down. Merlin stared right back. Natasha nodded. "You have an hour. I'll send someone down with some food and clothes. Then we'll talk. If you lie, you won't like the consequences."
Natasha left the room without another word.
Exactly an hour and eight minutes later, The Avengers were gathered in a twenty-by-twenty titanium cuboid. Merlin, or as the Avengers knew him, Marc Emmy, was sitting in a steel chair.
His feet were cuffed to the legs of the chair. Covering his hands were a pair of special vibranium restraints. They had been an emergency craft. The cuffs were bubble-shaped, surrounding Merlin's hands. The insides were padded. Merlin couldn't move his fingers.
The Avengers sat in their own chairs (all the chairs were bolted to the floor), around a rectangular steel table (also bolted to the floor). Captain Rogers sat directly across from Merlin, who was tired and pale, but quite relaxed, considering the situation.
Tony was munching on a bag of Cheetos. Natasha was rolling her eyes and Clint was playing with Natasha's hair. Vision was hovering just to the left of Merlin, in case he needed to be restrained. Wanda was sitting closest to Steve. She seemed nervous. Falcon was half asleep in the chair next to Tony, and Tony seemed to be considering stuffing a Cheeto up his nose.
Steve leaned his elbows on the table. "So, Mr. Emmy," he began. "You said you would talk. So talk. Explain what you did, and why you radiate these energy signatures."
Merlin nodded. "I will," he said, tapping his metal-enclosed hands against the arms of the chair. His fingers felt tingly and numb. He tried to use magic to warm them, but the magic fizzled and sparked around the edges of the vibranium cuffs.
Merlin took a deep breath. He hadn't ever really come right out and told his secret to anyone. At least not since Arthur, and telling Arthur had been one of the hardest things that Merlin had ever done, and Arthur had been dying when he'd done it.
"If I'm going to tell you everything," Merlin said, "you're going to have to give me the benefit of the doubt. And don't ask any questions until I'm finished. Got it?"
Everyone glanced at Steve. There was no official boss among the Avengers, but Steve had such an air of authority that most everyone naturally deferred to him. Steve nodded, looking stern, but curious. Tony poked a Cheeto into Sam's cheek. "Wake up," he said. "We're about to get an explanation here."
Sam sat up straight, rubbed his eyes, then slapped Tony's hand away. "I'm awake!" he snapped. "Now shut up and listen."
Everyone looked expectantly to Merlin.
Merlin took one more breath, held it for a second, and started talking. "This is going to sound mad, but… I was born in the middle ages. 599 A.D., to be exact."
The Avengers stared uncomprehendingly.
"My name isn't Marc Emmy, or even Michael Nyes. My name is Merlin. I was known by the druids as Emrys. I lived in Camelot, during the time of Arthur Pendragon."