Striding into STAR Labs

Through An Open Door

“Doctor Wells get to the cortex NOW.” I heard a young woman say urgently and forcefully, almost as a command. It didn't take a genius to see I was the cause of the urgency. I wondered it was an order?

“Please, I mean no harm.” I said weakly. “I..I'm just passing through.”

“Then stand down.” Barry Allen told me.

“If you mean by that, let myself get taken into holding, of course. But I can't actually stand down. I'm not exactly armed and dangerous to begin with. The field is a capsule, in case a different Earth has less than breathable atmosphere or something. Well, incompatible I mean. It happens.”

“Can you deactivate it?” The woman I know identified as Caitlin Snow asked me.

“Once you tell me the composition of your air and other details. I can't run the scans myself.”

“70% nitrogen 20% oxygen 10% mix of carbon, Xenon and other trace gases.” Wells said from the doorway. He carried a laser-type weapon that was pointed downward. His hair was as wavy and short as most other Wells. He was dressed in black and gray clothes that were simple but elegant. Not refined taste but made more for lonely brooding than fighting or having fun.

“So my skin might turn pink but there's enough oxygen I'll still breath alright.” I thought aloud. I pressed two fingers to the inside of my left wrist. The field faded. My head dropped as I adjusted. A few deep breaths later all three people in the room were starring at me. “That much Hydrogen with what I think is extra Xenon is like putting a skin tanning lotion all over me.” I explained simply. “It's all good.”

“You know, I doubt she has to go into the pipeline. I mean, as long as she stays as still as she is, we can just talk in the lounge or something right?” Wells said, almost reluctantly.

“I can't say I disagree.” Caitlin piped up. I started and stared at her. “What is it?”

“You really are Caitlin Snow.” I murmured. “Talk about the same but different.”

“Okay what's that about?” Barry Allen said firmly, but still calmly.

“With the silvery hair and ash-blue make-up, she looked like Frost to my eyes.” I explained simply. Blank looks permeated the room. “Dr. Caitlin Snow on my earth was the nicest but also one of the most reserved people I've ever met. She had a meta-alter-ego called Frost; basically a chaotic good type of wild child. Well, originally Killer Frost was a bad-ass bad girl. The metallic-whiteness of her skin, the ice-queen appearance, that was the frost alter-ego...who mellowed out significantly on my Earth. I honestly thought she was on the surface here...until now.”

“I am a 'wild child' here.” Caitlin Snow said pointedly. “That's all this is.”

“I apologize. It's just...I can't help but use what I know to interpret what I see. I'm human.”

“Plus la change.” Harry said under his breath.

“ 'The more things change, the more they stay the same'.” I said aloud.

“What do we have another mobile Gideon unit or something?” Cisco said as he walked in. His hair was in a pony-tail, but just as laid back and casual as ever. Except...I couldn't see eyebrows.

“Let's get someplace where we can all sit down and hash over everything.” I said I held my hands out in front of me, as if I was about to be arrested. “This compare and contrast is GOING to take a while. I sincerely hope you're interested in that discussion. Not fun but...usually worthwhile.”

Barry Allen led me into a lounge with tan walls, silver tables, that looked like they were made out of actual silver and overhead lights with blue ceramic-looking covers. I made my way to one of the metal tables and sat myself down. I gripped the arm of the chair a little tight as I sat down.

“Something for your nerves?” A young man with blonde hair and a light blue dress shirt asked cordially, from several feet away. I smiled at the bands he wore around his arms, just above his elbows. He was either very proper and very eloquent...or had no other purpose but to help out.

“A lemon tea or a mild wine please.” I answered at once. I smiled when I noticed it was Julian Albert. I my face froze when he turned around. He had a cybernetic implant up and down the left side of his face. “I take it he is who you meant by 'another' mobile Gideon unit. He wears one on his face as a...conduit I guess?”

“...Yes, essentially.” Harry stated in an almost subdued tone of voice.

“Wells, you and I can stay with her. I don't think we should crowd.” Allen said easily.

“Fixing the inter-cellular matrix of the velocity nine.” Snow said briskly.

“Improving the hydraulics of the speed-lab racetrack.” Cisco squeaked.

Julian came back with a tray of drinks: one glass of white wine, two goblets of red and a steaming mug of black tea. “Tea is for me. I know you guys like to share the experience, so wine seemed like the way to go.” He said, almost by way of explanation.

Wells took one of the red-wine goblets, a seat at a higher, smaller table to my right and a mini-notebook out of his pocket. Barry took the other goblet and sat down right across from me. I took a sip of the white wine, smiled faintly and waited for either of them to speak.

“I take it you're from another Earth?” Barry prompted me.

“Yes. I recognize a lot of your faces from that version of STAR Labs. Knowing doppelgangers can have different names, and not just from their family histories...Introductions?”

“Doctor Harrison Wells.” The Earth-10 doppelganger said, placing his palm flat against his chest and bowing slightly.

“Bartholomew Allen. Most people call me 'Barry'.” The Flash said, tapping his left shoulder with his right hand. “And that's Julian Albert. And you were absolutely correct about the implant.”

“Back home people knew me as Sasha. I man, on Earth one in Starling City and in STAR labs. Prior to 6 years ago, everyone knew me as 'Sarah'. Call me either one.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Why are you here?”

“I'm not visiting Your Earth, not specifically. I stride parallel to parallel to see beyond my own horizons and outside my own world. It's just the sort of adventures I have, across what I think of as the world's largest ocean.”

“Life on the road in the universes most expansive highway?” Wells said curiously.

“I wanted to see what else was out there. I was already familiar with alternatives to common variables.” I said what I'd meant to be jokingly. I smiled a little sadly when he blinked at me. “That was my attempt at humor, sometimes I crash and burn sorry.”

“It's more than alright, don't worry.” Wells said in a soft tone.

“Anyway, I spend as much time on my Earth as I do any other Earth. But this is how I prefer to spend my day. Stopping through, helping out, learning. It's not for the sake of the variations. Just to find new people to say 'hello' to, but not be completely in the dark about.”

“Is there a Harrison Wells on your earth?” Julian said, having sat down across from Wells.

“That's the weird thing. In the six years since STAR Labs went into operation, there have been four versions of Harrison Wells, from various Earths who stay as long as they are needed and return home...By and large. The man from they thought was Harrison Wells was an impostor...and died five years ago. The original...the actual Wells from our Earth...”

“...Was killed by this man, before anyone had met him.” Allen whispered. I nodded my head.

“This has the negative effect of each new Wells being compared to a man who, while super nice, turned out to be a murderer on at least two counts. The plus side is I have multiple Harrison Wells', that I met back home, to use as a template, comparison and interpreter for my travels now., as far as he is concerned.” I could tell this Wells wanted to hear more. And if I was interpreting Julian's facial expression correctly, he was sincerely curious. “Not to be a jerk but 'if you have questions, ask them'.” I said loud enough for everyone in the room to start paying attention.

“Was Harrison Wells you teacher?” This Wells said in a voice of which I could make nothing.

“Each Wells to join the team, year after year has a brilliant mind and relevant perspectives. No matter what his area of special concern, he knows what he's talking about. They can be ashamed or proud of their lives, indifferent hell bent fixing their mistakes, but our team is the better for having each and every 'resident wells' on it. One trust their advice...on life OR conflict.” I looked around and smiled softly. “I must specify something. When I say 'team flash' I mean my friends at Star Labs. I am not ON team Flash. But I am on their SIDE.”

“That's pretty much how I am here. I want to help if I can. And apparently I'm good at it.” This Wells said with a sincere smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“You sound like H.R.” Without looking up I elaborated on my own statement. “He was the most normal, average and easy-going of them. He wasn't a genius and didn't really understand half the science-y things you dealt with. He was so simple you thought he was 'simple-minded'. Unfortunately I am using that as a collective/inclusive rather than a specific, impersonal pronoun. His 'stream of consciousness' approach to life was invigorating for lack of another word. And his 'leaping before one looks' saved the day.”

“Why are you sad about that?” Barry asked me, dropping his head to look me in the eyes.

“He used to say that if something was worth it you had to go for it, no matter the odds. I think he meant the odds of failure or the risks involved. When you needed him the most...no one expected what he did much less ask it of him...he gave his life to keep Team Flash together and beat the bad guy. To him it was worth the cost.”

“On that point he and I are alike.” Wells said in a faint voice. He got up and I thought it was to leave. Instead he just walked over to the bar and poured himself another glass of wine.

I turned to Barry and dropped my voice conspiratorially. “He is a valued, if not equal member of this team'?” I said, pointing my head toward Wells.

“Very much so.” Barry answered me, just as quietly.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see all of you together.” I said aloud, still trying to steady the cadence of my voice. Julian and I both chuckled at that, though presumably for different reasons. “On Earth-1 Julian left the team not too long after H.R.'s funeral. He's still within proverbial earshot. You keep in contact. But he's off doing his own thing for the most part.”

“I was the only one who could handle Gideon in my ear. I'm not as bothered by it as they would be. That's why I stayed. I don't mind it at all. It's actually a fairly illuminating way to live.”

I smiled faintly and continued as business like as anything. “To answer your question, about how I can control these things and trigger internal sensors? It is a series of on-off switches, medical implants I have in various parts of my internal systems. I have these little devices that monitor my epinephrine and norapanepherine levels and improve my endocrine/thyroid function...cleans my blood and cools my breath as needed. And to answer your next question this was prior to my decision to travel the worlds largest ocean. I'm living my life to the greatest and most profound degree possible. Not to extend my life by any sense, but so the days I have are worth living.”

My hands started shaking right around then. “Can I have some almond-cashew mix please? Or a turkey and cheese sandwich?”

“Is everyone on your earth this advanced in nutritional balance?”

“Only those who have a a completely separate list of things required for balance.” I answered at once, a little more curtly than I'd intended. “Most people are too busy trying to argue different diets and what is the most up-to-date dietary pyramid to realize those pyramids are not universal. The framework or understanding of what most people need or are said to need probably isn't that different from around here. I just happen to be different enough that it doesn't fit me. I need magnesium and tryptophan the way most women would need iron and B-12. Special diet means special care.” I looked around a minute. “The bitterness in my voice is because it's not an acknowledged special diet. People know not to give diabetics sugar. Not to give people with heart conditions caffeine. There are specialized diets for every physical or physiological abnormality out there. But no-one thinks someone with an emotional mental disability might need a diet AS different just as badly. Not even when nutritional science is there field of study.”

“Guys, can I have a moment alone with Sarah?” Wells said in a restrained voice. There were looks of agreement and acquiescence as the others cleared out. I motioned to the chair across from me and Wells sat down in it. For a moment neither of us spoke.

“You are both right and wrong about me.” He began slowly. “These people are my friends, the closest friends I've made in a long time. The distance you are sensing, what must seem like permanent uncomfortableness, is actually a new development.”

“You feel like you failed them somehow and you don't want to impose?”

“Rather the reverse. I recently suffered a loss and afterward I retreated into myself for a while. I didn't quite throw myself into my work. I just didn't socialize anymore, even while working. They' are trying to give me some distance until I can put my heart completely back into my work. Or until I can embrace team flash as a my 'friends as close as blood' once more.”

“I never asked, you are their Harrison Wells, right?”

“Yeah. They just call me by my surname though. It's...professional I guess.”

“I shall do so as well. It's a refreshing change. But...am I even welcome around here?”

“For as long as you would like to stay, you are welcome to.” Wells said firmly and warmly.

“For which I'm grateful. But it's not actually a matter of me liking to stay. I won't even have time to say goodbye when I leave. What I am asking is are these the kind of people...rather is it normal on this earth that being useful or non-threatening a yardstick by which I will be measured while I am here....however long or short a time that ends up being. Because kicking me out or me wanting desperately to leave won't pull me home any faster. And I will get PULLED home when my time here is over.”

Lex's Palace

 A Palace of Victory

Lex Luthor has 3 Superman clones who serve him faithfully. The varied nature of each of their duties and the fact that they were quarter in completely unrelated sectors of Lex's mansion made it extremely unlikely any of them would ever meet. And if they did, Lex would simply dismiss the more vacant minded one as a mindless drone, a robot patterned after his defeated slave. This explanation would likely be enough for someone who did not dare question their master in the first place. If the one being dismissed learned the truth and dared challenge him, that clone would be 'reconditioned' and the entirety of his memory simply erased. These cloned had been grown from the memories and emotions scanned, extracted and mined from the original Superman. Who now lay in a medically induced coma in one of the more comfortable rooms in his mansion. This arrangement allowed Lex to imbue his new clones with virtually everything that made Superman who he was. The information he had gleaned from his current servants had allowed him to perfectly recreate the original event which had brought the actual Superman to his knees. This clone however had altered memories. Lex was eager to see the results of the alteration...and whether the altered memories would hold under the emotional stress of such an event. This man was according to his memories an arrogant alien who lived above the world. Hardly bothering himself with the lives and difficulties of the humans he protected. He only ever allowed himself to be called 'Superman' or by his true Kryptonian name: Kal-El. Indeed he not only basked in the adulation these human gave him, he demanded it. In fact most humans were genuinely grateful for his protection. Nikita was the only person he considered worthy of his time. An almost equal for his glory. Which was not surprising as she was known to be something other than human.

“Sir, please don't!” Superman cried out. “Why do you do this, she's innocent.”

“Because your iron flesh negates the possibility of physically hurting you. Which means the quickest way to bring you to your knees was to threaten the life of the only person on this planet you seem to care about.” Lex put the control down.

“This is more than a threat, this is torture! You claim to champion humanity. And yet you do this, just to hurt me?”

“Of course, I don't see why not.”

Nikita gave another cry of pain. “What are you even doing to her?”

“A kind of neural solvent. I'm injecting her with micro-liters of a substance that for her physiology might as well be sulfuric acid. Honestly I'm a little curious why you care so much. As lowly as we humans are compared to Kryptonians, her race aren't that much better. And yet you care for her. It's the only way seeing her in pain could cause you this much pain.”

“Lex, Mr. Luthor please, don't punish her for my mistakes! If I'm the one you want, punish me. Take me. Bring me to my knees. There must be something that can penetrate my 'iron flesh' as you call it. I'll freely submit, just leave her alone!”

Superman flew up to the third floor west wing of the Luthor mansion. It was precisely seven minutes after he had left. Nikita was safe in her compartments at the watchtower. He spotted 3 large floor to ceiling window and flew up to them. He mimed tapping on the center window. The window actually slid horizontally away. He touched down lightly about 12 feet away from Luthor and waited. Lex merely glanced down at the floor. Without hesitation Superman sank to one knee, still looking up at Lex.

“One thing you will learn quickly is that I will be quite florid in my deprecation of you Superman. There is nothing you will be able to say or do to change my mind. That is not to say I actually believe most of it. It is simply a small source fo joy for me, knowing you of all people cannot and will not speak up for yourself. You will never contradict me. I am a more remarkable human than most, basking in the humiliation of my greatest enemy. And you can believe I will take every opportunity to remind you of your...reduced status in life as my humble servant. With your surrender, you have become my slave. And I will I never let you forget that you CHOSE to be my slave. Tell me what you think that means.”

“It means your will is not to be questioned, but obeyed. It means I have no right to refuse a direct order from you and there is nothing I posses that is truly mine. It means anything you do to me, is done by the right of a master over his...” Superman struggled over the word. “...property.”

“Go on.” Lex said simply.

“It means you can speak to me and do to me as you life. You do not need a reason. And I must accept – as I will eventually accept – that without you I am nothing.”

“Quite so Superman.”

“May I ask...what happens to me outside these walls? Or am I not allowed to leave them?”

“A most reasonable question. You will continue protecting the people of this city. Save people from burning buildings, stop speeding cars and put bank robberies to an end as efficiently as you can. But you will leave your floating palace to lie in ruin. And you will never speak a word against me in public again.”

“Of course, Master.”

“I'm not sure I will ever get tired of hearing that word out of your mouth. But as a rather decorative reminder.” He tossed a silver collar into Superman's lap. “Put that on.” Superman fashioned the collar to his own neck. “You will wear that every second you are under my roof, which you will not leave without my permission. This is made out of simple tungsten steel as is more ceremonial than anything else. But I have at least one other, made out of Nth metal from a planet called Swan Moon. That is something even you will not be able to break, even if you tried.”

“Yes, master.”

“One more thing, then I'll have someone show you to your room. I'll call you 'Superman' most of the time. But I need something else to call you as kind of a warning. To tell you to be careful or shape up. I need your actual name.”

“Kal-El. I...I'm having trouble believing you don't know that.”

“You do not have a human name?” It was the ultimate test. If Superman responded with 'Eli' it was proof he remembered. If not, it was the final proof that he truly believed the narrative.

“I don't believe so sir.”

Lex Luthor's domination of Superman, mind, heart and body was finally complete.

Superman looked up to the balcony where Lex Luthor stood, looking out over his estate. The man might as well have been standing on his dais looking down at a gathering of commoners. Lex finally looked down at Superman specifically and suddenly a change came over the man's face.

“You really have no idea who I am do you?”

In response Superman flew, almost glided to hover just beneath the floor of the balcony. He looked up at Lex, his eyes sincerely pleading. “I swear to you, I don't understand what is going on here. I understand you think of me as a monster. For all I know....I am one. But if that is so, I implore you, do not make anyone else suffer for MY sins. Whatever I did to earn the hatred I see in your eyes right now, take your revenge upon me alone!”

“I must admit some surprise that Earth's great protector would try to bargain with me rather than try to fight.”

Superman looked longingly at Nikita. “Sir, I don't fully understand this myself. No I am telling you the truth. I have NO reason to lie. I'm not sure I have it in me to lie outright. Nikita is the most innocent, compassionate and beautiful soul I have ever had the honor of knowing.” Suddenly Superman dropped to both knees, stretched his arms toward Lex, palms wide. “Sir, I am yours. I make myself your prisoner and your slave. All I ask is that you don't punish anyone else for my failures...most especially her.” Lex watched Superman impassively. This was actually getting boring. How could seeing Superman surrender himself and plead for the life of another actually get boring? Superman bowed his head low. “Sir, I implore you, do not let this happen again. Enforce your will upon me alone. I submit to your will for all time. I'll do whatever you ask, I swear it on my life. All I ask is that you...no I BEG of you: Let her go.”

“If you explain why you humiliate yourself so completely for her sake.” Superman bowed his head still further but gave no answer. “If you tell me this, and answer me truthfully, your request will be granted and I will finally release her. Explain your desperation and your passionate entreaties. Why DO you value the simple creature so?”

“She is precious to me. She and I have been friends for years. I would know that even if Hank and Jeremiah hadn't confirmed it for me themselves. I feel it in my heart. Losing her would_ ” He closed his eyes. “If you let her fall into that pool of death I will give up pretending to be a hero and would at least TRY to kill you.”

“And if I let you free her and take her home?” Lex prompted.

Superman looked up with a faintly hopeful smile. “If you let her live, if you will not only let her live but let her GO___You can do whatever you want to me__in payment of that debt.”

“Take her home.” Lex Luthor said simply. “Fly her home, wherever that is for her. Then return here to me and I will give you further instructions.” Superman lifted Nikita away from what he had rightly called the pit of death. He laid her gently against the wall to check her breathing. Satisfied she could indeed make a full recovery, Superman bowed his head in gratitude to Lex Luthor and flew away, carrying Nikita in his arms. Seven minutes later, Superman returned to once again hover only a few feet away from Lex Luthor.

“What will happen now?” Superman asked his patron.

“I have yet to decide if you will be quartered in a room as my guest or sleep in one of my isolation cells as my prisoner. But you ARE my slave.”

“I believe I understand...Master.”

“ 'Master Luthor' or 'Master Lex'. And for good measure, drop to one knee and bow your head before your true and glorious superior.”

“I understand and obey, Master Luthor.” Superman sank slowly to his right knee and touched his head to his left.

Lex's unease about the monotony of this victory was fading quickly. Because at last something different was happening. For the first time, Lex could sense anger coming off the man. “Would you take your decision back if you could?”

“You tricked me Luthor...Nikita is dead.”

Lex tried to cover his genuine surprise with a look of annoyance. “How the hell can that be?”

“Her body failed why I still had her in my arms! Her people live an average of 120 years and she was barely 82 years old. Which means you never had the real Nikita captive in the first place!”

“I did once, in point of fact.” Lex said simply. “I had the real Nikita here, suspended over what was for her people a vat of boiling tar. Superman surrendered himself to me in exchange for her freedom and her life. But that was more than two years ago now.”

“I'm not real either am I?”

“You are real, of course you are real. Perhaps you mean that you are not the original Superman. And I must confirm your conclusion. The real Superman is lying in a medically induced coma in the thrice-over sub-basement of an otherwise abandoned LexCorp facility. And with that revelation, you have permanently out-lived your usefulness to me.” Lex confessed his surprise. This had never happened before. In three years and 47 'new lives' That the individual he held over them was a replica of the real Nikita had never been discovered by any of his hostages. Then again, he did not keep the Nikita clone more than a few weeks beyond the initial surrender, which played out differently with each iteration. Lex admitted to himself that he truly enjoyed, delighted in forcing Superman's surrender again and again. New experiences were found in every attempt. The last recreation had brought an almost literal jaw-dropping revelation: That Superman truly loved Nikita. It was the only time so far that he had refused to release the Xavallen girl upon Superman's surrender. This time he had kept Nikita with him and used her as leverage any time Superman openly defied him. Quiet resistance would be dealt with using the Nth metal collar he had invented. It was a clean and efficient inducer of pain. But the greater acts of outright resistance and insolence, required more memorable correction. It was not unusual for 'Eli' to begin to disobey his masters orders. When this happened he would be escorted by guards armed with Kryptonite rifles to a room as wide as three football fields and ran the length of the mansion. It was flooded with red sunlight. Which meant within the walls of this particular cell, Superman was vulnerable as any human. Subject to thirst, hunger, pain, sickness and even death. Lex would punish him with at least three of these things until the former hero once again humbled himself before his Master and swore unyielding submission to his will. It had been more than a week before Superman had flung himself on his knees swearing his absolute and permanent submission. Lex had not relented until Eli swore himself as Lex's abject slave.

Story prompts

Actual bits of dialogue I have jotted down but until and up to now have absolutely NO context for. Hoping some feedback or thought-provoking stuff can come from posting them. So any ideas of possible context or exposition on these is awesome and well appreciated. I didn't know any other way of contacting so many of my friends, but only the interested ones at once.


"I never told you why we can resist without fighting?! It basically comes down to the simple truth that for my people, pacifism does not mean inaction. It means finding ways to join the fight without picking up a sword. We will ne-ver create violence. But we would rather die than live under anyone else's banner.”

"We all die at one time or another and I for one would rather die tomorrow and have it mean something than outlive my friends and lament a wasted life.”

"Death is final. Memory is eternal. they are not in conflict. We remember our friends long after they die. and THAT is why they are never truly GONE."

Let me be crystal clear about something. I KNOW you are an alien, biologically and natively. That just doesn't stop me from sharing, and here is why. I believe people are better than generally thought or described. Whether we like people or not, we can trust a lot of them, at least with basic stuff. almost like 'I know you enough to trust you, even if not enough to share'. For me personally, there's a very short list of people I truly trust with the deep stuff, because of exactly how 'deep' and far reaching this stuff is. And I trust you with it. To me knowing you're from another planet doesn't change that."

"Morganna may have your blood but she is not your heir as I reckon it. Maybe Arthur will never come to the throne but I would rather die fighting for him than waste away living under her rule...even if I end up only fighting for Arthur's memory."

Quentin Lance paused as he considered the ally before him. It had been a simple enough question 'who the hell are you anyway', but it was not a question that brought a simple, direct answer. He knew he was asking a masked vigilante and a former murderer that he'd hunted for over a year to take off that mask simply because they weren't QUITE so antagonistic toward each-other. So he figured the man needed a minute. But time was dragging on and the man hadn't said anything, not even an angry version of 'that's too much trust to give you'. Finally the hooded archer reached for something on his chest and deactivated his voice changer. "Tommy was my friend. That's why I was helping him. And his death IS why I've changed so much. As you probably figured Mr. Lance."

(Sasha Jordan Scott, usually known as 'Sarah' to her friends says a final goodbye to the closest friend she's made in the last five years...who asks if she's finally moving away)

 "I'm having trouble getting the words out but...Quentin... I cannot 'move away' in the strictest sense...I never lived in Starling City to begin with."

A blind girl has talked with a 'strong young voice' for over an hour before asking his name. Which he gives as 'Henry'.
"I knew a Henry once; I doubt you are he."
"Why are you so sure?”
“Two reasons. He would be an old man by now, if alive at all..”
“..Good reason.” Henry says absentmindedly.
“And he would be speaking French. Being raised around here he understood the king's English well enough, but could never speak it as a native.”

(An Alien friend of Superman's says goodbye to Clark...At his high school graduation)

“I don't know if the hero you become will line up with the man I knew or not. But you will be your own kind of hero and one of the finest men I've ever known. Nothing can change that now.”

Captain Jack and the Dark Archer

For those who don't know the Dark Archer Malcolm Merlyn and the former time agent turned defender of Earth Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who are played by the same actor: John Barrowman.

“What did you say your name was again?” The cop said gruffly.

At least, he came off as a cop to the man he was questioning.

“Look I don't know what name I'd have been known by if I had ever been here before, but as I haven't I doubt it matters.” The stranger replied curtly.

“I'm not suggesting you have been.” The inquisitor replied somewhat put off by the resistance this man maintained within his own mind.

“Oh your not insisting I'm this Merlin criminal you called me?”

“I know enough to know you're not him. At least you don't believe it of yourself. That doesn't answer my question of who you ARE.”

“You got a point. I'm not going to bother calling myself 'James' or 'Johnathan'. People call me CJ.”

“Ok, etiquette tip. When a police officer asks for your name it's polite to give them your actual name.”

“True, but you're not a cop. I mean, unless they were on the take or something, no cop I know would be hiding their faces like that. But you don't come off as any kind of criminal either. If anything...”

“What?” the hooded figure said in a slightly calmer voice, and with sincere curiosity.

“It strikes me you think my doppelganger IS a criminal; that's why you're after him at all.”

“You got that part right. Malcolm Merlyn is a prick. I don't like him and he doesn't like me.”

“Either of you, you mean?”

“Leave the cop out of this.” The vigilante stated tersely.

“What, you leave that hood on all the time?” CJ replied sardonically. He wasn't sure if the man he was talking to was really stupid enough to have misunderstood his question. And he was pretty sure he was going to regret his joke. But it was still the most concise way he knew to clarify his previous statement.

“I don't like him and he doesn't like either of the faces I wear.” The man corrected himself. “That pretty much what you meant?”

“Exactly so. But I still say you're a liar. It seems to me that he doesn't like one of you and until quite recently, didn't care about the other. That's my reading of the situation.”

“You lead a double-life as well?” The other man stated, intending it as more of a 'here you go' gesture than the jab at the man's character CJ took it for.

“I've gone under a lot of different names in my life. But I've been who I am through most all of them. At least, I'd like to think so.” He looked down a moment, making sure not to drop his head at all. “Let's come straight to the point. You've brought me here, thinking I was this Malcolm person, and to prove that he was as much of a criminal as you believed of him.” CJ stated in as calm and controlled a voice as if he'd been the one doing the interrogating. “And I am curious about whether the detective sanctions you?”

“...On this yes. He knows Malcolm is a criminal and when he saw your face; he decided to let me have this opportunity.” The vigilante stated plainly, seeing no reason to lie. “As you may not've noticed...”

“...He doesn't exactly like you.” CJ finished. “Or if he does, it's a new sensation on his part.”

“We fought our way out of a few scrapes together yeah...And when our missions are the same, he's not past cooperating toward that goal...”

'Why in the name of hell is he spilling his guts like this?' The detective wondered from the other side of the room. 'Either he knows him somehow, trusts him for some wacko reason or is trying to BS him.' His mind replied unyielding. Something weird was going on. Which, he had to admit, wasn't exactly unusual where the hood guy was concerned. He just hoped he didn't, once again, have two vigilantes on his hands.

“...But what's that to you?” the hood finished, thoroughly interested.

“I have a question for you and don't give a damn if you answer, but I think it's only polite to ask.”

About 3 seconds of quiet later, the Detective walked into full view of the two men. He gave the hooded man and the stranger each a long cold stare. Neither of them cared. CJ asserted that it wasn't a timed entry; and for several hours afterward remained certain it was fortuitous timing for both the cop and himself.

“Polite?” the Detective stated simply.

“...Appropriate then.” CJ replied placidly. “A way to see where you stand and to show you how much I know in the same stroke...at least, what I think I know. And we go from there.”

“You know how the game is played.” The cop admitted. He looked to his cohort, and nodded.

“What's your question?” The hooded figure stated.

“This man you mistook me for...Is he even still alive?”The next thing CJ knew the hooded man had shoved him against the concrete wall with his forearm across his throat. He didn't flinch.

“Who the HELL are you?!” They stared into eachother's eyes for a few seconds.

'What d' ya know, green arrow.' CJ thought to himself. He kept his voice strong and reserved as he answered. “My suspicion doesn't come from an outside source. I've done enough lying in my time to see it in another person's eyes. And I haven't seen it in yours, so I figured you'd answer honestly....assuming you'd answer. If you want absolute proof that I'm not this creep, give my a knife and stand back.”

The vigilante slowly backed away and to CJ's lasting delight, the detective reached into his jacket pulled out a pocket knife, which he opened and handed to him. Within five seconds CJ had taken it, stabbed his own left forearm and sliced it from elbow to wrist. He took his scarf from the chair and dabbed the wound. The detective drew his gun in an instant. The vigilante narrowed his eyes.

Shoving his arm in their faces he asked point blank.”Does THIS answer your doubts?” Captain Jack really had done this a number of times, and didn't need to see their faces to know his arm was healing before their eyes. And with wide eyes, and dimmed expressions both men nodded weakly. The cop kept his gun out.

“Yes, I'm dangerous. No, I'm not a killer.” CJ told them both in such a cool detached tone that they were once again reminded of the maniac they'd taken him for...though there was no longer a suspicion that he was so. As the vigilante took note of this truth, he relaxed his form.

It was about 35 seconds of bemusement later that Jack spoke again, his words thoroughly sarcastic. “I'm fairly certain I've answered your questions. I've only even asked you both one question. Please answer it.”

“I saw him die.” The hooded vigilante stated firmly.

“Good riddance.” The detective intoned, confused but calm.

“You are reasonably assured that I am not the lunatic you saw in me?” CJ prompted them. The three men stared at each-other, and both inquisitors nodded. “Then can I get the hell out of here?” He continued emphatically. Detective Lance nodded and opened the door to the outside world. CJ threw his scarf around his neck, caring nothing for the bloodstain from his wound, and walked outside the door without speaking to or looking directly at either one of them. Quite acutely giving them the impression of a man caught in a bar fight who'd been asked to leave the establishment once he'd been declared the victor.

“Well that was fascinating.” Detective Lance quipped a few minutes after the man had gone.

“We had to be sure and you know it.” The Archer replied coarsely.

The detective took a step toward his collaborator, then another.“You know you have..”

The man grabbed his bow and hissed. “Don't even think about it!” Lance stepped back to where he had stood and bluntly asked what was up. “You and I are allies; more-so than we were. That doesn't make us friends.”

“You sure as hell got that right.” The cop replied coldly. “I just wanted to tell you you have a tracker on your hoodie there.”

The hooded archer smiled just broadly enough for the other man to see. “I know that. It's fairly clear to me that CJ wants to find me again, and I intend to let him. He and I aren't in the same business, that I can see.” Quentin looked mildly surprised. “I figured you'd be as curious about him as you were about...the other archer. But good bad or indifferent, I need to know what he's up to. And if he intends to stick around.”

“Can't argue with you there.” Lance admitted. “I can't believe I'm going to say this but, good luck.”

It was an infuriating feeling, that the man he'd practically hunted for over a year had become a partner in his investigations. But this was made much less awkward by the reality that the vigilante himself had called him in on a number of his own missions. When he thought it over, the hood had apparently started negotiating with his targets rather than flat out executing them. Something had changed. And at the moment Lance had only a vague idea of what. But he was going to find out for sure, from the source.

“You know him pretty well?” Jack asked of the archer, having followed him as promised. He stood stock still waiting for a reply to his inquiry. He didn't mind standing about 30 feet away, staring at the back of the man's head. He could see the man was no longer wearing his green hood. And clearly was not about to look him in the face. “The Detective I mean. He's the one who doesn't like you with your mask off, but has to tolerate you when it's on. What I thought applied to your enemy, actually applies to your collaborator.”

“How long have you been in town?” The vigilante replied calmly, thoroughly avoiding the question.

“About a week or so. I woke up here bout a week ago. How long I was around? Who knows?”

“So you're not a total liar, just confused?”

“I don't know how much sarcasm I should read in that remark.” The man replied, blunt and straight-forward as ever. “But I think we both know it's literally true.”

“Yeah, I've gotten pretty good at seeing through other people's b.s.” The archer replied simply.

“Listen, you've been here for the past 6 hours and you've barely moved from that seat. Either this is your base of operations, and you wanted to meet me here of all places. Or this is some weird kind of a trap for a man you see as an opponent. I would think I've shown you how pointless the latter is.”

“If I were trying to kill you it would be pointless. Questioning you however would be exceptionally easy in a place like this.” He paused to let the threat sink in. “ But I just wanted to see how much you knew.”

“And you had at least one more question for me, I know that much.”

“I was wondering why you asked if your doppelganger was still alive.”

“You both looked like you'd seen an old enemy come back from the dead.” CJ replied accurately, but only half-truthfully. “And a few seconds later it was a sensation I shared.” He added to finish the truth.

Jack normally paid very little attention to what he'd taken as a bunch of random REM cycle dreams. Especially considering many came from the 'ridiculous science-fiction serials' upon which his friends would have been raised. Many said stories actually seemed to have a basis in fact, given his travels. But if that was the case, if those fragments were accurate, there was only one possible explanation.“You're not some spoiled rich kid trying to make up for bad behavior are you? I meant that would be one hell of a coincidence?”

It was clear to the vigilante that Jack suspected his words as perfectly true. The question was, how strongly did CJ believe the accusation. Oliver decided an abridged version of the facts was the best way to go. “That is more or less how this got started.” He admitted glumly. “I'm not sure what it's become.”

“Do I assume correctly that your original mission is more or less over? As a question of curiosity are you trying to find...” he hung his head in mostly genuine shame. “NM that. I don't expect you to tell me.”

“Hehe, you find it easy enough to pry. Why relent so soon?” The Archer teased.

“ 'It is unfortunate that we masked men must hide so much from each-other' ” Jack quipped. “A friend of mine told me that once...well I say friend...but he was right.”

“I'll ask you again.” Oliver began, picking up his bow. He placed an arrow in the shaft and turned slowly to face the man. “Who the HELL are you?”

“Not that it'll means a damn thing to you.” CJ replied calmly, with something approaching confidence in his voice. “But I've gone with Harkness as a surname for almost 300 years. 'CJ' stands for 'Captain Jack', an old term of endearment. It's my name. PERIOD. Well as close as makes no nevermind.”

“...That's your name.” the vigilante corrected. “Now it's time you actually answer me. Who are you.”

“I'm a man who some years ago didn't remember a thing of his past life. But according to my 'closest friend', who called himself Johnathan Taylor, that life has gone on for a while. Given that I apparently have survived, in no particular order '...falling off a cliff, being trampled by horses, world war one, world war two, poison, starvation...' Well you get the idea. Taylor told me that he and I met because I was a con-artist. But to this day I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I was at one time a worse form of criminal. I've made it my mission to make up for whichever is true.” He looked at the 'metal clock', on his wrist, otherwise known as his vortex manipulator, and frowned. The digits were going ballistic.

“What's wrong?” The archer asked in a tone to suggest he cared more about getting an answer than what the answer was.

At least that was the impression CJ got from his words.“I still haven't learned how this blasted thing works.” Jack admitted easily,tapping the device with his other hand. “But I think it's telling me to get the hell out of here. Don't know if Jonathan's waiting, but I am pretty sure it's time to move on; that's the straight up truth.”

“What and you're asking for my permission?” The hood asked, something like disbelief in his voice.

“I don't want you to think I'm avoiding answering your questions. I usually try to close these things out before flat out ending them.” CJ replied resolutely.

“You may or may not believe this,” The other man said quietly. “but it was nice to meet you, Captain Harkness.” It really had been one of the more open and comforting conversations he'd had in a long time.

Captain Jack Harkness flashed a boyish grin.“Likewise Oliver Queen.” He ran out the door of the basement and out into the alley as quickly as anyone could have done.

The man responsible for the misconception was arrested 2 days later. He had been a long-time victim of Malcolm Merlyn's cold-heartedness, and had jumped at the chance to pin something on him. Or so it seemed at first. Then the hood got hold of the man's toxicology report, and the charge was changed from obstruction, to drugs. One of the detective's Criminal Informants confirmed that Harkness had been in town for about a week and a half. And upon this evidence the detective and the archer came to the same conclusion: Jack had been telling the truth as he knew it.

Several days later, when Oliver responded to a summons by the detective, hood and voice-changer firmly in place, he found the man pacing the entire length of the same rooms in which they'd questioned Jack. It had become their standard meeting place.

“Getting sentimental?” the Archer asked with a slight humor evident in his voice.

“I was wondering if you use this room a lot?” the man retorted briskly.

“It's a peaceful middle ground.” The Archer replied. “Neutral territory between the station and my base of operations...What's going on detective?”

“This time I've got a question for you.” Detective Quentin Lance stated firmly, and without reserve.

“Then ask it.” The hood responded in a deadpan tone.

“What was your connection to Tommy Merlyn.”

“I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business.” Oliver replied with concealed shock.

It was a shock the cop mistook for anger. And under almost any other set of circumstances, Quentin Lance would have backed off. But there was too many 'bits and pieces' which had piled up over time for him to ignore anymore. And he felt they were all leading him to one conclusion. “Look, you've been an infuriating puzzle to me from day one. And I'll admit, at first I thought your motives and goals changed as rapidly and as quickly as you flee a crime scene. I gave up trying to put this all together a long time ago...”

“...But the mystery of Captain Harkness changed all of that?”

“The fact that we actually worked together solving the mystery of that solider, yeah it did. It started me thinking. You saved Tommy's father from poison, saved him from kidnappers and such, went on a three month leave of absence when they both died. I don't mind telling YOU that the city could really have used your help. But you vanish, as though forever. And actually start being a team player once you're back?!”

“I wouldn't go that far.” The Hood interrupted.

“You call me in when you think Merlyn was back from the grave...close-er to a team player.”

“You called me in.” the Hood countered him.

“Yeah but I didn't expect you to go all in like that!” The detective replied, not caring for a game of who did what at the moment. “I just...”

“Detective Quentin Lance, neither of us will enjoy what will come from this.”

“I figured that.” The cop replied coarsely, apparently resenting being treated like an idiot. He took a few deep breaths, and waited for the right words to come to him. He knew he was asking a masked, mass-murderer that he'd hunted for over a year to suddenly remove his mask simply because they weren't enemies anymore. When he thought of it like that, it did make him sound like an idiot. He chuckled at the irony. He couldn't help it.“I..I just need to know what the hell is going on.”

There was an infuriating silence. Neither man felt any desire to move a muscle. Finally Oliver spoke.

“Hatred sucks.” He said with feeling. “You've hated me for ages...in both forms apparently. And why someone I've never met could see that so quickly I don't know. But...” He deactivated the voice changer. “...it doesn't take a genius to see that Tommy was my friend.”

It took a few moments for these words, so casually uttered by his nemesis, to be processed by the detectives brain. When he finally put the pieces together, he could only think of one appropriate thing to say. “SON. OF. A...BITCH.”

Tabula Rasa (next recovered scenes)

 Gwaine! It's good to see you.

“Likewise Merlin.”

What brings you here?

“I thought you might want some company when you head out.” Merlin's face fell.

Subtlety is not Arthur's strong suit is it?

“I’m sorry Merlin I..I thought you'd be heading to the southern field.”

Am I missing my brain as well as my memories? NO. And I'm perfectly capable of..MERLIN listen to me! Every four days you go to the southern fields, alone if you can. I thought you might want some company this time, perhaps with a sword...nothing more than that.”

I don't know what to say. I'm sorry Gwaine. I didn't mean to come down on you. something other than my memory loss is causing me to react this way. Please let that suffice for now.

Easily old friend. Easily...but now I am definitely coming with you.

I would be glad for the company. An hour later they were on horses, trotting through the plain.

“you know the question I wish to ask you?

Ask it anyway, perhaps we're not thinking of the same thing.

“Why is Arthur avoiding you like a disease? He shuddered when I told him I would check on you.”

“...I lied to him. Apparently I've been lying to him for the past five years.”

Merlin, I think that bump on your head confused you more than we thought. I KNOW you Merlin. You would never lie even to save your LIFE.

“...according to Arthur, that's exactly what I have been doing.”

“You're serious?” --and you know exactly what I'm talking about?”

“Gaius tried to warn me that there was something different about you. I didn’t know what he meant.

You must not tell Arthur I told you, please Gwaine. Merlin, as far as I'm concerned, you haven't told me anything worth mentioning to him.” There was a soft smile shared between them. “This must be what friendship feels like” Merlin found himself thinking. The moment did not last long.

“ But it's something worth finding out, I'd be willing to wager.” Said a lady dressed in black coming out from behind a tree. At the sight of her Merlin’s stomach turned sour. And he wasn’t even sure why. She was the first person he’d seen here you hadn’t seemed at least somehow familiar. Part of this was explained when Gwaine began to draw his sword. “I wouldn’t try that is I were you. You see I’ve become a little better skilled since last we met. “As if to prove her statement she put out her hand and yanked Gwaine off of his horse, apparently by magic. “Well Merlin,” she said turning to the wizard. “It seems we meet again at last.”

”What do you know of me?”

“HA! I think you mean 'What do I want' with you. And that is simple: I want you to follow me.” “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t expect to find you here Merlin, so I didn't bring anything to bind you with, but I did bring this.” She points a sword at Gwaine's throat. “Come with me now, and you leave a friend behind. Wait 5 more seconds, and you leave a corpse.”

“Why don't you just pierce me?!” Merlin yelled at the top of his lungs. “Why threaten him?”

“Because, I know you well enough to know that you value fools like this more than your own life.” Merlin climbed down off his horse, his hands extended forward in a gesture of surrender.”

“You and I were friends once, weren't we?” WHACK!...

Merlin woke up. His head was pounding and his arms were sore. The latter was explained by the fact that his arms were chained above his head; what else would he have expected? Which of course raised the question – WHY were his arms chained above his head? For a moment he thought about asking the woman who was standing before him – until he realized that SHE was of course the one who'd chained him.

“Do you remember me?” she asked in a voice dripping with false sincerity.

“I wish I could say I don't recognize your face! I'll count it a blessing that I don't even know your name!”

“Well, that was an unexpected change! You have stomach now, even something resembling courage. And you were quite right earlier; at one time, you and I were friends.”

“What happened between us?”

The lady growled slightly before answering. “You really don't want to remember.”

“If you won't tell me what changed, at least tell me your name.”

“Why does it matter?” she asked in a voice full of bitterness.

“I want to know who, if not what it is I'm responsible for.” Her eyes closed to slits as she hissed at him.

“You're the ONE person I can think of who had NO part in making me! I am Morgana Pendragon.” Merlin's mind swirled at the sound of that name. He could see flashes of the lady before him smiling at a banquet in Camelot, sitting near Arthur – not yet the king, but next to an older man wearing the crown. And then an image of a fight in the Great Hall between Morgana and himself. “She must be Arthur's sister” thought Merlin as he shook his head to clear the memories. A trickle of sweat rolled down his back as he saw her smiling at him.

Gwenivere entered Arthur’s chambers happy as one could be. It was a custom for them to have breakfast together at first light on the third day of the week. However, when she walked in she could tell that breakfast was the farthest thing from Arthur’s mind. He was still in bed; and with such a melancholy expression on his face that Gwen thought he might be sick.

“What is it Arthur?” Gwen asked her friend gently, putting her arm around Arthur’s shoulder.

“It’s Merlin. There’s something different about him. I’m not even sure where to begin”

“Try.”

“Do you think it’s alright if friends have secrets?” Arthur said looking up.

“I would like to think true friends would be open about anything. But if you mean Merlin specifically…”

“What is it Gwen?”

“I can’t speak for him but I would want to speak on his behalf.” Despite his confusion and sadness, Arthur found himself smiling at her.

“What’s the difference?”

“I suppose there isn’t one. But listen to me Arthur. If Merlin has been keeping something from you, I’m sure he had a good reason for it.”

“Well yeah I suppose he did. He was saving his own neck!”

“Arthur, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And honestly, you’re scaring me.”

“Gwenivere, Merlin has Magic.”

There was a stunned expression on Gwen’s face, understandable to say the least. But a moment later it was replaced with a sad smile. “And you believe he was keeping quiet to save his own life?”

“That is what I am having trouble with. When I confronted him about it he didn’t seem at all concerned about his own fate. So…why then?”

“Have you considered asking Merlin about this, to his face?”

She was laughing at him but he was forced to admit, she had a point. There wasn’t much to be learned by sitting here in his chambers as Merlin, likely as not, sat somewhere alone afraid for his life.

“You’re right of course. But first I think I need to talk to Gaius again.”

This was a conversation he was not looking forward to. The last conversation he’d had with Gaius had ended far from amiably, and had been only hours ago. He knew there was no way Gaius could have forgotten it. But he hoped that Gaius might be willing to put it aside. But on that point, would he?

Arthur found Gaius apartments quickly. Gaius was there alone. Or at least he seemed to be.

“Gaius have you seen ‘Emrys’ about?”

“I hoped he’d be with you, or perhaps Gwaine, he was so out of sorts…Do you need me to fetch him? -- This was at first taken as useless banter, and it was a moment before Arthur realized the truth: Gaius didn’t know about their argument. This was going to be even harder than he’d thought.

“Gaius. I need to talk with you about Merlin.”

“Is he worse?”

Uh no. I don’t mean about his condition. I mean about…what he can do?”

The man’s face fell at this. It didn’t seem right somehow, that Merlin’s secret would be revealed when he could not give an account of why he’d kept it in the first place. “Sire, will you sit down?”

“Absolutely not!” Arthur said with an edge he had not intended.

“I’m sorry for barking. I just..Why didn’t you tell me?” This drew a stunned expression from the court physician. And when he next spoke, his voice was shaking with anger.

“Why didn’t I tell you?! Merlin was placed in my care! His mother trusted me to protect him from other people’s ignorance. He needed to know he could trust at least one person in this world and I wasn’t about to hand him over.” There was a pause as Gaius tried to control himself. “I think what you’re really here for is to find out why HE didn’t tell you. I can’t answer that. Except he wasn’t sure in his heart you'd understand.

“I’m not sure I do.” Arthur admitted. “That’s why I’m here.” Gaius stared at him.

“Are you angry because he betrayed Camelot or because he was ‘lying’ to you?”

Arthur opened his mouth to speak. “Never mind’ Gaius interjected. “It doesn’t matter; because either way you’re wrong. And I’ll say good evening to you.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur said, more out of sheer confusion than anger.

“Merlin is not here to defend himself and until he is I will not discuss this further. He thought he was protecting you and I wish he’d have been allowed to continue. There is nothing more to say. Good evening.”

Such was their previous talk. You can see now why Arthur was pensive in approaching him. When the king entered the room Gaius gave the requisite bow and immediately went about cleaning his equipment. There were some attempts made at civility but no real desire for it.

“Gaius I know what you probably think of me right now but I’m not here to argue about that. I’m here to speak of him as a person, concerning the present situation. Please hear me out: Something else is going on here. Merlin's lost his memory, that's obvious, but that wouldn't make him a boot-licking coward!”

“Threatening to expel him from his home might.”

Arthur shook his head in denial. “I never threatened him. We I haven't spoken since I found out about this...”

“The armor,” said Gaius with a sudden realization.

“I'm sorry?”

“You said he seemed interested in polishing your armor”

“ ‘Not because it was easy, but because it was fun’. So what of it?”

“You can't deny that Merlin has always been good at his work.”

“But when was the last time he thoroughly enjoyed it?” There was a faint light in Arthur's face as he realized the truth of the situation. “You’re saying he didn’t lose his memory at all, but his identity!”

“If he no longer has his own personality, he might have even lost his own convictions.” Gaius stated coarsely.

It was quite clear to Arthur what he’d meant by this.” “You believe Morganna is responsible.”

“Knowing what you now know sire, is it really that hard to believe?”

“..not for me” Gwaine panted as he hobbled in to the room. Arthur helped him into a seat. Gaius began to check the cut on Gwaine's forehead.

“Arthur, I told you something was wrong with him. Friends know these things about each other. And as Merlin just proved, they'd also do anything for each other.” Gaius turned to get a bandage for the bleeding.

“Gwaine, what's happened to Merlin?!” Arthur seemed in shock from what he’d just heard. But for all that he was as determined as ever to learn the truth.

“He gave himself up – to save a friend.” Gwaine's eyes closed and Arthur eased his head onto the table.

“Now it's my turn to do the same. Take care of him, Gaius.” Arthur grabbed his sword and hurried out of the room calling for a saddled mount

“You know, there is one thing I don't understand about you, Merlin” Morganna stroked her chin with a gesture borrowed from her father.

“Then at least we have that in common.”

“Have you not learned in your life not to joke when it's in jeopardy?”

“You haven't told me to keep silent, and I wasn't joking.”

“Why do you follow Arthur so blindly? He doesn't deserve your loyalty; surely you've seen that lately?”

“Rather the opposite. If I hadn't known it before, I know now. He deserves it.”

Her eyes widened in amazement. “Did that blow to your head weaken your senses even further?”

Merlin thought back to the memories of them fighting. “Morgana, I think we share a secret. Am I wrong?”

She stepped right up into his face. “Yes, I have magic, and Yes, I used it to take your memory!”

Merlin's eyes filled with disgust. “How on Earth could you have thought that helpful to you?”

She stepped back and after a moment drew herself up straight and regal. “I thought if you saw things with fresh eyes, you might see them more clearly. Apparently, I was wrong.”

Merlin shook his head, then turned it downward to hide the smile in his eyes. “Oh No, Morganna. That part you accomplished. I do see more clearly now. Gaius tells me I gave Arthur my devotion for reasons I didn't even understand.”

Morganna scoffed. “And now you see more clearly?”

“Yes, because now I've seen both why I follow him and, why you will never defeat him.”

“And why, please tell me, would that be?” Morganna purred at him.

“Do you know what a friend is, Morganna?”

“Enlighten me,” She ordered.

“A friend will do anything for a friend.” Arthur's voice caused Morganna to spin around to face him. She lashed out with her sword, but he blocked it and returned the stroke. Merlin looked up at his shackles.

“Dochiel dienvey!” At Merlin's command, the hinge pins disappeared. He pulled his hands free of the fetters and shook the blood back into them. Picking up a clay bowl from a nearby table, he smashed it over Morgana's head. She turned to look at him, but her eyes rolled up into her head and she crumpled to the floor unconscious.

“I'm surprised how good that felt.” Merlin said to the surprised Arthur, who was standing there with a stunned expression on his face.

“Are you all right? What happened?”Arthur seemed to have too many questions for his lungs.

“I'll get back to you on how I'm doing. Morganna has effective ways of compelling obedience, as I'm hoping you already know...hoping that Gwaine got back safely and that's why you're here. I have no idea where we are. Morganna is in the dark, so don't worry. And whatever the 'round table' is, I think I'm going to be alright for the first time since IT happened...if that answers your questions. I hope it does cause I've no other answers.”

“You feeling well enough to polish my saddle?” Arthur asked with a coy grin.

“Arthur, I -I don't - ”Merlin stammered.

“I can honestly say I was joking.” Arthur replied smiling more broadly than he had in three days.

“I take it he told you?” Gaius told Gwaine the moment his eyes were clear.

“Not quite.” Gwaine replied lazily. “You told me enough that I figured it out by what he said…which of course is what you’d intended, isn’t it?

“More or less.” Gaius replied chuckling. But when next Gwaine spoke, his smile vanished.

“Gaius. I can’t be trusted with this.”

“What do you mean? I’d say you’ve proven trustworthy to say the least!”

“No you don’t understand. I will never tell anyone, especially an enemy if I have any strength or self-control, you can trust me on THAT. But I cannot be trusted to control my tongue. I almost let it slip already.

At this moment that Merlin walked in. He gave a nod to signify he'd overheard the conversation. “You told me you had been an outcast before we met. I must ask you: would you be willing to be so again?”

Without hesitation.” Gwaine replied solemnly.

Well let’s hope it won’t come to that Merlin.”

There was very little cheer to be found in Merlin the next morning. Every friend he'd made in Camelot had either wished him well or told him to relax. He almost wished more people had known why he was so dis-heartened:he could use all the well wishers he could get right now. The trepidation he felt as he walked into the king's chambers was restrained as well as he could manage. But as he hoped Arthur would note, there was no attempt made to hide its existence.

“I present myself as ordered Sire, ready to face your Justice.”

Arthur looked up from the scrolls on his desk to re-examine the man in front of him. That Merlin would be apprehensive went without saying, but there was a sensation of, almost fear resonating from him. Which made Arthur more than a little uncomfortable himself. “What are you talking about Merlin?”

“Your judgment for...what I had failed to say, was postponed until the morning, but that is now at hand.” “Merlin, first of all RELAX. I'm not about to chop your head off or anything.”

Merlin raised his head slightly. But to Arthur's disappointment, kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Deciding to imitate the gesture, Arthur began pacing the floor in front of him.

“I'm disappointed in you Merlin. All the time we've known each-other, you've never bothered to tell me this about yourself. Why you thought you had to keep this a secret.” Merlin opened his mouth in surprise and made as if to speak. Arthur held up his right hand to stop him. “I've spent the last two days trying to sort it out, to come up with a reason why you lied to me. My first thought was 'it's against the law' but you've never been one to think of your own safety. I've noticed THAT about you if I've noticed anything. Then there was the concern you showed for Gaius; you might have been keeping quiet for his sake. But if you'd had the time to think this through, you could have either found a way to leave him completely out of it, or ask a pardon for him as I know you were in the process of doing when last we spoke.” He stopped his pacing directly in front of and 2 feet away from Merlin. With an apparent feat of effort, he turned to face the man. “It was me wasn't it? You didn't want me to think less of you. Or to feel that I had been betrayed...and before you open your mouth again...I EXPECT you to speak unreservedly TO me, as I have done to you.”

Several moments pause, Merlin seemed to have found his voice again, weak tho it was:

“I knew you would feel betrayed if you ever found out. I knew hiding the truth would make me a liar by default. But if this about perfect honesty sire; I was afraid of you. Afraid of your anger, your scorn, that you would turn out to be no different than anyone else.” He hung his head. “And that I'd lose any hope of calling you my friend.”

Arthur brushed away a tear. “Merlin you've never...well I won't say that. But if ever you lost my friendship, you gained it back, and not with these words, but last night.” Merlin stares at him. “I heard what you said to Morganna. You stood up to a roaring lion for me as stalwartly and staunchly as you stood up to ME when I had been...fierce and bull-headed about a few things. That's why I summoned you here tonight at all. I was afraid you were just being brave, or had decided you had nothing left to lose. For my part Merlin, we'll be alright...if you take a little more caution with your gifts that is.”

“Arthur you should know. I think Gwaine figured it out.

“what do you mean?” Arthur asked, some mixture of surprise and anger in his voice.

“I told him I'd apparently been lying to you for the past five years. (fondly) He actually laughed in my face at that. Said there was no way I would lie at all even to save my own life. A light dawned in Arthur's eyes.

“And you told him that's what you'd apparently been doing.”

...Merlin saw that Arthur's fist was clinched as if to strike him.

Arthur I was distracted, I'm so sorry.”

After what seemed to be an eternity, Arthur relaxed his fist and lowered his hands.

“You’re wrong there my friend.” Merlin looked up at him, dumbstruck. “You weren't being distracted, you were being honest; and I wouldn't expect anything less of you. But if you breathe A-word of this conversation to anyone but Gaius I will not be so understanding. And, as if to ensure Merlin had been paying attention, he 'asked': “AM. I. CLEAR?” “Yes MiLord.” Merlin replied nervously but firmly.

Dismissed.”