1) Thanks to 'ivefoundmygoldfish(melonpanparade)' for putting up with my weird phrasing and being patient enough to correct it *hugs*

2) This was partly inspired by 'And we would be forever' by 'KaliTracer', go check it out, it's a truly heartbreaking Hartwin fic!

3) The gun Percy carries is like the one 007 receives from Q in Skyfall; only the owner can fire it.

It will be alright (I promise)

Slowly and carefully, Percy creeped through the building. He passed corridors, hallways, empty rooms and doors, all completely deserted by any living soul. Nonetheless, more out of habit and caution than anything else, he forced himself to stay alert, checking every possible hideout.

So far he'd only come across bloody corpses scattered all over the building, presumably the very people who hadn't been lucky or deemed worthy enough to be warned by Valentine and had torn each other apart. Small fry. Dispensible terrorists who had been nothing more than small pieces in a puzzle, receiving and carrying out orders they neither fully understood nor cared about.

"Anything so far?" Merlin's voice in his ear interrupted his pondering, breaking the eerie silence that had started to get on Percy's nerves. Little was as threatening as total calm in a place completely packed with evil like this one. Nothing as unsettling as a presumed high security prison without any known prisoners. Who knew what might be lurking behind those walls.

He tapped the side of his glasses without halting in his stride. "You have a visual feed, Merlin. If there's anything you haven't seen, I haven't either, remember?"

A huffing sound came over the comm, indicating Merlin's patience concerning the agent's saucy replies was wearing thin. Percy had been – to make a long story short – every handler's nightmare since Lancelot's death. The calculating, rational man had disappeared, leaving behind a bitter soul – a shell of his previous self.

The comm fell silent for a moment and Percival sighed, relaxing his grip on his gun ever so slightly. He was far from ready to face his grief – not to mention talking about it – no matter whether to Merlin or Roxy. The latter had put quite some effort into loosening his tongue, trying in vain to comfort him. Little did she know that her presence alone was both uplifting and depressing, a reminder of happier times – carefree hours spent in the company of the two people that mattered the most to him. It was all he could think of, clouding his mind at the most inconvenient moments and overwhelming him when he needed them least.

"Wait." Merlin's voice in his ear –sharp and insisting – cut through his thoughts like a knife, tearing a gap into his imagined world for the fracture of a second before it crumbled. Percy could swear he smelled the faint scent of burnt dreams, like dust and coal and the bittersweetness of scorched roses.

"To your left," the quartermaster demanded and Percy obeyed, coming face to face with a door. It was thicker and darker than the ones he'd passed so far, and locked with a code pad. Beside the door, a small table and matching chair had suffered fire damage, the wood singed in places and looking suspiciously like someone had tried to get entrance to the room with its help. In vain, of course. Whoever knew the code most likely had not survived long enough to use it, keeping whatever was hidden behind this door safe from the mindless rage of V-Day.

Percy checked if the damaged pad was still operable, his fingers finding blood on the case. "Can you open it?"

"I think so, yes," Merlin answered. The faint tapping of the keys on the other end was all that could be heard for a moment, until the door unlocked with a soft click.

He slowly opened it further, prepared to react to any immediate threat. The room that came into view was large and bright, the light filtering in from the window at the ceiling reflecting on the white walls. Medical equipment lay scattered on brass tables; a locked glass cabinet in the corner held syringes and neatly labelled chemical bottles. The place looked surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the building, the sort of cleanliness that was accompanied by the sharp smell of disinfectants and metal.

"Be careful," Merlin remarked. A normally pointless warning considering Percy's usual demeanor, but who knew what was going on inside the agent's head these days. His willingness to take higher risks had increased and taken on an almost suicidal touch. A worried knot formed in the quartermaster's stomach. He might be a tech genius, but an ocean was quite a distance to cross if things went south.

Percy failed to respond, either out of defiance or indifference, Merlin didn't know. With worry in his eyes he watched Percival secure the room and then close the door, before venturing further into the open space. The agent's gaze fell on a bed – white and clinical as the rest of the equipment – pressed against the wall furthest from the door.

Without hesitation, Percy aimed his gun and moved forward, his eyes focused and mind alert. Someone appeared to be lying in the bed and whoever it was, a lot of people had been hired to...to do what? Keep them safe? Very unlikely. Keep them prisoner? That sounded more convincing.

As he edged closer, it became apparent that the person was strapped down by their feed and wrist, preventing them from fighting. A prisoner then, and a very unlucky one if the drugs and machines that they had been hooked up to was any indication.

The entire body was covered by a white linen cloth, making it look like a corpse laid to rest. Percy extended one hand to pull it back, ready to react in case of a sudden attack. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as Percy held his breath, the blanket sliding down to reveal the person's face.

A painfully familiar face.

Percival whimpered, clinging to the edge of the bed. All of a sudden, the light was too bright and he blinked away tears, trying to keep the room from spinning while the disinfectants burned in his nose and eyes.

"Percy, don't –" came Merlin's warning, but the agent had already lunged forward without thinking. His fingers fumbled with the leather straps, frantically searching for a pulse on the man's wrist, for a sign of life. Anything indicating that this wasn't some sick twist of faith.

His heart beat widely against his ribcage, the blood rushing in his ears almost drowning out the quartermaster's voice.

"Percy, we don't know if this is really Lancelot! He could be a replica who –"

"Shut up," Percival gasped, not willing to consider the possibility. Relief crashed over him as he found a pulse, a weak and irregular thump against his fingers. Ignoring Merlin's warning he began loosening the straps and removing the IV, the image of James' lifeless body – cut in half and roughly stitched together – that Arthur had shown him clear before his inner eye.

"Percy," Merlin hissed, but the agent just tapped his glasses – effectively turning off the sound - and continued to free the prisoner.

Percy succeeded in loosening all the straps, but the former Lancelot still lay motionless and pale on the bed. He bent forward to press his ear to the other man's lips, the scent that was so unmistakably James flooding his senses. Forcing his heart to stop fluttering, Percy concentrated on his breathing, light puffs of air tickling his ear rhythmically. He closed his eyes and lost himself in James for a moment, so distracted that it took him a few seconds to realise the tickling had stopped. Percy froze, before snapping his head up.

Hazel eyes stared back at him, pupils dilated and shiny. He didn't even have time to realise that something was terribly wrong, that those eyes weren't the ones he'd spent hours staring into, but dark and emotionless. James' hands shot forward to circle Percy's throat and squeeze his airway shut, fingers digging deeply into his skin.

Percy – to shocked to think straight – desperately grabbed the other man's hands in an attempt to free himself. But James only squeezed tighter, a look full of pure hate and rage in his eyes. Seeing such repulsion and loathing directed at him nearly broke Percy's heart and realisation finally kicked in.

He pushed himself off the bed with one foot, effectively taking James with him.

They fell to the floor with limbs tangled as each man struggled to reach a more advantageous position. But James managed to stay on top, keeping Percival pinned beneath him. The agent countered by drawing up his knee, ramming it into the muscle of his opponent's thigh. Lancelot growled and responded by smashing his head forward. Percy winced in pain, but used the opportunity to grab his head and wrap one leg around his neck, pushing him back off.

Percy stumbled to his feet and quickly backed away, holding one hand to his bleeding and broken nose. He felt sick and weak, the emotional shock having drained a lot of his strength. But as he felt the heaviness spreading to his arms and feet he realised it wasn't only that. His hand shot up to the aching spot on his head and made contact with the wetness of blood. Lots of blood, to be more accurate. The realisation that his head had struck the metal table during his fall briefly crossed his mind, before James caught his attention again.

Percy had to blink twice to focus on his friend, crossing the space between them like a predator stalking his prey. He couldn't stand the look in his eyes, was unable to face the hatred in them. Instead, he chose to focus on his face. Now that the paleness had faded, the scar was visible. It started near his hairline, continued down his chest, and disappeared under his white shirt. The sight of it made him want to throw up.

"Please," Percival whispered, desperately holding up his hands. "Please, James. Please, don't do this..."

Without any warning, James lunged forward and crashed into Percy, whose reflexes were slowed by his head injury. They fought quick and dirty, both throwing and avoiding punches.

Percy landed a kick to James' stomach and two slightly weaker punches to his shoulder, barely hurting James. He himself, however, took another painful hit to the face that broke his glasses and two blows to his ribs that left him gasping for air. Another punch nearly dislocated his shoulder and one well aimed kick made unbearable pain sear through his left leg. Bruises were forming all over his body and Percy could feel the energy steadily leaving him. Soon, he would run out of luck.

He stumbled backwards again, putting some distance between them to catch his breath, trying not to think about the fact that it was James attacking him. This couldn't be happening, it shouldn't be happening. "James, please," he choked out again. "I know you're still in there. Just come back to me, please."

But this wasn't James. Percy could feel his hands begin to shake as James charged again. He ducked and avoided a hit to the face, closely followed by a second one to his abdomen. But the movement to the side had forced him to shift his weight to his injured leg and he was put slightly off balance for a second. James used the opportunity and landed another kick, sending Percy crashing into the glass cabinet. It broke at the impact, thousands of shards piercing Percy's skin. But the pain on his back and arms was nothing compared to the satisfaction in James' eyes at the sight of his blood.

Tears sprang to his eyes at the sight of James – the man he'd promised his life to – being changed like that. He'd sworn he would protect him and had failed miserably, not only unable to prevent him from getting killed but also being turned into a monster.

He scrambled to get up, but James was over him in an instant, raising one foot to crash his head to the wall. In the last moment, Percy ducked to the side, rolling over his back and pressing the shards of glass deeper into his skin. He hissed in pain, scrambling on his hands and legs to get further away. He hit the bed and to his surprise his fingers found cool metal. As he grabbed the gun and turned back around, somewhere in the back of his mind, Percy realised he must have dropped it when James had strangled him.

In one swift motion he aimed it at James, his finger shaking on the trigger. He'd never been hesitant before when it came to shooting, but now he found himself unable to pull the trigger. How could he kill the one man who held his heart? What would Merlin – who was undoubtedly destined to watch – tell Roxy?

"Please," Percy begged, gun still aimed at James who was steadily coming closer. "Fight it, James, please. Don't make me do this..."

His hands shook like mad now, the blood loss making him dizzy. He wouldn't stand another round and there was no way he'd get out of this situation alive if he didn't pull the trigger now. But a shot would only be effective if he landed one that would render James unconscious. And if he did, any efforts to save his life would come too late.

Before he had a chance to do anything, James stood over him and took hold of the gun aimed at his heart, his eyes fixed on his. Percy knew then that he wouldn't, couldn't pull the trigger. Not like this. Not ever.

Percy closed his eyes, tears sliding down his face. "Please," he breathed one last time, feeling the gun being pulled from his grip. "Please..."

The click of the trigger echoed through the room, followed by silence. Since only Percy was able to fire his gun, it was no surprise that James hadn't been able to shoot him. But that he had tried was devastating. Percy heard the gun being tossed aside, before strong hands grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and he was lifted off the ground. He opened his eyes just as James pressed him between his body and the wall and was again met by those beautiful hazel eyes.

Percy watched as James raised a pair of long medical scissors he'd grabbed from the table and weakly reached out to grab his lover's hand to prevent him from burying it in his chest. A useless attempt, of course. He could already feel both his arms shaking from the effort, and knew then how it would end. And it was alright, as long as those eyes were the last thing he saw. Eyes that were also shining with tears now.

"It's alright," Percy whispered. "It's alright, James." He was totally calm now, relief that James was still in there, that he still had a chance grounding him. "I forgive you."

James' face had lost its hardness and Percy could see the two identities battling for control. Tears were freely streaming down James's cheeks now and his eyes were clouded with panic. But the grip on the weapon didn't waver. His order was to kill and James would only be free if he succeeded.

Percy closed his eyes against his will, knowing it would make it easier. "I love you."

And with that, he let go. The feeling of metal ripping his skin, tearing his lungs apart and James' scream was the last thing he knew before blackness overcame him.

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