This was written for the Merlin Reverse Bang organized through LiveJournal. It was the first time I had participated in a fest of this kind, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. That being said, this kind of took off quite a bit. The word count minimum was 3k and I ended up with over 60k, written in about a month and a half. (Thank god it coincided with Camp Nanowrimo.) This has actually been up on Ao3 for a bit, and I kept forgetting to put it up over here. If you want to see the art that inspired this fic, search for "art for It's in Our Nature to Complicate" by rou. Seriously, check it out so you can see what spawned this monstrosity of a fic. Without further ado, enjoy the fic!

Arthur Drake couldn't really help the nervous tick of tapping his pen against his desk. Well, he could have, but he really didn't want to. He was tired of sitting behind his desk, and it wasn't like he could leave it for very long. He couldn't fault Gareth for retiring. Honestly, by the time he got to be as old as Gareth, he hoped to be able to retire as well. But the unfortunate fact of the matter was that it left Arthur a little bit of a lurch.

Arthur was a dedicated member of the Magic Intelligence Bureau, decorated for the large and important tasks he and Gareth had accomplished out in the field. He was a mage of true distinction the way most said it, which was what made having to stay at his desk and fill out paperwork that much more unbearable.

He was sure Morgana knew exactly what he was doing. She was only two years older than him, but already she held the position of Head of the MIB. What was more, they were cousins. She couldn't stop him from getting himself into dangerous situations, but apparently, she could stop him from going out without a partner, which was exactly what she was doing.

Arthur had to admit that part of the lack of a current partner was his fault. He and Gareth had a certain dynamic out in the field, the sort of chemistry most partners could only dream of. It was like they could read one another's minds with a glance and understand exactly what to do. He hadn't found it in any of the new recruits, and he wasn't about to split up a partnership like Leon and Percival for his own comfort. He'd been part of the MIB for six years, had spent five of those years walking the streets with Gareth as his back-up, and it didn't feel right going out there with someone he didn't trust, someone he couldn't be sure would watch his back.

To be fair, he had tried the newer recruits, the guys fresh out of training and looking for a veteran to finish training under. In some cases, he knew he was exactly what they were looking for, but Arthur couldn't decide on any of them. He had reasons for declining to partner with each and every one of them.

Casey was too green; he would freeze up in the first fight, and Arthur couldn't afford that in most of the cases he ran. Marcus was a hotshot. He thought he knew everything, which he didn't, and he didn't like being reminded of the fact that he was neither God nor Merlin, and reality would not bend to save his life. Elliot was okay for the field, but his paperwork was absolute shit and Arthur refused to be partnered with someone who was going to make him do all the work in the office. Good instincts only got people so far, but all-around good work was needed.

Of all of them, though, George had to be the worst. George was the sort of person who memorized the book just so he could quote to someone all the things they were doing wrong. What was worse, Arthur wasn't entirely convinced that George had done it on purpose. The man was a machine, incapable or unwilling to express actual human emotions. While he might be technically perfect regarding procedure and a decent mage, Arthur's stomach churned at the thought of running a single case with the man. They would immediately have issues, as Arthur followed and upheld the spirit of the law, where George wanted to enforce the letter of the law. That was one argument Arthur was going to head off before someone even suggested they partner up.

"Arthur," said a voice behind him. "You need to stop glaring at the recruits."

Arthur glanced back to see Morgana standing over him. "I wasn't glaring."

"Yes, you were. And just because you don't want to be partnered with any of them doesn't mean that you should scare them all off." She crossed her arms and sighed. "I know you want to get out there, but glaring the trainees into submission is not going to achieve that any sooner."

"And what would?"

"You know what." Morgana grabbed the chair from Leon's currently vacant desk and spun it around so she could sit down. "It's been four months. To me, it looks like you aren't even trying to find a partner anymore."

"I am," he protested. "It's just difficult!"

"You said that you couldn't work with Aaron because he refused to learn, which is contrary to what others have said about him, and your complaint regarding Eleanor was that she wasn't flexible enough."

Arthur sighed. "Okay, with Aaron, what I meant is that he refuses to learn something that isn't part of the job, and a lot of times we need the kind of knowledge we're not going to find in our handbooks. I can't tell you the number of times I have had to bullshit my way out of a bad situation and the only reason I could was because I knew about more than just being an agent."

"And Eleanor? Did I misunderstand that assessment?"

"Well, she's not quite as bad as George, but she could stand to loosen up on the rules and procedures a bit. Really, I just think she would do better with another partner."

Morgana rested her elbow on the edge of his desk and leaned onto it, staring at him. "I'm sorry we can't turn out carbon copies of Arthur Drake, but that's not our job," she snarked. "If you want someone who can work with you the way you worked with Gareth, you need to train them yourself. Maybe then you'll be happy with the outcome." She sighed and sat up again. "But that's not why I'm over here."

Arthur paused. "Why are you here?"

"To deliver this. If I had anyone else do it, you'd pretend it never hit your desk."

She slipped a piece of paper in front of him. It was the pale blue of most internal memos, and he glanced at the header on it. Required Time Off.

He frowned. "I don't need time off."

"I knew you'd say that. You really are too predictable, Arthur. But that's the point of this." She tapped the memo with one blood red nail. "You'll notice it says 'required'. In reviewing your file, I discovered something rather interesting. Not once in the six years you've been working here have you ever taken a vacation. The only time you've had off in all that time is when you were sick or injured enough that you were confined to the infirmary. And even then, you could be found here before you were given a clean bill of health by Gaius. In fact, several times I had Gaius up at my desk insisting that I keep you at your desk to prevent you from aggravating your injuries."

"What's your point?" He had the sinking feeling he knew exactly where this conversation was going to end, and he wasn't going to like it one bit.

"Arthur, I say this because you are my family and I love you. You need to slow down before you burn yourself out. I am perfectly poised to see every bit of your inevitable collapse in slow motion, and I do not want to be the one to explain to Aunt Agatha why you got yourself killed in the line of duty. If not for yourself or for me, do it for your mother. You know how hesitant she was about letting you join the MIB. Don't make her regret it."

Arthur's resolve crumbled faster than his bluster could build up. Agatha Drake was the one person who could always convince Arthur to take care of himself. Even if she wasn't his mother, he would still think she was the sweetest person he had ever met. She was caring and compassionate, but that didn't mean she was weak. As much as Arthur didn't want to disappoint her, he also lived in fear of her righteous fury.

Agatha Drake had only gotten truly angry twice in the course of Arthur's life. Once was when she found out Arthur's father, Uther, was carrying on an affair. She didn't leave him, but she had subtle ways of making Uther regret everything he had done. For most of it, she wasn't even using her magic. No, it was small ways, like how she would make his meals separate and leave all seasoning out. Or she would move Uther's favorite chair just a bit so it would always be different every time he sat in it, sometimes tripping over it as he made his way through the room. He was sure there were other things he wasn't aware of as a kid, but those were the things that stuck out in his mind.

The only other time he'd seen her angry was when someone attacked them because his father had a high position in government. She wasn't supposed to use magic in front of people who didn't already know about it, except in dangerous situations. What cemented the moment in his mind—besides the fact that he and his mother were being threatened—was the fact that she didn't use magic to do any of what she did. She had taken fencing lessons when she was young, and it was mesmerizing to watch her take down all six of the men with just a stick. That was not something he wanted to bring down on his head.

"Fine," he muttered, picking up the memo as though it was going to bite him. Some of them could bite, but not usually one's from Morgana. Family or not, she preferred to maintain some level of professionalism in the office. "Fine, I'll take a vacation."

"Good. At least a week. I'm not allowing a day less."

Arthur would have argued, but he knew it would be pointless. Worse, she might actually decide to add time on to the week she already demanded, just to shut him up.

With that, Morgana pushed herself into a standing position with the grace of an apex predator and stalked away from his desk back towards her office. Arthur started gathering his things and packing up any loose papers in his desk. He didn't really have any active cases, not one that hadn't already been passed over to someone else. And if they needed anything from him, it was easy to pick up a phone and ask for his help. But he'd had four months of spinning his wheels, four months of trying to figure out a new partner and failing at it. Perhaps it was time for a vacation. If he came back to it with fresh eyes, perhaps things would be different.

Vacation time was so fucking boring. Arthur was reminded by the second day of his mandated time off why he hadn't taken it in the six years he'd been with the bureau. He had managed to finish three shows between the Friday when he left work and this Tuesday evening when he was staring at the blank screen of his TV. He had more or less obliterated his watchlist, run through a couple of movies he had been meaning to see for a while, and his flat was immaculate.

Which wasn't to say it was dirty before. He had never spent enough time in his flat during the week for it to get really dirty, but it was spotless now. His laundry was clean, the surfaces in the kitchen and dining room had all been scrubbed. He had even, out of sheer boredom, washed out the oven and reorganized his refrigerator. Now he just wanted to tear his hair out. He also wanted to scream at Morgana for pushing him into this vacation. She knew as well as he did that most of his life was tied up in his work. And now he was trapped in the day-to-day tedium he spent years avoiding.

Perhaps he shouldn't have started with watching the items on his watchlist. He usually reserved that for when he was injured or sick because that was the only time off he ever needed. But he never really paid enough attention to the things that came out while he was working to add to the list. He usually relied on the recommendations of others and had run into the inevitable overlap. It wasn't like he could go into work the next day and ask for more suggestions, but it wasn't enough of a reason to call anyone up. Especially not late in the evening, when most of the agents he knew would just be getting home.

With a sigh, he threw on a jacket and grabbed his keys, intending to go out for a walk. If nothing else, at least it was something to do.

It was eight in the evening in the early Spring, so the day was coming to a close in the sort of middling twilight when it wasn't quite dark, but there was a sort of shadow over everything and everyone.

Arthur's feet walked routes he knew well without much thought, and he found himself nearing the MIB offices before he took a turn down another street perhaps more aggressively than he needed to. The scowl on his face was equally unnecessary, but wholly satisfying as people parted like the Red Sea in front of him.

This was not a route he knew anymore. He knew the streets existed, and he may have been to them once or twice, but his knowledge of them was largely academic. Residence buildings and places of business were separated by dark alleys and lanes where the lights flickered on and off. It was not what one would refer to as a good neighborhood, but it wasn't as bad as some of the places he and Gareth had been hunting down leads on artifact smuggling or magical interference.

Maybe it was the thought of working in the field with Gareth that had him paying more attention to the people and the atmosphere around him. And once he was, he could tell that some things were off.

It was not obvious—these things never were until you were two seconds away from getting your head blown off by a rogue sorcerer—but there was something distinctly wrong with an ordinary looking fellow in a black duster walking ahead of him. Arthur had learned to trust his gut instinct—another reason why he knew he wouldn't pair well with any of the recent recruits—and this man was up to something suspicious. What was more, Arthur could feel he was a sorcerer even from a distance.

The main difference between mages and sorcerers was where their power came from. Arthur had been born with his magic, as had his mother and almost everyone on his mother's side of the family. Being born with magic he could control without a focus made him a mage. For him, a focus could be used to amplify a spell, but was ultimately not necessary.

His uncle Alexander, and apparently the man who was walking ahead of him, had no innate command over their own magic, and were forced to rely on a focusing implement of some kind to access it. Mages and sorcerers felt different because a mage radiated power as a whole being while sorcerers had only one point, the location of their focus.

This was something all agents were trained to recognize so they couldn't be caught off guard by someone they didn't know was magical.

Ignoring the fact that he was off the clock, on vacation, and had no partner or back up, Arthur followed at a reasonable distance, only realizing what he was doing when he'd been following the sorcerer for about two blocks. While he would have preferred to tag the guy with one of the trackers Gwaine made down in the labs, but he didn't have any on him, and the signal would have been enough to alert the MIB to what he was currently doing.

He still wished he had one, if only to draw someone else's attention so he could leave it to them and not get in trouble with practically everyone in his life.

He paused, continuing to follow as his thoughts tried to track their way back to how he had gotten into this situation. It was about how he usually got into these things. He saw something, followed his gut, and it inevitably led him into trouble.

Arthur suddenly had the sinking feeling that he wasn't going to like how this particular misadventure ended. It was probably going to get him into trouble with Morgana and his mother, even if it didn't end with him in the infirmary. He checked his pocket and sighed when he felt his phone there. If nothing else, he wanted to have some proof to show for whatever it was he had stumbled across. Having a bit of evidence was always better for avoiding the wrath of Morgana. He hoped this was something small, but he knew his luck enough not to put too much belief into it. The reason he was such a highly respected member of the MIB was because his cases, however small they appeared, always ended up being much bigger and much harder to handle. That he was able to walk away from them was a testament to how good of a team he and Gareth were, and how well he understood and applied his magic in a given situation.

Ahead, the man he'd been following turned down one of shadowy alleys near the end of the block. Arthur stopped to apply a disguise spell and one that would make him pass beneath the man's scrutiny before he turned into the alley for himself. It looked fairly normal from what he could see. There was a dumpster against one side of it and a few metal garbage cans on the other side, but the most noticeable thing about the area was how the alley was closed off, running into a dead end. And the man Arthur had been following was gone.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, stretching out his senses to see if he could tell where the man had gone. There weren't many transportation spells, and all of them were far flashier than anyone wanted to be if they were avoiding attention, so Arthur was reasonably certain the man hadn't completely disappeared.

There was a door near the back of the alley that shimmered slightly with magic. It was subtle, far more subtle than Arthur was expecting, but he could feel it. If it were someone normal coming across it, he's not sure they would even be able to see the door.

Sighing, Arthur drew closer to the door, trying to sense anyone on the other side of it. When he couldn't, he decided to take a chance.

"Aliese." The door unlatched quietly, and Arthur pushed it open, prepared to make anyone he found on the other side sleep.

Fortunately, no one was on the other side of it. Arthur chalked it up to the sorcerers being confident in their spell casting that no one would be able to find the door. He couldn't even say they were wrong, as he wouldn't have found it if the sorcerer hadn't led him right to it.

Staying to the shadows, he followed the hallway down until it split off. On instinct, he took the stairs, which led him to an upper walkway over what was clearly some sort of underground warehouse. Below was a small group of people gathered around a series of crates and boxes. Pulling out his phone, he started taking pictures of the people and the things surrounding them.

As he zoomed in on some of the faces, he noticed a few he recognized for previous busts of artifact smuggling rings, robberies involving magic, and even Cedric Provost, who was purportedly one of the leaders of a group of rogue magic users known only as the Black Hand. The other was a woman that no one had yet been able to identify, and no one they had caught was willing to talk.

Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that this was much, much worse than he thought it was, and he was sitting above it all without backup or a partner to help save his ass. This was going to end poorly, and Morgana would alternate between gloating at him and fretting over him. As it stood, he would take the abuse as long as he got out of this alive.

They hadn't noticed his presence yet, and he hoped to get out before they did. He turned to go back the way he had come.

"This is it?" One of the men below demanded angrily.

Arthur paused and turned back, bringing up his phone to record the exchange. The more evidence they had, the better a position they were in to take these guys down.

"This," Cedric replied in a haughty tone, "is but a fraction of what we can provide for you. And let me assure you, it is a choice taste of what I and my partner have to offer you. The Galdre's Gemod Crystal alone is worth over 800,000 pounds, and that's if you merely sell it. There are people the world over who would pay dearly to know what their past lives were like, to gain some insight into a world they cannot remember." He crossed to a case and opened it. "Would you like to try it for yourself?"

"You must think I'm a fucking idiot." The first man crossed his arms. "Everyone knows you don't touch artifacts you haven't checked for yourself or had someone you trust look over. And I sure as hell don't trust you."

Cedric sighed. "Do what you want, then. Take them, have them checked over to make sure I haven't passed any cursed goods onto you. But you might want to take them elsewhere at the very least. You have been infiltrated by an MIB agent." His head tilted up to look directly at Arthur and he smirked into the camera. "So perhaps you might want to deal with that."

Stumbling back, Arthur cut the recording and started sprinting for the door. Behind him, he could hear the shouting of the smugglers as they chased after him, and the loud howling of wind as someone—presumably Cedric—teleported away. He didn't waste any breath on cursing, though he desperately wanted to. They were catching up and he didn't even have the time to turn and cast a spell at them to try and escape. Teleportation spells, though ideal for this sort of situation, were not nearly short enough or uncomplicated enough to manage casting one while running.

Crashing through the door, he stumbled through the alley and out onto the empty street. Not completely sure where he was and which way home or the MIB offices were, he picked a direction and ran, taking as many corners as he could in an attempt to confuse his pursuers. From the sound of it, it wasn't working all that well.

He turned to look over his shoulder to see how close they were and ran right into someone he didn't see. Arthur tumbled to the ground, cracking his head against the unforgiving concrete, but the other person only stumbled back a few paces. Glancing up, Arthur prepared for a fight, only to be caught off guard. The man standing over him was glancing between Arthur and the sorcerers just rounding the corner. In the moment it took Arthur to register the fact that this person didn't feel magic, the man held up a hand as if that would stop the people chasing him.

And then he started incanting, the words dragging themselves out of his throat and the ambient magic of the air humming with the need to obey him. "Eorðe, lyft, fyr, wæter, hiersumaþ me. Belūcaþ him!"

The result of the spell—it wasn't one Arthur recognized—was that everything in the street and even the street itself seemed to rise up in their defense. The wind was blowing them back, cracks appeared in the pavement beneath their feet and water bubbled up before resolving into ice that made them slid into one another. The cars and dumpsters and loose bits of garbage and debris formed into a wall before the strange mage grabbed Arthur's arm and started dragging him away.

His thoughts were spinning away from him, confusion and relief taking turns flooding his system. He wanted to believe that this was someone from the MIB who had intervened on his behalf, but he would have remembered someone who looked like this.

Arthur took a moment to take in the dark curls and the wiry limbs of his rescuer. He chalked the strange fluttering in his chest to the adrenaline rush petering out. His gut was telling him to trust this strange person though, in spite of the very public display of magic he had put on back there. Those things could be repaired, but if he had time for a spell like that, he should have had time for something smaller and just as effective.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, rather belatedly.

"Back to my flat," the strange man replied. "I know it's safe, I have a first aid kit there, and I can clean you up. Sorry about knocking you over."

A stinging in his hands brought Arthur's attention back to himself and he looked down at his scuffed and scratched palms. Then, reaching up gingerly, he felt the developing knot on the side of his head. It wasn't too bad—not to the level of a concussion—but it was rather painful.

"You don't have to," Arthur told him weakly.

"No, I knocked you over, I should fix you up. But if you're really worried about this, I've been trained as a practical nurse, but there aren't any positions for it available in the area, so I haven't really done much with it."

"You're a nurse?"

"Well, technically, I'm a bike messenger at the mo'. But whatever keeps a roof over my head and food on my table." He shrugged. "Speaking of, it's just here."

He led Arthur up the steps of a squat building, one that had definitely seen better days. And, from the streets Arthur recognized, it was in one of the shittier parts of the city.

He hesitated outside the door, unsure what was going to come of this. He was running from a bunch of angry artifact smugglers, only to be saved for unknown reasons by this strange mage, a man who didn't, once Arthur was thinking it, have a magical presence at all.

In the end, his curiosity was the deciding factor. If this man worked for one of the other branches of the MIB, Arthur wanted to know how he was able to suppress his magic so thoroughly that it couldn't be sensed unless he was using it. He could only hope that this wasn't the worst idea he'd had that night.

Arthur stepped into the building behind the mage.

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