I wrote this multi-fandom story for one of my very best friends, Define X, for her birthday. Names have been changed to protect the guilty—I mean, innocent. ;) Featuring stolen lines, priceless moments, inside jokes, and just a tad of unadulterated… insanity. This is split into three parts, here is the first.

Disclaimer: Well, I don't own anything, as you can guess. But Merlin does come to my house for tea sometimes. We make cookies.

The Time Has Come: Psych You Out In A Time of Magic

Taryn was an ordinary girl, in an ordinary life. Not to say that her life was boring; it was just quiet. Nothing unusual ever happened, but that was alright with Taryn. Her teenage days were spent as any other student's was—stressing over schoolwork, and wasting countless hours on the internet. She enjoyed life. Yes, school was taxing, and the online drama was annoying, but all in all, life was good.

Besides, it wasn't just her friends of her family that brought her happiness. The mass of both real and non-real characters from her various favorite media outlets swarmed her mind. Fantasy was a genre she particularly favored. Elvish inscriptions were written in careful sharpie on her wrists, a Prince Caspian poster decorated her door, and the computer screen fell asleep to a screensaver of WHY WE LOVE MERLIN pictures. Of course, she did dip into other fandoms and interests—her fingernails were painted in Bill-Kaulitz-style French Tips, her frequent reply to a funny statement was "You know that's right", and equestrian after equestrian lined her bedroom's walls and ceiling.

It was yet another quiet afternoon. Taryn sat up in room, lying on her bed. "The Lord of the Rings" she held in both hands, while tapping her foot to the sound of the Merlin soundtrack playing through her earphones. She had just managed to slog through her math homework, and was now trying to relax. This was her usual routine.

Suddenly, she heard a noise, a large one, considering that she had heard it over her music. Taking out her earphones, she glanced around her room. "Lana?" she called out accusingly, not wanting her little sister to disturb her. No one answered the call, and she was about to replace her earphone when suddenly, she heard it again—a large thud. It had come from her closet.

Carefully, Taryn got up from her bed, approaching the door slowly. Faintly, she could hear muffled voices from the other side. They sounded familiar, she thought, though she couldn't place them.

"I can't see! Why don't you give us some light, you who has the power to be powerful?" said one voice, loud and obnoxious, with a hint of barely-disguised sarcasm.

"I would, if your foot wasn't in my face," answered the other voice, accented and lighter sounding.

"So much for your transportation skills. You should have let me take Gus's GPS."

"Arthur would have had you thrown in the stocks! Those fruits and vegetables don't feel very nice, you know," the other voice protested. "And you promised you would let me try out this new spell. It's not my fault we've—

"Dude, wait. Doorknob! That means..."

"Tospringe!"

The door burst open, and Taryn took an involuntary jump backwards. And then, as a figure stepped out from her closet, she did a double take.

"Shawn Spencer?"

The brown-haired, brown-eyed psychic detective stepped into the room, observing his surrounding casually. "That's the name, though in Japan I am known as Master or Sensei, and in some rural areas, Spen-C-Shizzle, but don't ask why they call me that."

Taryn's mouth dropped open, and for a moment, all she could was stare. Was she seeing who she thought she was seeing? This could not be possible. There was just no way.

"Wait! Don't scream!" said Shawn, forming a cross with his index fingers.

Taryn was somehow able to overcome her shock long enough to retaliate, a bit defensively, "I wasn't going to." Shawn looked relieved, and lowered his cross.

A crash came from inside Taryn's closet, and a second figure finally stumbled out, his limbs flailing wildly. He was tall and pale, with dark hair, and a tattered red neckerchief tied loosely around his neck. There was no question about it—he was most definitely Merlin.

Okay. This was getting really weird. There was not only one, but two lead characters from two of her favorite TV shows standing in her room. Taryn tried to tell herself not to freak out, to take this calmly, as any fangirl told herself she would. However, now that she was standing in the presence of two men who she talked about constantly, and one in particular whom she blushed, fantasized, and obsessed over, she realized how impossible it would be to remain calm.

Breathing in and out deeply, she looked up into Merlin's beautiful blue eyes, and said in what she tried to make her most non-girly, serious voice, "Hi, Merlin." Unfortunately for Taryn, this came out as more of a breathy squeak than a normal-sounding greeting.

Shawn sighed, disappointed. "Why don't they ever look at me like that?"

"Like what?" Merlin asked, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

Shawn face-palmed. Obviously this guy was clueless of the effect he had on just about every girl fan of his. Girls never reacted this way when they saw Shawn. He knew he wasn't Justin Bieber or anything, but he thought they could at least squeal once in awhile. Maybe it was because he didn't have a cutesy foreign accent, like this guy did. Note to self: start speaking in an Irish accent, as soon as possible. Note to self, part two: Use the word caves—a lot.

"Like that," Shawn answered, pointing to Taryn, who's eyes were now glazed over slightly as she stared in wonder at the 'pasty Irish boy' in front of her. Merlin followed Shawn's finger, and a bashful smile flickered on his face.

And then, Shawn added, "Hanger," pointing to the wire hanger that hung around Merlin's arm. It seemed that the closet had refused to let him go easily. Embarrassed, Merlin quickly tugged the contraption off of him, tossing it back into the closet—secretly hoping Taryn hadn't seen.

Taryn pinched herself. And once more, just to be safe. Ouch. Nope, this was not a dream. You couldn't feel pain in your dreams—or could you? Holy crap. That meant that this was really happening. Maybe she was going insane. Too much math homework, that was what had caused this. Finally, she had a solution—her excuse to rid herself of the subject she detested would be to plead insanity.

She blinked once, then twice, and then ten times. Yup. They were still there, Merlin with that adorkable grin on his face and Shawn waving slightly. "I must be hallucinating," she murmured out loud.

"No, you're not," countered Shawn and Merlin, reacting simultaneously.

A voice echoed down the hallway, and footsteps approached Taryn's bedroom door. It was her younger sister, Lana. Two thoughts raced through her mind simultaneously: Holy cow, this is awkward and Hide!. Merlin and Shawn were quickly shoved back into the closet, none too gracefully. Just as the doorknob was turning, Taryn threw herself back onto her bed, panting slightly.

Lana peeked her head into her sister's room. "Did you hear something?"

Taryn, answering quickly without planning on what she would say, said, "No." Then, changing her mind, she said, "Actually yes! Yes. That noise was, um…me, practicing my…dance moves. You know, because it's today and all."

"What's so special about today?" asked Lana slowly, clearly not knowing what Taryn was referring to.

"Oh, you know—today is " 'Only 128 Days Till The Hobbit Comes Out' day!" Taryn said, trying to keep her voice from reaching another octave without having much success. Why was she suddenly incapable of making convincing stuff up?

Her sister gave her a dubious look as she repeated back what she had told her, "You were practicing your dance moves for a movie that comes out four months from now?"

Taryn bobbed her head up and down. "Yup, that's right. Uh-huh. I am breaking it down in this here house. And I really, really need some privacy, you know, to perfect everything. So could you leave now?" She smiled nicely, and then proceeded to stare her younger sibling down until the girl finally exited the room.

"You're strange," her sister called as she left, and shot her another doubtful look as she walked down the hall back to her room.

Taryn, still smiling, shut the door to her room. Trying to keep her voice even, she spoke into the seemingly empty room, "You can come out now, that is, if you're real and not just figments of my imagination."

They weren't, apparently. Shawn stumbled out of her closet, Merlin close behind. "You're almost as bad a liar as Merlin," Shawn said, and then laughed at his own irony.

Merlin sniffed, opening his mouth to protest. For four entire seasons he had kept the magic secret from nearly everyone, and Shawn was calling him a bad liar? But maybe that was a good thing—it meant he was trustworthy. Before he could reply with a decently witty retort, Shawn pointed out,

"Hanger."

Merlin looked down at his arm, where once again the infernal thing had attached itself to his clothing. Throwing it away, he turned back to Taryn, his face flushing again.

"Well, it's not every day that two fictional characters pop out of my closet! The shock I am suffering from might have impaired my ability to make up crap," Taryn replied, breathing heavily. Forcing herself to get a grip, she managed to calmly ask the intruders, "Now—what were you doing in my closet?"

Both tried to answer at the same time, and after glaring at each other a moment, Shawn said, "We need your help."

This was not the answer Taryn had expected. They needed her help? A wave of seriousness washed over both the psychic and the warlock. There was no laughter in their eyes. No funny business anymore, or at least for the moment.

"You need my help?" she repeated, and then inwardly cringed, realizing how dumb that sounded.

"That is what we kind of just said," said the detective drolly.

"Shawn," warned Merlin.

"Sorry. But time is of the essence here!" he said, tapping his wrist to symbolize and invisible watch. "Mrs. Pickles needs us."

Merlin refrained from rolling his eyes, and addressed Taryn, who was by now slowly beginning to adjust to the sight of two of her favorite TV characters standing in her bedroom—not a hologram, not Colin Morgan and James Roday, but the actual, fictional characters.

"Morgana and Lassiter," he began, and Shawn coughed pointedly. Merlin corrected himself, "Lassy, have kidnapped the loved and esteemed Mrs. Pickles. We found a note that I believe Mrs. Pickles left for us to find. The note said that we will be able to follow a set of clues to rescue her. But the clues can only be interpreted by someone very special and elite."

Taryn nodded slowly, as if she understood, though her brain was in a state of denial. They couldn't possibly be serious. If it weren't for the earnest plea in Merlin's eyes, she would have laughed, long and hard. Mrs. Pickles was a orange tLana cat invented by Shawn's detective partner, Gus, in order to buy Shawn enough time to look around for clues in a suspect's home. This thought begged the question: Where was Gus? Shawn was almost always with his buddy.

"Where's Gus?" she asked, and for a moment, Shawn was caught off guard.

"I think he's at the Psych office—trying to beat my Just Dance high score probably," he recovered, shrugging his shoulders. "What can I say? I have wicked moves."

"And where's Arthur?" Taryn inquired, this time turning to Merlin, who didn't fully meet her gaze.

"Kingly duties call, you know," he answered vaguely, and Shawn nodded, seconding his answer. "And I'm pretty sure he think I'm at the tavern."

"Why didn't you go to them with this—erm, problem?" she asked, still not seeing where she fit into all this, and still unsure of whether or the tLana cat truly existed.

"Because," said Shawn exasperatedly, his patience thinning, "Gus would be devastated if he knew Mrs. P was missing. Don't you think so, Merlin?" he said staring at his companion pointedly.

"Oh, yeah," said Merlin, taking his cue. "It would tear him apart. We couldn't let that happen—not after the first time she went missing."

Okay. That was it—she couldn't take this anymore. "Guys, come on! Mrs. Pickles is not real," Taryn said, letting out a disbelieving laugh. Both the psychic and the warlock stared at her, dumbstruck looks on their faces. Merlin's mouth actually dropped open. He was clearly shocked, if not appalled by, what she had said.

There was no joke in Shawn's eyes as he told her, "Mrs. Pickles is just as real as you and I are, Taryn."

"And me," Merlin added, reminding Shawn of his existence in the equation.

"And Merlin," said Shawn, throwing an apologetic look in his companion's direction.

"If you can't do it for Mrs. Pickles, at least do it for the women and children, Taryn."

"What?" choked Taryn, not really sure what he meant. "Okay," said Taryn, although she wasn't sure how to take what they had just said. "And Arthur can't be included in this because?"

Fear crossed both of their faces. "Psychic-awesomeness is just as bad as magic-awesomeness in his book, right Merly?" Shawn asked him, and the warlock nodded grimly.

"Definitely—and I think the fact you tried to psychically read the color of his underwear the day you met him, to prove your abilities, might have been a factor as well. Let's just say I wouldn't color Arthur impressed."

The psychic was hurt. "Hey—I had every chance of being right. How was I to know that purple polka dots aren't all the rage in Camelot?" he protested, crossing his arms and his lips forming a pout. "He was just probably too proud to admit that I had guessed correctly."

"So why do need me?" Taryn asked quickly to change the subject, frantically trying to rid her mind of the image of Arthur in his underwear—in polka dots, for crying out loud!

"Because you are Taryn—the Taryn, the one and only!" Shawn said holding his hand up for a high-five, which Taryn awkwardly returned.

"What Shawn is trying to say is the note Mrs. Pickles left led us to you," Merlin explained. "Only you will know the answer to these clues she has given to us." He pulled out a worn piece of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Taryn. She took it hesitantly. Although this excited her, a part of her was still unsure whether or not this was all in her head.

"What Merlin is trying to say is, Taryn," Shawn formed an expression of extreme morbidity, and said in his best deep, British voice, "The time has come."

Merlin nodded, "Exactly." Then, realizing he had no idea what his companion had just said, he asked, "Wait, what?"

"Never mind, I just always wanted to say that," said Shawn, shrugging. Motioning to Taryn, he told her, "Go ahead, read it."

"In a land of fantasy and a time of awesome, the fate of an orange tLana rests on the shoulders of a young woman. Her name is Taryn," the girl read, and then paused, thinking, "That sounds very familiar. Where have I heard that before?"

"Just keep reading," Merlin advised hastily, and Taryn continued.

"Clues of what is, what was, and what has not yet come to pass will guide you to your destination. Now I know I've heard that somewhere! Do you have the first clue?"

Merlin took the paper from Taryn, and stared at it. His eyes flashed gold as he murmured a spell of old, forgotten words, and text slowly began to appear. "Wow," Taryn breathed, unable to contain her inner fangirling for a moment. "That is so cool." She loved it when Merlin used magic; there were no words adequate to describe the feeling it gave her. She could remember countless squeals and sighs as she had watched three entire seasons of Merlin in succession, finishing them in only a few months.

Merlin grinned, a bit bashfully. "What is?"

"You—doing magic. I think it's one of the coolest things I've ever seen," Taryn said honestly, and the two shared a smile. Shawn felt left out of the mildly flirtatious look that passed between them, so he decided to ruin the moment.

"Wow, the awkward moment when no one fangirls over you. You know that spell is just replacing heat right? I mean, the clues are written in invisible ink. He totally could have breathed on the paper and it would have had the same effect," he pointed out, and Merlin and Taryn glared at him.

"I could manage a giggle, if it would make you feel better, Shawn," offered Merlin brightly. Clearly he was enjoying this attention—a bit too much, the psychic thought.

"The clue," the psychic prodded, clearly fed up with the many delays, and Taryn looked down again at the parchment.

"The orange orbs only consumed during annual marathons will send you to the middle. Seek, and you will find. Eat, and you will leave," she read.

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" asked Shawn loudly in his best Cockney accent.

Merlin, amused and slightly disturbed by his friend's attempt, replied in his best American accent, "I have no idea, man."

"Vell it haz to mean zamzing!" said Shawn, switching to a highly overdone German accent, waving his hand in the air dramatically.

"Maybe we have to pass through the land of shadow," said Merlin in a strange and wispy voice. Shawn just stared, unsure of what kind of dialect Merlin had been trying to imitate.

"What kind of accent was that?"

"I was going for Elvish," answered Merlin honestly.

Shawn stared at his strange companion. "Nerd," he coughed.

Taryn rolled her eyes, wondering if it was going to be like this the entire time. "We have to eat something," she thought aloud, trying to work through the riddle. "Something orange, and round, and only eaten once a year." It would be only something that she would know. "Eaten during marathons… maybe it's not that kind of marathon. Wait! I think I've got it!"

Merlin and Shawn looked up from their intense staring contest, excitement clearly shown on their faces.

"Cheese balls," she said, and hastily gave an explanation for her conclusion as the two men covered their mouths to keep from laughing. "For my birthday, I always invite my friends over to my house to watch all three of the Lord of the Rings movies. It's one of our traditions to eat cheese balls. That has to be what it means!"

"Cool!" said Shawn, mimicking the enthusiasm in Taryn's voice, "Now, where are these little guys?"

And thus began what was aptly dubbed by Shawn as Operation: Eat The Cheeseballs, also known by Merlin as Operation: Don't-Get-Caught-By-Taryn's-Little-Sister-Or-Anyone-Else-For-That-Matter-Using-Magic-As-Strictly-Necessary. Needles to say, they decided to go with the shorter title.

Taryn went down the stairs first, peering around the corner to make sure no one was there. No matter what, the two fictional characters that had invaded her afternoon could not be seen by anyone. Half of her was scared of what her family would say if they saw them, the other half of her was scared that they might not see them at all—making Shawn and Merlin figments of Taryn's obviously overactive imagination. Too much math, that's all she could figure.

Next went Shawn, fingers held in the shape of a gun and humming Mission Impossible music slightly off-key under his breath. Merlin was right behind him, hands raised above his head as if gripping some invisible object tightly.

"Dude, what is that supposed to be?" whispered Shawn, pointing his 'gun' at Merlin's miming hands.

Merlin gaped in disbelief. Wasn't it obvious? Apparently not to some people, namely 21st century psychic detectives. "It's a sword," he said finally, and Shawn just raised his eyebrows. Merlin huffed, a bit disgruntled. Nobody understood him.

Taryn motioned them forward with her hand, and one by one they entered her kitchen, Merlin waving his invisible sword proudly above his head, and Shawn backing up against Merlin, classily aiming his 'gun' at every entrance point.

It didn't take long to locate the sought after item. There it sat, on the counter, tempting every passerby with its cheesy-goodness. After double-checking to make sure the coast was clear, Taryn opened the lid of the large container. Shawn and Merlin ditched their make-believe weapons, reaching in and grabbing a cheeseball.

Taryn scrutinized the small powdery orange puff in her hand. Part of her wanted to laugh and wake up from what could only be an impossible dream, another part of her wanted to believe that all of this was real. "These are going to transport us somewhere else?" she asked, more to herself than to her companions.

"Well, these aren't ordinary cheeseballs, Taryn," said Shawn seriously, "They are psychedelic-

"Magic," added Merlin helpfully.

"Cheeseballs. These will bring us to the next clue, I'm sure of it."

Taryn still looked doubtful.

"Please Taryn, your lack of faith is very unbecoming. Live a little!" said Shawn, the whine very clear in his voice. Sighing, Taryn raised the cheeseball to her mouth, having a very bad feeling that nothing was going to happen, and she was going to end up looking very, very stupid. Then again, believing any of this was kind of stupid—yet she found herself, against her will, excited at the prospect of magical cheeseballs and a very much alive Mrs. Pickles.

"On three, alright?" prepped Merlin, and he cautiously began to raise the cheeseball to his mouth.

"One."

"Two."

Taryn had barely said "three" and allowed the cheeseball to slide past her lips when she became aware that what had used to be her kitchen was no longer her kitchen. She felt a keen dizziness, and a sudden feeling that she was falling, before the world came to a sudden halt. When she opened her eyes seemingly decades later, it occurred to her that she was no longer standing in the world she had known all her life.