I've been on a Graves/TF reading spree. Please please please check out the users gethTECH and Kievan09 for the best shorts you've ever read in your life. Seriously.

Sooo... this is why I haven't updated Walk the Line. Sorry...

Lineups in this instance include 3 nationals and 2 neutrals.

Fool

Malcolm Graves scans the roster for the hundredth time and curls his lip in distaste at the sight of Twisted Fate in his team's lineup. Even now there is a familiar pain that clenches his chest, but he pushes it aside with practiced ease. He has long since given up trying to eradicate the undesirable truth about himself. At forty-two years old, he is resigned to the hand he's been dealt.

There is a soft hand on his shoulder which snaps him from his musings, accompanied by an enthusiastic, "Good luck out there. Demacia appreciates your assistance" He does not reply. He never really talks to teammates. But the woman, a pretty blonde clutching a baton of sorts, does not seem perturbed. He, like most, would assume that she is impenetrable, had the dark and broken quality in her eyes not betrayed her. He does not fault her for being unable to hide it from him; he is particularly experienced in brokenness.

He and his teammates are currently waiting on the platform which the summoners use to transport them the Rift. His team, the blonde girl, her giant of a brother and a man sporting a crown and impressive lance, pace around him. It is almost time but they are missing one particular teammate. Graves listens to them worrying about the possibility of their petty grudge match against Noxus being canceled, but tunes it out eventually. With every fiber of his being, Graves hopes that the card-slinging sonnuvabitch doesn't show and that the battle is called off. If he doesn't even get the chance to kill his former partner, he doesn't want to see him. Realistically, he knows it's a pipe dream; the man always did love to make an entrance.

Sure enough, a minute before the Council of Equity would have revoked Demacia's match request, Twisted Fate swaggers through the doors to the summoning room. He is all willowy limbs and charming smiles and even now still possesses all the right cards that make Graves fold. He reminds himself that he is the same bastard who landed him in prison for six hellish years, and it works momentarily to still his thundering heart. Then Fate reaches them and the comforting scent of tobacco, whiskey, and better nights curls inside Graves' brain and throws him all out of sorts.

"Sorry I'm late," the Card Master drawls, tipping his hat toward the blonde woman who flashes a bright smile that does not reach her eyes. Graves can see that she has circled a restraining hand around her brother's waist.

"We're just glad you made it," she responds diplomatically. Her subtle fists do nothing to stifle the derisive snort that sounds from the Crown Prince.

Malcolm prays that the match will begin without them speaking, but his luck appears to have run out. His former partner has simply saved him for last. From beneath the brim of his signature hat, he stares him down and strips him bare with calculating gray eyes. Malcolm wants desperately to look away, but instead channels as much of his hate as he can into the glare he shoots back.

He's not sure it worked because whatever it is Fate sees in his eyes, he likes it. "Always a pleasure, Malcolm," he murmurs as an achingly familiar smile twists his lips. Graves is about to snap back that he's a bastard and he can take all his fake niceties and shove 'em where the sun don't shine, but the blue glow of summoning magic erupts beneath their feet and in seconds they are transported to the thousands of acres in Northwestern Valoran that serve as a magical battleground.

Everyone is silent except for Twisted Fate, who flirts with the pretty blonde as she fills a pack on her hip with wards and healing potions. It is not as easy this time for Graves to quell the burn in his chest, so he instead relives the years he spent in prison. It's hard to believe that six years in hell are almost overshadowed by the five spent with him.

Finally, the girl's brother politely tells the card shark, "I don't care if we're teammates, if you don't shut the fuck up, I will kill you."

Fate obliges with a laugh, but jokes, "If you're worried about the little lady, I wouldn't send her to work with Malcolm. He's a real lady-killer. Ain't that right Mal?"

"Fuck you, Fate," he snaps in response as he pockets the potion the blonde throws at him.

A sly look crosses the Card Master's face and he jabs, "When was the last time that happened?"

He can recall with perfect detail exactly the last time that happened and doesn't think twice about flinging Destiny up to Fate's face and pulling the trigger in answer. It clicks even though it's loaded.

"Get off this platform, for fuck's sake," his summoner drones in his head. "You can't kill teammates no matter how bad you might want to."

The Outlaw snarls and whips around, but not before Twisted Fate shoots him a wink that makes his blood rise, though he cannot tell if from anger or the implications of the gesture. The two are so intertwined when it comes to his former partner it's become impossible to tell. He stomps into the brush with the blonde close on his heels and within minutes they are traversing the well worn forest paths toward their furthest defense tower.

"You really hate him, huh?" the girl whispers as she follows him into the tall grass.

"You'll be wanting to shut your mouth right about now," Graves spits. He would try to be nice and say nothing, but his patience has worn thin. It's her stupid city-state's fault he's here with him anyway.

But she does not heed his advice and says, "You don't just hate him though. It's more than that."

He grits his teeth and his knuckles go white around his gun. "Don't."

"I can see it all over your face. In your eyes. You l-"

She stops abruptly as Graves seizes her throat and hisses, "What the fuck did I say, girl?"

To her credit, she simply narrows her blue eyes and calmly tugs on his wrist. He lets go. "Not talking about it doesn't make it untrue," she advises. "I've read your Institute file, Malcolm Graves. You two used to run the biggest gambling rings in just about every city-state in Valoran. A pair like that had to be close. Which means when he sold you out to Zaun it had to have hurt pretty bad."

They can hear the approaching footsteps of the enemy team and he puts one of his trembling hands up to his mouth. She nods, but not before whispering, "My name is Lux, by the way."

Graves rolls his eyes and mouths the words, Don't care. He does care, though. For all her apparent stupidity, she is far too clever. If she can see it, he's sure Fate can too. Lux is motioning that they should do something, but it is lost on him as he sits in his shame with a hand over his grizzled beard. It's like no matter how hard he tries he still can't get over that fucking bastard with all his charm. It isn't fair that Fate is fine while he is stuck-

His neck jerks with a snap as the blonde smacks him in the temple. "Sorry old man, but you need to get your ass out there and do what you came here to do," she orders before popping from their hiding spot shouting a spell of binding. Mind a mess, Graves scrambles to his feet after her.

They make a decent pair, he and Lux, but their enemy is good too. There is Draven, the axe-wielding guy who is so flashy and talkative that he could give Twisted Fate a run for his money. His partner is Morgana, the owner of Sinful Succulence, which Graves only knows about because Fate would never shut up about how good her angel food cake was. Graves hates them all for the reminders. They make him feel clumsy at first and his team struggles to gain ground despite Lux's surprisingly good decisions and her prince's ambushes.

Finally, there is a lull and they assume the enemy team has returned to their base, so Graves and Lux pause for a moment under the shade of their crumbling tower. The summer heat is stifling and he seriously considers shucking his cloak. He looks enviously at Lux, who is wearing a light cape and a thin shirt and pants. She sees him looking and tosses him a potion along with an understanding grin and for a moment Graves feels a little peaceful. It's nice to sit in silence with his thoughts.

Then she goes and ruins it by asking, "So how did you two meet?"

The "fresh start" he'd thought awaited him in Valoran was more of a let down than he would have liked to admit. Perhaps it was because he'd never done an honest day's work in his life that he didn't even know where to find it; it was only a few weeks before he fell right back into his old patterns. For eight years he held it together by himself, skipping across Valoran, only to have it completely fall apart that night in Zaun.

He was so damn full of himself. Really it was his pride that was his downfall. He couldn't fathom someone beating him in a game, so much so that when the man across from him flipped four-of-a-kind, all aces same as him in a single deck game, he was more than mildly impressed. His amused smirked lasted only until the stranger laughed, low and ominous.

"Guess I ain't the only one who doesn't play fair," the stranger said, exhaling cigar smoke, a scent rich and smooth and what Graves would later come to associate as altogether Twisted Fate. "And does it damn good, too," he added.

Graves flashed a grin and leaned back nonchalantly in his chair to disguise his uneasy fingers pulling his handgun into his lap. He would have preferred the reassuring weight of his shotgun, but when trying to minimize trouble, well, sometimes he could appreciate the subtlety of something smaller. "We'll call it a draw then?" he proposed.

The man who'd kept his face hidden beneath his wide-brimmed hat tipped it back revealing a younger man than Graves, sporting a thin beard and a rakish smile. Eyes, gray and calculating, left Graves feeling as though he was being stripped to his bones. "Reckon so. Maybe we should do this again some time," the man finally said. Then he rose to his feet, allowing Graves to see him holster his own gun, a display which shocked Graves for its foolishness, before pocketing his money. "Ya know, business is always better with a partner."

The Bilgewater Outlaw plastered on his best poker face though inside his heart was racing. At thirty-one, he had felt like nothing surprised him, but the offer of partnership was a foreign concept that left him winded. Partnership reeked of things like trust. It also insinuated success. He didn't know what working alongside another entailed, especially not in the business of scamming, but he'd been down on his luck most of life. It was tempting. He contemplated shooting Fate where he stood just to make the decision easier, to fall back upon what he knew. Instead, flustered, he blurted, "Could be, maybe."

At that, Fate's smile stretched across his face and that silver-tongue Graves would become so taken in by flicked across his lips and he murmured, "Well then. Get in touch." There was suddenly a card in his hand unlike any Grave had ever seen, bent in the corners and with that soft quality of an old deck. "Just bring this to the bartender at The Wild Card up on Vaskervon street. Tell him you wanna meet Twisted Fate," he said, setting the card on the table.

"Twisted Fate. That your real name?" he questioned.

"What do you think?"

"So what is it?"

Twisted Fate smiled. "Maybe later, if you're lucky."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Fate's theatrics. But he took the card and Fate took his leave with a sweep of his cape.

It was well worn, slightly bigger than a regular playing card, and lacked the usual suit and pips. On the face was -he flipped the card the right way- maybe a golden compass or perhaps a clock, but the symbols around the outer edge of the ornate wheel were unknown to Graves. It was set against a backdrop of clouds and there were figures clinging to it as if it were turning, a snake and two others that looked a mix of man and beast. There was something scrawled on the bottom of the card on an unfurling banner, but Graves hadn't really had the time to learn his letters properly and couldn't quite read it. He could make out one word, because he'd seen it on posters in Bilgewater. Fortune, same as that bounty hunter girl who'd been up-and-coming right as he was leaving. The back of the card had a simple design, not unlike a regular playing card, but the swirls and lines were colored in rich golds, blues, and reds.

With a noise of false indifference, the Outlaw swept his own money back into his pocket and stuffed the flashy card into his jacket. It had been lucky Twisted Fate hadn't decided to shoot him, and vice versa, he supposed. Belongings in hand, he left the tavern in a rush, unwilling to stick around and hunt someone else as odd as he was feeling at the strange turn of events. Gun fights, fist fights, running from the law, he could handle things going wrong without so much as batting an eye: It was when things were looking up that he got nervous.

But wouldn't it be an adventure to try something new? If things went south, he could always do what he did best: Kill and run. The next day he cashed in on the card and found himself with a partner.

Graves gives a nonchalant shrug. "Don't remember."

Lux frowns, unconvinced. "Well, when did you first know that you were... ya know."

"I think it'd be best if I went in on this target alone," Fate said as they eyed the front door of the dive bar said target had just entered. This one was a stubborn one who had sent back one of their associates in a box. It had been a unanimous decision on both their parts to not waste time trying to negotiate. "I won't draw as much attention alone and won't start a fight the second I step foot in there." The, 'Unlike you,' which followed that statement went unspoken.

"I dunno, Fate. This place is a shit-hole, even by my standards," Graves grumbled.

His partner tilted his hat just so he could see the raised eyebrow and incredulous stare on his face. "Anything's better than that one in Bilgewater."

At that both men chuckled, recalling The Grog Cellar and its nasty regulars who had beaten them both bloody, tied them up and tossed them in the Guardian's Sea. It was only teamwork and the pocket knife Graves kept hidden in his boot that had saved them that time.

Graves shook away the short-lived mirth as he averted his gaze back to the seedy Noxian bar. "Still," he said grudgingly. "Got a bad feeling."

"Well, let's just stop the job now. Malcolm's got the heebie-jeebie's," Fate snarked. "Please, mama, I promise I'm a big boy."

"Ah, shut the fuck up," the Outlaw griped. "Go get yourself killed, then."

Fate tipped his hat in an obliging way, but he must have been at least a little nervous himself because he commanded, "Feel free to check in if it's taking too long," as he sauntered off toward the bar. Usually his partner's confidence was reassuring, but the lack of it this time ensured that Graves' unease did not lessen.

Which was lucky, as it turned out.

When thirty minutes had passed without so much as a whisper of Fate's existence and Malcolm could no longer ignore the roiling in his gut, he decided to act. Pulling the shotgun from his back, he crept out of sight around the bar to the darkened alleyway behind it. The plan had been to sneak in through the back for the element of surprise, but he didn't even have to go that far. The mound of trash by the crates of empty bottles and barrels shifted and he was on his knees faster than he would have thought possible. He barely recognized his hands, trembling and hesitant as he cleared debris off his partner to reveal the spreading bloodstain across his flashy shirt.

"'S a trap," Fate groaned, and it took Graves a moment to understand that he was saying, 'It's a trap,' before he heard the heavy footsteps behind him.

Any hesitation fled his hands to be replaced by rage; he did not wait for words, magic, gloating, or compromise.

He threw his partner over his shoulder, whipped around, and fired.

The first bullet whizzed past them as the owner of the gun flew back with buckshot ripping through his chest. Graves was already tearing down the street as the rest came through the back door of the bar. He felt a sting in his calf and another in his back, pushed down the rising panic in his throat, ignored the thoughts circulating in his head, oh fuck if I stop Fate's dead, fuck-

He couldn't stop so he haphazardly shot behind him, each shot feeling more and more like his arm was about to be wrenched from its socket. But shotguns didn't require much aim and gradually the footsteps and shouting behind him lessened and Graves didn't stop running until they were back to their working headquarters in one of the nicer Noxian inns. The most attention they got as he staggered toward their room was a shout for bleeding on the floor, so common were these things in Noxus, then they were behind closed doors in blessed silence.

When he set Fate on his bed, saw his ashen face lax and the shallow rise and fall of his chest, pure unadulterated terror clawed its way into Graves' gut. He mumbled, "Don't die, don't you fucking die," over and over as he frantically dug through their belongings for two of their precious black market restorative potions. His shaking hands ripped open what was left of Fate's shirt, revealing a knife wound in his ribs, clean but deep. He raised the potion, uncorked it with his teeth, took a swig and moaned as the liquid went to work on his bullet wounds, then slowly poured the rest into his partner's wound.

The flesh began to knit and Graves knew from experience that it hurt like hell but the man did not move. He had no idea how much blood Fate had lost or long he'd been outside before he found him and he had never felt so helpless in his entire life. Then he heard a sharp intake of air and suddenly Twisted Fate murmured, "Malcolm," soft and needy and something inside Graves broke at the sound. Relief took his consciousness with an echo of Fate whispering his name in his ears.

The Outlaw shakes away the memory, gives her a filthy glare, and mutters, "That definitely ain't any of your business."

"C'mon," she nags. "I'm good at secrets."

He is saved from further questioning when a rustling in the trees alerts them to the presence of an ambush a split second before both their summoners begin to mentally fly off the handle. A dark blur the stuff of nightmares dives at them and Lux manages to lock down the otherworldly creature just as it reaches them. Their tower lights against him and Graves begins to fire too, but a sinking feeling in his gut tells him it won't be enough.

As the thought is crossing his mind, an axe whizzes from the brush and clips him in the shoulder before flying back into Draven's hand. He unloads a smoke canister that buys them a couple of precious seconds and he shouts at Lux to run, but he can see the resignation in her face and knows she will stay. Then a fiery swirl of dark magic roots him to the ground and the enemy tears into him.

Lux throws her baton to bend the light around him and reflect some of their attacks but it's not nearly enough. They dash around their tower as best they can, hoping that its shots might kill the nightmarish creature who is cackling at them as he rips into them with jagged shadow blades. When Lux staggers and collapses to her knees, Graves knows she done for. In a last effort, she binds Draven and Morgana for him before the nightmare slits her throat. But her sacrifice is not in vain because he's taken too many blasts from their tower and flees into the trees, leaving the other two at its mercy.

The axes haven't stopped flying, Morgana has almost destroyed the tower and Graves feels dizzy from blood loss and knows the end is coming but damn if he isn't gonna take one of them with him. Then from the corner of his eye, he sees a pattern of cards splay out on the ground and from a shimmering white veil steps Twisted Fate flinging magically imbued cards at the two Noxians. Draven stops in his tracks as magic freezes his muscles and in concert with Fate's magic, three rounds of buckshot in the chest and the tower's magic, he falls. Morgana lingers for a second longer to fire one more bolt of energy at the tower which is enough to send the structure crumbling into the dirt before she flees, Fate hot on her heels.

Victory is bittersweet. Graves stumbles into the base of the destroyed tower, dizzy from blood loss and vision fuzzy around the edges. And fuck it all, suddenly Fate's back beside him with an arm around his waist and keeping him on his feet. He tries to push him away but he is so weak that he only succeeds in almost dropping Destiny.

"Cool it, hot shot," Fate chuckles. When the two have stumbled back to the next tower, the Card Master lowers him gently to the ground, kneels beside him, and uncorks a potion which he forces into Graves' mouth, saying, "Drink up. Just in case one of decides to come finish the job before you get outta here."

Graves doesn't argue and let's the cool liquid slide down his throat and patch his wounds. In his head, his summoner is begging him to transport back to base, but he isn't willing to give up this moment just yet and tunes it out.

The words fall from his lips before he can stop them. "I hate you."

To his surprise, Fate doesn't laugh, joke, or grin. He levels a grey-eyed stare at him and nods. "I reckon you have every reason to."

His acceptance doesn't make him feel better. Malcolm just narrows his eyes distrustfully, trying to find the angle Fate's playing at. As if he understands the meaning of the glare, Fate says quietly, "Sorry. For what it's worth."

"It ain't worth shit 'cause I know you're not," the Outlaw hisses. "If you were sorry, you wouldn't've let me sit in hell for six years! You wouldn't've done it in the first place!" His former partner winces and that alone almost makes Graves believe his shitty excuse for an apology. Almost. But Fate is wearing such a beat dog expression that he feels some of the fire fizzle out of his argument. He feels weary, sentimental. "Was magic really more important than..." he starts to ask, but he's not sure he even wants to know and trails off with the question unasked. Me, he thinks. Us.

The glint of an angry blue glow in his eyes, Twisted Fate says, "You don't wanna have this conversation, Mal."

"Oh yeah?"

"Let it go."

"You think if I could let it go I'd be sitting here having this conversation?" he sneers. He is starting to get a headache from his summoner's incessant complaining and figures his control will be overridden soon. "If it weren't for you I wouldn't be wasting my time in this stupid League anyway. Believe you me, I want nothing more than to forget I ever met you."

The anger in Fate's eyes flares up to a bright blue, but there's the unmistakable flash of hurt in them. He opens his mouth to reply but Graves beats him to it and interjects, "You owe me for ruining my life. Can't you at least be a little miserable?"

"Nothing I could do would make you happy," his former partner shoots back. "Even dying. And deny it all you want but you know it's the truth. How many times've we killed each other out here? A hundred? A thousand? It doesn't make a difference, does it?"

The Outlaw lets out a hollow laugh. "Ain't that the worst part?"

Twisted Fate shrugs. "I never asked you to come here. That's all you."

The words burn a hole in his chest and Graves is surprised by the dry sob that rips from his throat. "Fuck me. There ain't nothing stupider than trusting a con," he curses. "But I trusted you anyway, Fate. After everything we went through, all those nights, I thought you..." He can't bring himself to speak his shame, though, and laughs bitterly instead. "Turns out I was the biggest sucker of all."

Twisted Fate says nothing in reply and Graves leans forward to rest a forehead lined with age and stress on his shoulder. He breathes in the smell of smoke and for a moment he can almost believe that Twisted Fate isn't just obliging him and his feelings aren't one-sided. He feels Fate's arms encircle him in warmth even though it's hotter than hell already, but he wouldn't have traded it for all the money in the world. He does not get the option, however, as he is suddenly third party to his body and his summoner's magic forces him to reappear at the base.

"The hell was all that," the summoner demands. "Couldn't wait until after the match for your little pity party?"

"Fuck you," Graves' gripes under his breath. His proximity to the Nexus heals his wounds quickly, and in just a few seconds he is back to the picture of health, but he still feels unsteady. He stands there catching his breath for a few minutes, well past the amount of time it took his summoner to unlock certain buffs.

He's grateful for the few moments of reprieve until the summoner coughs and tentatively suggests, "Well, if you're done moping, go help Twisted Fate and Lux defend the forest's middle tower. Draven, Morgana, and Katarina are there and God help us all if Rengar shows up."

Malcolm rolls his eyes and dashes from the base toward the tower looming in the distance. He is halfway there when he realizes that his chest isn't as heavy with the thought of seeing his former partner. He isn't happy about it, but the anger he's been clinging to for so long has dissipated. He feels weightless, like he will lose himself in space and it's frightening for a second, but he tightens his grip on Destiny and plunges onward.

They go on to lose the match. Noxus wins the dispute about some cargo ship. Lux shrugs and gives Graves a smile and he can feel the ghost of one lighten his face. She looks startled, then laughs before waving and pulling on her brother's arm who has gotten into a shouting match with the red-headed Noxian. The other Independents are gone, leaving Graves alone in the hall with Twisted Fate.

From his pocket he pulls a battered card which he has kept as a reminder of his mission. The wheel on its face sports scratches and holes where he has stabbed it with a pocket knife. He looks at it for a moment, then flips it right side up so that the creature at the bottom of the wheel has returned to the top, then walks to where Twisted Fate is waiting for him and hands it over. Fate looks surprised to see his old calling card.

"See ya around," Graves says as he walks past.

He has only gone a few steps when Fate calls out, "Hey. How out a game of cards sometime? You and me?"

Malcolm is tempted. He pauses and turns to regard him with a cool gaze.

"Nah," he says. "I'm good."

And today he feels just a bit like it's true.

INB4 reporting jokes.

Inspirational songs:

Dead Man Walking-The Script

Fool-Shakira

My Heroine-Silverstein