adelagia | Merlin fic: Shadowplay -- Chapter Twelve

Title: Shadowplay
Summary: Stood down from duty on convalescent's leave, secret agent Arthur Pendragon wonders if sheer boredom might just do him in. But when his handler saddles him with a caretaker who is by turns completely inept and strangely brilliant, and invites trouble wherever he goes, Arthur has to concede that death by boredom looks less and less likely. Death by goon squad, high-speed car chase, poison, or fiery explosion, however...
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Chapter word count: ~5,000
Notes: I have the bestest beta, and her name is

It didn't exactly scream of class, the sandwich shop Merlin had chosen, lots of cracked vinyl and peeling wallpaper and horrifying greengrocers' apostrophes, and everything with a slightly yellow tinge to it like it was all gradually aging in sepia.

Arthur might have felt overdressed in his standard suit and tie, but it was simply more accurate to say that the shop had no sense of occasion.

He let the door ease shut behind him. A tarnished little bell above his head had jounced gaily at his arrival, but nobody appeared at the counter, from which deflated pastries looked mournfully at him through smudged glass. It was just as well; Arthur wasn't sure it would be wise to ingest anything from a place that spelled 'ham and cheese' with a 'z'.

He strode over to Merlin, easily located, as the only other occupied table consisted of two heavyset men doing their best to ignore each other, both holding up a section of yesterday's paper in front of their faces.

"Hi," Arthur said quietly, sliding into the seat opposite.

Hunched over an untouched coffee, Merlin gave him a quick, closemouthed smile; there was a flicker of something illicit about it which made Arthur's insides knot themselves up in a mix of too many feelings to name.

"You have something for me?" Arthur asked, in lieu of simply cataloguing in silence all the little differences in Merlin since they'd seen each other last. There was the beard, for one; he wanted to touch it, see how it changed the shape of Merlin's face in his palm. He didn't.

Merlin nodded. "I wish this was different," he said, apropos of a conversation Arthur wasn't privy to, and slid a folded sheet of paper across the table.

Arthur's brow furrowed, and he picked up the paper.

It read, in Merlin's script, SORRY.

Arthur blinked at the incongruity, and his hand instinctively went for the pistol at his hip, but the split second it took for him to push to his feet and draw his weapon was more than enough time for Merlin to do the same. Arthur stared into the end of the barrel, trained, he knew, on the perfect centre of his forehead.

"I really am," said Merlin, and cocked his gun, the click of its hammer loud and clear.

Letting out a soft sigh, Arthur acknowledged the gesture with one of his own. "You're not really going to shoot me."

"Why not?"

"You didn't lure me all the way out here to this shithole just to shoot me in the head and have done with it. You could've done that any damn time you pleased in the last few months without going to all this trouble. You need me alive for something, don't you?"

Merlin conceded the point with a slight shrug. Nodding towards the gun Arthur was pointing at his face, he added, "Still, it's nice to know you still don't trust me."

"Are you kidding?" Arthur scoffed. "Of course I'm not going to walk into a meeting with an informant unarmed. Even if it is you."

"Even if it's me?" Merlin parroted. "I don't mean anything to you; you've made that quite clear."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge what that remark was supposed to mean. Merlin gave him nothing, save for a brief flick of his eyes towards the table where the other two customers were sat, and who had now produced guns of their own.

"Friends of yours?" Arthur inquired.

"I don't come to meetings unprepared either. Especially if it's with you."

The other men lumbered over in the manner instantly identifiable as Hello My Name Is Hired Goon, and raised their weapons towards Arthur. Their shots wouldn't be as neat and orderly as Merlin's -- Arthur would be surprised if they could even tell left from right, let alone dead centre -- but face it, getting shot anywhere was going to be a bother.

"Give us the gun, Arthur," Merlin said, sounding actually quite rueful about the request, as though it was beneath them both.

Arthur did as he was told, sliding his weapon across the table, palms up and empty. "Not much of a fair fight, is it, boys?" he said genially, as Merlin picked up the gun and relieved it of its cartridges.

"Fair," said a woman's voice from behind him, "isn't really my style."

"Hello, Nimueh," Arthur sighed, his odds now well and truly screwed.

"You don't sound at all happy to see me," she said plaintively, coming round to face him. Her eyes shone, bright and hard.

"Oh," said Arthur, meeting her eyes, refusing to be intimidated even as she held all the cards, "you know that's not true. I'm thrilled. We both know this is going to end with you in handcuffs. Again."

She smiled. "Let's see about that, shall we?"

The smile vanished, and she gestured to one of the hired hands, who put his gun away and pulled a black cloth from a pocket. He flapped it open, and Arthur realised it was a cloth bag.

"So uncivilised," Arthur complained, rolling his eyes at Merlin.

Merlin looked away, but his cheeks dimpled for a second and he bit his lip to stop himself smiling, and for that fraction of a moment, it was as though they were sharing a little joke, just the two of them in the world. It was enough for Arthur to believe that Merlin was still on his side somehow, which was almost worse than if he knew for sure that Merlin was Nimueh's man.

The bag went over Arthur's head, and his arms were wrenched backwards, fastened at the wrists with a cable tie. He endured a summary pat-down with as much dignity as was allowed to a man wearing a bag on his head, and was relieved of several more concealed weapons. Busy hands turned his pockets out, inspected his shoes for hidden drawers and stole the TAG Heuer off his wrist.

He felt stubby fingers start in on his cufflinks as well, but Merlin's voice cut through: "Fuck's sake, gentlemen, those aren't worth anything. Let's go; we haven't got all day."

His sartorial accessories deemed too trifling for black market resale, Arthur found some comfort, as he was frog-marched out the back of the shop, in the thought of going to his death still relatively well-dressed.

Arthur's feet left the tile of the kitchen and hit pavement, and a gentle hand -- Merlin's, maybe, or just wishful thinking -- guided his head downward so he could ease into the back of a waiting car.

It was a long journey, made far longer than necessary, he was certain, by loops and wrong turns so he would have no way of telling how far and where they'd gone. The upside was that it gave him time to think; the downside -- well, one of several, really -- was that he wasn't getting anywhere with thinking.

He regretted having so deftly slipped Kay's net to come and meet Merlin; perhaps Kay could have guarded his body a bit better than Arthur had done himself. But then again, Nimueh hadn't got to where she was by making idle threats; it was more than likely that had Kay tagged along, he'd have ended up collateral damage.

That meant, of course, that Arthur was in this alone. Mostly. Could he trust Merlin to have his back after all this? He wasn't used to giving anyone the benefit of the doubt in these sort of cases -- double-crosses were par for the course in any given dealing, after all -- but with Merlin he so badly wanted to.

And it angered him a little bit that he wanted to. By all accounts, Merlin had betrayed them all to work for the other side. Perhaps he had been doing so all along, much more successfully than Alvarr ever had.

Had he severely misjudged Merlin all this while? How could he reconcile Merlin's actions now with the Merlin he knew? Had he ever really known Merlin at all?

The questions raged on, one after another, littering his head with their anxieties. And yet even as they piled on him, Arthur felt, underneath it all, a strange calmness, as though some part of him knew that the questions were pointless, because deep down he still trusted Merlin and only needed to wait for Merlin to prove him right.

Arthur gritted his teeth, angry with himself, angry with Merlin. He let it simmer for a moment, and then pushed it aside. If he was going to take down Nimueh -- with or without Merlin's help -- he couldn't afford the emotional distraction. He'd deal with it later, if there was a later.

The road, if all the jostling about was anything to go by, was getting more and more uneven; Arthur could hear the tyres grinding over gravel lanes, pebbles spitting up against the undercarriage. Before long, they came to a halt, and Arthur was tugged out of the backseat and chivvied along on foot through dry brush, old and overgrown weeds that came up to his knees, catching on his trousers like dogged supplicants.

The overgrowth turned into hard concrete, their footsteps creating long echoes across what Arthur could only assume was a large, empty space. There was a muted smell of damp, the air stuffy and just this side of sour, and somewhere in the distance he could hear an arrhythmic drip drip drip that could probably drive a man mad. Just underneath that was the languid lapping of waves, but the wind had no salt in it -- not near the coast, then.

Arthur was shoved down onto the cold ground, and his ankles bound together with what sounded like the same kind of heavy duty zip tie that adorned his wrists. The floor was wet in spots, and he could feel water seeping through to his skin.

"I hope you're prepared to foot an astronomical dry cleaning bill," he said to the room.

In answer, someone whipped the bag off his head. At the sudden brightness, his eyes watered and he blinked rapidly until the room revealed itself to him in full -- concrete and stone, old and derelict, obviously a disused building illicitly commandeered into a makeshift headquarters. Nimueh then came into view, Merlin not far behind, silhouetted against the bright whiteness through a crumbling window.

"Slumming it?" he asked, unable to help himself even as he noticed the shiny, scary submachine gun hanging casually from Nimueh's hand.

She shrugged, serpentine. "Well, after you seized all my assets the last time," she said, pointedly, "I can't exactly rent out the Savoy, can I?"

"Yes, so sorry about that," Arthur said, gushing insincerity.

"It has been a bit of a nuisance," she said. "If I'd been able to afford a higher class of hit man to begin with, we most certainly wouldn't be having this lovely chat."

"Ah, pertaining to that," said Arthur.

"Why are you still alive?" she supplied. At his nod, Nimueh went on, "You can thank your friend here for that."

Arthur flicked his glance over to Merlin, whose face was vacant of expression. "I'd hesitate to call him 'friend' at this juncture."

Nimueh cocked her head, amused. "I assure you, whatever petty disagreements you have are none of my concern. All I do care about is money, and that, darling, is why you are still alive. You see, I do so want you dead. You ruined me, Arthur, and my whole syndicate. Do you know how hard it is to start all that from scratch again? With such limited funds as I have? It's a nightmare," she said, waving one hand in the general direction of her hulking help.

"You know, if you untied me, I could play the world's smallest violin for you," Arthur offered.

"You're very funny for someone who's going to be dead in a matter of hours," Nimueh said. "But it's a good thing you're valuable, too. Thanks to Merlin, I realised -- why not put you up for ransom?"

"And what exactly do you think I'm worth?"

"Well, I'm willing to bet your life that your father thinks you're worth granting me full amnesty, unhindered transport out of the country, and oh, say, fifty million pounds in small change. Give or take a few quid."

"This probably isn't the first time you've been told," said Arthur dryly, "but you're mad."

Nimueh shrugged the accusation off, which only confirmed to Arthur that he wasn't exactly delivering breaking news. "Thing is, if he doesn't agree, I'll kill you. And if he does agree, I'll take my money, and then I'll kill you. I still come out on top. I think this is what's called a win-win situation."

Arthur levelled Merlin with a hard look. "And this was your idea? Kidnapping, extortion, and murder? Oh, well done. Really. Bravo, Merlin," he said, sarcasm radiating off him in waves. If his hands were free he'd have done a slow clap. Though, strictly speaking, if his hands were actually free, he'd have shot everyone in the face and scarpered. But circumstances being what they were, he only ranted on, "Yes, good show. Your mother would be so proud."

"Don't bring my mother into this," Merlin said, petulant and completely missing the point.

"Wouldn't she like to know how low you've sunk?" Arthur inquired. "And I do mean low, Merlin. Seriously, if you're going to whore yourself out to one of my enemies, surely you could do better than one who can't even afford a nicer headquarters than this abandoned barracks by the river? Try Cenred next time; at least he lives like a king."

"It's a fort," Merlin corrected flatly.

"Oh, a fort, is it?" Arthur enthused. "Sorry, didn't notice. I was a bit busy being kidnapped."

Nimueh stepped in then, rolling her eyes. "God, this is like watching two children just discovering sarcasm." She tossed the submachine gun into her left hand, and then drew a gleaming handgun from a holster at her hip.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You're going to shoot us for not being entertaining?"

She smiled, which probably wasn't a good sign. "In a manner of speaking, yes. I've sent word to the agency that you've been selected as my guest of honour today, and in about twenty minutes I'll have a live satellite feed up to show them just how much we're enjoying each other's company." She raised the side arm, pressing its muzzle snug against Arthur's temple. "And then you're going to convince your father to meet my demands."

"Listen," said Arthur, "I don't think you've thought this through. You're planning on killing me anyway, so I really haven't any reason to do anything you say."

"Yes, you're right," Nimueh conceded calmly. She swung her aim around, the gun pointed at Merlin instead. "And now I'm giving you a reason."

Instinctively, Merlin took a step backwards, hands up. "What are you doing?"

"I'm so sorry, darling, it's just business, you understand," she said. Keeping her gun trained on him, she strode over to Merlin and emptied his holster, tucking his pistol into the back of her trousers.

"What," said Arthur, his stomach twisting, "makes you think that killing him is going to make a difference?"

Nimueh drew her arm back for a moment. "I never said anything about killing him," she said, as though scandalised by the very thought of desecrating the floor with a dead body. "No, I'm going to shoot him once, just enough to suffer. And then as he bleeds in front of you, I'm going to let you have a little think as to how exactly you want to proceed. Fair warning, saying no again means we just start this game over, and I will pull the trigger as many times as I need to."

"He betrayed the agency for his own gain. The only reason I haven't shot him myself is because you stole my weapons," Arthur said, his tone flat enough, he hoped, to disguise the apprehension throbbing in his chest. "Do what you want to your man; he's got nothing to do with me."

"Now, you see, the funny thing is, I don't think that's true at all," Nimueh said. "You should've heard yourself on the phone when Merlin rang you. You were happy." She said it as though he ought to be pitied.

Arthur gave her a pitying look of his own. "Even assuming that you're right, you may have noticed that things have changed a bit since then. For instance," he said, gesturing towards Merlin like he was making a sales pitch, "I now know he's a bloody liar and a mercenary, which doesn't really encourage warm feelings. Again, I don't think you've thought this through."

"Maybe, maybe not," Nimueh said, unruffled. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

With no further warning, she raised her gun and squeezed the trigger. Merlin buckled and dropped to the floor, immobilised with shock as he clutched his right knee, rivulets of blood leaching through his fingers.

Arthur screamed inside his head, and fought to keep impassivity on his face as he watched Merlin struggle with the pain. He tore his gaze away to look at Nimueh, who was studying them both with a tilted head and a curious expression, as though observing a research experiment.

He couldn't keep up this show of nonchalance forever; she apparently had no compulsions about taking Merlin out, and antagonising her further might well get him killed. And maybe he shouldn't care, as for all intents and purposes, Merlin had gone over to the dark side and serve him right for getting tangled up in Nimueh's double-cross, but Arthur knew that if he let Merlin die here like this, he could never forgive himself.

Regardless of what had driven Merlin to Nimueh's side, he had been Arthur's friend once, and quite a bit more than that, if he were being honest. And if nothing else, he wanted to hear the story straight from Merlin's mouth before getting any more bullets involved.

Nimueh smiled serenely at him. "Well?"

Arthur weighed his odds. If she was planning to leave the country after getting her money, her goons would be dead weight. She'd just maimed the most competent man in her circle without a care -- it didn't take a giant leap of logic to figure out that the rest of them weren't long for this world. It was more than likely she'd kill them all before this was all over -- no mouths to keep shut, no grubby hands sharing in her profits, and, in Merlin's case, no one to come after her for revenge. In short, everyone was pretty much doomed.

But until that point, Arthur could still minimise the harm done to Merlin and go along with her mad scheme for the time being, possibly buy some time, find a way out. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best he had at the moment.

Before he could answer, heavy footsteps ran up the outside corridor, and a featureless goon poked his head in the doorway, motioning at Nimueh.

"What?" she snapped.

The man shuffled in and, in a low voice and ineffectual miming, explained that they were having problems setting up the satellite feed.

"Are you sure it's plugged in?" Arthur interjected helpfully.

Nimueh shot him a murderous look. She shoved her carbine into the lackey's hand. "Watch them. I want them alive. But if either of them moves, shoot him in the other leg," she said, pointing at Merlin. She looked at Arthur and Merlin both, and added, "I don't need to tell you gentlemen that what my lovely assistant holds in his hands shoots much larger, and therefore significantly more destructive, rounds than the one I've just lodged in your knee. So, if I were you, I wouldn't try any heroics."

With that, she stalked out, leaving the three men in a tense silence, save for the continuous dripping sound from some other, far away room. Merlin raised his hands, soaked in blood, to indicate that he needed to take his jacket off for a makeshift bandage; to Arthur's relief, the guard let him.

After two minutes of listening to the maddening dripping and trying to keep concern from flooding his chest whenever Merlin grimaced in pain as he gingerly wrapped his wound, Arthur caught Merlin's eye and asked, sullenly, across the room, "You all right?"

"I've been shot in the kneecap; what do you think?" Merlin replied through gritted teeth.

"No talking," said the man with the gun.

"Mate," said Arthur, "it's this, or we all go mad getting Chinese water tortured from that bloody leak out there."

The goon receded.

A few more drips went by.

"Like your cufflinks," Merlin said abruptly.

Arthur's attention snapped towards him. "Gift from Morgana," he said, watching Merlin closely, recalling all of a sudden Merlin's casual, exasperated intercession back at the sandwich shop when Nimueh's goons had tried to liberate him of his sartorial trimmings.

A meaningful glint danced in Merlin's eyes. "Did she teach you how to put them on properly?"

"Of course I know how to put on cufflinks, Merlin," Arthur scoffed, and nearly laughed, knowing now that Merlin had been on his side all along.

Arthur settled for flashing a quick grin at Merlin instead, and got one in return. When Arthur had said he didn't go to meetings with informants unprepared, he hadn't been lying; he could occasionally be reckless, sure, but he didn't make a habit of being stupid. At least, not completely stupid.

The cufflinks' innocuous elegance, other than upping your everyday agent's debonair quotient, provided handy shells for storing wires and microchips within, all in all making a very pretty pair of tracking devices, and, for Arthur's purposes, serving as his back-up plan.

The fact that he'd neglected to inform Morgana that she was his back-up plan was only a minor technicality that he was sure she'd sort out eventually. By now Kay would have figured out that Arthur had bolted, and if he had any brains at all, would get Morgana involved. It was only a matter of time before she hunted him down.

Whether or not he and Merlin would still be alive by then was another matter, however.

Arthur was still bound at the wrists and ankles, and, other than making slow, inch-by-inch shifts closer to Merlin when the guard was looking particularly vacuous, was unable to accomplish much of anything just yet.

Which meant that any chance of escape was down to Merlin.

The good news was that Nimueh, in her haste to fix whatever technological blunders her flunkies had committed, had left Merlin with three fully functional, unrestrained limbs. In the negatives column, however, the knee she'd taken out was, going by the grey, clammy pallor of Merlin's skin, causing Merlin a great deal of inconvenience.

Merlin's face contorted with pain, going paler than ever, his breaths sharp and shallow.

"You're losing too much blood," Arthur said quietly, and the guard looked at him in slight alarm, unequipped to deal with situations requiring more brain power than aiming and shooting something.

"I'm fine," Merlin said, his voice hoarse as it stumbled out of his throat on a strenuous exhalation.

The guard shifted his feet uneasily, but seemed mollified by Merlin's claim. His eyes widened a second later, when Merlin slumped over, unconscious.

Arthur made to drag himself over to check on Merlin, but the guard swung the gun towards him and Arthur stopped in his tracks. "Is he-- alive?" he asked.

The guard's eyes darted over to Merlin's supine form. "That's not my problem."

But they both knew it was. Nimueh had left instructions that both captives should be left alive, and if she came back to find that one of her bargaining chips had died under this man's watch, well, things would probably get unpleasant quite quickly.

Arthur could see the moment when the rusted cogs in the guard's head inched into place, and it was on trepidatious feet that the guard slunk over to Merlin. He gave Merlin's shoulder a little kick. No response.

Flashing a swift look behind him to make sure Arthur wasn't attempting any shenanigans on the sly, the guard then bent down, reaching two fingers out to check Merlin's pulse, his other hand firmly gripping his gun.

With bated breath, Arthur waited for Merlin to spring to life, maybe clock the man in the face or headbutt him, but no such impulse seemed forthcoming.

The guard applied his fingertips to Merlin's neck, and stood up, satisfied. He turned to Arthur. "Still breathing," he said, his voice shaded in relief, and stood up again to come away from the unconscious body.

Sufficiently downgraded to threat level zero and thus unworthy of any further attention, Merlin chose that moment to swing his good leg around, sweeping the guard's left foot out from under him.

Caught by surprise, the guard tumbled to the floor before he even registered what was happening, his chin hitting the stone with a loud, hideous crack. The gun flew out of his grasp and skittered across the floor, where Merlin snatched it up. He heaved himself over to the prone body and, with the gun in hand, brought its butt down on the back of the guard's skull for good measure.

"Good one," said Arthur appreciatively, winning a smile from Merlin. "See anything on him that could get me out of these restraints?"

Merlin shoved the guard over on his side, rifling through his pockets, and produced a large safety pin from one. He held it up for Arthur's approval.

"That might do," said Arthur, and Merlin tossed it over to within Arthur's limited reach.

Arthur picked up the safety pin, releasing the sharp end from its clasp, and set to work. It wasn't easy; there was a reason why law enforcement officers always cuffed suspects with their hands behind their backs. Arthur had little room for maneuverability, and trying to shove a very sharp point into a tiny locking mechanism with that limited a range of motion and not being able to see what he was doing meant that his wrists would be riddled with dozens of holes long before he could rejoice in victory.

At the other corner of the room, Merlin kept a close eye and the submachine gun trained on the prostrate guard, just in case he was planning a similar fake-out.

"I didn't know people still fell for that trick," he mused, at length, while Arthur continued stabbing himself to no avail. "Lucky thing."

"Is it?" said Nimueh from the doorway.

Without preamble, Merlin pivoted his aim towards her and took his shot.

Click.

To Arthur and Merlin's simultaneous horror, they realised that the gun had been unloaded all along.

"You injure me, gentlemen. Such a hostile welcome," said Nimueh, strolling into the room, her fingers caressing the slide of her handgun. She plucked the useless gun from Merlin's hands, tossing it out of reach. "I'll take that, thank you."

"Well played," Arthur conceded.

She smiled brightly. "Yes. It really was. I'd be insulted by how stupid you seem to think I am, but frankly, I was counting on it. Did you really think I'd just leave the two of you in here with that oaf?" she asked, prodding the guard's torso with her foot. "I suppose I should thank you for doing me the small favour of terminating his employment with me. As you can see, he wasn't very good at his job. It's just so difficult to find competent help these days."

"Oh, was that the point of that charade?" Arthur asked, careful to keep his tone level whilst feverishly working the pin against his restraints in the safety of the shadows.

Nimueh looked at him, amused. "Oh, darling, of course not. That was just a little bit of fun for me, breaking your spirits, you know. Giving you hope and then snatching it away again -- it's really quite a useful tactic, I find, to make people do what you want. Then again, so is this," she said, and lazily fired another round at Merlin.

Merlin jerked as the bullet tore into his shoulder, and took several deities' names in vain. Just to make a point, Nimueh sauntered over to him, and pressed her foot over Merlin's bloodied knee, bearing more and more weight down on it until a shuddering cry escaped his throat.

Arthur's heart clenched, helpless to do anything but watch.

"I can do this all day," Nimueh said, leaving Merlin to his agony and crouching down next to Arthur, a brutal glare in her eyes. She struck him across the face with the butt of her handgun, just short of fracturing bone. "But trust me, you do not want to play games with me, Arthur Pendragon."

He would have felt the sting of her blow, but it was all but immolated by a surge of rage. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Merlin struggling still to cope with his injuries, his face white with pain. Arthur felt heartsick and infuriated and useless all at once. If only he could--

Wait.

There.

Arthur's fingers felt the safety pin shim snugly at last between the cable tie's ratchet lock and strap.

"Do you know what I think?" Arthur said, letting his mouth run with whatever it could think of just as long as his voice covered up the just audible zipping sound of the cable tie pulling apart. "I think you're about to regret everything you've just done, because now I'm properly pissed off."

Pulling his hands free, Arthur grabbed the front of Nimueh's shirt and smashed the crown of his head into her nose. Taking advantage of her momentary disorientation, Arthur grabbed her right wrist, twisting it inward, and with his free hand, seized the barrel of the gun and wrenched it up as he held her wrist down; Nimueh's finger, still caught in the trigger guard, bent backwards until a sickly crunch informed Arthur that he'd successfully broken a bone.

The gun easily came loose from her grasp after that, and Arthur turned it on her and fired.

It was definitely loaded this time.

Continue to Chapter Thirteen

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kattale.livejournal.com

WHEW! Some tense moments there. I knew our Merlin would come through. But now Arthur's got some rescuing to do, and then there's got to be some making up for lost time between the boys. Always a delight when this updates!

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Merlin fic: Shadowplay -- Chapter Twelve

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