"Morgana, I don't understand why we're doing this, especially late at night. Some of us like to sleep, you know," Gwen said in frustration.

Morgana pointedly ignored her so as not to break her concentration. She stared at the gurney supporting a man who couldn't have been a day over twenty-five and looked like he had been fatally wounded. A swarm of nurses and doctors buzzed around him, hoping that he would stabilize, but knowing it was unlikely.

"Sir? Sir, I need you to keep breathing for me, please," one of the nurses said. As a doctor approached, she told him, "We have a twenty-one year old, black male caught in the crossfire of a gang fight. He has GSW's to the leg and abdomen. Stable, but in critical condition."

"Get him to OR #3. I'll get find Wilson," the doctor instructed. The team rounded the corner to the operating room, leaving Gwen and Morgana staring sadly.

"There you go," Gwen said. "Could you Arthur shoot in a gang fight?"

"Arthur's not in a gang, Gwen. Be reasonable," Morgana countered. They had been standing against the wall for an hour and a half, guessing how people in the Intensive Care had come to be there as inspiration for Morgana's death scene. Gwen had offered to go with her and make sure that Morgana didn't irritate the hell out of every nurse on call.

"What about him over there?" Gwen proposed, nodding in the direction of an old man in a dark brown, tweed jacket, who had turned to stare at the both of them. His hair had left him and he needed a cane to walk, but his eyes focused intently on one of the nurses behind the desk, until she got up to see if he needed assistance. Instantly, his face lit up up and he rattled off limb after limb that was giving him trouble.

"No," Morgana assessed. "He's not a patient, he just wants that nurse to cater to his every whim,"

"Sounds like someone I know,"

"You know what? This isn't helping. These people aren't dead yet,"

"Excuse me?"

But Morgana had already headed for the nurses' station.

"Where are the dying people?"

The nurse, a middle-aged black woman in light blue scrubs, looked at Morgana as though she had just asked how to find the doorway to Narnia.

"What did you just say?"

"Look, I'm doing some research and I need to see the dying people. You know, the ones who aren't going to make it," she stated.

"I'm sorry, is this some kind of clinical trial or something?"

"No, I writing a novel and - "

"GWEN!" a man yelled from down the hall. Morgana barely gave him a glance, but looked more thoroughly when she saw the two embracing. The man stood at least six inches taller than Gwen with a well-trimmed beard around the length of his face. He had a gorgeous, full head of hair, but what stood out most to Morgana were his eyes. This man had burning intense eyes that were only for Gwen. Cautiously, Morgana moved in closer to take in the conversation.

"Honey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" he said, checking Gwen over for injuries.

"I'm fine, Lance. I'm here with my boss so that she can stare at dead people,"

"Your boss is here? That evil woman makes you work crazy hours, sit out in the freezing rain, and stare at people while they're dying?"

"You work crazy hours too, you know," she said, eager to change the subject. "Hey, isn't this supposed to be your night off?"

"Yes it is, but someone didn't answer her phone when I told her that my patient got the heart," he said,

"Lance that's…that's wonderful," Gwen said both excited and a bit lethargic.

"Gwen – " Lance began.

"I know," she said, as though she already knew that Lance would say to her. "But transplant surgery is hard for to wrap my head around."

"It's hard for all of us, but it's what we have to do."

A pager at Lance's side beeped frantically so he kissed Gwen goodbye and passed through a set of double doors before disappearing completely. Gwen lingered a moment on the spot where Lance left her, but eventually found Morgana once again.

"You're married?" Morgana demanded. She had seen it in the way they looked at each other and didn't like it one bit. This man, this surgeon, had gotten Gwen's attention and in less the two had been utterly consumed in one another. When he talked, she gave him her undivided attention. Morgana desperately wanted Gwen to look at her that way.

"I…yes," Gwen said, toying with the ring on her left hand.

"You never said you had a husband,"

"You never asked," she retorted. Then, more softly, "I wear this ring every day. I don't know how you missed it."

Morgana couldn't believe how much she had missed between them. So much of her energy had gone into the process of writing a novel that she hadn't realized – and honestly hadn't cared – how much she had put Gwen through. She had considered Gwen more than just an assistant, more than just a friend too. Gwen was hers and she hated sharing her with anyone, even a spouse.

"So he's a surgeon?" she asked sourly.

"Yes, Leon – my husband's name is Leon – is a pediatric surgeon. He's performing a heart transplant tonight on a ten year-old boy."

"From what I heard, you have a problem with that?" It was no doubt a question, one that even Gwen couldn't explain.

"One of the reasons that I married Lance is that he's so genuine. He does surgery on children and if he makes one mistake his patient dies, the muscle goes to waste, and he comes home distraught. But someone died tonight so that a complete stranger can live. I know the victim won't need the organ anymore, but thinking about dying kids is just too much for me," she finished.

Gwen looked down at the floor, ashamed of her feelings. Morgana hadn't moved throughout the conversation, but seeing her assistant look so upset, she took Gwen's hands in hers.

"Go home, Gwen."

"I…what?" Gwen stared at Morgana, waiting for her to start on another outlandish plan where they snuck inside a pastry school and see how the machines worked.

"Go home. Wait for your husband. Drink a glass of wine. Watch some trashy TV. I'll be finished by the deadline," she said cheerfully, ushering Gwen out of the ICU.

"The entire thing? How will you finish the whole thing by the end of the week?"

"Because you did your job the way you said you would," she said, as they walked into the cold, night air. "You made me want to kill Arthur."

In the process of figuring out how he could negotiate his body to kiss Merlin at a less awkward angle, Arthur felt something vibrate gently against his leg. He raised an eyebrow.

"My phone," Merlin said. With a pout on his face, Merlin detached himself from Arthur and moved to the other end of the counter. Arthur kept kneading, but wanted to know who had interrupted the best moment of his week.

"Hello?" Merlin answered. "Hi, Mum...of course I'm not at work...Business is pretty good, but if food costs keep going up, I'm not sure if we can handle it...Mom, can I call you back, I'm...What makes you think I'm with Arthur?" he said.

Arthur froze on the spot. Not only had Merlin called him by his first name, but Merlin's mother knew who he was and thought that they were spending time together.

"Well he does own half the store, Mum."

Did he? Arthur hadn't been to work in days and his father would no doubt disapprove, but for once in his life the concerns of Uther Pendragon meant nothing to him.

"No, Mum, I'm not going to bribe him with lemon chiffon cake," he whined.

Arthur wondered what it would be like to have a mom fuss over him. Though he also wondered about this chiffon cake that was delicious enough to be used as a bribe.

"I'll call you back first thing tomorrow, okay? I'm making mocha caramels and you know how I get when my candy overheats...I love you too. Bye," he said, putting the phone back in his apron.

Arthur knew this was now or never. He wouldn't get this opportunity again. He could either wash his hands and never see Merlin again or he could say everything he felt and hope it was enough.

"Merlin, I want you."

"What?"

"I want you. I haven't gone to work since the day we met, a bulldozer ran into my house, and I feel like life is trying to kill me, but all I want to do is stand her and help you bake," he admitted.

Merlin took a step toward Arthur, wary, but intrigued.

"A bulldozer ran into your house? You sure you're not just trying to find a warm bed to sleep in?"

"You want me in your bed?"

"Isn't there some clear rule about the office executives fraternizing with commoners, or whatever you call us poor thieves?"

"My father makes extremely strict rules about these things, but he's probably fired me by now and if he hasn't, I really don't care,"

""Why?"

"Because you invite the homeless man outside and give him tea to keep warm. Because you know your customer's first names and because you told your mom about that there's a spoiled, rich boy named Arthur Pendragon who stalks your shop at all hours of the night. I don't care if that sounds girly or stupid because I know what I want and I'm not scared to admit it."

Arthur stepped right back into Merlin's space, no pretenses.

"You still think you can have the world on a string? That if you say you want me, I'll just fall into your arms?" Merlin moved a step closer, his hands resting on Arthur's biceps.

"Oh, shut up, Merlin."

Arthur crossed the space in two strides to kiss Merlin full on the mouth, one hand in his hair and the other on his back. He pushed Merlin up onto the countertop, gripping his thighs and Merlin matched him, fingers cupping the back of his head, tongue pushing into Arthur's mouth with urgency. Arthur pulled away before he laid Merlin out on a table and ripped off his clothes.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

"I never washed my hands," Arthur lied. "There's dough in your hair."

"I'll guess you'll have to help me wash it out," Merlin said playfully.

"I guess I will."

Arthur's life had been filled with moments, both significant and mundane. But those moments remained entirely indistinguishable, except for this. Arthur opened his eyes slowly to the sight of brown hair and the feel of a soft body next to him, he knew that he had made it to Merlin's apartment. Merlin let out a soft sigh and repositioned himself against Arthur, who was reliving what had happened when they left Balinor's.

Merlin lived a few blocks away from his shop and the trip had taken them no time at all. Arthur remembered taking Merlin's obnoxiously large ear between his teeth for not getting the door open fast enough. He remembered the feeling of his hands sliding underneath his jeans to see what kind of sound he made. Most of all, Arthur remembered the look on Merlin's face when he shuddered beneath him, gasping Arthur's name and looking up at him in pure reverence.

Yes, this was one of his significant moments. Merlin was falling in love with him and Arthur realized he loved Merlin right back. As it did with most people, being in love changed Arthur. Over the next three days, Arthur the moved into Merlin's messy apartment, became the CFO of Balinor's Bakery, and stopped caring about how other people thought he should live his life. In this new phase of his life, he no longer ate alone. He no longer counted brushstrokes. And he most certainly didn't sleep alone.

Though he did keep his wristwatch.

Mordred didn't move from his computer when Arthur walked in the door at precisely 8:45 on Friday morning. "Mr. Pendragon, right on time. Has anything else happened since the last time you saw me?"

Arthur thought about explaining everything, but got straight to the point. Mordred didn't need to know everything about his life to be of help.

"Listen, what does it mean when the main character falls in love with someone who they originally hated or looked down on?"

Mordred didn't seem happy about having his question ignored, but answered anyway.

"It means your story could go either be a comedy or a tragedy. Romeo fell in love with Juliet and they died at the end of the play. Elizabeth Bennett met Mr. Darcy and they lived happily ever after in the English countryside. You have to give me something more to go on."

"Mordred, I need you to help me out here; I don't have much time to play around with you. I'm not going to let myself fall in love with Merlin if I could be dead in five minutes."

"Merlin? The

"Exactly. That's every author's moral. Live life to the fullest because the moment you figure out what you're missing, it's all over. Now, I've made you a list of seven living, female authors whose prior work match your descriptions. If your narrator is alive, she's on that list. I hope you find her in time."

Arthur took the list from Mordred's hand, beyond exasperated. His eyes flew down a list of authors who he had never heard of when She started talking again.

"...well, I want to call the book Death and Loans, but my publishers tell me that title isn't exciting enough..."

Arthur had no idea why his author would tell him the title of his book given that she had never talked directly to him, only about him.

"Death in Rome? You know I've always loved Rome. Have you ever been to St. Peter's Basilica?" a different voice inquired.

"No, loans. Death and Loans. It's a book about interconnectivity. The shortness of life and the looming certainty of death. It's about love and family..."

Arthur stopped breathing. He moved one limb at a time to face the television on the other side of the room. The first thing he noticed about her was her gorgeous, black hair that, even in a high ponytail, fell to the middle of her back. Next he saw how strong she looked, even when trying to seem relaxed in front of the camera. But her voice cut him to pieces because this woman was his author.

"Mordred, who is she?"

"You mean Katie Couric?" Modred said, rising out of his chair.

"Not Katie fucking Couric. I meant, who is the woman getting interviewed and which one is she on the list?"

"Oh, Morgana LeFray?" Mordred's eyes filled with an emotion with something between arrogance and adoration. He looked inspired by this woman, as though she were his equal, where everyone else was a pawn.

"Morgana LeFray isn't on this list Mordred. Why isn't she on here?"

"Because she can't be your narrator, Mr. Pendragon. That interview is over ten years old,"

"I'm positive. I know her voice."

"She isn't on my list. It has to be someone else."

Arthur grabbed Mordred by the shoulders with lightning speed, their faces about a foot apart before clearly enunciating, "That woman is trying to kill me. Now who is she and where can I find her because I refuse to die now."

"Morgana LeFray?"

"How many different ways do you want me to say it? I have been living with her voice in my head for a month. I know who she is and what she sounds like. Now how can I get to her before she throws me out a window?"

"Arthur, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. If Mordred was calling him by his first name, things had to be terrible

"Why are you sorry? I just need to talk to her. She won't kill me if she understands that I'm real,"

"No, Arthur, that's her thing. It's her signature. Her main characters are usually people living mundane lives with no regard for the past, present, or future. She puts them through hell so that they see how meaningless their lives are, turns them into heroes, and then kills them in the most beautiful way possible."

Mordred had just slapped Arthur all the way back to the first stage of grief with those words. This wasn't happening to him. He had just started living and now she wanted him dead so that he could be a Pulitzer Prize on her shelf?
If nothing else, he was still a Pendragon.

"Where can I find her?"

"She untraceable. I know. I teach a class on her and every time I want to invite her in as a guest speaker, I have no way of tracking her down."

Mordred strode over to his desk, checking the spines of the books piled there, before choosing a large, hardback with a dirtied beige exterior. He turned to the second page before coming back to Arthur.

"Look, this is her latest book, Death and the Autumn Breeze. She hasn't written anything in this millennium. You can't be hers."

"Random House. Is that the publisher?"

"Arthur - "

"Random House, 2257 Wallace Street," Arthur recited, wheels already turning. "That's seventeen blocks from here. Is she in the city? Can I find her?" he asked hopefully.

"Arthur, you're not listening. She doesn't - "

"No, you're right. I'm not listening. All I've done is listen to you Mordred. I don't want to listen. I want more time!"

"Even if you find her, what makes you think that - "

"Thank you for leading me to her, Mordred, but I have to go now,"

"Arthur, you don't understand. Arthur!"

But he was already out the door. Arthur left the university to and ran as fast as he possibly could to 2257 Wallace Street, pushing people out of his way, only to find that he needed a key card to get in the building. Arthur fished his cell phone our of his pocket and did something that he never thought he'd do again. He called his office. Leon answered on the second ring.

"Pendragon Industries, financial offices, how may I help you?" a gruff voice answered.

"Leon, it's Arthur,"

"Arthur, what the hell? No one's seen you in three days. You father's going ballistic,"

"Look, Leon, I can worry about him later. This is a life and death situation and I need you to help me, but you can't tell my father,"

Leon fell silent, weighing his options.

"What do you want?"

"I need the number for an author named Morgana LeFray, She's with Random House publishing. Can you look her up for me?"

"Arthur, what is this about? You trying to impress that guy you've been seeing by taking him to meet his favorite author?"

"Leon!"

"Fine, fine, Morgana LeFray...Morgana LeFray...I can't find anything on her, but she has an assistant named Guinevere Smith. Her number is 555-3426,"

"Thanks, I owe you one," Arthur said ending the call before starting a new one. With his head down, Arthur didn't see the frantic intern going into the old publisher's building carrying a tray of coffees. She ran directly into him, spilling coffee all over his clothing and rendering his phone useless.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. I was on my way to my first meeting and my boss just had to have -"

Arthur didn't have time to be angry or frustrated with a girl who he could tell was not cut out for corporate business. Instead, he started running again, this time for a subway station that he knew would have a pay phone.

Morgana LeFray had truly outdone herself this time. All it took was a little cheerleading from Gwen, eight packs of cigarettes, and one trip to the bookstore to outline how to kill Arthur Pendragon.

She walked into the office, outline in hand, to find Gwen placing index cards on the floor so that Morgana could use them as a visual aid and organize her thoughts. She walked over to the door with that infectious smile, when she saw Morgana come through the door.

"Where'd you go?"

"I went out to buy cigarettes and I found the catalyst for how I'm going to kill Arthur."

"How did you figure it out?"

"It was something you said when we went to the ER, but like all great literary moments, it came unexpectedly and without warning. I don't know how I didn't see it before," she said.

"What happens to him?" Gwen inquired,

"It's simple, ironic, possibly heart-breaking..." Morgana tailed off, in a world of her own. She stroked the yellow pages of legal pad, cradled in her arm the way a expert violinist would stroke his instrument.

"Is that it?"

"Yes,"

"You wrote it on legal sheets?"

"On the curb outside of the 7-Eleven where I bought my Newports,"

"Well, I guess...I mean, I suppose that you don't need me anymore," Gwen stammered, fidgeting with her shirt sleeve, the way she always did when she felt nervous.

Gwen had revived her office that had been dead for over a decade. She had gone to great lengths to ensure Morgana's creativity, from sitting in the rain to stalking the morgue. Morgana wanted to tell Gwen that she would always need her to be complete.

"I appreciate your help Gwen. I know I've been a royal bitch sometimes, but I couldn't have done this without you."

"Thank you. I'll pack my things and call the publishers so they know when to expect your manuscript," Gwen said. Her voice held and her posture remained stiff, but her on her way to the other room, Morgana thought she heard Gwen sniff on the way back to her side of the office.

Heaving a sigh, Morgana sat down behind her laptop, ready to end more than one life.

Arthur Pendragon ran to the twenty-third street tunnel, where he knew there would be at least three pay phones by the exit. Luckily a train had just left the station, so he had few people in the tunnel with him and none that he heeded to elbow out of the way.

He rounded the corner, the three phones now in his sight. He was breathing heavily, his shirt clung to his back, and his feet hurt from running so far on concrete, but he persisted to the end of the corridor. The first phone failed to give a dial tone and the second was covered in what looked like a fresh layer of mucus...or something worse.

Arthur dialed the third phone, fervently making sure to give each number a specific, forceful punch. The phone rang once.

Morgana looked up as Gwen's cell phone vibrated on the table. She thought it an odd coincidence that Gwen would be so careless, but kept typing.

The phone rang again.

This time, Morgana knew that something was deeply, deeply wrong for the phone on the table across from her desk rang a second time, even though it hadn't rung until after she'd finished typing.

"Sorry about that," Gwen said, entering the room. "I didn't mean to - "

"NO!" Morgana shouted, half out of her chair. "No, you leave that phone right where it is. Do you understand?"

Gwen nodded, Morgana's idiosyncrasies second nature to her by now. Morgana didn't have time to feel guilty or apologize just yet. The phone had stayed silent during their exchange, where others would have kept ringing regardless. She eased herself back down into her seat, eyes focused across the room.

The phone rang a third time.

Morgana darted across the room, scrambling to pick up the phone and nearly dropping it before opening the damn things and saying, "Hello?"

"Is this Guinevere Smith, Morgana LeFray's assistant?" a man asked, sounding strangely relieved.

"No, no, this is Morgana herself. May I ask who's calling?"

"My name is Arthur Pendragon. I believe you're trying to kill me."'

Morgana didn't know what to say. Was this someone's idea of a publicity stunt? But the only ones who knew anything about the book were her and Gwen, and Gwen was under contract not to reveal any information about the novel until it was in stores.

"Is...is this a joke?" she said in disbelief.

"No, I work for my father, Uther, at Pendragon Industries, but I'm falling in love with a Scottish baker, Merlin? I used to type on my computer and it sounded like keys on a table. Ms. LeFray, it's me. I'm Arthur."

She dropped the phone in shock, but Gwen caught if fast enough to invite Arthur to the office.

The meeting hadn't gone smoothly at all. There was a lot of yelling about how sometimes people had to die and even more yelling about why nosy authors had to budge their way into someone's life so that they could play God. They went back and forth over whether Arthur should live or die, now that Morgana could see that he was a real person, not just words on a page. Morgana waxed poetic about proper literary technique and what it meant to be a well-respected novelist who fails to live up to her full potential.

It all ended with Gwen saying, "Let him read it."

The two of them almost argued over that too, but Gwen made it simple. She took the pages from the desk and placed them in Arthur's hands.

"Arthur, I know Morgana and I know this book. It's a masterpiece," Gwen lied.

"This book is the most important piece of literature in her already stunning career. I know how hard this is for you to hear and I know that you're falling in love, but I have a feeling that when you die - no matter how far off that day may be - your death will not be nearly as meaningful as or as heartbreaking as it will be right now,"

"You're asking me to knowingly face my death?" he said painfully,

"No, I'm asking you to be a hero. I'm asking you to save this book."

Arthur had spent the past week thinking that he was going to die as a pawn in someone's story, after reading the outline of his death, he saw now that Gwen and Mordred had been right. Morgana had made Arthur go from a businessman with an inferiority complex to a hero. He couldn't give that up just because he had to die at the end. If he were truly honest with himself, that was how all stories ended.

That night he went home and called Gwen's phone again what he decided. He said nothing to Merlin about the death, only shagged him senseless on every surface he could find. It wasn't an "I love you," but it was as close as he would get.

Sandra, newly-employed, woke early on the morning of Arthur's death. She wanted to be just a little early for her new job as a bus driver for the local transit authority. She punched in her time card at work, happy at the feeling of being at work again. She wanted to be a productive member of society, and missed driving public buses. She checked herself once more in the rear-view mirror before pulling out of the bus terminal.

Max, the twelve-year old boy, woke up late for school because he had stayed up playing video games well into the morning. He rushed to brush his teeth, eat a little breakfast, and wave goodbye to his parents before riding his bike to school.

But Arthur woke up the same time he always did. He ran a hand lightly down Merlin's bare back, still not used to waking up with a body next to him. Much had changed for Arthur in the past few days and he needed to do one last thing to mark the true start to a new life. He needed to quit his job at Pendragon Industries. For the last time, Arthur put on an Armani suit, he tied his tie in a single Windsor knot, and he ran at a rate of nearly fifty-seven steps per six blocks to catch the bus to work.

However, what Arthur had not realized about the Wednesday one week prior was that when he had asked for the time, the Polish woman had given him a time that was three minutes fast and made him arrive to the bus stop full three minutes early. For most people, this would not have been an egregious error. In fact, it may have even made them slightly more punctual, but if Arthur had set his watch to the actual time, he would not have been there to see Max pedaling much too fast on his way to school, nor would he have seen Sandra arrived at his stop with so much excitement. Both of these things could have been unremarkable as well, if Max had not lost control of the bicycle and fallen into the street.

Arthur knew what he had to do as soon as he felt a handlebar hit him from behind. He watched as a small boy fell face-first onto the pavement. Instinctively, he lunged forward, picking the boy up under his arms and throwing him into the sea of people waiting for the bus. He put his hands in front of him to cover his face just as the bus arrived at the stop.

Arthur fell a few feet backward, his eyes bulging, limbs contorted under his body. Sandra stepped out of her bus, crying hysterically. She couldn't get fired from her job for killing someone on her very first day. Max had been a little shaken, but was otherwise unharmed. The last things Arthur heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of a woman crying and the boy he rescued saying, "It's all my fault..."

Morgana willed herself to keep typing. Arthur had come to terms with his death. He had told her that he accepted her decision and that if she wanted him to die saving the life of a boy, he would be glad to do it. She lit her third cigarette of the morning, her hands shaking so badly that she couldn't get the lighter to spark. Morgana threw down the lighter on the floor and let out a cry of frustration. Gwen came out of her office to stand beside her, looking equally distraught.

"I have to kill him, Gwen. I need to. When we were in the ICU and said that someone had to die for your husband's patient to live, I thought it would be the same with Arthur. He has to die so that Max can live, but I can't type it. I can't - "

"I know," she soothed.

"Why did you make him agree to this? Yesterday, when he came here, why did you lie and say you read my outline when I didn't show it to you?"

"Because the only lie was that I hadn't read it. I think that everything you write is a masterpiece,"

"Even if I let him live?"

Gwen looked at her incredulously. She sat on top of Morgana's desk, against her usual code of formality.

"You've never let anyone live before."

"I know, but all of those people needed to die. Arthur, on the other hand, he knows. He knows I'm killing him, knows that I could stop it, and he's welcoming death with open arms. Isn't that the type of man who deserves to live?"

"I think that's brilliant, but what if the publishers hate it?"

"As long as you love it, I'll take my chances," she said, giving Gwen a look that she only reserved for her most precious literary pieces.

Arthur woke up in a hospital bed, with a man in a lab coat by his side. All of his limbs had been placed into casts and it took him a while to remember who he was or why he was here.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Pendragon," the doctor said. His had an angular face, even more so than Merlin's, but with sharp eyes that held no shred of softness. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

"I was at he bus stop and I pulled a boy out of the way. He was about to get hit. I guess I got hit instead,"

"Yup, what you did was brave, Mr. Pendragon. Kind of stupid, but pretty brave."

"Is the boy okay?"

"Who, Max? He's fine, just a little scratched up,"

"Can I ask you how I'm still alive, Doctor?"

"From what I've seen, you cracked your head, broke three bones in your leg and foot, have four broken ribs, fractured your left arm, and severed an artery in your right, which should have killed you in a matter of minutes. Amazingly, when you held up your hand to protect yourself, a piece of your watch broke off and obstructed the artery long enough to keep you alive."

"Wow, so, my wristwatch saved my life?"

"Something like that. With some physical therapy and a few months rest, you should be fine...mostly,"

"Excuse me?"

"We weren't able to remove the watch without risking severe arterial damage, so you will always have a piece of watch embedded in your arm for the rest of your life. You're very lucky to be alive,"

Arthur relaxed back on in the hospital bed, just as Merlin bursting through the door with an enormous bag hoisted over his shoulder and a terrified expression on his face. He frantically searched for a safe place to touch Arthur and settled on his forehead.

"Arthur, what happened to you,"

"There was boy in the road today. I stopped him from getting hit by a bus," he whispered.

"What have I told you about looking both ways before you cross the street, Pratdragon?" Merlin's jibe was softened by taking Arthur's fingers into his hand.

They both laughed, relieved that everyone was still intact and that their time together hadn't ended after seven days.

"I guess that if you saved a kid's life, that makes you entitled to a few Bavarian sugar cookies."

Arthur had been prepared for death this morning, but instead he had received Bavarian sugar cookies, the touch of Merlin's hands, and the reassurance that even if he wasn't a masterpiece, his book still made a damn good story. Only his novelist could say, "A wristwatch saved Arthur Pendragon."