Merthur Oneshots

I'm No Angel, I'm Just Me- First chapter

He stepped out, and breathed on the fresh air. It felt different, knowing that he wouldn't be called inside any time soon.

But he wasn't free, not yet.

Jogging over to the parking lot, he glanced over the irregular assortment of cars. Finally choosing a green pickup truck, he made his way over to it. It was innocuous, yet a statement. Exactly what he wanted.

He made short work of unlocking it, and when he was inside, he pried open the panel under the steering wheel and picked out two wires, stripping them with his teeth and rubbing them together. The engine roared to life.

Merlin grinned, he still had it.

He pulled out a cassette from a pocket, and placed it in the dock. Fast paced yet subdued music poured out, setting the mood. He set off.

****

Merlin browsed through the collection of jackets on the fence, the shopkeeper looking at him expectantly. It was high noon, and he was on the outskirts of New York City. A car whizzed past behind him, upsetting a toddler in a stroller nearby, sending him into a fit. Wails filled the air.

Finally choosing a bright yellow windbreaker, he tried it on.

"Only 5 dollars." The shopkeeper told him, holding up the same amount of fingers to drive the point home.

"I can give you three." Merlin replied, shooting him one of his more charming smiles, holding up the notes he had salvaged from the dashboard of the truck, which was now parked a few blocks away.

The shopkeeper shrugged.

****

Merlin watched the scene before him like a hawk, picking out who was to be his next victim. An elderly man drove up in a convertible, his wife beside him.

Perfect.

He jogged up to him when he parked, his windbreaker whipping behind him. More men in similar outfits were milling around, and no one gave him a second look. They all assumed he was another valet.

The man got out, handing him the keys and clapping him on the back. "Take good care of her," He said. "I'll be back in a month." Merlin nodded. He had no intention of doing so. It was an airport after all, and he doubted that the man would even remember his face by the time he realised his car was gone. Or maybe it would be returned before then. You never know.

Exhilaration filled him up as he crossed the Brooklyn Bridge in the stolen convertible, the wind threading through his hair and caressing his face. He let loose a laugh.

****

****

Arthur had never felt more stressed in his life.

Okay, maybe that was a lie, seeing that he was an FBI agent and stressed was probably his middle name by now, but it certainly felt like it. This was the first proper lead he had gotten in months, and he wanted to make sure it went well.

"Drop 5." A sound came out from the vault. A man was standing with an ear on the door, rotating a dial with one hand and the other spread out on the metal, feeling for any sign of a trap. A hole had been drilled above him, a flexible camera snaked in. The image was projected on a laptop screen outside the vault, showing a group of bolts which were being closely monitored by another person.

The man rotated the dial again. Another bolt slid back. "Drop 6."

Arthur hummed his acknowledgement, his brow furrowed.

One last rotation. "Drop 4."

Arthur frowned. "5,6,4," He muttered. Something was wrong. The man was opening the door.