Author's Note: Third one shot of Adam Morgan and Ulrich Halvard Erling. I have too much fun writing about these two. A request for a friend. She wanted to see how Morgan acts when drunk. I tried. I can't stop ending each encounter with Morgan unconscious. WTF srsly. I don't know....don't ask.


Alone again. Such a familiar feeling. Something he had grown accustomed to over so many long years. Long years of searching for the man who had left him in this world - scarred, abandoned, and left to fend for himself in a place he no longer belonged. When he had finally found the man responsible, things hadn't gone as planned.

Seldom did anything go as planned for Morgan. It was something he had grown used to over time as well - but was so sure that his plan for revenge would work. But had it? No. Everything turned upside down; and Morgan was stuck dangling from the ceiling with the blood rushing to his head - driving him mad.

He was in this man's house now. Erling's. His ma…

He didn't want to use that word. Morgan had once, only in his head, and it had caused something to snap. The man didn't want to lose himself again. Sighing deeply, he rubbed his thumb and index finger down the bridge of his nose. Never once in his life had he ever received a headache - but there was always pressure; a sudden dizziness that pulsed in his skull. It always made him queasy. In his free hand rested a wine bottle - twenty years old to be exact. Red wine. Obviously expensive. And it belonged to the bastard that ruined his life. Who trapped him here and expected him to be a good little boy.

Morgan narrowed his eyes, practically squinting as he stared at the red liquid. Reminding him so much of blood. His blood - that spilt all over the carpet after Erling had done his deed. The phantom pain of the dagger digging into his stomach still stung now and again. It was doing so now. Besides the absence of another stab wound, Morgan still felt like the moment was replaying itself. Erling had left this morning without much of an explanation - only that he would be back. Eventually.

He chuckled to himself - none to happily. "I'm a fool. I walked right into his trap and played right into his game. I really am pathetic." Taking a drink of the aforementioned wine, he winced at the taste. Everything tasted the same to him now. Everything held the flavor of ash. At least the sensation was the same with alcohol. If anything gave Morgan the sensation other than cold, it was burning alcohol. If he had searched further, he would have found brandy - or something of the sort. They burned more.

At least he had the company of wine bottles - three of which set on the table, yet to be opened. Morgan planned on drinking all of them. There were more down in the cellar, he had noticed - and he would eventually get to them too before Erling, if he ever, came back. "Stay here, Adam" he had said. Well, Morgan was staying here. Erling said nothing about wrecking the place - or drinking all his expensive wines. It was a petty form of revenge, but what else could he do? Making Erling angry was harder than he thought - practically everything else he did only made the warlock amused.

If Morgan messed with Erling's stuff, maybe he'd strike a nerve? Only problem was, Morgan didn't handle alcohol very well. He had often gotten drunk in the past - only to wake up and not remember what he had done. At all. Only that he felt sick, uneasy, and generally upset with himself.

The young man could only be described as one particular type of drunk. A crier. Not even completely down to his first bottle and he was depressed, eyes watery and head filled with swimming emotions. He wasn't so much angry now as he was upset. Upset that he was alone. In Erling's house. Forced to stay there. He didn't even get why he was. If Erling had left him in his other home decades ago, why suddenly decide to keep him now? It didn't make sense - but nothing did when you weren't sober; but had it ever when he was?

He had hurt himself a lot, when he was left, discarded, like an unwanted toy. He was confused, lost. Morgan had known then that he could not return to his family, to his old life. He had died. He was still dead. So he was stuck in the world of the living. All he could do was hide - and wait until he had the chance to move on and find the one responsible.

And Morgan did. Only to be mocked after such a long, determined trek around the world to find Erling. It had taken him so long - and it hadn't even been worth it. Nothing he did could harm the older man. And Morgan hated himself for giving in - to succumbing to whatever spell the bastard placed on him. He'd find a way eventually to get past the barricade of his mind that forced him to do whatever he was told. Morgan had to. Or he'd lose his mind - more so than he already had.

Death wouldn't embrace him. That much he knew now. When Erling had asked of how many suicide attempts he had gone though…Morgan didn't even need to answer that question. The warlock had known before he asked - and he only seemed to have been laughing at Morgan's pain.

Another drink and Morgan found himself wiping at his tired eyes. He was losing it again - but he didn't care. He was lost in his memories. He had dreamt so much of having a family, of marrying his childhood friend Rachel. But she was long gone now. Before her death she had married a nice man, had three happy, healthy children. She had moved on without Morgan, just like he had never been. He didn't blame her. Who would miss him?

He had only been a rookie cop. Nothing special. Killed on the job - so they had claimed after finding his blood stains, but no body. They searched for him for a few weeks until finally giving up and announcing him deceased. Morgan wondered how his parents had felt. He never saw them after that night. The broken man had fled from Chicago to a small town where he could simply pretend to be someone else - who no one paid any mind to.

Why was he making himself remember all this? Did he think that remembering would build up more hatred for Erling? It scared him, to think that he was starting to want the older man's company more. Something about a bond had been mentioned before - but Morgan still didn't understand it. And he still didn't acknowledge the incident in when Erling helped him when he was sick. He didn't want to. Couldn't. To look back on that would make things much more harder on him - confuse him more. He didn't want to think of Erling as a friend. Only as an enemy.

With another long drink, he realized the bottle came out empty. He reached for the other, pulled the cork with his teeth until it finally popped out - nearly jarring him out of his seat.

Just how long was Erling planning on staying away? Had he lied about coming back? Probably. Morgan wouldn't be surprised - but he dreaded that. It would only mean that he was abandoned completely once more, and Morgan knew he would snap the second that sunk in. He tried not to think - he only drank, closing his eyes and letting the burning sensation down his throat take his mind from wondering thoughts.

Right now he wanted to forget, wanted the numbing pain of the alcohol to wash it all away. A choked sob escaped him and he held his face in one hand, wiping the tears instinctively away as he breathed deeply. He should stop. This wasn't helping at all.

All it was really doing was unwinding his emotions, making them poor out of him in torrents. "Fuck," he choked out, cradling his head in both hands, the rush of the red liquid finally kicking into his system faster than he could realize.

No more. But his shaking, greedy hands reached for the bottle again. He still needed that feeling of warmth, as painful as it had been - as it still was. He couldn't stop. It tasted terrible, as always. He felt sick because of it- but he fought the acid in his throat, swallowed.

Then he heard the sound of keys - and the unlatching of a lock.

How long had it been? An hour? Morgan turned his hazy gaze at the clock hanging on the wall. He was wrong - if he could read well at all in this moment, it had been a bit over four hours. Had he been drowning for that long?

Apparently he had. The empty bottles he thought were still full, rolled off of the table and fell to the floor as he rose to his feet and stumbled. He winced when his head hit the ground hard. Erling was coming - and if he saw this, well - he didn't want to think about it. But then again, why would it matter? What else could that man do to him now that he hadn't already done?

However, he still forced himself to his feet - hit again by the sick dread in his stomach. His breath hitched and he fought for control before he collapsed on the floor again, curled up in his self-inflicted agony.

He sobbed quietly, unaware, or not caring about the figure watching him curiously. Morgan had heard the door shut, had heard the footsteps that stopped right in front of him. He could feel the shadow looming over him - but he didn't react. Not even when he was lifted up off of the ground.

No words spoken, only the humming of an old classical tune filled the silence that had otherwise been welcoming sobs.

Morgan whimpered quietly, only to be shushed by a gentle voice. He knew he shouldn't be listening, that the voice belonged to the only thing he loathed more than himself, but he calmed.

After the humming had ceased, Morgan could make out the disapproval sigh. "Oh, Adam, you make it impossibly hard to be angry with you. As well as I should be angry, I can't help but feel responsible for this outcome."

He seemed to watch Morgan for some time, held in his arms; calmed, but otherwise still suffering quietly.

Another sigh, another shake of the head, and Erling carried him off towards the bathroom, where he gently placed him by the toilet. Erling was none-too pleased when Morgan refused to release the poison in his system. "You need to rid yourself of this, Adam. Don't fight it." As he spoke, he kneaded Morgan's back gently with one hand while helping the younger man sit up with the other. "Just relax. It will soon be over…"

And it was. Morgan rested on the soft cot of the bed, his head still swimming, but otherwise clear from what intoxication had absorbed into him. His brow was damp from sweat, an unusual reaction to a body that was perpetually cold.

Throughout what had happened that day, he was completely surprised by Erling's reaction. Again. The older man was completely unpredictable. Why had he helped him at all? Did Erling not see what Morgan had done?

Not wanting to think on it anymore, he groaned as he turned over, his stomach still sore from hours of purging himself of the alcohol in his system. The remaining affects of his unrestrained emotions still hung over his head, stinging his eyes as they trickled down his face.

He cried a lot, he realized. Unintentionally or not, he always did. Humiliated by it, of course, especially when the witness kept on being Erling - who apparently had sat down in a lounge chair near the bed, reading a book comfortably on his lap.

But he hadn't been reading his book for that particular moment, and showed some concern when he saw the small tear fall. "Adam?" he inquired as he leaned in closer, brushing the sticky, red bangs from the younger man's face. "Do you want some pain killers?"

Morgan shook his head weakly, shying away from the touch and keeping his eyes downward, away from Erling's face. "No..." he muttered. "I deserve this." He had been absolutely stupid after all in his actions. What had he been thinking?

He heard the older man sigh and get out of his seat. A thumb brushed the trail of the tear gently from his cheek, leaving a soft, tingling sensation after it. "Stop hurting yourself, Adam. That isn't an order, but a plea. I will not take every last ounce of will from you. I am not that cruel as you make me out to be. But do not test me any further. I cannot stand by and watch this any longer."

Morgan looked at him then, that uncertainty and confusion showed in his pained, green eyes as it always did when he couldn't comprehend what Erling was saying. The warlock only smiled gently and brushed his fingers through the red, silky locks for a moment before he turned and walked out of the room, letting the younger man rest in an uninterrupted sleep.

The younger man watched him close the door behind him, and he knew then that he couldn't hate Erling anymore. Not after this, despite what he had done to him in the past. Erling was the only one who showed he cared - and Morgan couldn't understand why, didn't want to.

He was afraid to find a darker reason behind the friendly affection - and he pushed it in the back of his mind.

Morgan didn't go to sleep as Erling had hoped. He stared at the chair where he had been sitting moments before, the book still splayed open, bending its spine from where the warlock had kept his place. He pressed his lips in a thin line, reaching his pale hand out to touch it, surprised to feel warmth tickle his fingers. It still had residue of Erling's magic on it. Why was it that the man was so warm to him now, when everything and everyone had been cold only months before?

Morgan didn't want to think about it. He just took the book from the chair, clasped his chilled fingers around it and welcomed the warmth, as small as it was.

Then he slept.

And dreamed that he was never alone, never forgotten, never unloved.

He dreamed of warm hands; caring, loving, strong, and careful.

He dreamed of what he had. And that was enough.