Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle.
Claimer: I, SussieKitten, own this plot and the story. Borrow or steal my plot, my original characters (when used) or story and I will report you.
Warnings: Slash/Yaoi – meaning guy x guy action. Mentions of Rape. Hurt/Injuries – a character or two will get hurt, but I won't go in detail about this. Mentions of Suicidal thoughts – mentions only. Mentioned Character Death – Genuine (Paolini's) Character. Minor mentions of Blood. If any of this disturbs you, click on the "back" button. I won't tolerate any flames.
A/N I want to apologise to you all for my absence lately. I've been buried under two huge exams, a lot of course literature, move-induced stress and a cold. I'm finally finished with my exam, the course literature and slowly getting over the cold. The rest will fix itself in due time. Anyway, I do have other things that I plan to upload, so hang on tight. I don't mean to leave you with this just quirky one-shot for the next month/month and a half.
This is unbeta'ed, as I didn't want anyone else to suffer in the making of it. Yes, it is that bad. And weird. Definitely weird. Beware that before reading it. And make sure you've read the warnings.
I do hope you don't find the vague mentions of Murtagh's "visitor" too annoying. I didn't want to spell it out who it was before the last scenes (even though I'm sure you can tell. khrm). So beware of: "him", "that man" and "the other man". Also, Murtagh basically refuses to say his name, so it only makes sense that he wouldn't name him in his thoughts either.
He told them it was a game they were playing.
He was lying.
Murtagh wasn't sure when it started, but one day he had felt watched. It had been just a normal day. His shift ended, he changed in the changing room at the station, then got out to his car. He drove to the store and picked up the things on his list.
It was on the way out he felt it. Eyes. Someone was watching him.
He finished loading the things into his car and closed the door. Using the window, he tried to catch whoever was looking at him. There was no one in sight.
Instead of acting skittish, Murtagh simply got into his car and drove home. He lived in an apartment complex, so if anyone was watching him, they'd have a hard time finding out which apartment was his.
When he got out of the car, everything felt normal. But he still had to force himself to walk inside. A part of him wanted to run.
He had always been a very private person. His friends didn't know where he lived and he had no home phone. His cellular was enough.
When he found a package in front of his door, he was very glad none of his friends knew where he lived. It made moving a lot easier.
Murtagh was sure he could have picked a better profession, but going after bad people was in his blood. So when he passed the psychological evaluation and entered the Police Academy, he didn't look back.
At the very least, he would be able to protect himself, even if it meant death on the other person.
He chose a big city for obvious reasons. A big city meant a lot of people. If he needed to, he could move and put a lot of distance between himself and the last apartment. He could live with the commute.
Sleep? Not important.
He was always cautious. He only left the apartment when he had to and he never invited anyone over. If his co-workers wanted to see him, they went to their places. Murtagh usually declined offers to go out, but he had to accept every now and then.
He didn't want them to suspect anything.
His life had been normal. He had gone to school like everyone else.
Things changed in high school.
His father's friends came over more often. They wanted to see him, talk to him, touch him...
He hadn't liked it then; he didn't like remembering it now.
He remembered the first time he had to move. It was in the middle of college and he woke up to find a letter outside of his door.
Murtagh wasn't sure whether he was regretted opening it or not. But once he saw what was written there, he had found an apartment off campus and moved over there in a hurry. He finished his exams, but nothing else.
He applied for the Police Academy a week later.
His friends, who also were his co-workers, never suspected anything.
That was, until that man showed up at his doorstep.
He went to work the next day with a cut on his lower lip and a bruise on his chin. He told the others he had walked into a door.
Murtagh was very glad that the other bruises could be hidden by his clothes.
Murtagh only remembered a couple of his father's friends by name. They were the ones that always touched him. They liked him too much, and he knew it.
But out of them all, he was the worst.
His name was burned into Murtagh's memory, but he refused to say it.
Until he showed up at the doorstep. Then there had been no way around it.
Murtagh knew that the people in the force wanted to promote him. He wasn't going to take it. He liked the Detective title. It was common. If he became Chief, he couldn't hide.
He did regret saying yes to the invitation of going out one day after work. His co-workers wanted to go clubbing. Murtagh thought he had been safe.
He hadn't been.
He had been there, even though he clearly didn't belong. Murtagh had seen him, he had seen Murtagh. Murtagh had fled.
He had shown up at his doorstep only a few minutes after Murtagh had gotten home. He hadn't opened the door, but he had fought. Murtagh had lost. The gun had been too far away.
When his friends asked, Murtagh answered that he had seen an old friend there that he didn't want to see. They bought it.
Thankfully they hadn't seen him limping away later.
Sometimes it took months, sometimes just a few weeks. But usually he would find him. Murtagh wanted to take his gun and put a bullet in-between his eyes, but despite his age, the other man was stronger. They always fought. Murtagh always lost.
He would win one day. He had to.
His friends noticed his limping one day. Murtagh told them it was from a long night with his boyfriend. He got wolf-whistling and cheeky remarks.
If only they knew.
Murtagh lost count on how many times he had moved. Sometimes he would move back to the same apartment, to try to throw him off his trail, but it never worked. Not for long.
Thanks to his father's large inheritance, Murtagh could afford moving about like he was doing. While his salary wasn't the best, it was enough. He always rented apartments with furniture, so he didn't have to pack so much when he fled. Everything fit in his car just fine.
He often dreamed of changing his name and moving to another country. Whenever that thought entered his mind, he wondered if it would be enough or if that man would still be able to find him.
As soon as high school ended, Murtagh had moved out of father's house and to the other side of the country. When he had been found there, he had moved to the largest city he could think of.
Now he was wondered whether he should move to another city again.
Murtagh came home from work one day and saw that his apartment had been broken into. He knew at once who it was.
He always carried a gun with him. He pulled it out and removed the safety. Even though the odds were against him, he refused to go down without a fight.
With the gun in front of him, he walked soundlessly into the apartment. The blinds were closed and it was pitch-black. Murtagh couldn't see him, but he knew he was there.
A hand came out of nowhere and snatched the gun. Murtagh tried to hold on to it with one hand while the other moved to punch the other's face. The gun was taken from him and the fist never hit its target.
Instead he found himself with his arms forced behind his back and a body close to his. A hand reached around him and caressed his cheek. Murtagh flinched.
Work kept him busy and he wasn't able to move. So when he came knocking on Murtagh's door, Murtagh wasn't surprised. But he didn't let the other in. Instead of waiting for the door to be knocked down, he slipped out of the window and ran.
But he was caught. He had to go home a couple of days later, and there he was.
Murtagh had called in sick the next day, and despite the pains, moved out of the apartment and into a new one.
The next time Murtagh said yes to go out, he was there again. His friends asked why he kept running and kept turning them down.
One of them remembered him. Thorn asked if he was the reason Murtagh was running.
He couldn't come up with a lie in time. The others said they remembered the same man. They asked if he was stalking Murtagh.
Murtagh wanted to tell them the truth, but he couldn't. Not even prison could keep him locked up. He would get out somehow. He had too many connections. The charges would probably be dropped. Murtagh had no evidence, after all. Everything he had ever sent was tossed away.
So Murtagh gave in. He said yes. "It's just a game we're playing," he said.
They asked Murtagh what they meant. One of them asked if he was Murtagh's infamous boyfriend.
When he didn't answer, they drew their own conclusions. Yes, he was Murtagh's boyfriend, and they liked to play games. "And have sex all night long," one of them added.
They didn't know that Murtagh was lying. They didn't know he wanted to get away. They didn't know about the hidden bruises. They didn't know about the rape.
They just thought he liked older men.
One day Murtagh woke up to find him in his room. That had been one of the few times Murtagh had been raped in a bed. It did nothing to dull the pain. If anything, it made it worse.
Murtagh got back one day. He was so tired that he almost didn't notice the very familiar car parked across the parking lot.
He contemplated running, but he only had one place to go. People would ask why he was at the station when he had just finished a long and tiring case. For once, Murtagh just wanted it to be over with.
Sleeping in his car was an option, but then he needed to find a safe place. That wasn't a simple feat.
He got out of the car then. Murtagh stared at him. He leered back.
Murtagh walked up to his apartment. There was nothing he could do now. He had missed his chance.
Later he didn't even fight. In return he wasn't hurt as much.
It did nothing to silence the screaming in his head.
He was going to win today. That was what was going through his mind when he stepped into his apartment.
He didn't reach for his gun this time. He would take it out later. And then he would put a bullet in-between his eyes and in his non-existent heart, just to be safe. Then he would shoot his balls, because the bastard deserved it.
Murtagh treaded carefully. Each step was calculated. He made sure he wasn't standing behind the door before closing it softly. The room was bathed in darkness.
Murtagh knew he was at a disadvantage. If he was smart – which he was – he had already gotten used to the dark and could see everything, Murtagh included. So he closed his eyes and listened.
He heard a movement. It was much closer than he had anticipated. Murtagh reached out and felt his hand grab something. His knuckles rested against a bone that was directly beneath the skin, his fingers were grasping onto a silky material.
The shirt. Murtagh had grabbed onto that man's shirt. He was much too close.
That man chuckled. Murtagh felt it under his hand and the soft puffs of air hit his face.
"So you want to play?" Murtagh could picture the man's smirk perfectly. "I'm up for a little game."
He had lost again. Murtagh felt like screaming.
Murtagh knew he could only run for so long. The urge to pack up and leave Alagaësia all-together was getting stronger and stronger. Murtagh wasn't sure if he would win against him if it came to it. The other man might at least twice Murtagh's age, but he was by no means weak.
Murtagh thought of all of the reasons he didn't want to leave. He had friends here. He had a life and a job that he loved.
The only problem was that man. Because of him, Murtagh couldn't live a normal life. He would always be looking over his shoulder, he would always be paranoid.
Even running didn't mean he would be safe. Murtagh would always worry that he would be found. At least here he knew he would be found. He could practically set a timer after the other man. If he left, that would be lost. The certainty would become uncertainty. Murtagh would become more paranoid. He wouldn't be living the semi-normal life he was leading now.
There was only one solution. He had to prepare himself for the next visit. He was going to make sure that would be the last one, even if it killed him.
To keep up pretences, Murtagh moved to another apartment. He found a brand new one close to the station. It meant risking that his friends and co-workers might see something, but he was tired.
Maybe living so close would make the visits stop? He had to be dedicated if he dared to try anything a block away from a police station. People here were very alert and good at dialling the cops. Murtagh had experienced that more than once. If his neighbours heard anything, then maybe the police would arrive and take him down for Murtagh.
The only problem then was everything that would follow; a trial, the media coverage, Murtagh's friends finding out. It certainly seemed less of a hassle to put a bullet in the other man's head.
But only time would tell.
Months slipped by, but Murtagh didn't feel any safer than normal. On the contrary. He checked the windows and doors before leaving and going to bed. He even set the alarm when he was home.
A part of him wished the other would just attack already and get it over with.
He couldn't deal with this silence. He just couldn't.
Murtagh didn't take off his gun anymore, except for when he went to bed, and then he kept it under his pillow. He kept it on the sink when he was showering.
The holster was becoming more and more comfortable. Soon he couldn't feel it anymore against his hip. The silence was killing him more than the abuse had. He was used to the abuse, but not this.
The cold metal felt comforting when he curled his hand around the grip and went to sleep.
It happened very quickly. Murtagh locked himself in and closed the door. The alarm was still on. It made him relax somewhat, but only slightly. He put the alarm on the 'at home' setting and went to get changed.
Murtagh lived on the third floor, so while his windows was out of reach for anyone on the ground, there was a fire escape nearby. Some mild acrobatics were required, but it was feasible.
Apparently they were feasible to a man in his late forties.
Murtagh felt himself grabbed from behind. His arms were forced against his sides as he was pulled back against a strong chest.
He reacted instantly. His arms were useless, so his gun was out of the question, but he could still use his body.
Murtagh kicked back against the older man and tried to hit his legs.
"Ah, ah, Murtagh," he chuckled into Murtagh's ear. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."
Murtagh was forced onto the bed. The holster dug into his hip as the other man pressed him down into the mattress.
"What's this?" Murtagh could hear the smirk in the other's voice. "A gun? Don't tell me you're scared of little old me, Murtagh."
He fought when that man pulled away the gun, but there was nothing he could do. He was trapped; even more so when he felt his own gun pointed to the small of his back.
"Did you miss me?"
Murtagh shuddered. "Go to hell."
He chuckled again. "Only if you come with me."
Murtagh lost again that night. He woke up with more bruises than he could count. The the magazine of his gun missing.
Murtagh didn't go to work for the rest of the week. He spent the time healing, moving and formulating a new plan.
This one had to work. It had to. He was not letting that man win again.
Murtagh knew what he was doing wasn't healthy. When he came home, he pulled out his gun and searched the entire place. He did so every time he woke up as well.
He was becoming too paranoid. The visits were starting to control his life.
If Murtagh was honest, then he knew they had been controlling his life ever since they started.
If Murtagh had known where he lived, he would have gone and executed him. He didn't care anymore. If he got thrown in jail, then so be it. He just wanted it to end.
If it ended in his death, then that was just a bonus.
"Are you sure you're ok?" Thorn asked.
Murtagh looked at his friend. "Yes, I'm sure. Why do you ask?"
Thorn seemed uncomfortable. Murtagh could guess why. The cut on his cheek had yet to heal from when he had been pistol-whipped.
"That boyfriend of yours..." Thorn trailed off. He was silent for almost a full minute. Murtagh wondered if he was going to continue or not. "Is he abusing you?"
Murtagh wanted to laugh. Thorn had no idea how close to the truth he was. Only, he wasn't Murtagh's boyfriend.
"I got this from stumbling into something," Murtagh repeated and smirked for good measure. "You know how I can be in the morning, especially when the boss wants me in before six."
Thorn still didn't look convinced. "You didn't answer the question."
Murtagh paused. Thorn hadn't been this persistent before. Had he slipped up somewhere and Thorn had seen something suspicious.
"My boyfriend is not abusing me."
That was the truth. They weren't boyfriends, after all.
Thorn looked disappointed. "You can talk to me, you know," he said and pushed away from the doorway. "I hope you know that."
"I do. Now hurry along before the boss sees you loitering around."
Thorn sent him a tight look before moving on.
Murtagh went out and bought some cosmetic make-up after work. Even though he planned to make the next visit the last, he still had some old bruises that could show up. He needed to keep the status quo to make this work.
Murtagh was usually given a blow that knocked him out at the end of each visit. He planned to take advantage of that. His guard was down in that instant. If Murtagh could get a shot in then, everything would be over.
If he missed, then that would most likely be the end of it all. But so be it. If one of them had to die to put an end to it, then fine. As long as it stopped.
Murtagh was shocked when he opened the door and found Thorn standing there.
"Why do you never invite anyone over to your place?" he asked instantly. "Is it because your boyfriend won't let you have any visitors? Would he beat you if you did?"
Panic. He was starting to panic. Thorn couldn't be there. If he arrived, then Thorn would be in the way. Thorn could die.
"You're reading too much into this. He doesn't rule over me. I say who comes and goes at my place."
Thorn's expression told Murtagh his lie had been detected.
"I know you're lying to me, Murtagh. Tell me what's going on," he demanded.
"Look, Thorn, I'm fine -"
"You're not!" Thorn all-but shouted.
"Don't think I haven't seen the way you're acting. You startle easier, you always keep your gun at hand, you stay as late as you can and come in at the crack of dawn. You're avoiding something, or someone."
"I can take care of myself," Murtagh insisted.
"Clearly you can't!" Thorn said sternly. "You're telling me everything or I'll file a report for you."
And then there was a sickening crunch.
Murtagh watched Thorn's eyes roll back into his skull as he collapsed onto the ground. Murtagh knew who was standing behind Thorn without even looking. He grabbed his gun and pointed it at the other man.
He tutted and tapped his own gun against his thigh. "This is why you should have accepted my invitation all those years ago, Murtagh. He didn't need to get hurt."
"Shut up!" Murtagh snapped. "Get the fuck off my porch and never come back!"
He smirked. "You know I can't do that. You're just too good of a lay, little Murtagh."
Murtagh's hands were shaking. He couldn't pull the safety off his gun and he knew the other could see it.
"Why don't we settle this inside, hm?"
Everything froze. Murtagh could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
"I don't think so."
A shot, then there was only silence.
Murtagh looked up at the ceiling of the hospital. The police officer that had come in to take his statement told him what had happened. Thorn had woken up just in time to shoot his assailant, the other man, Galbatorix King, before he could fire a lethal shot.
Murtagh didn't know if that was a good thing. It was all out now. Everyone would know.
Galbatorix had survived Thorn's counter-assault. A shot to the shoulder, apparently. He would be able to stand trial soon.
Murtagh knew that wasn't a good thing.
Murtagh was released the same day. He got home himself without checking in on Thorn. He didn't want to see the pity in Thorn's eyes.
The hallway in front of his door was taped off, but Murtagh ignored it. He was a cop, for fucks sake, and he was going home. Some buggered crime-scene tape wasn't going to stop him.
He still set the alarm to the 'at home' setting when he entered. He still didn't feel safe. There was something buzzing in the back of his mind. A part of him knew he, Galbatorix, would never stop until he was dead.
Murtagh didn't sleep that night.
The news came over the phone at five AM. Galbatorix had escaped. There was a police car on the way to pick him up.
Murtagh grabbed his gun and hung up. The car would get there too late, he just knew it.
He was walking past the living room window when he heard it.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Murtagh."
And then the world went black.
Murtagh woke up tied to an unfamiliar bed. A motel, most likely. He never thought he would spend his last moments in a run-down, pay-by-the-hour motel.
Murtagh's eyes were drawn to the bandage around the other's shoulder and upper arm. Blood was seeping through slowly. He hoped the other wouldn't notice and ended up dying of blood loss.
"This could all have been avoided if you hadn't been so stubborn," Galbatorix said and removed his belt. "Now I have to punish you."
Murtagh flexed against the restraints, but he knew it was futile. He had been in this position before. There was nothing he could do.
When the first blow landed, he just shut out the world and waited for it to end.
He woke to someone stroking his hair. Murtagh flinched instantly. He recognised that cologne.
"Was I too hard on you, pet?"
Murtagh spat at him. "Don't call me pet!"
Galbatorix calmly wiped the spit from his cheek.
"Don't you think this game has gone on for long enough?" he asked calmly. "Surrender to me, Murtagh. It would make your life so much easier."
"Why don't you go and fuck yourself," Murtagh said hoarsely and hated himself for it. He hated the aftertaste of blood in his mouth and the sting from his previous screaming.
Galbatorix tutted. "Such harsh language."
"Just kill me already! I will never submit!"
The other just smirked. "I will have you yet, boy. Just you wait and see."
The next time he woke up he was in the trunk of a car. Murtagh struggled against the binds, but it truly was futile.
The trunk was opened before he noticed that the car had stopped rolling. He was knocked out almost immediately.
When he came to, he was in his own bed. Murtagh knew then it would never be over. Galbatorix, while he pretended to tire of the game, would never tire of the chase. He wanted Murtagh to give up.
Well, that was never going to happen. Murtagh would kill himself before giving up.
His new plan was simple. He was getting the hell away from the city.
He handed in his resignation and drove out onto the highway without even saying goodbye. They could survive without him.
Murtagh found a smaller city with just one police station that was actually hiring. He charmed his way into the heart of the female police chief and quickly landed himself the job. He got another furnished apartment and rigged it all up.
Then he sat back and waited for the inevitable.
It took the other six months to find him. Murtagh had been dodging calls from his old friends and co-workers for just as long. Thorn just wasn't giving up.
Murtagh hoped Thorn would forgive him for this.
He came home from work exactly six months after the day he left. He instantly knew that the other man was there. He pulled out his gun and removed the safety. He didn't care who saw him do it. He then walked right into the apartment without turning off the alarm.
The alarm started to count down shrilly. Murtagh ignored it and looked around the place for his visitor.
He was met with a gun pointing between his eyes as he stepped into the bedroom.
"You left," Galbatorix stated coldly.
Murtagh knew that the safety was off on the other's gun. If he pulled the trigger, then so would Galbatorix. They would both end up dead.
But did he really care who died and who didn't anymore?
"How kind of you to notice." Then he pulled the trigger.
The world faded away.
Murtagh woke up in another hospital. He felt like hell.
"You absolute idiot!"
He looked over and was not surprised to see Thorn at his bedside.
"You just had to go and end this yourself, didn't you?" Thorn seethed.
Murtagh could hear the heart-monitor beep in time with his heart. The back of his left hand felt itchy. The mask in front of his nose and mouth felt clammy.
"He's dead?" he asked. It pained him to do so, but he had to.
Thorn's nostrils flared. "Do you have any idea how many people you scared? First you go missing and then you just quit and run off to bumfuck nowhere? Then we get a call that you're hospitalized with a collapsed lung and that you might not survive the surgery? Jesus fuck, Murtagh!"
Murtagh felt tired. He wanted to go to sleep again. But first, he needed to know.
"Is he dead?" he repeated.
Thorn looked at him for a long time. Murtagh was sure he was going to fall asleep before Thorn was ready to give him an answer.
"Bullet to the heart. He was dead within seconds, but not before he shot you too."
Murtagh's eyes slipped close. "I win, bastard," he whispered and fell asleep.
A/N I started this shortly after completing Surrender, but I was only recently able to complete this. I don't know why, but I just drew a blank. Until last night, that is. Hah, go figure. Apparently I do my best non-con angst stuff at 3-4 AM.
To those who don't recognize that Surrender; that would be the other Galbatorix/Murtagh story that I've written. I don't know why this non-con pairing makes my fingers itch, but it does.
I ended this one a little more conclusively than Surrender, though not much. If you think that ended it a little weirdly, then know you're in good company. I think so too, but I cannot for the life of me end it any other way. There was one way that tried to seduce me last night, but not so much tonight. It felt right like this. Weird, but right. Ish.
And now I can only say that I hope you enjoyed/liked/was hopefully not too horrified by this angsty piece. See you again next time.