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ollieofthebeholder · 22 days ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 59: Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing

Tim knew waiting up until Gerry got back from returning the van rather defeated the purpose of him not tagging along, but he was pretty sure the anxiety would kill him, so while he obediently changed into sleep pants after being dropped off, he went back out and sat on the sofa. Rowlf hopped up beside him, and Tim rubbed his ears and settled back to wait for Gerry’s return. He decided to use the opportunity to go over everything they’d learned and everything they would need to do while he waited.

The next thing he knew, someone was gently shaking his shoulder. “When I said you needed to get some rest, I was thinking somewhere that wasn’t going to be hell on your back, you know.”

“Hwh—Gerry?” Tim blinked up at Gerry uncomprehendingly, then suddenly was wide awake. “Shit! What time is it?”

“Six oh two. Relax. You’ve got plenty of time.”

“No, just—shit. I didn’t actually think I was going to sleep.” Tim glanced at his hand. The ring still sat loose and unobserved. “I didn’t dream, either. Not even waiting for Jon.”

Gerry shrugged. “Probably because you know he’s safe. Either he’s not sleeping and you know he’s not going to pass out, or he got a dreamless night too and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“Hopefully the latter. He deserves it.” Tim bit the inside of his cheek. “I have a feeling these last few days are going to make both of us glad he doesn’t have room for dreams of his own anymore.”

“If you’re not going to go to bed, scoot over.” Gerry wedged himself onto the sofa between Tim and the arm, then pulled him half onto his lap. “You did it. You saved him. Without getting caught, might I add. If the Stranger even knows he’s gone yet—I know they will before long, but they might not just yet—they don’t know you’re the one that took him. They’ll know he escaped somehow, but not precisely how. And as long as we make sure he’s not alone any time soon, they won’t be likely to get him again.”

“What did they even want him for?” Tim mused. “You remember, when he was on the phone and they grabbed him, one of them said Miss Orsinov changed her mind. Shit, that means he’s talked to her before. I’m going to kill him.”

“Sounds like if you wait a few weeks, something else will do that for you. Kidding,” Gerry added when Tim twisted his head around to glare at him. “I’m only kidding. Do you think it was while he was in hiding?”

“No,” Tim said after a moment’s thought. “I think it was only a couple days before he went missing. It’s probably why I was so tense and cranky, because I knew he was in danger but not the details. God, I hate the Stranger.”

“You hated it before.”

“I hate it more now. Bad enough what it did to Danny, does it have to obfuscate everything?” Tim sighed. “Don’t answer that. I know that’s its nature, to conceal. I just…hate that he was hurting and scared and I couldn’t find him.”

“But you did,” Gerry reminded him again. “Just because you couldn’t tap into the Beholding and use it to pinpoint his location down to the exact coordinates doesn’t mean you didn’t find him. It wasn’t luck. No matter how powerful the Stranger is, it can’t hide the Archivist from his Guardian for long.”

“Thanks. I think.” Tim gave Gerry a crooked grin. “I’m going to take Rowlf for his morning walk and then grab breakfast. You heading to bed?”

“No, I can sleep while you’re at work. I’m coming with you.” Gerry kissed the back of Tim’s neck. “The Stranger is going to find you more interesting than it does me, so I’d rather you weren’t alone more than necessary right now.”

Tim decided not to argue. “Right. Let me go put a shirt on.”

There were a couple other early morning commuters at the Tube station when he left, so Gerry—reluctantly—didn’t insist on coming all the way to the Institute with him. Tim was just passing Stockwell when his phone buzzed, and he glanced down to see a text from Martin, with more typos than he usually did, as if he hadn’t been able to properly concentrate on the keyboard or his phrasing, or as if he’d typed it with his eyes closed. [Sorry tim. Wont be in today. Im hav hedache.]

Tim smiled. Clever lad.

It was a cold, gloomy, overcast day, the sort of day meant for curling up in an armchair with a good book—which he didn’t doubt for a minute Basira was prepared to do. Things would probably be pretty quiet for them. They still needed to finish sorting through the mounds of boxes that had come down, and today it was just going to be him and Melanie working on them, but at least Research wasn’t going to dump even more on them. Probably.

The usual ritual of opening up the Archives meant he didn’t have to think too hard and could let his mind drift. He strongly suspected Jonah was going to make an appearance today. While it was possible he didn’t know exactly where Jon was, or had been, he had to have known Jon had been kidnapped…and he almost certainly knew he was with Martin today. The real question was if he knew Tim had had anything to do with it. Tim was betting not, but he was likely to be suspicious at the very least, so he’d come poking around to see what Tim knew and what he’d give away.

It was a reasonably good bet that he wouldn’t get anything out of him, but he wasn’t prepared to bet his life on that, or Jon’s, so he was going to have to stay on his guard.

Melanie turned up a few minutes early with a tray of coffees, one of which she handed to Tim. “Hope I remembered your order right. I, uh, kind of feel like I owe you an apology. I’ve been a little bit of a jerk lately.”

“Apology accepted, and I hope you’ll accept mine as well. I’ve been a lot of a jerk lately.” Tim glanced at the scrawled letters on the side of the cup and took a sip of the flat white. “It’s understandable on your end. You’ve been through a lot, what with the whole getting shot thing, then getting thrown into a new job, then finding out that said new job had bound your soul into a contract with dark powers in an irrevocable blood compact. What’s my excuse?”

“That you’ve been bound to an irrevocable blood compact twice as long as any of the rest of us, had your boss murdered out from under you, and nearly had your second boss killed as well?” Melanie suggested dryly. “I’m not saying I particularly like you, but, you know, if we’re stuck here until I figure out how to kill Elias, we might as well get on, right?”

“Likewise.” Tim saluted her with the coffee cup. “Be careful with those murderous tendencies, though, that opens the door to things you’d really rather left you alone.”

“Thanks for the warning. Where’s Martin, by the way? He’s usually here first.” Melanie liberated another coffee from the tray.

Tim waved his phone at her. “He texted me this morning and said he wouldn’t be in today. Says he has a headache.”

Melanie snorted and looked around at the boxes. “I don’t blame him. This would make Seshat go cross-eyed.”

“I love that you’re familiar enough with the Egyptian gods to say Seshat and not Thoth.”

“Why should the men get to have all the fun?” Melanie thumped her coffee down on the table. “And speaking of gods, I can’t believe the Institute was open Friday and Monday.”

Tim realized with a sinking feeling that he had been so worried and stressed about Jon that he had completely forgotten about Easter. And how darkly fitting that Jon had been abducted on Maundy Thursday. “That’s my fault. Not that the Institute was open, I mean, but that I didn’t…I think technically they’re optional working days. And, you know, we’re salaried, so it’s not like we get overtime or anything as long as the work gets done. I just didn’t think about it. Last year Martin was living in the Archives, so we all came in to make sure he wasn’t alone for four days, and the year before that I’d just got back from overseas and Gertrude was—I thought—missing, so I had a lot of work to do. At least I went to Mass then, though. I’m going to hell for sure.”

“Just for missing church? Not for anything else?”

“I mean, I’m Catholic, so ‘bound directly for hell’ is kind of my default state of being,” Tim drawled, making Melanie actually laugh. “But I don’t think completely forgetting the holiest day of the year is going to be something I can wipe away with a couple rosaries.” He reached for one of the boxes. “You religious at all?”

“Not really. Used to go to church when I was a kid, at least on big days—my grandparents died when Dad was little and the uncle who took him in and raised him was a bishop—but after my mum died, I stopped believing in God.” Melanie took a pensive sip of her coffee. “Weirdly, until I started doing Ghost Hunt UK. Then…well, I still don’t do church, and I still don’t think I’m religious or anything, but there’s definitely something out there, you know? I think once you get into this sort of thing, it kind of kills any vestiges of doubt that there’s some kind of higher power. Just maybe not a benevolent one.”

“Preach it, sister.” Tim held out his fist. Melanie bumped it without trying to break any of his fingers, so he figured that counted as a victory.

Basira arrived precisely at eight, accepted her coffee with a muttered “thanks”, and took it over to the corner where she had all her books neatly stacked on a small table beside one of the study chairs. As usual, she ignored the other two as she buried herself in the top book from the pile, which looked like it might have been on alchemy. Tim and Melanie looked at one another, shrugged, and got to work.

“What are we looking for, anyway?” Melanie asked, pulling out yet another folder and frowning at it. “Or is this a ‘you’ll know it when you see it’ type thing? I mean, I know it’s stuff that’s going to help Jon, but help him with what? He’s been asking a lot about circuses, but…”

“Circuses. Mannequins. Taxidermy. Anything you might class as ‘Uncanny Valley’ type stuff.” Tim eyed Melanie sideways. “When did he ask you about circuses?”

Melanie winced. “Look. Don’t tell Martin, but I was helping Jon out while he was…you know, hiding. I’m friends with Georgie Barker, and she apparently let him know I was back from India and had a new job, so he got word to me and got me to agree to help him.”

“Makes sense. Tonner was watching Martin too closely in the hopes he’d lead her to Jon, and I’d been so mad at him for so long he wouldn’t have trusted me if I’d told him carrots were edible.” Tim flipped open a folder to check the date on the statement. “As long as you’re not the one who set his hand on fire, I don’t have to kill you today.”

“Uh…no, but I think that might have been my fault anyway,” Melanie confessed. “You remember I asked you about Jude Perry? That’s the last information I passed on to him before he vanished for three days and came back with his hand bandaged and his throat cut.”

Tim mentally filed Jude Perry’s name in the Desolation category. “Not your fault. He’d have found her name somewhere with or without your assistance, and I’m sure he would have stuck his nose in it anyway. And by the way, I am sorry for yelling at you about the whole…Sasha thing. That wasn’t your fault either.”

Melanie looked up at him in obvious surprise. “I accept your apology. Why did you blame me for that, by the way?”

“Because I was angry at myself for not realizing she was a…well, a stranger,” Tim said honestly. “Gertrude taught me better than that, I should have been able to sense it a million miles away, but I didn’t and Jon nearly got badly hurt, even killed, because of it.”

“I didn’t think you liked him all that much.”

“I didn’t, but it’s my job to protect him. Which also pissed me off. Nothing quite like being forced to lick the hands of someone whose throat you’d happily tear out given half the chance.”

Melanie shuddered. “I honestly think I’d rather cut my own throat than be in that situation.”

Tim gave her a crooked smile. “Helps that there were other people who benefited from him being okay. I might have happily killed him if given half the chance, but not if it meant putting Martin at risk.”

“Speaking of, I assume he’s not coming in today either. Jon, I mean.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me,” Tim said with perfect accuracy. “But I assume not.”

They worked in silence for a couple more hours, sorting the statements by date to start with. The slight tightening of Tim’s ring on his finger was all the warning he got before Melanie asked distractedly, “Did we ever figure out where that calliope ended up?”

Even without the alert that they were being spied on, Tim wouldn’t have given anything away, but he’d have to play it really casual. “What brought that up?”

“This statement is going on about a carousel.” Melanie waved the folder she was holding. “Something about the music being haunted or possessed or something like that. I just wondered if they were connected.”

“Can I see?” Tim reached for the folder.

In that instant, the phone on his desk gave the cheerful, slightly mocking beep that meant an interoffice call. Tim sighed in exasperation and picked up the phone. “Archives, Stoker speaking.”

“There’s a gentleman here to give a statement, Tim,” Rosie trilled. “Elias said to send right for you to come and get it.”

“Do me a favor, Rosie. Tell Elias where he can shove it, assuming he can find room around the stick and his head.” Tim slammed the phone down before Rosie could respond. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What does he want with you?” Melanie asked suspiciously.

“There’s someone here to give us a statement, and Elias wants us to take care of it. Dammit.” Tim rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Can you take this one?”

Melanie blinked. “I mean…I guess, but why?”

“Because I already took one this week. Look, have you recorded any statements before? That won’t go on the laptops, I mean?”

“Just one. I felt really weird afterward. Like I had the flu or something.”

“Yeah, that happens. They can be pretty draining until you get used to them. And I don’t…it’s complicated. But I can’t do two in a week without getting sick, and since I don’t want to abandon you to all this…” Tim swept a hand at the boxes.

Melanie looked uncertain, but nodded. “Yeah, um, sure. I’ll, uh, I’ll just go get him, then.”

“Thanks, Melanie. I appreciate it.” Tim waved her off. “Tell you what, while you’re doing that I’ll run and grab lunch. You like falafel? There’s a place a couple blocks away that does a good falafel.”

“Ooh, Fadlan’s Falafel? Yeah, they’re great. Thanks.” Melanie gave him a thumbs up and headed towards the steps. Tim checked on Basira, then headed out the side door.

It wasn’t quite noon, which meant he had a bit of time before things got too crazy. Tim glanced up at the leaden sky and made his way towards the river and the falafel truck. He was very aware of the incessant squeezing on his middle finger—whatever had been watching them in the Archives was still watching him, which was…odd. Good, because it meant it was leaving Melanie alone…probably…but not great. Shit, had it wanted to get him alone?

As the thought crossed his mind, he almost bumped straight into the only other person on the Chelsea Embankment at quarter to twelve on a gloomy April Friday.

“Oh—excuse me, miss,” he said, stepping aside politely.

The woman smiled, showing off very white teeth. She was tall and thin and dressed similarly to how he remembered Sasha dressing, except that where Sasha’s were merely of a somewhat vintage aesthetic, this woman’s granny square skirt, floral peasant top, and army surplus jacket all seemed to come directly from the 1970s. She had a puff of bleached blonde hair and looked as though she had a lace maid’s cap pinned to her curls.

And Tim recognized what she was immediately.

“What are you doing here?” he growled.

The woman’s eyes sparkled. All six of them—two where her normal eyes should be, and two more ghostly silver pairs above them. Tim got the impression they either weren’t actually there, or weren’t normally visible to other people. “I was looking for you, Tim. Can I call you Tim?”

“Are you actually going to call me something different if I say no?” Tim scowled at her. The Ceaseless Watcher tapped him on the shoulder, metaphorically speaking, and supplied her name. “You can call me Tim if I can call you Annabelle.”

“Of course.” Annabelle Cane fell into step beside him. “This won’t take long.”

“I hope you know you’re only getting away with this because we’re walking away from the Institute.”

“Oh, I know. And I know the Archivist isn’t there right now, either, or you’d probably shove me in the river,” Annabelle said conversationally, as if they were chatting about the weather.

Tim answered her in the same tone of voice. “No, if the Archivist was there, I’d snap your neck first, just to be sure. I might still shove you in the river.”

Annabelle shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. “Spiders can swim, you know.”

“Spiders are light enough that they can take advantage of surface tension,” Tim corrected her. “You, however, are not. And I haven’t heard any reason not to test whether you weigh the same as a duck.”

“Do you ever wonder how many innocent women died because their fathers sensibly taught them to swim?”

“I work for the Eye. I don’t have to wonder.” Tim could probably have rattled off names, ages, and weights if he really wanted to, with a little effort. Along with the names of every single person who should have saved them but didn’t. “So tell me, Annabelle. What does the Web want with me?”

Annabelle gave him a sly, sidelong look. “So tell me, Tim. If I gave you a straight answer to that question, would you believe a word of it?”

“Depends on what your answer was.”

“Ooh, you are clever. Gertrude was right to choose you.” Annabelle clapped her hands, obviously delighted. “It’s a shame you weren’t meant for the Web, but, well, we knew that would never be what you chose. Still, I don’t think the Merchant expected you to last as long as you did when you claimed Eye and Stranger both.”

Tim stopped. Something twisted in his chest. “The Night Market. The man with the table. Of course that was the Web.” He glanced down at the ring again. “You have already begun to pay. That’s what he meant. I’d already started paying for the Stranger by losing Danny, and I was already falling into the Eye before I knew what it was.”

“And you’ve paid for both,” Annabelle agreed. “Twelve times over.”

Tim clenched his fist and looked Annabelle in the eye. “You know I only claimed the bird to give it to the Archivist to destroy.”

“Yes, I know.” Annabelle smiled, then grew serious. “All right, Tim. One straight answer, without the twists and tangles. You’ve certainly earned that. What does the Web want with you? Quite simply, it wants to be sure you know that the Archivist will not succeed without you there.”

“Really,” Tim said flatly.

Annabelle nodded. “You know that the Web sees…patterns. An Archivist on his own follows one path. An Archivist with his protector follows another. I’ve come to warn you that when the time comes, if you don’t go with him, it all falls apart.”

Tim stared at her for a long moment, then nodded once. “All right. Consider me warned.”

Annabelle smiled again, almost mischievously, and her eyes—fourteen in total now—glittered again. “It’s likely we won’t see one another again, so let me just say, it’s been a pleasure talking with you. Good luck, Tim. I think you’re going to need it.”

“Have a good life, Annabelle,” Tim said. “You’re also going to need it.” He gave her a crooked smile, then added, “Now, stay away from my people.”

Annabelle bowed theatrically, gave him a wink and a fluttery little wave, and faded back against the bushes. A moment later there was nothing left except spiderwebs draped over branches.

Tim took a deep, steadying breath and hurried towards Fadlan’s Falafel.

No more than fifteen minutes later he was approaching the Institute, bag in hand, when an alarm bell sounded in his head. Something had been in the Archives—not the Web, or at least not Annabelle, but something else. It only took one more step before he tasted the salt and cold and knew the Lonely had made an appearance.

Putting on a burst of speed, Tim charged through the side door and leaped the steps down into the Archives. “Melanie! Basira!” he yelled, heart pounding. Please, God, let him not be too late—

“Tim?” Melanie called, and some of Tim’s worry eased back. “Did you pass anyone coming in?”

Tim slowed to fast walk and came out of the shelves. Basira and Melanie were standing by the desks, scowling at one another, but both turned to look as he approached. “No, not coming in. Why?” He held up the bag and added, “Got lunch, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Melanie took the bag from him and set it on the desk, then began unpacking it, talking as she did so. “I was taking the statement from that guy Rosie called down about—I couldn’t get a straight story out of him, he was so terrified, but apparently his flat was overrun with spiders—”

“Of course it was spiders.” Tim sighed. “I did run into someone spider related, but it was a woman.”

“Well, this was definitely a man. I tried to calm him down with some tea, but he was just…he was really having a time of it. I went to get him some biscuits or something, and when I came back, he was just…gone.” Melanie frowned. “I assumed he’d scarpered. Basira said she didn’t see him leave, but it was so cold—was the door open when you came in?”

Tim pursed his lips. “No, but…hang on.” He reached for his phone and pressed a button he normally would rather have chewed off his own hands at the wrists than press.

Rosie’s voice chirruped down the line. “Mr. Bouchard’s office.”

“Hi, Rosie, it’s Tim,” Tim said, layering as much false sincerity into his voice as possible. “Is Elias available? We seem to have misplaced something.”

“Elias is in an appointment with an Institute donor right now, but I can have him contact you as soon as he’s free.”

“Not necessary, that answers my question completely. Have the day you deserve.” Tim hung up without further pleasantries and turned to Melanie. “Spider Guy is gone, and he’s not coming back. One of the Lukases came through and made off with him. I’ll explain some other time, but just know he didn’t run off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Melanie blinked at him. “Does that happen often?”

“Not while I’m around.” Tim bared his teeth at her in a grin. It actually made her laugh. “Come on, let’s wolf down this falafel and see how much headway we can get in these boxes. I don’t plan to think about them over the weekend and I’d love for Martin to come in Monday and be relieved we didn’t let the place go completely to shit without him to help.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #and if thou wilt forget #tim stoker #gerard keay #melanie king #annabelle cane #paranoia #guilt #threats #manipulation #spiders #minor body horror #isolation #canon-typical Web content

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