#implied illness

He’d left the keys to the Archives on Martin’s desk, just like Gertrude had him, before heading out of town, so he couldn’t let himself in that way. If Martin wasn’t in yet, he wouldn’t be able to get into the Archives from the outside, and it was honestly a crap shoot if he’d be able to get in from the inside either, but it was at least the more likely. Still, the earlier he got in, the less likely he would be to be observed by the entire Institute. Not that people paid that much mind to them at the best of times, but the last thing he wanted was to draw undue attention to the Archives his first day back.

He stumbled up the front steps, catching himself hard against the solid wood door. His hands shook so badly that it took him two tries to fumble with the knob and actually get it to turn. At last, though, he managed to get the door open and make his way into the Institute.

The building didn’t feel empty, not like it had when he’d come in to give his statement to Detective Tonner, but there was an absence he noticed more sharply than he had the last time he’d come in after an extended time away—the lack of Archivist. It didn’t feel like a hole waiting to be filled, more like a space being saved; he wasn’t gone, just absent. There also weren’t a lot of other people in the building to witness his lurching, reeling progress across the lobby.

“Oh—Tim!” Rosie’s shocked, horrified voice gasped out from the direction of her desk. Tim didn’t look at her, merely gave a desultory, almost drunken wave and continued his progress towards the Archives steps.

He concentrated incredibly hard on the steps to the Archives to make sure he didn’t fall. They were, like most stairs to basement level in this part of London, narrow and steep, easy to tumble down if your coordination was off, and the years had worn slick grooves where countless footsteps had passed. The carpet runner that had gone up the middle of the staircase when Tim started at the Institute was long gone, probably a victim of the worm infestation or perhaps torn up by the Not as it bulldozed through the Institute after Jon, making them all the more precarious. Finally, he made it to the bottom, found the door to the Archives, and tried the knob. Mercifully, it opened easily, and Tim returned.

They were, once again, just as he’d left them. The door to the Archivist’s office was firmly shut, as was Document Storage; Mister Megabytes was switched off and dreaming of whatever electronic archives dreamed of; the shelves and boxes and files were still in varying states of chaos. A small stack of files waited on Martin’s desk, another pile on the desk that had probably been given over to Melanie, and there was…something sitting on his desk. Tim’s stomach flipped as he slowly made his way over to the cluster of desks. He reached out a trembling hand, then slowly palmed the keys…the ones he had left behind for Martin. Pointedly left on Tim’s desk, as if he’d be back to get them any minute.

Okay. Maybe he felt a little guilty about that.

Melanie had decorated her desk, he noticed. Nothing ostentatious, just a few novelty pens and a bisexual pride flag jammed in a coffee mug that had a crack in it that made it useless as anything but a pencil holder. Tim vaguely recognized the logo on its side as belonging to Georgie Barker’s What the Ghost podcast—a cartoonish outline of a ghost rising below the bold black letters W. T. G. As he made eye contact with the tiny dots representing glowing pupils in the black eye sockets, the ring on his finger tightened slightly, and he made a feeble effort at throwing up his usual mental barriers. He noted the angle the mug sat at with a flicker of his gaze and wondered if the logo repeated on the far side.

Only one way to find out. He made his way slowly and carefully to the Document Storage room, his steps getting surer and his back straightening as he walked, until he stepped through the door, shut it, and sat on the chair behind the desk. He took several deep, even breaths, until they were steady and regular.

At which point the door opened, and Tim felt rather than heard the tape recorder click on. “Tim?”

“Hey, boss,” Tim said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, rolling his head around to face Elias, who had indeed just come into Document Storage. He didn’t shut the door fully behind him, and through the window, Tim could see, a few feet away, Rosie standing with a look on her face somewhere between anxiety and hungry curiosity, not really hiding that she was trying to hear what was going on. Bingo. “What brings you down to the dungeons? Your office just too full of joy?”

“Not quite.” Elias’s expression was unflappable. “I heard you’d had some absences. Some unauthorized leave. I just wanted to talk it through with you.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you did,” Tim said. He rose to his feet and folded his arms over his chest, looking Elias in the eye as he did so. His mental shields were up a lot stronger than they had been when he first felt the ring tighten, and he could feel the weight of the statements around him shoring him up.

“Were you sick?” Elias prodded. “If you’re sick, you really need to call in.”

Tim narrowed his eyes and let himself smirk, just a little. “Nope. Wasn’t sick. Try again.”

“I don’t suppose you were…on a bender, as it were. Rosie was concerned about you when you arrived, she said you seemed…unsteady on your feet.”

“Miss number two.”

Elias’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Well, you hadn’t booked any leave.”

“No, I had not,” Tim agreed.

For just a second, Elias tried to stare him down, but even at less than full power, Tim was more than a match for him. And this was his territory, his…pasture, if you will. His to protect. Even with nobody else there—yet, anyway—he could withstand just about anything. The moment passed, and Elias continued pressing. “Under any other circumstances, I would have thought you were sent on an errand by the Archivist, but Jon has not been in touch with you, has he?”

“Not since he went to ground, no.” Tim was fairly certain Jon no longer had his phone with him anyway. Even if he did, Tim would be the last person he’d reach out to; Martin would undoubtedly be the first. If he thought it was safe to reach out. If doing so wouldn’t put both of them in danger.

Elias pursed his lips. It was clear he was trying not to blow his top, or let on to Rosie what was really going on—or that he knew Tim knew what was going on. If it hadn’t been for her presence, this would undoubtedly be a very different conversation. “So, what happened?” he finally asked.

Tim shrugged one shoulder. “I hopped a plane to Malaysia. Found myself a hotel. Waited for the partner.”

There was clear suspicion in Elias’s expression, and Tim felt him prodding at the wall in his mind, even harder than before. And, being as…experienced as he was, of course he found the tiniest chink in the wall. Tim hastened to spackle it up, so to speak, but he could sense Elias’s triumph, even as he pulled back. When he spoke, however, it was just as mild and professional as before. “I see. You were trying to leave us?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’ve returned?” The gleam in Elias’s eye, just for a flash, said he already knew why, but he was waiting for Tim to say it.

Tim licked his lips. “I…I got sick. The longer I was gone…I felt weak, like, like I was losing myself. I was too far from the Archives. Too far from the Archivist. I…I guess the connection was too strained.”

“Yes,” Elias said, almost sympathetically. “I believe Gertrude warned you that might happen?”

“No, actually. She said I was stuck here for life, but not…” Tim gestured at himself. “I mean, Rosie saw what I was like when I got here. Feeling better now, though.” He folded his arms again. “You planning to terminate me, boss?”

Elias raised an eyebrow, and for a second he looked almost tempted, but he shook his head. “No. I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Of course not,” Tim agreed dryly.

“But let’s be sure it doesn’t happen again, hmm?”

Tim sighed heavily. “Don’t worry. I’m not entirely stupid. Someone’s got to be here to serve as a horrible warning to the others, right?”

Elias sighed, too. “This is a very old place, Tim. It has all sorts of…idiosyncrasies, and not all of them are good for the people who work here.”

“Yeah, just ask Gertrude.” Tim rubbed a hand over his face. “I think I’d prefer asbestos.”

“I’ve always found the best way to deal with it is to lose yourself in the work,” Elias said. “You’re quite good at that under ordinary circumstances, and I’m sure there’s a great deal of filing and…data entry that’s gone by the wayside lately. You know how difficult it is to keep up with everything with only two people, and Melanie is still learning the ropes. I’m sure she would benefit from your…expert guidance.”

Tim almost laughed at that, but caught himself just in time. “Yeah. I mean…I guess maybe you’re right.”

“I’m sure I am. And no more unauthorized absences, okay?” Elias raised an eyebrow like he was scolding a puppy that had just peed on the rug.

The door opened the rest of the way, exposing Martin, who didn’t look like he’d been sleeping. He started and looked back and forth. “Oh, er, is everything okay in here?”

Elias turned the same expression on Martin, and Tim bristled a little. “Yes, Martin, very much so.” With that, he stepped past him and left, shutting the door behind him. Tim could just hear him talking to Rosie outside.

Martin stared at Tim as though he couldn’t quite figure out where he’d come from or why he was there. Finally, he said, “Right. Um, I was actually going to record a statement…if that’s all right with you, Tim?”

It wasn’t, and Martin probably knew that, but Tim had left him alone for a week and a half to handle the work and Melanie on his own with no warning or explanation, so he didn’t really have much room to object. He decided, just this once, to bow out gracefully. “Yeah. It’s already running.”

Martin started and looked at the recorder. “Oh. Oh, so it is.” He blinked up at Tim. “Why—why did you turn it on?”

Tim shrugged. “I didn’t. Let me know if you need me.” With that, he stepped out of the office and shut the door behind him.

With Sasha—real or otherwise—gone, he felt less concerned about leaving his laptop somewhere anyone could snoop through it without his noticing, so he set it up and then went to investigate the shelves. Martin had been busy; there were quite a few files newly organized on them. A quick flick through the floppy disks told him that no one had bothered digitizing them, though. He could—he should probably take care of that, but…

He glanced back at the piles on Martin’s and Melanie’s desks from deeper within the Archives. They looked like they hadn’t been picked through yet—as though they’d finished their research and someone, probably Martin, had pulled several stacks out of a box and divided them up without rhyme or reason. Deciding that was his first step, he pulled all of the files together and started redividing them into three separate stacks.

It was moot, really. They largely worked the files together, especially these days; they each had specialized research abilities that complemented one another and made for more complete information. But they had to start somewhere, and if they each took point on a different stack they could just swap whenever they got stuck or needed a change. Besides, this way Tim could filter out the real ones and make sure he wasn’t letting one of the others go into a dangerous situation.

His phone buzzed a moment later with a message from Gerry: [Home safe. The package you were looking for is here.]

Tim tapped out a quick reply: [Thanks. I’ll check when I get home to make sure it’s what I thought.]

[The usual time? Or do you need to leave early?]

[I think I’ll survive the workday. See you later.] Tim hit SEND and turned his phone face down.

Bang on time, the door to the Archives opened and Melanie came in, wearing a pair of sunglasses and clutching a large thermos. She raised the sunglasses and gave him an unimpressed look. “Decided to come back to work, have you?”

“Yeah, turns out if you’re not working for the government it’s harder to get paid to sit on your arse and do nothing,” Tim shot back. Her limp had largely disappeared, but she still had the Slaughter mark and she didn’t look like she was tempering its effects any. “Besides, Elias seems to think you’d benefit from my dramatic pause expert guidance.”

That actually surprised a laugh out of her, albeit a brief one. She immediately scowled at him, though. “Oh, yeah, I’m so looking forward to working closely with someone who blames me for all his problems.”

“Oh, is Jon back?” Tim said acidly.

“Hah! You wish.” Melanie thumped down in her seat. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“Reassigning the work. Easier to get through the files if we go one box at a time, so rather than break into a new one, I thought I’d just shuffle these so I have something to do.” Tim waved one of the files at her. “And until I get the list of what files you guys worked while I was gone, I can’t really start putting them in the computer, now can I?”

“We can’t get into it. Something about a pass code?” Melanie shrugged. “Martin tried the other day and gave up. Dunno if he called IT yet.”

The door to Document Storage opened just then and Martin came out, looking tired, a folder in one hand and the tape in the other. He balked at the sight of Tim. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Tim gestured to the three piles. “Did you think I was going to turn back up and just sit here watching you two do all the work while I fucked off?”

“Kind of?” Martin blew out an exasperated huff of air. “Honestly, I was shocked you came back at all.”

Part of Tim thought he probably deserved that. A tiny part of Tim groveled, dropping to its metaphorical belly and whining piteously as it crept towards Martin, like Rowlf did when Gerry scolded him for running off with one of his paintbrushes. The vast majority of Tim rose up in a swift, sudden swell of anger at the implication, so abrupt that it got past his ability to keep in check and yanked him to his feet, teeth gritted and lips curled back in a snarl, as the chair scraped back violently and he slammed his palms down on the desk.

“The more fool you, to think I would abandon my charge and leave my Archives to the mercy of the Wolves,” he growled.

Both Martin and Melanie had flinched back at his first abrupt movement. Melanie yelped and tried to both stand and shove back from the desk simultaneously, resulting in her chair tipping over backwards with a clatter and a curse. Martin, for his part, jumped backwards, clutching the folder and tape to his chest like a shield, his eyes wide with surprise and—fear. Tim could taste it, feel it thrumming in the air, hear it it singing to him like a siren call. They weren’t just startled, they were afraid, and it was he who had made them so, their fear was his to take and—

No. No! Fuck, that wasn’t—no. Tim closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and swallowed hard, forcing down the static, forcing down the snarl, forcing down the thing that had seized his throat and tongue and voice.

They’re ours, he told the part of the Ceaseless Watcher that resided in his very blood. Ours to protect. We only attack if they don’t heed the warning. Let them be.

Slowly, he felt the static settle, the anger retreat. He took another deep, slow breath, then opened his eyes and looked up at Martin as he backed slowly away from the table, shoulders slightly hunched, hands loose at his sides. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That was…uncalled for.”

“It’s…fine,” Martin said, a little uncertainly. He still looked afraid, and maybe a little upset, but he also seemed to recognize that pushing the issue right then wouldn’t help either of them. He took a deep breath, too. “Um, I guess…I guess we should get started on these files, then.”

“Yeah.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “Melanie said something about you guys not being able to get into Mister Megabytes?”

“Yeah, I—I was going to call IT about that, but, you know, they don’t really talk to me.” Martin flapped a hand helplessly.

Tim nodded. “Tell you what. Let me finish parceling out this crap, and then I’ll run up and find Chad. He tends to be slightly less of an arse than the rest of them.”

“Takes one to know one,” Melanie grumbled, not quite under her breath.

Tim decided to ignore her.

He ended up taking the time to look at the computer himself before he went up to find the IT department—not that he didn’t trust Martin, but he didn’t trust Melanie, and he also knew this computer better than just about anyone in the Institute. After a couple of minutes poking at it, he realized that someone—probably the Not-Sasha—had altered some of the code and fundamentally fucked up the system. Luckily, Tim had done most of the initial programming on the computer way back when, and he also had a small fragment of the embodiment of awful and fearsome knowledge embedded in his soul, and it had tried to hurt his people, so it owed him. With only a little assistance, he was able to fix the DOS and get the computer up and running.

It did mean he’d used the Eye’s power twice, even if the first time had been inadvertent, which meant he needed a bit of perking up. So after lunch, while Martin showed Melanie the basics of the computer, Tim ignored the periodic interjections of “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me” from that side of the room and selected a particularly juicy statement to start sinking his teeth into. The first one he pulled was one he could probably leave to Martin; it was pretty obviously the Dark, and they weren’t doing much these days, but Tim was still pretty sure they’d had at least something to do with Gertrude’s death, since she’d been trying to stop the Extinguished Sun at the time. It was as good a target for his anger as any.

Two hours and a handful of phone calls later, and Tim felt a lot better. There was still more to research—obviously there was still more to research—and he would definitely have to do a bit of in person legwork, but he’d been right to choose a statement almost as old as he was, belonging to his second least favorite entity these days. It made it easier to get along with the others for the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day they all packed away their things, shut down Mister Megabytes, and tidied up the folders. Melanie skipped out without much of a farewell; Martin, at least, went round with Tim to make sure everything was buttoned down for the night before leaving. Tim carefully locked both doors and hurried after him. They didn’t speak on the train ride home, but at least Martin didn’t pointedly sit as far from him as possible.

It was a cool evening, but it was warmer enough than Siberia that Tim barely felt it. He strode the few blocks home, let himself into the flat, and was immediately greeted by a very enthusiastic spaniel. Laughing, he bent down and scruffed his ears. “Hey, buddy. Daddy still down in the studio?”

He knew he was. He’d seen the lights downstairs when he arrived. Tossing the keys to the Archives into the bowl, Tim unhooked the lead from the wall, clipped it to Rowlf’s collar, and took him for his evening walk. They arrived back at the flat just as the studio lights went off, so Tim wasn’t remotely surprised when Gerry walked in before he’d even had time to get all the way to the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, catching Gerry around the waist and giving him a quick kiss. “Productive day?”

Gerry hummed against his lips. “Interesting. How’s…” He squeezed Tim’s hand lightly.

“We’re good. Nobody’s been watching me since this morning.” Tim squeezed back.

“So he bought it, then?”

“Hook, line, and sinker.” Tim smirked as he stepped back to look Gerry in the eye. The amusement on Gerry’s face said he was enjoying this almost as much as Tim was. “He was thoroughly convinced I actually tried to leave, and that it actually made me weak until I made it to the Archives and safety. You didn’t have any problems?”

“Nope.” Gerry popped the P sharply. “Cameras are all in the same place as usual, and since the nosy broad at the front desk either was worried about you or thought she was going to get to watch you get fired for showing up to work trashed, there was no one to see me. And it was right where you said it was. In and out, no sweat. Good call on the dimensions, too.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know if that was a good call or if I had help, but…you know, not complaining. Did you look inside?”

“No, but the weight was about the same, so I trust you.” Gerry cocked his head. “Let’s do that now. Otherwise you’re going to be distracted all night.”

“I love and hate that you know me so well.” Tim kissed Gerry on the cheek.

They headed into the small, windowless room that had once been Gerry’s, little more than a closet but undecorated and—they had discovered—slightly muffled from the Eye. Gerry shut the door for good measure, then reached up to the shelf and pulled down a square cardboard box—the one Tim had seen in Elias’s office. He held it out to Tim. “You work there. You do the honors.”

“You just don’t want whatever’s in here to attack you.”

“How likely do you think Jonah Magnus is to booby trap it?”

“He’s too overconfident. Who’d be stupid enough to raid his office?” Tim sat on the floor, box in his lap. Gerry slid down to sit beside him as he fumbled with the carefully interlaced folds of cardboard and prised them apart. He purred contentedly at what he saw. “Hello, lovelies.”

Thankfully, nothing answered him. Gerry glanced up. “Where do we start, then?”

1:17 PM

"Zesty lemon-blackberry delight." B read the whimsical label of the cake box out loud. "Sounds right up Whumpee's alley."

"C chose it!" A smiled and readjusted the white box in her arms, careful not to smudge the newly bought cake against the cardboard walls.

C looked down and smiled shyly.

The three stopped abruptly in front of a crosswalk and stared at the red traffic light right across the street.

"Yeah, well..." C started. "I know they like soursweet desserts so..."

They trailed off, still keeping their gaze down, unable to notice the smile of encouragement they received from both of their friends. C had the tendency to remember seemingly insignificant details about others, and their talent proved convenient in the most unlikely moments.

"Sooo... did D and E mention when they were coming?" B inquired.

The traffic light turned green and the three resumed their walk.

"They'll be a bit late. D said they had something big planned for Whumpee and needed help carrying it along." A explained.

"I hope they bring another board game... poor Whumpee must be bored out of their mind." B sighed back and squinted.

The sun was scorching.

"Yeah... I feel a bit bad for Whumpee. It's probably not that fun to spend your birthday at the hospital..." C wringed their hands, though the heat only made the sensation of the neurotic action worse.

"That's why we're going there, to cheer them up." A muttered absent-mindedly while looking in the distance, trying to recognize the proper way to the medical facility.

And so they kept going.

...

Once at the front desk, they were all told to wait. The receptionist eyed the cardboard box and the packaging of the gifts the three friends had prepared in a glaringly suspicious manner, but didn't inquire further - besides, Whumpee wasn't put on a special diet anyway.

Room number 618.

A nodded and let out a "thank you". B and C also acknowledged the visitation permission with a nod and they took off, trying not to let the tension from the sterile smell and the low hum of the LED lights overwhelm them. The corridors seemed endless, the sense of death and hopelessness lingered in the air, the bits of random equipment they all spotted whenever a door was slightly ajar awakened feelings of cold displacement.

And yet, A smiled to herself as she reiterated the cheesy, borderline obnoxious birthday wish she had prepared for Whumpee, ready to scoop them up in her arms once they rolled their eyes at her flamboyance.

And yet, B let their face rest in pleasant relief, imagining the undying optimism that Whumpee would yield, even when weakened; hoping that the gifts and the visit could lift their spirits for just a bit.

And yet, C exhaled with reassurance, knowing that this was all temporary, that soon enough, Whumpee would be up and among them all again, flashing their smile in a cheeky manner, eyes gleaming with energy.

615... 616...617...

They stopped.

Room 618.

C bit the inside of their lip, B ran their fingers through their hair, A straightened her posture and took a deep breath. An unspoken rule to not let the vulnerable image of Whumpee cloud their sense of support, joy and celebration was silently passed through a few exchanged looks and stifled nods.

Whumpee was the center of their shared world now...

*knock knock*

... and they were going to have fun today and feel loved, damn it!

*knock knock*

Yet nobody answered.

The looks the three friends exchanged were ones of confusion and mild concern. Neither wanted to wake Whumpee up if they were asleep, but such deep rest in the middle of the day wasn't usual for them either. Besides, Whumpee was expecting them as visitors, so they wouldn't mind if they were disturbed, right?

B knocked one more time, though harsher.

Still no response.

With reluctance, A balanced the box on just one arm and used her free hand to gently open the door to the room, holding in a wince once its hinges screeched in protest. If that didn't wake Whumpee up, then... the shocked gasp that both A and C let out surely should have.

The hospital room was completely thrashed.

The curtains were ripped, the pathetic shreds hanging loosely over the bed and the floor; the bed sheets and pillow were thrown across the room, the unused IV set - knocked over. The pages of a torn magazine littered the floor, the cabinet doors hung open and atop the white hospital duvet, a lock of hair laid strewn across. Everything on their nightstand was rolling on the floor.