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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 55: Now newly born, and now Hastening to die

Tim stood at the bend in the steps, arms folded over his chest, and watched Tonner stride out of the Institute. Not until she had left and slammed the door behind her did he, finally, relax, at least marginally.

He was starting to walk down the steps towards the Archives when a door opened above him, and he turned to see Jon step out of Elias’s office, looking tired and annoyed and more than a little lost. His right hand was encased in a rather messy, dirty bandage, and the collar of his shirt was crusted with dried blood. He reached up with his left hand as if to rub at his throat.

“Don’t do that, you’ll break the scab off,” Tim said, struggling to keep his voice low. Jon flinched slightly anyway. “Want me to get out the first aid kit? And what happened to your hand? That wasn’t Tonner.”

“It’s—nothing. I’m fine.” Jon lowered his hand with an obvious effort and tried to straighten up.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I think your spare shirt is still in your desk drawer. If you’re going to try to look professional and intimidating, maybe not wearing an electric blue ‘What the Ghost?’ t-shirt that looks like you’ve worn it through the entire Battle of the Bulge would help.”

“I’m not staying long,” Jon mumbled. He sighed and came towards Tim. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I wasn’t. I was making sure Tonner didn’t think I was going to do anything to Basira in retaliation for what she did to you.” Tim stopped Jon’s progress and studied his throat. The cut wasn’t particularly long or jagged, and under any other circumstances it probably would have healed cleanly and—eventually—without a trace. But he could smell the Hunt clinging to it and knew that it was going to leave a scar. “She just left. Martin and Melanie took Basira down to the Archives to start getting her set up.”

Jon’s eyes scanned Tim’s face. He looked both uncertain and slightly suspicious, but there was something else there—an almost desperate pleading. “Would you have?”

The press of the static was immediate, but it bounced off Tim’s mental walls without so much as scratching them. He didn’t even have to think about it. It may not have been intentional, but Jon also didn’t have what it took to get past his wards, at least not then. Tim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the record, you’re going to need to do better than that to compel me, I’ve had more practice at keeping that sort of thing out than you have at doing it. And you shouldn’t do that too many times a day or you’ll wear yourself out. But no, I wouldn’t have hurt Basira. I don’t believe in using people to punish other people. And now she’s part of the Archives, so it’s my job to keep her safe. Speaking of, if you’re not going to let me—or Martin—take care of those injuries—”

“I’m planning to head to the clinic up the road as soon as we’re done here,” Jon said. “I just have to figure out what to tell them.”

“You can just go with the truth. They deal with a lot of injuries from the Magnus Institute, and Dr. Early’s been touched by—” Tim caught himself. He still wasn’t sure how much Jon actually knew about the Fourteen. “By the sorts of things we deal with here. They’re good about keeping secrets, too.”

“I—f-fine. Fine. Thank you, Tim,” Jon muttered. He sighed. “I need to get a Return to Work form from Rosie.”

Tim glanced down the steps to where Rosie was peering up at them with undisguised interest. He didn’t exactly shout, but he definitely pitched his voice in a way she could hardly fail to overhear as he said, “I’ll get it for you. You’ve been through enough trauma for one week.”

Rosie made a faintly offended sound and whipped around to stare forward. Jon, surprisingly, actually suppressed a chuckle. “I, ah—thank you, but I can handle it.”

Partly because he was maybe still a little bit strung out and spoiling for a fight, partly to make sure Tonner didn’t backtrack despite his warnings, Tim loitered—some might say loomed—a few feet behind Jon as he spoke to Rosie. She kept darting him looks that were half irritation and half fear, which probably had at least partly to do with the way that he’d charged past her and nearly ripped the Institute Head’s office door off its hinges while snarling like a dog, but she was pleasant enough to Jon when her attention was fully on him. After a few minutes, he turned away with a form in one hand and started a bit at the sight of Tim still standing there, but he didn’t say anything, simply falling into step with him as they headed down to the Archives.

Taking the hint, Tim went down first.

“—on the second story,” Martin was saying as he opened the door to the Archives. “It covers two floors, actually, but—” He broke off as Tim stepped through the door and held it open for Jon. “Is…everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, Martin,” Jon assured him.

Martin glanced at Tim, just briefly, who gave the tiniest of shrugs. Everything was so clearly not okay that it almost wasn’t worth commenting on, but it was clear Jon was in no mood to share. He let the door close behind him and reached into the front pocket of his hoodie, then pulled out the set of keys to the Archives.

“Here,” he said, holding them out to Jon. “Welcome back.”

Jon reached for them, then hesitated and drew his hand back, shaking his head. “Hang on to them for now. I’m…not officially back yet, after all.” He rattled the form in his hand absently as he looked around the room. After a moment, he focused back on the group as a whole. “If I were, I’d tell you all to go home for the rest of the day. I…I think it’s been a long enough day for everyone.”

Tim saw the panicked look in Martin’s eyes and said, in a voice of forced cheerfulness, “Well, as the senior Archival Assistant, I’m nominally in charge in the Archivist’s absence, and I say we should all cut out early and come back tomorrow when we’ve had time to decompress and settle. It’s been a long enough day for all of us, after all.”

Melanie looked like she was about to argue, then sighed and looked at Basira. “Come on, then. I think I owe you a ‘welcome to your new shitty life’ drink.”

“Yeah.” Basira glanced at Jon and Tim, then shrugged and followed Melanie out of the Archives.

Martin still looked slightly unhappy. Tim decided to forestall whatever he was about to say. “Come on. Both of you can come around with me while I lock up, and that way we’ll all know the doors are secured. And since I’ve got the keys, you’ll know Jon isn’t going to come back with an axe again.”

“That’s not really funny,” Martin muttered.

“I don’t know why everyone assumes everything out of my mouth is a joke, but I was being serious. Jon, you want to go get your spare shirt or borrow this?” Tim jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the Chicago Bears hoodie. “Or do you just want to walk through Chelsea looking like you’ve forgotten what half of the year Halloween is in?”

Jon plucked at the front of his shirt as if he’d just realized it was bloodstained. “I’ll…be right back.”

He headed for the office. Tim watched him go, then turned back to Martin. “It doesn’t take any kind of spooky abilities to know you’re worried, Martin. You’ve got to trust him, okay? He’s not trying to get us out of the Archives so he can do something boneheaded and stupid, but he really can’t come back until he finishes filling out that form. And he’s right, the rest of us can use the afternoon to…not be here.”

“Of course I trust him. Of course I do.” Martin’s shoulders slumped. “I’m just…I-I don’t like any of this, Tim.”

“I know. I wish I could say it’s going to get better, but I think we both know it isn’t.” Tim slung his arm around Martin’s shoulders and gave him a quick hug. “But at least Jon’s back.”

At that, Martin managed a tiny smile, and a little bit of light came back into his eyes. “Yeah. At least Jon’s back.”

Jon emerged from the office wearing a crumpled shirt, buttoned carefully up to the neck despite not wearing a tie, and rejoined Martin and Tim. The three of them went around the Archives, locking the doors and double-checking them. Tim even made a point of dragging a couple of the heavier boxes over the edge of the trapdoor to keep it from being opened. They all stepped out and watched as Tim locked the doors, then pocketed the keys.

“Want us to walk you to the clinic?” he asked Jon. “It’s not that far out of our way if we’re heading to the station.”

Jon looked ready to protest, then gave in graciously. “All right, if you’re sure it’s not out of your way.”

The walk to the clinic was far less fraught this time, considering Jon was in less danger of bleeding out. He even gave them both a friendly—or friendly enough, anyway—wave with his good hand as he disappeared through the front door. Martin, to his credit, didn’t spend more than a couple seconds staring at the door before he turned, without Tim having to prompt him, and headed away. They didn’t speak another word until Martin was about to get off the train at Stockwell, at which point Tim stopped him and gave him a tight hug.

“It’ll all work out, buddy,” he said in Martin’s ear, then clapped him on the back and let go. “See you tomorrow.”

Martin forced a small, brittle smile. “See you tomorrow, Tim.”

As usual, Tim tracked Martin’s progress as he headed out of the station, then settled back for the last couple of stops before he himself got off. This early in the day, he was the only one getting off, which was just fine by him. He kept a nonchalant expression on his face as he strode from the train station to the flat. At the last possible second, he veered off and went around to the front, where a painted canvas sealed between two pieces of clear acrylic declared the presence of ART BY DELANO - COMMISSIONS AND PORTRAITS - HOURS BY APPOINTMENT. He didn’t think he’d ever actually used this key, but he flicked it out without even looking and unlocked.

The assault of bass, drums, and screaming coming down meant that Gerry didn’t have anyone sitting for him, and also meant Tim could have stomped up the stairs in steel shoes and not been heard, but he moved quietly so as not to disturb him anyway. He came into the main part of the studio to find Gerry blasting what sounded like Megadeth with his face screwed up in total concentration, his focus entirely on the canvas in front of him. The easel was set up in front of a faded velvet armchair they’d found at an antique shop while looking for a floppy disk drive, a knitted blanket draped over one arm. Perched in the chair, alert and attentive and incredibly patient, was Rowlf.

Gerry didn’t look up as Tim entered, but Rowlf did, turning his head and pricking his ears. His tail thumped a couple of times, and his mouth parted in a doggy grin, but he stayed obediently in the chair. Tim shook his head in mock despair. “Best turn around, boy, you’ll mess up the lines.”

“Rowlf, over here,” Gerry called at the same time, then blinked as he saw Tim. “Tim? Shit, what time is it?”

Tim glanced at his watch. “Seven minutes past two. Are you planning to be at this much longer, or should I take His Lordship for his afternoon constitutional?”

Gerry turned off his boom box. Immediately, Rowlf scrambled off the chair and ran up to Tim for petting. “Probably wouldn’t hurt to at least take a break.”

“Good.” Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out the tape recorder he hadn’t at all been surprised to discover there after dismissing Tonner. “Go ahead and listen to this. We should be back by the time you’re done. Come on, Rowlf, let’s go. Walk! Walk!”

Rowlf barked happily, chased his tail for a moment, and ran for the door separating the studio from the flat. The dog wasn’t stupid, he knew where his lead was.

A short walk was really all that was necessary this time of day, usually, but Tim was still a bit raw from the events of the day. In lieu of a fox he could lure off and trick into encountering a Wide Patrol, he settled for taking Rowlf on a short run that left both of them panting but exhilarated when they got back. It worked, at least for the moment—Tim felt much better.

He led Rowlf back in through the main door just in time to hear the distinctive click of a tape recorder shutting itself off. Unclipping the lead, he crossed the room and stopped a few inches away from where Gerry sat frozen in the armchair, staring at the tape recorder in his hand, his eyes blazing and his face the same color red as the velvet.

“She left without hurting anyone,” he offered, knowing damned well that was the least of Gerry’s concerns.

Gerry looked up at him, and it didn’t take the Eye to know that he was barely holding back his rage. “That was Jurgen Leitner?” he demanded.

Of course that was the biggest focus. “Apparently. I swear, babe, if I’d known that was who it was I’d have told you.”

Gerry rose to his feet. Tim actually took a step back at the look on his face. “You told me he was someone who worked with Gertrude.”

“He—oh, shit.” Tim swallowed and clenched his fist as realization hit him like a sledgehammer. “He was—marginally useful to her, so she kept you from knowing about him so you wouldn’t flip your shit. And she kept him from knowing about you so he wouldn’t do a bunk. Your mum terrified the shit out of him and he assumed you’d be the same way. Not that it mattered, since he was a ridiculous coward. If he’d known the angry Goth who almost beat him to death the one time he stepped out of hiding was also Mary Keay’s—” He broke off, scraped at his tongue, and thumped the side of his head with the heel of his hand, muttering under his breath, “Fuck off, you rat bastard of a gossipmonger. A simple yes would have been fine.”

“Don’t you growl at me, Stoker,” Gerry snapped.

“I’m not,” Tim began indignantly. Then he, too, heard the faint rumbling growl and turned to see Rowlf, crouched a few feet away, his ears pinned back and his lips curled back in a snarl. He held out both hands in a placating gesture. “Rowlf, it’s okay, boy, we’re good. See? All good. Good boy.”

Rowlf whined softly, and he did at least stop growling, but his head was still low and his ears still back. Tim risked stepping into Gerry’s space, reaching out, and grabbing his shoulders. It felt a bit like he’d grabbed hold of a running car engine, but he held on and met Gerry’s eyes. The Ceaseless Watcher tried to get hold of him and get him to force Gerry to calm down, but he fought it back. This had to come from him, and he couldn’t give into the Eye any more than he already had today or he’d end up wiped out.

“Gerry,” he said clearly. “Gerard Delano, you listen to me and you listen to me good. Gertrude didn’t care about Leitner, one way or another. The only thing he could do that you couldn’t do better was risky things with a high probability of death, and that wasn’t because Gertrude didn’t trust your competence, it was because if she had any doubts about your ability to survive a situation, she’d sent Leitner because he was expendable. Maybe she didn’t think you were because she’d made a promise to your dad, maybe she did actually care for you like she said. We’ll never know for sure, although I can guess and it was probably a little of both. The point is that he wasn’t any different than most of her other assistants, just someone to use up and use out and discard the minute he was no longer worth anything to her. A means to an end. She didn’t keep him around to hurt you, or to use as leverage against you. It was literally just so she didn’t have to sacrifice you for a book.”

Gerry took a deep breath, then another, then closed his eyes and hung his head. “Was he in the tunnels the whole time?” he asked quietly.

Tim winced. “I think so? That’s probably who I kept hearing or…sensing while we were down there. It’s definitely why there was that wine bottle we tripped over that one time. But he was doing his level best not to be seen.”

“Should’ve flooded the whole place with cyanide gas when we had the chance.”

“No good. As extensive as those tunnels are and as many random shafts and air pockets as there are, it wouldn’t fill the whole place fast enough to take him out.” Tim risked pulling Gerry in for a hug; he resisted for a moment, then sighed and flopped bonelessly against Tim’s shoulder. “It’s okay, babe. He’s gone.”

“I know,” Gerry whispered. “And you said it yourself. I was hyping him up to be worse than he was because I was blaming him for things I really should have blamed Mum for. He was just a pathetic old fool.” He took a deep breath. “I’d like to say he still didn’t deserve what happened to him, but…”

“He didn’t deserve it to be as quick as it was, that’s for sure. Pretty sure the first blow killed him, Elias just kept going because he was pissed.”

“There is that,” Gerry agreed. He—finally—reached up and hugged Tim back, and for several moments they simply stood there. At last, he took a deep, ragged breath, pulled back, and straightened. “Okay. Now that we’ve got the most important part of the tape out of the way, obviously, let’s focus on the piddly little mundane bits.”

“Let’s make a cup of tea first. I think we both need it.”

It was probably another twenty minutes before they were settled at the kitchen table facing one another, each with a steaming mug of tea. Rowlf, eschewing his usual blanket, was lying under the table with his chin resting on Tim’s foot. The tape recorder sat on the table between them.

“So,” Gerry said at last. “If Jonah Magnus dies—or the Institute is destroyed—everyone who works there dies too.”

“Oh, no, that was complete bullshit,” Tim said immediately.

Gerry set his mug down sharply, making Rowlf lift his head briefly. “What? But you said—”

“That everyone in the room would die if Tonner pulled the trigger? Yeah, that was true. Rosie was still walking the police officers out. If she’d heard gunshots from his office—and the police would have heard them too—they’d have gone in guns blazing. I am amazing, but even I’m not bulletproof.” Tim took a sip of his tea before setting the mug down and running a hand through his hair. “But the thing about him being the—the beating heart of the Institute? That was complete and utter twaddle and I knew that. And he knew I knew it, too. I don’t think he expected Martin to ask me my opinion, but I think he guessed I wouldn’t call his bluff. He knew Tonner wouldn’t.”

“Because of Basira?”

“Yeah. Everybody’s got a weakness. Some people’s are just walking around independent of their bodies. As soon as he said the police would kill Basira, too, he had her.” Tim stared into the tea and added softly, “Bastard.”

Gerry stared at the tape recorder. “She’s not the only one he did that to, is he?”

Tim snorted. “Oh, hell, no. He’s been doing that from the jump. Martin’s been terrified of losing his job since day one, so all Elias has to do is make a hint about references and cutbacks and Martin will do whatever he says. Or would. Ordinarily I’d have said he lost a good hand now that Martin knows he can’t be fired either, but at this point, we all know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Jon, so he’s definitely going to start using that. Jon’s the Archivist, he just has to bait him with knowledge, and he’s always done a good job of that. Melanie’s too new for him to have a handle on what he can leverage against her.”

“And you?”

Tim shrugged. “Like I said, he knew I wouldn’t call his bluff. Not while there was still a risk the others might get hurt.”

Gerry’s lips, unexpectedly, twitched. “Should I be jealous I’m not your weakness?”

“Babe, you’re the only thing keeping me upright some days,” Tim said seriously. “And you can take care of yourself. Also, I don’t think Jonah is aware you’re anything other than someone I’ve worked with. You have to admit our relationship is pretty incomprehensible to anybody on the outside of it.”

“Sometimes it’s pretty incomprehensible to the people inside of it, too, but honestly, there’s nobody else I’d rather be weird and confusing with than you.”

“Love you, too, Ger.” Tim smiled briefly, then sighed. “I…probably owe Jon an apology, I guess. Don’t suppose Hallmark makes ‘sorry I believed you murdered my old boss to take her place and let you get stabbed about it’ cards.”

“Sure they do. They’re in between the ‘get well soon’ cards and the ‘First Communion’ ones,” Gerry deadpanned. “A cake might go over better.”

“No, Jonah always turns up for cake.” Tim picked up his mug and cupped it in both hands. “I can’t believe I didn’t suspect him. Not seriously, anyway. I told Basira once…fuck, I even laid out for her that it was obviously Elias, but I was being sarcastic at the time. Can’t believe I was actually right.”

Gerry pursed his lips. “So…what are you going to do about it? I mean…you were pretty adamant that you were the only one that was going to avenge Gertrude’s death, and even if you have a new Archivist…is that still the plan?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tim assured him. “I just have to figure out how to do it. Or at least how to do it safely.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want him to kill you too.”

“It’s not that. If it took him out of the world, I’d happily lay my life down for the cause.” Tim checked to make sure his ring was still loose, then lowered his voice and moved his lips as little as possible as he continued. “But I don’t know how he extends his life, how he takes over his new host bodies. If the old one has to still be alive for him to do it. The last thing I want is for him to possess me and use me as his vessel. Remember, he’s got a ritual that will work—and Gertrude thought she would be the keystone. Which means Jon is now. I’ve worked too hard to protect him. And Martin, at the very least, trusts me now. If Jonah takes my body over, he won’t even have to manipulate Jon into doing whatever he wants to bring the Eye into the world. All he would need to do is make suggestions, and they’ll both run headlong into it.” He looked up into Gerry’s eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a flutter of genuine fear in his stomach. “I can’t let that happen. I have to protect them both, but especially Jon. And if that means I have to let Jonah Magnus live until I figure out how he does what he’s doing, then I guess that’s what I’ll have to do.”

Gerry stared at Tim for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “In that case, let’s…set that aside for now. Let’s figure out the Unknowing first. He’s going to keep you all off balance trying to stop that anyway—Jon’s got to know about it by now, right?”

“If nothing else, Leitner probably told him that much.” Tim sighed. “You’re right. First step, stop the Unknowing to keep it from hurting anyone else. Second step, stop Jonah Magnus to keep him from hurting anyone else. Easy, right?”

“Like falling off a log,” Gerry said. “Directly into a river filled with crocodiles. With your wrists and ankles tied together and all your skin scraped away so you’re bleeding directly into the water.”

“Well, then, I suppose we’d best start combing ourselves until we’ve got enough fur to cover a clay rabbit, because we’re going to have to get across the river somehow.” Tim took a sip of his tea. “Let’s start with where the Unknowing is going to be and go from there. That’ll at least give us a starting point.”

Gerry nodded slowly. “Not tonight, though.”

“No,” Tim agreed. “Actually, I thought I’d take you out to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“I know it’s been six weeks, but today’s the first day we knew for sure that we’re no longer breathing the same air as Jurgen fucking Leitner.” Tim grinned as a slow smile spread across Gerry’s face. “Seems like something worth celebrating to me. Come on, go get cleaned up and we’ll have an early dinner.”

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