#Bain knew so he didn’t punch the guy to death :(

[commence-screaming]

I’ve been wondering how Kings are able to order their Watchers around if Watchers really are as powerful as they say

Watchers are technically mentioned in the Book of Enoch, which is sort of(?) an addition to the Bible??? And yknow, the Bible has a bunch of stories where names are super important. (The green flu was supposedly made by the Aztec god of death 😫 NOTHING is impossible ok)

I am reminded of this Egyptian myth.

Soooo maybe the Watchers are controlled by their Kings because they have true names :)

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Creep (Sweet Jane Part Five) — Campbell Bain x Reader

Sweet Jane Episode One: Hey Jude

Sweet Jane Episode Two: Fly Like an Eagle

Sweet Jane Episode Three: You Always Hurt the One You Love

Sweet Jane Episode Four: Fool on the Hill

Sweet Jane Episode Five: Rainy Day in Georgia (But not Georgia Tennant.)

“You are not the darkness you endured, you are the light that refused to surrender.”

Warning: Mature — Mentions and Descriptions of underaged rape (mid to late teens) and descriptions of stalking. (I’m not sure if this counts as explicit.); Funeral

Fergus’ funeral had finished and the mourners whom none of them had ever seen in their lives were leaving while the loonies—Eddie, Rosalie, Francine, Y/N, and a very, very drunk Campbell—stayed at his grave.

“Some wake, huh?” Campbell asked.

“We can go on back to the house with the others. His da invited us.” Eddie said.

“Did he hell! An invitation is when you say, ‘Would you like to come back to the house for a wee whisky?’ No ‘I s'pose you can come back t'the house if ye want.’ I mean, who were all those folk? Rental mourners? Never saw any ae them come to visit Fergus in hospital.”

“Right enough.” Francine said.

“And that minister! Don't think he'd even met the guy. Talking about "the tragic death of a young man of only thirty years". Fergus was twenty-seven! Getting us up to sing Fergus's favorite hymn! Fergus was a rabid, card-carrying atheist! And that bit about "the terrible illness that eventually killed him". Fergus didnae have cancer, he was a loony!” He started to fail his arms about, drunkenly,  “A bam, crazy, mental, out tae lunch, of another planet...!” He fell against Eddie and Y/N who caught him.

“Babe.” Y/N said, taking the drink from her boyfriend before taking a swig herself.

Campbell snatched it back, “I’ll give this to you when you tell me who that boy you beat was.”

Y/N’s eyes became cold and she shook herself away from him.

“You are pished, my friend.” Eddie said and took the bottle of whiskey from him.

Campbell seemed insulted and affronted and said, his words slurred with alcohol, “That's rich comin fae you.

“Aye, but I'm no an amateur.” Eddie said.

Campbell looked back down at the coffin, “He was a genius. He could have done anything.”

“Aye. So he could.”

Campbell’s face screwed up with pained grief and he made his drunken exit. Y/N didn’t notice her exe, fresh from the hospital after a month of treatments for the injuries she had inflicted upon him limping his way over to Campbell.

“You Campbell Bain?” He asked.

“Who are you?” Campbell asked.

"The real love of your girlfriend's life." Campbell glared as her exe got closer to him, realizing “She will never love you like she loved me and you could never love her like I love her. The harlot.) And then Campbell saw red.

Y/N looked up when she heard a thud and saw Campbell standing over a boy on the ground.

Y/N ran over and stopped her exe from hitting Campbell back but her exe threw a punch aimed at her and Campbell pushed her out of the way… the next thing she knew her exe was being arrested with a bloody nose again.

--

Eddie, Francine, Rosalie, Campbell, and Y/N reentered Saint Jude’s hospital and they approached the radio station where they heard Rainy Night in Georgia playing and they found an electrician in the studio.

“Who the hell are you?” Eddie asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The electrician said.

“I'm the guy who owns that record.”

“Some collector. That's an original Brook Benton version fae nineteen-seventy-eight.

“Nineteen-sixty-nine.” Eddie corrected, “How did you get in here? Naebody's supposed to be in here except authorized staff.”

“I'm the electrician.”

Eddie’s glare hardened, “Right, that's it.” And he started to stuff the electrician's tools in his case.

“What? They don't go in like that!”

“They do the night!” Eddie snapped and he grabbed the electrician by his collar and pushed him out.

“What are you on, pal?” The electrician complained.

“Eddie, Eddie!” Isabel yelled, coming up to them.

“Daft bastard!” The electrician cursed.

“What's the problem?” Isabel asked.

“‘What's the problem’?! Why is he no sedated?”

“He's not a patient!”

“Well, he should be!”  The electrician said and then he stormed off.

Isabel turned to Eddie, “It doesn't matter to Fergus now. You're only storing up trouble for yourself!”

“Aye? Well, IT'S EASILY DONE ROUND HERE!”

Y/N took Campbell’s hand and tugged on it, Campbell followed her to her room as she started to take buckled boots off as he awkwardly stood there with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"So… who is he?”

“Electrician that, I wager.” She said, though she knew he wasn’t referring to the electrician.

“Y/N.” Campbell said as Y/N struggled to reach her zipper behind her back. “I get he’s your exe but there’s more to it , isn’t there?”  He gently took her zipper and started to pull it down but then she stepped away, hugging her arms across her chest in a defensive manner to keep them from shaking.

She thought about her transition from the incident, how she stopped talking for nearly a year and after only two months of knowing Campbell she started to talk again, she became more… like her but not like she was before. Campbell was the only person who made her feel like her while EX/N tried to make her into someone else. She knew she could trust him; everyone did tell her how utterly smitten he was with her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She didn’t turn around she just stared her copy of How To Kill a Mockingbird.

(IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE OR DON’T WANT TO READ DESCRIPTION OF UNDERAGED RAPE, SKIP)

"He was my best friend... or more like… he was my only friend. He was nearly four years older than me and for some reason he was my babysitter because my parents didn't trust me. Looking back—I-I should've seen the signs, the red flags. He never knocked even when he knew I would be changing, not even when he would hear me in the shower. He would just stare at me sometimes. He would touch me in inappropriate places but I thought they were innocent. As we got older, it became more sexual, it wasn't just him being a hormonal teenager but him being perverted and actively interested in performing sexual activities with me.”

Campbell dug his nails into his palm with outrage. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and he hated it.

“Then he became obsessed with me when I got into high school and started wearing bras. I was fourteen when he started doing things with me, never over second base but still... I wasn't at the consent age yet. He told me that it was for science and sometimes I woke up to find him... doing things. He pushed my limits, even when I begged him to stop. Sometimes, he brought his friends and whoever they'd invite over, the oldest had to be in his thirties, twice my age and he took pictures of me. He threatened to tell everyone that I had forced myself upon him, if I told anyone. My parents already didn't like me."

"Jesus..." Campbell breathed in horror.

"If I did something he didn't like... he would..." she shuddered, "When he would go too far. He would apologize the next day, and I would always forgive him. Because I was so kind..." She laughed, bitterly with tears in her eyes. "He told me that no one else would ever love me like he did. No one would do things that we did. I hated myself for my compassion but even when I managed to numb myself of my emotions, it was still there."

Campbell both wanted her to stop talking yet keep talking at the same time.

"It wasn't until I was eighteen when he first... on my eighteenth birthday. Coming on a year ago. He promised that things would be different, that he loved me and would show that he loves me. He... he got me drunk but when I still wouldn't consent and fought back, he pretended to sustain and got me some more alcohol, I didn't see him slip in the drug."

Campbell wished he had done something worse than just punch him in the face.

"I was conscious the whole time. He must've cut the pill or something. But I couldn't do anything. I couldn't move. I pleaded for him to stop but he wouldn't, insisting that I wanted it and when I tried to scream for help, he choked me as hard as he could and banged my head against the floor, and I blacked out but I know he continued. When I woke up, I ached so much and there was so much blood. I was so horrified by what he did to me. I stopped talking. Eight months later, they sent me here. That's why I was so scared when you crashed into me when we first me, why I was so scared of you long after, why I scream whenever any man, especially Stuart would get too close to me. And I was so scared because he found me. I thought he was going to do it again." She started to sob and Campbell pulled her into his lap and she sobbed into the crook of his neck.

"No, he won't. I won't let him. I won't let him near you."

(END OF SKIP. THIS WAS THE MOST HORRIBLE THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN AND I’M DISGUSTED THAT MY MIND CAN GO SO DARK.)

“I don’t think that’s what he wants. He worked with Hollis, he called Fergus’ job and he painted him in a bad light. He drove Fergus to suicide…” She broke into sobs, “What if he goes after Rosalie or Eddie or Francine… or you. I can’t let him hurt you.”

“He won’t. He got arrested for assault. And if you want, you can go and tell the police what he did to you and Fergus and he’ll be in jail, and then I can hire a bodyguard for you when I become a famous  DJ.” He said, gently, “do you… do you think you can do that?”

Y/N pulled back and looked at him, her irises several shades of E/C lighter than usual and she nodded and kissed him gently before saying, “You do look good in a suit. Very James Bond.”

“James Bond?” He laughed and then straightened his tie, “Really?”

--

About a week later, Eddie was sitting rather morosely still as a record spun.

Campbell and Y/N exchanged looks and Campbell grabbed a blindfold  and covered Eddie’s eyes with it.

“Freeze! Don't look. What was the name of that record?

“Dream Lover.” Eddie and Y/N said in unison.

“Which was in the British charts for?”

“Nineteen weeks.” They said.

“In?”

“Nineteen-fifty-nine.”

“See? Told you they could do it. Did I not tell you?

“They’re geniuses, they are.”

“Of course, Y/N is. I’m dating her!” Campbell said and kissed Y/N, grinning into the kiss.

“You're still here?” Eddie asked, turning away from the kissing teens.

“Oh aye. If they want to get rid of me, they'll have to catch me first.” Rosalie as the teens parted with Campbell’s arm around her and her head, resting on his shoulder.

“Rosalie's got us all organized for the pilot tomorrow,” Campbell said, “Eddie; it's gonna be brilliant, and I have just come up with the perfect angle.”

“Which is?”

“We are going to be playing a number one hit fae every year from nineteen-fifty-six to nineteen-seventy, aye?”

“And I've got a list here of every number one hit in every one of those years, Eddie.” Rosalie said.

“So at the end of the hour, we invite our listeners to phone in and,” Campbell put on a cheesy American accent, “pit their wits against the master of hits, Doctor Boogie!”

“Who's Doctor Boogie?” Eddie asked.

“You! That's the angle!” Campbell said, enthusiastically, “So, if they can ask a question about any of the hits we've played that you cannae answer, they win a major prize.”

“He's a genius.” Rosalie said.

“Yeah, he is.” Y/N pecked Campbell on the cheek.

“Campbell, this is a recording we're doing. The only folk who are gonna be listening are Paula and a couple of bored guys on their dinner break.”

“Then we'll get them to phone in.” Campbell said.

“What's the major prize?” Eddie asked.

“We just kid on there's a prize. So it can be anything we want! A trip to Graceland by time machine to meet Elvis.”

“Tardis.” Y/N said.

“Lunch with the Archbishop of Canterbury. I don't have to conform to the vagaries of time and space. I'm a loony, for God's sake! Look, a full moon!” He unwrapped his arm from his girlfriend and leapt to the window and imitated the howl of a wolf.

“Get back in here, Doctor Who.” Y/N said, pulling him back in. “You know you do look Gallifreyan.”

“Thought you wanted to keep quiet about that.” Eddie said, referring to Campbell’s pride on being a loony.

“They're no gonnae do to me what they did to Fergus, Eddie. Nobody's gonna find me in a heap on the pavement. I'm gonna flaunt it. I'm gonna exploit it for all it's worth. Because we are loonies and we are proud!”

He started to chant as he exited with Rosalie and Y/N following and chanting along with him, “We are loonies and we are proud! We are loonies and we are proud!”

Then Y/N spotted Rosalie’s social worker down the hall through the doors, “Rosalie, get back in!” Y/N said, backtracking so fast her boots squeaked against the floor. Social worker! Quick! Social worker!”

The three of them ran back into the radio station and helped hide Rosalie in the cupboard, taking the boxes out.

“I shouldn't have tidied the boxes!” Rosalie stressed before they got the boxes out and Rosalie crawled inside the cupboard and Campbell and Y/N closed the doors.

“Act casual!” Y/N said and then Campbell pulled her into his chest and kissed her slowly, gently, and passionately.

Eddie rolled his eyes, though this was accurate with Campbell being outgoing and deeply affectionate to the antisocial and detached Y/N. They some how helped each other. Campbell helped Y/N heal, be more social, and begin to trust again and Y/N helped calm Campbell down and helped him focus on being in the moment… as long as that moment was him being with her and looking at her like she was his whole universe.

Isabel then entered with Stuart and the social worker.

“Ahem.” Isabel said, politely as Campbell made no move to part from Y/N.

“Break it up, you two.” Stuart said, harshly and was about to physically break them apart when Isabel stopped him and wisely Y/N broke the kiss.

Campbell, licking his lips slightly as Y/N fidgeted with her semicolon open bracelet that Campbell had given her a few days ago for their three-month anniversary.

“Have you seen Rosalie? The social worker's here.” Isabel asked.

Campbell briefly puckered his lips out in an innocent fashion as he shook his head, “She's no been in tonight.”

“Haven’t seen her.” Y/N lied, looking at them.

“She came in at half past seven; I saw her.” Stuart said, sharply.

“Well, she's not here now.” Campbell said pointedly.

“Did you not notice?” Y/N snarked, innocently, looking around the rather small space and giving Stuart a pitying look.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Stuart challenged.

“No, Stuart, I'm calling you stupid!” Campbell shot back.

“That’s an understatement.” Y/N said.

“Eddie, what are those boxes doing out?” Isabel asked, referring to the boxes they had taken out.

“Ehm,” Eddie said, hesitantly, “Campbell, Y/N, and I have been doing some organizing.”  Campbell and Y/N nodded.

“Well, could you put them back in the cupboard now? They could be a fire hazard.” Isabel asked.

“Uh... we're still working with them.

“Nurse said tae put them back in the cupboard!” Stuart demanded.

“It's all right, Stuart.” Isabel tried to push him back but he moved forth towards the boxes.

But Campbell moved in front of Stuart and defiantly said, “But we're still working with them. How low an IQ do you need for your job?” He pushed Stuart in the chest

Stuart then seized Campbell, shouting, “I'll break you like a matchstick—!”

Isabel, Eddie, and Y/N tried to wrestle them apart until Y/N voice thundered above the rest.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HIM!” Y/N roared, grabbing Stuart’s arm and then kneeing him in the stomach, kung fu-style.

“OOF!” He stumbled back as Isabel pushed him back as Eddie pulled Y/N back before she committed her third act of physical assault.

“All right! No one's going to break anyone else like a match!” Isabel said and then went to the cupboard where Rosalie was hiding and knocked, “Rosalie? Do you want to come out now before we end up with blood all over the floor?

Rosalie conceded and emerged from the cupboard as Campbell took Y/N from Eddie, glaring at Stuart.

“Rosalie, this is Linda Foster, the psychiatric social worker; she'd like to have a word.” Isabel introduced.

Rosalie nodded without enthusiasm and left with the social worker, Isabel, and Stuart.

--

At night, Campbell was on Y/n's bed and was strumming his guitar before stopping as he noticed Y/N starting to get tired.

“Hey, come here.” He pulled her into his chest and pulled the blanket over the both of them. It was quiet as he pondered something, ““Where’d you learn to do that? What you did to Stuart?”

“After EX/N, I took some classes.” She mumbled and he pulled her closer against him.

“Come with me to Radio Scotland. I want you there. Please.”

Y/N looked up at him and nodded before snuggling into his neck. “Mmm-hmm.”

Soon he felt her breathing get deeper and slower.

“Y/N? Y/N?” He said, softly but nothing. “I love you.” He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes to sleep.

--

Y/N stood with Campbell stacking a box of Uncle Ben's rice, an alarm clock, a box of beans, and a fire extinguisher on the mixing desk while Eddie was in the bathroom.

Then Eddie came back and Y/N turned to Campbell, “Good luck.” She smiled and kissed his cheek before turning but Campbell pulled her back for a loving and soft kiss. He broke the kiss and she turned to leave, entering the control room with Paula as Paula’s assistant handed her a cup of hot chocolate like she asked.

“Thank you, um, what was it?”

“Um, River.” He said in an American accent.

“River, thank you.” She said and sat next to Paula.

Paula pushed the button and spoke into the microphone to them, “You ready, boys?”

Campbell looked at her and nodded, grinning before his eyes going to River, making his smile falter and his eyes narrow but he forced himself to brush it off.

“Is it me or does Eddie look like he died ten minutes ago?” Y/N asked in a rather sardonic tone.

“Eddie, you okay?”

Eddie turned to look at them, “Aye, yeah.”

“Then let's do it. Four, three, two, one, go.” Paula said.

Campbell started the intro in a confident voice, “This is Campbell Bain and this is my alarm clock. It's also a clue. Doctor Boogie has just ten seconds to guess our first number one hit. The year is nineteen-fifty-six.”  He set off the alarm clock.

--

When they got back to Saint Jude’s hospital, Campbell and Eddie sang loudly as they entered.

“WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! BECAUSE WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! ‘CAUSE WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!” They passed Francine and Rosalie, “OF THE WORLD!”

“You got on okay, I take it?”  Francine asked.

“Okay?! We practically set fire to the place!” Campbell exclaimed.

“Which explains the fire extinguisher.”

“And you'll never believe what happened.”

“They sectioned the both of youse.” Rosalie teased and laughed.

“Sectioned? You don't section a genius! You say,” Then he imitated Paula, ‘You did really well.’ You say, ‘Come see me on Thursday, Eddie.’ Because you know what I learned today? That the only difference between lunacy and genius is timing! Set off a fire extinguisher in a shrink's office and he'll have you locked up. Do it in front of an audience and it's high farce!” He grabbed Rosalie’s notebook. “It's time to start making lists full of the great things you're going to do, Rosalie. Instead of, ‘twelve bottles of disinfectant spray’, put” He punched his fist in the air, ‘climb the highest mountain’! Instead of ‘large box of scourers’, put ‘cross the deepest ocean’! Instead of ‘one case of Dettol’.” He had kept looking down to read what she had written before pausing to ask in an incredulous tone, “—what the hell are you planning here, Rosalie?”

“It's just my discharge.” Rosalie said.

Campbell’s smile faded and he exchanged looks with Eddie, Y/N, and Francine.

“When?” Eddie asked.

“Friday. They've found me a place in a bed and breakfast.” Rosalie said with false brightness.

“What about the supported accommodation?” Francine asked.

“I'm still on the waiting list.” Rosalie said and then she got a reminiscing look in her eyes.“There used to be this bed and breakfast in Bundoran, where Jim and me used to take Robbie every summer. It was all whitewashed, with wee brass ornaments in the hallway. I don't suppose this place'll be like that, though.”

“You'll still be station manager. You know that.” Eddie told her.

“Aye. It's nice to belong somewhere.” Rosalie said, trying not to cry. and then she looked at Y/N, “Oh, and Y/N, Isabel said there was someone here for you.”

“Oh. O-okay.” Y/N stuttered and she looked at Campbell who nodded at the door like, go. We got this.

Y/N walked down the hall before Stuart grabbed her arm, “You, loony. Come with me.” He jerked her along with him and pushed her into Isabel’s office.

“Ah, Y/N. I would like to speak to you about your section.”

--

On Thursday, Campbell was badgering Eddie so he turned to him and said, “I told you, I'm just going to go and find out what they thought of the pilot.”

“But what if they make us an offer on the spot?” Campbell asked.

“Then I'll take it on the spot!”

“On what terms? We've gotta be clear on this!”

“Aye, I've written it all down for you, so I have.” Rosalie agreed.

“I've got to go!” Eddie exclaimed and walked down the hall with them following, Y/N staying silent.

“Number one: what exactly is our offer? Number two: will there be a trial period?” Rosalie said.

“I'm telling you, Campbell, there's no gonna be an offer at this meeting.” Eddie sighed.

“Number three, if so, for how long?” Rosalie continued.

“And do you have to wear that jacket?” Campbell complained.

“What's wrong with it?” Eddie asked.

“Number four, if there is a trial period, will the contract be non-exclusive during that time?

“It makes you look like a double-glazing salesman!” Campbell answered.

"Number five, what will the format of the show be?”

“This is gonna be it, Eddie—"

“Look, is nobody listening to me? I took the trouble to make this list and I don't want you going out of here without it, all right?” Rosalie complained.

Eddie then grabbed the list out of Rosalie’s hands, “I'll treasure it always.” He kissed the paper, “See you tonight.” Then he left.

Campbell smiled, he looked at Rosalie and then Y/N, raking a hand through his hair before seeing the blank look on Y/N’s face.

“You alright? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

“I have to make a phone call.” She said and turned around towards the phones but Isabel stopped her.

“Y/N, it’s time for your appointment.”

--

“Y/N L/N.” A man’s voice called thirty minutes later.

Y/N got up and walked towards the voice, “Hello, I’m Doctor Cairns.” He held out his hand to shake her and she hesitantly did so before going to sit down as he went to the other side of the desk.

“How long have you been with us? Fifteen weeks?”

“About so yes.”

“And until about two weeks ago, you finally told the therapists why you went silent. Because your ex-boyfriend…”

“Boyfriend’s a bit of a reach. More I was constantly taken advantage of and blackmailed into being silent.” She said, bluntly.

“Y-yes. But you’ve been talking for over two months now and I hear you’ve been dating another patient, the manic depressive, Campbell Bain in that time.”

“Yes."

"And your... your ex was recently imprisoned and he’s being sent back to (H/T/N) to be tried.”

“Yes, that is correct.” She nodded, staring determinedly at her semicolon bracelet.

“We’ve decided that you’re ready to go back in the outside world.” Y/N didn’t react, her heart just jumped into her throat. “Unfortunately, your parents… they don’t want you to move back in with them.”

“Because their daughter was raped by a family friend’s son who they let babysit her and they had publically defended him?” Y/N smiled with sardonicism. “Yeah, I expected that.”

“Something along those lines. But we can set up living accommodations with you somewhere else.” Cairns said. “Perhaps one in Glasgow.

“I have some family money that I became eligible to use when I turned eighteen. Maybe I could buy a house.”

“The thing is, I would prefer you to live with someone else in case there’s an incident.”

“An incident in which I punch someone.”

“You hospitalized two people.”

“Doctor Hollis killed Fergus!” She snapped and leaned back into her chair. “I have some cousins living in Edinburgh, one of them knew what had happened, I could ask her.”

--

“Babe, are you okay? You’ve been quiet all day.” Campbell asked that night. “Is it because Rosalie’s being discharged tomorrow.”

“I’m being discharged.” She said, quietly and prepared to watch his reactions but they were anything but subtle.

He dropped his guitar with a series of discord notes as his jaw dropped too.

“You’re… you’re leaving? Back to H/T/N?” He sounded heartbroken.

“Yes. Um… this week. They decided since I had started talking and because EX/N was sent back to H/T/N, so there’s no reason for me to be scared anymore. Because I’m better. You made me better, Campbell.”

“But I don’t want you to go…” His voice trembled.

“Here’s the thing. Sit down.” She patted her bed but he didn’t move. “My parents don’t want me back in H/T/N. They don’t want to be judged as the parents who let their friend’s son rape and blackmail their daughter.” He furrowed his eyebrows out of judgement for her parents and confusion and wonder for where she was going with this as he sat down on the bed next to her. “And when I turned eighteen, I was eligible to some family money and I called my cousin and she agreed to come down and transfer to Glasgow University and we could share a house. So I could be close to you… and-and the radio station.”

“You-you’d do that for me?” He asked, uncharacteristically shyly.

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s only been two months but I like you. Unless you don’t… if you think that’s too much…”

He quieted her with a kiss, “I’d love it. I don’t want to lose you. We have passes tomorrow, we can go look at houses together after Rosalie leaves.”

She smiled and he kissed her sweetly, “Just don’t leave me.” He said, pulling back, “Before you… no girl would even look at me twice, and barely once. But then I met this impossibly shy and beautifully broken girl. And I knew she was just the kindest soul because I would talk constantly and she would listen. Not hear me, but actually listen. And it was the best day of my life. Because that girl was you.”

--

The next morning, Campbell and Y/N were helping Rosalie make sure she had everything, reading off her list.

“Dettol.” Campbell read.

“Check.” Y/N confirmed.

“Scourers.”

“Check.”

“Toilet bleach.”

“What does toilet bleach look like?” Y/N asked.

Campbell reached for pick it up from beside the suitcase when Rosalie appeared and snapped sternly, “Don't touch it! I'll get it. Check.”

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, and hairbrush.” Campbell finished.

“Check, check, check, check.” She started to close the suitcase as Campbell tossed the notebook into the case, “Well. Suppose this is cheerio.”

Then she held out her hand to Francine who then shook it, then she did the same to Campbell, Y/N, and Eddie.

“Good luck, huh?” Eddie asked.

“Now, I want youse to notice that I shook hands with you lot without the use of major tranquilizers, which just goes to show how well I am these days.”

“Come on. I'm going tae work. I'll give you a lift in.” Eddie said and he left with Rosalie.

Isabel came in and said, “Y/N, your cousin’s here.”

“Great, let’s go!” Campbell grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her along.

--

“Well. That place was depressing.” C/N declared, driving away from the place the obvious drug dealer had up for rent.

“I liked that first house. The blue one with the two rooms.” Campbell said, “It was only like a fifteen-minute drive from the hospital.”

“Yeah, I did too but could we stop at the first spot on the list.”

“Oh, Y/N even with our family money, that’s a bit pricey.”

“I-I know but it might be within our price limit someday.”

C/N drove them to a house—well, it was more of a mansion. A rather quirky mansion.

“This cannot be within your price limit.” Campbell shook his head, “Unless are you rich?”

“I, uh, actually found this house while I was researching real estate a few weeks into our relationship. For when you become a famous DJ and if we make it.”

Campbell looked at her, “We? As in you and me as a couple?”

“I know that’s freaky as we’ve been dating two months and I’ve hospitalized two people and my ex harassed you. And I’m probably messing it up now but…”

“Hey.” Campbell said, taking her hand, “I love it. I mean you’ve met me right, I’m a total loon. I bugged you for a month and a half until you talked to me.”

--

Eddie entered the studio later where he had been heatedly discussing something with Y/N when he spotted Eddie approaching the studio and pushed him into the studio,  “Eddie! Jesus! Where have you been?”

“Working. What's up?”

“How did you no tell me about this? How'd you not warn me?” Campbell demanded.

“About what?”

“Paula has been on the phone to me today.”

“Oh.” Eddie said,

Campbell started to pace back and forth, while gesturing, “She seemed to think I knew all about it. ‘Aye,’ I said, ‘He told me all about your meeting.’ But it seems there was a few wee details you left out.” He put his hands on his hips.

“I'm sorry. I—” Eddie stammered.

“I know what you thought. You thought, I'd just get agitated. I'm a manic-depressive, so how no?”

“That's not what I thought.” Eddie defended himself.

“But did you never stop to consider that one day a fish bone might get stuck in the throat of history, and that we'd be standing here, like we are now, at the door of destiny, and totally unprepared for it?

“What are you talking about?” Eddie asked.

“The fish bone? The one that got stuck in David Thompson's throat?” Campbell clarified.

“Who?”

“Their Sunday afternoon DJ! He got a fish bone stuck in his throat last night, was rushed to Casualty, and they've asked us to take his Gold Show! Today!” Campbell said, excitedly.

Eddie swallowed nervously, “...I'm no ready.”

“Well neither am I, but we're gonna have to go for it!” Campbell said, his voice squeaking with excitement.

“No, no, I'm really no ready!” Eddie refused.

“Paula said we could use David's running order, but if we leave now, we can choose some stuff ourselves.” Campbell said.

“I'm no ready.

“She said she'll be there to take us through everything. And you don't have to worry about here; Francine's gonna taking our show straight off the air. Y/N’s coming with us, of course.”

“I'm no ready, Campbell!”

“Eddie, you've been waiting for this moment most of your life. When exactly did you think you'd be ready? Now let's go!” Campbell exclaimed and grabbed his jacket and then Y/N’s hand and they rushed out of the station.

Campbell left Y/N to thrust records into Eddie’s arms.

“Eddie! Come on!” Campbell complained.

--

Campbell looked up at Y/N through the glass, seeing her give her an encouraging smile that melted his insides.

He pushed the fader up and spoke with his usual insane enthusiasm, “Kicking off the Gold Show and standing in for David Thompson is me, Campbell Bain, and Doctor Boogie, professor of pop, soul, and rock and roll! In today's competition we invite you to pit your wits against the master of hits himself!

"If you can ask me any verifiable question on any of the titles that we play today that I cannae answer, you win... the grand prize!" Eddie said.

"What is the grand prize, you ask? I am holding in my hand a rare copy of 'Mandolins in the Moonlight' by Perry Como, from nineteen-fifty -eight. And unless you can stump Doctor Boogie,” Then he imitated a scary gravelly voice, “we're actually going to play it! How about it, Gold-Diggers? Just phone 041-357-9719 to try and stop me!”

He put on Don’t Play That Song For Me (You Lied) by Aretha Franklin and started the challenge.

“Uh, no, caller, I'm afraid Jim Morrison couldnae have written Bright Side of the Road—” Eddie told the caller.

“Because he was dead at the time, right, Doctor Boogie?” Campbell finished.

“Aye, a definite liability, but it did give Van Morrison a chance to write it instead.” Eddie added.

At another caller called with something and Campbell responded with,“Well, unless you can prove that Wilson Pickett had a boa constrictor called Hugo, I'm gonna have to disqualify that!”

Another caller asked about an Elvis song and Eddie said, “And it's become one of the most covered songs in rock 'n' roll since Elvis' death.” Eddie said and apparently the caller questioned Elvis’ death because Eddie then said as Paula laughed while on the phone and Y/N laughed along with her, “Aye! 1977! It was in all the papers!”

He looked at Campbell who made an incredulous face to both Eddie and Y/N.

At some point, Eddie looked at the clock and said, “And it's 3:47—

“Still thirteen minutes left to try and stump Doctor Boogie,” Campbell declared and put on the gravely voice again, “if you cannn!”

Y/N looked at Paula who seemed to be making quite a few phone calls and she turned to tugged on River’s vest and said something to him while nodding at Campbell and Eddie and then to Paula.

Thirteen minutes later in which both River and Y/N spoke to Paula which Eddie kept glancing nervously at, before Paula gave Campbell and Eddie a cut-off signal.

--

They had Eddie drive them back as Campbell kept eyeing Y/N suspiciously after seeing how she was with River and couldn’t help but be jealous.

“So, Y/N… getting cozy with the cute assistant.”

She looked at him as he preteneded not to care.

“River?”

“Oh, he has a name?” He grumbled.

“I’m just meeting him for lunch tomorrow…”

Campbell turned to her, now getting a bit agitated and definitely jealous, “You’re going on a date with him.”

“No. We’re going to talk about you two. They wanted an opinion by someone that wasn’t either of you but close enough to you two to get the full scoop.” Y/N said, “Besides he has a girlfriend. She’s planning on being true crime radio dramatist. She’s going to have her own station where she talks about true crimes.”

“Oh.” Campbell seemed a lot happier by now as Eddie turned up the radio to drown them out.

It was awkward before Campbell said loudly, “So, Y/N’s being discharged this week!”

The brakes screeched as Eddie stopped the car in shock.

--

Once they reentered Saint Jude’s, they were greeted with applause and cheers.

“Friends, loonies: as Neil Armstrong said on that fateful day when he first put his foot on the moon...” He announced and then shouted, “WE ARE LOONIES, AND WE ARE PROUD!”

The crowd and Y/N chanted along with Campbell, “We are loonies, and we are proud!”

Y/N spotted Stuart who didn’t try to restrain anyone and that’s when she realized something was wrong. Stuart wasn’t being violent towards innocent mental health patients.

The door opened and a Scottish Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (or SSPCA) officer entered. Y/N’s smile fell.

Francine’s kittens.

Francine spotted it too and cried out, “NOOO!”

She tried to stop him but Stuart restrained her as she screamed and the chanting stopped.

“NO! LEAVE THEM ALONE! STOP! YOU CAN’T TAKE THEM! NO! YOU CANNAE TAKE THEM!” Francine screamed while Y/N picked the lock to Stuart’s office.

Eddie tried to help her but some of the patients held him back, “Easy, easy!”

The SSPCA officer carried the kittens out in a cage as Y/N emerged from Stuart’s office with a belt—one for particularly violent patients that he hasn’t used as much as he thought he would. Not even close.

Y/N whipped Stuart’s back, making him shout in pain and release Francine as Campbell grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her away from Stuart before he realized what it was her who had done it as she dropped the belt.

Francine didn’t get far before Stuart grabbed her again.

"Let her go, will ya!” Eddie shouted, “Let her go!”

Campbell’s pride and happiness had faded into terrified worry.

Eddie managed to push Stuart off of Francine and onto the ground, but then he got up and grabbed Eddie by the lapels and snarled out, “I've waited ages to do this!” Then he headbutted Eddie in the face, cracking his nose, Eddie collapsed, smearing blood on the doorframe as Francine kept screaming.

Y/N was by Eddie’s side as Isabel was the only other person to show sympathy, asking gently, “Do you want me to do something for that?”

“Do you no realize what you've done?” Eddie demanded before shouting, “DOES NAEBODY REALIZE WHAT THEY'VE DONE?!”

“What are you going to do about that, princess?” Stuart sneered at Y/N as she calmly examined Eddie and the patients drifted away.

She looked at him. He wanted her to be violent so her section would be renewed so he could torture her longer. But she didn’t.

She stood up with fury in her eyes, it was hard to tell whether it was more ice-cold or fiery hot.

“You’re pathetic. You’re not helping, you don’t try to help. All you do and every ‘sane’ person does is crush our hopes and dreams by destroying the very things that help us heal. You give us no chance to show that we’ve gotten better and declare us as violent when you’re the violent one. I only hurt people who hurt people I love. Hollis only saw Fergus as a guinea pig and he fucking died because of it. You took those kittens from Francine because they made her happy. They started to heal what was broken unlike you because you will never be able to heal what has been broken in you. Because you don’t care. You don’t care for the patients and you ignore our needs and feelings and are completely and utterly blind to our skills.”

“Skills?” Stuart scoffed like it was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard, “What skills?”

“Remember Campbell’s first broadcast? You doubted that Fergus could fix the mixer. What was it you said? ‘He couldn’t get his brain going again’? And it turns out he had a master’s degree and was a genius. Because he was a loony, you assumed he was stupid. But he wasn’t you’re the one who can’t get his brain working. You shouldn’t be restraining loonies, you should be locked up in your own solitary room in a straightjacket.”

[allronix]

I’m following up from the posts of @artsyneurotic and @gay-jesus-probably However, I’m spinning off my own post because I know my fandom meta posts are ridiculously long. (And I’m probably going to cross-post this stuff on A03, along with the rest of my meta dumps for this fandom). Also, this is kinda specific to the scenario I work with, which is a fusion of 2.0 and Legacy canons. All quotes are from those fanfics.

Prior to The 1982 Film

Crown got up and began pacing. “Alan Thomas Bradley. Born September of 1950. Married Doctor Lora Baines in June of 1982. One son, Jethro, that currently works at Encom as a game designer, though he often goes uncredited on his work. Rather...ambiguous relationship with the departed Kevin Flynn. Was the CEO after Flynn's disappearance, but bumped to 'executive consultant' several years later.”

He had a conventionally white, lower-middle class Midwest background. Mom was a homemaker, Dad was a low-level foreman in a factory (having worked his way up from the line). Things were comfortable. He was enrolled in the Boy Scouts and will happily point out he’s an Eagle Scout if anyone tries to use the term disparagingly. The only real catch? His parents couldn’t have biological kids. He’s adopted. No real desire or interest in finding the birth parents, but his parents were significantly older than everyone else’s parents, he looked so different from them that there was no way in hell they’d ever be able to pass him off as their biological son even if age wasn’t a factor, and this was the 50′s-60′s, where the stigma of being an adoptee was even worse than it is today. Kids are cruel, adults are crueler (but far more insidious), and even his parents didn’t quite rise above the stigma. So he internalized the message of “You are damaged goods, lucky that anyone picked you up at all. Be quiet and don’t complain.” There was also the added pressure (half self-inflicted, this is Alan we’re talking about) to be a “good” and dutiful son in every way.   

“No family,” he had to admit. “My parents...well, they couldn't have any of their own, and I was adopted when they were older...” Another glass of that punch was looking like a good idea, come to think of it.

Because his parents were much older when he was born, their health deteriorated rapidly when he was in his teens and college-age. He was their caretaker before finishing high school (graduating valedictorian), making the doctors’ appointments, paying the bills, running errands. So the way he shows someone he loves them is by making sure everything is squared away - all they have to do is show up, and all of it is taken care of. He’s planned everything out to the last detail, prepaid down to the last cent. Both of his parents died before his college graduation, so he was on his own much sooner than most people. The responsibility killed off the expected adolescent/young adult social life before it had a chance to develop. And the internalized “damaged goods” idea didn’t help matters when it came to making friends or dating. Heck, the Computer Science major alone was enough to get girls (and guys) making pleasant conversation before looking for other prospects. That was fine by him, really. He didn’t feel ready to be so vulnerable with anyone, and fully expected he would remain alone for the rest of his life.  

His hard work and attention to detail got the attention of Gibbs, who hired him on at Encom’s R&D division, and while the hours were long and difficult, Alan came to look at Gibbs almost as a second father, investing all that loyalty in the old man and the company he built. 

Lora Baines 

Okay, assessing the facts. She had figured Alan was taken, gay, or both. None of the above turned out to be the case, and he just admitted he had a crush on he that he was just too painfully shy and honorable to do anything about.

The winds changed a bit for him when Gibbs brought aboard a new intern. Grad student, finishing up her Ph.D. Alan noticed she was incredibly brilliant...and incredibly hot. On his end, it was love at first sight. After all, this IS a Disney flick. And I’m basing this on how his software put his deity on hold to go and rescue Yori. That’s Rory Pond-level “born married.” 

One problem; she had a boyfriend. That flashy, mouthy asshole with an ego the size of a small planet and all the raw talent and charisma Alan knew he didn’t have. Alan already didn’t like Flynn much, but this...this sure didn’t help. Add that to the “damaged goods” message he internalized, and that’s not helping either. So he resigned himself to keeping his mouth welded shut about that crush he had on Lora, and decided it would go no further than walking her to her car and making sure she got off company property safely. While it’s not his proudest episode, Alan was relieved when Flynn was run out the door and dumped by Lora. It meant that he didn’t have Mr. Flashy and Charismatic as competition any more. Lora pried out the truth at the Christmas party, and was expecting a one-night stand/fun rebound. What she wound up with was the most stable, steadfast husband material anyone could ask for.

I suspect that Lora and Alan had their own harrowing nightmare during the break-in while Flynn was stuck in cyberspace. There’s the scene where Dillinger is watching the trio via the cameras and Master Control scolds him “Get those programmers out of the system and get me that Chinese language file I requested. End of Line.” So, Dill Pickle and MCP KNEW that the trio were there. Master Control decided to try and kill Flynn, but...c’mon guys. Master Control and Dillinger HAD to have tried to kill Alan and Lora to keep them from disrupting the plan. This is one of those fanfics that NEEDS writing. At the very least, I figure Dillinger hired some mercenaries to infiltrate building security, and Master Control used everything from the building elevators to the fire suppression system to try and make sure Alan and Lora did not survive the night. Unfortunately for the bad guys, all three did survive - narrowly, but they survived. 

They had the nice June 1982 wedding (Gibbs stood in for parents of the groom), and they had wanted to start a family right away, so Jethro was already en route (born December 21, 1982). They were planning on a quiet life together with a small army of kids. However, when Gibbs died and Encom shut down the Shiva Laser, the only people interested in continuing the research was the DoD. (Yay! We can teleport bombs anywhere!)  So Lora left for what should have been a 6 month contract...that just kept getting extended. Worse, in 1994, there was an accident in the lab. Lora was digitized for six hours. She doesn’t remember what happened. But she didn’t come back “right” - she has chronic pain, and her body is breaking down on her. It’s a terminal condition, and the best the doctors can do is forestall the inevitable. However, the doctors who treat her are in Washington DC, which continues to keep her away from Alan and Jet. As Jet grew up, the kid suspected his parents were just married “on paper,” or pretending they still loved one another for his sake. This hits Alan very hard because nothing could be further from the truth.

If he wants to be honest with himself, he still feels he didn't earn his good fortune. He is anything but flashy, flamboyant, and charismatic. In his darker moments, he wonders if she didn't just pick him because he was just the “safe and sane” man who was more interested in fidelity and starting a family. The long separations don't help his doubts, but he loves her too much to hold her back, and she would never think of ripping him from his duties, either. They both owed Gibbs and Flynn that much.

So, he’s desperate. He’s already lost Flynn. He’s lost Gibbs. He can’t really hold the line at Encom. He can’t lose Lora, too. She’s his one and only, and he doesn’t even want to think about outliving her - it’s just too painful and lonely. So, he’s working on rebuilding the Shiva, taking advantage of the fact McKay is a moron who can’t think past stock tips. He’s going to rebuild the correction algorithms that allow organic matter to be digitized. Using those to correct the damage done to Lora would be his last roll of the dice to save her life. Even if it fails, it validates her life’s work. No, he still does not plan on outliving her by much - just enough to put his affairs in order. This is why he’s riding Jet so hard to have a secure future.   

Kevin Flynn

Jet took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tell me about him, Pop. I know the legend, the books, the guy who set up my first computer...there's only so much you understand when you're seven. What was he really like?"

Alan closed the book, looking at its fading cover. "He was...visionary, brilliant. The legends are understating it, Jet. They don't go into a quarter of the stunts that were pulled after-hours. I've never known anyone that could channel all that intelligence and charisma. He was a genuinely caring and generous man – easy to love, impossible to hate when you were in the same room with him. To him and Gibbs, Encom was never about the money. It was about innovation, pushing the boundaries of what technology could accomplish for the human condition. Profit was one of those happy accidents."

"There's a 'but' in there, Pop," Jet said.

"There is. The problem with Kevin Flynn was that he always had some kind of mask in place. It got progressively worse after Jordan passed away, until all you saw was the persona. Only the very, very lucky could catch a glimpse of the man. Your mother and I thought we were among the fortunate few who did..." He reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out the archaic beeper, and set it on the table. "Even then, who knows?"

As for Flynn? Well, nothing like risking death, jail, and six felonies in a night to make a fast friendship. And Gibbs wisely decided that Flynn needed Alan’s stability while Alan needed Flynn’s energy. Alan confessed to Jet that he considered Flynn to be the younger brother he never had. An older brother had the responsibility and duty to protect his younger brother. But Flynn kept secrets. Alan could never figure out in time what all those secrets were.  Alan also blames himself for Flynn’s disappearance. If he had been more vigilant, asked more questions, found some clue that had been overlooked...   

Yes, there are rumors - persistent ones - that there was some kind of menage a trois going on, or that Lora and/or Jordan were beards, or that Alan killed Flynn because he was tired of being in the shadow. Alan just tries to keep his mouth shut and rise above the rumors.

Jethro Bradley and Sam Flynn

Sam scowls and slams his beer on the counter. “When did you turn into your old man?”

“Don't start. He's been pushing for me to take some level six position and I've had to 'disappoint' him.” Jet grimaces. “Not looking forward to that lecture. Might be a  moot point after tonight.”

“They don't know that you've been my silent partner during my visits, do they?”

“Dad suspects it, but he doesn't have proof,” Jet admits. “And I'm a little old to get grounded. But...things haven't been easy since...you know. It's like I'm losing him, and having to lie just makes it worse.”

Sam nods and puts a hand on Jet's back, silent support and understanding. “Yeah.”

“I guess part of me took the job so that I could keep an eye on him,” Jet says.

Alan did a lion’s share of raising the boys. There were just a few problems. A few BIG problems. First order of business was Sam. Now, Alan totally knew what the whole “my parents didn’t love me enough to stay?” felt like. Unfortunately, the way Alan chose to deal with that (stoically working harder to prove himself worthy of love) was so not going to fly with Sam, who unfortunately got Kevin’s flashy tendencies, rotten temper, and knack for causing trouble along with some severe anger management and abandonment issues. So that kept Alan’s hands full. And he was holding the line for Flynn and Gibbs at Encom. Oh, and a sick wife a coast away and the whole Flynn Lives movement, and...

Not now, Jet. Your dad’s busy. No, really, Jet. You need to be watching Sam. Jet, please. You HAVE parents. Sam has no one. Jet, can’t you be grateful? Now, your dad is very busy and needs to get his work done. Be quiet. Damn it, Jet, I expected better from you...

Yeah. Putting a seven year old in charge of an emotionally compromised six year old is going to end well. Telling a seven year old over and over again to shut up and be grateful he has parents? Yes, it’s true. It’s just not helpful, especially given that his mom is thousands of miles away and dad’s working triple overtime. Add in that Jet’s talents and inclinations don’t run in the same direction as his parents. I also took note of his parenting style in 2,0 canon and Tron’s “parenting” in Uprising canon. Alan’s a good man, but not a very good father. Yes, Alan managed to raise a kid with even lower self-esteem than he has. And Jet acts out because it seems to be the only way to get Alan’s attention. (Yes, it even got to the point of a suicide attempt, though Alan doesn’t learn it was a suicide attempt until the F-Con incident) Alan is angry because that really was a stupid thing to do and disappointed because damn it, he expected this out of Flynn’s kid, but not his OWN kid. Jet stuffs down his feelings until they try to talk, and then it’s an argument in five sentences or less...Alan just didn’t realize just how profoundly screwed up Jet was until the F-Con incident. 

Worse, he’s shown Jet and Sam how much he loves them the best way he knows how - by making sure their futures are all set up. Signed, sealed, delivered. Sam’s got the CEO seat as soon as he walks in and claims it. Jet needs to be in some Level 6 position and work his way up the company to something more secure and respectable than games so he can support Sam. This is for their futures. This is the best thing for them and for Encom...so why aren’t they seeing that?

So this is where I have him at the start of Tron:Invasion (a Legacy-compliant adaptation of Tron 2.0, setting it 7 months prior to Legacy). This is going to help patch up a few things with Jet, but it also gets him seeing cyberspace, realizing how dangerous it is, and realizing F-Con was complicit, if not a contributor to Flynn’s disappearance. So, once Sam makes him Chairman, all but saying Kevin’s dead (and he finds the logs to confirm it), I know Alan’s going to snap. I know he’s going to try and do something very regrettable and drastic to try and “protect” his loved ones from the danger cyberspace and Programs represent, but I’m not entirely sure yet what form that would take.   

[belphegor1982]

This is not an easy chapter. ngl, it was A Lot to write.

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested… (story on AO3; on FFnet)

(Chapters on Tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19)

Chapter 20: Aftermaths (on AO3 here; on FFnet here)

What struck Rick was the hush. It wasn’t exactly silence; more like cotton in his ears, muffling out the incoming sounds.

He had known, the second he had seen Jonathan slide down the wall, the second Alex had screamed, what was going to happen. He was too intimately familiar with the signs of encroaching death to ignore them: the sinister pallor, the laboured breathing, the inevitability of it all… and the helplessness of the living. When a distraught Evelyn had turned to him, calling for help, finding none, there had been no comfort he could give her. Life had slipped out of Jonathan too fast for anyone to do anything.

Against him, Alex made a keening noise and started to sob, quietly at first, then violently, his small frame racked with shudders. Rick cradled him in his arms and gently rocked him back and forth. Evelyn stared at her brother’s body, her eyes almost as empty as Jonathan’s had been before Rick had closed them.

Izzy ran out of the cabin just as Atifa scrambled up the ladder. Both jaws dropped open at the same time.

Nobody said anything. The thick silence seemed to swallow the words before they made their way out. Rick was almost grateful.

Apart from Alex weeping in his arms, the only movement he could feel and the only sound that reached his ears was the breeze, slowly growing warmer as the sun rose over Egypt. The moment seemed to stretch out, like a rubber band. And like a rubber band, Rick knew, you could only stretch that kind of moment for so long before it snapped.

A small part of him wanted to fall back, retreat to the nearest secure spot, and lick his wounds – all kinds of wounds – in peace. A big part of him, the part that was pure frazzled exhaustion, wanted the world to stop so he could sleep for a week. But the heart of him, the very core, looked at his unresponsive wife and the sobbing child in his arms, and said, They need you right now, and they need you strong.

He never actually wanted to take charge. Somehow, though, that’s where he usually seemed to end up in the worst kinds of circumstances.

You just got promoted…

Rick let out a shuddering sigh, and freed an arm from Alex to put it around Evy.

“Evelyn. Honey.”

She let him turn her ever so slightly, her eyes still drawn to the body as though to a magnet.

“I’ll take care of him. Okay? I’ll stay with him.” He stroked her back, very gently, dropping his voice down to a murmur. “But I need you to take Alex. He can’t stay here.”

Their son’s name rekindled something in Evy’s eyes. She reached out, and Rick, once he had gently detached Alex’s hands, tight around his neck, poured the boy into her arms.

It was an achingly familiar move, perfected when Alex had been a toddler and prone to falling asleep on his parents’ lap after swearing up and down he wasn’t sleepy. He had done that a lot for about a year and a half. They had come home once, after a conference in London, to see Jonathan fast asleep on the sofa with a two-year-old Alex sprawled over him like a starfish. Both babysitter and child had been equally hard to wake up.

The memory made Rick’s chest ache. He bit down on the pain and shoved it aside, to be dealt with later.

And he knew there would be a later. No matter how numb he currently was.

He caught Izzy’s eyes over Evy’s shoulder. The pilot understood instantly.

“C’mon, Evelyn,” he said, gentler than Rick had ever heard him. He took Evy’s arm to support her as she rose, still holding Alex, and slowly escorted her inside the cabin. When they were gone, Rick tried, in vain, to swallow the lump in his throat. He turned back to Atifa, who stood by the rail, so still and silent it was easy to forget she was there.

“Do you have a, uh…” Damn, but that sentence was difficult. “Something we could use as a kinda shroud?”

Atifa nodded.

“Wait here,” she said in a low voice.

His eyes followed her down the ladder and into the ruined camp. He liked Atifa. She was stern, only a little less intense than Ardeth was on a bad day, but she was a strong, no-nonsense woman, and a good ally.

She came back with what looked like white linen sheets. Rick rose to his feet slowly, feeling every single muscle, tendon, and bone, and took it off her hands as she climbed over the rail.

“Thank you. Where –?”

“The white men’s tents and bedding. We have taken care of our dead since the sun rose.”

Rick hadn’t missed the battle damage as he ran out of the pyramid. It had only taken a second to recognise the signs. But he’d been so focused on getting out that he hadn’t let it sink in.

“I’m sorry about your men,” he said through whatever still obstructed his throat. “How many?”

Atifa looked just as hollow and worn as he felt.

“Thirty-two. Nine men, eight women, and fifteen Westerners who chose to fight the Army of Anubis with us. They all gave their lives so we could live.” She looked down at Jonathan, then back at him. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“He’s family, actually.”

Too late, Rick caught the present tense.

They were a family of three, now. Four, with Ardeth. He would have to get used to it.

God, he hated it already.

Atifa’s eyes softened slightly. Without another word, she spread the sheet on the deck, smoothing out the wrinkles, and moved to Jonathan’s side.

For just a half-second, Jonathan appeared to be sleeping. Rick had seen him sleep that way, back in that basement they had been locked up in, sitting against a wall with his chin resting on his chest. The illusion was gone in an instant. No matter how the cliché went, a dead man’s body could not be mistaken for a live one. The difference was tiny, but staggering.

Rick picked up his brother-in-law’s corpse, cradling his head as gently as he had cradled Alex’s, and deposited him on the makeshift shroud. Before Atifa could close it, however, he stayed her hand.

When people died, the living often asked questions. It was part of what being alive meant. ‘Why’ and ‘how’ were generally the most frequent ones.

In this particular case, ‘why’ was moot – Jonathan hadn’t given his life, like the Medjai who had died weapons in hand, defending each other. It had been taken from him as they ran to safety, to family, to freedom. No, asking ‘why’ would be pointless. Rick was more interested in ‘how’. And, incidentally, in ‘who’.

He slowly turned the body on its side.

The blood stain wasn’t that large, he noted with a strange detachment. Most of the bleeding had been internal. The origin was a small round hole between the shoulder blades, a little off to the right of the spine. The bullet hadn’t gone through. Maybe it would only have done minor damage if the effort of running hadn’t made it move around and nick an artery. Or maybe the wound would have been fatal anyway and he would have bled out, only slowly. There was no way to tell.

Rick gingerly laid the body back down on the sheet. That was the ‘how’ taken care of. Now for the ‘who’.

Fury gradually eroded the numbness, as slow and inexorable as the wind moving the sand dunes.

“The men who were behind us,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Where are they?”

Atifa looked into his eyes, and understood perfectly.

“They are our prisoners,” she said firmly, “and they will not be touched.”

“I won’t need to touch him.” Whether Baine had fired the gun that had killed Jonathan or not, he was damn well responsible. And even though Rick would like nothing more than to pound him to a paste right now, a bullet to the head – or in the back – had a certain poetic irony to it. He’d been itching to deck the guy for days; now he just wanted to kill him.

But Atifa shook her head.

“The battle is over. They lost and they accepted their defeat. The honourable thing—”

“Honourable!?” he almost shouted. “The damn pyramid was falling apart around us, and instead of thinking of his own men that guy chose to shoot us as we ran. Where’s the honour in that?”

“O’Connell!” she snapped.

Through the haze of anger came a pinprick of annoyance. Why did everybody seem to call each other by their first names except him?

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Oh,” he growled, “I really am –”

“No you’re not,” she countered hotly, in Arabic this time. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be thinking of darkening your soul with pointless vengeance while your brother’s corpse is still warm and your family is weeping just behind that door.”

As usual, she was just as intense, but less formal when she spoke Arabic. The language switch gave her words a weight and an impact they would have lacked in English. But maybe that was because his Arabic – a language he had spoken daily from thirteen to twenty years old – was just a little rusty.

He didn’t bother to correct her about the difference between brother and brother-in-law. After all this time, and everything they had been through together, Jonathan might as well have been blood.

This time he did remember to use the past tense.

“We set up camp a couple of hours’ ride to the south-east,” Atifa continued in the same language, more quietly. “Your wife and the pilot know the way. That’s where we’ve been sending the prisoners and the fallen. They deserve their families around them, and their families need to say goodbye. You and yours will be welcome there.”

Rick was still seething; his hands tightened into fists almost of their own accord, still itching to punch Baine into the ground. But he nodded wordlessly.

They worked in silence after that. When they were done, the body was neatly wrapped in white linen and easier to look at, somehow.

Rather looks like something you’d find in a sarcophagus, doesn’t it, old boy? a familiar voice piped up in Rick’s head. Beneath the layers of grief and anger he felt a small spark of laughter. Jonathan probably would make that joke if he could.

Rick bid Atifa goodbye and found Izzy at the helm, unusually sombre.

“O’Connell.”

“Hey, Izzy. Thanks for coming to the rescue.”

The pilot snorted. “Like I had any choice. Your kid picked the lock on my door and then your wife just blasted it with a shotgun. Hell of a family you got.”

“Yeah. Well, it just got smaller.”

Izzy opened his mouth and closed it wordlessly. Rick ran a hand over his face, too tired for sarcasm.

“…So, where to?” Izzy asked eventually in a would-be casual voice, making a show of fiddling with buttons and firing up the boiler.

“Apparently you know the way to the Medjai camp?”

“Yep. A whole load of tents pitched near a little oasis and lots and lots of scary people in black. Kids, too, if you can believe it.”

“’That far?”

“Nah, about twenty minutes as Dee flies. Even with the damage your boy did to my dirigible we should be there in half an hour.”

Rick blinked. “Dee?”

“I gave my lady a name, O’Connell – got a problem with that?”

In other circumstances, Rick would have enjoyed ribbing Izzy. They had the kind of back-and-forth that could last for hours, back in the day; pretty entertaining, as pastimes went. Right now, though… Right now he had rarely wanted his wife and son in his arms more badly. If only to make sure they were still alive.

He replied with a vague gesture and made for the sleeping quarters, where Izzy had put up Evy and Alex.

Izzy had a big mouth and a tendency to put his foot in it, but he was smarter than people often gave him credit for. He threw a look at Rick over his shoulder and muttered, “Hey, O’Connell? Sorry about Carnahan.”

Rick tapped his shoulder in thanks and walked away.

The night had been hell. He had a feeling the day would be worse.

.⅋.

The night had been long. Ardeth had a feeling the day would be longer still.

He barely had time to see to his wounds once they came back to the camp. As High Commander, he had to oversee the aftermath of the battle just as he had the preparations. This meant making sure tents were pitched up for the wounded, seeing that families received their dead in private, and directing the flow of information about who lived, who needed treatment and what kind, and who would never come back. Fortunately, after a while he was able to delegate and let things run their course. After giving a few last orders, he left to look for his family.

He found Imeni in their tent, in the Eleventh Tribe section. To his absolute relief, she appeared unhurt. Sabni was asleep on her lap, and she sang softly as she braided Maira’s long dark hair, her hands almost the same colour in the dim light.

When Ardeth entered the tent, he only just had time to get down on one knee before his daughter, braiding forgotten, ploughed into him. Despite his injuries, and despite the exhaustion of almost an entire night of fighting, he took her into his arms and held her close.

Maira was eight; Sabni was three. Unlike her brother, his eldest had clear and vivid recollections of the last time the Medjai had gone out in force to fight Anubis’ Army.

He met Imeni’s eyes over the small dark head. They were shining.

“Allah be praised,” he breathed, softly in order to not wake his son. “I feared –”

“I know. So did I. The fighting was so fierce.” She gave him a smile, her teeth very white in her dark face. “But I heard that the Commander was on his feet, and I had a feeling you would eventually come here.”

“There’s no Commander in this tent. Only a husband and a father.” Ardeth carefully sat down, Maira still clutched to him, and kissed the crown of his wife’s head. “Are you hurt?”

“A nick to the back of the calf, on the right leg. I already treated it. I’ll just avoid walking today and limp a little for the next few weeks.” Her long, almond-shaped eyes meandered over what she could see of his body. “What about you?”

Ardeth shook his head. “A few scratches here and there. A small price to pay to keep the Army of Anubis at bay. Especially when we lost so many warriors. Even Maher’s men were attacked, right at the foot of the Pyramid.”

Imeni’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yes. His message said he lost about a dozen people. Plus some of the Westerners who surrendered when they took the camp. Maher insisted the survivors be treated better than those who were still coming out from the Pyramid.”

“What happened to the Pyramid of Ahm Shere, Dad?” came Maira’s voice from against his chest, somewhat muffled by his robes. Ardeth gently ran a hand into her hair, now almost completely loose. It was dark and quiet inside the tent; the soft weight of his daughter against him and the warm shoulder of his wife against his own felt comfortable and familiar. For the umpteenth time since sunrise, he sent a prayer to Allah in gratitude.

“Bad people went inside to release the Army of Anubis, good people went inside to stop them. I’m guessing they must have been successful.” Maira absently played with the hem of his shirt, and he was glad he had taken the time to put on clothes that were not bloody and tattered. “When the Army disappeared, the Pyramid started collapsing, but some of the people had time to come out before it was destroyed.”

“What about Alex and his mother?” she asked. “And his dad and uncle? Did they come out?”

“I hope so, sweetheart. I haven’t heard from them yet.” Ardeth met his wife’s eyes again, and saw his own vague worry reflected there.

He was debating what to say and not say when Nuya, a young man who often worked as his aide, lifted the flap at the entrance of the tent and called softly, “Commander? Westerners are coming.”

“What kind of Westerners?” Ardeth asked cautiously. Nuya smiled.

“Ours. The balloon is landing between the Eighth and Ninth Tribe sections.”

Ardeth couldn’t help a grin, relieved. The world just would not be the same without Evelyn’s passion for knowledge, Rick’s calm strength, Jonathan’s wry humour, or Alex’s childlike enthusiasm. It might be quieter, and – as some people muttered sometimes – safer, but it would be colder, and definitely not as entertaining.

Imeni kissed his head near his ear. “Go, and give them my love,” she said, smiling. “And tell them that tea would be nice if they have the time.”

Ardeth gently pried Maira’s hands from around his torso and kissed her forehead, promising he would be back soon. Then he followed Nuya into the blinding mid-morning sun, forcing his face back into a serious expression.

When he saw the dirigible, though, and spotted the O’Connells walking down the gangway, the grin sneaked back on his face despite himself.

“My friends,” he began in English, delighted, “you—”

His voice trailed off.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

Alex was clinging to his mother, hiccuping from time to time, his face blotchy. A few stray tears rolled on his cheeks he didn’t bother to wipe. Evelyn looked like brittle steel, pale and hollow-eyed. O’Connell walked behind her, shoulders slumped. His face, usually so expressive, was set in stone, with deep, hard lines.

Ardeth searched in vain for the fourth member of the little family until denial made way for a leaden resignation that would shortly, he knew, turn into sorrow.

“What happened?” he asked in a low voice when he reached them.

“Not now,” O’Connell replied, sounding – and looking – nothing short of exhausted. He still corrected himself. “I mean – I’m glad you’re okay, Ardeth, I really am. Just… Oh, man.” He ran a hand across his grimy face. His whole body was battered and dusty, and he appeared to be feeling every single bruise. “Do you have a tent or something, somewhere private? Evy doesn’t – she needs to stay with her brother a while, y’know? And Alex needs to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe, where he can rest.”

There was something heartbreaking about his subdued, halting voice. It also drove the point home, though the words themselves were never spoken.

Ardeth nodded, suddenly unspeakably weary. “If it’s all right with you and Evelyn, I think Imeni would be glad to look after him. She always says he’s very well-behaved.”

There was a flash of something on O’Connell’s face that might have been a smile in other circumstances.

“Your wife is a very kind woman.” He turned to Evelyn and Alex; after a few seconds’ quiet conversation, he said, “Yeah, that’d be good. Thank you.”

Thus Ardeth left Evelyn and O’Connell standing by the dirigible with the promise that he would be back shortly, and Alex followed him to his family’s tent.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly after a while, “about your uncle.”

Alex hiccuped and ran his sleeve across his eyes. Fresh tears immediately replaced the ones he’d wiped.

“He shouldn’t be d—dead,” he said in a strangled voice, eyes riveted to the ground. “It’s not… it’s not f—fair.”

“I know.”

“He got out. He and Dad g—got out, and he was fine, and then he… There was blood on the… He shouldn’t b—be dead.”

Ardeth tightened his hand around the boy’s, and wished there was something he could say.

Alex had fallen silent except for snuffles and hiccups by the time they reached the tent. Sabni was awake, and played with wooden cups while his mother braided Maira’s hair. Imeni looked up from her work when they entered, first in curiosity, then in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Ardeth made Alex sit on the cushions next to her. The boy barely reacted.

He sighed. “Jonathan’s dead.”

“Tal-lāh1,” she breathed. She’d been fond of the Englishman. He had made her laugh. He had made Ardeth laugh, too, come to think of it – and he had also saved his life. Not many people could attest to both.

Of all the friends he would have to bury tomorrow, Jonathan Carnahan had to be the most unlikely. He was rarely serious, sometimes a little ridiculous, and much too fond of earthly riches; but he was also the kind of man who loved his family so much he repeatedly followed them into the worst situations no matter how scared he was.

“What happened?” Imeni asked in Arabic, reaching to Alex, tentatively at first, then cradling him like she had cradled Sabni. Alex clung to her, eyes closed, gulping.

“I don’t know yet.” His eyes went over to Maira, standing protectively near her little brother, who was staring at Alex with wide eyes. “Do you mind looking after him for a little while? His parents and I need to take care of the body.”

“Of course.” Imeni’s dark eyes were bright, but this time sadness, not joy, made them gleam. She looked down at Alex in her arms. “Yā ḥabībī2,” she murmured. “Don’t be ashamed to cry, bunayy3, let it all go. Tears are the grief leaving your soul…”

Her soft words, half Arabic and half English, accompanied Ardeth until he left the soothing darkness of the tent and walked back into the harsh light of day.

.⅋.

Evy seemed to be clinging to her stiff upper lip like a lifeline. She stood silent and unmoving on the sidelines as Rick and Ardeth picked up Jonathan’s body and carried it into an unoccupied tent not too far from the dirigible.

She still hadn’t cried. It was starting to worry Rick a little.

While they walked, he explained to Ardeth, in a few terse words, what had happened: Hamilton and the seal, Baine and his orders to kill, getting separated, losing Ferguson, and stopping Hamilton by making the giant gong fall on him – then running and ducking bullets, reaching safety, and finding out that they had run out of miracles after all. It had only taken one bullet. One. They had dodged all the rest.

Ardeth listened, attentive, grave. He looked almost exactly like he had when Rick had seen him after that battle two years ago, sombre and weary, but there was a crease between his eyebrows and a grim downturn to his mouth that hadn’t been there before.

When they were finished, having draped a blanket on the body for good measure, they stood outside the tent for a moment, watching the camp. People passed by, cried, laughed, held each other, or just walked in silence. The camp was hardly quiet around them, but still Rick felt like all the sounds weren’t reaching his brain correctly. There was no getting rid of that damn hush.

Ardeth looked at him sideways.

“I am glad you’re alive, too, O’Connell,” he said quietly. Rick gave a nod of acknowledgement, then something halfway between a sigh and a snort.

“After all this time,” he said in the same tone, “you can call me ‘Rick’, you know. There’s only two people who –” Damn. He had slipped up again. He cleared his throat, and finished, just a little roughly, “I mean, the only other person who does is Evy.”

Ardeth’s eyes softened just a little.

“Then I will.”

“Thank you.”

And Ardeth left to attend to his duties, leaving Rick to his own.

The tent wasn’t large, but it was high enough to stand in. Inside, the brutal light was dimmed, the shadows softened, but Evy’s face was hard when she sat down on the frayed carpet, a couple of yards from the unmoving form under the blanket.

Rick sat beside his wife, wrapped his arms around her, and waited.

After a while, she said, in a clipped, almost foreign voice, “We could never recover our parents’ bodies, did you know that? After the crash.”

Rick held her closer and kissed her temple. “No, I didn’t.”

“They found parts of the plane floating in the Mediterranean sea, of course, and enough evidence that nobody had survived before sending us the letter. I went to absolute pieces when we got it. Jonathan had to make tea and sit on the floor with me until I could breathe properly. I don’t think he remembers now, though, he looked like a sleepwalker at the time.”

It was warm inside the tent, hot, even. Yet he could feel Evy on the brink of trembling. Shivers were moving up and down her back like ripples on a lake in a light breeze.

“My parents never got a proper grave but at least they had each other. Now, he… We’re going to have to bury him here, far from home, and he’s going to be so lonely…”

The rest of her sentence was lost as she finally yielded to her grief and let the tears fall. She curled into Rick’s chest and sobbed and sobbed while Rick held her tightly, wanting so badly to shelter her from everything and keenly aware that he couldn’t.

Rick spent some of the longest hours of his life in this tent, alternating between a silent vigil and quiet, broken conversations that gradually got less fractured as the sun rose and fell outside. Sleep got very tempting around two in the afternoon, but he rubbed his eyes and stayed stubbornly awake. There was no way in hell he would leave Evy alone with her ghosts and the corpse of her brother.

Toward the end of the afternoon, as Evy drifted in and out of sleep, Rick heard footsteps in the sand on the other side of the canvas. A hand drew the flap, and Ardeth poked his head inside, a very odd look on his face.

“What’s up?” Rick asked, suspicious. Evy stirred against him and turned to Ardeth with the same unspoken question, tousled-haired and puffy-eyed.

Ardeth seemed to hesitate. Then he spoke.

“You told me Tom Ferguson was dead.”

Rick rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his memories. The poor bastard had almost vanished from his mind the moment they had come running out of the pyramid.

“I said he must be. He and Jonathan got trapped on either side of a wall and he got jumped by pygmy mummies. Jonathan was pretty damn sure he was dead. Why?”

“Because…” Ardeth frowned, and continued, his voice as steady as it always was, “Because we finally gathered all the surviving agents. Among them, we found Hamilton; he’s alive, but completely unresponsive. I don’t think he can even hear us.”

Rick’s eyebrow shot up. “How’d he get out of the pyramid, then?”

“Ferguson carried him out.”

“What?”

.⅋.

1(تالله): “By God”

2(‏يَا حَبِيبِي‎‎): “Oh my darling”

3(بُنَيّ): “little son” (endearment)

…trust me?