Chapter Text
What was I thinking?
Gerry adopted a quick pace down the sidewalk, squinting to guard against the sun’s bright rays. His hands were sweaty and he just knew his face was still red from the memory of Michael’s lips against his. It replayed in his head: the kiss, yes, but also the sadness that Michael had confessed to him, the fear. Oh, Gerard Keay understood the fear. Each time he was walking alone, each time there was an eerie silence, he kept his fingers resting on the knife hidden in his long coat. I am prepared, he would think in the direction of anything that might be waiting for him. Come and get me and you’ll get a knife to the face instead. That Michael had to feel that fear as well– it boiled his blood. If there was ever anyone who truly deserved to be happy and safe, it was the naive, caring assistant who unfailingly asked Gerry how his day was even when he himself wasn’t feeling well.
Something curdled in his stomach. The fear was how he lived his life. The fear was his life. It was one of the reasons he always found his way back to Pinhole Books: he did not fit with the rest of the world. He was marked. How could he possibly think that he would be a good fit for poor, terrified Michael Shelley, who was still clinging to as much normalcy as he possibly could? At the age of twenty-seven, Gerry had accepted three things: he was in near-constant danger, he would probably not make it past thirty-five, and that he could never tie himself to anyone, no matter how much he wanted to. And he really, really wanted to.
He hated that he had to leave. The thought of Michael alone in his room made him want to run right back up to him, yelling for him to take him back, please, and kiss him to sleep because he’s very gay and really likes him. But it made sense. Gerry, safely away from Michael where he couldn’t put him in danger. Michael, working in the Archives like every day. Those were their roles. Breaking them seemed like a lot of work that could involve Michael’s manipulation, death, or worse: his being marked.
Gerry refused to let that happen. He was marked by the Eye, but somehow his luck had held out and he hadn’t yet turned into a shambling thing with too many eyes, clutching a tape recorder. The tattoos on his body still shifted while he laid in bed, though, their pupils dancing, flicking up and down to his face back to where they sat, content, just under the surface of his skin.
Signs of being marked were, usually, obvious. A person marked by the Web might find themselves struggling with addiction. A person marked by the Corruption might have an infestation in their window panes, or a hive in their attic that just wouldn’t stop singing sweet songs to them. A person marked by the Flesh, well, that one was self-explanatory. The man that he was, Gerry couldn’t stop himself from analyzing the patterns that led one to be marked as well. And the way Michael was heading sure seemed like the Spiral.
Gerry stopped, his boots clacking on the pavement. Then he turned to his left, and kept walking. It was time to pay Gertrude Robinson a visit.
***
“To what do I owe this pleasure? Gerard Keay, the infamous Mary Keay’s son? What illustrious company,” the force of nature known as Gertrude purred. “How is she, by the way? Been combing through a lot of old books? Skinning poor, innocent people who wander into her shop?”
“Neither, actually,” Gerry snarled through gritted teeth. “She’s just been… like usual,” he finished lamely.
“I see,” Gertrude said, stacking papers with a shuffle. “Why have you come, Gerard? I have work to do.”
“Mind if I sit down?” Gerry asked, dragging a chair in front of her desk and putting his feet up on the dark wood before she could say no. “Great. Now that we’re both comfortable, why don’t you tell me why you so enjoy traumatizing your assistants?”
Her eyes didn’t meet his. “I assume this is about Mr. Shelley? If it is,” she continued, “He will be fine. Possibly a bit scared now, but this is a natural phase. All will be right as rain very soon.”
Gerry narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “Is that guilt I detect in your voice?”
“I assure you, it is not.”
The stories that his mother used to tell him about Gertrude Robinson, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute always painted her in a villainous light, telling him about the people she couldn’t care less about and the lives she destroyed in pursuit of a selfish goal. Even growing up, Gerry’s young mind couldn’t believe them. Now, in his late twenties, he knew that his mother was only trying to raise him to be a small copy of her, and Gertrude wasn’t really a selfish villain. He had actually come to almost revere her, a polar opposite and enemy of his mother. But did she really care so little about her assistants? This seemed like it went beyond simple unmindfulness of Michael’s plight, and more like she was actively ignoring how badly he had been since he learned about the Fears.
“Gertrude, look–”
“Ms. Robinson.”
“Fine, Ms. Robinson.” He took a deep breath in through his nose. “You could, I don’t know, give him a way to defend himself. Or at least tell him anything else besides your worst fears are real. You don’t want him to be so crippled with fear he can’t work, right? Right?” Her face was placid. He should have known that appealing to her sympathy in this way wasn’t strong enough. It was likely that ‘living in fear’, to her, was now just a badge of honor. He tried again. “What… What if he dies? If he gets murdered because of the Fears? You’d be short-staffed,” he nodded seriously.
“I–” Her voice hitched. “I-if Michael died, it would not be hard to hire a new member. Perhaps you would like to apply?”
“Was that a note of hesitation I heard? You actually have a heart! Wow! This is new,” Gerry snarled. “I can’t fucking believe that you would be so cruel to leave him on his own with this.” Uncontrolled, his voice rose. “I thought you were supposed to be the good guy. You’re supposed to fucking protect your own, not let them die in gruesome ways, or, or be terrified of their shadows, not–”
A dark laugh cut him off, getting louder in volume, until he looked at Gertrude and realized she was the origin of the unhinged sound. He watched in disbelief as she laughed at his words.
“You think I– ha– you think I am a ‘good guy'? Oh, Gerard–” The words fell away, her shoulders shaking. She took a breath and collected herself before continuing with a condescending little smile that was almost worse. “You’re so naive. There are no good guys. There is not any chivalry in this fight. We must do anything we can to stop the Fears from succeeding with their rituals. Anything, do you understand?”
She took her glasses off and cleaned them on her shirt. Gerry stuttered, his feet off the desk, sitting ramrod straight.
“I– I don’t understand,” he said. “What does this have to do with Michael?”
She hesitated. “I am sorry, Gerard,” she said carefully. It sounded like she meant it.
“What?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Gerry leaned forward, his heart pounding. “If it can help Michael, anything.”
She shook her head, but continued nonetheless. “There is a mission,” she said, “that Michael will be accompanying me on. In a remote corner of Russia. Sannikov Land.”
“Where’s that?”
She handed him her phone, the lines around her mouth dour and serious. "Look it up."
He did, feeling breathless and dizzy. There was nothing. He handed the phone back. "It doesn't exist," he breathed, mouth gummy.
She leaned forward. "It does to the Spiral."
Shit, shit, shit. The Spiral. And Michael was going there. Michael, who was paranoid. Gerry's mind began to scroll through the telltale signs of Es Mentiras. Insanity, fractals, sleeplessness, paranoia--- and a fishhook buried itself in his chest. "No."
"I am afraid so. A week more of this terror, and our Michael will be thoroughly marked by the Spiral."
She continued, her mouth moving in a blur, but a gentle silence has descended upon Gerry's ears, like a blanket covering the rest of the world. All he could see was Michael, terrified and confused, walking into a trap. His heartbeat was as loud as a drum in his head as the reality of the situation slammed into him like an anvil. Michael was going to Sannikov Land to act as a sacrificial lamb. His sacrifice was going to be posed as a heroic story "for the greater good," no matter that he didn't have a say in it. He was going to be gone. Michael, with his stumbling laugh and curly hair and lovely smile and way of always caring and shit, had the table always been this mesmerizing? This close?
A loud snapping roused him. "Gerard? Gerard, are you with me?"
She made no sound as the world came back to him in a rush.
If he told Michael, he realized as Ms. Robinson sat across from him in silence, then it could mean the rest of the world might be plunged into a world where the Spiral was everywhere, wreaking its havoc without any barriers. It was the rest of the world that Gerry had standing on the tightrope above the abyss, and Michael was still his first concern. On several occasions, Gerry had found himself contemplating the trolley problem: Would you save one person you knew well, or several who were strangers? It was a problem that most people would struggle with, unless faced with the added complexity that instead of ‘several people’ it was the rest of the world on the other side of the tracks, in which case they would come to the conclusion that their loved one’s sacrifice was necessary for humankind. The problem was easy enough to answer when it was hypothetical, but when it was real? Gerry found that it was the hardest question he had ever faced. There was only one answer that he could give.
“Take me to Sannikov Land instead of Michael.”
Gertrude looked at him. For a brief moment, Gerry thought that she would laugh again, from the naivety of his words. Instead, she looked so sad for such a brief instant that he felt taken aback. But as quickly as it was there, the expression fled from her face. The stone-cold resolve returned.
“I’m afraid that is out of the question, Mr. Keay. You aren’t marked by the Spiral.” She made full eye contact with him.
“I- I don’t know, I could get marked by the Spiral–”
“That is not how that works and you know it.”
Gerry groaned. “Why does it matter who you sacrifice?! Maybe it just has to be a human! You don’t know! No one knows!”
“I said no, and that is that. The ritual must fail. You will listen to me.” A buzzing filled his ears as she spoke, and he suddenly felt calm. There was no need to panic. He should just listen to Ms. Robinson. That sounded like the right thing to do. She knew what was best–
“Did you just fucking compel me?” He yelled, standing and slamming his hands down on the desk. “You just tried to compel me! You have no idea what’s going to happen if you feed Michael to that- that thing. You and the rest of your partners in crime are just going to– to stand there as he goes through the door and wonder when you get the fucking go ahead to signal that the apocalypse has been averted! The Head Archivist should fucking know what to do. Do you hear me? You don’t fucking know–”
She stared up at him through thin eyebrows. “Gerard,” she said, softly, “You are making a racket. Please, sit down, and we can discuss this in a civilized manner. I should not have compelled you, and I apologize.”
“Yeah, you better,” he muttered, and flopped down into the chair again.
The window outside her office was facing into the hallway. There wasn’t any sunlight in the room, and her face, synthetically lit with the low shine from the fixtures, looked menacing.
“I do not have to explain to you what is on the line here, Gerard,” she said, sounding out every word slowly and methodically. “Make the right decision.”
He nodded painfully. “I understand.” There was no way he could just… let Michael die. But Gerard Keay was a rational person, and rational people didn’t sacrifice the fate of the whole world for the guy he had a crush on. Not like there would even be a world for them to live in, anyways.
“Good. You may go.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” His words felt airy and insubstantial leaving his mouth, and he felt detached, as if he was a spectator in his own life. The door swung shut as he left. He let it slam.
***
“Hey, want to go for a drink? We’re all wrapping up!” Sarah waved to Michael from her desk across the hallway.
Michael looked behind him. “Me?”
“Yes, you! Who else?” She laughed, a pretty, chiming sound. “Emma and Eric and I were all planning to go, so. Do you want to come with?”
“Uh! Yeah!” He sat at his desk, slightly frozen. They had never asked him to join them before. This was new and exciting. Michael resolved to be the most interesting he’d ever been, and not bore them with talk of sweaters and cats– no, no, he reminded himself, you’re not boring. You shouldn’t call yourself boring. Gerry wouldn’t like that. He smiled, then realized Sarah was still waiting for an answer, her big square glasses making her eyes seem larger than they were. “Right– right now?” He stammered.
“Sure! I just need to get some stuff from my desk, and then we can be off.” She motioned for him to follow her.
They walked down the hallway and to Sarah’s desk, where her things were. Michael stood in the doorway, tall and awkward, while she picked up her purse and stuffed files into it with little grace. She turned his way, brown hair swinging in her face. Her smile was wide and genuine. Had Michael ever noticed her smile before? Maybe she and the others weren’t so intimidating.
Michael fiddled with strands of his hair as she began to speak. “So, how have you been? I hope you’re feeling better than how you were– you know, the sick day you took?” Sarah slung her purse over her shoulder and led the way to the exit.
“Yeah, yeah, I am. Thanks for asking. I, um. How are you?”
His words, stuttering and tripping over each other, cut themselves off. He slammed his mouth shut, hoping that Sarah wouldn’t notice that he was unable to make good conversation. A glance in her direction revealed that she wasn’t judging or scrutinizing, however, but simply listening intently. He relaxed.
“I’m pretty good. You know, work.” She made a thumbs-down sign and chuckled. “Emma and Eric are going to meet us there. Oh,” she said, and clapped her hands together, “I’m so glad that you’re finally joining us! You’re such a nice guy. I told them that we should have invited you earlier, but we never got around to it.” She patted him on the arm. The top of her head barely came up to his shoulder.
Michael smiled, his head buzzing slightly from the steady stream of dialogue that was pouring from Sarah’s mouth. As they walked, she chattered about things that Michael had never even dared to imagine talking with any of his coworkers about. She asked him if he had any pets, what his hobbies were, what kind of music he listened to, if he had– and she nudged him on the elbow, wiggling her eyebrows– a ‘special someone,’ how long he had been working at the Institute (longer than her, hired following the death of Fiona Law) and if he liked it there.
She waited for an answer.
“Do I… like it here?” He asked.
“Yeah!” She nodded. They had walked past several pubs and Michael was wondering which one they would meet Emma and Eric at.
Michael had no idea how to answer the question. Working at the Magnus Institute paid the bills, and there was something… unexplainable about it that he had used to like. Something that felt like he might find answers. But now that he had his answers, he only had more questions and a whole lot more fear. Did he like it there? No. Did he dislike it there? No! Darkness and spiders and scary doors were a definite downside, but he felt an obligation to Ms. Robinson. And besides, it connected him with Gerry. Talking with Sarah, the paranoia and fear that he felt from the previous night seemed far, far away.
“No, not really,” he explained, surprised at the truth that was coming out of his mouth. “But I came here on purpose.”
“You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”
“Uh, you want to hear the rest?” She nodded enthusiastically. He continued. “When I was a kid, I don’t know, nine or something, I had a friend named Ryan. And, um, one day, I saw a… weird thing happen to him. Something that was, you know, unexplainable. I thought that paranormal research might help me find answers. So I started to work– well, volunteer– here when I was fourteen. Ever since then, it’s been… weird. But pretty okay. And I feel like… those unexplainable things? I sort of get them now.”
She looked away. The cheerful expression on her face fell away, making room for something somber and soft. “I understand,” she said. “There is something weird about it here. Like you said. Unexplainable.” Nodding slowly, she seemed lost in her thoughts.
Michael cringed. He realized too late that the rest of his coworkers might not even know about the Fears. Why Gertrude would tell him and not them was a mystery that was beyond him, but Gertrude wasn’t a woman who made mistakes, and if she didn’t want someone to know something, then it was sure as hell that that person wasn’t going to know it.
A soft touch on his shoulder brought him back to the conversation. “Do you– know something?” Sarah said it so softly and so sweetly that he wondered why he had ever even said anything about Ryan or the weirdness of the Institute. He smiled with half of his mouth, his crooked teeth showing, stuttering–
“Sarah! Michael! There you are! Jeez, you’re still kind of far away! Slow walkers, huh?”
Eric jogged towards them, his salt-and-pepper hair shining. Emma Harvey walked behind him, her dark hair pulled back into a braid. Making her way around the Archives with purpose and with a stride that seemed almost like a tiger, Michael was wary of her and let her pass when she walked by. They had never exchanged more than a few sentences, and those were usually related to work.
Michael flinched back slightly, but she only smiled at him warmly. He waved a hand nervously, mouthing “hi” and feeling stupid.
A warm hand clapped his back. “Thank goodness Michael’s here, right, everyone? It’s been too long.”
Too long? I don’t think you’ve ever invited me out for drinks before this.
His head spun slightly as they launched into a detailed discussion of some of the other employees not working in the archives. Matt this and Aggie that… he realized that he didn’t know much about the other people working at the Magnus Institute. They made their way down to the neon-lit bar, Michael carried in the middle of the other assistants, occasionally answering questions, but mostly listening to their chatter.
So this was what it was like to be part of a group. To be included. To have the understanding that the person next to you would make an effort to let you in on the inside jokes. Michael had never felt like this before. It was lovely.
“What about you?” Sarah gestured towards him, sticking out her hand to show him the glittering engagement ring on her finger.
“Me?” Michael laughed. “No, I’m not… with anyone.” He glanced nervously at Eric, but he was only grinning encouragingly.
“Do you like anyone?” The prolonged eye contact was getting uncomfortable. Michael looked away, his face red.
“Well, yes–” Sarah gasped as Eric leaned back in his seat, looking smug. “--but I don’t know if I should talk about it. Considering Eric’s relationship to this… person.”
Emma leaned forward just slightly, frowning. “You don’t mean to say that you’re dating one of Eric’s exes? Aren’t you only in your twenties?”
The grin on Eric’s face was so wide that it seemed the edges of his mouth might split. “I’m too old to have problems with exes,” he explained. “Michael’s sweet on–” He cut himself off. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t share it.”
Michael looked down, a small smile on his face. “No, it’s okay.” This wasn’t going to get around to Gerry, right? Michael hoped that he would come and see him again, even after the awkward kiss-and-run scenario. Gerry didn’t seem to be the ghosting type, but if he was, then Michael would have a lot to explain to Sarah and Emma.
“My son, Gerry! They’ve been sort of seeing each other on and off.”
Sarah nodded sagely. “He’s the goth one that hangs around in the Archives sometimes, right? Goths are hot, I totally understand.”
“He’s the one who wears the black lipstick,” Emma sneered. She quieted when Eric shot her a look that spoke of protective parental fury.
Sarah jumped in before it could get too awkward. “Wait, I think I saw him coming out of Ms. Robinson’s office today. He seemed pretty upset. I think he and Ms. Robinson had been arguing. I heard yelling and a fair amount of cursing.”
“Goths,” Emma muttered. Everyone ignored her.
“Was he okay?” Michael asked. What would Gerry and Ms. Robinson argue about? He knew that they were in contact, because of Gerry’s Leitner-burning and monster-hunting. Heck, everyone who knew about the Fears knew about each other, or at least that was what Gerry had told him once. But why would they have an argument that involved yelling and cursing?
“Not really,” Sarah said apologetically. “Honestly, he seemed like he was almost on the verge of tears..”
The chair scraped against the floor as Eric stood up. “I should go and find him– if he’s hurt–” He put on his jacket. “Gerry’s not very sensitive, if he’s crying, then something has to be very wrong. See you–”
“You’re wrong,” Michael whispered. “He’s sensitive. And he won’t want to talk to you.”
Eric looked at him, eyebrows forming a hard line. “I’m his father. Of course he will. Hey-- I’ll just go to Mary’s place and ask her to bring him out.”
"He, ah, won’t be at Pinhole Books. He hates Mary. And he doesn’t like you very much,” Michael apologized. “I’ll go and find him.”
“No one is leaving to find anyone,” Emma protested. “We’ve had this planned for months.”
Sarah snorted. “Originally, you didn’t even want to go, Emma.”
Michael threw on his coat. The doorknob shocked him on the way out of the bar, making his hair stand on end. The rest watched him go. Eric stood, his eyebrows drawn together. He sat back down slowly and sighed. “He really cares about Gerard,” he said, and in his voice was a depth of emotion that neither of the other people wanted to breach. “I just hope that each other’s caring is what both of them need.”