Chapter Text
✦ ✧ ✦
Immediately, Charles sprang to his feet — and failed to stifle a gasp as the sudden movement pulled at the wound. Off to the side, he caught Edwin wincing in sympathy. Great. He was officially off his game, at least with Edwin. No need to turn it into a pity-party, though.
In the blink of an eye, both his vest and polo were back on, and a well-practised smile had reassembled itself on his face.
“Crystal! You came!” he exclaimed, genuine delight in his voice as he threw the door open.
And there she was: a tangle of curls going every which way, bright eyes glinting with mischief, and a half-smirk to finish the picture. She also had a bisque doll tucked in the crook of her arm.
Without thinking, Charles slammed the door shut again — right in her face.
“The fuck?!” she yelped.
“Charles?” Edwin called from behind him, just as dumbfounded.
“One sec,” Charles said hastily, then phased straight through the door — and came nose to nose with a very pissed-off Crystal.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she snapped, voice tight with fury.
“What’s with the doll?” Charles shot back, just as tense.
“What?” Crystal blinked. To her, the question was clearly a non sequitur, and it derailed her mid-head-rip. She glanced down at the doll in her hands, momentarily thrown.
It was a standard porcelain type — frilly clothes, straw-blonde hair, plump rosy cheeks, and a tiny chip on the tip of her nose.
“That? It’s nothing. Just a joke.” she said with a shrug, though her voice had gone uncertain. “You know, to break the ice?”
Something in Charles’ expression must’ve gotten to her, because after a beat she added, “This is probably stupid, but… back when Edwin and I were in the hospital after he got David out of me, there was this other girl in my room. Hardly any visitors, but loads of flowers and balloons. She had a couple dolls on her bedside table. Edwin kept giving them funny looks — even turned their faces to the wall once while she was sleeping. I figured he’s got a thing about them, so…” She trailed off with another shrug.
“God, Crystal,” Charles said under his breath, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. So much for hoping this Edwin had spent those seventy years somewhere else. “That’s not a thing — that’s a trauma leftovers.”
“Oh,” she said, eloquently.
For a moment, they just stood there, each lost in their own thoughts.
Then, Crystal slowly glanced around — and spotted a few sacks of construction debris near the stairs. She walked over and shoved the doll into one of them. After a pause, she sank onto the top step and buried her face in her hands.
“No wonder we didn’t get along,” she muttered mournfully. “I’m a terrible person.”
Charles’ heart sank. “You didn’t know,” he said, feeling a bit helpless. After all, he hadn’t known either — not for a long time. Edwin had a proper knack for keeping the true meaning of whatever he fancied keeping to himself well under wraps.
“Could’ve asked, though. Or, even better, just let him be. But… there’s something about him that makes it real difficult, you know?”
“Can’t even imagine, can I?” he teased, chuffed to see her scowling — even if it was only half-hearted.
Mindful of his injured side, he eased down beside her and bumped her shoulder with his own. Crystal shifted, leaning into him properly, and tucked her head under his chin like it was the most natural thing in the world. Charles wondered if that easy closeness came from her getting a peek inside his head earlier — or if it was just that she felt more alone here than the Crystal from his world ever did, and was grasping at any scrap of connection. Probably both. Charles put his arm around her shoulders and gave a light squeeze.
“Any other landmines I should know about?” she asked.
Charles chuckled. “I’m not handing you an Edwin cheat sheet. For one, mine probably wouldn’t work on this one. And for another — back home, you two are great together not because you took to each other like ducks to water, believe me. Quite the opposite, actually.”
“Oh? I could do the opposite,” she said, deadpan. “Guess I should go fetch the doll back?”
Charles groaned. “Please don’t. Edwin’s having a hard time as it is.”
Reluctantly, Crystal pulled away from their half-hug — just far enough to give him a doubtful look.
“He’s having a hard time? Why — 'cause he’s got a client who, for once, doesn’t think he’s a stuck-up asshole?”
“Oi, cut him some slack, would you?”
“Sure,” she muttered. “Right after you cut some bullshit.”
With the mood lightened a touch, Charles pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand.
Crystal took it with a small huff, letting him pull her up.
“Charles,” she said suddenly, her voice sharp with worry. “Why are you bleeding?”
✧ ✦ ✧
Back in the office, Crystal made him sit in the designated client chair and strip off again.
Edwin stood nearby, arms folded, with an expression somewhere between a frown and a full-on existential crisis as she helped Charles ease out of his polo — and then the vest.
Crystal took one look at the wound and immediately demanded a first aid kit.
“He’s a ghost. He has no need for bandages,” Edwin remarked, dry as old parchment.
She didn’t even look up. “He’s got a wound, and it’s bleeding. Pretty sure that is the textbook definition of needing bandages.”
Charles tried to cut in, but despite the argument being entirely about him, neither of them seemed even remotely interested in what he had to say on the matter.
“There’s no bleed,” Edwin insisted, sounding increasingly affronted. “Nothing’s leaking from the wound — it just sits there! His clothes soak because they’re part of him, and he knows full well they should be bloody with a wound like that!”
Crystal gave him a flat look, all unimpressed teenage contempt she had in abundance. “So if I slap a bandage on it, it'll stop — because he knows bandaged wounds don’t bleed. Got it.”
Charles sighed. “Check under the bathroom sink,” he said. Good odds the kit was in the same place — it had already been there when they moved in, so chances were this world hadn’t shuffled it anywhere else.
With a huff, Crystal stalked off to rummage. Edwin shot Charles a look that was somewhere between betrayed and personally wounded, but didn’t say a word. Instead, he turned back to the simmering potion and began fussing with it like it might suddenly finish itself quicker if he stared at the bubbles hard enough.
However, as soon as Crystal returned with a battered first aid kit, Edwin abandoned the potion to mind itself and instead took up position hovering behind her — as if expecting her to commit some terrible crime, like dog-earing a book or leaving a mug stain on a rare document.
Charles crossed his fingers — metaphorically, anyway — and hoped Edwin would resist the urge to offer unsolicited medical advice. He hadn’t got the energy to get caught in the crossfire.
Crystal’s hands were a bit unpractised, but her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as she began layering the bandage over his shoulder. The first strip soaked through straight away. So did the second. But after that, the red began to fade, each layer blooming a little less until the bleeding finally gave up. She added a few more layers just to be safe, then tucked the end in with a satisfied little nod.
“There,” she said. “Almost done. What’s your get-well trick?”
“What?”
“You know — the thing from when you were a kid? Like, after your mum stuck a plaster on your scraped knee, what did she do to make it all better?”
Charles barely held back a flinch. There hadn’t been a trick — not in his house. Whenever his mum patched him up after his dad had left a mark, they both knew there was nothing she could do to make it all better. Not really. She could’ve stood up for him, sure — but she never did, did she? Most times, she couldn’t even look him in the eye.
This was like the damn doll all over again, wasn’t it? Crystal just didn’t know. Couldn’t have known. And neither did Edwin. And frankly, Charles was perfectly happy to keep it that way.
“The usual?” he offered, just to say something. “Bit of a head-pat, magic kiss to make it better, ice-cream if we were out — that sort of thing.”
“Got it,” said Crystal, and leaned in to press a light kiss to the bandaged shoulder — like it was no big deal. Just something you’d do for a mate with a nasty paper cut. Something mums did for their kids all the time.
Damn it.
Charles felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes and ducked his head before either of them could notice. A moment later, he felt the faint pressure of her fingers at the back of his head — not quite a pat, more of an absent-minded scratch to his scalp, followed by a light tug at his curls. He leaned into it without thinking, like some overgrown, touch-starved cat who’d never quite learned what comfort was meant to feel like.
Edwin cleared his throat — loudly.
“Are you quite finished?” he asked icily, not a hint of a question in his voice.
Crystal pulled her hand back. “Guess we’re skipping the ice cream, then,” she said.
And oh. Just like that, Charles remembered why Edwin and Crystal hadn’t exactly got on in his world — not at first, anyway.
✦ ✧ ✦
Crystal had retreated to the sofa after that, Lemoine’s diary in hand. She’d tried to read it the psychic way — eyes clouded white for all of ten seconds — then blinked them back to their usual mottled brown and muttered she couldn’t make heads or tails of whatever he’d been seeing. Now she was sprawled on the rickety thing, perfectly at ease, flicking through the diary like it was a holiday paperback. Every so often she’d pause, eyes going all ghostly again, then carry on reading as if it were just another Tuesday.
Edwin took the simmering potion off the stove and set it on the table, movements clipped but measured. After securing the lid with clinical precision, he finally came to stand beside Charles, hands restless at his sides, a frown tugging at his brow — uncertain in a way that didn’t quite suit him.
“Should I have… done that?” he asked, awkward and oddly tentative.
Charles hesitated. Truth be told, what Crystal had done — the bandaging — had really helped. The wound didn’t feel so raw anymore, and even the pain had dulled a bit. Like his mind knew the difference between an injury left gaping and one that someone had properly seen to. He had a feeling why Edwin thought it wouldn’t help — and he hated that thought, hated it down to the bone. But he couldn’t say that aloud, could he?
“Nah, mate,” he said softly instead. “You were right — the rags wouldn’t’ve done much in the long run. Better to focus on the cure that’ll actually fix me, yeah?”
Edwin’s face fell a touch. Like he could tell Charles hadn’t really answered the question — not the one he wanted him to, and that alone was answer enough. Which was… less than ideal, considering what that answer implied.
Charles mentally weighed the pros and cons — flustering Edwin again (or making a complete fool of himself if that flopped) versus letting him dwell on his time in Hell — and quickly arranged his face into a coy sort of smile. With him still seated and looking up at Edwin through his lashes, it had to count for something. That was the bet, anyway.
“Also, no one’s asking you to go snogging my sore bits if it makes you twitchy.”
Judging by Edwin’s murderous glare, that wasn’t quite what he meant. Though if his delightfully red complexion was anything to go by, it was definitely on his mind now.
Charles wondered if he was crossing a line here. Truth was, he wouldn’t dream of behaving like this with his Edwin — not while his feelings ran so deep and yet stayed unanswered. The mere thought of toying with them so recklessly felt utterly daft, like one careless word or slip could send everything crashing down.
But flustering this Edwin? Blimey, that was proper good fun. Seeing him turn all hot and bothered — without fail — just from a few pretty innocent hints filled Charles’ head with fizzy bubbles. Like the first time he’d knocked back a glass of champagne at his aunt’s birthday. It made his chest tingle and his stomach do flips. Like he was about to bloody take off and glide.
It was a new feeling, but he took to it like a seagull to chips — no hesitation, all in. And bloody well wanted more.
He was halfway through cooking up another cheeky innuendo when Crystal snapped the book shut with a loud tap.
“That’s it,” she announced, with the sort of finality that never meant anything good.
“You found out where we could find the next tome?” asked Charles.
“Nope. Don’t need it anyway.” She dropped the book on the sofa and gave an exaggerated groan as she stretched. “God, that decrepit thing absolutely mangled my back.”
“Do you mind elaborating on your findings?” Edwin had, by the looks of it, mostly pulled himself together. Cheeks still a touch pink, but otherwise all business — just as his clients always assumed he was, right down to the bones.
“Mademoiselle Lemoine,” Crystal announced with a bit of drama, “had this theory — that talking to people from another dimension is basically the same as talking to ghosts or spirits from other planes. Same rules, just… thicker walls.” She wrinkled her nose. “Only problem? She never managed to pull it off. Probably ‘cause her summoning methods were too weak.”
She paused, eyes flicking to Charles — then gave a small nod, like she figured he might actually understand what she meant.
“My gran,” she said, tapping her temple lightly, “said you could use any of the usual ghost-speaking methods — Ouija, trance, pendulum, you name it — but the trick is, they gotta meet you halfway.”
“Your gran?” Edwin echoed, frowning faintly like he wasn’t sure whether to be confused or insulted.
Crystal didn’t answer him. Her eyes stayed on Charles, voice softer now.
“It’s like one of those old-timey speaking tubes,” she said. “Not hard to use, but both ends have to be open at the same time — and both people have to be there.”
Charles chewed that over.
“Right, but… how d’you get someone on the other side to use the bloody tube too?” His voice came out a little hollow.
Crystal shrugged, faux-casual, though her mouth tightened around the edges.
“That’s the bit Lemoine never cracked. She gave up and started chasing the local fae instead — I guess they were more likely to pick up her calls.”
Charles slumped back in the chair with a huff, arms limp over the sides like a deflated balloon.
“So to talk to my mates, we’d have to already be talking to them,” he muttered. “That’s absolutely mental.”
Crystal gave him a small shrug, genuine this time. “Sorry,” she said, not unkindly. “Looks like a dead end.”
Edwin’s hand settled gently on Charles’ uninjured shoulder — steady and sympathetic.
“I’m sure we’ll find another way,” he said. “Miss Lemoine may be the most renowned, but she’s hardly the only one who’s studied this.”
Charles shrugged him off. Maybe they would. But right now it felt like a verdict — not a stumble, not a detour — just a flat, echoing no. And suddenly, all the banter, the flirting, the uncanny closeness with these not-quite-his people felt… wrong. Off. Like wearing someone else’s skin.
He stood up, grabbing his Harrington with a jerkier motion than intended.
“I need some air,” he muttered, already heading for the mirror.
“Your wound — ” Edwin began, voice taut with worry.
“I’ll be back by the time the cure’s ready,” Charles called over him. “No detours, no sightseeing. Cross my heart.”
He was fine. Really.
Just needed to breathe somewhere else.
✧ ✦ ✧
“Oh, it’s you again,” said the calico cat.
Charles didn’t answer. He just focused on breathing. Three counts in. Five out. Rinse and repeat.
The cat settled one step away and began grooming herself, meticulous to a fault.
“Guess this is your favourite meltdown spot, then,” she said eventually, casting a dubious look at the claws on her right hind paw. “Weird pick, by the way. That drain reeks. Nothing here but damp air and vermin.”
Still no answer. The cat, apparently satisfied with her right paw, moved on to the left.
“I ran into that mate of yours the other day,” she said, pronouncing the word like it tasted strange in her mouth. “He tried to…” She paused mid-lick, leg frozen in the air as she searched for the phrase. “Be nice, I think? It was bloody uncanny.” She shuddered.
Despite himself, Charles smiled — the thought of Edwin trying to be civil to a cat he very obviously detested was oddly charming. Strange, though. Why would he do that all of a sudden?
“Hey, d’you reckon now he’d share those sardines you mentioned last time?”
Charles’ thoughts came to a screeching halt. The memory of the Cat King — that smug little bastard from Port Townsend, bumfuck nowhere — still lingered. Even one backwoods royal was bad enough. The last thing any of them needed was to piss off the feline monarchs of London.
“If he ever does,” he said, giving the calico a look, “ask what he wants before you wolf it down. Might save your whiskers some trouble — and land you a tidy bargain.”
“Okay,” said the cat slowly, now looking at him like he was the one up to something. “What’s up with you sneaking about my hunting spot, anyway? Felt like cat got your tongue for a bit.”
Charles sniffled. He wasn’t in the mood to get into the details with a cat. Or anyone, really — he’d done plenty of that since landing in this dimension. Still, tossing her some bare bones couldn’t hurt. Once he figured out which ones to pick.
The thing was, that Lemoine’s diary lead going cold hadn’t changed a bloody thing. His trip home was, for once, out of his hands. Technically, he could treat his time here like a holiday — sit tight, wait for the next big spell to fling him back where he belonged. But no. He couldn’t just twiddle his thumbs, could he? Had to cook up a case and turn it into a big fucking deal. And not just for himself — he’d dragged Edwin and Crystal into it, made it their problem, too.
Made himself their problem.
Wasn’t gonna share this with the cat, was he?
“Got news I won’t be speaking to my other mates anytime soon,” he said, voice thick and wet like he was swallowing something down.
The cat scratched her ear. “Right. And assuming you’d like to — what’s the problem, then?”
Charles sniffled again. He really ought to start blaming that one on some allergies. Cat hair or mould, maybe.
“They’re far away,” he muttered. “We wanna talk — we’ve gotta do it the same time, same place. Bit of a crap system, yeah?”
The cat stopped mid-lick and looked at him — utterly unimpressed.
“Yeah,” she drawled, like she was explaining it to someone very slow. “That’s usually how talking to someone works. You need to be in the same place, at the same time. Like we are, right now.”
Charles mulled it over. Fair play to the cat — she had a point.
“Right… so how d’you usually set that sort of thing up, then?” he asked, grasping for something that didn’t make him feel quite so thick.
The cat shifted her weight from paw to paw. “I go to the spot and lie in ambush. Or spread the word. Someone’ll pass the message along.”
Charles gave her a sad little smile. “Can’t exactly ring them up and ask to set up a séance with the five o’clock tea.”
“Why not?” the cat asked, tail flicking lazily.
“Another dimension, remember?” he said, voice low. “Not exactly on any speed dial.”
“Is it too far? Like, Down Under? Or the Yankland?” The cat tilted her head, genuinely curious.
Charles chuckled, charmed by her cluelessness. “Something like that.”
“Same to me,” she replied, offhanded as ever.
He reached out and flicked her ear, gentle. She batted his hand away like he was a fly.
Charles lingered on the kerb a moment longer, watching the cat return to her grooming like none of this had ever mattered. And maybe it hadn’t. Not really. The case he’d stitched together — it hadn’t gone anywhere, but truth be told, it didn’t need to. Would’ve been nice, sure, but overall, it made about as much difference as the bandages on his shoulder.
If he was stuck here for the time being, he might as well stop chasing metaphorical ghosts and start dealing with the ones who actually had it out for Edwin. He had it on good authority there were a few.
A distant bell tolled the hour — Big Ben, maybe, or one of its lesser cousins.
Charles let out a slow breath.
Right, then. Enough stalling. Time to head back.