Chapter Text
“Okay, are you absolutely certain that you got the time for the flight right?” Michael asked, panic rising like bile in his throat.
“ Yes , Michael. I have triple checked it. We're in the right place, and we're an hour early. We've gotten through security, and just need to find the gate,” Gerry sighed.
The early morning chill seeped through the walls of Heathrow airport, making the temperature just uncomfortable enough that Michael regretted not wearing a thicker sweater. Gerry moved with confidence through the sparse, winding halls of Heathrow, glancing between their tickets and the gates that they passed.
The airport wasn't what Michael had expected. He'd always known airports as bustling, busy places, with crowds waiting for their friends and families to return or leave. The people napping on the hard plastic seats, or waiting impatiently in small groups for the kiosks and snack bars to open, did not live up to the image that he had built in his mind.
“Ah, here it is,” Gerry said eventually, slowing to a stop in front of what was apparently their gate. “We've still got a bit of time before we're called on. Damn shame that the kiosks won't open for another twenty minutes; we could've wasted time browsing the overpriced, shitty trinkets.”
The ever-increasing panic that had been slowly overcoming Michael receded slightly. “How much longer is there until boarding time?”
“Fifteen minutes. We can just take a seat until then.”
The time crept by, and Michael's nerves were turning his stomach by the time the loudspeaker announced that their flight was to begin boarding. Michael shot to his feet, taking his ticket from Gerry as he got up as well.
“They usually board back rows to the front, so we're going to be in the first group, since we're pretty far back,” he explained.
The ease with which Gerry handled the boarding was something that further deepened Michael's interest in him. He clearly was far from new to this, even if Michael's first-time-flyer anxiety clouded his own mind a bit, and was so good at keeping Michael grounded during his rushes of panic.
“How do you do it?” Michael asked once they were safely buckled into their seats. “I, I mean, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't even be this calm after fifty flights. How are you – how are you able to be so calm? While also being able to... while also keeping me calm.”
Gerry looked surprised, then took a moment to think about it. “I guess I’m just used to being someone who keeps others calm. I'm used to having to keep my head on straight when others are panicking, so it's actually not all that hard for me to do with you.”
“Part of the job description or something then?”
“No, well, maybe. I'd probably be better off with a bit more caution than I've got while doing this... guess that's why Gertrude decided to assign you to work with me. Something, something, balance.”
Michael nodded and turned to look out of the window. In the early morning sun, people in bright safety vests hurried about, passing luggage to one another or chatting and pointing to various things around the tarmac. Eventually, the luggage had all been loaded onto the plane, and the employees cleared off.
A ding from above was followed by a crackly voice coming through the overhead speakers. Michael could barely understand what was being said through the terribly loud and broken audio, but judging from the stewardess that was showing one of the safety belts and how to use it properly, he figured that it was safety procedures. He glanced over at Gerry who was staring up at the speaker above them with a concerned expression.
“Is everything alright?” he muttered, leaning in.
Gerry hummed in response, taking a moment to glance out of the window before going back to glaring at the speaker. “Dunno, but I've got a more important safety message than whatever the stewardess is talking about. I can recite that spiel from memory at this point for later.”
“And, um, what? What would that, uh, be?” Michael felt his chest tighten a bit. It was the first time he'd seen Gerry look nervous, and he figured that there had to be a pretty damn good reason for it.
“Anchors. Do you know what those are?”
“I, I mean, of course I do? Unless you're talking about something other than the anchors on ships, of course.”
Gerry let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah, I'm talking about something else. An anchor... well, it has that name for a reason. It's something that you can use to ground yourself, something you can think of and remind yourself that there's something to come back to. You've gotta have a very strong connection to whatever it is, or else it won't work.
“It's a connection to the world outside of the entities. It can be a pet, a family member, a friend, anything that you would have a strong connection to. Even a particularly well-loved item could work. It's something that you can use your connection to to bring you back from any of the domains of the Fears.”
“And... are you asking if I have one?”
“Well, do you? Do you have something that can help you bring yourself back from whatever domain you may end up in?”
Michael hesitated. He wasn't particularly close with his family, the connection he had to Gertrude was one sided, and he had no pets to speak of. “I... I suppose I don't. Perhaps that's why I'm so nervous?”
“No, I think that you're nervous because you've got anxiety,” Gerry said. “We need to find you an anchor. Is there anything you can think of right now that you could theoretically care enough about to be able to haul yourself back into reality for?”
Michael shook his head. “I don't actually have many connections, and – oh! Um, would a, a plant work? I've got an ivy back at my flat that needs me to take care of it, and I'd be very, very upset if it died on me. I made sure to refresh it's automatic watering... thing? The glass bulb plant watering things? I've got one for it, and I refilled it before I left this morning.”
Gerry grinned. “That'll work! Now, if we end up in one of the domains for any of the Fears, you need to think very, very hard about that ivy. Fight back the panic, the desire to just submit to the fear you'll feel, and think about your ivy, and how you've gotta make it back to take care of it. Does that make sense?” he asked.
“I think so, yes. I, I really, really , hope that it doesn't come to that, though?”
“Yeah, well, it's unfortunately an occupational hazard. And I only warn,” he said, “because that isn't the sound that those speakers are supposed to make.”
Well, that certainly put Michael on edge. As the plane made its way down the runway, Michael's hands grasped at the armrests that were pulled down on either side of his seat. He did his best to control his breathing as the plane picked up speed and he felt himself recline with the rest of the plane. As they pulled higher into the sky, faster and faster, he closed his eyes tight, the view out the window giving him a slight feeling of vertigo. On his left, he felt a rough hand hesitantly cover his own, and flipped his palm up to grab onto it for dear life.
The slight chuckle Gerry let out when Michael's vice grip latched onto his hand reminded him that there were other places he could look than out the window. Turning his head and opening his eyes, he saw that Gerry didn't look quite as at ease as he had on the ground.
When he raised an eyebrow questioningly, Gerry shrugged. “I just really, really, don't like the Vast. Wouldn't say I'm more afraid of it than the others, but it sure as hell isn't my favourite of the entities,” he said, offering no further explanation.
As the flight went on, things eased up slightly between the two. Michael eventually felt like he could withdraw his hand without chewing his nails into oblivion, and did so, resting his palms in his lap. He picked slightly at the blanket he'd laid over his lap before take off, catching the pilling under his nail and flicking them at the back of the seat in front of him. Once in a while, he and Gerry would talk about what was waiting for them in Barcelona, but the majority of the relatively short flight was spent in silence. Neither were particularly interested in discussing their job in much detail around others, and a flight full of people who were probably all completely ignorant to the things around them was not the best place to avoid prying ears.
Michael's eyes shut once more as they began their descent, Gerry reaching out and offering a grounding hand once more. He took it without thinking, grip tight as the plane shook as it hit the ground. It wasn't until they'd fully stopped that Michael risked opening his eyes and releasing his iron tight grip on Gerry's hand.
“So, first flight thoughts?” Gerry asked as they made their way off the plane to baggage claim.
“Well, I, I absolutely don't enjoy it, actually!” Michael laughed. His nerves still hadn't settled even though he was on solid ground once more.
“Yeah, I can't say it's exactly my favourite way of travelling. I prefer bus, car, train, anything that isn't a boat or plane, really.”
They continued on as they waited for their bags to come through the carousel, lightly debating which modes of transportation were best and which were worst. It was only when they got into the cab to go to their hotel did they fall silent. It wasn't uncomfortable, Michael noticed, but rather calm. They'd run out of things to say for the time being, and it wasn't... It wasn't hard to be quiet around Gerry. He often felt the need to fill silences with his own anxious rambling, but he didn't feel that now. It was a strange feeling, but he certainly wasn't going to complain.
Once in their hotel room, Gerry dropped the duffle bags he'd been carrying onto one of the beds and immediately began rifling through one. Michael watched on for a moment before setting his own bags onto the other bed and doing the same.
While Michael unpacked his things, Gerry pulled out a few files, and – much to Michael's shock – three containers of lighter fluid. He opened his mouth a few times, wanting to question how he had even gotten those past security, but was given a conspiratorial wink and over-dramatic shushing motion when Gerry saw him.
It was interesting, watching Gerry go about unpacking and sorting all of the files related to the case, even if the lighter fluid was more than a little concerning. He spread most of them out over the floor, sitting among a circle of papers and clippings with his back to the foot of his bed. After reading over the papers carefully, he placed each back down in a different spot. As he finished the last of the papers – Michael having finished his own unpacking a while ago, now sitting on his own bed watching carefully – he started the process over again.
“What is it that you're doing, anyways?” Michael asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.
Gerry practically jumped out of his skin. “Hm? Oh! Uh, I'm trying to put these statements and... sightings, I guess? Into a coherent timeline. It's not really needed , since we already know where it was last reported being, but it helps me figure out what may work against it,” he explained through startled laughter. “God, I'd managed to forget that you were here. How are you so quiet?”
Michael shrugged. “You seemed focused, and I, I didn't want to break your concentration. If I’m interrupting you I can, um, let you get back to... work?” he said. “I think that I may go down and, uh, find a cafe or something to get a bite to eat. If, if you want to come with me you're welcome to! I don't want to pull you away from this for too long, though, if you'd rather... not.”
Gerry blinked up at him for a few moments, taking a few moments to process what he'd just been asked. He glanced back down at the papers surrounding him for just a second before standing with a huff. “I think that that sounds great, actually,” he said, lopsided grin on his face once more. “'S not like we've really had much of a chance to eat today.”
“Oh, um, great! I'll, I'll get my coat and we can head out then!”
He picked his coat up and ushered Gerry out of the room, shutting the door behind them. There was a slight chill in the air as the pair made their way down the street, the crowds not even sparing them a second glance. Eventually they took a seat at a little cafe; Michael finally found himself able to truly relax for the first time since he'd gotten out of the hospital.
The time passed with ease, and before either knew, the sun was setting as they made their way back to the hotel for the night. The room was bathed in a warm orange glow when they returned. Michael took a seat on his bed, tugging out one of the books he'd brought along, while Gerry returned to his work.
They fell into an easy routine after a few days; in the morning, Michael's alarm would go off, waking them both up with just enough time to get breakfast before the buffet closed. After they'd eaten, they would return to their room where Gerry would go over the papers while Michael read his novel. Once Gerry decided on a place to check out, the two would head out, either catching a bus or taking the metro to get as near their destination as they could get before walking the rest of the way.
Near the end of the first week, Gerry had a breakthrough.
Michael was reading when Gerry suddenly shot to his feet, hurrying to the phone, completely unaware of the minor heart attack he'd just given his roommate. The conversation he had on the phone was quiet and brief, and when he hung up, there was a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Got a good lead?” Michael asked, setting his book down on the side table.
Gerry nodded. “We've got an hour to follow it up, so let's hurry.”
It took nearly the full hour to arrive at the place Gerry had called, cutting it far too close for Michael's comfort. As he stared up at the creaking wooden sign, writing long since faded and scratched out, a deep sense of foreboding made its home in his chest. Gerry didn't hesitate to pull the door open once he'd confirmed the address was correct, gesturing for Michael to go ahead of him.
The interior of the... shop, Michael presumed, didn't do anything to ease the trepidation he felt. There was something very, very wrong with this place.
“Hello? Is there anyone here? I called earlier, and was told to be here within the hour in order to talk about the book I'm looking for,” Gerry called out, sticking close to Michael as they slowly made their way in deeper.
An eerie silence greeted the pair in response; the creaking of the floorboards as they slowly crept forwards was the only noise in the shop. As they got further in, Gerry pulled out a small torch and flicked it on, the darkness of the shadows seeming much more intense than at the front.
Gerry turned and nodded once at him before breaking off down one of the aisles of shelves covered in old, dusty books. Michael desperately wanted to protest the split, but kept silent, not wanting to risk drawing attention to himself as he snuck away in the opposite direction.
He pulled out his own torch as he turned down the aisle, flicking the switch and watching the dim yellow light catch the swirling dust particles in its glow. He scanned over the shelves, looking for anything that may resemble the book that they'd been trying to find for the last week. By the time he reached the end of the aisle, he'd found nothing. He very much didn't want to continue looking separately, but found that when he turned back around, he couldn't see the end of the aisle he'd come down.
Panic rising in his throat, Michael started to make his way back down the aisle, moving much faster than he had previously. There was no way that he'd gone that far from the centre hall in the amount of time it'd taken him to reach the far wall. There was no way that this shop was as big as it seemed to be now as he quietly raced back, trying to find anyone else in the dusty corridors of books.
After several minutes of desperate searching and the aisle of books never getting any shorter in either direction, Michael slowed to a stop, panting. His breath hitched in his chest with the panicked thought of never being able to leave, of being stuck among these dusty, pointless books alone for the rest of his life. Stumbling, his back hit one of the shelves. A book toppled into his hands as he sank down to the floor, shaking.
Clutching the book to his chest, he curled up, forehead pressed against his knees. His shoulders wracked with sobs as he felt despair start to sink in. He was needed, wasn't he? He couldn't just waste away when Gerry still hadn't – Gerry . That was right. Gerry had told him something on the plane that was meant to ground him, hadn't he?
Michael took several deep breaths as he tried to stop his sobs and focus on remembering what it was that Gerry had told him. Anchors, was that it? What was it that he had chosen as his anchor again?
What felt like hours ticked by as Michael tried to remember what was outside of the soul-crushing solitude he was experiencing. Eventually, something clicked. Emily, his ivy. She still needed him to water her, and trim any dead leaves. He couldn't leave her, she would die without him. He trusted his neighbour immensely with her, but still, he was the one who knew exactly what level the blinds should be set at for her best sunbathing hours.
Slowly, he felt the edge of his panic dull, and the pressing loneliness ease away. He still wasn't quite sure he was ready to stand up and try to find other people, but it was progress.
Michael wasn't sure how long he sat there, still clutching the fallen book to his chest, trying to catch his breath. He couldn't even find it in him to be scared when he heard rushed footsteps approach him. He did, however, startle when a hand clasped onto his shoulder and made him look up.
There were very few times Michael had cried from relief in his life, and seeing Gerry's concerned and relieved face added one more incident to that list. Gerry pulled him into a tight hug, just holding onto him for a few minutes, one hand on the back of his head and the other resting on his back.
Michael pressed his face into the soft leather of Gerry's jacket, quiet sobs hitching his breath once more. The two sat there for quite a while, neither wanting to risk getting caught in... whatever that had been again. Eventually, Michael felt steady enough to pull back, leaning against the shelves once more.
“What... what was that?” he croaked out.
“I believe that we just had a run in with the Lonely, unfortunately. It's the fear of isolation, abandonment, and disconnection,” Gerry explained softly, hand resting on Michael's shoulder still. “Which probably means this shop is, maybe was, owned by the Lukas family. We should probably leave. If the book is in here, it's as good as destroyed. I'd really have liked to get rid of it properly, but I won't complain if it's stuck in this place.”
It was then that Michael remembered that he was still holding onto the book that he'd knocked off the shelf earlier. He looked down, flipping the book over to look at the spine, and froze.
“Um, this, uh. This book?” he said, holding it up meekly.
Gerry stared at the book for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before breaking into a grin. “How the hell did you find it? This place is packed, and you were caught up in the Lonely,” he asked, taking it and flipping it over a few times to confirm that it was in fact the book they were searching for. Seemingly content with the identity of the book, he tucked it into his coat and stood up, offering Michael a hand up.
“I, I bumped a shelf? And it just, it just kind of fell?” Michael took the offer up, standing on shaky legs. He stumbled a bit as Gerry started to lead him back to the front of the shop, but managed to keep his footing. “I'm not sure how I found it, honestly. It, it just kind of happened. This isn't the first time I've had luck like this, though.”
“The more I learn about you, the more I realize why Gertrude decided to match us up as coworkers,” Gerry laughed as they pushed open the door, emerging back into the late afternoon sun that bathed Barcelona.
The way that Gerry had decided to dispose of the book was by tying it to a brick and dumping it in the sea. Michael wasn't exactly sure what to think of the rather... simple disposal method, but figured that Gerry knew better on how to get rid of these than he did.
A few days later, the pair were back at the airport, catching yet another early morning flight. Michael was absolutely certain he would never get used to flying, and the hatred he had for the plane landing was only overshadowed by his relief at being back on the ground.
The same day they landed, they headed back to the Institute to report back to Gertrude.
“How did you two find Barcelona?” she asked as Gerry pushed open her office door. There was an amused smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she flipped through what Michael could only assume was a statement.
“Well, there's a bookshop that almost dragged us into the Lonely, so that's a fun little update as to what the Lukas' have been up to the last while,” Gerard explained, plopping down in one of the chairs across the desk from Gertrude. “Looked abandoned when we went in, but I got an answer on the phone when I called the number.”
Gertrude hummed in acknowledgement. “And the book?”
“Somewhere at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea.”
She finally glanced up at that, one eyebrow raised questioningly.
“What? It was related to the Desolation! Water beats fire, doesn't it?” Gerard asked, shrugging.
“Wait, did you not actually know what you were doing when you dumped it?” Michael asked, taking a seat beside him. “I wanted to ask, but I figured you had solid knowledge as to what you were doing with it.”
“I mean, I did? Sort of. No one can use it down there at least!”
Gertrude sighed, setting the statement down in front of her. “How did you manage to track it to the bookshop that is supposedly owned by the Lukas family?”
Michael looked at Gerard, who simply shrugged once more and said, “I have my ways.”
“I will look into the shop further. Just drop the information off when you get a chance. Sooner rather than later if you can, Gerard,” she said, not bothering to press Gerard further on his tracking abilities. “And Michael?”
“Ah! Yes?” Michael started, not expecting to be called on.
“Until there is another lead to follow, you will return to your previous work around the Archives. Did you experience any adverse effects of prolonged distance from the Institute while in Barcelona?”
He shook his head. “I didn't, no. Not that I know of at least. I did feel pretty bad for a day or so after we found the book, but I don't think that was any- I don't think it had anything to do with being away from the Institute.”
“Good. In that case, you will continue to monitor potential side effects next time you have to travel. If you're gone longer than a week, take note of how much longer it takes for anything to set in, if at all.” Gertrude went back to scanning over the papers in front of her, a clear sign that she was finished with the two of them.
Gerry pushed himself out of his seat, nodding towards the door as he caught Michael's eye. Back on the front steps of the Institute, they sat, waiting for a cab.
“You know, considering that that was your first full run in with the Lonely, I'd say you handled it pretty well. Most people have a real hard time remembering their anchors the first time,” Gerry said, picking at a loose pebble on the steps.
Michael let out a laugh hearing that. “I almost didn't remember it. I started panicking about being needed, then remembered that I was needed, by you, to help finish the job. From there I was able to remember what you said about anchors, and thought about Emily, my ivy back at my flat,” he said. “She needs me. I'm the only one who knows about the best placement for the blinds for the sunbathing she needs. I know exactly how much water she needs, and I'm the one who has to trim off any dead or rotten leaves.”
When he glanced over at Gerry, he noticed that he was giving him a strange look.
“Did I say something weird?” he asked, tilting his head quizzically.
Gerry shook his head. “I just... you named your ivy Emily?”
“Well, yes. I've, I've had her since she was a sprout, you know. She needed a lot of work to get to what she's like now. It was a lot of effort to get her grown... It was a lot of time... Oh, this isn't working,” Michael sighed. “I, I, I had to put a lot of work into keeping her healthy, so she could grow as much as she has.”
“Well, I bet she's lovely. Do you think I could see her some day?” Gerry asked.
“Of course! She does love company, you know. Music too.”
By the time the cab arrived, Michael was pretty sure that he'd talked more about Emily than he'd ever gotten the chance to before, Gerry hanging onto every word. Once again, Gerry got out of the cab when Michael did, paid the driver, and bid Michael farewell before heading off to who knows where.
As Michael double checked Emily's planter, luggage sitting around his living room half forgotten, he couldn't help but think about everything he'd learned over the last week.
The more time he spent with Gerry, the more he learned about him, the more questions he had. There was seemingly no end to the depth of the person that was Gerry Keay. He so desperately wanted to know more about him.
It was only as Michael settled down at his desk to write in his journal for the first time since he'd left for Barcelona that he was able to process all that had happened.
May 7 th , 2009
Well, I was a bit of a fool for not bringing this with me to Barcelona. The trip was much more action-packed than I expected, and I could have gotten much use out of writing these letters while there.
I've had another run in with one of the entities while there. The Lonely this time; you probably remember it well. It was particularly unpleasant, and... it was terrifying. Its name is quite fitting. I don't believe that I've ever felt so completely shut off from other people in my life. I'm very lucky that Gerry spoke with me on the plane there about anchors, or else I'm not sure what would have become of me.
You probably will have used the anchor(s) that we have many more times by the time that you get a chance to go back over these letters, this journal, but still. I think that it would be a wise idea for me to write down what my anchor is currently, if only so you can think of how that may have changed in the time since I've written this. Emily, my lovely ivy who I hope is still doing well when you read this, is my anchor. She needs me, so I'll keep her in my mind.
I do have to wonder, though, what your anchors are as you read this. Because I think I wouldn't mind if Gerry became an anchor for us. The more I learn about him, the more curious I get.
He's so kind and caring, a very reassuring presence. After grounding myself from the Lonely, he managed to find me, and he just... held me. Was simply there, no questions asked, nothing expected back. As if he knew that that's what I needed. At the same time, he's very cryptic and mysterious, always hiding something or other. I do hope that you find out what it is, not to intrude on his privacy, but rather because it would mean he truly trusts you, I think.
I know that I trust him, even if he doesn't seem to actually know what it is he's doing sometimes. He's confident in his actions, and he backs them with his own logic, and it's quite admirable, I find. He had no idea what he was doing when he tied that book to the brick and tossed it off the pier, but it sure seemed like he did!
Ms. Robinson expects me to continue to work my archival assistant job in between book hunts, which is reassuring at least. My aid is still needed around the office, and I think that the experience that I gain on these trips will be very, very useful for helping figure out which statements are of use or not.
...I cannot help but wonder, though, why it is she sent me to work with Gerry in the first place. Gerry believes it's because of my luck, and my natural caution, but I don't think that it's quite that simple. Ms. Robinson has never been someone to work off such trivial things, and my reassignment is not going to be a sudden change of heart. Perhaps I'll ask Gerry about... the incident from when you and I were younger. Maybe he will be able to explain what it is we saw back then. I don't know how soon I will get to that, however. I don't know if I even want to, or if it is just an idea that I thought sounded good on paper.
Until then, however, I will keep at my work as I always do. It's better to be useful than to be caught up in one's own thoughts, as mother used to say.
Will be back with more information again soon,
Michael Shelley