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Chapter Text

It had been another successful year for the Time Squad unit #6212, which you might already know as Officer Buck Tuddrussel, his robot partner the Larry 3000, and their, uhh “unofficial” apprentice agent, Otto Osworth.

And our story begins one day after finishing an early morning mission. Tuddrussel sat in the living room in his armchair wearing that vaguely pissed look that he always got when he read the paper. He grumbled, "Can you believe it's already December? I mean, where did all that time go?" The sound of newspaper rustling followed.

Larry was dusting the chandelier above his head, his left leg daintily turned up as he stood on the ladder.

"I can," Larry said, carefully glancing at Tuddrussel as he dusted.

"Especially since we were too busy being cooped up for weeks last year to notice that anything was going on . . ." Larry drug out the now rarely mentioned electric toothbrush fiasco that Tuddrussel caused that lead them to being without missions, and without total connection to the outside world for months. It used to bother Tuddrussel, but the wound seemed to have healed, as he didn't even bat an eye over it.

"My bad." Tuddrussel nonchalantly replied.

Larry frowned, turning back to his work. He was quiet for a few minutes before a hint of a smile appeared as he daydreamed.

"But, December means that the holiday season is here- Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus. And that means the parties are coming up too," Larry added, dreamily.

"Yep." Tuddrussel replied.

Larry was unimpressed. He urged on, "Oh! We should go down to the Christmas party that headquarters throws, we haven't been in years!"

"Nuh-uhh. No way am I getting all dressed up to go to some stuffy party where you, "accidentally" light the tree on fire "once" and then you suddenly "become the asshole"!"

"Language, Tuddrussel!" Larry scolded him with the duster in his hand.

Otto laid on the fluffy red rug near the coffee table, his chin resting on his hands as he read for a homework assignment on the 3100's. He overheard the guys talking about Christmas parties and his interest peaked. They really do Christmas still? He wondered. Drifting his thoughts away from the book, he began to try to imagine it. It seemed strange to celebrate Christmas, considering how old the holiday would have been.

At eight years old, he was filled with a lot of naively hopeful ideas. Some that worked out in his favor, and then there was some that backfired spectacularly. And as the guys continued to talk about Christmas amongst themselves, a shooting star of an idea fell across Otto’s mind, that maybe it wasn't too late to actually enjoy that one thing he never really experienced before, that feeling of warmth and excitement, and that ever elusive childhood wonder of opening presents on Christmas morning that was promised to every child by television specials every year, but was never received due to the harsh reality of living in the orphanage.

A chill ran up Otto’s spine at the sudden intrusion of his former life, shivering as he remembered how he spent his last "real" Christmas. Which basically amounted to being miserable, freezing, and depressed as Sister Thornly made him stand outside on Christmas day instead of playing with the toys they did get from charity. He seemed to recall that being his punishment after being caught helping himself to the uneaten scrapings of powdered eggs when he was supposed to be washing the breakfast dishes. Ick! No more of that! He shook his head to convince himself to block it all out. Otto looked at the guys who had taken him away from that cruelty, which seemed so long ago now. And he felt a little better in knowing THAT kind of treatment was over with for good.

"You guys celebrate Christmas too?" Otto interrupted their conversation.

Larry looked down at him with mild bewilderment for a moment before stepping down from the ladder.

"Why, of course we do!" Larry said.

"And you have parties?" Otto asked, earnestly intrigued.

"Well, sometimes . . ." Larry replied quietly.

"And do you cut a tree and decorate it?"

"Wouldn't be Christmas without it, kid." Tuddrussel piped up, not even breaking contact with the newspaper.

Otto hopped up from the floor to talk more directly at both of them, excitedly asking, "And food? And gingerbread cookies and presents?!"

Larry smiled. Finding the excited, urgent questions to be amusing in this particular instance. "Why, Otto, I think you know that it wouldn't be Christmas without those things."

Otto’s mouth went dry for a moment, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He didn't know that he had it in him to be so nervously excited for something that up until now had been degraded as a fantasy. But he was only a kid, and in his short existence which was filled with disappoints he had wanted this to be real for once.

"Are we gonna do it this year?" Otto asked timidly.

Larry raised an eyebrow in wonder to the request, taken totally by surprise from it. It had been years since he or Tuddrussel had celebrated. And they certainly haven’t celebrated together since being assigned to this satellite.

‘It’d be too much work, and no good will come from it.’ Larry thought. They had no reason to really take part in anything, not when you’re so busy with work, and without any real friends or family to celebrate with . . . ‘People tend to forget about you up here,’ Larry thought bitterly.

"Oh. Well, it's HARD to celebrate a holiday when you're out in space." Larry said, looking to Tuddrussel for backup. "It doesn't usually have the same feeling as it does on Earth. Right, Tuddrussel?"

"Huh? I guess so," Tuddrussel said absentmindedly. He finally put down his newspaper, only to crunch it up into a complete ball before tossing it behind his chair. "But, I reckon that'd be a good change of pace to do somethin' for once. Let's do it."

Otto smiled so hard at Tuddrussel's comment. He looked to Larry for an answer, hoping that Tuddrussel had helped just a little. Larry drug out a rough sigh in retaliation. And Otto knew what that meant, as that robot made that particular passive-aggressive sigh at least five times a day to whatever they requested from him.

"Can we, please?" Otto asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” Larry said, crossing his arms. “You two will have to help me.”

“Sure, we’ll help,” Tuddrussel said as he got up to join Larry. “And we can have a tree, and while we decorate it we can watch those lame puppet specials on the TV while eating shortbread cookies that come from the tins.” He patted Larry on the back, urging him to give in.

Larry glanced at both of them, and seeing their eager faces pushed him to try to loosen up a little. He looked around the living room with ideas floating around in his head and smiled at the potential fun he could have in decorating this drab satellite.

"I suppose our home is due for some sort of festive fun. It'd certainly brighten up the place."

“Soooo?” Tuddrussel playfully asked, nudging Larry a little roughly. “Are we gonna have Christmas? Or are you really going to deny this poor child that?”

Otto snickered at him. Larry narrowed his eyes at Tuddrussel for having the nerve to imply that he would be so mean to not let Otto have some fun.
He looked back at Otto, who was impatiently waiting for an answer.

“Fine! Fine, we can do Christmas this year.” Larry relented.

"Yeah! Thanks Larry!" Otto said, he ran up and hugged Larry by the legs, to which the robot squirmed for a moment as he was taken back by the surprise affection.

"Careful!" Larry said gently, patting him on the head. “Yes, we can have Christmas but you two have to promise to be on your best behavior, I won’t stand for your super extreme spy tag or other shenanigans. If you two have the urge to kill each other you’ll be civilized and do it outside.”

“In outer space?” Otto asked.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous.” Larry said, oblivious to the other previous times where Otto asked for clarification when he told him to go play “outside”.

Soon after, the historical instability alarm went off, interrupting the special occasion.

“Aww man. . .”Otto grumbled.

Larry covered his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle his laugh over Otto’s very rare disappointment about getting a mission.

Chapter Text

Larry had just pulled up their suspect's information on the screen as the guys entered.

On the main computer screen there appeared an old black and white photo of a man, wearing a distinctly Victorian era suit jacket and tie. He was balding and had a bad side part of dark hair that tried to cover it. The name Charles Dickens appeared, and Otto’s usual excitement for history erupted inside as he immediately recognized and remembered every single thing there had to do with the guy.

"Charles Dickens was a writer during the height of Victorian Era England. His works often focused on the brutal social injustice that his characters had to face that satirized the reality of his day. Some of his most famous novels include Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, A Tale of Two Cities, and A Christmas Carol." Otto said expositionally.

"Can't we ever get a mission that doesn't involve some ol' fuddy-duddy writer or artist type? These guys are the worst!" Tuddrussel complained.

"What are you talking about now?" Larry asked.

"It's always the same with these 'sensitive' types," Tuddrussel began to rant. "It's the artistic ones that are always getting called out because they're completely off their rocker."

"That's not true!" Larry said.

"It is so. Remember Poe? Nuttier than a squirrel turd. And Da Vinci? A Freakin' Beatnik. And Betsy Ross was no better, what with her hippy dippy commune and tie-dye. Oh, and there's Louis Armstrong! He tried to get us killed for obstructing his attempt to drill a hole into the center of the earth. And Vincent Van Gogh? That guy tried to cut off his own ear."

"Uhh, Van Gogh was SUPPOSED to do that." Otto said.

"Well, you weren't there. So who are you to say?" Tuddrussel asked.

“ . . .The history books make it pretty clear Tuddrussel." Otto tried to reason.

"Ugh- enough!" Larry interrupted them. He then turned away and started to walk out of the room.

"Larry?" Otto called. "What are you doing?"

"According to the data given to us, we’ve been advised to prepare for severe weather, it’s snowing where we’re going apparently," Larry said. "I'm just getting the winter gear, just sit tight."

So they waited for him. It wasn't very long until Larry came back, with his arms full of clothing. Tuddrussel and Otto grumbled amongst themselves as Larry fussily tried to put the clothing down in the chair.

He pulled out his pink scarf and white faux-mink hat and gracefully put them on. Next, he pulled out a green scarf for Tuddrussel. He smiled coyly as he wrapped it around his neck. Larry seemed to enjoy the act, reminding Otto of some part in a movie he had watched once where a wife adjusted a tie for her husband. Meanwhile, Tuddrussel looked uncomfortable as Larry fussed over him, touching him with no warning. But he stiffly accepted it.

When Larry was done with him, he turned to Otto. He pulled out an incredibly long scarf, letting the ends drop to the floor. The guys were amazed by the length, which could probably wrap around Tuddrussel at least three times. The last item he pulled out was a jacket. Otto figured it was his, but was surprised by its appearance, as this was not his usual green jacket, but a thick, puffy dark blue coat.

"Here you are," Larry said warmly, handing him the coat.

Otto put it on, immediately regretting it as the coat felt snug. Not snug in the “too small” kind of way, but the “this feels like my body has been swallowed by a boa constrictor” kind of way.

"It's a little . . .weird?" Otto tried to explain as he struggled to move his hands towards the zipper.

"Oh, it just needs to be broken in." Larry waved his complaint off.

Being ever the 'helpful' one, he tried to hurry Otto up by zipping him up instead, and then without noticing the boy’s discomfort he quickly proceeded to throw the ridiculous scarf around his neck and carefully wind it around his head until only his glasses were visible.

For Otto, the word ‘hate’ was an understatement. He wanted to scream his complaints, but found himself muffled in the scarf. To make matters worse, the coat it was stuffily hot, he couldn’t breath comfortably and it was incredibly stiff too. He couldn't bend forward, or back. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not put his arms down comfortably. Otto became frustrated, stamping his foot down at Larry in protest.

“MMMRF MMRF!” Otto tried to say.

“I’m sorry?” Larry couldn’t interpret. He pulled the scarf down from Otto’s mouth, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

"I can't put my arms down!" I screamed, pitifully trying to shake his arms. Larry cringed as he realized that Otto was right. He watched the tremors that Otto made as he tried to move, and was suddenly beside himself on how to help.

Tuddrussel seemed to have taken pity on Otto, blushing from second hand embarrassment from the kid’s predicament. He scratched his chin to think for a moment. In trying to be helpful, he pushed down on Otto’s arms, and he felt them struggle to come down slowly. He swiftly pushed them down to Otto’s sides, and let go. They saw this had worked, and felt sudden relief.

But then, Otto’s arms sprung back up with the force of an umbrella. Otto groaned in humiliation, and wondered how on earth Larry expected him to go on a mission like THIS.

"I can't wear this." Otto said. "I WON'T!"

"For Pete’s sake, Larry," Tuddrussel said, coming to Otto’s rescue by pulling the scarf off roughly, making him spin in his place. "Whoa!" Otto gasped as he fell to the floor, luckily unharmed because the jacket softened the blow.

"This is overkill even for you." Tuddrussel added, ignoring Otto as he argued with Larry. “What were you thinking?”

“I just didn’t want him catching another cold,” Larry said defensively. “I thought it was suitable.”

"He's not gonna be able to catch anything, let alone a cold wearing that." Tuddrussel replied.

Otto lay there helplessly, looking like a struggling starfish out of water as he tried to heave himself up from the floor. "GUYS!" he shouted, shuffling over to them slowly.

Tuddrussel looked down, and cringed at Otto’s misery. “Hold on there, buddy.” He then pulled him back up to his feet.

“Well if Otto gets sick again, it’s all on you.” Larry warned him.

“I’ll take that chance.” Otto said.

xxxxxxxxxxx

They arrived in 1843, London, England. Larry had been right about the weather, it was indeed cold. Otto pulled his usual green scarf down to see his breath in the winter air. Snow had been falling for quite sometime before their arrival, and it was already clear that it would be a challenge to walk in. Larry, still sore at Tuddrussel for making him relent in letting Otto wear his normal winter jacket, grumpily crossed his arms and looked around for any sign of Dickens.

"Well, according to the computer, this is supposed to be Charles Dickens' house."

They looked at the dark gray brick townhouse. From the fogged up windows, they could somewhat see that there were at least a couple of people inside. Tuddrussel went up to the front stoop of the home and knocked on the door loudly.

The door slammed open, scaring Tuddrussel as he stumbled on the icy stoop. "What the?" Tuddrussel stammered. He scrambled to stand more securely as a man, disheveled and gloomy stormed out of the house and ignored the Time Squad. "Charles! Where are you going?" A woman's voice called out.

She appeared at the doorway, looking distraught as she faced her newly arrived company.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, was that Charles Dickens?” Otto asked her, pointing to the man that’s walking toward the road.

The woman looked at Otto kindly, taking a handkerchief out of her dress pocket to dry her eyes. “Yes, that’s him. He’s also my husband.”

“What happened here?” Larry asked.

“I don’t really know,” Mrs. Dickens said. “When he came home, he was acting very strangely. And when I tried to get him to tell me what’s wrong he snapped. He started yelling at the children, accused me of conspiring against him- over WHAT I don’t even understand, and then he kicked the dog!”

“What’s this world coming to?” Tuddrussel said. “What kind of monster kicks a dog?”

“Well, we better go find him before he gets into more trouble.” Otto said urgently.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Dickens, we’ll find your husband and get this all straightened out.” Larry said reassuringly.

“Oh, thank you! Please do!” Mrs. Dickens said.

The guys left the house in order to catch up to Charles Dickens. Luckily for the freshly fallen snow, his footprints were easy to trace still. The guys walked down the street and followed the footprints until they came across a bridge. Larry stopped in his tracks, looking closely at the far end of the bridge to see a person precariously standing on the ledge, with only the lamppost to hold on to.

“Goodness, you don’t suppose that could be Dickens?” Larry asked, pointing to the figure. Otto and Tuddrussel looked at the person that he was talking about. Nervously, they glanced at each other, silently agreeing that this mission was going to a very dark place.

“Looks like we got ourselves a code 639, just the last thing we need.” Tuddrussel said.

Chapter Text

“What are we going to do?” Otto asked.

Tuddrussel happened to look over at a cart that was left in front of someone’s house and saw that there were a few open crates filled with junk. In one of them, there appeared to be a piece of rope. Smirking, Tuddrussel had an idea on how to catch him. He stole the rope and proceeded to make a lasso out of it.

“Tuddrussel, this is no time to play O.K. Corral,” Larry said.

“Ha, ha, very funny. But just you wait, I’m gonna make sure Mr. Writer over there gets down nice and easy.” Tuddrussel said, swinging it around expertly.

The Time Squad carefully made their way to Charles Dickens, who stood there on the bridge’s ledge looking down at the icy river below. He seemed lost in deep, troubling thought and didn’t notice the sound of other people joining him.

“Mr. Dickens?” Larry waved his hand, trying to call his attention. Dickens did not budge.

“I don’t think he knows we’re here,” Larry said quietly to Otto.

Otto nodded. “Man, he’s really out of it!”

“I’ll fix that,” Tuddrussel said.

He swung the lasso, and for a brief second the guys held their breath as the lasso flew into the air. With luck, the lasso dropped right on top of Dickens.
The man broke from his daze to notice the rope pulling, and jerking up to his neck.

“What's this- “ Dickens muttered, trying to touch the rope that began to constrict.

“Now reel him in!” Larry said anxiously, gripping at Tuddrussel’s arm in anticipation.

“I would if you’d let me!” Tuddrussel said, jerking his arm away quickly. He yanked at the lasso and dragged the man off the ledge and into the snow and mud.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Dickens shouted. He struggled to get the lasso off as Tuddrussel pulled.

“Sir, it’s come to our attention that you’re in direct violation of historical continuity,” Tuddrussel said. He pulled Dickens up to his feet. Dickens removed the rope and threw it on the ground.

“What in blazes does that mean?” Dickens asked.

“It means as Time Squad officers, we’re here to make sure you don’t go doing anything stupid that might alter the future and such and such,” Tuddrussel replied.

Dickens stared at him like he had three heads. “Well, it was nice meeting you gents, but I should be getting on with my business,” Dickens said curtly.

He began to walk away, but Tuddrussel effortlessly blocked him with his hand.

“What sort of business are you doing, anyway?” Larry questioned. He eyed him closely, suspecting the worst from Dickens.

“The kind where you leave me alone,” Dickens said.

“Mmm hmm- I’m sure you were about to do plenty of important business matters while on that ledge,” Larry said.

“What do you care?” Dickens asked. He moved abruptly from Tuddrussel, trying to back away- but Larry and Otto blocked him just as fast.

“Please, Mr. Dickens, we’re just here to help,” Otto said, trying to be the one friendly face here as he attempted to keep a smile. “What’s got you so down? Why did your wife say you were acting crazy?”

“Down? Down? If you want to know so much, I’ll let you have it,” Dickens snapped. “I’m through with writing! I’m through with the long, boring hours slaving away at the desk writing hundreds of pages a month for magazines that expect you to come something BIGGER and more SENSATIONAL than the last chapter you wrote! And you don’t even get the recognition for it! Not really, you’re just the “guy who wrote about poor people with the silly names.”

“But you’re one of the most celebrated English authors of the 19th Century!” Otto said urgently. “People love your work, even if it is sensational at times. That’s what makes your stories so captivating!”

“Yes, and with that,” Dickens said, backing away. “I’ve had a fun time conversing with you gents, but I’ve got the Thames to catch.”

“You can’t be serious,” Larry said, walking closer to him. “You’re just going to give up because the work is too hard and you have a few too many rude fans? That’s going to be hard to explain to your family, isn’t it?”

“It’s more than just that,” Dickens rolled his eyes. “I’m all out of ideas, I’m at my wits end on what I could write and what my publishers will agree to sell. They want a new novel out of me soon but with my last book being a complete failure, I’m in danger of succumbing to financial ruin. And if this next book is a dud, well, I can kiss my house and family’s well-being goodbye. And Charles Dickens isn’t going back to the poorhouse…” Dickens shuddered at the thought.

Tuddrussel frowned, letting the depressed man walk past him sluggishly. Dickens sighed, looking upward at the gray sky and letting snow drift onto his face.

"The world would be better without me, and my stupid stories. Sure some people out there think they’re fine, but what’s fine today is tomorrow’s garbage. You think that I don’t know what happens to the magazines my serials are published on? People read a chapter for a day and then it gets used for toilet paper." Dickens seethed.

“You really think that the world is better off without you?” Otto asked.

“I do!” Dickens said.

“Geez Louise,” Tuddrussel grumbled to the guys, leaning over to them close. “What are we gonna do with this guy? Get him strapped to a desk and make him write?”

“Don’t be absurd!” Larry quietly scoffed.

Otto sighed, wondering how he could possibly help fix this situation.

“Larry, what’s the EXACT date here?” Otto asked.

Larry checked his computer, and after a moment of searching, he found some useful information. “It appears that today is December 17th, 1843.”

Otto nodded and thought about the date with keen interest. There was something important coming up around today, but what?

“Merry Christmas!” A voice called out.

Otto’s concentration broke at the person who shouted. He looked up and saw a woman carrying a basket filled with baked goods, who was waving at another couple in front of her. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Turner.”

“Christmas?” Otto said, the word resonating with him as Charles Dickens came back to his train of thought.

“It’s 1843, he should be past being the editor of magazines, and should have already had The Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist published. So, if he were to stay on the correct path in life, he should be writing A Christmas Carol now.” Otto said confidently.

“Great. But why is that important?” Tuddrussel asked.

“Well for one, A Christmas Carol was supposed to skyrocket Dickens’ career as a writer, it’s probably his most successful book out of all of his works, which is saying something! And it's certainly one of the most influential too! Without it, we probably wouldn’t even have the modern traditions that we associate with the holiday like Christmas trees, presents, caroling, and the themes, of peace, hope, and good will toward men.”

“What?! No presents?” Tuddrussel interrupted.

“But how are we going to get him to feel those pesky feelings of “Peace, hope, and good will toward men” when he’s pining for the complete opposite?” Larry asked.

"We've got to make sure that Dickens knows that he has made a difference to the world, somehow. . ." Otto said with uncertainty.

"I dunno, maybe remind him that it could always be worse?" Tuddrussel asked. Otto raised an eyebrow at the suggestion.

"I got an idea!" Otto exclaimed. "Larry, what if we took Dickens back in time to his own past?"

"Like what we did to Paul Revere?" Larry asked.

"Sort of, but actually show Dickens his life, make him see that he has left an impact on others. Maybe it could inspire him to write again if he could just be reminded of where he came from."