Chapter Text
Rosa yawned as she pushed open the door of her bedroom. It felt like no matter how long she slept these days, she was always exhausted. Too many long nights, she supposed. And she'd have to do the same today. Another long day of ghost helping. Or whatever it was that they did.
"Morning, Joey," she mumbled, not bothering to look up as she stepped into the room. She didn't need to, anyway. He was always there, floating a few feet away from her. Usually he'd be gazing out the window, taking advantage of the fact that there was now a view beyond the brick facade of the building next door. And yet, today, the room remained silent.
"Joey?"
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she scanned the room more properly, but there was a distinct lack of the blue, ethereal- What was that?
A prone figure, on the floor near the couch. A man. Unconscious? Dead? He wasn't moving, either way. The door was still closed and locked, without any signs of forced entry. At least, not any that she could see. So, how did he get here? The window was also shut, as usual, curtains tightly drawn the way she liked them. Nothing in the apartment seemed disturbed in any way.
Nothing except for the man's presence.
"Joey?" Rosa tried again, looking around. He couldn't be far, but he wasn't in the room. Was the hallway really the best place to hang out at the moment? Even if he couldn't really do anything to help, it was better than being alone. She tiptoed toward the man, not entirely sure what she was doing.
Please, please don't be dead. She reached out, poking his shoulder. Nothing. What was she supposed to do with a dead body? God, she was going to get arrested, and she was pretty sure whatever pull she had with the police department couldn't out-pull murder. Not that she killed him. Of course she hadn't killed him, she didn't even know who he was. Was he even dead?
"Joey?" she exclaimed, panic creeping into her voice. Where the hell was he? "Joey, this isn't funny."
But the man looked a little familiar, didn't he?
No. There was no way. That didn't even make sense. But no matter what way she tried to spin it in her head, there was one thing that was becoming increasingly clear. And she didn't think she could deny it any longer.
Joey was the man on the floor.
His head was pounding, something it hadn't done for nearly a century. He hadn't had a head. Not a physical one, at least. The cold winter air stung against his face, his hands, any piece of flesh exposed to the elements. He was alive, he realized, looking down at his hands. He was really alive. He was alive, and she was-
Joey dropped to his knees, the silky fabric of his tie slipping through his hand as it dropped into the snow. "Please, Red. I didn't- God, I didn't want this."
Her body was motionless on the ground, a thin layer of snow already forming on her coat. Her glasses had fallen into the snow. Probably when she'd-
He didn't know. Hell, he had no idea how, but he was alive. And yet that fact felt so small at the moment because of what was in front of him. He dragged himself closer, the snow eagerly dampening the knees of his pants.
"Please." Who was he begging, anyway? The universe? The universe didn't give a damn. The universe was why she was- His vision blurred with tears as the distant sound of sirens got louder, the cold air harsh against his throat with each ragged breath. Hand trembling, he reached out, brushing a few strands of hair from her damp cheek. "Don't leave me alone."
Pain shot through his head suddenly, and he reflexively reached up, grunting. What the hell? As soon as the thought shot through his brain, the pain intensified, blinding white obscuring his vision. Jesus- He doubled over, face contorting. He was dying, that had to be it. There was no way someone could be in this much pain and not-
By the time the police arrived on the scene, there was only one body left in the snow.
He was going to be mad when he woke up. It was the only thing that went through Rosa's head, over and over, because it was the only somewhat normal thought she could think. He'd complained her ear off the first time she'd brought him here, over four years ago now. 'I was stuck here for twenty-five years, why'd you drag me back here, if you get us stuck in the loony bin I'll make your life a living hell'... Normal things like that.
Was he even the same Joey? She hated even entertaining the possibility, but... People didn't just come back to life like that.
No. Stop that Rosa, you're going down that line of thought again. You'll ask him when he wakes up.
If he even knew who she was, that was. It was hard enough to explain to the cops why she knew him. A man with no documentation, not a single piece of paper to say he existed.
'He's a family friend', she had said.
'How'd he get into your apartment?'
'I don't know.'
They'd let her in the hospital room anyway. Who else could've been there? He didn't have a family, didn't have connections left with anyone alive.
Her eyes shot up at the sound of the sheets rustling. He was stirring, slowly, eventually sitting up as the sheets fell around his body. As he did, his gaze landed on her and stuck, eyes widening like he'd, well, like he'd seen a ghost. She waited a moment, but he didn't speak, didn't do anything but continue to stare.
"Joey?" She could've been talking to a wall. He was frozen, eyes trained unwaveringly on her. It was making her kind of uncomfortable, to be honest. "Do you know who I am?"
That look in his eyes. She couldn't place it, but it left a coldness in her chest. She'd never seen him look at anything like that. Nothing except for that old man in the retirement home. Danny Marconi. It had been brief, but she'd seen the pain and disbelief flash across his face, though he tried to hide it. Joey wouldn't even look in the old man's direction after he'd realized who he'd been. But Joey wasn't hiding his expression now, and he wasn't looking away, either. Rosa got out of her seat, walking forward until they were only about a foot apart.
"Joey?" she repeated. His eyes were so blue, she couldn't help noticing. More so now that the rest of him wasn't. "Do you know who I-"
His hand shot out from beneath the sheets, palming the side of her face. She couldn't help but involuntarily pull back a bit, surprised by the sudden contact.
His hand was trembling against her face, fingers stiff like he was afraid of relaxing them. "God, Red, look at you," he finally whispered. "I thought for sure you..."
The thoughts in her head were spinning faster now. That confirmed one thing. He definitely knew who she was. But this didn't make sense. None of this made sense. And in the end, only one word made it out of her mouth.
"Me?" She looked the same as always. She cleared her throat nervously. "You're the one who's..." She gestured at him, and he looked down.
Something seemed to click in his head, and he retracted the hand as if she'd burned him.
"Right." And then he was silent again, for a moment that went on for far longer than Rosa would've liked. His fingers kept dancing on his lap, tapping away, eyes now searching the room. Whatever expression she'd seen was now long gone.
"We're... not in Bellevue, are we?" he joked halfheartedly, not looking back at her.
"I was afraid you'd notice." The response came oddly naturally, as if this was how they usually interacted. Never mind the fact that this was simultaneously the most normal and most unusual thing that had happened to her in a long time.
"Did the docs say what was wrong with me?"
She shook her head. "They mostly kept you here as a precaution."
He nodded, but the movement came off stiff. "In that case, I guess we ought to head home."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Home. We should... go home." God, this was going to be weird.
Joey sat on that same ratty old couch, looking around the living room of Red's apartment. Everything was exactly the way he had remembered it. Same garish pink walls, same weird assortment of trinkets in the corner, same computer box thing he could never figure out. Who could've known the last time he'd been here was the night before Red... died.
If a thought could hurt to think, that one would be the one. He couldn't tell her. There was no way he could tell her. He could still picture her slumped figure in the snow, the color in her cheeks fading as he knelt beside her.
She seemed so alive now. Even more so than she'd ever looked when he had been dead. Maybe that was just part of being alive. Everything looked more real, felt more real. To the point that he was almost afraid to touch any of it. So he sat. Like some sort of obedient schoolchild, hands folded in his lap. It didn't feel natural. But to be frank, not much about existing did at the moment. So he just observed, looking around the small home he'd spent years in as if it was all something entirely new.
The same family photos were still littered around the room, family Red barely remembered if at all. Each one of them was now completely absent of him.
It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know what day it was. What year it was, even. The only calendar in the apartment was horribly out of date, so the only thing he could do was look around. He scanned over the doodads Red kept, mentally going over where they'd gotten each one. Those were the pills they'd copped from that Susan girl. That was the portrait of Joe Gould that used to hang in the Minetta. That was the hideous bird statue that had belonged to Lisa Tenzin. It still blew his mind that anyone would intentionally keep anything that ugly around. But if they'd already acquired it, that meant that it was pretty far down the line of them being stuck together. Which meant that it wouldn't be long before...
But the timeline had changed. That wouldn't happen again. They were both normal, now, whatever that meant. Who would've known that transitioning to this new normalcy would've been harder than transitioning to the one where they'd spent every night chasing down ghosts.
Now the only ghosts he had left to chase were his own.
It had been fairly late by the time they had made it back to the apartment, nearly midnight. Usually, at this time, Red would've refilled her coffee for the second or third time of the night, and they'd be heading out again to roam the streets. But neither of them had had a clue on what to do when they'd walked into the room a few minutes ago. He'd mumbled something about taking the couch, and she'd mumbled something back, leaving the apartment. He wasn't sure where she'd gone. Next door, maybe? It was odd to think of the fact that she could go anywhere now. Anywhere without him at her side.
The sound of a key in the lock made him look up, and Red walked back in, carrying some blankets in her arms.
"Here," she said, handing them to him. "I got these from Nishanti. By the way, I told her you were a friend from college. So don't tell her anything weird, okay?"
"Wouldn't dream of it, darling." His mouth felt like it was moving on its own. He couldn't even look at her. He could hear her moving away now, the sound of her opening the door to the closet she called her bedroom. But the sound stopped suddenly. She was probably looking back at him. Figures.
"Joey?"
"...yeah?"
There was a pause before she responded. "How are you alive?"
He winced, hands involuntarily balling up the blankets. "It's been a long day, kid."
She didn't bother pressing the issue.
Something was wrong. Rosa wanted to laugh at the thought because it was such an obvious one, but it kept bothering her. You'd think getting back your life after losing it for so long would be a good thing. But Joey didn't look happy at all. He looked hollow, cheeks gaunt, voice lacking its usual energy when he spoke. He almost sounded... guilty.
She could hear him through the thin walls, shifting around on the couch. It wasn't a sound she was accustomed to hearing. Sure, he was a loudmouth, but when he wasn't talking? Dead silent, with an emphasis on dead. The sound of him moving now would constantly startle her out of her thoughts.
She trusted him, didn't she? That wasn't a question. Then why was she asking herself that? Did she know who he was anymore? Had she ever?
Joey never really liked talking about himself. Even after all the time they'd spent together, she was only now learning bits and pieces of his past. About who he'd been. After that last mission, he'd set his jaw, staring holes through her tiny apartment window as rain pelted the glass. It was hours before he'd said a single word about it.
'I've got a lot of regrets, Red. A lot of unanswered questions. You'd think giving it time would change things, but I've been around a long time, and it's changed nothing.'
So, she doubted he would tell her what was wrong until at least another eighty years had passed. But she deserved to know, didn't she? If she was going to have to put up with some strange man living in her-
God, she just called him a strange man. The only person she'd talked to on a daily basis for years. But he practically was a stranger now. He looked different, acted differently. And she had no idea why.
People just didn't come back to life like that. What could he have done? Some kind of demonic ritual? Maybe he'd sold his soul away for more time. Maybe he'd sold hers. Was that why he wouldn't look her in the eye? Why wouldn't he just talk to her?
It wasn't like there was anyone else she could ask. 'My ghost friend is suddenly alive' would just get her a one-way ticket to a padded cell. Was it too much to say she was concerned about him? The look that had been in his eyes at the hospital...
He hadn't expected her to be there. The realization hit her like a slap to the face, and any trace of sleepiness left suddenly. She found herself looking at the bedroom door, wondering if she'd locked it. Wondering if she'd never been meant to wake up again that morning.
Joey wouldn't. He'd saved her life multiple times. He'd saved Auntie Lauren, too. He-
The fact she had no idea what had happened was driving her insane. She didn't know who he was anymore, whether anything from the past meant anything anymore. Whether more than just his status of living had changed.
She had to find out. If not for him, then for herself. First thing in the morning, she'd ask.
She woke up to an empty apartment.
His face was cold when he woke up, wet with tears he didn't remember shedding. The sun felt impossibly bright, and he found himself moving toward the light streaming through the window, clumsily tugging open the curtains. It was the first time he'd slept in eighty years.
He could see his own face reflected in the glass. If he wasn't still exhausted, he would've scowled at it. Eighty years of not having a reflection, and he gets to see this puffy mess of a face. He pulled the curtains back shut. There was no way he could let Red see him like this. She'd just ask things, things he wasn't willing to answer. He ran a hand through his hair, washing his face at the kitchen sink. Outside. He'd just take a walk and clear his head.
He walked over to her desk, rummaging through her purse for keys. It felt wrong, but he didn't have the time to think about it. Not now. He just had to get away. Before she noticed, before she said something he couldn't respond to.
It was chilly down on the streets, he noticed, as he walked away from the apartment complex. He couldn't feel the cold before. Now every step sent daggers of icy wind flying past his face.
He was practically invisible amongst the passerby, something that struck him amusing having been literally invisible only days ago. Barely anyone bothered glancing at him, and those who did quickly looked away. Suited him just fine. It gave him space to think.
He tried running through facts in his head again. If they'd already gotten that bird statue, they'd already gone up against Gavin, which meant...
Madeline. Rage and grief bubbled up in his chest at the thought of her name, feet subconsciously moving faster. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears. God, she was out there, wasn't she? Because he'd let her out of the damn void. You really are a schmuck, aren't you? If Red was normal now, there was no way Madeline could go through with her plans. But that low-life Victorian-era broad didn't know that. She'd kill innocent people. Tear apart innocent souls. Like George Ostin and Kendra's mother, and-
He had to stop her. Somehow. He couldn't even see the broad anymore. Couldn't see any of the spooks. But he had to try, didn't he? It was what they did, after all.
No. It was what he did. Red could keep her pretty little head far away from all this. Now that they weren't shackled together anymore, there was no point dragging her into this. This was between him and Madeline. And it was damn personal.
But what was he going to tell Red? The anger clouding him dissipated suddenly, and he stopped walking, the fists in his pockets loosening.
What the hell was he going to tell her?
"Morning, Red," he said jovially as he walked through the door with a paper bag, tossing something down on the coffee table.
Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. "Where have you been?" she demanded. "I thought you were-"
"Dead?"
She sighed in exasperation, looking down at the table. What the hell? Had he seriously gone through her stuff?
"Are those my keys?"
"Lighten up, sweetheart. It's not like I could've left without them." He sat and opened up the bag, pulling out a bagel. "I got us breakfast."
"And how did you pay for breakfast?"
He pulled her wallet out of a suit pocket, tossing it onto the table as well. "You think I didn't know your PIN number after hanging over your shoulder for so long?"
"Joey-"
She was cut off by another bagel being shoved into her hands. "Come on, kid. Eat up while it's still warm."
"You're not concerned at all about the fact you violated my privacy?"
She could see his face twitch before he took a huge bite of his bagel, fingers toying with the paper it was wrapped in. "Hm?"
She sighed, relenting. "Never mind." The bagel was good at least, and he seemed to have remembered her preferences. But it turned out that it was harder than she'd expected to ask him anything, though, let alone get an answer.
"I saw Nishanti in the hall," he continued, either oblivious or intentionally dodging the question. Rosa suspected the latter. "She told me about how great it was that you'd finally found 'such a nice young man'."
"Oh, God."
"For the record, I didn't tell her anything. That one's all on you, doll."
"But you corrected her, didn't you?"
He shrugged, continuing to eat his bagel. "Don't think it would've mattered if I did."
"Joey."
"Oh, come on, you know I'm right. If I said anything, and I mean anything, it would've just drilled that idea further into that old broad's head."
"You could've at least tried."
"Sure. I could've."
"But you didn't."
"But I didn't."
Ugh. As if she didn't already have enough to deal with as it was. Speaking of which...
She looked back at him, still munching away at the bagel. "When are you going to tell me what happened?"
He stopped eating instantly, face turning to stone. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You can't deny it," she insisted. "The proof is literally in front of me. You weren't alive two days ago. You are now. What happened?"
He slowly put the remainder of his bagel back in the bag, standing up. "Nothing."
"You've somehow reversed death and that's nothing?" she exclaimed, exasperated.
"It wasn't-" He shook his head, back turned to her. "Forget it."
She shook her head back, incredulous. "This isn't something I can just forget."
"Well, maybe you should change that, then." He walked up to the door, frown deepening. "Don't wait up."
"Joey, wait." She started after him, but he was moving too fast. "You didn't take the-" She winced as the door slammed in her face. "... keys."