Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mike trailed after Alison down the corridor. “But it’s a Saturday,” he said petulantly. “Can’t they give you a day off?”

She stopped outside the TV room. “If I just do this one last thing, we should be left alone for a good few hours.” She grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Then lazy day is officially on, okay?”

He opened his mouth to reply but had to pause as nausea took hold of him. He swallowed thickly against the acidic feeling in his chest, against the bile that stung at the back of his throat.

Alison squinted up at him. “Mike? Are you alright?”

There were bright spots upon his vision. He tried to blink them away.

“I’m fine, why?”

“You’ve sort of—” Alison chewed at her lip, concerned. “Well, you’ve sort of got—”

“Good heavens, why can’t I move?” a deep, clipped voice asked. Mike looked over his shoulder, bewildered. Where the hell had that come from?

Alison’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. She pressed a concerned hand to her mouth.

Mike frowned. “Ali, what’s wrong?”

Those bright spots were becoming more distinct, transforming from little stars twinkling away in the night sky into something more akin to a flaming sun. They had a new tangibility to them, a solidity to their brightness that was vaguely worrying.

Alison held both of his hands. “Don’t panic, okay,” she said.

With an anxious half-smile, Mike replied, “Well now I’m definitely panicking.”

“It’ll be fine.” Alison’s smile was strained. “It’s just I’m pretty sure that you’re currently a little, um,” — she pressed her lips together — “possessed.”

“Good Lord!” that voice exclaimed again, and Mike felt his own lips move around the words. “You mean by me, don’t you?”

“Of course she does, Captain,” admonished the voice of a severe, condescending woman.

Following the sound, Mike watched as a figure began to emerge through the air. Her head was tilted back, and her lips were characteristically pursed as she examined him down the length of her nose. She glowed around the edges, before settling.

“It’s the Grey Lady,” Mike whispered loudly, entranced by her sudden appearance.

Alison glanced sharply at him. “You can see her?”

Mike scrunched his eyes shut and then opened them again. If anything, that only made her clearer. Saying as much to Alison, he turned to get a look at the others and instead came face-to-nothing with a lurching, headless body.

Letting out an alarmed noise, he stumbled back, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. 

Alison grabbed at his shoulders, steadying him. “It’s okay,” she reassured. “That’s just Humphrey. Don’t freak out. There’s no need to freak out.”

Mike watched as Humphrey’s body ambled unsteadily through a wall.

“Sort yourself out man,” the Captain admonished. “Stumbling about like a newborn calf. It’s downright unseemly.”

“Oh that’s weird,” Pat said, alarmed. Mike could see him now too. He was starting to feel very grateful for the ghost-chart. “It’s like you’re only half there, Cap.”

“Really?”

“You’re flickering in and out, mate,” Pat replied. He pursed his lips. “I guess that’s later scuppered then?” he asked, disappointed. “Maybe tomorrow instead—”

“Affirmative,” the Captain said quickly.

“Hang on, rewind,” Mike interjected. “‘Newborn calf’?”

“Yes,” the Captain said. “Saw plenty of the things during Basic Training. Ungainly as anything. Stumbling about all over the place. You can be as undignified as you want when it’s just you in here, but you shan’t be dragging me down with you, Michael.”

Alison laughed. “Ship’s already sailed on that one, Cap.”

“Good back-up you are,” Mike replied.

“I’m sorry, it’s just— It is a bit—”

“Don’t say funny! This is so not funny,” Mike said. “I’ve got a ghost in my body.”

“I’m still here, you know?” the Captain interrupted.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about you,” Mike said, looking up. “‘Undignified’, eh? Well, if you’ve got a problem with it, then why don’t you vacate the premises?”

“Why does he always look at the ceiling?” Julian asked, exasperated.

Mike ignored him.

“Ah,” the Captain said.

“What does that mean?” Mike asked with his hands in the air.

“Well, I— I’m afraid I’m not quite sure how to, so to speak.” The Captain cleared his throat. “This has never happened before.”

Mike’s eyes widened with alarm.

“When Julian first discovered his extraordinary powers,” Thomas interjected. “It was a long time before he could shift anything more than the smallest of objects.”

The others murmured their agreement.

“Takes practice,” Robin said. “Effort.”

“Like a good poet,” Thomas said. “One must hone one’s skill.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Pat said a bit desperately. “Maybe you just need to concentrate. Worth a try, eh?”

“Right you are, Patrick,” the Captain said, brusqueness covering a flash of uncertainty.

There was an interval of silence. Mike felt his left eyelid twitch a fraction.

“Are you doing it?” Pat asked hopefully.

“Blast it! Nothing’s happening,” the Captain replied.

Mike looked at Alison. He could already feel a headache forming behind his eyes. 

She smiled sympathetically.

“You be’s bedevilled,” Mary said, pointing at him. “Not’s to worry though, for I has the perfect cure—”

“No thank you, Mary,” the Captain cut in quickly.

If Mike didn’t initially understand the Captain’s reservations, then he soon came to. The concoction Mary went on to describe made his ghost-seeing potion seem appealing.

“Hang on,” Pat interrupted, just as Mary was expounding upon the anti-Satanic properties of raw Goose eggs. “Can you taste food, do you reckon?”

The Captain hummed. “Interesting notion.”

Pat looked at Mike expectantly.

“But I’ve just eaten—”

Alison bit her lip. “It’s usually best to just go along with what they ask.”

Remembering how they’d almost driven her off-the-deep-end in their first few weeks here together, Mike sighed. Things had gotten better after she’d started acquiescing. Alison rubbed at his arm.

When they reached the Kitchen, Mike noticed the extra pep in Alison’s step and said, “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

She shot him a look as she reached into the fridge and, lips pressed contritely together, said, “Just a teeny bit, yeah.”

He couldn’t blame her. Not really. Not when she’d been dealing with them on her own for years. He felt like he had tinnitus from listening to them all trying to speak at once. Like, actual ear damage.

Alison pressed a chocolate bar into his hand. “Break a piece off.”

He peeled the paper back and snapped off a row. 

Alison grabbed his arm before he could raise his hand to his mouth. “Are you trying to kill him twice?” she asked, askance.

Mike looked at her guilelessly. “Y’what?”

“I believe Alison may be referring to wartime rationing,” the Captain said. “Chocolate was rare fare when I was alive, and well, I haven’t actually eaten anything in seventy years, either. Could be quite a shock to the system.”

 “Oh, right. That makes sense I suppose.” Mike snapped a square off from the row. “You ready?”

The Captain cleared his throat before assenting.

Popping the square into his mouth, he let it sit on his tongue to melt.

“How’s that?” Mike asked.

“It’s— It’s quite delicious,” the Captain replied. “I’d forgotten that this was what it…” His voice sounded a lot smaller to Mike’s ears than it had a moment ago. Not quite kid-at-Christmas but not too far off either. “Another, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Mike broke off another square and popped it in.

Alison was smiling.

“You jammy sod,” Pat said. “If you weren’t already dead I’d murder you out of sheer bloody jealousy.”

“Now, now, Patrick ,” the Captain seemed to hesitate, before continuing with a smug air. “If you insist on speaking to me like that, then I won’t describe what it tastes like?”

Pat rubbed his hands together, torn. He soon surrendered, though, sitting down at the Kitchen table. “Oh, go on then.”

Mike rolled his eyes.

“I saw that young man,” Fanny admonished, appearing at his shoulder. Mike jumped. It was hard for him to see her and not get the Grey Lady creeps. “A gentleman does not mock his conversational partners.”

When he looked to Alison for help, she was biting back a grin. “Yeah. They’re always like this.”

“May we be seated please, Michael? ” the Captain requested.

“Well,” Mike said, shooting a pleading glance at Alison. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, is it?”

“I guess lazy day is getting a reschedule,” Alison said with a shrug.

With a weak glare, Mike pulled out a chair. Sitting down at the Kitchen table, he spent the next half-hour listening as the Captain described chocolate to Pat.

Chapter Text

Mike wanted to go to sleep.

“I don’t like this,” the Captain said uneasily.

“What do you want me to do?” Mike said, climbing into bed.

Missing the obvious rhetorical inflection, the Captain pounced to reply, “Since you ask, there are several things. First of all, the perimeter must be patrolled. Can’t have the Boche getting the drop on us, can we now? Then the house itself must be—”

“No. Nope,” Mike interrupted. “I’m not doing any of that.”

There were only so many concessions he could make, and walking around in the middle of the night wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Fine,” the Captain huffed imperiously. “I may not like it, but I do suppose you have control of our movements at present. Please, though, may we at least retire to my quarters for the evening? I cannot possibly share with Alison.”

“Why not?” Mike asked, only half paying attention as he tugged the blankets up around his chin. 

“Well, now you’re just being unreasonable,” the Captain said.

Mike turned his face into the pillow and ignored the Captain’s grumbling. He felt the bed dip as Alison climbed in beside him and he closed his eyes, content in his cocoon of blankets.

In the morning, Mike stumbled into the en-suite bathroom with a wide yawn.

“Don’t — !”

Mike stopped. He withdrew his fingers from the waistband of his boxers.

Grinding the heel of his hand into his eye-socket, Mike said, “How’re we going to do this?”

“I’ve no earthly idea,” the Captain replied, sounding quite pained.

Mike bounced in place. He really needed to go. “Eyes closed?” he offered.

He felt the Captain wince. “It’ll have to do, won’t it?”

Mike spent the next five minutes cleaning up after himself. Mourning the loss of his dignity, he returned to the bedroom.

“Everything alright?” Alison asked, slipping a shoe on.

“Fine. Yeah. Totally,” Mike said unconvincingly. The Captain, meanwhile, remained suspiciously silent. “Just out of interest, what does the Captain tend to do when he’s not, you know, knocking about the place?”

“You mean what does he like?” On her way out the door, she turned to look at him. Mike nodded. “Oh, that’s easy. He’s mad for anything war-related. Documentaries, movies… he’d probably love some of your shooter games, actually,” she finished, then ducked out into the hallway.

“Right,” Mike said. 

That was good. Whacking something war-related onto the TV wouldn’t be a hardship. While he couldn’t quite be bothered booting his Xbox up right now — though that was certainly an option to file away for another time — an episode or two of something action-packed didn’t sound bad at all.

Alison popped her head back around the doorframe. “What, trying to win him over are you?”

“No.” Mike said, before mumblingly amending to, “Maybe.”

She shot him an amusement-infused, “Good luck,” and then disappeared again.

He could do this, Mike thought uncertainly.

The thing was, after the initial excitement, everyone else seemed perfectly happy to just get on with it. The Captain lived with Mike now. That was the situation. Mike wasn’t that okay with it, though, and — especially after the bathroom incident — he could tell that the Captain wasn’t either.

Still, Mike had no idea how to fix any of this. From what the rest of the ghosts had said yesterday, it might just be a waiting game until the Captain could figure out how to leave him. In the meantime, however, what he could do was make things as painless as possible between them. Starting by getting them both on the same page.

There was nothing like a bit of male bonding. Though, he had to admit, there was something different about it when the guy he was trying to get on the level with died forty years before he was even born.

Mike pursed his lips, then jumped back in bed and reached for the TV remote. Switching to Netflix, he pressed play on Band of Brothers and settled back against the pillows.

When they’d almost finished episode one, Mike noted that the Captain still hadn’t said a word — apart from a brief “goodness gracious me”, which Mike was pretty certain was in response to a tank rolling across the screen.

When the credits began Mike paused the TV and waited. 

It didn’t take the Captain too long to cotton-on. “It’s not the, er,” — he cleared his throat — “the lavatory incident that’s the problem if you were wondering.”

Mike raised both eyebrows. “Stopped giving me the silent treatment then, have we?”

“Yes, well,” the Captain muttered. “Alison has recently drilled the importance of communicating one’s feelings into the lot of us.”

Mike smiled fondly. “That sounds like her.”

“Indeed.”

“You going to tell me then, or what? What’s up?”

“It’s, ah, actually Alison that’s the issue,” the Captain said, sounding strained. “I can’t share a bedroom with her. Quite apart from the obvious impropriety, the woman does a bally good impression of an octopus when she’s asleep.”

Mike frowned. “She’s my wife, I can’t just up to another room. I don’t want to—”

“I cannot move, Michael, I’m a passenger, I—” The Captain sounded strangled, and Mike didn’t know what to say in response to such an outburst. Taking a moment to calm down, he continued, “I don’t care what it is that you decide upon, all I ask is that you try to find an amicable solution.”

He was too proud to say ‘please’, though Mike heard it in his tone anyway. To be trapped like that was quite horrific, maybe he should be listening to the Captain a bit more. Mike wasn’t a monster, the last thing he wanted was to upset anyone. 

He’d spent the past day constantly feeling like he was learning on the job again, always one step behind, not quite knowing what was right in each new situation. It wasn’t fair to leave the Captain with no say whatsoever, Mike could recognise that at least. 

It was strange, though, having another person imposed upon his relationship with Alison. Mike knew that the Captain didn’t mean any harm either, that he couldn’t help being a perpetual third-wheel right now. It was still frustrating, though, because Mike didn’t want to be away from Alison. 

The last time they’d slept apart was during that whole camping fiasco, and they hadn’t even made it through the whole night. He’d been so cold, all alone in that ramshackle tent. He hadn’t liked it one bit until she’d crawled in beside him. 

Mike chewed thoughtfully at his bottom lip. “What we really need are some ground rules, don’t you think?”

“An excellent idea,” the Captain said, clearly relieved. “If I could’ve vacated the premises — as you so succinctly put it yesterday — then I would’ve done so last night believe you me. No. We’re stuck with each other for the foreseeable, so we might as well make the best of it. Blitz spirit eh, Michael?”

“You’ll get no arguments from me,” Mike said. 

He had work tomorrow. It wasn’t lost on him, the inevitable awkwardness that would ensue if the Captain decided to pipe up during an online meeting. What the hell would his boss think if some posh bloke’s voice started coming out of his mouth? Mike just knew that he’d end up trying to lie on the spot and, next thing, everyone would think he was a ventriloquist in the making.

“Jolly good,” the Captain said. “Now, first things first, sleeping arrangements?”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Mike said, “I’ve got an idea about that actually.”

“Oh?”

For the rest of the morning, they hashed out the logistics of their arrangement. After a while, Alison appeared with a small plate of sandwiches and a glass of water.

“Oh, you’re a lifesaver,” Mike groaned, only noticing his empty stomach now that there was food in front of him. “I totally forgot.”

“Thought you might’ve,” she said wryly as she passed him the plate. He wasn’t always great at looking after himself when there was something big on his mind. “How’s it going?”

“Alright,” Mike said, taking a bite from a sandwich. Speaking around the cheese in his mouth, he continued, “We’re going to be top-and-tailing for a bit by the way.”

“What? Why?” Alison asked, surprised.

“Why d’you think?” Mike exclaimed and then, snickering, said, “It’s not so funny now you’re losing your hot water bottle, is it?”

**

“What we really need,” Róisín said. “Is a better way to connect with—”

“How long till we can close the lap top?” the Captain muttered. “I’m missing Patrick’s latest club—”

Mike cleared his throat sharply and winced as a purple glow ringed his picture on his laptop’s screen. He watched as confusion rippled across the faces of his colleagues.

“Was that from you, Mike?” Róisín asked, her tinny voice emanating through his speakers. “Did you say something?”

“Just a bit of background noise I think,” Mike deflected with a strained smile. “You know how it is.”

“Boy do I,” she laughed, amusedly shaking her head. “Now, what was I just saying?”

Relieved, Mike for once thanked the crappy quality of his laptop camera. She mustn’t have seen his lips moving. Grabbing his notebook, he hastily wrote ‘One hour’. Below that, in big, scribbly capital letters, he added ‘No talking till then!’. 

He looked at the note pointedly, before getting back to work. After half-an-hour of silence, Mike slipped a square of chocolate into his mouth. His tummy may not thank him, but the Captain’s newly-discovered sweet tooth would certainly be mollified by the gesture.

As Mike logged off, the Captain said, “I keep forgetting that I can be heard. Dashed inconvenient,” by way of explanation.

Mike hummed understandingly. It was taking some getting used to for both of them. “At least it was a team-meeting and not a one-on-one, easier to explain away. Where are we off to then?”

At the Captain’s instruction, Mike headed for the Common Room. When they got there, though, everyone already seemed to be filing out in different directions.

“What?” The Captain was entirely nonplussed. “Where are you all going?”

“Afraid you’ve missed it, old chap,” Julian said airily, passing by. “You. Late. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Briefly stunned, the Captain called out after him, “Well, it’s not exactly my fault, is it?”

Mike tried not to wince at that.

“I’m sorry,” Pat said guiltily. “I did try and get them to wait, but you know what they’re like.”

“It’s fine,” the Captain said, a tad too sharply.

“Listen,” Pat said, waiting for the last person to leave the room. “Would you sit with us for a second?”

“Ah. Yes,” the Captain said, with a sudden shiftiness to his voice that had Mike suppressing an inquisitive frown. “Of course.”

Pat settled down on the couch, and Mike — feeling more than ever like he was carrying Cap around in a backpack — sat down beside him.

“I’m here, you know,” Pat said carefully. “If you want to talk about what’s going on? This—”

With a sharp, panicked breath, the Captain cut in swiftly, “Now, Patrick, I would think you’d know full well that I shan’t be discussing sensitive information in front of—”

“Would you let me finish? If you did, you’d know you’ve got the wrong end of the stick,” Pat said, with a strangely-emotional laugh. “It doesn’t mean we can’t have a chat, does it, just because of what—” Pat swallowed, cutting himself off. He turned to look at the Captain directly, then, and to Mike, his gaze delved right beneath his skin. “Look, I know you don’t go in for all that talking lark, goodness do I know, but this is strange even for us, isn’t it. So, if you need to say anything, then I’m here. You can always bend my ear off, okay?”

“Yes, alright,” the Captain said, flustered. “I’ll think about it. Of course. Thank you.”

It dawned upon Mike, then, that the Captain wasn’t uncomfortable talking to Pat — as the portion of his Saturday that was dedicated to an in-depth description of chocolate could attest to — he was uncomfortable talking to Pat alone. What the hell had happened between them?

“No problem-o. That’s all I wanted to hear,” Pat said, wearing a smile that didn’t quite fit on his face. “Now, may I speak to Mike, please?”

Mike’s eyebrows rose. “Er, yeah. You don’t need to ask, though. I’m still here when he’s speaking. We haven’t got, like, switchable heads.”

“Okay,” Pat said, pushing at the bridge of his glasses and leaning forwards with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to introduce myself to you properly. I’m Pat.”

“I know that,” Mike said, a bit bewildered.

“Yeah but, well, you only know us through Alison don’t you, so I just wanted to say ‘Hi’, and extend an offer to come to any of our clubs, too. I run them all, of course.” Pat gestured to his uniform wryly. “You’re already in for Movie Night, but we’ve got a lot of other fun stuff going on that you could join in with now.”

“Uhh,” Mike floundered. Looking at the hope in Pat’s eyes, he felt an intense pressure to say ‘yes’. He was finding it difficult enough to deal with just the Captain, though, never mind the rest of them.

“Bally hell,” the Captain inserted himself into the silence, saving Mike from having to decide in the process. “Don’t overwhelm the man, Patrick. I know that I missed today, but that doesn’t mean you have to force Michael into coming along.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Pat denied, his smile faltering and his tone taking on a defensive lilt. “It was just an offer. Don’t want anyone feeling excluded. Take it up if you want to, alright?”

Blinking, Mike nodded and said, “Sure.”

He was getting so much half-information. It was like he was watching Eastenders, Mike thought, trying to piece together some drama that’d been going on for yonks from scraps of conversation.

At his response, cheer replaced the worry in Pat’s eyes. “Okay, then,” he rubbed his hands together and stood up. “I’ll be off. Alison’s putting the footie on the VCR again. Euro ‘96 here I come. You could— You could come if you want, Cap?”

“Not right now, I think.”

“Okay,” Pat said, smiling determinedly through his disappointment.

Mike pressed his lips together, relieved at the refusal. Perhaps he’d stay clear of Pat for the day — the man was about to go through a traumatic experience. He was lovely, but Mike was certain that even his good spirits would be tested by the outcome of that penalty shootout.

“Oh, Cap?” Pat turned around in the doorway. “Just checking, but I’m guessing we’re off for tomorrow as well, then?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain replied. “I think it’s for the best, for the moment at least. Don’t you?”

Pat didn't look pleased, though he nevertheless responded with a, “Right you are,” before leaving.

“What was all that about?” Mike asked, his curiosity overcoming the knowledge that he almost certainly wouldn’t get an answer.

“Nothing important,” the Captain predictably sighed.

Though Mike didn’t believe him, he decided to let the matter drop for now in the interests of maintaining the equilibrium of their peaceful co-existence.

Chapter Text

After moving into Button House, Mike had quickly decided that the long drive into the city just wasn’t worth it for a night down the pub but, whilst Alison had promptly agreed, she hadn’t been particularly enamoured with the thought of losing touch with everyone in their life. This had led to what they now termed the catch-up party, which was their way of making up for all the nights out they’d missed throughout the year. 

This one had been on the cards for months, and Mike — possession or no possession — didn’t like changing his plans. His decision to go ahead regardless was an attempt to claw some normality back into his life, and he was determined for it to work.

Tonight, Mike was on door answering duty. He was like a yo-yo every time he heard a knock, lurching up from the couch to let people in from the cold night air.

When he next opened the front door, his old mate Greg was standing there with his arms held wide, fringe flopping over his forehead. He hadn’t changed a bit. Stepping into the house, he enveloped Mike in a hug. “S’good to see you,” he said.

Following him in, his partner Shaun conscientiously wiped his feet on the mat. Once Mike had been released they exchanged greetings, whilst Greg bundled their coat’s onto the coat rack. Shaun pressed a bottle of wine into his hands.

Mike had known Greg since high school. He’d watched him transform from a shy, little year seven into a sixth-former who just about avoided suspension after breaking Adam Key’s nose for having a go at him.

They went their separate ways after graduating. Mike stayed in the south because he was a home bird at heart, whilst Greg went to Leeds for University. He hadn’t exactly picked up the accent, but there was a certain twang to his voice sometimes that made Mike laugh. 

He’d moved back to London after his course was finished, and when Mike next saw him he’d filled out a bit, grown a beard, and had been dating Shaun for half a year. These days, though, he worked in a library near Islington.

He’d always be that helpless, nerdy kid to Mike, though. The same one that he’d taken under his wing during their first Geography class when fate — and boring Mr Allam — had decreed that they share a table. 

Mike hardly got to see him these days. Keeping in touch with people was difficult when you inherited a house in the sticks, which wasn’t something he was complaining about, per se — he knew how lucky they were that Button House had fallen into their lap when it had. 

They were isolated out here, though. Having this many people around was, well, a few and far between occasion. Mike was grateful he and Alison had each other. He couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to live out here on his own, with not a soul to talk to or laugh with. God, even thinking about it made him feel down. 

Just as Mike was about to shut the door, Obi came barrelling up the driveway. He had a large gym bag slung over one shoulder. It clinked suspiciously as he walked towards him with an unabashedly wide smile. Mike stood aside and let him through without a word — there was no point in arguing with Obi when he had his mind set on a rager.

Waiting until Obi was out of sight, Mike whispered to the Captain, “What are you?”

“An observer,” the Captain replied, dutifully parroting his own words back to him. “Like the man from Blue Planet, except without the voice-over. Don’t worry, Michael, you can count upon my discretion.”

“Brilliant,” Mike smiled, closing the front door. “And what’s the word?”

Last night, they’d agreed upon a code word. It was only to be used in dire emergencies. If he heard it at any point, Mike had promised to find an empty room so they could talk. It had been one of the Captain’s conditions for allowing the party to go ahead.

With the code word repeated one final time, Mike closed the front door and joined the party. 

He felt secure in the knowledge that he’d done everything in his power to accommodate the Captain tonight. Having upheld his end of the arrangement, he had his fingers crossed that there wouldn’t be any spontaneous, plummy voices coming out of his mouth for the next few hours.

Later — a few drinks deep and pleasantly buzzed — Mike found himself trapped in a bit of a giggle fit. It was Thomas’s overly-ostentatious dancing that was doing it. Mike had concluded that he looked like a peacock five minutes ago, and he still hadn’t properly recovered.

With each successive drink, Greg slid further from his perch upon the arm of the couch and onto Mike until he was half draped over him. Greg was a sleepy drunk. Within an hour or two, he always found a shoulder to rest his head upon, and tonight it seemed that Mike was the lucky chosen one. This was how it’d always been. Mike couldn’t count how many times he’d carried him home from parties as a teenager.

Pulling back, Greg looked at him with bleary eyes and asked, “What’s so funny?”

Mike looked away from Thomas. “Nothing.” He pushed Greg’s glass closer to his face. “If you finish that now I’ll get you another one.” When Greg shot him an inquisitive frown, Mike shrugged and said, “Need a refill myself.”

Duly distracted, Greg necked what was left of his drink. Taking hold of his glass, Mike stood up and made his way over to a table topped with alcohol. He poured out their replacements.

Two drinks in hand, Mike caught Pat’s eyes on his way back to the couch and watched as an indecipherable emotion flashed briefly across his features. He felt the Captain shift uncomfortably beneath his skin in response and shivered at the sensation, at the disturbing, cold, alienness of it.

Mike forced a smile onto his face as he walked past Pat, who, after a moment, haltingly returned the gesture. He decided then that he was going to ignore it — whatever it was that was going on between the pair of them. His brain was too fuzzy. He couldn’t decipher ghost problems whilst he was in this state.

Passing Greg's glass to him, Mike was halfway to sitting down when the Captain muttered a strained, “Swordfish.”

Mike almost groaned. He stopped himself, though, because he had made a promise, after all. Making his excuses, he slipped away quietly. Beelining for a quieter part of the house, he tried to shake off the drink-induced stupor that had him firmly in its grip.

He’d suggested the code word. It sounded innocuous, but also a bit cool. It was the type of moniker that would be given to a secret operation in a spy movie, which Mike had correctly figured that the Captain would enjoy. 

Mike walked into an unused room. He sat down upon the edge of a well-made double bed, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Right, so,” Mike paused significantly, raising both of his eyebrows. “Can I go back to the party, then?”

“No!” the Captain exclaimed, then, modifying to a calmer tone, continued, “I’d, ah, rather we didn’t. At least for a little while.”

“Talking to you, it’s like, it’s like trying to get blood from a stone,” Mike said, irritation seeping around his words. 

“Now, steady on—”

“If you don’t give me a proper reason then I’m going back,” Mike interrupted with a sigh. “I’ve been looking forward to today for ages, you know I have, and you said you wouldn’t ruin it.” Chewing at his bottom lip, Mike tapped out an irregular rhythm against his knee. “Is this about Pat?”

He’d decided to ignore it but sometimes it was best to just be direct — to cut through all the nonsense.

“What?” the Captain said, sounding knocked for six. He laughed, and Mike noticed for the first time that there was a tangible slur in his voice. “Of course it’s not about Pat. What’re you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the secretive conversations,” Mike said, gesturing pointedly with his hands. “I’m talking about the weird looks Pat keeps giving you. I’m talking about the general atmosphere of—”

“It’s your chap if you must know,” the Captain said, tone sharp.

“...eh?” Mike replied, thoroughly derailed.

The Captain hummed disapprovingly. “The fellow who’s spent at least half the night hanging from you like a limpet.”

“What, Greg?” Mike frowned. “What about him?”

“He’s all over you,” the Captain told him, his tongue looser than usual. “If that’s not bad enough, he’s doing it whilst the whole house looks on, too.”

Mike frowned. He frowned because he’d had this exact conversation before. A certain uncle that he very firmly didn't speak to these days had seen them hanging out after school and had decided to make his odious thoughts known to the world. 

Mike rubbed a hand over his face. As if this whole situation wasn’t dire enough, he was sharing his body with a bigot. Perhaps he should’ve seen it coming, though. The Captain was from the nineteen forties, which was, what, thirty years before legalisation?

Rising from the bed, Mike began to pace. “Did you see him kissing Shaun on his way in, is that it?” Mike swallowed, briefly clenched his jaw, attempted to suppress some of his anger, and then tried for a more considered route. “Listen, mate, I know you’re, like, a hundred years old or whatever, but we’re in the twenty twenties now.”

“I don’t see what pertinence the date has upon anything?” the Captain questioned.

“You need to get with the times, d’you understand?” Pausing in his pacing, Mike thoughtfully rubbed his thumb against his chin, before rather shrewdly saying, “Actually d’you know what, I don’t think you’ve got a problem with him being all over me. I think you’ve got a problem with him being all over you.” The Captain’s silence was deafening. “I’m right, aren’t I?” When he still didn’t respond, Mike shook his head and said, “I’m going back to the party now.”

It was sad, really. If Mike was glad of one thing, it was that Greg had no idea that the Captain even existed. You couldn’t be hurt by someone that didn’t exist.

Mike left the room. He only made it a few steps down the hallway, though, before his legs suddenly ceased to move.

Looking at his still feet with trepidation, Mike asked the Captain, “Is this — ?”

“Yes,” the Captain admitted haltingly. “It’s me.”

Turning around, the Captain walked back to the unused room. As he sat down on the bed, Mike reached into his pocket for his phone. He called Alison with fumbling fingers.

“I’m in a room at the far end of the house—“

“We’re in my quarters, Alison,” the Captain interjected.

Mike pressed the phone against his ear, willing her closer. “Will you come find me?”

“Yeah, of course,” she replied. “On my way.”

“Bring a bottle, will you?” Mike asked. “Something strong.”

“Alright.” There was a concerned pause. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

Mike hung up. Biting into his bottom lip, he returned his phone to his pocket and tried not to panic.

“What’s going on?” Alison asked upon catching sight of him. “People are starting to miss you at the party, Mike.”

“Bottle,” Mike insisted, holding his hand out. He wasn’t the biggest fan of whiskey. He allowed it to fill his mouth anyway though and even half-enjoyed the burn as it went down his throat. He placed the bottle on the floor beside his foot. “I can’t move my legs,” he told Alison.

She eyed him with concern. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Cap’s gone on strike and he’s taken my legs with him,” Mike summed up. “God, is this what it’s going to be like from now on? Is he going to take over more and more bits of me?” He looked up at Alison with wide, panicked eyes. “What do I do? I don’t know what to do?”

“Okay, breathe.” She sat down next to him and went to pat his knee, before thinking better of it. “What’s kicked this off? I thought you two were thick as thieves now?”

“We were but…” Mike didn’t know how to talk about this with the Captain listening in on his every word. “He’s got a problem with Greg,” he said eventually, raising his eyebrows significantly.

“Right?” Alison said, drawing the word out whilst raising her own in response.

Mike rolled his eyes — she could be so oblivious sometimes.

Because he couldn’t see a way around it, Mike leaned in confidentially, and hissed, “I think he’s a homophobe.”

Alison barked out a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“No!” Mike exclaimed. “Why would I joke about that?”

“Listen, I don’t know where you’ve got this from, but you’re wrong, okay?” Alison said a bit more seriously. “You’re definitely wrong.”

“He was being all weird about Greg,” Mike said, insistent.

Alison pulled a face. “That— Yeah, that makes sense.” Mike shot her a look. “Not because of that, he’s not— Greg’s just a very touchy guy, Mike, and the Captain, well, isn’t,” she finished lamely, a dissatisfied twist to her mouth.

“Oh, come on,” Mike said, disbelieving. He’d known the Captain’s problem was to do with Greg being gay from the moment he’d mentioned him. He could just tell. He’d known Greg for so long that he’d actually formed a bit of a sixth sense when it came to people having a problem with him.

“I can’t explain this to you, Mike. It’s really not my place. I don’t even know what it is that I know.” She frowned, clearly tying herself up in knots. With a shake of the head, she continued, “Can’t you just accept that?”

He almost could, but— “No,” Mike said, decisive. “I’m sharing everything with this guy, absolutely everything — and I’ve found a way to be okay with that — but now I can’t even spend time with an old mate because, why? Because he’s got control of my legs. This is,” Mike swallowed. “It’s too much, okay. I need a good explanation here.”

“I can’t—”

“It’s fine, Alison.” The Captain cleared his throat and stood up, and Mike tried not to let the vertigo that naturally went hand-in-hand with the unexpected movement get to him. “I’ve had enough of listening to the peanut gallery. I’ll do my best to explain.”

He walked over to the window.

Mike looked at his reflection in the glass. He’d been avoiding mirrors lately because it disturbed him to watch someone else’s face flicker in-and-out behind his own. Now that he looked, though, he saw that the Captain’s features were downcast, and that there was a heaviness around his eyes that was unsullied by the dull windowpane.

Looking away, Mike noticed Alison’s reflection over his shoulder. She’d gotten up from the bed to stand behind him.

The Captain released an unsteady breath.

“You can say it to me if you want?” Alison offered tentatively. “Whatever it is that you might have to say?”

The Captain turned to face her. Mike was surprised by the expression on her face — supportive encouragement tethered by anxiety, as well as a little bit of heartbreak that Mike was sure no one but him would recognise on her. He had an inkling, then, that he might’ve made a mistake in pushing so hard.

“I didn’t realise until it was too late, you see,” the Captain said, bouncing back on his heels, before stilling. “I didn’t realise that I was gay, that is. Not until long after my death.”

With a slow, surprised intake of breath, Mike felt a helpless shot of guilt run through him. It wasn’t often that he misread a situation this badly. It wasn’t often that anyone misread a situation this badly.

“It was an absent concept in my day,” the Captain continued, “which is probably difficult for you to understand now. I knew nothing about it. No one spoke of such things. I, ah,” a sad smile flickered across his mouth. “ I knew there was something the matter with me, of course, but there was nothing to aid me in my understanding so I simply carried on regardless. It was easier to ignore the occasional bout of confusion than to give it credence. 

I suppose that’s something I still do even now. Sweeping unmentionable things under the rug is rather second nature to me, I’m afraid.” He struggled for a moment, before overcoming his uncertainty to add, “I apologise for attempting such underhand tactics upon your friend, Michael. He doesn’t deserve it. No one does, really.”

Mike swallowed. Whilst it was difficult to find words, he knew he owed the Captain more than silence right now. “You don’t have to apologise.”

Alison slid her hand into his, squeezed at his fingers, and said, “I kind of want to hug you,” to the Captain. “Would you mind?”

When the Captain assented — after making an unsure noise in his throat — Alison quickly wrapped her arms around his middle, and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. Mike hugged back automatically, and the contact made him realise just how much he’d missed holding her like this over the past week.

It wasn’t even for him; she was hugging the Captain. Mike couldn’t begrudge it, though. He knew this could be her only opportunity to hug the Captain. That it might be the only opportunity she ever got to hug any of her adopted ghost family. 

If there was one positive to being possessed then this was it, Mike decided. That he’d been able to give Alison this moment, it made all of the awkwardness and the stress and the confusion of the past week worth it.

“You know about my dad.” Alison was hiding her face against his shoulder, muffling her slightly wobbly voice. “I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with him. But — and don’t you dare tell any of the others about this — having you around feels a lot like having a dad again sometimes.” She let out a shaky breath. Heart clenching, Mike hugged her tighter. “There was never anything wrong with you, you know that now right?”

“I do, Alison. Largely thanks to you, I do. Well, you, plus that blasted Glee show that Katherine insists upon watching,” the Captain said contemplatively. Tone softening, he continued, “And, just for the record, I would be immensely proud if you were my daughter. You’re an excellent young woman.”

Alison sniffed, and Mike decided that maybe he loved the Captain for saying that. The memory of Alison’s half-disguised sadness at the prospect of walking down the aisle on her own remained fresh in his mind. At the time, it had killed Mike that she couldn’t have her father there by her side, that her side of the church was so much emptier than his.

Mike felt control over his legs default back to him, though he was too focused on Alison to pay the return of sensation much heed.

“I wouldn’t mention this to Katherine,” the Captain said, as she pulled away with a pat to his arms.

“Oh god no,” Alison replied, laughing. “She’d absolutely murder us both.”

“Indeed,” the Captain chuckled.

Mike didn’t go back to the party. 

He felt too wrung-out, so he had Alison tell everyone he wasn’t feeling well and went to bed instead. Sleep proved elusive, though, leaving him tossing and turning aimlessly. 

It was the drink, he tried to tell himself — hard alcohol often left him restless — and not because he felt terrible about forcing a ghost to come out. God, his life was insane. Who else had these problems?

Mike poked his head out from beneath the blankets and looked down the length of the bed at Alison, who had joined him a short while ago. She was already asleep. His head dropped back to the pillow.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Mike said groggily, his throat suffering from the after-effects of drinking alcohol as much as from tiredness. 

They were too up in each other’s business. How could they not be when they were stuck together like this, though? 

It was like sharing a one-bedroom flat with a super annoying flatmate. Except the flat was his body, and instead of leaving dishes in the sink overnight, Mike had pushed the Captain into revealing that he was gay, and instead of leaving crumbs in the butter the Captain was a concrete block, unwittingly stood between Mike and Alison at all times.

“We’ve got to find a way to get separated.” Realising how that sounded in light of the Captain’s recent confession, Mike quickly added, “Not ‘cos of what you said before, that’s not why I— I don’t have a problem with—” 

“It’s alright, I agree,” the Captain replied, cutting in before Mike could embarrass either of them any further. “I have an idea around strategy. I’ll set it out for you tomorrow morning, and hopefully, we can proceed from there.”

“I have work tomorrow,” Mike groaned.

“Send them a telegram advising that you’re ill,” the Captain said. “If this doesn’t qualify as sickness, then I don’t know what does.”

Chapter Text

In the morning, Mike grumbled his way through a hangover. The Captain wisely chose not to speak until after he’d gotten a coffee and two slices of toast down him, which Mike was grateful for.

“We need to call a house meeting,” the Captain said. “The agenda — of course — being the reversal of our current predicament.”

To be fair to him, the Captain had been trying to oust himself on a daily basis. Mike had noticed that every night before he went to sleep, the Captain would spend a period in intense, silent concentration trying to hone his skill (as his fellow skill-possessing ghosts had put it). 

He’d been without success thus far, though, so Mike was more than pleased to finally hear a declaration of positive action.

“How do you do that then?” Mike asked, leaning his elbows on the Kitchen table. “Is it a Gondor situation? You know, like, the beacons are lit, and Rohan shall answer? Do I get to light up a bat signal? Or, wait, have you got some kind of ghost telepathy?” He paused, excited, then said, “Can you call them with your mind?”

“Of course not, Michael,” the Captain huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. No, what we need to do is find Patrick. He’ll corral the rabble for us. He’s rather excellent at it.” There was a loaded pause, and then he continued and said, “So you know. Chop-chop. Whenever you’re ready.”

Some of Mike’s enthusiasm dissipated, though not all. It still felt cool to be the one calling a meeting. Like he was Nick Fury getting the Avengers together, only without the silly eyepatch.

Just then, a problem popped into his head.

“Hang on, Pat? Are you sure?” Mike questioned.

“What— Oh, not this again,” the Captain sighed long-sufferingly. “There is nothing going on between me and Patrick. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. So would you please just drop it?”

“Well,” Mike mumbled sarcastically, “that’s me convinced.”

“Good,” the Captain said, Mike’s facetious tone sailing over his head. “Now, shall we go?”

Brushing toast crumbs from his beard, Mike got to his feet. “Alright then, where do I find Pat?”

“Er,” he replied, and Mike could almost imagine him shiftily straightening his tie as he did. “He could be anywhere, I suppose.”

“Helpful,” Mike replied. 

“There’s no need for such acerbity,” the Captain admonished. “Pat doesn’t have any,” he mused, then said, “I suppose you’d call them haunts, though I object to the term on principle. The Common Room is probably your best bet. There may be a club on. If not then we’ll just have to search the house until we come upon him. ”

Brilliant, Mike thought.

Pat wasn’t in the Common Room, which was just bloody typical.

He groaned. “I’m being punished for something, I know I am.”

The Captain scoffed — at his complaining or at the concept of a universe that cared enough to take individual retribution, Mike wasn’t sure.

After a fair bit of looking, they eventually found Pat in the garden. He wasn’t too far out from the house and, on the plus side, the Captain had been right; when it came to getting the word out to everyone, Pat wasn’t one to wait about.

In fact, the eagerness with which he pounced upon the instruction went above and beyond what Mike had come to recognise as even Pat’s base level of enthusiasm. It was almost like he was trying to make up for something. 

Mike filed the observation away.

“You want us to think up a way to get you out of this?” Thomas said, arching an eyebrow. He ponderously crossed his legs, and then, feigning deep thought, leaned back against the couch. “I suppose Michael could kill himself — surely a ghost cannot possess another ghost.”

Mike went to protest but Alison rolled her eyes and pointedly said, “Ignore him.”

“Yes,” the Captain said. “What a preposterous suggestion, Thorne.”

“‘Twas merely an idea,” Thomas said, offended.

“Well, perhaps next time you should keep such ideas to yourself,” the Captain replied testily.

Thomas gasped. “How dare you, sir,” he said, rising waspishly to his feet. “You, who gets to live out my dream, unable to appreciate the opportunity that you have been given. You, who would squander such a gift.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. He was a bit glad, suddenly, that it was the Captain who had possessed him. It seemed there were worse options available.

“What? What on earth are you talking about now?”

“I’ve seen you,” Thomas accused. “Sleeping at the end of Alison’s bed. Why, if it were me I would be wooing the la—”

“Thomas, mate,” Pat cut in with a nervous laugh. “You might want to quit whilst you’re ahead.”

“Nay, Patrick. The man knows nothing of romance. It’s as simple as that,” Thomas continued regardless, waving a dismissive hand.

“If entertaining doomed fancies is romance, then yes, I’m afraid I know nothing of that,” the Captain returned.

Thomas barked out a laugh. “You forget, I was here when you were alive.”

There was a beat of furious silence. Then the Captain said, “And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but Pat stopped him with a firm shake of his head. “I think this has all gotten a bit out of hand,” he placated. “Let’s try and get back on track shall we, eh?”

The Captain huffed, dissatisfied, but nevertheless said, “Yes. Fine. Surely one of you can come up with something better?”

“You’ll needs to get a Priest,” Mary said sagely. “Exorcism's the only way when ye has been touched by the Devil I’m ‘fraid.”

“Yeah, but, Mary, it’s not the Devil inside Mike, is it? It’s Cap,” Pat said slowly.

“Yes, and seen as it’s me that’s inside of Michael” — Mike winced at that particular turn of phrase, and hoped that it wouldn’t catch on — “I’d really rather not have some Priest come along and try to destroy me, thank you very much.”

“I have an idea,” Kitty said earnestly. “If before you go to bed tonight you both wish really hard to be separated, then surely it will be so when you awake.”

Mike wasn’t too surprised at Kitty’s suggestion. For their last movie night, they’d watched Peter Pan.

“We’ll be sure to give that a go, Katherine,” the Captain said, not unkindly. “Anything else?”

“Can’t believe you’ve all missed the obvious.” Julian snorted, then reflexively straightened his tie when everyone turned to look at him. “Quite funny really.”

“What?” Mike asked.

“Well,” Julian laughed. “It’s staring you in the face, isn’t it.”

“What, Julian?” the Captain questioned impatiently. 

“Alright, alright, keep your hair on,” he said, blasé in the face of the Captain’s harrying. “Why don’t you just toddle off outside? Go for a little walk, you know, beyond the boundary.” Julian smiled, pleased with his own ingenuity. “Reckon you’ll pop right out.”

“I have no idea what any of that means,” Mike said, a bit lost. “But it sounds promising?”

“Very promising indeed,” the Captain replied. “None of us can leave the grounds you see. One tends to stay where one dies. If I tried to walk out through the Main Gate, for example, then I would immediately be returned to my place of attempted egress.”

Mike frowned, his brain working through the explanation. He’d had no reason to leave the grounds over the past week. Maybe if he had, this whole situation would’ve been sorted already. 

With a shrug, Mike said, “I’m game. You want to give it a go?”

“I can’t see any downsides to trying,” the Captain said.

It was dewy outside, the air cold and damp against Mike’s skin as muddy clumps of grass clung to his trainers.

He rubbed his hands together. “If this is it, then I’m glad I got to meet you,” he told the Captain. “And about the, er, well, you know. It wasn’t exactly cool to make you tell me any of that, so I’m sorry.”

A momentary silence ensued, which had Mike thinking he might’ve said something wrong — another faux pas to add to his collection — but then the Captain said, “Despite the strange circumstances, I do believe that we’ve pulled together and made the best of it. You’ve been an excellent comrade. ” He coughed awkwardly. “And, er, the apology is accepted, of course, but it really must be noted that you, ah, didn’t make me do anything.”

Mike stopped at the path leading out to the Main Gate. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Alison and the rest of the ghosts were still a ways off. Slowpokes. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to speak such truths for a while now. If anything, you gave me a willing ear upon which to practice, and a bit of liquid encouragement to smooth the way as well. So don’t be feeling too bad, Michael, do you understand?”

Mike’s lips twitched into a smile. Alison was right, in moments like this there really was something fatherly about him.

“Yeah,” Mike replied gratefully. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Forgive me, but this might just be our last chance to talk. Do you by any chance remember the call that resulted in you quitting your last job? The foundling woman?”

“Sure, how could I not,” Mike said, caught off guard. “Wait, you were there?”

“Oh, yes. It was absolutely fascinating,” the Captain replied. “Though, that’s not why I’m bringing it up.”

“It’s not?”

“You inspired me, Michael. I’d like you to know that. I’ve spent much of my existence sticking to convention above all else. The way you went against the grain that day, though, it was mighty impressive,” the Captain said, and Mike could hear the respect in his voice. “You did what you wanted, not what others wanted of you.”

“It was nothing, really,” Mike said, self-consciousness rising within him.

“Perhaps to you it was,” the Captain replied softly. Then, as if sensing that Mike was hitting his limit on praise, he briskly cleared his throat, and said, “Shall we give this a go?”

Mike nodded, then broke into a run.

“For King and Country!” the Captain cried.

Mike let out a surprised, breathless laugh.

Shouts of encouragement abounded behind him. Alison’s “Go on Mike!” was, unsurprisingly, the loudest amongst the din. 

He came upon the boundary line fast. Just as he was about to cross over it, though, an unnatural tearing sensation took hold in his gut. He felt his feet slip out from beneath him, and then the ground was tilting horribly, rapidly, sickeningly closer. 

On instinct, Mike threw his arms out in an attempt to break his fall. He heard a pained cry, torn forcefully from the Captain, before a sharp, pulsating pain in his ears drowned the world in static, and he sank heavily into unconsciousness.

**

When Mike woke up, his nose was wet with blood. It smelt like the pipes down in the basement, all damp and earth and rust. He was lying on wet grass, the cold steadily seeping through the back of his jumper. His head hurt. Alison was looking down at him sympathetically.

“He still — ?”

“Yes,” the Captain replied promptly. “Still here.”

Mike looked around and noticed that Alison had dragged him a little way down the path, away from the Main Gate.

He groaned, then mumbled, “Gonna kill Julian,” before dabbing at his nose with gentle fingers.

“Oh, so this is my fault,” Julian enquired. “You all thought it was a brilliant idea a minute ago.”

Mike groaned again. He reached out clumsily and swiped an arm through one of Julian’s bare legs. It was harder than he expected, like pushing through syrup. 

Bent-double and shivering with disgust, Julian gagged, then said, “That’s just evil.”

“Come on,” Alison sighed, reaching out to pull him to his feet. 

Brushing a hand over the back of his head, she dislodged some bits of stray grass that were stuck to him. Feeling a bit pathetic, he leaned into the touch.

“Want me to google exorcists?” she asked.

“After we get the first-aid kit,” Mike replied, probing at his nose again.

As he returned to the house, Mike thought with trepidation about how his collapse lined up perfectly with the invisible boundary line that fenced the ghosts in. It wasn’t a coincidence, was it? He was as stuck as any of them.

**

The exorcist Alison found for him was a rather technologically inept old Priest named Father Gilhead who, still not having gotten the hang of video calls, kept accidentally switching his microphone off. 

The Captain had flat-out refused to speak to him. As a result, Mike spent the whole half-hour-long meeting with Gilhead feeling like a terrible liar because he had nothing to back him up, nothing in the way of proof for the outrageous, unbelievable truths coming from his mouth. It was a total wash-out from start to finish.

Gilhead did offer one pearl of wisdom, though. 

In the space between two microphone malfunctions, he’d said to Mike, “Well, the thing you always need to ask yourself with ghosts is, do they have any unfinished business? That’s a bit of a cliche, isn’t it,” he’d laughed, before turning serious again, and adding, “mind you, it’s for a good reason that it is one. If there’s a spirit possessing you, hiding away inside you, well, it must have a purpose in doing so, mustn’t it?”

Those words stayed with Mike.

“Poppy-cock,” the Captain dismissed as soon as the call ended. “What absolute mumbo-jumbo, eh? I knew I was right not to get involved in this nonsense.”

“Hmm,” Mike said, tactfully avoiding agreeing or disagreeing with him.

As an idea, what Gilhead called ‘unfinished business’ — or, as Mike knew it, drama — felt very relevant to their current circumstances.

Mike decided to stew on it for a bit, though, before going all Sherlock Holmes. With that in mind, he firmly banished all ideas concerning monocles, and pipes, and funny deer-hats from his head. 

Whilst the Captain had been good about it, Mike’s recent mistake was still fresh in his thoughts and, if he was going to stick his oar in again — which he was — then he wanted to at least try to be tactful about it. Jumping in headfirst was all well and good, but he didn’t particularly want to re-emerge covered in his own stupidity like last time. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Never let it be said that Mike Cooper didn’t learn from his mistakes. 

In that spirit, he gave himself a day to mull over his next move. The conclusion he eventually came to was this: he needed to speak to Pat.

Chapter Text

Mike had never been a very patient person.

Despite this, he couldn’t quite get his head around how to approach Pat. Not when the Captain was listening in on his every word. It was difficult to talk about someone behind their back when they were bloody possessing you.

So, Mike turned to wheedling.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Music Club?” he asked, faux innocently.

And boy could he wheedle. He would’ve never gotten anything as a child otherwise. He’d had to compete with two younger sisters, for goodness sake.

“No,” the Captain replied tersely. “You usually play on your ex-box now don’t you, Michael?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Excellent,” he said, cutting him off easily. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

And there was his problem. The Captain was one stubborn old goat and — with his avoidance of Pat growing severer by the day — Mike was beginning to suspect that he might’ve cottoned on to him. He’d been going for gentle subtlety. Yet even Mike could recognise that his own conception of the world was sometimes very far removed from reality.

After days of this type of back-and-forth, Pat eventually took the problem off his hands. He stepped through the closed Library door just as Mike, having finished work for the day, stood up to place his laptop into its bag. Unusually, he was frowning.

“Alright, Pat,” Mike greeted, studiously keeping his relief out of his tone. He decided to bite the bullet quickly before the Captain could butt in, no doubt finding some way to prevent this conversation from happening. “D’you have a second? I’ve been meaning to talk to you.“

“Yeah,” Pat said, twisting his hands together. “I need to have a talk with you too actually.”

Perfect! Mike thought. 

If Pat was the one to bring it up, then Mike’s chances of getting out of this without any blame ratcheted up by one-hundred-and-ten percent. Avoidance of blame wasn’t his only goal, by any means. He did want them to work things out. However, he also didn’t want any ghost enemies, and he especially didn’t want one that could possess people. 

Julian was annoying enough, but he was just a prankster, wasn’t he? The Captain, Mike imagined, would be a lot more determined if he ever decided to screw with him. He’d had this image on the brain recently of the Captain using Alison to throw objects of varying degrees in size at his head. It was only a bit terrifying.

Perching upon his desk as nonchalantly as possible, Mike said, “Oh?”

“I think— I think this might be my fault,” Pat admitted. He shifted guiltily from foot to foot.

And wasn’t that interesting? 

Mike wished for his monocle, so he could feel like a proper detective. Although, putting it on would probably throw them out of this conversation, so perhaps it was for the best that he didn’t have it to hand just now.

“Nonsense,” the Captain interjected.

“It’s not though, is it?” Pat replied anxiously. “You ran right off after—” He let out a frustrated harrumph, shook his head, and then determinedly ploughed on. “And then you were stuck with Mike, and, well, I suppose it’s my fault as much as it’s yours, isn’t it? 

“What is?”

“We haven’t talked about it,” Pat said, almost pleadingly. “Not once. Even though I wanted to, I— Well, I allowed you to avoid the conversation. I thought it’d be easier to let you have your own way, Cap, but it’s not quite working out like that though, is it?”

“Patrick!” the Captain hissed, and then continued under his breath, “We categorically cannot discuss this.”

“Why?” Pat said, exasperated. “Is it ‘cos of Mike?” 

Mike blinked at being referenced, at having his fly-on-the-wall shroud briefly torn away. He decided to say nothing. He didn’t want them to stop now. Not when they were finally getting somewhere.

At the Captain's silence, Pat continued undeterred, “Don’t you get it? You’re going to be stuck like this until the cows come home unless we sort ourselves out. Is that what you want?”

Mike certainly hoped not.

“No, I—” The Captain struggled, then seemed to snap. “What do you want from me?” he asked, sounding harassed. “I don’t understand. What more is there for me to say?”

“An explanation would be nice—”

“No, no, no,” the Captain swiftly cut in. “You don’t get to act like I didn’t make myself perfectly clear.”

“You ran off!” Pat exclaimed. “How am I supposed to read that, eh?”

“When you kiss someone,” the Captain said, voice unsteady, “and it’s the first time you’ve ever done it with anyone, and it isn’t returned… Well, I think that sends out a pretty clear signal, don’t you? A man cannot be blamed for making himself scarce in the wake of such an event.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance,” Pat quickly jumped in. “Just gave me the surprise of my life and then scarpered.”

“I—” the Captain stopped, stumped. “What?”

“Perhaps I would’ve kissed you back,” Pat said, with affectionate slowness, “if you hadn’t left right after with all the speed of a startled mouse.”

“I did no such thing,” the Captain responded sharply, and then, catching up with the laughter upon Pat’s face, said, “Oh. You’re teasing me.”

“Only half-teasing,” Pat said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Right,” the Captain said, a painfully confused, strangled sigh climbing up his throat. “I’m rather useless at this, I’m afraid,” he voiced tentatively.

“I expected as much, you daft apeth,” Pat huffed fondly, his lips curling into a shy smile below his moustache.

“So you didn’t hate it, then?” the Captain asked, voice coloured with fragile curiosity. “If I’d stayed a bit longer, you would’ve, ah, returned the gesture?”

“There’s only one way to find out, Cap.” 

“Ah.”

“Mmh.” Pat nervously pushed at the bridge of his glasses, and then extended a hand. “Now, stop playing silly beggars will you?”

His blue jumper was turning green, a semi-translucent arm emerging from his own. Mike watched, fascinated. It was like a surrealist painting come to life.

The Captain grasped Pat’s proffered hand and was hauled from Mike’s body and into Pat’s waiting arms. He clung tightly to Pat’s shoulders, as if afraid that he would be sucked away at any moment.

Pat cradled his face between both palms and then carefully drew the Captain down to his level. Their lips met softly, sweetly.

Mike slumped back gratefully against his desk.

Both figures were already fading before his eyes, surrendering to translucence, green and beige melting together and rapidly dissipating. 

A thin, ghostly, “Thank you,” reached Mike’s ears. If the Library wasn’t so quiet, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it, wouldn't have been able to parse that familiar voice.

He’d take that, Mike decided. He had helped, after all. He’d been the Captain’s month-long hiding-spec.

Leaving to find Alison, he stopped after a few corridors and, a proud smile stretched across his face, said, “Mike Cooper — world’s greatest wingman.”

He allowed the words to sit in the air for a moment. Then, feeling very satisfied with himself, he continued in his search for Alison. He loved her so much. For the first time in a good while, he was permitted to show it too, and there was nothing in this world or the next that he wanted more.