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Chapter Text

The Captain had hoped that that first time, that perfectly logical piggyback given to haul Humphrey back from almost pitching himself neck-first into the lake, would be the only time - no matter how much the Tudor had enjoyed it.

But despite his many protests, they did do it again.

Many times, in fact, no matter how often the Captain tried to put an end to it.

"This is the last time," he had said.

"Alright, that's it now," he had said the time after that.

The time after that he had told him; "now that really is the last time."

After that - "we're really done with this, Humphrey, I swear."

It took eleven times before the Captain accepted that this was just something he did now. When they broke into the double digits, he figured why fight it anymore and gave in, accepting that this was his afterlife.

Ever since it started, the Captain swore that he and Humphrey were running into each other more often than they ever had before in the 80 years of his afterlife here. Usually the body was impossible to track down, hence he and Humphrey’s head spent so little time united. But for a body who frequently couldn't even find his own head, Humphrey certainly seemed to find the captain without much trouble these days.

They would bump into each other and on the days when Humphrey was without his head, he would pat pat pat all the way up Cap's arm until he could feel the buttons on his jacket and the medals at his breast and work out who he had encountered, at which point the headless Tudor would perk up significantly, rocking back on his heels much like the Captain did when he made his own little bounces, and patted him gently on the shoulder; what had now become his signal for a lift.

Of course, the Captain was a busy man. He couldn't be carrying Humphrey about willy nilly and he told the man so, but this was largely pointless as without his head, the body did not have any ears. The Captain suspected that even if he did have some way of hearing what was said to him, he ignored it deliberately.

So sometimes the Captain would decline to give Humphrey the piggyback he wanted and led the man elsewhere instead, either leaving him in the company of somebody who had a bit more time, or - more likely - taking Humphrey with him to wherever he was going, whether they be clubs, or stock-taking, or helping Alison or Mike with whatever they needed his expertise on (which of course was a lot of things, because he was full of expertise).

But today he had patrol and so, as had become custom nowadays, instead of taking Humphrey by the arm and leading him elsewhere, he shepherded Humphrey out the back of the kitchen where he had found him, halfway phased through a cabinet.

"Come along then, Humphrey," he sighed.

"Now, do you want a lift there?" He set his hand on Humphrey’s left arm, "or a lift back?" He set his hand on Humphrey's right arm. "As you know, my knees will not take both."

The headless man teetered in place for a moment, looking for all the world as though he hadn't heard a thing, but then he lifted his right arm, twisting it at the wrist to bend around the Captain's own so he could place his hand on it.

The Captain nodded, looking at their clasped arms. "Very well."

It was early enough that nobody else would likely see them. Patrick was watching his daily football match, Robin was doing his crossword or harassing Julian - likely a mix of both - and the other ghosts were in the house doing whatever they did in the early morning. They might catch a glimpse through the window if they started their patrol out front, as is custom for the Captain, but starting at the back has its advantages. The Ballroom, study, reading room, and greenroom downstairs all face the front. None of the ghosts should be around any of the back windows.

It wasn't that he was ashamed or afraid or anything like that, he simply knew that it would invoke more trouble from the others that it was worth. Julian would be relentless with it, and the Captain didn’t want to be teased about going soft. He wasn’t soft, he had simply decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to protest anymore when Humphrey’s body was so bloody persistent. He was relentless with it, and frankly he would like to see Julian give in when faced with a headless man who couldn't do much of anything else. It would cleave even his grinch heart in two, surely.

Once they establish that Humphrey wanted to be carried back, the Captain held his hand out. Humphrey found it with an ease that belays his sightlessness, now used to it. The Captain tried to ignore how his skin prickled as Humphrey immediately twined his fingers with his own. He should be used to it by now. This is the easiest way they’ve found to do this, after much trial and error.

And Humphrey liked it. He intermittently squeezed the Captain’s hand as they walked, constantly swinging their joined hands back and forth between them.

The Captain thought that was a bit silly of Humphrey, because every now and then it sent him a little off-balance, but secretly he couldn't find it in him to complain or make him stop. The consistent, repetitive movement was soothing to him and it made him feel less of a need to create some sort of similar movement himself. 

The patrol was nice.

Of course, patrols are always nice, that's part of the reason why he’s so stalwart about doing them. They need to be done, obviously; the safety of Button House is paramount. But the Captain had always enjoyed long walks in the fresh air and continued to even now, when he can’t really tell how fresh the air is. It gave him space, time to think and decompress in a way he can’t really describe but knows in his bones that he needed to keep on functioning.

And Humphrey made a rather decent patrol partner. Perhaps it’s cruel to think, but his forced silence means there is no disruption to the quiet the Captain liked. Even crueller, perhaps, that the only disruption he is happy to accept is his own voice. He prattles on to Humphrey about the birds and animals and insects they see. Currently there were bees investigating the hedges at the edge of the grounds, which always make the Captain giddy to see. When they reached the lake, they find mayflies swarming and even a couple of damselflies. The Captain allowed them a few extra minutes to simply watch - only moving on when Humphrey tried to wade into the damn lake.

He reeled off facts to Humphey, happy to not be interrupted and free to speak how he chooses. Despite his theories that Humphrey might somehow be listening to him, they were still only theories. It’s a strange but welcome sensation to have company but to keep the freeness that solitude usually allows him, to let him speak whatever is on his mind without fear of ridicule or expressions of boredom.

He can - and has - spent entire patrols chattering to him, Humphrey doing nothing but steadily swinging their hands back and forth.

It was nice.

When they reached the half-way point, the Captain stopped. The pause makes Humphrey excited, already patting at the Captain to feel his way around to the Captain’s back.

The Captain rolled his eyes at his eagerness and did not smile as he did so. If he did it’s only small, tiny even. Easily explained away as a twitch or sneer if caught by someone else.

The motion was well practiced now, Humphrey’s arms going over his shoulders and gently around his neck, the Tudor pressing himself up against the firm line of his back. He waited reasonably patiently for the Captain to reach back and put his hands around the back of Humphrey’s thighs before hopping up. Even with his wonky knees, the lightness of the movement allows the Captain to catch him and bump him up into the proper position.

There was a brief moment where he waited for Humphrey to settle himself in while the Captain ensures he has the right grip, the Tudor wiggling against him. They had done this so many times now, it baffled him that Humphrey still gets so excited about it.

(Then again, the Captain himself still had to force himself to stop blushing when Humphrey finally settled and went boneless against his back, settling over him like a big velvet-wrapped limpet. The weight should have made his knees ache - and it does - but not enough to blanket out the feeling of someone pressed up against his back so completely, not an inch of him left untouched. It was… well he doesn't quite know what it is. But it was something.)

At first, the Captain would stay silent as they walked back, concentrating on keeping Humphrey where he was supposed to be. The Captain didn’t have to concentrate as hard on it anymore, and he chatted lightly to Humphrey as they go, telling him observations about their surroundings that he knew the man couldn’t see - or hear.

Even if he could hear somehow, Humphrey didn’t show any sign of it. He just happily sat over the Captain’s back, idly patting at his lapel or neck occasionally. Every now and then Humphrey bounced a little bit, an unspoken request to go faster. The Captain of course told him no, absolutely not, he should be grateful he’s getting even this with his knees. He still did it every time, at some point during the trip. It was almost a game to them now, the Captain thought.

They toddled across the grounds at a gentle pace. In part because the Captain had most of a human being on his back who is not small by any means, and in part because rushing through leaves gaps in observations and that could be disastrous should there be a threat.

“Almost there,” he told Humphrey as they approach the house. It should be almost breakfast time. Hopefully the other ghosts will have gone to the kitchen.

The entry-way was empty when the Captain stuck his head through, and he phased them both through the front door. It might have been smarter to put Humphrey down outside, lest someone see, but he appeared so wounded if the Captain put him down before he absolutely had to - which is indeed a strange thing to say about a man who literally has his head missing, blood beading at the stump of his neck.

“Alright,” he sighed, seeing the green room was clear. He stepped through to put Humphrey down-

Only to spot Humphrey, the head, sat on the couch and staring directly at them, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

The Captain froze, a quiet, "Oh," escaping like it had been punched out of him.

Humphrey's body did not appreciate the sudden pause and kicked his heels a little.

Giddyup.

"Excuse- I am not a horse," the Captain exclaimed, his sudden terror overridden by his affront at being treated like a mule. Honestly.

Humphrey's body shifted his hold to one arm and reached out with his free hand, something that he had become quite adept at over the last few months, and patted him on the cheek in apology.

"I’m afraid the jig is up," the Captain muttered to him. Slowly, he reached down to pat Humphrey’s thigh, their signal that Humphrey should get down. The Tudor's body was clearly reluctant, understandable seeing as they had only started about five minutes ago, but he did so, unclasping his arms from around the Captain’s neck and holding gently onto his shoulders as he let himself drop down. The motion was smooth; only making it clearer to the Tudor’s head how often they'd done this.

The Captain approached Humphrey cautiously. “Now ah, Humphrey, I was just- we were-“

“So you’re the one who's been spending time with him,” Humphrey said, ignoring the Captain’s scattered attempt at an explanation.

That brought the Captain up short. “How do you know he’s been spending time with someone?”

Humphrey shrugged, as much as a head could without its shoulders. “Felt it,” he said simply.

The Captain was confused. “I thought you couldn't feel anything? From him, I mean.”

“Not properly,” Humphrey told him. “Can’t feel like normal unless I'm there, y'know? But there's an... awareness. Like when you have that feeling someones talking about you, or someone puts their hand really near your face when you’ve got your eyes closed so you know someone’s there even if they're not actually touching you. Hence, why I had no idea about the whole Fanny situation until I saw it with my own eyes. Frankly with the amount he's been with someone I thought she'd started that up again.”

No no, God no.

"Um." The Captain cleared his throat, feeling himself blushing. "No, that ship has ah, well and truly sailed, I fear," he admitted to Humphrey, who snorted.

"Sunk, more like," he joked, “big ol’ hole in it the size of my head. Literally.” He chuckled, but the smile didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes. “Anyway. Either that or I figured he was just getting stuck more than usual. That's what I thought the first time, y'know, he was getting stuck and someone was helping him out." He clicked his tongue. "To be fair, she was helping him out, just... not the way I'd thought."

"Good Lord."

Humphrey winced. "Sorry. Not one for that kind of talk, are you?"

"I- I didn't think you were either." Though he supposed any bawdy joke seemed perfectly innocent when you spent so long with Julian.

"I’m a man of many humors." 

"And a man of many chickens, as I recall," the Captain couldn't help but add.

Humphrey gave him a stern look. "Don’t you bring the chickens into this. Do you have any idea how they were harmed by your shoddy policy work?"

The Captain sniffed, crossing his arms. "I’d rather the chickens suffer than the children," he snipped.

"’Course you would,” Humphrey said, with a roll of his eyes, and for some strange reason, that didn't sound like an insult, not like every other time the Captain had heard that phrase directed at him. It sounded... fond, almost.

"Actually, if you wouldn't mind..." Humphrey gives a quick jerk of his chin, regretting it when he almost topples over. "Y'know, while we're all together and all. I’d quite like to have a few minutes all together myself, if I can."

"Oh? Oh! Of course," the Captain flinched, disappointed with himself that he hadn't even thought of it. "I'm terribly sorry, I should’ve-"

"It’s fine, don’t worry about it." Humphrey assures him. "Everyone starts seeing us as two people eventually, and you've clearly made friends with him. I don’t mind. It's good for him to have a friend."

That makes the Captain… strangely sad, for some reason, which discomforts him greatly. He tries to ignore it as he gently picks Humphrey’s head up. He fails, but it is made easier by the embarrassment currently filling him up from head to toe at being caught giving his other half a piggy back of all things, of the knowledge that Humphrey knows that this isn't the first time, that its been going on for a while, that he thought it was Fanny seducing him again. He still feels vaguely sick about that.

There’s a lot going on in his head right now but he pushes it down as far as he can, concentrating on chasing down Humphrey’s body - which had wandered over to the fireplace - and placing Humphrey’s head where it should be. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. He knows there's a knack to it; he has to line them up a certain way, and there’s a bit of a twist that connects everything properly and matches vertebrae with vertebrae. It’s a little gross, a bit of a squelch and a crunch that the Captain doesn’t love hearing, but it means he’s done it right and that makes it automatically pleasing in a strange way.

“Oof,” Humphrey groans, and immediately rolls his shoulders. “That's better.”

The relief he projects makes the Captain feel a bit better, in some ways, and a lot worse in others. He feels terribly uncomfortable and he isn't sure why.

“Right,” he tells Humphrey, jabbing his thumb towards the kitchen. “I'll just…” and then he dashes off, leaving Humphrey staring at him, mid-crick of his neck, from the fireplace.

Chapter Text

God he was such a coward.

He always had been when it came to things like this. Sometimes it amazed him that he had risen so far in rank. He was always so brave, so ready to fight and take charge… right up until the point that he had to prove it - all talk and no trousers.

He supposed that's why they'd stationed him here, The Captain thought bitterly. There was no real action out here. Their biggest enemy had been the rats in the pantry, not the Germans. 

The Captain joined the breakfast table utterly shamefaced, slotting himself into the corner behind Fanny and Thomas as they watched Mike and Alison make their morning cups of tea and for once doing his best to blend into the background. Nobody noticed him. Conversation was flowing - even Julian, his head pillowed on his arms at the end of the table, was offering comments despite still being half asleep.

When Humphrey walked in, clearly pleased as punch to be in one piece, he was enthusiastically greeted by Pat and Alison, who seemed equally happy to see him up and about. Pat clapped him on the back in congratulations, careful not to do it hard enough to knock him to pieces again. Humphrey was beaming, talking a mile a minute to them all. The Captain could see how nice he found it to be able to look them in the eye while he was talking to them, for once, how excited he seemed to be just because he was able to turn towards whomever he was speaking, following the conversation physically - able to go to them instead of waiting for someone to come to him.

A shame he's not together more often, the Captain found himself thinking absently, as Humphrey took advantage of his complete height to playfully ruffle Robin’s already disastrous hair. Robin shoved at him, but again, it was done gently - much more so than Robin would normally be, were it anyone else. (He had shoved Julian right through a fireplace, a few years ago, and Thomas has been punted off the roof by him more than once.)

But when Humphrey started to turn his way the Captain ducked further behind the others, avoiding his eye.

The Captain avoided the majority of the other ghosts for the rest of the day, spending it with Fanny instead. They were due a good catch up, and the box-set of Hetty Wainthrop left in the DVD player was an excellent place to converse. After Fanny pestered Julian to come and turn it on for them, they sat and gossiped like old maids for hours, trading theories and and snippets of observations of life that week at Button House, perfectly content until the talk of the day at 3pm - which of course they arrived almost a full ten minutes early for. It was only polite, and better safe than sorry anyway.

Today it was one of Pat’s own talks about concerts he had attended, and ones he would have liked to have seen, whether during his life or after.

The Captain much enjoyed Pat’s talks over anybody else's. Robin, while surprisingly educational, didn't always have the vocabulary to make it easy to follow along. Mary was quite interesting, though again, sometimes hard to follow. Not her fault, poor thing, but her accent combined with the dialect of her era did not make it easy for him to keep his focus. Julian depended on the topic and how many tangents he could get on - Julian’s were usually the worst to keep his attention on and he usually drifted off within the first few minutes, his mind wandering as freely as Julian’s own seemed to.

Thomas was usually straight up unbearable.

Pat however was generally clear and while not very succinct (another tangent lover) at least all his tangents were all usually educational as well. You could learn a lot from Pat, and the Captain often did.

But as much as he enjoyed them, they were still long and often too muddled for the Captain’s taste. He could listen to Pat for hours, but only if he managed to focus well, and that was not always achievable. Often he managed to create focus by messing with his swagger stick; creating repetitive motions helped his mind feel less in his body and more able to take in Patrick’s words.

But today it didn’t have the effect he was hoping for.

He thought he might like to twirl it instead of simply rotating it around in his closed fists, or be able to tap it on his knee, but that would likely be too distracting - and ran the risk of hitting someone else if he wasn't careful, or annoying them if it was bouncing about in their eye-line. Bouncing his leg or tapping his foot would make him seem impatient and that would be very rude, which he hated considering he was genuinely interested in what Pat had to say.

He tried to content himself with just rotating the stick in his hands as he had been, flexing and unflexing it between his thumbs but it simply wasn't what he was after.

He considered standing and going to the window, hoping that going to stand behind everyone would give him the shield he needed to do something different, when he spotted a flow of red velvet by his knee and remembered that Humphrey was with him. When they had their walks, if it came before a club, the Captain would bring him along and they would sit together - the body usually insisted. Humphrey liked to play with the Captain's hand, tracing the lines there or playing with his fingers, curling them in and straightening them out again like he was counting, which was fair play considering how often the Captain used him for the same.

It had become such a regular occurrence that the Captain had started playing back, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Humphrey’s palm or the back of his hand or his wrist, the repetitive motion over lightly-textured skin giving him something to ground and focus him when a long talk like this took place. Without further thought, the Captain reached to his side and picked up one of Humphrey's hands, which until then had been clasped carefully in his lap, feeling lucky that Humphrey had managed to find his way to the club on his own.

The hand flinched, as Humphrey usually did when he wasn’t expecting a touch, and the Captain rubbed a thumb over the knuckles in apology. He brought the hand to his own lap and smoothed his thumb over the palm, following the lines at first and then tracing the outside. It was nice. Calming. After a minute or so he was doing it without putting any thought into it, the movement automatic, and it made it so much easier to focus on what Pat was saying.

Despite the general opinion of him being that he was stuck-up and stuffy, and wouldn't know fun if it bit him in the rear, the Captain did love music. Very much so - he had even played the violin in his youth, and early adulthood. He didn’t know most of the bands Pat talked about and only recognised a few of their songs, but musical history interested him greatly even when it wasn’t an era he had lived through. Pat’s description of different genres, of musical techniques, song themes and instruments was riveting, and he was able to follow along near-seamlessly after settling with Humphrey’s hand.

“Does anyone have any questions?”

“Um, yeah, what’s synth?”

The Captain tensed up. That- that was Humphrey’s voice, and it wasn’t from some table or shelf a little ways away, it was right by his own head. He turned and saw Humphrey’s head, barely inches from his own, sat on his shoulders like it had ever been anywhere else.

The Captain barely held back a gasp. He dropped Humphry’s hand before Pat could see, yanking his own back and shoving them back over his swagger stick like they’d been there all the time.

“Oh sorry, should have maybe mentioned that,” Pat laughed. He didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, even though the Captain’s grip on his stick was so tight his knuckles were white.

“Synth is, well, it’s basically music made purely from electric,” Pat continued, perfectly happy to explain. “So instead of having an electrical instrument, like how you have an electric version of a guitar, or an electric bass or drum set, the instrument is the electricity, if that makes sense?”

Humphrey coughed to himself. “Um, yeah. Thanks.” His hands were back in his lap again, clasped together.

“If me get sin-th,” Robin asked eagerly, “that means I can make music, yes?”

Patrick was delighted. “Gosh, I- I can't think of any reason why not? We should ask Alison to see if she can get one from somewhere. Just think, music made by an actual caveman!”

Robin leapt up from his seat. “Gonna ask Alison now!”

“I guess that’s talk of the day done,” Patrick said, clearly eager to see where this thing with Robin went.

The moment the words left Pat’s mouth, the Captain was up and out of his seat quicker than a bullet from a gun, barely muttering a, “splendid talk, Patrick,” before striding quickly out of the room.

What in the absolute blazes had he been thinking? He had been the one to put Humphrey back to-bloody-gether! Had all sense left him? Why had he not thought to check whether Humphrey’s head was still tethered before he had started holding his hand like some- some deviant!

This was an absolute travesty. It was one thing for his body to reach out and try and seek some sensory interest, the only route it had available to it, completely unaware of any social aspect, but it was another to fondle Humphrey’s hand when he was all together, completely aware of who was doing it. It was a complete crossing of boundaries. What must Humphrey think of him, feeling the poor man up in the middle of a talk about music concerts in front of the others?

The Captain paced frantically, his swagger stick lashing through the air in a repetitive pattern as he tried to expel as much of his energy in as little possible time to stop the ever-rising feeling of his blood fizzing through him, like it would burst out from him if he didn’t do something to quell it, to direct the energy somewhere else.

He turned to complete another length of the room ony to find Humphrey stood at the other end, wringing his hands.

For once, the Captain did not freeze in place. Instead he leapt nearly a foot in the air - something his creaky knees did not appreciate, judging by the crack they made when he landed.

“Humphrey,” he wheezed out, thoroughly taken off guard. What did he say? How could he even begin to explain? To apologise?

But he didn't get the chance to try because Humphrey was already talking. “It's alright." He approached the Captain with his hands outstretched, palms up like he was going up to a spooked horse - which the Captain did not appreciate, even if it might not be entirely inaccurate.

"I'm not here to get mad or anything,” Humphrey said, “I get it.”

“No- no you don't,” the Captain said. He felt like he was about to sink through the ground. He might. He was a ghost. “It wasn't- I wasn’t- This isn’t-”

“I know, I know.” Humphrey said soothingly. “Look, I was next to you the entire time, you know? I saw you at the start of Pat’s talk; you were fidgeting like crazy. You calmed right down when you started messing with my hand. It was fine, I don’t mind, I promise.”

He was listening to Humphrey’s words, he was hearing them, but they weren't doing anything except swirl uselessly around his head.

“Is that what you do with him, then?” Humphrey asked. “Fidget?” There didn't appear to be any judgment in his voice, only curiosity, but the Captain had never been very good with tone. 

Nonetheless he found himself nodding.

“And the piggybacks?”

The Captain nodded again. "He- he likes them,” he tried to explain, “he won't leave me alone for them."

Humphrey smiled softly.

“I’m not surprised,” he chuckled, “for all I get ignored, he probably gets almost as little attention as I do come to think of it.”

That made the Captain frown. He thought back to just hours before, when Humphrey had walked into the kitchen and immediately been fawned over by the others. He talked to Humphrey, and spent time with his body (though that was admittedly a recent development). Didn't the others? Now that he thought of it, he didn’t see much interaction between Humphrey and the others, head or body, though his head certainly got more.

“I am sorry though, that he’s been so much of a pest,” Humphrey continued, oblivious to the Captain’s internal puzzling. “I’d try and stop him, but… well.”

“It’s alright,” the Captain said slowly. “It- I would not call it a hardship.”

He had come to enjoy the walks he took with Humphrey’s body, strange though they were. He liked to think they kept him fit, carrying him around, even though they did his knees in for a bit afterwards.

“Suppose I am a lot smaller underneath all this nonsense than suggested, despite my height,” Humphrey said. “Nothing a big strong army man like you can’t handle, huh?”

The Captain’s lip curled. That- that hadn't been what he had meant, though it didn’t stop the color from rising to his cheeks, nor did it stop him from spluttering any reply he might have tried to make - not that he was sure what it even was.

Humphrey grinned, briefly enjoying the Captain’s imbalance before sobering up. “But seriously, if I’m- if he’s too much, if he’s being a pissannt and annoying you just tell him to bugger off. He’ll get the message if you're firm about it.” Humphrey said, like his body was some kind of annoying dog that could be sent outside for a run around instead of being pet, and not part of himself.

Though he supposed that's what he and the other ghosts thought of him, sometimes. And Robin, sometimes. Though he really brought that on himself, what with the fleas and sleeping by the fire so often, and chasing squirrels and spending so much time literally running in circles in the garden. Humphrey’s body was just… lost. How else was he supposed to know if someone was there, or who that someone was, without literally walking into them, without touching them? It was all he could do.

It was annoying, sometimes, when the Captain was trying to get something done and Humphrey’s body was pat pat patting at him, but he’d finally found some scrap of fun. Surely he couldn’t be blamed for seeking that out when he could do so little.

“I suppose it’s because of… look, as much as i don't like bringing it up; that whole thing with Fanny-" Humphrey grimaced, mirrored by the Captain. "Well, the less said about it the better - but he got quite the bit of attention, didn't he? To go from all that to nothing so suddenly…” Humphrey shrugged awkwardly. “Realised he what he was missing out on, I suppose."

The Captain gaped, standing to attention quickly, his back ramrod straight and the absolute picture of professionality. Good lord, he hadn’t done anything of the sort! "Now Humphrey, I never, never, engaged in inappropriate conduct with him. not once. I would never!"

"It's alright, it's alright!" Humphrey hurried to say, his assuring hands back up. He took a step back, seemingly doing everything possible to appear non-accusatory. "I'm not saying you have, I promise, don’t worry!"

The Captain looked around wildly, feeling slightly cornered, and Humphrey immediately took another step back in response, opening up the space between them. The Captain felt slightly better but his collar still felt tight, and he felt his hands shake.

He covered it by squeezing his swagger stick. 

"Good,” he blurted, “because I haven't. I wouldn't."

"I know," Humphrey said. "I’ll try not to take offense, hey? Not the first time I've been rejected!" he chuckled, but the joke fell flat when the Captain’s face crumpled.

“No no, I wasn’t- I didn't mean to imply that-” the Captain swung back quickly, panicking at the thought of insulting him. Humphrey was perfectly handsome, quite so, in fact, and kind. The last thing the Captain wanted to do was reject him when Fanny had already dumped him in the manner she had.

"If I were to,” he hurried to say, “I would of course include ah, all of you. Frankly I never understood how Fanny could do otherwise. It.. it wouldn't be right." The Captain said, his lip curled up in a baffled sneer. He had never understood how Fanny could have carried on so with just the body. A piggyback was one thing, or a held hand, but that was something else entirely. It made him shudder to think. "Hypothetically, of course," he tacked on, lest Humphrey think he was propositioning him.

Humphrey looked at him strangely. "Uh, ‘course,” he said slowly, and then chuckled. “Don’t worry, I didn't think you were putting the moves on me. I know better."

The Captain paused, feeling strangely affronted for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He wasn't 'putting the moves on' Humphrey, as he so described it, he genuinely wasn't, but something in Humphrey’s tone - the way he assumed that the Captain wouldn't be hitting on him, of course not, that it was ridiculous to do so, made him indignant. It made him... sad?

Humphrey shook his head, oblivious to the Captain’s discomfort at his hollow joke. "Look, I’m sorry.” He apologized. “Don’t worry about it. What I meant was he went from a lot of contact to none, is all, y’know? In general. I didn't mean any, uh, specific type of contact." He looked the Captain cautiously in the eye. "You understand?"

He nodded.

Relief swept over Humphrey clear as day, making him sag. "Good, good," he said, "thank God. Look, I think it's nice. I'm glad he has that. It’s… well, like I said. He doesn't get much attention and I suppose Fanny made him realize that there were people out there he could be with - generally speaking," Humphrey hurried to clarify. "I'm glad he's got a friend."

The Captain nodded. "Yes. A… friend. He's my friend."

Humphrey smiled, though the Captain thought it seemed quite sad, even though Humphrey was just saying how happy he was about the whole thing.

Chapter Text

The next time Humphrey’s body found him, he was hesitant to continue what had become their routine.

Talking to Humphrey’s head, to Humphrey as a whole, the week previous had unsettled something in the Captain. It almost made their meetings feel almost tainted, in a way. There was nothing wrong with it, he knew that, and Humphrey himself had been encouraging of it. But the way he had spoken… it made the Captain feel strange and off-kilter, though he couldn’t fathom why, and he had kept his distance from both parts of Humphrey while he waited for that strangeness to run its course.

But of course, Humphrey’s body was oblivious to the Captain’s attempts to distance himself and even if he wasn’t, he clearly did not care much for it, popping up again and insistently asking for another carry. Like Humphrey had said, his body had become used to something and wasn’t inclined to let the Captain stay away indefinitely.

He gave in soon enough.

Humphrey's instance was what had broken him down in the first place and after a solid five minutes of Humphrey patting at him and try to tug him through the wall by the hand, he acquiesced to another jaunt during his patrol.

But this time, instead of pointing out the various birds and plants he could see he found himself silent, wondering what Humphrey’s head felt at this point. Did he know his other half was having fun? Did he know how he was being held right then? Or was the feeling of touch so indistinguishable that Humphrey couldn't tell whether his body was being carried by someone or simply holding hands with them?

Based on what he’d said before, about wondering if someone touching him had meant that his body was having… relations with someone again, the Captain doubted it.

Would Humphrey think that now? He shouldn’t. He knew now that the Captain was the one who had been in contact with him like this, and that he would never take advantage like that, but it left a sour taste in his mouth that Humphrey might possibly think that still.

He must know that whatever he felt now that signaled to him that his body was being interacted with, it was simply one of the Captain and Humphrey’s usual excursions. If he didn’t know, would he want to? Surely he would be relieved to know. The Captain wondered if Humphrey would want to know exactly what his body was doing, or would he rather be in the dark about it, uncaring about the specifics.

If he did want to know them, would he want to be involved?

He had said that he was fine, that he didn’t care, but while the Captain was oblivious at the best of times to tone and secret meanings behind expressions, something about Humphrey’s assurances had not rung true to him. If the positions were reversed, if he spent all day carrying around Humphrey's head and not paying a whit of attention to his body, would his body even know? Could it tell, like how Humphrey could tell when his body was being interacted with. Would it be jealous, or upset? Would it seek him out, feeling left behind?

Would Captain do the same? He couldn’t fathom the thought of his head and body being separate entities, even after 80 years of living with someone in that very situation, but the thought of Pat or Humphrey himself spending all his time with one part and not the other made him feel sick.

He only realised he’d stopped walking when he became distantly aware of something touching his face.

Humphrey. His palm was warm on his jaw, fingertips just brushing the edge of his moustache.

Something inside the Captain recoiled and he reacted without thinking, practically dropping Humphrey in the middle of the field. The body was confused, turning in a haphazard circle in search of the Captain with his hands stretched out, but the Captain couldn’t touch him in that moment, dodging and stepping back out of his reach.

“S- sorry. I’m sorry old boy,” he muttered shakily, before hightailing it back to the house and leaving Humphrey alone in the grass.

Three days later, Alison called him upstairs.

“Take him outside,” she begged, pointing to where Humphrey's body was lodged halfway through a table. “Please, just give him a ride or something, he’s doing my head in.”

The Captain glared at her, and to her grace, she winced.

“Bit of a poor saying, that.”

“Yes, it was rather.”

She sighed. “Just, please, he keeps getting stuck in everything in the room and I can't get him out of it.”

But he didn't want to take Humphrey for a ride again, not after the last time. The embarrassment of just abandoning Humphrey was still there, burning shamefully in his gut. All those thoughts from that day began to resurface and he stepped backwards. “Alison,” he tried, “I really don’t think that-”

But Alison interrupted him, beseeching. “Please Captain, I’m trying to paint this fireplace and I can’t concentrate with him walking into things every five minutes! He’s walked into the fireplace itself four times, and me once. He’s going berserk.”

The Captain looked over to Humphrey’s body. He didn't need to be able to speak for the Captain to tell that he was incredibly frustrated, spinning rapidly on the spot as he tried to figure out what was happening. He could clearly tell he was in something, but he wasn’t sure what, or quite where, and he didn't know how to get out.

It was quite pitiful to watch.

The kind thing to do would be to do as Alison asked and take Humphrey out of the room, but kindness had never been the Captain’s strong suit. While he did agree that that would be the best thing, he couldn’t help but dread the consequence of being responsible for the headless Tudor afterwards and the Captain was reluctant to have that happen. He didn't want to carry him, nor did he want to walk around the house holding hands with him. There were no clubs currently happening to deposit him at either.

Though he supposed, watching Humphrey smack at a table that he couldn't touch, that there was a third option.

“Alright I’ll take him.”

Alison looked beyond relieved. “Thank you. Thank you.”

The Captain squared his shoulders and strode over to the headless body struggling between the side-table and the curtains. 

“Come along then, Humphrey,” The Captain said, a now familiar phrase, and laid a hand gently on the other man’s shoulder.

Despite the gentle touch, Humphrey still jumped a mile, twisting frantically to try and see what had touched him,impossible as it was.

“Calm yourself, man. It’s just me.”

Once again the Captain was torn. He felt silly talking to a man who couldn’t hear him, but in some ways, sometimes, he felt that Humphrey could hear him - in a way, at least. It was an odd thing. Besides, that was just what you did, wasn’t it? You spoke to people. Even at all their hardest times viewing Humphrey's body as a person, he was still person shaped, and that affected them on an instinctive level.

People spoke to cats and dogs, he thought, even though there was no possible way for the animals to understand what they were saying.

He shook the thought away, even more uncomfortable now.

Humphrey’s hands came up to his shoulder, trying to feel out what was touching him. To make it a bit easier, the Captain slid his own hand down to meet them. Humphrey’s fingers prodded at his own, running along his knuckles and the Captain found himself holding his breath. He was so rarely touched by other people, especially skin on skin contact, and it surprised him every time how warm another person could be.

The Tudor’s fingers traveled over the back of his hand and grasped the cuff of his jacket. At once, Humphrey went still. The Captain watched as the panic and tension visibly drained from Humphrey’s body and it startled him. Humphrey recognised him, just from the feel of his uniform. He supposed it was unique. Nobody else had clothing made from a material like his uniform, but Humphrey usually felt for other accoutrement - his sam browne, his medals or the artillery pins on his collar. To have him relax so completely just from a touch of the sleeve… the Captain wasn’t sure quite how to feel. Flattered, perhaps, proud?

Now knowing who was interacting with him, Humphrey reached back up to grasp the Captains hand. The full contact pulled the Captain back together and he carefully lead Humphrey out of the table and curtains he had partially phased through. “Come on, step to the left,” he murmured, “there’s a lad.”

He tried to let go of Humphrey’s hand once he was free but the Tudor held fast. The Captain bit back a sigh. He could allow it for now, he supposed.

“Target retrieval complete,” he told Alison, who smiled at him. It seemed quite a fond smile, he was pleased to see, even if he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Thanks,” Alison said as he started to lead Humphrey from the room. “It’s times like this I really wish I could interact with you guys all the way, you know? I feel bad not being able to help him out myself. Or his head, for that matter. I have to get one of you guys instead.”

“It is… an unfortunate situation,” the Captain agreed, unsure as to whose situation he was referring; Alison’s or Humphrey’s.

He left Alison to her painting. Or varnishing, he supposed was the more accurate term. It was too nice a fireplace to slather in some plain cream color. Any engravings would lose their definition immediately, and that would be a crying shame.

As they traversed the corridors of Button House, Humphrey started swinging their hands between them gaily, as was his custom. The Captain allowed it for the moment. They would only be connected for a little while.

Usually, when one half of Humphrey was found, the other could not be found for love nor money. It was a great annoyance to all, but none more so than Humphrey himself, the Captain imagined. But for once he knew exactly where Humphrey's other half was, having seen him watching over Robin and Julian’s chess game earlier. Chances are he would still be there, as not much time had elapsed since the Captain had checked in on them.

Lucky for the Captain - or for Humphrey, he supposed - the Tudor’s head was exactly where he thought it would be, perched on the arm of the sofa in prime position to observe the chess table.

“Well look what the cat dragged in!” Humphrey said jovially when he caught sight of the Captain towing his wayward body into the room.

“Shh,” Julian hissed, curled over like a plotting cat in his armchair, “I’m thinking.”

Humphrey rolled his eyes and the Captain followed his head and ignored Julian completely.

“He was upstairs with Alison,” the Captain informed him. “Would you like to be put together?”

Humphrey did his strange, shoulderless version of a shrug. “Ooh, go on then, why not. Might as well while you’ve found him, I suppose!”

The Captain couldn’t deny he’d been expecting a bit moe enthusiasm. Humphrey’s eye’s had it up for a brief second when they’d come in, the Captain had seen it, but it dulled almost immediately.

Gently lifted him from the sofa. Holding him by the face, cupping his cheeks… it seemed too intimate, and the Captain was already itching thinking of the feeling of warm skin touching his again - contemplating the texture of Humphrey’s facial hair under his palms was far too much right then, so he placed his palms against either side of Humphrey’s neck, just under his jaw, and lifted him into his body that way instead.

Humphrey let out a pleased sound as his spine crunched together, immediately having a stretch. “Nice of you to offer,” Humphrey thanked him. He seemed genuinely pleased. Baffled, almost, like he hadn't expected it at all.

Perhaps he hadn’t.

“You’re- you’re welcome,” the Captain replied automatically, caught by the realisation that even when the two of them were in the same room, people rarely tried to connect them. They just carried on as normal, like they were two completely different people.

Was that what he had seen before when he had first entered the room? The initial, instinctive expectation of reattachment? It had disappeared so suddenly, yet Humphrey hadn’t expressed a jot of outward disappointment.

He’s used to it, the Captain realised. Just because the opportunity for reattachment was there, didn't mean that people wouldn't take it up. And after four centuries of that being reinforced, it was no great shock that he had stopped equating people bringing his body to the same room his head was in to getting reattached. Even though the instinct still seemed to be there, it now apparently fell away before it had even properly registered in Humphrey’s mind.

Or perhaps it was still there, and it did register, but Humphrey had simply learned to live with the disappointment he felt every time.

Neither option made the Captain feel better. No wonder the man had been so surprised when the Captain had offered to reattach them of his own accord - the very moment he had stepped into the room, too. And it explained why he had been so blase about being put back together again. He was just so used to being apart.

Yes, it was difficult to track down both pieces of the man for some inexplicabley frustrating reason but there still wasn't much effort put into doing it. You saw one, you went about your day, unthinking about where the other was.

“Everyone starts seeing us as two people eventually.”

That uncomfortable feeling was back, lying low in his gut. Was it pity? Or guilt? Both, perhaps. The Captain knew that Humphrey rarely got to spend time in one piece, but he was only just now putting together just how rare it really was.

Why was he thinking about all this all of a sudden. He never had done before.

He had never noticed before.

The feeling in his gut grew more intense, and to try and escape it he left the room.

Chapter Text

The Captain paced the kitchen, hearing the rumble of Mike and Alison’s car out front as they drove away.

The pair had been invited out for a games night at Obi’s and would be staying over for the night. They wouldn’t return until tomorrow. He had not been given a clear time of arrival, which irked him greatly, but he was somewhat placated by them leaving Mike’s phone (face-ID’d against Julian) in Alison’s bedroom with the promise that they would send a message when they were awake with an ETA then, and a further message when they were actually on their way.

This was all well and good - even the Captain, who had been accused of being a near permanent stick in the mud, could not begrudge them a nice night a way from the house with a friend or two, but ever since the burglary outings like this set him more on edge than they previously had.

He hated that vindication could feel so sour. It made his limbs over-tense to the point that his whole body was one continuous dull ache. He sighed before briefly rolling his neck to work out a crick and stepped towards the kitchen door. To find the others.

But before he could, Kitty burst through, her skirts kept lifted by her hands so as not to hinder her as she dashed through Button House.

“There you are!” She cried, coming to a stop just before him and letting her skirts drop. She looked quite excited, odd considering Alison had just left for a full night.

Still, her sunny appearance automatically relieved a little of the ache that suffused him. “Hello Katherine,” he said, unable to hold back a small smile. The sight of her was like a balm to his fraught nerves, an affect that was only increasing over the years, day by day. She had always had a cheering effect, he supposed, but he’d fought tooth and nail against letting it affect him. He couldn’t afford his guard to be brought down, and allowing himself to soften so openly wasn’t an option. He didn’t really have a choice now, though. She had latched onto him in a way she hadn’t done with the others and to reject her was a cruelness he didn’t find himself capable of any more. He supposed the main difference, though, was that he no longer wanted to.

“Have you been searching for me?” He asked. 

“Yes!” She said, the word coming out in a rush, “though perhaps only for the past few minuets or so. Alison said we could watch a film tonight!”

“Did she now?” He asked. he already knew the answer, of course. He had been there when she made the decision; it was a good way to keep them all occupied while she and Mike were away. He had checked in on her setting up the laptop before she left, plugging it into the TV so that Julian could play whatever the group wanted.

Kitty nodded, fisting her hands in her skirts and swaying as she often did when she was excited. “Yes! And it’s my turn to choose!”

The Captain smiled indulgently at her. “So soon! And have you chosen, Kitty?”

“Yes. I want to watch Sleeping Beauty!”

The Captain chuckled, completely unsurprised. “Of course you do.” Sleeping Beauty was one of Kitty’s favourites. He had seen it himself multiple times because of her love for it; Kitty liked to watch films with company and he was one of her most frequent companions.

“I thought about watching The Princess and the Frog, because you know that’s my favourite, but I watched that on Monday with Mary and I thought it might be a bit too soon.”

It was Wednesday.

“Yes, perhaps,” the Captain agreed.

“I think it’s starting as soon as I can find everybody!” She said, bouncing in place in a way that he himself often did, though a little more exuberantly. It made him smile fondly. “You’d best hurry then,” he told her and she squealed, dashing off back through the wall even though the door was right there and open.

The Captain shook his head. At least it was a nice princess film she wanted to watch this time, rather than those gory murder mysteries she’d become so fond of. Luckily, that genre was mostly kept to TV shows, which were Fanny’s realm. He liked to be able to sit through something that didn’t have Kitty asking about how they got a man’s knuckle tendons ‘just like that’.

Lord above.

He shook himself, putting several CSI related images out of his mind. No no, a bit of Disney would be just what he needed for the night. He started to smile in anticipation as he walked through the kitchen door only to pause as he remembered the whole reason Kitty was watching Sleeping Beauty in the first place.

Damn and blast: the house! How could he have let himself forget? He’d have been thrashed for that moment’s lapse back when he was alive, honestly!

He couldn’t watch the film with Kitty and the others, he needed to go and keep vigil over the house, preferably from the roof or the attic window. And yet, he found himself dragging his feet at the thought.

As much as it went against his soldiers instincts, the idea of sitting to watch a film with everyone and relaxing sounded quite nice. He didn’t want to think about how they might be invaded every second, nor did he want to have all the various plans he had in case something happened circling around his head all the time, chasing each other like cats and mice.

But somebody needed to keep watch.

It doesn’t have to be me, though, his mind supplied, and he cocked his head. That was certainly true… He could sit and watch the film with Kitty, as she was so excited for, and put his feet up, (metaphorically, of course,) while the house was watched over by another. 

He sighed, resigning himself to finding Humphrey before he went to join the others for the film. God, that could take ages depending on where he was last put. As he stepped out into the green room he paused, suddenly.

Why did he always search out Humphrey?

Why, when it came to lookout, was Humphrey always the forefront of his mind? Arguably Pat should be the first person that came to mind. He knew what to look out for and he was diligent. He had experience manning the fort, as it were, and he always completed every task set to the letter. He’d surely kept a good lookout when caring for his scouts.

Robin could also be a good choice. He was easily distracted, of course but he was often more than happy to sit on the roof and watch the grounds and the sky. And when he was alive he’d had to stay up sometimes to watch over the rest of his tribe, he’d talked about it before. he knew what dangers were out there. Possibly not the more modern ones, perhaps, but he still knew a good deal more than Thomas, say.

And yet, he always went to Humphrey first.

Something started to claw its way up his throat and he swallowed it back down, where it settled halfway to his lungs like heartburn.

Why should Humphrey be the one to be set on watch? Why not make Pat do it, or Robin, or Julian.

He knew damned well why. Because if he asked anybody else to do it they would refuse. Because it was boring, because they didn’t see the need like he did, because they would miss the movie. They would complain, say they were singled out and that it was unfair. They wouldn’t want to be left out.

Surely Humphrey would feel all those things too? He hadn’t exactly been enthused when the Captain had asked him to be on lookout the night the burglary had taken place. He hadn’t been enthused any of the times after either - quieter, perhaps, since he now agreed that there might be a need for the house to be watched, but he still wasn’t exactly happy to do it. Far from it. And yet the Captain had always insisted, he had never accepted Humphrey’s refusal and gone to ask one of the others, because he knew they’d say no.

So he went to Humphrey, always Humphrey, because while he was always grumpy about it, he always gave in. He was too much of a people pleaser, like Pat was - but he never asked Pat did he? 

The Captain shrank in on himself, unable to deny it. 

The only difference between Humphrey and the others was mobility. That was why the Captain always asked him, he just had to be man enough to admit it. The Tudor, as only a head, could just be put somewhere and left to do his job without the Captain having to worry about him. After all, he wasn't able to come inside or move away unless somebody came and fetched him - or he rolled off the roof and fell three storeys onto the gravel.

Shame flooded through him, turning his heartburn white-hot and scorching, choking him. He coughed to bring it back down to something manageable, but the lump stuck.

It would be unfair to ask Humphrey. It would be unfair for the head to sit on the roof of the house, alone and staring at nothing for most of the night while he and the others were enjoying a film inside - especially one the Captain had seen so many times. He could afford to miss it.

Could Humphrey? Had he even seen it before?

Thinking back, the Captain wasn’t sure. The first time Alison had shown it was during the initial introduction to Disney films. They were one of the first collections that she had decided to show as part of her culture and media catch up she had initiated when she had moved in. Disney, being so large, had been something she decided to crack on with as soon as possible once the ghosts had expressed such interest in TV. They had a Disney night every Tuesday, and a general film club every Saturday. Kitty, of course had been a huge fan. Though to the Captain's surprise, so had Pat. Apparently they took him back to his days with Daley, but he had also simply enjoyed the as films. The Captain had found himself enjoying them too. They may have been marketed towards children, but he found that they pulled no punches. He found himself still emotionally devastated from The Fox and the Hound (Kitty refused to watch it again and frankly, he was of the same mind). The animation was quite incredible too and he found himself happy to watch the evolution of the medium. 

Bedknobs and Broomsticks - another joint favourite of his and Pat’s - was an absolute marvel to him, and he still couldn’t wrap his head around the creation of Toy Story or A Bug’s Life.

Ahh… A Bug’s Life. He closed his eyes for a moment. That would definitely be his choice when it was his turn for film night. It had been too long since he’d watched it last, and he knew the other’s liked it. Kitty certainly did, she liked little Dot. And the Captain knew Fanny harboured a soft spot for the Queen, whether she was willing to admit it or not - and Dot.

Had Humphrey liked it? The Captain wondered. Had Humphrey even seen it? His moustache crooked, brow furrowing as he cast his mind back. Yes… yes, Humphrey had seen A Bug’s Life, he had commented on the construction of the bird, and made several disparaging comments towards the grasshoppers that had gotten a few laughs.

But he couldn’t recall Humphrey being around for Sleeping Beauty. It was one of the first Disney films they had watched, since Kitty had been so excited about Snow White that they’d skipped straight to Cinderella and Aurora in a triple princess marathon before going back to Dumbo and Pinocchio. Humphrey would absolutely have had a comment to make on something in Sleeping Beauty, but the Captain couldn’t remember anything. Perhaps he hadn’t seen it. He didn’t remember him being there, but it had been a while ago now and as he was likely just a head at the time he was easy to overlook.

The Captain shifted on his feet, passing his swagger stick from one hand to the other.

He must have caught it at some other point, if he’d missed the first time. It really was one of Kitty’s favourites, holding a special place in her heart as one of the ‘original trio’ of princesses. She’d watched it countless times since she’d first been shown it. He must have caught it. He must have.

But uncertainty gnawed at him. What if Humphrey hadn’t seen it? He missed a lot, despite turning up in the darnedest of places. And there had been more than once that the Captain recalled where they had all been discussing a film that they’d watched the night before, only to have a snarky comment come over from a shelf from the head they’d once more overlooked, who complained that he’d love to know what they were talking about because while they’d all been upstairs watching it, he’d been kicked onto a shelf and abandoned.

The Captain sighed.

“Humphrey?”

The head snorted awake, slightly unfocused eyes blinking away sleep. “Hmph? Cap?”

“Sorry to disturb you…”

“It’s alright. What’s uh, what’s up?” He caught sight of the sky outside which was already starting to darken. His face fell a bit. “Need another lookout?”

“Um, no actually.” The Captain said. “I was actually wondering if you wanted a lift to film club?”

‘I think it’s starting as soon as I can find everybody!’ Had Kitty come to find Humphrey? Had the Captain simply gotten to him first, or had Kitty not been able to find him. Or had she not even tried? The thought started a group of heavy butterflies begin a sluggish, painful flight in his stomach.

“Film club?” Humphrey repeated, oblivious to the Captain’s internal discomfort. “Wow, that time already huh? How it flies when you sit on shelves and watch it go by.” He winked, but the joke didn’t land for the Captain, it only exacerbated the awful butterflies.

“Rather,” he ground out. “It’s um, it’s Sleeping Beauty tonight - Kitty’s pick.”

“‘Course it is,” Humphrey chuckled. “That girl loves her princesses.”

The Captain felt relieved. “Oh so you’ve seen it?”

“Sort of,” Humphrey said. “I caught one of the times she watched it, but I was mostly upside down so it wasn't very fun. It’d be nice to see it properly.”

“Oh.” The relief disappeared. “Well, jolly good.” He’d made the right call. “I’m ah, I’m afraid that I haven’t been able to track town your other half,” he admitted, a bit annoyed with himself since he’d given it a genuinely good go, but once again Humphrey’s body had proven to be annoyingly evasive. Where the bally hell did it go?

“That’s alright. He’s a bugger to catch,” Humphrey said with some sympathy. “You’ve done well to find him as much as you have.”

He finds me most of the time, the Captain thought, but he didn’t say it. Let Humphrey think the Captain sought him out rather than the other way around. He didn’t want to correct him. It would be… cruel.

“So you’d like a lift then?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Right.” The Captain nodded and tried not to seem awkward as he reached up and lifted Humphrey down from the shelf. “How did you even get up here?” he muttered, not expecting to be heard.

When Humphrey answered, he realised he’d been talking to the head more like a lost book or something and he flushed. 

“Oh you know, the usual,” was all Humphrey said though, and the Captain didn’t even want to begin considering what that meant.

They made idle chatter as the Captain walked him up to the TV room. He asked where Mike and Alison had gone, since he’d heard Kitty lamenting them going but hadn’t actually heard where or why. The Butterflies developed stingers; all the other ghosts knew exactly what was happening. Humphrey was the only one out of the loop.

So the Captain brought him into it, explaining.

“Oh, a games night sounds nice,” Humphrey said. “Like, chess and that or something on those new machines Mike has?”

“Likely not chess, but I believe some sort of board games, yes,” the Captain told him. “Trivia games I think, and some other card games. But knowing Michael and Obi I believe there will be some console games at some point during the evening or more likely in the morning for a, hour or two before they come home.”

“It’d be nice if they did that here. Obi’s a funny guy.”

“He is,” the Captain agreed. Robin loved Obi. Even Fanny didn’t seem to mind him, possibly because the first time Obi had come over, after she’d shouted at him for being uncouth for having a hole in one of his socks, he had caught sight of Dante and gushed about how ‘sick and cool’ he looked. He’d been nigh infallible in her eyes ever since.

“Still,” Humphrey continued, “I guess it’d be hard for them with us lot around. You remember the last eclipse?” Another event he’d been left out of and had little clue about until after the fact.

The Captain cringed. Yes, he did remember. He also remembered the ear-full they’d gotten from Alison. “Mhm.”

“Well I think it’ll be nice for Alison to relax and just play some casual games with her mates, y’know, have a bit of fun without having to have her hands over her ears because Thomas won’t stop trying to recite poetry about her eyes while she’s trying to have a conversation with somebody.”

“Agreed.” The Captain said.

Pat, of course, was already there as they entered the TV room; sat on the sofa and awaiting the others. With Mike and Alison gone, there definitely needed to be somebody in charge of everything while the film was on. If he couldn’t be there, the Captain was willing for Pat to fill in the spot as second-in-command; first when he wasn't around.

Carefully, he passed Humphrey to Pat. The scoutmaster was probably the one who payed the most attention to Humphrey aside from perhaps Kitty, probably due to his kind nature. He was more consistent than Kitty though, the Captain thought.

Pat seemed a bit surprised to be faced with the head all of a sudden but he smiled, turning Humphrey in his hands so they were facing each other. “Y’alright there Humph?”

“Not bad Pat. I hear there’s a film on?”

“Aye mate, Sleeping Beauty again. Been a fair while since Kitty last asked for it though so I don’t think anybody’s begrudging her another watch.”

“Thank God, or I’d never get to see it.”

“I believe it’s Humphrey’s first,” the Captain pointed out at Patrick’s confused look.

“Oh really?” Pat looked down at the head in his lap, surprise plain on his face.

“Yeah. I’ve seen a bit, but I was upside down so not the best watching.”

“Well I’ll make sure you stay right side up,” Pat chuckled, giving Humphrey a pat on the head, mussing his hair. The Captain thought that was a bit condescending but a tiny smile appeared on Humphrey’s head so he decided he must be okay with it.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

He started to turn away but Humphrey frowned, looking up at him. “You not stayin’ mate?” He asked. The Captain thought he actually looked disappointed. 

“No no, somebody has to keep an eye out while Mike and Alison are away.”

Humphrey’s slight frown deepened. “The house will be alright, mate,” he tried to assure the Captain but Pat discouraged him with a shake of his head.

In the past, he too might have tried to convince the Captain otherwise but the burglary had proven at least some of his paranoia right. Pat wasn't pleased about it, he didn’t think, but he couldn’t say much against it anymore. He would still speak up if The Captain had tried to go and patrol while Alison and Mike were still in the house, but without them it was a different matter.

“It’s alright, Humphrey,” Pat told him.

“I suppose we did get robbed…” Humphrey sighed. “Shame you have to miss out on the film though.”

The Captain managed a smile. “It’s alright, it’s one I’ve seen many times before. As I told you, it’s one of Kitty’s favourites.”

Pat winked at Humphrey. “Cap’s Kitty’s resident princess film companion,” he fake-whispered to the Tudor. “Got him wrapped around her little finger she has.” 

The Captain coughed, feeling his face start to heat up. “Yes, well. They’re good films,” he protested. “Anyway, I best go. I’d like to be in position before the film starts and you’re all occupied. Best not to leave a gap - gaps mean infiltration.”

“Alright then,” Pat said with a sigh, while Humphrey’s face fell back into a frown. “I suppose someone should be keeping watch.”

“Yes,” the Captain agreed. He really didn’t mind. He would like to sit down and watch the film, but it was something he’d seen plenty of times. If Kitty wanted someone to enthuse with she had Thomas - he loved anything to do with dashing princes and wooing princesses. He didn’t care a jot for the animation though…

“Don’t you be trying to stay up all night though,” Pat warned, breaking him out of his musings. “I’ll be coming to get you after everyone else goes to bed; can’t weasel your way out of a good nights sleep, not on my watch.”

“Yeah, Pat’ll get ya,” Humphrey piped up, in firm agreement. “He’ll have ya, you know he will.”

Yes, the Captain had no doubts about that. He repressed a shudder thinking about the appearances of Pat’s borstal attitude. He had no desire for Pat to physically drag him to bed, thank you. God, he’d never live it down being hauled off by a man half a foot shorter than him.

“I do know,” The Captain mumbled. “But it won’t come to that, I assure you.” This was the compromise of living-free nights. He nobody was to stay up all night watching for people. Even if he had made Humphrey stay on watch, he wouldn’t have been allowed to keep him up there all night while everyone else slept.

Though for a second, he wondered if Pat would be so quick to enforce that rule if it was Humphrey out there. Would he even remember? Him? Nobody had the night of the burglary. Humphrey had actually been pretty useless that night.  They hadn’t heard him at all when the burglars had arrived - and as Humphrey had very angrily told them when he was retrieved, he had shouted an alert many many times. Putting someone on alert was no use when they wouldn’t come and alert someone. He was just a man, not a klaxon.

At least that further reinforced that he was making the right decision.

“Well, enjoy the film,” he told them, offering them a brief nod in place of the salute he wanted to give. He didn’t want to be mocked. And besides, salutes were really for superior officers, which neither Humphrey nor Pat were.

“Will do,” Pat said. He was speaking from experience.

“Hope to!” Humphrey said. He wasn’t.

Chapter Text

The Captain had realised by now that nobody brought Humphrey to clubs unless they were literally already in their hands at the time. Most of the time, the only reason he became included was because he already happened to be in whatever room the club was happening themselves.

That was the case today, and the Captain had been quite embarrassed to have searched around for Humphrey for close to twenty minuets only to discover he was already in the stone hall.

“And what time do you call this?” Humphrey joked when he walked in, and the Captain flushed. He still had plenty of time before the club was due to start, just a bit less than usual; a little under five minuets early rather than his usual ten. He tried not to let it get to him as he crossed over to where the head was sat under the side table between the library entrances.

“My apologies,” he muttered, reaching down and lifting Humphrey up - and doing his best to ignore the audible crick from his knees as he did so. “I was looking for you.”

The head looked quite abashed. “Oh, really? Well uh, thanks. Sorry about the goose chase though.”

The Captain sighed, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Was silly of me not to check if you were already here anyway.”

“To be fair, I was a bit hidden down there. Not likely something a six-footer like you would see from first glance. Still, thanks for looking.” Humphrey said seriously, “rare anyone does.”

“It’s rare you’re here for clubs,” the Captain said, “and that’s… unacceptable.” He coughed, caught a bit off guard between the six-footer comment. “The clubs are for everyone.”

The smile Humphrey gave him was so gentle, the Captain had to look away.

“Thanks.”

“It’s no bother,” the Captain said, carrying him over to the other end of the hall where Pat and Fanny were waiting. It had actually been a bit of a bother, but he’d been learning not to say that to people. They didn’t like it, and Humphrey seemed so surprised at being sought out that he let it lie.

“If you’re sure,” Humphrey said, though he sounded uncertain. “If I’m right, its clothes club isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Clothes club had become the shortening for What I Would Wear If I Could Today Club, since even the Captain could agree that that was a bit of a mouthful, and WIWWIICTC didn’t exactly roll of the tongue as an acronym. He hadn’t argued too much when the others had decided to abandon it, even when he’d been the one to push for it.

“Morning Cap, Humphrey,” Pat greeted them as the Captain set Humphrey down on the table opposite the sofa.

“Mornin’ Pat!”

“Yes, good morning.” The Captain gave the scoutmaster a swift nod and came and stood next to him, just beside the table Humphrey was on.

Fanny, who was sat on the far left cushion of the sofa, gave him a bit of a look at being late but he did his best to ignore it. Still since he wasn’t actually late - just late by their standards - there wasn’t much she could say, and soon she had him engaged in polite conversation about Alison’s attempt at bring the begonias in the rear garden back to life as they waited for the others to arrive. He had no idea what she was on about, but from the gist of it the begonias were not exactly flourishing.

Pat had once said that he could set his watch by himself and Fanny, and aside from today’s slip-up because of his search for Humphrey, the Captain couldn't help but agree. That said, there was a routine to almost everyone. Robin and Julian almost always came in last, unless they were already in the room playing chess. Kitty floated in whenever she remembered there was a club on, often reasonably on time but sometimes late. Mary was actually quite on time, usually, unless she had gotten stuck daydreaming. If she and Kitty were together, she stood a good chance of reminding the young Georgian to come to the club. Thomas sometimes elected not to come if he was in one of his artistic moods (aka, a sulk,) but if he attended he was almost quite on time.

But of course, today they seemed to throw routine out completely. Julian and Robin appeared first, early even, from goodness knows where since they walked in through the window from outside, Robin blabbering on about mice. The caveman sat next to Fanny which she didn’t seem particularly pleased about but ignored, and Julian sat next to him. Kitty was next - again, just a minuet early - and sat on the wooden side-table next to the sofa, on Julian’s left. Thomas was the last to come in, on the heels of a frazzled looking Mary, and both arrived almost two full minuets after the clock had struck eleven.

Perhaps the Captain had jinxed it.

“Welcome to What I Would Wear If I Could Today Club, everybody,” Pat started, once everybody had settled in. “Now, last time there was a little disagreement about who goes first. I usually do because I find it the best way to start the club off, a good introduction, but I do agree that that perhaps can be a little bit unfair. So today I thought we’d do things a little differently; we’ll start with Mary, if thats okay with you?”

Mary blinked, pointing to herself. “Me? You wants me to start?”

Pat smiled warmly at her. “Yes. You don’t have to though, if you aren't ready. We can move on and circle back.”

The Jacobean fidgeted with her apron for a brief second before straightening up. “No no,” she said, “I’s be ready. I been thinkin’ bout it.”

“Excellent! So everybody, welcome to this weeks What I Would Wear If I Could Today Club! And todays first outfit will be presented by Mary!” Pat demurred to her and stepped back.

“Well… I be wantin’ a pair of those dungarees,” Mary started, and Pat smiled again. He never usually had to do much with Mary. She usually had something prepared and always thought about details and accessories. It was rare they had to prompt her, usually they only had to help her if she struggled to describe something - Help put words the vision rather than craft it.

“The denim ones, is what I want,” Mary continued. “An’ they’ll have big sunflowers embroidered an’ sewn all over, that I did.”

“Ooh crafty!” Humphrey remarked, clearly impressed, and both Pat the Captain nodded. Very nice. Very Mary.

“An’ I’ll have a shell necklace too. Jus’ little shells, you know, like the ones we sees on people at the beach on the tv.”

“A Pukka necklace?” Kitty suggested, turning to the Captain for confirmation. He had no idea, and started to shrug when Pat piped up.

“I think so Kit, yes.”

“Pukka necklace, then,” Mary nodded, smiling at Kitty, who returned it tenfold. “And then I think a hat. Wicker o’course. With more flowers in it - real ones, not threaded. I’d say cornflowers, I think - always liked cornflowers, an’ some sunflowers too. I’d say… two potatoes high in- in all.” She demonstrated with a flat palm raised above her hair. “I don’t know what to put under the dungarees though… mayhap just a shirt. Like Al’son has, the light ones.”

“A t-shirt,” Pat said.

“Yes.”

“With sunflowers on perhaps?”

But Mary shook her head. “Overkill,” she announced. “But mayhap a sunflower earring. Mayhap, even, some leaves on the shirt. Patterned, o’course, not real. An’ my crocs.”

Julian snorted, but not unkindly. “Of course.”

Several of the ghosts smiled. Robin reached over and high-fived Mary.

Over time, some of the ghosts had staple items for their wardrobe. Pat had an old jumper from his life that he liked to wear every so often. Mary had a pair of white crocs with flower charms that she wore more often than not, after seeing Alison bring a pair home. After hearing how good they were for outdoor wear, and that they were waterproof, and could be accessorised - she was sold. Pat had a pair himself.

“I be done.”

“A very funky outfit then, if I do say so myself,” Pat praised, and everyone agreed.

“Right lovely,” Humphrey said. “Like the personalisation especially, with the embroidery an’ all.”

Pat gestured to Thomas. “Would you like to go next, Thomas?”

Unsurprisingly, Thomas perked up immediately, leaning into the group’s full attention, which for once, he actually had. “I would like to try one of these ‘hooded jackets’ Alison has,” he told the group.

“A hoodie,” Julian corrected.

Thomas sniffed, and the Captain could see him fighting internally with himself. He didn’t want to agree with Julian on anything - none of them often did - and likely found the term plebeian, but he also knew fine well that Alison did use that word. Eventually his devotion to Alison won out, though without any of his sal disgusting fawning and he said, “yes. A hoodie,” with some derision.

“Very modern,” Pat praised. “Zip or no zip?”

“No zip,” Thomas said. “And with a big pocket on the front. The perfect size for a journal or notebook to pen my musings, I should think.”

The Captain couldn’t argue with that. Alison’s non-zippered hooded jumpers did seem to have pockets perfectly sized for a small book or journal. Not that he would ever use it for such flowery prose, of course. But it would be good for inventory notes, or reminders… or schedule details. A pocket calendar, that’s what he would keep, in the unlikely event he should ever deign to wear such a garment.

“Any particular colour?”

“Burgundy, of course.” Thomas scoffed, like it was a silly question. “And matching shoes - those ones Alison has. The boots.”

“Oof,” Pat said wistfully, knowing exactly what boots Thomas meant. “What I wouldn’t give for a pair of docs.”

“Aye,” Mary nodded with commiseration, “I think ‘bout those teal ones we seen in the light up book all the time.”

“Seems to be a very Alison inspired outfit, hm?” Pat pointed out to Thomas, and the Captain hid a smile. Pat was the most non-judgemental of the lot but even he had difficulty keeping anything out of his tone this time.

“I suppose,” Thomas said, carefully neutral. “But I also want some of those beige trousers that we saw the other day. I don’t think Alison had anything like that in her wardrobe. They seem a little like my own breeches.”

“What’s the point of that then?” Julian scoffed. “Just wear your stupid pant things.”

The poet shot him a glare. “Trousers are longer,” he explained snippily. “And I said ‘like’, not ‘the same’. Similar in colour, I meant, and they look soft. As soft as my own breeches, which are of course the softest calfskin.”

“Alright, alright, whatever.” Julian flapped his hand, sulking back into his place on the sofa.

“And a shirt,” Thomas continued when Julian bowed out, “a nice one, starched and collared. Like the one’s Mike wears when he has to appear professional.”

“A very comfy outfit I should think.”

The Captain had to agree. Thomas was usually a little outlandish with his choices but he often had a taste for casual and comfortable, yet without sacrificing all formality. Not that he was going to say a word about it, obviously, lest his head grow too big to fit through his starched collared shirt.

“Robin-”

But Pat hadn’t even got the caveman’s name fully out of his mouth before Robin was declaring, “Three wolves.”

Julian immediately slumped back in his seat, a hand rising to his forehead. “Oh for fucks sake, not this again.”

The Captain frowned. “What-”

But the MP interrupted him, throwing a hand out towards Robin. “He saw this shirt online last week that’s got three wolves on it and he’s been banging on about it every second since like it’s the second coming of Jesus. I’m fed up of hearing about it. It’s literally just a shirt with three wolves on it.”

“And moonah!”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, and moonah. Anyway, I keep telling him it’s not that cool-”

Robin was up quicker than anybody could even see, the lights flashing around him. The ghosts jumped, the Captain drawing his swagger stick like a sword, Kitty and Julian both shrieking and ducking, and Humphrey yelping and wobbling on the table enough to tip him over in panic. 

“The shirt!” Julian shouted, practically leaping away form the caveman with his arms outstretched. “The shirt! Not the moon!”

The lights abruptly stopped flickering and Robin sat down again, his anger evaporating. “Oh. Well shirt is still cool!”

“It’s not cool Robin,” Julian protested, with the tired sigh of someone who’d argued the same point many, many times before.

Carefully, the Captain tucked his stick in his bet and reached over to put Humphrey upright again. Once the Tudor was vertical again, he and the Captain shared a look, Humphrey biting his lip. Julian sounded pretty pathetic.

“Is super cool!” Robin argued, crossing his arms. “What cooler than three wolves, eh? Nothing. Nothing cooler than three wolves. In my time, you come back to camp wearing three wolves you basically god.”

“Yeah but you’re not actually wearing them, are you? It’s just a shirt with a picture on?”

“It counts!” Robin whined, slapping Julian’s leg. “Is still cool!”

Ever the mediator, Pat stepped in. “If Robin wants to wear his shirt then he can,” he told Julian. Any actual argument between those two usually burnt out pretty quickly, but they couldn’t half bicker. “I think it sounds reet cool Robin.”

“Nyeh.” Robin stuck his tongue out and Julian rolled his eyes.

“Anything with the shirt?” Pat asked him; a given with anybody else. It was not a given with Robin.

Robin tilted his head, thinking. “Uhhh. Those funny pants you an’ Cap like.”

The Captain blinked. “Corduroy?”

The caveman nodded, bouncing slightly in place. “Yeah. Big ones.”

Ever since Robin had seen an old pair of Mike’s pants he’d become obsessed with the stuff. The texture looked so interesting to him, like ‘soft tree bark’ apparently. It baffled and intrigued him and most of the outfits he chose for 

What I Would Wear If I Could Today Club now involved corduroy pants.

“Okay so oversized corduroy pants, and a t-shirt with three wolves on it,” Pat checked.

“And moonah.”

“And the moon.”

“And my hat.”

“And your hat,” Pat parroted, at which everyone chuckled. Even Julian couldn’t conceal his smile. Robin had seen a trapper hat with little wolf ears on at some point, likely on the laptop, and had also requested that pretty much every club for the past 6 weeks. At this point it was more ‘what was accompanying Robin’s hat and corduroy trousers club’.

Robin threw his fists up and shouted, “Hell yeah!” Which Pat took to signal the end of his turn.

“Another cool and comfy outfit from Robin,” he said. It was actually quite tame for the caveman. He and Mary were the biggest wildcards when it came to this club. (They were the biggest wildcards when it came to most of the clubs, actually.)

Pat took his own turn next. “Now similar to Mary, I’ll be sporting my own pair of dungarees. Just plain denim, though, I think; none of Mary’s clever crafts! And a groovy jumper underneath. I saw a real lovely one on the laptop the other day when Alison was shopping for clothes, it had a nice psychedelic sort of wave thing going on…” Pat waved his hand through the air to signify the pattern of the jumper. “Lovely colour scheme; red stripe, orange stripe, some yellows - lovely.”

“Like a sunset,” Kitty, Humphrey and the Captain said at the same time. Kitty burst into giggles at the coincidence.

“Exactly!” Pat said. “Absolutely would have been in my wardrobe back when I was alive, you can bet on that. And I’ll have my old denim patch jacket on. It was one of the first thing’s I got after Uni actually, and it had a bunch of patches from bands I liked, and pride patches. Made some of ‘em myself, actually. God, I miss that old’ thing.” He spared a brief moment to remember his old jacket. Some of his finest memories were wrapped up in it. Funnily enough, he wouldn’t be too mad if Carol hadn’t kept it - he thought it would be quite a nice thing if some young queer kid picked it up in a charity shop, patches and all. It felt like… carrying on a bit of pride to the next generation. Or it would if it hadn’t fallen apart with age. It would be over fifty years old by now.

“Anyway,” the scout leader continued, shaking himself out of his reminiscing, “thanks to a suggestion from Kitty earlier this week; I’ll also be sporting a very funky pair of shades - with the lenses shaped like love hearts!”

Kitty bounced in her seat, clapping. “We saw it in a magazine!” she told everybody, delighted. “They look so wonderful!”

“Very sixties,” Julian said. He actually sounded approving, which surprised both Pat and the Captain.

“And very ‘two-thousands’,” Kitty said, the air quotes audible. “Theres lots of pink and blue glasses about, and funny shaped lenses! Lots of celebrities wear them on the red carpet. That’s what my outfit is going to be based on.” She beamed, full of pride.

“Well why don’t you do yours next then Kit,” Pat suggested.

The youngest ghost clapped her hands together, wiggling in her seat a little. “Oh yes, I would love to! Can I?”

The ghosts all nodded and Kitty rubbed her hands together with glee.

“Right,” she said, standing. For once she was the picture of seriousness and the Captain felt a flutter of pride in his chest. She looked like she was about to deliver a morning briefing, or plan of attack and he stood to attention in support. “I want a fully velvet outfit,” Kitty announced. “It’s a two piece-”

“Oh heavens,” Fanny said.

“-so it’s a skirt and a top, and each side is laced together. It’s blue, like the sky, and the best part! I’ll be wearing silver cowgirl boots. So many ladies wore cowgirl boots on the red carpet then.”

Both Pat and the Captain looked to Fanny, who at this point had her head in her hands. She had been much more accepting and laid back (for Fanny) about many things recently, but unfortunately early millennium red carpet looks crossed the line. The two men shared a look. At least she’s not shouting, it said.

“I don’t want a short skirt, though. Not a very short one, at least. I think I want it to about here…” She slashed at just under her knee. “Then there’s enough room to show off the boots without it looking silly. And I want added sleeves - flowey, like a bellbottom is?”

The Captain stifled a smile, eyeing Pat. Of course she used bellbottoms as a comparison.

The scoutmaster nodded. “Aye petal, fitted at the top and flared at the base, right?”

“Exactly!” Kitty beamed. “Out of something sheer! Chiffon, perhaps.”

“This all sounds very fabulous, Kitty,” the Captain told her and she smiled at him. “Very um, fashionable.” He wasn’t sure if it was fashionable anymore, but it was certainly at the time. He’d seen quite a few of these red carpet looks himself since Kitty had developed such an enthusiasm for them, and they were very different to modern ones from what he’d seen, but they were still creative and the women seemed to enjoy themselves. Kitty certainly was.

“Doesn’t it just?” The Georgian woman gushed. “And the most important part would be my hair.”

“Hair?” Fanny piped up. She was quite interested in the myriad of modern hairstyles that had cropped up recently. Being dead over a century now, she was quite tired of her stuffy up-do and missed the days when she wore it down. She and Kitty had talked multiple times about how they would have their hair if they could free themselves of their pins and hair pieces for a day.

“Oh yes, Lady Button!” Kitty turned to tell her. “I want full braids, like Beyonce, and I want blue and silver beads in them all. And some of my hair will be up, with those fun little plastic ball hair-ties, and the rest down, and ooh ooh!” Kitty bounced hard enough in her seat that Julian leaned away from her, afraid he’d be jumped on. “And butterfly clips!

“Butterfly clips?” The Captain asked, immediately standing to attention more firmly now that one of his favourite subjects had been brought up. “What kind of butterflies? Painted lady? Holly blue? Peacock?”

Apologetically, Pat reached over and patted him on the arm. “Not those kind of butterflies mate.”

The Captain’s face fell. “Oh. Well what kind, then?”

“You know those tiny little grabby clips?” Kitty explained, “Made of plastic, with the really small claws? That’s what those are called.”

“Oh.” Oh he knew those. They were quite sweet, if rather ineffectual at keeping back hair. They should be enough to hold a few thin braids though, and he supposed that Kitty would certainly not be satisfied with just one or two. She would want a whole flock.

“It’s okay Captain, I can wear both kinds of clips!” Kitty assured him. “I can wear some of the plastic butterfly clips to keep my hair in place, and some real butterfly ones to look pretty! I think that sounds very nice, actually. Thank you for suggesting it!”

“Y- you’re welcome.” He hadn’t actually suggested it at all, not really, but she was happy and it did sound like the mix of clips would be complimentary so he simply agreed and revelled in the warm smile she gave him.

“I think I might have some sort of purse as well, likely velvet to match my clothes. But the straps will be silver chains, to match the boots.” Kitty tapped her chin in thought. “I think that’s it!”

Pat chuckled. “Very intricate, but very fashionable,” he praised. “I think it’s safe to say that if you were wearing that, we’d all be blown away”

“Indeed,” The Captain agreed.

“Oh deffo,” Humphrey added, which made the Captain give him a quizzical look. He would never understand how the man managed to pick up slang so easily. He sounded like he’d died yesterday, rather than four centuries ago. 

Kitty soaked up the compliments from the others with delight, fanning herself with her hand like she was surrounded by suitors at a ball.

When it died down, Pat turned to the soldier stood next to him. “Captain, I don’t think we have to ask.”

The Captain shrugged. He never wanted to wear anything other than what he wore. He got the occasional pang for some of his old clothes, his favourite jumpers, perhaps, but he was dead. It was no use pretending and getting himself worked up about textures he couldn’t feel again. The others seemed to be fine with it, and that was perfectly alright if it brought them some comfort and joy - there was little that could in such a purgatorial existence - but the exercise was not for him.

“What about a butterfly clip of your own, Cap?” Humphrey piped up. “Y’know, one of the real-looking ones.”

The Captain turned to him in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Well…” Humphrey made a unique motion, one that the Captain had come to learn over the decades was his way of shrugging without a body or shoulders. “I just thought, it’s something, y’know? Then you can keep your clothes: adding rather than taking, yeah?”

“Oh yes, Captain that would be so lovely!” Kitty gushed, drawing the Captain’s attention to her. “Would you? We can match! And you don’t even have to wear something that’s not your uniform!”

“Um. I-” the Captain looked around wildly. Thomas seemed to be muffling a giggle, Julian was doing a very bad job of holding in a smirk, but Pat was smiling warmly at him and Humphrey was giving him an encouraging look.

“I- I suppose, yes. Though I’m not sure I have enough hair for one to um, grip to?” He said uncertainly. He wasn't sure how those things worked, especially if they were making the concept up.

“That’s alright!” Kitty assured him, “you can wear one on your uniform!”

“Could attach it to your belt,” Pat suggested, pointing to the upper half of his Sam Browne, near his medals.

He thought about it. It was only a small item, inconsequential really, and it didn’t effect his actual clothes. And it would match Kitty. “I suppose.” He said slowly, head tilted as he thought it through. “Yes, thats a good idea.”

“What colour?” Pat asked.

His mind stuttered to a halt. “Um,” he blurted. “Whatever matches Kitty I suppose,” he managed to say. He looked to Kitty, who was beaming at him.

“Well I’m having blue ones,” she said. “To match my two-piece, and the beads.”

The Captain nodded. Blue, he could work with that. “A Common blue butterfly, I should think then,” he said. “They have a lovely powder blue colour - stronger then the Holly blues.”

“Those then!”

The smile she gave him was blinding, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret making a change to his uniform for the first time in over seventy five years. It unsettled him a little, doing something new and spontaneous like that, but he found himself alright with it, and allowed her a small smile back.

“Handsome,” Humphrey said warmly. When the Captain looked down, the Tudor was smiling up at him and it made him flush.

Pat was only too happy to agree with Humphrey’s assessment, beaming at the Captain. “I think we can all agree that even a small accessory can do wonders,” he said. “Pleased to see it, mate. Now, Julian?”

The Captain was glad when the conversation - and as such, the attention - moved to the MP. He suspected that his face was a lot redder right now than he would prefer.

“I want my silk pyjamas back,” Julian told them all.

Robin turned to him, confused. “But you not wear pen-jamas when you sleep.”

The Captain closed his eyes. Why did Robin know that? Why did he know that? Why did they all know that. Ugh.

“I didn’t, but, y’know, I still owned them. They were nice to lounge about in. But most importantly, they’ve got-”

“Trousers,” everyone finished for him.

Julian crossed his arms, giving them all a right grumpy look. “Alright alright,” he huffed. “You lot all lose your keks, see how much you fancy taking the piss then, hey?”

Thomas rolled his eyes - Fanny, Mary and Kitty all shared a look, as none of them had trousers either. Though they were still all better off, having multiple layers covering their legs. Especially Kitty, he doubted her legs could ever be cold under all those layers of petticoats and fine fabrics.

“Well, that’s a short and simple answer from Julian,” Pat said, eyeing Robin warily. “Lady B, your turn.”

The Button matriarch straightened her shoulders, clearly excited by her choice for today. “I should like a pantsuit,” she announced to the group.

“Hm.”

The noise slipped out. He’d hoped it hadn’t been loud enough to hear but Fanny could sense a judgemental tone like a shark sensed blood in the ocean, and she whipped her head towards him. Damn.

“And what was that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” The Captain said, as innocently as he could manage. “Only you seemed quite against the pantsuits at Sam and Claire's wedding.”

“Yes, at the wedding. I don’t care what fashion trends have taken over, you should always wear a gown to a wedding,” Fanny sniffed, jutting her chin in the air. “It’s respectful, and it’s a formal, important event.” She lowered her chin slightly. “Casually, however… well. If it’s good enough for Jane Fonda then it’s good enough for me.”

There it was. The Captain had to turn his head slightly to avoid her catching his slight smile. Anything was acceptable if Jane Fonda did it, or Angela Lansbury. They could probably commit actual murder and Fanny would leap to their defence.

“Though perhaps in a duller shade of green…” Fanny pondered. “I think I’d prefer an olive to an emerald.”

“Yes I think an olive would do better on you,” the Captain agreed. It would work better with the grey in her hair, not that he would ever mention that.

She looked down her nose at him for a moment evidently assessing whether he was trying to sass her or not before she realised he was being genuine (though holding back on sassing her). “Yes, quite,” she said, settling back again.

Pat turned to the head sat on the table, and after a moments hesitation, so did the other ghosts. The Captain noticed the delay and frowned. Had they forgotten he was there again?

“Humphrey?”

The head blinked, looking up to the scoutmaster.

“It seems you’re our last one today.”

“Oh,” Humphrey swallowed. “Well, um. I can’t say I had much prepared…”

He looked to the Captain who gave him a small, barely-there nod that he hoped was encouraging.

“That’s alright,” Pat said. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.”

“Not seen much fashion besides shoes in the last few decades,” Humphrey joked. “Would love some of those fancy loafers though, with the red soles. Nice and new, but still carries the old vibe, you know?” He wrinkled his nose a bit, sighing. “Not that you can see the old vibe at the moment, he’ll be wandering about somewhere. But if I had him I’d probably do something in velvet. Stick to what you know, they say, don’t they?”

“Who’s they?” Mary whispered to Robin, who shrugged.

Surprisingly, Julian piped up with the very thing the Captain had been about to say. “They’ve started doing all velvet suits,” he suggested. “Similar to what you’ve got now but not as frilly and poofy. Very sexy.”

The Captain nodded, in rare agreement with the MP. “Yes, um, they do do those now. I believe they had those in the sixties?”

“We did,” Pat said. “Big sixties and seventies thing, but they’d made a comeback since. Not as exciting in my opinion, but that’s just me. Can’t say no to a pair of flairs, you all know me guys.”

“God, do we,” Thomas muttered, and both Pat and the Captain turned to glare at him - as did Humphrey, as much as he was able. He glared in Thomas’s direction which the Captain couldn’t think of as comfortable in any way.

“They’re more fitted now,” Julian agreed. “Hot stuff, I've seen them on the web.”

“Oh!” Mary said, excited, “we saws ‘em on that programme on the televis’n, ‘ant we Fanny?” She turned to the Button matriarch, bouncing in her seat.

“The David Beckham advert,” Fanny said, shifting in her seat. She and the Captain both cleared their throats, making eye contact for a brief second before looking away again. Neither one of them gave a toss about football, but they both knew one player. “Um, yes. Very stylish.”

Humphrey waggled his eyebrows. “I could do that,” he said, sounding rather happy about it. “I’d go for red, obviously. I know it’s not exactly branching out but it is rather my colour I think.”

“Agreed. I’d ask if you wanted any accessories with that but I gotta say, full velvet suit? Really all you need,” Pat remarked, a little wistfully. He seemed quite impressed by the idea.

“Well I’d keep my rings,” Humphrey added, thoughtful.

Julian snickered. “Why not just go full mobster on them and get some gold chains?” Then he paused, tapping his chin. “Actually that’d be hot as fuck. Do that.”

“I’ll accept a chain,” Humphrey acquiesced. “A nice one, like what Alison and Mike have for their necklaces instead of my livery collar. That’s a bit chunky. And stabby, if I’m honest. God, you catch that accidentally and you’ll bloody know about it, let me tell you.”

It was surprisingly easy to picture it; Humphrey, all together in a well-fitted red velvet suit with smart shoes and a nice, simple gold chain. It was certainly an image. A very handsome image. Lord above, that’s all I need, he thought and shook the concept from his head.

The Captain cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels as he so often did when he needed to reorient himself. “Well, I think that was an excellent way to end things off.”

Pat nodded, winking at Humphrey. “Agreed. Very dishy choice there, mate.”

Humphrey beamed, and the Captain felt he’d made the right choice in making the effort to have Humphrey be included, even if he’d looked like a fool trying to find him when he didn’t actually need to be found.

The Captain got his Disney fill two weeks later.

For once there was little pushback against his choice, as it had been a while since they had seen A Bug’s Life and there was hardly ever a bad word about somebody picking a Disney film.

Alison was busy doing some plastering in one of the more crumbly rooms, but Mike had been more than happy to watch Bug’s Life without her. Julian was just pleased not to have to be the one pushing the buttons. As happy as he was to exert his ‘skills’, even he liked a night off - hence he was splayed out on one of the armchairs with Robin.

Recently, Mike and Alison had saved up and bought a second sofa for the TV room. It was second hand, but things like that didn’t matter to the Captain or his fellow ghosts. Anything new was interesting, even when it was actually old, and it wasn’t like they could feel if the fabric was worn. As long as there weren’t any visible mysterious stains he was quite happy.

Film nights were a lot better now that they all had proper seating instead of having to be perched on the backs and arms of one sofa, or sat on the floor.

The new sofa sat behind the other sofa, raised by some palettes Mike had brought back from the gooseberry farm so that the seating was a little more tiered and everyone could see. The Captain had elected to sit on the back row, which had garnered some odd looks from he others since it was his film pick. Pickers automatically got a spot on the front sofa. But the Captain liked the height the back sofa gave him; it gave him a good view of the TV even if he was seat in front of Julian - or Humphrey if he was all together - and more importantly it gave him a good view of everyone else. A Captain should always have eyes on his squadron, just in case.

He suspected that Pat had similar reasoning; he was sat on the back row too, at the opposite end of the sofa so he could put his legs up. He’d already reached out to poke the Captain with his feet twice to take the piss, and both times been thwapped lightly with his swagger stick as punishment, making Pat retreat back with a badly stifled giggle.

The scoutmaster had the angle the Captain couldn’t have and he was grateful for that. Mary, Kitty, Fanny and Thomas were sat on the sofa in front of them, Mary in front of the Captain and Thomas in front of Pat. Mike, as designated laptop manager (and also because he was terrified of accidentally sitting in someone,) had the armchair on the right closest to Thomas. 

Humphrey - just his head - was perched on the side table, perfectly situated between the Captain’s end of the sofa, Mary’s end, and Julian and Robin’s armchair, eager to watch the film despite it being one he’d already seen. The Captain couldn’t help but be pleased to see him.

He wondered if Pat had brought him up. He seemed to have been paying a touch more attention to the Tudor ever since the Captain had brought him up for Sleeping Beauty. The Captain had caught them chatting more than once now, seemingly about varying things - and one rather animated conversation about something Humphrey was reading.

It was possible that Kitty had brought him up. She did remember him, it was just more sporadic. She rather had a bit of an issue with object permanence, unfortunately. She would remember him rather consistently for a short while, and then forget all about him again, and the process looped.

The Captain was also quite happy to sit relatively on his own for another reason; he was able to fidget as much as he liked. He really did hold great love for this movie. Yes, the animation was very clever and interesting, but he also loved bugs very much. He always had done. Insects of all kinds were fascinating little creatures, from flies to ladybirds to mantises. But he did especially love ants, and he often became quite restless when watching things that interested him even when they captured his attention so completely. Although he could attribute some of his restlessness to his holding back of facts about ants, which while some of the others had been interested the first time they watched the film, were not as interested any of the times afterwards.

It was annoying, but not impossible. He just had to tell himself the facts, in his head. They were always interesting, after all; like when Flick bumped into a snail as he entered the insect ‘city’, causing one of it’s eyes to retract.

Some snails have two pairs of eye stalks, however only one set carries the eyes, he told himself. The others are used for smelling, and both sets are fully retractable. It is almost always the upper set that carries the eyes and these are the lon-

He was interrupted during his recollection of snail eye facts by footfalls coming from behind him. He and everyone else - bar Mike - turned around to see Humphrey’s body stumbling into the cabinet beside the door, which he seemed to have missed.

“Fuck’s sake,” Julian complained, “couldn’t have turned up at the start, could he?”

The Captain grimaced. It was rather typical of him, but then again, Humphrey’s body was rather unlucky in general. Likely came with the manner of death, he thought.

“This way, mate,” Pat said, but unhelpfully as Humphrey’s body continued to meander behind the sofa.

Except he was about to walk straight through the wall, which didn’t have anything but air on the other side of it.

“Oh no you don’t,” the Captain said sharply and swiftly twisted around in his seat to reaching over the back of the sofa and grasp Humphrey’s sleeve before he could walk into a two storey drop. Only when the velvet slid against his fingertips did he realise ad by then it would look funny if he didn’t follow through so he cleared his throat slightly to cover his hesitation and gently tugged on Humphrey’s sleeve. Understandably Humphrey panicked, being tugged about by somebody he couldn’t identify, and he started to pull in the opposite direction - further towards the wall. So the Captain leaned further over the back of the sofa and grasped Humphrey’s wrist with one hand and pulled his palm over the Captain’s own sleeve.

As predicted, Humphrey stilled immediately, becoming as docile as a lamb, and let the Captain carefully lead him to walk through the sofa int the gap between him and pat. He set a hand on his shoulder and pushed and Humphrey sat down, a hand patting behind him to make sure he kew where the seat was - not that it helped, since his hand went right through, but the Captain guided him down and he managed just fine.

“Thank god.” Julian muttered. “Keep him down over there, would you? I don’t want him wandering in front of the screen.”

“Oh shut up Julian,” the Captain found himself snapping, “it’s not like he can tell what’s going on. How’s he supposed to know we’re watching a film right now?”

“Yes Julian,” Kitty piped up with relish from her spot, “it’s not his fault. Don’t be such a butthead.” She grinned triumphantly and Robin giggled, reaching over from his perch on Julian’s lap to high five her and almost falling right out of his seat doing so.

Kitty had been experimenting with swearing lately, and while the Captain couldn’t say that he loved it, per se, he was more than happy to sit back and watch her levy insults at Julian.

“Well,” Julian grumbled, flushing, but he settled down and let it go when Robin started pointing at the circus bugs on the screen. He loved the circus bugs. They’d probably find him doing forward rolls and bouncing over the furniture before they went to bed tonight.

There was still a lingering feeling of awkwardness over his interaction with Humphrey's body. To alleviate it, he had been consistently pairing body and head back together at every opportunity. Humphrey had never been in one piece so often. It killed multiple birds with one stone; Humphrey seemed happier and was a lot more social with the other ghosts, very happy to be so involved in the activities they all partook in. It relieved his guilt at Humphrey's whole situation, and uniting them every time his body found him lessened the amount of piggybacks and hand holding that went on. Humphrey said he was find with it, but the Captain still felt guilty.

“Humphrey?” He whispered, “do you want to be put back together?”

There was no response.

“Humphrey?”

“He’s sleepin’” Mary whispered back to him, turning in her seat.

“Oh.” The Captain frowned. “Really?” How on earth could one fall asleep during A Bug’s Life?

Mary nodded. “Aye. About five minuets before his body a’wandered through.”

“Should I still…?” The Captain offered, reaching out, but Mary smacked his hand away.

“You’ll wake him ups if yous connect ‘em,” she chided him, “let him sleep. We can do it when he wakes.”

He felt a little out of sorts at not being able to attach the two but the Captain shook it off and settled back into his seat. He could do nothing about it now - best to get back to watching the film. He had at least tried. 

Humphrey’s body, however, seemed to be quite delighted by the situation. The moment the Captain had stopped moving beside him Humphrey made his move, feeling down the rough fabric of his uniform along his arm until he could take hold of his hand.

He allowed it. It still felt a little awkward, knowing Humphrey's head was only a few meters away at most, but he was asleep. And he could not deny that having his hand scooped up and enclosed in Humphrey's warm palm relaxed him. The Captain just couldn't help himself. When their fingers interlaced with each other, something in him automatically relaxed, a feeling that had been getting stronger the longer he had been doing this with Humphrey’s body. He supposed that he was just used to the contact now.

He rested their clasped hands in the tiny gap between their thighs, almost lost within the voluminous velvet and fur of Humphrey’s cloak. Forcing himself to fully relax into it.

Besides, it wasn't as if anybody could see. He was sat on the back seat, and though the new sofa was raised it wasn't raised very high. Just enough so that those on the back row could see the TV clearly. From the chest down they were still rather hidden. he wasn’t even particularly worried about Pat. The scoutmaster’s attention was fully on the film and with their hands mostly covered by the cloak, Pat likely couldn’t see what was happening even if he did look over.

As he relaxed back into the film, so too did Humphrey’s body relax with him. Over the course of the city scenes, Humphrey slowly leant closer and closer to him until the Captain could feel the press of the Tudor’s shoulder against his own. It confused the Captain a little, until he took in the slump of Humphrey’s shoulders and the way his neck stump was tilted back and realised that it seemed like he was asleep.

Could the body even fall asleep without the head? He would have to ask Humphrey at some point, though he might not even know.

Humphrey certainly seemed asleep right now. He was very still; he had stopped circling his thumb over the Captain’s knuckles and his chest rose and fell very slowly. They didn’t need to breathe, but they all still did, even in sleep. Julian even snored, though he denied it whenever he woke up - usually because somebody had woken him up. On one memorable occasion, Pat had chucked his shoe at him. It had smacked him right in the head and Robin had howled with laughter so hard they all thought he would throw up.

Whether the body was asleep or not, the Captain was perfectly content to let him stay there. It was an unexpected change of things, but nobody could blame Humphrey for (appearing to) fall asleep, especially since his other half had too, and the Captain’s previous apprehensions were melting away with the close contact - ironic since most of his apprehensions were about said close contact. But it was nice, having somebody lean against him and hold his hand whilst he watched one of his favourite films. And gently playing with Humphrey’s fingers and knuckles was a perfectly nice way to leech out the excess energy watching A Bug’s Life gave him.

He watched the rest of the film in utter peace, unaware that at some point, Humphrey’s head had woken up and was watching them, his gaze pinpointed on their intertwined hands.