Chapter Text
Theodore was beginning to think he really had dreamt up the stranger.
He kept assuring himself that wasn't the case, that despite what Julian liked to say he wasn't a senile old man just yet. Theodore knew precisely what he'd seen, and what he'd seen was this:
Sunday night (five days ago now), at eleven thirty pm, he'd broken away from the group, escaping The King's Head. They'd been planning to hit another pub, and Theodore felt he'd rather reached his limit, so snuck out under the guise of using the bathroom and began his trek towards Button Manor. If he'd been less drunk, less focused on the bitter spring air, he might have stopped and called a taxi, or Julian was on babysitting duty with Rachel. But he had been particularly drunk and particularly focused on the cold, so to his later shame, he did neither. He just kept walking, swaying dangerously from side to side even with his cane to steady him.
Nothing of note occurred until he reached the edge of town, to that one horrible corner street where the lamps didn't work, the houses were empty, their doors and windows boarded up, and trees had taken over the paths, their roots twisting up the concrete. Theodore had paused for a moment to try and make his head stop spinning. This was, in hindsight, where it all went wrong.
Ignoring the signs ziplocked to the railings that encouraged the citizens of Surrey to not stab people, please, a man had come out of the darkness, demanding his wallet. Theodore couldn't recall his face, nor most of what the man said, but he remembered seeing a flash of silver and, sluggishly reaching to his hip for a gun he did not have. Maybe the man grabbed him and threw him against the wall, or maybe Theodore stumbled against it in his drunken stupor. Either way, he'd been caught with nowhere to go, and no way to defend himself.
The man approached, easily fishing Theodore’s wallet from his pocket.
Then quick as lightning, an arrow shot from the darkness, piercing through the man's sleeve, sending him stumbling back. It was specifically the man's sleeve, not his arm, Theodore recalled, because there was no blood, no cries of pain, just a gasp of pure shock.
A person walked out of the darkness, into the line of a flickering streetlamp. Short and stout, with chestnut hair and the bluest eyes Theodore had ever seen, the kind that would put summer skies to shame. "I don't think that's very polite of y'us."
The person had said more, they must have, but the next thing Theodore remembered was them holding out his wallet.
"I believe this is yours."
"It is. Thank you."
Their hands were broad and freckled, their skin ice cold as it brushed against his. Theodore felt the shock of that touch more than he did the shock of the attack. It was oddly sobering, though not enough to completely clear his mind.
"No thanks necessary," the stranger had insisted. "Always happy to lend a hand, me. Though I would rather I didn't have to, you know. Would prefer you not to get jumped again."
"I won't. I'm not usually this thoughtless."
"Mate, I think the word you're looking for is drunk." Their smile was wide and charming.
Theodore felt he must have asked what exactly they were doing, walking around with a bow and arrow like that. He remembered, and maybe he was remembering it wrong, but he was sure they had a quiver attached to their belt, a tall blue bow in their left hand.
"I like to haunt the archery range."
"It's closed."
"So it is."
Theodore felt off-kilter, something he couldn't entirely blame on the several beers he'd downed. "Do you make a habit of shooting arrows near ranges at night?"
"Do you make a habit of walking home alone at night? There are monsters about, you know," they said. "You should call a taxi."
Then, with a teasing sort of smile, they stepped back and disappeared into the night.
How and when Theodore had gotten back to the manor, he didn't when. He did recall waking up three hours later to throw up though, which seemed unfair. Why remember that and barely anything else?
He fanned his fingers across his book, tapping the page idly. He’d been on page 160 for the past three hours.
Theodore had considered bringing his laptop instead, thought it might give the appearance of him being busy more than a book would, but while there were plenty of plug-in points in The Flowerbed cafe, there were none near the particular table he had picked. The one next to the wide window that overlooked the entrance to the archery. Perhaps, Theodore mused as he watched another gaggle of schoolchildren pile into the range, he would've been able to brush it all off as a drunken dream if not for one very crucial fact.
He had the arrow.
It was tucked away in the bottom of his bag, safely out of sight from the other cafe patrons. He glanced around but of course, no one was looking at him. Theodore was practically a part of the furniture at this point, no more exciting than the flower pots on the tables. He pulled his satchel to his lap, reaching down to touch the arrow. The paint was smooth to the touch, the fletching soft, and it was wooden.
The arrows at the archery range were primarily aluminium, fletching synthetic, and black. He'd not been able to touch them - for some reason, the employee had been most reluctant to lend him one - but he had been able to see that their arrows were not wooden, and not blue.
But that didn't matter. What did matter was this: if the arrow was real then, in some capacity, the stranger had to be too. He had to be, and Theodore would prove it. If only so the others would stop looking at him like he'd lost his mind.
"Here? Again?"
Theodore looked up as Julian slid into the opposite seat, Rachel hot at his heel. Her hair was in two clumsy braids courtesy of her father, and a stark contrast to her perfectly ironed jumper and pinafore. She made no move to fix them though.
"I'm allowed to visit a cafe," Theodore argued. "I have it on good authority that their kettles aren’t filled with limescale unlike ours, which much improves the taste of their tea.”
Julian snorted, loud and unattractive. "We both know you don't come here for the tea." He poked at Theodore’s forgotten mug, sending some of it sloshing over the edge.
“Good Lord, Julian-”
Honestly, the man was like a cat, incapable of keeping his hands to himself. Theodore fussed, trying to dry it up before it crept too close to his book.
"Don't be mean, Dad," Rachel said, "or I'll tell mum."
She threw a handful of napkins at Theodore in an attempt to help. He appreciated the gesture, even if most of them ended up on the floor.
"I'm not being mean," Julian argued. "I'm just saying he obviously doesn't care much about the tea. What's mean about that?"
"You're implying he's a weirdo."
Theodore sighed as he cleaned up the mess. Could she have said that any louder? There might've been a few people in the back who hadn’t loudly heard her proclaim that he was odd.
"I wasn't! I was implying he's gone mad and doesn't have a life. Completely different."
"Dad," Rachel whined.
" ach ."
"Are you two quite done?" Theodore asked. He dumped the soaked napkins on the saucer, shaking out his hand.
He should have known better than to tell them which cafe he'd been haunting the last few days. More than that, he should have bally well known better than to tell them about that night. But he’d been hungover and miserable and hadn’t thought before mumbling it out over pancakes and a particularly foul banana milkshake.
"... Yes," Rachel decided. Then, "Dad, can I get a coffee?"
"You're nine," Julian pointed out.
"So?"
"Your mum said no coffee until you're sixteen."
"Ugh," Rachel groaned. "You're so lame."
"I am not," Julian argued. "I'm cool, I'm the cool parent."
In Theodore’s experience, people who insisted on calling themselves 'cool' were very much the opposite, but he kept that to himself. He was in no particular rush to draw attention back to himself for when he did, it would no doubt be unpleasant.
"You can have a slice of coffee cake, how about that?" Julian said.
Rachel tipped her head to the side, lips pursed. "...Okay!"
He handed over some money and she happily skipped over to the line. Alas, with her gone, it was time for that unpleasantness. Theodore steeled himself and slid his book into the safety of his bag. There was no more tea left to ruin it, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
"What are you doing here?" Theodore asked when she was safely out of earshot.
"Bringing you back. Orders from Fanny," Julian replied.
Theodore flushed, embarrassment pooling in his gut. He wasn't some child who needed collecting. "Since when do you listen to what Fanny says?"
"Since she agreed to take over cooking tonight if I did."
Bribery, of course.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. No doubt she was planning to give him a thorough talking down when he returned, accompanied by pitying looks or laughter from the others. Laughter seemed more likely.
Julian scooted closer, chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Listen, you want her to back off? Just give up on this mystery bloke. That's all you have to do."
That was far easier said than done. It should have taken no effort at all to swear he'd lost interest in the matter, mystery man who? But Theodore couldn't bring himself to lie. Something about it all, the holes in his memories, the arrow in his bag-
It demanded his attention. It demanded an answer.
"I will do no such thing."
Julian pitched the bridge of his nose, frowning. He threw up his hands a moment later. "Fine! Fine, be like that. But just know that you brought this on yourself, mate."
"I did nothing of the sort. I simply want to return a piece of lost property, what is so wrong with that?"
Before Julian could answer, Rachel returned, holding a small box.
"You gave me too much money so I got us all cakes," she said.
She could be sweet when she wanted to be, a trait she'd not inherited from either parent if you asked Theodore.
"So I'm guessing that means I'm not getting any change?" Julian groused.
She handed him one penny.
"Oh, keep it. Not much bloody use to me is it? One penny, pah," Julian huffed. "Did you at least pick something good for me?"
"A Blueberry muffin. You've got a chocolate one, Captain."
She knew him well. He took it off her, inclining his head in a grateful nod. He was going to need the sugar boost if he he had to face Fanny, after all.
"Thank you," Theodore said.
Rachel preened, then kicked Julian's chair. "Can we go now?"
"I don't know, can we?" He looked at Theodore, waiting for an answer.
Well, it wasn't as if he could say no, could he? Well, technically, Theodore could, but neither Fawcett would accept that answer. If push came to shove, Rachel would just use all of her nine-year-old strength to drag him off his chair and out of the cafe while Julian egged her on.
Of all the people Fanny could have chosen to send his way, she had admittedly picked the two most likely to succeed. She could be awfully crafty when she wanted to be.
"I suppose we can," Theodore sighed.
Not wasting another second, Rachel grabbed his bag and began storming towards the exit.
"She is way too much like Maggie," Julian grumbled, going after her.
Theodore took his time getting up, in no particular rush to get back to the manor. He gave the window one last glance but still, there was no sign of the archer. Perhaps everyone was right. Perhaps he was off his head. He squeezed past a pair in the doorway, stepping out into the bitter spring air.
"-sure?"
"Ace of Cups 'n The Lovers."
"Hell aye, not bad. Not bad at all."
The door closed softly behind him.
He mournfully ate his muffin in the back of Julian's Bently, mood dropping the closer they got to the manor. In the front, Rachel changed the channel every time the music stopped playing and people started talking, and the constant change made his ears hurt.
"Why do people talk so much?" she huffed. "They're so annoying."
"Some people like the sound of their own voices," Julian replied.
"And you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Theodore said.
"...Rach, look away."
"No," she cut back.
"Fine then." Julian took one hand off the steering wheel and flipped Theodore off.
Theodore rolled his eyes, Honestly. "So mature, Fawcett."
"Can it, Dickson."
"Richardson," Theodore corrected.
"Close enough."
Rachel cackled even though she should have been far too young to understand that joke. Theodore couldn't quite decide if that was just how the younger generation was these days, or if that was just the inevitable side effect of being Julian Fawcett's daughter. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
He turned out the radio and turned to the window, finishing off his muffin.
Was it possible that the archer was just a visitor? Someone on holiday? If they were, who brought their own bow and arrow on holiday? No, that couldn't be it. There was something to this, something he was missing, but he was beginning to think he would never find out what. If he hadn't seen them once in the last five days, after all, what were the chances of him ever finding them again? Next to nothing, he assumed, which left him with an arrow and several questions.
He let those thoughts go as they parked up in front of the decrepit old manor.
The other tenants had told him all sorts of stories about the land it was built on since he moved in six months back. Stories about headless Tudors, ghosts and witches, plague pits and cavemen worshipping the moon. It was all a load of hogwash if you asked him. The most exciting thing about Button Manor was its current tenants, a bizarre group of souls joined together by one common interest: a cheap place to rent.
From outside, he could see Thomas perched on the living room windowsill, no doubt sighing dramatically about nothing as he was want to do. The man caught his eye. Thomas turned his nose up and looked away. Inside, the house was all noise. Mike, by the sounds of it, was downstairs trying to fix the pipes again, Humphrey was watching a movie on his laptop (some Shakespeare production no doubt), Fanny was on the phone, and Alison was by the window with a pair of binoculars, squinting into the back garden as the radio rattled out a song beside them.
Theodore would have liked to slink back to his room and put off the inevitable confrontation for another hour to so, but the Fawcetts weren't fans of the idea. Instead, they tunnelled him straight into the kitchen, delivering him straight to Fanny just as she finished her call.
Truly, their timing was impeccable. If only they’d put their skills to good use.
Fanny hung up the phone, rooting him to the spot with a steely glare. "There you are, Captain."
"He was at the cafe again," Julian said gleefully, like a child snitching on their sibling. Something he no doubt had plenty of experience with growing up.
By the window, Alison muttered under their breath, adjusting their binoculars.
"I find it an optimal place to wind down after work," Theodore argued. "The tea is rather good."
He was beginning to get bored with his own excuses. But bored as he was, Theodore was not going to be the first to break.
"It is," Fanny agreed, claspings her hands together, "I just find it a bit strange that you've altered your schedule so drastically.”
“Even a man of routine can be open to change."
Fanny scowled, narrowing her eyes. She reminded him of a documentary he'd recently watched once on venomous snakes. Unfortunately, the advice of 'keep an eye on your feet and back away to a safe distance' wasn't very helpful when dealing with a human who would happily follow after him.
Before she could strike though, Humphrey fumbled in.
"Hello, Captain," Humphrey greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the tension in the room. "Any sign of your mystery person yet?"
Fanny made a sharp disgruntled noise, sending him a fierce glare that went ignored. Whether Humphrey was truly that oblivious or just chose to be unflappable was a puzzle Theodore had yet to figure it. It was a highly debated question - behind Humphrey's back, of course.
"No, not yet," Theodore admitted.
"How tragic," Thomas sighed, joining them in the kitchen because why not?
They only needed the Coopers and it'd be a full house intervention. So of course, that was when Mike decided to join them too. Lady Luck, Theodore decided, was a cruel mistress who hated him personally and revelled in his misery.
"It's not tragic, it's ridiculous," Fanny argued. "Why on Earth would anyone be walking around late at night with a bow and arrow?"
"I don't know," Alison said, gaze still on the window. "I mean, weirder things have happened than some person playing old-school vigilante."
It was a meek defence, but Theodore appreciated it nevertheless. He would have appreciated it more coming from someone who had a bit more sway over Fanny, but choosers couldn't be beggars. At least one person in the house didn't think he'd gone around the bend.
"Oh yeah?" Julian said. "Like those 'things' you keep seeing in the garden?"
Alison blustered, turning to face him. Their face was flushed, though whether it was from anger or embarrassment was anyone's guess. "I'm not lying! I know I saw something this morning, and yesterday too! And it wasn't one of Barclay's dogs, it was way bigger than that!"
Maybe beggars could be choosers. At least though, Theodore mused, he wasn't seeing giant dogs. An archery enthusiast seemed rather tame in comparison to that.
"Speaking of Barclay..." Julian began.
With that, both the mystery figure and Alison's dogs were forgotten. Well, for the others, at least. For Theodore, his mind stayed firm on the stranger. Even when he tried to distract himself with reading or documentaries, his mind would inevitably stray back to that topic. He was left stewing, maudlin, miserable over the stranger, the other tenants, and worst of all, himself.
Why did he have to be the one to see them? Why couldn't that curse be inflicted on anyone else? Theodore didn't dwell on that second thought for long, however. The idea of Humphrey or, god forbid, Thomas, coming home, waxing poetry about his- the stranger made Theodore feel a bit green.
Theodore could admit, in the privacy of his flat, that he was somewhat obsessed. Despite what the others thought though, that obsession was only half because of the mystery person's eyes, their toothy grin...
The other half was because, well, life had become horribly, terribly, unbearably dull. During the army, he'd had no time to be bored. He was constantly busy, and when he wasn't busy, he was too exhausted to feel much of anything. Post-army, it'd all been about recovery. The first month or so after his move into Button Manor had been lively, getting to know the area and its occupants but now, it was all commonplace. Dull, dull, dull. His job at the library was dull, his flat was dull, everything on the telly was dull, the radio was dull, his Sunday morning walks- it was all painfully dull.
The appearance of his strange archer was the first thrilling thing to happen in over four months. Could he really be judged for latching onto it so tightly?
Apparently so.
In desperation to think of literally anything else, he tried putting on one of the History Channel's many ridiculous shows, but even their absurdity had become commonplace. Easter Island Heads were secretly giants that had been beheaded in some great war? Groundbreaking. What would they claim next episode? Aliens, probably.
At some point, his satchel had found its way onto the bed beside him, and the arrow into his hands. He rolled it around mindlessly, eyes bleary, until his phone buzzed.
Lieutenant Havers:
Any luck?
Theodore allowed himself a small smile. At least someone was on his side. Well, Alison was too but as previously noted, their words didn't exactly reassure him.
Captain Richardson:
None yet, I'm afraid.
William Havers was a god among men. Theodore had thought that prior to their relationship, during it, and after it. He had always been the dependable sort, loyal to a fault, and none of that had changed despite their split.
Lieutenant Havers:
Pity
Still have the arrow though, don't you?
Captain Richardson:
Yes.
Lieutenant Havers:
Send a picture over, will you?
Captain Richardson:
Of course.
He did as William asked, grateful for the man's interest in the situation. Every day he'd been asking for any updates, and not once had he implied Theodore was making it up. As he'd said before, truly a god among men.
Lieutenant Havers:
What's that?
Captain Richardson:
What's what?
Lieutenant Havers:
By the fletching. I can't see what it is, but it looks like something.
Theodore looked down and by Jove, so there was. Just at the end, there were three small initials carved into the wood. PBB. He blinked and looked again, but the initials hadn't miraculously disappeared. It wasn't branding, it couldn't be. The marks were handmade, and he'd bet money on them being initials. PBB. He relayed this all to Havers, excitement drumming through his veins. Something about those letters- they made the figure seem all the more real. He had a name, an identity, even if Theodore didn't know it yet.
Lieutenant Havers:
Well, that's something!
But reality soon dug its teeth in.
Captain Richardson:
Is it? I can't exactly go around asking if anyone has seen a person with those initials, can I?
Lieutenant Havers
You mustn't always be so dower Theodore
Captain Richardson
I mustn't, no, but I do dower excellently.
Lieutenant Havers:
Have a little faith in the universe. Perhaps those letters will get you somewhere
Captain Richardson
We'll have to agree to disagree.
Lieutenant Havers
You're being stubborn tonight. What's upset you so much?
Captain Richardson
The insistence that I'm mad as a hatter.
Lieutenant Havers:
You know the others are just worried about you, they mean well. Besides, you know your archer is real, that's all that matters
Captain Richardson
I'll try and keep that in mind.
Lieutenant Havers:
Good man. Now, are you free to play Scrabble? I'm itching for a match, but the cats aren't particularly good players.
Captain Richardson:
I can't imagine why.
Yes, let's have a round then. Prepare to be thoroughly thrashed.
Lieutenant Havers:
I do wish you'd think before you typed sometimes...
..