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See, Adelard was not exactly young anymore.
He liked to think that he was not obsolete, at least. As a kid he had been called an old soul, which was just another way to say ‘this kid is bloody weird, but thank God he is obedient’. The old soul thing did not go away as he grew up, but transitioned into a sort of permanently out-of-time feeling as he went through life.
Ordinary life, for the most part. You could not afford to be lacking going toe-to-toe with supernatural creatures, or Gertrude Robinson.
Even as they were now, sitting companionably in her office, he still felt scrutinised— perceived. Eye or no Eye, she had a way of unnerving people, unassuming as she looked. Little old woman, his arse. Just the other week, he had seen her at the centre of a particularly visceral explosion. She had been donning an unimpressed expression, like this was only a slight annoyance on an afternoon walk that she might as well have disposed of.
And here she was, with that same unflappability, reading through yet another statement, quiet intensity rolling off of her in waves. Adelard had not seen her thrown off guard once, during their long acquaintance. They only met in their late thirties, when Gertrude had settled into her role at the Archives, and Adelard had spent more of his life going after entities than not. Never had he imagined her young.
But there were other things, ones that required no imagination. After all, Adelard could not have survived quite so long if he had not learned perceptiveness. A new scar sat on the back of her right hand, under her ring finger. There was a metaphor there, but he had never been much for poetry.
Gertrude, however, was quick to remind him whose patron was the all-seeing Eye.
“I see you have picked up some sentimentality.”
Adelard smiled into his tea. “Small luxuries. You know how it goes.”
“You would do well without it out there.” Then she allowed herself a laugh, too. “Well, who am I to dictate? Don’t go soft on me here, though. Can’t tolerate it.”
“What accusations!” Adelard said.
“You have faced worse.”
Gertrude then went back to her paperwork. Adelard poured himself more tea. Outside, it was pouring down in nasty sheets, blotting out the usual cacophony.
They were alone here, in the Institute. No-one disturbed Gertrude during her working hours. So it was only natural that Adelard let his eyes wander, starting from the scar, then working their way up to her wrist, the sleeve of her jumper, then her shoulder, the side of her face. Her greying hair. The lines at the corner of her eyes, on her forehead. Few of laughter, so many more of worries—
—and almost all unknown to him.
And it gnawed at him, because for all their casual camaraderie, all that they had endured, and all the strength that Gertrude possessed and hid and showed, there was still a traitorous little corner of his mind that demanded the rights to hers. To know her burdens and her fears, as many and few as they were, respectively. It asked, in such a petulant voice that it could have been mistaken for a child, to give her such safety as he felt with her. Here, together, in the warmth of her office.
What a curious little thing, that. Safety. How ironic that he should find it now, in the very iris of the terrible Beholding.
But Gertrude was the one who would keep them both safe here, if nothing else. Outside of it, well—he did not have it in his nature to stay , and Gertrude would never ask.
And there went the other shoe. He knew she could see him, if only she wanted to. They both were not the most truthful of people, but he could be, would be, if she wanted him to. She would not even need to compel him. He would just open up, sparing her the trouble.
It is a foolish thing to feel, this sentimentality.
Had Adelard been younger, he would have called it a different name. These days, it was an indulgence. One that he allowed himself at rare intervals, a low, solid warmth that simmered and needed no upkeep. One that he could afford for himself, without too steep a price for either party, if Gertrude could even be considered one.
They had been in this business for a long time, him and Gertrude. There was no telling how much time they had left. As adept as they were, unimaginable calamities could only be averted so many times. The first few ended in relief. Now, he wondered if his luck would hold out, just this once more. Once more, so that he could be typing her another report, writing her another letter. Or better yet, sitting here in her office, lost in his thoughts as she worked—lonely as it sounded to anyone not him.
There was no end to all this, he knew. Yet, what would he not give to see it through—see her through.
But, well. Such was the state of things. If he, the Lord forbade it, was to meet an inescapable end one day, he hoped he would be the one to let Gertrude know, lest she had to See it herself. One last act of devotion.
Never let it be said Adelard Dekker was not true to his cause.
Just as he decided to finish his tea and slip out, as was their routine, Gertrude let out a sigh. “This never does get easier.”
“Does it.” He did not ask what she was referring to.
“You know I prefer fieldwork.” She took off her reading glasses, folded them, and carefully put them away next to her stack of written statements. “I do not mind calling upon the Beholding, but lately it has been giving me such terrible migraines. Almost makes me think I might be too old for this.”
“You know it could never stop you, Gertrude.”
“Could it, Adelard?” This, too, was familiar. “But if there is something I do know, it’s that I cannot and will not try to wade through all this sludge at once as I might have done in the good old days. Got smarter, at least. When are you leaving London?”
“Tomorrow night. An old friend requested me to look into this curious pillbox in the south of France. Would you like to hear about it?”
She waved her hands in dismissal. “Up to you. I would rather listen to all that over a hot meal, though, or are you so busy that you cannot join this old friend for dinner?”
He smiled. “You drive a hard bargain, Gertrude. But you already know that I would never refuse.”
“Comes with the territory.” She gave an amused snort. “Now hurry, and I might even agree to a pint or two.”