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Chapter Text

Bone Hall, Present Day-ish

His heart hammered in his chest, and his cheeks were tinted pink.

Humphrey swept into the front door, closing it behind him with a dreamy sigh. Then, back to reality, he kicked it. It didn’t shut without some oomph, of which he had very little. Three kicks and a firm press of his bum to the wood later, it closed. At least now the bloody pigeon couldn’t get back in.

Back to swooning on the right side of the front door: for a moment, Humphrey pressed a hand to his left-breast, thinking himself a child for these feelings. How could he, at this age, feel like this over one woman?! It was crazy! But so was he. And he had never felt anything so intensely.

So be it, he thought. You’re really in it now, mate. This is getting serious. But in getting serious, Humphrey’s hazy mind rationalised, means sharing everything with her. She deserves all of me. She has to know…

His heart sank in his chest. Humphrey had been fully expecting to be bombarded with a hoard of restless spirits, ranging from ones with strange cuts and bruises, to others with old-timey wheezes and diseases, and a Roman general who only had to glare at Humphrey so hard, he immediately gulped back asking: ‘So, mate, how’d you meet your grizzly end?’. He honestly hadn’t the faintest idea.

In fact it was only Alison, the more cheery than her mid-noughties goth get-up would suggest, who poked her auburn head around the doorframe and into the foyer where Humphrey stood slumped. He didn’t even startle.

“Crikey. I know you can walk through me and see my guts and stuff, but, er, don’t tell me you can read minds as well. That’s totally unfair.”

There was a short laugh. “Let’s put it to the test.”

“Let’s not,” Humphrey snipped.

Alison let slip a strained sigh; one that made her already aching chest ache and very broken ribs break some more. “Why don’t you bring her home? We would all love to meet her; you guys’ll have the best time with us, as part of the family.”

Humphrey eyed her sceptically. “You’ve been talking to Kitty, haven’t you? Romanticising all this?”

“Of course.”

“It won’t be that easy, Ali.”

“Why not?”

Humphrey’s gaze hardened on his Doc Martens. He brusquely answered her query; “You know why.”

A slight frown formed on Alison’s thin berry-stained lips; her septum piercing almost turned itself down to follow. “I do, Humphrey, and I’m sorry. It’s not easy to cope with this. And in the real world, I can’t imagine…” Her voice trailed off.

“I tell people I see dead people wherever I go ‘cos I fell out a window that one, two times… People think I’m off my nut! See the issue, ‘eh?”

“It is a rather, um, interesting gift you have…”

“Wreaks havoc on my personal life, thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t, but, I know.” She paused, to glance down at herself. “I know.”

As the youngest spirit forever confined to these, admittedly much more than, four walls; Humphrey found it surprisingly easy to relate to Alison, even if she was half his age. Visibly speaking. In reality, she would be in her mid-forties now too, and sometimes surely acted as such. This bought him a strange comfort. Between the two was a kinship that Humphrey didn’t really have with any other of the ghosts, and not just because Alison also loved her art. Their kinship was unmatched, not even the ones – yes, plural – that had fancied him from the first time he stepped into his new home could top what he felt with her ghost.

And, for what it’s worth, Humphrey had admirers all throughout the mansion. Such as the one that spied on him in the bog, even in a dusty cloud of smoke, and, not forgetting, the young soldier composing sonnets on his near-deathly demise, his broken neck and ghostly-seeing abilities. Oh, what a world.

“I still think you owe it yourself,” Alison continued in a soft, matter-of-fact voice.

She had drawn him out of his fog.

When Humphrey looked up, pushing his thick, black-rimmed glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, he noticed that the ghost had stepped closer to him.

“You owe it to her, Humphrey. You love her, don’t you?”

He thought a moment.

“…I don’t know what ‘love’ is.”

“You don’t have to define it. You just need to know that you’d be making a fatal mistake in not knowing when you have it.”

“Blimey, you and Thomas have been at it!”

Alison grimaced. “Please don’t put it like that.” 

“Sorry.”

“Then, it’s settled,” the goth-girl ghost didn’t bat him another eye. “Bring her here, and we’ll make her feel right at home… or I, Mike, Kitty and Pat will. I’m not so sure about the others.”

“What, The General? Being all warm and fuzzy?! Gah, when pigs fly!” Humphrey scoffed, cocking a dark eyebrow.

“Stranger things have happened in this house,” she ominously implored that he had to shiver.

“Still though,” Humphrey argued, “I’ll believe that when I see it, mate.”

Alison laughed again, bringing a black and white striped fingerless glove up to cover the blush of her pasty skin.

“You’ll keep ‘em occupied while I, er, whilst she and I…? Well, it’s not like she’s not into being watched and recording us when—”

Alison’s eyes widened comically.

“Wait, that’s not right.”

Humphrey’s words ground to a halt, almost appalled at what he had implied. Then his face mellowed.

“But, yeah,” his shoulders slumped, “this is a new level of wrong. We need privacy.”

Now it was her turn to raise a brow.

“Pat can keep them busy. Perhaps it’s best to bring her round for Film Club?”

“Hell no! What if she wants to watch TV?! Then you’ll have to all bugger off!”

“Got it,” Alison winked.

“Alison! Alison, hurry up! Ali-oh!” Katherine – an older ghost than Alison but a younger girl than her at the time of when she ate a pineapple, or something - stopped mid skip. “Mr Bone, you’re home! That was the longest three hours ever, ever, ever!”

“Evening, Kitty. Looking lovely as always.”

She giggled overtly. “Of course I am! I can’t wear anything else!”

“And I wouldn’t change your fit one bit!” Humphrey cheered her on, with Kitty batting her lashes to the older-younger-it’s complicated living man.

“As I was saying…” Alison stressed, letting the roaring 20’s spirit bring her ‘sister’ into a half hug, rested her head on Kitty’s scratchy, beaded shoulder. “The ghosts and I can’t wait to meet her. Clearly she means a lot to you. And you should feel comfortable in having her round. There’s nothing— well, not nothing nothing, to worry about, Humph, but you know what I mean. She’ll love it here. And we’ll love her, I promise you.”

“Oh!” Kitty brightened. “Is this ‘Sophie’?! The one you’re so desperately in love with and should marry and have lots of babies with? Then kill her, kill yourself, spend the rest of eternity together looking at your wounds? You think we don’t know about her? You’re bringing her here? How exciting!”

Humphrey, cringing at the ‘wound observation’ part, chuckled to himself at her eagerness. Her ever optimistic eagerness.

He harrumphed, knowing he could deny either woman anything. “All right. Twist my arm. I’ll bring her round, we’ll have our date night here.”

Chapter Text

Bone Hall, the next day

Sat at what was now his vanity mirror, being effortlessly vain, Humphrey had struggled with what to wear. (Kitty had chosen him several wacky outfits, which Alison then had to veto). Mike helped him to style his hair (not that he had an Afro or a tiny seventies style comb on hand), and now he was debating tie, or no tie. Tie, or no tie.

“Tie, or no tie…?”

“Oh, always ‘tie’. Best when done around the wrists. Or the ankles, if you’re feeling frisky.”

“Julian!” Humphrey startled. “At least if you’re gonna get all up in my grill, have the decency to knock my mug off the counter first!”

“Why?” The ghost in question peered over him. “It’s empty.”

“Exactly.”

The sometimes decapitated, sometimes not decapitated, Henrician noble blanched.

“Where’s the fun in that? Square.” He tusked, before taking off out the wall.

“Oi, don’t!” There was a huff, an audible roll, and Humphrey settled into his seat, quietly smug. “Tried to warn ya, Jules!”

“This is the problem with peasants! Their timing! Oh, come back here, you godforsaken body…”

Some Tudor-y expletives later, and Humphrey had decided on no tie.

He undid a button of his burgundy check printed shirt. Then another, and another, liking what he saw, if he was being bold.

There was a flustered noise, some uncomfortable rocks on the creaky floorboards, and a pointed clearing of the throat. Humphrey perked up.

He caught a pair of sharp eyes hovering over his shoulder in his mirror, suppressing a grin. Lady Fanny - Stephanie, if you wanted to tick her off by being intimate, (which Humphrey absolutely did) - was awkwardly hovering at the open door. Although her features were about as pulled back as her plucked blonde hairline, her face was as pink as… something pink. He had nothing pink in his bedroom; red was much more Humphrey’s colour.

“Yeeeess?” Humphrey pried, all smarmy like Julian when she was caught peaking most improperly at his undercarriage. “Ah, Lady B. To what do I owe the displeasure?”

The poor, incredibly repressed, old woman with the broken neck was most caught out.

“You— you look— you look like an absolute cur!” Lady B sputtered, face aghast.

“Then look away,” Humphrey reasoned.

Lady B did no such thing. In fact, her light eyes seemed to swirl about his pasty flesh, taking in every dark hair curling on his chest, as exposed through the deep v of his open shirt. Her eyes most certainly glimmered, not unlike the glint of the golden chain he wore that she was now studying most ardently. Humphrey was absolutely eating this objectification up!

“How did you survive the sixties?” Humphrey, with a hand on his third button, snorted.

“I… I didn’t.”

“Oh, right. You didn’t, yeah.” He shrugged. “Anyways. You’re one to talk about inappropriate dress codes, mate. Lord knows how you treated Alison when she kicked the bucket…”

Lady B was riled.

“A-as the trespassing strumpet the little harlot so is!” She hollered.

“Christ,” he wheezed under his breath.

“Blasphemy! I heard that!” The high Middle Ages noblewoman screamed, doing a hurried Hail Mary cross, before sprinting out of the room.

Humphrey stifled a laugh. The sight of her cone headdress, which was higher than the doorframe she had phased through and/or under, was a comical one. Lady B didn’t even need to duck her head.

“Right, where was I… oh!”

He fumbled in a drawer for his favourite, overpriced after-shave. One spritz wasn’t enough, two was nearly there, and three had his throat closing thanks to the musky pinewood smell. Still, if it was good enough for Lady B (whom Humphrey knew was again hovering most creepily outside his bedroom), it would be pretty much on point for Sophie. Granted he wanted to smooch her senseless, he didn’t want this aphrodisiac to choke her first.

“Speaking of Soph— oh, damn and blast! Christ, you even sound like The General!” Humphrey chided himself. He pushed his shirt sleeve up and read his Apple Watch; it had been blinking madly. “She’s here! Oh, God! Oh, God, oh, God, oh—”

“Thought you were saving that for tonight?!” Julian mocked him from two floors down. Humphrey could hear the cheek in his voice.

He darted for the closest open window.

“Speaking of,” Humphrey yelled so that the whole of Hemel Hempstead could hear, “be thankful you’ve got no hands to cover your ears when I have her up against a wall, you prat!”

“‘Umphrey?”

Oh no.

“Against ‘ze wall…?”

His aqua gaze widened comically, right hand stalling on the Georgian window closure rod feature thing.

Oh no, no, no.

Sophie was stood right there; her brows creased and her arms folded across her chest, looking most nonplussed. Well, Humphrey thought, I’d be lost too if I caught my boyfriend screaming into the abyss about railing me. Boyfriend? Railing? Wait—

“Zut alors!” Sophie tried again, still staring at him half hanging out of the small, circular window.

“Be down in a sec, love!”

He fumbled to shut the window, knowing not to lean too far out. Not after the first two, three times…

“You absolute nonce!” When he was out of earshot, Humphrey yelped, smacking himself on the forehead. “…Ow!”

“Railing, ‘eh? Saucy,” Julian, with a face full of gravel, grinned deviously.

“Well, this is off to a fab start,” Humphrey grumbled to no ghost in particular, en route.

Chapter Text

En route, as it so happened, seemed to include Robin, who was kind enough to give him a second look before going back at it with the lights, and Thomas. To Humphrey’s undivided attention, more dead people flocked to join him at the front door.

Humphrey opened the door. Thomas’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Enamoured immediately with his next Venus, he declared; “Let me pluck out mine eyes—”

“Oh, here we go,” Humphrey muttered to himself, worming his past the besotted World War One soldier turn poet. He hadn’t even been shot in the line of duty, just inflicted a Blighty wound upon himself abit too late into it, and bought the ‘Spanish Flu’ back home with him in 1919. That had to suck, honestly, Humphrey thought.

“—winged, Cupid blind.”

Also, Humphrey had to contort his body most awkwardly in order to avoid bumping into Thomas or Kitty who’s ghost had materialised out of nowhere. That movement had to have looked weird. And judging by the confusion in Sophie’s most perfect, angelic face… it, in fact, looked weird.

Caught out, Humphrey blushed.

“Oh, she’s beautiful!” Kitty cried, as Thomas kept on waxing poetic.

“Sophie. With eyes so… nice…”

“Hey! I’m the one who’s supposed to drool over her!” Humphrey snapped.

“Quoi?”

“Crap.”

“What you say?”

“Something in French, Robin. Something in French.” Pause. Gruff reply. “Best not to engage, trust me.”

“Pardon?”

“So I thought you were supposed to be easing her into it. Not jumping right in!” Alison proffered, as Kitty instinctively wrapped her arms around her to hug her.

“Yeah,” Humphrey whistled lowly. “How’d you think that’s going, mate?”

“Mon cher, what is ‘appening? I am confused,” Sophie said, eyes spooked as they followed Humphrey’s own. She was staring at nothing, empty space. “‘Umphrey? Are you unwell?”

“Not so well,” Alison replied as Sophie spoke.

“Mr Bone,” Kitty chipped in to state the obvious, “you’re scaring her!”

“Can’t anyone do something?” Thomas fretted. “Clearly this fair maiden is most distressed!”

“I blow light for you. For lady friend.”

“NO!” They all shouted, Humphrey included.

Sophie instantly stopped her rambling, and looked like a kicked puppy. Her head fell as she stifled a sniffle.

Humphrey realised his grave error, his head pounding. “No… Soph, not you! It’s just… I mean… it’s, well, it’s—”

“Tell her.”

“You might as well.”

“Oh, I can’t look!”

“Kitty,” Thomas declared, “you are deceitful! Why, you are looking through your hands!”

“Mon amour, who are you talking to?!” Sophie desperately asked, bringing her head up from her hands. “It is only us!”

“Take a deep breath,” Alison instructed him, almost placing her ghostly hand to his very alive shoulder blade, “and tell her the truth. Go on, Humph.”

His weary eyes met Sophie’s watery ones. He tried to offer her a disarming smile.

“Yeah, er,” Humphrey tugged at his collar, “about that, love…”

Sophie’s jaw joined Thomas’s on the floor. And the slap that she gave him, presuming he had made a mockery of her, stung.

Time seemed to stop for a short while. It only recommended as the thrum of Humphrey’s assaulted cheek gradually faded. Meanwhile, the ghosts had been yelling at him to follow her; to do something. Thus he chased Sophie out of the door, to her car, looking desperate as he tried to pitifully explain the whole ordeal: from his coma to her coming here.

He pointedly ignored the severed head’s snark as Sophie slammed the door on him, kicked her Fiat into gear, and, for a little car, it sped her out of there like Sophie’s life depended on it. Which, if she stayed at Bone Hall long enough, it actually might.

“Sophie! Sophie, wait— nah, she’s gone. Rats.”

“Rats? Where?!” Humphrey heard a horrified Kitty gasp from the entrance to their forever home.

Humphrey stared dumbly at the open gate, then looked down to the tyre tracks hastily left by Sophie in a fit of outrage and upset. His hackles raised, and his breaths deepened.

And then, the Heavens opened. This was the final straw.

“He’s gonna blow!”

The General added; “Incoming!”

Great, Humphrey tutted to himself at the new voices. It’s a family affair, all right!

And he was right. When Humphrey spun around, he was faced with a gaggle of ghosts: some with sheepish faces; others waited with the bated breath they didn’t need for him to blow his top. Typically, he wasn’t an angry man. But, blimey, these dead guys did really tug on his last nerve at times.

“You gits happy?! You proud of yourselves?!” Humphrey exclaimed, raising his voice and pointing at them. “You wankers have just made me look a right fool, driving away the love of my life! She’ll think I’ve lost my absolute marbles! Or, worse,” he faltered somewhat, “she’ll see how lonely I really am, that I have to talk to dead people.”

Several of the sheepish looks turned knowing, sympathetic, which somewhat cooled his boiling blood. The rain also helped, in all fairness.

“What?” He jibed, through gritted teeth for the sake of appearances. “You know I’m a lonely guy in the so-called ‘real world’, where everybody lives and gets on with life, and whatnot.”

“Now Humphrey, there’s no need to, ah, ‘rub it in’, as you would say.” The General responded, his cheeks colouring at the innuendo slightly.

Alison and Thomas shared a look; the latter’s face was full of wonder and excite.

“I’ll bite,” she said, stepping forward to the front of the group. “You said, she’s the love of your life.”

“W-What?”

“I think you do know what ‘love’ is, after all.”

Humphrey choked, flushing beet red. “No—no, I didn’t! I don’t! You’re wrong!”

“Am not,” Alison replied.

“Am too!”

“Am not.”

“Am too!”

She inhaled a deep breath. “Am not.”

“Oh, go bitch about it on your MySpace page.”

“There’s no need to go there!”

“Ugh,” he groaned.

“Mr Bone, you did say that you love her, and it was wonderful! Surely you must believe it!” The swooning Kitty dropped him in it, and was echoed further by various nods and grins.

“I don’t— I can’t—” Humphrey’s few words ground to a halt. In irritation he kicked at the gravel, his shoulders slumping. “Can someone please back me up here? Preferably one of you twats who did, in fact, know true love in life.”

“I believe that would be none of us,” Thomas supplied, face falling.

“You guys really don’t get it, do you? She’s not gonna wanna see me again. She probably thinks I’m bonkers.” He muttered, defeated. She deserves so much better.

“Well, you are bonkers!”

“Katherine!” The General chided the young girl who had spoken so carelessly.

“What? It’s a funny word!” She carried on adding insult to injury. “And you love her! You really, really, love her!”

“Yes, we’ve covered that,” Lady B, who had finally stopped staring at Humphrey’s chest, said bluntly.

“And who could blame you?” Thomas added wistfully, now back in his own world. “Precious Sophie. With eyes so bright, and hair as golden as the sun…”

“Shut up! Please, I need to think… think… oh, Christ!” Humphrey, now sodden from the downpour, lashed out. “I can’t blooming think!”

Face pink, heart hammering, he felt most under duress. Too many dead eyes were on him; too many dead guys knew his heart and mind better than he did. Humphrey had to get out of there, and out of this blasted rain.

He spat; “Move, or I’ll walk through you all.”

Threatened, the ghosts jumped aside, parting abruptly like Moses with the water or whatever, and Humphrey slipped back inside, tail most certainly between his legs. He jammed his hands into his pockets and hung his head, taking off down the corridor towards the kitchen. He needed a Ben & Jerrys; chocolate chip if he had it.

“What I miss?” A few seconds after the fact, Robin, having blown yet another lightbulb, grunted.

“Humphrey’s in love with Sophie!” Kitty chirped.

The caveman sniffed, his already very defined brows pinching. “It never last.”

This earned him a sea of pointed, dead looks.

Chapter Text

Humphrey fumbled in his freezer, muttering angrily to himself. He was out of Ben & Jerrys. This was a different kind of torture.

In a huff, he slumped into a kicked out seat at the long kitchen table. He sat there, faced with an empty bowl, expecting a bombardment of dead voices at any moment. At times, the ghosts seemed to forget that time passed far differently for them than it did for Humphrey. They wanted things to be immediate, or in literal centuries from now. Honestly, as a patient man, he was unsure which was worse.

And then came the footsteps. Momentarily, he played the guessing game as to who it would be. But his mind was running at a mile a minute.

He steeled himself, trying to not psyche himself up too much. In fact, Humphrey had his apology for his earlier outburst on the tip of his tongue. He balled his fists atop the table, and raised his heavy head.

It was Alison and, to his surprise, The General, who had come to check in on him. Or up on him. Whichever. In spite of it all, Humphrey felt a warmth fill his face. They really did care, on some level, he knew that.

“Oh, God. Guys, I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t have—”

“Nonsense, Humphrey. We are guests in your house everyday, and we only want what’s best for you. You were right to chide us; a little discipline goes a long way.”

He sent a slightly widened eye to Alison, who also seemed somewhat stunned by what she was hearing from the disgraced Roman general who had lead one legion into swampy battle with the Celts… on stilts… Needless to say, it had not ended well. Although he had been cut down in more ways than one, the ghost could still command the room. He had such a power that Humphrey instantly relented, agreeing with The General.

“Thanks, man.” He smiled stiffly.

“You know what you need to do, don’t you?”

“Actually, no. Ali, I don’t.”

“Why Soldier, you need to win her back, of course!” The Roman decreed, oddly jovial. “You may have lost this battle, though you are yet to lose the war.”

“And lemme guess: whatever she’s got in her arsenal, I have to fight back?”

His face softened a fraction. “Fight for her, not against her, old chap.”

“You old softie…”

Humphrey’s gaze slid to Alison, who decoded; “Call her. Set up another date. Tell her how you feel.”

“Easy peasy, squeeze the lemon.”

“You know what a ‘lemon’ is? Bring those over from Rome, did you?”

The General sputtered; “That— that is not the point!”

Even Humphrey had to laugh at that.

Slowly but surely, he was coming around to Alison’s idea. It sounded human, if anything. Something even he, in his idiocy, could achieve.

“Is that the affirmative?” The General asked, a tinge of hope in his voice.

After a few moments of deliberation, he nodded. Humphrey pushed himself up and grabbed his phone from his back pocket. He momentarily stared at his wallpaper: it was a snap of he and Sophie, holding silly signs, in the photo booth from her douchebag brother’s wedding. Good God, she looked ravishing in her skin tight, beige, satin slip dress… which The General may or may not have suggested bought out her eyes. Interesting.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Alison cried, rushing over to him that her heavy boots pounded on the stone floor. “I wouldn’t do so tonight, Humph.”

“You think I should let the dust settle? Oh, eww!”

“What?”

“Just remembered about you lot and dust.” Humphrey replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, disgusted.

Alison blinked heavily, letting that slide. “It’s a little, um, desperate.”

“Ouch.”

“You love her. You must wait for her.” The General enforced, his stiff upper lip bending into a slight smile. 

“She’ll need time to not totally hate me, I suppose, yeah,” Humphrey agreed, shoulders slumping.

He didn’t want the pity in their eyes for a second more, so it was up to him to make his decision. He didn’t want to be moping like this all night; frankly, the ghosts wouldn’t let him. So he decided, finding his second wind.

“Right!” Humphrey clapped, getting the ghosts attention. “Seems now I have a free night. What’s on the agenda, folks? What club’s it tonight?”

“I believe it is ‘What I Would Wear Today If I Could’ today… today.”

“You should come!” Alison cheered. “We can pick out your ‘Making up with Sophie’ outfit!”

“Ah, skinny jeans…” The General’s voice grew hazy – evidently picturing Humphrey in said skinny jeans, and all that went with it.

“Er, mate? You still with me?”

He made a flustered noise, rocking on his heels. “A- ah, yes! A most splendid suggestion, Alison, as always.”

“All right. I’m convinced.” Humphrey grinned shallowly. I’m so going to regret this.

The youngest ghost stepped forward, gesturing to him. “You should dry off first, though. You’re all wet.”

“She’s right,” The General echoed, his golden panelled-skirt wagging with him as he lunged forwards for Humphrey. “You’ve come in from the cold! Now I will not have you catch one on my command.”

“Thanks, I think… Shave and a shower, I’ll be there in an hour.” Humphrey winced. “I dunno why I said it like that. Terribly sorry. Get the guys to come to my bedroom for seven.” He steamrolled out. Then, his voice quietened and eyes glazed over; “And if, er, Lady B wants to be super punctual… or even a few minutes early… not saying I’d mind…”

“Good Lord.”

“… might be a good confidence boost, now that I think of it…”

Alison bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. But let slip a snort anyways.

“See you then.”

“Humphrey, yes, Humphrey!” The General obliged, back ram-rod straight and haze hardening, as he marched out of the room.

“He really is a picture, isn’t he?”

“You really have no idea,” Alison stated, cracking a smile.

Chapter Text

Bone Hall, three days later

It was Julian’s rare pearl of wisdom that did it, in making Humphrey realise that explaining things to Sophie wouldn’t make her understand. He had to show her them, and make her believe.

In doing so he, reluctantly – let the record show, enlisted those who could do strange things with weird powers he would rather not think too much about. Meaning Mary, who had been a servant in the mid 1800s, and had had a nasty ordeal with an out of control kitchen fire, for Sophie to walk through as she smoked. Or hurtle through, whilst Mary muttered Victorian expletives and took off wailing through the wall. And Mike, who somehow could touch and feel things; could poke and prod Humphrey if he really set his mind to it. He, with Humphrey’s permission, was to gently nudge Sophie along. Alison, as he had come to know, could be seen posing in the odd photograph. He could take their photo, and Sophie may see the young woman in there, however creepy it may seem.

Robin also had power… but Humphrey liked having his lights on, so was sure to keep the tens of thousands year old caveman in the dark. It was safer for them all.

“You don’t believe me? Fine!” He cried, on the verge of stamping his foot and folding his arms.

Needless to say, Humphrey felt incredibly guilty and frustrated as the ghosts worked their magic. (Magic, of course, was too kind of a word for it.)

Pat, the more helpful and, well, human of the ghosts, sidled up on his side. “‘S not working, is it?”

Humphrey rocked about on his heels, thinking it pointless.

“You know, there is somethin’ that might.”

Humphrey’s brows creased. He was sure to keep looking at Sophie as he muttered; “You don’t mean…?”

The Anglo-Saxon eyed him with all seriousness, waiting for the penny to drop. Humphrey’s gaze widened a fraction, as he thought it through.

“Wait right there,” he commented to Sophie, still oblivious to the inane efforts of the long dead souls around her. If she could feel Mike’s touch, she didn’t let onto it.

“Take ‘er with you, pal!” Pat suggested.

“Oh, right. Silly me. Sophie,” he turned back to her, waving his hand before her to snap Sophie out of her daze. “Come with me, if you please.”

He more dragged her along than let her choose to comply with him. Even so, Humphrey held his nerve and paraded straight through the common room and towards the staircase. He thought back to a more rational moment in which he should have just collated more articles and evidence, showed her, and prompt her to make up her own mind. That was his plan, rather than letting the ghosts ‘showcase’ themselves. But they had been all for it, pushing for him to bring Sophie back and to come clean, perhaps more-so out of guilt for their part in his last disaster of a date.

But now, he would do things his way. Humphrey would force her to believe. And what better way to do so, than with—

“Mon Dieu…”

The two came to a stop. Her clutch on him tightened, as Sophie’s face blanched.

“Believe me now?!”

Humphrey jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, jabbing at the portrait hung in pride of place on the blue wall.

“Comme c'est surprenant…” Sophie gasped.

It was undeniably of him; a much older him, in far older red fancy dress. The resemblance was uncanny. And, most importantly, had been signed and dated. 1575 was a long ass time ago!

Tipping her dirty blonde head back, she pointed frantically. “That— that is you, ‘Umphrey! But not you also!”

“This one’s quick,” Julian, held in Robin’s grubby hands, snickered. “Look at those legs! Phwoar!”

“Tell me again,” Humphrey said into the empty space, “how’d he—? My lots of greats grandfather…?”

“After I’d been, er, you know, he, your folks, were given the land.” Julian scoffed. “Land is very valuable down here. Pfft, undeserving berks…”

“Oi! That’s my undeserving ancestors you’re talking about!”

“Don’t I know it.” The Tudor winked.

“Rude.”

“And that is…?” Sophie posed quietly, trying to follow Humphrey’s flaming eyes. “A ghost? You speak to ghosts?”

“Dead on the money, Soph. Well not, dead dead— not, er, Julian level of dead, but—”

“How did he…?” Her voice faded as she gestured in Julian’s general direction.

“Hmm? Oh, they ended that arsehole on Tower Hill. He bonked Katherine Howard.”

Sophie blinked, doing a double take. “As in—?”

“Divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded—” Humphrey paused for dramatic effect, watching as she put two and two together. “—survived. Ta-da!”

“Needs work, mate,” Julian told him.

“Thanks, git.” He turned back to Sophie. “I probably shouldn’t just say it so, uh, coyly. Coy-like? Whatever’s the right phrase. But, yeah; he boned a Queen of England and lost his head for it, rightfully so.”

“Ah-ba-da-ba— Humphrey! She wanted it, too!” Julian protested, his body’s hands flapping of their own accord. “She was good in the sack, though. Nice, foxy little thing. Can see why that Culpepper was obsessed with her…”

“Jesus Christ.”

Horrified, Sophie’s eyes widened. She hastily muttered in French, appalled.

“Sorry,” Humphrey murmured, holding up his hands in surrender. “So, love, we on the same page? There’s dead people everywhere, and my life now depends on them? … God, that’s depressing.”

Her light eyes darted all around. Her face was hard to read.

“Babe, did I ever tell you how cute your freckles are?”

“‘Umphrey! I am ‘zinking!” She snapped at the abrupt change of subject.

He opened his mouth for a poorly timed dad joke in response, but heeded Robin’s snarl to keep his mouth shut. He seemed oddly protective of Sophie, which was as endearing as it was weird. Perhaps Robin saw her as one of the little ones in his tribe, who had just been exposed to this world of horror, and hoped that she would make it through alive. Or dead, Humphrey wasn’t sure he so minded which. Could work out in our favour, actually.

Either way, Robin was making it clear that Sophie needed a helping hand. Some aid in order to deal with all of this would work wonders for her.

Chapter Text

“Stop wishing she was dead!” At the strange silence, Alison blurted.

“She’d make a fine corpse. Again: legs,” Julian eyed Sophie from top to toe. “Hello…”

Humphrey’s eyebrows arched up into his hairline. “You sure you can’t see into my brain, Ali? That’s awfully on point.”

Her face softened a fraction. “No, but I know what you’re thinking.”

“That I’m an idiot for thinking Sophie would believe me?”

“Pardon?” Sophie said. “Lentement.”

“That I’m an ever bigger idiot for thinking she’d want to love me and love all of you guys, too?”

“I stand right ‘ere.”

Alison’s eyes narrowed. “Humphrey, Sophie, love of your life….”

“Oh, right, yeah. Idiot! Soph,” he turned to her and grabbed her hands, keeping her close, needing to feel alive.

“You speak to me now?”

“To you, yep. You don’t have to believe me. Frankly, it’s insane. All this’s insane. And I thought inheriting a place that it turns out I’m bloody named for was insane enough on it’s own—”

“Arrête de parler.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop talking.” Sophie slipped her hands from his, and drew them around his neck. Humphrey leant in on reflex, the tension flowing from his body. Then she wavered, startling him. Sophie raised a brow; “Do the ghosts watch?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, a little winded, “they’re sure as Hell watching.”

“Bien.”

“Good?”

She flashed him a shy smile, before closing in on her probably-boyfriend once more. Humphrey immediately melted into the embrace. He felt so at home in Sophie’s hold; his lips moulded so perfectly into hers, that he didn’t want to peel himself away.

“Get some…”

“Humph, mate. Breathe! Breathe!” Pat yelped frantically, startling him.

Catching his breath, Humphrey pulled away. Sophie was panting, her face pinking. God, she looked so beautiful.

“Thanks for the reminder,” he chuckled, eyes fluttering closed to claim his definitely-girlfriend once more. Then, he paused, thinking. “You guys don’t have to stay and watch the whole bloody thing, you know.”

At Alison’s raised eyebrow, the men either gave him the thumbs up (in Pat’s case), or shrugged (in Robin’s), and started to trudge away.

“Ah-ba-da— you cretin! Stop! This’s the most he’s gotten since moving in! I wanna see, I— ugh!” Julian huffed, as the caveman phased through the wall with the severed head in tow. “At least go and gimme to Mike.”

Humphrey smiled to himself, eyes fleeting downwards. He turned back to Sophie, sliding his hands around her tiny waist.

“So, you believe me, then? You don’t think I’m, uh, totally bonkers?” He posed quietly, unable to look at her.

Or so he thought. Her long fingers came to caress his chin, guiding his bright blue eyes onto her. He gasped; her eyes were heavily lidded and her lips puckered, aching for more of him. Momentarily, her gaze slid to the Elizabethan age portrait of his ancestor. Stood proud in his ruby finery, proudly knighted, as an Order of The Garter. Sophie smiled warmly.

“I do,” she responded in a breathless tone, gaze fixing onto his once mote. “Je t'aime, ‘Umphrey Bone.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” Humphrey grinned lop-sidedly, knowing he was pushing it. “And, er, the ghosts? D’you think you can love them as well? For me? They’re family at the end of the day.”

“In time, mon amour. Anything for you.”

“Until they get sucked off, that is.”

“Quoi?” Sophie stiffened. “I thought, I suck you off?”

He barked out a laugh, most thankful that he now only had Julian’s wandering body to contend with and not his foul mouthed head.

“Different kind of sucking off, Sophie!”

Thankfully, his girlfriend didn’t question it. His breath caught as Sophie enveloped her hands atop of his looped at her waist. He pressed her forehead to hers, then sought out her lips with his own. Today her lip gloss tasted like cherry. It was a very un-her like taste: nice and sweet.

Everything was going to be all right, Humphrey thought. They would redo this first date, at the aptly named Bone Hall, with a clean slate. And she, in time, if she still wanted to be apart of it, would get used to Humphrey’s peculiar way of life. And not life. For now though, with his ghostly family and Sophie, Humphrey’s heart felt full. He felt complete.

“You know, I was so worried about bringing you here,” Humphrey murmured into her ear, holding her close. “Now I can’t help but wonder: what was I so afraid of?”

And then, there was a mass groan and an evil ‘It wasn’t me!… It was me’. Robin, the bugger, had shamelessly blown the electrics, shunning them all into total darkness worthy of the plague pit.

“That’s what!” Humphrey laughed, gazing upwards to the now good for nothing lights. “But I love him anyways; the furry git. Say, Soph,” he gazed back down at her, eyes glinting, “fancy a trip to the fuse box?”