Chapter Text
It was a late afternoon in December. It was snowing. It did that.
It was very quiet—the way things got quiet when it snowed, as if the frost dampened the sound itself—and the sky was a white-grey, and everything seemed very soft and still, like a picture book.
Penny liked it best when it was like this. It all felt very surreal, like walking into a dream. It was somehow comforting, and she especially liked to be inside, watching the snowfall through a window, in some way warmer just from the knowledge that outside it was cold. She was walking down the street, frost sticking to her hair and clothes, when she'd called Desmond to ask if he was busy, but they'd gotten distracted discussing other things, as they sometimes did.
Desmond was saying, "But doesn't it make you lonely? Being shut inside all day, I mean." He'd already stated previously that he also liked snow—in moderation—and was just playing devil's advocate.
"I mean, I really don't mind it," Penny replied. "As long as it isn't constant, it's fine. It's nice not to go out, once in a while." Flirtatiously, she added, "Especially when I have a little company."
Understanding her angle, he said, "I could use some company myself," thereby answering the question she'd called him to ask in the first place.
"Good. I'm already on my way there."
They kissed at the door when she arrived. She told him he didn't have to, but he insisted on taking her coat for her and hanging it up, because he simply had to be a gentleman. The snow stuck to her had melted quickly, leaving her with the mild inconvenience of wet hair; Desmond apologetically told her that his hair dryer was on the fritz right now, but offered her a towel; at this, she laughed—he was always so sweet to her when she showed up, in such a strangely neurotic way; it was endearing.
Offering her a warm drink, he was saying, "You didn't walk all this way, did you?"
"I like walking in a fresh snowfall," she said, as he sat down beside her; after a beat, she added, "My car wouldn't start."
"That's unusual."
"It is a bit strange," she agreed. "It hasn't been long since its last repair. I've only had that car for a year."
"Must've been the weather."
"It doesn't usually react to the weather like that," she pondered. "At least not that I've seen."
He looked as if he were entirely failing to comprehend the concept, before remembering that she had the money for a good car, and he did not. He then said, "You didn't have to walk, I could have come over."
"I didn't want to trouble you. I was fine walking, really. Besides," she added teasingly, "if my car can't handle this weather, I can scarcely imagine yours could."
"It couldn't, it broke down last week."
"Oh, right, I forgot all about that. I wish you'd let me help pay for repairs," she told him. "It would really be no trouble at all."
"It's alright, really," he said. "I can handle it."
She glanced down, once again surrendering to his refusal to accept her help, and changed the subject. She said matter-of-factly, "That means you'd have walked to my place, instead."
"It does." And: "If you hadn't called me, I'd have called you."
"It's this cold weather," she replied knowingly. "It makes you want to be close to someone."
He smiled, and kissed her, and said, "Suddenly I understand why you like the winter so much."
"I know how we can stay warm," she added, kissing him back and running her fingers through his hair.
"Mm. Fire, maybe," he teased.
She laughed and said, "Maybe you're onto something. But I was wondering if it was any warmer in your bedroom."
"I think I like your idea better."
It had been (roughly) two weeks since Desmond had lost his latest job. He'd apparently had what would have been professionally referred to as a manic episode, but what he himself had dismissed as being ridiculous . A flight of fancy, he'd called it—gotten some idea into his head that this was suffocating him, that he had to get out and do something, anything else. He needed something that would move him, he said, something that could change him, something worth it. He couldn't explain what exactly he'd meant by that; he told her he had no idea what he was thinking, and seemed very staunchly to believe he had been stupid for it. This wasn't the first time that he'd done this, and it wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, either.
Penny didn't claim to understand it. There were countless things she couldn't understand about Desmond, no matter how she tried. She told him it was alright, that he didn't have to be ashamed, but she knew she wasn't getting through to him because all he did was nod. She'd promised to help him find another one, and he'd told her she didn't have to, but she'd insisted this time, and he'd surrendered. He seemed to hate accepting help, but she hated not helping him, which often left them at an impasse.
He was so gentle with her, she was thinking, on top of him in bed; so tender and so sweet. Bewitched, breathless, lost in that embrace; every time she was with him, she wondered how she ever got on without him, thought of how she'd never felt more at home in anyone's arms but his, with his skin touching hers; something there were no words for, despite the attempt made here. She had by no means ever been a poet, but this softness, this closeness was enough to make her wish she was one.
They always showered together afterward—a small shared ritual—and there was always something to be said for the intimacy of that act, however mundane (which is to say, the intimacy of shared mundanity), almost as tender and as personal as the sex itself; it was just another part of it. You couldn't replace that; it was sacred.
Now she was resting her head on his chest, listening to his heart beating; absentmindedly, he was running a hand through her hair, and the two were quiet for a moment.
He said, "How are you feeling?"
She said, "Tired."
"Good tired, or bad tired?"
"Good tired."
"So am I."
After another moment, she asked him, "What are you thinking about, Des?"
"The only thing worth thinking about," he answered, the timbre of his voice a pleasant rumble she felt in his chest.
"What would that be, then?" she asked smilingly.
"I think you know."
"Just want to hear you say it."
"You. Always."
Always. She loved the way he said that. She said, "I'm sure you don't need to guess what I was..." She trailed off as a thought occurred to her, and said, propping herself up on her elbow, "You know I could afford to buy you a better car. One that won't break down the moment the weather turns, I mean."
"You're thinking about cars?" he said with a small laugh.
"I wasn't until just now. Didn't you tell me your car broke down?"
"Little less than an hour ago."
"As in, that's when you told me, or that's when it broke down?"
"It broke down last week. You were there, weren't you?" This was a genuine question, and one which Penny had to think about.
"That's odd. I don't remember."
"You must've been. Maybe you weren't." Evidently, he didn't remember either. "Either way, don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine without it for a time; just needs a little fixing up, really."
"At least let me drive you, if needed. Assuming my car hasn't quit on me."
"Ah, I'm sure it'll be fine."
"Well...either way," she said, reaching over to touch the side of his face, "of course it's not cars I'm thinking about."
He'd been miserable again, since losing that last job. It wasn't as if she'd ever known him to be very happy, but he'd sunk down to a low she'd seen him at before, but not recently. Once, drunk, he'd asked her if she was ashamed of him, embarrassed to go out in public with someone like him. The question had stunned her, and she'd told him of course not, but she wasn't all too sure he'd believed her. But of course she wasn't. She was proud to say he was hers. It meant she'd gotten something she wanted. It meant that she had him, and she'd very much have liked to keep things that way. He just made her worry sometimes.
"Don't worry yourself about the car," he told her again. "There's better ways to use your money."
"I disagree," she replied. "If I'm going to spend my money, I want to spend it on someone I care about."
Hesitantly, he said, "I don't want to leech off of you."
"You're not leeching. I'm choosing to do this. Let me choose to do this."
He seemed like he wanted to protest this, but he didn't. Ultimately, he forfeited, and said, "Alright."
She leaned over and kissed him. "Thank you."
"No reason to thank me. I should be thanking you."
"Well, go ahead, then."
"Thank you."
"You are very welcome."
He exhaled slowly, and said, "I love you," like a surrender.
"I love you, too."
- • •
It was nearly 2AM when the phone rang. It didn't wake Desmond up, which was extremely unusual; usually, he'd wake up to just about anything. Penny decided she'd let him sleep a few minutes more, and went to go pick it up; if it was for him, she'd wake him.
She answered, "Hello?"
The voice on the other end said, "Penelope?"
It was her brother.
She said, "Daniel? What are you doing calling Desmond in the middle of the night?"
There was an intake of breath. "Actually—actually, I was, um, calling you."
"How did you know I was here?"
"Um, I called—I called your—your number first, but you weren't—uh, weren't in, so I, I assumed you were with—"
"At midnight, Daniel?"
"Um. Yeah."
"What were you going to do if Desmond answered?"
He didn't seem to have an answer for this. "H—hang up?"
Penny sighed. "Hi, Dan. Why are you calling?"
"I. I have to speak to you. About something."
"At midnight?"
"Um, um, um, I was uh, I was hoping we could talk tomorrow, actually, I was just, uh, you know."
"What?" She shook her head, processing this jumble of words, and then said, "Fine. Alright."
Relieved, he said, "Good. Good, that's good."
"Daniel, what is this about?"
"I can't tell you that yet."
"Okay." She thought about it. "Where would you like to meet up?"
They agreed on a place and time, and hung up. Penny went right back to bed after this, and must've roused Desmond, because he turned over.
He said blearily, "Who was that?"
"Sorry, did I wake you?"
"Woke up when the phone rang. You told me to stay in bed."
She blinked. "I did?"
"Aye, you did."
"I must've been very tired. I don't remember that."
"Mm. Must've been."
"Well, you should be sleeping, anyway. You've been tired lately, yourself," she added affectionately.
"Right." He reached over, putting an arm around her, and muttered, "Who calls in the middle of the night..."
"Vampires, maybe," Penny suggested.
"Very inconsiderate," Desmond replied, and fell back asleep.
- • •
It was the next day—technically, the same day, just later—when Penny was walking down the street, toward the location she'd agreed on with Daniel—a little coffee shop, somewhere out of the way. He was there when she arrived, as he'd promised he'd be, looking around anxiously and bouncing his leg. Although she'd never seen him not anxious.
When he saw her, he said, "Penelope."
She replied, "Hi, Dan," and sat down across from him.
It had been a while since they'd seen each other. They weren't exactly close—they got on well enough, but there was so much about Daniel that went right over Penny's head. This was why she had no idea where to start now.
He shifted uncomfortably, and, getting straight to the point, said, "We need to talk about Desmond."
She peered at him. "Why?"
"Um. There's—something I need to tell you. About him."
"And he couldn't be part of this discussion?"
"Uh, no."
"Why not? It's about him. I don't see how that's—"
"Look, look, I know how this sounds, I just need you to—I just need you to trust me, just for a moment. There's just—something you need to know. It's really important that you know this."
She studied him for a moment, and ultimately decided that she had no reason not to trust him. And anyway, she could always just tell Desmond about it later. She said, "Okay."
He gave her a grateful look, before saying, "Okay. Okay, okay, uh—" He tapped his fingers on the table, more a cluster of nerves than a person, and said, "You know about—about Oxford, right?"
"In general, or in relation to you?"
"In relation to Desmond."
She pondered this for a moment. "I know he worked with you for a time, in the lab. I'm still not very clear on what exactly you were doing there."
"Do—do you have any idea what—" He glanced around. "— happened? "
"Not as such."
He exhaled, trying to put his thoughts together, and said, "There was an—an accident."
She blinked. "An accident."
He breathed in, like he was about to jump into water, and said, "It was—" And he shut his eyes. "He was—he was with me in the lab for a few years, actually. I always thought we—I thought we worked well together, I mean—I know I frustrated him sometimes, but—but he listened to me, he trusted me, and—and—and I trusted him. But, um—so, so when—when the accident happened, it was..." He squirmed. "Something...backfired, I didn't—I didn't know, it was—I was careless. I wasn't paying attention, I should've—...It could've killed him."
Her eyebrows went up. "What could've?"
"We were—we were working with—with electromagnetism, we were..." He swallowed, switching gears. "Do you believe time travel might be—possible?"
She considered the question. "I suppose for the purposes of this discussion I should say yes."
"Well—the only way this is—um, this is going to make sense is if you, uh, if you do."
"Then I guess I'll have to be open minded."
He looked at the table. "He knew the risks. I—I told him everything, and he agreed to it, but—but I guess there were things I didn't—didn't account for." His voice was becoming shakier, if that were at all possible; he may have been on the verge of tears. He said, "He should have died. It should have killed him. His survival, it was—it was— highly improbable. He was—a scientific wonder. An anomaly," he said, with so much heartbroken affection in his voice it hurt. "But what it did to him..." At this point, his voice broke, and he said, "I didn't kn—I didn't mean to do it, Penelope, I didn't—if I'd known what it would do to him, I'd never have..."
"What happened?" she asked softly.
He took a moment to breathe, and continued, "Time. He was— unstuck in time, he—...Instead of passing through time, it—it passed through him." He bit his lip. "Things started happening out of order for him. It—scattered him." His breath hitched again, and he said, "He was so scared. I'd never seen him so scared before. And he was so angry at me, sometimes—sometimes I thought he was really going to kill me. And I'd have let him, I'd have—I'd have deserved it." He just barely suppressed a sob, and went on, "He didn't speak to me again for six years. I don't—I don't blame him for that. I did everything I—everything I could for him, I...I tried to help him, I wanted to help him. But I couldn't. I couldn't, and he hated me for it, for—for everything I did to him, he—he hated me. I should have let him kill me."
Penny was speechless for a moment. She considered trying to console him, but she had no idea what to say to any of this. She said weakly, "Why didn't he tell me about any of this?"
Daniel inhaled, as if he were trying to put the tears on hold. He failed at this, but tried to answer anyway; "You—you know him, he—never really liked to talk about himself."
"This goes a little beyond talking about himself. " She leaned her head against her palm and drummed the fingers of her other hand on the table.
After a pause, Daniel said, "Last year. September of last year, he—he visited me again. He told me...he told me it happened again. It was...he'd almost entirely recovered, but—but something—happened, and he—he got stuck. Reliving the same day, over and over—he said he'd done it nearly twenty times. And—and apparently, that wasn't even the first time he'd told me about it. But time—kept going in circles for him, restarting on that day, that loop."
"That's awful."
"Yeah, yeah, he—he..." There was another long pause. He said quieter, as if he were afraid he'd be heard, "I think something is happening again."
Penny leaned in closer. "Another loop?"
"No. No, it's, um—Penelope," he said. "Have you—have you, um, have you been—forgetting things, recently? Small things. More than you typically would?"
She considered the question, thinking back to the past few weeks or so. "I think so. I might have, why?"
"They've all been connected to—to Desmond in some way, haven't they?"
She stared at him. "...I believe so."
"What about him? Is he forgetting things, too?"
"What are you saying here? What does this mean?" she asked, a hint of fear creeping into her voice.
He pressed his palms together in front of him. "I'm—...I'm forgetting too."
"Dan. What's happening?"
"I think—I think we're, we're going to keep—forgetting." He chewed his lip again. He seemed to have every nervous tic imaginable, save for smoking. A single cigarette would probably be enough to kill him.
"You're not explaining anything. Are you saying that—he's fading from memory? We're forgetting him?"
"Something like that. He's—I think... everything is forgetting him. I think...I think reality is forgetting him."
Suddenly, she understood.
She leaned back again, processing this information. She took a moment to allow this to wash over her, a moment where she didn't prevent herself from feeling the panic rising up inside her; she was already hearing the funeral bells toll in her head, and she knew she wasn't going to silence them any time soon. She took in a breath.
Levelly, she said, "How do we stop it?"
Apologetically, Daniel said, "I don't know." Before Penny could get annoyed, he went on, "But I'm working on a solution, and that's—that's why I had to talk to you, because—because I need your help. I need, um—I just need someone he still trusts. But he can't know we had this conversation. You have to—trust me. Just trust me, please, I can figure this out, I can—I can save him. There's still time."
After a beat, she said, "Alright. I'm going to trust you. I'll do whatever I have to, if it'll help him. But I am going to tell him if I have to. And if you can't fix this, Daniel—"
"I know. I know."
She nodded resolutely. Then she said, "I can't lose him, Dan."
"I know."
There was a pause. Then, because she couldn't help but be his older sister, despite their estrangement, she said, "Have you got anywhere to stay, while you're in town?"
"I'm—I'm, uh, at a hotel."
"You can stay over at my place, if you like."
"You don't—you don't have to do that."
"Well, I just thought, if you were staying for a long time, you wouldn't want to keep paying all the way through."
"Desmond, though—he can't know I'm in town."
"Well, if it's really so important you hide from him..." She tapped her fingers on the table in thought. "Why can't he know?"
"Um. Because I don't, uh, want him to?"
"If it's really such an issue, I suppose I can help pay for your hotel stay."
Daniel didn't look happy about this. "With—with—" He said it quietly, like it was some secret. "— dad's money?"
She stared at him. "I do have my own, you know."
"You don't—you don't have to do that, I'll be fine on my own."
"I'm beginning to get a little sick of people saying that to me, Dan."
"Oh. Okay, um. Uh, yeah, that'll be great, thanks."
"That's better." She smiled. After he told her the address of the place, she added, "Great. I'll be in to check on you from time to time—and no need to thank me. I'm assuming you came alone."
"Y—yeah."
"Well, you're certainly not doing this alone. We're doing this together," she decided.
"Oh." He looked like he wanted to protest this, but anyone who knew Penny knew that it was no use.
"And we are going to do this, Daniel," she added, with a silent or else hidden beneath her words.
"Yeah."
"Well. It's been lovely," she said, even though it absolutely had not been, "but I should really go see Des now. I'll—"
"Uh, you—you, uh, remember the last time you saw him, right?"
She blinked. "Yes, I was driving him to his job interview, why...do you ask...?"
"I was just checking," he said apologetically.
"Don't frighten me," she said, holding up a finger. Then she stood up.
"Sorry. I just wanted to check."
"It's alright. You'll call me if anything changes?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." She nodded, and smiled. "It's good to see you, Dan, even in such...harrowing circumstances."
Daniel didn't seem so optimistic; he just nodded and said quickly and awkwardly, "Bye, Penny." And: "And, um, I'll—I'll let you know."
She nodded again, and walked out.
In all honesty, she wasn't sure what to make of this. It hardly even felt real. Of course, she knew it probably was; it was too absurd to lie about. There was also every possibility that Daniel had, as it were, lost the plot, but...Well, to be on the safe side, she'd treat this as if it were real.
And with that thought, the dread came back in full swing; walking down the street, there was another spark of panic through her nervous system, and her breath caught in her throat. She reminded herself the situation was—for now—under control. Assuming Daniel knew what he was doing. But surely he must have.
In her slightly frazzled state, she realized she must have taken a wrong turn walking back, because her car was not where she thought it would be. She glanced around for a moment; this was very unusual for her, and startlingly disorienting. She wracked her mind for a moment, before it occurred to her that she had forgotten one crucial element, and paused.
When she arrived at the building she'd left Desmond at (which alone took longer than she felt comfortable with to find), she saw he was already in the passenger seat of her car, leaning the back of his head against the headrest, exhaustedly.
Climbing in, she said, "Sorry if I kept you waiting," with forced cheerfulness.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, then said, "It's alright, I hadn't noticed anyway." He glanced at his watch at this, and something she couldn't quite place passed over his eyes.
"How do you think it went?" she continued, trying very hard not to let her nerves slip into her voice.
He thought about the question for a second, and didn't seem very happy about it. He said, "Not sure," in a way that suggested he was completely sure, and it wasn't good.
"Well, do you think you did alright?" she pressed.
"I, ah..." He looked uncomfortable. "Must've done."
"You can tell me if something went wrong, Des," she said bluntly.
He inhaled; he clearly knew she was right. He surrendered, with a dismissive shake of the head and a small hand gesture; "Think I fucked it up."
"Oh, well don't say that, " she said. "I'm sure it wasn't all bad."
"It was fine in the first half, but—...he started asking questions I couldn't answer. I should've been able to, it—makes no sense that I couldn't. I knew the answers, it was like I'd just... forgotten. When I tried to think, it was like I was...shut out, somehow. Even got a headache. He could see I was nervous." When he saw the way Penny was looking at him, he added, "Sorry. I'm not giving up, I'm just..."
"It's alright, Des. We'll try again." She tried to smile, but her blood was getting colder by the second.
"I just can't understand this. Don't know what's gotten into me lately. Guess I'm just in a...I'm sure it'll pass," he said, and it was unclear which of them he was trying to reassure.
She reached over and gently touched the back of his hand in an attempt to be comforting; she said, "It will pass. I'm sure of it." This could not have been a bigger lie if she'd added something like and my brother does not think you're dying or and we're going to Hawaii tomorrow or and everything is going to be okay forever.
He seemed thoroughly unconvinced. "Right," he lied, and: "Just..."
"Yes?"
"Nevermind, forget it."
That was the last thing she wanted to do. "No, what is it?"
He was very hesitant to answer, but he did anyway: "I just have to wonder if you're sure about being with a man who can't even be sure of his own mind."
She looked at him for a moment, and gave him a sad little smile. "You ask me that a lot. If I'm sure. "
"Well...well, are you?"
He seemed regretful that he was asking this now, but at least he was asking what she thought instead of doing anything stupid about it. She told him, "Of course I'm sure. I'm sure about you."
He considered this, and then smiled at her. "Then so am I."
Which came as an unspeakable relief, but she wouldn't say that. She said, "Well, I think we've held up this parking space long enough for one day."
"Right. Glad I've got you to play chauffeur," he teased.
"Any way I can assist."