Work Text:
Mike wasn’t particularly sure what had brought him down to the water.
….That was mostly a lie. The Avatar in question had been in Portsmouth that weekend, attending what Fairchild liked to call “family bonding” and Mike called “retribution for some long-past sin”.
The sin was probably his ill-informed decision to become an Avatar. But at this point he was fifty years too deep to quit his stint in bonafine immortality.
In his effort to avoid the other man and the oh-so (not) temping afterparty he had been invited to, Mike had politely declined much to Fairchilds’ chagrin. All but escaping out of the hotel, Mike had fled down the front steps and flagged down the bus that was just pulling into the stop. He didn’t pay attention to the number. It didn’t matter, someone could just pick him up later.
Or he could freeze in the cold snap. Not that he felt it anymore.
As the bus started pulling away, Mike cast a glance at the upper floor window. He could make out several figures on the third floor, Fairchilds’ tiny, deceptively frail form recognisable against the background. Mike just hoped that he wouldn’t do anything drastic while they were still there. He couldn’t afford another murder investigation. Section 31 had a cop tangled in with the Hunt. He’d already spotted her sniffing around his flat several times.
The last thing he wanted was her knocking at his door.
He sat on the bus for a while, people watching. There weren't that many people onboard, and most got on and off fairly quickly. The colder weather and late Wednesday afternoon were keeping people indoors and working.
It wasn’t until the houses started thinning out, and the scent of salt got stronger that Mike finally decided to get off.
The bus stop that he got off at was situated at the top of a small hill, with a gentle slope. From where he was standing, he could make out a walkway and pier jutting out into the dark water. He shrugged. Why not? It was only a matter of time before Fairchild demanded his presence.
The walk down wasn’t too bad, the worst part was the faint storm clouds in the distance, promising rain. The air was fresher here than back at the hotel, and Mike took a deep breath. Not that he needed one. But it was nice sometimes. It reminded him of before.
Walking along the pier, Mike stared into the depths. The Vast chuckled back. Not part of his Domain, but he could appreciate it all the same. No one else was walking at this time of day.
…. Apart from one.
A lone kayaker paddled his way along the pier, his bright life jacket and kayak standing out against the dark of the water. Where has he come from? He hadn’t seen him before.
“Hey!” The kayaker called out.
Mike turned, facing the man who had picked up his pace, coming to a bobbing stop by him. The kayak shifted in the current.
“Hey man, do you know where this place is?” There was a wide smile on the man’s face. Small, faint circular scars covered what little skin was visible behind his wetsuit.
“I’ve been out for a while, and I think I’ve lost track of where I am.” The man said, giving a little chuckle.
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Uhhh….” Does he not know where he is? That seemed a bit irresponsible. “Eastney Pier?” He offered. “Portsmouth,” he added when the man didn’t react.
“Haha, very funny,” the kayaker chuckled. “But seriously, where am I?”
Mike frowned. “I told you, Eastney,” he said, pointing to a sign further back on the road.
“Oh shit, really!?” The other man’s eyes widened when he noticed the sign.
“Well where’d you start?” Mike asked, curious. This guy couldn’t have gone far, could he?
“Burnham-on-Crouch.”
The hell? “How far did you go?”
“I don’t know,” the man replied. “I was only supposed to do a quick paddle before heading back in. But I lost sight of the shore and tried to come back to leave. It was slightly cloudy, and I spent the entire time looking at the horizon. But that- I…. I shouldn’t even have left the river.”
“What time did you leave?”
“I went out at four. Pm,” he added for clarification.
Mike checked his watch. “It’s quarter to three.”
“Well that can’t be right,” the man said. “I can’t have gone back in time.”
There was a nagging feeling at the back of Mike's mind. The Fairchild meeting, losing track of land, lost time. The oceans weren’t something that Mike was really into, the sky was easier to read. But there were a few Avatars who-
“Hey,” he said casually. “What day is it?”
The kayaker’s frown deepened. “The twenty-fifth today?”
Well that confirmed his suspicions.
“It’s the twenty-seventh today,” Mike corrected.
“It’s the twenty-seventh!?” The man exclaimed, jumping in his seat. The kayak rocked at the motion, and for a moment Mike was worried that it would tip. But it straightened out. “I’ve been out for almost two days? Oh shit!”
Mike squinted at the man. There was the cold, spacey-ness of the Vast clinging to the man like smoke. It would round his wrists and flitted past his eyes. The paddles of his kayak carried the scent of salt and the bitterness of wind. But under the blue there were other traces too. The judgemental gaze of Beholding. The faintest trace of I Do Not Know You.
Why would he have a binding of Beholding? He wasn’t an Avatar, nor was the Entity’s claim one of predation. The only way he would have that sort of binding was if… oh. damn……
Mike wanted to bang his head against a wall.
“-ey. Hey!” The Archival Assistant exclaimed, causing Mike to zone back in. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“What? Oh, eh. Yeah.” Mike replied, handing him his mobile. It was the newest, sleekest model. Courtesy of Fairchild. Or at least, Fairchild’s money. He passed it to the man, making sure it didn’t drop into the water. He didn’t feel like trying to retrieve it if it did. “Do you have people looking for you?”
It felt silly asking.
“No, uhhh… There's Stacy who owns the rental. I’ll give her a call.” The kayaker shrugged, typing in the number. “She was expecting me back at six. I hope she isn’t too worried.”
By the faint yelling that Mike could hear when the man held the phone to his ear, Mike could guess that she was worried.
He winced as the conversation dragged on, a bit one-sided. There was a lot of yelling. He kicked the ground a bit as he waited. Eventually the Archival Assistant hung up, and handed him back his phone.
“Hey thanks man,” he said, pulling his kayak over to the pier and hauling himself up onto dry land.
“No worries,” Mike replied. “Do you want some help?”
The other man made a noise of agreement, and the two of them pulled the kayak up out of the water, depositing it gently on the pier’s edge. Mike let out a whistle when he saw the underside. The dark black of the ocean clung to the bottom like a dark cloud. The ends of the paddles were stained too. He wondered if the Assistant could see it too.
Judging from his expression, that thought was probably correct. The man grimaced, and crouched down to wipe a finger across the side of the kayak. The back dispelled like it was smoke, exposing the bright lime green of the plastic underneath. “You can see it too?” The kayaker asked.
Mike nodded. “Yeah. But others won’t.” He assured, wondering with amusement where this conversation was going.
The kayaker scowled, straightening back up. “You're one of those things, aren’t you?” He said it like Mike was nothing more than gum under a shoe. Given the track rates of Archival Assistants, the feeling was probably warranted.
Worst comes to worst, Mike shoves the guy and his stupid kayak into his domain. Though considering the circumstances, it probably wouldn’t be in either of their favours.
“And if I am?”
The Assistant huffed. “You gonna kill me?”
“No,” Mike said truthfully.
“That’s a first,” the man muttered. It probably was, Mike thought bitterly. “You should at least consider it.”
Eh?
The thought must have shown on his face, because the Assistant turned back to him. “Chucking me into the void. Off a building. Something. Do you know how things are going for me right now? My friend has apparently been dead for months, and I don’t even remember her face. My creepy boss has been stalking me, and I just found out that there’s some sort of supernatural bullshit contract that means I can’t leave the fucking Archives for long periods of time. Any longer than a couple weeks I feel like I am going to die. And the only people left there either hate me or despise me or don’t give a shit about me. You might as well at least offer that to me.” The man was breathing heavily by the end of his rant, eyes unfocused. The anger was all his, though.
“You done?” Mike asked.
The Assistant curled over, bent over with his hands on his knees. He stayed there for a moment, breathing deeply. Blood dripped irregularly from his nose. With nothing better to do, and the memory of his own youth burning at the front of his mind, Mike rubbed the man’s back. Just like the good old days, he thought bitterly. Except he was now in Fairchild's place.
After several minutes, the Assistant slowly straightened back up, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. It didn’t matter, the blood had crusted a while ago. He slapped his palm against his cheek several times. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me there.”
Mike stepped back, giving him a once-over “Coming down from the High,” he said, completely seriously. “It happens.”
The Assistants’ mouth thinned into a line. “What, like-“
“Yeah.”
“Damn.”
Mike shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You just spent two days in the Vast. I’ve seen worst mood swings.” Him, nineteen years ago.
The Assistant grimaced, poking the edge of the kayak with his big toe. His boating shoes had smiley faces drawn on with metallic sharpie. “Stacy said she’ll pick me up, but It’ll take a while before she gets here. Thanks again for the help”
“Cool.”
They stood next to each other, Mike staring up into the sky and the Assistant into the dark water. In the distance, a tanker passed through the horizon.
“This is the part where you’re supposed to leave,” the Assistant said bitterly.
“Why would I do that?” Mike asked curiously.
“Well why would you help?” Good point.
Mike sighed, dragging his gaze over to the other man. “How badly do you want to leave?” He asked him.
The Assistant blinked. “Like this Earth or…?”
What? “What? No, the Institute, Christ.” Mike spluttered. “I’m not- Mate-“
“Oh,” the Assistant chuckled.
“I just-“ Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. “The contract binds you to the Archivist, and in turn, the Eye, right?”
The man nodded. “Yeah, how did you-“
Mike stared at him. “Everyone knows the Institute, and the games Magnus plays” he ignored the spluttered (‘what, like Jonah Magnus?!’). “Once you sign your name, the Eye carves out a place in your being. That’s why you can’t leave. It ties your life up in Its. The Archivist and Watcher. If you leave, there’s a hole in your being, and that’s not really something you can recover from. The only way to get out is to well… die, or fill the empty gap with something else.”
“The Vast,” the Assistant muttered.
“If you really want.” Mike shrugged. “It’s taken a fancy to you.”
“Lovely.” He didn’t sound happy.
Mike was going to say something else when his phone started ringing. He glanced at the caller ID. Fairchild. He grumbled. “Sorry, one moment,” he said to the Assistant, holding up a finger and stepping back from the waters edge. He answered.
“Hey, it’s Mike.”
“Of course it’s you, Michael!” Fairchild’s voice cheerfully replied. It sounded distorted through the speakers, but not small. Nothing about that man was small. “Who else could it be?”
While Fairchild talked, Mike half-listened while also keeping one eye on the Assistant. The man in question had walked in circles several times, before shrugging off his life jacket and slinging it into the kayak. He sat down on the pier, legs dangling into the water shoes and all.
Mike hung up once Fairchild had finished his rant. He walked back over to the waters edge. “Hey, sorry,” he said, hands back in his pockets. Not to warm his fingered back up, but the action was familiar. Human. Even after the years. “I have to go.”
“You stuck too?” The Assistant asked.
Mike shook his head. “Nah, not like that.” He clarified. “Fairchild doesn’t hold anything over me. Not in tearms of my survival. But he does pay the bills.” He noticed the man’s confused look. “Any member of the Vast Fairchild considers family. It’s weird. But. It does pay well. So I guess there’s that.”
“Oh.”
Mike tapped his jaw. “Think about it, won’t you?. It would be a waste seeing someone like under Beholding.”
The Assistant bit his cheek.
“Here,” Mike said, handing him his business card. He wasn’t technically associated with Pinnacle Aerospace, but Fairchild liked to play his little delusional games. So Mike had his own little cards, with his name and number listed under “private contractor”. Fairchild like when he handed them out at events.
“Mike Crew?” the Assistant asked, and Mike bit back a grin when the man didn’t address him as Michael. “I’ve heard of you. I should have recognised you sooner.”
His scar prickled.
“Good luck.” He said, walking away. “If you ever want an out… Just let me know, okay?”
He didn’t wait for a response before stepping backwards into his Domain.
….Stepping back out a few miles away at the bus stop, Mike could faintly see the outline of the man in a wetsuit sitting on the pier next to a lime-green kayak.
He watched with satisfaction as the figure carefully tucked the card under the life jacket in the kayak and slowly lowered himself into the water. He slipped beneath the surface with barely a ripple.
He didn’t resurface.
Later, after Mike had dragged himself back out of the grave, after he had stitched himself back together on the damp ground with nothing but the cold wind and sheer determination, he had crawled his way back into his flat, bleeding cloud-white ichor on the tile. His phone was still where he left it.
There were several missed calls. Fairchild. Simon. Harriet. Jude.
One caught his eye though. Unknown number.
A missed call.
…. And a text.
He opened his phone, ignoring the way his finger slipped on the screen. He opened the app.
Hey, it’s me, Tim
From the Archives
And
I’m ready.