Work Text:
“Confront them?” Nate whispers to himself. The others, engrossed as they are in the game, don’t hear him. Or pay him any mind as he turns away, feigning drinking. “What on Earth for?”
‘For what they did to us,’ the patchwork of staticky clips of his own voice replies in the way that’s becoming more and more associated with the version of himself that remains bleeding and damaged.
He – or it – doesn’t say anything more. Even as Nate presses deeper onto their ruin of a hand. The pain doesn’t draw it out, nor does it make Nate recall what he meant. The quiet is more unsettling than the implications of the words.
Nate rejoins them right as it’s his turn and he takes the offered dice distractedly. Muscle memory gets him through the motions of said turn, one that actually ends up in his favor, but that’s about it. Georgie has her turn next, then Martin. When Basira undoes his good fortune and he says nothing, Martin frowns at him.
“Something on your mind, love?” Martin asks.
Nate briefly debates the merit of asking what that part of himself meant in what it was referring to. Getting the truth out of them, especially considering all that has passed between them, would be difficult. Regardless of if he trusted them or not. Which he didn’t. Not really. Should his questioning and ‘confrontation’ be colored by that? If he was already on the defensive and mistrusting them, would they even have the responsibility to tell him the truth?
All of that, however, paled in comparison to him still not being used to hearing voices. Ones that the others seemed more than willing to accept as ‘compartmentalization,’ as parts of himself he needed to be separate so he could begin to handle them.
“Some… one…” he begins to wave his hand around his head, slowly then quickly as he blurts out “up here, in my head” then takes a breath, letting them take in the words. “It, they, he… wants me to… confront you… all of you… for what you did to us…” it takes Nate a moment to notice the error. “Me. For what you all did to me.”
He’s very pointedly not looking at them as he tries to collect his thoughts. “Obviously I have no idea if it’s telling the truth or why… why it wants me to. Just that he does?” Finally, he looks at them; eyes falling to Martin almost instinctively. “Can you… tell me why?”
Nate doesn’t expect them to answer immediately. Not with their expressions. So he waits. Waits for one of them to say anything.
“Georgie didn’t do anything to you,” Melanie grounds out.
Nate feels his stomach drop.
“Melanie, we’ve already had that discussion,” Georgie says gently, hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah, and we already played the blame game,” Melanie retorts back. “Jon obviously didn’t really think he was guilty of it as well.” She moves as though she’s about to stand but ends up staying down, gritting her teeth with her head facing down into her lap.
“I’m not Jon,” Nate all but whispers. It’s all he can think to say.
“Wh-what else did… did he want you to do?” Martin asks, holding out a hand in comfort. Nate just stares at it until he retracts it, hurt muddled by the concern still on his face.
“That’s all it said,” Nate says, voice stronger. “What is it talking about?”
Martin glances at the others then sighs when all Basira does is cross her arms.
“It’s… it has to do with-with the apocalypse,” Martin says. “It has to do with… how it happened.” He looks at them once more, but none of them give him any help or guidance. Each of them, in their own way, seem… ashamed.
“What does that mean?” Nate asks, unable to keep the desperation from his voice. He winces. “The… the Archive never explained that part. Just… what happened during it.” Actually, it tossed facts at him like paper balls into a trash bin and expected him to figure it out on his own. While also berating him for not already knowing.
“There was…” Martin trails off, stammering almost. “A-are you sure you-you can handle this?” He asks. And then, to add injury to insult, says, “I-I don’t want to… trigger you.”
Nate doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“Fine,” Martin snipes. “Fine… d’you remember the… well. The Fears? S-Smirke?” Nate just stares. “A-a part of the… there was a ritual. A-and we…”
“Jon had to be marked,” Basira interrupts. “You had to be marked. Two of us marked you, the other two helped with the rest.” For a moment, as Nate tried to wrap his head around that new information, Basira watched him. Then added a glib, “Well, sort of.”
“What d’you mean ‘marked’?” Nate asks when she gives no elaboration.
“Did you… really not wonder where your scars came from?” Georgie asks quietly.
“My…” he looks down at his hands; the burnt skin, the pocked flesh. He grips the fabric of his pants, above the gash on his outer thigh. There’s other gashes, thinner and longer ones, as well. Nate absently touches his throat, brushing against the one there. “I… I don’t…”
‘You are a living chronicle of terror,’ the voice says in the same staticky way, in one unbroken sentence.
It takes Nate a long moment to realize it used his voice. Or at least, that’s what he assumes by the expressions on their faces.
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s. A lot to explain,” Basira says. “Years of it, actually. Can’t you…” she trails off, like she’s rethinking her next words. She doesn’t debate for long, sighing and finishing it anyway. “Can’t you just ask the Archive to explain?”
Nate almost says something he’d probably regret, but Melanie beats him.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” she says.
“Yeah, no, I…” Basira sighs rubbing her brow, “I heard it as I said it.”
“From what we gathered… from what… from what Jon would… even actually say about…” Georgie keeps stoping and starting, like it would make the words any easier to say. Or hear. “He had to be hurt. A lot. Both physically and mentally. Then he had to… read this… incantation?” She looks to Martin who nods absently, eyes only for the ground. “Then… then the apocalypse happened.”
There’s a click like dominoes falling into place. Nate had assumed their wariness around him and how delicately they were treating him was due to something he, or rather Jon, had done. Now he sees it for what it really was.
“You hurting him helped cause the apocalypse,” Nate says. “That’s what you did to us.”
None of them say anything for a long moment. Martin is still looking at the ground, Georgie joining him in looking anywhere but at Nate, while both Basira and Melanie act as though he was a particularly irritating fly that just wouldn’t leave.
“What I don’t get…” he says when they don’t, “is why it wants me to confront you.” The looks he receives are ones of confusion. “I already know that Jon was… awful. You didn’t do anything he didn’t deserve. And it wasn’t as though you all knew what it would do. Hurting us. That much is obvious.” His quick grin is thin. “So I don’t get it. I deserved this, right? Why… why would I blame… any of you?”
Nate almost expects a grating feedback sound to fill his head, a signal of anger from that part of him, but he’s silent. As are the others outside of his head.
“Honestly,” he cuts off with a weak laugh, “I’m glad this, whatever it is, happened. Now none of you have to deal with him. It’s better this way, isn’t it? I don’t have to remember, and you don’t have to feel guilty. It’s better this way,” he repeats, tone even. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he notices that everyone else is blurry in a way that isn’t due to lack of glasses. “Excuse me,” he mutters, quickly wiping them away. “I don’t know why that keeps happening,” he sighs, not meeting their eyes.
“Jon wasn’t awful,” Martin says flatly. Nate just stares. “Jon was afraid. Jon was fear. Everything he did was because he was scared. Of everything and everyone. He wasn’t perfect. He was messed up and traumatized and traumatized on top of that. And I’m not excusing what he did. But we didn’t have to do what we did to him either. Especially when some of the things he did was only in reaction to what we did. Or didn’t do,” he cuts his eyes at Georgie. “Or even things we told him to do.” Basira squirms at that, but something in his tone makes Nate think he’s talking about himself. “So, no, it’s not ‘better this way’, Nate. It’s actually really really awful. You were damaged and we broke you even more. Because you weren’t ‘nice’,” Martin sneers, air-quoting. “As if that was reason enough. As if any of us are ‘nice.’”
Nate lets that hang in the air. Let’s the others digest it. Let’s Martin cool down from it.
“Then apologize,” Nate says.
Martin opens his mouth, but Nate stops him.
“Don’t just say the words ‘I’m sorry’, apologize for the specific things you did to him. To me.” He looks away from Martin to the others. “All of you, in fact. If he actually didn’t deserve it, if he actually wasn’t as awful as he seemed, then tell me everything you did to wrong him and why he didn’t deserve it.”
Martin looks as though he might say something but after a moment of flapping his mouth he closes it, expression sour. Melanie doesn’t even pretend to look as though she was mulling it over, arms crossed and chin up. Both Basira and Georgie do feign like they’re considering what they would say but end up staying quiet as well.
“I thought as much,” Nate says stiffly. There’s a sting of something almost like disappointment that goes away as quickly as it comes. He should’ve known better.
“Is,” Georgie starts before Nate can make his move to leave. “Is he satisfied now?”
“If you were carved up and bleeding and surrounded by the people who helped facilitate it, would you be?” Nate answers flatly. Her eyes go wide. “I… suppose I forgot to mention that part,” he murmurs. “It, he’s… all the scars… open and bleeding. That… that’s what he, it… looks like. In my…” he trails off, trying to ignore the feeling of their eyes laser-focused on him. “It hurts. It’s always in pain.” He’s still talking. Why is he still talking. “He can’t really speak either. I think there’s a tape. Tapes. It’s how he communicates. I don’t… like the tapes. I-”
There’s a sigh and it all falls away.
---
The Archive had not been listening too closely. It was preoccupied with handling the spring of knowledge that had welled up behind the door, threatening to soak and damage the few dried tomes it had. It notes that there would be little it could do were it to become more than a fountain. In short, it was not fully cognizant of why it was suddenly thrust to the forefront. The sensation was, as always, unpleasant.
“Is he-” it believes Melanie King starts to speak. It notes a mild hissing sound, not unlike the recorder it was used to, muffling her voice. It notes that its vision was also compromised, everything a bright haze. It does not take long for its senses to come into focus.
“Are you still with us?” it is positive Basira Hussain asks; her concern potentially genuine. “Damnit, Martin, why didn’t you-”
“Me?!” Martin Blackwood exclaims, tone clearly affronted by whatever he knew she was going to say. “I didn’t-”
The Archive holds up its hand in what it knows to be a gesture that will stop them. It notes that it does, despite the lingering flush of anger on Martin Blackwood’s cheeks.
“Apologies,” the Archive says. “I am unsure of what is happening at this moment.” It notes the slump of Martin Blackwood’s shoulders and Georgina Barker placing her head in in her hands, a sob wracking from her as Melanie King awkwardly pats her shoulder. “I assume it is not good.”
“No, Archive, it is not,” Basira Hussain answers. “Nate… someone asked him to confront us about… about his scars.”
“You mean Jonah Magnus’s marks?” it asks, seeking clarification. At her nod it asks, “He was told to inquire about the ritual?” She nods once more. Despite its questions being answered in no uncertain terms, it finds itself still confused. “Why would he do that?”
“We were hoping you would be able to tell us,” she says. “He mentioned a-a… bleeding… version of you?” The Archive notes that Basira Hussain is as uncertain as she has ever been around it. It also notes that it knows who she is uncertain about.
“That would be…” it pauses, noting that the one that contained the memories of their marks had no name. It frowns. “He… does not have a name. It is highly likely to be him, however. He… does not like humans. It is unsurprising that he would want Nathan Herne to be biased against you four.” It notes that this does not make any of them less visibly upset. If anything, they seem to become even more upset.
“That would explain why you’re here, then, I suppose,” Martin Blackwood says flatly. “Nate was… not happy. Started saying some… awful things.”
“About you?”
“About himself.”
The Archive ponders this. Introspection was not a component of its functionality. It was simply there to consume and regurgitate and experience. It had no use in examining its own motivations and purpose. It just was. An Archive had no need to question the knowledge it held or what said information was used for. That was for its developers and owner and patrons to concern themselves with. To that end, why the wounded part of them would make the physical part of them so upset when he knew he would be, made no logical sense. Even if Nathan Herne was, unlike them, ‘human.’ And especially if the goal had been to sour him to other humans.
“I will have to do more research to come to a conclusion,” it says. As it fully orients itself in the space it now occupies, it notes the game board splayed across the floor. “You were playing Monopoly?” The others glance at the board briefly in response.
“Yeah,” Basira Hussain sighs. “Game night, y’know…”
It did not know but it did not want to upset the others further, so it nods as though it does. Albeit distractedly. It only has eyes for the die cast playing piece shaped like a cat. It wonders where the Admiral is but knows better than to ask.
“Do you want to play?” Georgina Barker asks softly. It notes that she is upset. Prior data suggests it is the cause of this upset and that the best course of action would be to say no and extricate itself from the immediate area. Prior conflicting data would suggest that to isolate itself would cause additional upset. The best course of action, therefore, would be to ask what is required of it to satisfy the others.
“Do you want me to play?”
“Jesus Christ,” Melanie King mutters, releasing Georgina Barker. “It’s a yes or no question. There’s no... there’s no right or wrong answer, A-Archive. It’s not some moral quandary you need to obsess over.”
The Archive simply stares, unable to understand.
It knows the words and knows the intent, but there is no precedent for this.
“I think, actually, maybe we should just... put a pin in this,” Martin Blackwood says. “I think... they need to rest for a bit.” He looks at it with a strained look in his eyes and a half grimace on his face. It knows the answer he wants it to give this time, but...
“Am I the cat?” It asks, looking at the cat shaped token once more. It looks up when Basira Hussain laughs. She quickly tries to stifle it. It notes that Georgina Barker is smiling now and that both Melanie King and Martin Blackwood have relaxed some as well. Perhaps it did not truly know what answer Martin Blackwood wanted it to give.
Humans were confusing creatures.
“Yeah, you’re the cat,” Basira Hussain huffs and, as if she gave permission, the others reorient themselves closer to the board. She gestures to a small pile of ‘money’ and other paper necessary for play in a way that it understands to mean is its. “Does anyone remember whose turn it is?”
The Archive lets the mild debate fall into the background of its consciousness, only noting that Melanie King is insistent that it had been her turn coming up. Martin Blackwood is equally insistent that she had just finished her turn. That is about as much as it can comprehend as it recalls the rules of Monopoly. The tome that holds that memory was deeper than others and more damaged than most. The Buried, or what the others would call the Buried, textured it with mud that caused the pages to stick together and graffitied its recollection of its gameplay. It notes that the rules were far too simplistic for the difficulty it had in recalling them.
The Archive is not good at Monopoly. Martin Blackwood has to remind it frequently of what property it owns and give it advice about strategic purchases for maximum profit. Despite it knowing it cannot be possible, it feels that the dice are weighed against it, finding itself handing over the play money more often than earning it. After five rounds it notes that it has been in the forefront for the longest it has been since the severing.
“I am... I believe I am concerned about Nathan Herne,” it says.
“How do you mean?” Basira Hussain asks. Her tone is steady and that somehow causes it to be less concerned. It is aware that she is just one person and that she does not have the same situation as it and its other parts, but it is also aware that she is stubborn and will not give up trying to solve any situation. If any of them can help it, she can.
“I should not be here,” it informs them. Martin Blackwood frowns. “I have been away from myself for too long. Nathan Herne should be back in the body by now. This is not my place.” It is aware that there is a hint of irritation in its voice, and it does not enjoy it. It is not the one that holds the emotions. It holds the knowledge. It only holds the knowledge.
“Okay, well,” Basira Hussain lets out a breath. “Maybe... maybe he’s... sleeping it off? Is that... does that sound right? I-I don’t know how it works...”
The Archive frowns.
“Perhaps...” it trails off, contemplating the validity of her explanation. “I wouldn’t know. I do not sleep. Unless the body sleeps.” It notes the slight grimace Georgina Barker makes, recognizing her distaste in it separating itself from the physical.
“Wait, so you hear everything Nate does?” Martin Blackwood asks, tone dangerously close to anger. The Archive holds up its hands in placation.
“My sole focus, currently, is reassembling myself,” it explains. “My omnipotence is nonexistent. Your severing my connection to my patrons saw to that.” Martin Blackwood’s expression does not change overly much. It notes that this means it did not clarify its meaning. “I believe Basira Hussain is aware of the necessity of my restructuring.”
Basira Hussain blinks at it, but she is smart. She understands its meaning quickly.
“Th-the ocean,” she says. “The door with the ocean behind it.” It nods. “So, wait...”
“The door had already opened due to the ritual,” it says. “We had become flooded from the knowledge. Your severing of me from my patrons drained it. Temporarily. The more Nathan Herne learns, the more... leaks there are. And we are no longer equipped for it. It is more or less like the cruder archives Jonah Magnus made before me that you burned. Only. Wet. I am trying my hardest to prevent any more damage to the tomes, but it is. Difficult.”
The Archive waits for the others to process the information it disseminated.
“Are… you’re speaking in metaphors, right?” Georgina Barker asks with a laugh. The Archive cannot tell if it is from humor or discomfort.
“In a sense,” it answers. “I believe you would take it more along the lines of dreaming.”
“Right…”
“Whatever the case is,” Martin says, “maybe you should sleep? Usually sleep makes me feel better when I’m…” he trails off with a shrug. “Y’know.”
The Archive notes that it is starting to get tired of not knowing things it should know.
Without it agreeing, the others start to prepare to end the night. Georgie Barker helps Melanie King up and the two leave for their shared bedroom while Basira Hussain and Martin Blackwood pack away the game. All the while, it sits in the same position. It did not want to end the game, not really, but the sensations it is feeling are becoming more and more uncomfortable. Especially the emotional ones. That it wanted to force the others to release its toy and let it keep playing was, in a word, wrong.
It fails in that regard, hand shooting out to grab its cat piece off the board before it realizes. Even worse, Basira Hussain notices.
“You can hang on to that if you’d like,” she says, tone almost too quiet to hear. “I don’t think Georgie’ll mind, long as you keep it in the flat.”
It does not say anything, even as Martin Blackwood gives him a stare that can only be called sad. It just rubs along the cat piece between its fingers and waits for them to finish.
That is when time slips. The Archive does not realize Basira Hussain had already gone and that Georgina Barker and Melanie King had said their goodnights before Martin Blackwood is handing it a glass of water. Its fingers are sore from the grooves of the cat piece digging into them from its ceaseless rubbing, not realizing it had been doing so for however long it had. It does not want to give it up, but Martin Blackwood is holding out his hand for it so it can swap for the offered water. It does with much reluctance, not realizing how thirsty it had been.
“C’mon,” Martin Blackwood says. “I’m sure it’ll be better in the morning.”
It follows him into their designated room and climbs into the bed with him, not particularly wanting to become vertical. It reminded it too much of both the Buried and the End, like lying in a coffin. It does not mention this to him, letting Martin Blackwood get comfortable while it continued to stare at the ceiling fan. He does not say anything about the very stiff position it is in, for which it is thankful for.
When sleep claims it, it is grateful.
---
Nate wakes the next morning with no small amount of confusion.
The last thing he remembers is talking about the nameless version of himself, the one he really needed to give a name to or ask if it had a preference like the Archive, and then nothing. He doesn’t remember finishing the game, doesn’t remember going to sleep, doesn’t remember how any of it resolved. Just that apparently at some point it had. He tries, he really tries, to be okay with it. He knows, according to his ‘friends’ and boyfriend, that it was okay. That it was to be expected. None of their reassurances, or any of the Archive’s, changes the fact it was terrifying to not know what his body did or what was done to it.
Because he still has no context to the scars’ true origin. How they were etched upon him. Just some of the why. Just some of the who.
Nate doesn’t realize Martin has woken until Martin waves a hand to get his attention.
“H-hey,” Martin says when he looks at him. “How... how’d you sleep?”
It's the exact kind of banal questioning Nate’s come to expect from his boyfriend when something’s gone terribly awry, so he doesn’t answer it. Just decides to get up.
“Please, talk to me, Nate,” Martin says, leaving the bed as well and following him. “I get that you’re upset, b-but we can’t fix it if you just give us the silent treatment.”
They’re halfway to the kitchen when Nate turns to him, not caring that Melanie and Georgie, who are clearly already awake, can hear them.
“Why am I upset, Martin?” Nate asks, schooling his tone even.
“We hurt you, Nate, and you have a ri-”
“You didn’t hurt me,” Nate interrupts. “You hurt Jon. I, apparently, did not even exist,” he says slowly, emphasizing every word. “Try. Again.”
“What else could it be?” Martin laughs, but there’s no amusement behind it. Only incredulity. Only confusion. “You, you were told to confront us, wh-what else would-”
“I don’t care what someone else thinks I should be upset about!” Nate shouts. “I’m upset because everyone, everyone, expects me to be understanding of everyone else's feelings. The feelings of things in my head and all of you! And to disregard mine! I don’t care about the scars! I don’t care about what Jon did or what you did to him! I care that I have no idea what happened to this body! I care that I can’t remember going to bed last night! I’m upset that none of you cared about what happened to this body until I showed up as proof that, in your eyes, I’m broken!”
Martin stares at him as Nate breathes heavily, body naturally regulating his anger and hurt. There are no tears, though, and that almost makes him happy. Not nearly enough to calm him down, in any case.
“We’ve been trying,” Martin says. “It might not feel like it, but we are. I-I promise, okay?” He glances behind Nate and Nate follows it, seeing Georgie peeking from behind the kitchen door, concern all over her face. Nate looks back at Martin as Martin continues. “All of us are navigating our new reality. You. You might be having a harder time than us,” he admits and there’s no wryness, no teasing, “but we need understanding too.”
“I am understanding!” Nate can’t help the bark of laughter. “Every time you pause before saying my name, like you can’t tell who I am, I'm being understanding. Every time Melanie thinks she’s being discreet about the disgust she feels hearing my voice, I’m being understanding. Every time Georgie acts like I need to be handled like a child, I’m being understanding. Every time Basira...” Nate trails off and with a shake of his head, he leaves it at that. “I am wholly understanding of what you’ve all been through. But all of you treat me like I’m a symptom of your mistakes, your problems, and not like a person at all.”
And there it was. Everything he had been feeling. Out in the open. Or at least, unable to be ignored as it had been. Because Nate was certain that he hadn’t been able to hide any of those feelings, if not articulate them, since he’d ‘woken up’ all those weeks ago. He couldn’t have, considering he’d never had a reason to not let anyone around him know his true thoughts. That simply wasn’t something he’d had to do. He'd never known that his emotions, his feelings, himself was a burden.
“It’s been weeks – months, even – and I’m still...” dealing with voices, with confusing what’s real and what’s not, with my body not fully being my own. Nate says none of that. In fact, he says nothing else. What else could he say? “Can I just... be alone today?”
He's not encouraged by the expression on Martin’s face.
“I-I thought you were worried about, about the Archive... taking over?”
“I am,” Nate says. “But it’s going to happen anyway, innit?”
“I-if you’re sure,” Martin says, somehow looking even more concerned. “Georgie?”
Nate looks back at her, also not encouraged by her expression.
“I’m...” she starts, cutting off with a sigh. “I don’t know. Me and Melanie can give you the place for a few hours, I suppose, but-”
“No, I’m not kicking you out of your own flat,” Nate says, crossing his arms. “I can handle spending a few hours out in the public without a chaperone.” They glance at each other skeptically. “Christ, why am I even having this discussion with either of you, I'm going to do it anyway. With or without your permission.”
With that, he changes course, deciding then that he would be showering then getting dressed. Things were normal enough that restaurants were open, as well as libraries. He’d get breakfast out, spend the morning in the library or maybe shopping, have lunch out, then see how he felt. Six or eight hours on his own, void of anyone but him. Not even the Archive, if he could help it. Any other version of him – part of him, whatever – would be ignored fully if any of them spoke up. Especially after last night’s fiasco. The bathroom door clicks close and locks up behind him, cementing his choice.
When the shower is over, he feels more focused, more present. He finds the living room and the guest room empty, but he doesn’t take long to dress. Layering against the early winter chill, ‘borrowing’ a scarf and fingerless gloves. He doesn’t announce his leave, doesn’t leave a note. They know his number if they need to get in contact with him.
Almost as soon as he steps out onto the sideway, he pauses. Not that he wasn’t sure which direction to go in to find a cafe, he could throw a stone and hit one, but because he actually hadn’t thought he would get that far. He was almost certain, even with his last declaration, that one of them would put up more of a fight. Martin because he genuinely thought he was incapable, Georgie because she was overcompensating for something. It was the first time he could recall not having the assurance that he could just walk into the other room and find someone. Rather, if he continued on, he would be fully alone, without their... what? Protection? Company? Whatever it was, he was getting his wish. And he wasn’t sure he actually wanted it.
‘Did you grab the cat?’ The monotonous voice of the Archive cuts in through Nate’s anxiety.
“The what?” Nate asks out loud, too startled to think better of it.
‘The metal cat piece.’ It answers. ‘From the Monopoly game.’
Nate recalls that he took the cat as his playing piece. He glances around, making sure there were no bystanders, before answering.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t there when I woke up.”
‘Oh.’
It doesn’t say anything else, so Nate continues on his way, internal debate dismissed.
‘Would you go back and get it?’ the Archive asks and, once more, Nate pauses.
“No, I am not getting it,” he says, almost frustrated. “Would you just go?”
‘I cannot do that,’ it informs him. He can tell it wants to sound sympathetic, but it fails.
“You’re not usually this talkative,” Nate mutters, avoiding the eye contact of a jogger passing by. “You mentioned fixing the… well, the you…”
For a long moment it doesn’t answer. Long enough that Nate enters a café. The smell of it isn’t as strong as he remembers other cafes he’s been to. The scent of coffee isn’t as seeped into the walls, the aroma of baked goods not fresh. As though the time it was closed sapped all the homeyness and warmth from it and what’s returned isn’t quite right. There’s a line, though, and nearly every surface is taken up by patrons. Admittedly, however, that isn’t as many surfaces as to be expected either. As he waits, the Archive chimes in once more.
‘I suppose your absence disturbed me,’ it informs him. ‘I am relieved you are back.’
Nate doesn’t know how to react to that. So he doesn’t. Not that he would, anyway, considering the crowd. When its his turn, he orders their house blend and something that passes for a breakfast sandwich of egg, bacon, and cheese. He doesn’t expect either to come quickly, as he’s almost positive there’s only two employees working, which is fine by him. He takes a window seat and pulls out his phone. There’s a single text from Georgie he hadn’t heard come in.
“I know you’ve just left, but let me know you’re alive,” the text says. There’s a “please” tagged on in a second text under it. Nate can’t help but shake his head at it, lips a thin line.
‘Why are you… upset at her concern?’ the Archive asks, causing Nate to nearly drop the phone. He’d thought it was gone. Why wasn’t it gone?
Nate ignores it, sending a thumbs up emoji in reply. Georgie sends an emoji back in return, this one of hands in the shape of a heart.
Nate rolls his eyes.
‘You do not like Georgina Barker?’ the Archive asks and Nate ignores it still.
As he waits for his ordered items, now that the unexpected text was dealt with, he does his usual news reading. Martin called it ‘doomscrolling,’ but he called it ‘keeping informed.’ No matter how much Martin tried to convince him, he knew it was safer to know how other countries were handling things. To know how societies were progressing. There wasn’t much he agreed with where Basira was concerned, but on this they did. Which had to mean something.
This morning, the feeds informed him that the beginning of rumblings of protections for those that were ‘Hunters’ was happening in the United States. That the closest thing the Americans now had to a president was deeming the sheer amount of those that qualified as such was grounds for extenuating circumstances. If any of the potential laws passed, it would become precedent for future laws for other ‘Avatars.’ Or at least, that was what people were thinking. Not that there was anything on any ballots or any formal government at that moment. It was all hearsay and speculation, as far as Nate was aware.
There were other rumors about other things in other countries, but he was distracted by his order coming in to delve deeper into them.
The coffee and ‘sandwich’ are both lukewarm and underwhelming in their flavor. Edible, though, and blissfully absent of ‘small talk’ and vapid pleasantries. With no more input from the Archive either. It was almost peaceful. Centering.
“Jon?”
Nate really should not have been surprised.
The woman could only be described as ‘sunken.’ Everything about her was weighed down by gravity. She looked tired, as tired as he usually felt, but her expression was clear and bright. Just like anyone would be if they had seen someone they knew for the first time in years and had no ill thoughts towards them. She was well groomed as well, belying any exhaustion.
‘Karolina Gorka,’ the Archive informs him. ‘Was buried alive in the Underground. Ex-Avatar of the Buried.’ Nate waits for an elaboration but receives none. The wait is long enough for her to tilt her head and that mild surprise turn to confusion.
“It’s... it’s Karolina,” she says. “You know...?” she trails off and Nate has no idea what to say. “I- shit, sorry, did I-” she stammers. “You look like, uh, this... this guy I-”
The relief Nate feels calls to mind having a bucket of cold water poured over his head.
“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Nate says. “I get that... a lot. I have one of those... faces. You know.” After a moment he remembers to quid pro quo. “I’m Nate.”
“Right, hello, Nate,” she grimaces into a smile. “Again, sorry, I’ll, uh... leave you to...” she gestures at his empty cup and plate of crumbs, “...the rest of your day.”
He watches her get in line, instantly focusing on her phone, then turns away. He should leave. Really, there is no reason for him to stay. Not that he was in any rush to get to the library either, as his only plan was to find an interesting enough book and read it for a few hours, but the spaces for other patrons were limited. So he should leave. Something was nagging at him, though. A thought he couldn’t let go.
What if he could ask Karolina for information about Jonathan Sims.
It was stupid, of course. He had information aplenty from the others, from his boyfriend, from the Archive. He could give a list of all the fuck-ups Jon made and how they fucked the world up and ruined literally everything. But this woman? Karolina? She was an unknown variable. An outlier. Additional data he hadn’t accounted for.
He clears his table and waits for her to order before making his move.
“Excuse me,” he says, mildly startling her. She takes it in good humor though, placing her phone screen down. “I may have not been totally truthful,” he starts. Her brow furrows. “After, well, you know, I developed amnesia,” he tells her and it's the barest amount of truth. “So I could be this Jon. I wouldn’t know.” And there was the lie. The truth concealed it well.
“Are...” she trails off, expression skeptical. “Are you serious?”
“I know how it sounds, but haven’t stranger things happened?”
There’s a pause as she looks him up and down.
“What do you want?” she asks, kicking the seat next to her out in clear invitation. Nate takes it immediately, careful not to get too into her personal space.
“What do you know about him? Jon, I mean? Like, what was the impression he gave you as, you know, a person?” He asks, heart pounding. She just blinks at him for a moment.
“Not much, actually,” she says, and the pounding immediately drops. “I told him my story and we exchanged a few words then I left.” Nate should’ve guessed that would’ve been the long and short of it. Anyone who spent enough time around Jon to get to know him was unlikely to want to repeat it. “Honestly, I was going to ask about the nightmares that happened afterwards.”
Hold on. “Nightmares?”
“Yeah, he... sort of caused me to have horrible nightmares after,” she says, as if she was explaining the weather. “I mean, it’s fine now, they left with... you know. And honestly, looking back, it wasn’t... that bad. He just sort of. Stared. You know.” He supposes he does, if he was remembering what they told him about the apocalypse correctly.
“Right...”
“He was just a guy, I guess,” she shrugs. “If you take that away. I mean, he asked me if I wanted updates on their research into my story, which was sort of nice of him I suppose. But I just wanted it to be put down somewhere for posterity, though, so he never did. Then... you know...” she shrugs again.
As Nate mulls it over her food comes and he takes that as the dismissal it is.
“Thanks,” he says as he stands. “Truly.”
“Wait,” she says, holding out her hand. “Let me give you my number.” He hands it to her without a second thought. “I saw your eyes,” she says as she fiddles with both phones. “I’ve looked at them for hours. You’re Jon. Or were him. However amnesia works. If you get any memories back, give me a call. I...” she pauses, then sighs and hands his phone over. “I need some answers. About what happened. And I think... you're probably the only one who can answer them.”
“What if I don’t get them back...” he mutters, staring at the contact page. At the last name he already knew even though this was this first time speaking to her. At the singular sentence she wrote in the notes, in all caps: ‘CALL WHEN YOU REMEMBER.’
“Then you don’t get them back,” she shrugs. “Fair warning, though, you may get a text or a call from someone that isn’t me. I’m not the only one who has some questions.”
“Wait, I didn’t say you could give my-”
“Some of them knew you better,” Karolina interrupts. “You seemed keen to know more about you. They’ll be able to help you more than I can.”
Despite the logic behind it, Nate is still leery about actually having people contact him out of the blue without his prior awareness. But he could always block them, if it came to that.
“Okay,” he says, clicking the phone locked. “Thank you, again. I will, um...” he trails off. “I’ll let you know if I get any memories back.”
Karolina Gorka waves him off, digging into her meal.
The weight of the phone seems heavier as he walks the streets to the nearest library. It's a good few blocks away, giving Nate plenty of time to think. Still no Archive intruding to make commentary, thankfully. Only him and the churning of what he was going to do when he returned to the flat. There was going to have to be a change if he was going to continue existing in the same space as them. Moreover, he and Martin were going to have to have a deeply uncomfortable conversation. One he was not looking forward to.
The library is all but empty when he reaches it. For a while it’d been one of the few places that kept a stream of people coming in and out, as it was a hub of resources for people like Nate and the others. Jobless, on the verge of homelessness, seeking help and information about what to do, and even food. Once things stabilized, however, and thing were less of an emergency, their criticalness became less pronounced. Not that they stopped providing those services, just that less people were needing them immediately.
The quiet of the building was exactly what Nate needed to relax. Unobtrusive patrons using the computers, exhausted parents and their unnaturally calm children, the occasional worker shelving or having quiet conversations with other patrons. He may as well have been completely alone as he walked the stacks, reading the spines of the books with his head cocked to the side. None of the titles jumped out at him, though. Not, at least, until he found the ‘young adult’ section. He couldn’t remember ever being that interested in the... was it a genre? They had romances and horrors separate, so he assumed that was why young adult was as well. In either case, something about it causes him to pause. Causes him to pull it off the shelf and find a seat.
He reads the first line and everything outside the book falls away.
---
“Nate? Nate!”
The voice startles him, loud and insistent. He looks over at the direction it came from, dropping the books in his arms with the speed of it. Also, at the fact he hadn’t realized he was holding them. Or that he wasn’t still reading. He looks down at the pile, brightly colored covers looking up at him. He picks them up, using the distraction as a tool to focus and calm himself.
Because he wasn’t in the library anymore.
And it was nearly night out.
“Jesus Christ, Nate, where the hell have you been,” Martin asks, Basira not far behind. He looks as though he was about to grab Nate into a bone crushing hug, but instead starts wringing his hands.
Right. The books.
“Library,” Nate says, voice creaking. “I told you I-”
“It’s been eight hours!” Martin interrupts, and for a moment Nate thinks he’s about to grab and shake him, books be damned. “Eight. Hours. We gave you four! We gave you four hours! No texts, no calls. When we finally did, you didn’t respond! Nothing! Nate, you can’t-” He cuts off and his expression turns from one that Nate could’ve reasonably called anger falls into despair. “You can’t do that.” Martin’s voice pitches high, cracking, and Nate almost breaks.
“I-I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I-I didn’t realize...”
“Let’s find a place to sit,” Basira cuts in, cutting a glance at the passersby who glance at them without pausing. She guides Nate to an outdoor seating area under canopies, Martin not far behind. When they sit, Nate places the stack and realizes just how achy his arms are from holding them. “Now, what happened? Where have you been?”
Nate swallows hard. “I had breakfast, went to the library, then had lunch. I didn’t,” he trails off, glancing at Martin, “I didn’t mean to make you worry. I guess I just... I don’t. I don’t know.”
“It’s almost supper, did you go back to the library after lunch?” Basira asks.
A part of Nate knows this is important, that time lapses and amnesia is something he has to keep track of for his own sake, but couldn’t she have asked in a way that didn’t sound like an interrogation?
“I don’t know,” he answers quietly, eyes only for the books. Not board books, but also not adult literature. Chapter books. Children’s chapter books. All of them a few decades old.
“Okay,” Basira says just as quietly. “And I’m pretty sure we can rule out the Archive making an appearance. It would’ve answered. Or gone back to the flat,” she says, tone still ‘I have to be calm so the perpetrator won’t freak out.’ “I also doubt it would read those,” she taps her fingers rhythmically against the books, making Nate wince. She lets those points rest, giving them time to let them settle and be mulled over. “What are you thinking, Nate?”
“Can we just go back to the flat,” he replies.
“In a minute,” she answers. “You... we’re a bit of a ways away. Just take a breather, alright?” He nods numbly. “I-” she starts, cutting off with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Nate,” she finishes and he nods once more, fighting back tears. He couldn’t tell if they were from embarrassment or sadness or even anger still, but they don’t fall.
They sit in silence for a moment before Martin sets down a plastic cup of water in front of Nate. Nate doesn’t look up, but the cool drink does help some. As does the fact he hadn’t realized Martin had even left to get it. That, more than anything, is enough to start to shake him out of the... dread he was feeling. Depression? Whatever it was.
“Do you think you even checked those out?” Martin asks when the silence continues. “Or do you think you just... y’know... left?” Nate doesn’t respond for a long moment. It’s such a stupid question. And he knows Martin knows it is. Because Martin is very clearly trying to school his face into something serious and his tone didn’t quite match.
Nate wheezes out a laugh and the others join and it’s almost alright.
Despite what Basira said, it doesn’t actually take them all that long to get to Georgie’s when Nate gives the all clear. Thirty minutes' walk in silence. They had actually only searched for him for two hours. Because Georgie had made them wait another hour out of ‘respect,’ according to them, and then they had to wait for Basira. When they finally got around to it, they walked into almost every establishment along the way. In any case, once they make their appearance back at the flat, Martin calling out for them, Georgie runs and pulls Nate into a hug. Luckily, his arms were free, as they had taken his books from him to give him more of a break. Which he had been thankful for, until that moment. He really, really didn't want to be touched, even if the hug was brief.
“You can’t do that again, Nate,” Georgie says.
“I know,” he says. “I’ll try-”
“No, I mean, you can’t,” Georgie sighs, stepping back to hold him at arm's length. “You can’t be alone again.”
“What?”
“We knew this would happen! You even agreed when, when we first talked about it,” she tries to excuse. “This just shows that we, that you, were right to worry.”
“So? So, what?” Nate huffs, shrugging out of her hold and away from her personal space. “I can’t even be in a room alone anymore?”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” Georgie says, looking at Martin for backup.
“Just what it’s been like,” Martin says, attempting reassurance. “Nothing is changing.”
“This isn’t...” Nate almost says ‘fair,’ but when had anything been ‘fair’ lately? Or ever. “Fine. I don’t...” he trails off. “I don’t care.” Basira and Georgie exchange a glance at that, Martin giving him a frown, but he can’t muster the energy to feel... anything, really. “I’m going to lay down, if that’s alright with all of you.” Though the words were meant to be snide and cutting, there’s nothing behind them. So much so that none of them comment on it or call him out as he heads to the bedroom. He only bothers to take his shoes off and remove his top layers to his undershirt.
Though he tries to sleep, it doesn’t come. Despite his exhaustion, despite the heaviness he was feeling in every bone, he doesn’t fall asleep. His brain doesn’t quiet, and he doesn’t lose consciousness. No matter how hard he wants to.
“I hate you,” he whispers to no one and receives no reply in return.
He's still staring out at the darkening sky from the slits in the window blinds when there’s a knock on the door. Whoever it is does not let themself in like he expects and after a moment there’s another knock. He doesn’t answer, hoping that they’ll get the hint and leave him alone but that’s a step too much to ask. The door opens with a creak. Nate doesn't move and whoever is in the doorway doesn’t move and it’s all rather childish. He feels like all those times he hid flashlights and books from his mother when she would come to check on him. All those times that never, apparently, actually happened.
“Someone called you,” Melanie says flatly, and that shatters the illusion. As flimsy as it was. Nate shoots up and looks at her. He knows she hears the rustling of bedding, but the light from the outside contrasting the darkness inside obscures her expression. “It was some woman named Naomi. Naomi Herne.” She lets that sit in the air and Nate, despite himself, is thankful. The significance of the surname makes him feel cold all over. A return of that ice bath feeling. Only, this time, it’s not relief. “You’re in the doghouse with Martin, by the way,” she tosses out, deciding dropping all those bombs was enough and leaves, letting the door close behind her.
Nate doesn’t scramble up. He doesn’t toss off the blanket and leap across the bed and rush to the door to throw it open and flit around the flat to grab his phone, wherever he left it, apparently, and then beg Martin for forgiveness.
Nate takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then deliberately makes his leisurely way out of bed and into the living room. They, Martin and Georgie, look up when he does, the phone staring at him accusingly on the coffee table in front of them. Martin crosses his arms, lips pursed in controlled irritation. Georgie, for her part, simply grimaces.
Nate tries to ignore them when he grabs it and starts going though whatever notifications he missed in the hour he had been ‘resting’. Which, actually, hadn’t felt like an hour, but he wasn’t going to examine that too closely. Time slipped. It was fine. Karolina had left him one that was just a list of names he didn’t recognize, aside from the one Melanie mentioned, then the call from the so-called Naomi Herne. An unlabeled number at the very top. The timestamp showed she and whoever had answered had spoken for nearly ten minutes. More than likely all about him. He nearly turns to go back into the bedroom, but Martin cuts him off quickly.
“Oy, hang on,” he says, stepping around the table. “You have anything to let us know?”
“Not particularly,” Nate replies flatly, “no.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I recognize those names,” Martin barrels on. “I know those names. When did... what did you do? What did you tell her?”
“Martin-”
“She came to me, alright!” Nate cuts Georgie off. “She recognized me, I didn’t know she had anything to do with everything you blame me for, and then we exchanged numbers.”
“So you were just going to keep this hidden from us? From me?”
“You didn’t need to know!” Nate throws his arms out. “This isn’t about you!”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Georgie stops them. “Christ, I was hoping to be done with all this...” she mutters to herself. “I get the need you have for wanting to keep something like this to yourself, Nate, but it... it really is a big deal. And it really does affect us.” Before he can cut in, she continues. “If any of these people have a motivated enough vendetta against you and know how to get into contact with you, if not your location, they will use it to hurt you.”
“Karolina barely even cared about who she thought I was,” Nate gets out. “She just wanted answers about what happened. And when I couldn’t give them to her, she asked for my number so if I ever could I would let her know.”
“Naomi certainly seemed to care a lot,” Martin says. He doesn’t elaborate.
“I can’t control other people,” Nate says. “If Karolina gave other people my number, I couldn’t stop her. And it seems like that list is who she did, so we can be prepared. You’re making this into something bigger than it is.”
“I’m really not,” Martin laughs darkly.
“Whatever Jon did is on him,” Nate says. “None of it is my fault or responsibility.”
“They’re not going to care you’re not...” Georgie trails off. “That you’re not him. You have his face, his voice, his eyes. That’s all that’s going to matter to them.” Oddly, she looks to Martin at that. “How... how concerned should we really be?”
“I mean, he fed off them, same as all of us, and you know how that was,” Martin says. “But they’re all different people with different experiences. Naomi complained about Jon after and seemed pretty stabby on that call, but if I’m remembering correctly Karolina just came and left and nothing else.”
“But if they’re in contact with each other about it,” Georgie trails off.
“Who knows what they actually think or feel now,” Martin finishes. “Naomi could’ve said all of that without meaning to, and Karolina could be playing a long game.”
Nate is aware they’re talking but the words sort of... deafen. Or rather, become unintelligible. The individual words make some sense, the ones he can catch, but not the meaning. He tries to, he really does, but it’s hopeless. So he lets them talk to each other and all but ignore him, instead reading the list more carefully.
Naomi Herne, Lionel Elliot, Tessa Winters, Jordan Kennedy. Including Karolina Gorka herself, that was five people who had his number and were looking for answers he couldn’t give. Five people who could give him answers in return. If only he could remember.
“...even listening?” Martin’s clipped words come through clearly.
“Was I supposed to?” He blurts out, fumbling his phone as he looks up from it. It doesn’t make Martin any angrier, thankfully. In fact, if anything, he winces like he’d been struck.
“No,” Martin says, anger leaking away. “No, I guess you weren’t.”
“Oh...kay...?”
“Don’t... we can’t keep secrets, Nate,” Martin continues. “None of us.”
“You mean I can’t keep secrets,” Nate emphasizes. “You can have entire conversations with the Archive that I’ll never-” he cuts off, looking back down at his phone, ignoring the looks they give him. “Fine. What did...” he glances through the list again, “Naomi want?”
“The same as Karolina,” Martin says. “In so many words,” he shrugs. “I think.”
“And that means?”
“It means she was likely going to yell at you until the Archive stepped in,” Martin elaborates a bit more, but Nate can still feel a bit is being held back. “Which would NOT have gone any better than last night.”
The mood of the room has leveled some. The other two have cooled down some and even though Nate wants to keep irritated, the fight in him is waning again. Like an ebb and flow of a tide. Unmooring, no matter that it’s starting to become predictable. All that to say, it makes what Nate is about to do no less easy. Or harder, for that matter.
“We need to talk,” he says, apropos of nothing, and only catches Martin’s stumble backwards from the barely perceptible shift of his feet. He can’t look at the expression on his face, at the realization of what those four words mean.
He is not looking forward to sleeping on the couch.