And If Thou Wilt, Forget

From a religious standpoint, at least if you did it properly, Christmas had always held a lot more melancholy than even Good Friday did, never mind Easter. On Good Friday, even as you were mourning the Savior’s death, you still had the knowledge that Sunday was coming and He would rise again. Whereas a good chunk of the Christmas liturgy and music seemed to consist of behold, the Son of God, an innocent child, a sweet and loving baby asleep in his mother’s arms, who in thirty-odd years is going to be tortured horribly and die because of YOU specifically, you miserable, pathetic, sinful excuse for a human being. However joyful and celebratory you were, there was still the fact that you knew how the story ended; there was no other way it could go. No matter how many times you read it or told it, you couldn’t change it. You could stop the story, pretend all went well after that, even write your own alternate ending, but the text was the text and canon was canon.

Tim had always leaned more to the religious side of the major holidays, even as a kid, which was why he’d never enjoyed Christmas as much as Danny had. Then again, Danny hadn’t liked school the way Tim had, and he’d once rather melodramatically compared trying to enjoy a Sunday afternoon during the school term to trying to enjoy your last meal before an execution, so he supposed they’d both understood that feeling, in a way. It was the feeling that something dreadful was coming, something beyond I just have to get through this one thing and everything will be fine from here on out. It was the dawn of the final day, the night before shipping off to war, the foot of the ladder to the rocket ship heading for an extended deep space mission. It was the sense that this was the last moment of happiness, the first skip of an arrhythmic heart before it launched into full cardiac arrest, the tiniest grating of pebble against stone that precipitated the shift of the mountain and presaged the avalanche. It was inevitability and dread and despair and the certainty that there wasn’t another side to come out on.

He would hardly dare say he knew precisely what Jesus had gone through, but he was fairly certain he knew how Judas must have felt.

He’d made himself a cup of tea with motions that were more than half mechanical and now stood at the window, staring at the horizon where the sun would eventually make an appearance, tea forgotten in his hands. At least he knew Jon had actually taken his advice and got some damned sleep; they might have only encountered four dreams, including the one Tim knew now to be Georgie’s, but they had at least gone through them. And he was safe enough for the rest of the night. He was still staying with Martin—he’d mumbled vaguely about getting a place of his own, but Tim and Martin had both convinced him to wait at least until after the Unknowing was done—and Martin wouldn’t let anything happen to him, would make sure he had a warm place to sleep and some good food before work. God knew they were all going to need it.

“O Lord with the starlight ears, send me a sign,” he murmured.

A pair of arms slid around Tim’s waist, and Gerry rested his chin on his shoulder. “Not far now to dawn, is it?”

“About another seven minutes,” Tim said automatically. He leaned back against Gerry. “Sleep okay?”

“Considering what we’re planning today and how many things can go wrong with it? Yeah, actually, I did.” Gerry sighed. “How many of the dreams did you walk through last night?”

“Four. Buried, Lonely…Spiral, I think…and the End, in that order. I don’t think Tonner slept last night.”

Gerry hummed and pressed his cheek against Tim’s. “Speaking of. Did she get the van yet?”

Tim shrugged, as best he could with the weight of Gerry’s head on his shoulder. “I’d like to think Jon would have let me know if she’d told him she had, but that’s all I’ve got to go on. My guess is it’s going to be sometime later this morning before she turns up, but…”

“You can’t Know the future. I know, Tim.” Gerry sighed quietly. “You’ll text me when she does, right?”

“Of course. It’s about three hours from the Institute with traffic, since you’re not the one driving. Rosie booked a couple rooms in a bed and breakfast unfortunately called The Hive, but I don’t imagine there’s going to be time to do much more than drop off bags before heading over to the House of Wax.”

“Not wait until dark?”

“No point really. The Stranger gets its kicks out of operating in full daylight as much as the cover of darkness, and setting the charges isn’t going to be a fast process anyway, so the sooner it starts, the better.” Tim glanced up at the sky and sighed, more exasperated than anything. “And it’s definitely going to rain today, so that might help with concealment.”

Gerry shifted his chin a bit. “It’s not going to cause problems, is it?”

“Shouldn’t,” Tim assured him. “We don’t need continuous fire, just the immediate explosion. Things might be too damp to burn but they won’t be too damp to blow.”

Gerry was quiet for several minutes. Finally, as the first rays of sun feebly pierced the horizon, he said softly, “Tell me this is going to work, Stoker.”

Tim didn’t answer at first. He could have repeated that he couldn’t Know the future, but since Gerry had been the one to raise that point already, he knew that wasn’t what he was actually saying. He didn’t want Tim to promise this would work. They both knew he couldn’t do that. He just wanted to hear him say it.

“It’s going to work,” he said, quietly but firmly.

He didn’t say anything more on that. It would have sounded false if he’d tried to enumerate or justify the assertion. This was a time for, if not honesty, at least enough plausible deniability to hold onto faith.

He took Rowlf out for a good long run, came back, showered, and dressed for the work that needed to be done—a pair of worn jeans, sturdy work boots, and a plain, sensible shirt with no loose bits or buttons to snag or be grabbed. Giving himself one long, last look in the mirror, he headed into the kitchen. Gerry had laid out a spread for breakfast, and while part of Tim wasn’t sure he would be able to eat, he also knew better than to argue. He sat down at his seat and ate every bite in front of him. He would need his strength, after all. Once both he and Gerry had finished eating, he insisted on helping with the dishes. Finally, everything was cleaned, put away, and properly buttoned up. Tim knelt down to rub Rowlf’s ears and praise him for being a good boy, then rose back to his feet and gave Gerry a quick, but sincere, kiss.

“I’ll text you when it’s time,” he promised.

Gerry smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Break a leg.”

It had, in fact, begun to rain, but Tim knew better than to drive. Instead he donned his hat and jacket and set off for the Tube station. Thoughts and worries and plans swirled in his head, and he did his best to lay them out in a logical fashion. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the plan backwards, forwards, and sideways, but even here at the eleventh hour, he needed to prod at it, make sure it was airtight. The slightest bit of wiggle room, the tiniest inconsistency, and the whole thing could come tumbling down around them. Lives, if not the fate of the world, hung in the balance and he had to get it right.

Jon and Martin both boarded at Stockwell. Martin was pale, but determined, dressed in a grey jumper that matched the gathering clouds and a pair of stonewashed jeans; Jon, who was wearing more or less what he normally wore for a day in the office, looked a bit shaky, as though his sleep had been anything but restful or maybe as though he hadn’t eaten as much as he ought. They weren’t exactly holding hands, but there was a very strong sense that they wanted to. Tim thought about prodding them to go ahead, then decided against it. “Any word?” he asked instead.

Jon’s hand went to the pocket where his phone was stashed. He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon.”

Martin clenched his hands together tightly for a moment. “What are we even supposed to…do while we wait? Go over the plan again?”

“No,” Tim said firmly. “It’s like crunching for an exam, it never works. We know what we’re doing, we don’t need to go over it again or we’ll get nervous and overthink it. I reckon we should just…get things as lined up for Melanie as we can, you know? Make it as easy on her as we can, so she doesn’t get overwhelmed while she’s waiting on us.”

“How did you not explode from the waiting last time?” Jon mumbled.

Tim managed a smile. “Gertrude didn’t exactly give me a lot of advance notice, remember? I didn’t really have much time to think about it.”

At that, Martin did reach over and squeeze Jon’s hand, very briefly. “It’s—it’s going to be okay. We’ve got this.”

Jon smiled up at Martin. “We’ve got this,” he echoed.

They rode the rest of the way along the line in silence.

Melanie—surprisingly, since Tim had never seen her there this early—was also at the platform when they switched lines. It was obvious she was just waiting for the train, not them, but she wordlessly shuffled over to make room for them, and she sat with them instead of going off by herself. She kept her headphones on, though. Tim could respect that. Despite the train being as crowded as it usually was this time of day, people gave them space; he noticed a few people eying them suspiciously and guessed they were giving off the vibes that they were planning at best a museum heist and at worst a violent takeover of the government, but nobody approached them.

Jon had never reclaimed the keys after his rescue. Tim unlocked the Archives and let them all in, including Basira, who had turned up just as they were getting in. Her face was as expressionless as usual, but Tim could feel the nervous tension in her body. She hadn’t heard from Tonner either, and it was getting to her, hence why she was there so early. Normally they didn’t see her until eight o’clock on the dot.

“Wanted to be here in case she turned up,” she said succinctly when Melanie brought that up. “Any word?”

“Not yet,” Jon said again. “I’m sure it will be soon, but…for now, let’s just get things as squared away as possible. Lessen your workload, Melanie.”

“Thanks. I think,” Melanie muttered.

Martin, as usual, disappeared to make tea; Basira and Melanie went to take stock of one of the shelves. Tim started to follow them, then hesitated, sat down at his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out the stack of forms he’d stowed there when Gertrude left him alone with the Archives for the first time. He eased back a little on his barriers and let the Ceaseless Watcher, and the Archivist, flow into his mind.

Then he uncapped his pen and began to write.

He finished just as Martin returned, carefully maneuvering five cups of tea, and put the cap back on before standing up and relieving him of a couple. “Thanks, Marto. Melanie and Basira are back in the 1800s somewhere.”

“I’ll just leave these here for them, then.” Martin set the cups down. “What are you working on?”

“Energy bar for the Archivist.” Tim took Jon’s cup and headed to the Archivist’s office before Martin could press him any further.

Jon was fussing about with his desk when Tim walked in. It took no more than half a glance before he realized what he was doing—tidying everything up, putting things away or generally stowing them somewhere. Making things as clean and sanitized as possible. He glanced up, startled. “Oh—uh, Tim, is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. Martin made tea.” Tim set it on the spot Jon always kept his tea, then laid the sheets of paper next to them. “You don’t have to read this right now, but definitely read it before we leave.”

“Why, what is it?” Jon hovered his hand over the papers for a moment, then picked up the tea instead.

“I’m guessing that even if Gertrude did copy out my statement, we’ll never find it, so I wrote it out for you. You look a little…” Tim held out his hand and waggled it back and forth in a way that hopefully conveyed Jon’s precarious mental and physical state. “You’re going to need all your strength to turn back the Unknowing, so please make sure you read it before Daisy calls.”

“I—I will. Thank you, Tim.” Jon stared at the top of the papers before looking back up at him. “Why yours? Why not one of the other ones?”

Tim smiled sadly. “Let’s just say I’m hoping it might help you understand.” With that, he turned and headed back into the Archives.

The morning passed in agonizing slowness. Tim had genuinely expected Tonner to be back with a van and her impatience before the day really got underway, not that it would make a huge difference either way. Instead, minutes turned to hours and there was no word one way or another. It was making him a bit twitchy. Not that he thought she’d been captured or killed—or worse—but the simple fact was that the longer the day stretched on, the harder it was going to be to keep his mouth shut. The ring hung loose and slack on his finger, but that didn’t mean it was safe to tell the truth by any means.

Finally, as twelve o’clock approached, Melanie volunteered to run and get them lunch, and Basira was recruited to go with her with the promise that they would notify her if Tonner got in touch while they were out. Jon disappeared back into his office, and Tim was alone with Martin for a brief period of time.

He touched his arm. “Hey—I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Martin blinked at him. “There’s no one here.”

“I know, just—indulge me.” Tim dragged Martin out of his chair and into the Document Storage room, where he shut the door behind them. The likelihood of one of the others coming back down was slim to none, but he had to at least address this and he needed to be sure nobody overheard.

Martin looked confused, and maybe a little alarmed. “Is, um—is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just…I just need to make something clear, without letting Jon know.” Tim gripped Martin’s arms and looked seriously into his eyes. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I wasn’t…planning on it?”

“Martin, I’m serious. You heard that tape. You know what might happen. You know—” Tim swallowed. “You know you might not be able to trust what you see. What I’m asking you to do is to stay close to him. Don’t let him go anywhere alone. And if—if the worst happens, if you do get caught up in it, which we are actively trying to avoid, yes?” Martin nodded. “But if you do, I need you to remember what, and where, and who he is.” He released Martin’s arms and placed his hands on his temples, forcing him to make eye contact. “Do not forget that he is your Archivist.”

“I won’t,” Martin said immediately, his voice serious and solemn. “I promised him I wouldn’t leave him, that I would be there as long as he wants me, and I meant it. I’m not letting him go.”

Tim smiled and released Martin’s face, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Good man. I know I didn’t need to ask that of you, but…I just wanted to make sure you knew I’m putting my trust in you to keep him safe.”

Martin exhaled heavily, but he was smiling as he said, “But no pressure, right?”

Tim laughed and opened the door. Hopefully that wouldn’t start a fight later, but he was really banking on Jon not…well, not being Gertrude. Or at the very least Martin being his exception. He wouldn’t deliberately put Martin in danger; therefore if Martin wouldn’t leave his side, wouldn’t let him go into any odd or out of the way places alone, he would hopefully not walk headlong into danger himself.

A part of him wondered if that made him any better than Gertrude, but…well, he was pretty sure Martin would forgive him. It was a calculated risk.

Melanie and Basira came back with takeaway, and Tim was about to suggest Martin go get Jon when the door to the Archivist’s office opened and he stepped out, face carefully set in a neutral expression.

“Daisy just called,” he said to the suddenly silent Archives. “The van is up and running. She’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“That’s enough time to finish lunch.” Martin slid a container towards him.

It was actually closer to twenty-five minutes before Tonner came into the Archives, studiously ignoring Tim. They all stood up. Melanie gave a round of hugs—Basira accepted rather stiffly, but even Jon returned the embrace before nodding at her. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” Melanie’s eyes darted to Tim, briefly, before cutting away.

Tim followed the others outside and climbed into the van. It was a good choice—battered and nondescript, but not so battered or old that it would draw attention. Once Tim had climbed in and got himself settled, he texted Gerry. [In the van.]

They were almost to the end of the block before he got a reply. [Be careful.]

Tim slipped his phone back into his pocket and settled back in his seat. He took a few moments of silence to study the others, committing as many details to memory as he could. Just in case…just in case, he wanted to have a picture in his head that he could recall as lifelike. Then he turned his attention to the road and the route they were taking.

It was only about five minutes up the road that they came to the first light, a turn across the Thames via the Vauxhall Bridge. Naturally, it turned red just as they pulled up, about two cars back. Tim glanced over his shoulder and nodded to himself. Exactly right.

“Well,” he said, reaching for his seatbelt. “This is my stop.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jon said with a sigh.

“Trust me.” Tim grinned. “This is the only way it’ll work. Drive safe, you guys.”

He hesitated, hand on the handle. In the heartbeat between the light turning green and the car in front of them starting to move, he opened the door and rolled out, shutting the door behind himself.

There was nobody else coming in either direction, so it was an easy matter for Tim to dart across the road and jog across the bridge. It took him about another five minutes of walking to locate what he was looking for, and another three to be sure of being alone so he could slip inside, but finally, he was stood at the top of a flight of weathered stone steps in the cool darkness of Robert Smirke’s tunnels.

He took a deep, steadying breath, well aware of the fact that he had just let the Archivist go off into certain danger with two ex-cops, one of whom was bound to the Hunt. But Martin was with him, and Martin was bound to him, so surely it would be all right.

Anyway, he was doing this to protect Jon, and Martin, and Melanie, and everyone else. And, really, to actually save the world. That was his job. Right?

Tim set off down the tunnels. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t need to, really. After all, he had three hours before he needed to be there. But he moved with purpose and intention, and he managed to only get himself turned around backwards a couple of times. Finally, he found himself exactly where he meant to be—a little ways down from the now empty war room he and Gerry had set up, at the foot of another flight of stone steps.

He settled himself down on one and waited.

It was perhaps another twenty minutes before he heard soft footsteps, then a low whistle. He returned the tune, and a moment later, Gerry appeared behind the light of a torch, briefcase in hand.

“Hey,” Tim said, getting to his feet and slipping his arms around Gerry. “Everything settled?”

Gerry set down the case and hugged him back. “Yeah. Paid for three days, and I gave them Martin’s number as a backup in case they can’t get hold of us. Dropped the package in the post. We’re all set.”

“Good.” Tim glanced at his watch. “They should be getting to Great Yarmouth any time now.”

“So about another ten minutes?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Good.” Gerry pulled Tim closer and pressed their foreheads together. For several long moments, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Gerry said quietly, “You remember when we went to Hither Green, and your ring got stuck?”

Tim remembered the visit, but he only vaguely remembered his ring getting stuck. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Remember what you said when I helped you get it off?”

Slowly, Tim nodded. “‘Don’t do that if you’re not serious about it.’”

Gerry nodded, too. “I was. I am. There’s nobody else I’d like to get the government involved in my relationship with.”

Tim couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Same. We should…probably take care of that before we do anything else.”

“Maybe should have taken care of that sooner.”

“We had other stuff on our mind. But we will. As soon as we’re able. I promise.” Tim closed his eyes briefly, soaking in Gerry’s presence.

Gerry pulled back, just enough to be able to look him in the eyes. His hazel eyes scanned Tim’s face back and forth for a moment. “Are you sure about this?”

Tim knew that this wasn’t referring to the conversation they’d just had, or at least not just that. He pressed his lips together briefly, then shook his head. “No. But I’m sure I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Gerry cupped his face in his hands and kissed him gently. They still didn’t say it often, but it felt important to say it now.

At last, Tim broke the kiss, reluctantly. He turned to face the steps, took a deep breath, and started up them, maintaining contact with Gerry as long as he could. Finally, their fingers slid apart, and Tim climbed the last few steps, checked to confirm that his ring was still loose on his finger, and cautiously pushed up the trap door.

Melanie sat at her desk, which was the nearest one to the trap door, shuffling through a stack of papers with increasing agitation. She glanced up at the sound of the creaking hinges, then turned to look at Tim as he emerged from the floor and let it close behind him. She raised an eyebrow. “Ready, then?”

Tim nodded, smiling grimly. “Show time.”