Work Text:
Time Will Tell: Epilogue
by LavenderJade
lavenderjade@verizon.net
// What the hell just happened?//
Pete shook himself, breaking the feeling of being frozen in time. They’d had MacPherson dead to rights. Myka had trapped him using Harriet Tubman’s Thimble, making him think she was H.G. Wells. Pete had slapped the cuffs on him. But when he tried to bargain for his life by selling out Wells, she had appeared from the Escher room, cut the leather thong that held the crystals which kept him alive inside the warehouse, and took off using the Imperceptor Vest.
Artie sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, his face a mask of shock and pain. Had MacPherson actually apologized before he died? It seemed … out of character. And yet, when the most evil man Pete had ever met had slumped, dying, Artie had reached out to catch him, holding him…comforting him? Even before the deathbed repentance. // They were partners once, guess that still means something,// Pete thought. Certainly having MacPherson’s body disintegrate into dust in Artie’s arms had to be a shock even if there wasn’t obviously still some connection between them.
Pete took a deep breath and moved to kneel beside Artie, gripping his shoulder.
“Artie?” he asked softly. “You ok?”
Pete’s voice brought Artie out of the fog. He looked up at Pete, confusion in his eyes. “No …”
Artie staggered to his feet with Pete’s help, clearly overwhelmed by the emotions raging through him. James’ death was a sudden raw, gaping wound in his soul. Unable to face anybody, he staggered away, needing to be alone.
Pete started to follow, but Myka held him back. “He needs time, Pete.”
His eyes followed Artie as the older man practically stumbled through the warehouse heading toward the office. Every ounce of his being wanted to follow, to offer comfort. But Myka was probably right. Artie was the kind who kept everything inside. Reluctantly, Pete nodded, never taking his eyes away from the receding figure of Artie making his way across the warehouse.
Artie’s mind wasn’t really working as he made his way towards the office. He wasn’t even consciously thinking about where he was going, just away from the others. //James! // The vision of his old partner’s body crumbling to dust as Artie held him dominated his mind like a retinal after-image that he couldn’t get rid of.
Eventually he came to the office; his sanctum sanctorum. He had always felt more at home here than anywhere else. Breathing heavily from his headlong rush across the warehouse floor , he fell into his chair and all but collapsed over his desk. But even after more than enough time to catch his breath, it still came in the heavy gasps that often preceded tears. // James! // And yet the tears didn’t come.
After a little while, Artie sat up, calming slightly. “James, what have you done?” When he’d locked MacPherson in the bronzing chamber, he’d barely felt anything. Five years of love had been totally overshadowed by 15 years of hate and disgust. He’d just been glad that it was finally over.
So why was it so different now? OK, bronzing James wouldn’t have actually killed him, but it was as good as dead. Was it just that there was something so visceral, so immediate about a body dying in your arms? But what had made him catch James like that? Was it seeing him betrayed by Wells the same way he had betrayed Artie? Of course, James had been on the verge of selling her out, so was he betrayer or betrayed?
Or was it just that when James was clearly dying painfully and irrevocably, all the memories of what they once had been to each other, which had been haunting Artie’s dreams the past months, came to the forefront of his consciousness.
// How is it possible that I still love him after all that’s happened? // James MacPherson had done things that Artie could never possibly forgive. A deathbed apology could not make up for the lives he’d sacrificed, even if he had been correct that the world after death was an empty nothingness. For the past 15 years, all he’d felt when thinking about James was anger, disappointment … hatred. Whatever they’d once shared was done, over, lost in James’ descent into darkness. But apparently in the end, love would always overcome hate, at least where Artie was concerned.
Artie shook his head, leaned back in the chair and ran his hands through his hair. It was all too much to take in. Now that the initial rush of conflicting emotions had ebbed, he felt empty. For the past two months, catching MacPherson had been his only purpose, almost an obsession. What now? The warehouse was a wreck, literally. He didn’t think he had the energy to rebuild it. He felt drained, wrung out, spent.
His eyes roamed across the office, not sure what he was looking for until he saw it – his keyboard. Maybe music would help his soul find the peace it so desperately needed. He pushed aside the rubble which had fallen on it in the explosion and touched the power button – miraculously, the light came on and the key his finger landed on sounded. He dug out the bench and settled in, his fingers taking on a life of their own as he picked out a mournful melody
…
Mrs. Frederick stood behind him, listening until the melody started to contain just a hint of hope.
“I know you need to grieve. But we still have work to do.”
Artie spun around, startled nearly out of his skin. “Don’t DO THAT!!!” he screamed at Mrs. F.
Realizing that now was not the time for her usual mysteriousness, she nodded. “I’m sorry. Arthur.”
Artie shook his head. “No. Don’t call me that. James called me Arthur. I never want to hear that name again.”
She could see the pain in his eyes. Perhaps a small indulgence … she moved closer to him and gently touched his arm. “I understand. I wish it hadn’t had to happen this way.” Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Which totally threw Artie for a loop.
“Uh, yeah …” he said softly. Later, when his brain was functioning, he’d end up wondering how she knew how it had happened. But right now, he was deeply touched by her apparent concern.
Mrs. F. nodded and gave his arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. Back to business.
“Wells is still out there. I found the Imperceptor vest outside, the power source completely depleted. There’s no sign of her, and no indication of how she left. We need to bring her back.”
Artie’s brain seemed to be starting to work again. “She took something from the Vault.”
Mrs. F. nodded. “Most likely.”
“So we should go see if we can figure out what she took.”
“Yes. But first you need to go back to Leena’s. Your team needs you. You’re their leader, they’re worried about you.”
Artie sighed. He knew she was right. They had all been through so much in the past … how long had it been? Months since MacPherson first reappeared, but really, had it been just a week since they’d gone to visit Carol? Maybe a little more … it occurred to him that he was really fuzzy on just what date today was.
What was important was that he knew she was right, they would be worried about him. For some reason he would never really understand, they cared about him. And he realized he cared about them, too. He remembered something he’d thought of on the flight back from Cern and looked around, trying to remember where he’d put it. //Yes, there! // He strode over to a locked cabinet, fumbled with the lock, and withdrew an object.
Mrs. F. looked on with a curious expression. “Is that the original?” she asked, a hint of reproach in her voice.
Artie avoided her gaze. “Yes.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He finally looked at her. “I won’t lose her again. Besides, you know kids today and their cell phones …
”
She managed a rueful smile. “You may have a point there. All right, go. I’ll be here when you’re ready to enter the vault.”
Artie bit back the question of exactly how she would know, deciding that at the moment he really didn’t want to know. He tucked the object into his satchel, then began the trek through the warehouse to the only functioning entrance. // How the hell are we gonna rebuild the umbilicus? //
Pete sat at a table in the Parlor at Leena’s with Myka, Claudia and Leena. They were all still a bit shell-shocked from the events of the day.
“So … when you use the Phoenix, you actually die?” Pete voiced the question they’d all had in the backs of their minds ever since James had gloated about making Artie use it.
Myka, having actually read the Warehouse Manual, knew a little more about the artifact. “There was nothing in the manual about that.”
“Nobody who worked here would ever use it, so we wouldn’t know,” Leena offered.
“Nobody except James MacPherson.” Myka’s voice was full of bitterness; anger and hate for the man who had nearly killed her father in his quest to collect artifacts for profit. “Why was Artie so … compassionate towards MacPherson as he died?”
Leena hadn’t been there, but she seemed to know more about what had happened while MacPherson had been an agent than anybody else.
“They were partners, Myka. And friends, for a long time. Artie hated what James had done, what he had become, but I don’t think he’s capable of hating the man. His compassion is what makes him different from MacPherson.”
“Maybe that’s why he saw light where MacPherson saw darkness,” Claudia offered.
Pete looked thoughtful. “So what does it mean? Did Artie see … Heaven?”
Leena shook her head. “Don’t go there, Pete. Thinking he knew the answers took MacPherson down a dangerous path.”
Pete sighed. “Good point.” Just then, his stomach grumbled loudly. “Hey, we got any food in this place? I’m starving.”
“I’ll go get something,” Leena said as she got up from the table.
“I’ll help you,” Claudia offered.
They were heading toward the kitchen when the front door opened and Artie walked in. They stopped, and for a moment everybody just stared, their concern for Artie almost palpable.
As they looked at him, Artie realized that the calm he’d found was a temporary thing at best. Their concern touched him, but right now it was threatening his fragile ability to hold it together.
“I’m fine,” he barked, hiding behind the gruff persona he’d developed over the years. “Go, do whatever you were doing. Claudia, I need to see you when you’re done.” He turned to Pete and Myka, taking a seat at the table. “We’ve got work to do. Wells is still out there. We found the Imperceptor vest, power source depleted. She’s gone without a trace.”
“So is she dangerous? Do we really need to find her?” Pete asked.
“Yes, and absolutely. Can’t have H.G. Wells running around in today’s world. We let her out, we have to get her back.”
Leena and Claudia returned with cookies and lemonade, bickering about who had been more badly abused by MacPherson’s manipulations. Claudia turned to Artie in a huff.
“You wanted to talk to me about something?” Her voice was sulky.
Artie could see she was deeply shaken by everything that had happened. “Claudia, go easy. We’ve all been through a lot.” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle.
Claudia was surprised by his tone; she just nodded. Then Artie reached into his satchel and pulled out the object he’d tucked there earlier. “Maybe this will help …”
She took the object from his hands and opened it – a Farnsworth. Her face lit up. “Does this mean I’m a real agent?”
Artie scowled. “No! It means I can reach you any time of day or night!”
Claudia’s face fell; “OK, not as good.”
“Just be careful. It belonged to Philo.”
"Philo? As in Farnsworth?” Myka asked.
“She get’s Farnsworth’s Farnsworth?” Pete chimed in.
“Just don’t lose it.” Artie grumped.
Claudia beamed. “Thanks, Artie!” With a sigh, Artie stood up and slung the satchel over his shoulder. Things would be ok here. He needed to get back to the warehouse and figure out what Wells had taken from the Escher room. As he turned to leave, Claudia turned to him, an odd expression on her face. “And … thanks for coming after me.”
Before he could respond, she had thrown her arms around him and held him close. Artie thought his heart would burst. His emotions were still far too close to the surface. So after only a brief moment, he pushed her away with a gruff “OK, why’s everybody hugging all the time around here? I’ve still got a bump on my head!” and headed for the door.
Not surprisingly, Mrs. F had been at the warehouse when he got there and they had discovered what Wells had taken from the Escher Vault. He had no idea why she had taken those particular items, and that worried him. They needed to repair the warehouse, get the systems back up and running so that they could track her down. But for the moment, there was nothing he could do. They all needed a little time to decompress. As he settled into the driver’s seat of the Jag, he realized that he still wasn’t ready to face everybody with their well-intentioned concern. He wasn’t strong enough yet to keep up the gruff persona all day. So instead of heading back to the B&B, he turned the wheels in the other direction and just drove.
The sky was just beginning to darken when he finally parked in front of the B&B. Much to his relief, Pete’s big black SUV was missing; likely they ‘kids’ (as he thought of them) had gone out to dinner. Gratefully, he climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to his room. He hesitated just a moment as his hand touched the doorknob. The memories he’d been avoiding all day were most vivid here. But there was nowhere else he could go now, so he reluctantly entered the room and closed the door behind him.
The largest room in the B&B, it traditionally went to the senior operative. It had been James’ room when the young Artie had first arrived. It had actually been years after James had left before he’d moved his things into this room. By then, and for years afterward, the anger and disappointment he’d felt towards James had kept the memories of the good times at bay.
But ever since James’ unexpected return a couple of months ago, Artie’s sleep had been disturbed by vivid dreams, reliving the passion he and James had once shared in this room. Maybe it had been because Artie hadn’t taken any lover, male or female, since James and Carol had gotten married, keeping him out of both their beds. Was he simply lonely?
He suspected tonight would be worse. When James had begun to die, his body crumpling to the ground, Artie had acted on instinct, reaching out to catch him. Feeling that body in his arms again, even as it was dying, had affected him. Not so much physically as emotionally. Once again, James’ words echoed in his mind, the darkness he’d seen when he ‘died’, his desire for Artie to see the ‘truth’ he’d seen, his genuine surprise that Artie hadn’t experienced the same thing. His confusion returned. How was it possible for him to feel this loss, this emptiness, at the death of someone he’d thought he hated? Was it just the longing for someone to finally take James’ place in his life? Or did he still really care for the man?
Somewhere along the line, Artie had stripped down to his underwear and gotten into bed, attempting to sleep. But his thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. He glanced at the clock; it was 3am. The house was dark, he realized he hadn’t even heard the others return. By now they were all in their own rooms. He had to get out of here, out of this room with all its memories, so he grabbed his robe and crept quietly downstairs.
It was rare that a vibe was strong enough to wake Pete from a sound sleep; but tonight it did. Something was telling him to get downstairs, so he grabbed his robe and went. He found Artie standing there, staring out the window into the darkness. Without saying anything, he came to stand behind Artie, gently placing one hand on the older man’s shoulder.
Artie didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away either. They stood there together in silence. The simple presence of his friend, the reassurance of the hand on his shoulder helped bring him back to the here and now, away from the memories. He took a ragged breath.
“Thanks, Pete.” The hand fell away from his shoulder as Pete moved into Artie’s field of vision.
“You want to talk about it?”
Artie sighed. Part of him was afraid; he’d kept this to himself for so long, he wasn’t used to sharing something so personal. But part of him wanted desperately to share the burden somehow. To know that at least one other person in the universe knew, even if he didn’t completely understand. To talk out the conflicting feelings that were making him crazy. He finally nodded.
Pete sat down on the sofa; after a moment, Artie sat beside him, leaning over with his head in his hands. It was a couple of minutes before he sat up and started.
“All those years I hated him, hated what he’d done, what he’d become. And when we finally caught him last week, when I put him in the bronzing chamber, I didn’t feel a thing. Nothing. Maybe relief that it was finally all over. But that’s it. So why is it that now I’m a wreck? “He looked at Pete, not really expecting an answer.
But Pete had one. “Artie … when he escaped, he could have just taken Wells and run. Instead, he went out of his way to set it up so that you’d use the Phoenix. He KILLED you, Artie. And forced you to kill. The first time, you had distance, 15 years since you knew him. Distance made it impersonal. He was just another psycho you had to take down for misusing artifacts. But when he killed you, it became personal again.”
Artie shook his head. The fact that Mrs. F’s bodyguard had died as a result of his using the Phoenix was a dark stain on his soul. He’d been avoiding thinking about it, but he realized that it was definitely contributing to his feelings of guilt. He sighed again.
“I wouldn’t have chosen to use it Pete …” his voice broke at the end.
Pete’s hand found his shoulder again. “I know that, Artie. You reacted, you didn’t have time to think. He knew you too well, knew he couldn’t leave you time to decide to sacrifice yourself.” Pete paused, realizing something. “You guys were partners once, right? Field agents have to trust their partners, it’s like cops in those buddy movies. There was a time once when you two were pretty close?” Pete said it as a question, but he knew the answer.
“You have no idea …” Artie’s voice broke again. What would Pete think if he knew the truth? But there was no way around it. Artie needed to tell this story. He’d just have to hope that Pete was open minded. He swallowed nervously, then began.
“I was a little older than you are now when I got here. It … wasn’t the best of circumstances, to say the least. James was the senior operative. I knew about Artifacts, knew that there was weird stuff in this world, but I had never expected this. I was kind of like a kid in a candy shop.”
Pete chuckled softly at the image of the young Artie. Artie even managed a small smile. “He taught me everything, Pete. I kind of worshipped him. But even back then, he’d had a penchant for wanting to USE the artifacts. Some things made sense, like the Farnsworth. It was just tech, really not that different from today’s cell phones. So if we could use that, why not other things?”
“Such as …?”
Artie’s face took on a strange expression that Pete couldn’t quite read in the moonlight darkness. “One day we were out in the warehouse and he pulled down a beautiful little glass bottle. He uncorked it and sniffed the contents. ‘Ah, yes. There’s where that got to! Arthur, smell this.’ It smelled like a very expensive cologne, spice and musk. And as soon as I smelled it, I started feeling unbelievably horny.
‘It’s an ancient Arabic potion, handed down through a line of Sultans, from father to son for centuries. It allowed the Sultan to, ah, service his entire harem.’ “
Pete’s eyes got wide. He’d always suspected there had to be sexually explicit Artificts out there somewhere. Human nature being what it was … but Artie was continuing.
“The night before we’d both been lamenting the lack of female companionship out here. I’d been here almost a year, and to tell you the truth I didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with women before.” Artie sighed. “Whereas James of course could have any woman he wanted, with that cultured accent and handsome face …”
Artie shook himself and forced himself to continue with the story. “So anyway, I was kind of surprised when he turned to me and touched my face. I think he had some of the oil on his finger, because I suddenly felt 10 times hornier than from just smelling it. I was so aroused I couldn’t think when he first kissed me …”
Artie’s eyes closed as he got lost in the memory. James had been an incredible kisser. Artie had opened his mouth, letting in a hungry, probing tongue. James’ arms wrapped around him, pulling him close so that their bodies touched. He could feel James’ hardness pressing into his thigh, his own dick so hard he felt it would explode at the slightest touch. They writhed together, tongues dueling, humping against each other in a nearly insane need to reach completion.
Artie had never been able to remember details of that afternoon. Later, they managed to piece together that they had somehow gotten undressed and laid there on the warehouse floor for about three hours, kissing and writhing together, having orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. When it was over, they fell apart, exhausted, their bodies covered in sticky goo.
When Artie fell silent, Pete sat there stunned. The look on Artie’s face was one of pure rapture as he remembered. // They were lovers???!!! // Pete shook his head. Had this been a one time thing, or had it turned into something more? It would certainly explain a lot …
“Artie? He tricked you. Even back then. He used you.”
Artie shook himself out of the memory, and realized that it had gotten him hard. Cursing himself, he forced himself to focus on Pete.
“I … I guess so. But damnit, Pete, it was the first sex I’d had with a real person in years. And it was good.”
“Yeah, with the Sultan’s Oil to help.”
Artie shook his head. “Not always, Pete. We … did use it again, a lot actually. But not always.” He looked nervously at Pete, wondering how this would be received.
Pete just looked confused. “But what about Carol? I thought you loved her?”
Artie sighed. “We met her on an assignment. James … we both knew that what we had was special, but not necessarily ‘happy ever after.’ I have to admit, I was the one who was first smitten by her. In fact, he started charming her for me, so that she would spend time with us. It worked; in fact, for a while we were all sleeping together.” Again, he looked at Pete, knowing this had to get a reaction.
It did. Pete’s jaw hung open. It was kind of hard to believe that the Artie Nielsen he knew had done these things, but it made him feel good to know that his friend had known love at least once in his life. It meant it could still happen again. Seeing Artie watching for his reaction, he grinned. “Way to go, Artie!”
Artie managed a smile, glad that Pete wasn’t too weirded out. But the smile faded as he realized where the story was going.
“It all ended when James and I had a fight over using an artifact. The more things we collected, the more often he’d argue that we could put it to good use rather than locking it up in the Warehouse. The more I learned about the people who used these artifacts, the more I understood that even if they mean well, who gets to decide what’s best for the whole world? Carol got tired of our bickering, and in the end she chose him. And you know the rest, how he shot me with the Tesla to get the Phoenix to save her …”
Artie’s head hung down now as the rest of the story replayed in his mind.
Pete’s hand found his shoulder again. “It makes more sense now, Artie. Like I said before, what he did this past week made it personal again. And now I know just how personal it was. You know what I think?”
Artie looked up. “What?”
“I think that you’re taking it so hard because there is a part of you that will always love James. You may hate what he did, what he became, but you can never hate HIM. He was your partner, your friend, your lover. When he started actually dying in front of your eyes, you had no choice but to react, to catch him, to hold him. Because taking care of people is as much a part of you as not really caring about them was part of him. That’s why he saw darkness and you saw light. That’s why, even if you had seen the same darkness he’d seen, you wouldn’t have done what he did, would never have joined him. You’re afraid that you might be on that path since you used the Phoenix, but you’ve got to know you’re not. The way you reacted today proves it. It’s ok to love him, Artie. It’s what makes you YOU.”
Artie just sat there for a minute, taking in Pete’s words. Finally, he stood up, went over to the window he’d been staring out of earlier. “Is that it then, James?” he asked softly. “You certainly don’t deserve it. I can never forgive you, for what you did to Claudia, Leena, Myka’s father, how many countless others … me. But I am what I am. I hope you’re not back in the darkness you saw. I wish you peace, James.”
He closed his eyes and finally the tears came. He took his glasses off, absently tossing them on a nearby table. And then Pete’s long arms were around him, gently pulling him in. He let it happen, all will to resist flowing out of him with his tears. He laid his head on the broad chest before him and wept.
Pete held Artie until at last the tears stopped. Something deep inside his heart would cherish this moment for the rest of his life. Ever since he’d first met Artie Nielsen, he’d felt something he’d never been able to define. A connection like nothing he’d ever felt before. Pete realized now that Artie had always held his true self back, afraid to let anyone else in after the way James had betrayed him. But maybe now he could put the past to rest and finally move on with his life. A life Pete very much wanted to be a part of …
Finis ...