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1
The Rest, As They Say, Is History
Mimi
BryanFawkeswasgoingto be the death of me. Considering he was dead, himself, that was quite a feat. But at the Royal Academy of Time Surgeons, death was not the final destination. Not when you could board an Orion Multi-Purpose Crew Vehicle and surf Time's waves at will.
I'd found that out the hard way recently. I'd thought my parents were dead, only to have them turn up and try to kill me. Well, they were trying to kill my fellow RATS compatriots, but as I was there at the time of the bombs going off and the bullets flying, I did kind of take it personally.
I'd also thought my twin sister Carrie was alive, only to discover she was dead and working for our arch-nemesis. So, the fact that Bryan Fawkes was dead but was going to be the death of me was not entirely without some merit.
And none of it got any easier to swallow when you added in that I was out of time and so was he. Although, when you thought about it, Bryan wasn't actually out of time, he was out of reality.
"Skulking in the hallway outside the dorms is not a good look, Bryan," I said softly. Softly, because it was five in the morning and no one was up yet.
And softly, because it was hard to drum up anger at Bryan when his pain and heartache was plain for all to see.
"Goddammit, princess!" he hissed from the shadows. "What are you doing out and about?"
"The better question, Doctor, is what are you doing outside Sally's door?"
"I'm not. I wasn't. I mean, I was just passing by is all."
I stared at him. He stared at the floor between his boots. A draft swept up the stone steps and shot around my bare feet, making me curl my toes. I'm not sure why I had no slippers on. I'd found myself outside my bedroom, in my PJs, with bare feet poking out of the bottom of them for all to see.
Time had a habit of getting away on you, I'd found. It made you do crazy things.
"Why are you walkin' the halls like a spectre, Mimi?" Bryan asked, like all good Surgeons, immediately going on the offensive.
"I was thirsty."
"Your bathroom blocked up or somethin'?"
I ignored the barb and stared him in the eyes. I liked Bryan. Both the dead one and the doppelgänger. I didn't trust the doppelgänger's motives, but my emotional reaction to his efforts was tempered by my like of dead Bryan which was also muddled by my wanting to kick dead Bryan in the balls for not loving Sally the way that she'd deserved.
Which made hating this Bryan all the harder because there was no denying this Bryan adored Sally.
Well, he'd adoredhisSally fromhisuniverse. He didn't really know our Sally yet.
"You can't be up here, Bryan," I said carefully.
"I..." He ran a palm over his face and then wrapped both hands around the back of his head and stared blankly up at the ceiling. It was such a Bryan move. The dead Bryan, I mean. And I guess the doppelgänger, too.
They were replicas. Double ups. The same DNA, but not necessarily with the same experiences. It was that whole nature versus nurture thing. Did it make the man a different person? You betcha it did. Internally.
Externally, he looked and sounded just like our Bryan. Sun-kissed skin, close-cropped beard, warm brown eyes. Slow drawl reminiscent of hot Florida days and sticky Florida nights.
But that didnotmean he had any right to stalk my friend. Sally was still grieving her Bryan. It was a complicated, horrible, heartbreaking mess.
"Come on," I said, turning away and expecting him to follow me. He did, which was something.
I led us toward the mess hall, where the hospitality staff would be starting on breakfast shortly. But there was always an urn of coffee and the obligatory English tea waiting, and a tea towel covered basket of pastries on the side.
My feet were frozen by the time we made it to the dining hall. There was no way, though, that I was leaving Bryan to his own devices, so I embraced the suck and crossed the hall to the coffeepot, pouring a cup for Bryan and handing it to him, and then one for me.
He didn't bother with a pastry, but I did. I still had vivid memories of saving Jack and Rafe from the alternate universe, finding them near-starved, cheeks hollow, ribs showing. I pushed the images aside and placed four pastries on a plate, carrying my horde to a nearby table.
Bryan stared at my stash and reluctantly I pushed the plate to the centre of the table, equal distance between us, as if I'd planned to share my food with him from the beginning.
