Artie: Echoes of James

[moonshadows]

((I'm not going to pretend I have a theory as to how it was done, but Artie got to Egypt awfully fast when HG jammed the Farnsworths, and he, Pete, and Myka got back to the Warehouse before HG got back to the closest airport? They were not going by plane there.))

((On much later reflection, I do have a theory: the Wardrobe that inspired C. S. Lewis to get there, and the Ruby Slippers to get "home" again.))

 

“It’s not the Phoenix.”

Artie Nielsen, nearly asleep, jerked awake with a shout of alarm and fumbled for his glasses. To his near-complete lack of surprise, the translucent form of James MacPherson stood by his bed. Smiling.

“You know I can’t hurt you, old friend.”

“Only physically,” grumped the pudgy man. “It still hurts, seeing you and remembering…”

The phantasm winced. “I am sorry about that, Arthur. But at least I was wrong, hmm?”

Terrified, Artie tried to control his breathing. This was the first time James’s echo had responded to something he’d said. This had to be a hallucination, a dream brought about by wishful thinking. “James…”

“You’re not imagining me, partner, although I admit, this isn’t easy. I simply don’t have the knack that you do.”

He’d said- “If it’s not the Phoenix…” Artie licked his lips and took a shaky breath. “…then what?”

James smiled again, that superior expression Artie hated. “Oh, you know the answer to that already, old friend.”

Artie really hated it when James did that, but his mind was already in motion. Pieces fitted together with a soundless click and he opened his mouth, but James was gone. Sighing, he removed his glasses and lay back down, half convinced it had all been a dream and half afraid he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

 

Surprisingly, he did remember it in the morning. Leena, bless her, was already in the office when he emerged and descended.

“Good morning, Artie,” she called, looking up from a pile of papers long enough to smile.

Artie uttered his usual mock-grumpy mutter in return, causing her to smile again. “Leena, where did you put the palladium diamonds?”

He didn’t have to say ‘after you picked them out of James’s ashes’.

The smile faltered. “They’re in a bowl on top of the card catalogue,” she said slowly. “There’s something…off…about them. It makes my skin crawl.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Artie walked straight past her, went on tiptoes, and retrieved the bowl. A new cord was coiled neatly around the stones.

Absently, he sat at the table across from her and picked up the cord in one hand, a random diamond in the other. Prodding at the stone produced no reaction, so he slid it carefully on the cord and reached for another. This one, too, was inert and he threaded it on with the first. The third one quivered under his fingers, pulsed warm and electric and so familiar, he almost heard James chiding him for not wearing gloves. Reflexively, he dropped it on the table.

“That’s where you are,” he muttered, setting the diamond aside and ignoring the inquisitive look Leena was giving him.

The rest of the diamonds were…empty…and it didn’t take him long to thread the cord through the holes drilled into them and knot the ends.

“There,” he said, offering the rough necklace to Leena. “How do they feel now?”

“Much better,” she said with a smile as she took them. “That one, though. What…?”

Artie picked up the crystal he’d set aside, feeling it echo his pulse, phantom sensations of heat and motion caused by his brain trying to communicate signals he had a very limited frame of reference for. “Yeah, I expect…this one would make you very uncomfortable.” He tucked it into one pocket. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

He’d nearly forgotten about the crystal in his pocket that afternoon when he turned to stand up from the computer and Mrs. Frederic was suddenly there.

“Don’t do that,” he protested, catching his breath again.

She held up the repaired necklace. “Why is there one diamond missing, Arthur?”

Oh, this was going to be fun. “It has, um, residual energy in it that was creeping Leena out.”

She didn’t look convinced. “And what, exactly, are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to keep it,” he said quietly.

“Arthur…”

“It’s all I have left of James. Let me have this much.”

Her lips thinned into an unhappy line. “I don’t like it. This whole incident was hard enough on you; I don’t want to see my best agent succumb to mental instability.”

“You mean like after he faked his death and no one believed me for fifteen years?” Artie bit his tongue, but it was too late.

Mrs. Frederic had the grace to look pained. “Yes, like that. I suppose, when you say it that way, I have no room to judge your assessment when it comes to James MacPherson. Still, he did an incredible amount of damage and I’m concerned about what he could still do given a partner who’s…vulnerable.”

“More concerned about that than about your best agent’s need for closure after his partner of more than fifteen years faked his death, hid, declared war on the Warehouse, killed me, and then died in my arms apologizing for having been wrong?”

“I won’t deny you deserve that much,” she said quietly. “I’m just concerned that with such a need, your mind might manufacture something to fill that void with.”

Artie opened his mouth, reconsidered, and closed it. James says I’m not imagining it was hardly a convincing argument, even in his own mind. Instead, he fished the crystal out of his pocket and held it up for inspection. When Mrs. Frederic made a may I? gesture, he reluctantly handed it over.

“Interesting,” she murmured, staring into it the way he did when probing artifacts. “James, if you’re in there, come on out.”

“As I recall,” the phantom said from behind her, “you have no authority over me anymore.”

She turned, unperturbed. “And yet, here you are.”

“I have been executed for my crimes: hoisted, as they say, by my own petard. I can’t fathom what business you might still have with me.”

“Arthur,” she said coldly. “Arthur is my business with you.”

The stony expression on James’s face wavered. “I resolved many years ago to sacrifice everything, even my dignity, to accomplish my goals. If I must beg, so be it: do not punish Arthur. I’ve caused him to suffer too much already – needlessly, as it turns out – and now I have only this fragile link with which to atone to him.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice still hard.

“Because I was wrong! I was wrong,” he repeated, softer, “and I can’t….I can’t move on until I’ve set this right with him. Punishing me for all eternity won’t fix what I’ve broken.” His image wavered, flickered, steadied again. “Please. Not for me; for Arthur.”

Then he was gone, and she turned to see the look of anguish on Artie’s face. “It doesn’t make up for doubting you all this time,” she said crisply as she handed the crystal back, “but he’s right. I remand him into your care, Arthur.”

Stubby fingers clutched the precious rock tightly. “Th-Thank you.” He glanced down at the crystal, roiling with stored energy, and when he looked back up, he was alone.

 

Several days later, Artie had just set a new artifact on its shelf when from behind him, James said, “I told you this wasn’t easy for me.”

“I imagine not,” Artie said once he’d caught his breath. “H-How are you…doing? You know, since I haven’t seen you for a week.”

“I’m afraid I lack words to describe my situation,” James answered dryly. “However, I suppose needing to recharge my concentration in order to manifest captures the essence well enough.”

The shorter man flashed a crooked, painful smile. “No more night-long debates for us, eh, James?”

“Nor lengthy explanations, either. I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Although he was disappointed, he waved the issue away with one hand. “I’ll take what I can get. It’s better than not having you around at all.”

James smiled, an equally pain-filled expression. “Thank you for your patience, old friend.”

His image rippled and vanished; Artie clutched the crystalline diamond in his pocket and sighed.

 

 

“Why do you do it, Arthur?”

Artie glanced up from the file he was checking. “Do what, James?”

A sweeping gesture. “After all I did to you, to your team, to the Warehouse…why do you still speak to me?”

“Because you did it all for me,” he answered quietly. “You were wrong, but you tried to free me from what you thought was misplaced faith. We were partners, James. How could I do any less for you?”

The dead man stared down at his old friend for a long moment.

“You always were too soft-hearted,” he said at last. “I’m glad you were right. It would have shattered you if you’d been wrong all this time.”

Then he was gone, and with a sigh Artie went back to checking the file.

 

 

“Do you suppose she still hates me?”

“Which ‘she’?” Artie countered dryly. After several months of occasional comments, he only jumped a little when James popped up.

James chuckled at that. “You’re right, partner. I suppose the better question would be: Have any of them forgiven me?”

“They’ve had other things to worry about.” He shifted slightly on the couch, stifling a wince at the pain and another one in anticipation of James’s concern.

“Arthur, what happened?”

“Nothing. Had my appendix out.”

“You had your appendix out when you were twelve.”

“It grew back.”

James covered his face briefly with both hands before throwing them into the air, eyes raised towards the heavens in wordless supplication for patience. “I told you, you need to wear gloves!”

Artie glanced furtively around; no Leena. “I did it on purpose, okay? P. T. Barnum’s top.”

“I don’t know whether to congratulate your mastery of artifact usage, or chide you for it. Why would you-” He broke off at Artie’s expression. “You’ve taken a fancy to the Warehouse Physician.”

“No. Yes. Maybe. A-a little.”

“Artie, who are you talking to?”

He jumped as Leena walked into the room, but James was already gone.

“N-n-no one. Myself. Just…debating if I wanted to…risk…raiding the kitchen.”

“Lunch isn’t for another hour; you can wait,” she told him firmly, arms crossed. “You were talking to someone, Artie. You’ve been talking to someone. I’ve watched your aura knit itself back together in bits and pieces since James MacPherson’s death. I know you, Artie. You don’t just heal from emotional trauma like that. Something’s going on.”

Artie sighed and dug out the crystalline diamond. “It…stored James’s energy. I’ve been talking to him. Briefly. Occasionally. He can only manifest for about a minute once a week.”

Leena sat abruptly down in the nearest chair. “That’s why you kept seeing him in the Warehouse?”

“Yeah. I understand if you’re not comfortable with it…”

“He used me,” she said, voice hard. “He nearly tore us apart. I’m not sure I can ever forgive him for that, even if he is helping you heal.” She was actually shaking slightly, although with rage or horror was up for debate.

“I know,” Artie said quietly, tucking the stone away again. “Despite everything he did, I don’t think I can ever forgive H. G. Wells for killing him. Even if she doesn’t wind up stabbing us in the back.”

“You’re sure she will?”

He grimaced. “James freed her for a reason. I doubt she killed him just out of spite. No, something she took out of the Escher Vault was vital enough to his plans that he had to risk debronzing her, and she’s got her own agenda.”

They sat in silence for a long minute before Leena said, “Maybe next week you could ask James what that was. If his information is good, and it helps us prevent whatever you’re sure she’s planning, that would go a long way in my mind.”

Artie stretched one hand towards her, and squeezed hers when she took it. “I’ll ask him.”

 

He didn’t remember next week, or the week after. It said something about his priorities, he thought as he lay awake, waiting for sleep, that he didn’t want to waste a single, precious moment of his limited time with James on the woman who’d killed him.

Then the Regents reinstated her, and his priorities shifted.

“Arthur, do you remember-”

“She’s in the Warehouse,” blurted Artie. He’d been waiting, holding that thought at the front of his mind for days, waiting for James to pop up.

“What- Who?”

“H. G. Wells.”

James looked alarmed; not a good sign. “You didn’t re-bronze her?”

“She killed you! I kind of had other things on my mind at the time! But the Regents reinstated her – James, you have to tell me what the plan was.”

“The Lost Warehouse,” he answered immediately. “But she clearly had her own agenda. Why did the Regents…?”

Artie averted his eyes uncomfortably. “She saved my life. I still don’t trust her.”

“I didn’t trust her either – with good cause, as it turns out.”

“Y-Yeah. James, is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Make plans now, partner. When she makes her move…”

Grimly, Artie nodded.

James flickered, but solidified with a pained expression. “Arthur…please don’t die.”

“I’ll try my best,” he promised, thinking uneasily about the perfect apple hidden in his room as the figure of his old friend dissipated.