Archive of Our Own ^beta

Doc Saturday was fairly confident in what he was expecting to find when the airship’s peripheral sensors flagged up a foreign object on the rear stabiliser. As the ever-rational member of the family, under normal circumstances, his first assumption would be a large bird, maybe some loose debris, or worst case scenario: a hostile cryptid.

But these were not normal circumstances. He’d helped bury two bodies within the space of a week. Almost three bodies, he’d thought before he could stop himself.

He’d left his wife in the ship’s kitchen where she’d been for the past thirty minutes; despondently stirring their half-hearted attempt at a normal family for the past thirty minutes. A pot roast, half-burnt and missing a few ingredients.  

He didn’t want to bother her with something that seemed so trivial in the moment, not when she was evidently avoiding any active reminders of the day, the week, the tumultuous six months they’d just had.

There was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he’d find V.V. Argost himself waiting outside when he exited onto the roof, back from the grave just to spite his family.

What he wasn’t expecting to see was his brother in law, still dressed in the parchment-white button up that he’d worn to the funeral, with the matching blazer jacket in a crumpled-up heap next to him. Doc had bought him the suit for the occasion. Doyle’s wardrobe seemed to consist of whatever he could cram inside his duffel bag alongside his weapons and home-made gadgets at the best of times. Doc suspected it was probably a consequence of living a lifetime on the run, but it didn’t sit right with him to watch Doyle bury his mentor whilst wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day the man died.  

Doyle was sat slouched, legs dangling casually over the edge of the elevator flap as if he wasn’t at least fifteen feet off the ground, without his jetpack. Doc remembered passing it in the hall on the way up and he forced himself to swallow the  implications of that like thick bile threatening to rise in his throat.

Doc had been half expecting Doyle to leave in the immediate aftermath of the funeral. Zak was in a stable physical condition and the man who had saved Drew’s life had been laid to rest under a modest headstone and a pair of white lilies. There was nothing that obligated Doyle to stick around when Doc suspected he was probably still grieving.

He’d retreated to his unofficial room on the ship soon after the war ended, taking it upon himself to make most of the funeral arrangements for Van Rook whilst Doc and Drew stayed by Zak’s bedside. Doc was grateful for that, being able to spend the first quality time with his wife and son in months without the need to keep looking over his shoulder. Without having to worry that his kind, compassionate boy who saw the good in everyone and only wanted the best for the world was in constant danger.

It was a testament to the state of their lives that the day Doc had attended a funeral for his notorious, criminal rival was the most serene day he’d experienced in over half a year. A soft, orange sky, accompanied by the distant chirping of crickets and the wind bristling through the grass. And now, Doc was about to burn through that serenity of it all by offering an olive branch to  another victim of Argost’s selfish grab for power.

“You know, there are safer places to watch the sunset from,” Doc offered, suspecting that broaching this subject with a half-hearted empathic response would be about as safe as igniting a hornet’s nest, let alone kicking one.

“Nobody likes a smartass, professor,” Doyle rasped. The type of bone-tired that weighed heavy in Doyle’s tone felt familiar.

 Leaning further over the railing to glance at the other man’s face, he suspected that the red blotches around his eyes weren't just a product of the dying sunlight and a few sleepless nights.

“Drew is making dinner tonight if you wanted to-.”

“You expect me to sit down for a normal family dinner like your wife and son didn’t almost die?” Doyle’s glare lacked any real bite, barely able to reach a smoulder. Still, Doc could tell he was incredulous about being asked to carry on as normal when his mentor lay rotting six feet under a fresh layer of topsoil a few hundred feet from where they sat.

Doc pinched the bridge of his nose. The image of Leonidas Van Rook’s corpse - chest crumpled in and limbs rigid - was etched behind his eyelids. “I’m asking you to sit down for a normal family dinner because my wife and son almost died. I just-,” Doc exhaled, abruptly yanking his voice back down to a softer tone. “The offer is there if you want to join us.”

The chittering of insects in the dusk air grew painfully quiet, and Doc had to resist the nagging urge to clear his throat and pierce the long, roaring silence between them.

“…I still can’t believe he did it.”

“What?”

“Van Rook, I mean. The stingy bastard shocks everyone by trying to grow a moral backbone, and then it fucking kills him.” Doyle suddenly drew his knees up into his chest, and Doc couldn’t quite accept how small he looked at that moment. Doyle’s words were muffled by his sleeve, and Doc had to concentrate to catch what he said next.

“I’m not sad that he’s gone.” Doyle blurted, his icy stare burning into the horizon. “I’m not. I’m just…mad. Mad that he was so cheap that he’d rather risk death than buy better quality body armour, mad that Zak had to watch him die, I’m-.” Doyle paused the second he started choking up, and in that moment of raw emotion, Doc felt like the world was devoid of any life outside their tiny bubble.

Doc cautiously swung his leg over the railing and edged down the wing to sit down next to the younger man. “Go on,” Doc prompted softly. If Doyle minded him sitting so close, he didn’t say so.

“I Swore I’d never owe him a favour again and now he’s probably going to haunt me until the day I kick the bucket. Then when I do, he’s never gonna let me hear the end of it because he’ll flip once he finds out that I spent his life savings on his own funeral.”

Doc couldn’t suppress the morbid chuckle that slipped past his lips, and Doyle offered him a morose smile in response.

“I’m sure he’d be grateful that you gave him a respectful send off.”

“You’re kidding, right? He wasn’t grateful for anything I did in life, doubt it’s any different in death. Then again,” Doyle paused to sweep his hair back out of his face, “I didn’t think he was capable of caring about anything other than his own paycheck until he sacrificed himself to save Drew.”

“People change. Even people like Van Rook,” Doc sighed. People like Doyle, who Doc would have tarred with that same brush less than a year ago. Doyle, who’s vulnerabilities had never been so loud in front of his own family before.

“Careful professor. If I didn’t know any better, I might start thinking you actually like me,” Doyle scoffed.

Doc smirked. “Don’t push it. Besides, it’s your methods I disagree with, not you.”

“Blame Van Rook, then. Taught me the absolute worst of what I know,” Doyle grinned, thrusting his thumb back towards his chest.

Doc shook his head “I don’t doubt that.”

“Still,” Doyle’s grin slipped from his weary face, “he didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

Loss was an old friend to Doc, and it made its home sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. The first was Basil Lancaster, who’d lived a fulfilling life and passed quietly in his sleep after a short, terminal illness. The next, the forty two victims of the Weird World Siege, who’s charred remains they had to peel from the walls of the mansion to bury what was left. None of them deserved to die the way they did, by Argost’s claws in one form or another.

 Just like so many others.

Just like Drew and Doyle, who Doc realised, had just lost someone else to Argost. After Doc had tried to dissuade them from resorting to murder to satisfy their thirst for justice.

“I’m not gonna miss him,” Doyle cut in, abruptly, his words still half-choked and raw. Doc didn’t have the heart to call him out on the blatant lie. “Because he was the absolute worst. But now he’s dead and he’s left me in a debt that I can’t fucking pay back.”

Doc hesitated for a moment, then reached out just far enough to set his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeeze gently.

Doyle didn’t acknowledge the gesture, but he also didn’t shrug him off. In that moment, it meant the world to Doc.

Doyle cleared his throat, roughly wiping his nose with the back of his hand and standing up,  neatly sidestepping their emotional moment. “We should go. Drew is probably looking for you.”

“I doubt it. It's not like she can trust Zak and Fisk with dinner after last time.”

Doyle snorted a laugh. “I’m not even gonna ask what you mean by that.”

Doyle paused. “And professor?”

Doc took one final glance at the sun as it slipped behind the trees on the horizon and paused.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”