![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Pal
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: Antubis, Mary
Prompt: Friends
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: PG
Summary: A friendship for the ages.
He holds her hand when she walks through the dark places, and through the Old Kingdom. She isn't scared of the Old Kingdom anymore as long as the bad doctor isn't there, but he holds her hand anyway.
"Mary," he tells her. "It's time."
In the factory she was the time girl, and everyone looked to her to lead the way. Now she is alone in a hospital of people who take no notice of her, and she looks to her anteater to lead the way.
He isn't always an anteater, of course. He couldn't hold her hand if he were.
But he is sometimes an anteater, and she knows she can't say his name properly but he doesn't seem to mind.
"Mary," he tells her. "Come."
He led her out of the fire and she'll follow him into one if he asks, because he's her pal and he's never steered her wrong. She's older now, even if she doesn't quite know what that means to be nearly a hundred and fifty years old and still seven years old at the same time. But she knows time is passing. And she knows what he did. And she knows that he caused her to be there but he didn't make Mr. Gottreich set that fire. He didn't make Dr. Gottreich hurt her like the bad doctor hurt the bad boy.
Antubis is her pal, like he said right at the start. And maybe Mrs. Druse is right, that he made some bad things happen, but he also made sure things worked out for her in the end. And he's never hurt her. He can be scary, and he can be horrible, but he's never hurt her.
Mary pets her anteater pal's fur and hears his rumble and knows she is safe. She hears the clacking of his claws on the concrete, stone, or tile floor, and knows that anything that will hurt her will also retreat as he approaches. She keeps him company, because he really is terribly lonely, and he keeps her safe. It is, to her way of thinking, a fair arrangement.
But things are changing now.
"Do we have to?" she asks, because as much as she doesn't like being a spirit she has made friends here. Mona-girl, for one, and Antubis for another, and she likes what Antubis has told her about Peter Rickman.
Antubis nods. He looks like the boy now, not the anteater, and he's holding out his hand. She looks down. When he looks like the boy, it means there's serious work ahead.
Mary clutches her doll in one hand and reluctantly takes his hand in her other one, not because she doesn't want to but because she doesn't want it to be necessary. They have serious work ahead, and she knows how important it is by the look on her friend's face. She knows he has important work because she has been his Time Girl for a little over a century and she has seen him at his job for most of that time. It's an important task, getting people where they ought to go. She's proud that she could help.
And she would be proud to help him now. It was an important job. But she doesn't want to go.
"I know." Antubis smiles, though she didn't know she had spoken aloud. Although perhaps he just knows what she's thinking Sometimes he does that. "But we have to."
Her hands clutch her doll to her again, not on purpose. Slowly, she reaches out to take his hand again, certain this time of her part in what had to be.
He holds her hand in the dark places, and wherever she is now she knows it's very dark. But she would know the touch of his hand around hers anywhere, light or dark, and she's never been afraid. He's her pal.
"Mary," he tells her. "It's time."
The old hospital is long gone, torn down along with the twisted man who built it. In its place she built a new hospital, a better one, built on compassion and kindness and the belief that people can be better. She never said what it was that led her out of the hospital that night. Or what led her to see (very well) the two men setting the fire in the dye room. But she remembered him, always, the boy (young man) (old man) with the dark eyes and soft smile.
And a part of her remembers another life, and an anteater with teeth and a slow, loping walk, and how it felt to run her tiny fingers through his fur. In another world, where she never had the chance to grow up.
That world is long gone, too.
She looks up at him with a sad sort of questioning, the kind that knows that what must be must be, even if she doesn't want to go. "Do we have to?" she asks, and for the first time in three years her voice is strong. There's no pain, and hardly any infirmity, but she is very much aware of the passage of time.
"Yes." He's afraid so, his voice says. He's sorry, but it has to be. And she knows it has to be, and accepts it with a tiny sigh.
He still has important work to do. She knows this, somehow. But now he'll have to do it alone, and once again her fingers are tiny in his when she squeezes his hand for him to remember that, once, he wasn't alone. For a little while.
The gatekeeper leans over and kisses the old woman's young girl's forehead, and just like that, she's gone. There was no real need for him to be there, except that he had known her for so much of her life, spent so much time with her at the hospital in both lines. She was his pal. And he misses her already, even though she's only been gone a minute.
Fandom: Kingdom Hospital
Characters: Antubis, Mary
Prompt: Friends
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: PG
Summary: A friendship for the ages.
He holds her hand when she walks through the dark places, and through the Old Kingdom. She isn't scared of the Old Kingdom anymore as long as the bad doctor isn't there, but he holds her hand anyway.
"Mary," he tells her. "It's time."
In the factory she was the time girl, and everyone looked to her to lead the way. Now she is alone in a hospital of people who take no notice of her, and she looks to her anteater to lead the way.
He isn't always an anteater, of course. He couldn't hold her hand if he were.
But he is sometimes an anteater, and she knows she can't say his name properly but he doesn't seem to mind.
"Mary," he tells her. "Come."
He led her out of the fire and she'll follow him into one if he asks, because he's her pal and he's never steered her wrong. She's older now, even if she doesn't quite know what that means to be nearly a hundred and fifty years old and still seven years old at the same time. But she knows time is passing. And she knows what he did. And she knows that he caused her to be there but he didn't make Mr. Gottreich set that fire. He didn't make Dr. Gottreich hurt her like the bad doctor hurt the bad boy.
Antubis is her pal, like he said right at the start. And maybe Mrs. Druse is right, that he made some bad things happen, but he also made sure things worked out for her in the end. And he's never hurt her. He can be scary, and he can be horrible, but he's never hurt her.
Mary pets her anteater pal's fur and hears his rumble and knows she is safe. She hears the clacking of his claws on the concrete, stone, or tile floor, and knows that anything that will hurt her will also retreat as he approaches. She keeps him company, because he really is terribly lonely, and he keeps her safe. It is, to her way of thinking, a fair arrangement.
But things are changing now.
"Do we have to?" she asks, because as much as she doesn't like being a spirit she has made friends here. Mona-girl, for one, and Antubis for another, and she likes what Antubis has told her about Peter Rickman.
Antubis nods. He looks like the boy now, not the anteater, and he's holding out his hand. She looks down. When he looks like the boy, it means there's serious work ahead.
Mary clutches her doll in one hand and reluctantly takes his hand in her other one, not because she doesn't want to but because she doesn't want it to be necessary. They have serious work ahead, and she knows how important it is by the look on her friend's face. She knows he has important work because she has been his Time Girl for a little over a century and she has seen him at his job for most of that time. It's an important task, getting people where they ought to go. She's proud that she could help.
And she would be proud to help him now. It was an important job. But she doesn't want to go.
"I know." Antubis smiles, though she didn't know she had spoken aloud. Although perhaps he just knows what she's thinking Sometimes he does that. "But we have to."
Her hands clutch her doll to her again, not on purpose. Slowly, she reaches out to take his hand again, certain this time of her part in what had to be.
He holds her hand in the dark places, and wherever she is now she knows it's very dark. But she would know the touch of his hand around hers anywhere, light or dark, and she's never been afraid. He's her pal.
"Mary," he tells her. "It's time."
The old hospital is long gone, torn down along with the twisted man who built it. In its place she built a new hospital, a better one, built on compassion and kindness and the belief that people can be better. She never said what it was that led her out of the hospital that night. Or what led her to see (very well) the two men setting the fire in the dye room. But she remembered him, always, the boy (young man) (old man) with the dark eyes and soft smile.
And a part of her remembers another life, and an anteater with teeth and a slow, loping walk, and how it felt to run her tiny fingers through his fur. In another world, where she never had the chance to grow up.
That world is long gone, too.
She looks up at him with a sad sort of questioning, the kind that knows that what must be must be, even if she doesn't want to go. "Do we have to?" she asks, and for the first time in three years her voice is strong. There's no pain, and hardly any infirmity, but she is very much aware of the passage of time.
"Yes." He's afraid so, his voice says. He's sorry, but it has to be. And she knows it has to be, and accepts it with a tiny sigh.
He still has important work to do. She knows this, somehow. But now he'll have to do it alone, and once again her fingers are tiny in his when she squeezes his hand for him to remember that, once, he wasn't alone. For a little while.
The gatekeeper leans over and kisses the old woman's young girl's forehead, and just like that, she's gone. There was no real need for him to be there, except that he had known her for so much of her life, spent so much time with her at the hospital in both lines. She was his pal. And he misses her already, even though she's only been gone a minute.