Author's Note: This is a story I've had in the works for two years. I'm finally at the point where it's in my head again, and I've finally got the flow and focus down. It's my first attempt at an AU, and the first time I've clearly used cross-over tones. I think it'll be a fun experiment. Enjoy!
Civil Service
When Victor had taken his long, deep sip of the Wine of Ages, he thought he was leaving earthly concerns behind. From what he'd seen of the Land of the Dead, he'd naturally assumed his afterlife would simply be a lighter, freer version of his breathing life.
In some ways, it was. Being dead wasn't so bad, Victor had found. The actual dying had been awful—feeling his heart chug and stop, the world going dim around the edges, that last fleeting moment of panic, of wanting to cling to life, of knowing it was too late, and then a moment of profound darkness. He tried not to remember that part. It had been brief, but still terrifying.
Then he'd opened his eyes again, and he was fine. Well, apart from being dead. He'd gone blue, a handsome shade of cobalt that made him think of his mother's prized collection of Bristol glassware. And Emily. Standing before him, her hands on his shoulders to steady him, an expression filled with love and hope and wistfulness all mixed together. She was beautiful. And she loved him. He'd taken her hands in his, and had fallen a little bit more in love himself. Hand in hand, they'd led the way back down to the land of the dead, leaving the living behind without too many backward glances.
Eternity wouldn't be so bad, not if he was sharing it with Emily.
She was so lovely and fun, so simple and uncomplicated. Victor found himself becoming less complicated, too. It was nice. It really was. Sometimes he did miss his parents, had wondered about them, how they'd taken the news of the odd circumstances of his death. He missed food. And butterflies. But those thoughts were fleeting. He had Emily to focus on now. Forever.
Time was a funny thing when one was dead. It didn't really matter any longer, so there was no real point in keeping track. All he knew was that he'd been dead long enough that his eyes were beginning to look sunken and his organs were starting to go (funny how death had rather cured his squeamish streak), but he still had all of his skin. And he'd not been married long enough for the bloom to go off the rose.
Could the bloom ever go off a dead rose? Victor never allowed himself to reflect too much on questions like that.
There was something sweet about a relationship with a woman that was completely free of any sort of complexity or real consequence. They were dead, what else could possibly happen? Everything was simply...nice. Romantic. Friendly. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of music and dancing, but not much else. They would go for long walks. Time wasn't a concern, so they really didn't think in terms of passing it. No days and nights to give shape to it, no sunsets or sunrises. Just an existence. However, with Emily, this was at least a nice existence. They were hardly ever apart. Most often they could be found at the piano in the Ball and Socket. Other times, when Emily kindly indulged Victor's need for quiet and space, they walked all about the land of the dead.
All of this suited Victor just fine. The promise of anything more profound than "nice" had been stolen from him, so he focused on being happy with his circumstances, with a woman who really loved him. He liked not having complications of any sort, including those of the flesh. Being dead, there was none of that business to worry about—and while he'd been alive, it had worried him plenty.
Even so, deep down, Victor wished he'd had the opportunity to suffer a few complications of the flesh at least once or twice before he'd died. And that wish was almost always accompanied by the memory of Victoria holding his hand, brushing him with her fingers. Leaning toward him, expectant, waiting to be kissed...
Victoria. He simply didn't allow himself to think about her. It was a conscious effort, no matter how betrayed and deeply hurt he'd been. Despite everything, despite his being dead, despite his being married, he couldn't forget her. He couldn't think badly of her, not entirely, no matter what she'd done. But he couldn't bear to think of all of the life that she represented, all that he'd given up. For a good reason, undoubtedly. Yet he'd think of her eyes, of holding her hand, and he'd begin to forget what that good reason was...
And then he'd remember that he was married. Married to a sweet woman who loved him and needed him. And he was dead. Completely out of reach. And, worst of all, that not a bit of what had passed between them had mattered to Victoria.
So he'd shake his feelings off, have a friendly drink with Mayhew, perhaps a game of darts with the Generals, play some piano, and then dance with his lovely bride, whirling her around the Ball and Socket. He was still a bit clumsy and unsure about it, but he was learning. And at least he didn't have to worry about hurting Emily whenever he accidentally stepped on her feet. He'd stopped worrying about a lot of things, actually.
Funny, he still thought of her as a bride, not really as his wife. After all, there was no house to keep up, as the dead didn't need homes. There was no worrying about money or children or the future, for none of those existed. There was no future. Just free, easy existence. There was nothing to worry about.
Until the day when Elder Gutknecht made a rare appearance in the square, catching Victor and Emily as they strolled arm in arm past the statue. Elder Gutknecht had some news to share. They'd all three made for the Ball and Socket, where Elder Gutknecht's appearances were even rarer. At a small table near the piano, Elder Gutknecht had explained to Victor a new snag in his afterlife.
"Work?" Victor asked, confused. Elder Gutknecht nodded his old skeletal head. "But sir, I'm dead. Isn't work, well...more suited to-?" And he pointed one finger toward the ceiling in a reference to the Land of the Living.
"Yes, my boy," said the Elder, his voice quavery and kind. "But I'm afraid it's all in the rules. Suicides are required to spend eternity as civil servants."
There was a pause. Emily put a hand on Victor's wrist. The skeleton who always wore dark glasses was tinkling away at the piano in that new style Victor was picking up. The sounds of tinkling glasses, laughter, and the click of billiard balls knocking together filled the space as Victor absorbed this news.
"Civil servant?" Emily echoed. Victor stayed silent, still working through Elder Gutknecht's use of the S-word. He supposed it was technically true, but all the same...he didn't think of his demise quite that way. As he sat staring into his pint glass, troubled, Emily went on, "Doesn't that mean working for the government? Have we a government?"
That last was directed at Victor, who, not having the foggiest, could only shrug. Elder Gutknecht took a healthy swig from the burbling red liquid in his goblet.
"After a fashion, my dear," he replied. He adjusted his dusty little spectacles and took on a professorial tone. "The Land of the Dead is much larger than our little community, just as the land above was much bigger than our village. And everyone living eventually joins us here. Some organization is needed for a population so large. Those who take their own lives are asked to give something back once they are here. It's something that has always been."
Victor sat back in his chair. "And since I'm a—since I—well, you know...I must work for the Land of the Dead? Forgive me, but this all sounds...well, absurd."
"Any more absurd than anything else that's happened to you lately, my boy?"
Touche, Victor thought. "What will happen if I, er, respectfully decline?" he asked carefully. Why, he was enjoying his death just as it was. He had Emily, he had Mayhew. Victor felt more at home and part of a thriving community here than he ever had Upstairs. He didn't much like the idea of being forced to work, to be away from the familiar. All of this seemed terribly unfair.
"Hm," said Elder Gutknecht, stroking his beard in thought. "I'm afraid I don't know. No one who declined has ever been seen again."
Victor's eyes widened. Emily made a little noise and put a hand to her mouth. "So there's nothing you can do?" she asked.
"I'm afraid the rules are the rules, my dear," said Elder Gutknecht. "I have bent far too many lately, I am not prepared to attempt to bend this one."
Both Victor and Emily took his meaning, and fell quiet.
"Not that it would have made a difference," Victor said at length, with a quick look at Emily, "but why didn't you mention this before?"
"My boy," Elder Gutknecht said heavily as he stood from the table and turned to walk away, "I make a habit out of not mentioning important points until it is strictly necessary to do so."
"Oh," replied Victor. For a moment after the old skeleton left, Emily and Victor sat together at the table, watching the activity buzz about them. The two little skeleton children were playing an enthusiastic game of tag. Emily watched them, smiling.
"That's all right, darling!" Emily finally said to Victor, taking hold of his arm. "It will be just like being married Upstairs, won't it? I'll even have time to set you up a coffin beside mine! I'll make it cozy, it will be lovely!" She rested her head on his shoulder briefly.
"I suppose our honeymoon is over!" she added with a laugh. Victor patted her hand.
"Yes, I suppose it is," he replied, with as much of a smile as he could muster.
So, while Emily set up coffin-keeping, Victor began his career in a nebulous region of the Land of the Dead. It was very odd for a place which seemed to operate with an odd internal logic of its own to have any sort of bureaucracy, but somehow the afterlife managed. The hallways were impossibly long and winding, the offices tiny and cramped and filled with greasy yellow light which seemed to have no source. None of the corpses who worked together chatted much. Everyone was far too busy. Also, Victor noticed, everyone in his office bore evidence of their ends. Slit wrists and throats, gunshot wounds in the temple or back of the head, ropes they had hanged themselves with still attached. Victor quickly learned it was impolite to ask or to stare, and soon enough it was simply a matter of course.
Victor's job was assistant to a Caseworker. The Caseworker was responsible for the freshly dead who were to be ghosts. Victor hadn't really thought much about ghosts, or how that sort of thing worked. He supposed the details were personal, really none of his business. Mr. Septimus was the Caseworker's name, a young man not too much older than Victor who walked with a strange limping gait. Apparently his back and legs had been broken in the purposeful fall he'd taken from a window. A kind man, nice to work for, though Victor did not know too much about him, really.
Most odd of all was how instinctively Victor understood it all. He knew when to arrive and when to go home. He only had need of his written instructions of how to get to his office his first try. It was quite convenient, a mere matter of drawing a door in the wall of the building near where he and Emily kept their coffins, and knocking on it three times. Of course he was nervous his first day, but once he became acclimated he calmed considerably. Paperwork, organizing, following the orders he was given. Not his favorite activities, but he felt he was doing good work. The longer he was there, the more he enjoyed it.
"I do feel glad to be giving back," Victor told Emily one evening. Well, he thought of it as evening, as it was when he was back from the office. They were reclining in their respective coffins, side by side in their little alleyway. "Mr. Septimus is...well, a bit overwhelmed, I think. And I believe we're doing something good, giving guidance to the recently deceased."
"Yes," Emily agreed with a smile, reaching across to take his hand, "Death can be so hard, when you're new and don't know anyone. I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself, Victor darling. Though I do miss you when you're away!"
He missed Emily, too, but that just made going back to her all the nicer. During his working time he thought of her often. Victor was thinking of Emily the next day at work quite a bit. They had plans to go to the pub when he arrived home. Poor Emily had been feeling a bit bored and neglected lately. Victor hoped to make things up with her, realizing he was away quite a lot.
He sat hunched in a squeaky chair a bit too small for him, his rickety little desk covered in papers. The whole tiny room was overflowing with overfull wooden filing cabinets, boxes filled with yet more case files, and one sad looking dead plant on a high shelf in the corner. Mr. Septimus's office door was closed, as it was most of the time. Victor's boss was usually with a client. As he did every day, Victor was sorting through a pile of new cases to hand off to Mr. Septimus.
"Mrs. William Smith," Victor read off of the topmost file. He glanced down through her vital information, listed on the front of the file. Not really his business, but he found it hard not to look at these people, and to wonder about them. Twenty years of age. How sad, he thought. From the City. Freshly dead. Ghost. Quite routine. Other known names of the deceased: "Lady Bittern."
Bittern. Victor tapped his lip and thought. Why was that name familiar...? When nothing came to mind, Victor shrugged, placed the file in the little cubby in Mr. Septimus's office door, and went back to sorting through the new arrivals.
