McGucket has good days and bad days just like everyone else. When he had still been referred to as Fiddleford, the good days had been a whole lot more frequent. There had been precious little that could ever dampen his upbeat mood and warm personality. Now it seems like there's nothing but bad days.

Sometimes he can remember Ford clearly. With memories of his former friend come memories of the portal. He remembers what he saw on the other side of that thing. When his mind turns against him and he can remember that day, he often feels anger.

How dare Ford lie to him! How dare he! He should have told him about Bill. So much trouble could have been avoided if Ford had only told him. Maybe his friend had been tricked, so he wouldn't hold that against him, but he couldn't understand why Ford had never brought it up, gotten a second opinion on Bill. McGucket would have set the record straight for the oblivious scientist in a matter of seconds. This means that Ford knew how other people would react to his 'Muse', which means he must have known at the very least that there was something dodgy about the talking triangle for other people to be cautious of him. Sometimes McGucket wonders if Ford knew what was really behind the portal the whole time they were building it. Maybe. He was totally blinded by Bill's flattery, after all.

Sometimes McGucket has memory lapses and his treacherous mind convinces him he's still being pulled through that damned portal. He'll come back to the present to find himself screaming and crying for help that will never come. Thankfully, no one else lives in the dumps with him, so nobody ever sees him breaking down like that. That would be so embarrassing.

When he meets his raccoon wife, he knows he needs to do better. For her, for himself, for their marriage. Maybe even for any little raccoons that might be running around their home in the future. He can't keep having these flashbacks.

He builds another memory gun (he can't remember what happened to the first, but every time he thinks about it, he sees a giant eye with a Red Cross through it). He points the gun to his head, telling himself firmly, "This is for your raccoon wife. She can't see you like this. She can't!"

The tiny part of his brain that still remains Fiddleford yells at him about how crazy this all is. That part of him screams every time McGucket raises his memory gun to his head. It cries and begs him to stop, saying things like, "You're being ridiculous, you should end it here before it goes too far," and "You know how stupid this is. You still have the power to stop."

McGucket ignores all the warnings and alarms going off inside his mind. It's like a drug; he's completely addicted. He can't stop. He's not sure he ever will or if he even wants to. It's the only thing keeping him going: the memory gun waiting for him at the end of each day after his wife has gone to sleep. He needs it.


"Tell me what you saw! What's on the other side? Did it work?"

Fiddleford lies there in shock. Not even an 'Are you okay? Are you hurt?'

He tries to speak, but he doesn't even feel connected to his own body right now. Instead, he spews gibberish as he attempts to force his brain back into functioning. It's a harder fight than it should be.

He turns to Ford to snap at him and tell him he needs to tear down the portal, but finds himself staring at a raccoon in place of his friend.

In the span of a second, thirty years have passed and Fiddleford is now Old Man McGucket, local kook. His beautiful, caring wife stares at him in concern and chatters to him in her native language. She's still not quite mastered human English yet, but McGucket still understands her anyway.

"I'm fine, thanks. Jus'... mem'rays, ah guess. Norfing t' worry 'bout."

He manages to keep her assured for the rest of the day, but the moment she's asleep, he's going straight for the small device that has become his drug. He doesn't want to keep remembering and he promised himself he'd do better. He doesn't want anything to happen to his partner and he doesn't want her to ever have to see him in that state ever again. He's doing it for her. They both need it. Because remembering is scary and dangerous. Maybe this time will be the last and he won't have to do this again.

He turns on the gun and types in what needs to be erased. He points it toward himself and pulls on the trigger with a feeling that the good days are about to become a lot more frequent than they have been for a long while.