He fell to his knees with one hand to his racing chest, the other to his head, eyes closed in an attempt to dispel the dizziness, taking deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. He was successful in that a few seconds later he vomited and then again and finally his nerves initiated their self correction. George was uncertain whether the dizziness and accompanying nausea was a physical result of whatever had just transpired or simply his mind in shock.
The woods were darkened but he was still pretty sure this was the same forest he and Higgins had swept through yesterday. Using the light from the (now much brighter) display on his forearm, he was able to identify an unusual looking tree in the distance, one that he remembered passing by, confirming his suspicions. A raccoon skittered away when the beam of light went passed and hissed for good measure before leaving earshot.
George shivered and it was no wonder; it was nighttime at the beginning of April and now that the 'suit' had cooled down, the only warmth was coming from his long johns. Shakily he stood up with the aid of a nearby tree and walked towards the exit. Not ten steps and he stepped on something sharp, cutting his foot enough to bother him. This was not the best place to be barefooted but what choice did he have but to walk out of there?
The answer was exceedingly obvious but wholly unpleasant. He would have to teleport out of here! But the idea of undergoing this level of trauma again, so soon after the last time, was not an attractive one, so he shambled along for a ways until he cut his other foot.
Oh for the love of...!
It took him several more minutes to work up the courage to activate the suit once more. Mostly what propelled him forth was the idea that Emily must be worried sick and so he needed to get back to her to ease her mind.
George tapped the screen and the list of options swam into view again. He hit teleport and this time the writing (which he read in an attractive female's voice for some reason) said 'Return to previous coordinates 43° 41′ 44″ N, 79° 23′ 19″ W? Y/N.'
Simultaneously sighing and cursing Emily for her curiousity, he punched the Y option.
The 'trip' back was far less tramautizing and George attributed this to his first hand knowledge of what to expect. This would tend to indicate that his unfavourable reaction the last time had been caused by an overload on the senses and mind, and not something to be expected every time the suit was activated (not that he wished to ever use it again).
Emily was in a hurry by the morgue door, getting her coat on, muttering to herself. Apparently she had not noticed his return. It was no wonder, the suit seemed to function completely silently save for the few seconds of humming before fully activating.
Still somewhat peeved with her for haphazardly forcing him to use something neither of them understood, he held off speaking right away.
When her hand was on the door he said, "Going somewhere, Emily?" She froze.
Whipping around she beamed at him, yelled his name and then ran over throwing herself into his arms, knocking him into the morgue viewing slab. The level of intimacy between them was far more than any he had experienced thus far...with anyone. Only a few thin layers of clothing separated them. Rather than feel aroused he simply felt relief and warmth, having gotten a bit chilled in the few minutes he was out of doors.
"Oh, George, I'm so sorry! It was extremely foolish of me to goad you into trying on the suit, let alone using it! Can you ever forgive me?"
"I suppose," he said, pretending to be more annoyed than he really was because he was quite enjoying this close contact.
Apparently this tactic didn't work very well because she let him go. Looking down in displeasure she exclaimed, "Is that blood?"
He looked down too. He had quite forgotten about his cuts. "Yes, Emily, that is what tends to happen when one is teleported to a forest without boots on."
Her head whipped up and her eyes got very large. "A forest? What was it like? The teleporting?"
"Not something I'm eager to revisit anytime soon."
Hopes dashed she said, "Was it so bad?"
George considered filling her in on the full extent of the carnage but decided against this since it was clear that she felt bad about her actions.
Instead all he said was, "It's late, Emily, and I am very tired."
"Of course...but first let me clean your wounds."
"That's really not nec-"
"I insist. It's the least I can do to make up for my errors in judgement."
"All right but then I really must be going."
She smiled a little. "I trust you'll get changed first."
"That would be wise," he said smirking. "I don't think people are ready for Detective Murdoch's brand of fashion."
William had stayed the night but beyond the most intense make-out session that they had ever had, nothing had happened. Eventually they had just fallen asleep on the couch, with him cradling her in his arms, no blanket required. Upon awakening, Julia was most pleasantly surprised to realize she had not been dreaming.
"Good morning," she murmured into his collarbone.
He stirred a little and smiled at her sleepily. "Good morning, Julia."
"I had a great time last night."
"Ditto."
"Ditto?"
William opened an eye. "It means I feel the same way."
Julia chuckled softly to herself. "Why exactly does humanity feel the need to shorten every emotion and expression in the future? Is it really that time consuming to articulate oneself properly?"
William shrugged. "Beats me."
Was that a joke?
"I wish we could lie here all day but I suppose we have to get ready for our wedding at some point."
"That's today, is it? It completely slipped my mind."
"Very funny, William," she said, hitting him in the face with a cushion.
He grinned and she tried to hit him again but he grabbed it out of her hand and tossed it aside. Then he pulled her closer. They were face to face and she had to admit that his breath wasn't the greatest in the morning, but then again, likely neither was hers. And she was definitely not going to let a little odour stop what came next.
"Good morning," he said again, placing his hands on either side of her face, kissing her gently. Before long, it had deepened considerably and she was beginning to get light headed. If things continued this way, they were bound to get a bit carried away once more so she broke contact and placed a hand to his cheek, which now was slightly scruffy and matched his mussed up hair perfectly.
"We better not, I have a lot to do yet today."
"Party pooper," he said. She looked at him bemusedly. "It means-"
"I believe I get the drift, William," she said shaking her head, standing up.
She moved away from him, heading into the kitchen. "I must say, Dr. Ogden," he called, "you cut a fine figure."
Without turning around she smiled and said, "I'm glad you are enjoying the show. As you should. You just so happen to have the only available ticket."
"I should hope so! I paid a lot of money for that...ring!"
Julia turned around to fake glare at him but couldn't help and smile when she saw the smirk across his face.
"Well are you going to join me for breakfast or not?"
Though George was now satisfied that Murdoch had indeed not been on drugs the other day, the teleportation suit still wasn't satisfactorily explaining his mood swings either. There had been two other functions on it, only one of which was particularly curious; the jump feature. But George was not foolhardy enough to try something again that he didn't fully understand, the repercussions of which could be far worse than he could fathom.
Since the nagging sensation that something was very wrong would not be dispelled no matter how hard he tried, (a fact reinforced by severe nightmares last night) and since the detective's wedding was mere hours away, there was only one option before him. He would need to go to the source of his disquiet and confront it head on. And the only way to do so was to confess to stealing Murdoch's private property. George was prepared for this eventuality...at least he thought he was.
With the black box in hand, he knocked on Detective Murdoch's apartment door. Usually the only reason for George to do this so early in the morning was when there was a murder. And since Murdoch knew this, he was always very prompt (if not a bit annoyed) at responding. Not so today. Hand in his pocket, he located the skeleton key and prepared to head in again to rouse him.
"He's not in there."
George turned around to face Detective Murdoch's neighbour. She was a pretty sort of girl, (especially when her long black hair was undone as it currently was because she was busy brushing it) but he pretended not to notice. As far as he was concerned, he was spoken for.
Frowning he said, "What do you mean? Where else could he be?"
It's not even seven o'clock!
She smirked. "All I know is that he didn't come home last night."
"Didn't come home?" he muttered absentmindedly.
Had the detective ever done this before during their entire acquaintance? Certainly there was the time he went missing in Bristol and the months he was away in the Yukon and getting amnesia again last year and disappearing as a result...but besides those times, he didn't think so.
"Have you really no idea where he is constable?" the girl asked, bemused. "I would have thought his current whereabouts rather obvious." George simply gave her a puzzled look and she chuckled slightly. "If I'm not much mistaken, Mr. Murdoch is to be married today."
"Why yes he is but I'm still not following you miss."
She sighed and chuckled again. "If I were you, I would check with his fiancee."
Oh.
Now he understood her perfectly. As a result he blushed a bit causing her to laugh louder than the previous times.
Tipping his hat to her he stammered, "Thank you very much, miss. Have a nice day."
"It was my pleasure, constable. You too."
George didn't like to pry into the personal lives of his superiors because he respected them too much (and in the case of the inspector...well, he was a tad afraid of him). But from the little he did know about Murdoch, it seemed highly out of character for him to spend the night with the doctor just before he was to be married! And if Murdoch was at her place it would make things that much more difficult to navigate without rousing her suspicions unnecessarily.
Why me?
The detective's bicycle was outside of the doctor's house. There was no question that he was in there. George hemmed and hawed for a full three minutes before finally working up the courage to do what he had to do.
Almost as soon as he knocked, the door was opened to reveal a thirty something year old woman. Clearly she was the maid.
"Yes, constable? What seems to be the matter?"
"I would like to speak to Detective Murdoch. I take it he is here?"
The woman gave him a disapproving expression. "Yes, indeed he is." She held out her hand and it took a moment before he realized what she wanted.
"I'd like to hold on to this," he said, involuntarily tightening his grip on the black box.
"Suit yourself. Well follow me then. They're in the dining hall."
Before they got there, George could hear the sounds of laughter and this in and of itself was almost enough to make him turn around and leave them alone. Fighting the impulse, he continued to follow the maid towards the source of the merriment. Julia and Murdoch were sitting beside each other, her hand was on his thigh and his was putting an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. It was obviously a very intimate moment and George blushed again but the maid didn't seem to be affected at all by the sight.
"Begging your pardon ma'am but there's someone here to see your fiance."
They both looked up and over at him and removed their hands from one another. The doctor seemed surprised but happy and Murdoch just seemed to be plain annoyed. In fact, George was quite certain that Murdoch was flat out glaring at him! However when Julia glanced at him, his expression had become inscrutable, as it usually was.
"What brings you here so early, George? Not another murder I hope."
"No, nothing like that, sir."
"Is that an early wedding present?" said Julia giddily, grabbing Murdoch's hand and forcing him to come with her.
When Murdoch looked at the box up close, George had expected him to betray some sense of anger but instead there was absolutely no response, as if he didn't recognize it.
Well it is just a simple black box...why should he?
"Not exactly, doctor. If it wouldn't be too much of an imposition, could I steal the detective away for a moment?"
"Something to discuss in private?" she said gayly. "I wonder what that could be?"
Apparently she thought this visit had to do with a wedding surprise.
"I'll leave you two to it."
Once she was in another room Murdoch stared at him with bored indifference. Since there was no point in wasting any time, George launched straight into his speech.
"Sir, I noticed that you were acting strangely yesterday and for awhile I thought you might be on drugs." Murdoch raised an eyebrow to this but said nothing. "But I've come to the conclusion that I was wrong in that assessment. There's something else bothering you and I can't seem to put my finger on it. But I think it has something to do with this." Hesitating a few seconds he then opened the box and handed it to him.
The detective took one look at the contents and burst out, "Where did you get this?"
Confused by the question he nevertheless replied, "Uh, your attic."
Collecting himself again the detective said, "But of course. And which features did you try?"
"Just the teleportation one. I didn't much care for it. Sir, what does the jump feature do?"
Murdoch observed him closely for a moment as if deciding how much he was going to divulge. "It allows for time travel."
"Time travel! Oh my goodness! You've perfected Professor Harms technique! Is he the one who inspired you?"
"Yes, his formula's were invaluable to my research. Little did he know just how close he was to making a breakthrough."
Unable to contain himself he said, "So you've been to the future then, for real? Is that where you disappeared to last year? You didn't actually get lost with amnesia again?"
"Yes, to all of your queries."
"So you've been past 1912?"
"Yes, George."
"Past 1925?"
"Yes, George."
"Past-"
"I've been to 2012!" he snapped. George was so immersed in his own wild imagination (ie. giant automatons and flying carriages everywhere) that he didn't notice the detective's change in tone.
"Oh my socks! What was it like, sir?!"
"Noisy, filthy," his eyes flashed dangerously, "murderous."
This response however was hard to miss. "Sir?"
Murdoch seemed to realize he was acting strangely again because he physically shook his head and George noticed for the first time just how odd the detective's hair looked when it wasn't greased down.
"Suffice it to say, things are better here."
"But...you're not," the constable said, tentatively. "Did something happen to you while you were over there to make you this way?"
"I'm perfectly fine, George."
"I beg to differ, sir. I think you're a troubled soul."
Murdoch simply stared at him.
"You know my aunt Petunia says that men who keep secrets from their loved ones always end up alone and miserable. She personally knows at least twenty poor blokes that this has happened to. Their marriages have crumbled but they can't get divorced so they're forced to suffer through each others presence day in and day out. Their children grow to resent them and then turn out a surly sort too. That's why I am always honest with everyone I meet. So if you don't want to talk to me about it, you should at least tell Dr. Ogden what is on your mind. I know it will be difficult but if you just-"
Making fists Murdoch yelled, "I already have you idiot! And would you please stop talking for once in your life and mind your own goddamn business?!"
"William!" uttered Julia, completely baffled by such talk.
Judging by the empty cup in her hand, she had come in for a refill of water from the pitcher.
"Julia!" Murdoch said surprised, looking very guilty.
An awkward silence ensued.
George decided it was time for him to leave. The detective's bad behaviour was out in the open now, his services were no longer required.
If the doctor can't sort him out, no one can.
