milliways_bar | (no subject)

It's been a long few days in Hong Kong Below, negotiating the complicated politics of requesting tighter controls on the mercenary bands that keep sneaking into London Below.

Door wishes Tom had been there, though there is something to be said for Hunter's reputation.

Actually there is quite a lot to be said about it. There is a good deal less to say, however, about her diplomatic skills.

Door is very glad to leave her behind when she steps into her own rooms, longing for a long bubble bath, a good meal, and Tom.

Lots of Tom.

Only--he's nowhere to be found. That--hmm. Perhaps he's in Milliways.

Which explains why a bedraggled and cross-looking Door slips through the House of Arch painting, exchanging a snappish word with the Saint Bernard with a full house before she starts scanning the crowd.

Where is her errant husband? She has a bone to pick with him.

He takes the picture Bar gave him out of his pocket again. He wishes the light was better in the picture. Or that Door would look up.

It's bizarre, knowing he has a wife - someone he loves and who loves him back. He has no idea whether she's a witch, what her laugh sounds like, how they met, and yet he longs for her presence.

He sips his tea and watches himself kiss his mysterious wife on the cheek again.

Where can he--

Ah ha.

Door sqaures her shoulders and heads toward Tom.

He looks like he's all right, at least.

That's something.

"I do hope you've enjoyed yourself these past few days, dear. You've not been unwell, have you?"

"What?"

His head snaps up, visions of that wretched girl who claimed to be his wife flash though his head.

But the lady before him is not Lilly. He glances down quickly at the photo and then back up. She could very well be-

"Door?"

"What do you--"

Her frown deepens.

"Tell me you've not been drinking, Tom."

"No, no. Just tea," he says, trying not to alarm her. She looks weary and oh, so lovely.

Her eyes sparkle like jewels. No one had mentioned that.

He stands and rather awkwardly kisses her cheek. She is a stranger to him, after all.

"I'm glad you're back. How was Hong Kong?"

He'll be surreptitiously glancing at his notes soon.

Door is still frowning at him, and that last question--well, that makes her look positively fierce.

"Exhausting. Lovely as Hunter is, and I really do appreciate the work she does--this required two diplomats. Not just me."

"Oh, I was supposed to go?" He's clearly distressed by this realization. "And I didn't. Blast it all, I'm terribly sorry. Something, er, happened, and- I didn't mean to leave you on your own."

She's very beautiful when she's angry, but he'd much rather she not be furious with him. He's already been yelled at by one wife already.

"What did happen, Tom?"

She isn't tapping her foot, but her body language suggests he'd better have one hell of an excuse ready.

"Didn't Queen Amy send you a letter? She said she would try to. Um. I, and some others had some difficulties here, and well, I didn't want to shock you, so I had hoped the letter had gotten to you."

He bites a nail in nervousness which is something the Tom that Door knows... has hardly ever done.

"Tom?"

She's--not afraid, not that, but--taken aback.

"I seem to, er, have a small problem with my memory. Several others do, though, so it's not as if I was endangering myself or anything on purpose. We think it's a magical spell or something."

Her eyes flash red.

"Problem?"

Whoever caused this 'problem' is going to be in for a world of hurt if Door ever gets her hands on them.

"Several?"

"I woke up here with no memory. I'm terribly sorry to say I didn't remember who I was, much less who I was married to. Professor Merriman and Queen Amy assisted me in finding out, but I didn't dare go home because I didn't wish to frighten the children. Amy checked in on Ingress, you see, and found out you were in Hong Kong. I thought we were going away on a holiday, or something, which is why I didn't realize I was supposed to be there on business."

His eyes flick to the notepad as if to check a fact. Or a name "Ingress and Gavroche are fine, yes?"

Door can't breathe.

She really can't.

But she has to.

One, two, three--

She gives herself a short span to indulge, then squares her shoulders again and meets Tom's eyes.

"Yes, they're quite well. I--it's good that you've seen Merriman and Amy, they're very--they're good people."

Tom was safe with them, and safer still with them knowing he is not quite himself.

But oh she wants her Tom back.

"And no one knows how--why--how this happened?"

He shakes his head.

"Some folks are trying to find out, but I don't know whether they have or not. I've taken notes, though. I know a little."

Enough, he hopes, to not let her down or worry her overly much.

"Will you tell me?"

It's a little more plaintive than she meant it to be but--

But this is Tom.

It's all right.

"I'm Tom Riddle, Lord of the House of Arch, and you're my wife. Your little sister is Ingress and we care for her, as we do a little boy we took in called Gavroche. I'm a wizard and I can do some magic, and, er, you like the color black and you're a very good person, and I am not a cad, and our house is behind a painting, though I'm not sure how, and- oh!"

He takes out the photograph. "The Bar provided me this. It looks like we're having fun. I, um, don't know who the other woman is."

Door smiles at seeing the picture, even though it's tinged with something that isn't happy at all.

"That's Tonks, Tom. She's a very dear friend."

She spends another moment studying the picture, then looks up at her husband, mouth open.

"Did you--Tom, tell me you've not been sleeping in a booth all this time?"

He grins.

"I got a room upstairs. I might have lost my memories but I didn't lose my mind. I have a feeling I quite like comfort."

That's a bit more like the Tom she knows.

She smiles then, and this one is untouched by worry or care.

"You really do. Shall--should you like to come home with me? I'd--we would all feel better if you did."

She doesn't think he's going to say 'no', but--but what strangeness it would be to go back to a home you don't remember.

"Oh, please, yes."

He looks down, his ears turning pink.

"I've been rather waiting for you to come and take me home, to be honest."

She smiles at him again, hand warm on his shoulder.

"I'd say you might have sent a rat with a message, silly, but--doubtless you don't remember that's possible, either."

Her hand slides down his arm to take his hand, fingers twining with his.

"Shall we, then?"

"Please."

He squeezes her hand and smiles, only a little shyly. He can see why he loves this woman. He's already feeling a little heady in her presence, especially now that she's not cross with him.

Tom watches in amazement once they get to the painting. Door places her hand on the painting and all of a sudden-

He sees the two of them together, sitting at a kitchen table drinking tea and laughing uproariously over something, and then there is a flash of them with a blue-haired girl and an older boy sitting on the floor playing a game and then-

He is in a white room filled with hanging paintings. "Oh, was that? That was us, wasn't it? Our family? Memories- in the walls, yes?"

He doesn't remember this place, exactly, but he feels like he's coming home.

Door's smile flickers for a moment, then it stays steady.

"Yes. A lot of them are good memories, especially now. Would you--we can have tea in the family room, and talk. If you--if you'd like that."

"I'd love that. Have we been married long? I feel like it must be a long time. I can't say why, but I do."

They step through another painting and he feels/sees/knows another set of happy memories. This cheers him more than he could have imagined.

Door tells him how long they've been together as she fetches the tea, and his eyebrows raise. Three years? He already feels like he's known her forever, and he technically only just met her.

They sip their tea, while he asks questions and she answers. They talk, sitting apart at first on the sofa, awkwardness between them. It doesn't take long, though, until they begin laughing together.

Before the evening is over, Tom's arm is around her shoulders, and he is home. Things might not be perfect, but he is home.

By strange coincidence, Miniver happens to have the Standard Book of Spells, Year One. He's not entirely sure why he has it, but he does have his own name, and the key to his room (which, even though he is apparently NOT co-regent of Bulgaria, looks a lot like a room that would suit such a person). He picked this particular book for a little light reading for two reasons: One, he doesn't remember any magic at all, and two, because it was lying on the bed when he walked into the room, so he assumes it's what he was reading when he lost his memory.

But he doesn't understand why. He's a wizard, isn't he? Doesn't he know any magic usually?

But... he has the book. Tom could probably read over his shoulder or something.

Sadly he doesn't know he needs the Standard Book of Spells, but he recognizes this fellow as one of the fellow afflicted.

"Hullo. Having any luck getting more of your memory back?"

"Sort of. People keep telling me things. Trouble is, half of them pretty clearly aren't true, and the other half... Well, I don't think I'd like the person they're true about." He sighs and puts the book down. "But my room's nice! You had any more luck?"

Upon setting the book down, Tom might notice that the tag around his neck -- number 11 -- now has a note on it in red:

"I think I've had more luck with receiving reliable information, but I haven't found my home yet. My wife is out of town. I hope she returns soon."

"That'll be good. See, this guy called Ciaran showed up and told me he was my husband and we rule like, half the world. So be careful of anyone telling you they know who you are." He crosses his arms. "Apparently I'm either a wizard who talks to animals, or the former co-regent of half of Europe, or a gay hippie who used to work in a box factory in New York, or none of those things. But I'm pretty sure my name really is Miniver Cheevy, not Harry Blanc." He wrinkles his nose a little. "This is kind of a pain, isn't it?"

"Very much so. I'm Tom Riddle, and not John, as I thought. I am a wizard, though, and I believe I've only been given inaccurate information the once when a very cruel woman claimed I was her husband and we had an infant daughter called Riddlia."

He shakes his head.

"I'm certainly glad that was erroneous."

Miniver snickers, then bites his lip. "Sorry. Guess playing with memory-challenged people is a hobby around here. I suppose it might be fun if it didn't hurt anybody," he muses. "I wonder if I'm evil? That might be kind of interesting. Well. Ciaran told me the Queen of Russia wanted to have my children or something. D'you know if anyone's figured out what did this to us all?"

"I know Marian has been inquiring and has been gathering information, but I haven't heard. It's nothing magical that I can fix, that's for sure."

"Nor can I. You know, from the stuff in my room, I get the impression I'm not a very good wizard. All the books I've got are sort of basic level stuff, and I haven't got very many. But the spells I tried do work!" This gives him hope. He holds up the book. "All from this one. I've got others that talk about basic potions and divination and stuff. It's pretty cool, I just wish I could remember how much of it I know."