"Goede jongen, Milo!" Ilse congratulated her in-training service dog as they got off the Inter-Sectional Subway System car. The big metal contraptions seemed to scare him a little, but today, the Samoyed had behaved exceptionally well, and not tugged on his leash the moment the doors opened. Stopping for a moment on the platform, she reached into her bag and produced a peanut butter treat; his favorite. Behind Ilse were her partner, Doctor Jay Everwood, and their adopted son James.
"He's doing real good. That trainer from Wilson's I recommended is doing a great job, and you're doing an even better one," Jay grinned, watching Milo chow down on his treat. "I'm surprised you're doing so well with him, to be honest. You never struck me as the 'good with animals' type."
James, bundled up in a series of jackets and scarves each poofier than the last, sniffled and wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve before chiming in: "Doesn't he get cold?"
"Buddy, don't do that. That's nasty. Ask me or mama for a tissue next time, okay?" Jay's voice was warm, despite the scolding. They grabbed his non-boogie'd hand and dragged him to a nearby bench, where they then set about looking through their bag for a tissue with their only hand.
"Samoyed are bred to endure the cold, so Milo is okay. However, your concern for him is a good thing, James," Ilse nodded, looking over to the two as Milo licked his lips. She watched as Jay wiped the snot off their son's coat, then his nose, then his finger, and then finally tossed the tissue in the bin nearby.
"I can do it myself, baba! I'm not a baby!" The child pouted, folding his arms as much as his excessive layering of winter wear would allow.
"If you're not a baby, then next time don't act like one, kiddo," Jay smiled, poking his cheek as he harrumphed and turned away. They reached out to stop Ilse, who was getting ready to walk away. "Hey, I have a meeting right now about oh-oh-one with Harold. Can you watch him for two hours?"
She nodded, approaching James and taking his hand and gently pulling the leash for Milo to follow her with the other. "I've got him, dear."
"Thank you. See you soon!" Jay smiled, slinging their bag over their shoulder and walking off toward Archives and Revision.
"Come on, James. You can play your Pokémon and Switch when we get to my office," she said, starting off toward her own office.
The office, empty save for the piles of books stacked nearly to the ceiling, greeted her with a large puff of dust and dog hair when she opened the door. It hadn't been all that long since she'd been there last, but the fact that most things, when left alone, got dirty all by themselves was still novel after decades of sterility. She coughed and fumbled for the light switch; Milo's ears perked up, ready to step into action.
"Settle down" she said with an uncharacteristic sternness, followed quickly by a scratch under his chin. "Most of the mess in here is from your shedding anyways."
On the back wall, her framed degrees caught the reflection of the warm and incandescent overhead lights. Those, in their glass frames, stayed mostly free of dust, although the paper on some of the older ones had started to yellow at the edges. Despite the biting winter topside, the air conditioning blew through the room, fluttering papers from her desk onto the floor, and, much to his amusement, James' head. Ilse's choice of lighting, although beneficial for her headaches and the general atmosphere of the room, as she'd attested to when she submitted the request to McInnis, did have a tendency to heat things up.
James, upon being hit in the face with the top few pages of Ilse's oft-referenced nineteenth dissertation, bent down and began to gather more pieces of paper. Once he had a decent pile, and before Ilse could congratulate him on being helpful, he threw them at the ceiling, whooping with glee as they drifted back down and coated the room.
"It's a snowstorm!" He cheered through giggles, picking up papers faster then Ilse could take them out of his tiny hands and stack them back on the desk.
"That's sweet," she said as she reached for ways to mitigate the sudden chaos, "but I need those papers to be where they belong right now. Besides, I don't think Milo likes all this clutter." She cringed at her own impulse to pin it on the dog, but at a glance, it wasn't untrue. Milo was practically begging her to release him from his heel, mostly to engage in his favorite hobbies of jumping up and down and licking James in the face.
All this was still overstimulating to her; she hadn't gotten used to life outside the incinerator quite yet. The nails of her left hand dug into the same palm. At least it couldn't get worse.
"Dr. Reynders," called a voice from outside the threshold as Ilse stood amongst the mess, "Something's come up."
Between the kid and the papers and the dog and whatever someone needed her for, Ilse's hands found their way into her hair. A few strands came out at first, red and fine, then a few more, enough that she could feel the sting start at her scalp. She watched as James began to fold the title page of her Gender Studies thesis into a crude paper airplane. Another piece of hair.
As she reached for another, the chaos in her field of vision was replaced with Milo, whose paws were now on her shoulders, pressing downwards. Her legs buckled as she slid her back down the wall and landed on the cool tile floor. She felt like she could claw her eyes out. Milo let out a soft whine, which grounded her.
James, hearing the thud, dropped his plane and toddled over to the pair. "Don't push Mama, Milo!" He waggled his pointer finger back and forth in the Samoyed's face.
"It's okay," she said shakily, "it's his job. He's helping me." Milo hadn't had the opportunity to task like this in front of James, and neither Ilse nor Jay had been able to agree on how to explain it to him.
"Oh." James pulled his hands back to his sides. "Can I squish you too?"
"That's okay," Ilse said, only getting halfway through the affirmative before James had his arms wrapped around her. Her heartbeat slowed. The fine, red hairs she had pulled out of her scalp were already finding their place back where they had come from. The wound on her left palm had also shut immediately, and the blood retreated back under her skin.
She sighed.
She would be okay.
"Doctor Reynders?" Came the voice from the hall again. It was Max Vroom, Chief of Identity and Technocryptography.
"One moment, Max." Turning to her son with the remnants of mild shock plastered across her face, Ilse put on her best smile for him. "James," she said, reaching to cup his face with her hands, "I'm going to go check on something across the hall. I need you to start piling these back up for me, okay? It'll be just like making a snowman." At the look in his eyes, she patted him on the shoulder and stood up to leave the room and shut the door behind her.
"Are you well, Doctor Reynders?" the fellow Dutchman asked.
"What is it? What happened?" She deftly dodged the question, proceeding down the hall with Vroom now behind her.
"There's a new object from the printer. It's come with a note, directly addressed to you."
"What?"
[20/12/2025]
Ilse,
I saw you walk right out of the ADDC as if nothing were constraining you, as easily as you walked in five hundred years from now. I knew you would do it. You always were the best of us. I saw you have a family. I envy you so. But you always did deserve the best.
Please give your boy the gift I have included, it is from Vivian and I.
For today, as it ever does, the work goes on.
Merry Christmas.
Ilse folded the letter in half, then in half again, wadding it up before shoving it into the back pocket of her jeans. She couldn't help but turn and catch a glimpse of James; evidently, he'd gotten through about thirty seconds of cleaning before reaching for the Switch in his bag. She grumbled slightly, but pressed on with picking up the mess that the AC and James had made as she pondered.
The printer had created a box, which neither she nor Max had dared open. No one knew what to expect inside, and whether or not it would be safe for James to even have in the first place. Not that she had ever known Wynn to be one to put children in the way of harm; but rather that in his current state of mind, he might not understand what would be an appropriate gift for a child such as James. The box had been handed over to Max's team, who were going to work with Acroamatic Abatement to make sure nothing in the box was harmful.
"Mama, what did Mr. Vroom ask you to go with him for?" The boy asked, petting Milo with his free hand as he continued to play on his Switch.
"I— I got something from someone."
"Who?"
"An old friend. One of your uncles, in fact," she kept picking up papers.
"I have uncles?"
"Yes. You know about Uncle Wynn already. He lives in the basement here." She tapped her foot twice on the floor. "Your other uncle is his husband."
It had just occurred to her that she had never told James about Vivian. She had spoken about him at length with Jay over the years, but never to James. It also occurred to her that, in order to explain them to James, she would have to address something he was unfamiliar with.
She'd have to explain to him that loved ones can die.
Ilse nodded and picked up the remaining papers from the ground, placing them on her desk. She pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded again, walking over to her son.
"What's his name?" He asked innocently.
She could feel that nagging sensation coming back. The urge to pick at her skin, to pull her hair out, to chew at her nails. It crashed over her like an ocean wave; Milo, who had been happy to let James pet him, suddenly perked up and tilted his head. The Samoyed stood up, stretched, then approached Ilse with a soft, high-pitched whine. He shoved his head under her left hand.
Adem, Ilse.
Adem…
In… en uit…
"Mama?" James prodded, grounding her.
"His name is Vivian Scout."
1943
24 December
Provisional Site-43: Lambton County, Province of Ontario, Dominion of Canada
Wynn Rydderech was not a hesitant man.
He could count the very few times in which he had hesitated on something in just five fingers, one of which bore his wedding band. Now, however, he found himself hesitating at the thought of approaching Vivian Scout with a Christmas present. It was a silly thing; a few years ago the man had expressed a fondness for the stuffed bears the Yankees had taken to calling 'teddy bears', in honor of their former president. The fact had sat with Wynn for ages, but only now had he mustered the mettle to buy one of the things for him.
Approaching Vivian's office, he noticed his fedora on the hat rack opposite the open door leading into the room. Wynn grumbled. He intended on leaving the present anonymously, Vivian being there was an uncertainty he hadn't accounted for. He expected him to be up at the Christmas party, but Wynn supposed it made sense for Vivian to be working. He had always been married to his work.
Wynn's shoulders slumped.
Vivian was a shining light in the Foundation. To everyone else around him. To Wynn. Vivan's spirit was unbroken by everything, and even when everyone would have taken a break to celebrate the occasion of brotherhood and joy amongst men, there he was, tapping away at his typewriter. Wynn sighed. Silent as the grave, he entered his own office, a few doors ahead of Vivian's, and stashed the stuffed animal in a cabinet.
He couldn't let his feelings get in the way of the good work.
In the back corner table of the Habitation and Sustenance Cafeteria, Ilse picked over her food while Jay rambled at a mile a minute.
"…I swear, his entire life is set up around 'prior authorization.' I mean, he's in charge of the Site. Who the hell does he need prior authorization from? By the time any of this makes its way back up and down the e-mail chain, we'll both be in a hole in the ground."
Ilse hummed in affirmation, reaching across the table to swipe a piece of spinach off of Jay's cheek. Meetings with Harry had a tendency to get them worked up for one reason or another, although there were some upsides — mainly, to Ilse's benefit, that the man seemed to have an unlimited tolerance for James' prodding. The man in question, at the moment, was wedged next to Lillian and across from James at a booth. James' hands were occupied with dipping his french fries in ketchup, but much like his parent, he was talking Harry — who was squished against the wall by an equally eager Lillian — half to death.
"Speaking of which," she piped up, trying to cut off the next tangent before it began, "I have a question for you."
"Whoof." Jay put down their fork, resting their head in their hands and their elbows on the table. "Relating to being in a hole in the ground?"
Ilse nodded.
"Real ominous, dear. I'd like my food without the existential crisis if it's alright by you."
"Ha." She laughed dryly. "It's not about you. Don't worry too much."
Jay cocked their head, holding her gaze as she swallowed.
"I think it might be time for James to know what time does to regular people."
There was a twinge of grief on both of their faces. Ilse gave a weak smile to punctuate her own statement.
“Well, I'm decidedly not like the two of you,” Jay said with a soft sigh, “but I trust you when you say this isn't about me. So that means something happened. What happened while I was away?" They reached over the table to their partner, rubbing their thumb across Ilse’s hand. "Are you alright?"
She nodded again, but averted Jay's gaze, fixing her vision instead on the seemingly spirited argument at the other table. "I— I got a box and a note. From Wynn."
"Wynn? As in, Wynn Rydderech? The one you told me about?" Jay blinked. "Why now?"
"See for yourself."
Ilse reached into her back pocket and grabbed the letter, handing it over to Jay. They scanned over it quickly, and then set it down on the table.
"If he's been unstuck in time and going through magic dementia this whole while, why only send something now? And how does he know about James?" Jay whispered, not wanting to catch the boy's attention.
Milo, who was laying down on the ground beside Ilse, let out a traditional dog-sigh. As much as he enjoyed his service dog work, he was also a lazy couch potato of a dog if left to his own devices.
Ilse let out a much less dog-like sigh. "I don't know. But… he has to learn eventually. And I would rather have you here to help me through it."
Jay smiled kindly and moved their hand from Ilse’s hand to their cheek. "Then let's do it together. I know just how to do it. But you're gonna have to do most of the talking.”
“What, are you going to show him Old Yeller?” Ilse couldn’t be bothered to laugh at her own joke, which Jay awarded with a scoff. She cleared her throat, then continued. “Look how happy he is.”
James did seem happy — his counterparts, on the other hand, did not.
“Like I said before, I think Alakazam is the best because it is the smartest,” said Blank, looking intently at James.
“Are you fu— Ow!” yelped Lillian as his elbow made swift contact with her side. “—Fully being serious?”
“Nuh uh!" He spoke with his mouth full of fries. "Mabostiff is the best because he's a dark type and he's immune to Alakazam's psychic powers! Plus he looks like Milo,” said James, mercifully unaware of the doctors’ antics.
“He’s having a great time. But he’s gonna keep having great times after he learns all this. It’s not a death sentence, and I think he's familiar with the general concept, Ilse. He just doesn't get the specifics." Jay grinned slightly, caressing their partner’s face. "Let's take him to see Vivian.”
Ilse grimaced, leaning into Jay’s touch nonetheless.
"Come on. I'm sure Harold and Lillian will be delighted to not have to hear about Pokémon for the rest of the day."
Ilse hesitated, a thousand possibilities swirling through their head. It had been hard enough for her to come to terms with her predicament, and even then, it was a choice she had made with a hundred years of preparation. She understood what leaving the incinerator would entail — James didn’t have the luxury of choice. No matter how he reacted, the two of them would stay the same way they were.
Just like when she was stuck in the incinerator. She could feel her fingers on her nails on her left hand stabbing into her palm, drawing blood. Milo let out a soft whine and stood, his soft, furry, white leg pawing at the top of her hand. The blood quickly found its way back under her skin and the wound healed, as it always did, but the thought would linger.
As it always did.
No better time then the present, she relented. "I— okay. We can do this."
Syania Cemetery & Preservation, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada
Ilse, Jay, James, and the car they were all crammed in to rattled down the road, headlights reflecting off of the luckily much gentler snowfall.
The pair had opted to drive with the radio off, trying to instill in their son a sense of quiet contemplation. What they hadn't accounted for was his tendency to create background noise; after the fifth a capella rendition of Golden, Jay turned around in the passenger seat to face him.
"Do you remember who we're going to visit?"
James nodded enthusiastically, much to the chagrin of Milo, who was currently lounging across the boy's lap. "Uncle Vivian!"
"Mhm. And do you know why we're visiting him?"
He cocked his head to the side, swinging his feet against the seat of the car. "Because Mama said he's dead."
Ilse's hands tightened on the steering wheel, her jaw set and eyes locked on the road ahead. A bouquet of tulips in a rainbow of warm colors sat on her lap, the last in the — albeit paltry — flower selection of the local supermarket.
"That's right," said Jay. "Do you know what that means, James?"
The graveyard, spilling down the side of a small hill, rose in the distance as they rounded the corner. Between the weather and the speed, each headstone seemed to be little more then a snowflake.
"I think so…"
They pulled the car into the parking lot. Ilse hoisted James from his booster seat, tulips tucked under her arm, and plopped him down onto the frozen grass. In his full winter getup, she had to admit, the kid looked remarkably cute. His cheeks were only made rosier by the chill, and his gap-toothed grin was almost enough to melt the fear nestled in Ilse's chest.
Almost.
"C'mere," said Jay, grabbing hold of James' gloved hand. Ilse, with Milo in tow, followed after them as the odd group wove their way through headstones and the occasional small mausoleum. Ilse diverted from the group momentarily, and Jay slowed their approach, as well as James' by extension, to give her some time.
"Where is mama going?" James asked.
"Quick detour. Don't worry about it for now. She'll tell you when she's ready."
She walked to a small grave which she had visited many a time before. Barely slowing down from her brisk clip, Ilse dusted snowfall from the grave, planting the collection of tulips under the now-clear inscription: Lys Reynders. Gedenk mijnentijds.
"Vrolijk kerstfeest, zus," she sighed.
After a few moments of only snow crunching beneath her boots, Ilse was back at her family's side. "Shall we proceed?"
Only a few plots down in the same row sat the unremarkable grave of one Dr. Vivian Scout.
It was a terribly grey thing, barely reaching to Ilse's knee and lacking in inscriptions other then a name and date of death. A small divot was worn near the top. As she had a hundred times before, Ilse rested her thumb on it, rubbing small circles against the rough stone.
"Where's Uncle Vivian?"
The winter air gnawed at Ilse's lungs as she took a deep, slow breath, then stood.
"Uncle Vivian is right here, James." She awkwardly patted the headstone. Snowflakes gathered on her eyelashes.
James broke free from Jay's grasp, peeking over the top of the headstone, then circling around the back. "Is that what dead means? When they put you under a rock?"
Ilse stepped away, leaning against their partner as James looked on. It was easy to forget, in moments like these, that he would never grow past this childish wonder. He still lived in a world full of surprise; the concept of Scout's life was as abstract to him as the concept of Scout's death.
"Not exactly, James," she bit her lip.
"What's dead mean?" James twisted to look at his parents, attention divided between them and the grave, which Milo was sniffing at.
"It means your body gave out. When you can't keep going anymore and you stop doing anything." Jay, who had the most personal investment in the matter, spoke softly.
"Like when Pokémon faint?"
"It's a little bit different." They sighed, kneeling down to James' level. "You can't just heal them up at a Pokécenter. Once they're gone, they stay gone forever."
James' eyes widened. "Like Arven's Mabostiff?"
A brief silence. Jay was the first to break out of it, their memory finally recalling what James meant. "Yes. Like Arven's Mabostiff." Ilse shot them a look. "It's a Pokémon thing. He told me about it when he was playing the new game. It's a Pokémon that is on the brink of death throughout the game and whose owner is worried about him. But James, it's like if Arven's Mabostiff actually died."
Another silence.
"Why didn't they make Vivian a sandwich?" the boy asked.
Jay laughed, Ilse's perplexed expression remained.
"I'm afraid it's not that simple, kiddo. Dying happens to everyone, it's an unavoidable fact of life," they nodded, watching as Ilse's gaze shifted toward her son.
"Will it happen to me?"
"No," said Ilse. "Being dead happens to almost everyone, but not you or me."
"Because we're immoral?"
"Immortal, kiddo. I-mmor-tal," Jay corrected.
"And Baba's immoral too?" Ilse and Jay shared a look of devastation.
"I'm not. But it's okay, James. I'm not going anywhere for a while," they smiled gravely.
Ilse knelt beside them, pulling them into an awkward side hug. They'd talk about it later, when James was long asleep, over tea. They'd come up with something better to say. They'd figure out how to explain to James why Jay's hair had started turning from brown to grey, why their crow's feet continued to deepen while Ilse's showed themselves only with a smile. They'd figure it out. Ilse was certain of it. As she let go, she noticed James was staring.
His expression grew concerned. "Does that mean baba is going to die?" he looked to Ilse. Before either of them could try and comfort the boy, James had tackled Jay, knocking them to the ground and squeezing them as tightly as his little arms could.
"Hey, hey, hey! It's okay, papo! I promise you, I'll still be around for a long time. I can't just leave you and mama like that, you know? Also maybe next time please don't throw me to the ground like that, eh? I love you, kiddo. It's okay, I'm not mad at you. Just cold." Jay chuckled, patting James as he sniffled. He got off their chest and stood, eyes still watery.
"Do you promise?"
"Pinky promise," Jay smiled, standing and offering him their pinky. James shoved himself against them again, squeezing once more.
"I love you, baba. And you too, mama."
Ilse could feel her heart beating faster as she approached the two and embraced them both in a hug. Milo, for his part, looked on contentedly and wagged his tail. The trio remained there, snow falling for a perfectly tender family moment straight out of a picture book. Eventually, they broke away.
“I wanna ask another question,” said James, face solemnly set.
“Of course, kiddo,” said Jay, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“Can we roll down the empty part of the hill?” He pointed behind Vivian's grave, smiling innocently.
Jay and Ilse exchanged a look. Before Ilse could say no, and before Jay could shrug, James ran off in the direction of the hillside. They chased after their son, watching in something between shock and amusement as he plopped down at the top of the slope, curled into a ball, and sent himself sliding towards the car.
“Kanker!”
Ilse couldn’t quite catch up to Jay, who looked back at her with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin before pulling their toque down over their ears and rolling after him.
And then they were rolling too, tumbling down the hill, vision flickering on James, and the grave, and Jay, and the snow and Milo, chasing after the three of them and barking, and the car parked on the shoulder.
James whooped and hollered and cheered in excitement, narrowly missing a few headstones near the edges of the barren side of the hill. Jay joined in. Ilse found it in herself to scream, then sob. The three of them quickly found themselves in a pile, Milo licking salty tears from Ilse's cheeks.
Everything spun and twisted; her whole world, Jay and James. For as much as the world had moved on, she hadn't allowed herself to do so. But now, then and there, she found herself in the present. For the first time that day, she laughed.
It was a beautiful thing.
2025
25 December
Grand Cove: Grand Bend, Lambton County, Ontario, Canada
Ilse yawned into her coffee, shuffling her slippers on the hardwood floor as James hopped up and down in front of her.
"Santa came, Mama!" He pulled at the sleeve of her nightgown with all of his might. "Baba, hurry! We have to open presents!"
Ilse shared a quick glance with Jay as they puttered into the living room. Santa would have to be a conversation for another year.
"We can't open anything at all until you chill out," teased Jay, taking James' stocking down from its place on the mantle and laying it on the table. "Besides, I think Mama might have one more thing for you." They shot Ilse a remarkably un-suave wink.
"I do, actually." She pulled a box from the pile under the tree; two names graced its tag instead of just the one. "It's a gift from your uncles," she said, sitting on the couch and patting the space next to her. "They wanted you to have it."
James crawled onto the couch, tearing at the wrapping paper as soon as it was in his hands. Inside of the box was a teddy bear with an orange bow around its neck. It was as much of a surprise to her as it was to him — after clearing it with Acroamatic Abatement and adding Scout's signature next to Ryderrech's, she hadn't been able to bring herself to peek inside.
"What do you think?" Jay leaned in close, watching as James turned the bear around, examining it. Ilse tensed. Did he hate it? The thing was, predictably, rather old — she could already see a few spots where the stitching needed repairs, places where the tawny brown fur had begun to lose its color.
James wrapped the teddy bear into a tight hug, nuzzling his chin against the top of its head.
"I love it," he said into the fabric, a grin spreading across his face.
"We love you too," said Ilse, planting a kiss on James' forehead, then another on Jay's cheek.
25 December
Site-43: Lambton County, Ontario, Canada
Somewhere, deep in the bowels of Site-43, Wynn Ryderrech felt a warm glow of joy.
