iselldrugstothecommunity | But Time Takes Time, You Know [Musebox]

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But Time Takes Time, You Know [Musebox]

It's hard to research things that haven't happened yet, Howard discovers. Rather than hitting the library, like he would have on Stacy, he has to spend a lot of time thinking, sitting around talking to Barbara about every detail he remembers of his family history. Every year that passes by, the memories get a little more obscure, a little less refined, and he starts to panic, thinking that he won't have enough information to track down his family at all soon.

Over endless cups of tea, Barbara asks questions ("do you remember your mother's maiden name? do you know where your father's parents were from before they came to California? do you remember what their professions were?") to try and drag out the useful information, but it ends up being a stray memory of a Christmas dinner that puts the pieces in place.

"My grandma has to be in San Francisco. They had a one year wedding anniversary ornament on the Christmas tree of the Golden Gate Bridge, and I'm pretty sure they got married in 1969."

What they were doing in San Francisco is beyond his knowledge, but it's the closest they have to a shot. He doesn't know what hospitals his parents were born in, or where his paternal grandparents might be now, or even what year his parents are going to meet. It takes a lot of agonizing before he decides to spend all that money he's been saving in a can under the sink on plane tickets for him and Barbara to go there, but when he invites her she agrees that it's important to him, and besides, how often does one get to vacation in America?

So they both have suitcases packed and a promise to be back in ten days, waiting for Ian in the kitchen to come drive them to the airport. Howard's nervous, naturally, because he's not sure how he'll introduce himself to total strangers as their grandkid from the future. But he's come to relax a bit - a bit - over the last few years, and as such he just chews his lip and bounces his leg a bit rather than panics. He even got six hours of sleep last night. It's truly a miracle.

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He breathes deep through his nose. Whatever happens, he's just going to have to push through it. It's strange, though - he can envision some idea of what it's going to be like leading up to the meeting, but trying to plan out what he'll say is like trying to peer through fog. It's all a blank. And he's scared - his knee is shaking a bit under Barbara's hand.

He looks around at the sleeping passengers. "Sorry I'm making you travel so far. I'm buying you clam chowder when we get to San Fran."

"What's clam chowder?"

By the time the duo made it to California, Barbara was exhausted. They waited for their luggage by the carousel, where they had to fight, elbows bared, with the other passengers for a chance to spot their luggage.

Despite finally having their suitcases in hand, they had not yet won the war. Still, they had to catch a taxi (or 'cab' as Barbara was told to refer to them by), to their hotel and check in. The 'cab' was nothing like a taxi, in Barbara's opinion.

And while Barbara wasn't often the one to call anyone incompetent, the hotel had indeed come close to being listed under that adjective in Barbara's mind. Until they were upgraded due to a stuff up by someone, and their rooms being cancelled on them, then rebooked and moved over to some place else.

Eventually, she was able to collapse onto one of the beds. "I'm not getting up for several hours," she told Howard, muffled somewhat by the pillow she had landed face-first in.

"Get your rest. It's like...seven p.m. here." He draws the curtains closed to she has some darkness and tucks her in, like a weird reversal of how she used to adjust his blankets whenever she'd pass his couch in the night. She's not going to actually suffocate on that pillow she's sleeping in, is she? He hovers around for a little while just in case.

There isn't really much to do in the hotel room, especially since he doesn't want the light on as it might wake her. He tries to write in the dim light, but after a while he gives up. He checks to make sure she's still sleeping soundly, checks that he has a room key and has left one for her, and then slips out into the San Francisco day.

He went to San Francisco a few times as a kid - his aunt and uncle lived in Sacramento, and his mother always said it was a shame to go so far up north and not do some vacationing. Most of his memories revolve around the cable cars and the wharf, and he knows both of those existed in this time period. The Hard Rock Cafe is probably still just a cafe, not a shrine to the Who and Eric Clapton.

It really hits him, then, that he's back in America. He's been living in the UK for five years, and it's never felt even a little bit like home to him. California's the homeland, with all its memories and all its nightmares. For a moment he just closes his eyes and breathes in the salt air of the bay, trying to decide whether the air just tastes different or if it's all in his head.

He doesn't want it to be difficult to leave. And as such, he doesn't want to consider either option for when he meets his grandparents. If they reject him, how will he cope with that? And worse, if there's instant chemistry, a connection, a family lore he can tap into, how can he go back to Britain? There's nothing for him there. There's Ian and Barbara, and his cats, there's love and support but there's no future for him.

And yet he knows that maybe it's all an excuse, and there's no future for him anywhere. The anomaly, the displaced kid, the paradox, condemned to float forever and mark off his time until he dies.

He tries not to think too hard about it as he jogs down to the wharf. He doesn't remember what he and his parents used to do there, but there's an arcade, he remembers, one of the old-timey ones with creepy dummies and dolls that told your future. It's more interesting than anything else, and a flyer on a lamppost advertises free entrance, so he heads that way.

He spends about an hour browsing through the arcade, then goes back to the hotel to make sure Barbara's still okay, then comes back, then repeats the process. The third time he returns, the arcade is closed, but the security is easy enough to get by. A few picked locks and a jammed window and he's in the darkened building, marveling at the fact that he's finding it kind of thrilling. He remembers parts of this place terrifying him as a child. Laughin' Sal the dummy starts whooping, and he barely jumps.

The coinstampers are still working, so he gets a penny stamped with an image of the bridge and slips it into his pocket. He sneaks out the building, avoiding the police officers who patrol the wharf, and runs back to the hotel. Barbara's still there, still sleeping, and he places the penny on top of her purse on the bedstand before slumping into the other bed. He can tell he's exhausted, but he still feels electric, invigorated now with anticipation and something else. Not fear, exactly, and not really excitement, but a sense of escape he hasn't had in the UK.

As such, he's awake and pacing around when Barbara wakes.

Barbara awoke slowly like one does after a long, deep sleep. She stretched under the blanket she didn't remember putting over herself, and sat up. The makeup she had been wearing for the last day had smudged a little around her eyes. But she was rested, so it hardly mattered.

"Don't tell me that you've been sitting around this room all along," Barbara asked Howard, "that would have been awfully boring."

"Nah, I went out to the wharf. Brought you something." He gestures to the penny.

"You might want to, uh." He rubs under his eye to gesture where she should wash up. "Or shower all the airplane germs off. Then we can go get breakfast and I can legit welcome you to my home state."

He sounds excited enough by that that the bounce in his leg might be from excitement more than habit or nerves.

Barbara picked up the coin to examine its print. "It's the bridge!" she smiled up at him.

"Why don't I shower and make myself presentable, then we can call Ian to let him know we arrived safely, and then we can go and have breakfast."

"Sure. We have to call him and make sure he fed the cats." And isn't worrying about them, of course. But that he fed the cats, most importantly.

"That, too," she smiled and got up from the bed to collect a few things from her luggage. Barbara also wanted to hear how John was doing, but knew how little Howard cared for the boy.

Once she'd showered, combed her hair, and put on something more fitted to the weather outside, she had to look up just how she would call the United Kingdom. A pamphlet by the telephone was most helpful, and Barbara punched in the numbers before dialing her own number. She gestured that Howard come and sit by her, so that they could share the ear piece.

Howard changes his clothes into a fresh set - he showered while Barbara was sleeping, at least. He sits by the phone and considers singing the Star Spangled Banner once Ian picks up.

"Hello, Chesterton household," a tired Ian said in greeting.

"We made it!" Barbara called down the telephone line at him.

"That's fantastic news! Only took you a day."

"I'm sorry, we'd have come faster except that the airplane stopped to talk to the birds."

"We didn't want you to worry when we crashed in the ocean, so we waited for an ocean liner to rescue us before calling." Howard flicks the penny in his palm. "Did you feed the cats?"

And because he wants to show Barbara he cares, "how's John?"

"Yes, Howard, the cats are fed," Ian sighed and didn't seem to improve in mood at the mention of his son. "John's fine. In fact, he was up just now telling me all about how much he missed the both of you."

"I'm glad to hear it," Barbara grinned, "at least we didn't wake you."

"No, no. You didn't. Did you want to speak with your chatty son?" John always became Barbara's son when he kept Ian from sleeping. Just like he became Ian's son when he was doing something dangerous.

"Please!" Barbara replied eagerly. There was a silence while Ian probably went to fetch him, then a rattling came down the phone line. More silence. Ian could then be heard in the back ground, coaxing John into talking. He babbled a little, nothing intelligible, but Barbara stilled beamed at Howard.

"John, it's Mummy! Are you keeping Daddy awake?" she cooed at the telephone.

Howard freezes a little when he hears the kid's voice on the phone. He's never actually heard John, only seen him from a distance when his late-night jogs 'happen' to take him past the Chesterton household.

He has no idea how a kid who's never seen him can 'miss' him. It creeps him out.

So he plans of letting Barbara do her thing and then asking Ian if he can put the cats on the line. As a joke, of course.

John fell silent, and for another moment, nothing happened until Ian took the phone back.

"Sorry, he was trying to eat it. Have an interesting conversation?" Ian asked.

"Oh, yes, he was telling me about how you're letting him stay up late and eat nothing but sugar."

Howard resists the urge to sarcastically mutter 'charming'. He can't really judge a two year-old for what he puts in his mouth. He doesn't look at Barbara, either; he can't help but feel jealous of how excited she is to hear from her kid.

"Jeez, Ian, even I know how to raise kids better than that."

"I did not!" Ian defensively said down the telephone. Barbara merely laughed.

"We're going to get breakfast," she continued once the short, soft laughter had subsided, "I only wanted to check in and let you know we'd arrived safely. We'll be home in a week or so, I'll call you from the airport and let you know what time we get in. I love you."

Ian mirrored the farewell and hung up. Barbara listened to the dead line for a beat longer, then carefully put the receiver back on its cradle.

"Right. You mentioned breakfast?"

Howard doesn't say goodbye to Ian, and regrets that the moment the phone's put down, but he's not about to do a long distance call to do so. Next time they talk to Ian he well.

"Right! We're going to the wharf!" He claps his hands and grins. "Or we could do Chinatown. What do you feel like?"

"There's a Chinatown in London, so why don't you take me somewhere all-American?" Barbara tried her best American accent, but it even made her cringe with its awfulness.

Howard tries to cover his laughter and fails spectacularly. "Right. Wharf it is. I went there last night when you were sleeping."

He seems strangely energized today, in a way that's very uncharacteristic for him. Maybe it's the fact that he's surrounded by the sounds of voices that sound like his, Californian English, even if from a slightly different time. Maybe it's just sleep deprivation. Regardless, he looks more excited about things than he's been since he was helping plan Barbara's wedding.

"We can get chowder in sourdough bowls, we can see the seals, we can walk across the bridge." He'll pass on Alcatraz, thanks. "And anything you want to do, too."

"We can do all of those things." As Barbara saw it, this was Howard's holiday. She would do anything he wanted to do. Even if they stood entirely still until Howard came up with something.

They head down to the wharf in a cable car. Howard hangs a little bit outside it, taking in the sea air. At the very least, all the tourism is going to keep him from thinking too hard about meeting his grandparents tomorrow - he plans on staking out the bridge all day, waiting to see them.

When they get to the wharf, he buys them both chowder bowls, and they sit on the pier watching the seals while they eat them. He's chatty, explaining all the things that are different than the few memories of this place from his childhood. The 70's are a different time than the 2000's.

"I think this is good, I mean, this trip." He sounds a bit like he's convincing himself of this until he believes it. He kicks a small piece of trash into the water and finishes off his bread bowl. "For me. I mean, for us, since it's been a while since we done anything together. I mean, that's my fault, but."

He shrugs and stares out at Alcatraz.

"It's good for different reasons," Barbara replied, glancing at the side of his head. She looked out again at the water, and how it stretched all the way out to the horizon. "It's good that you're back here, back home. You can't tell me that England is somewhere you'd call home. Also it's good for us because we haven't spent time together for quite a while, no matter who is at fault.

"I'm happy that we're doing this."

"No, it's not. I keep wanting to call it home and it's just not." San Francisco isn't either, but it feels more similar - like new clothing in the right size, even if it isn't worn in yet. "I don't know what it is, if it's the accents or the customs or if it's just something else."

He reaches over and touches her arm, just to physically establish the connection. He knows it can't be easy having an errant kid around, or anyone you care about like that. And he feels like he can snap back into place with Ian over just a few hours of sitting around building things or fixing the car, but his bond with Barbara has always been much deeper.

"Would it kill you if I moved back here, in the long run?"

Her hand reached out to cover his, and she smiled at him. "I'd be lying if I said that I wouldn't miss you terribly, but I understand. And there's very little stopping us from visiting once a year or so.

"You're technically a grown man, and you can make your own decisions. If you want to live here, you can. We'll work everything out."

He doesn't really return the smile. "I just don't really know if I want to be here or if I don't really want to be anywhere, if that makes sense. Like I'm just running away looking for something that fits better. But I can always come back, right?"

He runs a hand over his hair. "I'd miss you too. And the time zone differences would mean I'd have to call you before lunch if I ever wanted to talk to you."

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