1AN: I know this is a bona fide dead fandom, and that I've shown up to the party YEARS too late, but if anyone still loves the show - please come geek out with me!
'Come, come along,
Come with sorrows and songs—
Come however you are,
Just come, come along.'
"Trusty and True" ~ Damien Rice
'Logical' is in interesting word. Interesting in the sense that the definition of it can be so shifty when, by its very nature, it's supposed to make things more solid. More dependable and clear cut in an otherwise murky situation.
Toby understands this dichotomy when, the next morning, he finds himself standing over a tombstone.
It's his mother's.
The same mother who is, at this very moment, out for a walk around their neighbourhood while Tia calls her editor to say that she won't be at work. Toby too called in a few days off, only to find out that Dev decided on the exact same course of action to spend time with Alex—which, finally. It's something their entire unit desperately needs and so the brass upstairs aren't too worried. They've become a teensy bit workaholic and burnout is always a concern in this profession.
But there's nothing logical about the fact that he told Tia, "I'm headed out to get some groceries and toiletries for Mom."
And then just…ended up here.
He drove to the location she had mentioned briefly in passing last night as her 'final resting place' without much thought. It's closer to Toronto than he expects, about a forty five drive outside the city, not that this area is anywhere near her current safe house.
With the crisp spring morning, Toby keeps his hands tunneled snug inside his coat pockets. It's hovering just above the freezing mark, so the process of seeing his breath dissipates after a few minutes when the air warms.
The headstone is a sandy colour, which on any other day would look drab and terribly mundane. Today…today it seemed to glow even before Toby found it. A beacon, gentle and reassuring with the golden glint of timid sunlight. It's got a dove with a halo carved into the top, under which are inscribed Maya's dates of life, the death matching when she was scrubbed from the federal system, followed by a tiny quote:
'He will quiet you with his love, rejoice over you with singing.'
This is an immediate giveaway that someone else made the tombstone, for Maya never went to church a day in her life, from what little Toby remembers. He makes a face at the words, until he understands and his features smooth.
There's an uncomfortable burn along the back of his eyes, at the memory of her singing, and he does a little loop around this part of the cemetery to be rid of it.
Logical. Not a word to fit anything that's happening here. It's not logical that he is here instead of home. It isn't anything even approaching logical that the sight of this false grave is intensely heartening and lip-quaveringly tragic all at once.
Toby stands there for a long time. Long enough for his nose to go numb. The day is overcast, with just enough steeped light to turn everything the colour of soggy butter. Like he's in an old, sepia movie that's been retouched.
The sound of a car door gently but firmly shutting makes Toby flinch. He doesn't turn from his place in front of Maya's grave, however, and footfalls crunch towards him across the grass.
"We're the start of a bad joke, you and I."
Toby fights the crooked arc around his mouth that wants desperately to become a grin. "A telepath and a detective walk into a graveyard…"
Michelle snorts. She finally makes it to his side, only to nudge him with her pointy elbow. Ow. "I was going to say two off duty investigators still find themselves surrounded by death, but sure. That works too."
Toby hunches his shoulders, so that his flipped up collar brushes along his earlobes. The two friends huddle close for warmth and, Toby suspects, so Michelle can discreetly size up his condition.
"I have a question of my own."
"Shoot," Toby echoes her.
"How long have you been standing here?"
"Are you sure that's your question?"
Michelle smiles, even with her teeth, and Toby accepts the second, less jabby nudge. "I've heard it's polite to make small talk when calling upon someone unexpectedly."
"Mmm." Toby reads Maya's dates again, trying to understand how something so big, so monumental, can fit in one tiny chisel stroke. "'Bout an hour."
"Gotcha." Michelle's voice is nonchalant, no big deal, but her side eyed gaze tracks his face. Then she too glances at the headstone and her eyes darken.
"Dev tracked my phone?" Toby guesses.
"Yeah, when Tia got worried." Michelle sighs. "We all were, really. Toby—you've been gone for three hours."
"What?" Toby blinks, finally looking at Michelle and the surrounding field. "No, I haven't. That can't be right. I just left at eight this morning."
Michelle takes out her phone to show him. "Toby, it's eleven fifteen."
Toby is thunderstruck and horrified, mostly to realize that she's right and he's lost track of so much time. His ears ring with the surprise of it all for a moment. He opens his mouth to stumble out an apology.
"I was in the neighbourhood anyway," says Michelle before he can, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. "This cemetery is on the way to our next locale. Spontaneous road trip."
Toby glances at her car, seeing Adam with Carry on his lap in the passenger's seat. He looks like he's singing a silly song that has the baby's nose scrunching with giggles. One of Toby's favourite things in the entire world is reading a baby's mind. Right now, despite the distance, he gets a flash of bright colours and Michelle's smiling face, a little distorted since Carry's eyes-to-long-term-memory processes aren't fully developed. Baby memories of a mother.
A mother's love.
Deflating, Toby releases a huge gust of air. "I had no idea."
Michelle says nothing, lips pursed tight now. Then her gaze shifts out past Maya's headstone, past the field, all the way to the horizon of trees lining the cemetery. Beyond that, somewhere down the road, is a duck pond and Toby can hear their quacking where it carries on the cold air.
He's not even sure Michelle is seeing that, instead up and somewhere off into the clouds. Her eyes reflect them, little bronze flames of a sun teasing behind the dreary sky. Like she can see the blue, vibrant world way up there, unencumbered by rain or sleet or icy grave stones.
It's a look she gets sometimes, when her spirit is calm and she has time to think. Toby's never said it to anyone, and he never will, but Michelle looks statuesque and regal when she does this. A queen of the wind stepped down to earth for a brief moment of clarity before flying off to worlds unknown.
"Michelle?"
"Yeah?"
Toby swallows, cants his head. "What's your real question?"
"Well, I'd imagine it's quite similar to yours."
"You mean, why did I drive to this tombstone if it's fake and my real mother is very much alive in my house?"
Toby has been subjected to so many surprises in the last twenty-four hours that he thinks nothing can top them all. Opening the door to see his mom standing there is certainly enough to set the bar for a lifetime.
But Michelle laughs, sprightly, irreverent, and sudden, and it catches Toby completely off guard. "No, Toby. Come on, you're smarter than that."
Toby again feels the warmth of her through his sleeve, with memories of his own, their easy partnership through the years, flooding his mind. Hairs prickle on his arms in harmony with the racing chill down his spine. He opens his mouth, closes it…and at last, works up his nerve enough to say it—
"Why is it easy, Michelle?"
"There you go." She winks. "Now you're catching on, asking the right question."
Then she goes quiet. She leans into him a little and Toby reciprocates, more weight on one foot than the other, to allow her space to prop herself against his right shoulder.
"When I was fifteen, I was big into shoplifting," says Michelle, and this one is less surprising than the laugh, somehow. "Mostly just for cool points, you know. Sticking it to bullies, stuff like that. I usually gave back what I stole. But then…"
The wind in her fae lungs catches for a second and Toby looks up at her. "Then?"
Michelle shakes herself into a professional expression. "Then my mom got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Six months to live."
She smiles, even though nothing about this is humorous or even calming. "I lost her just before my sixteenth birthday, before I even got my learner's permit. I stopped the shoplifting at once, of course, with bigger problems to worry about than my high school social standing. But my mom didn't get better. And silly as it was, I felt like the disease was my fault."
The words, to someone else, someone who'd had Tia's golden childhood for instance, would sound foolish and nonsensical. Toby nods at once, understanding before she even says it. This, this is logical.
"Like you weren't worthy of her," he finishes, voice decisive and rock steady, "that somehow the universe decided to take her away because of it."
Michelle hums her agreement. "I became the model student—straight A's, volunteer work at the senior's home, student counsel. And you know what?"
Toby doesn't need to read her mind to punctuate this thought. His hands tremor in his pockets. "She still died."
"And she still died," Michelle repeats, softly.
The two friends stare at each other, a universe of suffering, loneliness, and pain encompassed in their gazes alone. And he realizes, suddenly, what they are. They are friends, of course, but more than that, he and Michelle are each other's escape. When life gets too much, they can run all over the streets of Toronto trying to fix someone else's.
They are blood brothers, like soldiers.
"You were in a bad place when you started helping us," says Michelle, with that factual neutrality that negates any suggestion of judgement.
It makes Toby feel safe enough to nod. "For sure. I'd just lost Charlie and any lead on my mom."
"Did you feel 'worthy' of becoming a part of our unit?"
Toby looks at her, hard. Eyes narrowed. "No. I was a mess and we were all grumpy with each other."
"That's a very nice way of saying I didn't truly smile at you until four months in."
She and Toby have a chuckle over that one, for it's true, and none of them were very lovable when they all met.
"But it was easy," says Toby, quiet, melodic, like they're Irishmen singing airs for the ocean. "It was work but there was no gatekeeping cost."
Michelle nods. "Exactly. Nobody buys family, Toby. There is no five step plan before 'poof,' you're ready. We are frustrating and human and ripe awful sometimes—but someone loving you is their choice, not yours. You can stop running, Toby."
He lets out another breath, and though it's even, no hiccups, there's a higher pitch to it that Michelle can probably see through. Then she shifts and holds his weight up for a few minutes. It's subtle, but for them—a gesture more demonstrative than any hug. This is helped by the fact that Michelle is slightly taller when in heels, something Toby has always been bizarrely comforted by.
More illogical things. He's surrounded by them, drowning in things that make no sense to the outside observer.
"I can't read your mind, Toby." Michelle nudges him with her toe this time, in a pair of magenta riding boots. "But I know you. And I know it's scary right now but it will get…less scary, the more you let us in."
Toby closes his eyes for a moment. The ducks are flying away now, along with some Canada geese coming home for the spring. Their honking floats overhead.
Michelle's voice slips into a whisper. "Nobody is going to make you jump through any hoops or set up expectations to receive their love, least of all your mother."
Toby doesn't answer, but he sighs, and it is enough. Michelle goes back to her moor side tree impression and watches the geese. Toby finally stops shaking, feeling instead a blue tone peace wash through him, that even if he doesn't fathom how it all works now—he will one day, and people like Michelle will be here to make sure of it.
They are not logical and yet they make perfect sense, to Toby. He and Michelle are at once kindred spirits and complete opposites, which means they see the world in a way no one else can.
Maybe the world needs more illogical things like them.
Then more footfalls join their huddle, these ones smaller and bringing with them a host of noise that isn't externally audible.
Toby knows who it is before he even turns to look. "Mom."
Maya offers a half smile, clearly worried. She rounds her own headstone and kicks at it. "A peaceful spot, no?"
"You chose it well," Toby admits. He straightens, though Michelle sticks close. "This is a rural area, mostly farmland. Nobody will bother to come all the way out here to look for a coffin."
"That's the plan."
Maya eyes Michelle and Toby's heart jumps up to cower in his throat. He has to take a few deliberate breaths in through his nose before he can speak, and even then it's faint, hushed. His mother met Tia last night, of course, the woman he hopes to grow old with, but this meeting feels different.
Very different.
This is the friend who has had Toby's back from the start, through that one-in-a-million insight and loyalty they possess for each other. They've saved each other's lives more times than he can tally up.
Toby steps forward so he's at the halfway point between the two women. "Mom, this is Michelle. Michelle, this…this is my mother."
Michelle doesn't shake Maya's hand right away, in a twist of the usual pleasantries. Instead, she shuffles so she's at Toby shoulder again. Weird. They size each other up for a moment.
Finally, Michelle holds out her hand. "It's an honour."
And she means it. Maya must read this too, warmth filtering into her expression when their hands make contact. "Ah, you're Toby's partner at the IIB."
"That's right."
"You've kept him safe, all this time. Thank you."
Michelle's eyes burn for a moment, twin blazes stoked by the whirlwind of her expression. "And I'll continue to do so. I promise."
"And a new mum to boot! Congratulations."
Michelle gapes, first at Maya, then at Toby. "Did you tell her that?"
Toby throws his mother a look, lacking any heat. "Right now? Really?"
Michelle colours before rolling her eyes to hide it. "You've got a point, Toby. That will take some getting used to."
"Sorry," says Maya, sheepish. "Plus, you have that certain look about you. Mothers can sense these things without any special help required."
Michelle's gaze turns assessing, fond. "Yes…they certainly can."
It prompts a question out of Toby he's wondered all along, from the second she walked through his front door. "Mom, whatever happened to him?"
"I don't know." Maya's eyes cloud. Her mind flickers with an image of pink baby toes. "Your little brother was taken from me and I never saw him again. I'd hoped…I mean I never stopped…but I thought I might try searching for him. One last time."
Origami sheets of love and pain and possibility fold themselves into tender shapes inside Toby's chest. His eyes burn again but this time he lets them, riding the sensation to its conclusion. This turns out to be one quick, crystal tear falling to frosty ground at his feet and Maya takes his hand, hers beautifully warm.
"We could do that together," he says, "if you want."
Maya cups his cheek. "It's all I've ever wanted."
Michelle watches the interaction with a keen but thrilled expression. She clears her throat. "You know, you have a slight advantage now, Toby, that you didn't before."
He reads the flicker of mischief in her eyes, stirring up the silt of determination, and matches it with a grin. Could it really be that simple, that people love him without expecting certain provisos in return? Easy, her face says.
"Is that so?" Toby smiles. "Know any first rate investigators who specialize in finding missing people?"
"I just might. She's five eleven, blond hair…"
"Knows how to take down supreme court judges."
"Really great with a gun."
"Doesn't smile very much."
Michelle swats his arm, which does virtually nothing to diminish their ourbouros of excitement. She and Toby are almost childlike with the giddiness of it, the prospect that they might be able to find his brother. "You're impossible, Toby Logan."
"Gotta keep you on your toes somehow."
Maya catches some of the anticipation while they laugh, her eyes big. They are confused, and then stunned. "Are you…Sergeant, are you saying you'd be willing to put government resources on this?"
"For Toby? Anything." Michelle sticks out her hand again. "I'm saying it would be my pleasure."
Maya is frozen with surprise, such a huge gift so readily given. Easy. Then her eyes spill over and she forgoes the handshake to yank Michelle in for a hug. Toby is wickedly delighted to see the stoic detective at a loss, arms flailing before she figures out where to put them.
In one monumental burst, that one embrace, Toby's past and present fuse together.
"Thank you!" Maya is saying it to Michelle but her eyes are on Toby. "Thank you!"
It is a striking image because it is propelled by love, from the affection on Michelle's face to the golden and green flares of hope Toby can read running over the borders of his mother's mind—
Carrying him, and all of them, onward to the future.
