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Chapter Text

“The Friendship Festival is back on,” Georgie blurted as she careened through the front door of Funn Funerals. “Just got word from the mayor, they’ll be announcing the pair this evening.”

The implication didn’t click in Antigone’s mind at first. “Oh, really?” Perhaps, for the first time, she’d actually attend the festival part of the Friendship Festival. Rudyard always brought back little cakes and things that were really quite delightful, even eaten in the dim darkness of the mortuary. “That’ll be --”

Wait.

“Oh, no.” The walls were closing in. Death. Destruction. Etc. “Oh, no no no no.”

Georgie heaved a breath and re-adjusted one of the straps of her overalls. Her frizzed hair was threatening to escape the confines of the hair tie. She must have run from the mayor’s office. “Yeah.”

“They’re going to kill each other.”

“I don’t think they’re going to kill each other.” Then, a hasty correction. “I think one of them is going to try and kill the other and drown himself in the process.”

“Don’t try and comfort me now. Where’s Rudyard?”

“Where else? He’s in his stacks, sorting through documents on pesticides in the 18^th century.”

It wasn’t like Rudyard would listen to her, regardless – rarely ever, but especially not recently. God, god, god, god – ! “I need to find Eric and find a way out of this.” She reached for her cloak and threw it over her shoulders, already smoothing down the front of her dress. And her hair. And catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Georgie, man the till!”

As Antigone raced out the front door, she heard Georgie call out after her. “We haven’t really got a till, but okay!”

***

Piffling Vale’s Friendship Festival was a long and bloody tradition on the island, calling upon both its maritime roots and patriotic cantankerousness. On land were several colorful booths, selling all sorts of flowers, sweets, pastries, fried things. There were games and raffles and a healthy spirit of competition, all of which Antigone had heard from the mortuary and gotten filtered through Rudyard.

On sea was a different story entirely.

The Friend Ship was carefully maintained throughout the year. It was a tiny blue sailboat with the words FRIEND carefully scrawled on the side. Boating experts would note that the Friend Ship was not actually a ship at all, but rather a Friend Dinghy. Ultimately, very fitting, because the goal of the Friend Dinghy was to create the most dingy of friends.

Before the Friendship Festival, the mayor nominated the most contentious relationship in Piffling Vale. Mortal enemies, ex-partners, the gloomy and the desperate – and they would be placed on the Friend Dinghy to sort out their issues during the entire festival. When they finally returned, weathered and exhausted, one would hope that they were the best of friends.

It worked sometimes, though that might have been due to dehydration and a genuine relief that they hadn’t perished out of sea. Sometimes, well. Sometimes it didn’t work very well.

Rudyard had been out there twelve times. Antigone had been out there four times, always with Rudyard. In fact, they’d been unable to have the Friendship Festival for the past few years, because one couldn’t very well put Rudyard on the Friend Dinghy with the entire population of Piffling Vale.

Unfortunately, it seemed that tensions had cooled enough for the Friendship Festival to recommence – or the mayor really missed his toffee apples.

“No, no no no no no no –“ Antigone muttered under her breath as she sprinted to her boyfriend’s funeral home. CHAPMAN’S lit up the front door in a dazzling array of neon. Bit of an eyesore, an opinion which she shared with Rudyard.

The front room was mercifully sparse. The front room at Funn Funerals was drab, dingy. There was a stuffed bird mounted on the wall, despite (to Antigone’s recollection) neither of their parents being hunters. It smelled faintly of mold and decaying fabric. It was home.

At Chapman’s, he had set up a bar and a seating area. Professional conversations could be held in the corner booth, where he had a crocheted tissuebox coozy waiting for tears. Various pictures on the wall boasted Eric with famous individuals about town. It smelled like vanilla. Antigone always wanted to track dirt in.

“Antigone!” The only good thing about this place greeted her, eyes lighting up in realization. “Hi!”

Ooooh. Despite the urgency of the situation (life-or-death, one might say), Antigone felt an ominous flutter of the heart. Eric always seemed so pleased to see her, even dropping in unannounced during the workday. Even now, his eyes never wavered from her, like he was mentally shutting out everyone else in the world.

This was not the time.

She came up to one of the bar stools and awkwardly perched on one. Her feet still touched the floor, even as she sat, and rendered it a very uncomfortable sitting experience overall. “You have to leave the country,” she told him with deadly seriousness. “Preferably the hemisphere.”

In a flash, Eric’s expression mirrored her own. He reached over to grasp her shoulder (oooooh) and asked, “Darling, who’s spoken with you?”

God. This had to do with Eric’s infuriating backstory, didn’t it? Antigone did not have time for Eric’s infuriating backstory today. “I’m talking about the Friendship Festival. If you’re not in Piffling Vale, then you can’t be in the pair. That’s the rule. Take a holiday.”

Eric turned lightly teasing. Antigone couldn’t believe that he was flirting at a time like this. “You’ve finally agreed to take a holiday with me?”

She had made remarkable leaps and bounds in the past few years, Antigone knew. Even so, the idea of leaving Piffling Vale for a holiday made her want to be ill in Eric’s ice bin. Her face must have made that clear, because Eric moved on.

“The Friendship Festival?I don’t think I’ve heard of that one, it sounds delightful. Is it new? I know the mayor has been bringing up some novel new ideas at council meetings –”

“No, it’s not new! It’s, it’s – every year, the mayor chooses the most contentious pair in the village to send out on a dinghy.”

“A dinghy?”

“A dinghy! They’re out there all day until they work out their issues, before they come back.”

“Oh, that’s … that’s really charming, actually!” As fond as Antigone was of Eric, he clearly wasn’t thinking correctly about this festival. “I was wondering why there was a boat out there called the Friend. Why haven’t they had it in the past few years?”

Antigone didn’t glare so much as give him a look. They’d shared this look more than a few dozen times over the past couple of months. It meant one thing, without tone, without implication.

Rudyard.

The penny dropped.

“Oh. Oh.” Eric blinked. “You think Rudyard and I …”

“You two haven’t exactly been on the best of terms lately.” And then, when she saw Eric’s wounded expression, she added hastily: “I know it’s not your fault.”

It really wasn’t. To say that Rudyard was taking their relationship poorly was an understatement. Rudyard vacillated from complete indifference to utter loathing. Three weeks ago, he’d pretended to continually ‘forget’ that Eric and Antigone were romantically linked. Now, it seemed that he was pretending to consistently forget who Eric was, at all. Oh, you’re having dinner with Edwin? Can’t say that I know him. Terrible name, though.

It was childish and infuriating and – and it made her feel not good. Very not good. Exceedingly not good.

The fact of the matter is, she hadn’t expected Rudyard’s approval, but she had expected Rudyard’s understanding. A relationship was a scary thing, especially with a man that she was exceptionally fond of. Antigone often found herself completely at a loss, unable to know what to do or say with the emotions vibrating in her chest. Depressing French films and bawdy romance novels could only get her so far. Georgie helped, of course, but Georgie was also different to her. There were many aspects of Antigone that only Rudyard seemed able to understand.

She had been meaning to talk about it with him, but … hard to have a conversation with someone who (frequently literally) clapped his hands over his ears and said I can’t hear you.

Scarcely the point, right then.

“On a sailboat all day with Rudyard.” Eric blinked at her a few times. “… oof.”

‘I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Antigone, sweetheart, I can’t just leave.” Her mind temporarily fizzed out at sweetheart. “I have a few funerals lined up, I can’t abandon them.”

“Then – then –“ She began to look back and forth at the few people loitering in Chapman’s cafe, trying to pick out which seemed the most belligerent. “Then I’ll be the one on the sailboat. Quick, pour me a drink, I’m going to pour it over someone’s head.”

A warm, strong, and surprisingly soft hand went to cover her wrist. “Please don’t assault any of my patrons?”

Right, okay, yes, professional standards was a fair point. She had been working on those, herself. Sighing in frustration, she turned back towards Eric. Her mind raced for another idea. To become more misanthropic than Rudyard Funn during the course of an afternoon was no small feat, but she was no small woman, and that was it!

“Put down your cloth,” she told him, standing up from the stool. She took a few steps towards the front doors, fully intending to lead him outside. “Look, we’ll stage an argument out in the square. We’ll shout and say some terrible things to each other, I won’t hold it against you, really dig deep and be angry, Eric, and then the mayor will have no choice put to choose us.” The plan was coming together so perfectly in her mind.

She was pretty sure she could dig deep and think of some terrible things to say to Eric. After all, it was not so long ago that she hated him as ardently as Rudyard did. Granted, those feelings may have been partially due to other, messier emotions that eventually led to Eric delicately stroking her hair while she read in the sunshine, but –!

Two arms came around her middle and interlocked. She was brought back against Eric’s chest, the man’s chin resting on her shoulder. Antigone couldn’t see Eric’s face, but she was nevertheless sure he was smiling. The fillings in her teeth were magnetically drawn to it.

“That could be our holiday?” Antigone tried. “Nice, romantic day out on the sea?”

It would be nice, but …

“It’s not a bad plan. But, you see, I’m far too crazy about you to have an argument, even if it’s fake,” Eric chirped with some warmth. “I’d just break down, right there in the plaza. We might make the radio, or the paper, but I doubt it’d be enough to convince the mayor.”

“Nnnneh.”

“Besides, I don’t think one afternoon row could account for years of … whatever Rudyard and I have got going on.”

“Not unless it were really spectacular,” Antigone said wistfully, but even as she spoke, she knew it wouldn’t happen. It was entirely conceivable that the mayor had re-instated the Friendship Festival just so that Rudyard and Eric could repair their relationship. Fool’s endeavor, but the entire town had been oddly invested in her relationship with Eric. Really put a girl in the spotlight, but she couldn’t do anything about that.

Eric nuzzled his chin on her shoulder. “This okay?”

He was so gentle. Perhaps understanding that Antigone Funn was ultimately a woman who felt more comfortable around corpses (good listeners, cold, lacking heartbeat) than people (crap listeners, warm, loud heartbeats), Eric had had a soft touch in their relationship.

“None of this is okay,” Antigone complained, but put her hand down overtop Eric’s. “This is good, though, don’t move.”

“Mm.”

“Eric, I don’t understand how you can be so calm about this. This is your potential death that we’re talking about.”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you all day, it’s impossible for me to be in a bad mood.” Awwww. Antigone’s hummingbird heartbeat slowed to that of a squirrel. “And also, given the route he’s been on for the past few months, I really don’t think anything spectacular is going to happen. I think Rudyard might pretend that I’m not there for a few hours, then he might take a nap, and then we’ll come back ashore. I’ll bring a book.”

It wasn’t an unfair point. Rudyard had really been moving away from chaotic, hasty plans recently. Perhaps the archivist position had matured him. Perhaps he knew that his usual brand of scheming wouldn’t work with his own sister.

Still.

“Might be nice to force a chat with him, too,” Eric uttered. “Maybe we can clear a few things up, you know? I’ve been wanting to talk to him about all this, but … he’s still pretending I don’t exist.”

“Eric …” Antigone didn’t know what to say to that. It was kind of him to try, of course, but she knew her stubborn, ridiculous brother.

“Hey.” The arms around her middle tightened against the thick lace fabric of her dress. “If you don’t want me to, then I won’t. We’ll just wait until the heat death of the universe for Rudyard to give in. I don’t want to make things worse between you two, you live together.”

“You can do whatever you like, Eric, I just …”

It wasn’t tears, thank goodness. It took much more than that for Antigone Funn to cry. What she was was tired and confused and exhausted and a bit like threadbare fabric. Dating Eric was one of the hardest things she’d ever done emotionally and yet, she felt like it was going well. That was the horrifying thing.

“I just wish I understood why he’s being like this,” she finished. “That’s all.”

“Oh, I always thought it was simple. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Come off it, Antigone, course he does. Ever since I moved in, he’s hated me. He might stand me a little more or a little less depending on the day, but still.”

“No, he doesn’t hate you,” she insisted, and on that point, she wouldn’t budge. “Because we both used to hate you, and now I don’t hate you, which means that he doesn’t, either.”

“You two are separate people.”

“Not when it comes to hating you. It’s –” It was much too complicated to get into, and it felt like an odd betrayal of Rudyard’s emotional state. “It’s complicated, he’s complicated. There’s something deeper that’s bothering him. I just wish I knew what.”

“I wish I did, too. I never thought he’d take it well, but this is beyond the pale. And it’s making you unhappy, which I certainly won’t stand for.”

It was a sweet sentiment, but neither one of them could do anything about it. Antigone always knew what was going on inside of Rudyard’s head – that she hadn’t the faintest goddamn clue here mystified her. She shook her head. “He’s so stubborn,” she murmured, half to herself. “And I hate the thought he might just do this forever.”

“Forever, eh?”

“Alright!” Antigone broke the clasp around her middle and stepped away from Eric’s embrace. She could handle affectionate touch, and she could handle sentimental conversations, but by god, she could not handle both at once.

Turning around, she faced Eric who had a whimsical, guilty little smile across his face.

Twit knew what he did.

(Ugh. Was it possible for one’s heart to move in such a consistent direction that it moved up and into the esophagus? Something to consider.)

“Just promise me that you both get back safe,” she said, feeling oddly like she were wishing her boyfriend and her brother off to war. “Both of you.”

Eric flashed the same dazzling smile that did something to the back of her teeth. “You’ve got my word on that. I never leave a man behind, Antigone.”

One could only hope. She suddenly felt very, very tired – and in need of another hug, besides. “I could still go for that drink,” she said wearily, “If that’s alright with you.”

Chapter Text

On a boat with his least favorite person in the world.

That sounded harsh, but it was probably more of a testament to how good Eric’s life had been over the past few years. He didn’t particularly dislike anyone, anymore – and thus the trophy had to go to Rudyard, who Eric found rather admirable in some ways. Granted, his opinion had gone down considerably now that Rudyard was making his girlfriend sad.

To nobody’s surprise, the pair had been announced promptly. Rudyard Funn and Eric Chapman.

Onto the Friend Dinghy they went a few weeks later, with a nervous Antigone wringing her dress within an inch of her life. Eric could practically hear Rudyard grinding his teeth when he gave her a kiss on the cheek goodbye.

He checked his wristwatch. Officially, they had been on the Friend Dinghy for three hours and forty-two minutes. Zero words had been passed between them. Felt odd, to silently be on a sailboat with someone. Rudyard was curled up by the bow of the ship, looking pointedly away.

Eric sat on the edge of the stern. He’d taken off his shoes and rolled up his trouser legs. The water was refreshingly cold on his calves, and he kicked merrily in the water. It was nice to get out on the ocean every so often, wasn’t it?

His gaze was still on Piffling Vale – not very far away, close enough where Eric could still see the banners and flower decorations set up for the festival. Somewhere on the island stood the love of his life.

God, he wished he wasn’t out here. Sun was well and good, but he’d wanted to get his girlfriend an ice cream. Unfortunately, he was out here on a boat with someone that well and truly hated him, no matter what Antigone said. Plenty of people had hated Eric before in his life, he knew what it looked like.

And it was dreadful, what Rudyard was doing. Worst of all, Eric felt dreadful over it – he hated the sensation that he’d bumbled his way into dividing the Funn family.

They had until sunset, then? Great. Another ten hours of this. Eric pulled his gaze away from Piffling Vale to look in the water. This felt like a sort of punishment. For doing what, exactly? Coming to Piffling Vale and starting an extremely narrow business on a sparsely populated island?

… huh. Actually, there might’ve been something to that.

He heard a gentle clinking behind him and turned to see that Rudyard had stood and was mucking about with the sail. Perhaps foreseeing the future, Rudyard had changed into a full body swimsuit. With the stripes, he looked like an escapee from an underwater prison.

Eric had opted for a more sensible camp shirt and khakis.

“Please don’t capsize us,” he remarked flatly. He couldn’t even summon imaginary goodwill anymore, not in this situation. Eric had tried, of course. For ages, he’d pleasantly withstood Rudyard patently denying his existence.

Rudyard continued to adjust the rigging. “This is not my first time on the Friend Dinghy, Edgar,” he uttered. “I know how to man the sails.”

Great. Lovely. Fantastic. He was starting to talk. Eric was starting to regret opening his mouth. Of course Rudyard knew how to sail a sailboat. Of course he had been on this bloody dinghy before.

“And have you ever thought about why you get put on this boat so often?” He quipped, returning his gaze to the ocean horizon. “Ever think, mm, perhaps I ought to make some personal changes? Build some bridges?”

Rudyard’s response was immediate and flippant. “Elvin, it’s very rude to offer life advice to a stranger.”

“Are you just going to be like this forever? Am I going to marry Antigone and you’re still going to have every name that starts with E memorized?”

“Marriage,” Rudyard scoffed. “Don’t be crass.”

Perhaps Antigone’s initial concern that they’d end up killing one another was not entirely unfounded. He certainly felt the urge rising up from the very core of him. No, marriage was an extremely long way off, if ever, but he was so frustrated with this impossible bloody man.

He took his legs back in from the water and stood, rising to his full height on the boat. Though he was shorter than Antigone by a few inches, he practically towered over Rudyard. He held his hands out on either side of him.

“Yes, Rudyard, marriage. I might marry your sister one day. And you know what that would make us?” Eric couldn’t suppress the smirk rising to his face. “Brothers. That would make us brothers.”

Oh. Oh, dear. That was nothing short of homicidal rage, wasn’t it? He could see a vein flexing in Rudyard’s pale forehead. Rudyard stomped over from the front of the vessel, and a past-life instinct flickered through Eric’s mind about whether he ought to prepare for a frontal attack, before two things happened simultaneously.

One, Rudyard reared his entire arm back. Eric would later presume that he was either about to give him a mean right hook or, more likely, jab his finger directly into his chest.

For the other, Rudyard’s insensible funeral shoes (worn in tandem with the bathing suit, of course) came into contact with the puddle of water Eric had just tracked into the boat.

His legs went out from underneath him. In one second, Rudyard was standing upright. In another, he slipped and struck his leg against the side of the ship, before tumbling right over. Rudyard fell into the water with an ignoble splash! and his dark hair swiftly disappeared beneath the waves.

“Oh – shit,” Eric cursed.

He toed off his shoes and yanked off his shirt. “Coming for you, Rudyard!” Eric called, only a half-second before executing a familiar dive into the ocean below.

The waters were dark but relatively warm, to Eric’s relief. He opened his eyes and saw Rudyard a few feet in front of him. In the murk and confusion, he’d somehow gotten underneath the boat, and his hands scrambled frantically along the underside of the hull.

He didn’t know how strong of a swimmer Rudyard was, but the water wasn’t all that calm and shock could kill skill, anyway.

Eric swam forward and got ahold of Rudyard by the back of his bathing suit. Rudyard whipped around to face him with bulging eyes, bubbles escaping in a steady stream from his nose. I got you, he tried to mentally impart, please do not drown us both. I will be very cross if you drown us both.

He slid an arm around Rudyard’s chest and made a break for the surface. To his relief, Rudyard assisted him by kicking them both upward.

They broke through the surface of the ocean. Blessed sweet air, beautiful sunlight, the sound of faraway surf – “Oh my god,” Eric huffed.

“Hh. Hh.” Rudyard was practically panting next to him, one arm around his shoulders still. They both kicked to stay afloat, and for a second, getting back onto the Friend Dinghy seemed insurmountable.

Unless they worked together. “Okay, okay. Up – up you go,” he muttered, throwing his other arm around Rudyard’s middle. It took some maneuvering (and a kick to the kidney, so clearly accidental that Eric couldn’t complain), but eventually, he was shoving Rudyard up and over the side of the boat. The boat rocked a little ominously, and that was an awfully loud thump from Rudyard hitting the bottom of it, but – there he was.

An instinctive pessimism chirped up from the back of his head. He’s going to leave you in the water, it crooned. Best try to swim back to Piffling Vale now, Chapman, or else you’ll drown.

… Seconds passed. Rudyard wasn’t leaning over the edge. Eric couldn’t force himself up and over the side of the boat without tipping the whole thing over.

That was too far. This odd rivalry was one thing, but – this was tantamount to murder! Rudyard wouldn’t truly kill him. He wasn’t that sort of man. Impulsive and stubborn, a dangerous combination, but Rudyard didn’t want him dead.

Then again, the evidence in front of his own eyes …

“Rudyard!” Eric shouted from the surface of the water. “RUDYARD!”

“Calm down!” Came the reply. “For god’s sake, I’m right here. Nobody has any patience these days.”

Rudyard leaned out over the edge of the boat, extending his hand out to the man in the water. That was all Eric needed. He momentarily fretted that he’d pull Rudyard right over the edge, but miraculously, Rudyard held steady as Eric swung himself over the side of the boat and onto the bottom. Breathing hard, he rolled over onto his back.

God, out of practice with that sort of thing.

Rudyard tossed his dry shirt on top of his body. Eric instinctively caught it. Looking at his companion, he instinctively saw the reason for the short delay.

Rudyard had found a rope in the emergency kit. One end was tied around his middle, the other securely fastened around the central mast. Eric looked at Rudyard, and then over the edge of the boat.

Look, it wasn’t that he thought Rudyard was stupid. Rudyard was a man who followed his impulses, and how could he blame a man for having the occasional stupid impulse? Just, tying himself to the boat to prevent Eric from tipping it over as he pulled himself up was … more consequence realization than he thought Rudyard was capable of.

With a calm whistle, Rudyard began to untie the rope from around his waist.

“Are you, uh, alright?” Eric asked as he stood up.

Rudyard seemed to survey himself. “It’s going to bruise like anything,” he eventually admitted, tenderly probing around his midsection. “So thank you for that.”

Even the cold shock of water couldn’t keep Eric from shooting out one more barb. “You’re welcome for saving your life.”

“Mm.” At first, he thought that was all he’d get. Rudyard finished untying the rope and stowed it securely away. “Well, congratulations, Chapman. I’ve never fallen off the Friend Dinghy before.”

Chapman, eh? Well, well, well.

“Oh, wipe that smile off your face.”

Fair enough. He brought his knees against his chest and let his back rest against the side of the boat. “What usually happens on the Friend Dinghy, then? Since you’re Piffling’s most qualified expert.”

“Fishing. Sleeping. Existential pondering,” Rudyard explained, “And then, in the last thirty minutes, we concoct some story about how we’re the best of friends and sail back.” He moved to sit by the front of the boat himself. Eric fancied that neither of them were particularly keen on sitting on the edge again.

“Concocting a story? I think I could manage that.”

“Yes, yes, Chapman, we all know you’re a compulsive liar.”

Oh, he was much too cold and aching to bite back a retort now. He rolled his arms back and used his wet shirt to mop the water from his face. Everything tasted of salt. Beautiful. They sat in silence for a minute or so longer, during which Eric thought about how bad it would’ve been if he returned to Piffling without Rudyard aboard. That was another absconding in the night, for sure, and – and he didn’t like the idea of that.

“Are you really going to marry my sister.” Eric could barely hear Rudyard’s words over the ocean, and the odd phrasing made it seem rather more like a statement than anything else. When he looked up, he saw that Rudyard’s gaze was fully on the boat itself. His expression was inscrutable.

God, he hadn’t even talked about it with Antigone yet, and here he was discussing it with her brother. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it at all. Even if we do, it wouldn’t be for many years.” Many, many years. Though Eric would’ve agreed in a heartbeat if Antigone had shown even a passing interest in marriage … he had to cautiously admit that maybe his tendencies towards immediate commitment weren’t the healthiest.

“Hm.”

“I only said that to rile you up.” A pause. “It was unfair of me, I’m sorry.”

And he was. Riling Rudyard up never let to anything good. You couldn’t out-badger Rudyard. Rudyard would be the last person alive on Earth, just out of spite. On the other end of the boat, Rudyard tucked his legs up to his chest. “Suppose I didn’t do you any favours,” he muttered.

Oh. That was almost an apology. That was so close to an apology.

Perhaps …

“I try and do right by her, you know,” Eric explained in a low tone. “If you’re worried about that, or, or god forbid, me harming her, I don’t think I could ever –”

“It’s not that. High and mighty Eric Chapman, perfect chivalrous knight, came into all of our lives and brought sunshine and rainbows straight from his arse – besides,” Rudyard added with a bit of a devilish glee, “If you did, then she’d ask me to help you hide the body.”

“Right.”

“Georgie would be the one to kill you, she and I have already agreed.”

“Fantastic.”

“With a shovel, if she found you outside. With formaldehyde, if you were inside.”

“Great.” A pause. “No, really, I mean it. If I ever harm Antigone, toss my body into the sea.”

“Your opinion is noted and dismissed.” Rudyard clicked his tongue to signify it, and then a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, Chapman, but it’s not your – your status as a suitor that I take umbrage with. She’s chosen you, for better or for worse.”

“In sickness and in health, I suppose. What do you take umbrage with?”

He didn’t get an answer right away. Instead, Rudyard rose his head from his knees to look back over the rim of the boat. His gaze was firmly on Piffling Vale. The tiny, nondescript little island. Eric had remembered an almost enormous wave of relief when he’d first seen it. Nobody would find him there. He could do as he wanted.

“Chapman …” His voice was faraway. “Have you ever had someone in your life that … they’re not necessarily your favourite person, or the person you have the most in common with, or the person you like the most. But they’ve always been there, and they always will be. You know them. The sun rises, the sky is blue, and she –”

Oh. Hell. Rudyard’s voice broke. Eric pointedly looked away.

“And they are there.”

“No,” Eric answered after a moment’s thought. He’d known the answer immediately, but debated on sharing it. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

Rudyard hummed in the back of his throat. “Pity for you.”

The water lapped at the sides of the Friend Dinghy while Eric tried to understand. A fear that Eric would somehow take Antigone away? That Antigone would let herself be taken away?

“For the longest time, I thought Antigone was like me. I thought that long after I stopped believing everyone was like me. Spent an awful long time in my adolescence wondering why people threw such big parties to celebrate tax benefits.”

Mm. Eric shifted one knee up to his chest and tilted his head to the side, fascinated.

“Of course, she liked her romance films, her smut novels. She had little affections when we were in school, but she never really acted on them, so I thought …” He paused. “But, no. She has genuine romantic -” The word was uttered with some exhaustion, “Affection for you. Which means that I’ve been wrong my entire life, and I’m – and she’s not – “ A pause. “That Rudyard Funn is the odd duckling. Again.”

God. He didn’t know what to say to that. What could he say?

“And if I was wrong about that, did I ever really know Antigone at all.” It wasn’t a question. “Perhaps I was wrong, about Antigone always being a constant in my life. Perhaps she will run off with you, someday. Perhaps I’m the …” Another lengthy pause. “Perhaps Antigone is perfectly normal, and I’m the abnormal one, and everyone will always move on.”

“Antigone is not perfectly normal!” Eric protested, and right, yes, he hadn’t known what to say, and instead he’d said the exact wrong thing. Well, it was right, but he’d liked – this wasn’t the time to go into all that.

He turned to look towards Rudyard finally, and was surprised by the depth of vulnerability he saw written over the man’s face. Rudyard was resting his head on his knees, staring off at his village. He didn’t act as if he’d heard Eric’s exclamation.

“Rudyard, I …” How best to go about this. Eric hesitated, and went on. “I’ve been trying to get Antigone to take holiday with me. Anywhere in the world that she wanted, I told her.”

Rudyard’s arm tightened around his knees.

“She won’t. She refuses to leave Piffling Vale under any circumstances. Maybe she’ll change her mind someday and we’ll have a week skiing in the Alps, but – but Rudyard, I can’t seriously imagine Antigone ever wanting to leave Piffling, or you.”

Not a word from him.

“And yes, perhaps you are different in the romantic department, but – but -” He had to resist the urge to go over there, put a hand on Rudyard’s shoulder. “But she understands you, Rudyard. She cares about you, and she’s been losing her mind over the past few months because you’ve been so … so stubborn about all this. She thinks she’s caused some unforgivable rift between you two, just because she’s dating me.”

There, Rudyard flicked his eyes over. Eric caught a flash of genuine fear in his eyes, and then he was back to staring at the village.

“She doesn’t care that you two are different. It doesn’t mean that she thinks any differently of you. You’re still her brother.” A pause. That meant a lot of things, didn’t it? A brother could be a good many things. He might be Rudyard’s brother one day. “You’re still her person, Rudyard, just like she’s yours.”

The sun was slowly starting to dry his hair and his shoulders, the warm rays beating down on him. He could see Rudyard’s Adam apple bobbing up and down in his throat, though he tried to hide it. God. Eventually, Rudyard seemed to swallow. “Just seems like everyone’s pairing off,” he eventually muttered. “Her, Georgie. For a very long time, the only pair that mattered was Antigone and I, and – and then it seemed like everyone grew up, without me.”

Hell. Eric was starting to feel something forming in the base of his throat. Though he and Rudyard couldn’t be more different, really …

He understood what it felt like to be alone. Perhaps not in that way, sure, but the reasons for loneliness seemed piffling when it came down to it.

“It’s not about growing up, Rudyard. You’re a full grown man. Having a – having a romantic other doesn’t change that.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re giving me a lecture.”

“Because I’m a pedantic twat, have you met me?”

Rudyard flashed him the briefest of smiles at that. Despite himself, Eric smiled back. “You still have Georgie and Madeleine, too. Sounds to me like it hasn’t been just you and Antigone for a long while.”

(For the first time, he noticed the little pocket sewn on the front of his swim suit. Empty, and given that Rudyard wasn’t panicking ... Eric was suddenly very grateful that the mouse hadn’t been brought along on the Friend Dinghy. What an ignoble way for a celebrated author to end.)

“I suppose not.” Rudyard relented, though still uncertain. “I just don’t understand. Was she truly so unhappy with me and the others that she had to go and find a boyfriend? Were we not enough, did it escape my notice?”

“I don’t know if it works like that. It didn’t work like that for me. When I first met Antigone, I …”

Oo, Rudyard’s gaze had turned dangerous. He foresaw another tumble into the water if he truthfully explained the odd first impression he’d had with Antigone. “I didn’t have any romantic feeling for her,” he instead said, hastily. It was the truth. “And then, after I grew to know her, and after we became friends – well, friends of a sort – then … it just hit me one day, Rudyard. Completely unavoidable.”

“Like a wart.”

“Ehm, like a wart, yes. It wasn’t that I was unhappy with my life before. Perhaps if I ignored it enough, then it would have gone away. But I didn’t want to, and she didn’t want to, either. And here we are.”

It was perhaps the least un-romantic way to describe such things, but it seemed like Rudyard preferred it explained like that. It wasn’t wrong.

Rudyard seemed to chew on Eric’s words. “I suppose,” he eventually said.

“And I think she’d sooner kill me than leave you to be alone.”

“Are those the only two options?”

“I mean it, Rudyard. If Antigone ever seems like she wants you out of her life, then you’ve got to tell me. Because it means Antigone’s been replaced by aliens, and I’d like to perform a vivisection.”

A pause. “You sound like Antigone when you say that.”

“We’ve been rubbing off on each other.”

The look of sheer horror and disgust that crossed Rudyard’s face made Eric start to chuckle, and then chortle. In response, Rudyard chucked the first aid kit in Eric’s direction with intent to kill. Eric caught it and shook his head, willing himself to calm his nerves. “You should talk to her. Put your worries to bed.”

“Well …” Rudyard seemed to consider. “Perhaps.” He gestured with his chin towards the sail. “Unless I could tempt you to leave. I could row you to the next island over, I’ll tell everyone you died in a tragic boating accident. Nobody has to know.”

Eric shook his head at the mere suggestion. “Oh, no. I can’t do that a second time, it’s just chancing fate.”

And then, to his overwhelming surprise, Rudyard actually rolled his eyes at him.

Suddenly, a few more hours in the Friend Dinghy didn’t seem half so daunting.

Chapter Text

Brother and sister sat on a bench as the last of the Friendship Festival was taken down. Rudyard was eating a dry soft pretzel. It would keep him up all night on a sugar high, but today was already a day full of adventurous mishaps and he was about to embark on another. Next to him, Antigone pulled at a large cloud of bubblegum-colored candy floss.

Eric had gone home, to Rudyard’s relief. Whatever temporary truce they’d established, he was not in the mood to become a third wheel on … dates.

The horror.

It was better this way, Rudyard considered. He used to attend the Friendship Festival in full (on years where he wasn’t on that blasted dinghy), mostly so he could procure a pastry for his sister in the mortuary. Loads of people, loads of noise, loads of open and honest emotional communication. Rudyard wasn’t keen on that. Now, sitting on a bench with Antigone while he ate food from the last two stalls open at the festival?

Tolerable.

“Well, I’m pleased that you both made it back,” Antigone blurted after a long bout of silence between them. “Georgie was keeping watch with her spyglass.”

“Did she catch the part where I fell in?”

“We were getting the lifeboat prepared.”

Ah. Well, good to know that he had some people looking out for him. He pulled at his pretzel and put a sizeable chunk in his pocket for Madeleine, who had happily re-taken her spot. “The voyage was very … illuminating.”

“Yes? Eric didn’t mention what you two talked about.”

“You can’t be coy with me, Antigone,” Rudyard uttered, relishing the knowledge. “I know when you’re desperate to know.”

“Of-course-I-am-you’ve-barely-spoken-a-word –” Antigone vented in a rush, whipping around to face him. “I refuse to believe that the Friend Dinghy worked. I think the closest we’ve ever gotten to killing each other has been on that damned boat.”

“I don’t know, we’ve gotten close a few other times, too.”

She let out a groan of extreme irritation, whereupon she shoved her face into the cotton candy to hide her anger. Right, while Rudyard was enjoying this …

Chapman was right. He could admit that, mentally, even if the words were never going to escape his lips.

Perhaps this was the only way he could talk about this: at dusk, on an empty path. Crickets started to chirp around them. He didn’t mind. As children, they’d wandered around Piffling Vale at all hours. That sounded much more friendly than it actually had been; about half the time, one of them would wake up the other and drag them outside to run for help should one of them fall into the sea or a particularly deep ditch.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be with people,” Rudyard stated simply, staring out into the woods. “In the Regency sense.”

“What gave it away? My fascination with romance cinema, my preferred taste in reading, my –”

“You never said.” His face and words were calm. “Enjoy those things in fiction all you’d like, but you never said one word about wanting to go after someone. I thought … I thought we were a united front.” Saying the words aloud saddened him, still, even if he’d been thinking them for weeks. “I don’t want to, for the record. I didn’t think I needed to clarify, but nothing makes sense anymore. So.”

“Oh.” The word hung in the humid evening air between them. “No, I always have. I always thought it sounded awfully – well, romantic, but … you know, being in the mortuary for so long, every day, it didn’t exactly let me meet people. Dateable people.”

“Most prefer to use the term ‘living people’.”

Antigone plowed right on ahead, without even the mildest of titters. “But after the past few years, now that I’ve been getting out more, getting to know Eric, I – it fell into place, Rudyard. I don’t know what to say.” She paused. “I don’t know why it matters, why we’re not alike in that way.”

“Because.” For a moment, he considered leaving it there. Rudyard found that he couldn’t. “Because it’s always been the Funns, hasn’t it? The Funns are the people a little bit unlike everyone else on the island. The Funns are the strange twins with the odd funeral home. If something goes wrong, come to the Funns. But now, with this …” He sighed. The pretzel seemed staler than it was a few seconds ago. “I’m alone.”

He could see Madeleine’s whiskers twitch beneath the rim of his pocket, squeaking softly. Oh, Rudyard.

“I’m sorry.” She seemed to mean it, for which Rudyard was grateful. “If – if it helps, Rudyard, you and I are different in many ways. We’re alone, even from one another. I couldn’t imagine being an archivist. I’m sure you couldn’t imagine staying in the mortuary as often as I do. You’re the one to get up in front of people, to come up with these grand, elaborate schemes – that makes you different, too.”

“So? What’s your point?”

“That you’re still my brother.” She pulled another piece of candy floss away from the mass. “More than that, we’re still Funns. And it’s always going to be the Funns, no matter if I’m dating Eric or not.”

Some hopefulness entered his voice, despite himself. Damn it, he hadn’t wanted to be more vulnerable. “You really think so?”

“Of course. So you don’t want to date anyone. Fine, that’s for the best. We’re going to have to find another dining chair from somewhere for Eric, as it is.”

“Oh, you’re not going to start inviting Eric over for dinner, are we?”

“I think I would spontaneously combust.”

Good. The sky wasn’t really falling. As it was, Antigone often took dinner down in her mortuary. The dining room tended to be for special occasions and Sunday dinners; if they all regularly started eating together, Rudyard thought someone would end up as the next day’s entree. “Still don’t understand why you go for all that faff,” Rudyard muttered under his breath.

“Don’t know how to explain it. It’d be like you trying to explain the joys of archiving to me. Might be able to understand it theoretically, but I’m always going to think you’re a fool for liking it.”

“It’s interesting, Antigone. If you just gave it a chance …”

“I’d probably hate it even more.”

Rudyard laughed a little at that, shaking his head. The issue, of course, was that Piffling Vale had no taste and no pride in their community. Just looking at the mayor, suggesting new-fangled conventions like a cell phone tower or a community board. Piffling Vale was historical, in that it preferred to remain a part of history.

“So you don’t have a problem with Eric?”

“I have plenty of problems with Eric. On a professional level, he’s a cad and a scoundrel. But …” Rudyard tutted to himself. “Antigone, I have never thought about what makes an ideal romantic partner in my life. You have more credibility in that field than I do.”

“Well, good!” Antigone cried with sudden, alarming enthusiasm. “Because it’s none of your business who I date, anyway!” And then, quieter, with some relish: “Sorry. I just always wanted to say that. Now that Mother and Father are dead, I never thought I’d get the chance.”

“If it helps, I’m sure Mother and Father would have hated Chapman.”

Though she didn’t give a response, Rudyard could see the touch of colour in her cheeks at the very thought of post-mortem rebellion.

Rudyard, dear, the little mouse in his pocket said, I’m going back to the funeral home to get some water. This pretzel has left me awfully parched.

As any gentleman would, he offered one finger for Madeleine to crawl onto and he helped her to the ground. “There you are, Madeleine. Tell Georgie that I said hello.”

Then they were truly alone, the both of them, as the dusk turned well into night. The streetlights flicked on around the path. Rudyard idly watched the hordes of tiny gnats swarm around the yellow-tinted glow. He was going to be covered in bug bites tomorrow. It would be dreadful.

“It is a lot, isn’t it?” Antigone suddenly said, breaking the silence. “Obviously, I’m coming at it from a different angle, but it’s – it’s hard for me, too. Seeing someone.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it. Why do you do it if you don’t enjoy it?”

“I do enjoy it. It’s also exhausting. Feels like I never know what I’m doing.” She squirmed somewhat on her seat. “Rudyard, do you ever get the feeling that we might be … emotionally repressed?”

“What? No. I think we’re perfectly well adjusted.”

“Hm. Perhaps you’re right.”

At the very least, Rudyard’s emotions had never gotten him into trouble before. He didn’t think. He’d never much given it any thought. What an odd thing to consider.

“Well, I’m just grateful that I have you.” Antigone was speaking directly to the lamp post, then, partially hiding her face in the uneaten cotton candy. “Couldn’t imagine doing all this without you around.”

Rudyard found that he didn’t much like what his heart was doing inside his chest, and there was an urge to run, somewhere deep down, as if he might be able to outrace it. He fought down the urge to sprint regardless. “All this?”

“Dating someone. Piffling Vale. Being alive. It’d all be dreadful without my brother there.”

He was waiting for the quip, the additional barb, the contextualization. It didn’t come. Instead, he realized that Antigone was waiting on an answer.

God, this emotional reciprocation business was hard. Rudyard cleared his throat. Why couldn’t people just understand his emotions without having to say them? “Of course I feel the same,” he informed her. “Even with this most recent Chapman-shaped development, I can’t imagine how alone I would feel if I were the only Funn.”

More than the loneliness, it was nigh unthinkable. A physical impossibility.

A sharp prick of pain made him hiss and clap at his neck. “Right! Seems like the insects are starting their dinner. I’m going to head back home, are you going to have a melodramatic moonlit stroll in the graveyard, or are you coming with me?” He stored the rest of his pretzel in his front pocket and stood up, wiping his hands in his bathing suit.

Antigone stared up at him from her spot on the bench. “What, have I got something on my face?” Rudyard asked.

“Yes. Pretzel crumbs. Also, I love you,” Antigone said, and then immediately wrinkled her nose at the admission. It mirrored Rudyard’s expression perfectly.

They were not the affectionate sort, never had been. After all, they had both watched their Mother and Father treat confessions of love as an odd sort of business signature (even as Rudyard privately thought his parents’ marriage to be the most professionally expedient that he’d ever seen).

Besides, it wasn’t like Antigone’s words came as a surprise. Perhaps Antigone had been reading – oh lord, the horror – self-help books. Rudyard didn’t want to wrap his head around that.

Still. Many things were changing recently (not the most important thing, thank god), and perhaps Antigone needed some reassurance as to what the most important thing was. “Love you, too, do not bring the rest of that candy floss into the house. It’s going to attract ants.”

Antigone pulled another face out of him. “It’ll be fine, Rudyard.”

“It will not be fine,” he said as Antigone stood. She had towered above him from a young age, perhaps that kept her from noticing the things that happened near the ground. “They’ll infest the mousehole first, and then where will Madeleine be?”

“She doesn’t even sleep in her mousehole anymore,” she complained, “Everyone knows she sleeps in the little bed you made for her.”

He threw his head back, haughty. “Just because she has a vacation home, Antigone –”

“Ooooh, fine!” Antigone snapped back as they began their travel back to Funn Funerals. On the path along the shore, he could already see their home. Georgie was keeping the front light on for them, as per usual. The streetlights that led up to the front door were really notoriously unreliable. People often remarked that it made Funn Funerals look quite spooky at night, but Rudyard frankly thought it was distinguishing. “I’ll keep the rest of it in the mortuary!”

“Good. Maybe you’ll manage to craft a new scent out of it or something.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Antigone covertly try to sniff the rest of her candy floss, as if trying to determine whether people would like their corpses to reek of it.

Rudyard felt like he was walking lighter. Perhaps that had to do with the insects steadily draining the blood from his body, but he suspected it ran deeper than that. Not because he was suddenly ‘friends’ with Eric Chapman now, no, no, no, no. The Friendship Festival was a farce and an excuse for a piss-poor holiday on the water.

And yet – the thin fluttering of panic that framed his mind like a dust ruffle had started to dissipate. Things were different now. Things had been different before, and they had been reasonably alright. They had always made it through, the Funns, and they would always make it through.

As Rudyard pulled open the door for himself and his sister, only to find Georgie asleep astride the moth-bitten couch and Madeline precariously perched on the rim of a water glass, he found that things made sense once more.