[January 8th] [Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?] I'll Return to You Somehow

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: I'll Return to You Somehow
Day/Theme: January 8th - Ghost in the morning moon
Series: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Character/Pairing: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Rating: T/PG-13

No Real Person fic here.

Will be cross-posted to ladybug_tales.


Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
I'll Return to You Somehow
By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters and song aren't mine and the story is! This is an RP idea that first really was an RP before being heavily modified into a fic. The prompt Ghost in the morning moon from 31 Days assisted. And as always, this is fictional Rockapella from the show only! Many thanks to Kaze and Crystal Rose for plot help!


The ship had sank several days ago. Of the survivors, several had been arrested while several others had done the arresting. The divers had been searching beneath the surface since then, and though they had located the wreckage, some of the passengers on board were still missing and lost to the bay.

The brunet walked to the edge of the bank, sinking onto a rock and staring out at the moonlit waters in hopelessness.

"It's my fault," he whispered.

The story had been on the news much more than he would have liked. Several times he had heard them reading the list of those missing at sea, and he always had to either leave the room or turn off the TV before they got to the name of his friend. He had heard it once, complete with seeing the accompanying photograph, and that had been too much. He could not stand seeing the other looking so happy and cheerful, oblivious to the knowledge of the future.

"It should've been simple," he said to the night air. "How did everything end up so wrong?"

Greg had wondered how he could stand to keep coming back to this spot. He really wondered as well. There were no answers for him here---only the ocean, which was much too calm after having taken his friend's life. But even though this was where it had happened, the memories were just as fresh everywhere else. . . .

They, as well as their other close friends---minus Greg---had been on the ship, having infiltrated as passengers in order to spy on an alleged meeting between V.I.L.E. and another criminal organization. They had discovered that the two groups had been planning to form a partnership of sorts, but when agreements could not be made they had abandoned the idea. V.I.L.E. had not appreciated the other group's methods, and vice versa. Each group had then planned to steal a rare treasure that was aboard---the Black Hope pearl. So ACME still had to thwart them. And thwart them they had---but at too high a price.

After the foiling of the robbery, they began to gather on the deck.

"Where did Scott go?" Sean frowned.

Elliott frowned too. "He said he was going to check something out below deck," he said. "He should've been back by now. . . ."

Something exploded under their feet, rocking the ship.

"What was that?!" the brunet gasped, thrown off-balance. He grabbed the railing, as did Barry. Sean clutched a door handle.

"I don't know, but I don't like it!" he exclaimed.

More of the thugs appeared, coming onto the deck from varying directions. Barry glowered at them. How many were there? These had obviously escaped arrest. And they seemed to want a fight. One of them swung a punch at him. He caught the fist, punching back with his free hand.

Sean threw a punch at another one. "Go find Scott!" he yelled at Elliott. "We'll take care of this."

Elliott kicked a third. "Are you sure?" he called.

"Something's wrong. They're trying to keep us here!" Sean said. "I have this feeling that they don't want a fight as much as they want a distraction."

A second explosion upset the ship again. This time it rocked even more violently, sending Elliott pitching into the wall and then onto the deck. And that was when the pained scream pierced the air. He froze, looking up from where he was sprawled. Somewhere below deck and down the corridor, he could hear a fight---or more accurately, a beating.

"Scott!"

From their expressions, Sean and Barry heard it too. But they could not go see about it; the thugs were keeping all of their attention.

Thoroughly panicked, Elliott leaped up and ran for the door leading below deck. By now sirens were wailing in all directions. The brunet punched a creep out of his way as he started down the steps.

"And hurry!" Sean told him, growing panicked as well. "I think we're going down!"

Elliott was afraid of that as well. The other criminal organization had been deemed more violent than V.I.L.E. would agree to work with, but would they go this far---sinking the ship to get back at ACME?

He reached the bottom of the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step. A creep flew backwards down the hall, landing near him---probably a result of Scott succeeding in fighting back. Ignoring him, Elliott steadied himself, using the wall for support as he hastened to the cabin where the thugs were attacking Scott. The blond had slumped to the floor as they pounded his body, trying to crawl out from among them but being unable to get away. He had not seen his friend enter the room.

Elliott leaped at the nearest person to him, getting his arms around the beefy neck and pulling the thug away from Scott. An angry curse followed, as the man snatched the detective's wrists and threw him to the floor. Others descended, hatefully beating him for his interference.

And Scott finally noticed him.

"Elliott!"

With a sudden burst of adrenaline he grabbed the ankle of the main one beating him and pulled, sending the thug to the floor. Then he leaped up, limping as he grabbed a vase and launched it at the men hurting Elliott. Elliott in turn fought against his attackers, finally wriggling free and delivering a harsh kick to one and a rough punch to another.

The ship rocked again, the lights flickering overhead before extinguishing altogether. Even the criminals were disgruntled by that, yelling and swearing as they bumped into each other and the furniture. In the confusion Elliott tried to reach out for his friend.

"Scott? Is this you?" he asked, taking hold of a wrist. It felt like the dark, smooth material of a trenchcoat was covering it.

"Yeah, it's me," Scott assured. In the next moment he laid his hand on Elliott's wrist. "Are you okay, El?!"

"Me? They barely had a chance to touch me," Elliott said as they struggled to feel their way to the door. "What about you?! You're the one they were beating up when I came."

"Hey, I'm the Dying Informant," Scott tried to smile. "This beating's nothing compared to most of what I've been through."

Elliott had to admit that was probably true. He hated so much what Scott had to go through on his undercover missions. There had been so many times that he just wished he could make it stop. But unless they left ACME, there was probably no way. And they were never leaving ACME.

"So, what did you come down for?" he asked.

Scott sighed. "I had a bad feeling that I wanted to follow up on," he admitted. "I was afraid these guys were going to do something rash. And it looks like I was too late to stop them."

"They're really sinking the ship?" Elliott cried, incredulous.

"They are," Scott said bitterly. "And using the chaos to release the ones we arrested."

Elliott's eyes narrowed. There was very little they could do about it. Right now getting out alive was the most important thing.

As he stepped into the corridor, his foot splashed into ankle-deep water. Instantly his shoes were soaked.

A sick feeling swept over him. "We're already going down!" he gasped. "Just like Sean thought. Whatever went off must've tore a hole in the hull!"

And their enemies had realized it, too. They barreled past, shoving the two short detectives against the wall.

Scott cried out in surprise. "We'll never make it up if we wait for all of them," he said. "We're going to have to push our way through!"

Elliott had a bad feeling about that idea, but he could not put his finger on the reason. Scott was right---the cabins were filling up fast. By now the water was to their knees. And if they waited for all of the crooks to get up, the last one might slam and lock the door, trapping them down here.

"Okay," he said then. "Let's get out of here."

"Just don't let go," Scott said, still holding onto Elliott's wrist. "We don't want to get separated."

That was an understatement. "I won't let go," Elliott said, gripping at Scott's wrist in turn.

Taking a deep breath, they plunged into the fray. All around them the thugs were shoving, cursing, and yelling, not caring who got left behind as long as they themselves escaped. Scott and Elliott just tried to push their way through without knocking anyone down. They did not intend to let even any of these cruel and undeserving people be potentially trapped down here.

"There's a light up there," Scott said after a moment. "The cold air's coming in, too."

"Not to mention more water!" Elliott exclaimed. He could hear it splashing outside and leaping in through the open door from the deck. One particularly vicious wave was suddenly sweeping over them. They stumbled back, dazed for a moment as the criminals pushed and shoved and cried out in indignation as each tried to get up the stairs first.

Scott shivered from the chill of the water. "El, you should go up ahead of me," he said. "We'll be holding on to each other. I'll be right behind you."

Elliott's fingers curled tighter around Scott's wrist. "You should go first," he said. "You're the one who got hurt worse."

Scott sighed. "We'll compromise," he said. "We'll go up side by side."

That was what Elliott would prefer, but with the thugs clamoring for the top it would be hard for them to go up in any way other than single-file. Still, Elliott was determined to try.

"Good," he said.

Sean's voice came from somewhere on the deck. "Scott! Elliott! Where are you two?! We have to go, right now!" It sounded like he had just punched another creep. Hopefully it was not the other way around.

"We're coming!" Elliott called back, hoping the message would not be drowned out by the rocking ship or the waves.

With their free hands they grabbed onto the banisters as they ran up the steps, nearly slipping several times from the gathering water. As they burst through to the top, the ship was threatening to tip onto its side. Another wave was coming their way.

"Get out of my way!" snapped a thug as he also got to the top. Before either Scott or Elliott could do a thing, the other criminals were running up right behind the first.

And the water swept over all of them.

Elliott cried out as he went flying, carried by the force of the ocean. "Scott?!" he screamed, still clutching his best friend's wrist. "Scott?!"

But the wave slammed him into something hard and cold. Stars exploded in front of his eyes for the brief seconds before he lost consciousness.

And yet, even in his senseless state, once or twice vague voices broke the mists. There was screaming at one point, and what sounded like Scott at another.

"It's okay, El; you did your best. You'll be okay. I'm sorry, I have to go now. . . ."

He wanted to reply, to ask what Scott meant. But he could not wake up.

The mists covered him again.
****
"Elliott?"

"Elliott, come on! Naptime's over!"

He forced his eyes open, in spite of the throbbing pain in back of them. "What . . . ?"

He found himself staring up at Sean and Barry. A warm blanket, as well as a comforter quilt, were wrapped around him. Sean was holding on to him, but the tension his childhood friend felt was obvious. Barry, too, seemed strained.

A cold chill went up Elliott's spine. "Scott!" he cried. "Scott, where's Scott?!"

They were traveling in a small lifeboat, heading rapidly towards the shore. When Elliott looked, only three shadows stood out on the side of the vessel. But Scott should be with them! He should be . . . unless he had ended up separated from them and was in a different boat. . . . That had to be it. . . .

Yet Sean's expression was sickened and grief-stricken. "We don't know," he admitted. "Scott, he . . ." He swallowed hard. "He was screaming that you were hurt. We both heard him, didn't we, Barry?" He looked to the older man, who gave a grim nod.

"We found you laying on the deck," Barry said. "But Scott wasn't there."

Elliott's eyes widened in disbelief. "What are you talking about?!" he cried. "He was there! I didn't let go of him! I didn't. . . ."

Sean took a deep breath. "We know," he said. "I know. El . . ." But he trailed off, uncertain how to say what was in his mind.

His heart racing, Elliott brought his left hand out from under the covers. He was still holding the sleeve cuff of Scott's trenchcoat. He gave it a dumb stare, unable to comprehend.

An agonized cry tore from his lips.
****
Elliott was not the type of person to weep. But he was sobbing now, his arms crossed on his knees.

Scott was . . . he could not be, he simply could not be!

He had held out hope that Scott had been on one of the other lifeboats, until they had reached the shore and had not found him there. Any remaining shreds of hope had died after several more hours had passed. Scott was lost at sea, as were about half a dozen of the thugs. And the ship had been much too far out for Scott to be able to swim back on his own.

All of them were devastated and heartbroken, but Elliott was inconsolable. Sean and Barry were afraid that he would never be the same. Sean could certainly understand; some time back, when they had believed Barry to be dead, Sean had blamed himself and could not be comforted. He had reacted then in coldness and anger; Elliott reacted now with open anguish.

"I was holding on to you!" he cried now, looking out at the water again. "I was holding on to you, not just your coat! Why . . . why aren't you here? Why couldn't I save you?"

He took out the scrap of clothing from his pocket, staring at it. He had looked at it so many times over the past few days, but never with any resolution. The cut was jagged; it had clearly ripped. But Elliott remembered holding onto Scott's wrist! He remembered it even as the wave washed over them. Yet somehow he had still failed.

He also remembered hearing his friend while he was unconscious, telling him that he had done his best and saying that he had to leave. Scott had bid him farewell before passing out of the mortal realm. That had to be what had been meant. It made too much sense.

He slumped back, staring hopelessly at the water. The waves moved back and forth, unconcerned for his pain. But somewhere, under the surface of the ocean, was his best friend. And would they ever even find him to give him a proper burial?

"It's all because of me that you're gone. . . ."

He stood up, crossing to the water's edge. A light breeze blew his dark curls about as he stared at the reflection of the late night moon. And a song Scott wrote a long time ago came to his mind. Not all of it would fit, but he sang part of it now in memorium.

And now that we've reached the end,
I think of all that's passed
Of how the time went so fast
And of how I've come to depend
Upon the faith I feel inside your guiding hands
Say you'll go with me forever
Though I know that you can't
Well, I ain't much with words,
There's nothing I can say that you ain't heard
But I promise you, each and every day . . .

He trailed off, still gazing at the moon's image in the mirror of the water. He felt so lost.

The wet grass rustled softly behind him. A second voice sang the chorus in a voice equally as soft. Elliott froze, whirling to look.

I'll hear your voice
In every thought that flows through my mind
I'll see your face
In every cloud that floats through my sky
And when the world is too much,
And this hurt's got me down on my knees to pray,
I'll hear your voice
And then you won't be so far away

A bedraggled blond was standing in front of him, tiredly smiling. Most of the curl had come out of his unbrushed hair, leaving it a tangled disaster. His tie was halfway untied and lopsided. One sleeve of his coat was torn at the cuff.

Elliott just stared at him, his heart racing. This could not be . . . it was not possible. . . . It was all that he had wanted, what he had known he could not have back.

He ran at Scott, throwing his arms around him and pulling him close. Scott smiled, returning the hug as best as he could.

"Oh wow, El . . . it's so good to see you. . . ." He hugged him closer. "I'm so sorry I put you and the others through this. . . ."

"How . . . ?" Elliott whispered. "I wasn't able to hold onto you . . ."

Scott pulled back, looking at his best friend. "You did, El," he said. "You never let go, not even after you got knocked out. I'm the one who pulled away from you." He looked guilty. "I had to---some nutcase was going to throw a bomb right on the deck. I called to Sean and Barry about you being hurt, but I couldn't mention anything about that creep. He would've tossed the thing if I had."

Elliott regarded him in horror. ". . . What did you do?" he asked.

"I took him by surprise," Scott said. "I tackled him over the side of the ship and into the water. The bomb ended up shorting out. He was so mad he . . . well, he held me under the water, trying to drown me." He frowned.

Again Elliott was stricken. "I would've been there to help you if I hadn't been knocked senseless," he said. "You were right there and none of us knew it . . ."

"I didn't know what other gadgets he could've had on him," Scott said. "I didn't want anyone else to come down there." He put his arm around Elliott's shoulders, looking out at the water.

". . . I don't even know how I survived," he admitted. "I was fighting against him, but he was stronger than me. I think I remember finally using those shoes with air in the soles to kick him away from me, but I couldn't make it back to the surface. All I can figure out is that a wave carried me along somewhere. I woke up on the bank a lot further down. My phone and computer were shot. I couldn't contact anyone to let them know I was alive."

Elliott looked at him. "It's been several days," he said. "I've been coming here every night. Why couldn't I find you before?!"

Scott hesitated. ". . . It took me this long to get down this far," he said.

Realization dawned. "You're still hurt, aren't you," Elliott said, pulling back to look Scott up and down. "From the beating. . . . " He remembered Scott limping back then.

"I twisted my ankle," Scott told him. "It's not really bad. . . . It's more of an inconvenience than anything else. . . ." But it had gotten worse after the plunge into the water and whatever had happened that had carried him down the shoreline. He had actually used a gnarled tree branch as a crutch for most of his journey, but he would not mention that yet---or at all, if he could help it.

Elliott shook his head, really noticing now that Scott was favoring his left side. "We'll have the doctor look at it back at ACME," he said.

The full joy was beginning to sweep over him again. Scott was alive! He had not perished in the chaos on the ship. They would be going back to ACME together. And Sean and Barry and Greg and everyone would be so happy. . . .

"I still can't believe this!" Elliott exclaimed. "We . . . we've all thought you were swept overboard, or that you went down with the ship, or . . ." He trailed off, biting his lip as the lump returned to his throat.

". . . And you thought it was your fault," Scott finished, sickened.

"I thought I let go of you when I cracked my head on the railing. But I still wasn't there for you when that terrorist nut came along," Elliott berated.

"Hey . . . El . . ." Scott laid a firm hand on Elliott's shoulder. "Maybe if we hadn't been holding on to each other, we both really would've been swept overboard. Maybe we'd be dead. But we're not. I held on to you and you held onto me and we made it through that part. I made it out of the mess with the 'terrorist nut' too. Everything's going to be fine. There's no use wondering what if." And he knew it would not likely be easy for Elliott to get over his feelings. If their positions were reversed, Scott would certainly keep blaming himself.

Elliott gave a slow nod. There was no use in it, but he did it anyway. And Scott knew that he would likely continue to do so. Scott could only hope that Elliott would eventually be able to move past it.

". . . I thought I heard you," Elliott said at last, "when I was knocked out. . . ."

". . . Do you remember what I said?" Scott wondered.

"Yeah." Elliott looked at him. "You said I'd done my best and that I'd be okay. And . . . you said you had to go. . . ." He clenched a fist. "I thought you meant you'd . . . you'd died," he managed to finish.

Scott shook his head. "That isn't what I meant at all," he said, and swallowed hard. "But . . . I guess I really didn't know if I'd come back. That was right before I tackled the guy. I did wonder if I'd die trying to stop him. . . ."

"You almost did," Elliott said, bitterness and alarm in his voice all at once. When he spoke again, it was in a lower tone. "You probably saved all of us. . . ."

Scott looked embarrassed. "Well, I don't know about that," he said. "Someone else probably would've seen the guy. . . ."

"I doubt it," Elliott said. "It sounds like you were the only one who saw him, since no one saw you tackle him into the water."

"I guess. . . ." Scott said slowly.

Elliott took a step forward. "Come on," he said. "Let's go home."

Scott smiled. Home. . . . That sounded wonderful, especially after his experience. He had missed it all so much---hot showers, warm beds . . . but most of all he had missed his friends. And knowing how frantic they must have been while searching for him had made it so many times worse. He had barely slept, staying awake long into the cold nights thinking about them. For that matter, he had not known whether they had made it out, but he had been determined to believe that they had. There would have been enough time for them to get into lifeboats, he had decided. Now he saw that it was true.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Let's get out of this place." He placed a hand on Elliott's shoulder as they moved to depart.

"El! Are you here?"

Elliott started, looking up at the sound of Sean's voice. "I guess I was gone even longer than usual," he realized. "They came looking for me." He grinned. "When they see you're with me, they'll never believe it!"

"They'll probably think I'm a ghost. . . . A ghost with really messy hair," Scott amended, brushing the tangled waves out of his face. When they got home, he was going to work on getting his hair back in order.

"Elliott!" Barry called as well.

"I'm here!" Elliott called back. He looked at Scott, wondering which would be more awkward---to reveal the truth now, or wait until they arrived. But they would be stunned either way. And there was really no good way to say that Scott was there with him. "I'm not alone," he added.

"Not alone?" Sean repeated, breaking through the brush. He stopped short, staring in amazement and disbelief. Barry soon followed, his eyes widening.

Scott raised a hand in a wave. "Hey, guys," he greeted.

Then Sean was running over to him with Barry not far behind. "Where've you been?!" Sean exclaimed. "We were worried! You haven't been back for days!" He swallowed. "Even the rescue teams stopped searching. . . ."

"That's probably why they didn't find me then," Scott said with a wry yet rueful smile. "I washed up a long way from here. I just barely found my way back. . . ."

Sean pulled him into a firm hug. "Whatever you did, don't do it again!" he said. "We thought we'd become a trio. . . ."

"I know. . . ." Scott returned the hug, again sorrowful for the pain he had brought. "Guys, I'm so sorry. . . . All I've been thinking about is all of you . . . if you were okay . . . what you'd be thinking about me. . . ."

"What matters is that you're here safe," Barry said, embracing him too.

Scott hugged him as well, so thankful that his friends had made it.

"Kill the fatted calf!" Sean declared, widely gesturing with his hands. "Scott's coming home!"

"Well, you'd better have some salad on hand for El," Scott laughed.

Elliott grinned. Everything was as it should be. Sean was right---they needed to celebrate. Their friend had been lost. Now he was found.

"By the way," Scott said as they started to walk off, "what happened on your end of things? Did you get those creeps recaptured?"

"Most of them," Sean said. "There's a few still missing. But if they show up, we'll take care of them!" He had quickly regained his usual pep. Scott was back with them. There was nothing else he wanted.

Barry was keenly aware of Scott's limp. "How badly are you hurt?" he frowned.

Scott paused. "I twisted my ankle," he explained again. "It's nothing, really; the swelling went down a long time ago."

Sean looked him up and down. "And you don't have a cold or pneumonia or anything like that?" he asked.

"Not so far," Scott said. "I found a cave that first night and built a fire in there to keep warm and dry my clothes out."

"Good thinking," Sean nodded in approval. "Nothing I wouldn't expect from our knowledgeable Scott."

"And Scott really has a story to tell," Elliott put in, knowing that Scott probably was not looking forward to again telling why he had disappeared. Scott would just be glad to put the incident behind them. But he probably had saved everyone on the ship, his friends included. Elliott wanted it known.

Sean looked to the blond. "You do!" he said. "There's still a lot of blanks to fill in."

Scott sighed, but smirked a bit. "Okay, but only if you fill in the blanks for me on what happened after I was gone," he said.

"Deal!" Sean replied. "As long as El and Barry contribute."

They continued exchanging stories as they went back through the brush to their car, guided by the light of the early morning moon. Their shadows stood out on the damp spring grass---four instead of three.


I swear I've written fics for this fandom that involve someone other the Dying Informant getting hurt. By sheer coincidence, the two inspired by prompts here both featured him as the victim....