Chapter Text
Finally, all the portraits smiled at Michael in one way or another, their age now visible in their faces. Graham had told him about a door, all he needed to do was walk out of it.
But where the hell was it?
He looked down the halls to his right and left, the blank dead ends still mocking him. Nothing on the floor or the ceiling, either. It was only then he remembered he'd never bothered to turn around, as he could feel the wall behind him. Worth a try, now, just in case
His reflection startled him, directly at his eye level, in a frame not unlike the others behind him. Michael stepped back for a closer look and found that, in the framed mirror, he was completely colourless against the red wall behind him. Even stranger was that from any angle, the other portraits behind him were not visible in the reflection. He waved his hand over them, even turned around to confirm they were still physically present, but the mirror simply refused to show any face but his, in black and white.
Michael felt his hand raise gingerly toward his own reflected portrait, not sure what would happen, but did he really have a choice?
When his hand met the mirror he could have sworn he felt another hand, not glass, press against his skin, but it was too late to bother pondering over that. The process had already begun, the light and time washed over him.
The young man really had no idea what to expect when he opened his eyes, but his father looking back at him was certainly not high on the list of probability. He shook his head, rubbed his exhausted eyes with the bottoms of his palms, blinked, and looked again.
It wasn't his father at all.
Is that really how he ended up looking?
Michael studied the lines in the face of his elderly self, exasperated but more curious than anything. He'd certainly aged better than John, at least.
The man (older Michael? Himself? Michael had no idea how to refer to him in his mind) coughed, trying to get his younger counterpart's attention. "You thought it was over, didn't you?" The younger Michael tried not to roll his eyes. Older him seemed so serious, and he'd had it up to here with creepy old bastards with their likeness hanging on the wall. "Yes?" he said, leaning back. The older man chuckled in a way that Michael knew felt familiar, as it was unmistakably his own. "You're still so full of yourself. Of course. You have a long way to go, Mike." The young Mike kept his mouth shut, reverting to his responses from way back at the first portrait, giving the man across from him as little as possible. He just had to get out and then he could wake up alone in his own home.
The silver-haired Michael frowned, growing as impatient as the other man. "With that attitude, you'll never get this knighthood I've got, will you?" He chuckled at how the younger man perked up at his words. He knew himself so well.
"Let me tell you this, Michael, and don't you forget it," the elderly Michael continued, "You've made plenty of good decisions and twice as many bad ones. You have plenty of bad ones left to make, but never, ever, take any of them for granted, alright?"
The brunet nodded like an apathetic child, doing his best to ignore his older self's words bouncing around his skull, getting louder at every echo.
"Be like that, then," Sighed the older Palin, "I'm still the best of the bunch."
With that, Michael was cut off, his last image that of the elder Michael smirking playfully as he brought his hand up to snap his fingers. The lined face is still there, staring back at him with his message still clear, but Michael was back in the quiet of the hallway.
He didn't have time to reflect. He didn't need to reflect, why would he? All this talk about the moon the others had mentioned. They were a figment of his dream, of his imagination, so why should he care? All he needed to do was wake up. This was getting tiring.
Turning to his left, he let out a content and exhausted groan at the sight of a wooden door, slightly ajar. Michael picked up his pace, looking at the portraits as he went, absentmindedly.
He picked his brown curls off his desk, pen still in hand. The strip of the full moon had moved away from the ink of the paper in its cycle. Michael paid it no mind, foggy brain telling him to scribble the portraits of the faces he could still process with pen and ink still wobbling slightly between his crooked fingers.
So he drew them, half asleep, crudely.
Eric first, long locks falling softly.
Then Carol, stern and soft.
He sketched John, sporting his familiar seriousness.
Then Gilliam, head tilted slightly in judgment as it was in the portrait.
Next was Neil, and Michael's wrist was getting sore.
Terry was next. Michael tried to remind himself it was only a dream.
His forehead was threatening to hit the desk as he traced Graham's face, still distracting himself.
He took more time sketching himself, not really knowing why, trying to remember what his older self looked like.
As his hand finally slipped, he heard the phone ring, knocking him out of the trance he'd been in for who knows how many hours. He picked up groggily, trying not to scream at whatever poor soul was on the other line.
"Hello?" He tried, gritting his teeth to stay awake.
"Mike! Hullo, it's Eric. I need advice, I met this girl a bit ago— God, she's gorgeous— I think I might be moving on, and—"
"What's her name?"
"Pardon?"
"What's her name?" Repeated Michael, rubbing his eyes.
"Tanya," said Eric, caught off guard, "Her name is Tanya."
"Oh," said Michael, yawning. "I'm happy for you, mate. I'm about to pass out at the moment, I'll call you in a bit, yeah?"
"Yeah— it's not urgent, just happy. Take a rest, Mike."
As Eric wished him well, still a little bemused, Michael hung up the phone haphazardly and rubbed his face in his hands, sitting back in his chair and leaning over the drawings on his desk. Eric caught his eye, all lines and scratches— hadn't Eric said something in his dream about...
Tanya.
Eric in his dream had said Michael would meet his new lady, Tayna.
So it was real, somehow.
Michael sighed as his eyelids fell closed. He should’ve asked them the lottery numbers.