A Deed to be Done

Link to article: A Deed to be Done.

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[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source start=-- |name=ArthCymro]]
**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file More by this Author]**
[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source end=--]]

[[[SCP-662|Mr. Deeds]]] had been many things. A chef. A gardener. A mechanic. A nurse. A warrior, //in a time of need//. Even a barber, though not a very good one. One thing he had not expected to end up becoming was a nanny.

The day started just like any other. Deeds woke up nice and early. He made his bed, washed, cleaned his teeth, and dressed, sporting a pair of chino trousers, a well-ironed shirt and a cashmere V-neck jumper. Whilst he was happy with his new wardrobe, he couldn't help missing his tailcoat, polished shoes, white gloves and bow tie. If he liked, he could wear them. They were hung up in the wardrobe, neatly packed away. But he didn't want to look out of place. He'd only just got the hang of living outside of the bell. After dressing, he made his way downstairs and began cooking breakfast. The August sun had come up beyond the horizon now, and outside, the scent of grass and lavender hung in the warming air. In the distance, the singing of the early birds could be heard. It was going to be a lovely day.

By eight o'clock, the table was laid. Today, it was waffles, a dish Deeds had grown to like. In the middle of the tablecloth, six steaming waffles sat in a tower, surrounded by jars of homemade jams and yoghurts and a pitcher of apple juice. "She will be pleased," he thought, adjusting a fork so it was perpendicular to the edge. With that, Deeds made his way back upstairs to wake her up. In two weeks time, she'd be starting school, and Deeds had been advised by the doctors to get her into a routine. Her intelligence, which was obvious, was nothing to worry about, as that too had been sorted out by those in the lab coats.

Knocking on the door gently, Deeds crept into the bedroom, peeping in. "[[[SCP-053|Abby]]], are you awake?" On the bed, holding on to two soft toys, she lay fast asleep, her thumb in her mouth. Making sure to be gentle, Deeds crept in and knelt down, jigging Abby's pillows a little to stir her awake. "Abby, darling. Come on. It's breakfast time." Abby, who still wasn't a morning person like Deeds, made a mumbling noise and rolled over. "Abigail," said Deeds in a silly, stern voice, "I can't eat all the breakfast by myself." At the mention of breakfast, Abby opened her eyes sleepily. She wasn't used to this schedule.

30 minutes later, after washing her face, cleaning her teeth and making her bed, which Abby was neither used to nor liked doing, the two sat at the dinner table, munching their way through the starchy tower and spreads. Abby, her face developing a fruity beard from all the jam she was eating, sang a little song as she read her book, whilst Deeds, who'd finished his small plate of yoghurts and marmalade, hummed along. Mr. Elizabeth and Mr. Wibble, Abby's toy dolls, had lost some of their stuffing, and Deeds was busying himself with their new stitching.

"Mr Elizabeth doesn't need stitching," said Abby, looking up from her book, "He can make himself better. He showed me. He showed me how his skin could magic itself back together."

"Really?" asked Deeds, pretending he wasn't familiar with the capabilities of [[[SCP-682|682]]], "That's very impressive. What about [[[SCP-999|Mr. Wibble]]]? Could he make himself better?"

Abby shook her head. "Mr Wibble doesn't get hurt. He's too soft and squishy. But he can make you better. When he hugs you and he goes all wiggly. I like it when he does that. He'd smell all nice and sweet, like chocolate muffins."

"I bet," laughed Deeds, snipping a thread. The researchers and doctors had advised him not to encourage her memories of her time with the Foundation, but not to dismiss them either. The hope was that slowly, in time, she'd forget. Forget all the attacks, the screaming and cross-testing. Forget that she had been 053. Sadly, whilst Abby was blessed with plenty of youth to forget, that was something that Deeds was never going to be able to do.

"How is the book?"

Abby, despite having been 3 for almost a decade, was a bright girl. Though she'd spent roughly 10 years trapped in the same concrete cell, she was already able to read and write at a level expected from children twice her age. Currently, Deeds was having her read through the Mr. Men series. "It's good. Mr. Impossible has just shown how he can fly by flapping his hands. [[[SCP-2241|Cameron]]] could do that. I remember him showing us when it was Mr. [[[SCP-073|Cain]]]'s story time."

"If you like, we can go to the library this afternoon and get some more books. I'm sure we can find a nice one." Abby wasn't listening. She'd put the book down and was now busying herself with the jam once more. Deeds smiled as he snipped another thread.

------

"Don't go too close to the road."

Yet again, Abby heard nothing. Her attention was now on a sizeable stick which was poking out among the daisies near the trees. Taking it with her right hand, she lifted it into the air, like a sword. She smiled triumphantly at Deeds, who nodded approval. She then ran around, taking part in some game she'd just invented.

Now at peace, Deeds reached into his bag and pulled out a newspaper. A number of red circles were scattered along the page, all highlighting the various jobs Deeds had thought appealing. Most were cleaning or service work, though there was one asking for called a "Hospital Porter", which had also caught his attention. The Foundation, having decommissioned over 95% of their departments, had more money and resources than they needed and had very kindly given Deeds and Abby a sizeable allowance and accommodation. Not enough to live in luxury and plenty, but enough to get a good start in their lives. They'd also offered, after he'd completed his integration course, to find work for Deeds, but he'd politely declined, thinking it would be better if he figured that path out on his own.

Mind you, it had been rather embarrassing trying to understand how to write a CV. He'd gotten some very pitying looks from the people in the library.

"Sorry, do you mind?"

A foot was slammed on the bench next to Deeds, belonging to a young jogger, who'd paused to catch her breath. Deeds shook his head. "She yours?" the jogger asked, readjusting her hair. Deeds looked up from his paper, seeing that the woman was looking towards Abby, who was now swishing her stick in the pond. She appeared to be talking to the water, pretending someone was there. Deeds smiled slightly and nodded again. "She's a busy little thing. Enjoys the outdoors."

"Yes, she loves her small worlds," murmured Deeds. His training had made him the perfect serviceman, but had left him with rather poor social skills. It had taken the Reintegration Committee quite a while to get Deeds on a sociable level.

"Wonder who she's talking to?"

A soft, singing voice and a [[[SCP-054|blue, clear, feminine shape]]] came to Deeds' mind. "Probably the Lady of the Lake," he answered, which was partially true, "I've been reading her King Arthur and Robin Hood. She's enjoying those stories. I think the stick may be Excalibur."

"Why don't you take her to the playground? She'd like that."

Playground. Deeds held his breath at the sound of the word, his eyes fixed on Abby. That place was one of the things that had been highlighted numerous times by the doctor, along with blood, needles, large groups, and her dislike of physical contact. If Deeds remembered correctly, the [[[parenthood|last time]]] she'd been to one, something had gone badly wrong.

"She's got an allergy," said Deeds quickly, raking through his brain for the many excuses the doctor had suggested to him, "Something in the wood gets her skin. Something they use for the rot. Skin goes all hived and blistered. Horrible stuff." The jogger made a face, a kind of confused understanding. "Know any good jobs going?" Deeds asked, doing his best to avoid answering more questions.

"Uhh - the arts and crafts shop is looking for someone. I think the coffee place around the corner is also looking." She adjusted her top and began pacing on the spot. "Given how well-dressed you are, I'd suggest the arts place." And with a friendly wave and a grin, she went on her way, Deeds sighing a little as she went, a little relieved. Abby remained at the pond edge, now flapping her feet in the cold water, laughing, still talking to the nonexistent person. Deeds' breathing calmed, and he returned to his reading.

45 minutes later, Deeds and Abby walked down the hill back to the house. Near the gate, Deeds could see the playground, full of children and parents. All giggling, screaming, shouting and playing. As they passed, Abby slowed down, holding Deeds back. In her face, he saw a pained look. A longing. The scar of a memory.

"Do you want to go in?"

Abby did nothing for a second or two before shaking her head, trying not to look at the playground.

"That's fine. That's OK. Come on. Let's go home."

------

"Now, I want you to carefully press and push the dough away from you with the other hand. We want to get the gluten to stretch out. That'll help the bread get all soft."

Abby nodded dismissively. "I can do it. I can do it." Deeds held his hands up and walked away, knowing a mess was coming. It was late afternoon, and given that the tomatoes had started ripening and were plentiful in numbers, Deeds had fancied teaching Abby how to make pizza. It was an easy meal to prepare and was fun for children. Plus, Abby was developing a love of cheese.

"Did you enjoy today?" asked Deeds as he chopped up some mushrooms and basil.

"Yeah," answered Abby in a strained voice, her fists sticky with dough, "I found a sword in the forest. It was broken, so I took it to Nymphie to see if she could fix it. She said she couldn't, but then [[[SCP-2800|Mr. MacIntyre]]] showed up and said he could fix it because he could talk with the trees and - "

Abby continued talking for a further 3 minutes, describing all the events that had taken place in the park, the library, the arts and crafts shop, and the bakery, not skipping on any of the epic battles and amazing things she'd seen. Deeds, ever the patient guardian, listened, occasionally interrupting to say niceties such as "really," or "I see," or "Oh, dear, oh dear." All the while, Abby shaped the dough into a nice dome.

"- and then, I found this really nice book full of pictures of animals. They were all big and had big teeth and eyes. It said that they lived a long, long time ago. Before people lived on the planet. But that's silly, because -"

There was a loud bang, which caused Deeds to jump and wheel around, spilling mushrooms all onto the floor. Abby, in her excitement and glee, had slipped off the stool that Deeds had given her. Caked in flour, Abby sat on the floor, wincing in pain and shock.

Trying not to laugh, Deeds walked over and began cleaning things up. "Oh, dear, dear, dear. Don't worry.
The dough's OK. It's still on the counter. We can -" Deeds stopped when he saw where Abby's hand was. It was pressed against her head, where, thanks to the rough wood, a small patch of scratches was etched into her skin. Blood was already seeping from some of the cuts.

"Abby. Abby, wait." Deeds saw the panic form in the girl's eyes as she noticed what her palm was wet with. Her breathing got heavier. Her lip began to tremble. "Abby. Oh, sweetie, that's not nice, isn't it? Let me -"

"No!" Pushing Deeds back, Abby raced out of the kitchen and zoomed through the dining room. A loud thumping could be heard from the ceiling as a large door was shut.

Deeds, a little shaken from the situation, sat in the flour, trying hard to think of what to do next. At times like this, he wished he were back in the bell. It had all been so easy back then. He'd just stay all tucked up inside the silver, or what he imagined was the silver, and come out when it rang. The knowledge he needed kind of popped into his head, and the resources were just a doorway away. Now? He had to go the long way round, with classes and training and all that. Knowledge now had to come with experience. Worse still, he had to do it with another person in tandem. And she had her own hurdles to jump over.

He wasn't trained for this. Abby needed a proper guardian. Not a doddering butler out of his time. Why had he agreed?

As he reached for the dust pan and brush, he heard a few sniffles coming from the ceiling. A sound of someone scared. Vulnerable. Alone.

Breathing heavily through his nose and giving himself a nod of assurance, Deeds slowly made his way up the stairs to Abby's room. A slight crimson fingerprint stood out against the wood of the door. Not knocking, he pushed it open gently and peeped in. He could see a faint shadow from under the bed. There was Abby, sniffing, holding on to Mr. Elizabeth and Mr. Wibble, whose bells tinkled lightly as she rocked slightly. A few tears were swimming in her eyes, and one hand was still firmly pressed against the temple of her head, a patch of red visible around the palm.

Not speaking, Deeds lay down on the wooden floor and shimmied his way next to the child. As he drew near, Abby cowered and buried her head into the dolls, hand pressing even harder against the wound. Gently does it. "Abby. You can come out now." Abby didn't say anything. She continued to sniff into Elizabeth and Wibble. Taking a gamble, Deeds reached for Abby's injured head.

"No," whispered Abby in protest, "You can't."

"Why can't I, sweetie?"

Abby's eyes became visible. "You'll go bad. Like everyone before. You'll go bad. And you'll - you'll - "

"Abby," whispered Deeds, "You aren't like that anymore. You don't - " He paused and thought of how to say the words. "Remember when I first met you? I didn't hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you. I don't want to now. And I promise I never will." Abby stared at Deeds. In her eyes, Deeds saw the fear and confusion she'd been concealing within her all those years she'd been with the Foundation. The fear that at any moment, she would be attacked. The fear that, again, someone would die at her had for no good reason.

"Let me have a look at that scrape. Please."

"If you do, you'll be like him."

"Who?"

Abby looked away. "Daddy."

Deeds sighed, remembering what the doctors had said about Abby's family. Now it made sense. "You were worried I'd end up like Daddy, because of what happened last time? In the playground. When you hit your head and had to go to the hospital?"

Abby let out a quiet sob and nodded. "He went all mean. He hurt Mummy. He then - he then hurt himself. Because I was hurt. It was my fault. My head made him -"

Not thinking, Deeds moved forward and held Abby in a hug. Abby gasped and tried to wiggle free, but Deeds held on. "Abby. What made Daddy mad wasn't you. It was never you" He held the girl's cheeks, making sure to touch her blood-covered fingers. "The thing that made Daddy mad isn't there anymore. It will never be there anymore. I won't let it. Do you understand?" Something inside Deeds, something instinctive, made him lean forward and, making sure Abby heard, kiss her hand softly and comfortingly. "I am never going to be mad like that. Promise."

------

"I don't like mushrooms."

"Abigail, they're good for you. Full of vitamins." Abby pouted and pushed the misshapen brown fungi around her plate. "Alright," said Deeds, giving the girl an annoyed look, "But it's either the mushrooms or the crusts." In seconds, Abby shoved the crispy, doughy, slightly burnt pizza ends into her mouth and chewed as if her life depended on it. Deeds raised an eyebrow. "I asked you to eat them, not destroy them," Abby mumbled something, spitting flakes of bread onto the table. "Chew and swallow, please. We are not animals in the zoo."

Abby gulped the bread down. "Can I play with my Legos?" Deeds hadn't so much as made a nod before Abby dashed to the toy box and pulled out the tub of multi-coloured bricks. By the time Deeds had come back from washing things up, Abby had already made a small building, equipped with a hallway, an elevator and a small garden. It was rather impressive.

"I didn't know you were so good at building."

"It was easier when the [[[SCP-387|piece]]] would help me. They showed me how to make bridges, trains, and towers. It was fun. I like playing with them. It makes me think of the games I played with the orange men. Did you get to play with them?"

"The orange men? Yes." Deeds thought back to all the experiments. The weird tasks and commands. The blocks that were formed in his thoughts when he could perform his duty. He'd only met an orange man once. And that hadn't ended well for either of them. "Yes, I met the orange men."

The two were quiet for a while, with Abby playing with her bricks and figures, while Deeds read the newspaper, highlighting some current topics to be able to use in times of socialising. Then, out of nowhere, Abby said slowly, "I miss them." Deeds peered over the paper. Now that she'd added the figures, labs, cages, and desks, the model was slowly becoming a perfect miniature Site-17.

------

"- and when Margaret grows up, she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless."

With that, Deeds closed the book, its old paper making a satisfying thump as it closed. Deeds smiled happily. Though he couldn't remember much of his old life, something about the tale of Peter Pan and his battles with Hook brought him a sense of familiarity and quiet joy. Abby too liked it, though more because it had fairies and flying, which she said reminded her of her friends back in the 'hospital'.

"Did you enjoy that?"

Abby, already half asleep, nodded slowly and yawned. It had been a long day.

"I think it's time you settled down, sweetie." Reaching under the bed, Deeds pulled out Mr. Elizabeth and Mr. Wibble and cuddled them up on either side. Abby hugged them tightly. "Good night, Abby. Sleep tight. We've got another day ahead of us."

But before he reached the door, Abby called out, "Wait. One more story."

Deeds held up a finger as he turned back around. "Ah ah, it's nearly 8 o'clock. You're a growing girl, my dear, and growing girls need - "

Deeds stopped when he noticed the book she had in her hands. It was blue, made of pressed card and paper, the kind of book used for scrapbooking. On its cover, written out in neatly tipped letters, the words "Our History, Our Future" were spelt out. Beneth it, the name "[[[SCP-105|Iris Thompson]]]" was written.

He remembered the day the book had arrived. He and Abby found it lying on the doorstep after they'd been out to get their shopping. No address had been written on it. There was no identification of who had sent it. But Deeds knew immediately who'd made it. He recognised the Polaroid.

"One more story," said Abby again.

Deeds glanced from the book to Abby and back again. It had taken quite a lot of strength to hold back the sorrow he'd felt when he'd looked at it last time, and he wasn't sure he could do it a second time.

"Pass it over," he said, retaking his seat in the chair next to Abby's bed. Abby grinned and passed it over. And as Deeds made to open the book, Abby pulled back the covers of her bed, picking up her two doll companions. She then, to Deeds' surprise, pulled herself onto the chair and nested herself comfortably onto his hip. She looked up at the former butler with eager eyes. She'd never done this before.

"Start with the pictures," she said, turning the first page.

Focusing, Deeds flattened the book onto his knees and began to turn the pages slowly, lingering on each page, to make sure Abby got a full few of the photographs.

Iris had clearly done her work. Every page was stuffed with images. Some of them from her time with Omega-7. Other of her adventures with Alpha-9. But most of them were just of the people and creatures she'd met. Both at 17 and at the other sites. Some of them, Deeds recognised. As they continued through the book, Abby pointed out some of the people she'd met or made friends with. She listed their names. [[[SCP-040|Fiona]]], Cameron, [[[SCP-2118|Carly]]], [[[scp-2599|Zena]]], [[[scp-2506|Sarah]]], [[[scp-191|Cindy]]], [[[SCP-4051|Rainer]]], [[[SCP-134|Stella]]], and [[[SCP-239|Sigurrós]]]. Deeds joined in, point out [[[SCP-076|Able]]], [[[SCP-4818|Leora]]], [[[SCP-507|Johnny]]], [[[SCP-208|Bes]]], [[[SCP-166|Meri]]], and all the [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/mister#pages|Misters]]]. Below some of the pictures, Iris had written out little notes about her adventures. Comments like "Pizza again", "another tough raid", "really want a cigarette", and "Abel's so cute when he's asleep".

They continued turning, page after page, even after the sun had gone down and night crept in. Finally, at around 9:15, Deeds turned to the last page. There wasn't a picture here. Only the note Iris had written out to accompany the package. Abby had stuck it there to keep it safe. "I think we should probably go to bed now," said Deeds. But Abby didn't hear him. She was fast asleep, breathing softly, holding on to Elizabeth, Wibble and Deeds.

Being as careful as he could, Deeds picked up the young girl, dolls and all, and placed her back in her bed. Safe under the covers, Abby snuggled up to the pillow and slept on.

Picking up the book again, Deeds turned to the final page and read the letter to himself:

[[div class="blockquote"]]

To all my fellow numbered friends,

Our time together is at an end. So too is the time of mystery and mayhem. The time of hidden horrors and strange happenings. The world has grown up, and so, in a way, must we.

But though we mourn, we must go on. [[[the-world-kept-turning-hub|The world keeps turning]]] and we must be a part of it. It needs us, or maybe you need it. So, in honour of the world you have left, find where in this world you need to be. Find who you are or who you were before. Find what you must do and do it well.

The dark is no more. Let us live in the light.

[[/div]]

Deeds caressed the side of the paper slowly, his view of the words clouded a little by the tears. Behind him, Abby stirred in her sleep, the bells in Elizabeth and Wibble tinkling quietly as she moved. Deeds looked back at her and smiled. Taking his shoes off, he pulled back the covers of the bed and lay down beside the girl.

Everything was ahead for her. School. Friends. Adventures. She had horrors, yes, but she would not endure them alone. He would be there for her. This was his duty now. To be the guardian she needed. To be the father she'd lost.

Closing his eyes, Mr. Deeds fell quickly to sleep, his daughter next to him.

A Deed to be Done

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