The spirit board Kit eventually brought down from the attic was a beautiful piece, highly polished, carved, its carefully made-to-match planchette as gorgeously maintained as the board itself. She'd laid it down with a certain amount of ceremony in the master bedroom ....and promptly ignored it. Kit did not want to summon Isabelle Nichols, even if the woman could give them a few answers. She was terrified of Randal's adulterous wife, even more so now that she knew the woman's ghost had been watching her sleep for years. November advanced into December and the Christmas season, and still Katrina Clarke ignored the board and the room it lay in.

Randal was absent, but the house didn't feel empty. She knew he was there, and a small part of her was dreading him showing up. She knew he was going to ask about the spirit board and whether she had used it yet.

To distract herself from these thoughts - and to get away from her phone, which Noah had been calling multiple times a day to try and get himself forgiven - she took herself out in search of a Christmas tree, determined to brighten the old house for the season. No doubt Randal would have had views about the sight of the diminutive Kit dragging an eight foot spruce up along the drive, but it was the turn from the hallway to the living room that was giving her real problems. She had quite a good grasp of expletives in her repertoire, it seemed.

"There's no need to cuss, Kit," a familiar voice interrupted her swearing from somewhere behind her. "Are you sure you were never a sailor?" he teased with a bit of a chuckle. It seemed the reserved Captain did indeed possess a small sense of humor.

Startled by the sudden voice behind her, her boot slipped on the rug and she fell backwards into the living room, landing on her back, looking up at the amusement on her ghostly captain's face. She stuck her tongue out at him. "You try moving a tree that's half again as big as you and see what comes out of your mouth," she suggested, her face lit up with a bright smile on seeing him again. "And hello."

His smile disappeared, replaced by a look of shocked concern as she slipped and fell, beside her suddenly, moving with lightning speed but unable to do much to help. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, as exasperated as she was. "If I were not made of ectoplasm or whatever it is, I would be able to help!" How he knew about ectoplasm was anybody's guess. Maybe he had seen Ghostbusters with her grandmother.

Kit laughed, shaking her head. "It's just a fall, love, I've had worse." She pushed herself up onto her elbows and glared at the tree, which was now mostly in the living room but still bent into the hall partially. "If I don't move that soon, we're going to have a drunk Christmas tree."

"Is it nearly Christmas already?" he asked with a small frown, wishing there was something he could do to help. It seemed like it had only just been All Hallow's Eve recently. What kind of Christmas was it going to be for her stuck in the house with only a ghost for a companion' There he was again, worrying about her, when she'd assured him she was perfectly happy this way.

"In a couple of weeks, yes," she told him, pushing herself up onto her feet. It hadn't occurred to her to ask him about decorating the house, never certain when he was going to be able to appear to her eyes and talk in the first place. She'd thought that maybe she could have the place decorated as a surprise for him, but evidently not. Taking a firm grip on the trunk of the tree, she heaved, and finally the whole thing was in the room, beginning the process of straightening itself out naturally. Getting it into a pot was going to be interesting, but she figured she could handle that. She looked over at Randal, faint concern on her face. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he replied, though he was still frowning as he watched her try and manhandle the tree all by herself. He was remembering the last time he and Isabelle had decorated the house - it was, perhaps, the last time they'd shared some laughter together before he'd gone off to war. "I've missed a few too many Christmases, I'm afraid. Do people still sing carols and exchange gifts?"

She smiled, straightening up as her breath tried to return to normal after the exertion. "Yes, that hasn't changed," she assured him. "It's all very commercialized now - lots of advertisements pushing you to buy a huge amount of food you won't eat, and buy expensive gifts you can't afford. But it's still focused on family. I suppose that's a good thing." She sobered at that thought - with the death of her grandmother, the only family she had still living was her mother, a woman she hadn't seen in years.

He could almost read her thoughts, knowing they were really all each other had. How pathetic was that' A dead man and a woman who was young enough to be his great grand-daughter. He pushed that thought from his mind, unpleasant as it was. He had no idea just what she meant by commercialized, except that it seemed to mean people were more interested in making money off it than celebrating. "I'm not so sure your generation's world has improved much over mine," he said thoughtfully as he contemplated the tree. If only he could get angry about something, he might be able to lift it!

"I think my generation is making it worse," she shrugged. "But I'm determined to have a merry Christmas this year. The house deserves to be celebrated a little." Her eyes glowed tenderly as she looked at him, unspoken words shining in her gaze. She would be celebrating Christmas for him, if not herself.

"I'm sorry I can't help, Kit," he told her sadly. It was too bad they didn't offer a class on how to be a proper poltergeist. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company either," he added. How had weeks passed since they'd last talked? It only proved to him how this existence offered little sense of time. He would have to be careful or years might pass by before he even realized it.

"You do help," she promised him, shaking her head. "And no matter what you think, you're the best company I've ever known. I miss you when you're away, but when you're here, I never even think about it. Please don't be sad, love."

A low breath seemed to pass through the room, a sound of effort more than a sigh of exasperation. Kit shivered at the sensation crawling over her skin, the sense of that female watcher making itself known while she was awake, and gasped as the planchette moved beneath her fingers. It slid, slowly and deliberately, over the polished wood, to stand over the word "Yes".

Randall was frowning again, thinking this form of communication was archaic at best. Why not just summon her to appear and speak with them in person, or at least, ghost to ghost' Was that even possible" He had no doubt it was Isabelle they were communing with, but there were a few ways to find out for sure. "Isabelle, have you been visiting Kit in her dreams?"

The planchette moved once again, seemingly under its own power, drawing back and over that "Yes" once again. An archaic form of communication, perhaps, but necessary for a little while, at least. Isabelle was not at home in this house, nor could she gain strength from anyone living in it. Not unless she was invited to do so. The spirit board was invitation enough.

He frowned thoughtfully over at Kit at the answer they were seemingly receiving presumably from Isabelle or someone speaking for her. "It will take forever to get answers this way," he told her quietly, as if he only wanted her to hear him, though they were clearly not alone.

Kit met his gaze, swallowing hard. "I know," she murmured softly, raising her voice to speak to Isabelle. "I know I'm not the one you want to talk to, Isabelle. So use my energy. Just ....I'd rather not die, if that's all right with you."

Randal's face darkened at Kit's request. "You aren't going to die. I won't let that happen." He lifted his head and his voice so that whatever spirit was listening would pay him heed. "Show yourself and say what it is you have to say," he demanded in no uncertain terms, all politeness aside.

Kit shivered as another low breath passed through the room, her skin turning pale as she felt her energy leeching out from her body. Isabelle had taken her at her word, it seemed, the image of the woman forming on the other side of the bed to Randal. She was tall and dark-haired, beautiful in her own way. Meeting Randal's eyes over Kit's head, Isabelle drew herself up stiffly. "What do you want, Randal?"

"Perhaps I should be asking you that question," he countered. "You have been appearing to Kit in dreams. I assume you have been using her to contact me. What is it you wish to say?" he asked her, rather coldly. There was obviously no love lost for this woman who'd betrayed him.

His wife, so long estranged, so long deceased, held his gaze as she sighed wearily. "Well, I've been trying to contact you for years, why the sudden interest?" she countered his cold question, smoothing her hands down the luminescent skirt of her dress. "Katherine refused to speak to you on my behalf and barred me from even attempting to contact that idiot daughter of hers. This one was my only option, but with you always hanging around her, I didn't have any way to get to her energy without pushing you away."

"What is it you want?" he repeated. "I should think we've already said everything there is to say to each other." If she was hoping for an apology, she was sadly mistaken. What did he have to apologize for, anyway' Taking his own life" What did that have to do with her"

If his former wife had originally intended to be civil to him, his cold response to her seemed to change her mind. "What do I want?" she asked pointedly. "I want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself, to stop lying to yourself. You forget, Randal, we grew up together. I know you, the man that you are. Despite everything, I know you have forgiven me, because you have a good heart. I don't deserve that forgiveness, and this choice not to rest is mine alone. I refuse to find peace, until I have set right what I did to you."

"You forget that I brought this damnation upon myself, Isabelle. It is my punishment for ending my own life, something which I must admit I regret." Though without having done such an abominable thing, he would have never known Kit or her grandmother. He sighed suddenly, moving his hands away from the planchette, which he was unable to touch anyway. "I forgave you long ago, Isabelle. This is no longer about you."

"I brought it upon you," she said, her voice stern as she laid ghostly hands against ghostly hips. "With secrets and lies that I thought would protect you. I made many bad decisions during our lifetime, Randal, and after you died ....I searched for a way to put it right. I found a way, too, but you are an incredibly stubborn man. It is very difficult to help someone who doesn't seem to want to help himself."

"Do you really think I am enjoying this existence?" he asked, moving to his full height, his form suddenly becoming sharper, clearer, more distinct, his voice edged with anger and regret. "I fail to understand how your so-called secrets and lies could have protected me. If there is something you wish to say to me, then say it."

"And what should I have told you?" Isabelle demanded in the face of his sudden anger. "Should I have answered the letters filled with pain and loss and regret with the news that I had discovered myself to be with child after you had left' That I had lost that child" Or perhaps you would have liked to have known about the Earl of Sussex's son, who took advantage of my loss and my loneliness, and threatened to tell you everything, if I did not do as I was told" You were suffering so much, Randal. Why would I heap more pain on your head" I thought I had made the right decision."

"Child" What child?" he exclaimed, doubtfully. "You never spoke of any child. Are these more of your lies, Isabelle" If it's true, why didn't you tell me before" I've known you since childhood. How do you think it felt when my letters were answered with silence" I poured my heart out to you in those letters, and you could not find it in your heart to even tell me the truth." His voice cracked, as he spoke, full of anger and pain and sadness for what had happened and what might have been. "I thought you loved me, and you betrayed me. You betrayed my trust. What was I to think" I survived a war to come home to nothing. Nothing, Isabelle."

"You have time," she told him gently. "When dawn comes on the first day of November, next year, you will know. And even if your faith is not yet restored by then, there will be other chances. Trust in what you feel for her, and what she feels will strengthen you in a way I never could. I do not think she will abandon you, Randal. She is far more steadfast than I ever was."

His gaze remained fixed on Kit, even as Isabelle spoke of her, not trusting his voice to speak. He longed to wrap his arms around her again, to know that she was flesh and blood and that she loved him, her heart belonging to him and him alone. He felt the sting of tears filling his eyes, but he did not look away, holding her gaze and letting his heart soften to the hope Isabelle offered, despite his fears. "I love her as I once loved you," he said quietly to them both.

"So let her love you the way you deserve to be loved," Isabelle told him, her voice tight with regret for the mistakes she had made that had brought them both here. "And Randal" It doesn't have to be anger. Embrace your heart, and embrace her. The time will fly by, and we will all be freed."

He did not trust himself to speak, turning away from them both once again, surrendering himself to the pain and the grief and the loneliness he had felt for so many years. If it had not been for Katherine's friendship, he might have gone mad; he might have truly become a specter, losing that part of his essence that was himself and forever haunting this place without any chance of redemption. He said nothing for a long moment, silently allowing himself to feel the sorrow he had pushed away for so long, and the hope that Isabelle offered through Kit's love.

Isabelle watched him for a long moment, and finally leaned forward, whispering to Kit, "Release me." After her long stillness, Kit seemed to rouse, forcing her chilled hands to push the planchette to "Goodbye". Isabelle's breath sighed through the room once again, her form fading from sight. Perhaps now there was hope once again.

Randal's back was still turned to them both when Isabelle disappeared, grieving the loss of a child who'd never had a chance at life and a marriage that had been broken through no fault of his own. "She should have told me," he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. He was vaguely aware that Isabelle was gone, but he did not yet turn to face Kit, ashamed of his weakness, though perhaps it was long overdue.

Kit felt, more than saw, Isabelle's parting, the strange lethargy that had come over her as the ghost of Randal's former wife leeched her living energy to be seen and heard beginning to ease from her limbs. It was only with a supreme effort that she didn't just keel over where she was, incredibly reluctant to sleep in this room, even if it became absolutely necessary. She had heard every word, stunned to discover that she, somehow, was the means by which Randal could find peace again. His words brought faint tears to her eyes, understanding that he might not now come back to see Christmas. He had a lot to absorb and understand in himself, and she couldn't begrudge him that. "She was afraid."

He didn't answer for a moment, too lost in his own thoughts, or perhaps too afraid himself that she would hear the grief in his voice and know he was in pain. "I never gave her any reason to fear me," he said, misunderstanding her meaning. "I only ever showed her love."

"Not of you, Randal," Kit murmured, not even giving herself a moment to consider why she was trying to help him understand the actions of a woman who had almost destroyed him. "She was afraid of hurting you, of making you weak when you needed to be strong. She's an idiot," she added, "but I can understand why she did what she did."

"Because of the war," he murmured to himself, trying to understand. He was already dealing with so much that she didn't want to give him more to worry about, to distract him from his duty and perhaps from staying alive. She should have told him when he returned; he would have understood, wouldn't he" Unless it was already too late. He wiped a hand across his face; it seemed that even ghosts could know sorrow and tears. "I'm sorry, Kit. I'm sorry for everything."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she told him quietly, wrapping her arms about herself where she sat. Frightened that he might now be wishing he could turn back time and have his Isabelle back with him, rather than look to the hope his foolish wife had made certain to give him before her death. "I-I should go and finish with the tree. You ....you probably want to be alone, for a while."

"No," he contradicted her, without a moment's thought. "I don't want to be alone." He turned to face her, his expression betraying all the conflict he was feeling. "Please, don't leave me alone," he pleaded, letting her see this other side of him, this side he tried to keep hidden away beneath the cool and reserved exterior. "I've been alone for so long."

She shook her head, forcing her sluggish limbs to raise her from the bed and bring her standing before him, wishing more than ever that she could touch him. "You'll never be alone so long as I'm around," she promised him, wishing, too, that he could believe her. "I wish I knew what to do. What I could say to help you with this."

"You don't have to say or do anything," he told her, reaching for her hand almost without thinking and amazed to find he could touch her, if only temporarily. "A year is a long time to wait," he said, not for his sake but for hers. He had been waiting almost a century. If Isabella was true to her word, he'd only have to wait a little bit more.

Her fingers twisted into his, again failing to realize the impossibility of touching him as she clung to his hand. "I'd wait longer," she breathed softly, her other hand rising to gently touch his cheek. "I'd wait a lifetime for you, if you wanted me."

He closed his eyes a moment as she touched his cheek, wet with tears, before opening them again, tears springing anew to eyes that for the first time in decades were bright with hope. "I want you, more than I've ever wanted anyone or anything," he told her quietly, almost afraid to speak lest he break the spell.

"Then it isn't even a year we'll have to wait," she told him, her voice gentle in the stillness, as afraid to shatter the quiet as he, aware that the warmth of his skin could be taken away from her at any moment. Who would have thought that a drunken kiss on Halloween would have brought them here" "Ten months, Randal. That's all."

He nodded his head, a faint tearful smile on his face, not quite realizing that her fingers were tangled in his. It seemed so right, so natural that he hardly questioned it. "You won't change your mind?" he asked, tentatively. He had heeded Isabelle's words, understanding that he needed to put his trust in Kit, but it would take a little time.

Her smile was just a little bittersweet, understanding his reticence in having trust in her heart even if it hurt her to hear him ask. "I can't see any circumstance where my mind would change," she told him, confident in her own feelings, at least. "And even if my mind changed, my heart wouldn't. I love you, Randal. She was right. I've always loved you."

Though it no longer pumped blood through his veins, his heart seemed to swell in his chest, so touched by her words of affection and her promise of love. She had always loved him, and it seemed she was promising that her heart would go on loving him. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he told her with that same tearful smile til on his face.

She rose up onto her toes, daring this precious moment of contact just a little more to let the tip of her nose slide against his. "You needed me," she whispered to him, her smile grown tender as she looked into his eyes. "Or maybe I needed you."

"We needed each other," he said in agreement, that smile warming for a moment, leaning in to touch his lips to hers just as his form slowly faded, a whisper of warmth against her lips before he faded completely from view, as though he'd never been there at all. It was through no fault of his own, only part of the curse of his existence, but even as the kiss faded from her lips, leaving a remnant of warmth like a fading memory, it was with the knowledge that he would return and that they would redeem his soul together.

((So there is hope. Sweet, ain't it' And you may have noticed, we appear to have decided we're doing back-story with these two. I can't help it, I'm just so into them!))