One Neolithic Evening

Before the door even opens, awareness born of experience warns him that his home isn't empty. A figure sits quietly beside the fire, wearing black. He doesn't show any surprise. Feigning it would be an insult to both of them. Instead, he sighs deeply and takes a seat. Might as well get it over with.

The fire casts long, deceptive shadows, like flickering memories. Neither of them looks directly at it, carefully preserving their night vision. It's an old habit, and like any old predator, those die hard and mean.

"Come back, Rick. The team needs you. I need you." His visitor sounds almost wistful for a moment. There's a glint in his hand, a polished piece of amber that catches the firelight as he rolls it in a neat circle. It draws the eye and traps the mind, winding thoughts into slow loops. He knows the trick, and knows that won't keep him from falling to its lure.

He leans forward and stirs the fire. Charcoal rattles; sparks drift into the air, burning bright for a moment, and wink out, like a human life. "Stop calling me that. Rick is dead and gone. I let him die a long time ago."

"Fine, Freddie. Real life isn't that simple. You can't stick your head in the sand forever and wait to fossilise. This new situation, it's more than we can handle-"

"Bison coprolites. You just can't let go, can you? Well, I don't do that any more. I walked away into the sunlight."

Little circle, little circle. "I watched you do it. Against my better judgement, I might add. You expect me to believe you've forgotten it all? Haven't thumbed the edge of a flint in all these years? Step into a cave without checking every exit? Never stare into the moonlit night and think about the past?"

It stings to hear the truth so bluntly. But it doesn't matter. "I have a family. A job that means something. A real life." He glances at the wall, at the crude figures drawn in charcoal by tiny hands - bison, bears, brontosaurs. He can almost feel the touch of those soft fingers in his calloused hand, holding him fast.

The amber stops rolling. The figure in black finally turns to make eye contact. "And what do you think will happen to that sweet life of yours when they find out about your past? How will they look at you then?"

The man in black furs feels his shoulders hit the wall, driving the air from his lungs, before Rick's movement even registers. Ancestors, the brute was still so fast. Eyes as emotionless as any Megalodon's bore into his own, so close that their eyebrows threaten to tangle. Powerful muscles, not quite gone to fat, pin him against the stone.

"We're through, Ug. Pick up your club and walk away. There's nothing here for you any more."

Moments creak by, breathlessly, before Ug recovers enough to nod. He's made a mistake, but he's far from a fool. He knows a lost cause when it stares him in the face. The hands slowly lower him, unwind themselves from his tunic, and smooth the rumpled fur back into respectability. Neither of them speaks as they walk to the front door, every stride another step away from the past.

At the threshold, Ug pauses, half-turning to speak over his shoulder. "Listen, Rick-" The look in his old comrade's eye silences him. Rick - no, Freddie, there's no question now - gives a barely-perceptible shake of his head, and swings the door closed.

"Yabadaba don't."