stay a while, yeah?

                                           Stand Alone Pieces

Darkiplier 

-Halloween Spirit

-Silent Visits

-Long Walk Home

-Darling, I Got Friends in Low Places

-There When You Call

-Idle Hands

-Taking a Break

-Mirror, Mirror

-The Inevitable 

-A Forgotten Kind of Sound

-A Quiet Moment or Two

-Work Night

-11:30

-Hardly a Choice At All

-Snowfall

Wilford Warfstache

-Surprise?

-Puzzle Pieces 

-Snow Day

-Noise Complaint

-An Illuminating Interview 

-Off the Record

-Suds

-Passing

The Host

-Running on Empty

-A Simple Thing

-Company 

-Helpless

-An Old Pain

-Say it Again

-Swan Song

Doctor Iplier

-Honeybees and Coffee Beans

-Office Naps

-The Phone Call

-I’ll Wait Up

-A Little April Fools

-Anatomy 101

Yancy

-Sunset

-Laundry Buddies

-A Single Word

-Cell Block Blues

-Push

-Recoil

-No Show

Illinois 

-A Normal Adventure 

-Cat and Mouse

-A Time to Rest

-For You

-No Adventurer Left Behind

-Round Two

-Just Another Cave In

-In For a Penny

-Aftermath

-Homecoming

-At the End of the Universe

-Team Bonding

-Forget Me Not

-Darlin'

-Dinner Date

Space Mark/Engineer Mark

-Among the Stars

-I'm tired

-Off Duty

-Soft Spoken

-Where We Are Now

-Where We Are Now (part 2)

-Cooperation

-Sleepless

Damien

-Surrender Unto Sleep

-Twist of Fate

Actor Mark

-Mistake

-The End of Things

Murder Mark

-Blind Date

Googleplier

-Default Search Engine

Eric Derickson 

-Affection Confections 

-All’s Fair

-Sea Breeze 

No Parings

-Old Haunt

Whumptober 2021

-Day One

-Day Two

-Day Three

                                                        Series

Low Places- In Progress

Summary- Your friendship with actor!Mark wasn’t one anybody really expected to form, least of all you. The mysterious man warning you away from him? Also a curveball.

But when his warnings start to make a bit more sense, things start to get more complicated. And dangerous.

"Hand me that socket wrench?"

You weren't entirely sure why he asked for your help on this. Mark was more than capable of the usual maintenance a ship this size demanded by himself. Aside from his… quirks his work was impeccable. Hell, you could probably find half a dozen other things that needed your attention more than handing him tools. You didn't mention it.

"This one?" You held one out to him, low enough that he could see it with the mass of machinery he was under.

"That'll work."

As he reaches out to grab it, his fingers skim along your palm. It's just for a second, hardly any contact at all. Still you startle, accidentally jerking the wrench back a bit.

"Sorry," you hurried to push it back into his hand, feeling ridiculous.

Your only response is a quick thanks, Mark quickly going back to his work. Mentally you slapped yourself. It was ridiculous to be this jumpy around one of your crew. You were their captain for crying out loud, this wasn't even appropriate. Why did you even say yes to this?

Apparently, Mark had been banned from using the power tools. For what reason you couldn't actually get out of him but the padlock on the storage cabinet they were kept in was enough of an answer. So, much to Mark's annoyance, he was forced to use exclusively manual tools. He'd grabbed you on your way to the bridge, pushing the old toolbox into your hands. The head engineer wouldn't hear any arguments. True, it wasn't technically your shift on the bridge but still.

Mark called your name, insistent. With a start you realized he had been for a while now.

"Sorry what?"

"I said this one's too big, can you hand me the half inch?" Then after a beat, "Are you okay? You seem… distracted."

"I'm fine," you focus on finding the tool he needs, ignoring how the man has his head at such an awkward angle to try and look your way. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"… everything," you said, keeping it vague. Unhelpful.

There were way too many ways that he could interpret that. The journey, the colony you were supposed to be leading, the loops. Plenty of actual, real world issues that could be occupying your mind. Certainly not your childish crush on the man. Really, it wasn't out of the blue that you found yourself getting closer to him. The adventure, the tears, the whole thing lead to an easy camaraderie you treasured. Or at least you'd thought it was just that. This, now? This didn't feel easy.

As you dig around in the tool box there's a dull thud, a muttered curse, and then the sound of fabric against metal as Mark worked his way out from under the machinery. You felt your face burn. While you were handy enough to fix some basic software issues you weren't familiar with the hardware. At all.

"Sorry," you apologize, scowling at the tool box like it was at fault, "can't find the right-"

"Tell me what's really wrong."

Your head shoots up and suddenly Mark was much closer than you realized. Were you that obvious? He was crouched down right next to you, brows furrowed and tapping his fingers against his knee.

"Nothing is-"

"Cut the shit, captain, I can read you like a book. Hell, you're a picture book." He ignores your insulted scoff. "You're distracted, you're fidgety as hell, and you're avoiding me like the plague."

"What?" You couldn't keep the surprise out of your voice and Mark's expression sours. "I haven't been avoiding you, I have a whole ship to run, Mark."

"Uh huh," the engineer seemed less than convinced. "And I'm sure you've got a good reason for assigning completely opposite shifts for us? I'm a night owl but this is a little ridiculous."

"The ship's been through it!" You said. Even you were able to pick up how defensive you sounded but it wasn't like that! "Just the small stuff will take a week or so not to mention trying to get the Invincible ready for planet fall-"

"Captain you haven't even been eating lunch with everyone," Mark cuts in, words quick and snappy, "and I remember coming in for breakfast and seeing you running right out. At the same time."

"Mark it isn't like that-"

"Well what is it like?" He throws his hands up. "Just tell me! This whole thing is just because you," he pokes you, none too gently at that, "haven't said anything and you clearly have a problem with me. So spill it."

On some level, you knew he was just frustrated. Probably due in part to the odd shifts you'd been putting him on and the resulting lack of sleep. But still something inside you wrankled at his words. It tugged at things that shouldn't be. Or maybe it was just the fact that the last time he blamed you for something…

"My only problem with you right now is that you're being an asshole, Mark. Just drop it!"

Blinded by the dizzying sting of what was going through your head, you don't pay attention as you stand up. Your foot lands on the wrench, that wrong sized one you hadn't put back into the box. It slipped with a rough clatter. Suddenly your feet weren't underneath you. You see Mark's eyes go wide, trying to catch you. From his half crouched position, he doesn't have the leverage to actually pull you up. So he goes down with you.

The two of you crash into the floor. Hard. You can feel the pattern in the middle digging into your back. Your elbows stung, you knew you were gonna bruise where your shin caught the machinery. The weight on top of you was solid and heavy for a moment, just a moment, before Mark was scrambling up and off of you. You're left on the floor, staring up at him. The view was one you'd experienced only one other time.

But this time he offered you a hand. It was a quick thing, almost like he'd forgotten in the midst of the embarrassment. Probably embarrassment right? His face did seem a little red.

"You okay?" He asks, louder than he intended apparently as he follows with a quieter, "Sorry. For- yeah…"

All you could muster was a shake of the head. Not only was that whole thing almost straight out of a rom-com, you were uncomfortably reminded of what happened in the warp core. Your brain hadn't decided how you felt about all that still.

"Right, well…" Mark said, slowly letting go of your hand. You hadn't realized he was still holding it. "Sure you have something better to do than acting as assistant."

You open your mouth to deny it on reflex but Mark was already turning back to his work. Whatever it was, it had passed. Another beat of hesitation. You could tell him. The warp core and afterwards, how you hadn't meant to avoid him, how you were just trying to figure things out.

But you didn't.

Swallowing those poisonous apologies, you bid him a quick and stilted goodbye before retreating. The what ifs were too many. It could go over well but on the other hand… You tried to ignore how loudly your footsteps echoed off the metal floor. They beat at your ears in condemnation as you decided to leave things where they were.

"I'm assuming you have questions."

"No shit I've got questions! What the hell, Ed?! Just- start talking before I call the cops!"

His lips thinned. "Really? The police?"

The notion seemed ridiculous when he put it like that but it was the only thing that came to mind. Blood was still dripping off his coat and your stomach lurched at the thought of how much was there. And on the floor. And the desk.

"It- can you really blame me? You look like a serial killer!"

Edward, the bastard, just shrugged. "What good are they gonna do here?"

The thought, which was probably a fair point, still made your heart stop. You were backed into a corner. The only thing between you and the man you thought you knew was the pair of keys you held between your fingers tight enough to break skin. No one to hear your cries for help. No exits.

"You want me to just do nothing then and- what, let you drink my blood? Kill me?"

He actually scoffed at that, like you were being ridiculous, like this wasn't ripped straight out of a horror movie. When he raised his hands in the air it was more annoyance than reassurance. You could see blood on his hands. It was half dried at this point, tacky and dark, making the lines in his palms stand out. You swallowed down the nausea.

"I'm a doctor. I'm not going to kill you. And if I was- I'd have already done it. Not to mention I don't like my chances of getting rid of your body without anyone in the hospital noticing. Waste of life on both sides."

"Wha- you're saying you're not gonna kill me because it's not practical?"

"That and I genuinely don't want to kill you?"

"Don't say it like a question!"

The doctor sighed and dropped his hands. Leaning against the desk, he very nearly looks like a regular man. If it weren't for the blood clotting on his coat you wouldn't think anything was wrong.

"What do you want to know?"

You wet your lips, glanced between the door and the blood across the floor.

"Are you a vampire?"

The question seemed ridiculous as you asked but Edward nodded along anyways. "Yes, in a sense. Not like Twilight or Nosferatu nonsense, it's more… plain, I guess you could say."

"How long have you been one?"

Looking up at the ceiling, he mouthed the numbers as he counted. "Five years now? I was a doctor first so that made things… awkward."

You tried not to imagine the unfortunate patients of his who happened to have a bit too much bleeding in the ER. Keep calm, you told yourself. You adjusted your grip on the keys.

"So how do you… You act like you're above killing people but you're- here. You're a vampire who happens to also be a doctor. You've got access to loads of people. Sick, vulnerable people."

Now Edward just looks offended. "Christ, no, I don't- I don't kill my own patients. I don't kill anyone. Think about it- I've been practicing for years and someone would notice if I left a trail of bodies behind me."

"I never said you killed them." Though you were thinking it.

Huffing, he bent down and snatched up a bloody piece of plastic. Only when he held it up did you recognize it as a blood bag. It was ripped open end to end, jagged and dripping still. You wondered with some discomfort if he used his teeth to do it.

The doctor tosses it at your feet, a few flecks managing to land on your shoes.

"I have a friend or two down in the lab. Usually it's just regular blood tests. Non-emergent ones. A few tubes go missing here or there or conveniently don't have labels. It happens all the time. That's usually enough for me to get by."

You looked down at the blood bag then back to the mess he'd made. At least this time he seemed almost embarrassed. Edward crossed his arms and grimaced.

"My usual lab tech is on vacation. I thought it would be fine. It wasn't. So… I cut out the middleman this time."

"Any reason why you're wearing half of it?"

The glare he gave you then could've melted glass. "I was fine until someone decided to try and pull a prank."

In your defense it was a very, very rare occasion to catch the doctor unawares. You had no idea what he was doing exactly but that wasn't a concern. Of course when you had tried to sneak up behind him..

"How was I supposed to know you were having a bloody juice box?"

"Why else would I be down here?"

"Excuse me if my first thought when seeing a colleague isn't vampirism!"

He pinched his nose, breathing out a heavy sigh. Unfortunately that only served to smear blood even higher on his face.

"Can we please save the arguing for another time? Unless you'd like us both to be caught with this mess?"

As if this was anywhere close to being your problem. You had half a mind to tell him to figure it out himself but something made you hold your tongue. Though you rationalized it as trying to protect other people, that you didn't know what he would do if he was cornered, you couldn't quite believe it. You already had cornered him. The rest of… whatever this was could come later. Edward wasn't the kind of man to hurt someone else (at least on purpose) and he needed your help.

Even if he was a bit of a prick.

You sighed and nodded, only managing to loosen your grip on the keys after forcefully willing your fingers to do so.

"Fine. I'll get a mop. You get something that isn't- get some clean clothes. And try not to smear more blood everywhere."

He blinked, stared at you for a moment, then simply nodded and got to his feet. The guy told you to help clean this up and then has the audacity to look surprised when you do. There's an uncertain moment where he's looking at the mess, frozen in his little island of blood. Then he's carefully shucking off his shoes and stepping well away from the puddle with relatively clean socks.

The cleaning wasn't difficult as much as it was time consuming. You'd clean off one area only to find a splatter of red on another surface. Edward had somehow managed to get it on the underside of the desk.

You'd turned to get another rag, more disinfectant, just in time to catch Edward at the sink. The water was flowing but instead of actually washing his hands, he had one raised. You watched him sniff at it then, like a kid sneaking frosting from a birthday cake, he licks at the back of his bloodied hand.

Then he looked back and froze. Your rag dripped on the floor. The water kept flowing. Neither of you moved. Very deliberately, you went right back to cleaning. Edward for his part washed up in record time.

In the end, you were already exhausted with the day and he was in a borrowed pair of hospital scrubs. The two of you just looked at where the gore had been for several moments. Neither of you said much at first. What was there to say? Any small talk felt woefully out of place and you weren't quite ready to poke the proverbial elephant in the room.

Finally, Edward clears his throat. "I'll dispose of these," he hefts a bag containing his bloodied clothes and shoes. "And we won't bring this up again."

You pursed your lips but agreed nonetheless. It was, frankly, kind of a miracle no one had been questioning the loss of the blood tubes or bags yet. Part of you was certain it wasn't the last time you'd be running into this situation. Hopefully with less cleaning next time though.

Dark didn't need to eat or drink. Food didn't nourish the carcass he hauled around and drink did nothing to quench his thirst. When he found himself presented with these things anyways, Dark always took a small amount of pleasure in others discomfort when they noticed he never touched anything.

Still, in the privacy of his own office, away from annoyances and prying eyes, he let himself imbibe. A steaming hot cup of sencha sat on his desk. The fine china cup, delicate and thin, gleamed atop its saucer. Heedless, of the temperature, Dark took a sip.

It tasted like ash.

One of his human components, he wasn't quite sure which, had liked to take tea in this setting once upon a time. Steaming hot tea in a window seat with a good book. As much as Dark was annoyed at the bleed over, the habit helped.

As did the readings. Dark knew which one this habit stemmed from. The cards seemed to flow in his hands. Shuffling and dealing and reading. The deck was worn. Creased and faded at the edges, the cards showed their age. Part of him wondered if this was her set when she was alive. Probably not.

As he was going to set the spread of cards, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Dark's hands paused. Then he gathered the cards back into one stack.

"Back again, are we?"

The air grew noticeably colder, the steam rising from his tea that much more pronounced. They were here alright.

With a sigh, he started shuffling again. "Are you going to skulk about or try and wreck my office again?"

His answer was a lamp tumbling to the floor, glass skittering across the hardwood.

"Right." Dark ignored the blatant hostility and cut the deck. The DA, reduced to the presence they were now, would eventually tire of the destruction. They always did. It was only Dark's own aura that kept them from doing physical harm to his body.

The destruction was a nuisance but only that. While he didn't enjoy replacing and repairing his furnishings every other week, he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing any reaction. Eventually, after he heard them gouge long tracks into the floor, they stopped.

He hummed and placed the deck on the desk.

"If you're finished?" Dark gestures to the cards and waited.

The room was still and silent once more. He knew they could move and choose the cards. Whether or not they were shocked or just refusing, he could only guess.

"If you won't," he took up the deck himself, giving it one more shuffle. "I'll ask a question for you, I'm sure both of us have been thinking it. Why do you keep coming back?"

The sound of broken glass crunching under foot. They were seemingly grinding the shards into the floor. That got to them.

"Let's keep it basic, shall we?" He kept going, tone too casual for the situation. "Basic three card pull. Past, present, future, hmm?"

They slipped through his hands as easily as water. Three cards, situated in a line right in front of him. Dark pictured them in his head, brooding as they sat opposite. It almost made him smile.

Delicately, he flipped the first over. A woman wrestling with a beast that might have, once, been a lion. The wearing of time and distortion made it seem otherworldly somehow.

"Strength," he laughed. "Makes sense, I suppose. You always were confident in your skills, even when we were young. Clear choices, clear purpose. I imagine you and everyone else thought you were aiming for bigger and better things, hmm?"

The walls themselves seemed to creak ominously around him. If he didn't know better he might suspect they could bring the ceiling down on top of him.

"Yknow," he said, resting his fingers atop the next card, "this is less the cards talking and more supposed to be the people themselves talking. To put things to words, I suppose. Though you can't quite manage that can you?"

The tea cup beside him abruptly cracked in half. Hot tea leaked out in a small flood, nearly taking the cards with it and soaking into his sleeve. Dark paid it no mind.

"The present now then, shall we?"

This next card was so worn down he very nearly couldn't read the text. Though he'd know the upside down design without it well enough.

"Reverse wheel of fortune," he leaned back, shaking errant drops of scalding tea from his hand. "A run of bad luck. Much as you try you can't control the past, you can't control the present either. Oh my poor, poor friend. I can understand that, to a degree."

He scanned the room, looking for a shimmer, a shadow, anything to indicate where they were. If they actually occupied any sort of space in this reality. The empty, cold office didn't provide him with any insight on that.

"Neither of us were in control then," he said eventually, "as for now…"

Dark flexed his hand. What was once their hand. "I suppose I'll be taking that back for the both of us, hmm?"

No response. Nothing was destroyed in a fit of impotent rage but he knew they were still here. That crawling every present feeling of being watched was still there.

"Stop trying to change things," he murmurs, "I don't pretend to know where you're existing now but there's surely better things for you to be doing. Maybe even actually rest."

Again, nothing. Dark huffed and, without further preamble, flipped the last card. This one made him laugh. As much as he could laugh, anyways.

"Justice? Really?"

The card was fairly self explanatory, as far as other cards in the deck went. The woman depicted held a scale and sword, regal and just. At some point the face was nearly erased, a small tear going through where her eyes would have been. The now cooled tea had soaked into the paper, giving the card a sickly brown green tint.

"You're pinning your hopes on karma, is that it?" He tossed the card back onto the desk. "I don't think so. The world isn't that kind. If anything, I'll be bringing you justice. Bringing down the man that caused all of this is karma enough, I think."

The deck next to him abruptly flew apart, cards pinwheeling in the air and just adding to the mess. Heaving a sigh, Dark got to his feet.

"One of us can keep going with this cycle, old friend," he'd admit, the old moniker was a dig he couldn't help but slip in, "and I think you know who."

If they heard him they chose not to show it. The room was more than still, it was empty. That pressure, the presence in the air was gone. Which left Dark among the ruins of his office once again.

Your meal had barely even started when it was ruined. 

It was a nice place. A high end place. Places you usually have to make reservations for at least a couple weeks in advance. A place where you had to slip the hostess a very generous tip to get a table on short notice. You deserved it, you worked hard.

The view was spectacular, your glass was full of wine you hadn't even touched, and there was even live music playing softly from a far corner. This was the kind of place people from money dined in. You weren't from money, per say, but you could walk in those circles when you needed to.

You popped another appetizer, something bite sized you hadn't looked at the menu, and sat back in your chair. Treating yourself never tasted so nice. 

The waiter came by with your plate of food, steaming and glistening in the low light, and you were practically drooling. Plate had hardly touched the table when he showed up. The waiter has just turned to leave and, too taken with the food, you hadn't noticed the uninvited guest until the chair opposite moved.

You'd recognise the smug face anywhere. Even dressed up in a crinkled dress shirt and jacket, Illinois wasn't hard to miss.

"Really?" You deadpanned, spreading a napkin out across your lap.

"I can't drop in on an old friend?" He asks, leaning an elbow on the table and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Not deigning to answer, you instead gesture up towards your head. The man takes a minute to catch your drift before his eyes dart up to that stupid cowboy hat. Even if it did have a certain charm, it didn't fit with his outfit nor did it fit with anything else in the building.

"What? I'm not taking it off for this place."

"You look ridiculous."

"I look amazing, excuse you." He readjusts in his seat, pointedly changing the subject. "Anyways, I wanted to catch up. See what you've been up to."

"None of your business and we're not friends."

Illinois almost looks put out as you say that. You shrug, finally taking a bite of your meal and nodding in approval.

"Can't help but notice this isn't your usual kinda haunt," he continues.

"What, I'm not allowed to have class?"

A short laugh that has a few older guests turn to look at the two of you. "You and I both know you're way more at home in some back alleys than fine dining."

You hummed around the next bite, idly twirling your fork. "So you're saying I'm a cheap date?"

"Something like that. Where'd we run into last?" Illinois looked almost annoyed as you shrugged. 

"I don't know... Outside some pawn shop in Rome?" 

"Try a side street in Rabat."

Feigning thinking about it for a moment, you nodded. "Yeah I guess we did bump into each other there too, huh?"

"Uh huh. Don't suppose I can ask for that statue back?"

"Oh you can. You're not gonna like the answer though." You pop another bite in your mouth. "I will say thanks for paying for the meal."

Illinois scrubs a hand down his face. "You sold it then? And the necklace? God don't tell me you pawned them, please."

"Psh, pawn shops are a rip off and you know it. Private collectors on the other hand... Well, there's a reason I'm going to them and not a museum."

"Do your clients care that you're peddling stolen artifacts?"

You were about to fire back when the waiter approached. Wine bottle in one hand, he haltingly asks if the gentleman would like to order. The fact that you had only gotten a table for one might be why you were both getting weird looks from the staff.

"Thanks but I'm fi-"

"He'll have what I'm having," you cut him off, tone far too pleasant. 

The waiter nodded and disappeared back to the kitchen. You couldn't help but take a bit too much enjoyment out of his glare.

"Oh cmon, you don't wanna enjoy what those artifacts got us?"

Illinois jabbed a finger your way. "There is no us cuz you stole them from me."

"I fail to see how my stealing is different from your stealing," you said, continuing before Illinois could, "You don't strike me as the kind of guy who goes through all the proper channels. Gets all the permits and paperwork in order before jumping right in. I had just as much right to those artifacts as you did."

You watched his jaw clench. "I offered to take you under my wing. It didn't have to be like this."

The conversation slammed to a halt again as the waiter brought a second plate of food. Delicious as it looked, Illinois didn't look away from you for a second. Didn't even say anything to the waiter.

"It's good, really," you said. You were close to polishing off your portion.

"You're gonna try and stick me with the bill aren't you?"

"And what, stiff the lovely staff here?"

"Oh I'm sure you'll tip generous.”

You shrugged, going to take a sip of your drink. "Not very gentlemanly of you, Illinois."

"Not very-"

The dessert had come then which, to be honest, you forgot you ordered. A tall, generous slice of chocolate cake with mouse and a mirror glaze and everything. It was perfect.

And then Illinois cleaved it in half with his fork. You could only watch in horror as he shoved at least a good third of that cake into his mouth. 

"Good choice," he said, still chewing.

"God you're disgusting," you push your chair back and stand, storming off towards the bathroom. 

"Disgustingly handsome?" He calls after you. You pointedly ignore him and the stares. 

Insomnia wasn't a unique problem aboard the invincible two. Even with artificial day night cycles it was still a struggle to adjust to sleeping in space. You frequently found your crew trying to mitigate it as best they could, in their own ways.

Burt was probably the only one who actually tried to sleep on a schedule. Making sure his tea stash was stocked in the mess hall was always a wise choice. He was quiet at the best of times and even more so when he was short on sleep.

On the other hand, you had Celci. She had a meticulous plan in place for herself. Being the head of cryostasis probably had something to do with that. She limited her caffeine intake, screen time past a certain point, and certain foods entirely. Despite that, it wasn't uncommon to see her working into the wee hours of the morning. Or what should've been morning by earth standards. The stubborn scientist always reasoned that there was always more work to do so she ought to make herself useful.

Gunther... Well, so long as he had free access to a shooting range he kept that particular problem to himself.

You sighed, running a hand down your face as you walked down the hall. There wasn't much of a need to have a night crew with the planet right beneath you so it was blessedly silent. What you kept coming back to was late night walks. It let your mind and your body wander and, ideally, wear themselves out.

Your footsteps echoed softly as you neared the bridge. The usual silence you expected, however, was broken by soft snoring sounds. They only had you pause for a moment before continuing into the bridge.

His legs were poking out from under the console. Tools were scattered about his sleeping form, a wrench still loosely grasped in one hand. You shook your head and approached. Mark was the type to keep going until his body gave out on him, insomnia or no. Gently as you could, you reached out and shook his leg.

Mark jerked awake and lurched upwards, directly into the console. You winced at the clang and Marks following curses.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?"

Clambering out from underneath the machinery, Mark looked up at you, still holding his forehead. "Captain? Why're you still up?"

You couldn't help but snort. "Pot calling the kettle black much?"

Brushing his tools aside, Mark stood up. "I wasn't up till a few seconds ago actually, thanks for that."

He brushes his hands off on his pants, giving you a knowing look. "And you still haven't answered the question."

Already you had similar snark locked and loaded to throw back and yet... You paused, looked out of the window at the expanse of space and the small, small ball you all risked your lives to get to.

"The usual," you said eventually. "Bonus nightmares included." You ignored how Marks expression softened at that. "I was just- trying to walk and clear my head is all. You?"

A long pause. A sigh. "About the same. I didn't even try to go to bed so, think you got that one on me. One of the crew mentioned the display had been glitching out so," he lightly kicked at the console, "here I am."

The laugh that came out of you then wasn't amused as much as it was just tired. "I'd say glad to know I'm not the only one but I kinda hoped you were doing better than I was at least."

Kicking his tools out of the way, Mark goes to sit down against the console, facing the window. "We're a team in all things, Captain. Even the fucked up nightmare department."

He pats the floor next to him and you take the invitation, sidling up next to him. The two of you both watch the planet below in silence. Tomorrow the efforts to establish a colony below would begin in earnest. Before this, the idea would have filled you with excitement. Now though... you were just tired. Mentally and physically you were exhausted and you were keenly aware of how much you needed the sleep for the day to come.

"You think they're doing okay?" Your confusion must've been obvious since Mark continued, "Back on Earth, I mean. What do you think they're doing back there?"

"I don't know... Probably just- living their lives, I guess," you muttered, looking back outside.The thought never occurred to you. That sort of peaceful normalcy with lifetimes, light years behind you now.

"I dont know," he sighed, "I just keep thinking what I'd be doing right now if I wasn't- hurtling through space, yknow?"

You hummed and nodded. Hesitant, you asked, "Do you- if you could go back and never take this job on, do something else, would you?"

When he looks at you then there's a faraway look to his eyes you'd never seen before. Well... one you'd only seen one other time. "...At the end of the day... No," he murmurs. "No I don't think I would. Knowing what all I do now. I'd do a lot of stuff differently but not that. I know one way or another I'd end up out here, in space."

You're almost relieved when he looks away from you again. Then you feel him knock his shoulder into yours."

Besides, someone needs to keep you on track, Captain."

You snort despite yourself. Knocking him back just has the two of you in a vicious game of trying to push the other over. By the end of it you're both laughing like only the sleep deprived can. An idea abruptly popped into your head and you would blame the sleeplessness that made you act on it almost immediately.

Shifting, you laid down and placed your head squarely in the middle of Marks lap. You could feel him stiffen underneath you.

"Uh-"

"You're a good pillow, shush."

After a moment he relaxes again, setting his hand on your arm. "Alright, whatever you say, captain."

You yawned, shaking your head. "When are you gonna stop calling me that?"

"Whenever you're not my captain anymore. Which I don't see happening anytime soon."

"Kiss ass," you muttered.

There's a finger poking you in the cheek. "Only if you ask nicely."

That sent you sputtering, turning to see him looking down at you with a similar expression. You could already see the blush darkening his cheeks and feel the same on yours.

"Uh-"

"Can we-"

You both stop. Then, Mark continued, "We're gonna just blame that on the no sleep."

"Yeah that- that sounds good."

There's an awkward silence after that. One where you just stubbornly stare out of the window and try not to think too hard about the man you're with. Eventually, that fades as the exhaustion sweeps over you again. You'd scoot back into him, the back of your head resting against his stomach now, and sighed.

At some point Mark would start idly rubbing his thumb across your arm. The presence of another person, the warmth of it, was enough for you to finally close your eyes.

You find him exactly where you thought he'd be. Sitting in the ruined office, not his own but the original owner wasn't around to mind, staring down at the corpse.

To call the body human wouldn't be entirely wrong but it wasn't the right word to describe it. The blood had blackened and congealed and reflected the sickly moonlight back at you. Flesh was papery thin and flaking away like dust. Whatever bones might've been human once were cracked and twisted in unnatural ways. It was altogether a horrible, almost pitiful creature.

The man didn't react as you entered. In his hand was a glass of whiskey, the dregs forgotten in favor of whatever he was trying to glean from the gore in front of him. He hardly even blinked.

"You know," he says, making you pause in your approach, "no one ever thought about it."

"About what?" You asked. The whole scene made you uneasy despite the fact that the danger, the fighting had long since passed.

"Death. Dying." He gestures to the body, "Least of all him, I know. There was no one else, no where else, outside of this whole debacle. And for what? Now I've got to clean up this mess and…"

He trailed off. You suspected there wasn't anything else to follow that. Still, you had to ask.

"What will you do now?"

A short, hallow bark of a laugh. He still wasn't looking away from the corpse. As the man stood, you nearly stepped back. Your hesitation, your fear, went unnoticed. Swirling his glass for a moment, you watched as the man poured out the last few sips of liquor onto the body. It soaked through the tissue paper flesh and tattered clothing. It wouldn't surprise you if most of it reached the carpet underneath.

"Who knows," he says, an odd sort of cheer to his voice, "maybe I'll find a new villain to write into the story. That would be fun. Someone with the same sort of… ego as he had. Yes, that's a must. Either way, the show must go on and all that."

When Mark looked at you then, you didn't see the man. Behind those eyes was something altogether… else. Whatever had molded his body and soul into what stood before you now. It seemed… sated.

"I'll save a seat for you."

Your head was pounding.

This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, you'd been hungover plenty, but this morning seemed particularly bad. The skull deep ache pulsed even harder as you pushed yourself up. When had you fallen asleep? Falling asleep was a kind description. The stiffness in your back spoke to a night spent hunched over the poker table.

The mansion was quiet. The only sound was the faint wind from outside the windows, the occasional tree branch hitting the glass. Whatever hand you'd been playing last was left scattered across the room. You grimaced and peeled a joker card from your cheek. Seems you'd been drooling too.

Getting to your feet was no small task. The floor had a lazy sort of spin to it that made your stomach churn. You'd clearly indulged a bit too much last night. No matter, some water and fresh air might do you good. Both of those might be difficult considering your unfortunate relationship with your sense of balance at the moment.

Oddly enough, though it was clear there had been a party, there wasn't a soul to be found. Usually you could spot someone passed out on the couch or one of the staff members trying to tend to the place at least. You frowned and looked up and down the hallway. Still no one.

As you continued in your search you caught a look out of an open window and stopped, confused. It was pitch black outside. How long had you been asleep? It was evening when you had arrived so it must be the early morning or the next night. Neither seemed very likely. You took a step closer to the window. The blackness was so complete that you couldn't even see the grounds beyond. It seemed to blot out everything down to the stars in the sky.

With a shiver you decided to move on.

The oddness of the situation had you sobering up faster than usual. As you made your way through the mansion you searched high and low for any signs of life. Anyone at all.

The manor swallowed everything. Your footsteps echoed down the hall and into nothingness. While the house was massive it always had some kind of activity, some kind of sound. Even the usual creaks and groans of the settling foundation were painfully absent. You caught yourself stepping heavier just to hear it. Just to make sure you, at least, were there.

Pushing your hangover to the back of your mind, you continued on. The manor seemed to twist and turn. It made no sense even beyond what you could remember, it just didn't make sense. It should be looping back on itself. Hallways should run into each other, go in circles, but you still kept walking.

However long this went on you couldn't tell. Whatever windows there were showed that same tar black night. The walls shouldn't be facing the outside you knew but there they were. Soon you were running. Spiraling further and further and down and down. You knew you were going too deep even though there were no inclines or stairs, you felt it in your bones.

The walls blur together as you run. Your legs ache, your lungs burn, and you desperately want to just stop and collapse. Something primal inside you knew you couldn't. If you stopped you would be leaving yourself wide open to whatever was behind you, whatever was chasing you.

Was there anything chasing you?

Finally, the hallway spit you out into the entryway. The same one that you had passed through not too long ago. At this point you'd stopped questioning the layout. All that mattered was getting through that door, getting outside, getting out of this house and into something that made sense.

The door didn't open.

You had crashed headlong into it, hands desperately scrambling for the knob, but it didn't open. The knob turned but didn't open. It was like the door was just a decoration that wasn't even meant to open in the first place.

Despite that you pulled and pulled at the thing until your hands ached. Chest heaving, you turned and braced your back against the useless thing. The cold, impassionate glass of the windows stared back at you. Were there always this many? Just like before, all you could see was the black, empty nothing with your own reflection superimposed onto it.

Wait…

Those were not windows.

You were breathing hard still and you felt your bones shift and grate against each other. When your head ached was it the alcohol or an impact? Were you fighting for air after running and panicking or was it that you just couldn't get any anymore?

They were not windows.

Your stomach burned hot with pain and you knew your clothes had been soaked through with blood but it was cold by now. Sinking to the floor, you screamed. What else was there to do? You had to get it out, had to scream it out but the damned manor swallowed that too. There was no sound.

They were not windows.

At the end of the day what saved Damien's life wasn't some miracle or heroic intervention.

It was a child sneezing in his face at a party. The counselman, damned if Damien could remember his name now, just laughed and said something about kids being kids. Ever professional Damien waved it off, managing to joke right back while going for a handkerchief.

And then he woke up with a sore throat two days later.

Of course it didn't stay at just that. Voice rough as sandpaper, Damien had to phone his secretary that he wouldn't be in. If how he felt right now was anything to go by he'd be out for a few days at least. It wasn't in his nature to sit still. Not since he was a child. Especially not since he injured his leg. The time immediately after the accident was one of the worst periods in his life not only for the pain and the limitations he suddenly found on himself but for the immobility. Waiting for his body to repair itself was as painful as the torn muscles and ligaments.

Damien signed, pinching the bridge of his nose. While his colleagues convinced him to stay out of the office he could at least make some headway with these forms. Or try anyways. The constant pounding behind his eyes seemed to have other ideas.

There was a light knock on the door. "Come in," he called, voice catching against his irritated throat and sending him into a coughing fit. It was only when he recovered that he saw who it actually was.

"My friend what're you doing here?" He asked, more of a croak than anything.

The district attorney huffed. It was a fond, exasperated noise as they crossed the room. "I was told you had one foot in the grave, Dames. With that cough I don't think they were exaggerating."

Damien waved a hand, setting aside the paper he was trying and failing to parse. "You know better than to listen to their dramatics. I'm fine, just a head cold. These things-"

Damien's voice abruptly choked off in his throat as he turned, seeing the attorney's hand reach out. The back of their hand against his forehead was blissfully cool. The motion hadn't even registered until they were touching him.

"...happen," he finished lamely.

They clicked their tongue, obviously not satisfied with that answer. "You're warm. Probably been feverish all morning and ignoring your body in favor of..." Their eyes drift over the documents in front of him, "meeting minutes."

Over the years he knew well enough he was on the wrong side of this debate.

Still, he cleared his rough throat and tried to defend himself. "It's just so I can be kept up to date."

"It's because you don't know how to sit still."

They ignore Damien's squawk of protest as they snatch his papers away. "You get these back when you don't look like you'll get toppled by a stiff breeze," they wave the bundle as if to extenuate. Damien scowled. "You really don't need the patronizing."

They rolled up the meeting minutes and bopped him on the head like one would a disobedient dog. He batted their hand away as they settled down in a chair opposite his desk. The amusement in their eyes dulled some of his annoyance. Slightly.

"Really, Dames, you gotta take better care of yourself. You look absolutely miserable. If I left right now you'd be asleep at your desk within the hour."

He huffs, fiddling with other bits and bobs on his desk, putting them into place so he'd have something to do with his hands. Normally he had enough discipline to mask the habit but he chalked that up to the illness. "I'm not going to drop dead from a cold, you know. I'm a grown man. I can handle myself."

Something in their gaze softened. "I never said you couldn't. Just that there are people who would prefer to keep you around a little longer? It's alright to take a break and heal every now and then, Dames."

"I- I know that," he fidgets in his seat. Later he'd blame the fever for how much their words flustered him. They shake their head, knowing this was a well worn pattern for him at this point. Instead, they change the subject. "I'm assuming you'll be tapping out on Mark's big party then?"

"That was this weekend wasn't it," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Though that was still a couple days away, he certainly didn't feel up to that kind of get together right now. "I haven't called yet. I had hoped I'd be over this by now."

"He'll mourn your absence with his usual drama. Not to mention sharing your portion of the alcohol." They leaned back in the chair. "I'm sure he'll just use it as an excuse to throw another one later."

"He hasn't had us all in the same room for years," Damien sighed. "Honestly? I was surprised he even planned this- considering. I had wanted to check in on everyone at least."

Hell, he hadn't heard from his sister in some time either. Though that wasn't entirely out of character for her, Damien couldn't help the concern. The tabloids had, unfortunately, left little to the imagination. Whenever Damien reached out he was met with silence.

"I just hope Will doesn't bring any guns," they frowned at the thought. "It'll be awkward enough before mixing in booze and firearms."

"They're not going to shoot each other. Give them some more credit."

The district attorney held up their hands. "I'm just saying they're both hotheads at times. I'll be sure to give you an update on the property damage afterwards."

Seeing his disappointment, they moved their chair closer. Reaching out to clasp his hand, they gave him a reassuring smile. "It won't be the last time we're all together, Dames. I promise. I bet I could get Mark to monologue you a toast too."

A laugh bubbled up out of him and it was all he could do to avoid coughing in their face. His eyes darted to their joined hands and then away again. "I'm sure. Just- be careful? We're not in our college days anymore, old friend."

A gentle squeeze and then the contact was gone. Settled back in their chair like nothing happened.

"I'm always careful," the rueful smile said otherwise. "I'll be back with stories and a hangover and hopefully you'll be able to keep your lungs on the inside by then."

With a roll of his eyes the conversation turned to work related matters. Cases on their desk and how Damien was handling the planning for re-election. In hindsight he'd wished desperately that they had talked about something of more substance. Something more meaningful than debates and fundraising.

But they didn't.

Since they didn't, he bade them a gravely farewell and only coughed once through it. They smiled, said they would bring him soup when they came by next time. The district attorney didn't say anything as they stood to leave. He didn't say anything as he watched them go.

He wishes he did when he didn't hear from them later. He wishes he did when he's pulled into an interview with police officers after the fact. He wishes he did when he first saw the newspapers and tabloids about the scandal, the party, the murders. Damien desperately wishes he could go back and tell them not to go as he views the mansion from the road. Seemingly abandoned if not for the police tape and cordon surrounding the property. Too many uniforms coming and going. Too many questions unanswered.