writing blog for everamazingfe on A 0 3

The cell they had thrown you into following that event hadn’t been unlike your quarters back on Eden. It was small, impersonal, made of irregularly shaped metal pieces and provided very little in the way of comfort. The mattress was wafer thin, with no blanket provided. And they hadn’t even bothered to uncuff you, the shackles tight around your wrists and limiting your every movement. You supposed that was the point, after the way you’d fought them on the shuttle. 

“Convict, I need you to answer some questions for me,” the Captain stated, as if you were stupid enough to not be able to guess her intentions. A few people had been in and out of your cell since you’d arrived. Consolidation officials, with guards accompanying them for their safety. Most of them asked questions about Filament Station, namely its destruction and your role in it. One of them had taken it upon herself to finish a task you’d left uncompleted back on Eden, taking joy in stripping you of your tethers to Eden. No matter their purpose for entering your cell, they had all addressed you the same way that the Captain did now, referring to you only as Convict and regarding you with disgust. “What does your tattoo mean?”

“My… Tattoo?” You couldn’t help but be taken aback by the question. You’d assumed that she, of all people, would know what the Mark of Eden stood for. At least if those were the kinds of questions she was going to be asking, she’d be done quickly. “You mean the one you burned away when I got here? You don’t already know?”

“No. I mean the one we let you keep because it didn’t have an obvious Eden association.” She was unamused by your response, crossing her arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she stared you down. “The one on your leg. What does it mean?”

A shiver ran down your spine, ice cold and spreading throughout your entire body at her words. You weren’t sure why she would be asking about it now, but there was no good reason for her to bring it up. You knew that much. “It’s just something I drew once. It doesn’t mean anything.” You were much less brazen with your words now, being careful not to give her any reason to burn that one away too. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Convict. I don’t have time for it today,” the Captain said sternly, pointing a finger in your face. A warning. You wouldn’t be getting many more of them. “Now, how many others have the damn tattoo? Were you part of some sort of inner group? Are they the ones who helped you set the charges?”

“What? No, I already told one of your officers that I did that alone. No one helped me with it.” You swallowed roughly as a lump formed in your throat, panic gripping your chest as she realized the why of why she was asking. “Only… Only one other person has the tattoo, but he didn’t have anything to do with the reactor. He wasn’t even supposed to… Was he on the station? What was he doing there?” Your voice rose with every word, but the Captain paid no mind to your frantic state.  

“And the symbol? What does it mean?” she pressed, ignoring your questions in favor of asking more of her own. You wished that she would stop pushing for the answer to that. You didn’t want to tell her anything about Simon, you wanted to tell her where she could take that finger she was still jabbing in your face and shove it, but if he was alive, if they’d found him and he wasn’t dead… Well, she wasn’t going to give you that information out of the kindness of her heart. “Answer me, Convict!”

“It’s the navigation array that was on the shuttle that brought me to Eden,” you told her, shoulders sagging in defeat as you turned your gaze down to the floor. Refusing to look at her, you continued to speak. “We wanted something other than the Mark of Eden to connect us, and he liked the sketch of it I kept in my quarters. So, we stole some of the ink they use for the marks and used it to give each other new tattoos.” 

“Were you both rejecting their beliefs?” The Captain’s resolve didn’t waver, her desire for answers burning bright in her intact eye.

“Not openly.”

“Privately?” 

Hesitating before answering, you nodded. Slowly. Mournfully. “Yes.” 

The Captain hummed a quiet, “that’s interesting,” to herself as she stepped back, arms crossed over her chest once more as she considered you. Then, she crouched down, putting herself back in your sightline. “Don’t think the fact that you’re a defector means anything. You’ll still be punished for what you did,” she stated plainly, and you lifted your head to look at her. You didn’t have enough fight left in you to remind her that it was only because of what she had done that you were being punished. “But, maybe, if your friend corroborates your story, I can try and get them to go easy on him.” 

“I’ll do anything,” you rushed out, not caring how desperate, how scared, how pathetic you sounded. It felt like making a deal with a demon, like selling your soul to the devil. “Please. I’ll do anything if it means he won’t get blamed for this. He wasn’t even supposed to be on the station.” When the Captain smiled at your words, the corners of her mouth turning upwards ever so slightly, you should have realized how big of a mistake you were making. 

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” she said, nodding curtly at you before standing up to leave. 

The Captain didn’t receive the honor of delivering your punishment herself. Instead, two of her officers had carried out the work for her. A brand for every unsalvageable resource. A mark cut into your skin for every life lost on the station. Sixty-two, not counting Eden lives. Of those fifty-seven additional marks, you still didn’t know if any of them belonged to Simon. A couple more of each were dealt after the initial retribution, simply being punished for the crime of being Eden scum. When they decided that you’d had enough, you were finally uncuffed and left alone once more. No one came into your cell to ask any more questions, only to push a tray of food through a slot in the door. Aside from the barked order to come get the tray, you had no human interaction. They always let the tray drop to the floor before you could retrieve it anyway.

You had no reference for the passing of the days aside from your daily ration, no basis for how long you had been locked up aside from the progression of your healing wounds. You’d needed to flip the mattress after a certain point, the dried blood that once soaked the fabric making your stomach churn each time you caught sight of it. Your waking hours were spent curled up in the sorry excuse for a bed, the pendant Simon had given you clutched in your hands or pressed to your lips. It was a miracle that you’d been able to hide it during your time aboard the station. If anyone caught you with it, they’d take it away in an instant, but you were grateful to have it. You clung to the pendant like you clung to the hope that Simon was still alive. The thought that you could see him again, no matter how improbable it might be, was the only thing that kept you going.

By the time the Captain came to see you again, your wounds were nearly healed, scarred over with pink flesh that was still tender to the touch. Her attitude towards you was almost no different from before, however. The disgust practically radiated off her in waves, but the smile on her face was new. Your mind raced with all of the possibilities for her reappearance in your cell, but you never would’ve been able to deduce what she had to offer. Even the devil would have given a more favorable bargain.

“You’ve been selected as a candidate for our Conviction Realization program,” she said, her matter-of-fact tone betrayed by the look on her face. Did she really expect you to be as happy about this as she was? You doubted it. This was purely for her own satisfaction. “You’ll be doing some deep sea exploration in the blood ocean on this moon. The sub should be done tomorrow morning, so we’ll keep our fingers crossed for an early start time.”

You blinked as you took in her words, not quite able to believe your ears. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘blood ocean’ or-”

“You heard me correctly,” she interrupted, watching as you squirmed at the idea of a ‘blood ocean.’ You’d never heard of that before, but the thought alone was enough to make you second guess the sanity of this whole operation. “We’ve got some scans of the ocean floor, but they’re incomplete. We need someone to go down there with a camera and get us a closer look. Because of your experience with navigation systems of this type, you were at the top of our list.”

“And if I say no?” you challenged. “What about if I don’t want to be your pilot?”

“You don’t get a say in this. You agreed to it, remember?” She was enjoying this far too much for your liking, her grin stretched so wide her eyes crinkled at the corners. Even the dull white iris of her scarred over eye seemed to shine with the same delight.

“I didn’t agree to going into a goddamn blood ocean!”

“You said you’d do anything, right? Well,” The Captain paused and outstretched her arms, gesturing into the open space before letting her hands fall back to her sides, “This is anything. I just hope he’s worth it.”

The way that she was taunting you with mentions of Simon made your jaw clench. If it weren’t for the fact that you were hiding the pendant behind your back, tucked into your waistband and concealed by the hem of your shirt, you would have lunged at her then and there. You would have made her regret letting them uncuff you, would have wrestled her weapon from its holster and done as much damage as you could, or worse, until the guards came to pry you off of her. The cool of the glass against your skin kept you grounded. Focusing on the sensation was all you could do to hold yourself back. So, you settled for a simple response instead, one that was unlikely to get you in any more trouble. 

“He is.” 

“Then I’ll see you in the morning, Convict.”

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If you weren't so sure you were already dead, you would have been convinced that this was what dying felt like. In the submarine, the act had been relatively painless compared to the amount of pain you’d already been in. Everything already ached, everything already hurt, so you were unable to register any additional pain as you slipped to sleep. But here, now, in this vast empty space after experiencing that brief moment of peace everyone on Eden ranted and raved so much about, it was downright unbearable. You were being torn apart and stitched back together all over again, chewed up and spat back out, made anew in the void. Meanwhile, that voice, the one that chanted and yelled and roared overhead, continued to carry on. It felt like it was driving a spike into your skull. 

You wanted nothing more than to tell it to shut up, but as you opened your mouth to speak, no sound came out. Fluid filled your mouth, the bitter and metallic taste instantly recognizable as it gushed over your tongue. A burning sensation spread through your lungs as you breathed it in against your will, a gargled scream erupting from your throat as you fought and thrashed. If it wanted to turn you into another one of the blood oceans horrors, you refused to make it easy. You refused to let a broken thumb be all it took to subdue you again.

Then, all at once, the agony stopped. As suddenly as it had started, the convulsions of your body ceased and your airways cleared. You stopped fighting, because there was nothing to fight against anymore. Everything had gone quiet, your head no longer pounding from the intensity of the speaker’s ramblings. You blinked in surprise, only to be knocked off your feet in the split second that your eyes were closed, the ground shifting beneath you without giving you a chance to recover. You expected to hit liquid, to fall back into the blood and sink down into its depths, but the heavy thud that rang out upon impact gave you pause. 

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know exactly where you had landed. The stagnant air, the steady drip drip drip of condensation from the pipes, and the groans of the hull were enough for your other senses to confirm your suspicions. That didn’t mean you believed it was real, though. You were having a harder and harder time separating hallucinations from dreams, dreams from reality, reality from hallucinations. So you sat up and forced your eyes to open, because you had to see it for yourself.    

The sight of the Iron Lung was a familiar one, but not a comforting one. No, the only thing that brought you comfort on this side of its walls was laying on the floor, unconscious but still breathing beside you.

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As Simon led you through the station, you gripped his hand tight and hoped that he couldn’t feel the nerves radiating off of you. It was late enough that almost everyone on Eden was in bed, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a few stragglers out and about. Still, you trusted Simon to guide you without drawing anyone’s attention, because the two of you had already been sneaking around the station for ages. 

That only made it all the more embarrassing that you didn’t realize where he was taking you until the Atrium door was right in front of you. You stared at Simon, opening your mouth to ask why the hell he thought it was a good idea to bring you here of all places, but then the door slid open, the familiar hum of its hydraulics distracting you. Whatever protests you were going to make died in your throat as you dropped Simon’s hand and stepped into the room, your heart sinking with every step you took towards the Tree. 

The sight of the Tree in its current state was one to behold, in all of the worst ways. Its towering limbs still stretched far and wide, but its once luscious canopy was now almost completely bare. The leaves that had once glowed in the imitation sunlight of the room were few and far between. The ones that remained had turned brown, crisp at the edges and falling away with ease. Splits in the bark gave way to veins of deep crimson, and its base was starting to turn black from rot. It was a diminutive version of the Tree that had once stood so tall that you hadn’t wanted to be anywhere but beneath its branches. Now, you could hardly stand to look at it. You couldn’t bear to tear your eyes away from it, either. 

You couldn’t help but think that it wouldn’t have gotten this bad, that the disease wouldn’t have spread so far, had you not been removed from your post. If they had just let you stay there, working with Simon, the two of you could have prevented all of this. At least, that was what you told yourself. In some ways, it made you feel better. In others, it made you feel worse.

“Dr. Crusher thinks there’s still a chance to save it.” Simon’s voice drew your attention, pulling you out of your own thoughts before they could spiral any further. His smile was sympathetic as he guided you the rest of the way into the room. You let him, though you planted your feet at the edge of the garden bed. You refused to step onto the dirt. It didn’t feel right. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his expression dropping when he caught on to your unease. 

“Come on, Simon. You know better than to ask me that right now.” You laughed dryly after you said it, freeing your hand from his and taking a step away from the edge where metal and dirt met. Simon was quick to reach back out for you, catching your hand and refusing to let go, but he didn’t try to bring you back towards him. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to get all worked up, but…” You trailed off with a heavy sigh. Everything you were feeling seemed both justified and out of line at the same time, you didn’t know how to verbalize it without making it seem like you were blaming Simon for how you felt. “It’s just hard, being in here again.” Simon’s free hand came up to cup your jaw, fingertips calloused from nearly a month of constant labor but still so gentle as he coaxed you to meet his eyes once more.

“I know,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “But I didn’t think it was right for you to leave without seeing it one last time.” Simon hesitated for a moment, mouth opening like he had more to share before he swallowed hard, forcing down what he was going to say. Then, he leaned in and kissed you, hoping that you’d understand the sentiments that he struggled to put into words. Your eyes slipped shut as his lips found yours, soft and sweet, and this time it was Simon who let go of your hand, dropping it in favor of slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. 

“I’m really going to miss you,” you said when the two of you finally separated, Simon’s forehead resting against yours as you caught your breath. At least you were doing something meaningful with the time together that you had left, but it didn’t change the way your chest already ached at the thought of not being able to see him every day. 

“I’m gonna miss you too. So fucking much.” 

It hadn’t taken much more encouragement for you to set foot into the soil after that, the material soft beneath your boots as you stepped across it. Even softer was the blanket that Simon had laid out beneath the Tree, everything that was needed for the tattoos already waiting on it. Then came deciding where on your bodies you’d actually put the tattoos. They had to be in spots that were easy to conceal and unlikely to be seen by anyone other than the two of you, but the tattoo itself wasn’t that big, so that still left you with plenty of options. Ultimately, you settled on having yours on your right thigh, and Simon decided on his left bicep. He insisted on doing yours first, because it had been your idea after all.

Simon’s hands were warm against your skin as he used a marker to replicate the sketch he’d rescued from your quarters, the cap sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he glanced back and forth between it and the paper. You felt a little ridiculous, sitting there with your pants neatly folded beside you and him hunched over you while he drew. At least with his attention on your leg, he couldn’t see how red your face had become. It wasn’t long before he finished the outline, sitting back on his heels to look at you once he had. 

“Alright, there we go. How’s it look?” Simon asked, watching as you leaned forward some to examine his handiwork. It didn’t look exactly like your drawing, but the point was to have something to remember him by. If precision was the purpose, you would have done it yourself. You were pretty sure that, at this point, you could draw it in your sleep. Despite that, you still liked the way it looked when Simon drew it far better than any of your own illustrations. 

“It looks perfect,” you said sincerely, smiling as you met his eyes. They shined with pride the same way they had when he’d given you the pendant, when you’d admired it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It was the same look he had on his face every time you complimented him, really. 

Simon’s grin stretched wide as he gazed back at you, beaming brighter than any of the lights on Eden. “Good, with how quiet you were, I was starting to worry that I’d messed it up too bad,” he teased, shifting to reach for your mending kit among the other supplies. The phial of ink he’d managed to procure sat next to a small container of alcohol that he used to clean the needle from the kit. After doing so, he adjusted the way you were both sitting so your leg was draped across his lap, your thigh resting on his. “This is gonna take longer than the outline, and being all bent over like that was hell on my back,” he offered in explanation when he saw the way you raised an eyebrow at him, though you could only hum with skepticism in response.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you drawled sarcastically, “All for the sake of poor Simon’s back. It’s definitely not an excuse to get all handsy with me, right? You’d never do anything like that.”

“Hey! You’re the one who wanted the damn thing on your thigh!” His voice pitched high with defensiveness, but that didn’t stop him from holding your leg firmly in place to keep you from being able to prod him again. “If anyone was looking for an excuse to have me get handsy with them, it’s you!”

“So what if I was? I’m surprised you’re complaining so much about it.” You burst into laughter as Simon spluttered in disbelief, a flush of his own creeping across his features. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he stated, affection dripping from his words even though he did his best to act annoyed. “Let's just see how handsy you're feeling after we're done, huh?”

Compared to the last tattoo you had received, how rough and harsh the Elders had been when giving you the Mark of Eden, having Simon give you this one was painless. If they had been even half as gentle as Simon was, if they had been less concerned with getting it done as quickly as possible and given you the time to recover when the pain was too much to take, you wouldn’t have been so soured on their beliefs so early on. You only needed Simon to stop twice, and that was less about the pain from the needle and more from the way the muscle in your thigh had started to cramp. When it was done, the excess ink wiped away to reveal the careful linework underneath, you almost couldn’t believe that it had been that easy.

“It looks really good on you there,” Simon murmured, a hand still lingering on your exposed skin. “Don’t you think?”

You nodded in agreement before tipping your head back, blinking away the tears that had welled up in your eyes. “Thank you, Simon. Really, this… This means so much more to me than you know.” 

“I think I have some idea,” he said with a soft smile, patting your leg gingerly as he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. 

Before he could move away again, you dragged him in for another kiss. Although it was brief, it brought warmth to your cheeks. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Take off your shirt,” you instructed when you pulled away, turning to reorganize the supplies so that they were closer to you. 

“Can’t I just roll up my sleeve?” Simon asked, a half-hearted attempt to protest at best. If he wasn’t already tugging at the hem of the garment to pull it over his head, you would have been able to take the question a little more seriously.

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis as you uncapped the marker. You settled in beside Simon after he tossed his shirt over to join your pants, right leg outstretched behind him and a hand trailing over his arm. The reference sketch was left untouched, the arcs and spokes of what had once been a part of your shuttle coming naturally the moment the tip of the marker touched Simon’s skin to draw the first line. It wasn’t until you were cleaning the needle, having retrieved a fresh one from your mending kit, that your movements faltered. You offered him one last chance to change his mind, assured him that you wouldn’t be upset with him if he didn’t want to go through with it in an effort to soothe your guilty conscience, but he refused. 

“You said it best: I’d rather be bound to you than to this stupid station. I love you, a little bit of pain from a stick-and-poke isn’t gonna be enough to get me to go back on that.” He picked up the ink vial, easing it into your hand to reinforce his point, his words settling heavily in your chest as you curled your fingers around it. 

“I love you too.”

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Simon’s stomach lurched as he rolled over and pushed himself up, his hands firmly planted on the cool metal of the Iron Lung’s floor as he emptied the content of his stomach onto its panels. It was thick and viscous, blood instead of bile working its way out of his system with violent force. In between heaves, he could just barely recall what had happened. Something pulled his hair back from his face as another surge of liquid splattered to the floor beneath him. He could tell that was the last of it then, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand before sitting back against the wall of the sub. His eyes were fixed on the crack in the porthole and the blood that had seeped in, reconciling that with the fact that the sub somehow hadn’t been completely torn apart when the sound of someone saying his name drew his attention. 

Both of you looked at each other as if you couldn’t believe they were really there, and for a moment, you didn’t. It was Simon that made the first move, practically throwing himself at you when it registered that you weren’t another hallucination, arms enveloping you as a sob racked through him. The force of his hug nearly knocked you backwards, but you didn’t mind. You had been only seconds away from doing the very same thing. Clinging to each other as you cried, Simon’s tears soaked the collar of your shirt where he’d buried his face against your neck. You pressed your cheek against the side of his head, your own tears leaving trails down your face. 

Simon was still sniffling when he leaned back to look at you properly, hands trembling as he lifted them and cupped either side of your jaw, thumbs gingerly brushing away the tear stains from your cheeks. He breathed your name like a prayer, sounding so broken but so relieved in the same instant. “I’m so fucking glad you’re not dead,” he said earnestly, voice breaking from the effort of holding back another sob. “I thought I lost you.”

“I did too,” you confessed, raising your hands and placing them over Simon’s. You let out a shaky breath as he dropped his forehead against yours. “But you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He smiled for only a second before a beep from the front of your sub made you both jump, attention snapping towards the front of the sub as your oxygen meter ticked down to its last light. A robotic voice announced, ‘oxygen,’ from the speaker overhead, and Simon immediately leapt up to inspect it. You watched him for a moment, as he pulled on the wire that connected the speaker to the wall and tapped on its metal casing, before standing up as well.  

It took some effort, your ribs creaking in protest and your head swimming at the change in altitude, but you managed to drop back down into the chair at the control panel without collapsing along the way. You had overestimated the benevolence of whatever had returned you to the sub if you thought it was going to send you back unharmed. Even the sub hadn’t made it out unscathed, thick globules of crimson weeping from the cracks. Some of them even seemed to be moving of their own accord, climbing up the walls in rivulets instead of flowing down them. If Simon wasn’t a hallucination, that certainly had to be.

“Do you think we have enough air to make it back up to the surface?” You asked, turning around in the seat to look at Simon. He’d paused his inspection of the speaker at your question, instead looking back and forth between the map taped to the wall and the coordinates on the console. You attempted to rest your arm on the back of the chair, only for your elbow to hit empty air, the back of the chair long since knocked askew in one of the many pummellings the sub had taken. 

“I don’t know, maybe,” Simon responded after a moment of consideration. Like everything else on this journey, it was a longshot. That didn’t make it impossible, though. “We can at least get close enough for them to pick us up on their radar, I think… Yeah, yeah, we can make it back in range. They’ll have to come through on the speaker eventually.” 

He directed you to adjust the angle of the sub a certain way, and you followed his directions before pushing up on the throttle. The engine hummed to life, the metal of the hull groaning as it dislodged itself from the coagulation that made up the ocean floor. You reached down to grab one of the manuals, propping the lever in place with the metal binder. Simon joined you at the controls then, helping you stay on course and occasionally stepping back to make use of the camera. The pictures themselves revealed nothing but the end of the salvage claw. There was nothing in its grasp, and for once that was a relief. You were certain that the sub wouldn’t be able to sustain many more impacts, and neither of you would be able to withstand another head injury. 

“Hello? Convicts, is that you?” The speaker crackled to life after what seemed like an eternity of propulsion, the sound of the Captain’s voice startling you awake before you even realized you’d drifted off. Simon darted over to the speaker, tugging on the wire again just to be certain. “We’re picking up movement on our sensors. Convicts, are you alive down there?”

“Yes! Yes, we’re alive!” you shouted in response, knocking the manual out of the way so you could push the throttle all the way forward, the depth meter continuing to climb as you attempted to get a stronger signal. 

“How did you survive?” That little orange light illuminated with every word, the Captain’s voice coming through more clearly with each tick. “It’s been days, you should have run out of oxygen already.”

“Um…” Simon swallowed hard, glancing at you before looking back at the speaker. How could either of you explain what you’d experienced? You still hadn’t fully processed it yourselves. “We don’t… We don’t actually know, we might have died. But we survived, right? That means you’ll bring us back up?” For a moment, there was hope that you’d be able to make it out of this with your lives intact. For a moment, you and Simon actually believed that the Captain was going to do the right thing. 

Then a long, heavy sigh came through the speaker. “Yeah, about that…” She trailed off, clicking her tongue as she tried to find the right words. “It’s not that we don’t want to, you found really valuable stuff, stuff that’s going to help everybody. But we simply don’t have the resources to spare for a rescue mission.”

“What?” The gasp of disbelief came from both of you simultaneously, Simon looking at you with wide eyes as your jaw dropped. “You can’t just leave us down here!” You stood to join Simon at the speaker, as if the closer you were, the more willing she’d be to save you. As if your desire to live meant anything to her in the first place. “That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Look, it isn’t fair, but this is bigger than you. It’s bigger than me.” Her tone was firm, her frustration with you clear. “Like I said, it’s not that we don’t want to. We can’t. It isn’t personal.”

“Just like you couldn’t retrieve that other sub, right?” Simon spoke up then, his own anger apparent as he clenched his jaw, words spat with so much venom you were shocked they didn’t corrode the speaker. “What was it, the SM… 8? Bet you couldn’t hold up your end of the bargain with them either.” Shaking his head in disgust, Simon let out a huff and returned to the control console. He attempted to fix the back of the seat before sitting, but it barely remained in place before coming loose once more. You remained at your spot next to the speaker, listening to the faint sound of a commotion on the other side. Whatever Simon was talking about, it had caused quite a stir between the Captain and her crew.

“How do you know about that? That’s supposed to be classified, Convict.” 

“I can read, I’m not an idiot.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his response, quickly stifling it with your hand before the Captain overheard. “It said it right there on the hull, right next to where something took a big fucking bite out of it,” he explained, realizing something then. “The terminal in here connected to it. It kept prompting me to download data from its black box, but I didn’t have the right credentials.”

“Bullshit. That terminal isn’t even supposed to work, we decommissioned it after its last descent.”

“Yeah, well, then you shouldn’t have put me on the next one.” It was your turn to be angry, your turn to wish that you’d have followed through on your impulse to tear her apart in your cell. You hadn’t realized then just how much she would have deserved it. “I told him how to get it working again. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

Silence was all you got in response as the Captain contemplated your words. “If I gave you access to the terminal, would you be able to return and download the data before coming back?”

“No, no way. We can make it back there, but if you really want whatever’s on that black box, come get it. That’s fair,” you insisted, jabbing at the speaker with your finger for extra emphasis. It didn’t matter to you that she couldn’t see it. “If we do this for you, you bring us back with the black box.  After everything you’ve put us through, that’s fair.”

The crackling of static accompanied the silence that followed this time. Then, it was broken by a statement of pure determination.

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The Tree was dying. 

The Tree was dying, and it was your fault. 

It wasn’t, not really, but what other explanation was there? You’d done everything you could, and it wasn’t enough.

A week ago, Dr. Crusher had come into the Atrium and informed you and Simon that the latest soil sample had shown evidence of heavy metals leaching into the Tree’s delicate ecosystem. You’d known it was bad the moment she crossed the threshold. She never set foot outside the lab unless absolutely necessary. But neither you nor Simon could have anticipated that. 

“What do we do?” He asked, his voice wavering as he looked between you and the Tree, you and Dr. Crusher, Dr. Crusher and the tree. His eyes couldn’t focus on any one thing, his mind racing with possibilities of what had gone wrong but coming up empty.  

“Everything we can,” Dr. Crusher responded, her voice soft and sympathetic. She knew where the blame would fall, where the Council and the Father would look first when your Brothers and Sisters demanded answers. Still, the fact that it wasn’t her burden to bear didn’t deter her from attempting to save the Tree. “I suggest we start right away.”

In order to prevent further damage, you and Simon worked around the clock. He busied himself doing remediation to remove any trace metals he could from the dirt around the Tree. Hauling away tainted soil and refreshing it with new earth made his limbs sore and his muscles ache, but he pushed through. You tore apart the filtration system. Inspecting every inch of pipe for the smallest bit of corrosion, the tiniest fleck of rust, was no small task. Anything deemed unusable was melted for scrap and made into new fittings. In between those tasks, the two of you were in the lab getting guidance on next steps from Dr. Crusher. The work was endless, and exhausting. The two of you barely spoke, sleeping in shifts and splitting rations in an effort to remain diligent in your tasks. 

After six days of endless drudgery, it had seemed like you were finally going to catch a break. Six days, when Dr. Crusher came to the Atrium instead of making you come to her. Six days, when she told you that everything was back within acceptable parameters and to get some much needed rest. She'd pulled some strings to grant you two days off of work duty, and assured you that her and her team would personally oversee the Tree in your absence. The moment she’d left the room, whatever ongoing work was cast aside. Simon had taken you by the hand and led you down to the lower decks with a grin. You didn’t even make it all the way to your quarters. Because his room was closer to the elevator, neither of you saw any reason in taking the extra steps to reach your bed instead. 

Then, the first leaf had fallen. 

Yellowed and crisp, it had practically landed in your lap as you and Simon ate lunch beneath the Tree. When he picked the leaf up to inspect it, spinning it by its stem to examine both sides, you could see tiny black dots speckling its surface. A sure sign that something more serious had taken hold. A sure sign that your six days of work weren't enough.

That was all it had taken for the Council to remove you from Tree Duty. Despite the fact that it had been your role for four rotations now, you were the ‘newest’ addition to the room. In their eyes, Simon had been able to do his job successfully for years before you came along. Nearly a decade, according to Elder Luxwana's reprimand. It had taken you less than half that time to fuck it all up. 

Any improvements you’d made, any inefficiencies in the Tree’s care that you’d fixed, were unceremoniously dismantled. It didn’t matter that both Simon and Dr. Crusher had approved them at the time. You had tainted the Tree. Even the newly assembled filtration system was caught in the crossfire. The whole thing was melted down and rebuilt from scratch, even though a majority of the pieces had already received the same treatment.

Your admonishment hadn’t been public, but word spread quickly enough that it might as well have been. Any assignments to different posts were rejected by the officers that oversaw them. Even Deanna wouldn’t look you in the eyes anymore when you ventured to the mess hall. The judgement of a station that once again saw you as nothing more than an Outsider was harder to stomach than the oatmeal. Worse than that, you were now a threat to their way of life. As a result, the ‘motivational issues’ that had gotten you sent to work with the Tree in the first place returned with force. You remained hidden in your quarters, not even bothering to get out of bed. Rolling over to bury the other side of your face into the pillow was nothing short of a feat of strength. Anything more than that was beyond your capabilities.

Simon did his best to provide comfort. He brought nutrient bars and meal rations at the end of his shift, making sure that you ate even when it felt impossible. Most nights, he stayed in your quarters, only leaving to go back to his own when he had to get ready for work. And even then, he usually returned for a few extra minutes before going to the Atrium. You were grateful for his company, but you’d never seen him so miserable as when he had to leave to tend to the Tree alone. Each morning, he seemed to be on the verge of tears when he pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured an apology, voice wavering when he promised to come back the moment he could. All of it only served to make you feel worse. 

One week of nonstop work was followed by two of near isolation. The monotony of your new routine was only broken by a knock on your door. You knew it wasn't Simon. He didn't knock anymore, not after you'd fashioned a shim of his own for him to use in the lock some months ago. You ignored it, at first. Hoping that they had the wrong room, the wrong door, the wrong level of the station. But it rang out again, impossible to ignore even when you tried to hide beneath the blanket. You groaned as you peeled yourself from the bed, trudging across the room and begrudgingly undoing the latch on the door. 

You weren't sure who you were expecting when you opened the door, but Wesley, one of the station officers, wasn't too far down on the list. You saw him in the lab a lot, assisting Dr. Crusher with her research during his downtime from other roles. He and Simon were friends, or as close to it as anyone was willing to be, and he'd always been friendly to you in kind. But, right now, he looked downright miserable to be standing in front of you. With a trembling hand, he held out a small piece of paper, folded into thirds with the Mark of Eden sealed across where the folds overlapped.

“I’m sorry,” he said as you took the note from him, his voice tinged with sympathy and his expression utterly dejected. “It’s out of my hands, we tried to talk to them but… They wouldn't listen.”

”What are you talking about, Wes?” Your mouth felt dry as you looked between him and the paper in your hand. You didn't want to look at it, didn't want to acknowledge whatever terrible news it contained. Somehow, you already knew.

“You're slated to be on the next shuttle out to Filament Station.” Saying the words must have felt like broken glass in his mouth with the way Wesley was grimacing as he spoke. “It leaves in three days. I'm sorry, I really am. You don't deserve this, maybe Simon can-”

You didn't feel guilty as you slammed the door in his face, dropping your forehead against it with a little too much force as you let your emotions run their course. The speed with which you ran through the stages of grief would have been impressive, were you not stuck and unable to move into the final one: Acceptance. How could you accept this? You knew what was starting to brew on Filament Station. You’d heard the increasing desperation of the Father during his sermons, trying to rally more troops to his cause. Simon had always brushed it off as fanatic bullshit, but you’d had a much harder time doing the same. 

It all felt a little too familiar, in the worst kind of way.

You listened as the sound of heavy boots against metal panels faded into the distance. Wesley was finally walking away from your quarters after lingering outside the door. Returning to the lab to inform Dr. Crusher of your response, no doubt. It was only then that you allowed yourself to look at the notice that he’d brought.

With your back against the door, you slid to the floor the further your eyes read into the page, your breath having a harder and harder time reaching your lungs with every word. Not only were you being sent to Filament Station, you were being ordered to clear out your quarters entirely. You'd be permitted to bring the clothes on your back and whatever personal effects could fit in your pack. Anything else was to be disposed of. 

They weren’t just reassigning you, they were evicting you. 

The noise that escaped you was guttural, borderline inhuman as you balled up the paper and threw it with all your might to the other side of the room. It wasn't the thought of leaving Eden station that upset you to this extent. If you’d had it your way, you would have done so a long time ago, but the thought of leaving Simon made your chest ache. No, it was worse than that. It felt like the Father had personally peeled back your ribs and used your heart to replenish the tainted soil. Because you'd always planned to leave, but it was supposed to be together. With Simon at your side, not separated by the vast emptiness of space. Not an entire space station away, with little to no hope of ever seeing him again. The Father would never allow it.

The panel that concealed your most prized possessions was lifted from its place, unceremoniously tossed to the side with a clang that probably reverberated throughout the entirety of the lower decks. The action brought an ache to one of your shoulders, a searing pain through your muscles after the fact. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, the feeling easily ignored in favor of reaching for your prize. Long-forgotten coping mechanisms could no longer lay dormant under the current circumstances.

The remainder of the bottle of wine that had been re-corked but untouched since the day of your permanent assignment to Tree Duty sat atop the pile of personal effects, a hoard of items that you were now going to have to either pawn or give away. Whatever punishment was waiting for you on Filament Station was only going to be made worse if they were found. And what of the rest of your belongings? The things too sentimental to give away or toss, but too big to fit in your pack? It was too much to wrap your head around sober. Your desperation to claw the stopper from the bottles was a fruitless endeavor. One that bent your nails back until they threatened to break but didn't budge the cork at all.

An old garment you hadn't worn since your drifter days caught your eye then. From its place inside the compartment, the shiny glint of metal in the chest holster caught your eye. You were quick to free the multi-tool from its sheath, examining it for only a moment before deciding on the best tool for the job. Bits of cork ended up in the wine as you worked it free with the pliers, mangling it until you were able to get enough of a hold on it to pull it free. Maybe the floating pieces of cork should have bothered you, as you dropped the tool back into the niche and took a swig, but you would manage. 

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you drank, the wine bitter but strong with how much it had aged. Still, you drank it down, draining the bottle as quickly as your body would allow. Whatever bits of cork ended up in your mouth were spat back out, sucked dry of whatever liquid remained in them. Then, once the bottle was empty, it was tossed carelessly to the other side of your quarters. Just as the notice had been. The sound of shattering glass barely drew your attention, but the sight of its jagged shards glistening across the floor and your bed was one you couldn't tear your eyes away from. 

It reminded you of the pendant that hung around your neck. The one Simon had given you that very same evening that you'd indulged in the wine. You wondered if you’d be permitted to bring it with you, when you went to Filament Station. Your hand rose to clutch the cool glass, lifting the pendant from your neck and removing it for the first time in ages as you ran your thumb along the edge. You'd smuggle it aboard if you had to. It meant more to you than any of your other possessions. Simon meant more to you than all of Eden. 

Eden. The word felt like a curse on your lips, as your eyes drifted to the broken glass that now littered your quarters. Your other hand raised to the tattoo on your neck, absent-mindedly tracing its lines as a half-baked idea formed in your mind.

If the station could turn its back to you, it was only fair that you turn your back to it in kind.

-----------------------------------------------

Had you any control over the memories you were shown, the flashes of your life before being welded into the Iron Lung, you certainly would have chosen a different one. A happier one. Or, at the very least, one that didn’t bring you so much pain. One that didn’t bring Simon so much pain. 

Your attempt to step away from the memory was met with much resistance, your feet stuck to the floor, rooting you in place. You couldn’t even see the ground, you realized then, or anything beyond the scene in front of you. Flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder weren’t far off, though the brewing storm wasn’t close enough to shed any light on your current situation. The gallery had seemingly disappeared, aside from the one scene that demanded your whole attention.

-----------------------------------------------

Simon had spent the day in the lab with Dr. Crusher, going back and forth on the merits of trying to cure the Last Tree of its ailment now that the root cause had been discovered. Copper poisoning. With each passing day, more and more leaves continued to fall. He could count the number that remained on its limbs on both hands, and he dreaded the day that it dwindled down to enough that he could count them on one. 

“Mom!” The sound of a shouting voice drew Simon’s attention, his head snapping towards the doorway for the source of the sound. A look of panic was on Wesley’s face as he entered the lab, skidding to a halt at the sight of Simon, The young man cleared his throat, quickly adjusting his demeanor before continuing to speak. “I mean, uh… Dr. Crusher!”

Dr. Crusher’s face softened at the sight of him, murmuring an apology to Simon before she stepped away from the equipment to approach Wesley. “What is it, Wesley? Did everything go alright?”

”Well, no. Shouldn't we tell him?” His eyes flitted between Simon and Dr. Crusher, her eyes doing the same between him and Wesley before the young man continued to speak. “We gotta tell him, mom.”

”Tell me what?” Simon spoke up, taking a step forward now that he’d been mentioned. “What’s going on?”

”It has nothing to do with the Tree, Simon. We’re going to figure out what’s going on, we’re going to save it. Don’t worry about that, alright? There’s an answer, we just need to find it.” Dr. Crusher’s soothing voice only served to put Simon more on edge, the syrupy sweetness of her words making his jaw clench. “But the fact of the matter is that someone needed to be responsible for this whole ordeal.”

”Yeah, I know,” Simon spat, the anger that suddenly rose through him burning hot. He was well aware of that fact. You’d spent the last two weeks in absolute misery, falling into a darkness that Simon wasn’t sure he could bring you back from. “You think I haven’t noticed that the Council took them off Tree duty? I’ve been doing the work of two people, alone, for weeks!” He tried to keep his tone in check, aware of the rank both held over him, but the bitterness was apparent. 

“Simon…”

“Oh, just spit it out mom!” Wesley's own frustration boiled over, turning towards Simon then. “They're on the next shuttle out to Filament Station. The Father signed orders to have them transferred, I delivered it just now. I'm so sorry.”

The world fell out from beneath Simon's feet, his body propelling him before his mind had even fully processed Wesley's words. His boots pounded against the metal floor as he ran for the nearest elevator, jamming the button repeatedly in an effort to get its doors to open faster. 

“Come on!” He roared, slamming his fist into the panel. The round piece of glass that made up the button's face cracked with the impact. He didn't care.

Fuck the Tree. Fuck the Father. None of it mattered if you weren't with him on Eden.

The elevator ride down to the lower decks took an eternity. Anyone waiting outside its doors must have seen the wild look in his eyes, because they all stepped back and assured Simon that they'd get the next one instead. Under normal circumstances, they may have chanced an encounter with the Butcher. The key to your door was cold in his hand as he held it, clutching the shim tight enough that the jagged edges dug into his skin. Simon had no idea what to expect of the state you were in, the pounding of his heart growing louder in his ears the lower he descended. 

When the elevator opened once more, Simon all but sprinted to your door. The shim nearly snapped with the force that he inserted it into the lock, his movements faltering and hands unsteady as he jimmied the lock. The moment he heard it turn with a click, he shoved the door open with his shoulder. 

“Hey!” The shout left him before he could stop it, the word a desperate howl as he rushed forward. Simon dropped to his knees beside you, wrenching the piece of glass from your hand and throwing it. Where it landed, he couldn’t tell. As long as it was away. 

The tears that had previously been falling silently gave way to sobs the moment Simon wrapped his arms around you, the sound breaking his heart as you curled into him. One of his hands began to apply pressure to your neck, to the Mark of Eden that you were attempting to mutilate. The cuts weren't deep, the blood didn't flow fast, but that didn't mean he was any concerned. That didn't mean he was any less scared. 

-----------------------------------------------

You were powerless to stop it as the scene shifted before your eyes. A perspective you’d always assumed you knew, but had never actually seen, played out in front of you. The desire to run away from it remained, because how could you face this again? But still your feet remained planted, even when you tried to pry them free. 

You could only watch as Simon held you, rocked you, comforted your past self while tending to your wound. The ache in your ribs slowly began to settle back into place, the pain of the injuries you’d received in the sub taking hold once more. You longed to go back in time, to make other choices and change everything, but it was too late.

It was always going to be too late.

-----------------------------------------------

The night was spent in Simon's quarters. The damage done in yours was too much for either of you to clean in this state, a silent agreement to leave it for later made between the two of you. For a long time, he just held you. Neither of you dared to disturb the delicate silence that was only occasionally broken up by a sniffle. Your sobs had long been stifled, but the emotions were still working their way through you both.

Simon had noticed it, your discomfort with Eden and its ideology, throughout the years on the station. You were able to repeat the mantras in your sleep, sing the hymns with perfect pitch, and recite the prayers with the appropriate amount of devotion. But it was hollow. You didn't believe the words you were saying, had no care for the Mark of Eden on your skin. 

You’d noticed the same in him. How he hid his mark beneath his garments, a hood or a scarf or a high-necked shirt. His rapid agreement when you made a dry remark about its tenets, or pointed out its hypocrisies, always stuck with you. It had been one of the first things that drew you to him, after all. Somehow, though, you knew that he'd never resort to this. 

“I'm sorry,” you said finally, voice raspy and hoarse. At that angle, the slight movement from speaking strained your neck, pulled at the bandages that he’d stuck in place. It didn’t matter, because it could have been worse. “I’m sorry you had to…” You trailed off, not knowing where to start. 

“Hey,” Simon started, the word much softer this time around. Gentler, even as his hold on you tightened, his fingers curling in the fabric of your shirt. “I'm sorry too. It's not fair, none of it is.” It wasn’t fair that they’d taken you away from the Tree, from him. It wasn’t fair that they blamed you for what had gone wrong. It wasn’t fair that had any other member of the station been the one to find you, you only would have been punished further. 

“You believe it wasn't my fault, right?” You asked, eyes shining with tears as you lifted your head to look at Simon. It was the first time you'd been able to. The thought of facing him was impossible up to that point. You saw that his face was wet with tears to match your own, his expression one of sympathy and pain as he looked back at you. “You don't think I killed the tree?”

“Of course I don’t think that.” Simon's guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. He should have fought it, made more of a stink, but the Father… There was just something to his demeanor that made him want to run and hide, not fight. Whatever emotions would have spurred him into action were swiftly tamped down with only a glance. He regretted letting it get to this point before he acted. “They don't know how big of a mistake they made. If the Tree dies, it's on them. Not you.”

“I just hope I'm already off the station when it does.” In your mind, the Last Tree was already dead. Like the stars in the sky before they vanished, the fact that others could still see it standing tall meant nothing. It had died the moment that first leaf fell, the moment you’d had to hide in your quarters because no one on Eden could stand to look at you. Nobody but Simon, whose hand trembled as he gingerly cupped your cheek and brought your gaze back to him when it drifted. “What are we going to do?” The last time that question had been asked, you were a lot more certain that things were going to work out in the end. Now, you weren’t so sure. 

“I don’t know.” Simon wished that he could give you a better answer than that, but he was coming up empty. “But we don’t have to worry about that tonight, okay?” 

You disagreed. There wasn't enough time left on Eden for you to be able to put it off, to procrastinate. But you knew you'd already caused Simon enough stress for the evening, so you didn't argue when he coaxed you to lay down and pulled you against his chest. Instead, you tucked your head beneath his chin and wrapped an arm around him in kind, the steady sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. 

-----------------------------------------------

The storm was on top of you now, a gargantuan cloud that stretched beyond the expanse of the space you were in. The thunder had died down as the emotions in your memory did the same, but the agony of your injuries, past and present, remained ever-present. Your neck ached where Simon had squeezed it, where you had tried and failed to carve away the Mark of Eden, where the Consolidation of Iron had succeeded in doing the same. Any breaks and strains from the numerous plunges into the depths felt as though they were being torn apart all over again. And your head, your head ached worse than any migraine you'd ever experienced as a booming voice reverberated overhead. 

WE ARE ONE IN THE BLOOD.

-----------------------------------------------

The first day of the three that remained of your time on Eden, Simon had been determined to keep your mind occupied with other things. Even as you helped him sweep up the glass and swap doors so he could enjoy the luxury of a lock, he refused to entertain any discussion of Filament Station or what waited for you there. He only insisted that it was worth the effort to untie every piece of fabric tied to the vent in your quarters and re-affix them to the one in his, even when you grew frustrated undoing the tiny knots and began to argue that it was stupid and pointless. 

Instead, you busied yourself with retrieving what remained of your personal items from the compartment beneath the floor. The panel was still askew, but you pocketed the false fasteners you had created. It would make it much easier to fashion a similar storage space for Simon if you didn't have to go through the trouble of re-filing screws. 

When Simon finished with the vent, he crouched down beside you. You continued to take things out of the compartment, setting them on the floor. Most of them, Simon had never seen before. He picked them up and asked a nearly endless series of questions about each and every object before putting them back down. You didn't stop him from touching anything, trusting that he would use the same level of care that you would. 

“What are these?” He asked after picking up one object in particular. A long metal tube with a clasp at one end, a clasp that was swiftly popped open so Simon could empty its contents into his hand. A roll of papers, blue on both sides with various mechanical illustrations, detailed breakdowns of components that he didn't recognize. 

“Those were the blueprints for my shuttle,” you explained, pausing to pick up the tube. You fidgeted with the clasp, letting out a soft sigh. “They dismantled it when I came to Eden, repurposed it for parts.” You'd always had some grand plan of tracking down its pieces, of reassembling your shuttle and fleeing from Eden. But you had never managed to find any sign that your shuttle hadn’t been completely melted for scrap, and you didn’t have access to the rivet gun or blowtorch you’d need to put it back together anyway. If you had to guess, they were repurposed too.

Simon hummed as he examined the papers closer, squinting and focusing on one illustration. Then, he stood, starting to sort through the pile of sketches that you'd helped him take down, the ones that had previously decorated your quarters alongside the fabric scraps. When he found the one he was looking for, or ones he was looking for rather, he brought those and the blueprints back over to you. 

“So, what was this piece for?” Simon pointed to a section at the front of your shuttle. Two long pieces of metal were bent into an arch, one nestled beneath the other as they bowed over a lopsided rectangle that support spokes jutted out from, its three-dimensional shape flattened out on the page. “You drew it a lot. I always thought you were sketching an abstract sun or something, but it's part of the shuttle?”

You nodded slowly, taking the blueprints from him while he began to sift through the rest of the papers. “It was the housing of the navigation array. It protected the equipment we used to figure out our position among the stars, in case we ever ended up in an asteroid belt,” you explained, pointing out the pieces of equipment you were referring to. “I'm pretty sure it helped amplify the signals we were sending and receiving, but that part of it wasn't my job.” Simon stopped looking at the drawings then, instead listening intently as you spoke. It was the most you'd ever talked about your life before Eden, and he hung onto your every word. “I could see it from the viewport, and… I thought it looked like a sun too. After the Quiet Rapture happened, it was the only real point of reference I had.” 

You told Simon how your shuttle, originating from Mars but destined for Earth, became lost in the vast emptiness in space. You told Simon about your crew, how they'd lost it in the aftermath of the Quiet Rapture, how you’d been blamed then too. Explaining the finer details of how it had all gone wrong was a little too much for you then, but you could tell that he understood. There wasn’t anyone that didn’t have to make tough decisions after the Quiet Rapture, some tougher than others. Drifting through space, seeing what little sights there were left to see, was only a viable option for so long. Supplies lasted longer when you were on your own, but even they began to dwindle after some time. That was when you’d found Eden, navigating by what waypoints remained. That was when you’d thought you’d been saved. 

“They commandeered the shuttle the moment I stepped off it, and I… I just couldn’t get that damn navigations array out of my head. I saw it every day for I don’t know how long, and suddenly it was gone.” You’d felt like you were going crazy until you drew it for the first time, the first sketch that you ever hung in your quarters. It was only then that you could feel yourself settling, accepting your new life. “If I had any say, I would’ve gotten a tattoo of that instead of this damn mark. At least then it’d actually mean something.”

”You still could,” Simon said quickly, his eyes meeting yours. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he didn’t hesitate to elaborate. “I know how they make the ink, but I’m sure they have some of it somewhere. And we’ll use the needle from your mending kit. I can’t promise my hands will be the steadiest, but… I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt too bad.”

For the first time in three weeks, you felt yourself perk up. The dust had been brushed off the breaker box, unused sections coming to life once more. So much had been out of reach as of late, but this? The look on Simon’s face made you feel like it was attainable, that he would do everything in his power to make it attainable for you. 

“We should both have it,” you said after a moment, “That way, even when we’re on separate stations, we’re never really apart. I’d rather be bound to you than to Eden anyway.”

When you were drifting in space, the navigation system had allowed you to stay on course and not lose your way. On Eden, Simon had served the same purpose. He gave you something to see at the start and end of each day, and kept you on course when you began to stray. The protection he provided wasn’t all that different, either. But he was human, the cage was metal, and you had only fallen in love with one of those. 

The rest of your belongings were brought to Simon’s quarters in only a few trips, stashing them underneath the bed until you had the chance to swap out screws. Simon had left you to do that task on your own while he went in search of ink, both of you anxious to get it done before you no longer had the chance. It was late in the evening when he finally returned, a smile on his face as he urged you to get up. 

Both of you were mindful to be light on your feet, careful of the way that the metal plates could creak and groan beneath your weight, as Simon led you through the lower decks. You’d expected that you would just give each other the tattoos in his quarters, but you were curious to see what he had planned. 

“Where are we going?” You asked in the elevator, only to be met with a beaming grin. 

“Just trust me.” 

On the very rare days when there was no work duty, the confines of your quarters were as far as the world extended. Those were your favorite, the working hours instead spent tangled in your tattered blankets with Simon until the hunger pangs were too strong to ignore. Which was exactly where you found yourself now, a laugh ringing through the room as Simon attempted to drag you back into the bed, preventing you from reaching one of those coveted nutrient bars you kept tucked away for moments like these. He’d swiped for you once already, but you’d been deft enough to dodge his hand.

“Oh no, I’m not done with you yet,” he taunted as he reached for you again, his hand catching your wrist and taking hold. You could have easily pulled free, could have easily continued on your quest for sustenance, but you preferred the warmth of Simon's arms to the sickly heat of your quarters anyway. So you let him pull you back in with little more than a gentle tug, landing against his chest with a thud. He was quick to envelop you, burying his face in your neck and pressing kisses to the skin there. 

“Simon,” you started, though any words that would have followed caught in your throat as he sank his teeth into your collar bone. Not hard enough to leave a mark, not yet, but hard enough to pull a pleased hum from your lips.

“Yes?” He lifted his head then to look down at you, eyebrows raised and a mischievous glint in his eye. “You were saying?” You raised a hand to tangle your fingers in his hair, smiling sweetly up at him before tugging sharply at his curls. He hissed and you laughed, before both sounds were silenced by a kiss. Simon's hands slipped beneath you, fingers splayed against your skin as he rolled onto his back with you on top of him. 

You broke the kiss then to press your forehead to Simon's, eyes still closed as you bumped your nose against his and smiled. “I was saying,” you started again, “that I'm not going to have the energy to go again if you don't let me eat something.” 

“You want me to go get us something from the Mess? It's late enough that they'll be serving lunch.” A beat, then, “At least, I think it is.” As he trailed his fingers up your side, you shivered. When you gave no immediate answer, he tilted his head and looked up at you. “You need to eat more than one of those bars,” he murmured, voice full of so much gentle concern that it had you heaving a sigh and dropping your head to his shoulder. 

“Fine. But I'm going, you always get distracted and then it takes you forever to come back.” You were still loath to pull yourself away from him, to retrieve your clothes from the floor, to put them on and grab your boots from beneath the bed, but you did it. You felt the bed shift behind you, Simon's chin hooking over your shoulder and his chest against your back as you leaned over to tie your laces. 

“You put on my shirt,” he murmured, and you could just hear the way a smile tugged at his lips. You were sure it was a smug one, but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“And you can take it off of me the second I get back.”

“Promise?” Oh yeah, definitely a smug one. 

“Promise.” You turned then, pressing a kiss to his lips before standing and grabbing your pack. He didn't try to drag you back down this time, watching with admiration in his eyes as you left your quarters. 

Lunch from the mess hall wasn't nearly as bad as breakfast. The food was tolerable most days, there were even a few different options unlike breakfast, and it was always buzzing with activity as a result. You could always tell when a nutrient bar was the better option by if lunch was more quiet and contemplative than lively. Today, it was bustling with activity.

You joined the line, casting a glance towards the menu to see what was on offer today. Stir fry. Simon's favorite, yours too. You stopped reading at that point and retrieved two portions, a knowing twinkle in the eye of the lady who passed the tins to you. Deanna winked, you flushed, and that was that. 

“I know what people say about him,” she'd whispered to you one day when the line was empty. ‘Meat’ loaf had been on offer that day. “But I can tell what's really in his heart.” When you asked her what, she didn't respond right away. She'd looked out towards the dining hall, where Simon was already seated and waiting with his own meal, and you followed her gaze. “You,” she responded, a wistful smile on her face. Despite the way you had wanted to protest, to insist it wasn't like that, Simon had turned to see what was taking you so long. He saw you already looking, and his face lit up brighter than the lights in the atrium as he waved you over. How could you argue with her when he was looking at you like that? At least it was nice to know that, in a sea of sideways glances and judgmental murmurs, there was someone in your corner. 

You were quick to tuck the tins and cutlery into your pack before you left the mess hall, zipping it closed to conceal them. It wasn't necessarily against the rules to take food back to your quarters, but you were sure a guard in a bad enough mood would stretch the ‘selflessness is mandatory’ rule far enough to make it so. They'd been bigger sticklers for the little things lately. Rising tensions with the Consolidation of Iron put more pressure on them to keep things running smoothly. You didn't agree with it, but you'd been through it before. So you hid the tins, doing your best to look inconspicuous on your way back to the lower decks. You were successful, until you made it inside the elevator. 

When it stopped only a few floors down, the door slid open to reveal a small group waiting to board. Three people, all too busy chatting with each other to notice that the elevator had even arrived. Two women and a man. You recognized their faces, but their names escaped you. You stepped aside when they entered the elevator, back against the wall and eyes cast down towards your boots. You prayed that whatever button they pressed, their floor wasn’t much further down. When the door shut once more, the previously loud conversation had died down to hushed murmurs. From the way their shadows shifted, you could tell that they were looking at you periodically. From the way your boots were looking, you could tell that you would need new laces soon.

“Is it true?” One of the group spoke up then, surprising you enough that your head snapped up to look at her. 

“Uh… Is what true?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. The woman huffed in annoyance, her companions whispering to each other behind her.

“Well, you work with Simon, right? You know, the Butcher?” she pressed, stepping towards you with determination. Were it not for the wall at your back, you would have stepped back away from her. “Is it true what they say? Did he really kill all those people?”

The roll of your eyes came immediately, followed by a heavy sigh. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you heard, it’s all true. Every bit of it,” you said dryly, unamused by the whole interaction. Not picking up on your sarcasm, the woman turned to her friends with horror. Their eyes were similarly wide, mouths parted as they gasped. With another roll of your eyes, you tipped your head back against the wall and turned your gaze towards the ceiling. Couldn't this damn thing move any faster? How far down were they going? 

“I don’t know how you can stand working with someone like that.” The way the woman said it made you bristle, your hold on the strap of your bag tightening. You weren’t stupid. You heard all of the hushed whispers and rumors, saw all of the sideways glances, but you didn't care. You told yourself you didn’t, at least. You'd struggled to be accepted from the moment you'd set foot on the station, it was easier to stomach their dislike of you than it was oatmeal. But hearing them talk about Simon like that? It made your blood boil. “It's a good thing they stuck him with the Tree, keeps him far away from the rest of us.”

“As if we'd want to be around people like you,” you said, the disgust in your voice matching hers with vigor. The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to shove them right back in. Had the women been wearing necklaces, they would have clutched them in horror. 

“See? I told you they'd defend him,” the man whispered, being just indiscreet enough that you were sure it was meant for your ears. 

It was no small mercy when, a fraction of a second later, the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open. You were sure they made some final snide remark as they parted ways with you, but you didn’t catch it. You couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. The moment the elevator doors closed, your fist connected with the nearest wall, a frustrated yell ripping its way out of your throat as you dented the metal panel. It was already so dinged up that the new addition would go unnoticed, but you were sure that Simon would spot your bleeding knuckles the moment you set foot in your quarters.

”Fuck,” you spat, grabbing your hand with the other and applying pressure as though it would help stop the spread of yet another rumor. When the elevator finally reached the lower decks, you all but ran through the corridor. You did your best to act normal as you stopped in the washroom to clean your hand. No worse than a skinned knee, especially now that the bleeding had stopped, but it still ached with every movement of your fingers. 

Only once the door was shut and locked behind you were you able to relax somewhat. Your movements were still stiff as you crossed the room, kicking your boots off as you went before dropping down onto the edge of the bed. Simon was on you in an instant, his hands sliding around your waist as he draped himself along the curve of your back. He'd dressed, barely, since you left. You'd stolen his shirt and there was no point in wearing pants, so he was only in his underwear when you returned. You certainly didn't mind.

“Anything good today?” he asked, chin over your shoulder once more in an effort to see as you opened up your pack and retrieved the tins. You could feel him blindly undoing the buckle that kept the belt around your waist, dropping the bag to the floor once he was successful. The comforting warmth of him at your back replaced the boiling heat of your anger, the feeling fading with every soft touch.

“Stir fry. Your favorite,” you answered, a smile crossing your lips when you heard his excited whisper of, ‘yes!’ The tins were quickly swiped from your hands then, and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh as Simon planted a kiss on your cheek in appreciation. “Deanna says hi, she was working the counter today. Pretty sure she even packed the tins extra full for us, too.” 

“Oh, maybe that kiss should have been for her instead,” Simon teased, laughing as you attempted to swat at him over your shoulder. It was easy enough for him to bat your hand away, until the contact with your hand made you wince. You didn’t pull away when he gingerly took your hand in his, bringing it closer to his face so he could inspect your knuckles. “What happened?” His voice wasn’t disappointed, not quite, but the way he said it made you want to disappear. 

“Some assholes in the elevator… Saying rude shit about you.” You felt Simon tense behind you, and you could feel yourself doing the same. Thinking about them, what they had said, was upsetting you all over again. It didn’t help that, in all of the excitement, your knuckles had cracked and started to bleed again. “I didn’t fight them, not really, just… Punched the wall after they got off.” It was then that you separated yourself from him, reaching for the containers and shoving one into his hands before he could reach for yours again. “It’s fine, I’m fine, it wasn’t a big deal. I’m just all pissed off.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Simon responded, an amused smile stretching across his lips. As he shifted, moving to sit side by side with you, you shot him a look that would’ve made anyone else wither. Instead, it only made him smile wider, bumping his shoulder against yours in an effort to get you to do the same. When it didn’t work, he set his tin to the side and scooted closer. You were dead set on ignoring him as he rested a gentle hand on your knee, shoveling stir fry into your mouth until the heat of your anger cooled, until you could hear your own thoughts over the sound of your heartbeat. You didn’t trust the words that might come out of your mouth if you didn’t. “It's sweet you wanted to stick up for me.”

The earnestness in his voice gave you pause. It would have been easy to meet his sincerity with snark, were it not for the way he was looking at you when you lifted your head. You spoke softly after a moment of hesitation. “I know you'd do the same thing for me.”

“Oh, I would've punched a lot more than a wall if it had been me in that elevator,” Simon said with a laugh. This time, when he knocked his shoulder against yours, you smiled. 

As you settled against Simon and peeled back the lid of the tin, he seemed content to help himself to yours. His own portion remained untouched on the bed beside him, leading you to question why he wasn't eating after all the trouble you'd gone through to get it. He confessed, very sheepishly, that he'd gone into the stash of nutrient bars right after you'd left. At least it meant you wouldn't have to go back out to procure dinner, you figured. It was a guarantee that it wouldn't be nearly as good as the stir fry anyway. 

The moment the meal was over, the empty container and dirty utensils joining your pack on the floor, Simon was no longer content to sit next to you. Pulling you against him once more, his hands slipped up beneath the hem of your shirt as you straddled his waist. “I believe I'm owed this? It is mine after all.”

Humming in mock contemplation, you leaned back as much as his hold would allow to look down at him. “Oh, I don't know. Are you sure it's not mine? I look far too good in it for it not to be mine,” you teased, grinning as you spoke. 

“I think you look even better out of it,” he murmured, ever-so-slowly sliding his hands up your sides, pushing the fabric of your shirt up along with them. For a second, he paused, fingers twitching against your skin. “You do look really good in my shirt, though,” he added, “Maybe that’s why they were talking so much shit.”

“I really don't think that's-” Your words were cut off as Simon kissed you, planting one of your hands on the bed to prevent yourself from being knocked back by the force of it. 

“No? You don't think so?” he asked, separating just enough to speak clearly. “The whole station already thinks we’re together, now they’ve got proof.” A flush spread across your cheeks at Simon’s words, creeping up your ears and down your neck. “Now everybody knows that you’re mine.” The way Simon's voice dropped, low and rough as he spoke into your ear, made you shiver despite the heat of your quarters. He ducked his head then, trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck as his hands continued to roam your body. 

“Does that mean you want me to leave it on?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” 

You couldn’t but laugh at how immediate his response was, how offended he sounded at the notion you’d remain even partially clothed. Certain that it was killing him that the garment wasn’t already on the floor, you took it off, the color in your cheeks spreading further at the way Simon was staring when you turned back to him. His hands were gentle but firm as they cupped your jaw, dragging you into another kiss. Your eyes slipped shut as you leaned into him, the glass of the pendant cool against your skin but quickly warming where it was pressed between the two of you. Something about that seemed to spur Simon on, nipping at your bottom lip before deepening the kiss. His fingers trailed along the leather cord around your neck before they settled back on your waist, and you moved along with him easily as he laid you back on the bed. 

The weight of his body pressed you down comfortably into the mattress, the broad expanse of his chest dwarfing you, even as he propped himself up on an elbow. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath. Another kiss, fleeting but enthusiastic, and then his lips were back at your neck like before. You tensed, briefly, as they brushed over the tattoo on your neck. Simon seemed to sense it, though he didn’t move away.

It was much harder to think about the Mark of Eden once it was concealed beneath a bloom of bruises and bite marks, a path of them following Simon wherever he went as he pressed reverent kisses to your skin. It was downright impossible to think about anything other than Simon when he took one of your breasts in his mouth. You hummed as he swirled his tongue around your nipple, knotting your fingers in his hair to give an appreciative tug. One of his thighs pressed firmly between your legs, giving you purchase while he rolled his hips against yours. His groan rumbled through your chest, and through the stiff fabric of your pants you could feel that he was getting hard. The heavy canvas gave just the right amount of friction, but it wasn’t enough contact. You needed more. 

As his mouth moved to your other breast, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp, one of his hands traveled lower. It only took a few seconds of fumbling with the clasp of your pants for it to come undone. Simon pulled away then, his eyes meeting yours as he pressed a kiss to the center of your chest, just beneath where the pendant lay. In the dim light of your quarters, the rich brown seemed even more vibrant, shining with equal parts adoration and hunger. The color used to remind you of a home you could never return to, that a part of you still longed for. Now, it served as a reminder that Simon was your home now, that it didn’t matter where you were as long as you had him by your side. Or, in this case, on top of you as you dragged him in for another kiss. 

Simon’s fingers moved slowly as he slipped them beneath the waistband of your pants, a realization making him break the kiss to draw in a sharp breath. You froze, opening your eyes to look up at him and ask him what was wrong, but you didn’t get the chance. A ragged moan left you when deft fingers began to circle your clit, his other hand grabbing hold of your thigh to hook your leg around his waist. 

“I don’t know how I didn’t realize you didn’t put on any underwear before you left,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck in an effort to compose himself. You threw your head back against the pillow as he began to press a finger inside of you, working it in and out of you before adding a second. You were still so wet, so open, from the morning’s exploits that he was met with no resistance. The thought of you walking around the station like that was enough to make Simon’s brain short circuit. “That’s so fucking hot, fuck...” 

“Didn’t realize you’d like it so much,” you said softly, wrapping your arms around Simon with your hands splayed across his back. Your nails dug in as he curled his fingers, dragging them over that sweet spot that made you cry out with pleasure, tension building in the best way possible as he did it over and over again.

“I didn’t either.” Without warning, he pulled his fingers out of you, murmuring a soft apology for the way he left you teetering on the edge. You only forgave him when you felt him shove your pants down, movements rougher than he intended in all his fervor to undress you. Lifting your hips for him, they were quickly discarded with the rest of your belongings, three fingers pushing into you all at once as Simon settled back between your legs. Your back arched as you moaned, the sound intensifying when his thumb began to circle your clit once more. 

The pace he set with his fingers was rapid, desperate, eager to please as you clung to him. Simon’s cock strained against his boxers, pressing against your leg that wasn’t wrapped around his waist, but all of his focus was on you. It wasn’t long before your first orgasm hit you, the heat that had been pooling in your stomach spreading all over as you came with a cry of Simon’s name. However, his movements didn’t falter, working his fingers slowly and deliberately as you rode out your climax with bucking hips and trembling thighs. You were sure he was murmuring praise against your neck, where he was surely leaving more marks, but you couldn’t hear it over the sound of your heartbeat. 

You took advantage of the moment to recover when Simon pulled his fingers out of you, watching as he undressed and tossed his underwear aside. It was hard not to stare, your eyes raking over every inch of his body, every inch of muscle that flexed and tensed with his every movement. As he returned to his rightful place between your legs, he wrapped a hand around his length, using the slick that remained to stroke his cock. He allowed himself a moment to do the same, to let his eyes admire the sight of you laid out before him, until you beckoned him closer. Simon shuddered as he began to ease into you, planting a forearm next to you for support. His other hand settled on your waist, gripping your hip tight after you wrapped your legs around his waist. The sound of your moans were muffled by his lips when he bottomed out inside of you, the stretch of his cock making you feel so full until he began to move. 

“Oh, fuck, Simon,” you gasped as he thrust, slow at first but steadily increasing in pace. It didn’t take long for you to become a wreck beneath him, clinging to him with one hand on his bicep and the other in his hair as he fucked you. Though he was normally softer, gentler with you than he was being now, you couldn’t bring yourself to complain. You only hoped that it’d be the same way the next time he realized you didn’t have anything on beneath your clothes. With any luck, there’d be an excuse to make a run to the supply room during your next shift.

You didn’t notice when Simon moved his hand from your waist, sliding it around to grip your ass and adjust the angle of your hips, driving himself deeper into you with each thrust. He groaned at the way you tightened around him, your back arching against his chest when his cock hit that same spot that his fingers had. The pendant felt burning hot against your skin as the pleasure mounted. Turning your head in an attempt to bury your face into the pillow, to stifle the cries of Simon’s name that you were sure that the entirety of the lower decks could hear, the hand that had been planted near your head flew to catch you by the jaw. Simon’s hold on your face was firm, but not hard enough that you couldn’t break free from his hold if you wanted to. You didn’t want to, managing a short nod of approval before letting him turn your face back towards him. 

The press of his fingers against the bruises that now surrounded your Mark of Eden, the squeeze of his hand at your throat, was enough for you to make you come entirely undone. He continued to fuck you as you rode out your climax on his cock, chasing his own release between soft grunts and heavy breaths. Dropping his hand from your jaw, he pulled you flush against him by the waist, moaning low and deep as he came inside you. 

Other than to coax your legs down from around his waist, Simon didn’t move, settling against you and tucking his face into your neck. You rested your cheek against his head and closed your eyes, both of you panting for breath in the quiet of your quarters. After staying like that for a minute, Simon lifted his head and eyed the marks he’d left on your skin. 

“Sorry, I uh… I think I got a little carried away,” he murmured, a flush on his cheeks. Whether it was from the heat of the room or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” you confirmed with a nod, watching the relief spread across his features. “You should get carried away like that more often.”

“You’re not worried I’ll hurt you?” Despite the way he tried to keep his tone light, there was a level of sincerity to his question that tugged at your heart. You knew you were the only person on the station that didn’t see him through the lens of his moniker.

You raised a hand to cup his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheek. “No, Simon. I’m not worried about that at all.” 

Simon kissed you then, soft and sweet, before gingerly separating himself from you. He sat on the edge of the bed as he retrieved his underwear from the floor, pulling them much to your dismay. You rolled over onto your stomach, reaching down to fish around for your own pair. Unsuccessful, you settled for wearing Simon’s shirt again. As you sat up to pull it on, you caught Simon looking at you out of the corner of his eye, an all too familiar glint shining bright. 

It was a good thing neither of you were planning on leaving your quarters again. 

-----------------------------------------------

“Would you give everything so they could survive?”

“What’d you say?” Simon asked as he whirled around his seat, heart pounding in his chest. His eyes locked on the speaker, waiting with bated breath to see if that little orange light would illuminate once more. 

“Would you give everything to save them? To bring them back from the dead?” 

If it had been the Captain’s voice over the comms, Simon would have been falling over himself to explain all of the horrible things that had happened since the salvage line had snapped. He would have been begging for her to find a way to retrieve the sub, pleading for her to save you. But he didn’t recognize this voice, these voices, as the Captain’s or her crew’s. Maybe that was why he found it so easy to be tempted by their offer. For all he knew, it was just another one of the ocean’s tricks, but he didn’t care.

“Of course I would.” Simon turned away from the speaker then, a hollow ache settling in his chest when his gaze landed on you. You hadn’t moved from your place next to the control panel, your body slumped unnaturally against it and your head tipped to the side. At that angle, he could see what little remained of your Mark of Eden. He lifted a hand, touching his own marred tattoo before taking a deep breath. Of course he’d give everything to save you, you’d already done the same for him. “I never had anything else to begin with.”

The hull groaned as the iron lung swayed in the current, mimicking the sense of satisfaction that emitted from the speaker as it gave Simon a set of coordinates. 

“Go there, and we will see the answer together. Both of you shall live, and we will be free. We will all be free.”

Simon was on his feet in an instant, only half paying attention to the continued rambling of the communication system. Instead, he focused his efforts on analyzing the map, placing the coordinates he’d been given in relation to his current position. The wax pencil felt heavy in his hand as he drew an ‘x’ over the spot, a frown settling on his features as he tapped it once, twice, three times. Then, he turned towards the speaker.

“Hey, if those are right, they definitely knew you were here. This is right on the map.” Not only that, but Simon was pretty sure that you'd piloted the sub through there earlier in the journey. If either of you had noticed any anomalies, he couldn’t recall them.

“We wouldn’t lie. Not about this.”

Returning to the navigation chair, Simon gripped the edge of the control panel and took a deep breath. This time when the sub rocked in the current, the clink of glass against metal drew his attention to his wrist. Your pendant dangled from its cord, tapping against the panel with each movement. Clutching it in his hand, Simon pressed it to his lips and closed his eyes. Another deep breath, shakier as he let it back out. He could do this. For you.

Back in the open blood ocean, it was easier to navigate the sub without the looming threat of cave walls scraping the sides. The proximity sensors still ticked on occasion, alerting Simon to the odd obstacle that he needed to avoid. A twist of the dial, an adjustment of the throttle, and then all would be quiet again. The silence was more oppressive than the heat had ever been, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of the crack in the porthole. Though the pressure shielding was intact, it did little to soothe his nerves. 

“Hey, uh…” Simon started to speak, unable to stand the silence any longer. He longed to be able to talk to you instead, but the speaker would have to do. They had mentioned something about answers. Maybe he would finally be able to get some. “What’s even down here anyway?”

“You mean you don’t know? You don’t know what they sent you down here for?” The condescension in their tone made Simon tense, pushing up on the throttle to urge the sub along faster. 

”No, they didn’t tell me shit. This is just a punishment, I don’t get the privilege of knowing what I’m looking for,” he said bitterly, “I was starting to think it was gonna be a whole lot of nothing.”

“It’s so beautiful, Simon. A glimpse of what was always meant for us. You will understand when you see.”

Simon continued on, reassured by the fact that there was something out there for him to find out there after all. As the sub neared the coordinates he’d been given, he eased up on the throttle. It felt like the entire vessel was vibrating as he approached, and Simon had to grab hold of the control console to steady himself as his vision wavered, halos of light clouding his sight. The dizzying effect remained even after Simon squinted and rubbed his eyes, but he managed to steady himself enough to move back to the camera. 

“I never told you my name.” The click of the button was deafening over the low thrum that filled the sub. Simon could barely hear the sound of his own voice.

”No, you didn’t. But they did.”

The image that developed on the screen distorted and glitched, wavering with every hum that passed through the sub. An undulating light, impossibly bright, that seemed to push right through the display and into the room with him. The effect remained even after Simon rubbed his eyes again, a hand on his forehead to stop the headache that was growing stronger the more his eyes tried to focus on it. Then, all at once, he saw it. 

“What the fuck?” Simon breathed, tearing himself away from the screen to race back up towards the controls. He pulled back, hard, reversing away from the light as fast as he could. Whatever beauty the speaker thought it contained, he wanted no part in it. Answers weren’t that necessary after all. ”Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” The steady chant kept him focused as he attempted to escape, only for something to set off the proximity sensor. It was approaching from the left, at an increasingly rapid pace. “Oh, god damn it, not you! Not now!”

There was just enough time for Simon to move his leg, pressing his boot against your hip to prevent you from getting tossed around when the creature rammed into the nose of the sub. He refused to think about what part of the hull creaked in distress at the impact, focusing on adjusting the sub to stay on course. 

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! This was supposed to be our salvation! It was our promise!”

The proximity sensors sounded off again as the creature attacked from the right, another blow rocking the vessel. Simon turned his head at the sound of clattering behind him, the speaker now on the floor with its exposed wires dangling loosely from the wall. Despite this, the voices continued. Simon stared in shock as the orange light illuminated with every word.

“You will become one with us, then you will know. You will be saved, then you will see.”

Simon didn’t notice that the proximity sensor at the rear was sounding off until he turned back, the rate of its clicks letting him know instantly that he was fucked. He was thrown forward into the control console as the sub collided with some unknown structure, ribs connecting painfully with it as he tried to catch himself. In the same movement, he pushed the throttle all the way forward, lifting his head in time to see something that made his stomach churn. 

The porthole shielding that had provided so little comfort earlier was no longer in place, an enormous eye pressed to the glass in its place. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. The crack spread further, spitting a stream of blood across Simon’s face. More poured in through the crack as he raised a hand to wipe his face, the blood thick and viscous as it seeped down the walls. 

Everything moved in slow motion as Simon lowered his arm. The light, already impossibly bright when viewed on the display screen, now shined even brighter through the window before him. Its concentrated rays broke through the cracked glass, the whole sub warbling as the light tore apart all that it touched. The hull, the terminal, the button, the display screen. Simon stood in the center of it all, watching as it all dissolved and turned to blood, following its path of destruction as it worked its way through the vessel. 

Nothing happened at first when the light landed on your lifeless form. It illuminated you in an ethereal brilliance, what remained of the hull around you glowing with it, until Simon’s gaze shifted. The moment his eyes were on you, the light blistered your skin before turning you to little more than a coagulation of blood and bone fragments. Simon screamed, reaching out towards you and putting himself into the blinding beams. It tore him apart as well, rendering him nothing more than a part of the ocean that surrounded him.

And yet, Simon found himself living, breathing, standing with his feet planted firmly on some unknown surface. His lungs ached, fluid filling his airways as he tried to breathe. It took all of the effort he had left to force his way through the thick liquid. Blood soaked every part of him as he emerged, gasping and coughing for breath as a storm raged overhead. 

WE ARE ONE IN THE BLOOD.

The booming voice seemed to come from all around and from within Simon’s head simultaneously, attempting to cover his ears to block out the voice so it wouldn’t deafen him. His left arm could only go so far, even when he attempted to yank it free. The cord of your necklace was pulled taut, the pendant tethered beneath the surface by thin tendrils. Another tug didn’t loosen their hold on it, the cord threatening to snap from the tension it was under. He was quick to let his hand fall beneath the surface, attempting to grab hold of the trinket before a roll of thunder had his attention turning to the sky. 

When he lifted his head to look upwards, the heavens stared back at him with a singular eye. Lightning crackled across the clouds, illuminating the great and empty expanse of the moon’s surface. For all of the blood that surrounded him beneath the waves, Simon had never seen anything so red. 

“I don’t know if we’ll last that long!” Simon tried, but the line of communication had already gone dead. He dropped to his knees next to you then, unsure what to make of the state you were in. “They’re not gonna pull us up.” His voice wavered as he spoke, forehead creased with worry. “Do you think… Are you going to be able to stay awake?” It wasn’t the question he really wanted to ask, and you both knew it, but he was trying to cling to what little hope he had left.

“I’m trying my best.” It didn’t feel like enough, not with how little you could contribute now. “But if we get that sample, they’ll bring us up, right?” You didn’t really believe that it was going to be that simple, but what choice did you have?

Simon hesitated a moment before nodding in confirmation. “I mean, yeah, hopefully, but you’re…”

”Not as bad off as I look,” you told him, no matter how unconvincing you sounded. You were sure that Simon felt each moment you remained conscious was a small victory. You wondered if he’d be better off without having to share what little oxygen remained in the tanks. Placing a hand on his cheek, you watched as he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Simon, you can do this. You have to.”

“No. Not without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, but you have to get that sample. It's our best chance.” Your hand trembled as you brushed Simon's hair back from his face, trying to offer what little comfort you could. He met your gaze with teary eyes, ones that you wiped away when they brimmed over and rolled down his cheeks. “I know you can do this, Simon. You're more capable than they give you credit for.”

He swallowed roughly, eyes searching your face. For what, he didn't know. Your expression was weary, your eyes bloodshot and lidded as you fought to stay awake. But despite all that, they still shined with fondness and admiration, the same way you had always looked at him back on Eden. If he ignored the way the hull creaked and the sub rocked in the current, he could almost pretend you were back there.

Almost.

“Okay,” he agreed, raising a hand to cup your cheek in kind. The longing he felt for more moments like the ones you had shared on Eden, the desire to attain the life you’d both been wishing for, fighting for, for so long was overpowering as he held you close. You leaned into the touch, eyes slipping shut as you savored the gentle feeling of his calloused hands against your skin. “Okay, I'll do it.” He pressed a kiss to your lips then, tasting like sweat and grime and not caring if you tasted the same.

Then, he stood, your holds on each other lingering until the very last second.

The next time Simon looked at you, you were slumped against the wall, eyes closed and breathing slow. The only indication that you were still awake was the way you held something in your palm, your thumb rubbing across its edge. From the controls, Simon couldn’t make out what it was, but it didn’t matter. He had to keep going. He had to get the sample.

Upon reaching the Captain’s coordinates, it was difficult for Simon to follow the series of events that occurred. One moment, he had been charging at the so-called ‘skeleton’ and had secured it on the end of the sample claw. The steady clicks of the proximity alert confirmed that it was holding tight. They had started to lift the sub, to bring you both back to safety. Then, more proximity alerts on all sides of the sub. You could barely make out the sound of Simon and the Captain arguing back and forth when the first impact hit the sub. It rocked, sending Simon off of the chair into the wall and slamming you against the display screen. Twin cries of pain filled the air, but Simon was quick to recover, scrambling along the floor in an effort to get to you before the next blow came.

Overhead, the Captain and one of the technicians were in a screaming match over whether or not to cut the tow line. The hull creaked and popped under the pressure of each pass the creature made over it, the proximity sensors flashing and ticking at a near constant rate. Whatever had hit the sub was pissed, it was going to come back for more.

Simon was just inches away from you when another impact hurled you both towards the front of the sub. You screamed, unable to catch yourself on anything before you were propelled forward. Simon’s arms dragged on the panels as he tried to grab hold of something, anything, until his back caught hard against the control console. The wind was knocked out of him with a harsh gasp, unable to catch his breath before you landed against him. He grunted, further winded by the impact but still managing to wrap his arms around you. In an attempt to brace as something took hold of the sub, he held you tight and pressed himself between the hull and the control console.

The screaming match over the speakers intensified as the sub was dragged further and further into the ocean, the porthole cracking under the pressure changes.

The sub pitched when the salvage line snapped, going completely vertical as it became fully at the ocean’s mercy. There was no amount of bracing that could have prevented you and Simon from falling. Gravity had its way with you as you were slammed down into the back wall, Simon’s body doing little to lessen the impact. The flash of the camera after you’d landed on the button served only to illuminate your unconscious forms, doing so repeatedly until the sub leveled out against the ocean floor.

----------------------------------------

Simon was dreaming.

He had to be, because he’d never seen you wearing anything so fancy before. There was no way he’d forget it if he had. You wore a stunning evening gown, its crimson fabric flowing off of you and onto the floor in waves. Around your neck, the pendant he’d gifted you hung from a thin gold chain instead of a dark leather cord. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you, and he hadn’t even seen your face yet. You were looking elsewhere, attention stolen by something too hazy to make out.

Though he knew in his gut that it was a reception hall, Simon’s mind had no basis for the word. There was no such thing on Eden station, anything so gilded and golden would have been repurposed for more vital mechanisms. Regardless, that didn’t change the grandeur of the room he was in. The ceilings were tall, taller than even the Atrium had been. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, its light casting a warm glow on everything it touched. The walls were adorned with gleaming florals that shined bright in the light, and the marble floors underneath had been polished to the point that they reflected it all.

Somewhere in the distance, a band finished tuning and began to play the music of the evening. A haunting tune with a slow but steady beat, one that reverberated off the walls and filled the whole room. Simon stepped forward, impossibly light on his feet as he approached you. Though there was no one else in the room to observe, he knew what dance he wanted you to join him in.

You’d shown him the steps once, in the atrium. After mentioning that you’d taken lessons once upon a time, practicing for the same kind of occasion that you’d been saving the wine for. One that had never come. You'd hummed a song as he placed his hand on your hip, your hand on his shoulder, and free hands entwined. It had been clumsy, at first. The weight of the work boots you both wore made it difficult, until Simon had suggested taking them off. Barefoot in the dirt, dancing with you had been almost effortless.

“May I have this dance?” Simon asked, his hand outstretched to you and a warm smile on his face. You turned towards him then, the smile on your face glowing brighter than the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.

Taking his hand and letting him guide you towards the dance floor, you were able to get a good look at him then. You drank in the sight of his sophisticated attire, admiring the way the well-tailored suit suited his frame. The fabric of it and the dress shirt underneath were a rich black, the dark fabric seeming to absorb the light from the room. The tie was a deep red, its fabric matching the color of your dress. You couldn’t resist dragging him closer by it, grinning at the surprised gasp he let out before you pressed your lips to his.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, settling his hand on your hip. You placed a hand on his shoulder before entwining the fingers of your free hands, the music growing louder the closer you became.

“And you look very handsome in that suit.”

The two of you moved across the floor with grace. Remembering the steps was effortless, the two of you stepping in sync and following the music’s lead. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to step on your feet like he had so many times before, Simon pulled you closer, his hand settling low on the small of your back.

“Do you think we’ll ever get one of our own one day?” he asked softly, tipping his head against yours so his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe,” you responded, just as soft, as if you’d be overheard above the music. “I think it could be fun, don’t you?”

“Well, sure. Anything’s fun, if you do it with the right person.” Simon lifted his head then, and you leaned back to look up at him. He was smiling at you, but your expression wavered as you tried to maintain a lighthearted disposition.

“Then I guess the real question is… Am I the right person?”

For just a moment, the two of you stopped dancing. The music carried on as Simon closed the distance and kissed you. Short and sweet, before he pulled away to whisper, “Of course you are.” Then, the two of you found the rhythm and continued to dance once more, dress shoes scuffling against the floor with each step.

Eventually, the sounds of your shoes had become muffled, replaced with soft pattering as liquid began to seep up from beneath the dance floor. Neither of you looked down to confirm what you already knew. It was blood. Thick and oozing, matching the hue of your crimson colored garments as it began to lap at your ankles. Your dance was undeterred, movements more fluid than the one you waded through as Simon’s arm snaked around your waist to hold you against him.

”Do you remember that day in the atrium, when you taught me to dance?” Simon asked, because he couldn’t bear to not hear the sound of your voice. He’d say anything if it meant you kept talking for another moment.

”Of course I do. How could I forget?”

“I kept practicing,” he confessed, attempting to duck his head and hide his face at your excited gasp. You were quick to move your hand from his shoulder, cupping his jaw and making him look at you. His skin was hot under your touch, cheeks flushed a bright red that began to creep down his neck and up his ears. “It seemed important to you, and I…” He trailed off, the words he wanted to say dying on his tongue. “I wanted to impress you.”

“Simon, that’s so sweet.” The blood began to flow down the walls in rivulets, the level rising above your knees at this point. You paid it no mind as you kissed him once more, your steps continuing in time with the music despite the mess. “Everything you do impresses me. You didn’t have to learn my silly dance just to do that.”

Over your shoulder, Simon could see the way the room began to shift. The wallpaper began to crack and peel away, revealing rusted metal walls and pressure valves. The chandeliers seemed to retreat into the ceiling, singular lightbulbs dangling from exposed pipes and wiring. Something dripped from the ceiling and landed on your shoulder, and he was quick to wipe it away before you noticed that it had stained your skin red.

“It wasn’t silly,” he insisted gently, his fingers lingering on your shoulder for a moment before he returned them to your hand. With your fingers entwined once more, he murmured your name as the music swelled. “I wanted to practice so that I’d know what I was doing, so that if we ever got off of Eden I could… We could have the wedding you deserved. I can’t promise the wine would’ve been as good but-”

“Fuck, Simon, just… Shut up,” you demanded, though there wasn’t an ounce of malice to it. In fact, you’d never said the words with more fondness than at that moment. Even as the blood reached your chests and threatened to overtake you entirely, it did nothing to dampen the utter joy you felt as you gazed up at him. “I love you, Simon.”

“I love you too.” He didn’t hesitate to echo your sentiment, holding you impossibly close as more drops, more blood, showered down on the both of you from the ceiling above. Even if you tried to swim through it, there was only so high you could go. “I love you, so fucking much.” He wanted to make sure you heard it, because he was scared this would be the last chance he had to say it.

----------------------------------------

As the blood covered his head and viscous liquid filled his lungs, Simon shot upright with a sharp gasp for air. His hands flew to his neck, his chest, his face as he checked to make sure he wasn’t completely bloodsoaked. And, more importantly, alive. There was only so much he could make out in the darkness. The only light source in the sub was the camera button above him, though it did little to illuminate the interior of the sub beyond the few inches directly around it.

“Wired into the backup battery,” Simon muttered as he made an effort to stand, groaning as something in his side radiated with pain. Then, another feeling. The distinct creep of pain at his browline, starting small and quickly growing into a throbbing headache from how quickly he’d sat up. “Oh, god… My fucking head,” Simon groaned, blindly reaching up to put pressure on his forehead as he tried to make out something, anything, in the light provided by the camera button.

When Simon pressed the button, it only served to blind him. His eyes had difficulty adjusting to a light so brief and so bright. Another press, less blinding this time. On the third, he was able to make out something on the wall next to the terminal. A latch to open up a supply closet, he thought. A suspicion that was confirmed once the door was pried open with its contents in his hands. The first aid and ration kit was in his hands, at least. The life vest had been quickly discarded, the item a mockery of his current situation.

Until he needed its light to navigate the crawl space, that is. The sparks beneath the floor panels had attracted his attention, and it was only after he’d beat himself up for only finding the black box that he’d turned around and found the igniter. The sub hummed to life once Simon restarted the engine, not expecting to be so grateful for the light cast by a single bulb until he climbed out from the cramped space.

That was when he saw it. That was when he saw you.

“No,” he breathed, scrambling along the floor until he was beside you. He rolled you onto your back and pressed an ear to your chest, eyes closed as he listened. You were breathing, ragged and shallow, but it was enough for him to know that you were still alive. Blood dripped onto his face from overhead. He wiped it away with a huff, retrieving the first aid kit from the back of the sub before returning to you. It was a stupid decision, one that he was sure he’d yell at you for if you knew, but he drank the alcohol included in the kit to steel himself. He saved half for you, for when you woke up, then set to work.

Simon was as gentle as he could as he wrapped your injuries with the bandages, murmuring soft apologies with every movement. You stirred as he was bandaging the worst of them, a gash in your side, opening your mouth to speak but only succeeding in groaning in pain.

“Don’t try to move, okay?” He fought to keep his voice even despite the fear he had. He’d never seen you so pale, so pained. “Something got hold of the sub, it really… It really fucked us up, but I’m taking care of you.”

“No kidding.” Despite Simon’s warnings, you moved, wincing as you reached into your pocket. You clutched a small object in your hand, using your thumb to check it over for damage. Some of the tension left you then, soothed when you found it unbroken. “Simon, I’m… I’m so scared.”

“Me too. But I'll get us out of this, okay? I already got the sub powered back on, that was a whole fucking thing.” He hesitated for a moment, fingers hovering over the spot where he'd been bandaging before you woke up. You hissed, he apologized, and he started to talk to distract you from the pain. “You should've seen me, though. I looked badass crawling through that tiny ass compartment. And then I get to the other end, and all that's down there is the black box!” You laughed, a musical sound to Simon’s ears, and he smiled despite the way you winced right after. “Turns out, the starter was right under where I went in. Who knew.”

It was easier to keep himself calm when he had to do it for you. He kept talking as he tended to your injuries, even when he was sure you were complaining too loudly to even hear him. His own injuries were next, his aching side and scraped up arms wrapped to the best of his ability before he dressed himself again. He kept talking to you through it all, because what else could he do?

Simon was as gentle as he possibly could be as he moved you, securing you beside the control console. It was as much an attempt to prevent you from getting thrown around further as it was an effort to keep you in his sightline. He was scared that if he looked away from you again, he’d look back to find you drowning in blood like his dream. He also wasn't sure how much you could take, if the sub got thrown around any more than it already had been. If there was freedom on the other side of this, Simon refused to see it alone.

“It's still too fucking hot in here,” he muttered as he settled in the seat, gazing down at you. He still couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“You should've just kept your shirt off. I wouldn't have minded the view.”

Simon rolled his eyes, though he nudged your leg gently with his own before setting to work.

Navigating the sub through the cave was no easy feat. Even if he had the better sense of direction of the two of you, you were a better artist than he was. He had no clue if he was anywhere close to drawing the cave wall accurately. He chose not to think too hard about the ‘alien shit’ he'd found along the way as he made his way down an alternate path, dodging your questions about what he’d seen on the display.

His head was already starting to hurt much more as time went on. From what, he could only guess. A concussion? Pressure sickness? All of the above? That was the most likely option. The ache in his chest was heavy too, as he alternated positions, worried for the worst every time he stepped away from you. Going from the controls to the map on the wall to the camera button and its display, repeating the cycle over and over again. And what a lot of good it did him, taking him in a circle right back to where he'd started.

Simon stood at the wall, hands resting on his hips and examining his map closely in an attempt to determine his next move. Then, you coughed, a harsh and painful sound that had you wincing and clutching your side. He rushed over to you then, attempting to help you sit up but freezing when the movement made you cry out in pain. Quick to lay you back down, Simon apologized, hands hovering over you as he took in your condition.

“I feel like shit. I think I’m gonna pass out. You’re right, it’s too fucking hot, and I can’t… It all hurts, Simon,” you managed, the words wavering through gritted teeth. You wondered how many of your ribs were broken. You wondered what their jagged edges were tearing into. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Simon murmured, brushing your hair back from your forehead where it was slick from sweat. “Let me look in the first aid kit again, maybe there’s something for the pain. Or, I think I saved you some of the alcohol.” Without waiting for your response, Simon retrieved the kit and began to rifle through it. “Found it!”

“Painkillers?”

“No, the alcohol.” Simon held up the small container in triumph, unscrewing the lid and offering it to you. You didn’t think twice about reaching out to grab it, knocking the shot back with a grimace. “Yeah, it’s a little nasty. But I hope it helps, there’s… There really isn’t anything else useful in there,” he sighed, looking at you sadly as he discarded the empty container over his shoulder. After a moment, he patted your leg, moving to stand. “I’m gonna try and see if I can’t find a way out of this mess. Wish me luck.”

“Wait, Simon, let me… I want to give you something.” You beckoned for him to come back, grasping one of his hands in yours when he crouched back down. Pressing what you’d been holding into Simon’s palm, you curled his fingers around it. “For luck.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed together as you took your hands away, staring down at the pendant you had placed into his hold. It glinted in the dim light of the sub when he held it from its leather cord, the seed and sprout remaining intact between two pieces of glass. The copper edge was untarnished, recently polished despite your extended time apart.

“I can't take this,” he choked out, a lump forming in his throat as he tried to press it back into your hand. “It's yours.”

“If I wasn’t here to give it to you myself, you would’ve found it inside the radio. Please, Simon. Just take it,” you pleaded, taking the necklace from him only to loop its cord around his left wrist. Securing it there with shaking hands, Simon continued to shake his head in refusal. “I’ve failed every other way I’ve tried to save you, maybe this’ll be the one that does it.” You didn't realize you were crying until Simon wiped the tears away, your breathing shallow from the effort it took to speak.

“You never failed,” he insisted, eyes fixed on the pendant. Where it hung from his wrist, he was able to see it at all times. Even when he had to look away from you to examine the map or to take a picture, it would be visible. “But I’ll… I’ll keep it safe, I promise. And I’m going to get us out of this.”

You nodded, slowly, satisfied enough by his reassurances that you settled back down. Everything still ached, but the gnawing anxiety at the back of your skull was sated, for now. Simon returned to the navigation chair, watching as your eyes slipped shut. Only when he caught the rise and fall of your chest did he get back to work, one of his boots resting against your leg each time he was at the helm.

It wasn't long before he found a new point of interest, its image shown in the display screen in grainy detail. Simon squinted as he looked at it, tilting his head as the image began to fade. Another press of the button, another image, and he was able to make sense of what he was seeing.

“SM… 8?” Simon already knew he wasn't the first, but to see evidence of another sub like that, to see what had almost happened to the SM-13… He didn't know what to think. At best, it would make good leverage if he ever got back in communications range to the docking bay. At worst, well, it was just more proof that what he’d grabbed with the sample claw wasn’t just a skeleton.

It strengthened Simon’s resolve to get the one thing he’d been denied more times than his freedom: Answers.

He stepped back from the display screen as it faded to black, turning on his heel to go back to the controls when something to his left caught his attention. The terminal screen buzzed to life, its screen illuminating and running through a system diagnostic before connecting to something. Simon stared at it blankly for a moment before his brain kicked into gear, processing the text on the screen and the voice coming through the speakers enough to act.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, eyes scanning the screen before he attempted to enter a password. The computer yelled at him then, telling him that his credentials were invalid and to leave the area or be subject to council authority. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he entered another password, this time with a ‘1’ tacked on the end, only to get the same warning. “Council authority?”

It clicked for him then. You. You had told him to cross the wires in the terminal. You had marked the radio, had left that message, for him to find in case you couldn’t tell him yourself. There was a chance that you would have the credentials needed to access the terminal, to connect to the black box of the other sub and learn the truth of your situation. A spark of hope shot through his chest then, giving him a much needed second wind.

Simon called out your name as he raced back to you, dropping to his knees in front of you and placing a hand on your arm. “Hey, listen, that terminal… I found another ship, another sub, like ours and it connected to it.” You didn't lift your head right away, and Simon began to shake you gently. “Hey! I need your help with the terminal, it connected to something!” He paused for a second, just long enough for panic to grip his chest as he noticed something very important about yours: It was no longer moving. “Oh, fuck.”

Time seemed to slow around Simon as he jumped into action all at once, hauling you out from where you’d been propped up next to the console. You were pale, paler than the linens you’d been dressed in before they’d been stained by your blood. Laying you out on the metal floor, Simon pressed his ear to your chest, holding his breath as he listened for any sign of yours.

For a second, he'd thought that his eyes had been playing tricks on him. For a second, he'd convinced himself that the thrum of the engine was the beat of your heart. For a second, you were still alive.

Then, the illusion shattered.

Simon’s mouth hung open as he sat back on his heels, choked noises leaving him as he struggled for air. The ear that had been listening for signs of life was stained red with blood that had seeped through your clothing, the warm liquid running down the side of his neck as he stared down at you. It was like the world had fallen out from underneath him. Time caught up all at once, slamming into him harder than the sub when he’d been thrown into its walls, its floor, its ceiling. When you’d been thrown, right along with him.

“No,” he whispered, choking on the words as a lump formed in his throat. “No, this can't be real. Please don't let this be real.” He gathered you up in his arms, clutching you tightly to his chest. Burying his face in your hair as sobs heaved his body, Simon was wrestling with himself. He felt so stupid for not tending to you more, for not checking you more thoroughly for injuries, for not doing enough. Freedom wasn’t worth it if he couldn’t see it with you, but he knew you’d never forgive him if he gave up now. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!”

The tears flowed until the oxygen meter sounded off, reminding Simon of how painfully little time he had left to make things right. Despite knowing you were no longer in pain, he couldn’t bear to do anything other than return you to your spot next to the controls. Next to him. Anything else would have felt disrespectful. With his boot against your leg and the pendant hanging from his wrist, Simon sat at the controls and took a deep breath. Tears dripped down onto the throttle as he solemnly navigated out of the mouth of the cave, the back of his hand rough against his own skin as he wiped the tears and snot from his face.

Then, Simon heard it. The crackle of the speaker coming to life, the buzz of electricity from the little orange glow. He expected Ava’s voice to come through, but what came through was far more haunting. A chorus of voices resonating through the entirety of the sub, bouncing around in Simon’s skull and sending shivers down his spine as they spoke.

Another yell echoed off the hull, this time in outrage. Simon surged forward, hands wrapped around your throat as he slammed you against the wall of the sub. A pressure valve dug into your back, the pipe burning hot against your ragged uniform. The lack of air traveling through your windpipe silenced any pained noises you would have made. Simon was similarly quiet, his nostrils flaring as he took breaths so heavy you were sure that the oxygen meter was going to tick down again at any moment. You didn’t squirm, didn’t fight, didn’t do anything but lift one of your hands to wrap it around his wrist.

You hoped that if Simon was going to be the one that killed you, he still cared for you enough to make it quick.

Instead, he held you there for what felt like an eternity, unsure what his next move was. Only when the darkness began to creep in at the edge of your vision, your hand dropping from his wrist as your consciousness began to wane, did he snap out of his stupor. His hold on you loosened, letting you drop. He staggered back, eyes on his palms as you crumpled to the floor. Coughing and hacking as air filled your lungs, you were careful not to take in too much oxygen at once. Before you, Simon had steeled himself, shaking off his disgust for his own actions in an attempt to replace it with contempt for yours.

“What happened on Filament Station?” he asked, voice unnervingly steady. His hands clenched and flexed at his sides. “What do you mean it was your fault?”

You stood, forcing yourself to face him even though it felt impossible. Herculean. “It wasn’t my idea to go after the reactor, but… I planted the charges.” You almost choked on the words. They came out of your mouth like sandpaper, grating your throat and making your already hoarse voice even worse.

“You blew up Filament Station.” A statement, not a question, as Simon processed this. A look of anger flashed across his features once more, the true weight of this revelation settling on his shoulders. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“You were never supposed to be there when it went. You were meant to be off-station, on another mission.”

“That doesn’t make it any better!” Simon shouted as he took another step towards you. Instinctively, you cowered. Arms raised to block your body, head ducked as you turned towards the wall. The sight of you scared, of him, made Simon freeze. He wasn’t a monster, despite what people said. He thought you hadn’t been either. “I can’t believe we were… I can’t believe I ever trusted you.” It would have hurt less if he’d shattered your ribs and wrenched your heart from your chest. Your shoulders slumped in resignation, eyes fixed on the floor. “You just… Sat there as they said those things to me. Everything they did to me, this whole nightmare... All because you let me be your fucking fall guy. Unbelievable.” He shook his head in disbelief, disappointment, dissatisfaction, and abruptly turned away.

“They only ever said ‘convict.’ They never said which one of us they were talking to.”

If Simon heard you, he didn’t show it. His body landed in the chair with a dull thud, the metal creaking as he shifted in an attempt to get comfortable. It didn’t work. Regardless, he resumed the blind navigation through the ocean of blood, attempting to reach one of these supposed anomalies you were sent to find. You could hear him muttering to himself, but you said nothing as you slunk towards the back.

Tucking yourself behind the wall, out of view of Simon and next to the powered down terminal, you had to take a moment to wallow in your misery. Even if you didn’t truly deserve it, it was necessary. A moment to get out everything you didn’t want to direct towards Simon, because you had to fix this. You couldn’t die down here with him hating you, that was what they wanted. That was your punishment. You knew then that it was the truth of your conviction realization, but you refused to give the C.O.I. the satisfaction. You’d given them plenty already.

Simon was all you had left.

When the sub slowed to a stop and Simon moved to the back of the sub to use the camera, he didn’t look at you. His feet were planted firmly on the steel grate even as the sub trembled in the current, his back to you as he carelessly slapped the button. The display screen cast him in silhouette as he examined its grainy pixels.

“You weren’t my fall guy.” You spoke up as the image faded away. The dim light at the top of the sub barely illuminated him any better.

“Coulda fooled me.” He didn't turn, his gaze still fixed on the screen as he pressed the camera button once more. Still, he had acknowledged you. That was a start.

“They caught me before the charges even went off, Simon. When they found the trigger in my pack, they…” You took a shaky breath, hauling yourself to your feet and taking a calculated step towards Simon. He turned then, his expression unreadable as he looked down at you, waiting for you to continue. “I was on my way to prison when it happened. They made me watch it through the viewport, made me watch all of the bloodshed that Eden caused. That I caused.” You hesitated before reaching out, taking one of Simon’s hands in yours. He tensed, but didn’t pull away. “You were never supposed to be anywhere near there. But you were. You were, and you survived. They knew we were connected, they saw our tattoos. Not just the Mark of Eden, but…” Your voice cracked as you spoke. The hollowness in your chest that you had felt when you thought you lost him, that he had died on the station, returned. You couldn’t lose him again. “When they told me they found you in the wreckage, I told them everything. Simon, I tried so hard to get them to spare you. You have no idea.”

“Tell me,” Simon said, something tender slipping into his voice despite the way he spoke through gritted teeth. “Give me some idea.”

You hesitated before stepping back, taking your hands from him to begin shedding pieces of your tattered garments until your arms and chest were exposed, leaving only an undershirt. Scars littered your skin, your flesh mottled and discolored, your tattoos carved away with even less care than Simon’s had been. “A scar for every life lost on the station, Consolidation and Eden. A brand for every resource that went up in flames. And a couple more of each, just because.” Simon sucked in a sharp breath, hands shaking as he took the sight of you in. “They put me through all kinds of hell, telling me it would save you. But it was all for nothing.”

“No,” he whispered, his eyes meeting yours, shining with sympathy as tears welled up in them. The guilt he felt made him feel ill. He prayed that, when this was over, you didn’t hate him for what he had done to you. “No, it wasn’t for nothing.”

“Yes it was. Because they still sent you to your death, and forced me to watch.”

“It was worth it,” Simon insisted, bringing his hands up to cup either side of your jaw, forehead pressed to yours with an almost bruising force. “Because I got to see you again. That's all I ever wanted out of Filament Station anyway.”

That was when the proximity alert sounded. That was when it all went to hell.

----------------------------------------

Life on Eden wasn’t unbearable, in your opinion. It was downright miserable. You had been a wayward drifter when the Quiet Rapture had happened, on a shuttle attempting to return to a planet that was no longer waiting for you. Attracted by the shine of their stations and the beauty of their gardens, you had been welcomed into the fold. Then, your Brothers and Sisters had held you down and left their mark on your skin, branding you as one of them for life. The shine began to fade after that. Rapidly.

The hours were long, the days even longer, and there was little time for merriment or rest. Any time not spent working was spent worshipping. You cared for neither, sleeping during sermons and slacking off at work. You bounced around from post to post, having some amount of skill in everything you tried but lacking one major thing: Motivation. So, they sent you where everyone else who needed a ‘morale boost’ went.

Tending to the Tree was a job assignment reserved for those who needed to be reminded of the importance that everyone participate in the mission. It was a symbolic punishment. A whole lot of standing around, staring at the Tree on the off chance something happened, you heard from those who had done it. You didn’t think that you would mind it, honestly. Especially not after you met him.

The windows of the atrium showed a projected sky, lights on the metal support beams mimicking a day/night cycle. It was well past imitation sunrise, now. You’d woken up late and had to skip breakfast to make it on time. You would have made it, were it not for one of your Brothers who had taken it upon himself to admonish you for running late for so long that you had no chance. Another member of Eden was already in the atrium, grumbling to himself as he wiped the glass clean. At least it seemed like he wasn’t going to lecture you too.

You stopped in the doorway, unable to help but admire the towering limbs of the Tree, the way its leaves seemed to glow in the makeshift sunlight. The interior gardens of Eden, the ones that had drawn you to the station in the first place, were no less breathtaking than the last time you had seen them. Even if it had been under duress.

“Uh, hello? Did you hear me?” Snapping fingers in front of your face pulled your attention to the man who had been cleaning the windows. Now standing before you, he seemed amused by your distant stare. You didn’t even realize that he’d approached. “I asked if you needed help with anything?”

“Sorry,” you started, taking a step back and clearing your throat. It took you a moment to find your words. You hadn't expected him to be so… Handsome. “I, uh, got assigned here? Tree duty.”

He hummed thoughtfully then, a grin stretching across his features. “Let me guess, talked back to one of the elders?” He asked with a glint of mischief in his eye.

You couldn't help but smile back at him, shaking your head in response. Most people on Eden were such sticks in the mud, you were pleased to have found someone with a personality that extended beyond preaching. “No, I was deemed to be suffering from a ‘motivational issue.’ Whatever that means.”

The man laughed, a bright and beautiful sound. More musical than a choir. It stirred something in your chest more than any hymn had, certainly. “Ah, yeah. I've gotten that one a few times myself. But it's not so bad down here, you get used to it after a while.” He stuck out his hand to you then. “I'm Simon.”

You introduced yourself as well, shaking his hand and hoping he didn't notice how a flush had tinged your features from the contact.

The work would have been mind-numbingly boring, if it weren't for Simon. Taking dirt samples and walking them to the lab, watering the Tree, checking the leaves and trunk for signs of rot, even just standing around guarding the Tree was tedious work. But he made it fun, cracking jokes and doing what he could to make you laugh in between sharing the knowledge he'd picked up during his now permanent assignment to the atrium. You took it all in, impressed by the extent of what he knew and unable to help but admire his muscles as he hauled around loads of dirt or bags of fertilizer. You considered it your favorite perk of the job.

Your second favorite perk of the job was sitting beneath the Tree during downtime, staring up at the imitation sky and thinking of home. It used to be that you couldn’t get away from there fast enough. Now you yearned to go back, and you never could. On the days when thinking of home was too difficult, you drew. Sights you had once seen, places you had hoped to visit, things you had seen in a dream. Your shuttle. The Tree. Simon. You took great care not to leave your notebook where he would be able to find it.

“Mind if I join you?” Simon asked one day, as you sat at the edge of the dirt with your legs drawn to your chest, chin on your knees.

“Yeah, of course. I’m just…” Reminiscing. “Admiring our handiwork.”

Simon smiled as he sat down next to you, following your gaze up to the canopy. “You do have a real knack for this whole Tree thing, I gotta say. I’m impressed.” You heard him unzip his pack, then some rustling as he dug through it. After a moment, you felt a poke to the arm. “You should eat something. It’s lunchtime.”

You looked down, seeing one of the plastic wrapped nutrient bars that came with a lunch ration. Normally, you left yours untouched. Simon poked you with it again, raising his eyebrows expectantly. With a murmur of thanks, you took it. The plastic crinkled as you unwrapped it, Simon doing the same beside you, though it was otherwise quiet as the two of you ate. You couldn’t help but glance his way every now and then. Sometimes, his gaze was turned towards the treetop. Sometimes, he was already looking at you.

“Thank you… for letting me join you for lunch.” Simon’s voice cut through the silence, catching you by surprise. He seemed to hesitate, like there was more he wanted to say, but the words died on his tongue.

You smiled, sheepish as you glanced towards him and then quickly looking away. In your silence, Simon had started to stand, offering a hand to you so you could return to your duties together. ”You can again tomorrow… If you want,” you told him after you were on your feet, your hold on his hand lingering for a few seconds longer than it needed to.

It was his turn to smile then, eyes lighting up as though he thought you’d never ask. You half expected him to forget about your words, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have had the guts to extend the invitation in the first place. But the next day, Simon was already waiting for you beneath the Tree for lunch. You’d just returned from your daily trek to the lab, ready to complain about him leaving you to answer Dr. Crusher’s questions on your own when he’d held up another one of those nutrient bars.

Day by day, the conversation flowed more easily. It was like someone had powered on a long forgotten breaker, lighting up parts of you that had laid dormant for too long. And on days when you didn’t feel like talking, Simon still sat next to you, bumping his shoulder against yours just to get you to smile. And it worked. It always worked.

When you faced the Council one rotation later, you found yourself dreading the idea of leaving gardening duty, of leaving Simon. It wasn’t meant to be a permanent post, you were supposed to learn your lesson and move on, to be falling over yourself for the chance to serve the colony in any other position. Tree duty was a punishment to those not performing to their highest capabilities. So why did it feel so much like a reward?

The Council members deliberated your performance over the months, your devotion to the cause, your attitude. You were barely listening, hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you tried to remain calm. Finally, they turned to you.

“Do you feel as though you are capable of showing a level of commitment to Eden that we require?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. “Yes, but I don't want to take on another assignment.”

“You… Want to remain a caretaker of the Tree?” Elder Luxwana could barely contain her surprise, her tone betraying her stony features.

You nodded, almost worried you had answered wrong. That was okay, because angering the Elders just meant you'd be staying on Tree duty longer anyway. “I found my calling, tending to the Tree. I'm worried my… motivational issues will return if I’m reassigned to any of my previous posts. But I find the work to be satisfying, and I take pride in knowing I'm doing my part to sustain Eden and its people.” Performative bullshit, really. Fluffy buzzwords that you knew the Council would want to hear. You'd been practicing your speech the entire walk up, rehearsing it in the elevator until it had sounded convincing enough.

It was silent for an eternity, then came the nods of approval. A half dozen faces, no longer looking at you with disappointment.

“Then it is decided. We're pleased you found purpose among your Brothers and Sisters. Do make more of an effort to remain awake during Sermon, though.”

You were dismissed from the council room then, the door sliding shut behind you with a hydraulic hiss. When you had rounded the corner, you leaned against the wall to breathe a sigh of relief and wipe the sweat from your palms. Then, you grinned, allowing yourself one fist-pump in celebration before the heavy thud of boots on the floor had you composing yourself quickly.

“Simon?” You were surprised to see that he had come all this way. You hadn’t expected to see him again until you returned to the atrium. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um… I wanted to…” Simon stumbled over his words, avoiding eye contact even as you stepped towards him. Then, he cleared his throat, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “I wanted to congratulate you, for graduating from the garden.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small cloth-wrapped bundle tied with a red thread. It was small, unassuming. You wondered what could possibly be held inside, but his next words caught your attention before you unwrapped it. “I hope you'll be happy wherever they assign you.”

You took the bundle from him when he offered it to you, eyebrows drawn together in confusion before you spoke. “I’m staying in the garden, they didn’t assign me a different post.”

“What? But that’s not fair, you’ve been doing so well!” He glared down the hallway, like any second he was going to march into the council room and demand a retrial. “You’ve been doing so much better, can’t they see that?”

“No, Simon. It wasn’t like that, I chose to stay,” you assured him, putting a hand on his arm. He turned to face you then. You’d never seen him look so dumbfounded. “I don't want another post, I want to stay in the garden. With the Tree. With you.”

“Me?” His voice was impossibly small when he spoke, eyes wide and shining as he looked down at you.

“I don't think I'd be as motivated to do my duties if I couldn't see you every day.”

A smile broke out on his face then, wide and beaming. You tried to hand him the package back, but he enveloped your hands with his, shaking his head as he pushed it back towards you.

“I made it for you. It’s yours.” Between the way his voice dripped like honey and his hands were warm against your skin, a swath of heat ran through you, a flush creeping up your neck. You would have blamed the heat of the ventilation pipe nearby if he called you on it. Better yet, you would have pointed out the similar hue on his cheeks. “Go on, open it,” he encouraged with a nervous smile, and your hands never felt colder than when he took his away.

Still, you did as he asked, gingerly untying the thread before unfolding the fabric that held your gift. Inside the cloth lay a pendant, a circle of glass with flattened out copper wire lining its edges. It reminded you of a piece of stained glass, the wire akin to caming that would line each piece. But that wasn't what captivated you the most. Pressed between two thin pieces of glass was a seed, a sprout with its leaves manipulated into the shape of the tree you both cared for each day.

“Oh, Simon. Wow,” you breathed, holding it up by the leather cord that ran through a hole drilled in the top. It glinted in the light of the hallway, brighter up here than in other parts of the station. You couldn’t wait to see what it looked like in the glow of the atrium. “You made this?”

His eyes shone with pride as he nodded, his smile widening. He watched the careful way you examined it, turning it over in your palm and running your finger along its edges. Every small detail that he was scared you’d overlook was taken into consideration. “You remember when one of the windows got busted a few months back? I kept some of the glass,” he explained, something settling in his chest that he couldn't quite explain. An ache, but not painful. A pull, towards you. “Can I… Would you like some help putting it on?”

“Could you please?” You placed the pendant into his waiting palm, fidgeting with the cloth it had been wrapped in as you turned around. It felt like time moved impossibly slow as he lowered the pendant, the cool glass settling against your chest and his fingers brushing along your skin as he tied a knot in the cord. When it was secure around your neck, you turned back around, one of Simon's hands still hovering near your face. “Thank you, Simon. It's beautiful.” For a second, you thought he was going to pull away. Instead, he cupped your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured, and you swore you would have melted were it not for the cool glass of the pendant against your skin. “It’s selfish, I know, but… I would have thought that you’d choose… You know, not Tree duty. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did, but I really didn’t want you to.”

“I didn’t even have to think about it.” You didn’t care about gardening, you didn’t care about the Tree, or the symbolic nature of the role. All that you cared for stood before you now, his hand on your face and expression full of nothing but fondness. For all of your time on Eden, nothing had made you feel more at home than Simon. “I was always going to choose you.”

Simon kissed you then. Short, barely lingering for more than a second, eyes wide when he pulled away. Though he’d had the desire since the first moment you’d walked into the atrium, he hadn’t meant to act on it. He started to say your name, to apologize, but you gently took hold of the collar of his shirt and pulled him back in.

This kiss was longer, sweeter, softer somehow even as the gentle weight of Simon’s body pressed you against the wall. His free hand had come up to cup the other side of your face, holding you close even as the two of you came up for air, foreheads pressed together and noses just barely brushing.

“I have some wine in my quarters from my drifter days,” you whispered, wary of your proximity to the Council’s door as you shared your secret with him. Indulgences such as those were considered contraband, but you knew that Simon wasn’t going to turn you in. “We should celebrate my… Continued assignment to Tree duty.”

”We should,” Simon agreed, though he was reluctant to move away. When he did so, you were quick to reach out and take one of his hands in yours. His fingers laced with yours, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze before speaking again. “Lead the way.”

You were more than happy to do so.

Upon exiting the elevator and returning to the busier parts of the station, you and Simon had let go of each other’s hands and returned your expressions to ones of stony neutrality. A silent agreement that what you had stayed between you. It was easy enough for rumors to run rampant on the station, and there were plenty about the two of you independently. The Outsider and the Butcher had become the talk of the town when you’d first been assigned to take care of the Tree. You saw no reason to add more fuel to the fire, and you were grateful Simon felt the same.

It was easy enough to navigate through to the lower decks, descending further and further into the station until you reached where the crew quarters occupied. The air was hot and stagnant, condensation dripping from the exposed pipes and ductwork that ran overhead. On each side of the hall, crudely fashioned doors were evenly spaced out. Some only had curtains to cover their entrances. Towards the end of the corridor, you found your room. It was fashioned with a door that was sturdier and more secure than most. A door with a lock, a rare commodity. You hadn’t made it yourself, of course, but wine wasn’t all that you had hidden away. You had boarded the station with a fair few trinkets that were worth trading for.

The quarters on this level were small. Impersonal. A metal cube hardly any bigger than what could accommodate a small cot that jutted from the sheetmetal walls and a trunk for well-worn clothes and linens. Still, you had done your best to make it your own. Sketches lined the walls, snapshots of your life on the station and from before. Scraps of colored fabric were tied to the vent over the bed, waving in the slight breeze that only served to make the room warmer. But Simon wasn't looking at any of that, his eyes were fixed on you.

The moment you had secured the door, his hands found your waist once more, your back pressed against the metal as he kissed you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, keeping him close as a satisfied hum escaped you into the kiss. The door creaked as the weight of him settled against you, just as he had done before. When you had become breathless, Simon leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed but a smile on his face. You opened your eyes, examining his features. You'd never seen him so… content. Just basking in your presence, Simon couldn't have possibly been happier. He lifted his head then, opening his eyes to find you already staring. You would have blushed and looked away, like every time he had caught you before, but you had nothing to be ashamed of.

“You said something about wine?” He asked, voice low and rough, rumbling through his chest where he was pressed against you. You could have stayed there forever, had he not been the one to move away first. Settling on the cot and beginning to unlace his boots, he watched closely as you moved about the small room.

It only took a few steps for you to reach your destination, and you could feel Simon’s eyes on you as you crouched to the floor. Running your fingertip along the seam of one of the floor panels, you easily pulled out one of the screws that held it in place. Its threads had been filed away until it was a smooth spike of metal with an ‘X’ on its head, creating a false fastener. With all of the screws removed, you lifted the floor panel to reveal the hidden compartment.

Contraband was heavily punished on Eden. Anything that could be used to serve the colony was to do so at any expense. Selfishness was not tolerated, no matter how small an act. But these things weren’t just contraband, they were relics of a life that was no more. A place you could never return to, no matter how far your shuttle flew. You’d parted with so many to carve out somewhere safe, only keeping your dearest possessions. They were all you had left. That, and a few vices you struggled to make do without.

You retrieved a glass bottle from among the items, its label long since faded and peeled away. You’d gotten it from a friend of a friend of a friend for an occasion you no longer recalled. It was expensive, you knew that much. Expensive enough that you had wanted to save it for the right moment, a celebratory occasion that had never come.

Until now.

Simon gingerly took the bottle from you and set it on the bed, scared that it would drop from his hands if he held onto it for too long. “What’s all that other stuff?” he asked, leaning over to get a better look inside the compartment.

You lowered the panel slightly, obscuring his view for a moment as you hesitated. “Things from… From before I came to Eden.” You trusted Simon, of course you did, but you weren’t ready to share that with him. Not yet.

He was quiet as you closed up the panel, replacing the false screws in their proper place and ensuring that nothing looked amiss. You ran your fingers over the edge of the metal with the same care as you had the necklace, only standing once you were satisfied that it was secure. Slowly, he reached out, taking your hand and guiding you to sit next to him on the cot.

“I won’t ask if you don’t want to talk about it,” he assured, patting your knee gently before reaching behind you. “Besides, we’re celebrating! You get to stay with me on the best job on the station!” He said it with a sarcastic drawl, but he was absolutely beaming at you. When he bumped his shoulder against yours, you couldn’t help but look at him the same way.

It took some doing to get the wax seal off and the cork unstuck, but soon enough the two of you were passing the bottle back and forth. Taking impossibly small sips in order to savor it at first, the temptation to take bigger swigs soon overtook you both, the delightful flavor irresistible. The extra time to ferment had made it stronger, too. A pleasant warmth settled across your features, a flush tinging both your face and Simon’s. You sat across from him on the bed, back against the wall and legs crossed as the two of you drank and made conversation. When it wasn’t your turn with the bottle, you busied your hands with the pendant around your neck, admiring it with a smile.

“I don’t know how you found the time to make this, by the time we’re done working just about all I have energy for is to go to sleep. I can’t even make time to eat dinner most nights.” Simon looked sheepish all of a sudden, stammering as he avoided your gaze. You let the pendant drop, leaning forward and squinting your eyes at him in suspicion. Then, something clicked. “You asshole! You weren’t actually going to the supply room, were you?”

“Now, no, hold on! That’s not true!” He cried out in defense, raising his hands when you pointed an accusing finger at him. “I was going to the supply room! I wasn’t going to the supply room to get more fertilizer.”

“I knew it! I knew you were taking too long! Do you know how many times I had to give Dr. Crusher those reports on my own because of you? She asks so many questions, Simon!”

“I’m sorry!” Simon scooted closer to you then, setting the bottle of wine on the floor so he could plant his hands on either side of you and lean in. You felt his breath fanning against your cheek, the brush of his lips as he spoke. “I just wanted to make sure you’d remember me.” The sudden vulnerability was a stark contrast to the boisterous jokes from moments ago. Your expression softened, a hand coming up to rest on his cheek. He leaned into your touch, his stubble rough against your palm. “For a colony with so many people, you’d think it wouldn’t be so lonely.”

Simon didn’t elaborate, but there was no need for him to do so. You understood the feeling all too well. It was an ache that settled deep in your bones, a longing to share space with another like you were now. To have someone to talk to in the quiet hours at the end of the day. Someone to take care of you, someone to care for.

“For a colony with so many people, I’m glad our paths crossed. You’re the only good thing about living here,” you confessed, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “So you’re stuck with me, whether you wanted to be or not.” Your words pulled a laugh from his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Simon kissed you then, the first of many to follow that night. “Believe me, that’s what I want.”

----------------------------------------

Simon was yelling, his words echoing off the walls of the sub and ringing in your ears. You didn’t bother paying attention to what the Captain was screaming in response, her words muffled through the glass of the porthole. You knew there was no use in trying to get her to see reason. Instead, you crouched behind the wall next to the terminal, fingers working at the screws that held the radio’s faceplate on. There was something hidden there, something precious to you, something that Simon wasn’t going to need if you were in there with him. You were quick to slip it into your pocket when you heard footsteps thundering across the metal floor, slamming the faceplate back in place as Simon slapped a hand onto the camera button.

You emerged from behind the wall just in time to see light illuminate the docking bay, head snapping between the porthole and Simon as screams rang out from the dock. Behind Simon, the image that the camera had captured lit up the display screen. The welder, screaming and raising his arms in an attempt to shield himself from the flash.

You stared at the display screen. Jack’s skeleton stared back. Your stomach churned at the sight.

“Are you out of your mind?!” The Captain returned to the window, the fury in her eyes burning hotter than any fire as she stared in at you both. “You just blasted us with radiation, you psycho Eden fucks!”

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know, I was just…” The revelation sobered Simon quickly. He staggered back, staring at the camera button with his mouth agape in horror. “Look, maybe if you'd told me what it was, this wouldn't have happened! But I’m sorry, I didn’t know!”

The look on the Captain’s face made it clear that you were not forgiven. “Get the sample. You have thirty minutes.” The porthole closed then, sealing you off from the rest of the world once more. “Drop them!”

There was a beat where nothing happened, where you opened your mouth to ask Simon what the hell he’d been thinking. A beat before the world fell out from underneath you. Your back was against the top of the sub, the iron lung in free fall over the ocean. When it hit the surface, the loss of momentum sent you and Simon slamming into the floor. Several somethings cracked, the taste of blood filling your mouth. You didn’t realize that you’d been knocked unconscious until something more gentle shook you by the shoulders.

“Hey, c’mon, wake up,” Simon pleaded, only stopping when you groaned in response. You rolled onto your side, spitting the blood from your mouth unceremoniously. A stain on the panels told you that Simon had already done the same. “You kept going back out on me, you gotta stay with me this time. Okay? You can’t leave me alone in here.”

A voice came through on the speaker overhead, ranting and raving about how this is what Simon deserved, what you deserved. You didn’t have the strength to tell him otherwise. It felt like someone was driving a stake through your skull, even the dim light of the sub was too bright, but you forced your eyes to open. The sub groaned this time, its welds creaking as it rocked in the current. Simon raised a shaky hand, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the blood that still dripped from your nose. Your chest ached when you saw the blood trail that oozed from twin gashes next to his eye, and the tear stains that cut through it.

“I’m not gonna leave you alone,” you promised Simon, ignoring the way your shoulder seared with pain as you pushed yourself to sit up. He was quick to help you, leaning you against the wall beneath the camera button at your request. Your map reading skills had been questionable at best before getting thrown around the sub, and you didn’t trust yourself to be at the helm in this state. “Just… Tell me when you need a picture, and I’ll press the button.” You reached up blindly with your other arm, fingers searching the wall until you found the button and giving it a push just to prove that you could.

The display screen lit up, showing nothing of note in its image. However, something inside the sub caught Simon’s attention. In all of the jostling of the sub, the faceplate of the radio had come open again. You’d never secured it when retrieving what was tucked away before the sub dropped. Simon asked you to press the button again, this time using the light to examine you more closely. Satisfied that you weren’t going to pass out on him, at least for the moment, he pressed a hesitant kiss to your forehead before busying himself with what had occupied him before.

Simon dropped to his knees in front of the radio, lifting the faceplate back into place and seeing a sight that took his breath away. Carved into the metal was the Mark of Eden, his fingers tracing over the symbol before letting the panel drop open once more. He examined the exposed wires closely before untangling them from each other, making attempts at connecting them but only succeeding in making a few sparks. When he was at a loss, he turned to you, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation for advice.

“You have to cross the wires.” No sooner than you suggested it, did he manage to accomplish it. Only after shocking himself in the process, of course, his swears echoing off the hull. The sound of your laughter was enough to distract him from asking how you knew to do that, his attention further diverted when the terminal screen came to life. His eyes scanned the screen as an alert popped up, a message from its last user.

We won’t be returning to the Garden, Brother.

This is the only help I can offer. I’m sorry.

There was supposed to be an audio log, but it had been corrupted. Probably from the power surge when Simon shocked himself. Simon's voice was soft as he started to read the transcription under his breath, before he remembered you were there too. He began to read it louder, more clearly, and you didn't have the heart to tell him he didn't need to. You already knew what it said all too well.

I will choose to breathe my last here at the bottom of an ocean.

Unseen, unheard, and uncontrolled.

Your eyes fell to his neck as the sound of his voice filled the sub, where the Mark of Eden had been branded over. You had both always dreamed of leaving the station, but not like this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

They will get their execution. I will get my freedom.

But our bond will remain unbroken, Simon.

I will see you again beneath our Tree.

Simon, your former Brother, your current lifeline, read out your own words of acceptance, resignation, defeat. You saw something in his demeanor shift after the closing line. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and turned away from the terminal with a look of determination on his face. You wondered if he knew, if he recognized the words on the terminal as your own.

You really couldn’t believe how different Adrian looked. The last time you’d seen him, he was still shorter than you. Now, he was tall, standing only a few inches shorter than Gut. His glasses no longer seemed like they were too big for his face either, the silver frames suiting his features instead of standing out. Then, you noticed his arms. He was lifting a bin that was full to the brim with dirty dishes, his muscles flexing as he hauled it away with ease. You were almost disappointed when he went back into the kitchen, though you were just as grateful that he wouldn’t overhear your next comment.

“When did he get so hot?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, cheeks turning pink at the realization of what you said. Gut shot a withering look your way that had you acting as though the condensation on your glass of water was the most interesting thing in the world. If looks could kill, you would have disintegrated then and there.

A waitress came by to take your order then, oblivious to the tension that she was breaking and unbothered when Chris called her ‘buttercup’. By the time she was walking away, your comment seemed to be forgotten entirely in favor of a debate between Chris and Gut over who should buy the booze for an upcoming party. Both of them wanted a ridiculous amount, but neither of them wanted to pay for it. You excused yourself from the table after listening for a few moments, hoping that if you went out for a smoke they’d have it settled by the time you came back. Otherwise, you had a sneaking suspicion that you were going to end up being the one paying for it.

You leaned against the hood of Chris’ car as you lit up a joint he’d rolled for you, idly picking away at the dried blood that stained your clothes. Earlier, you’d been a few towns over, busy doing what the three of you did best: search for trouble. Though you claimed it was so you could stop it, more often than not you, Chris, and Gut were the ones causing it. Tonight’s victims had been some small-time drug dealers. The transaction would have been entirely by the books, had they not tried to take your money and run.

As you took your next hit, you closed your eyes and thought about the way they had begged for mercy as you’d given chase. Chris had been right at your heels, laughing and cheering you on as Gut began to tear their hideout apart. Their stashes of money and drugs were now hidden away in the trunk of Chris’ car to be divvied up later, their blood coming away in flakes and getting stuck beneath your fingernails. It was enough to make you smile, blowing the smoke out slow with a quiet hum of satisfaction.

“Didn’t anyone tell you that smoking is bad for you?”

You snapped to attention, prepared to flip whoever it was off and tell them to go fuck themselves, though you choked on the words when you saw that it was Adrian. He was smiling at you, big and bright and only a little bit smug. Even though you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself, you still rolled your eyes and flipped him off.

“Yeah, you did. But you can save your lecture if you’re gonna give me one tonight, the other hundred clearly didn’t work.” You took another hit as if to prove your point, though you made sure not to let the smoke blow his way when you exhaled. “Besides, smoking weed’s hardly the worst thing I’ve done tonight.” As you stubbed out the joint on Chris’ bumper, Adrian lingered awkwardly nearby, watching as you tucked away the rest in an old Altoids tin for later.

“Right. So, uh…” His fingers twitched at his side as he tried to think of something to say, looking anywhere but you until he did. “You’re back in town?”

Your attempt to break free from the gravitational pull that was Evergreen lasted impressively long, managing to stay away for a few years before you were sucked right back in. Admittedly, you hadn’t been coping with the change well. Until you’d run into Chris by chance, you’d been so determined to never return to Evergreen that you had been too embarrassed to reach out to your old friends, too embarrassed to admit that you couldn’t make it out in the real world. He forced you out of your slump of self-pity with a six pack of beer and a trip to the shooting range, insisting that it was exactly what you needed when you tried to refuse. It pained you to admit that he had been right, but it worked like a charm. It wasn’t long before he convinced you to join him and Gut out on patrols as well, falling back into your old ways like you’d never even left.

“Sure am,” you responded, though the words lacked any real enthusiasm. “I moved back maybe a month or so ago? Things kinda went to shit where I was at, so…” You trailed off, shrugging a shoulder as you resumed picking away at the dried blood on your clothes. “At least you guys are still here, that's the one good thing about being back.”

“Oh. Sorry that things didn’t work out.” Adrian was grateful that, in the dim lights illuminating the side of the building, you couldn’t see the way his face was flushing from being included in the ‘you guys’ you had mentioned. He hadn’t expected you to remember him, much less still consider him a friend. “It’s just too bad you’re stuck hanging out with my brother again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, nodding in agreement. “I know. He and Chris are inescapable, aren’t they?” Though you tried to match Adrian’s disappointed tone, fondness dripped from your words. They were your best friends, for better or for worse. “Speaking of, we’re throwing a party at my place Friday. You should come.”

Adrian sucked in a breath through his teeth, a grimace spreading across his features as he considered your invitation. “I don’t know… They probably wouldn’t like that very much.”

“Come on, Adrian. It’s not like they’re still on that stupid ‘you’re banned’ thing.” Though, now that you thought about it, you hadn't seen Adrian at all until that night. “How old are you now anyway, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-four, but who’s counting? And no, they’re not, but that doesn’t mean they like me being around any more than they used to.”

“Well, it’s at my house and I like having you around, so if they have a problem with it they can find another place to party.” When he opened his mouth to continue arguing, you cut him off. “Seriously, Adrian. If they give you any shit, I’ll kick their asses. Don’t be so difficult.”

“Well, I don’t even know where you live,” he pointed out, sticking a finger in your face as though it was some sort of ‘gotcha!’ moment. “How do you even expect me to get there? What, am I supposed to go around knocking on doors until I find yours? That’d be weird, why are you even suggesting that?”

“No, Adrian,” you stated, knocking his hand away before pulling your cellphone from your pocket. “You’re going to give me your number, and I’m going to text you my address.” You unlocked it before jabbing him in the chest with it, grinning as his eyes widened with surprise. He’d always been like that around you, and you wondered when he was going to stop acting so shocked that you didn’t treat him the same way Gut and Chris did. “No knocking on doors required.”

“Oh.” He took your phone from you, glancing between it and you for a moment before finally adding himself as a new contact. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” You thought that he was still going to try and get out of it, until he nodded and handed your phone back to you. “Great! Good answer. I should head back in now, but it was good seeing you again, Adrian.”

“Yeah, you too. And I’ll be looking forward to that text!” Adrian called after you, giving a thumbs up as you left. He watched as you rounded the corner of the building, leaving him alone in the dim lights. When you were out of sight, he hit himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand, swearing under his breath. “Fucking stupid. ‘I'll be looking forward to that text’? Who fucking says that?”

-----------------------------------------------

You were starting to think that Adrian wasn’t going to show. The only thing that you’d heard from him was a merman emoji after you sent him your address the other night, and the party had already been going on for hours now. You didn’t really know why you cared so much if Adrian showed up or not, why you kept checking your phone or peeking out the window to see if he’d reached out or made an appearance. It had never mattered before, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t gotten your hopes up about it. At least there was plenty to drink in the meantime.

The bountiful supply of alcohol provided by Chris took up most of the kitchen, glass bottles and red plastic cups littering all of the available counter space. You poured yourself a drink as music blared from the living room, catching bits and pieces of the conversation happening around you between the beats. After downing it quickly, you began to help yourself to another before someone tapped on your shoulder. You turned, seeing Chris with a look on his face so serious that you thought he was going to tell you that someone had hurled on your bed.

“You know Gut’s little brother?” He asked, leaning in close like he was sharing a secret. You leaned away before taking a step back, arching an eyebrow as you looked at him.

“Yeah, what about him?”

”I think he’s been fucking stalking us. I don’t know how he found out about the party, but he just walked right in here like he was invited or something. Gut’s trying to get him to leave, but he’s not budging.” For the split second before Gut was mentioned, you were excited to hear that Adrian had decided to come after all. But when Chris said Gut was trying to get him to leave, you shoved your cup into Chris’ hand and bolted out of the kitchen without a word.

As you pushed your way through the crowd, Gut’s yelling drowned out the music in your ears. No one else seemed to be aware of the scene unfolding by the front door, though your heart began to pound at the sight. Gut was standing over Adrian, using what little height advantage he had to back him into a corner and berate him. Each time Adrian tried to get out from between him and the wall, Gut shoved him back roughly. Adrian’s hands were balled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t dare fight back. That was exactly what Gut wanted, and you knew it too.

Unfortunately, Adrian had always been better than you about not giving him the satisfaction.

You grabbed Gut’s shoulder, yanking him away the next time he raised his hands to give Adrian a shove. “What the hell are you doing?” Gut whirled around all at once at the sound of your voice, his own anger apparent on his face as he wrenched his shoulder from your grip. Your face burned hot with anger, your jaw clenching as you glared up at him.

“Why the fuck are you grabbing at me like that? I’m doing you a favor, he was trying to sneak in!” He barked out the question, gesturing to the empty space where Adrian had previously been standing. The moment you’d stepped in, he had seized the opportunity to disappear into the crowd, getting himself out of arm’s reach before things could escalate.

“He didn’t sneak in, Gut. I invited him.” You hadn’t expected that sentence to make things better. Before you even said it, you knew that he wasn’t going to be happy about your response. You also hadn’t expected the way that his fury would switch gears, making you its target instead now that Adrian was out of sight. The drywall creaked from impact as your back hit the wall first, your head following soon after as momentum carried the rest of you.

“Why the fuck would you invite him?” Gut growled the words as he stood up straight and squared his shoulders, attempting to tower over you like he’d done to Adrian. You could feel the heat of his break fanning over your face as he got as close as he could without actually touching you, but you didn’t dare look away from him.

“Because it’s my house. And if you’re gonna throw a party at my house, I can invite whoever I want,” you stated, glaring right back at him. If anyone had a right to be pissed off about the situation, it was you. Not Gut. “If you don’t like it, you can leave. But Adrian’s gonna stay.”

You didn’t flinch as Gut raised an arm, his fist connecting with the drywall next to your head. You thought about headbutting him in the face, about stomping on his foot and bringing an elbow down onto his skull, about bringing your knee up into his groin, but he had already stepped away from you. The front door was open, he was out on the porch, and for a moment you thought that he was going to walk away without issue. You hoped he was going to. But as you stepped forward to shut the door, Gut stopped on the top step.

“He’s not going to fuck you just because you invited him to some party, you know,” he spat over his shoulder, and you tensed.

“Oh, I know,” you said flatly, resisting the urge to kick him in the back and send him flying. “That was always more your thing, anyway.” You refused to let him have the last word, slamming the door shut behind him unceremoniously.

Or at least you would have, if he hadn’t jammed his foot into the door and forced it back open. You were so surprised that you didn’t have time to react before the first punch connected with your nose with a sickening crunch. The next time he swung, you were ready for it, ducking out of the way so he hit nothing but air. You took advantage of the fact that Gut was off-balance from the overswing, charging forward and sending you both out onto the lawn. Though he landed harder than you did, he was the first on his feet. You were still scrambling to stand when a well-placed kick to the ribs had you dropping right back down, groaning in pain as the taste of dirt mixed with the blood in your mouth.

“You fucking bitch,” he snarled, gritting his teeth in frustration when you attempted to stand once more.

You were lucky that you’d seen Gut fight enough to know that he always did the same move twice. It meant that when he went to kick your ribs again, you were able to catch him by the ankle and drag him down to the ground. Your whole body burned hot with rage, your heart beating so loud you could barely register anything else, as you climbed on top of him. Swinging hard with no regard for what you connected with, a sense of satisfaction filled you each time you heard him grunt when your fist made contact. When he pushed himself up, his forehead hitting your nose at speed and sending another stream of blood down your face, you cried out and slammed him back down into the dirt by his shoulders. Your nails dug in hard enough to draw blood as you did it over and over again, just like he had done to Adrian.

“Hey! Guys! Guys, stop!” Chris’ voice cut through the noise in your head, *barely. That didn’t mean you stopped your assault, though. It wasn’t until strong arms wrapped tight around your abdomen, physically lifting you off of Gut and suspending you in the air, that you were forced to relent. When Chris set you down, he held you at arm’s length and looked between the two of you with a panicked expression. “What the fuck was that? Why are you fighting?!”

Gut stood up, a hand on the back of his head as he steadied himself on his feet. You brought a hand up to wipe the blood from your face, only succeeding in smearing it around more as you panted for breath. Neither of you offered up an explanation, attempting to ignore Chris entirely in favor of continuing the fight the second you caught sight of each other. This time, Chris tackled Gut to keep him from reaching you. Another set of hands caught you by the arms, pulling you back towards the house despite the way you fought against their grip.

“Let go of me, asshole!” You demanded, preparing to turn your anger onto whoever was holding you until you saw that it wasn't some random party-goer. It was Adrian. As he looked between you and Gut, who was pinned to the ground by Chris and demanding the same thing you were, you couldn’t tell who was making him more nervous. Guilt settled heavy in your chest, and the fight left you all at once as you let him lead you towards the house. You were freed entirely once the front door was shut, and you locked it for good measure. If Chris was going to be on Gut’s side in all of this, you didn’t want either of them coming back inside. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I shouldn’t have done that, that was really-“

”Are you fucking kidding me? That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” Now that you were out of sight, Adrian was grinning from ear to ear, laughing and clapping his hands with utter delight. “No one’s ever fought my brother for me before, that was awesome!”

The unexpected praise had you blushing, grateful that your face was already so red that he wouldn’t be able to see it. “I did say I’d kick their asses if they gave you shit.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it!”

A fight on the front lawn was, unsurprisingly, a bit of a mood killer. Most of the partygoers had left out of the back door while Chris and Adrian broke it up. The sight of all the blood and dirt on your face, trailing down your neck and staining the front of your shirt, convinced the last few stragglers to leave as you navigated to the bathroom. You would have sworn that Adrian was right on your heels, but he was nowhere to be found as you turned on the tap to let the water warm up. With a sigh, you grabbed a towel, wetting it and beginning to wipe your face clean. It hurt, a lot more than you expected it to, and you stopped instantly to grit your teeth and take in a slow, shaky breath. Adrian appeared in the doorway then, a bag of ice in hand and a concerned look on his face as he approached.

“Do you want some help?” He asked, setting the makeshift icepack down on the counter and holding a hand out. You hesitated for a moment before passing him the towel, leaning against the edge of the sink as he began to wipe away the blood. It still hurt, but not nearly as badly as when you were the one doing it.

”Thanks, Adrian. You don’t have to do this, though. I can do it myself.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. Really. I don't mind.”

The towel had to be rinsed frequently, staining the water red each time it was wrung out. Adrian was silent as he worked, aside from murmuring apologies whenever you winced or hissed in pain. His hand was warm against your cheek as he held you steady, gentle when he tipped your head up to clean your neck, and you were pretty sure you didn’t take another breath until he was done wiping the blood away. Even as you watched him clean up, you could still feel his hand on your cheek, could still feel his breath fanning across your face. You were holding the bag of ice, now wrapped in a clean towel, gingerly against your face but your whole body felt warm. You weren’t sure what you were feeling, but it certainly wasn’t anger anymore.

It was overwhelming all at once, the rush of emotions you couldn’t place making your head spin more than any amount of blood loss had. You were quick to leave the bathroom, drifting through the house and making sure that everyone had left just to distract yourself from the feeling. The rest of the house was still a mess, but you figured you were allowed to take a night off from cleaning after everything that happened. The empty cups and tipped over bottles would still be there for you to deal with in the morning.

You had already taken up residence on the couch, head tipped back against the cushions and eyes on the ceiling as you held the ice to your face, when you heard footsteps leaving the bathroom. Lifting your head, you looked up just in time to see Adrian disappear into the kitchen. When he emerged, he had two beers in hand and a smile on his face.

“Can you teach me to fight like that?” he asked, joining you on the couch and holding out one of the bottles towards you. You took it with a murmur of thanks, setting the ice pack aside so you could take a drink before answering.

“You do know I basically lost, right? If you guys hadn’t broken it up, Gut probably would’ve kicked my ass.” Your anger could only carry you so far before it burned out, and you were sure that Gut knew that just as well as you knew he always hit the same spot twice. All he had to do was outlast you and let the adrenaline run its course for that second strike to hit its mark.

“I don’t think so,” he said before taking a drink, considering his next words carefully. “You looked like you were ready to kill him.”

“I wouldn't have.” You said it defensively, but not like you were trying to convince Adrian. No, you said it like you were trying to convince yourself. Which was good, because he didn't look like he bought it at all.

“Hey, no judgement here,” he assured you, raising his hands with open palms towards you. “It was self defense, so it would have been totally justified if you'd killed him.” When you didn't say anything in response, didn't meet his eyes, he leaned in. “It was self defense, right?” The seriousness in his voice was enough to make you look at him, the smile on his face gone entirely as you met his eyes.

“Yeah. Obviously. He threw the first punch.”

All at once, the darkness left Adrian's face and he was smiling again, bright and beaming as if the previous moment hadn’t happened. You blinked at his sudden change in demeanor, at the way he had let his facade slip for just a moment, but you had no time to dwell on it before he was speaking again. “Then it's all good! So, will you teach me?”

“Sure, Adrian. I'll teach you. But don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're a newbie,” you told him, grinning wryly as you took another sip of beer.

“If I wanted you to go easy on me, I wouldn't have asked you at all.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, the two of you catching up and cracking jokes as if no time had passed at all. For all your trips to the shooting range or nights out on patrol, sitting on the couch with Adrian was the first time you felt like moving back to Evergreen was actually the right choice.

Despite your best efforts to stay up longer, to not let the conversation with Adrian end just because you were too tired, you ended up asleep on the couch before your beer was even half finished. When you woke up, the sun illuminating the living room and making you groan, there was a pillow under your head and a blanket draped over you. Not only that, but the mess from the party had been cleaned up entirely. The trash had been picked up and taken out, the dishes in the sink were all washed, and a fresh icepack was already waiting for you in the freezer when you went to assemble one yourself. You read the note stuck to the fridge door as you poured yourself a cup of water instead, hoping to fight off the hangover before it set in with force.

Did you know that baby manta rays are born in the shape of a burrito? :P

The drawing that accompanied it looked nothing like either a manta ray or a burrito, but it still made you smile wide. When you texted Adrian to thank him for cleaning, and for the fun fact, he responded almost immediately. You wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been waiting all morning for you to wake up. With anyone else, you probably would have been unnerved. But when it came to Adrian, all you could think was how sweet it was.

-----------------------------------------------

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

In the weeks that passed since the fight, Gut’s absence from your life barely registered. It didn’t seem to have an effect, Chris was oblivious to the way your friendship had fractured and had taken it in stride that Gut was no longer there when you spent time together. He didn’t care that it was just the two of you going to the shooting range, or playing video games and getting wasted on your couch, or playing video games and getting stoned at his trailer. Or at least, if he did, he didn’t verbalize it.

You would have been more than happy to never discuss it as well. But now, as you sat on the front steps of his trailer passing a bong back and forth, Chris wasn’t going to give you any other option.

“Tell you what happened with what?” The annoyance in your voice betrayed the ignorance you were trying to portray. You refused to look at him, staring pointedly at the night sky as you waited for your turn to come around again.

“Dude. Come on. You know what I’m talking about,” he said, almost surprising you with how soft his voice was as he spoke. He wasn’t exasperated by your unwillingness to respond. Instead, he was sympathetic. “The party? The fight with Gut? Why won’t you talk about it?”

You heaved out a sigh, dragging your hands over your face and pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Do I have to? I’m sure Gut told you everything.”

“No, you don’t have to. I’m just, I don’t know. Trying to be a good fucking friend or whatever. Jesus. Fuck,” he muttered, letting out a heavy sigh of his own. It was then that he passed you the bong, a peace offering of sorts that you gladly accepted. “I know we only met because of Gut, but I like that we’ve been hanging out more. You’re actually pretty cool… When you’re not being a huge jerk, at least.”

“If this is you coming onto me, I’m so not interested, Chris.”

“What? No, I’m not- that’s not what this is. I’m way too fucking scared of you to want to fuck you, you’d probably rip my dick off or some shit.”

“Only if you asked me to, chimp arm.”

“Yeah, see, that’s why I don’t want to fuck you.”

There was a beat where the two of you just looked at each other, staring each other down intensely as if another fight was going to erupt, before you both burst into laughter.

“You are a good friend, Chris,” you assured, when the laughter died down into the occasional fit of giggles. You had to admit that you liked spending time with him too, that you liked how much more fun the two of you were having without Gut around. “If anyone’s not, it’s me. I don’t think Gut’s ever going to forgive me.” Not that you wanted him to. You really didn’t feel all that sorry, either. You knew you had to act remorseful to some degree though, if only so you didn’t lose Chris too.

“I think he just needs some time to cool off, that’s all. You know how he gets. He’ll be back out with us again in no time.”

-----------------------------------------------

It was Adrian who told you that Gut had moved out of Evergreen, packing up his stuff while everyone was asleep and driving off without a word. The only sign that anything was different in the Chase household was that the keys to his basement bedroom were now on Adrian’s lanyard. Adrian tried to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault, that Gut had been talking about moving out for a long time now, but you weren’t stupid. Even worse, you didn’t feel bad. All you felt was relief that you probably wouldn’t see him ever again.

If anything good came from it all though, it was that Chris was a lot nicer to Adrian. Once the dust settled from Gut’s sudden move, the three of you began to hang out on a regular basis. He still tended to get annoyed with Adrian, especially when he began to criticize the accuracy of the gore in Mortal Kombat, but he was much less aggressive about it than he used to be. You were pretty sure the only reason Chris was so tolerant now was that he liked the attention that came from how badly Adrian wanted to impress him, but he denied it each time you confronted him about it.

It wasn’t lost on you that you had started to see Adrian more once Gut was out of Evergreen either. Not just because he was also hanging out with you and Chris more frequently, but because he just always seemed to be around whenever you were at home. You didn’t mind, though. It had been strictly business at first when he’d come over after a shift at Fennel Fields, teaching him how to fight as promised. You weren’t sure when he’d started sticking around after, the two of you talking about nothing in particular late into the night as you patched each other up.

That had been the routine for some time when Adrian showed up one night, a plastic bag in hand that he brought into the kitchen and set down on the counter like it was a precious artifact. You followed, trying to figure out what he’d brought along with him.

“What’s in the bag?” you asked as he began to search through your cabinets.

“Mozzarella sticks and garlic zoodles. I figured since I’m always showing up so late, I could at least bring you some dinner for the trouble.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Adrian stated as he retrieved two plates, bumping the cabinet door shut with his shoulder as he set them down on the counter next to the bag. “But I wanted to. So, to borrow some words that you once said to me, don’t be so difficult.”

You wanted to make a snide comment, or to tell him to wipe the smug smile off of his face, but all that you could think about was how sweet of a gesture it was. It made it hard to want to fight him after he’d been so kind, even if he was a willing participant.

“Do you maybe want to just… Watch a movie tonight?” you asked, a flush rising to your cheeks when Adrian froze like a deer in headlights and stared at you. “You don’t have to let me kick your ass every time you come over, you know? I wouldn’t mind if we just hung out sometimes.”

”Aw, but you kicking my ass is the best part!”

“Adrian. I’m being serious.”

“So am I. But sure! We can hang out tonight, no ass-kicking required. Can I pick the movie?”

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Adrian had graduated from hand-to-hand combat when he was able to put up a fair fight against you. The only thing that held him back from winning was his unwillingness to hurt you, refusing to fight dirty to get the upper hand the same way you did. The next step was for him to learn how to shoot, and you knew just the place to teach him.

The shooting range, as you’d come to call it, was what must have been a dump for the trailer park that Chris lived in at some point, a mess of old appliances and discarded housewares. A drunken stumble into the woods was how he had found it initially, and by some miracle he was able to remember the way back in the morning. Almost everything was full of bullet holes or shattered to pieces from your numerous trips there, but you were able to replenish the targets whenever something was free on the side of the road.

“Should I be worried about the fact that you're bringing me into the woods with what is, almost certainly, a duffel bag full of weapons?” Adrian asked as he trailed along behind you, being careful to watch where he was stepping. The path to the shooting range was second nature to you, but it was brand new to him and he’d already tripped over a protruding tree root twice.

“Oh, what, now the fact that I kill people makes you uncomfortable?” You teased, adjusting the strap of the bag to move it to your other shoulder. Adrian reached out to take it from you as you did so, and you let him. You’d stopped resisting those little gestures, those little things he wanted to do for you, some time ago. Those were the only fights Adrian could win against you, you’d come to realize. There was no point in trying.

“No, not at all! I'm just saying, it's a little suspicious. If I was going to kill someone, this is totally where I'd do it!”

“Is that why you took the bag from me? How do I know you're not gonna try to kill me instead?”

“Because,” Adrian started, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced over at you. “If there's anything I've learned over the last few months, it's that you'd have a bullet through my head before I could even think about pulling the trigger.” There was something in the way that he said it, something in the look that he gave you, that made heat rise to your cheeks. You quickly ducked your head, avoiding his gaze as you picked up the pace to get ahead of him. “What a way to go, though. Wow.”

You motioned for Adrian to put down the duffel bag once you reached your destination, waiting for him to do so before kneeling down to unzip it. It was, as he had predicted, full of firearms. Most of them you wouldn’t even touch that day because for as long as you’d spent drilling gun safety into his head, you hadn’t actually seen Adrian shoot. He claimed to have done it before, but you doubted it. It wasn’t like Gut would have taught him. A lot of your weapons weren’t for beginners, you wanted to assess his skill level before you set him loose with anything that had full-auto.

“Holy shit. I know you said you had guns, but I didn’t think you had guns.”

”I don’t use all of them all of the time. Some of them are for special occasions only.”

”What kind of special occasion would *that one warrant?” He asked, pointing at the assault rifle nestled in among the rest.

“If someone really pisses me off,” you responded with a grin, retrieving a pistol and a box of ammunition. You held both out to Adrian, his fingers twitching in anticipation as he took them from you. “Get that loaded while I set up the targets, will you?”

It turned out that, even though he was out of practice, Adrian was still a pretty good shot. He wasn’t hitting the targets’ center, but he wasn’t missing them completely either. You could work with that. It helped that Adrian hung onto your every word, eager to accept your feedback and put it into practice. You were both polite enough to ignore the way his breath hitched, the way your cheeks flushed pink, each time you put a hand on him to fine-tune his aim, each time you nudged his foot with yours to adjust his stance.

With each trip to the shooting range, something began to settle in between you. It was tension, but not the kind that lingered in the air before a fight. You were sure that Adrian wasn’t oblivious to it, but maybe he was in just as much denial as you were.

-----------------------------------------------

“I fucking told you were were in over our heads with this one,” you growled as you got into the passenger seat of Chris’ car, slamming the door for emphasis. He didn’t respond right away, huffing as he turned the key in the ignition and turning up the volume on the radio when it started to play.

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you got stabbed. Maybe if you’d been watching my back, I wouldn’t have had to go after that guy up in the loft!”

“Oh, I wasn’t watching your back? Where the fuck were you when that guy had me pinned? My neck is gonna be bruised as hell, not to mention I’m gonna have to spend half the night stitching myself up!”

“I’m sorry, okay? I thought you had it handled!” Chris was rough with the shifter as put the car into gear, peeling out from the alley he’d parked in. You groaned as you were jostled by how quickly he took the turn, pain radiating from your side. Your hand flew to apply pressure to the wound there. “You gonna be okay?” His voice changed when he heard you in pain. It was softer, calmer, his eyebrows drawn together in concern as he looked at you.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you assured him, taking your hand away from your side to make sure that it came back clean. “I’m not bleeding anymore, it just… It hurts a hell of a lot.” You were quiet for a moment, then, “I’m sorry I didn’t see the guy upstairs.”

”Nah, don’t. Don’t do that,” Chris started, shaking his head quickly as he raised a hand to cut you off. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you, I shouldn’t have let you get pinned like that.” That was why you worked so well with Chris, you figured. For as angry as the two of you could get at each other, you always made up in the end. Neither of you were capable of holding a grudge for long. “Looked badass as hell when you kicked that asshole in the nuts and shot him, though. Gotta give you credit there.” He was grinning now, drumming along to the beat of the music on the radio.

“It was badass, wasn’t it?” You responded with a smile as you took stock of your injuries. They weren’t as bad as they could have been, all things considered. Still, you really weren’t looking forward to giving yourself sutures. It was the one thing that still managed to make you squeamish.

The rest of the drive to your house was filled with bickering and out-of-tune singing along to the radio, though the latter was entirely Chris’ doing. Both of you looked like hell, bloodied and beaten, but that didn’t mean you weren’t having a good time. You appreciated that he was making his turns more gently, too.

“Who’s the Sebring?” Chris asked as he pulled into your driveway, and your head snapped to attention so you could follow his gaze. Sure enough, Adrian’s car was parked next to yours, and you let out a groan. Even though he was over almost every night these days, it had slipped your mind entirely in the midst of all the chaos earlier in the evening.

“Oh, shit. It’s Adrian, I forgot he was coming over tonight. Fuck.”

”What, are you two banging now or something?”

”Grow the hell up, would you?” You grabbed your bag from the floor, shoving your gun and whatever other gear you didn’t want your neighbors seeing into it. “We were just gonna have a movie night, I wanted to show him Kill Bill. Can you believe he’s never seen it?”

”Oh, yeah, a movie night,” Chris drawled sarcastically, putting air quotes around the word ‘movie.’ “I’ve had lots of those.”

“I hope you crash on the way home,” you told him as you got out of the car, sticking your tongue out at him before kicking the door shut.

Chris rolled down his window so he could yell a, “Love you too!” in response, and you only flipped him off over your shoulder in response. As you walked up the driveway and past Adrian’s car, he popped out, following right on your heels as you made your way to the porch. You weren’t sure how long he’d been waiting, but he never complained when a patrol ran longer than you expected.

“Are you okay? You’re all covered in blood, what happened?” Adrian questioned, and you could only sigh softly. As much as you appreciated his concern, you really just wanted to go inside and tend to your wounds in solace.

“Tonight's patrol didn't go so well. You should probably just go home, Adrian,” you told him as you dug around in the bag for your keys, hurrying up the steps once you found them.

“Is Chris going to stay and help you?” He ignored your suggestion to leave, following you up onto the porch and standing next to you as you unlocked the door. The last time he’d seen you so bloody was the night of the party, the night you’d fought Gut, but that had only left you with a broken nose. He wasn’t going to go until he was sure that you were going to be okay, and right then he wasn’t convinced. You really couldn’t blame him, either.

“No, he just always waits until I'm inside to leave.” You unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. Adrian lingered awkwardly on the porch, glancing between you and the driveway until you motioned impatiently. “If you're not going to go, then you might as well get in here. I don't need my neighbors seeing me like this.” You waved to Chris after Adrian followed you inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Do you… Want some help?” Adrian asked, watching you as you dropped your bag to the floor and began taking off pieces of armor. You left a trail of gear from the front door to the bathroom, turning on lights as you went so you could get a better look at everything.

“I don't know. Maybe. Do you know how to do stitches?” You asked as you crouched down, going through the cabinet under the sink for your first aid kit. When you stood, you cried out sharply as the wound on your side strained. You could feel warmth spreading across your shirt as you gripped the edge of the sink for support, and with a hiss you snatched a towel and pressed it to the cut.

Adrian appeared next to you then, a concerned look on his face as he watched yours twist in pain. “I've never done them before, but yeah, in theory I do. I've been brushing up on first aid since I helped you with your nose.”

You nodded slowly, a hand keeping the towel in place as you clumsily opened up the first aid kit with the other. “Right. Great, that fills me with a lot of confidence, Adrian.” Really, it was going to suck no matter who did the sutures. You were being too hard on him, and you knew it. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

”Not harsher than getting stabbed a whole bunch, I bet,” Adrian said easily, sliding the first aid kit away from you so he could start going through it. You tried to protest, and to insist that you’d only been stabbed once, but he ignored you in favor of searching for supplies. Once he set out what he needed, he looked your way again, and you could just feel the way that he was examining you, trying to determine if there was anything else he’d need to patch up. “What happened to your neck?”

“Oh, that?” You raised a hand, touching where you knew the bruise was forming before huffing in frustration. “Some asshole was, I don’t know, I guess he was trying to torture me, but he was choking me so hard I couldn’t tell him anything even if I wanted to.”

”What’d you do to him?” Adrian asked, clearing his throat when he realized he was being a little too eager when he asked that question. You didn’t mind, though.

“I went limp so he’d drop me, then I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could and shot him in the head when he doubled over,” you responded, hopping up to sit on the counter with a wince. “Chris thought it was me screaming at first, until he saw me shoot the poor fucker.” You were smiling as you recounted the night’s events, and Adrian let out a laugh. He moved to stand in front of you then, the suture supplies next to you on the counter, but when he lifted his hand he didn’t reach for them. His fingertips grazed along your neck instead, against the outline of the still-forming bruise, and you held your breath as you fought the instinct to recoil from his touch.

“It’s too bad you killed him so quickly,” he murmured, and the words sent a shiver down your spine.

“Chris doesn’t like it when I drag it out for too long.” The confession came out in a whisper, and as Adrian’s eyes met yours, you had a hard time making out the expression on his face. “He gets scared. Of me, I think. Otherwise, I would have.”

”Why would he be scared of that? It’s not like he doesn’t kill people too.”

”Because.” You paused, averting your eyes and pushing his hand away. If it weren’t for the way he asked the question like he already knew the answer, you would have been less inclined to answer. You weren’t sure you could handle it if Adrian feared you the same way Chris did, but he’d only ever found those parts of your personality fascinating. Surely this would be no different. “He gets freaked out because of how much I like it when I kill them slow like that. And I do. The fact that they’re getting the death they deserve makes it so much more satisfying than shooting them outright.”

The way Adrian’s breath hitched had your eyes snapping back to him, and you were worried for a moment that you had scared him too. Then, he spoke. “God, okay, I know I’m crossing so many lines when I say this but that is literally the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. Holy shit.” You blinked in surprise, but Adrian just kept going. “I don't care if you think I'm weird or creepy for saying that- Okay, that's a lie, I do care, a lot, but it's been hard enough pretending I don't totally get a hard on watching you fight or shoot or even just thinking about it really, so I think it would actually kill me if I heard you say that and had to pretend to act normal after.”

Adrian's rambling was making your head spin. That wasn’t exactly the reaction you’d been expecting, your brain working overtime to process what you were hearing. You'd never met someone who not only didn't mind when you did those things, but liked it. More than that, he was into you because of it. You’d spent months pushing your feelings for him aside and so you wouldn’t have to confront them, only for him to blurt his out at random.

Though you wanted to talk to Adrian, or to at the very least tell him you didn’t think he was weird or creepy for what he said, you weren’t sure you’d be able to get a word in. No matter how many times you said his name to try and get his attention, he just kept talking. So you reached up, grabbing the collar of that stupid Fennel Fields uniform shirt to drag him into a kiss instead. For a second, he was still talking against your lips. When he realized what was happening, his hands found your face as he kissed you back with fervor.

“Okay, wait,” he said when he pulled back suddenly, “I just want to make sure that you didn't, like, feel pressured to kiss me and that-”

“Adrian,” you started, and this time when you said it, he stopped talking and listened. “I kissed you because I've wanted to for… I don't know, since we started going to the shooting range. That was the closest I could get to asking you out.” Really, it had been a lot longer than that, but that was all you were willing to confess to in the moment.

“What?! You totally should have! Do you know how awesome of a first date you teaching me to shoot would’ve been? I totally would have pretended to know nothing just so you could show off!”

“I'd rather you just be you, Adrian.”

“But no one ever wants me to be me.”

He said it simply, like he was stating something as obvious as “the sky is blue” or “the grass is green.” But you could see the small way his expression changed, could hear the hint of sadness in his voice.

“I do,” you murmured, cupping his cheek and smiling when he leaned into your touch. “I happen to like you a lot for it, too.”

“Enough to let me take you out to dinner sometime? Not to Fennel Fields either, you deserve a proper first date.”

“Definitely enough for that, yes.”

Adrian’s smile could have lit up the whole room, his dimples on display as you pressed another kiss to his lips. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. When his thumbs slipped under the hem of your shirt, you winced, swearing into the kiss as Adrian put pressure on the knife wound there.

“Son of a bitch,” you hissed, pulling away from the kiss as Adrian jumped back like he’d been burned. You felt a little embarrassed, as you looked at his hand that was glistening red, that you’d gotten so caught up in the moment. “Sorry, shit… I didn’t think it was still bleeding that bad.”

This time, when Adrian offered to stitch your wounds for you, you didn’t turn him down. He was as gentle as he could be, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated, deft hands moving like he’d done this a thousand times before. You never would have known that wasn’t the case if he hadn’t told you himself.

After the sutures were done and the blood was wiped away, Adrian helped you down from the counter, and you didn’t let go of his hand even after you were steady on your feet and walking towards the living room.

You leaned down to catch his lips in a kiss, nibbling gently at his bottom lip but pulling away when he tried to deepen the kiss. The whine of complaint Adrian let out sent heat straight to your core. He pushed himself up to try and follow after you, but you pushed him right back down. He looked so pretty beneath you, with his hair plastered to his forehead by sweat, mouth open as he whimpered from even the slightest movement of your hips. You would have taken a picture, but you still hadn't bothered to charge your phone.

“You're so pretty,” you murmured, running your hands over his chest, over the muscles there. Adrian's hands moved to your hips to keep you steady as you shifted, reaching a hand between you to stroke his length slowly. He tipped his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes, letting out a low moan that reverberated through his chest. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

“You got lucky?” Adrian asked, laughing in disbelief before he cut himself off with another moan. “It's a goddamn miracle you even looked my way. I was head over heels for y- Fuck that feels good babe… I was head over heels for you the second you tackled Gut to the ground.”

“I could've fought anybody that night and you still would've been head over heels for me.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing. Have you ever seen yourself when you fight? It's so fucking hot.” Adrian's hands squeezed your hips tight, bucking up into your hand just from the thought of it. It was no wonder the two of you ended up ditching Chris when you were out on patrols so often. Adrian found you absolutely irresistible. “So hot I really think you need to let me fuck you again before I cum just thinking about it, holy shit.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one begging?” You teased, though the fondness in your voice was unmistakable. He stuck his tongue out at you before he gave your ass a firm smack, making you cry out in surprise. You lifted your hips all at once then, just enough to guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, your breath hitching as you sank down onto him. “Oh, Adrian…” The angle made you feel him that much more, the fullness making you tip your head back and moan loudly.

You could feel the way Adrian’s muscles strained as he resisted the urge to thrust up into you, allowing you to set the pace despite the way he acted like it was going to kill him. He moaned with each movement of your hips, his hands roaming your body as you bounced on his cock, squeezing and smacking and digging his nails in wherever he could reach.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that? Oh my god,” he breathed, cupping your breasts appreciatively before dropping a hand down so his fingers could circle your clit. You choked out a moan, thighs trembling as you attempted to keep your hips moving steadily. “You were all I could think about for the last four years, I waited and waited and waited and fuck you are so worth it.”

“Fuck, Adrian… So are you. So, so worth it.” There wasn't a day that had gone by where you hadn't thought about him. Where you didn't imagine the sound of his voice, the way that he smiled when he looked at you, the feeling of his hands on your body. Most of your thoughts were innocent, but there were moments late at night where they turned downright filthy, though you’d never admit that to him. He'd never let you hear the end of it if you did.

Adrian gripped your hips tightly when your pace began to falter, dragging you all the way down onto his cock and grinding up into you. Even when he was all the way inside you, it wasn't enough for him. He always wanted more. You gasped sharply, the sensation so intense that you tried to lift your hips away from it, but he held you too tight. Clinging to the headboard, you cried out his name as you were pushed over the edge. That didn’t mean Adrian let go of you, though. Your choked out moans and panting breaths were among Adrian's favorite sounds, and you were an endless stream of both as he continued to rock his hips up into you, not giving you a moment to recover.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now,” he breathed, his eyes full of admiration as he looked up at you. “I'd keep you right here forever if I could.” Unable to resist how good you looked, he pushed himself up, taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around your nipple. You moaned weakly, tangling your fingers into his hair as you leaned into him.

Adrian slid his hands from your hips, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze as he moved his mouth to your other breast. You thought nothing of the way he was holding onto you, distracted by the aftershocks of your orgasm and Adrian’s teeth grazing over your sensitive skin. Even as he shifted to plant his feet against the bed, you didn’t realize what he was doing until your back hit the mattress all at once, making you gasp in surprise. You barely had time to wrap your legs around his waist before he moved, pulling out almost entirely before driving himself back into you in one swift motion. Arching your back against his chest, you cried out loudly with each thrust. One hand tangled in his hair and tugged harshly at his curls, the other gripping his bicep and feeling the way his muscles flexed under your hold.

Your next orgasm built so quickly that all Adrian had to do was keep fucking you, rough and relentless until you were screaming his name. The way you clung to him and tightened around him only encouraged him, thrusting faster, harder, deeper to chase his own release and reducing you to nothing more than a mess of whimpers and moans beneath him. When Adrian finally buried his cock in you, his face pressed against your neck as he grunted and groaned, you felt like you were in a daze. His hips twitched as he came, filling you all over again as you fought to catch your breath. The weight of Adrian's body pressing down on yours was grounding, but only just.

Adrian was in no rush to separate himself from you. Instead, he pressed kisses across your shoulder, up your neck, along your jaw until he reached your lips. It was soft and sweet when he kissed you, desperation replaced by tenderness now that the both of you had been satiated. You were sure you were going to regret letting Adrian leave so many marks on your skin in the morning. The bites and bruises never faded as quickly on you as they did on him, but for the moment you didn’t care.

“So worth the wait,” Adrian murmured, and you hummed softly in agreement before pressing another kiss to his lips. Then, he shifted, pulling out of you agonizingly slow just to hear the way you whimpered against his lips. “How about we take a shower, then I'll maybe let you get some rest?”

“You think I can stand after all of that?” You asked, turning your head so you could watch Adrian as he got out of bed. Searching around in the pile of abandoned clothes, Adrian retrieved his boxers and pulled them on, shrugging a shoulder when he looked at you.

“Well, I'm not sure sleeping in a puddle of cum is all that sanitary, so…” He trailed off as he returned to you, taking in the sight of you as though it was the first time he’d ever seen you in such a state. “I guess I'll just have to carry you.” His own legs were a little wobbly, but you trusted that he wouldn’t drop you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lifted you, holding you tight against his chest and carrying you across the hall to the bathroom.

You were more than content to lean against him once you were in the shower, the warmth of the water and his body radiating through you as he helped you clean off. He was so gentle with you as he shampooed your hair and lathered you up, and by the time he was done you were steady enough on your feet to return the favor. You even gave him a shampoo mohawk before tipping his head back into the water, the two of you laughing as the soapy water ran down his face. He’d pushed you against the tile then, kissing you in between murmurs of how much he missed you until the water ran cold.

After, you got dressed in a fresh pair of panties and one of Adrian's shirts before crawling into bed. Only the top blanket had been a casualty of your first night back together, joining the clothes on the floor until one of you could be bothered to do laundry. He got into bed behind you after putting on a clean pair of boxers, wrapping an arm around you tight and burying his face into your hair. You didn’t tease him as you heard him take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of you to prove to himself that you were really there.

“Goodnight, Adrian.” The weight of his arm draped over you, the feeling of his chest pressed to your back, made it easy for you to feel safe. You felt comfortable, relaxed even.

You were given your personal items back during the overnight transport to Evergreen. Phone, wallet, keys, the clothes you’d been wearing when you were arrested, some mementos from your cell. The basics. You attempted to turn on your phone, cursing quietly when the ‘dead battery’ alert flashed on the screen before it went dark again. It had been a while.

As you changed from the orange uniform into your civilian clothes, you were given the conditions of your release. It all boiled down to, ‘do what we say and make sure the Peacemaker does too, or we’ll kill you both.’ You expected nothing less, but you certainly appreciated them being upfront about it.

------------------------------------------

They dropped you off just outside the center of town, probably intending for you to go right to the Task Force X office. However, they hadn’t explicitly said to go there right away. Their mistake. You decided to make your way home first, just to see if it was still standing. There were a few things you wanted to get before you met the team anyway. It was easy enough to get a taxi, paying your fare with a crumpled wad of bills when you arrived.

The first thing you noticed was that your car was in the driveway. You would have assumed that it would have been repossessed for non-payment ages ago, but the registration sticker didn’t expire until the following year. The outside of the house wasn’t as rundown as you would have expected it to be either. It looked like someone had mowed not too long ago, and the flower beds weren't too overgrown with weeds. Had someone bought it, and just happened to have bought the car too? That would be weird, but you figured it wasn’t impossible.

The idea that it could be someone else’s home now didn’t deter you from going up to the door and trying your key in the lock. You were curious. You needed to know what was inside. To your surprise, your key turned and the lock clicked. Didn’t people usually change the locks after moving into a new home? Maybe they forgot. Maybe they figured they didn't need to. Turning the knob, you swallowed hard and prepared yourself for what you might find inside.

You weren’t sure why it was so unnerving. It was your home, after all. It looked almost exactly as you had left it over four years ago. In fact, it was cleaner. But then, you noticed it. The furniture in the living room was all the same, but your belongings were gone. The shoes in the rack by the door weren’t yours, the copies of Pro Soldier on the coffee table definitely weren’t yours, and the pillows and blankets on your couch weren't any that you owned. You quickly stepped back outside and shut the door, locking it once more. It didn’t matter that you had come all this way and still had to go back into town. You couldn’t go in any further, even to try looking for your car keys.

You had expected the place to be a rundown piece of shit. You had expected it to be a mess inside after the cops tore it apart looking for evidence. Hell, you had even expected to open the door to find someone else sitting on the couch, telling you to get the fuck out of their house. But you hadn't expected that.

The walk back into town brought you some much needed time to gather your thoughts, to pull yourself together before your time in Project Butterfly began in earnest. The taskforce's office turned out to be a rundown building on the bad side of town, a place you probably would have walked right by if it weren’t for Peacemaker’s stupid car parked out front. Old papers were plastered in the bottom half of the windows, ensuring that passing pedestrians couldn't peer in. Trash blew by on the sidewalk, and the gutters overflowed with leaves.

How charming, you thought as you knocked on the door, shuffling from foot to foot and praying they would let you in before someone saw you. There may not have been a lot of foot traffic, but you still didn’t want to take the chance. It would have also been nice to have your uniform on, to look like the trained killer they were expecting rather than someone who just rolled out of bed. Even if you had been brave enough to go looking for it, you really weren’t sure it would have even been in the house anymore.

When the door swung open, you were quickly hauled inside by the elbow. You didn’t see who it was as they wrapped you in a quick hug, only able to look once strong hands gripped your shoulders and held you at arm’s length.

“Chris?” You weren’t expecting to see a familiar face so soon, but you would have been lying if you said it wasn’t a relief to see Peacemaker himself, Christopher Smith, standing in front of you.

“I thought they were fucking with me when they said you were joining the team, I didn’t think they would ever let you out!” He cackled with delight, shaking you by the shoulders before you knocked his hands away.

“Yeah, me neither,” you confessed as you stepped back, glancing around the room. For as dingy as the building was on the outside, it was even worse on the inside. One of the desks had a bucket on it, catching water that dripped from a pipe overhead. It would have looked truly abandoned were it not for the people staring at you. You ignored them in favor of turning back to Chris, mirroring his grin. “I’m just glad I’m not the only one of us wrapped up in all of this. I was worried they were fucking with me too.”

One of the men approached you then, introducing himself as Murn and shaking your hand. Then, you were introduced to the rest of the team. Harcourt, your handler. John Economos, tech and tactics. Leota Adebayo, everything else. Leota was the friendliest of all of them, actually welcoming you to the team instead of staring you down like you were a threat.

“We need you to do contract work, alongside Peacemaker.” You’d figured as much, that you’d be another one of A.R.G.U.S.’s hired guns, but you knew it wasn’t going to be as simple as Murn was making it sound.

“I had a feeling. So if Peacemaker’s on board, I am too.” When you looked towards Chris, he gave you a thumbs up but mouthed, ‘we’ll talk later,’ to you. Harcourt glanced at him then, an eyebrow raised, but he quickly coughed and covered his mouth with his hand to play it off. Smooth.

Still, your words seemed to be reassuring enough that you were part of the cause. After examining you for a moment, Murn nodded. “Good. Study this, and don’t let anyone see it but you.” You were dismissed after being handed a dossier. Leota informed you that the team would be meeting for dinner that night, and that you and Peacemaker were expected to be there. She also informed you about the dopeness of the mozzarella sticks where you’d be going, and she seemed excited when you actually appreciated her suggestion.

When Chris suggested going to kill time somewhere else, you gladly took him up on it. Neither of you were keen to spend the next several hours waiting around in a musty office. As the two of you got into the Peace-Mobile, you settled for going to his trailer for celebratory ‘we got out of prison’ drinks.

“Hey, this is kinda weird, but can I crash on your couch?” You asked once the car doors were shut, glancing towards Chris.

“What? Why do you need to crash on my couch? Don’t you own a whole ass house?”

“I do. I did. I don’t know,” you start, sighing heavily and pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “It’s bizarre. My stuff is there but it isn’t really my stuff anymore. Someone else has all their shit on my shelves, and I think they're sleeping on the couch.”

”Freaky. You think you got a squatter?”

”I have no fucking clue, honestly. So can I stay with you until I get shit figured out?”

“Sure, I guess. Place is a fucking mess though, fucking cops. Tore the whole place apart.” There was a pause as he got the car started, turning up the radio before pulling onto the street. “You know, I’ve been hitting the shooting range with Vigilante a lot, but it hasn’t been the same without you. You gotta join us next time! He was asking about you last time I saw him.”

Your stomach lurched at the mention of Vigilante, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Chris knew that you and Vigilante were friends. You went out on patrols with them or would join them at the shooting range, and he knew that you would spend a lot of time with Vigilante whenever he was too busy to. He didn’t know the full extent of your relationship, as far as you could tell.

“Yeah, maybe. It’d be fun to blow some shit up,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to see Vigilante so soon. “He asked about me?”

”Well, you know how he is. Dude can get fucking nosy sometimes, he wanted to know everything about what was going on. Why I was out, that whole thing. I told him that I was working for the government, killing people for them, so he wanted to know if you’d gotten the same deal,” he explained, shrugging a shoulder. “You should’ve seen him when I said I didn’t know. You would’ve thought I killed, like, a bunny rabbit in front of him or something.”

”Did he seem… Angry? That I was in prison with you?”

”Angry? No, why would he be angry about that? I mean, he was upset with me for not knowing if you were getting out, but when I first said you were in prison he seemed… I don't know. Excited. It was weird.”

“Excited,” you repeated, the word hanging heavy on your tongue as you mulled it over. “It's not that weird. Not for Vigilante, at least.”

“It's pretty weird. You don't think he narced on us, do you?”

“No, your Facebook statuses did a good enough job of that on their own. He probably thought I was dead, they wouldn't let me contact anybody to let them know what was going on.”

“And you would’ve told Vigilante? What, were you two fuck-buddies or something?”

“No,” you said firmly, “It just would have been nice to tell someone what was going on.”

“Uh huh, sure. You two just ditched me on patrols for no reason then? That's so not cool, dude!” Okay, maybe Chris knew more about your relationship with Vigilante than you thought.

“So it would have been okay if we were going off to have sex in the middle of patrol?”

“No! But at least if you were, it’d make sense that I wasn’t invited! Instead, it was just the two of you being the worst friends ever,” Chris huffed, and you really couldn’t tell whether he was genuinely upset or just playing it up for the bit.

“Well, I don’t kiss and tell, so I guess you’ll never know.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent at Chris’ trailer as he filled you in on everything about Project Butterfly that Murn had conveniently left out when telling you about the “contract work” you needed to do. He told you about the crazy lady that he’d fought (but not before mentioning how awesome her tits were), his theory that she had to have been some sort of metahuman because of her relentless pursuit of him, and how he’d needed to disintegrate her with his helmet to stop her from killing him. Now the two of you were tasked with killing more of them, starting with some guy named Royland Goff.

”How the hell did you even get dragged into this?” He asked as you flipped through the dossier, still not able to get over his bewilderment that you were back in Evergreen. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be kicking bad guy ass with you again, but… It seemed like they were trying pretty hard to bury you. How’d you end up on their radar for release?”

“I know you. That was enough for them to get me involved.” The silence was heavy between you when you said that, the weight of the situation settling in. Chris stood suddenly, unable to tolerate it for any longer. Crossing the room and digging around in the fridge, he returned with two beers in hand, popping the top of one and passing it over to you. You took it with a murmur of thanks. “They’re worried that you’ll be too much of a loose cannon. I think they’re hoping that by me being here, you’ll be easier to reign in.”

”Yeah, like that’s ever worked,” Chris scoffed, rolling his eyes before taking a drink. “Gut always said the same thing about you being around, look where it got us.”

“In jail?”

”No, out! Say what you will about the job, it sure beats rotting in prison.” He raised his bottle to you then, grinning wide when you clinked yours against it.

“I'll drink to that.”

------------------------------------------

Chris was driving, Eagly sitting in the backseat like always, as you made your way back into town. You had kind of missed the bird. Kind of. The feeling vanished when he tried to eat your hair and peck out your eyes. The windows were down, the radio blasting as Chris sang along to the Quireboys. For a moment, it was like the last four years had never happened. However, the closer you got to your destination, the more dread began to settle heavy in your chest.

Fennel Fields. Why did it have to be Fennel fucking Fields?

“You gotta try the zoodles, they are awesome,” Chris told you as you both got out of the car. He reached back in to pet Eagly, who pecked his hand, and instructed him to be a good boy before shutting the door.

“Chris, I’ve had the zoodles here before. They’re really not that good.”

When the two of you joined the rest of the team inside, Chris immediately called out for ‘Sweet Cheeks’ to come take his order. Everyone groaned, but he didn’t seem to notice their displeasure.

“I can’t believe you guys fuckin’ ordered without me again,” he muttered, shaking his head in disapproval as the waitress approached.

“At least you didn’t wear your costume this time,” Harcourt quipped, a smile playing at her lips. Maybe it was a good thing you weren’t able to get yours from the house after all.

Even though you didn’t feel like eating, you ordered mozzarella sticks for the sake of taking advantage of the free meal offered to you. The bickering resumed as the waitress walked away from the table, but it was easy to tune it out. You were too busy looking around the room, searching.

At first glance, it seemed like it was going to be an uneventful dinner. Then, the door to the kitchen swung open as a familiar busboy walked through and began to clear off a table. To your right, Chris laughed at something Leota said, and the busboy’s head snapped to attention. Seeing Chris, he grinned that goofy grin of his, but then he registered that you were sitting next to him. You gasped as you made eye contact with Adrian Chase from across the room, who knocked the tub of dirty dishes off of the table he was clearing at the sight of you. It clattered to the ground noisily, but he didn’t look away. Neither could you.

“Hey, isn’t that the weird busboy from the other night?” Economos asked, pointing as he looked between the two of you. You watched as manager rounded the corner and yelled at Adrian for making a mess. He immediately knelt down, disappearing from view as he picked up the dishes and returned them to the tub. “You know him too?”

”Uh,” you began, forcing yourself to turn your attention back to the group. They were all staring at you. You wanted to disappear.

“I already told you guys, we’re friends with his older brother.” You were grateful that Chris spoke up, though he wasn’t about to let you off the hook entirely. ”He looked at you like he was seeing a ghost, what the hell was that about?”

You stood up abruptly then, but you had no idea what your plan was. What could you even say without raising more questions? “I need some air,” you stated before quickly exiting the restaurant. This was all so fucked. You’d never charged your phone when you were at Chris’. You’d never told Adrian you were back. No one had ever told him what happened to you in the first place. And now you were there, at his place of work, having dinner like your life had kept going on without him in it. No wonder he looked at you like he’d seen a ghost. He had.

The realization that Adrian would think that, that you’d moved on, and that he might have moved on too, hit you full force. Bile rose up in your throat, and it took everything in you not to throw up in the parking lot. Instead, you sat down on the curb, burying your face against your knees and taking deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, over and over again. The sound of footsteps approaching forced you to pull yourself together quickly, but when you saw who was standing over you, it was almost impossible not to fall apart all over again.

“Is it really you?” Adrian asked, voice clipped. He didn’t seem shocked anymore, he seemed doubtful. Suspicious. You could feel him scrutinizing your appearance, taking in every little detail.

“Adrian, I-“ You choked on the words, swallowing hard as you stood. “Yes, it’s really me.” He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes as he leaned in.

“Prove it,” he said, staring you down as he issued the challenge. “Say something only the real you would know.”

You didn’t blame Adrian for being suspicious. You would have been too, if he was the one who had disappeared for four years and reappeared so suddenly. You’d probably be asking him to do the very same thing. So you took a moment to consider his challenge, coming up with the only thing you could think of, the only thing that Adrian had ever kept a closely guarded secret.

“I know that you’re actually Vigil-“ You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence before you were embraced in a bone-crushing hug, his head resting against yours as he held you close. The force of his change in demeanor practically knocked the wind out of you, but you didn’t care. You wrapped your arms tight around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“I missed you so much.” You barely heard him, even when he lifted his head so his face was no longer pressed against you. “When I heard that Peacemaker was in prison, I figured that's what happened to you too, but I… I didn't know. I just kept hoping.”

“I missed you too, so fucking much. I wish I could have told you everything, but I didn’t want to put you in danger. They had me in Belle Reve, Ade. You didn’t deserve to end up there too.”

He took a deep breath before nodding slowly, still taking it all in. You knew he would understand, but you also knew that didn’t automatically make it all okay. Curling your fingers into his shirt, you held him closer as he clung to you like a lifeline. When he finally pulled away, he cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing across your cheeks as tears started to fall.

“Why didn’t you tell me you got out? I get why Peacemaker didn’t say anything, but you’re my girlfriend!” He looked like he was trying to be upset, like he knew he was supposed to be mad at you, but he was smiling so, so wide. “I should have been the first to know!”

“I know, Adrian, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I meant to charge my phone and call you, but I got so caught up in everything that I didn’t get the chance.” You felt guilty now that you’d been drinking with Chris instead of trying to get in touch with Adrian. Then, you felt even guiltier because in the moment, you were deliberately pushing it off. “I didn't know if… I was worried that you wouldn’t…”

”What, that I wouldn’t want to be your boyfriend anymore?”

“Yes.”

”Well that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Of course I still want to be your boyfriend!” He said it with so much fondness, like you were an idiot for thinking anything else. You were more than happy to be wrong. “When I saw that Peacemaker got out, I was so fucking excited. But then, you weren’t at home, and when I asked he said he didn’t know what happened to you. I was starting to get worried you really were going to be locked up forever. But you’re here! We get to be together again!” He hesitated a moment before leaning in, closing the distance between you so he could kiss you. It was soft at first, then desperate, the two of you making up for lost time as much as you could with a single kiss.

“Is it really that easy? I’m back and we’re together again, just like that?” You asked when you separated, foreheads pressed together.

“I’d like it to be.”

”But I’m only out because I’m working with Peacemaker, with them. I’m crashing on his nasty fucking couch because I have nowhere to stay. They’re gonna kill me if I don’t do what they want, they didn’t let me out so I could live my life,” you explained in a whisper.

“I spent the last four years wondering if you were dead, babe. I don't give a shit why they let you out, just that you're here.” He grinned as he kissed you again, and you couldn't help but smile too. “Hang on, wait a minute. What do you mean you have nowhere to stay? Did something happen to the house?” Of course that’s what he would latch onto.

”Yes!” You looked up at him, shocked he didn't already know. “Someone’s living in it! I can’t go back there.”

“Uh, yeah, you silly goose. I live there,” Adrian told you, acting like it was obvious and you were the fool for not putting the pieces together. “When I found out Peacemaker was in prison, I figured you would be too. I already had a key so I just… Started paying the bills too. I had to pick up a lot of extra shifts, though. Did you know that your car insurance is ridiculously high? How many accidents have you been in?”

You blinked as you looked at him, taken aback by what you were hearing. “If you’re living in my house, where the hell is all my stuff?”

”I just cleared out the living room because that’s where I’ve been sleeping so I could watch out for burglars and seeing all of your stuff everywhere made me really sad. Oh, and the basement. I left everything else alone.” If this were anyone other than Adrian telling you this, you would have screamed and ran away. Instead, you felt bad for ever doubting that he’d still want to be with you when you got out. He'd always been loyal to a fault. “I wasn’t living there at first, but then my mom kept being a tick on my dick about my secret room and why you never came around anymore and I just got fed up. Plus you never used your basement for anything other than collecting all those dead mice, so I cleaned it up and started using it.” When he was met with silence, he frowned. “Do you want me to move out?”

”No, Adrian, I don’t want you to move out,” you assured quickly, raising a hand to cup his cheek. Neither of you had ever been the best at emotions, you knew what it meant for him to outright say he was sad. It meant not only had the last four years been as difficult for him as they had been for you, they’d been worse. “I don’t ever want to be on my own again.”

His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close as he bumped his nose against yours. “That means I get to start sleeping in the bedroom, right?” You couldn't help but laugh softly, nodding in confirmation before you pulled him into another kiss.

“Whoa! What the fuck is this?” The two of you separated instantly and you felt heat rise to your cheeks when you saw Chris, though Adrian didn’t seem as bothered about being caught. “Since when do you suck face with Gut’s little brother?” A pause, then, “Well, I guess not so little now. Holy shit. You really filled out, dude.”

”Adrian,” you corrected, unable to hide the annoyance in your voice. “He’s my boyfriend. And the squatter that’s been living in my house.” Adrian raised a hand and waved, sing-songing a quiet, ‘hi!’ as he grinned.

Chris quickly looked between the two of you, mouth agape as he processed the information you gave him. “We, uh… We need you back inside, Murn wants to talk about tomorrow night,” he said dumbly, pointing over his shoulder with a thumb. “But I’ll uh… I’ll stall them for a minute so you can… Finish catching up.” He turned on his heel, rushing back inside.

“Well that was close!” Adrian said, taking hold of your hand and pulling you back in. “You’re going to come home tonight, right? You’ll be there when I get done with my shift?” He sounded almost scared that you were going to say no, like you were going to disappear from his life all over again.

You nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll have Chris drop me off when we’re done here. I promise, I’ll be there.” His hold on you tightened for a moment before he let go, satisfied that you were, in fact, real and not just a really vivid figment of his imagination.

The two of you lingered, drawing out the moment for as long as you could. Then, shouting from the back of the building meant that Adrian had to go back to work, and so did you. Nobody made a comment as you returned to your seat at the table, though Chris made it a point to act as though his plate of zoodles was the most interesting thing in the world.

------------------------------------------

The drive home from the restaurant was awkward, to say the least. The radio was blasting, but you’d never heard Chris this quiet when the Cruel Intentions were playing. It startled you when he’d suddenly reached forward, jamming the power button and looking your way.

”I can’t believe you never told me you were fucking Gut Chase’s little brother,” he said, sounding almost offended. Chris and Gut had been your friends since high school, each of you grades apart but still finding your way together through wanton violence. Adrian usually ended up tagging along, until Chris and Gut decided that he was way too obnoxious about underage drinking being illegal that he was banned from all hangouts until he turned 21. And even once he was allowed to join the three of you again, they never saw him as anything other than ‘Gut’s annoying baby brother.’ Chris still hadn’t moved past that part, it seemed. “How long has that been going on?”

“His name is Adrian,” you corrected, but he ignored you in favor of drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. You huffed, turning the radio back on with the volume low. “We were together for a while before I got arrested, but I never told you because I knew you’d be fucking annoying about it, kind of like you are now.”

“Of course I’d be annoying about it, the dude’s psycho! Do you remember that time we were playing Mortal Kombat at your place and we let him join, and all he kept talking about was how it wouldn’t actually look like that if someone’s spine was ripped out of their body?”

”Yes, I do. But I don’t know what about me makes you think I found that conversation to be anything other than a turn on.”

“Ugh, gross!”

”He was right, you know. It doesn’t look like that at all.” You grinned wickedly as Chris grimaced, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. “Besides, I always thought his fun facts were endearing, even if they were usually wrong.”

“The only time he ever got them right was when he was talking about disgusting shit like *that. A normal person shouldn't know that.”

“You think he'd still want to be with me if he was a normal person, Chris?” You didn't mean to say it with so much venom, but you were so fed up with the entire line of questioning that you just wanted to shut him up.

It worked, because the silence stretched on for a few miles. It was only broken when Chris was brave enough to speak up again. “I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. I am happy for you, you know.” You hummed softly in acknowledgement, but you didn't turn to look at him. “He seemed happy that you were back. That's good, right? You're still together?”

You turned to look at Chris then, eyes narrowed. He seemed genuinely apologetic, so you softened. “Yeah, we're still together. I thought he would’ve hated me, but he doesn't. He waited, the entire time.”

“Maybe it's good he isn't normal, then. And I mean that as a compliment, for the record. Normal people just don't get this life, you know?”

“Trust me, Adrian gets it.”

Chris nodded in approval, the silence between you no longer tense as he drove you home. It was easy, comfortable. When he pulled into the driveway, parking next to your car, he turned to look at you as you got out. “You gonna be okay on your own?”

You could only smile, pausing to lean back into the car and look at Chris. “I won’t be on my own,” you said, amused by the fact that he wouldn’t find those words nearly as reassuring as you did as you slammed the door shut.

This time, when you opened the door of the house, you didn’t freak out. You knew why everything was so off, and now that you did it didn’t seem all that unusual at all. Seeing Adrian’s shoes by the door, his pillows and blankets on the couch, his magazines on the coffee table, was comforting instead of unnerving.

True to his word, the rest of your house was the same as it had been when you left, though signs of Adrian were still present in small ways. An empty box of Malt-O-Meal in the kitchen garbage. An extra toothbrush on the bathroom sink. The ‘no admittance’ sign on the basement door. You were grateful that you wouldn’t have to deal with his mother anymore whenever he wanted to show you something new he’d been messing with, or a haul from one of his busts. She was lovely, but boy did she love to talk.

It felt good to be back in Evergreen. It felt good to be home.

You took the time before Adrian came home to take a shower, staying in until you ran out of hot water and even then you were reluctant to leave. You savored the feeling of being clean, of being able to scrub your skin and wash your hair over and over until all of the grime of the last few years was washed away. Dressing in your comfiest sweatpants and one of Adrian's sweatshirts, you relished in the feeling of wearing something other than that stupid orange jumpsuit for the first time in ages. You settled in on the couch, nestled in among Adrian’s makeshift bed, as you ate leftover mozzarella sticks from Fennel Fields. Trying to find something to watch on the tv was overwhelming, so you picked up a copy of Pro Soldier from the coffee table to read as you ate. It was the same scammy bullshit as ever, you had no idea why Adrian insisted on renewing his subscription every year, but you still smiled as you flipped through the pages.

You weren't sure when you ended up dozing off, caught in that in-between state between sleep and consciousness that was never really all that restful. The lights at Belle Reve never went out, the sounds of chaos never ended. You'd grown used to the feeling of never being comfortable enough to let your guard down. And even now, with the lights dim and the room quiet, you couldn't relax fully. You'd forgotten how.

The sound of a key turning in the lock had your eyes snapping open, sitting upright from where you'd slumped into the pillows to stare at the door. All at once, you were back in your cell. You should have known it was too good to be true, you should have known they'd never let you out. As the guard entered the room and shut the door, your throat felt tight.

“Now that’s a sight I could get used to, ” The sound of the guard's voice pulled you back to reality, because you knew that voice. You weren't in your cell, you were home, with Adrian standing in the doorway. He was beaming at you, thrilled to see that you had kept your word, though his smile faltered when he saw the distant look in your eyes. “Are you okay?” You nodded slowly, but your throat still felt too tight to speak. That made Adrian frown, quickly putting down what he'd been holding so he could approach you.

You'd seen him move like that before, slow and careful with his hands out, when he was trying not to startle something. Usually, it was an animal. A spider he was trying to rescue, or a stray cat he wanted to befriend. Sometimes, it was a person after Vigilante had slaughtered the mugger who stole their valuables. He'd never approached you like that before. He'd never needed to. Each step was calculated, each movement methodical, until he was lowering himself down in front of you and putting a hand on your leg. Prison had been cold and unforgiving, but Adrian's hand radiated with warmth and comfort.

“Where's your head at?” He asked softly, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together once he was sure he wasn't going to startle you.

“Back in Belle Reve.” All day you'd been able to act like you were unaffected by the last four years, you didn't know why you couldn't now. “I thought you were one of the guards. The door, the lock… It was like I was back in my cell.” Adrian turned his head, glaring daggers at the door like it had personally attacked him. Then, his attention was back on you.

“You’ll never have to go back there, okay? I will never let them take you away from me again,” he stated, voice wavering as he spoke. His jaw clenched and his fingers twitched against your hand, and you could only imagine what he was holding himself back from saying.

You’d always known that Adrian was a man of devotion. Not religious, but still fiercely loyal. You’d been able to bear witness to his many fixations over the years, but they usually came and went in a matter of days or weeks. A song, a show, a book, a person. You couldn’t even begin to count the number of times Gut had bitched to you and Chris that Adrian had come on too strong when trying to make a friend and had gotten sent to the principal’s office again. Even Chris hadn’t been able to escape being the subject of his obsession, but it was different when it came to you.

“Adrian… Can you promise me something?”

”Of course. Anything. Just say the word.” He was knelt down in front of you, his hand entwined with yours and as he looked up at you, you saw a hunger in his eyes that you only ever saw behind the red tint of a visor. You knew at that moment that you could ask anything of him, and he wouldn’t hesitate to agree.

”I want you to promise me that you’ll kill anyone who tries.”

Those words made Adrian lose what little self control he had left. He surged forward, freeing his hand from yours so he could grab your face, your thighs, your hips, anywhere he could manage as he kissed you with all of the longing he’d been saving up for the last four years. You matched his enthusiasm, kissing him back hungrily and tangling your fingers in his hair to drag him even closer. The weight of his body pressed you into the cushions as he dipped his head to trail kisses along your jaw.

“I promise,” he breathed against your skin, blindly reaching a hand out to knock his makeshift bed to the floor. You were pliant in his hands as he laid you down, easily grabbing hold of one of your legs to hook it around his waist. “I’ll kill every last motherfucker before they get the chance.” He punctuated his words with a bite to your neck and a roll of his hips that had you gasping. Through the stiff fabric of his uniform slacks, you could feel that he was already hard for you. It had never been difficult for you to rile him up, but after so long, he was insatiable.

You couldn’t help yourself as you pulled on his hair, dragging him up into another desperate kiss. With your legs wrapped around his waist, you began to rock your hips against his, the two of you groaning into the kiss. You felt one of his hands slide around your waist to your back, the other still on your thigh, before you were lifted into the air all at once.

As Adrian stood up from the couch, you laughed with delight, wrapping your arms securely around his neck. Then, your back hit the nearest wall with so much force that if any pictures had been left hanging, they probably would have fallen off their hooks.

“Shit, sorry,” Adrian said, tipping his head back just enough to look at your face. His glasses were knocked askew, lips shiny with spit, hair an absolute mess where your fingers had raked through it. “I didn’t mean to do it so hard, I-“

”Adrian,” you cut him off, though you couldn’t help but smile at how much he cared. “I swear to god, if that’s as rough as you’re gonna be tonight, I will never forgive you.”

That was all the encouragement Adrian needed, giving your ass an appreciative squeeze before you were no longer pressed between him and the wall. You pressed kisses along his jaw and neck, nipping and biting at his skin just to hear the way his breath hitched each time. It wasn’t long before your back hit another wall, the impact making you cry out. Adrian silenced you with a kiss, a clashing of tongues and teeth as he bucked his hips against yours.

The two of you continued down the hall like that until you reached the bedroom door. Adrian didn’t bother putting you down to fumble with the doorknob as he’d done so many times before. Instead, he planted his feet, holding onto you tight as he raised a leg to kick in the door. The hollowcore door gave in easily, splintering and swinging open with a creak.

Adrian practically threw you down onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress as he shoved your sweatshirt up and took one of your breasts in his mouth. His tongue swirled around your nipple as his hands moved down your side, moving agonizingly slow as he relearned every detail of your skin.

You sat up just enough to pull the hoodie off and throw it to the floor, tangling your fingers back in his curls and humming in appreciation as his mouth moved to your other breast. He grazed his teeth along your nipple, just enough to make you gasp, before trailing kisses down the center of your chest.

“Fuck, you have no idea how much I missed you,” he muttered against your skin, kissing and biting whatever parts of you he could reach. In the dim light of the room, you could see him reconciling the parts of you that he remembered with the new additions. Faded scars littered your skin among more recent ones, his fingers grazing over each one. As he brushed over the worst of them, he looked up at you with his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ade… They’re almost all my fault, I wouldn’t stop getting into fights,” you confessed, face flushed red from how closely he was examining you.

“That’s my girl.” You watched as a smile broke out on his face, eyes full of adoration. “I bet you looked so fucking hot, too. I love watching you fight.” His fingers slipped into the waistband of your sweatpants, slowly pulling them down before pressing a kiss to your hip. “I can’t wait to go on patrol with you again… Can’t wait to see you in action again.”

“It’s like you want Chris to catch us,” you muttered, a grin playing on your lips as you noticed the mischievous gleam in his eye. He hooked a finger in the waistband of your panties, dragging them down in one swift movement.

“Can you blame me? I’d show you off to the whole world if it wasn’t illegal to have sex in public.” Adrian said it so matter-of-factly as he sat back on his heels, running his hands up and down your thighs as he admired your body. He decided then that it was entirely unfair of him to still be dressed when you were laid out before him like that. His shirt quickly joined your clothes on the floor, his uniform slacks following not long after. Settling between your legs, he hitched your legs over his shoulders.

His breath was hot against your skin as he kissed along your inner thighs, steadily working his way higher before biting down hard. You cried out, attempting to wrench yourself from his hold. When you jolted, his hands flew to your hips, holding you in place firmly as he sank his teeth into your other thigh. Another cry, another jolt, but he held fast. You were sure that the marks would bruise. As he continued to treat your thighs with the reverence they deserved, you hoped that they would. However, you could only stand it for so long before you began whining. Attempting to buck your hips up, to move his face closer to where you so desperately wanted him, was fruitless. He was holding you too tight. His eyes met yours as he rested his cheek against your leg, a smug grin playing on his lips.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he murmured, licking his lips with anticipation. “No idea how badly I've missed you.”

“So why don't you show me?” You said the words innocently as you twisted your fingers in his hair, pulling at his curls the way you knew he liked. It was all the encouragement he needed to give your thigh one last bite before his mouth moved to where you’d wanted it all night.

Adrian’s breath was hot against your skin as he brushed his lips against your clit, unable to resist teasing you one last time. Then, his mouth was on you all at once, his lips wrapped around your clit as he worked his tongue with a diligence that had you gasping and moaning. His hold on you was looser now, allowing you to buck and grind and roll your hips with each movement of his tongue. It wasn’t until he was slipping a finger into you that you realized why he wasn’t holding you as tightly.

“Oh fuck, Adrian,” you moaned, thighs attempting to close around his head as he slowly worked his finger in and out of you. It wasn’t long before he added a second, the mix of spit and slick allowing him to do so with ease. “I forgot how fucking big your fingers are.” Your own had never made you feel this full, had never been able to reach this deep, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Adrian’s eyes slipped shut, humming appreciatively from the praise. He seemed to have taken your words as a challenge, determined to make sure that you never forgot anything about him ever again as he curled his fingers and dragged them over that sweet spot that made you cry out with pleasure, over and over again. Your back arched as you chanted his name, thighs clamped together as heat and tension pooled in your stomach.

All at once your first orgasm hit you, a wordless moan ripping its way out of your throat as you gripped Adrian’s curls for dear life. He helped you come down from the high, a string of spit connected him to you when he finally pulled away, his lips and chin shining.

“You are so fucking hot,” he breathed, looking up at you with absolute adoration before pressing a kiss to your thigh. His fingers were still inside you, his pace slow but steady as he began to add a third. You were never going to forget how they felt again, especially when Adrian moved his free hand to circle your clit slowly with his thumb. “And you make such pretty noises, too. Shit.”

It wasn’t long before he shifted, moving so he could begin trailing kisses up your body as his fingers worked you open. He nipped at your skin after each one, making you gasp and yelp. Another climax hit you with force, the change of position driving his fingers even deeper into you as you all but cursed his name.

“See? So pretty,” he said as you panted for breath, pressing kisses along your neck. You could practically feel his smug smile against your skin as he began to mark it up, unable to help himself. Every touch felt like it was too much and not enough all at once, but your brain couldn’t piece together a coherent enough sentence to ask Adrian for what you wanted. You settled for pulling on his hair, dragging him up into a kiss and running your hands over his body. You could taste yourself on his lips, could feel the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch, and all you could think about was how much you needed him.

“Adrian, please…” It was so quiet, so desperate, that you weren’t even sure that Adrian had heard you at first. Then, all at once, he pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you devastatingly empty. He pulled off his boxers and began to stroke himself with his already slick hand, moaning as he settled back between your legs.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Adrian breathed, grabbing your hips to drag you closer to him. He looked like an animal ready to pounce, body trembling with barely contained restraint as he began to press the tip of his cock into you. The groan he let out rumbled through your chest, his head dropping to your shoulder as he slowly sank in deeper. “Holy shit, you are so fucking perfect.”

As you wrapped your legs around his waist, you felt him begin to pull out only for him to thrust back in hard, sinking all the way into you in one swift movement. The choked moan you let out was only silenced by his lips, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as he began to fuck you in earnest.

It was sloppy, the way your mouths moved together, barely able to stay connected between the curses and moans and praise you both let out into the kiss. His fingers dug into your thighs as you raked your nails down his back, and you delighted in the way he whimpered and hissed. Your whole body felt hot, tension building all over that only intensified as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, determined to find that sweet spot again. He was relentless once he did, his movements faster, rougher, deeper until you were making those pretty noises he loved so much.

Each thrust of his hips had you moaning loud, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His movements were a mix of desperate and determined as his fingers found your clit again, circling it with a precision that had you arching your back and crying out his name. That only spurred him on, fingers and hips moving in tandem until you came unwound for him completely, muscles tightening around him as you rode out your climax on his cock.

You were completely breathless, a mess beneath Adrian as he continued to fuck you, only easing up on your clit so he could grip your hips. He held you tight as he bottomed out in you, moaning low and deep against your neck as he hit his own climax. He rocked his hips slightly, grinding against you as he came inside you. You were almost grateful when he finally went still, unsure how much more you would’ve been able to take before you were reduced to tears. As the two of you caught your breath, enjoying the comedown from the high, Adrian’s hands began to roam your body again and gave your ass a firm squeeze.

“You did so good,” he praised, lifting his head to press a quick kiss to your lips. Slowly, he began to separate his body from yours, and you couldn’t help but whine from the loss when he pulled out of you. He laughed in amusement as he lowered your legs from his shoulders, gently massaging your thighs to ease the burning ache that came from being pinned in that position for so long. “So, so good for me.”

He laid down next to you, pulling you closer so he could wrap his arms around you, your head resting on his shoulder. The feeling of his body pressed against yours, a hand rubbing your hip soothingly, kept you grounded. “You’re never allowed to leave again, fuck. I’m not going another four years without that. I’m not even planning on going ten minutes without it tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at that, tipping your head back to look at him. He was already looking at you, a beaming smile on his face. “I’m so glad we’re on the same page,” you said, mirroring his smile before pressing a kiss to his lips. You would have been lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t been hoping that this was how the night would go once Adrian came home.

“Are you kidding? It’s all I could think about since I saw you at work.” His fingers trailed over your skin as he spoke, pressing down on the marks he’d made on your body just to hear the way your breath hitched. “We have so much lost time to make up for, you know.”

“Then why the hell did we stop?” You asked as you moved to straddle his waist, rocking your hips down against him as you planted your hands on his chest. Both of you gasped, Adrian’s hands flying to your hips to help steady you as you rolled your hips again.

”I thought… You looked like you needed a break.” He held you tight, head tipped back against the pillow as he moaned. You could already feel him getting hard again as you dragged his cock over your clit, your own overstimulation making your legs tremble. “This time, I’ll just keep going. You’ll have to beg for me to stop.”

“That a threat, Adrian?”

”No. It’s a promise.”

------------------------------------------

“Why the hell are you still at home? You were supposed to meet us over half an hour ago!” Harcourt’s voice was harsh through the speaker, your phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you got dressed. Pulling on pieces of gear that had been previously discarded, you tried your best to think of an excuse but came up empty.

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” you told her, because what else could you say? You’d intended to get to the office early, but then Adrian had wanted to show you the work he’d done on your equipment while you were gone. Something about getting rid of gaps in the armor. You’d almost made it out the door when Adrian was taking off your gear as quickly as you’d put it on. Harcourt was right to be irritated with you, but you hadn’t considered that in the moment. ”I’m leaving now, I can be there in ten.” At least Adrian was kind enough to help you pick up the pieces he’d thrown around the living room, waiting patiently with your mask in his hands as you made sure everything else was on securely.

”Don’t bother, we’re already on our way to you. Your ass better be outside.”

“Okay, yeah. I will be.” Harcourt hung up on you then, and you let the phone drop to the floor as you snatched your mask from Adrian’s hands. “I told you we didn’t have time.”

“Sorry?” He tried, but the look in his eyes told you that he’d do it all over again if you wouldn’t get so upset with him.

“No, you’re not. But I forgive you anyway.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, his hands coming up to cup your face for the brief moment you were together before you stepped back. “I probably won’t be home tonight, but don’t follow. You’re not allowed.”

”Sure, sure. I would never do anything like that,” he said, winking at you. You rolled your eyes at him as you heard the squeal of brakes out front, glancing out the window to see the task force’s van parked out front. You kissed him one last time before grabbing your gun case, rushing out of the house and into the already open van door. It slammed shut behind you, the van lurching as Economos put it in gear and pulled away from the curb.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you took a seat next to Chris. Leota and Murn sat across from you, with Harcourt up front with Economos. It felt like the silence stretched on for an eternity, but you refused to look anywhere besides the floor. Finally, Chris spoke up.

“You have a good first night back?” He asked, waiting for you to look at him before he tipped his head to the side and tapped the side of his neck. Instantly, you clamped a hand down over the same spot on your own neck, swearing as you remembered all the marks Adrian had left over the course of the night.

“Shut up,” you hissed at Chris, embarrassment burning red hot across your cheeks. You really regretted not putting your mask on before leaving the house. “It was fine, just… Shut up.”

”It was ‘fine?’ A guy gives you that many hickeys and all he gets is ‘it was fine?’ Damn, you are cold,” Chris teased, elbowing you in the side. You shoved his arm away, glaring at him. If you weren’t sure it would get you in major trouble with the team, you could’ve killed him right then and there.

“Aww, was it that cute little busboy from Fennel Fields? Chris told us he was your boyfriend and that’s why you both freaked out last night,” Leota said, smiling wide even as Chris’ expression changed and he tried to silently signal for her to stop talking. “It’s sweet that you were able to reconnect.”

”You fucking told them?” Nevermind, forget the team. You were definitely going to kill him.

“Alright, enough!” Harcourt’s voice cut through the noise, commanding the attention of everyone in the van. “Everybody just shut the fuck up. And you,” she paused, jabbing a finger in your direction. “Next time you decide to be late because you’re doing I-don’t-give-a-fuck what, or who, I’m personally setting off the bomb in your head. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” you confirmed, nodding shortly. Your own words from the night before echoed in your mind as your gaze turned back to the floor. They didn’t let you out so you could live your life. You glanced towards Chris, who met your eyes and mouthed a ‘sorry’ that you could only shrug in response to. You wondered if he was really the loose cannon they were worried about. Then, you pulled on your mask, ensuring that no one would be able to glean anymore details about your personal life from your skin.

Jacobi had floated over to him a little too fast, his hands out to catch himself just as Eiffel turned around so that he ended up catching himself on his chest rather than his back. The momentum had carried him forward just a little too much, and neither of them had really considered the consequences of leaning in to close the gap. They were delirious from a lack of sleep and lonely as hell, but he was fairly certain that he’d never have a kiss as good as that one again in his life. 

“I guess Isabel was right,” Eiffel had murmured once they’d parted, and Jacobi arched an eyebrow in quiet questioning. He chuckled as he caught the look, shrugging a shoulder before glancing away, his cheeks flushed pink. “She uh… She asked me if I knew that you were flirting with me… And I kinda didn’t believe her.”

“Oh my god.”

“Hey! How was I supposed to know? I just figured you talk to everyone like that!”

“When have you ever heard me talk to anyone like that?” That was a question that Doug didn’t have an answer to, and all Jacobi could do was utter, “Oh my god,” again before pulling him in for another kiss. 

The way their relationship had progressed after that had been more than a little unconventional. They didn’t broach the topic of feelings for quite some time. Speaking about anything more serious than whether the Prequels were better or the Sequels was quite difficult for the two of them, but they made sure to express them in other ways. 

Jacobi started waking Eiffel up for his shifts in person, bringing him a cup of seaweed sludge with “chocolate” powder added for a bit of extra flavor. He also took to filling him in on the plots of movies and shows he’d been missing out on during his tenure on the Hephaestus station. Eiffel helped Jacobi with his idle tinkering without an ounce of complaint, bringing him whatever tools or materials he asked for, sometimes even before he even knew he needed them. They worked together wonderfully, and got along even better. 

“Jacobi?” Hera’s voice came over the Sol’s speakers. Despite how soft it was, it cut into his reminiscing quite harshly, dragging him back into reality before he was ready. Upon hearing her speak, he flinched. “I’m sorry, I just… I wanted to check in. How are you doing?”

He gritted his teeth as he tensed, practically growling in response to the question. Hera was lucky that she was a part of the ship. If anyone had decided to ask him that in person, he would’ve attacked them. After a moment of thought, he realized that that was probably why she was the one asking in the first place. Minkowski and Lovelace were too smart to put themselves in harm’s way like that. “How do you think, Hera? How is anyone doing after all of that?”

She sighed softly, her servers running warm with sympathy in another section of the ship. “Not very good, I’d say. But you seem to be doing the worst.”

“Wow, Hera. Thanks. The increased processing power of the Sol really made you so much better at observation,” he drawled, bitter and sarcastic as he dropped his forehead to the glass. It hit with a satisfying thunk, the dull pain in his head distracting him from the pain in his heart. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. 

‘You know, it’s not actually glass.’ Eiffel’s voice in his head spoke around a mouthful of rations, correcting his mis-description. ‘It’s a carbon-polymer blend. Actual glass would snap under the pressure of space and kill us all.’

“What I’m trying to say is… We were all close to Officer Eiffel, to Doug, but… You were the closest. It’s understandable that you’d be taking this the hardest, and I’m here for you.” There was a beat of silence and some faint musical beeps. “I have recordings of some of his audio logs. Would you like to hear them?”

That made his heart ache a little less, though he still didn’t lift his head from the window or open his eyes. “Yes. Please. I’d like that… I’d like that a lot.”

----------------------------------------------------

The first time that Jacobi could bring himself to see Eiffel again was months after they landed back on Earth. They were put up in Goddard sponsored housing by Cape Canaveral, but Jacobi insisted on having a space of his own. Lovelace and Minkowski stuck together, and Doug was stuck with them because they were the only other people that he knew. They’d done their best to reacquaint him with the facts of his life during the rest of the Sol’s journey back to Earth, but because they didn’t know about his and Jacobi’s relationship, he’d stayed in the dark about it. Hera was the only one who knew, but she wasn’t going to tell anyone without Jacobi’s permission, which he certainly wasn’t going to grant. 

“He’s better off without me,” Jacobi muttered from his seat on his townhome’s balcony, staring up at the sky. “They all are.” He blamed himself for it, for everything, because Kepler wasn’t alive to blame for it all anymore. There was no one to absorb his anger, his guilt, his disgust, so he took it upon himself. 

Icy booze had become his crutch of choice again, and that made it all easier to deal with. When he was laying on the floor of the bathroom, clutching the edge of the toilet while puking his guts out and fighting off a migraine mixed with a hangover, it was very difficult to think about anything but the pain. It was a distraction that had all of the pain and punishment he felt he deserved, and it was perfect.

It was perfect, until it wasn’t. 

Jacobi wasn’t adjusting very well to life back on Earth, to life without Doug, that much was obvious. After an icy-booze related hospitalization, Goddard said that if he wished to continue staying in the housing that they so generously provided for him, he would have to quit drinking and start counseling. Isabel and Renee had done the latter and had found that it helped, or so he was told. Even Doug had as well, but he’d cut the doctor off before he could continue. 

“Fine. I’ll do it, but only if you never mention him again.”

It was only after weeks of recovery and months of counseling that the name ‘Doug Eiffel’ started to come up in his sessions, and he was the one to say it first. It was the only way he was going to be able to talk about it. When his doctor had tried before he was ready, he shut down and didn’t say a word, going catatonic until he was escorted from the building. It was almost embarrassing how many times that had to happen before the doctor learned to not bring him up. 

“How is he doing?” Jacobi asked after moments of silence at the end of the latest session. He was supposed to be leaving, their hour was up and the therapist needed to prepare for her next session, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up from his seat.

“How is who doing?”

He scoffed, annoyed at the way the doctor played dumb, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. “Eiffel. Doug. How is he doing?”

“He’s… Better. Coping. I can’t really tell you too much, doctor-patient confidentiality you know, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind it if you wanted to ask him yourself.” 

The way that she pulled a small paper from her notebook and held it out towards him told him that she’d been planning this for a while, that this was something she’d been hoping he’d ask. But, it didn’t turn him off from the idea. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.” Jacobi stood, hesitating for a second before reaching out to take the paper from her. 

Once he was outside of the office, he unfolded the paper. All at once, the air was sucked from his lungs. He could recognize that handwriting anywhere. The awkward chicken scratch and misshapen letters of Eiffel’s handwriting filled the paper, and he smiled as he read the note.

‘What do you expect from me? I’m the product of the public educational system, this is basically as fancy as cursive there.’

“Some things never change,” he muttered, smiling as he folded it carefully and tucked it into his pocket.

The paper came out of his pocket and onto the coffee table once Jacobi was home, and it took up a spot in his mind all night. As he turned on the television to watch a movie, his eyes never left it. As he grabbed a bottle of booze and a glass of ice to make his signature drink, it pulled his attention away long enough to convince him to fill the glass with water instead. It lived on the table for a week before he did anything with it, all the while convincing him to make small improvements to his life because what would the real Doug do if he saw him living the way he was? 

After a rather tense follow-up session where Doug wasn’t mentioned at all, Jacobi decided to pick up the phone and call him. It was hard to believe that the man hadn’t been mentioned by name once during the entire hour, but everything his therapist had said made him think of Doug, or made him think about something that made him think about Doug. It was a horrible gnawing feeling, and it wasn’t going to go away until he spoke to him.

“Hello?” 

Jacobi gasped when he heard Eiffel’s voice on the other end, gripping the edge of the couch cushions like his life depended on it. “Hey, uh… Doug? It’s Jacobi… Or Daniel, if you prefer.”

There was some quiet muttering, and then a shout of, “Oh! Jacobi! Right. I was beginning to think that Isabel and Renee were joking when they said you came back with us. I think they were too.” The voice was Doug’s, but everything else was wrong. The tone, the cadence, the lack of pop culture references. This wasn’t his Doug. It made a hollowness form in his chest, but it was much more empty than the loneliness he had felt as of late.

“Yeah, I… I kind of had some of my own shit to deal with. I couldn’t… I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t even think about you until recently. But I think I’m ready now.”

“Um…” Eiffel’s confusion was audible, he didn’t understand why Jacobi was so torn up about him, and Jacobi felt awful for giving him a riddle that he couldn’t even begin to answer. 

“Sorry, uh… Maybe you could come over? I can cook us something nice for dinner, and maybe explain some things?”

“Oh, that would be great, actually! I’ve got some questions of my own, and I think the girls either don’t know the answers or don’t want to tell me, so... Dinner sounds great.]”

After they said their goodbyes, Jacobi waited to let the other man hang up first. He didn’t want the moment to end, just in case it was the last one he got with Eiffel. He never savored the moments he had with Doug as much as he should have at the time. It ate him up inside every day. But once the line went dead, he set to work cleaning, getting his home ready and presentable for company. 

It was filthy, bordering on uninhabitable, but several days of work and what probably added up to about a hundred trash bags later, Jacobi’s place was clean. After that, came the prepwork for his dinner date with Eiffel. 

“No, wait… It’s just dinner, not a date,” he reminded himself as he looked at recipes online, a glass of juice on the table beside his laptop. “Not a date.” 

In the end, he decided on something simple, but not so simple it would look like he put no effort in. Homemade chicken parm, with a side of pasta (with homemade sauce, of course) and steamed fresh veggies from a local grocery store. Going to the store to get ingredients had been the first time he’d left his home for anything other than therapy in far too long, since his groceries usually got delivered. Goddard had him on some special ‘returning to eating real food’ meal plan for a while. After that transition had ended the food deliveries never stopped, so he never stopped making use of them. 

Getting to decide what to eat was a nice little bit of freedom, though. Getting to roam the aisles of the grocery store, to select the cuts of meat he wanted, to feel the produce and decide which was the most fresh before buying it, was something he hadn’t done in far too long, but it felt good. He decided then, as he made small talk with the cashier and commented about the weather outside, that he was going to make an attempt to get out of the house more often. TV wasn’t an adequate replacement for real human conversations, and his weekly talks with his therapist hardly counted towards that either.

Cooking ended up being just as good for him as the trip to the grocery store had been. Jacobi had forgotten just how much he’d loved it before going up into space, how much he loved dancing to his favorite music in the kitchen as he waited for water to boil on the stove or for food to cook in the oven, how much he loved the satisfaction of getting to taste test his creations and having it come out perfect on the first try. It was an artform. A lot of it was similar to bomb making because of how precise it needed to be and how delicately dishes need to be put together for it to come out exactly right. No wonder he liked it so much. It scratched an itch that hadn’t been scratched in a long time. 

There was a knock on the door right as Jacobi was putting the finishing touches on the sauce, dipping a spoon into it to taste it and letting out a satisfied hum at how utterly delicious it was.

“Oh yeah, baby. I still got it,” he self-congratulated as he tossed the spoon into the sink. It clanged against the stainless steel, possibly breaking one of hi, but he didn’t care. He was in too good a mood for anything so simple to ruin it. 

Outside the door, Doug stood awkwardly. He didn’t know much about Jacobi outside of what Isabel and Renee had told him, but that was the case for a lot of things in the past year. His world didn’t expand too far beyond the bedroom he’d been put up in. Even Hera was seemingly very selective with the information that she gave out. There was a lot they all left out of their stories. Whether it was because they didn’t want to share it or didn’t think he could handle it, he couldn’t tell. He just hoped Jacobi wasn’t the same way. Someone needed to be honest with him after all this time.

The door swung open, and there was Jacobi. He looked nothing like Doug had expected. They were almost equal in height, with Jacobi maybe an inch shorter, if that. He had beautiful green eyes (he tried not to think too much about the use of ‘beautiful’ as a descriptor for them in his mind), and messy brown hair that clearly had not been cut in ages. Jacobi wasn’t a military man like the rest of them, but with the way Kepler ran things he might as well have been, and it was obvious that he’d let himself go. The overflowing trash can out at the curb was another hint towards that, but he opted not to comment on any of it. It wasn’t like he was in any better shape himself. 

“Hey, Jacobi. Uh… Isabel mentioned you kind of have a ‘thing’ for fancy cheeses, so…” He lifted a paper bag, offering it out to the other man who had yet to look anywhere but his face. Jacobi was still too floored by the presence of Doug himself to be able to focus on anything else. 

Despite the changes he’d undergone, Doug looked largely the same. His muscles had lost some of their definition, his face was softer, and his hair had gotten longer and impossibly curlier, but he looked… Better, overall. Well-rested, healthier in every way, and lighter. He didn’t have the same burdens that the original Douglas Eiffel did, the same traumas, the same memories. That was all left behind up on the Hephaestus, most likely for the better.

“Thank you,” he said finally, taking the bag from him, his arm dropping a little from the surprising heft. “Wow, this is… A lot of cheese. Like.. A lot a lot.” He peered into the bag and chuckled, stepping out of the way to let Eiffel into his home. “Thank you.” It was a sincere thanks, not a mocking one, because going overboard on a gift was something that was so inherently Doug. He wasn’t shocked that he’d been gifted more cheese than he would be able to eat in a year or so. In fact, it made him feel relieved. Somewhere, in there, was still the same Doug that he knew. It just wasn’t up on the surface anymore. But that was okay. He didn’t mind doing a little digging.

“Wow, what smells so good?” Eiffel asked as he stepped inside, trailing along awkwardly behind Jacobi towards the kitchen. 

“Chicken parm, some veggies, a side of pasta, and sauce for it all,” he answered, his head in the fridge as he tried to make room for all of the dairy. He pulled some vegetables that weren’t used in the night’s dinner out of the drawers, shoving them onto the shelves instead so he could split the bag’s contents between them. The fridge had a little trouble closing, but that was easy enough to overcome with a hearty shove. “I kinda went overboard too, I haven’t cooked in a long time, but I guess… I guess I kinda wanted to prove that I was still good at it.”

Eiffel nodded in understanding as Jacobi stepped away from the fridge. There was an awkward few seconds of silence as the latter moved, grabbing some plates from the cabinet and passing one to Eiffel so they could dish out their own portions. His own plate had more pasta than chicken on it, with Eiffel’s being the opposite, and they both grabbed a single scoop of vegetables out of courtesy to their presence. 

They sat at the table across from each other, both of them eating quietly and taking sips of soda before Doug spoke up.

“I don’t know a lot about you.”

Jacobi blinked, lowering his fork from where it was lifted halfway to his mouth. “Well, of course you don’t. I imagine that’s the case for everybody.”

“No. No, not for Renee, not for Isabel. They’ve told me everything about themselves, their roles on the station, their lives before it, what part they played in all of the mess that happened up there. But whenever you come up, they sorta…” He trailed off, struggling for the words to say. 

“Dance around it? Yeah, I don’t blame them. I was sorta the ‘bad guy’ up there.” 

“You don’t look the type. I would’ve guessed you were on our side.”

Jacobi shook his head, taking a long sip from his soda before speaking again. “I wasn’t. Not even a little bit, not at first anyway. Towards the end, yeah, but only because I didn’t have a choice.”

Eiffel hummed softly, mulling over his words as he chewed a big bite of chicken. “Why didn’t you have a choice?”

He sighed heavily, setting the can down with a soft ‘clunk’ and staring into the liquid inside. “Because,” he started, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table. “Someone I cared a lot about was over on your side, and I wasn’t about to let anything happen to them. I had to make sure they got out of it safe.”

“Who?”

“Just eat your chicken, Doug.” The words were clipped, and Doug wanted to argue. There was and indignant look on his face as he set down his knife and fork, but the look on Jacobi’s face was nothing but sadness. That alone was enough to convince him not to push the matter more, at least for a few minutes. It was clearly a sore subject for the poor guy.

The meal passed without much more conversation. Eventually, Jacobi couldn’t stomach taking even one more bite, and pushed his plate away. He had to figure out a way to explain things to Doug, in a way that wasn’t going to be more off-putting than no explanation at all. “They didn’t make it. I did everything I could to make sure everyone got out alright, and in the end the one person I cared about didn’t make it,” he settled on after a few long moments, shaking his head at himself. “Isabel and Renee don’t want to talk about me because I’m sure they blame me, somehow, because they cared about that person a whole hell of a lot too. And honestly? I blame myself too. Every goddamn day.”

Eiffel blinked in surprise at the sudden outburst, but stopped eating to reach a hand out and place it gently on Jacobi’s shoulder. “They don’t blame you, Daniel,” he murmured, rubbing his shoulder gently with his thumb as the man slumped forward. “I’m sure they just… Don’t know. You’re a man of mystery to them, which is a problem because that just makes you all the more interesting to me. But that sucks, ‘cause they don’t really have any answers to my questions.”

Jacobi stayed silent for a few moments, sighing heavily and squeezing his eyes shut. The hand on his shoulder was warm, familiar, and the spot was going to be all too cold when it was pulled away. He was so sick of being cold. “What were your questions?”

“I don’t even remember now, I dunno. Hera just mentioned some stuff, and… I don’t know, I think I was reading into it a little too much.”

Jacobi’s eyes narrowed at that, his heart rate spiking as he tried to figure out exactly what Hera may have mentioned that Eiffel could possibly be reading into. She was the only one who knew about their relationship. That was an unfortunate side effect of her having eyes and ears everywhere on the station, though she was courteous enough to give them their privacy when they needed it. “What… What did she mention?”

“Ah, you know what? Forget it,” Eiffel said, shaking his head quickly. He saw the way that Jacobi looked, and decided that maybe now wasn’t the time to bring something that heavy up. He’d only just met the guy, technically, though from what Hera had said they’d apparently known each other very well. “This chicken is amazing, by the way. You’re an incredible cook.” 

Jacobi was quiet for a second, trying to work up the courage to insist that Eiffel tell him what Hera had said, but he didn’t want to seem like he was crazy. He wanted to make a good impression on this Doug, to make up for the absolutely terrible one he’d given the first time they met. “Oh, thank you. And thanks for giving me an excuse to cook, it was… Nice.”

Eiffel smiled, that stupidly warm smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his dimples show clear as day, that stupidly warm smile that made Jacobi’s heart skip a beat and his chest tighten all at once. “Maybe I could give you another excuse some time.”

When Jacobi smiled back at Doug, it wasn’t as warm. It was forced, tight-lipped with a false warmth that no one but Alana would be able to discern. “Yeah, maybe. I’d like that.” He wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not, but he still found himself wanting to see more of Doug. 

----------------------------------------------------

They began to meet for dinner once a week, the meals almost painfully simple for Jacobi but still requiring an amount of skill that left Doug impressed. Then again, Doug was impressed with nearly everything Jacobi did. It was intentional, though. All part of a plan to slowly wear down the walls that the man had put up around himself. He was warming up to this new version of Doug, comparing him to the previous version less and less. This wasn’t his Doug anymore, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. 

I think I might even like this Doug more, Jacobi found himself thinking, though he shook his head quickly to get it out of his mind. It was an intrusive thought, nothing more, and he pushed any like it from his mind as fast as they popped up. 

“Hey, Daniel?” Doug spoke up around a mouthful of fettuccine, and Jacobi lifted his head. He liked that. He liked how Doug never called him ‘Jacobi’ anymore. He liked being ‘Daniel’ to him. 

“What’s up, Doug?”

“What was I like? Before, y’know.”

That made Jacobi chuckle, but then Eiffel looked at him with an earnestness that made his heart break. “You mean… You don’t know?”

He shook his head in response, swallowing the mouthful of food before continuing. “No. I mean, I can make some guesses from the logs, but I know they don’t include everything, and Renee and Isabel always say they don’t like to dwell.”

“What about Hera?”

“She just says ‘You were Doug, I don’t know how to describe you other than that.’”

Jacobi hummed softly, thinking it over for a moment. What was Doug like before he lost his memory? For a split-second, Jacobi felt a rush of panic wash over him, because he almost couldn’t remember. Almost. “Honestly? You were fucking annoying. Every other word out of your mouth was a pop culture reference, and it made everything you said so goddamn incomprehensible that it was infuriating. You were infuriating.” He stopped and took a sip of his soda, ignoring the look of confusion and hurt on Doug’s face. “But Hera’s right. You were Doug. You were someone who always tried to make the most of a shitty situation, to find the fun in the traumatizing ordeal we went through. If you didn’t make Minkowski and Hera laugh at least once a day, either at you or with you, you considered the day wasted. And you cared, so much, about everyone. Even Kepler. Even Hilbert. After everything you were put through, you still cared.” His fingers twitched, and he stood up, disappearing into the kitchen to make himself a glass of icy booze before returning. As much as he was trying to avoid drinking in front of Eiffel at Renee’s request, he needed something if this was going to be the night’s topic of conversation. “You were the most human out of any of us, Doug. Out of all of us, you deserved what happened to you the least. I’d put myself in your place a thousand times over if I could.” 

As Jacobi lifted the glass to his lips, Doug just stared at him. “Wow, I.. That is… A lot. I had no idea.” 

“Of course you didn’t. You destroyed yourself to save us.” To save me. “You’re a goddamn hero, Doug. And you don’t even know what you did to deserve the title. And if you did, you’d be too humble to accept it.” There was so much he could say about Eiffel, but he didn’t know how far he could go before the other suspected there was more to it than a little bit of friendly fondness. “And you really haven’t changed that much, either.”

“I haven’t?” He asked, blinking in confusion and furrowing his eyebrows together. He certainly didn’t feel like he was the same person he was before, and no one treated him that way either. 

“No, not at all,” Jacobi responded, smiling as he took another drink. “Sure, the things you say are actually understandable to the average human, and you don’t really remember anything, but… You’re still Doug. Your smile is the same, the same dumb shit still makes you laugh, and you’ve got the biggest appetite of anyone I’ve ever met. Not to mention that… That you’re still the most human of us all, the most caring, the sweetest.” His mind flashed back to the ten pounds of cheese he’d been gifted, most of which was still inhabiting the drawers of his fridge, and just how similar it was to the time that Jacobi mentioned that he’d like a snack and Eiffel brought him what must’ve been every available ration from the Urania to choose from. He smiled as he remembered that moment, swirling the ice around in his glass and staring into it as if it would take him back in time. “No matter what anyone tells you, you’re still the same Doug Eiffel I fell in love with.”

The words had slipped out before he could stop them, and they ground the conversation to a halt. Jacobi froze as the gears turned in Eiffel’s head, the ice in his glass clinking from the sudden stop. The silence seemed to stretch out for an eternity, and Jacobi started wishing that he would drop dead so he wouldn’t have to deal with the almost certainly heartbreaking response from Eiffel. 

“Huh,” was the response he ended up getting, and Jacobi risked taking a glance over at him. It seemed like Doug was actually putting some pieces together, but it certainly wasn’t quick enough for Jacobi’s liking. “Now that can’t be right.” He shook his head, meeting Jacobi’s eyes with an expression the other couldn’t quite read. Before he could even ask him to elaborate, Doug continued. “You are way too far out of my league to have been with me.”

The joke was meant to bring some levity to the situation, but it just reminded Jacobi of all the situations Eiffel had said those words in before. Of all the times they spent basking in a post sex glow, with Eiffel trailing his fingers along Jacobi’s arm, listing out all the reasons why they could never be together anywhere but in space, orbiting a star with nothing but time. 

“Uh, Jacobi? You there?” Doug seemed concerned, but more-so about the way his joke didn’t land than anything else. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Look, before you say anything else, I know… I don’t expect you to have those feelings for me again, I just wanted you back in my life, in any capacity.” There was no explaining the pain he’d faced when he learned that Eiffel had forgotten everything, forgotten him. “It hurt too much to acknowledge you were even alive for a while… But I really look forward to our dinners, and I like being your friend.”

“But you’d like being my boyfriend even more?”

“No, I’m not saying that.”

“But you are thinking it.”

“Yes.” A pause. A realization. “Wait, no. Get out of my head!” Jacobi slumped forward, his hands over his ears so he wouldn’t have to hear whatever other idiotic bullshit that Eiffel decided to spew. 

Eiffel sat there for a few minutes, biting the inside of his lip as he tried to think of what to say. Clearly, Jacobi wasn’t going to be receptive to any joking about this subject, and he felt bad for pushing it too far. “Look man, I… I dunno if this is what you want to hear, but… I think I’d kinda like being your boyfriend too.”

His hands over his ears did next to nothing to muffle the words, and Jacobi lifted his head to stare at him in confusion. That had been the last thing he’d expected to hear, but then again Eiffel always knew how to be serious when it counted. “You would?” he asked dumbly, stunned by the words, but his heart threatened to leap right out of his chest. 

“Yeah. I mean… Maybe it’s old feelings coming to the surface, but… The way I feel around you isn’t the same way I feel when I’m around Renee or Isabel. I mean, something about them feels familiar in a way I can’t place, I know I can trust them, but with you that feeling is so much more. I feel safe around you, like I don’t have to hide or pretend to be someone I’m not. I can be myself, the new version of myself, without worrying about upsetting you.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tried to form the next part of his sentence. “I’m not sure if that feeling’s love, not yet, but I know that it’s a whole heck of a lot more than friendship. And I’m pretty sure everyone else already thinks we’re dating anyway,” he tacked on with a slight smirk that Jacobi couldn’t help but chuckle at. 

He continued to laugh, leaning forward to wrap Eiffel in a tight hug and bury his face against his neck as those chuckles turned to cries. “I missed you so much, Doug… It’s been so lonely without you,” he whispered, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. 

“Maybe you’re just a late bloomer?” Fiona suggested to him late one evening when the sun had already set, laid out on her back on the roof of a building Michael had created just for her. Her magic was her ability to be good at anything she set her mind to, with an unwavering confidence that Gavin admired (and sometimes envied), even when it was misplaced. “Or you could just be totally oblivious to it. That’s always an option.”

He let out a soft sigh, shrugging a shoulder as he turned his head to look at her. “Someone else would’ve noticed it in me by now though, I think. Everyone has something, even if they're not the ones who see it.” Those who had magic were usually pretty good at picking it out in others. It had been how those without genuine magic had discovered theirs. How Jack had discovered his warmth, how Ky had discovered her strength, and so on. 

Fiona bit her lip, going quiet. He had a point there, but she didn’t want to admit it. She hated when he was right. “Maybe your magic is just being an idiot?” There was a grin on her lips, but the way that she spoke made it sound like a genuine suggestion. Gavin couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, his and Fiona’s giggles echoing out across the landscape. 

“Kind of a shitty magic, don’t you think, Fifi?” He asked finally, when his sides ached from laughing and his lungs begged for air. “I know Michael would certainly agree with you, but… I really hope that’s not it.”

“I don’t know, Gavvy. Could be. But I hope that’s not it too. I think you’re made for something a bit better than that.” Instead of pity, or jokes, she gave him a vote of confidence, and there was a little gleam that formed in Gavin’s eyes at her words. 

“You mean that?” 

“Of course I do! 

----------------------------------------------------

The day after speaking to Fiona, Gavin was still thinking about her words. Despite how good it had made him feel in the moment, they’d ended up putting him in a worse mood than usual, and it was hard for him to even begin thinking about the magic he might have held. Was he really meant for something better than the idiocy his friends assigned to him? He wasn’t sure. 

He’d set out on a hike, outside of the city that they’d made for themselves and into the woods surrounding it. Some time out in nature always made him feel better, more at ease, more connected to the magic of the world around him. The small nuances on how the ecosystem worked together to thrive always intrigued him, and he was jealous of how cohesive it all could be. 

“I’m just a bit too all over the place for it, I guess,” he muttered to himself, taking a seat on a fallen tree. The moss was soft beneath him, and he ran his fingers over it as he talked to himself. Working through his thoughts aloud always made them feel less jumbled. 

A figure sat down beside him with a heavy sigh, and a hand was placed over his. “Don’t beat yourself too much, Gav,” Geoff said quietly, wrapping his arm around Gavin and pulling himself close. “We can’t all be something special, otherwise there wouldn’t be anything special at all.”

Gavin let out a long sigh, leaning into the gent when he was pulled in. He’d stopped asking how Geoff could find him so easily long ago. It was the same answer every time, ‘I just know where to look, you assholes aren’t exactly all that hard to find,’ said with that same glint in his eye. “Yeah, I know. But it’d be nice to be able to do something more than exist.” 

Geoff hummed softly, rubbing his thumb gently over Gavin’s shoulder. It always made him feel guilty when any of his friends were upset, particularly Gavin, but he’d been so hung up on the same thing for so long. “Are you sure you don’t just want an excuse for the attention to be back on you for a change?”

The lad sat up quickly, pulling away from Geoff and cutting him a confused look. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I’m just saying! Going around talking to everyone, being all mopey about not having magic? Pretty good way to get everyone to pay attention to you for a change, right?”

Gavin scoffed at the notion, pushing Geoff away from him. “That’s not what I’m doing at all!” 

“Are you sure?” He asked, arching an eyebrow as Gavin stood up suddenly. 

“Yes.” They’d had a few new members join their ranks, and attention was divided as they worked to expand their little city and network with others, but he hadn’t minded people paying less attention to him. If anything, he enjoyed it. It meant there was less pressure on him to perform. “Now, I’m going. And this time, you’re not allowed to search for me.” 

He didn’t even know where he was going, he just wanted to go away. He wondered if that’s what everyone thought, or if Geoff was just trying to get a rise out of him. If they all thought that way, they’d certainly never said anything of the sort, but this was how people were going to treat him, Gavin didn’t want to be around them.

“What a dick,” he muttered to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around himself as he walked deeper into the forest. It was a beautiful green and gold tapestry, the hues blending together to make a simple but pleasing pattern. The threads had been hand-woven by Matt and enchanted to protect its wearer from whatever may come their way, and it did a remarkable job. 

As he ventured deeper into the woods, the trees grew taller and thicker, blocking out the sun’s rays and sending a chill through the air. As the coldness began to creep in, the cloak kept him warm and made him feel safe. However, it couldn’t protect him from the turmoil inside his own mind. 

----------------------------------------------------

In the city center, Michael was having a different sort of crisis, and his angry shouting could be heard all across the land. 

“You said what to him?!’

His relationship to Gavin was indiscernible at best, no one knew whether they were deeply in love or mortal enemies, but one thing was certain: he was fiercely protective of the fact that he was the only one allowed to bully Gavin, and anyone else could only do so with his permission. Whether they were soulmates or archnemesis, Gavin was his boi first and foremost. 

“I just suggested that maybe being an idiot was his form of magic! It was funny, we were both laughing!” Fiona said, completely oblivious to the way that Michael was shooting daggers her way. Usually Michael played along with her playful teasing of Gavin, so when he didn’t continue to make jokes, she looked over. “Don’t you give me that look, you’re thinking it too.”

“I’m not, though.” Fiona scoffed, and Michael all but growled. “I’m not. You all underestimate him, and when he does find his magic, you’re going to be blown away. All of you will be.” There was a special sort of conviction to his words, one that was usually reserved for saying the most ridiculous things completely stone-faced. 

Michael stormed off after that, ignoring Fiona’s demands for him to keep hanging out with her. Movement came from the bushes on the outskirts of their community, spotted just out of the corner of his eye, but his attention snapped towards it in an instant only to reveal that the movement was caused by Geoff. His eyebrows furrowed as the other tried to pretend like he wasn’t covered in burrs and twigs, like he wasn’t trying to sneak out of the brush and back into the city unnoticed.

“Do you know where Gavin is?” he asked instantly, lifting a hand swiftly to raise a dirt wall behind Geoff, who was trying to retreat back into the bushes as quickly as he’d come out of them. 

“Why would I know where he is?” Geoff asked, his voice pitchy and lilted like he certainly did know where Gavin was, but also that he knew that revealing that information would get him in more trouble with Michael than not at the same time. 

Michael’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, the ground beneath his feet rumbling and propelling him like a moving walkway until he was nose to nose with Geoff. “Because you know where everyone is, you always know.” 

There wasn’t fear in Geoff’s eyes, but the man’s chest rose and fell rapidly with anxious breaths. The staredown was long and tense, though he eventually relented, letting out a long sigh as the wall behind him fell. He wasn’t going anywhere. “I spoke to him in the woods maybe an hour ago, he told me that I’m not allowed to look for him, but here.” He reached into his gear, pulling out a weathered piece of parchment that was rolled and tied with a thin strip of leather. A map, one that he’d made with the same magic that lived in his tattoos, that not only held the lay of the land but also markers for everyone who lived in it. Geoff offered it to Michael, who quickly swiped it from him and unrolled it. “He never said anything about you going after him.” 

The lad hummed quietly as his eyes scanned the map for the forest green marker that indicated Gavin’s name, wordlessly stepping beyond the brush and into the woods towards it. 

“I don’t even get a thank you?!” Geoff cried out behind him, annoyed by the lack of gratitude. The ground beneath his feet rose suddenly, knocking him off his feet and onto the earth. He cried out, flailing his arms in an attempt to stop himself from falling, but it was futile. Michael was already gone.

----------------------------------------------------

The woods looked easy to traverse on the map, and they most likely would have been if Michael had stayed on the trails, but he opted to make a beeline towards Gavin. The terrain was rocky and there were steep cliffs off the beaten path, but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle. He could mend and mold the earth to make it easier to traverse, creating stairs along the cliff faces for an easy descent. The climate was what was really getting to him. The chill in the air was unbearable for him, only getting worse as the sun began to dip down, and he had a bear’s pelt to keep him warm. Gavin’s frame was thinner and frailer than his own, he most likely wasn’t faring any better.

He lit a torch as night fell, raising up dirt and stone walls around himself to block out the cold and keep himself safe from the nocturnal monsters around him. After jamming the torch into the wall, he unfurled his map and saw that Gavin’s marker had stopped moving and was instead spinning around in frantic circles. Evidently, he was trying to make camp for the night as well. With a swift movement of his hand, miles away on the other side of the woods, similar walls raised up around Gavin, and the marker finally stopped moving. Satisfied that his boi was safe, he settled down, wrapping his pelt around himself tightly for warmth as he laid down to sleep. 

----------------------------------------------------

Gavin was startled as the dirt walls rose up around him, terrified that something was trying to trap him within them, though he quickly became at ease when he realized what it meant. Geoff had listened and wasn’t going to be searching for him, but Michael was certainly looking out for him instead. The fear that came from being alone out there dissipated as he ran his fingers down the dirt, pulling out several clumps of roots and knocking bits of earth loose. Dirt walls were less than fancy, but they were a great comfort regardless.

He slept easily through the night with a newfound sense of safety, his cloak pulled tightly around himself for warmth. It worked wonders against the cold. As the sun began to rise, it didn’t emerge from the clouds, the sky grey and dreary as rain began to fall. Gavin could hear the rain hitting the tops of the trees, but even as he began to move none of the drops ever hit him. Above him, the branches of the trees bent and molded, shielding him from the downpours as he walked. No doubt this is Michael’s doing, he thought to himself, a small smile forming on his lips. No matter how much they seemed to argue, the other lad still managed to be protective of him. It was something he was always grateful for, even when the others seemed to give him shit for it. 

His pace that day was slower, more leisurely now that he had calmed down some, but he still had no intentions of going back to the city. If Michael was the only one who cared enough to come for him, they could start their own city far, far away. Together. He quickly shook the thought from his mind, pushing his hood down and taking a look around. Though the trees were tall above him for now, he knew that if he just kept going they’d give way to a beautiful, grassy plain. He couldn’t wait to walk on grass again, the dirt and stones beneath him were starting to make his feet ache. 

Several yards from where he’d first had that thought, he had to stop, kneeling down to untie his boots so he could re-lace them tightly. Moving slowly, he bent down, not wanting to end up with another cut on his knee from landing too hard on a rock like he’d already done far too many times this trek. But the terrain beneath his knee was soft, and as he looked down at his boot, he saw that there was soft, lush grass beneath him. Not dirt. 

“What on earth?” He asked himself, brushing his fingers through it. There was some grass on the forest floor around him, but it was rough and patchy, nothing like this. “Michael’s really outdone himself this time.” With that thought, he smiled to himself before continuing to lace up his boots with deft fingers. Before he stood, he spotted a small wildflower that had bloomed among the blades , and he gently picked it and placed it behind his ear. “What a dope.”

What Gavin didn’t know was that Michael didn’t have the ability to create foliage or flowers underfoot. No one in their community did. And with each step that Gavin took, more of it sprouted up from the dirt beneath him. 

----------------------------------------------------

Night fell again soon enough, and Gavin wasn’t sure where he was. He could’ve sworn that the forest gave way into plains at this point, but instead he found himself in the middle of the desert. Stupidly, he’d continued on, just in case the plains were just beyond it, though now he was too tired to turn back. 

“Maybe Fiona was right,” he muttered as he sat down in the sand, digging his toes into it and wiggling them for some amusement as he propped his cloak up over himself like an umbrella. It was nighttime now, but it would be morning again soon enough. He didn’t want to end up burnt to a crisp before he even woke up. No walls came up around Gavin this time either, so it was up to him to protect himself. 

Gavin leaned forward against his knees, peering up at the night sky for a few long moments. Jeremy had spent many long nights back in the city teaching him the constellations and the stars within them, though he could never tell which ones were real and which ones the lad had made up for his own amusement. Orion was certainly real, but Beauregard’s Chariot was almost certainly not. Almost. He picked that one out, finding comfort in its familiarity, before he decided it was time to get some rest. Toes still in the sand, he laid back, arms crossed beneath his head as he closed his eyes. He had been so focused on the sky that he was unaware of what was happening in the sand beneath him. 

----------------------------------------------------

With Gavin’s slowed pace, Michael was able to start gaining on him. He raced through the trees with even greater speed now that he was beyond the craggy cliffs and difficult landscape, the earth moving beneath him to propel him along. By nighttime, he’d closed in on Gavin’s position, and he was stunned by what he saw.

Smack dab in the middle of the desert, where not even cacti could manage to survive due to the horrible heat and scorching sunbeams, Gavin found himself within an oasis. That same lush grass and wildflowers were no longer just underfoot, but in a wide circle around the lad, almost tall enough to completely hide him from Michael’s view. Small trees were even beginning to grow, supporting Gavin’s cloak above him in place of the flimsy sticks he’d set up before. 

“Gavin?” Michael called softly, stepping forward with caution in case it was a facade, a trap of some sort. The desert was known for causing hallucinations, for preying on the hope of the desperate. That was the kind of magic it held, and it was very skillful at using it. But as he knelt down at the edge of the circle and reached forward to feel the greenery, sure enough, it was real. “What the hell? Gavin! Wake the fuck up!”

The lad sat bolt upright with a start, catching himself in his cloak and fighting it off with all the fierceness of a kitten. Sleep was still gripping him, catching him somewhere between being wide awake and deep asleep, but he was quickly coming to. “Who’s there?!” He shouted, finally tossing his cape away from himself and looking around in confusion. “Michael?” That wasn’t the last thing he expected to see out there, but it wasn’t the first either. “What are you doing here, Michael?”

It had taken everything in Michael not to laugh at the display in front of him, but he quickly wiped the smirk off his face to look offended when Gavin addressed him so incredulously. “Jeez, don’t sound so happy to see me,” he drawled, rolling his eyes before shuffling forward on his knees. “Mind telling me what all this is?” He arched an eyebrow, gesturing to the small haven among the sand. 

However, Gavin had no more answers than Michael did. “I’m not… I’m not sure what it is,” he responded earnestly, glancing between it and the other lad before reaching for his cloak. “I thought you were doing it. You’re not?” Michael shook his head fervently, and Gavin only frowned as he pulled the garment on. “Then who is?”

Michael shrugged a shoulder, humming a soft ‘I don’t know’ before standing, stalking around the mysterious growth. This wasn’t anything that anyone he knew could do, and when he tried to make it happen himself, all he could do was raise the earth itself. He couldn’t make anything grow from it. Which left only one option…

“Come here,” he said suddenly, and Gavin looked at him like he’d asked him to do something insane. “Stand up! Get the hell over here!” When there was still no movement from him, Michael reached forward, hauling Gavin to his feet and yanking him out of the circle. Sure enough, grass sprouted up beneath the lad’s feet, extending the circle and connecting it to wherever he stepped. “Holy shit… Gavin! Look!”

Gavin had thought that Michael was angry at him, scolding him, but the tone of his voice was nothing but excited. Thrilled, even. He followed Michael’s gaze down to his feet, but he wasn’t quick enough to put the pieces together like the other had. “This happened to me back in the forest too! I don’t know what’s going on!”

“You’ve found your magic, that’s what’s going on!” Michael was practically screaming, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking at Gavin with a big beaming grin. “You can make stuff grow! That’s incredible!” 

That made things click for Gavin, finally, and his grin ended up matching Michael’s. “I can make stuff grow!” Geoff was going to be blown away, everyone was. He wondered if Michael would be okay with them going back to the city immediately, they’d be able to get there by morning thanks to his abilities. “Fiona was right!”

The other bristled immediately, his grin turning to a frown in a fraction of a second. “Fiona was… Right?” She’d told Gavin that his magic was being stupid, that his special ability was being an idiot. This certainly wasn’t that, not by a long shot. “Gavin, this isn’t stupid. This is awesome! Fiona wasn’t right.”

“What? What are you on about? No, she… She said I was made for something better than what everyone else thought. And she was right! Oh, and she’s had such shit luck getting flowers to grow at her place too, no wonder!” Gavin threw his arms around Michael’s neck, wrapping him in a tight hug that was fueled by nothing but pure glee, and he could only hug him back just as tight. “We have to get back there, immediately. Everyone is going to be so jealous, Michael-boi.”

----------------------------------------------------

Some proper rest would’ve been a great benefit to them both, but Gavin had insisted that they return to the city as quickly as possible. The moving ground beneath their feet made it a relatively quick task, and Michael had managed to find a well-worn trail that made it even easier. They were back in the city by sunrise, and while the excitement had died down in Michael to give way to sleepiness, Gavin was no less giddy. Probably because he’d climbed on Michael’s back at one point and managed a small nap. Lucky bastard, Michael had thought to himself when he’d heard the soft snoring in his ear, but he hadn’t woken him up. 

“Michael. Stop here, Michael,” Gavin urged, nearly losing his balance as the dirt beneath him ground to a halt suddenly. They were just outside the city, inside the same bushes that Geoff had attempted to sneak out of a few days prior, hidden from view as residents began to leave their houses to begin their tasks for the day. “I’m gonna get on your back-“

“You’re not taking another fucking nap,” Michael interjected, and the other huffed and waved him off. 

“No! I’m gonna get on your back so I can do a grand reveal, you dolt. The flowers appear when I step, and if I step too soon the surprise will be ruined!”

“Hey, assholes!” Jeremy’s voice boomed across the city center, no doubt hearing the commotion, and Gavin quickly began to scramble onto Michael’s back. 

“Ow! Watch it, you’re gonna knock off my glasses! Stop!” Michael huffed, swatting at Gavin’s hands as they reached for purchase anywhere they could. He stepped out of the bushes once he was settled, looking annoyed while the lad on his back was nothing but gleeful. “Hey, Lil J! I rescued our favorite dumbass. You’re welcome.”

Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh as Gavin let out a little ‘hello!’ and waved, though he was curious about why the other was on Michael’s back. It wasn’t unlike Gavin to demand piggy-back rides. Though normally once Jeremy was in view, he made it his mission to climb onto his shoulders instead. “Gav, are you hurt? What’s going on?” He stepped up with caution, ready to call for help if needed. Injuries weren’t uncommon, but if Gavin needed to be carried, it must’ve been serious. 

“No, the asshole’s not hurt. Not yet, at least. He’s just got a surprise for you,” Michael assured, rolling his eyes. “For everyone, actually. Do me a favor and ring the bell? They’re gonna want to be here for this.”

An eyebrow shot up, but Jeremy was quick to comply with the request. He crossed the city center, grabbing the rope and pulling it once, twice, three times to signal that it was a meeting of utmost importance, but not one that brought bad news. When the bell rang three times, it meant that there were good things to come.

Soon, all of the residents of the city were there, eagerly awaiting to learn the reason for this meeting. Very rarely did the bell ring thrice, and there were hushed whispers and guesses of what was to come. They all fell silent when Michael, with Gavin still on his back, stepped forward.

“I’ve found my magic,” Gavin announced, savoring the look on everyone’s faces as they processed that announcement. Particularly Geoff’s, whose face was twisted into one of apologetic guilt. A sense of satisfaction bubbled up inside of him at that. And of course Fiona was delighted, jumping up and down and pumping her fists, shouting ‘I knew it!’ before she even knew what Gavin’s magic was. It didn’t matter to her. Alfredo and Trevor were also excited, but only because their beloved Dusk Boy had finally joined their ranks, though Jack and Matt simply looked skeptical. He couldn’t blame them, really. Why now? Why did it take so long for him to find it? Those were the questions behind their eyes, and Gavin wished that he had answers for them.

When he felt like he’d let the suspense hang in there air for long enough, he stepped down. For a moment, nothing happened. Matt was about to open his mouth to complain about being dragged out of bed for a grand display of nothing. And then, all at once, a beautiful display of lush grass and flowers appeared at his feet. The more he focused on it, the bigger it grew and the more beautiful it became. No longer was it simply wildflowers, either. In the hours of their journey, he realized he could control the types of flowers that grew. He opted for sunflowers this time. Everyone knew that they were his favorite. It was proof that the magic was his, and not anyone else’s pretending to be his. 

The reactions were mixed, and Gavin deflated a little as several people seemed unimpressed and walked off to return to their duties. It wasn’t the most spectacular power in the world, he knew that, but it was his and he liked it. That was what mattered to him. There wasn’t much time for him to mope though, as Fiona quickly rushed him, wrapping him in a hug and lifting him off his feet. 

“Gavin!” she shouted, stepping back to inspect the flowers closer. She plucked a few blades of grass, feeling them between her fingers. After a few seconds, she gasped, her eyes lighting up. “You can help me grow flowers at my place!”

Gavin laughed, nodding quickly and beaming at her. He could always trust her to cheer him up. “I can, yeah. No wonder you’ve not been able to grow anything.”

“Yeah, cause you stole my green thumb! That’s hardly my fault.”

“Oh, I dunno about that. You should’ve been keeping a closer eye on it.”

They bickered back and forth, Michael watching with a tired but fond smile, until Fiona decided that she’d had enough and thumped Gavin on the side of the head before racing off. The lad was too exhausted to follow, so he just stepped over to Michael, the foliage underfoot following him as he went. Everyone else came up to congratulate him in time, Geoff doing that and apologizing for the harshness of his words in one awkward convoluted mess that Michael wasn’t even sure was an apology, but Gavin understood what the gent was trying to say. He’d learned to decode Geoff Speak over the years. 

Still, the person whose opinion Gavin valued the most was Michael’s, and once the excitement had died down and they’d retreated to their homes to rest, Michael stopped by to give it. 

“I’m real proud of you, Gav,” he said, making himself comfortable on the bed next to the lad without a second thought. 

“Proud of me?” he asked, snatching his blankets back from the lad as he tried to steal them. Michael always did this to him. 

“Yeah. Proud of you. For putting up with the bullshit and finding your magic. Even if it was a total accident.” Michael snorted out a soft laugh and smiled, crossing his arms beneath his head and looking over at the other. “You just lucked into it, just like you lucked into everything else.” 

“Including you?” Gavin arched an eyebrow as he met the other’s gaze, desperately wanting to wipe that smug look off his face.”

“Especially me, are you kidding?” That comment earned him a gentle smack to the chest, a kiss to the cheek, and a mutter of ‘I’m going to make a tree grow through your damn house.’

To everyone else, their relationship was indiscernible at best. But Michael and Gavin knew exactly what they were to each other, they didn’t need anyone else in their business about it. They were partners. Not just in life and love, but in their magic as well. As he learned how to hone and control his abilities, Gavin would decorate the city and beautify the buildings that Michael had created. And once he had mastered his skills, Michael began to create buildings specifically for Gavin to embellish. Dirt roofs became his signature style, the gravity-defying feature held together by the roots of the flowers that Gavin planted into them. The city had never looked better, and even those who were initially unimpressed by Gavin’s abilities had to admit that it was perfectly suited to him. He took great pride in rubbing it in their faces. 

Gavin was happy to not be a member of the mundane anymore. His spirits were higher, and he felt more useful to the city. His abilities, with more practice, extended beyond flowers and grass and into fruit and vegetable plants. The magic that Gavin held could sustain them all. 

“You’re not,” he grumbled with a huff of indignation, grabbing the edge of his station and pulling himself back to it, hooking his knees beneath it to keep himself there. “I just… Got lost in thought.”

“You? Capable of thought? Now that’s something that wasn’t included in your file.” There it was, that stupid sly grin that Jacobi always had when he thought he was being oh-so-clever. Usually, he was. But that joke had become played out within the first month on the station.

Eiffel responded with mock laughter, trying to ignore the way that comment made an invisible knife twist in his chest. After all he’d done, no one thought he was good at anything. What a surprise. But he didn’t have time to unpack all of that right then. “Get some new material, I’ve heard it all before,” he drawled, hoping he looked as bored as he sounded. “I’m a slacker, I’m an idiot, I’m a motormouth. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your shoe’s untied.” 

Maybe there was some truth to one of those three things, because like the idiot he was, Eiffel had that brief moment of panic everyone had when someone told them that their shoe was untied, or their fly was down, or there was something on their shirt. And because of that panic, he looked down. It had completely slipped his mind that he hadn’t even worn shoes in the two (Three? Did those hundred days hurtling through space count? He didn’t know.) years he had been on the Hephaestus. “Oh, goddammit!” He groaned as he stared down at his socked feet in dismay, trying to tune out the cackling laughter Jacobi let out behind him that sent him halfway across the room. 

“You’re also gullible, apparently!” He let himself continue his path across the room so he could push off the back wall, still in a fit of giggles as he sailed back to the console. “You actually fell for it! I can’t believe it! I’ve never gotten anyone with that before.” Jacobi’s grin was bigger than it had ever been, and he wiped the tears from his eyes before they wreaked havoc on the station’s internal systems. Maxwell was too smart to fall for a simple trick like that, and Kepler… Well, Kepler didn’t like being pranked. 

Eiffel grumbled something incoherently, waiting patiently for Jacobi to get over himself before he spoke again. “Was there a real reason you came down here?”

“No, not really. Kepler’s giving Minkowski an orientation for her new role and then he needed to discuss… something with Hilbert, I don’t even wanna know. And Ala- Maxwell’s busy with Hera. So, I was bored.”

“What about Lovelace?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”

“Right… So you came to interrupt my very important work?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, lounging in the free-floating bliss that was zero-g as Eiffel pretended to look busy, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the man in the glass. The bright light of Wolf 359 backlit him beautifully, and the color in the star seemed to desaturate everything else in the reflection, except for those damn eyes. 

Eiffel let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, his fingers brushing through the empty space where his long curls used to be. He let out a frustrated growl, moving his hand up to his scalp. The little hair that was left was scraggly and damaged as hell. It was coarse and patchy, and it scratched his hand uncomfortably when he ran his hand over it. “Actually. I have an idea of something we can do.” He turned around to look at the real Jacobi, who arched an eyebrow in silent encouragement for him to go on. “Come with me.”

He’d had his head shaved a handful of times, and it was usually under duress. The first time was as a punishment for getting gum stuck in it, even though he hadn’t been the one to put gum there, and it would’ve been much easier to just cut the chunk out rather than shave his whole head. The second time had been when he’d joined the military. This would make number three, but this time it was necessary, despite the fact that his goal had really been to never cut his hair again. All that length had meant a lot to him, it meant that he had control over something in his life, finally, but the cryofreeze had, apparently, had other plans for it.

Additionally, most of the shaving kits, particularly their razors, had been dismantled for Minkowski’s crusade against Blessie. God only knew where all of those had ended up, or if they were still even on the station, but he knew there was one that was still safely tucked away. 

“Wow, Eiffel. I thought you would’ve liked to wine and dine your dates before bringing them home. You always struck me as more of a gentleman than that.”

“Shut up.” He rooted around in his locker, letting various pieces of uniform and whatever else had been shoved in there float freely around them as he did so. Most of it was contraband that he should’ve been more careful about getting seen, but he was too focused. Once he found the kit, he let out a soft, ‘a ha!’ And underhand tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re shaving my head.”

For once, Jacobi didn’t have some sort of sarcastic remark to make in response. He was just confused. “Sorry?”

“I can’t… I can’t stand it being like this. I can’t. And it’ll never grow back right with the ends this damaged, and I don’t really feel like cutting myself a thousand times in the process. So you’re doing it for me.” He tried to make his voice sound commanding, authoritative, but instead he just sounded desperate, irritated, upset. His hair meant so much to him, but he could stand to be without it for a little bit. He’d done it before, he could do it again. What he couldn’t stand was the sorry excuse for hair that he’d been left with. 

“You don’t think I’d use the razor to kill you? It’d be the perfect opportunity.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it back on the Urania when I was half dead.” 

“You hadn’t annoyed me as much back then.”

“I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can, but… I’d really just like my head shaved, please.”

A dramatic sigh filled the silence, and then: “Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”

That was good enough for Eiffel, and he trailed along behind Jacobi to the Hephaestus’ bathroom. Gravity was a little different in there, as in it was actually present in order to make showering and other general acts of hygiene (that Eiffel didn’t really partake in) a little easier. So he was able to sit on the counter and stare their reflections down as Jacobi stood behind him, setting the kit beside him on the counter. 

Jacobi wasn’t a friend, not by a longshot. In Minkowski’s book, he was part of ‘the enemy.’ But they’d spent a decent amount of time together after he’d been picked up by the Urania, and even a little bit of time before that over the comms. Someone had to keep in touch with him and keep up-to-date on his coordinates so the ship could get a lock on his location, and Kepler had felt like that work was beneath the highly intellectual minds of himself and Maxwell, so it had fallen to Jacobi. And Eiffel hadn’t minded, because beneath all the smart remarks, the guy was alright to talk to. A little stilted, maybe, but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. It was better on the Urania. Easier, at least, because Jacobi’s body language did a lot of the talking for him. Once again, helping Eiffel was deemed grunt work, so Jacobi had been the one stuck tending to his wounds, helping him get around when he was too weak to even keep his eyes open, and adjust to eating again after not doing it for a hundred days (though with all of the substitutes for rations Hilbert dared to call food, one could argue it had been even longer since he’d really eaten). 

Long story short, Eiffel liked Jacobi to some degree. The guy was alright in his book, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, because he could’ve easily said no, or done a hackjob of it, or killed him. But instead, he took his time and made sure that he didn’t miss any spots, his other hand resting gently on Eiffel’s head to keep it steady despite all the fidgeting. 

After the first pass, Eiffel moved to get off the counter, to turn around and thank Jacobi, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. 

“I gotta go again, make sure I didn’t miss a spot. It looked awful before, but it’ll look even worse if there’s just a tiny patch with a few hairs left.”

Eiffel furrowed his eyebrows together, but nodded and got comfortable again. As comfortable as he could, at least. His ass was already numb and the feeling was starting to spread down to his legs, but hopefully the second pass would go quicker. 

And it did, kind of. Jacobi didn’t need to clean the hair from the razor as often because there was barely any left, but he still took that same slow and gentle care as he had the first time. When he was done, he wiped off the leftover shaving cream with a nearby towel, smiling genuinely as Eiffel lifted a hand to feel over his scalp. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” he answered earnestly, laughing in relief. He didn’t hate the way his reflection looked anymore, and now he could actually believe everyone when they told him to pull it together because it would grow back eventually. Hopefully this made the process easier. His eyes drifted to Jacobi’s in the mirror, mirroring that same smile. “Thank you... I really do owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” The genuine smile faded to his usual cocky grin, and Eiffel threw the towel at him. It hit him square in the face, but it didn’t wipe away that look. “But… You’re welcome.” He offered him a hand to help him off the counter, steadying him with a chuckle when he nearly lost his balance. “Gravity that hard on you, Doug?”

“No! It’s just… That counter was not very comfortable to sit for that long on. And yeah, I guess gravity’s pretty hard to adjust to too.” 

The pair were silent for a long time, staring each other down. Jeremy was looking for a reason to get more wound up, to start yelling all over again. Telling off his commander for mistakes that everyone had seemingly let slide for far too long felt really good, and he wanted to keep going. Meanwhile, Trevor was calming down and calculating his next move very carefully. It was fine if his crew wanted to question his authority, they did it plenty and he never took it personally. But as far as he was concerned, Jeremy was no longer crew and no longer privy to that same mercy. After all, he’d quit.

“Fine. You can empty your quarters out and sleep in the observation deck, then. You’re no longer a member of this crew, so you no longer get to stay in crew cabins,” he stated after a few long moments, his tone cold. 

Jeremy blinked in surprise, not expecting Trevor to actually do anything about it. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me. You don’t get a room anymore, those are reserved for the crew. If you’re unhappy with that arrangement, I can tell Lindsay to get the airlock open for you.” 

“You know... If I leave, Michael’s gonna go with me. He goes where I go,” he reminded, though he was no longer yelling confidently. He was stumbling and faltering. Trevor had called his bluff effectively, and it was hard to keep up steam. 

“Then you can help each other clean out your quarters and keep each other warm on the deck,” he responded, shrugging casually. “Finding a new science officer will be just as easy as finding a new pilot.”

“And just how do you expect to get to the next port safely?”

Trevor chuckled softly, smiling. “Lindsay is more than equipped with satisfactory navigational skills, isn’t that right Linds?”

The comms system beeped to life, and a cheerful voice was heard over the speakers. “That’s right, Commander! Jack’s charting us a course as we speak. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

----------------------------------------------------

There was some truth to Lindsay’s words. They were equipped with the best-in-the-market autopilot functionality, but Jack was not charting a course. The entirety of the crew was gathered around a large monitor in the communications bay, watching the whole ordeal unfold through Lindsay’s eyes. There were bets on how it would end. Most of the money was on it ending in blows at this point. 

“Like hell I’m going with him!” Michael shouted, waving his hands and scoffing in disbelief as he looked at the screen. “I’m not idiot enough to throw away a good job when I’ve got it. I mean, sure the place is a shithole, no offense Linds-” 

“None taken.”

“-But like… It’s not like we have to do anything. If I try and find another crew, they may make me do actual work! Can you imagine? I am not going anywhere.”

“I don’t think he’s going to give you a choice,” Jack said from beside him, the others all nodding in agreement. “I think you’re gonna have to go with him.” 

Michael huffed, rolling his eyes and turning up the volume on the terminal. “If there’s one thing you fuckers should’ve learned about me right now, it’s this: I don’t have to do shit. Especially not for my boyfriend.” 

----------------------------------------------------

Jeremy grumbled to himself as he packed up his things. Michael was, of course, no help. He just stood in the doorway and spectated, making snide remarks when he saw fit. 

“You know, I’d really appreciate it if you could be on my side with this,” Jeremy said, balling up a shirt and throwing it at him. “Or at the very least, help me pack.”

Michael laughed, knocking away the shirt before it hit him in the face. “Fuck no, you dug this hole yourself. I’m not the moron who quit.”

“This place is a shithole and you know it.”

“Yeah, but you never have to fix any of it! You just have to sit there in your comfy pilot chair and wait for Gavin to do it.” Had Michael always been a little jealous of his boyfriend’s job? A little bit. The med bay was cold and unwelcoming, but the cockpit was cushy and warm. Plus, with Lindsay on board, the pilot didn’t really have to do much at all unless their systems went down. Which, to be fair, did happen a lot. “You pilots are always so snooty. You knew what you were getting into when you took this gig, you can’t expect it to be like the Ritz now.”

“Just fucking go,” Jeremy muttered, swiping up the last of his clothes from the floor. “Don’t even bother visiting, either.” The comment hurt them both, but that didn’t make him mean it any less. He didn’t want Michael to visit, he wanted him to stay at the port with him. 

The other just laughed heartily and shook his head, turning on his heel to leave. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

----------------------------------------------------

The observation deck was, as it always was, cold and lonely. The warm blankets and fluffy pillows that were on his bed were technically part of the quarters he had previously taken residence in, so all Jeremy had to sleep on was the metal floor, cushioned by his clothing and a few other soft belongings. The things that he owned that were unfit for laying on were stacked around him. The observation deck’s window was huge, and as he laid there unable to sleep, the vastness of space no longer brought him the same comfort it had when he was in the pilot’s seat. 

“Hey, Lindsay?”

The comms beeped to life once more. “Yes, Jeremy?”

“Am I making a mistake?” He asked, sitting up and leaning back against the stack. 

There were a few long seconds of contemplative silence before they spoke again. “Yeah, you are. A huge one, I’d say.”

“That’s not really comforting... I don’t suppose Trevor would be willing to… Reconsider?”

“No, I don’t think so. You insulted the ship. The commander takes that personally.” Lindsay did too, but they figured that Jeremy already felt guilty enough without them piling on as well. 

“C’mon, you know I didn’t mean it.” 

“Do I, though? Because I really don’t think I do,” they stated. Maybe Jeremy didn’t feel as guilty as they had hoped, so their politeness parameters were temporarily suspended. “This is a ship made from stolen parts, what do you expect? For everything to run perfectly all the time? If you wanted that, you should’ve signed up for one of the legal spacefarers out there,” they quipped. If they had eyes, they would have rolled them. 

Jeremy sighed heavily, sinking down the wall and burying his face in his hands. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take Trevor up on that airlock offer, he was sure he’d be happy to oblige.

“Is Michael going with you?” Lindsay asked after a few minutes, breaking the silence and sounding innocent enough. Jeremy couldn’t tell whether they wanted a yes or a no, but there was no use lying to them. They’d seen Jeremy packing alone, his quarters empty while Michael’s were still very much full. 

“No,” he responded, shaking his head, “No, he’s not. He’s gonna be staying on board.”

“Oh, good. I like him. I’d be sad if he left.”

“But you’re not sad that I’m leaving?” There was no response to his words, just the comms beeping to signal that Lindsay wouldn’t be answering more of his questions. Jeremy sighed again and lowered his hands, staring back out at the stars. “I don’t even think that Michael’s sad that I’m leaving,” he muttered to himself, laying back down in his pile of clothes and shoving an old jacket under his head for a makeshift pillow.

He couldn’t exactly blame him for it, either. Maybe he could’ve been a better boyfriend, maybe he should’ve just bitten his tongue and held back whatever criticisms he had of Trevor and the ship. But part of this felt like it was inevitable, like he was always going to blow up like this. The worst part was that he didn’t even feel guilty about any of it, he was only sorry that speaking up had the consequences that it had. It was hard to have any regrets about it when he fully believed he was doing the right thing, though.

----------------------------------------------------

It only took them another week to reach the nearest spaceport, some podunk trading and tourist hub located pretty centrally to all the bigger colonies. Trevor liked it because they’d be able to stock up on supplies without having to scrounge or overpay. That was something that desperately needed doing, the last few ports had single rations sold for thousands of credits or reasonably priced ones that were nearly a century past date. Plus, they’d have pretty good odds at finding a replacement pilot there too. Jeremy liked it because it didn’t seem like the worst place to be booted onto, he could find work with another crew or in the port pretty easily. Everyone else liked it because being at port meant a few days of rest. Lindsay didn’t have to worry about some of the more power-hungry systems that came with flying a ship, which meant that Gavin didn’t have to run around making patchwork repairs at every hour of the day. But for some, their work didn’t stop. Matt always had to keep his ear to the radio for any incoming transmissions, and Michael and Fiona could only leave their experiments and samples unattended for so long before there were catastrophic results.

Reaching port this time was different this time around, though. They’d never had to say goodbye to one of their own before. Jeremy had been permitted one last night on the ship, but in the morning he’d have to go. To honor that last night, Gavin and Michael decided to organize a going away party for their fellow lad, complete with drinks and proper food (not just freeze-dried rations that pretended to be edible) and parting gifts. 

It made Jeremy feel better about going when he saw how sad everyone seemed to be, how sincere they were in expressing how much they would miss him. He’d convinced himself that they all hated him for speaking out the way that he had, no one had come to speak to him in the observation deck and the only time he saw anyone was when he was brought his rations, but the party was a good indication that they didn’t hate him: they just pitied him. 

Michael was certainly the most upset, despite the fact that he’d pretended to be unbothered only a week prior. Even if they had to do it from lightyears away, they promised each other they’d find a way to make things work. The communication technology was there, they’d still be able to talk. Michael was just glad that he wouldn’t have to worry too much about Jeremy while he was gone. It was a busy port, there’d be plenty of people around looking to hire a skilled pilot. And even if he couldn’t find work right away, it was safe enough that he could stay there for a while without running into any trouble unless he went looking. 

Despite all the fun of the festivities, Trevor’s absence was hard to miss. Jeremy had to admit that he’d been foolish for expecting it, but not getting a final goodbye from his former commander stung. 

However, Trevor had decided that his day was best spent working instead of partying, arranging for fresh shipments of supplies to be loaded into the cargo bay and beginning his search for a new pilot. The first task was successful, the latter one… Not so much. No one was really giving him the time of day, not believing him when he told them he captained his own ship and could afford to pay handsomely for work. Or they simply weren’t interested in the cargo that would need to be transported. After he was fed a lot of bullshit from people who clearly didn’t know anything trying to weasel their way onto his ship, he reached his limit and returned to the ship, thoroughly disheartened by the end of the night.

Trevor spent the evening in his quarters, agonizing over the situation for a few hours. There were a few solid candidates when he looked past all their unfavorable qualities, but he still wasn’t thrilled about any of them. Everyone was busy partying with Jeremy, he was grateful for the peace while he tried to work something out. The only thing that pulled him out of his thoughts was Lindsay’s chime. Usually that signaled that he’d been working for too long and it was time to get some rest, so he began to stand up, stretching his arms out over his head to ease away the stiffness.

“Commander, Gavin’s outside the door. Should I let him in?” They asked, sending a feed to his terminal of the lad standing outside the doors. He sat back down slowly, squinting as he looked at the grainy footage on the screen. 

“Does he look like he’s carrying any stink bombs? I can’t tell.” 

There were a few moments of silent examination before the comms beeped to life again. “Nope, he’s clear.” 

Trevor waved in approval then, twisting around in his chair to face the door. “Let him in, then.” 

The doors slid open to reveal Gavin standing there, fortunately empty-handed, with a smile on his face. “Commander! Missed you at the party, you should’ve been there! I saved you a bev, if you want it.” 

“No thanks. Some of us had actual work to do, y’know.” He paused, looking the other up and down. It was always hard to read Gavin, he was always brimming with so much energy, it was hard to tell if his fidgeting was excited stimming or covering up for anxious nerves. There was no telling what he wanted to share. “I really hope you didn’t come here just to chastise me for not going to a party for someone who couldn’t stop insulting the ship every chance he got.”

“Nah, I get it. No one insults our Lindsay and gets away with it. But… I do think I can help with some of your problems.” Trevor arched an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. “I know a pilot at this port. He’s one of the best. Well, actually, he is the best. And! He owes me a favor! So he’ll definitely be taking the job.”

“If he’s the best, how can you be sure he’s not currently in a crew?”

Gavin laughed at that, and Trevor’s face turned to one of confusion. “He’s rather picky about the jobs he takes. And, like I said: He owes me.”

He was quiet for a few moments, biting his lip as he thought it over. Gavin hadn’t led him astray before, it was how they’d ended up with Michael and Fiona on the crew, but it all felt a little too good to be true. Coincidences made him uneasy, but what choice did he have? “How soon can I meet him?”

“Tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“I’d like to, yeah. After breakfast. Lindsay, set an alarm for the engineering bay to make sure Gavin wakes up in time.”

“Yes, commander.”

“Hey!”

Trevor grinned as the other pouted. “Anything else, Gav?”

Gavin flipped him off before breaking out into a grin of his own. “Nope! That’s it. I should get back to the engines ‘case they bust again, but I’m happy to be of service. See you tomorrow, Trev.”

“See you tomorrow, Gavin. Get some rest, don’t stay up too late pestering Matt.”

“Will do, won’t do, goodnight!”

----------------------------------------------------

The next morning came soon enough, the crew having breakfast together for a change since Michael had been kind enough to grab some fresh ingredients and cook them a nice meal. It was refreshing to have real food, not just the usual freeze-dried rations or nutrient slurries they normally relied on. And real coffee was always a treat, though no one would dare insult Fiona’s synthesized seaweed coffee replacement for fear of losing the one caffeine source they had between stops. 

After the meal, Gavin and Trevor set out as planned. They had a pilot to search for, and the lad wouldn’t stop ranting and raving about how great this guy was supposed to be. Trevor just hoped that he was going to live up to all the hype.

“When you said this guy is picky about the jobs he takes, just how picky did you mean?” He asked as they searched through the first hotspot. There were a few places this mysterious pilot liked to hang out in apparently, and there was no telling which one he’d be at. 

Gavin chuckled softly, glancing over at Trevor with a smile until he realized he was being serious. Then, he just shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno. He won’t complain about the ship, if that’s what you mean.”

“Kind of. I just want to make sure he’s not too high class to run the sort of jobs we run.”

“Oh, trust me. He’s not. He is exactly low class enough to run these sort of jobs. But, y’know, like everyone else he wants to make sure the money’s real, and that he’s not gonna end up space dust.” 

“Fair enough.” Those were reasonable requests, and ones that were easy enough for Trevor to guarantee. No one on his crew ever ran out of credits, and no one had gotten seriously injured on a job. The ‘on the job’ part was the most important part of that sentence, because injuries did still happen around the ship, despite everyone’s best efforts. 

Spots two and three were as equally bust as the first one, but Gavin was just as determined as he’d been at breakfast. Trevor, not so much. It was well past mid-day by the time they reached the fifth spot, some sort of hotel and lounge for people to catch their breath and put their feet up. 

The moment they stepped in the door, there was a big beaming grin on Gavin’s face. “Fredo!” He shouted, raising his arms as he cheered. “Took us long enough to find you!”

The man in question was seated casually on a sofa, nose buried in a magazine, though his attention was broken by Gavin’s shouting cutting through the ambiance. “Gavin?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion as he set his magazine aside and stood. “What the hell are you doing so far out?”

“Ah, well, that’s a bit of a long story,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss the question as he walked up to the man and wrapped an arm around him. He dragged him over to Trevor, still beaming. “Trevor, this is Alfredo. Best pilot on this side of the universe. On both sides, probably, but he doesn’t like to brag. And Alfredo, this is Trevor. He’s the big boss of the Morrigan.”

“I, uh… Yeah, that’s me. I’m the cap- The commander.”

“Cat got your tongue, Commander?” Alfredo asked, smirking as the other’s face tinted red. “C’mon, let’s go somewhere else and chat. There’s way too many people listening in out here.”

----------------------------------------------------

They ended up in Alfredo’s room, crowded around the small table underneath a dim light. However, Trevor didn’t need a lot of light to get a read on someone, and he noticed a lot of things about their potential new pilot in a short time. He didn’t fidget like Gavin did, each movement seemed like it was with purpose, but sometimes he’d flex his fingers and roll his wrists. It told him that he was as experienced as Gavin said, because Jeremy had started to do the same thing after a long time behind the helm. His jacket was well worn, the red still bright in some spots but faded in others, and patched in places where it’d been damaged. That told him that Alfredo wasn’t afraid of a fight, and he was resourceful enough to not let good things go to waste. All good things, in his book. 

“So, what’s your offer?” Alfredo asked, breaking the silence once they’d all gotten settled around the table. 

“My… Offer?” 

“Yeah. If I work for you, what do I get?”

Trevor and Gavin looked at each other for a moment, the latter stunned by the bluntness of the question, but the former was used to unprofessionalism like that. In fact, he preferred it. “Well, for starters, a spot on the ship. You get your own private quarters. However, you really are there as a backup to our ship’s computer in case things get extra… Challenging. They’re good, but there’s limits to every AI.”

Alfredo’s eyebrows raised at that. He’d never been on a ship that had a computer like that on it before. “Sounds like a fancy ship.”

Gavin snorted out a laugh, shaking his head quickly. “Trust me, it’s not. It’s all cobbled together, and the only reason we ended up with Lindsay was because their system was gonna be salvage otherwise.” 

“Right…” He cleared his throat, looking back to Trevor. “What about money?”

“We all get an equal cut of the credits. We’re all important on the Morrigan, no one gets more or less than anyone else.” Everyone put in a lot of work to keep the ship running smoothly, sometimes Trevor felt like he wasn’t doing enough in comparison. Every now and then, he’d take less from his own cut to give everyone else a little more. It felt fair. “And we kind of just go wherever when we’re not running jobs.”

Alfredo was quiet for a few moments, thinking things over. He knew he owed Gavin a favor, but at the same time this whole deal seemed too good to be true. No commander was ever this reasonable, this good to his crew. “Can you go wait outside for a minute? I’d like to talk to Gavin,” he said finally, and Trevor was happy to oblige. He didn’t take his eyes off the other man until the door closing forced him too, then they were fixed on Gavin. “This smells like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you Fredy, it’s not. We all get an equal cut, the rooms are pretty damn lush, and the jobs are alright. I don’t do much but patch up the ship after them, but we haven’t had any major hull breaches yet.” He seemed quite proud of himself for that, but deflated when Alfredo didn’t respond in kind. 

“Yeah, but what about your last pilot? What happened to them? No one just leaves a gig this good.”

“Ah, well… Actually, some do. There were a few… Disagreements. He wasn’t happy on the ship, and Trevor doesn’t like when people insult the Morrigan, or Lindsay,” he explained, choosing his words carefully. He wasn’t sure either of the men involved would be happy if the story started to get spread. “But it’s a good ship, a good crew, and Trevor’s a good man. Plus, you owe me.”

“I know, and that’s the worst part!” He groaned, slumping forward with his face in his hands. “I hate owing you, you always make people pay you back in the worst possible ways!”

“Oi! I’m getting you a job!”

“Yeah, and it all sounds shady as shit! I know you’re smugglers, but damn. Trevor’s cold.”

Gavin just chuckled softly, because he couldn’t exactly disagree with him. The commander had his moments, but didn’t everyone? “Look, Fredo. You need this, and we need you. So just… Take the job, would you?” 

Alfredo chewed the inside his lip as he thought it over, letting out a long sigh after a minute. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Gavin said with a grin, clapping Alfredo on the shoulder before yelling for Trevor to come back inside. 

He genuinely couldn’t guess what they had been talking about in there, but judging by the look on Gavin’s face it was something good. “You’ve decided, then?” He asked Alfredo as he took his seat again.

“He has! He said that he’d joi-“

“-Gavin, dude. Let me talk,” he said, swatting at the other man to get him to shut up. “I’ll join your crew, on one condition…” He trailed off, wanting to gauge the other’s response before he continued.

“And that is?” Trevor asked, arching an eyebrow and waiting for him to go on. 

“I have some cargo I need to get off this asteroid. It’ll be a win/win for the both of us: You get to see how good I fly, I get this job off my back, and you, me, and your crew get to split the money.”

It’d be a good reason to get out of the spaceport faster too. Trevor wasn’t planning on leaving until they had a job anyway and now one had fallen right into their laps with a new pilot in hand. “Sounds like a deal to me,” he said, reaching a hand out for Alfredo to shake and smiling across the table at him. It was a genuine smile, the facade of the stern negotiator falling away. 

Alfredo grinned right back at him, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “Hell yes.”

“We can get into the details of the job back on the ship, but I wanna introduce you to your new crew first.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love them, Fredo. They’re all brilliant.” 

----------------------------------------------------

The Morrigan welcomed its commander back onto the ship with a cheerful musical tone, the doors sliding open as he approached with Gavin and Alfredo in tow. 

“Oh, now who’s this?” Lindsay asked, curious about the new arrival. If they were being honest, they hadn’t expected Gavin to be telling the truth about knowing a pilot, or for Trevor to be convincing enough to get him to join. Their expectations weren’t pessimistic, just realistic. They knew their crew.

“Lindsay! Hey there, perfect timing,” Trevor said with a grin as Gavin scurried off to go gather the rest of the crew. “This is Alfredo, he’s gonna be our new pilot! And Alfredo, this is Lindsay, our ship's computer, and your co-pilot. If you have any questions about the ship, they’ll be the one to ask.”

“That’s right!” They chirped, “Not to brag or anything, but I know more about this ship than anyone, except maybe Gavin. We’re about equal, but don’t tell him I said that!”

Alfredo chuckled, amused by just how much personality this supposed AI had. “Are you sure there’s not a person on the other side of those comms, commander?”

Trevor simply shook his head. “Nope, just a Lindsay!” He answered, motioning for Alfredo to follow him as he led him further into the ship. Doors opened and shut behind them automatically as they went, which meant that Lindsay was keeping a close eye on them. They’d really taken Jeremy’s comments about the ship to heart, and they had to make sure the new guy wasn’t going to say the same thing. 

“No offense, but… How does a ship like this afford a computer like that? I know how much these jobs make, and how much those things cost, and… The math just isn’t adding up.”

The speakers beeped to life with a gentle tone, and Lindsay spoke up for themselves. “I was a rejected version of an even more advanced system, but because of how advanced I still was, they couldn’t just shut me down and wipe out all my data. So, they put me up for sale instead.”

“We got a pretty good deal on them, actually. No one really wants a buggy AI, too much of a risk or whatever, but for a smuggling crew who doesn’t care about perfection, they’re perfect.” The bugs that the programmers had rejected Lindsay for were hardly even bugs in Trevor’s eyes, they were just things that made them too hard to control. There was no speech filter, no way to control them or make them do whatever you wanted, which is why they’d been rejected. You had to treat them like a person, and their programmers had hated that. 

Alfredo was genuinely impressed by the state of the ship, and how smoothly things seemed to run on the surface. Lindsay gave him a quick brief on the engine the ship was powered by and some tips for when he was at the controls to help work around some of its quirks. By the time their spiel was done, they’d reached the bridge where everyone had been gathered so they could get introductions out of the way all at once instead of hunting people down one by one.

The Morrigan was no small ship, and its crew matched it. It was, by far, the largest smuggling ship that Alfredo had ever stepped foot in. Probably the happiest as well. Every role had a person to fill it, and none of them seemed to have many complaints either. 

The first person to speak up and introduce herself was Jack, the ship’s navigations officer. She worked with Lindsay to chart their courses, keeping in mind everything that they’d have to avoid ranging from rogue space debris to the ever annoying authorities. The three of them would be working very closely together, so Alfredo was glad that she spoke up first. 

Michael and Fiona introduced themselves next, the former being the ship’s medical officer and physician while the latter was a scientist. She had her own experiments to run, but she also spent a lot of time helping Michael keep everyone on board the ship healthy. It was a much more difficult task than one would expect, apparently. Alfredo asked Fiona what she was doing on the ship, but she refused to say anything more than “nunya business,” and Trevor insisted that it was better if he didn’t know, so he dropped the subject. 

The communications officer introduced himself after that. Matt was more quiet and reserved than everyone else seemed to be, but he still seemed quite content in his role. It seemed like there wasn’t much to do - there were no aliens trying to make contact, or even that many other ships for that matter - so he spent a lot of his time misusing the comms to catch up on radio shows from Earth or the other space outposts. 

“Alright! Well, feel free to hang out with everyone for a bit,” Trevor said, noticeably relieved that everyone seemed to like Alfredo, and vice-versa. It was a good first step. Gavin was usually a pretty good judge of character, but one could never be too careful. 

“You’re not gonna stick around?” Alfredo asked, frowning a little. “You can’t just leave me alone with these guys.” That comment was hushed, he didn’t want anyone else to hear. 

“Sure I can. I’ve got some work to do, and besides, they don’t bite.” He looked pointedly at Michael. “Usually.” Alfredo whirled around to follow Trevor’s gaze, eyes going wide as Michael snarled at him. The pair broke out into laughter, making Alfredo huff in displeasure.

“That’s not funny, man.”

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t resist. Just… Relax.” He put his hands on the other’s shoulders, giving him a little shake. “Everyone here is great, they’re the nicest people on this side of the galaxy. You’re gonna have to get to know them eventually, so you might as well start now. I got some work I gotta do to get us loaded up, but come up to my quarters later. We need to hammer out the details of that job so we can get outta here soon.”

Alfredo nodded slowly, mumbling a confirmation and watching as Trevor turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Michael and Gavin slammed a hand down onto each of his shoulders, snapping him out of his trance as they whirled him around. 

“C’mon, Alfredo! We’ve still got some booze leftover from Jeremy’s going away party,” Michael told him with a wicked grin, “Jack makes the best drinks, you gotta try one.”

“I dunno... I just joined, is that really smart?”

“Is what smart?” 

“Drinking.”

“Nah,” Gavin scoffed, shaking his head quickly. “Drinking’s always smart, trust me.”

Alfredo rolled his eyes. He knew firsthand that trusting Gavin was a bad idea when it came to alcohol, but on the other hand… Maybe it’d be a good way to get more comfortable around everyone. He was still a little wary, and a little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the crew, some help feeling more at ease was definitely welcome. It was called liquid courage for a reason. 

And after a few drinks, he certainly felt more at ease. At the same time, it was weird being accepted so quickly. Sometimes he was stuck on his own, even when he was on a crew. Space had a tendency to be a very lonely and isolating place, it seemed like these people were well aware of the fact, and worked hard to make sure no one fell victim to its clutches. Fiona saw him standing off to the side, trying to edge away from all the excitement, and dragged him right into it. Jack gave him drinks when she spotted an empty cup, alternating between alcoholic and not to make sure he didn’t end up too far gone. And Michael and Gavin were something else entirely, wasting no time in filling him in on the latest ship gossip and ongoing pranks. Ultimately, he decided that he’d made a good choice in trusting Gavin and joining the Morrigan. 

When the festivities died down and everyone began to clean up and retreat to their quarters, Alfredo took it as his sign to go and find Trevor and discuss the job with him. Finding his quarters was easy enough, but he hesitated outside. 

“He already knows you’re there, you know,” Lindsay piped up, giggling when they saw Alfredo jump and search around for the source of their voice. It was all around them, coming through every speaker in that part of the hall. “He’s got a video feed that shows the hall outside of his door. Put it in after Gavin pranked him a few too many times,” they added, this time only speaking from the nearest speaker. 

“Yeah, Gavin’s always been one for pranks.” He stepped closer to the door, but still didn’t go in.

They hummed softly, some sensors whirring in a far off room of the Morrigan. “Why are you hesitating?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because!” Alfredo gestured in exasperation, activating the door’s motion sensor. He jumped again as it slid open, staring through it and making eye contact with Trevor, who was seated at his desk and smiling knowingly. 

“Thank you, Lindsay.”

“Any time, commander! That trick never fails.”

Alfredo looked at Trevor with wide eyes, stammering out an excuse that was immediately waved off. “Just come on in, there’s no use putting it off,” he told him. “The sooner we get things sorted, the sooner we can get out of the port.”

“Why the rush?” He asked as he stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him with a loud thunk. “It’s pretty nice, as far as spaceports go.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a disgruntled former pilot hanging around here now, and I really don’t want him deciding that he wants to get revenge.”

“Fair enough.” Alfredo sat down in the chair across from Trevor, watching him from across the desk. When the other didn’t speak right away, he took it as an opportunity to do so instead. “So, the job. It’s several crates of cargo, will you have enough space in the hold for all of that?”

“How many is several, exactly?”

“About ten, all pretty decently sized. A yard or two each way, at least.”

Trevor chuckled, nodding as he made a note. “Oh yeah, we’ll have plenty of room. I’ve got some supplies getting loaded up tomorrow, if you talk to a man named Geoff at the mercantile he’ll be sure to slip ‘em in, make sure no one suspects anything.”

Alfredo raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s it? No questions about the cargo?”

Trevor let out a long sigh at that, lifting his eyes from his notebook to look at him. “Usually, I don’t want to know. It’s not my business to know. I’m not paid to know,” he explained, waiting until the other nodded in understanding to carry on. “But, since you brought it up, I feel like I should ask… Is it alive?”

“Uh… Yeah, it is.”

“Is it people? Cause I don’t do that shit.”

“What? No. No! It’s… Well, it’s-“

“Is it gonna break out of the crates and kill us in our sleep?”

Alfredo didn’t have an immediate answer to that one. Trevor didn’t find that comforting. 

“Probably not?”

They stared at each other for a few moments, gauging each other’s reactions until Trevor broke the silence. “Works for me! Like I said, talk to Geoff at the mercantile, let him know where you keep everything, he’ll get it all worked out.” He extended his hand, offering it to Alfredo for him to shake. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Alfredo.”

“Likewise,” the other man said, reaching out and giving Trevor’s hand a firm shake. “The Morrigan seems like a real nice ship, I can’t wait to see how they fly.”

With that, Alfredo took his leave, but Trevor kept his eyes on the door long after he walked out. 

The comms beeped to life, and Lindsay spoke from a speaker on Trevor’s desk. “I like him already.”

“Yeah, I do too,” he said whimsically before shaking his head to clear the thoughts from his mind and pointing a finger at the speaker. “I never said that. You didn’t hear that.”

“Of course, Commander. I heard nothing.”

----------------------------------------------------

The cargo was loaded up without issue the following day. All Alfredo had to do was give the boxes a small mark once they were in the hold, that way they’d know what was the smuggled cargo, but that was an easy enough task. They spent a few more hours at the port, letting everyone do a small tour around for some shopping and giving Michael a chance to say some goodbyes to Jeremy before they set out. 

“Alright, let’s see how this baby flies,” Alfredo said with a grin once he was in the pilot’s seat, cracking his knuckles. This was the one place where he truly felt confident and in his element, and it was so good to be back where he belonged. “Jack, we got a course set?”

“Yup, Lindsay’s got all the info, and there should be a copy of it there on your terminal,” Jack said from her station, turning in her seat to look at Alfredo and give him a thumbs up. She grinned as she got one in return. 

“Sweet. Lindsay, you ready to take off?” 

A few melodic beeps came through the speakers as they checked in with Gavin to make sure the engines were all in working order, then they spoke. “I am! Gavin’s on standby in case anything goes wrong, too.”

“Perfect, start the launch sequence for me, please?”

“Ooh, how polite! I like this one,” they hummed, and Jack laughed softly from her station at the way Alfredo’s cheeks tinged pink. “Sure thing, Fredo. One launch sequence, coming right up!”

The Morrigan shook and creaked as the engines fired up, groaning with effort as the sound roared through the engineering bay and echoed around the spaceport. It was a big ship that required a lot of power to get going, even more so to break away from the gravitational field surrounding the port, and every time they took the crew was terrified that it would come apart at the seams under the pressure. But, like it did every time before, it pulled through, and it wasn’t long until they were up in the atmosphere and out into space. 

“Wow,” Alfredo breathed, slumping back in his chair once things had stabilized. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. “Is it always like that?”

Trevor chuckled from behind him, smiling and nodding. “Yeah, pretty much.” He walked up and patted Alfredo on the shoulder, making eye contact with him in the window’s reflection before looking past it at the stars. “Get used to it, buddy.” The clanking of the ship he’d long since learned to tune out, but seeing the stars? It never got old to him. They were just as beautiful every time he saw them, and it was easy to get lost looking at them as they went by. 

“Guess I’m gonna have to.” It was clear that Trevor was lost in thought, so Alfredo just nudged his hand from his shoulder and leaned to look around him at Jack. “How we lookin’? Smooth sailing?”

“Smooth sailing. No asteroids, no authorities, no other ships if we’re lucky. I’ll let you know if that changes, though. It’ll take us a while to get to our next stop, few days at the most.”

“Can this thing handle lightspeed?”

Jack and Lindsay both broke out into laughter, and even Trevor snapped out of his trance to join in. 

“Absolutely not,” Lindsay told him, laughing brightly. They took great pride in the Morrigan, but even they knew its limits. “We’ve been trying to get our hands on a new warp drive for a while now, but no such luck. We’re stuck inside this solar system for the time being, unfortunately.”

“Put my cut from the job towards one, then.” Trevor’s eyebrows shot up, and he met Alfredo’s eyes through the reflection once more. “I’m serious. The further you can travel, the better jobs you can get.” And even for short distances, Alfredo wasn’t really one for travelling at a space snail’s pace. “The better jobs you get, the more money you make.” 

Trevor couldn’t disagree with that logic, so he simply just nodded in approval. “I’ll start putting my cut towards one too, then.” 

“Seriously?” Jack piped up, “like Gavin doesn’t have enough to fix around here?”

The commander turned towards her, arching an eyebrow. “Everyone’s free to spend their cut on whatever they like, and that’s how Alfredo and I are choosing to use ours. Do I say anything when you spend it on baseball cards just cause Geoff and Gav talked about ‘em?”

“No…”

“No, I don’t. So, you mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.” Trevor could take a ribbing as good as the rest of the ship’s crew, but there were some things he just wouldn’t take. The ship was still a very sore subject for him. Jack let out a long sigh but nodded, knowing that there was no use in pushing the matter further. “So, Alfredo. You don’t have to stay here all the time, Lindsay’ll put an alarm out if there’s any immediate threats you’re needed for. I don’t expect you to be sitting here all day, every day. That’d just be mean.”

Alfredo nodded in understanding, spinning around in the chair to get a look at Trevor. “I’ll probably hang out here most of the day, though. Nice view, y’know? Plus I wouldn’t want Lindsay and Jack to get bored,” he joked, cracking a smile. 

“Good plan.” Trevor nodded in approval before he spun around to leave, though he lingered just out of sight. Alfredo was agreeable, almost too agreeable. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the guy, or that he cared if he was a troublemaker, but it was certainly an oddity to have a crewmember that actually wanted to do their job. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. 

Jack scoffed from her seat once she thought Trevor was gone, glancing over at Alfredo from her terminal. “You let him walk all over you, dude.”

“He’s the boss, I’m gonna listen to him,” he responded simply, looking to her for barely a second before his eyes were back on the stars. 

“Yeah, but you can push back a little, he’s not gonna bite your head off for it.”

“He gets enough of that from the rest of you assholes.”

“Whoa, okay. Just trying to help.” 

Alfredo turned in his chair then, meeting Jack’s eyes. “I don’t need your help. Did you hear what Trevor said? ‘You mind your business, I’ll mind mine?’ That goes for me too.” He’d put up with enough bullshit from the other crews he’d been a part of and jobs he’d taken, and he wasn’t going to let this be like the rest of them. He knew the difference between letting himself get pushed over and keeping his head below the fenceline so he didn’t end up losing it. 

They stared each other down for a few long moments, sizing each other up. Jack realized then that she’d misjudged Alfredo. He wasn’t some rookie pilot pulled off the streets, he was the real deal, and he wasn’t going to take any shit from anyone. On the other hand, Alfredo realized that he’d judged Jack correctly, and he didn’t like antagonists much. He knew he’d warm up to her eventually, he had to if he didn’t want this whole thing to fall through, but that was an awfully bad start. 

Lindsay couldn’t stand the tension that was building in the room, making the air so thick that the vent system was having a hard time sucking it up for purification. So they did the only thing they could to break it: Sound a station-wide alarm. Trevor had to come out of his hiding spot then, running up to the main console to check the system. 

“Lindsay, what the hell’s going on?!” He asked, having to shout over the blaring alarm. 

“I don’t know, the alarm just started going off!” They shouted back, sounding panicked, although it was all an act. They pretended to flounder for a moment, making sure that there was enough time for the tension to fade entirely and that Alfredo and Jack had forgotten about their spat before they killed the alarm. “There! All sorted, I think it was just a crossed wire or something. Crazy, huh?” They could tell that Trevor didn’t quite believe them, but at least Jack and Alfredo had gotten back to work. “Maybe you should stick around for a bit, commander. Just to make sure nothing like that happens again.”

“Hm.” He hummed as he took a seat in the commander’s chair, kicking his feet up onto the console in front of him. There was no way to tell what they were playing at, but keeping an eye on the new recruit wasn’t exactly a bad idea, especially if Jack was going to be giving him trouble. “I think you’re right, Lindsay. Can’t be having any trouble on the bridge now, can we? Good call.”

“No commander, we can’t. And thank you.”

----------------------------------------------------

Things were quiet for a few days. Too quiet. There were the usual pranks and fights and other nonsense, but there were no large scale problems. Any commander would be happy about that and proud of their crew for avoiding disaster, but not Trevor. On the Morrigan, that meant there was a ticking time bomb hidden somewhere on the ship, and it was only a matter of time until it blew. He allowed himself to sleep, but only for a few hours at a time, and when he was awake he was on constant patrol. The previous longest record for going without a major incident was about three days, and it was now encroaching on a week. He wasn’t counting the detour they’d had to make to avoid some random authorities patrolling the system as a major incident, just a minor setback, so they were still due for something. 

When it hit a week since their last incident, he was almost convinced that he could relax, that he could let his guard down and accept that there was nothing waiting just around the bend for him. Almost. Barely a second after that thought crossed his mind, he heard footsteps quickly approaching from behind him.

“Hey, Trevor-boy!” Gavin called out for him, making him spin on his heels. “So, got a bit of a problem for you.” It was weird seeing someone relieved to learn there was a problem, but Trevor certainly looked that way. “There’s a lot of uh… Banging, coming from the storage deck.”

“Have you gone down there to check it out?” He asked, already knowing the answer before he even asked. 

“Absolutely not! Are you insane? Michael won’t go either, before you ask, you’re gonna have to go down there and look,” he informed him, and Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hey, don’t give me that! We don’t know what Alfredo brought on board, and I’m not trying to get eaten.”

“He promised me it wouldn’t kill us in our sleep.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t kill us when we’re awake, though.”

Trevor sucked in a breath, holding it for a moment as he thought his next words over carefully. “Lindsay?” He called, his attention no longer on Gavin as he began to walk

The speaker system chimed to life, and Lindsay greeted the two of them cheerfully. “Yes, commander?”

“Where’s Alfredo?” 

There was a beat of silence as they checked all of their ocular systems. “He’s in the bridge, why?”

“Have him meet me down by the storage bay, would you? And have Michael bring down a few weapons, I don’t know what we’re dealing with. Can you tell if anything’s started moving down there?”

“There is a lot of movement down there, but I think whatever it is, it’s still in the crates.” The comms system buzzed as they went quiet, searching the cargo bay to make sure they weren’t sending their crew down into certain death. “Yeah, no, it’s definitely still contained.” There was a beat of silence before they whispered, “for now.”

That brought some relief, at least. Still, he didn’t want to go in there with nothing, just in case. At least they managed to hit a new record. He’d have to mark it on his calendar when he got back up to his quarters. 

He let Gavin get back to work somewhere along the way down to the bottom of the ship, waiting outside the door to the hold and tapping his foot as he waited for Alfredo and Michael to join him. As he opened his mouth to ask Lindsay to let them know he was waiting, he heard the telltale sound of yelling that signalled Michael’s approach. Alfredo was much quieter, but he had no doubt that he was in tow.

Still, he was impatient. Trevor always was when it came to the safety of his crew. If there was anything that had the potential to harm them, he wanted it dealt with as quickly and efficiently as possible. There was no room for wasting time. He already had his hand out as Michael rounded the corner, and he didn’t lower it until he felt the weight of a gun settled in it. 

“Gave you your usual rifle, boss. Figured you’d want something reliable,” he explained, watching as Trevor inspected the rifle to make sure it was up to his standards. “Gave Fredo the harpoon gun, figured it might be handy and he said he’s used one of those before. Plus pistols for the both of you. Try not to miss your shots, though. Gavin’ll be pissed if he has to do a hull repair.” 

“Thank you, Michael. We’ll take it from here, but…” He trailed off, noticing that Michael himself was also armed with a variety of weapons. “Standby out here, just in case. Lindsay’ll let you know if we run into trouble.” They nodded at each other in understanding, the doors to the cargo bay sliding open in front of them. “Let’s go.”

Alfredo could only give a tiny nod himself, following behind the commander as they stepped into the hold. It was bright, the lights at full blast to make sure there weren’t any shadows to hide in. But that wasn’t enough to stop him from being nervous. His hands didn’t shake, but he was chewing on his bottom lip so much that it was starting to bleed, and every little noise made him raise the harpoon gun and aim. 

“You wanna tell me what’s in those crates?” Trevor asked as they worked their way towards the center of the hold, checking every nook and cranny as Lindsay kept them updated on any movement around them that was out of the ordinary. “I was fine with not knowing before, but-“ He was cut off by the sound of wood scraping against metal, dull thuds as whatever was inside of them grew restless. “But because of things like that, I can’t let things slide anymore.”

The other man hesitated, continuing to bite at his lip, but Trevor’s gaze was piercing and it made his blood run cold against his tongue. Nothing got past the commander, even the smallest of lies. “Plants. It’s plants.”

“Plants don’t move like that,” Trevor pointed out, and Alfredo couldn’t exactly refute his claim. “Now, what the hell is actually in these crates?”

“I’m being serious. It’s plants.” A beat of silence, more piercing stares, before he continued. “Mutant plants that were definitely overfed a ton of fertilizer and who only knows what else, but… Yeah. Plants.”

“Mutant… Plants?” The words fell slowly off of Trevor’s tongue, processing what they meant at the same time they left his mouth. “Just how mutant, exactly?”

“Depends. Some of ‘em are still pretty plant-like, but… Others are getting pretty close to Audrey II territory.” 

“As much as I appreciate the comparison, I’d appreciate a little more seriousness even more.” Alfredo murmured an apology, but Trevor’s silence made it clear that the time for talking was over. 

After a few more paces they reached the crates, specially marked to make it stand out from all of the other similar crates, but only to the trained eye. Sure enough, there was some banging coming from inside the crate, as well as some angry hissing, but it wasn’t exactly loud enough to be heard from the engineering deck, especially not over the roar of the engines either. If Gavin was able to hear it, it had to be something much bigger, much louder. 

They began to inspect the crates one by one, making sure each one was intact and tightening whatever screws had started to get knocked loose by the thrashing within. All the noise and movement had Trevor on edge, his heart racing and normally steady hands shaking each time he had to touch one of the boxes. 

“That’s all of them. Nine crates, all secure.”

Alfredo frowned, eyebrows furrowed together as his eyes flicked from crate to crate. “There should be ten here.” They both counted, and re-counted, and counted one last time for good measure. Sure enough, there were only nine crates with no sign of a tenth. 

“Lindsay, double-check the manifest for me?” They did, which only confirmed that there was a crate missing. Trevor’s face mirrored the pilot’s then, concern etched deep into their features. “Alfredo? Any explanations?” 

“Alright, this isn’t my fault.”

“I’m not saying it is, but I would still like an explanation. Or at least some way to make sense of… This.”

Alfredo shifted, uncomfortable under Trevor’s gaze. “Well… Best guess is that… Either Geoff miscounted or left one off the ship, or-“

“-Which is pretty likely-“

“-Or one of the plants escaped. Which is also pretty likely. Maybe even more likely.”

“Well. Shit.” They both hoisted up their weapons simultaneously, knowing that they couldn’t afford to get caught off guard by anything. “Lindsay, lock down the cargo bay! Nothing gets in or out of here, not even the two of us. If anything starts moving other than us or those crates, you tell us immediately, got it?”

“Sure thing, commander. There’s just… One teensy-tiny problem.”

Trevor groaned loudly, looking up at the speaker. “And that is what, exactly?”

“Well, you see… There’s so much movement in those crates that… I kinda can’t see any movement anywhere else in the ship, and especially not in the cargo bay. It throws my whole system off, I can’t see anything.”

He whirled around to look at Alfredo upon hearing that, rifle still raised, and for a second he thought that the commander was going to shoot him right where he stood. The thought crossed Trevor’s mind, he wasn’t going to lie about that, but he decided that it would be unwise. He needed someone to watch his back, even if that someone was the one who got him into this mess. Turning back around and marching on, he let out a very slow, very shaky breath as he tried to control his anger. 

“Alfredo?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You and I are going to stay in here and keep watch on the rest of these crates to make sure no more of these…” He trailed off, glaring back at the crates before his gaze was back on Alfredo. “Things escape before we reach our destination. Michael and Jack are going to be patrolling the rest of the ship to keep everyone else safe. I don’t know what the hell these things are capable of, and I’m assuming you don’t either, so we need to be on high alert. Got it?” 

Alfredo nodded quickly. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Now… Lindsay, how far away are we?”

“We’re about a day out. I’ll try and push the engines so we can get there faster but-”

“Don’t bother, I’d rather not blow the ship. Alfredo and I are just going to have to find some way to keep ourselves occupied.” 

A day stuck in the cargo hold with the commander, who was very armed and very angry, really wasn’t ideal for Alfredo, but he acknowledged that there were worse punishments he could be given. He was just glad that he’d already opted to put his cut towards the ship, because there was no way he’d be given all of it after this. 

----------------------------------------------------

“Got any sevens?”

“No, go fish. Got any threes?”

“Nope, go fishin’! Got any… Got any aces?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then: “This would be easier with cards. I don’t remember what I have or don’t have anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

It had been several hours since the start of the cargo bay lockdown, and they were already running out of things to do. They’d searched the hold over and over until they found scrapes in the floor that lead to a splintered crate at the far end, but nothing that told them where the plant monster had run off to. Then, they reinforced all the remaining crates, doing what they could to make sure nothing else would try to escape and end up succeeding in their attempt. After that, they’d sort of run out of things to do to keep busy. “Imaginary Go Fish” was only entertaining the first time (though Trevor would disagree), and Lindsay had shut off all their sensors in the hold in an attempt to get everything else back in working order so they could help Michael and Jack. Not only were they cut off from the rest of the crew, but they were alone for the next twenty or so hours. 

“At least we’re down here with the supplies so we don’t starve,” Alfredo muttered, trying to find any possible brightside to the situation. 

Trevor hummed in agreement, standing up and shaking out his arms. “Yeah, at least we won’t starve,” he agreed, the slightest hint of mockery in his tone. He had yet to outright voice his displeasure, but he was sure Alfredo could put the pieces together. After stretching, he checked his watch. “Time for another walk around. You stay put.” 

Slumping against a crate, Alfredo nodded, making sure he had his own weapon in hand as Trevor readied his own and walked off. They did this every half hour or so. Trevor made him do the first few, but he must’ve gotten tired of sitting around because it was the first time he’d offered to go. 

His footsteps echoed off the thick metal walls of the hold, and Alfredo listened intently to them. The only other sounds were the dull thuds of the contained plant monsters and the usual creaks and groans of the Morrigan itself, but those were easy to tune out once they droned on long enough. When the footsteps stopped, it was like the hold went completely silent. 

He was immediately on edge, standing up quickly and hoisting the harpoon gun up as he went. “Trevor?” he called, taking a few hesitant steps forward. When there wasn’t an immediate response, he took a few more, heading towards where he’d last heard the other’s footsteps come from. 

“I’m fine,” Trevor called back after a minute, “Just stay there, everything’s fine!”

“You don’t sound too sure,” was the response he got, and he just let out a huff. 

It was true, he wasn’t too sure, because in a corner Alfredo had surely overlooked on his previous patrols, the plant had taken over. Its thorny vines stretched across the floors and up the walls, writhing and squirming as it supported the weight of what looked like a giant flower bud but… Flowers weren’t supposed to have teeth. That was the one thing that had been consistent across the planets he’d been to. Plants didn’t have teeth. “I’m not,” he muttered to himself, wondering why the hell he’d agreed to take this job in the first place. You needed a pilot, he reminded himself as he took slow, careful steps back in an effort not to startle the thing. But I don’t think we needed one this badly.

“What’s going on? I’m coming over there.”

Trevor turned around slowly, carefully, just in time to see Alfredo running up. “No, don’t!” he shouted, putting a hand up to stop him, but something stopped him instead. 

A vine wrapped itself tight around his arm, the thorns digging in deep and latching on. It had been resting peacefully before, able to slumber without being disturbed by the occasional movement and noise from the two men, but Trevor’s sudden shouting had woken it up. And it was not pleased. 

He cried out in pain, instinctively trying to pull his arm free, but it only made the vine hold on even tighter. It reminded him of those finger traps Jeremy had brought on board one time: the more he pulled, the more it constricted his arm. But unlike those finger traps, it had no intentions of letting go once Trevor relaxed. 

Alfredo stood there in shock, eyes wide and frozen in place until the commander barked out an order. He didn’t even register the words, just that he needed to move, and he needed to move now. Gavin was going to kill him for the damage later, but there was no time to aim the harpoon gun properly before he was pulling the trigger. Though it missed the bud by a few feet, the harpoon did manage to sever a few of its tendrils. The plant monster let out an ear-piercing shriek, untangling itself from Trevor in order to start scaling the wall and worming its way into an air vent. The metal of the grate covering it bent and snapped from the force, and the ends of several vines hung out through the remaining slats. 

“Nice work,” Trevor managed through gritted teeth, trying to pretend like his arm wasn’t bleeding as badly as it was and didn’t hurt nearly as much as it did. Alfredo saw through the act in less than a second, retrieving the harpoon before dropping the gun and approaching Trevor. 

“That looks… Bad. I should’ve given you my jacket,” he muttered, pushing his sleeve up to get a better look at the damage. Bruises were already starting to form where the vine itself had been, and there were several grisly cuts from the thorns, all bleeding pretty badly. “Fuck… Lindsay! We need Michael down here, now!”

Trevor pushed Alfredo’s hands off him before sinking to his knees and gripping his arm, trying to cover at least one of the cuts in an effort to stop the flow of blood. Whatever wasn’t soaked up by his shirt dripped down to the floor, creating a pretty sizable puddle beneath him that began to soak into the knees of his pants as well. “They can’t hear you… They shut down all their sensors for this room, remember?” There were a lot of flaws in their plan, he saw that now. But at least he knew that the beast was for sure in the cargo bay, not that there was anything that could be done about that right then. “There’s… There may be some emergency supplies by the door, Michael makes sure there’s some in every room.” Accidents happened everywhere, and the lad hated having to run all the way back to the medbay for a bandage every time someone got hurt. 

Once Alfredo had retrieved the medkit, he helped Trevor to his feet and guided him back to their makeshift campsite. The further they were from that vent, the better off they were, though the plant monster would easily be able to follow the trail of blood Trevor left behind right to them. They sat down together there, Trevor still clutching his arm as he leaned back against the crates with a soft groan. He was feeling a bit woozy, 

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna bandage this up for now, hopefully that stops the bleeding, or at least slows it,” Alfredo murmured, popping the kit open and breathing out an audible sigh of relief when he saw that it was fully stocked. “Thank the stars,” he breathed, almost smiling as he grabbed a roll of gauze and began to wrap up Trevor’s arm. He was silent as he worked, faltering when the other spoke up. 

“Can we please talk?” he asked softly, eyes meeting Alfredo’s when he looked up. “I’d really like something else to focus on other than the pain.” 

“I thought you were mad at me?”

“I was… I am, but… I’d still rather talk than sit in silence.”

“Oh.” He continued to wrap his arm, securing it with some tape once he was done. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything. Something. I really don’t care.” He held his arm to his chest, cradling it in an effort to soothe the pain. 

“Well, how’d you become in charge of your own ship?” Alfredo asked, settling in beside him and leaning against the crate as he began to rummage through the medkit. 

Trevor chuckled quietly, turning his head to look over at the other. “Now that is a very long story, but… I guess we’ve got the time.” He checked his watch, taking a deep breath. “I worked on a lot of ships that treated their crews like shit. Treated their ships like shit too, honestly. I bailed on one before my contract was up once I had enough credits saved up, hid at one of the starports until they stopped searching for me, and then… I bought a ship of my own. It was small at first, real small. Couldn’t do much with it, couldn’t really go anywhere with it either, but I managed to swing a few small jobs.” He stared off into the distance as he spoke, looking out the small port windows at the stars outside the ship. It had been a while since he’d thought about any of this, even longer since he’d talked about it, but there was a fond smile as he did. “I don’t miss any of the bullshit at the start.”

Alfredo listened intently, a small stack of things from the kit forming in front of him. More gauze, disinfectant, rags, a suture and thread. He wasn’t really thrilled about the prospect of stitching up Trevor, but those wounds were so deep that something more needed to be done. “I don’t think anyone here misses the bullshit at the start. I sure had my fair share.” 

“How did you get started, then?”

“I used to be a pilot back on Earth. I was good at my job, really good, so they bumped me up to piloting shuttles between the colonies. After a while, I guess I got sick of seeing the same places over and over again,” he explained, letting out a soft ‘a ha!’ as he pulled a bottle of painkillers from the bottom of the kit. “Lotta ships need good pilots, and they paid better than the other gig, so I jumped ship, so to speak.” Shaking out a few pills, he passed them to Trevor who swallowed them down dry with a grimace. Anything to help the pain. “Never really wanted to own my ship, seemed like too much work, but… I was cool with piloting them. I get paid to see space, how cool is that?”

“It is a lot of work,” he agreed, still trying to get the pills down. “Sometimes, it’s too much work. But at the end of the day, it’s all worth it.” 

Alfredo was quiet for a few long moments, the silence hanging heavy between them. “Will this be worth it?” 

“Yes.” Trevor didn’t need to think about his answer as much as Alfredo had needed to think about his question. “Absolutely. You seem surprised.”

“But you got hurt. That thing could have killed you!”

“But it’s still in the cargo bay, and it didn’t hurt anyone in my crew. Better me than anyone else.” His crew was his family, and if he had to get hurt to keep them safe, so be it. It was a small price he was willing to pay. 

Alfredo scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t get you.”

“What?”

“No commander gives this much of a shit about their crew.” No captain gave their crew an equal cut, they always took more for themselves. No captain would sacrifice themself for their crew, they always forced their crew to do the sacrificing for them. No captain would adopt a broken AI like one would a stray cat. It just didn’t happen. “Not a single one. I’ve been trying to figure out your game from the start, and I just… I can’t.” The laughing only added to his confusion. 

“I know. No other commander does, but I do. And you’re gonna have to get used to it, Alfredo. All those assholes on the other side of the door are my family, and I’d sooner die for them than let anything bad happen to them,” he stated firmly, making sure the other was looking at him and meeting his eyes as he spoke. “There’s no game, no ulterior motive. You’re part of that family now too, so you’re just gonna have to learn to live with it.”

It had been a long time since Alfredo had been a part of any family, since anyone had accepted him so completely so quickly. While he didn’t fully trust Trevor just yet, he trusted him more than he had a few minutes ago. “Alright. I’ll learn to live with it.”

----------------------------------------------------

Alfredo was silent as he worked to stitch up Trevor’s arm, hands steady as he did so. He’d spent some time cleaning up the now dried blood, disinfecting the wounds and getting a better look at them. Some of the cuts were only surface wounds, already scabbed over and barely noticeable, but others were pretty gruesome. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to freak Trevor out, but he was pretty sure that he could see bone in a few of them. “Michael’s gonna have to redo these, but they’ll hold for now,” he murmured, tying off the last one and bandaging him up again before things got too bloody again. 

“How bad am I, doc? Am I gonna make it?” Trevor asked, really glad that he’d taken some more painkillers because he couldn’t imagine all of those stitches would feel great in a few minutes. 

“Yeah,” Alfredo said with a soft smile, taping down the end of the gauze. “You’ll make it.” I hope. 

----------------------------------------------------

As hour six rolled around, the comms hissed with static and a few musical beeps, surprising Alfredo and making him lift his head. He and Trevor had decided that sleeping was a pretty good way to kill time, so the commander had ended up fast asleep and slumped with his head on Alfredo’s shoulder. The other man hadn’t been so lucky, wide awake and checking every few minutes to make sure that he hadn’t gone and died on him. 

“Lindsay?” he asked softly, hoping they’d see the situation and match his tone. 

“Alfredo! What the hell happened?” They could see everything the second their cameras were back online: The broken vent grate, the vines coming out of the grate, the severed tendrils on the floor, the puddle and trail of brown dried blood leading to Alfredo and a very injured Trevor. “Is he… He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, he’s alive. We found the plant, and it… It got him good,” he explained, tipping his head forward to make sure Trevor was still asleep. “I patched him up, but… He’s gonna need a lot more than some stitches.”

“I’ll get Michael to come down-”

“No,” he stated, and Lindsay let out a soft scoff of indignation. “No one else comes down here. If you lift the lockdown, that thing’ll get free run of the station through the vents. We’ll be fine… We’ve got food and water, this kit’s got enough supplies to last us, and… I think as long as we leave it alone, it’ll leave us alone.” 

Lindsay hummed as they scanned the room. The plants in the crates had calmed down a little bit, and as far as they could tell the one in the vents was perfectly still, only shifting every now and then but not making any grand movements. “What should we do, then?”

“Make sure everyone else evacuates the ship the second we touch down and send Michael down here with a flamethrower. We’ll take a bit of a hit to our pay because we’ll be short a crate, but I don’t care. I want that thing dead.” 

“I’m sure the commander feels the same way… Are you sure he’s gonna be okay?” They asked, dimming the lights a little. If it was dark, the plants would probably stay calmer. It would make sleeping a little easier for the pair as well. 

Alfredo bit his lip, shrugging a shoulder before shaking his head. “No, but I’m trying to be optimistic.” He leaned his head back against the crate and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief he’d been holding for far too long. With Lindsay back, it meant he wasn’t alone. There was a buffer between him and the commander, someone to help fill the silence. 

They were quiet for a few minutes as they relayed information to the rest of the crew, before the comms crackled in the hold once more. “You should try and sleep too, ‘Fredo. Now that we know where it is, I can keep an eye on it.” 

“No, I gotta make sure he’s still breathing.”

“I can keep an eye on him too. The crates are quiet, so all my sensors are in working order. His heart rate is normal, if a bit weak, but he’s breathing fine. You should rest.”

He didn’t really have the energy to argue with them further, so he relented. “Wake us in a few hours. I’m gonna have to change his bandages and clean those wounds. Michael’ll kill me if I let those get infected.”

“Yes, he will.”

----------------------------------------------------

As hour twelve rolled around, Lindsay brightened the lights slowly and chimed softly to wake the pilot and the commander. They hoped that the plants wouldn’t be disturbed as well, but considering how long it took the pair to wake up, they weren’t really too concerned. 

“Trevor,” Alfredo said softly, jostling him gently with his shoulder. His ass and his neck ached from sleeping on the hard metal floor in such an awkward position, and he was sure that the other man would need another round of painkillers too. “Trevor, c’mon man. Wake up.” 

He did so with great reluctance, groaning softly as he registered several different aches and pains. “Was this really necessary?”

“Yeah, it was. Gotta change your bandages so Michael won’t have to cut off your arm,” he said, encouraging him to sit up before reaching for the supplies in front of him. “Or my head.”

Trevor laughed softly, starting to stretch his arms out over his head before he stopped short, wincing and clutching his bandaged arm to his chest. “Fuck… I thought that was a dream,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I wish it was,” Alfredo sighed, “But while you were sleeping, we got Lindsay back. So that’s good, at least. Told them everything. They wanted to send Michael down here, but I told them not to.”

“And why the hell did you do that?” Trevor winced as Alfredo started to unwrap the gauze. Despite how careful he was being, it still pulled at the cuts uncomfortably. 

“Because,” he started, murmuring an apology when he saw him wince and trying to go slower. “If the lockdown gets lifted, that thing can go through the vents and go anywhere it wants, which is bad.”

Trevor hummed in agreement, but it was reluctant. He didn’t like knowing Alfredo had been giving orders while he’d been asleep, even if they were the same ones he would’ve given. “What’d you tell them to do, then?”

“Keep the lockdown going, evacuate everyone once we land, and then send Michael down here. With a flamethrower.”

“Good thinking.”

“Why, thank you.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence then, Alfredo removing the last of the gauze and cleaning up his arm. The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, so now it was just a focus on preventing infection, which he hoped would be easy enough. It would be even easier once they got back on solid ground, when Michael could actually get in here and kill the thing. Bullets probably wouldn’t do the trick, they’d just piss Gavin off by causing damage to the ship, but fire was pretty damn effective in every circumstance. 

“Lindsay?” Trevor called softly, feeling instantly comforted when he heard their voice over the speakers. “Where is the thing? Still in the vent?”

“Yep. Still in the vent. It’s almost cute like this, even if it did try to eat you.”

“It didn’t… It didn’t try to eat me.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, commander. Oh, and Matt would like me to tell you that he thinks it’s hilarious you got your ass kicked by a plant.”

Trevor huffed, rolling his eyes and sinking back against the crates. Even when he was isolated from his crew, they still found a way to pester him. 

Beside him, Alfredo shrugged off his jacket, flipping it inside out so the soft lining was visible before balling it up. “You should get some more rest,” he said as he held it out to Trevor. “It’s not much, but it’ll be better for your neck than the crate.”

He hesitated a moment before taking it, sinking right down to the floor to lay flat since he had a pillow now. “It’s weird seeing you without your jacket on.” Alfredo had been wearing it from the moment he’d met him until now, he hadn’t seen him with it off once. 

“He even wears it to bed,” Lindsay piped up, laughing as Alfredo’s face went as red as the leather. 

“I do not!” He shouted defensively, glaring up at the ceiling.  “It’s just part of my style, that’s all.” 

“Relax,” Trevor chuckled, reaching out blindly to pat Alfredo’s arm. He missed and hit leg instead, but neither of them said anything. “I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s a good style, I like it.” He turned his head, looking up at Alfredo with a small smile. 

The other couldn’t help but smile back, getting comfortable against the box behind him. He didn’t know why that compliment made him feel so warm, but he was lucky that his face was already red from Lindsay’s teasing so it didn’t give him away. “Thanks, Trev.”

“Anytime, Fredo.” 

----------------------------------------------------

The hours rolled by easily, the pair spending most of them asleep because there wasn’t much else to do. They woke up a few times so Alfredo could change the bandages, munching on some rations at one point since the last meal they’d had was breakfast that morning. Chatting with Lindsay was another good way to pass the time, too. They were able to keep the crew updated on the situation down in the hold, and keep the commander updated on things going on on the other side of the door. There wasn’t much going on, just a lot of worry, but Trevor still didn’t want to be out of the loop. 

Once they’d slept as much as they could and talked to Lindsay until there was nothing more to talk about, they decided to do the only thing they could to pass the final few hours before the ship landed: Talk to each other. 

“You said you used to work on Earth. What was that like?” Trevor asked, looking down at Alfredo. They swapped who got to use the jacket-pillow every couple of hours, and since they weren’t going to be sleeping anymore Trevor had decided to surrender it back to its original owner (even though it was still technically his turn for another thirty minutes). 

“You’ve never been?” he asked, sticking an arm beneath his head to prop himself up as he looked back at the commander, who shook his head. “I mean, it was fine? I guess? Kinda boring compared to space. The sky was always the same, and there were way too many people. Have you seriously never been to Earth?”

“No, I grew up out in the Terra 2 colony. Then I got sucked up into a spacer crew, and that was it. Never saw any reason to go once I got the Morrigan, and now without a warp drive we’re too far out.”

“I’m shocked a job hasn’t taken you there, people there are always looking for stuff smuggled in from the far reaches,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. Customs was a bitch to get by, but he still had a few buddies down there who’d be willing to let them through. He was sure of it. “Once we get that drive, we’ll pick up a few jobs that’ll take us there.”

“Whatever you say, man. But you didn’t exactly make it sound worth the hype.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely not, but still. I can’t believe you’ve never been!” 

Talking to Trevor was a lot easier than it had been before. He wasn’t as scared of him, and a lot of the distrust had faded. The feeling was mutual, as well. The commander wasn’t angry at Alfredo anymore, because ultimately, none of this was his fault. He was the one who hadn’t checked in on the cargo sooner, he was the one who’d startled the monster, all of this fell on his shoulders because it was his ship and he was responsible for everything that happened on it.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor said out of nowhere, almost startling Alfredo with the suddenness of it. “I’m sorry I blamed all this on you.”

“It’s fine.” He hadn’t been expecting an apology from the commander. Maybe a month or two on bathroom cleaning duty, sure, but not an apology. “We both had our fuckups in this mess.”

“We did, but it’s unfair to blame the whole thing on you. Most of it, sure?” Alfredo cut him a look, and he just laughed. “Kidding. I’m kidding! Don’t give me that. It’s really more like… Fifty/fifty.”

“Sixty/forty. You’re the sixty.”

“Yeah, okay. Fair enough.” 

They grinned at each other, oblivious to the way the ship began to creak and groan around them as Lindsay initiated the landing sequence. The plants in the crates kicked up again, but the one in the vents was still. 

“You know what? You’re alright, Fredo. Gavin was right about you.” 

Alfredo’s face matched his jacket all over again, and he had to fight hard to get the words out despite how flustered he was. Trevor hadn’t called him by any sort of nickname until now, it made him feel good to know that the commander was finally warming up to him. “What… What did he say about me, exactly?”

“That you were the best of the best. And he was right. Normally he’s not right about these things, but… He nailed it with you.”

“You sure you’re not still woozy from blood loss?” Alfredo asked, arching an eyebrow as he sat up, meeting Trevor’s eyes. “Because I know we just did that whole heartfelt apology thing, but… I definitely almost got you killed.”

He shook his head fervently. “No, you didn’t. You saved my life.” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you die.” 

“And I owe you big time for that.”

The ship jostled as it landed on uneven earth, and Alfredo grabbed onto Trevor quickly to prevent him from sliding around with the crates around them. Even as things settled, he didn’t let go, hearing something hiss in annoyance from the far end of the cargo hold. 

“Lindsay… Please tell us Michael’s on his way,” Trevor said, sinking back into the pilot in an effort to hide as he scrambled to grab the harpoon gun. 

“He’s outside the door, we’re just waiting for everyone to be off the ship so I can lift the lockdown. I suggest staying out of his way… He’s been wanting to use that thing for the last eighteen hours, and I don’t think anything’s gonna get in his way.”

“If he dies, Alfredo’s the new medical officer.”

“Noted.”

Using a flamethrower while they were in flight was unwise because of the oxygen rich environment, but back on terra firma it was the perfect weapon for dealing with unruly plant monsters. Michael’s cackles of delight echoed off the walls, mixing with the roar of the weapon and the shrieks of the plant as it burned. The noises kicked off another escape attempt in the other crates, but the reinforcements they’d made held firm. Only a few crates of supplies got caught up in the crossfire, and Michael was relatively unharmed aside from the ash staining his lab coat. 

Alfredo let the harpoon drop from his hands once he realized he wouldn’t be needing it, instead helping Trevor to his feet and keeping him steady as they made their way to the bay doors. “Michael,” he said, watching as the man kept scorching the charred remains. “Michael!” He stopped firing quickly, whirling around with wide eyes. “Stop dicking around, Trevor needs help.” 

“A thank you would’ve been nice,” Michael muttered as he dropped the weapon, knowing he’d need his hands free to help Trevor. 

“Thank you, Michael. Now help him, please?”

“Yeah, yeah. Lindsay told me that you were trying to steal my job, I just hope you didn’t make things worse,” he said as he swapped places with Alfredo, supporting Trevor’s weight to make sure he wouldn’t fall. “Alright, Trevor-boy, let’s get you to the infirmary.” He started to lead him out of the cargo hold, and Alfredo watched them go for a second before turning to start cleaning the mess they’d left behind up. 

Trevor stopped after a few paces, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re not coming?” he asked, the smallest hint of a frown etched into his features. 

“Uh.” Alfredo blinked, not sure how to answer. “No?”

“Yes, you are. C’mon.”

“Why?”

“I need someone there for moral support. Michael’s not as gentle as you are and I need someone’s hand to hold while he patches me up.” Trevor cracked a grin despite the fact that he wasn’t telling a joke, and Alfredo mirrored the expression after a moment to process exactly what he’d said. “Come on, I don’t have all day,” he insisted, holding out his hand towards him as Michael began to pull him along. 

Alfredo jogged to catch up to them, abandoning the task at hand in favor of taking Trevor’s hand. He was happy to have escaped the cargo bay alive, and even happier to know that he was back in the commander’s good graces. Their relationship was different, stronger and a lot friendlier than it had been now that they were no longer wary of each other. Trevor couldn’t think of a single member of the crew that he would’ve rather gone through that ordeal with, either. 

“Thanks for not letting the boss die, Fredo,” Michael said, cutting into the silence once they reached the infirmary. 

“Yeah, thanks for not letting me die, Fredo,” Trevor agreed, smiling kindly at him and giving his hand a squeeze.