#iswm

"𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑡. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓. 𝑀𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒. 𝐼 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑, 𝐼 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑡. 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑡. 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑡. 𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑜𝑡 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑐𝑢𝑠." -𝐷

-

-so I've been gone a little bit because my power has been out for a while so I've been busy with drawing James a lot, hope you are all prepared to see a lot of him, this included. A lot of DA! James, but trust I'll be getting back to doing more Captain James stuff too, Ive got plans

- also this is a pretty much a lore accurate depiction of James's death after he fell from the balcony, being shot from William and then getting blunt force trauma to his head, hence the blood, and hence why his bangs are permanent stained red with blood after he gets his paradox.

The Captain scouts the cliffside carefully as they walk near its edge. The trees from the forest below stretch up past the cliff, well above their head. They're grand, of course - magnificent branches adorned with leaves, their shapes unlike any trees on Earth - but they block an otherwise lovely view of the sunset.

It's a shame. The ground at the edge of the cliff here looks marshy and loose. It would be easy and believable to stand at the edge and let the soil give way beneath them. A perfect accident. The drop looks a little too short, anyway. They'd likely break their legs, but death is an uncertainty. So they move along.

Their contingency plans had failed. They had every intention of 'losing control' of their car and dying in a crash, but the accursed thing had kicked up a pebble that somehow hit the battery with just enough force to destroy it, but not the car as a whole. Of all the damned things! The Captain still isn't sure how the hell that even happens, or what the odds are.

Not that the odds matter.

"When thinking in infinites, 'unlikely' is just certainty, waiting for its turn…"

The Captain scowls at the memory, kicking a rock off the cliff. It lands in the branches of a tree. They don't see it fall, but they hear it rustling through the leaves and fading away. It does nothing to relieve their mood. With a scornful growl, they keep walking.

They're kicking themself now. They could have brought a spare battery. But they had made a point to pack light. No rations, no perishables. Nothing that would be of more immediate use to the colony. Nothing that couldn't be recovered and reused when their body is found, weeks, or hopefully months from now. Their personal vehicle had been the sole exception. Even if Mark would've been heartbroken to find the custom car he built just for them reduced to scrap metal.

…God, they have got to stop thinking of Mark. They slap the sides of their face, shaking the specter of him out of their thoughts. This is for his benefit. He'll be safer when the Captain is gone.

He'll understand, one day.

He has to.

It's a steep, uphill walk, but finally they reach something of a flat plateau. The trees don't reach this high, so the Captain can see the gorgeous sunset painting the valleys and trees with a heavenly golden light. The sky above is an array of mesmerizing pinks and reds and purples. The night sky is creeping in at this late hour, but for now, the sunset is bold and brilliant, framed between the darkening sky and the verdant landscape.

It's an absolutely breathtaking view. The Captain couldn't have asked for a better place to die.

As they take a heavy step towards the cliff's edge, they turn to face the south. Colony Prima is already lit up at this hour, a shining metropolis on the horizon. A haven they personally helped to shape over the past four years. Further to the south-east, basking in the alien sunset, is the still-in-development Colony Secunda - out of sight from here, but not far from the Captain's mind.

As their First Mate, Tyler is primed to become Captain in the event of their death. They updated their will recently - though hopefully not recent enough to raise suspicion. They just hope he accepts the position. Whether he knows it or not, he'll do great. The Captain has faith he'll be excellent in their stead.

Far, far better than they could ever be, after…everything.

The Captain screws their eyes shut, wrenching their head away from the colonies. With a deep breath - their penultimate, perhaps even their final - they approach the ledge.

Their foot is already falling forward when they hear it. A blood-curdling scream they haven’t heard since the paradox.

"CAPTAIN!!!"

Mark?!

Their stomach drops, and so does the rest of them as the ground falls away.

For a single second, it’s like time freezes, and everything comes into sharp focus. The breeze rushing past their face. The thundering of Mark’s feet against the ground. The dissonantly peaceful birdsong on the wind. The rocks scraping their boots as their primal survival instinct kicks in, and they struggle in vain to regain balance against the cliffside. Fingers curling around the collar of their jacket.

It’s that last one that pulls them back into reality. Time jerks back to full speed and the Captain chokes as their fall is brought to an abrupt halt. Their legs kick uselessly and their hands fly up to the front of their shirt, allowing themself to breathe.

"I’ve got you!" Mark shouts. He’s straining; he sounds winded.

The Captain only feels one hand on their collar. Panic lashes at the edges of their mind. Mark must have dived to catch them. He’s hurt himself, he’ll get himself killed trying to save them, if that happens…!

"Let go! That’s an order! Drop me!"

Mark doesn’t answer the Captain’s plea. His grunts of exertion as he tries to pull them up just breeds more terror in their mind.

"Mark, if you don’t let go, you’ll come down with me, and I am not letting that happen!" they scream.

It’s their first instinct to thrash, to writhe and struggle and wrest themself from his grasp, but that would just put Mark’s life further in danger. A dozen conflicting thought signals swirl through their brain. Their heart pounds disgustingly loudly in their ears.

They’re both going to die here. They took too long, they were too careless, too unprepared. And now the one man they cherish more than anything is going to die saving someone who didn’t want to be saved. Who didn’t deserve to be saved. Who couldn’t stop hurting and hindering, down to the very last decision they made.

Some Captain they are, if they can’t even kill themself right.

Only…death isn’t coming. No weightless rushing towards the ground, nor horrified screaming as Mark falls with them. They jerk when Mark’s free hand comes down under their arm, around their chest, and the ground dozens of feet below slowly grows more distant.

"I’m not…letting…you…throw it…all…away!"

The Captain’s stomach lurches at the sudden whirl of movement. When it comes to a stop, they’re lying on their back with solid ground below them, but they’re…fine. They aren’t at the bottom of the cliff with their broken body breathing its last. Their heart pounds away, their breaths ragged but whole. Alive.

Alive, against all odds.

Against their wishes.

When they sit up, their eyes snap to Mark. He’s clutching his shoulder, wincing in pain. He surely pulled a muscle at least trying to save them. A tendon? It could have dislocated, for all they know.

Why? Why can’t they stop hurting him?

Ugly, painful anger bubbles up in their chest, and forces its way out: "Why did you do that?! You could have fucking died! You idiot!"

It’s too much, they know. They can’t direct their rage at him, it isn’t fair. It’s themself they’re angry with.

Mark glares at them incredulously. "I could’ve—?! You just tried to—!"

"No I didn’t!" they lie. Petulantly. Like a stubborn child caught eating something they shouldn’t have. Their hands fly up to grab at their hair. "I…"

If there was ever a time to get a grip, this is it. Pull it together. Pull it together. The Captain takes a breath, wipes their hand over their face. Pulls on that distant, professional facade they’ve perfected over the years as best they can in such a frantic state. (Which is to say, terribly.)

"I-I slipped! I got…I got too close to the cliff’s edge, I was just…ad-admiring the view. I’m sorry."

They hazard a glance at Mark. His features are drawn tight, his gaze doubtful. He’s clearly not buying it.

Of course he isn’t. They hesitated for too long, they know he saw them step off of their own accord, are they fucking stupid?

Mark’s eyes fall to the Captain’s backpack, where it lies untouched in the dirt beside them. There’s a beat of hesitation before he darts for it.

"Hey—!" The Captain reaches out in protest, but he’s already rifling through it before they can even try to stop him. Mark gazes into the bag for a long while. Then he narrows his eyes dubiously at the Captain.

"How long were you going to camp out here?" he asks.

It’s a trap. Damn. Damn! They didn’t intend to be found so easily. They can’t give an answer that could satisfy him. But they have to answer. "A-A few days."

"You’re lying," Mark says without hesitation. "You announced you’d be gone for three months—"

"That was a typo—"

"—And there’s not enough food in here to last more than one day."

The Captain bows their head, shielding their eyes. They usually have the brim of their captain’s hat to hide behind, but all they can do now is let their hair fall in front of their face. It’s not enough. It’s still too vulnerable. They’re backed into a corner.

Mark sighs. "Captain… Please, be honest with me…"

His voice quavers desperately, almost scared. It shakes something loose in the Captain’s psyche, one memory among piles of others they’ve spent years trying to repress.

"I tried… I-I tried to keep them alive, Captain…"

Just one of many, many times they failed him. One of many, many reasons they need to disappear.

"You were gonna…die…out here, weren’t you? You wanted…" He can’t seem to bring himself to say it. Not that he needs to, anyway.

The Captain hangs their head lower. To hide. Out of shame. Either, both, they can’t even tell. Unshed tears wobble in their eyes. And somehow, the pathetic coward that they are, they find it in themself to lie again. "No."

The tension is thick. No bald-faced lie can cover up the truth, and they both know it. Even before the Captain hears Mark move, and hears the telltale rattle of the pistol they packed with them.

"Then why’d you bring this?"

The Captain blinks, praying Mark doesn’t see the tears fall clean into their lap. "Defense," they reply thinly.

Their whole body is tight with tension. They’re going to break down at any moment and they’re powerless to send Mark away, to hide, to do anything. Mark tinkers with the gun, and all they can do is sit there and listen and regret that they even bothered bringing the bag, because now all it is is evidence of their last resort. They should have brought more bullets, make it look believable, but then what if the colony needed it more than them—

A metallic noise rings out, as sharp and clear as a bell. The one and only bullet they brought with them being spat out of the gun and into Mark's palm.

They can feel the despair radiating from Mark long before he sighs: "Oh, Captain…"

"Fuck!"

The dam breaks. The Captain’s hands fly to their face. For comfort, for protection, for noise suppression, who fucking cares? Wet, ugly, pathetic sobs bubble out of them like a volcano erupting.

There’s no escape. No escaping this guilt and shame, the mistakes they’ve made, the harm they’ve done. Even if they die, their sins will weigh on them for eternity. Even if they live, there will never be enough water to wash away the blood on their hands.

"Captain…" Mark whispers, before his arms wrap around them in the tightest hug they’ve had in years. He’s crying too; they feel his tears on their neck, hear his quiet sobs and sniffles even as he rocks them both gently. His hand rubs the Captain’s back.

"I-I-It was gonna be so simple!" the Captain cries. "Just a fuckin’ slip, trip ‘n’ a fall. A ba-ad s-spill in the woods… It was meant to look like— a— fucking accident…!" Their voice tapers off. They snort and gasp for breath—

"I’m sorry…!"

—and their voice gives out, dissolving into mournful wails as they wrap their arms around Mark.

The Captain has no idea how long the two of them stay like that, crying into each other's shoulders and shaking like they’re cradling each other at the end of the world. At one point, Mark starts stroking their hair, and they feel ashamed. Both for the affection they don’t deserve and the elation they feel for receiving it.

"Why?" Mark asks after eternity. Not quite eternity, at least, but long enough that the sky’s turned indigo, nearly dark but for the light of the moons above them.

The Captain swallows thickly, emotionally drained. "Why what."

"Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?"

The Captain chuffs. "I couldn’t."

"You can tell me anything, Yin."

Their breath halts at the use of their first name. They can't even begin to recall the last time they heard it.

"How many times have you told me that, when I came to you about my problems?" Mark asks. "Seriously. I think it’s been too many times to count."

He’d be right about that. The two of them have spent countless nights together, holding each other through sleepless nights and neverending nightmares about that goddamn paradox. Countless nights in the same bed, in each other’s arms, yet still so tremendously far away.

Isolation as a form of punishment. Even if it had to be performed emotionally because the Captain just couldn’t not comfort the man they love.

"Is this…" Mark draws a shaking breath. "…about the wormhole?"

The Captain sobs again. They have no more tears left to cry, so it’s just a dry breath being punched out of them.

"Because— Yin— It’s okay to come to me about it. You’ve forgiven me a thousand times, no matter how much I felt like I didn’t deserve it—"

"But you do." Yin digs their fingers into Mark’s arm. "And I don’t."

"You do! Of course you do! I'm the one who built the warp core—!"

"You didn’t know better!" Yin cries. They feel hysterical, almost on the verge of delirious laughter. "You were— You didn’t have a choice! You were fucking trapped in there…no doors open to you, and I…"

"Were an excellent captain who made the best of a bad situation."

"No!" Yin is clawing at Mark’s arm now, shaking with rage they know they ought to aim at themself eons before lifting a finger at Mark ever again. "I somehow— There were billions and billions of choices I could have made, and somehow— out of an infinite ocean of them— I could only ever make the wrong ones!"

"You made—"

Yin grabs his jaw with enough force to silence him. "You were not at fault. You felt— To the best of your knowledge, you had to make the warp core. I’m the one who got so many universes destroyed. Over and over and over and over and over again…"

Mark pulls Yin’s hand away. "But you stopped me from going back, in the end. You fixed everything, the mistakes I made…!"

"I let you go!" Yin snaps. "So many times!"

Silence. A few agonizing seconds. Long enough for tension in the air to become unbearably thick.

"What?" Mark sounds disbelieving, but not out of shock. More like genuine confusion. Yin can’t blame him; he likely doesn’t even remember.

That’s why they were never going to tell him. They sigh in defeat. They force their hands to relax as they hang their head.

"It’s…it’s the kind of thing where I don’t know if it really happened or if I’m just fabricating the mental image. But…I remember letting you go…the warp core following you…one of the colonists appeared out of nowhere to comfort me when I realized what I’d done…and everything reset. Everything, for real. To before I even boarded."

"That can’t…"

"It was. It was real. I can’t think of any other explanation. Every single permutation of events came to pass in that paradox. I’m almost certain of that memory, but there must have been…thousands. Trillions. Indefinite loops where I let you go back…or just didn’t find you in time."

"But that’s not your fault," Mark insists. He squeezes Yin's shoulders, intensity bleeding into his voice: "You can’t absolve me of guilt for building the damn thing if you insist on blaming yourself for not knowing to stop me."

"Th-That’s not what I blame myself for," Yin quavers. They ball their hands into fists, digging their nails into their own palms. "There was a point where…there must have been a point where…I sn-snapped."

"What do you mean?"

Yin swallows thickly. "…You wouldn’t remember. Nobody did, half the time. And nothing I did helped, nothing was gonna change, I couldn’t fix anything and nothing could get any more broken so I just…stopped fucking caring. I was…"

They shudder at the memories. Atrocities they committed flash through their mind, each one worse than the last. Yin would will themself silent if they could, but the confession pours out of them like a flood from a broken dam.

"I was horrible to you. I was awful to everyone. I gaslit you into thinking it was all a dream… I abused my power to make you a slave… I blew up the ship with my own two hands… Fuckin’— There was one universe I kept landing in where you were a serial killer and eventually I just joined you, I lived an entire lifetime gutting people like fish because I couldn’t be bothered finding the way forward anymore."

Yin looks up and gestures to themself, fresh and frantic tears burning their eyes. "And that was my choice! All of those were my choices! I’ve read every book, and I’ve burned every book! I’ve watched you die in a thousand ways, I’ve buried you in a thousand ways!"

"Who says you’re the only one who made those choices?"

"H-Huh?"

Yin looks up, blinking at Mark. His eyes are closed tight, his brow furrowed. "Look, I don’t remember everything, you’re right, but some of this…" He blinks. Gives the smallest shake of his head. "I wasn’t a saint in every universe either. Hell, no one was!"

"But I had way too many chances—"

"It’s all in the past. Or the future? Or… Whatever. Different universes we never have to glimpse again. They’re not us."

"That crystal gave me too many second chances, Mark. I got too used to making awful decisions. Do you understand now?"

"Understand what?!"

"Why I can’t allow myself to live anymore!"

Yin bows their head in shame, digging their nails into their palms. "I’m a risk. A risk, and a fucking terrible captain! I can’t take care of this colony… There are no more second chances, no do-overs if I make another mistake and hurt you or the crew or anyone else."

Their tone turns bitter, seething at themself. "There never were second chances…I just can’t abandon my life-ruining mistakes and hop into a fresh universe anymore, I can’t just leave the corpses of my failures behind… And god, if one of my mistakes gets you hurt, or killed… Again…"

Their head pounds as tears threaten to well up again. They glance at Mark, but it pains them to look at him on this train of thought. They stare into his wide, vulnerable, inquisitive eyes, and they just see a slideshow of all the most painful deaths he suffered, by Yin's hand or not. Their head falls forward to rest on his shoulder.

In a quiet, cracking voice, they conclude: "I don’t think even death could save me from the pain I’d feel…"

Mark is silent for a long time, but his body feels tense. Yin waits in anguish for a response, a reply, anything. Finally, he tightens his grip on their shoulders. It’s not harsh, but it’s noticeable enough to distract Yin from the movement of one hand, rising to cup their chin and make them look at him again. His face is drawn tight.

"And what makes you think that disappearing— that killing yourself wouldn’t hurt me?"

It’s like a bullet to the heart. A truth they knew, subconsciously, but callously ignored. That they want to keep ignoring. But stubbornly, they shake their head.

"That’s not… You deserve to live a full life here. Safe from my influence. I would just put you in danger, and I can’t—"

"What kind of danger? What kind—? Look, you keep saying you make bad decisions, you keep saying you’re too used to making mistakes, but you’re really not. Think of the colony. Name one bad decision you’ve made for the colony."

Yin hesitates. There has to be something, right? Skewed priorities, overly stringent security, unnecessary risks… There's always something. They just…can't immediately think of anything. Not from this lifetime.

Mark takes Yin's silence as an answer. "Exactly. It hasn’t burned to the ground, it’s not crumbling to pieces. The colonists aren’t revolting against you. They love you, Captain! Everybody praises your leadership!"

"Gunther mutinied once…" they wince.

"Not our Gunther. He’s so loyal to you he’d shove a grenade in someone’s mouth if they dared to try insulting you. And that loyalty didn’t come from nowhere."

Yin wilts, unable to deflect the truth in that statement.

"If you died, Captain…the entire colony would mourn your passing for years." Mark takes one of Yin's hands, and squeezes it gently. He looks at them with such tenderness, it makes their throat seize up. "Even if you were dangerous - which you’re not - I don’t care. I want you here…with me…"

His eyes flicker back down to their joined hands. The shine of fresh tears welling in his eyes isn't lost on Yin. Nor is the strain in his breath, the undertone of heartbreak. His mouth draws into a thin line. He lets out a breath, looking back up at them with painfully raw vulnerability in his eyes. And his voice.

"If I lost you…" He silently sheds his tears with a strained smile. "…I don't think I'd ever be able to move on."

It's not even a confession of love. It doesn't have to be. Because Yin…fuck, Yin knew that. Knew it was a possibility, at least. But now that it’s spoken into reality, it erodes everything that guarded the truth.

"I’m selfish," they whisper. "I’d rather die than hurt you, but I’d rather die than live without you… And the guilt I feel, surrounded every day by people I hurt so many times…is too much to bear. In the end…" Their voice is thin, again on the verge of breaking into tears. "I guess in the end, my goal was really just to leave one more corpse of a failure behind…"

Their tears are silent now, but present nonetheless as they weep into Mark’s shoulder. How many tears have soaked his jacket, by now? How much damage have they done crying out their guilt? Fuck.

"Don't talk about yourself like that," Mark insists. His voice is soft, quiet, but deeply offended, as if on Yin's behalf. He holds them tighter and sucks in a shaky breath. "Captain— Yin. You are not a failure."

Yin chuffs mirthlessly. "Aren't I?"

"No."

Mark pulls back to stare at them incredulously, almost hurt. He seems to forget himself, cradling their face in both hands. He handles them like a priceless artifact, and that alone threatens to make their heart crawl up their throat.

He opens his mouth, inhaling again as if to speak with purpose, but the words seem to stall out on his tongue. He hesitates, then after a pregnant pause, he deflates with a sharp sigh. Instead of speaking, he opts to smooth his thumbs across Yin's cheekbones.

"Nobody thinks you're a failure. Come back to the colony, and everyone will attest to that."

Yin rolls their eyes with a mirthless huff. "Even the colonists, huh?"

"Yes, even the colonists. There are thousands of 'em, some bastards just live to complain. Vocal minority. Forget about them."

"I did enough of that during the paradox," they mutter bitterly.

"Not what I…" Mark trails off. He sighs again, wearily. He looks up at the sky, at the slowly emerging stars. Sometimes it's hard to believe they're all still really there.

Mark finally redirects his attention to Yin with an imploring gaze. "Come back for your crew. They need you." His eyes dart, and he worries his lip for a moment. "…We need you."

His careful choice of words does nothing to disguise his true meaning. It echoes around Yin's mind. Until they can't tell if they're imagining it in Mark's voice, or their own.

I need you. I need you. I need you.

"…Okay," Yin squeaks, voice barely there before it gives up on them entirely.

In absence of words, Yin pulls Mark back into their embrace. They squeeze him like if they just try hard enough, they'll be able to fuse as one. A selfish, selfish impulse. One they've sat on for far too long. They squeeze him tighter, face pressing into his shoulder, eyes burning with the impossible need to shed more tears.

One of Mark's hands come to rest on the back of Yin's head. It feels far too close to forgiveness, but they're too exhausted to withdraw from it. They feel his face pressing against the top of their head, his warm breath ruffling their hair when he exhales from his nose. For a moment, it feels like he might kiss their forehead. But that sort of wishful thinking feels even more lethal than the guilt that drove them to throw their life away.

They can't recall ever being so infatuated with someone as they are with Mark. Being near him is too dangerous for both of them, for everyone, but they're too weak to shy away right now. They have to allow themself this moment of self-indulgence.

Eventually - yet far too soon - Mark pulls back with a shaky breath. He stands up without letting go of Yin, hauling them to their feet with a steady grasp on their hand.

"Let's go home."

The Captain nods, and allows Mark to pull them along.

He holds onto their hand for the entire walk downhill. Neither of them say a word. It's so rare for even Mark to fall so quiet. The Captain supposes they've already said all that needs to be said. For now. Even if there's so much still left unspoken.

But the Captain stays quiet. Every time Mark glances back at them and looks away, they want to open their mouth, to say something…

Thank you. I'm sorry. I need you too. I love you too. I love you so much it hurts. I think we're soulmates. I'm so grateful we're friends in this universe. I love you so much I think it will kill me.

…But their throat freezes up every time. Like it so often does when they're too stressed to speak. They were so very, very quiet during the paradox.

Their broken-down car sits right where they left it at the bottom of the hill. Mark's car is right next to it. They wonder, briefly, how Mark found them. Shamefully, they're relieved that he did. He gives their hand a comforting squeeze and opens the passenger door for them with a warm, tender smile.