Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been a while since the Invincible 2 landed on your new planet. You still remember how amazing it felt the first time that you set foot on its surface; the very first human being to have ever done so. You remember taking your first breath of this new planet's air, and the way that something deep inside of you had settled as the sweet, clean air filled your lungs. You had done it. In spite of everything, you had done it.

The colonists are settling in fairly well, and new buildings are completed every day. Your crew is delighted to throw their all into their projects. Excitement has settled into everyone's blood, and for now, all hearts beat as one. There is a new home to be built, after all. It's a lot of hard work already, but that's alright. You're not afraid to get your hands dirty.

Besides, they've been far dirtier before. It is going to take a long time to wash off all of that blood.

On the ship you were the Captain. You weren't sure exactly who you would become down here on land, but it seems that both the title and the responsibility have stuck. Most of the time this doesn't bother you; you are no stranger to responsibility. But sometimes you think back to the ship and the wormhole, and all of the times that you failed. All of the deaths that had been lain at your door, very correctly, by your Head Engineer and dearest friend. Mark.

("Captain!" he cries in your mind, and you can still hear the desperation in his voice as you cling to his hand, refusing to let go. "Captain, please!")

You remember his screams, his tears. You remember the bodies that floated through the black emptiness of space, the ones that you told yourself that you did not recognize. But you did recognize them. You did.

You remember the dull thwack of a metal cylinder smashing against your skull. You remember the emptiness in his eyes as he crouches over your fallen form. You feel dazed and hurt. Betrayed. You remember fighting against the siren call of unconsciousness, because even then you refused to give up on Mark. 

Even though he had given up on you.

But it's alright. He apologized. He thanked you, even, for continuing to support him even as he scrambled to find some sort of solution to a problem that had hurt and terrified him, one that had killed him and everyone he cared about over and over and over again. A problem that he may have caused, but one that in the end, you were responsible for.

It's fine. It's okay. Everyone is alive and safe. Everything turned out fine in the end, and you are okay. You are okay as long as you don't think about the bodies, or the fire extinguisher, or Mark's cold eyes. 

You are fine as long as you can manage to avoid Mark in general.

It's a big planet. Surely it won't be that hard.

--

Head Engineer Mark sits in a comfortable office chair in a comfortable office. His hands are laced behind his head as he stares out of the enormous glass window that passes for one of his walls. Man does he love glass windows.

He looks out at the beauty of nature in this strange world, taking it the bright and vibrant colors of life. He looks at his office, which is huge and modern, covered in technical blueprints and his various awards. He has traveled through time and space in the machine that he designed, bringing with him crew and colonists that all depended on his brilliant design not to fail them.

Somehow, in spite of everything, he has done it. And now he has everything that he has ever dreamed about; responsibility, respect, admiration. Mark can spend the rest of his life building amazing things for the people of this new planet if he wants to. And quite a big part of him does want to do that. 

He's not sure though. There's a lot that he's unsure about now, things that wouldn't have even been in question before what happened on the Invincible 2. Things about himself and who he is deep down inside. About the nature of choice, about life and death and time and space. Things about the Captain.

The Captain. Someone who has spent lifetimes as Mark's closest confidante and dearest friend. A person who has spent lifetimes as Mark's most bitter and hated enemy.

Oh, the terrible things that he had said to his Captain! And worse, the terrible things that he had done to them, there in the room where he (he!) had built the Warp Core. 

Mark still remembers how it had felt to know that he had finally trapped his wily Captain. He had been so smug, so sure of himself and his moral superiority. The hefty weight of the fire extinguisher had felt so comforting in his shaking hands, hands that even then did not want to hurt their beloved Captain.

He supposes that is the reason that he only knocked his friend off of their feet, instead of killing them like he had planned.

"Hi, Captain." 

It haunts his nightmares. Mark can still hear the angry, cold stranger that he had become, greeting his old friend so casually. The sight of them turning to face him is seared into his mind's eye: the captain had not even paused to consider Mark's unusual tone and unexpected presence. Their best friend had arrived. It was instinctive for them to greet him with love.

(He can still see their face when they saw him. They were so happy. They were so happy to see him because the Captain--the Captain is not the monster because Mark is the monster and the Captain believes in him anyway)

The very worst thing is how much he had enjoyed feeling his weapon make contact with the Captain's head. How satisfying it had felt to take a murderer out of the pilot's seat, as it were. How much easier the whole thing would have been if he had done it from the start. If he had just tampered slightly with the oxygen in the Captain's cryopod, they would have just slowly and gently fallen asleep. Forever.

Mark heaves suddenly and violently, dashing towards his personal bathroom with desperate urgency as his stomach protests that line of thought. When he finally makes his way back to his desk, he feels wrung-out and exhausted.

("I'm...Captain, I'm tired," he had complained as if he were the only one there who was tired. As if he had been the one with the fresh concussion and even fresher betrayal. As if his trials, his years and years of death and dying and hating had somehow been worse than what he had done to his own best friend. They had gone through exactly what Mark had, except they had taken the blame for it all. From everyone. And Mark had the audacity to be tired.)

Feeling suddenly cold, Mark rests his sweaty forehead against his cupped hands. He will just have to find a way to make it up to his dearest friend. Maybe if he can, he'll stop seeing them turn to answer his call with trust in their eyes. Maybe he'll stop hearing his own, empty voice in his nightmares. Maybe he'll be able to sleep at night.

And maybe, if he's very lucky, the Captain will start looking him in the eyes again.

--

Your days begin early and end late. Sometimes they do not end at all, as the last one had not. You view the bags under your eyes in the mirror and decide that a cup of coffee will fix you right up. That's all you need, just a hot drink and a little extra energy. It's just the stress that's getting to you. You will be fine.

The smell of brewing coffee fills your room, and it is a lovely smell. It soothes your tense nerves. You catch yourself thinking about Mark--sharing a coffee with him as the pair of you stare at the planet's surface. 

("Thank you," he says abruptly, not looking at you. "For not giving up on me. Just...thank you.")

The coffee tastes like battery acid. You drink it anyway.

Working in a building instead of on a spaceship isn't as different as you had expected it to be. You have your room and your office, which are sometimes the same thing. Mar- your Head Engineer has the same amenities as you do.  The brains of this operation, Celci and Mack, do as well. There are shared offices and sleeping quarters amongst the rest of the crew, affording much more privacy than the ones on the ship did.

Another space that everyone shares is the canteen, which is where you're heading now. You're not particularly hungry (the battery acid in your stomach seems to be contemplating crawling back up your throat) but it's good for morale if the crew sees you at the top of every day, just as prepared to work hard as they are.

"Good morning, Captain!" Celcionna says primly as you walk into the canteen. You smile at her, nodding your acknowledgement. You are a configuration of being of very few words, a fact which the crew has taken in stride.

"Hello, Captain," Mack says seriously as you take your seat at the table the two are sharing. You notice that their plates have been shoved to the side of the table in favor of stacks and stacks of blueprints. You don't say a word about it, although you do stare meaningfully at the untouched plates before your intense gaze settles on first Mack, then CC. A tense silence reverberates until those plates return to their intended positions and your subordinates begin to eat.

Pleased, you offer them a thumbs-up. They sigh with relief. A heavy hand claps hard on your shoulder from behind and a large form looms over you. You sigh as you cast your gaze towards the heavens.

"Mornin' Captain!" comes a cheerful, gruff voice. You hear the clanking of rustling metal and the distinct click of weaponry.

"Gunther!" Celci shrieks. "Don't point that thing at them! If it were to go off, their head would disintegrate."

"Now don't go around disintegrating one of my favorite heads!" a voice chides. It is as familiar to you as your own. You shiver as Mark drops down into the chair next to yours.

"Hi, Captain," he says, and you can't help but flinch away. You can hear the sound your skull made when the heavy fire extinguisher kissed it. The metal had been warm. He had been waiting for you.

"Head Engineer," you say stiffly, looking at anything other than him. You do not want to see what is in his eyes. You want even less to see what isn't in them.

The silence that descends upon you is thick and uncomfortable. You feel gagged by it, your mouth sealed shut by the oppressive atmosphere. Mack thoughtfully slides a plate full of your favorites in front of you, a bashful grin on his face. For all of the evil that is hidden deep down in his soul, you think that he's a pretty good guy.

Mark has forgotten to grab a plate again. He is something of a workaholic and is often distracted with his projects. You would like to share yours with him, but that would require looking at him. You can see his hands in your peripheral vision. They are clenched into fists, his knuckles white and straining. It frightens you badly enough that you stand without so much as a gesture and force yourself to walk out of the canteen slowly, so slowly, or else you will start to run and you do not know if you will ever be able to stop.

You do not see the stunned faces of your crew. You do not see Gunther lowering his weapon, asking if it was something that he had said. You miss entirely the sharp gazes of Mack and Celsi, which follow your every movement. And you are not there to see your Head Engineer's face contort in agony.

--

"Mark?" Celsi asks softly. He doesn't like it; it's much more natural and comfortable for the pair of them to fight and snipe, mocking each other for failures, their weaknesses. This gentle softness means that things are not normal. It means that she thinks that he is, perhaps, in genuine distress.

Mark is in genuine distress. But he doesn't know how to explain to these people what happened; all of the deaths they do not remember dying, all of the fingers that they do not remember pointing. How can he tell them of his mistake? How could he possibly explain how badly he had failed their beloved Captain?

"What's going on with you and the Captain?" she continues, exchanging worried looks with Mack. Gunther had disappeared at some point during Mark's introspection. Which is a little worrying.

Mark looks from Celsi's sad eyes to Mack's closed-off frown and thinks of a lie to tell them. 'Everything is fiiiiine', maybe, or 'we had a fight, but we're better now'. Maybe even a wild tale of derring-do, in which intrepid hero Mark accidentally tries to murder the captain and pays the price for the rest of his life. Something like that.

Head Engineer Mark opens his mouth to tell her a lie and says "I messed up. I messed up...really badly, and they hate me now." 

The truth of that statement rings in his ears. Mark has never voiced this fear of his, not even to himself, and now it is just out there in the open. It's out there, and it's true. His best friend hates him, and it is all his own fault.

"I-" he begins brokenly, his breath hitching, and abruptly bursts into tears. 

--

You settle into the chair at your desk, breathing harshly. This is insane. Absurd. You cannot continue on in this way, panicking every time you're greeted by your Head Engineer. Sure, you have cause to be afraid-

You freeze, staring blankly at your hands. Are you afraid of Mark? Certainly not. You...you can't be. He is your best friend. He would never--

"Hi, Captain."

--hurt you. But- but he didn't know! He thought that you were the reason that the timelines kept splitting off. He thought that you were the one at fault. All of those deaths...all of the times that Mark had died...

(You died too.)

Yes...true, but-

("Thank you")

How could he possibly have known-

("For not giving up")

You killed him over and over again! You made him suffer, you disregarded his concerns, you disregarded his safety-

("On me.")

[It's okay, Mark! You can cry!]

You were there for him. And you never meant to hurt Mark. You think about how warm that metal had been. He had been waiting for you. He had been waiting to hurt you.

That fire extinguisher had been kind of heavy. Maybe he didn't just want to hurt you.

You rest your weary head on your folded arms. It doesn't matter. That time has passed, now. Those things did and did not happen. They only exist in your memories now, yours and Mark's. It does not matter how miserable they make you. Those timelines will die with the pair of you, and somehow the thought is comforting.

Less comforting is the knowledge that things between you and your Head Engineer have been irreparably damaged. You know that he has the capacity to hate you in his heart, and that he probably still carries a little resentment for you in there. You know that he can and will hurt you, hurt you badly, to do what he believes is right.

And you know that you have killed him a hundred times, a thousand times. You are the monster that Mark had accused you of being, because at least he had thought that he was doing what was right. You didn't even have the slightest clue. You just guessed.

It will be much better in the long run if you cut Mark out of your life completely. While it is true that he hurt you, and while it is true that you fear him now, it is also true that you're just no good for him.

[It's okay, Captain! You can cry!]

--

Mark finds himself in Celsi and Mack's office, not quite sure how he has arrived there. This frightens him for a moment as he wonders if they are even now trapped in the time loop, and the actions of another are dictating his every move. But no, he knows that it can't be. The Warp Core was (destroyed/never built/a paradox) no more. 

He has been deposited onto an uncomfortable couch that is, frankly, hideous. 'Lime green? Who the hell likes lime green?' 

Mack has been sent off to work on whatever boring thing the two of them had going on. Mark is sort of happy about this, because that guy kind of creeps him out.

Celsi, however, remains. She is pacing the floor in front of him with a frenetic energy that is making him quite dizzy. She grabs something off of her desk--a small red ball, presumably one of those things that is designed to relieve stress--and begins to erratically compress it as she paces. Mark wishes the ball the best of luck.

"What in the cosmos did you do?" she demands, squeezing the stress ball as if she is picturing his trachea instead. His first instinct is to mock her, and he stomps it down hard. Even he knows that this isn't the time for jokes.

"I can't...really explain," he says slowly, "It's kind of classified, I think?"

The look that Celsi gives him makes Mark fidget awkwardly in his seat. He can see the stress ball struggling to re-form in between crunches. 

"I have never seen the Captain act like this before," Celcionna enunciates each word slowly and perfectly, as if he is too dumb to understand the situation. "They have been behaving strangely ever since we woke you two up. Are you trying to tell me that a classified event somehow happened between you two during the seconds before we fell asleep in the cryopods?"

"Yes!" Mark exclaims cheerfully. "Aw man, I'm so happy that you're picking up on this so fast. I've been really struggling with how to explain it all, so-"

The stress ball pops in a shower of red foam. Mark winces, and bids its inanimate spirit a good journey.

"Mark, what the fuck," she growls, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "What did you do to them?"

"Again, classified. But...I hurt them, CC. I hurt their heart, and I physically hurt them, too. I betrayed my Captain," he whispers. He is surprised when she sits next to him on the couch, placing an awkward hand on his shoulder. He wishes that the Captain was here, and then feels guilty for it.

"Did you apologize? Like, a proper, 'Sorry that I am the worst person in the entire galaxy' kind of apology? Because it's kind of sounding like you're the worst person in the entire galaxy. No offense."

"Yes!" Mark exclaims, wide-eyed. "Of course I did! I would never...I never meant to, I thought...I thought that they-"

His breath is coming in short, harsh bursts, exactly as they had done when he realized the full weight of his actions there before the broken Warp Core. He is a monster, a faithless traitor, a wannabe murderer. 

It takes him a moment to get himself under control. Finally he is able to face Celci once again. Her expression is one of pity. It makes him want to cry all over again.

"What am I going to do?" Mark asks her pleadingly. "I can't- I can't live like this, CC. I miss them. They're my best friend!"

"I don't know if you're going to be able to fix this," she says at last. He hates how honest she can be sometimes. "If you hurt them as badly as you say you did, it would be a miracle if the Captain were to forgive you."

Mark lets out a pained breath, his eyes squeezing shut. He doesn't want to hear this. He wants her to tell him that the Captain will love him again, and that everything will be back to normal before he knows it.

He wants her to lie.

"But hey!" she cuts in quickly, bumping her shoulder against his. "The Captain is a great person, Mark. If you prove to them that you're going to be there for them, they're going to have to at least talk to you, right?"

"Right..." he trails off. Mark's face lights up as the realization hits him; all he has to do is get the Captain to talk to him! Then he can apologize properly, a much better apology than the one he had given them before. He will do anything to make the Captain believe in him again.

"Right! Thanks, but I gotta go now, the Captain might need something!" he yells, bouncing to his feet. As he races out of her office, Celci wonders if she has just made some sort of terrible, terrible mistake.

Nah. This will all work out just fine.

Chapter Text

Of course, now that you're trying to avoid him, Mark seems to be everywhere. 

Every morning, you find him standing at attention outside of your door, his posture unusually perfect as he salutes you. He follows behind you at a respectful distance all the way to the canteen, where he trips over himself to carry your tray for you at every single meal, much to the dismay of many of your adoring crew. He seems to have suddenly become unsure of both himself and his work, and pokes his head into your office almost every day, armed with a sheepish grin and an inane question. He's even knocked on the door to your quarters in the late hours of the evening once or twice, somehow knowing that you were still lying awake. You heard his knocks, smelled the alluring scent of the hot chocolate that he's brought with him to soothe your nerves, heard the small, pained sigh that escaped him after you heartlessly ignored them both, praying all the while that he did not hear you.

It's all so very unusual. And confusing. And...sort of frightening, as well. He's been acting strangely ever since the morning that you fled from the canteen, and there's no way that it could be a coincidence. As guilty and monstrous as it makes you feel to do so, you just can't help but to wonder exactly what his end game is here. Your Head Engineer's constant presence is something that would have brought you great comfort before the wormhole; now it puts you on edge, and you find yourself constantly looking over your shoulder just to make sure that he isn't standing behind you with a fire extinguisher in his hands and murder in his eyes. 

It's such an absurd thought to have! Ridiculous, even! Mark is your friend. He would never-

"Hi, Captain."

-hurt you. 

Well, okay, he would never hurt you now. Now that he knows that you're not the villain, and that you're not out to get him. Now that he believes, however wrongly, that all of those deaths lie at his feet and not your own.

Still, no matter how many times you tell yourself that, you still find yourself sneaking out of your quarters like a common criminal, a good couple of hours before breakfast is generally served. You're hoping to make it out of there before Mark can show up, because you just know that you're one unexpected encounter away from a genuine breakdown. You can't help but to sigh with relief as you fail to spot even the slightest glimpse of your persistent pal.

"Captain?" a voice inquires from behind you, and there's absolutely nothing that you could have done to stop yourself from jumping in shock, a hand rising on instinct to protect yourself from the blow-

A blow that never comes, not only because Mark would never hurt you like that ever again, but because the speaker isn't Mark at all. The man standing before you, wearing an expression of abject shock and clutching a comically thick file in an unusually tight grip, is Mack.

"I just wanted to know what you were doing up so early, Captain," the engineer says slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Is something wrong?"

Your first, most visceral instinct is to not trust this man in the slightest. It's your second instinct, too, and possibly your third. You know what will happen if Mack gets the slightest bit of control over this situation; he'll go mad with power, will undermine your authority at every turn, justifying his actions by blaming your incompetence on your inability to function around your Head Engineer. Everything that you've worked so hard for will slip right through your fingers. Everything will be lost, and it will be all your fault.

It's not until you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders that you realize that you're experiencing that breakdown that you were so concerned about. Everything feels too bright, too overwhelming. Your hands are clenched into tight fists, and you can't quite seem to catch your breath. But Mack's hold on you manages to keep you tethered enough to reality that you don't fly completely off the handle. His discerning gaze searches your face, his expression slowly turning from one of shock to...concern?

"Wide eyes with a blank expression," he mutters to himself, quickly pressing two fingers against the side of your neck. "Rapid pulse, shallow breathing, and you're shaking. Captain, are you having an anxiety attack?"

You have no idea whether or not you're having whatever that is, and it shows on your face. Mack mutters something unintelligible under his breath, glancing quickly down the hallway before quickly opening the door to your quarters, carefully stepping around the discarded file as he guides you inside. You're sitting on your couch before you know it, making use of the small sitting area for perhaps the very first time. You don't spend much time in the communal area of your quarters, it must be confessed, as you've never been the most social person even in the best of times.

Your gaze refocuses on Mack, who crouches down before you, making sure that he is at eye level with you. He gently puts a hand on your forearm, smiling softly. 

"It's okay, Captain," the engineer assures you. "You're perfectly safe here. We're in your quarters. We're going to do some breathing exercises together, alright? In through the nose now: one, two, three, four..."

At first, every breath is a struggle; you have to fight to make your seizing lungs do their job. It's easier if you focus on the soothing, incomprehensible nonsense pouring out of Mack's mouth, as well as his steadying grip on your arm. Eventually, however, your ability to reason returns to you, and your face burns with shame at your weakness. You're the captain of this endeavor! You're supposed to be a leader, someone that the crew can rely on. How can you be caring, courageous, and consistent if you're falling apart at the seams?

"Permission to comfort you, Captain?" Mack interrupts your self-loathing, looking so painfully earnest that you nod in agreement without really understanding the question. It's the surprise of your life when he slides forward to envelop you in a stiff hug. You know Mack well enough to say with confidence that he is far from the touchy-feely type, and so this unusual behavior is shocking enough to really get your attention. It's uncomfortable for the both of you, but not so uncomfortable that you feel the need to try and escape, not even when he awkwardly strokes your hair. You're suddenly convinced that he learned this sort of comforting from a book or something, and while it doesn't necessarily soothe you, the gesture is kind enough to rob some of that tension from your muscles. 

When you feel relaxed enough, you awkwardly pat his back to let him know. Mack is a little reluctant to pull away, and his face is even more red than yours feels. You feel a little guilty about that; it must be taking quite a lot of effort on his part to offer his assistance in a way that is so obviously uncomfortable for him. The engineer runs a hand through his hair, chuckling nervously.

"I'm sorry, I know that wasn't appropriate from me, your subordinate," he stammers. "But you didn't seem to know how to handle that on your own. Have you never had an anxiety attack before?"

When you shake your head in response, he doesn't seem that surprised.

"I didn't think so. I used to get them all of the time," Mack says sheepishly, looking so nervous that you're absolutely certain that this isn't something that he has fully overcome. "I can be a little high-strung, or so I've been told. But... Captain, I have to tell you that I've been--I mean, we've been worried about you. Celci and myself both. You've been withdrawn, and I don't believe that you have been sleeping properly. You...I don't know what happened to you before we all woke back up, but even I can tell that it really bothered you, Captain. Maybe you should talk to somebody about it."

Talk to somebody? Who can you possibly talk to about what happened? The only other person who knows about the wormhole, about the deaths and the bodies and the pain and the betrayal, is Mark. If you told anyone else about what happened...well, you can't imagine a universe in which that ends well. Literally, actually, because it never ended well when you got the crew involved in your mistakes. Not once.

You don't even notice that you are beginning to spiral again, not until Mack's hands settle firmly on your shoulders once more. 

"Captain," he says firmly. "Focus on me, now. Whatever it is that has happened to you, it's eating you up inside. You have to have someone that you can talk to, someone that you can trust to help you through this. It doesn't have to be me; I can tell that I make you nervous now, although I'm not sure why. If I've done anything to offend you, Captain, I apologize for it."

He hasn't. Mack hasn't done a single thing to offend you, not in this timeline. And this is the only one that matters, really. It's the only one that's real. He's right, to boot. You can't go on like this forever. You have to be able to talk to someone, and the only other person who has ever taken the time to reach out to you is the exact person that has you so stressed out in the first place.

A good captain knows how to delegate responsibilities, and all you've ever done is try to be a good captain.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Mack," your voice is raspier than you had expected it to be, but that's alright. "I'm the one who's behaving poorly. I'm sorry. You don't make me nervous at all."

"I don't?" Mack seems a bit taken aback, his face flushing. "I mean, that's- that's good! That's really good!"

He looks as if he wants to say more, but a sudden sound interrupts him; a loud, beeping rhythm that is unfamiliar to you, but which makes his already-pink cheeks darken with embarrassment as he fumbles to pull up a sleeve, grumbling to himself as he fiddles with his watch. At last the noise is silenced, and you realize belatedly that the pair of you are almost certainly late for the morning meal. The crew won't be pleased by your absence.

"We had better go," you say gently, conjuring up a smile as you pat his arm. He looks uncertain, but obediently rises to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You surprise yourself by laughing, although you don't know if it's his sweetly earnest expression or the ridiculousness of the situation that's struck you so. The engineer seems a little perplexed by your sudden amusement, but can't help but to chuckle a little himself as you allow him to pull you up. 

"Are you willing to let me help you out with this again, the next time it comes up?" Mack wonders politely, absent-mindedly straightening his rumpled uniform as you make your way towards the door. You don't have the heart to tell him that there's no way that he's getting those wrinkles out without an iron. 

"Yes," you say, after a long, long moment. It makes your stomach churn, the idea of dragging another innocent person into your mistakes, but he seems genuine in his desire to help. And he's right, to boot; you can't keep on like this for much longer. "I suppose I will. I appreciate you for this, Mack."

"It's my pleasure to be here for you, Captain," he stammers, delighted, as he throws open the door. You grin, feeling about a thousand pounds lighter. You didn't even realize how much you'd missed having someone to talk to, somebody who really cares about you.

You stomp down on the small part of yourself that wishes it was a different engineer in here caring about you, and follow the one you've got out into the hall.

--

Mark rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, his anxious hands folded neatly behind his back to keep them from knocking incessantly against the captain's door. He's humming a mindless, cheery tune as he does, trying to stave off the growing sense of concern that makes him want to chew his nails and pace a hole in the boring blue carpet that lines the hall. 

The captain is late, and that worries him almost as much as the file he had found abandoned in front of their door, its important-looking papers scattered haphazardly all over the floor. Mark had gathered them together as neatly as he could, and currently the file is tucked under his arm for safekeeping. He had held it properly for a while, but the longer that it took for his friend to walk out of the door, the sweatier his palms had become. 

Time crawls by at a snail's pace, and the humming dies away. The captain is late. The captain is never late, but today they are, and it he's worried. What if they're sick? He knows his friend better than anyone else ever could, and so he knows that they could be sick in bed at this very moment, all alone. The silly being could be on death's door and they still wouldn't think to call for a doctor, or even for someone to come keep an eye on them. 

He should go in there. It's a little rude to enter someone's home uninvited, of course, and he knows that he's the last person that the captain wants to see right now anyway, but he can't just let them suffer alone! If they are suffering, that is, because they could have just overslept, or maybe they're just not hungry, or maybe they already left before he even got there--

Mark is just about to give up and go inside when he hears movement on the other side of the door. He stops his fidgeting immediately, a relieved grin overtaking his face as he salutes in preparation for his captain. The grin falters as the sounds of muffled conversation drift through the door. Conversation? What the hell? Is somebody in the captain's room this early in the morning? His friend is a quiet person, always has been, so idly monologuing to themself isn't like them at all, and--no, there is absolutely someone else in there!

"...help you out with this again?" That definitely isn't his best friend's voice, although it is one that Mark knows, even if he can't quite put his finger on the speaker. What could this mystery person be helping the captain with at this hour of the morning, in the captain's private rooms?

"...appreciate you for this..." That definitely is his best friend, sounding genuinely grateful, if a little breathless.

Breathless? What the hell is going on in there?

"It's my pleasure to be here for you, Captain," the other voice simpers as the door finally opens. Mark bites back a scowl, his cheeks darkening. He doesn't know why this whole weird situation makes him feel like he's swallowed a hive of wasps, but it does. 

The door swings open to reveal, not the captain, but Mack. Mack, who is pink-cheeked and smiling, whose uniform is not as impeccably pressed as always, but instead rumpled and creased as if it has recently been carelessly tossed on the floor, or flung over the back of a chair. 

The wasps in his stomach buzz angrily as Mark drops the salute. He only salutes his captain.

"Hello, Mark," Mack says politely, stepping out of Mark's closest companion's personal space as if he does this every day. 

"Mack," he says mockingly, scowling. He doesn't notice the confusion on the other, lesser engineer's face, because he's too busy staring at the captain, who looks just as rumpled as Mack does. Their uniform is just as creased, their face just as flushed, and their hair is- is ruffled, as if someone has recently had their greasy, sneaky hands buried in it!

And the worst part of all, the very worst thing about it, is that the captain had been smiling. They had been smiling, grinning, looking happier than Mark has seen them since they landed. The captain's face had been utterly illuminated with happiness.

Until they saw him.

"Captain," Mark mumbles, mechanically saluting his friend. He is numb. Or perhaps he is so hurt that he's in shock, because now he has a new memory to haunt him at night. Now he will hear his own cold, hateful voice, and see his friend turn to greet him with love in their eyes, and he will see the exact moment that they realize that he is a faithless, traitorous, would-be murderer. He hasn't had to see that look on their face before this, because he hadn't given them time to comprehend his betrayal. The captain had gone from joyful to unconscious without enough time for the joy to disappear from their face, so Mark hasn't had to imagine what it would look like.

He still doesn't have to imagine it. He knows exactly what it looks like now.

"Head Engineer," the captain responds, inclining their head. Mark notices, in a distant sort of way, that Mack is looking at them with some kind of dawning understanding. He also notices that the captain walks past him somewhat more urgently than usual, their hands clenched into fists as they briskly stride down the hall without another word. 

The captain really does hate him.

"Oh, you have my file!" Mack is saying, looking unbearably smug as he extends a hand for it. Mark wonders if it's the same hand that had ruffled the captain's hair. "Thank you for that. I completely forgot about it when the captain-"

Mark doesn't want to hear another word about this. He's too numb, too confused, and the wasps in his stomach are biting and stinging and buzzing so loudly that he can barely hear himself think. He doesn't want to hear that, either, so he shoves the file into Mack's chest with a little more force than is probably necessary, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stalks away.

"Mark?" the engineer calls after him, sounding concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"Bite me," he mutters.

--

"I'm trying to be sympathetic for you here, Mark, I really am," Celci's tone implies that this is quite the effort on her part, but the Head Engineer is in too dark of a mood to pick up on anything less subtle than a brick to the head. "But I actually don't understand what the problem is."

They're once again in her office, although this time he hasn't actually been invited. Celcionna isn't quite sure why he's here at all; not ten minutes ago, she had been sitting peacefully at her desk, planning out her tasks for the day and wondering why Mack hadn't made it to their planned pre-breakfast meeting. She'd been just about to go out and hunt him down (nobody stands her up without a damn good reason, not even for a meeting about the day's agenda) when her door was flung open, bouncing hard off of the wall behind it and popping back up with enough force to clock the mystery interloper right in the nose. The loud, whining moans of pain, intermittently peppered with unprofessional swearing, meant that her uninvited guest was a mystery no longer.

And so in Mark had come, scowling and pouting as he gingerly massaged the bridge of his nose, and flopped right down on her couch like he owned the place. Where he immediately started ranting and raving about...something or other. She hasn't actually been able to make much sense out of any of it, although the gist seems to have a lot to do with the captain (which shouldn't be that much of a surprise, since they're pretty much all Mark ever talks about anyway), Mack, and ruffled hair.

With an outraged huff, Mark finally sits up properly, gesturing wildly as he exclaims, "You don't see the problem? I'm telling you that Mack, that slimy little sleazeball, was alone with the captain, in the captain's rooms, for who knows how long this morning!"

"So what?"

"What do you mean, 'so what'?!"

Celci shrugs, wondering if she's going to be able to get back to her task any time soon. She decides that it seems pretty unlikely. Mark seems to be rather worked up, although she can't even begin to imagine why that would be.

Unless...

The Head Cryotechnician has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing, although there's nothing that she can do to stifle her growing smirk. Could it be that Mark is a little jealous? She can't wait to tell Mack about this--oh, damn it. She can't tell Mack about Mark being jealous of him, can she? Isn't that how those big. dramatic series of miscommunications start? The ones where everybody has a crush on everybody else, and someone misinterprets the broken pieces of a conversation that they weren't supposed to overhear, and then somebody else tries to fix it and ends up making everything worse, and by the end of it all, almost everybody ends up living happily ever after with the partner of their dreams-

"Uh, CC?" Mark's voice derails her train of thought. "Did you hear anything that I just said, or where you too busy being really weird?"

Face flushing, she vows to herself that she's never reading another one of those sappy, melodramatic, trope-ridden, young adult supernatural love stories ever again.

Even though that's a damn lie and she knows it.

"I really don't see what you're so upset about," Celci says lightly, trying not to laugh at the poor, dumb asshole. "You want the captain to be friends with you again, right? You want them to stop hating your guts long enough for you to apologize?"

"Uh, yeah, duh," Mark snaps. He's looking like he's gearing up for another tirade, and she actually does have work to do today, so she interrupts him.

"Then maybe this could be a good thing for you. You know, people usually get really happy when they start new relationships. Maybe if you try being a little supportive of the two of them, the captain will forgive you."

Celci knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that the odds of Mark supporting this "relationship" (whether or not it exists, and she suspects that it does not) are completely nonexistent. But he's way too deep in denial to even approach the topic of acknowledging his feelings for their beloved leader. Not to mention the genuinely unfortunate fact that the pair of friends' relationship gas been altered by whatever that classified event was. Mark's efforts on that end don't seem to be going too well, either, but that actually makes her sad to think about.

It's way funnier to watch Mark struggle with his feelings than it is to watch him just plain struggle.

"Maybe," the engineer sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He sounds more put out about the whole situation than he should be, and Celci kind of hopes that she's there to witness it when Mark realizes that his feelings for the captain are maybe a little less platonic than he believes them to be.

Although, he's going to have to get in line, of course. Everybody's at least a little bit in love with the captain, and some of those people aren't going to go down without a fight.

She guesses that she's going to end up helping him out with that debacle, too. Ah, well. One crisis at a time.