Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the morning after they have sex, Adler avoids Ulrich with all the passion and enthusiasm of a rabbit in the face of a lion’s den. The most Ulrich catches of him is a flash of dark clothing swiftly fleeing into the opposite lab. Ulrich follows in hot pursuit, only to find a bemused Hissabeth telling him he had escaped out the fire exit.

This is not ideal. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in his previous approach. Ulrich trudges back to the team, tells them that Adler will not be joining them today, then returns to his abandoned coffee.

“Though, if you see him,” he says, pouring coffee into his energy intake, “Tell him I’d like to speak with him.”

A stir of interest rises among them. Ulrich has been made vaguely aware that his and Adler’s arguments have become a bit of a spectacle. The team, in particular, sometimes takes advantage of this time to slack off. He is particularly disappointed in them for this, and has made sure to express it repeatedly.

“Nothing bad,” Ulrich says, a tad too defensively. “Just… personal matters to catch up on.”

This does not dampen their enthusiasm; in fact, it only further excites it. Ulrich can feel his ferrofluid curdling in displeasure.

“Enough of that,” he barks. “We have a long day ahead of us. Those documents that our field agents brought back won’t decode themselves! Get to work, everyone!”

Ulrich spots neither hide nor hair of Adler for the rest of the day. This is particularly problematic given that they usually head the entire Research Department together. The next morning, Adler again fails to show up at their morning briefing. With him gone, Ulrich instead tracks down his assistant. She looks exhausted.

“He told me to tell you he’s… catching up on paperwork,” she says. “And that he has… two investor meetings this week.”

“Ah,” says Ulrich. “And does he?”

There is a pointed silence. The assistant leans in, lowering her voice.

“Don’t tell anyone, but he’s…” she trails off. “He hasn’t been responding to any requests, or putting in any paperwork… I’ve been doing most of it for him, but if this goes on…”

“I feared as much,” Ulrich sighs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

In the end, Adler seems to have disappeared entirely. Short of breaking into his office, there’s little Ulrich can do. Unfortunately, he’s gotten numerous complaints that this practice is in fact alarming, creepy, and upsetting to his human coworkers. With that in consideration, this particular course of action should be taken as a last resort. He makes this resolution, then finds Adler sulking outside the lab not half a day later, with an expression reminiscent of an aggrieved Teakettler.

“Adler!” Ulrich exclaims. “Where have you been? Please do not disappear on me again. We can talk things out like rational people, I hope.”

Adler’s eyebrows do a strange contortion; Ulrich has been informed that this particular expression indicates scorn. “Rational?” he scoffs. “Us? Really.”

Ulrich chooses to ignore his lack of faith. He’s found that, when dealing with Adler, a solid 60% of his words can be safely dismissed. He seems to find a certain… joy? in being particularly disparaging, which should be disregarded for the sake of team unity. Upon implementing this policy, Ulrich’s personal efficiency improved roughly 15%.

“Listen,” he says instead. Opening with an expression of fault is effective in de-escalating difficult conversations. “I seem to have made a mistake.” 

A complicated expression crosses Adler’s face; Ulrich identifies confusion, distress, and panic. In a flash, it shutters closed, leaving only scorn. “So you regret it already,” he laughs. “Figures. Too good for that kind of thing after all, Ulrich?”

Ah, part of the 60%. Ulrich shakes his head. “I only fear I may have overlooked your side of things,” he explains, “I thought agreeing to your proposition might help, given that you’re usually so evasive.” Adler’s expression is gradually turning flatter. Ah—does this support his hypothesis? “Oh, but you don't care about the reasons! What I mean to say is, intimate relationships between colleagues is discouraged in most guides on effective leadership. I can see how I’ve managed to upset you. I’ve put you in an uncomfortable position!”

Ulrich nods, satisfied that he has said his piece. Adler’s brows have furrowed into a straight line on his forehead. His hostility seems to have been successfully reduced, leaving only bewilderment.

“You fear you have… upset me,” Adler repeats slowly.

“Correct!”

His ferrofluid twists into a circle. Adler grimaces, looking away.

“You… don't need to worry about that, Ulrich,” he says, stilted. “It’s fine.”

Ulrich pauses. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You do seem upset.”

Adler shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he says. “I just… needed some time to collect my thoughts.”

“Hm,” Ulrich says. “In that case, I’m quite relieved. I never intended to make things more difficult for you.”

Adler does not respond. The hollows of his face seem particularly stark, gaze distant, arms slack. More than anything, he just seems… lost.

“Adler,” Ulrich says carefully, then scrambles for the words to say. He’s not accustomed to ‘friendship;’ the closest would be his team, Regulus, or perhaps Lucy. Thus, dealing with interpersonal matters outside the workplace is an area he’s woefully inexperienced in. “Are you… alright?”

Adler looks at him. His expression does not change, his movements wooden.

“I’m,” Ulrich says, and pauses. Back when they were developing the equilibrium umbrella, the thought of hearing something like this was almost enough to send him running. Now, he cannot find the words to say. But isn’t it incredibly simple? Words are only words: a collection of letters, scribbles on a page, sounds in the air, all meaningless until they are decoded. It is everything else that makes this difficult. “I’m concerned.”

Adler recoils. “You?” he snaps, energy snapping back to his listless form. “You, of all people? Concerned?” He laughs, a harsh and discordant noise. “Don't be. There’s nothing to trouble yourself with.”

Ulrich doesn't understand him. Ulrich doesn't understand humans at all.

In the end, everything can be decoded. A seemingly meaningless string of numbers can hold a wealth of information. In the same vein, people say one thing and mean another. That does not mean their words hold no information; even lies can be dissected, and reveal something true. It’s all a matter of knowing the right formula.

What is the decryption key to Adler Hoffman? What does each lie reveal?

“Don’t lie to me,” Ulrich says, crossing his arms. “I know that’s not true.”

And perhaps, if one were to decode what he just said, here is what they’d find:

How can you simply ask me not to worry when you’re clearly not alright? It’s not something I can turn on or off. It’s simply a fact: if you’re unwell, it will weigh on me forever.

Simplified for clarity:

I care about you, and you’re in pain.

What an embarrassing sentiment. Even more embarrassing: it is such a simple sentence, and Ulrich is incapable of saying it. However, Adler is likely also incapable of hearing it.

“...Forget it,” Adler says, turning away. “I’m leaving.” The line of his profile is stark; Ulrich suddenly feels farther than him from ever. Adler is always low to the ground, shoulders tense, mouth taut, and eyebrows flat. Ulrich has never seen him unguarded, never seen an unreserved emotion from him. 

Except, of course, for one time. Two days ago, when Adler had been in the midst of orgasm. It is in these moments that Ulrich may begin to decrypt him.

Such an endeavor would usually be useless, invasive, and disturbing. However, a crucial situation has developed which may require its necessity:

Adler Hoffman is not well.

This, of course, is not new. Adler Hoffman has not been well for nearly a decade now, and perhaps further beyond that still. Still, in the past year, Adler has scraped himself together into something Mesmer calls ‘high functioning,’ and his situation is leaps and bounds better than it used to be. Adler Hoffman being ‘not well’ used to include littered bottles and failed suicide attempts, including a hasty collision with the balcony railing and a subsequent trip to the medical department. Ulrich would like to avoid this brand of ‘not well’ at all costs.

In fact, Ulrich is desperate to keep the situation from ever spiraling that far again.

The reasons for this can be easily tied to practicality. Adler is now effectively in charge of Laplace as substitute director, and co-head of the research department along with Ulrich. Any ebb in his condition could have drastic consequences on Laplace as a whole, not to mention Ulrich, who would be saddled with much of the fallout and extra work. However…

It’s safe to say his motivations are more complex than that. More than just a coworker, Adler is… a friend. It is not simply professional concern; it has become a personal matter as well.

“Adler,” Ulrich calls, and Adler pauses. Here is a feeling he cannot identify, an uneasy thrum in his ferrofluid. A feeling that if he doesn't speak, something may be lost forever. “My offer is still open.”

To Ulrich’s immense relief, Adler is there in the morning, lurking in the corner of the room like a slug underneath a log. Ulrich strides up to him and pats his shoulder, a friendly gesture useful for expressing camaraderie. According to most guides on supporting friends, he should make an inquiry into Adler’s well-being and encourage him for his progress today. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says. Thanks to his voice modulator, it doesn't even sound strange. “How are you?”

Adler squints at him. “Did something short circuit in your brain?”

“I’m just glad to see you out and about,” Ulrich reassures. Adler crosses his arms, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“Fine,” Adler spits out, then flees to the opposite side of the room. Ulrich watches him go in dismay. He’ll need to re-study that psychology paper.

Throughout the day Adler contributes little, only cutting in to make scathing remarks and pessimistic predictions. Even stranger, he keeps looking at Ulrich. Ulrich has a wider field of view than most humans, letting him catch Adler out of the corner of his vision. Some of them he can identify; suspicion, wariness, annoyance. The others are much more subtle, with smaller tells he has not seen as often. He can’t make sense of them.

Eventually, Adler leaves to attend to his substitute director work, as is typical for them. His ferrofluid gives a thrum of anxiety as he leaves. Irrational, Ulrich decides. His presence is hardly going to help Adler fulfill his duties, and Adler is hardly more likely to break down once he is out of Ulrich’s sight. It will do them no good if Ulrich is hovering like some kind of mother hen.

After another day of this bizarre limbo, Adler finds him after his shift. The shadows under his eyes look darker when lit purely by the artificial overheads, and he stops a few paces away from Ulrich. Hovering.

“Ulrich,” he says, face wavering. The distance between them stretches, and Adler takes a step back instead of closing it. “Can we…”

His eyes are dark and pleading. There is a strange rawness in the line of his face, expression clenched in scorn. Expressions will never be Ulrich’s forte, but they’re still a valuable source of information.

“Alright,” Ulrich says, cautiously hopeful. “Your office again?”

Adler nods with a jerk of his head. The walk there is silent; Ulrich has learned many times that excessive amounts of noise at later hours will end in numerous complaints.

When they get to Adler’s office, Ulrich begins undoing his uniform. He is admittedly fond of one-piece suits for the simplicity that comes with their maintenance. Unfortunately, it does have the side effect of complicating removal.

“Stop,” Adler says. “What are you doing?”

Ulrich pauses. “Undressing?” he says. “My research indicated that it is usually a precursor.”

It was simple to snatch one of the pamphlets given out by the department’s sexual education program. It’s left him feeling remarkably more confident, and has also revealed that their last time was rather irregular. This time Ulrich is well equipped to participate. Adler will not need to do everything himself.

“You did research… of course you did,” Adler grumbles, scrubbing his face with his hands. Eyes shift to the far wall, where the door is. “You—”

“It’s alright, Adler,” Ulrich reassures, peeling off his uniform. Adler does not respond; his eyes flick over to track the movement of Ulrich’s hands. When Ulrich steps out of the uniform, now fully undressed, he balks. 

“You—!”

“In the spirit of preparation I requested modifications at Mechanical Research!” Installed between his legs is a reconstruction of female genitalia. It was both impressive and concerning how easily they were able to procure and install it. “Apparently it is a common request among Awakened.”

“That’s…” Adler wavers in place; his throat bobs as he swallows, and his fingers clutch uselessly at the hem of his coat. “Interesting.”

He still does not move. Ulrich is slightly at a loss for how to proceed. Presumably Adler’s clothes will come off next, though Ulrich isn’t inclined to rush him. Everyone takes things at their own pace, the pamphlet had informed him; no one should ever be rushed or pressured about sex. Thus, Ulrich decides to simply wait. He does prefer having clothes, and after so long wearing them it does feel strange to be bare, but many Awakened frequently go without. Perhaps he’ll gain more insight on his brethren this way.

“It’s not right,” Adler bursts out, gaze flying up to Ulrich’s tank. “There’s no way you actually wanted this. A—a cunt, for god’s sake? You’re not—”

“It’s not really my body,” says Ulrich, confused. “It’s just a vessel. I don't have the same kind of attachment to it that humans do, Adler.”

“This is ridiculous,” Adler huffs. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. “This was a mistake. I don't—”

“Adler?”

Adler takes one last look at him and flees from his own office. Ulrich is left naked in the middle of the room; the door swings shut behind Adler. A common theme seems to be emerging from all their interactions lately. At this point, he would usually re-evaluate his methods; unfortunately, the primary object of study (Adler) is notably uncooperative and difficult. Perhaps this is simply an occupational hazard of attempting to support Adler. He’ll re-evaluate regardless, he decides. 

Thankfully, Adler spares him the necessity of finding a new approach over their lunch break tomorrow. He appears at Ulrich’s elbow as the other employees trickle away to the cafeteria, expression sour.

“Fine. Fine,” Adler hisses at him. “Fine. We can use that ridiculous new organ of yours. Fine.”

Thus, during their allocated ten minutes, Ulrich ends up in Adler’s office getting roughly stripped of his uniform.

“Do you have condoms?”

Adler looks at him with incredulity. “Did they transplant a womb along with the cunt?”

“No,” Ulrich protests, “But it will help prevent chafing. We should also use lubrication—”

Adler thrusts into him.

“Oh.”

Ulrich does not have a proper sensory system outside of his original body, but he has a rudimentary system of nerves spread throughout his vessel to alert him of any issues. It’s enough to register touch and injury, without any corresponding pain or pleasure. The nerves inside his new organ do not extend further than that. Ulrich had specifically requested it that way.

He does not want to be distracted during these moments.

In truth, Ulrich cannot stop thinking about Adler’s face when he had come.

Since being employed by Laplace, he’s dedicated extensive time to decoding human expressions; as such, he can name each tell and what they must mean. Short, harsh breaths; mouth agape; eyebrows pulled together. Pleasure, exertion, surprise. Yet, Ulrich still doesn't understand. He’s turned the moment over in his memory countless times, spinned and replayed it for each new angle. Nothing.

There is something fundamental he is missing. Even for all his study, he will never understand it the way a normal human or arcanist instinctively would.

This time, Adler’s face is tilted towards him, letting him observe it freely. Pupils are blown wide, eclipsing his irises; Ulrich watches his eyes flutter shut and collapse from emotion. As Adler sinks down and bottoms out in his artificial hole, his mouth falls into an open circle, and a single groan escapes him. In sharp, frantic motions, he begins to thrust.

Adler, Ulrich thinks, is particularly compelling like this. He is a Storm, sweeping and overwhelming in his presence. 

“I hate this thing,” Adler grits out. His words are punctuated with a thrust that drives Ulrich back into the desk. “I hate it. But it’s still not fucking—”

It must hurt, or at least it will later. Adler’s fingers are digging into the seams along his shoulders. If he presses any harder, he’ll claw his fingernails out. A skinny pale chest heaves above Ulrich, shuddering like a broken engine.

Adler laughs, a garbled and ugly sound. “How disgusting is that?”

Adler twitches, with a ragged whine. He makes an aborted attempt at pulling out; cum shoots out onto Ulrich’s lower half. Adler collapses, chest heaving with breath.

Ulrich has no words. There is something deeply wrong with Adler. Ulrich has no perspective on sexual behavior and thus has no real means of evaluation, but he has a sinking feeling that it is not actually the problem here. Instead, something has always been and still remains deeply wrong with Adler; it is only the sex that draws it to the surface, that displays it in plaintext instead of being hidden with obstructions and deflections.

No, Ulrich is certain now. He should have expected this; Adler has always been prone to self-destructive behavior. With his new position comes new responsibilities, and it is no longer a self-confined problem if he drowns himself in alcohol or attempts to dive off the seventh floor escalator. Thus, he needed to adapt, and found new ways of hurting himself.

Ulrich is his new chosen method of self destruction. Sex with Ulrich, to be exact. The more Ulrich uncovers, the less he understands. Why him? Why sex?

“This is another reason we should have used a condom,” Ulrich says weakly, in the absence of anything else. He stares at the mess dripping down his thighs, thoughts racing. “We still have work, you know.”

The climax has left Adler subdued, sat on a chair with limbs sprawled in a careless pile. “Fuck off.”

Ulrich does not respond. Adler can probably read some sort of distress through the tank; he needs to calm down. One thing is certain; Ulrich is out of his depth. This has never been something he could address on his own.

He needs help.

Chapter Text

Ulrich has nothing against Mesmer Jr. She’s a fine leader of Artificial Somnambulism; as a coworker, she is exceptional, and even helps reign in some of their rowdier members. He only wishes she were not so humanocentric.

At the moment, however, he finds that he quite dislikes her.

“There’s nothing I can do, Mr. Ulrich,” she says, crisp and flat. “Mr. Hoffman has already denied treatment many times before. We can only administer it upon direct orders, or upon a major infraction.”

“But he’s not doing well!” Ulrich argues. He lowers his voice several decibels. “I’m… worried he might be hurting himself.”

Mesmer shakes her head. Her mouth is a flat line. “We can't force someone into treatment just because of one complaint,” she says, arms crossed. “I can speak to him again, but I doubt he’d be very receptive. Unless you have evidence of an infraction, there’s nothing I can do.”

Ulrich pauses. There are, of course, Adler’s absences, his assistant’s complaints, instances of him falling behind on work, but bringing those to light would surely call his position as Director into question. 

“For flux’s sake,” he mutters. “Fine.” He’s not keen on forcing Adler into therapy. Yet again, he has no insight into biological processes and thus no real sense of how effective therapy is in treating mental illness. Who’s to say it would even be helpful? Adler has already been put through several sessions, back after that first storm, yet he had still retreated from the world for eight years. Quietly, to himself, “What can I even do?”

There is a beat of silence; Mesmer purses her lips, a flash of emotion on her otherwise flat expression. “You don't need to involve yourself at all,” she says. “You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.”

Ulrich shakes his head. “I can’t accept that,” he declares. “I won't abandon my colleagues. As long as there’s something that can be done, I’ll do it.”

Mesmer’s eyebrows are pulled low. “That’s a dangerous line of thinking, Mr. Ulrich,” she says. “Some people are beyond saving. There’s no use burning yourself out for a lost cause.”

“I’ll let myself be the judge of that,” Ulrich says. “I can’t abide standing by and doing nothing.”

Mesmer’s gaze slides over to the door, mutinous. She says, “There’s not much you can do. This is why this isn't a good idea. Just support him; in these types of situations, it’s often helpful to give him company, or make sure he’s eating and sleeping. In any case, if he’s feeling self destructive…”

Her gaze slides back to him. Her face is expressionless, but it’s set with an aura of derision. “It’s hard for people to let go of destructive coping mechanisms. In the meantime, having a safe outlet could keep him from doing too much harm to anything else.”

With that, she gathers a stack of papers from her desk, nods at him, then stands and walks away.

In his desperation, Ulrich seeks out Adler’s assistant again in the hopes that she might have any insight into the situation.

“I’ve spoken with Adler,” he says. “Something is definitely up with him. Do you know anything that could have caused this?”

“Ah,” she says, dithering. She doesn’t look at him, gaze sliding over to the far wall. His ferrofluid pulses with suspicion. “I don't…”

“You must know something,” Ulrich presses, leaning his forearms on the counter.

“You’re the one that works alongside him,” she rebuffs, fiddling with the clipboard in her hands.

“I haven't noticed anything off,” he says, tone pointed. “Nothing that would cause anything like this, anyway. I don't have any insight into his directorial duties like you.”

The assistant hesitates, saying nothing. Ulrich sighs.

“Listen,” he says, voice pitched low. “I just want to help. To do that, I need to know what’s going on.”

The assistant wavers. “Alright,” she says, finally. “A while ago, several Foundation council members came in for a meeting with Mr. Enigma. They didn’t tell me what they were there for, but this all started after that.”

She pauses. Humans have a tendency to say more when faced with silence; Ulrich waits.

“Well, as you’re probably aware, the Foundation has gotten more involved with Laplace after Madam Lucy was… removed from the Director’s position. They’re…”

“I’ve never heard of this meeting,” Ulrich mutters, deep in thought. “But the Foundation’s meddling… Yes, I am aware. A shameful number of Laplace higher-ups are beginning to support their interference… Do you think they’re doing something to him? He’s always pushed back against their efforts, so I could see why they might want him silenced…”

The assistant shrinks back. “I… don't think it’s anything like that,” she says, suddenly meek. “At least…”

“Have they had other meetings?” he asks, but the assistant shakes her head.

“No, there was just one.”

Ulrich nods. “When did this happen?” he demands. “Do you know any of the Foundation members involved? What political party? What did—”

“Most of that… is classified information, Mr. Ulrich," the assistant says faintly. “I’m not allowed to tell you… I shouldn't even be telling you about any of this in the first place—”

Ulrich’s ferrofluid pulses in annoyance. “Anything you can say would help,” he says, but she shakes her head.

“I’m really sorry, Ulrich,” she says. “I want Enigma to get better, I do… but I don't think this is something you can fix. Maybe this Foundation business has nothing to do with it. He doesn’t exactly have the best track record, after all.”

“You can't say that,” Ulrich protests, annoyed. “He’s just one man. What if they’re threatening him, or blackmailing him? His hands could be tied.”

There is that look again, the same one that Mesmer had given him. Ulrich isn’t the best at understanding human expressions, but even he knows when someone is looking down on him. “Even if that were the case,” she says, “I’m not sure your assistance would be able to help much. Who’s to say they won't have something to hold over you, as well?”

Ulrich leaves dissatisfied, with questions swirling in his head. 

Ulrich has, admittedly, been avoiding Adler. It is not productive; however, he’s at a loss. This entire situation is uncharted territory for him. How does one keep a friend? How does one comfort a human who’s in pain? Perhaps he is simply just making everything worse. Perhaps he should just stick to what he’s good at.

If that were all he did, he would still be an ordinary and unthinking strand of ferrofluid. Ulrich needs to confront Adler. They cannot go on like this. Thus, Ulrich heads to Adler’s office after the workday. He greets Adler awkwardly, then stands in heavy silence.

“I wanted to talk,” Ulrich begins, “About…”

Adler’s expression is turning more sour by the minute. His arms are crossed, blocking Ulrich out; he has already assumed the worst. There is no point in drawing things out.

Ulrich says, “Are you using me to hurt yourself?”

Silence. Adler avoids his gaze; the reaction is admittance enough. Ulrich’s ferrofluid pulses in shock.

“You are!” he declares. “I—”

“So, what of it?” Adler breaks in, rough. His shoulders are held high, trying to hold his chin high even as it wavers. An angry and cornered dog. “I thought you would be delighted at the chance to hurt me.”

“What?” Ulrich exclaims. “That’s not—!”

“Come on, Ulrich!” Adler laughs; his whole body is held tense like bracing for a blow. “This charade has gone too far. I know you can't stand me.”

“What charade?” Ulrich cries. “I never—”

“Was it supposed to be a secret?” Adler sneers. “It was obvious, you know. I know you wish I was Madam Lucy instead.”

Ulrich’s senses do something strange. It’s as if the silica blocking his hearing is twice as thick; as if he is experiencing everything through the hazy fog of awakening. “What?”

“I know how much you long for another one of your kind,” Adler laughs, and it spills out of him like blood from a gash. “You check every machine to make sure it’s not an Awakened. You cling onto any hints at all. It’s pathetic.”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Admit it. I can never compare to Lucy; not her efficiency, not as a director, not the way you could connect with her. I’m just a human. Not even an arcanist!”

“I have never compared you to her!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not lying!” This conversation is going nowhere. Ulrich can feel his ferrofluid arcing up in aggrieved spikes. “Listen. I don’t care that you’re not an Awakened. I know we had our disagreements in the past—”

“‘Disagreements’—”

“But I don’t care that you’re not an arcanist, either. I respect you as a person and as a researcher.”

Adler scrubs his face. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? After all this time, we—”

Ulrich falters. Adler cuts in, eyes manic.

“We are not friends, Ulrich,” he pleads. “We—we’re hardly even acquaintances; we barely tolerate each other!”

Strangely, in the face of Adler’s denials, it is easier to say. Ulrich straightens, squares his shoulders. “I consider us friends, Adler,” he says. The words are quiet compared to Adler’s earlier words, but they cut through the noise with brutal efficiency.

Adler makes a noise like he’s been wounded. His gaze flits to the far wall. “What a joke,” he mutters. “What a joke. Why—”

“Adler—”

“What’s wrong with you? Get your head checked. What is this, really? This ‘humanitarian’ charade has to stop. Did you think you could save me, and I would happily go along with it, your damsel in distress? And after it all was over I would thank you profusely, so you could check off another good deed and pat yourself on the back? I’ve told you before; I’m not your charity case. You can’t help me.”

Ulrich shakes his head. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Fine, then. Live in a delusion, see if I care! Just keep me out of it; find another lost cause to champion. I’m tired of you.”

“No, Adler,” Ulrich says. “Listen to me. I’m worried about you.”

This is the wrong thing to say. Adler make a broken and hysteric noise, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You? You! Worried!” Adler exclaims. “How dare you say that to me? Do you even know—”

“What are you talking about?”

“How many times have you tried to kill yourself?” Adler barks. “I’m not the one with the self destruction problem—that’s you! Every other week you’re rushing into some suicide quest, all too eager to face death—”

“Those are for—!” Ulrich protests. “Our experiments are invaluable to humanity and scientific progress as a whole, you know that! The amount of progress we could make—it could be crucial in understanding the storm!”

“The storm this, the storm that!” Adler rages. “I don't care about the goddamn storm! It’s like you’re trying to hurt yourself, with the amount of danger you throw yourself in. And you have the nerve to lecture me about ‘self destructive behavior’? Unbelievable!”

“This has nothing to do with your behavior—”

“This has everything to do with it! You can't even see your own hypocrisy!”

“Listen,” Ulrich says, trying to regain control of the situation. “All I’m saying is that you need to take care of yourself.”

Adler scoffs. “Says the tin can who runs on coffee and doesn't know what ‘work-life balance’ means!”

“I don't need human maintenance!” Ulrich cries. “It only makes sense that I’d use that time to work on something productive.”

“Mr. Apple benefits from time off," Adler says with the obstinate stubbornness of someone whose argument has no grounds and refuses to admit it.

“Not all Awakened are the same! In any case—” Ulrich casts about. “Why do you even care? It’s my own life, and I can choose to use it how I please.”

“It’s my business when you’ll end up destroying yourself and ending up as a fancy table decoration,” Adler snipes back, “And I’m left as the singular Head of Research.”

“Is that your concern? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I know my limits!”

“I find that hard to believe, given the amount of times our Mechanical Engineering Team has had to fish you out of some makeshift container and build a new body for you.”

“I’m still here! I’m not going to get turned into a table decoration!”

“No, no! I don’t want to hear it! Get out, get out!”

In the end Adler ends up wrestling him out of the office. Ulrich retreats to the lab, fuming. How dare Adler try to insinuate that he’s heartless? So what if he looks out for other Awakened; he is an Awakened himself! Besides all that, Ulrich is in a unique position to carry out otherwise unfeasible experiments, and it’s been instrumental in their progress thus far. Their research will be crucial in understanding the storm and saving lives; Adler knows this.

Ulrich angrily boots up his computer and pulls up the paper he’d been writing this morning. After slashing half the words he’s written, he gives up and simply glares at the pixelated display.

He hasn’t been this angry at Adler since they first began working together. Whatever it is that has affected Adler has also left him particularly unpleasant. None of the research material he had consulted had mentioned exactly how infuriating it can be to attempt to help another person. If Adler wants to be difficult, that’s his own problem—Ulrich is not a saint, and it’s not his job to weather his mood swings to try and reach him. It’s not his fault that Adler burns down every olive branch he extends.

You cannot save someone who doesn't want to be saved, Mesmer had said. Ulrich gazes at the tiny black font on the screen, suddenly forlorn. The assistant had practically given up on Adler as well. A few petty assurances and crumbs of information was all she was willing to offer for his wellbeing. Is that how everyone else sees Adler? A lost cause, a hopeless case, a failure waiting to happen? Many of their researchers still look down on him for his seclusion. Adler has never been easy to get along with.

In the past, Adler always had at least one person in his corner. That person is no longer with them. In addition, Lucy, the one who had pulled him out of seclusion, has been fired. With both of them gone, Adler has no one left to look out for him—except for Ulrich himself.

No, he decides. Even if Adler is insistent on pushing him away, he can’t give up on him.

During his seclusion, Adler had slept, ate, and lived out of his office. Consequently, there is a futon in the corner of Adler’s office, precariously cleaned of the debris that litters the rest of the room. On the futon is a lump; Adler’s face emerges from it to glare at Ulrich. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I have brought you a nutritionally balanced breakfast,” Ulrich declares, dragging his toolbox into the room behind him. With his other hand, he balances a tray from the cafeteria, containing his precisely calculated salad. He places it on the desk with an air of triumph. “You will eat it.”

Adler squints at him; he seems more baffled than truly confrontational. “...No.”

“The Food and Health Department has informed me that you are skipping meals,” Ulrich tells him. “So, I’ve taken it upon myself to provide you with the nutrition you are lacking. I will not be leaving until you eat it.”

Adler’s brows furrow. “Don't you have work?”

“Well, if you see fit to abandon work at your own leisure, I see no reason why I cannot as well. Besides, I have saved up an excess number of vacation days. This is as good an occasion as ever to use them.”

“This is—what are you doing?”

“Vitamin D is essential for biological organisms,” Ulrich says, finding an outlet and plugging in his newest appliance. He turns it on, and light beams outward. Adler cringes away and covers his eyes. “This side of the building has no windows, but our Mechanical Research team has developed a… sun lamp? To remedy this.”

Ulrich begins setting up a second one.

“You can't just barge in here and do whatever you like,” Adler complains. Ulrich finds a second place to place his lamp. He squints at a scattered can of Dr. Papper and shoves it into the garbage bag he’s brought with him.

“Nonsense,” Ulrich says firmly, placing his hands on his hips. “You’ve proven yourself incapable of taking care of yourself. So, I’m going to assist you.”

This, predictably, starts another argument. Ulrich has since re-established his rules for engaging with Adler and successfully avoids losing his temper. This leaves them at a stalemate; Adler is unable to physically remove Ulrich, and Ulrich is steadfast in not leaving until Adler eats.

“I will call security on you,” Adler threatens.

“You wouldn’t,” Ulrich challenges.

In truth, he actually doesn’t know. Thankfully, Adler twitches but does not reach for his phone.

“I’m filing twenty complaints against your workplace conduct,” Adler tells him. “This is breaking and entering. Harassment, as well.”

“That’s fine,” Ulrich says stiffly.

Adler glares at him. Ulrich transfers a collected stack of papers to the filing cabinet.

“Listen,” Adler says, exasperated. “I’ll eat this… thing. In return you will leave and promise to never do this ever again.”

Ulrich considers this. His previous attempts have all been fruitless; this is the closest thing to concession he has gotten out of Adler thus far. “For the day,” he hedges, cautious.

Adler massages his temples. “The week.”

“No.”

“This is ridiculous,” Adler bursts out. “You’re not a nurse, and I’m not some sickly patient—”

“Yet, you’re behaving like one,” Ulrich retorts. “Start eating regularly, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Adler sighs, eyes slipping shut. “The day,” he says firmly. “And you’ll remove those damned lights.”

“Fine.”

This is progress, probably. One nutritionally balanced meal is better than none, surely? That is, if Adler eats it at all and doesn't simply throw it away the moment he turns his back. Adler takes a pointed bite of his salad and gestures at the door.

Better not to push it; he’ll quit while he’s ahead. Ulrich stalks over to the door with his collected garbage and pauses once he reaches it. “Please finish it,” he says; he can’t simply leave without saying anything. “...I’ll see you tomorrow.”