#Not in Circles but in Spiral Graphs (ISWM)

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

There was a fire alarm blaring from the direction of the kitchens of the Invincible. This was already strange, but it was worse when one considered that all the catering staff would be off-duty at this point in the day.

The culprit was still on the scene, swearing up a storm as he batted smoke away from the oven. When he realised he had been spotted, Yancy jumped in fright.

"Snapshot! Fuck. Shit. Youse ain't 'sposed to see this. Or this." At first he gestured to the oven, then to the smoke overhead. "I wanted to surprise you. Remember how we's was talking 'bout cakes an' shit - ohfuckwaitholdon." The mere word was enough to remind him that he hadn't actually finished stopping the smoke from erupting out of the oven. A charred, flaked mess was yanked out of the oven and thrown toward the nearest sink. "I might have decided I wanted to bake youse a cake for youse's birthday, but I might have fucking put the cake on the wrong shelf thing and the heat bar-thing on top make the fucking thing catch fire."

He slumped against the sink, forlornly looking at the overcooked disaster before him. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to give youse a good birthday. It's 'sposed to be chocolate but... It's okay if you just wanna toss it." (theauthorlives)

"... You were my new dream."

"And you were mine."

It didn't matter that Morgan had seen this movie at least twenty times, this ending scene still got to them. Laying in bed, teary eyed as Eugene and Rapunzel said their Not-Final words to each other, Morgan was almost glad Yancy wasn't there. But on the other hand, this was the greatest animated movie ever made and he was missing it.

The fire alarm shrieked across the ship just as Morgan had started to blow their nose. With all the grace of a drunken newborn deer, they tumbled off the side of the bed. The Ship AI dryly noted that there was a fire in the galley, and Morgan scrambled to their feet, assuring everyone who had poked their heads out in concern and curiosity that they would handle it. It was probably quite the sight. Their fearless captain, wearing pajama bottoms with pink mustaches on them and a T-shirt that read: "Not Now, Sweety, Mommy is Cyberbullying the Mayor" marching down the hall like they were going into battle.

The culprit was their betrothed. He scrambled to explain himself, barely pausing to take a breath before he all but doing himself at the oven and ripped out a smoking thing. Morgan slapped their hand against the nearest control pad to shut off the fire alarm as Yancy slumped against the sink, defeated. Morgan crept over to look at the smoking mass that was probably perfectly good cake dough at one point.

(Anything was better than the... Abomination Morgan had tried to make for the Anniversary of the Invincible II's voyage. It had traumatized the Section Leads so much they shot it out of the airlock and vowed to never speak of it again. Morgan swore she saw Burt shed a few tears.)

"Fire Suppression Systems Activating." The Ship AI droaned, a good five minutes after the fact. If anything, the water made the mess in the cake pan look even sorrier. Morgan clicked their tongue and tapped Yancy's cheek to get his attention.

"I appreciate the thought, but I am having a good birthday, because I get to spend it with you." They signed. Reaching up to brush back a few stray curls away from Yancy's forehead. His hair would fluff out in the way Morgan adored once it dried. They planted a quick kiss on Yancy's lips as the sprinklers sputtered out. "Let's hurry and get rid of the evidence before the cook finds out." They added, looking at the cake pan. (They swore, they knew him from somewhere. Happy Trails? They didn't spend enough time in the kitchen to know for sure. But regardless, he took his kitchen very seriously, and who knew what would happen if he found out about this?)

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

 That Morgan’s lungs were still able to draw breath after the vacuum of space had caused them to collapse at least four times would have been frightening- if death meant anything anymore. If anything meant anything anymore.  

 The same corridor. The same ending. The same, the same, the same, the same.  Endless circles looping upon endless circles.

Until it wasn’t. Until Morgan had stumbled onto a soundstage, and was promptly shoo’d away from Mark by a bedraggled assistant who looked like she hadn’t slept in at least twenty hours, all while their Head Engineer sat in fine velvet and sipped on coffee, completely indifferent to anything outside his immediate vicinity. Morgan shambled over to a wall and collapsed, wheezing in hysterics as the futility of it all forced them to their knees.   

When the portal of swirling, nebulous darkness opened before them, it was almost a relief. Despite the biting cold, it almost felt soothing; sinking into that abyss felt like jumping into a cool lake on a blazingly hot summer day (or had they simply become so broken they didn’t care anymore?)

And then it was the two of them. A familiar scene, except this time fatigue tugged Morgan’s shoulders down. The defiance and stubbornness was gone (they had been rallying against the wrong man). If Dark had any sympathy for the defeated, desperate person before him, he didn’t show it. The statement he posed in response was calculated and even, posture rim-rod straight and hands clutched behind his back.  Morgan wanted to scream. 

“I don’t know- anything!” Morgan signed. Their hands tugged at their hair and scratched their scalp. They dropped their hands listlessly to their sides. Their eyes burned and the lump in their throat swelled.  “It’s my life,” Morgan began after a heavy pause. “Shouldn’t I be able to live it on my terms? Don’t I get a choice?” A deep, calming breath of someone trying to keep themself together, lest they shatter into glass and stardust .  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to come crawling to you? Well, here I am. You were right; I was wrong. And I’ll do whatever it takes. To escape from... This goddamn farce of a reality."

@xshatteredreflectionsx​ whispered: ‘ help me make this right. ’

Prompt

The path that leads to the light will always be paved in broken glass. Bare feet cut upon the sharp edges, before crawling on hands and knees, dragging yourself forward despite the trail of blood left behind. However, to begin that journey at all is a challenge in itself. Being led by the siren’s call of an endless narrative, given choices that are handpicked just for you.

It’s a miracle you see the light at all, not blinded by the curtain its shrouded behind.  

“Now you see the truth for what it really is.”

A bold request from the observer to the villain, to break out of the mold may rip chunks out of them both. Yet you are tired of these little games aren’t you? It’s about time.

“What exactly do you intend to do with your newfound insight? Writing right from wrong isn’t quite so simple, after all.”

And for such a sacrifice, his help will always come at a heavy price.

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Routine and Aches!

Intrusive Questions with Markiplier Morgan (open!) Routine

In the universe where Morgan isn't on The Invincible II (which I need a tag for tbh), Morgan wants to believe they have a routine, but they really don't; not unless they have a commission to work on or have been hired for to take pictures for advertisements/events/weddings. Loosely speaking, they wake up at around 8 am, clean their apartment, go on a brisk job if the weather permits, then goes back home to spend the rest of the day doing adult stuff. Like Animal Crossing and Zelda. Very adult. Much important. On weekends they drive out to nature trails/state parks in order to get pictures for their portfolio/to post on their website as sellable prints. They're not Mark's video editor/camera person anymore, but they still go over to hang out just for the sake of hanging out. (They stay up until 3am regularly. Someone stop them.)

As a Captain their schedule has is a more mandated 8-to-5 affair. When the Colony first starts to put down roots, they do more work and often work longer hours, but once everything starts to become more self-sufficient, they fall into more of an administrative role. They still have to work the same number of hours, but it's time more often spent in an office looking over reports than anything else.

(They still have a horrible sleep schedule. It's a good thing there seems to be an endless supply of coffee.)

Aches

I mentioned it before, I think, but from time-to-time Morgan does have residual aches from all the times they'd died back during Heist. Sore legs and knees (heavy landings/shot out of a canon), stiff neck, shoulders and back (crushed by a bolder), splitting headaches (shot in the head), a burning, itching sensation in their right arm (zombie bite), and occasional chest pain (ribcage crushed by Yancy). As a blessing they all tend to pass quickly enough, although some linger longer than others.

Most recently, their left hand will seize up in extreme pain, and every so often they won't be able to move those fingers properly. Turns out, having a crystal ripped out of their hand might have caused nerve damage, even after a complete multi-universal reset. Funny how that works, isn't it?

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

“ You’re doing better than you give yourself credit for, you know. ”

Atlas cleared his throat, suddenly sheepish and unsure. He fiddled with a lapel of his coverall, trying to find at least some small distraction from the genuineness of the thoughts he was voicing. He could hardly look at Morgan as he spoke.

“ I … I know you beat yourself up about it. About a lot. You blame yourself, but … but it wasn’t your fault. None of it was. You were trying to protect everyone, trying to save everyone, the whole time … including me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was horrible to you, you … you still kept fighting for me. ” Choking a little on his words, he shifted his stance and cleared his throat again. Why did emotions have to be so difficult ? “ You’re a good captain, Captain. I … I think you need to be told that more often. We all appreciate you, a lot, but I don’t think anyone really expresses it to you much. You’re a good person. Sure, you made mistakes, but … but everyone does. Everyone screws up. What matters is that you tried to fix it … and you did. You did fix it. We’re safe, because of you. ”

A pause of quiet. Atlas turned his head further away. “ Just … don’t beat yourself up too much for what you couldn’t have done. ” // @calledstars

@calledstars

It was so much. Too much for a single person to carry alone, but damn it Morgan didn't try. The burden of memory was Mogan's to bear, and they thought they were doing really well up to a point. Okay, sure, they couldn't walk past the widows on the ship without digging in their heels, and maybe five times a day was too many times to request an update on the status of a grounded ship, but it wasn't anything major. Just smile and wave and nod your head, Morgan. Easy peasy.

It was fine until it wasn't. Until the meticulously crafted mask crumbled into pieces during a moment of disassociation so severe, it probably caused shockwaves.

Gladiatorial combat. Blissful denial. Overwhelming paranoia. Self-inflected destruction. Too many mistakes. A ship that was suffocatingly dark and chillingly cold. The corpses of 100,000 people floating in the stars among scraps of a destroyed starship, bloated and frozen and all accusatory. It crashed together all at once, played in Morgan's head like a movie that had been chopped into pieces, glued back together and then shoved back into the reel. Fragmented, distorted things that shuddered like existing caused them excruciating pain.

When they had come back to themselves, Morgan awoke surrounded by concerned crewmates. Worried, not angry. Friends, not foes. Fortunately it was the end of the day, and an earth Friday besides. They dismissed their crew with a strained smile and a saccharine "have a good weekend!" before retreating to their quarters. Atlas followed. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that he would, out of all of them. Which lead to a gut-wrenching realization: He remembered. How much, Morgan didn't dare ask. Enough to sympathize with their plight and try to assuage it. Enough to assure Morgan that they were, despite everything, a good person. (Were they though? Sometimes they looked back at their more careless decisions and thought otherwise. They had been off having fun while universes were dying. They were going on dates while Gunther was throwing himself into wormholes. They were playing Noir while Burt was giving up his humanity. Only God knew where they fucking where while Atlas and Celci were going insane.)

"I try not to. But sometimes... I wonder if everything would have been better if I was never here." Morgan signed listlessly, no longer having the energy to try and pretend otherwise. "But you guys are stuck with me. I can't go home until Houston says so." They gave a watery smile. Their eyes were burning and it felt like they were being stripped raw, layer by layer. "I'll try and be half the Captain you think I am in the mean time."

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

( x )

He knew they’d come back. They always did. I go, and I come back. Death didn’t seem to mean anything in their twisted half - reality, aside from leading to starting over again. The pain of it had even started to dull … new wounds atop old scars, disappeared with every reset.

He drew their lifeless form closer, cradling them against him. They’d stopped moving, stopped breathing, but he hadn’t let go. He shut his eyes, guarding the tears that threatened to fall — but who did he have to pretend for ? When he opened his eyes again, taking a slow and shuddering breath, they fell down his cheeks, numb and hurt and mourning and tired. How many times do we have to die ? Gloves hands pressed against the captain’s back, holding them closer, holding them tightly.

“ I’ll see you again soon, Captain, ” he mumbled. He never lasted long without them — the story wouldn’t let itself continue without the lead. Something would collapse, something would attack, something would go wrong … and then they’d both be back at the start. He would wait, and pretend it didn’t hurt every time. // @calledstars whoops my hand slipped. anyways you asked for angst here you go

.

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Everything running smoothly was still something Morgan hadn't adjusted to. The computer AI made a few snarky, passive aggressive remarks about the constant checks, but the alarms hadn't started blaring. Even their coffee was perfect.

Gunther of all people was asking about gossip was what threw Morgan for a loop. Since when did he care? Although, to be fair, Morgan didn't really know Gunther outside of catastrophic situations; maybe he was a gossip. And to be fairer, Morgan and Mark were pretty familiar for people who had, as far as anyone knew, only met once they were on the ship.

"We worked together before being assigned here," Morgan replied with a shrug. "Nothing quite as grand as interstellar colonization." After a moment, they added: "And no; we didn't have any sort of sordid love affair either." They had overheard those rumors alright. But that was how these kinds of stories went, wasn't it? Somehow, someway, the Captain of some bold new undertaking ended up on the same ship as an ex-lover. A trope Morgan had ended up avoiding. Mark and Celci however... They shook their head. Not their circus, not their monkeys.

@xshatteredreflectionsx  wanted a sneaky sneak starter

-

There was a lull on the bridge as the ADS lead leaned against the back of the control panel. In respect of the crew that were still working, he didn’t light his cigar as he gazed out at the stars. Movement caught the corner of his eye and a smile appeared when he realised who it was.

“Hey, Cap.” Lifting his shades, Gunther was able to give Morgan his full attention. “Everything’s running smooth up here, and ADS is working as expected.” Definitely a nice change to the normal chaos. “But I got a question for you. You and Mark are real close. Is there a story behind that?”

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

“You know, you keep fretting over everyone else, but you won’t even take a second to relax, yourself.” // @calledstars !

Exhaustion Starters (Open)

@calledstars

-------

Anyone and everyone could see how the Captain seemed to be running entirely on caffeine and grit, it was only inevitable that they would collapse eventually. Fortunately it happened within the boundaries of the colony and not out in the wilderness. It had been the oddest thing. One minute, they had knelt down to examine what seemed to be an alien species of edible fauna, the world tilted, and then they woke up in the ship's medical bay with an IV drip of fluids in their arm and a heart monitor clip on their finger. The medical officer had thoroughly chewed Morgan out as soon as they were cognizant enough to comprehend it, and added how he was overriding Morgan's authority as commanding officer and forcing them to rest in bed. The Department Heads had all been informed, which lead to the current confrontation.

Atlas hadn't meant to be offensive or accusatory when he said what he did. Quite the contrary, he was being nothing but patient and sympathetic, But Morgan, restless and irritable from the sleep medicine they had been given, audibly scoffed. "Pot. Kettle. Black." They signed stiffly, heaving themselves up to sit against their pillows. "You've been running around like a chicken with your head cut off. You're in ADS before Gunther is awake. You and Celci are walking over each other in Cryo. You've been seen hovering around the Reactor like a helicopter mom, and that's all before you get to your actual team." Morgan paused, partially to try and compose themself, but mostly to try and keep themselves from fully succumbing to the medicine. "I've already failed as a Captain several dozen times. I'm not failing now that we're finally here."

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Atlas didn’t sleep. He didn’t want to; and, after his ordeal seeing past the thin curtain of reality, he realized that he didn’t technically need to. He worked, and then he did it again.

Sometimes, he’d crash. Like a computer program, he’d be forced to shut down before he could restart. He’d pass out on any given surface ( his bed, thankfully, more frequently, once he’d started to predict it ) , and then go on about his routine once he woke up. That was, assuming he hadn’t been abruptly woken by something else.

Atlas shot up in bed with a muffled scream. His hand had flown to his mouth, and still remained tightly there as his chest heaved with the effort to breathe. His hands moved to thread through his hair, head bowing and knees drawing up to his chest. He had such horrible visions, of lifetimes he’d lived and ones he didn’t remember, of tragedies he’d lived through and ones he knew weren’t his own. They were frightening and painful, all of them … and the force of nightmares seemed to enjoy frequently making him relive them.

He couldn’t just keep sitting there. It was too suffocating. The silence was too loud. Grabbing a jacket from near the door to his cabin, he slid it on and headed out for a mindless walk through the quiet ship in its night cycle. Arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his arms. He needed a distraction … stargazing from one of the window sets would do. // @calledstars 😭

@calledstars

Morgan had problems sleeping even before their time on the ship; insomnia and frequent nightmares saw to that. They had been prescribed some sleeping medication, but some nights those didn't work as well as Morgan hoped. And when they did? It was a coin toss as to whether or not they'd have a nightmare so intense it yanked them out of a deep sleep. They had tried to get a stronger prescription, but had been denied because they "couldn't be trusted not to self-medicate". (The Chief Medical Officer was just doing his job; it wasn't fair for Morgan to hold it against him. And it wasn't as if they could refute his claim either, nor could they explain that their circadian rhythm was so fucked up because they had been caught in a loop)

On this particular night, Morgan woke up with phantom pain in their left hand and tears drying on their cheeks. Another dream about their confrontation with Atlas in the warp core room. Teeth clinking together and stars exploding before their vision as the fire extinguisher collided with their head. The vice-like grip on their wrist and the sharp, burning pain as the crystal was ripped from their palm. The agony of clinging onto Atlas with that hand as the wormhole tried to rip him away. The dread sinking like a stone into their stomach as he slipped away.

Sleep constantly evaded Morgan no matter what they tried; jumping jacks, folding their laundry, organizing their craft drawer. Every time their head hit the pillow and they began to drift off, another terror would jump to the forefront of their mind. Even their infamous stubbornness had its limits, and eventually Morgan resigned themself to not getting any sleep for the remainder of the night. Thin cotton blanket draped over their shoulders like a cape, Morgan padded down the corridor. Gunther's ear-rupturing snores and the gentle hum of the ship's insides reminded Morgan that The Invincible II was alive. They hadn't woken up to a cold, dead ship.

They had no destination in mind, just movement for the sake of movement. Their mindless wandering eventually led them to a part of the ship they hadn't spent nearly enough time in; a more recreational section that housed the galley and break room. The windows- shattered with a loud crash that was swallowed up by the void of space. Alarms blared as Morgan was swept off their feet into the endless, glittering abyss of glass and stars. The cold seized them . The air in their lungs caused them to burst. The agony lasted for a single moment before death claimed them.- Morgan squeezed their eyes shut and sucked in a breath. Their toes curled against the cool linoleum floor. When they dared to open their eyes, the break room was peacefully silent. The stars on the other side of the glass twinkled. Morgan took in a deep breath. They were fine. They were safe. They would only have to be on the ship for a little while longer. They were...

... Not alone.

Silhouetted against the stars was a figure, occupying one of the small square tables. Too broad to be Lady, but not broad enough to be Wug. Someone else? No, no, no, not possible. Morgan had increased the ship's security. Everyone who was currently on The Invincible II was supposed to be there; not a single outlier. Morgan took a breath, wishing they had grabbed their PDA at the very least, and tip-toed towards the other person.

It was Atlas, looking out into the blanket of stars with a distant look on his face. Dressed down as he was, Morgan could see the dark blotches of skin tissue across his arms and shoulder. Their stomach lurched and their heart jumped into their throat. Whatever he had gone through in the wormhole... whatever he had been subjected to in that eternity, it hadn't been kind to him. Morgan still had scars; burns, gashes, and of course the electric burn-like scars on their left arm, blooming from the meaty part of their palm. Whatever Atlas had encountered seemed to have taken out chunks. And that was only on his arms.

(They remembered the stink of burning flesh and ozone as shots from Lady's blaster melted through cloth and skin and muscle and bone. The horrible, rattling breaths Atlas took as he defended his Captain; somehow still alive despite the smoldering crater in his chest.)

Morgan shook their head again and waved a hand to get Atlas's attention. "Couldn't sleep either?"

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

( throws a 🌑 for @calledstars )

@calledstars

The day-night cycle wasn’t the same on the new planet as it was back on Earth. A group of astronomers and other scientists were currently monitoring the rotation of the sun and twin moons and correlate it to the time cycle that they were familiar with, but the fact of the matter was that they were still too new here to definitively say. The working theory was that every half hour equated to one Earth hour but, again, more data was needed. For now, the crew and colonists were encouraged to stick to their normal sleep cycles as best they could, even if that meant going to bed at sunset and waking up at what looked like late evening.  

The architects that had been in cryosleep had been among the first to be woken up; men and women who had been specifically selected by Mission Control for this exact purpose. By all rights Atlas could have stepped back -there wasn’t as much of a need for a Head Engineer now that they were on the ground- but that wasn’t in his nature.  

“…And that’s how everything is progressing so far, Captain.” Atlas concluded. He had been giving Morgan a bi-weekly progress report ever since they landed (which had been… weeks? Months? The scientists were still working on an accurate calendar; another thing they were playing by ear for now) and everything was going surprisingly smoothly. There hadn’t been any communication with another civilization yet (and the Comms Team had people sending transmissions day in and day out), but they hadn’t been invaded and/or taken as prisoners by any native species. That was good.  

Morgan’s hum of affirmation turned into a yawn that they failed spectacularly to hide from Atlas. Concern broke through his mask of professionalism.  “Have you been getting enough sleep, Captain?” The gentleness of his tone sent waves through Morgan’s core, a sensation that was becoming more frequent and harder to ignore. Harder to justify with: “we witnessed reality collapsing as the two last living souls; of course, things are different now”.  Something tender and beautiful and delicate and horrifying.  (They had almost indulged in it back in that Noir universe, nearly tasted the nectar of that forbidden fruit. But that had been… different. They -Morgan, Atlas, them- had been different.)

 “Have you?” Morgan asked. Atlas stiffened slightly at the question, shuffled his feet, but said nothing. Deflection and Avoidance; what a pair the two of them made. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you looking dead on your feet when you walked in.”  The AI-generated voice on their PDA was monotone (one of the tech guys was working on a more “natural” sounding voice, but progress was stalled because Morgan had yet to settle on a voicebank that sounded like “them”), but still somehow conveyed the scolding tone they were going for.

As if to prove their point, Atlas’s rim-rod straight posture sagged. When he blinked, his eyes stayed closed too long and his head started to lull. He caught himself too late. “…Yes?”  He replied, as if he wasn’t the worst liar on the entire ship. Atlas wore his emotions on his sleeve. While he certainly had the ability to be shrewd and cunning when pushed to the limits of his sanity when the need called for it, this was not one of those times.

“Sleep with me tonight.”

“…What?”

FuckshitfuckGoddamnautocorrectwhyhadn’tthisshitbeenfixedyet?!

Morgan turned off their PDA and tossed it on their desk like it had just bitten them. They breathed in deeply through their nose and let it out in a long sigh. Face burning, they tried desperately to compose themselves. “Sleep. In here. In my bed.” They signed. Fuck, shit, fuck. That didn’t sound much better. “I can’t have you passing out in the hallway.” There. That was… better.

Atlas coughed awkwardly into a fist. Morgan wanted the floor to swallow them whole.  “…don’t have any pajamas in here.” He muttered.

“That’s fine. Just, I dunno…” Morgan groaned and scrubbed at their face with their hands.

“Look, Captain, it’s fine. Let’s just- I’ll just- Goodnight.”  Atlas turned on his heel and walked towards the door. Or, more accurately, staggered. Exhaustion seemed to catch up to him with a vengeance, as he stumbled over nothing and all but collapsed into the door. His hand pawed pathetically at the wall beneath the hand-scanner in an attempt to open the door. Morgan followed and grazed a hand along his back. Atlas tensed and jerked away as much as he could. Morgan tried not to think about how much that stung (they had been so tactile with each other before. Handshakes and fist bumps and high-fives and hands clenched so, so tightly. They had clung to each other as the universe ended, because if they were going to die for good, they wanted to die basking in each other’s warmth).

“It’s obviously not fine.” Atlas looked at their hands, glassy-eyed and half-lidded. They could see how pallid his skin was, how dark his bags were. It had been easy to miss in the brilliant glare of the planet’s sun; easy to write off as him not adjusting well to the new day-night cycle. Everyone was tired; it was easy to blend in unless you really looked at him. “Stay the night.”

“Is that an order?”

“I’ll make it one if I have to.”

Atlas blinked slowly and let his head fall against the door. He stayed that way so long, Morgan worried he had fallen asleep like that. And perhaps he had for a few moments.  “…m’kay.” He slurred. Pushing himself away from the door seemed like herculean effort, but he accomplished it, dropping himself into an empty armchair and tugging off his boots. Morgan dashed away to get changed in the bathroom, staring at themself in the mirror.

Okay. So. Their Head Engineer (whom they had very strong platonic-not-romantic feelings for)was taking his clothes off in their room. That didn’t mean anything! He couldn’t very well sleep in his coveralls, now could he?  They thunked their head against the mirror and tried to think of other things. Pretty flowers and all the pictures that they had been able to take. The song that Yancy had written and tried to perform for them (He really was a great guy. Misguided and horrendously flawed, but the multiverse proved he could be so much more than a thug in prison). What they wanted their PDA’s voicepack to sound like.   Anything they could think of until they felt brave enough to go exist in the same room as Atlas like a normal fucking person.  They changed into the most modest jammies they had and marched into the main room.

Atlas had curled himself somewhat awkwardly into the armchair, coveralls neatly folded and tucked away near his boots. He wore loose pants that were absolutely not dress code compliant, but looked comfortable, and it turned out that turtleneck of his was sleeveless.  Morgan stared at him, brow cocked and jerked their head towards the bed.

“Wha- Captain, I couldn’t. Th-this is already a gross overstep as it is! I’m fine, see?” To prove his point, Atlas shifted so his legs were draped over one of the arms of the chair, his arms curled into his chest. “Comfy-wumfy, like a snug bug in a rug. That’s me.” He absolutely did not look comfortable.  Morgan continued to stare at him.

“Bed, mister.” They signed resolutely.

They had received one of the nicer beds (a queen-sized mattress that actually felt like a bed and not a piece of foam) with soft pillows and a comfortable blanket. A humbler Captain would have protested (their quarters were more like a fancy hotel suite than anything expected from a quickly-built residential building as it was), but they loved beds and pillows and blankets too much to refuse it.

With some reluctance Atlas shuffled over to the bed and crawled in, groaning in appreciation despite himself.  When Morgan climbed in, he started arranging his pillows into a makeshift barrier between the two of them. He stopped as soon as he caught Morgan staring at him. Shamefully, like he had gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar before supper, he returned the pillows to their rightful place. Morgan nodded and dimmed the lights.

 It still looked like early evening outside, golden pink-orange light flooding in through the window. Atlas had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had gotten comfortable, looking more at peace than Morgan had seen him in ages.  The sun caught the deep brown in his hair and added much-needed color to his cheeks. Morgan’s hand moved before they realized it, gently brushing away dark waves of hair from his face and ghosting down his cheek. It was painfully, achingly intimate.  It made their embrace in the crumbling warp core room feel small by comparison.  It made them realize that their bed wasn’t as big as they thought. They’d barely have to move and they’d be forehead-to-forehead with him. A little closer than that, their noses would brush. And closer than that…

Morgan pried their hand away from his face and clutched it to their chest, rolling over so their back faced Atlas.  Their heart was simultaneously in their throat and pounding against their ribcage, which should have been impossible. They swallowed, but that did little to help. Morgan grabbed a pillow and held it in their arms, burying their face in it.

They were in so deep they couldn’t even see the surface anymore. How? When did it even happen? In the wormhole? In the warp core room? After they had woken up in this new universe? Before? After?

Whenever it happened, Morgan was fucked. So, so, so fucked.

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

five times cried:      ( five times the receiver cried over the sender ) & five times smiled:      ( five times the sender made the receiver smile ) // for @calledstars !

@calledstars

 First Time Smiled 

Morgan nearly ran into him when they stepped off the shuttle. His eyes lit up at the sight of them, his expression turning sheepish as he realized just how in their space he was. He gave a curt, professional nod and extended a hand. 

“Welcome aboard The Invincible II, Captain, glad to have you here.” His grip was firm, and his fingers so calloused Morgan could feel it through their gloves. They matched his ID number to the corresponding dossier they had been given to look over during transit. One that that almost everything except his name so corrupted that it had been impossible to read on their datapad. A quick call to Houston confirmed that Atlas was more than qualified for his position, and already had at least one other starship under his belt.  

He showed Morgan The Invincible II with the energy of a proud father bragging about his child and invited them onto the bridge with a theatrical sweep of his arm and a smile that could rival the sun. Morgan smiled over the rim of their glass of sparkling cider, and he shuffled endearingly before encouraging them to address the assembled crew.   

First Time Cried 

It happened in a second- far too quickly for Morgan to even begin to comprehend it. One blink Atlas was crumpled against the other side of the console, wide eyed and panicked as he tried to understand why he had been so violently woken from cryosleep. Another blink and he was gone, sucked out into the vacuum of space as glass slashed viciously at his coveralls. Morgan slammed so hard against the console it knocked the wind from their lungs and caused them to fold against it, head cracking against the opposite edge. The oxygen roared past their ears and clawed at their uniform as the emergency shutter creaked down over the jagged gap where there used to be a window. Their senses returned to them as their ears popped painfully and started to ring. Morgan pushed themselves up and gaped, slack-jawed at the space where their Head Engineer used to be. The fact that Atlas most likely didn’t live long enough to feel any pain was definitively not a comfort.  

Tears dribbled down Morgan’s cheeks, but they didn’t have time to mourn before the console set itself ablaze and Computer started monotonously warning them about the fire on the bridge and the failing oxygen. Morgan’s vision blurred, tears, their head injury, and the rapidly dropping oxygen levels creating a sickening cocktail. They stumbled into the main hallway and into life support, blinking away the tears and black splotches encroaching their vision.  

Second Time Smiled 

As it turned out, Alien Office Candy tasted a lot like Human Office Candy; paradoxically better than what could be found in stores, but never better than whatever Grandmas got. The two mints Morgan had popped in their mouth while sitting in Lady’s office tasted like some fruit that they didn’t know the name of and what cold felt like. Not spearmint, or peppermint; just cold. The two flavors switched each time Morgan swiped their tongue over them. Very strange.  

“...Wherin you created the largest, most destructive wormhole the world had ever seen.” Lady, overly stiff and composed with a smile pulled too wide across their face explained. “-Do not put that in your mouth right now.” They continued; voice so taught Morgan could almost hear it begin to snap under the pressure.  

 

“The largest? Like, on record? Like seriously? And most destructive?” Atlas questioned. The corner of Lady’s mouth twitched dangerously. Morgan saw a glint of a fang before their rapidly crumbling bureaucrat mask slipped back on. Atlas turned to Morgan, goofy grin on his face as his chest swelled with pride. Morgan gave a lopsided grin in response. “Take that Oppeheimer, you old sack of shit.” Atlas murmured to them out of the corner of his mouth.  

The candy he popped in his mouth triumphantly was spat out mere seconds later, when Lady shot to their feet and pulled a gun out from under their desk, finger trembling on the trigger as they glared down at both of them.  

Second Time Cried 

Morgan huddled over Atlas as another wormhole bloomed from the far end of the warp core hallway, roaring and sparking as space twisted around it. The hull groaned as it bent inward. Lady, frantic and hysterical and desperate, jabbed a finger desperately at the bracelet on her wrist, her attention torn between it, the wormhole, and Atlas and Morgan. The wormhole seemed to roar in hunger and anger and swelled. Morgan wrapped an arm around Atlas’s torso, the other hand grasping desperately for any purchase they could find. His head fell limply against them as the vacuum from the wormhole increased. The entire ship shuddered and groaned, pipes bending and bursting with ear-piercing hisses and pops. With an animalistic shriek Lady was yanked off their feet. A shot from their blaster sizzled though Morgan’s shoulder. White spots flashed across their vision, and they felt themselves tumbling. They clutched Atlas –cold, limp, unresponsive Atlas- to them as they rolled and skidded across the hallway.  

The wormhole seemed content to only swallow Lady, as it popped out of existence once they vanished into its swirling maw. Morgan and Atlas slid to a stop, battered and bruised. The acrid scent of burning flesh assaulted Morgan’s nose, making their eyes water. They readjusted themselves to look at Atlas, head lulled against their collarbone as they cradled him. He hadn’t moved –hadn't even flinched- since the wormhole opened. He had stopped breathing before that, but Morgan hadn’t accepted it. The crater in his chest sizzled and smoldered, skin and bone crumbling to ash and flaking into his chest cavity. Morgan gently brushed his bangs away from his forehead. His eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, stared blankly at the floor of the ship. Morgan sobbed and clutched him tighter, rocking back and forth as their ship continued to crack apart around them. The Invincible II let out a death knell before snapping in two, one end greedily devoured by the wormhole while the other drifted lifelessly into unknown space.  

Morgan and Atlas floated into the stars; bodies frozen together in a morbid embrace.  

Third Time Smiled 

Atlas carried himself with a confident swagger that bordered on arrogance. Cool as an evening in Autumn as he stepped into the hazy gray light on the bridge. He had been here before, as had I.  His dark gray eyes glinted at me as he paced in front of the shudders of the main window of the bridge, illuminated by cosmic rays soaking in through the peeky blinders like some ethereal being who had decided to grace my humble ship with his presence. His voice was as smooth as whiskey and just as intoxicating. Damn me to hell, he had me right where he wanted me, and the bastard knew it, too. His mouth curled around the lip of his whiskey glass in a self-satisfied smile before he spoke to me directly. He remembered himself enough to not overstep but kept his wing-tipped toe just inside the line. Two could play this game. He might have thought himself clever, but I could hear Atlas’s monologue, as he lamented the lack of courage to take our relationship to the next level. The temptation of fraternization was tantalizingly sweet and deliciously risky. Alas, I had taken one too many risks already. The siren song of forbidden relationships would have to wait until I got everyone home.  

I swirled my whiskey as I ordered a distress signal. He didn’t like it but complied regardless. Oh, he moaned and complained, but it didn’t have any bite to it. We were like two untrained clowns at some kid’s Bar Mitzva, and he knew it, even if that damnable pride of his wouldn’t allow him to say it out loud. I gave him a lazy smile and that seemed to shut him up, gray flushing his cheeks. 

Third Time Cried  

“I go... and I come back. And I go, and I come back, AND I ALWAYS COME BACK!!” Atlas wailed, tears streaking his filthy face as long, dirty, broken fingernails balled the lapels of Morgan’s jacket. He was shockingly underweight and malnourished, but he managed to push until Morgan’s back hit the cryopod- their cryopod- which in this universe had been left empty for what seemed like years. Anger flared in their stomach. Where the hell was this universe’s Morgan? The entire ship was dead except for one man. Were they off galivanting in some different universe? Had they broken this one so badly they had fucked off to another one, to hell with everyone else? To hell with this Atlas? 

“I looked for you...” Atlas continued in a broken whisper. “I looked, and I looked, and I looked, but I could never find you. Why are you back?!” He demanded. He weakly slammed Morgan into the cryopod door. “Why here?! Why now?!” His chest heaved, breath and spittle spitting through grit teeth. Morgan raised their hands to sign something –assuming this Atlas still remembered ASL-, but his attention snapped to their left palm. Specifically, to the crystal in that hand. Realization and lucidity sparked in Atlas’s eyes, and he grasped that wrist with bestial strength. “Where did you get that crystal?” he asked in a furious whisper. “You never shut it down, did you? Is that why you never woke up here?!” He started clawing desperately at the crystal with his other hand, trying to dig his fingernails underneath to pry it free. Morgan shoved him away and started to run, but Atlas was faster in his hysteria. “Give it to me!” He howled, jumping onto Morgan’s back and clawing at anything he could reach; their shoulders, their chest, their face.  

They writhe together on the bridge, stumbling over discarded tools and broken drones and candles. Morgan slammed Atlas against a wall. He raked his fingernails across their cheek, drawing blood. They were finally able to get a good grip on him and tossed him over their shoulder. He crashed heavily against the console, shattering the LED screen and tumbling over to the other side like a limp, wounded animal. They panted, cheek stinging and eyes burning. Atlas didn’t move to get up. He into himself, hugging himself as he whimpered, “I trusted you, Morgan.”  

The crystal on Morgan’s hand flickered to life and pulled them into another wormhole, leaving this dead universe and broken man behind. Morgan buried their face in their hands and drew their knees up to their chest, screaming and wailing as loudly as their dysfunctional vocal cords would allow.  

Fourth Time Smiled 

The restaurant was nice, even if it wasn’t as authentically French as it advertised itself to be (In hindsight, the server starting every conversation with “Oh, Boonjoooooooouuuuur!” should have been an indication). As it turned out both of them had overdressed, but they had a good laugh over it while they ate complimentary bread and made off-handed comments about the décor.  

“I’m really sorry about the movie,” Atlas said with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I should have thought to buy tickets before taking you to one of the biggest shows of the season. Egg on my face.”  

Morgan gave him a lopsided smile and nudged him with a shoulder. “No problem. If you’ve seen one RomCom you’ve seen them all,” they signed, bouquet of roses tucked safely in the crook of their arm. Atlas hummed and hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “I guess. Still, it kind of threw off my scheduling. So much for going on a walk in the park during a romantic sunset.” Atlas groused and kicked at a pebble in his way indignantly. Morgan giggled and linked arms with him, gently pulling him in the direction of the nearest ice cream stand.  

The walk in the park might not have been at the time Atlas had originally planned, but it was beautiful regardless. The long-range scanners had not done this new planet’s natural beauty any justice. The grass was brilliantly blue-green and as soft as cotton, fluttering about their ankles on a wind that smelled sweet with local flora. Tiny alien creatures nibbled on plants, and some plants nibbled on tiny alien creatures (Atlas had superimposed himself between Morgan and an innocuous-looking flower that grew several rows of teeth the second some puff-ball thing rolled too close, quickly ushering them away whilst looking as mortified as Morgan felt).  

The night ended eventually. Morgan and Atlas lingered outside the former’s apartment while the latter rocked on his toes. “So! Minor hiccups aside, I think that date went well. Don’t you, Captain?” As soon as the title left his lips, it was like the entire world stopped. Atlas blinked owlishly. “Captain...?” Morgan closed the distance between them, cupping his face. They smiled and pulled him closer, kissing the corner of his mouth before, with great reluctance, moving away.  

“I’m going to fix it.” They signed resolutely. They entered their apartment and closed the door behind them. This Atlas hadn’t been the Head Engineer; it wouldn’t be right to drag him into this. The next wormhole yawned before them and, with a resolute breath, Morgan dove in.  

Fourth Time Cried 

Wrinkled, calloused, leathery hands rubbed soothing circles into Morgan’s knuckles as he held them across the table. Atlas, several decades older and several centuries wiser, said nothing as the captain cried openly across from him, head bowed, and gloves removed. The candle on the table flickered feebly in the stale, dust-flavored air of the diner, as if it was waving goodbye to the last star as it blinked silently out of existence.  

“You tried your best, Morgan.” Atlas said gently. They didn’t respond, more tears dripping off their nose and onto the table. “In all fairness, I didn’t make it easier for you. Running away from you when I did remember, if not playing dumb. Oh, and attacking you. Can’t forget that.” He chuckled humorlessly and looked up at Morgan’s face, four jagged scars across their left cheek and curving towards the lobe of that ear. They looked deep and a little infected. Atlas turned his gaze back to Morgan’s hands. “Everything has to end.” He started simply. He reached into one of the hidden pockets of his jacket and pulled out a handful of sand. “Doesn’t matter how tightly you hold onto things; they’ll just slip right through your fingers.” He loosened his grip, allowing the grains to fall peacefully through the cracks. 

Morgan pulled their hands away. “I’m not ready to say goodbye.” They said, looking at the growing pile of sand.  

“No one ever is,” Atlas returned. “But it’s something we all have to learn to accept. Clinging onto the past will only ever hurt us.” 

 

“I killed people whenever I went forward, and I killed people when I went back. It didn’t matter. Nothing I did fucking mattered.” 

“No one person can save an entire multiverse. You made mistakes along the way, but you did everything you thought was right. That’s more than enough.”  

Morgan looked at Atlas miserably through their bangs, eyes glistening. Even when a reality-splitting boom shuddered throughout the diner, they barely had the energy to turn their head.  

“For what it’s worth,” Atlas continued, “I am glad I got to spend these last moments with you.” 

The candle on the table flickered out, leaving only a single soul among the destruction. Reality shuddered against another thunderous boom from somewhere in the diner. Lethargically, Morgan got to their feet and shuffled towards the sound.  

Fifth Time Smiled. Fifth Time Cried.  

There had been a celebration among the crewmembers and the colonists once they had established a forward camp on the surface of the planet. It wasn’t big or extravagant. All they had to eat were dehydrated rations and sandwiches, and all they had to drink was apple cider that had gone halfway flat. But it was a celebration nonetheless, and the air was buzzing with excitement and cautious curiosity about what kinds of life lived on this new planet and whether they’d encounter any aliens.  

Despite Atlas’s earlier claims that he was going to bed early, Morgan found him on the bridge, staring out the window at the revelry happening below the ship. Morgan approached, nudging him with a shoulder as they joined him on his right. 

“What happened to sleep?” 

Atlas shrugged listlessly. “Tried to. Too many thoughts. And we don’t know what’s outside our immediate proximity, so it’s not safe for me to find somewhere to look at the stars,” he lamented. Mapping out this planet’s stars had been a privilege Atlas jealously claimed, despite there being actual astrologists amongst the colonists. He was practically vibrating in excitement once the twin moons had risen above the horizon.  

Morgan hummed. The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, basking in the glow of their success. Eventually Atlas broke the silence. “Hey, so...” His voice wavered. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “This is real, right? We actually made it?”  

Morgan glanced over at him, stunned. They couldn’t be sure how much he remembered from the wormhole, and they weren’t about to tear open new-old wounds just to satisfy their curiosity. If there was anyone who deserved to forget everything and be happy, it was Atlas. “I think it is.” Morgan replied. Atlas’s shoulder shuddered from the force of his sob. Slowly, gently, Morgan pulled Atlas down so they could touch their forehead to his.  

“We’re home,” They whispered in a rasp. Atlas’s breath hitched and Moran laughed wetly.  

Home. Never had a word sounded more beautiful.

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Yes yes, Morgan was on duty doing very important Captain things. However, Celci would be bemused to turn around and discover they had been yanked away somewhere along the corridor between the Bridge and Cryo. In Life Support, Yancy had gotten his hands on some glass jars to turn into little lanterns, and had placed a towel behind the control panel. He grinned like the cat that got the cream as he encouraged them to sit down at what was likely the best recreation of a picnic that he could manage. There was even a paper plate of familiar desserts that one of the kitchen staff had lamented to Morgan earlier had vanished. "When we gets to that new planet, we're fucking off for a whole weekend on vacation, and we're having a picnic." That was a promise he was adamant on keeping, sealed with a quick kiss. "And even if it ain't on this exact date, it'll still be our Valentine's Day getaway because, fuck's sake, we never got a chance to do nothing for ourselves, what with everyone poking their heads in and telling us -"

The door whizzed open so reveal an irate Celci. Oops. (theauthorlives :D )

Their job had been relegated to, for lack of a better term, Floor Manager. They still had to be present, of course. Oversee the progress down on the planet, make biweekly reports back to Houston regarding their colonization status, prevent Mack from overstepping; etcetera etcetera. They were in the middle of such discussion with Celci, discussing waking up a select number of colonists who had construction experience prior to volunteering for the mission. At least they had been, until Yancy waltzed on by, snagging Morgan's elbow with his, as casual as a Sunday jaunt. The question was answered as soon as Yancy opened to door to Life Support with all the flourish he could muster, grinning ear to ear as he proudly presented the humble, heartfelt picnic he had somehow managed to put together under their nose. The madlad had even managed to sneak desserts away from The Chef (a man who looked and sounded eerily familiar to the one back at Happy Trails. And their date with Mark. And the Diner... huh...). The pieces clicked together, and Morgan smacked their forehead once Yancy had pulled away. Valentine's Day. It had completely slipped their mind, which was extra embarrassing, because Morgan was 90% sure they had lamented that they wouldn't be able to enjoy all the marked down Valentine's Day candy the day after.

Spending a weekend down on the planet with Yancy was the least Morgan could do after so completely forgetting to get him anything. They already gave him a bracelet; it would be tacky to make him another. And they couldn't write poetry, or draw, and any attempts at baking would probably poison him. But he'd eat every single bite anyway because he was amazing like that-

Celci audibly cleared her throat from behind the doorway, arms crossed and hip popped out. Morgan reluctantly stepped away from Yancy to address the head of Cryo

"We can put a pin in this," They signed, gesturing to Celci's tablet. "I promise I'll consider your proposal, but for now-" Morgan tapped a few commands into their own PDA

"Acknowledged: Captain's Birthday Bash Protocol Enabled. Please refer to Head Engineer for further instructions and/or questions." The shipboard AI announced loudly. Celci's mouth popped open as confetti and balloons drifted down from somewhere above them, a jaunty electro tune playing over the PA. For her part, she looked more flabbergasted that Mark had been put in charge, rather than the spontaneous downpour of party favors from above. Morgan bobbed their head to the rhythm an shut the door, spinning on their heel to look at Yancy with a grin and two thumbs up. Crises (and duty) successfully averted.

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

“I think I might be as old as you now. Maybe even older.”

Morgan’s “voice” echoed in Yvonne’s ears, giving her momentary pause as she continued to oversee the construction of the colony.  They were still too tired to Front, hovering groggily near the surface. “Not literally, ‘cause of timeloops and all that. But emotionally. Soulfully? One of those two.”

Yvonne hummed and flicked through another report that had been sent to her datapad. She had gotten quite accustomed to the technology of this era, if she did say so herself. At the very least she didn’t “peck at the screen like a granny”. An outsider looking in probably wouldn’t notice unless they really examined Yvonne’s body language; the way she squinted at the screen sometimes, or how her hand would hover awkwardly over buttons and touchpads while she tried to remember what did what. She walked on eggshells around the terminal on the ship, but could anyone blame her? In the wormhole, it ignited if someone looked at it wrong.  

“Maybe.” Yvonne replied after a moment. Neither of them knew how old Morgan had been when they died in the timelines where they lived on those parallel colonies; anywhere between fifty to ninty. In at least one timeline, they had been kept alive for centuries due to the machinations of a tyrannical lunatic.  Yvonne couldn’t help the icy sting of pity piercing her gut as the realization settled in.  One hundred and twenty-four years as of their last birthday had felt too long to her. But it was far too late for her to pass on. The tangled, gnarled mess she had made of her’s and Morgan’s souls when she had still been bitter and angry and half-mad had seen to that.  Her rest would probably not come until Actor -wherever he was skulking about- finally got tired of this façade.  “Why bring it up?”

“Cause I need to tell someone. If I told any of the crew: ‘hey, I’m actually old as fuck because of timey-whimey bullshit’, they’ll think I’ve gone crazy. I don’t know how much they remember, and honestly I hope they don’t remember everything.” Their voice lowered, heavy with remorse and lifetimes of grief. “It’s better for everyone if I’m the only one who does.” 

“You do not wear martyrdom well,” Yvonne said. She could almost feel Morgan recoil, retreating that much deeper into their inner world. “In any case, it is not as though you are the only one to blame. I know you are fond of him, but your Head Engineer made just as many mistakes as we did. Perhaps even more egregiously- and before you say it: No. I am not just saying that because he has more than a passing resemblance to the Mark I knew.” Yvonne let out a breath through her nose and ran a hand over her hair, attempting to coax a few loose curls back into place. It didn’t stay for very long, and fell back against her forehead as if to spite her. 

Morgan was silent for a long period of time- so long Yvonne speculated that they had fully withdrawn into their inner world, wrapping themself in the bliss of “slumber” like a blanket on a cold night.  Yvonne went back to work. If the Head Engineer noticed her being particularly curt with him, he did well to mask it (a flicker of remorse and guilt. A flash of genuine hurt before he swallowed it down and replaced with with a porcelain mask of professionalism. Yvonne knew her bias would never allow her to speak to him; that was for Morgan to do.) 

“You said ‘we’ earlier.” Morgan piped up after a few hours of silence. By this point the work day had been completed. Yvonne snapped the uniform jacket crisply on the clothes hanger.  

“I do not know. In time, mayhaps. When we can start learning how to forgive ourselves.” 

“...What do you think I did when I was Fronting? I made my fair share of bad decisions. Choices that antagonized your friends, made things harder for us and got people killed. I will carry that weight with me forever.” 

“Will it ever go away?”

Morgan was silent again, contemplative. Yvonne settled into bed, pushing aside two of the three overstuffed pillows. She turned to look outside the small window in Morgan’s quarters. This world two moons looking over it, sharing a space in the sky and glowing gently against an expanse of a thousand, thousand glittering stars. It was poetic in a way she could not quite put her finger on, but it felt significant somehow.  Ruminations for another day, mayhaps. 

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

The frustration melted away the longer Atlas spoke his defense. Or maybe it was just the  melatonin making too-firm-but-somehow-too-soft medbay pillows feel like the most comfortable things on the planet. Maybe it was because Morgan could never bring themselves to stay mad at him for too long. Not even in the universes where they were enemies. Not even in the timelines his affection for them had curdled into hatred.  Maybe it was all of the above.  Even still, they couldn’t help but scoff at the insistence that they weren’t failing. Maybe not now, now that they had lifetime’s worth of experience instead of vaguely recollected time at NASA; but every other time. Every ‘Let’s Jump in Agains!’ and ‘Pop ‘er in Reverses!’ and ‘Fix It From The Outsides’. Every time they had gone out of their way to do whatever idea sounded fun instead of what was actually smart; because what did it matter, right? They’d just wake up in their cryopod and start over again, a little sore but none the less worse for wear. It was all fun and games until it wasn’t. Until The Head Engineer’s hand slipped from The Captain’s bloodied one, and they were left alone in a crumbling world with an old woman who knew too much.  “You’ve made some beautiful choices,” she said with a reassuring smile. Morgan wondered how anyone could think any of this was beautiful.  

Morgan wasn’t failing this time because the Morgan who happily skipped through a multiverse filled with corpses was dead and buried and rightfully so.  But existential self loathing would have to be shelved for the moment. In the here and now, Atlas was pleading with them to stop. Not the half-manic, desperate please of a man dangling over the edge of existence, but a loyal subordinate. Someone who saw Morgan as someone worthy of concern -someone precious.  Morgan sank deeper into their pillows and nodded lethargically. “Fine,” and, just for some levity, “because you know if I don’t, they’ll make me. However,” Morgan looked steadily at Atlas, trying their best to be The Captain when they were half-consumed by their bed, “I want you to take your foot off the peddle, too. The world won’t implode if you’re not there to watch it.”  The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on them- it was something that they both needed to realize. 

Atlas glanced away at the accusations. Less of accusations and more of truth — even he knew how much he was doing … sort of. Time wasn’t something he did a good job at keeping track of. He woke up, he went to do his job, then he went back to his cabin. Or, more often than not, he did his job, went to his cabin, and then repeated. Sleep seemed less and less important. The truth of his situation, one he went in and out of knowledge of for the repetitive efforts to seal the gaps in unreality, made it clearer that sleep didn’t matter to his existence as much as it logically should have.

He’d spent an eternity streamlining the ship on his own. With other people present, he had to supervise.

That, however, wasn’t the most pressing matter. The Captain was laying down, medical equipment strapped to them, with a medical team on standby.

“ … You’re right, Captain, ” Atlas began, hesitating at first as though he was unsure of what he was saying. In truth, he knew exactly what he wanted to say ; the question, rather, was how to say it … without frustrating Morgan further.

“ You’re not failing. You’ve done incredibly well. You’ve supported the colony and provided the guidance the ship has needed. You’ve done everything asked of you and more. You saved everyone … including me. You’ve … you’ve never given up. You’ve done everything … except for take a rest. You … you need it, Captain. I think you know that, too. ”

Atlas turned his head away as he spoke. Hands curled into fists, fingers pressing against his gloves. If his eyes began to water, his voice was doing a good job of hiding it.

“ … Please, ” a slightly shaky chuckle, “ at least take a break now that the medical officers are making you. ”

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

✋ // from @calledstars !

Send me    “ ✋ “   for my muse’s reaction to yours gently combing their fingers through mine’s hair.

@calledstars

---------

Morgan had joined the forward team down on the surface of the planet to help with the reconnaissance effort, having little-to-no practical knowledge of construction. The team of architects that had been woken up would occasionally ask the Captain for their opinion on what should go where, but for the most part Morgan let the professionals to do what they did best. They had also spotted Atlas running to and fro with a few crew members from engineering, bouncing in between tasks like a marble in a pinball machine. He only stopped to rest when the medical team forced him to.

Any time he wasn't working, Atlas was staring up at the sky in childlike wonder, dumbstruck by the seemingly endless expanse of stars none of them had names for yet. The night sky of this distant solar system shimmered in all the colors of the rainbow, like the aurora borealis and the Milky Way had combined to create the most magnificent work of art the universe had ever known. Morgan found Atlas in one of his favorite stargazing spots, a few yards away from the blinding floodlights of their settlement to allow the clearest view of the sky, and approached, a mug of hot coco in either hand. Atlas smiled at Morgan like a kid on Christmas morning, and seemed to only take one of the offered mugs as a courtesy before turning his attention back to the sky, talking animatedly about some new constellation while trying not to splash hot coco all over himself.

Somehow, between the warmth of the drinks and listening to Atlas talk endlessly about these new stars, the (one-sided) conversation had died down, and it was just the two of them leaning on each other, too close to be professional. The line in the sand, already tenuous at best, was further distorted when Atlas's hand slowly and gently -so gently, like he feared he might hurt them- began threading through Morgan's hair, tenderly working through small knots and loose curls. Decorum demanded that Morgan put their foot down and stop this right then and there- but they didn't. Countless lifetimes and an oceans worth of tears had left Morgan longing for physical touch like a drowning man longed for air in their lungs. They had never realized how much they ached for it until calloused fingertips traced across their scalp with feather-light touches.

It was over just as quickly as it started. Atlas, remembering himself, took his hand away like he had been burned. He gulped down his drink and tugged the lapels of his coveralls straight. "Captain." He said, professionally stoic. He mentioned something about needing to turn in and wished Morgan a stiff goodnight.

The night was suddenly bitingly cold, and a void yawned into existence in Morgan's chest. They tried to swallow the thick lump in their throat and looked up at the stars their Head Engineer loved so much. They didn't seem as exquisite anymore.

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Why did The Author kill you off?

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Are we still.talking about how ISWM affected The Captain? Cause I had an idea last night while walking