Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Helena sits at her cubicle, sorting through a screen full of meaningless numbers. She’s been promised that she’d begin recognizing patterns in time, though it doesn’t much matter to her. Refining is important, she knows, but her own quota comes second now to figuring out and ultimately controlling the severed population. Especially herself. 

Which means while she pretends to do her work, she can focus on the three men around her. The three who successfully aided her own innie in breaking containment.

None of them have noticed any changes since she began daylighting as the rebellious Helly R. Thankfully, the oldest among them is consciously not even ten years old. Of course it isn’t difficult to trick them, naive as they are. Truly it’s a miracle they made it as far as they did with their little plan in the first place. 

It’s almost sad, their persistent hope that they might be able to get one over on her family’s indomitable livelihood and legacy. Irving at least seems to have had his spirits crushed rather thoroughly enough to have lost hope on anything improving further for the innies. Fortunately, Dylan didn’t get anymore time in the outside world besides that of Milchick’s snafu. The desire is still there, but his confidence has clearly been shaken. He’s a smart guy who doesn’t seem willing to risk his unknown family’s safety more than strictly necessary. This will be a far more effective motivator for him than any perks the fools in higher management can concoct. 

Mark, however, is a problem. 

He succeeded, along with her own innie, in making direct and catastrophic contact with the outside world. He learned things about his outie’s life and family that have granted him a dangerous confidence. Helena poured through all the footage available of the three refiners, including every second her innie spent with them. There is a subtle but persistent change in Mark that requires curtailing. After all, he was almost as rebellious as Helly herself upon first arrival on the severance floor. With time and consistency, that rebellion was squarely quashed. It won’t be so easy this time. Luckily, Helena has found herself in ownership of an effective weapon. 

Herself. 

It was all too easy to convey subtle jealousy to Mark in regards to the ‘revelation’ of his outie’s wife. He took the bait readily, eager to assuage her worries and insist he never felt that way about ‘Ms. Casey’. To ask with a cautious Hope if she would stay there, ostensibly to be with him. 

Mark - newfound confidence or not - is still very much like a child the way all innies are. And ‘Helly’ happens to be his favorite toy.

If she can keep him under that spell then there’s no way her role as plant will fail. Especially since her innie has been adequately scared straight. Mark is the one thing Helly has done that Helena is grateful for. Now all she has to do is maintain the act. Give him a reason to want to stay. 

So when Mark lowers his barrier near the end of the workday and asks in a whisper if she’d like to join him for a mental health walk, Helena gives him her best secret, flirtatious smile and a, “Sure, boss.”

“Actually, I am the boss,” Irving clarifies, because nothing said in this room can be kept away from its only four occupants. 

“Sorry, boss,” she replies sarcastically as she rises from her desk.

“Ew. You don’t want her calling you that. Next thing you know you’ll be kissing in claymation,” Dylan snarks.

“Can we please all promise to never bring that up again?” Mark pleads, not for the first time. 

“No way.”

“Absolutely not.”

Helena smirks, amused by their antics, but follows Mark’s lead in ignoring them. They head into the hallway toward the new and improved break room. 

“What’s on your mind?” Helena probes after a couple minutes. She may be new to this, but no one chooses to wander these hallways without a reason, certainly not for their mental health. 

“Maybe I just wanted some fresh air.”

She shoots him a look that makes it clear she doesn’t buy it. “Ah, yes, it’s much fresher out here. Something about the fluorescents.”

Mark smiles and laughs lightly at her stupid joke. 

He was too easy. 

“C’mon,” she bumps him with her shoulder and he stumbles slightly. 

“Um,” he starts, “We came back.” 

“We did,” she acknowledges as they pass into the break room. She goes to the water cooler in the corner, pouring herself a small cone shaped paper cup. 

“So, maybe we should. Talk about it. Right?”

Helena knows what he’s talking about, though she is surprised he’s broaching the topic so soon. She rewatched that portion of the tapes many times and while he was not an unwilling participant he clearly wasn’t the aggressor. Still, she isn’t going to make it too easy for him. This may even be fun.

“Talk about what?” She sips from her cup and watches him squirm across the room. 

“You know,” he insists, voice dropping to a whisper, “You kissing me.”

Helena took a breath, “Well, I just figured with your wife and all-“

“She’s only kind of my…” Mark sighs, clearly still wrestling with that knowledge. “I don’t feel that way about Ms. Casey. Even if she is technically my wife.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Mark repeats. “So I don’t see that as an issue. And I have a right to my own feelings.” 

It was pathetic, truly, the way this severed man tried to connect with a depth he would never be capable of. Discussing his silly little crush with such gravity, as if it could compare to a marriage in the real world. Helena may not have firsthand experience on the matter, but she knew plenty about loyalty in relationships. The complexity of knowing someone for decades, to the point where they knew you better than you even knew yourself. Whatever schoolboy infatuation Mark S. had with her innie was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

“You taught me that,” Mark continues when Helena takes too long to answer. She can see him beginning to second guess himself, and she can’t have him feeling rejected.

So she takes a page out of Helly’s book. Haphazardly discarding her cup into the waste bin she strides forward and grabs Mark by the lapels -  the same way she had on tape outside the elevator - and kisses him. 

It’s nice. Nicer than she would have expected. Though it’s quite possible that’s just because it’s been too long since she was last kissed. But no, it can’t simply be that. Mark is actually good at this despite it for all intents and purposes being his second kiss ever. Unlike he did on tape, Mark melts into her, his hands holding her by the waist to keep her close. And it isn’t like any kiss Helena has experienced in the past. She’s an adult woman, there have been sporadic previous encounters, but she is first and foremost an Eagan. Relationships were superficial or casual and only with those who were considered respectable (read: boring and overly ambitious) prospects or those insignificant enough to be swept easily under the rug. Helena is not lacking general experience, but she is lacking in this particular experience. 

It is tender, careful, even slow. Mark is both reverent and insistent in his touch, his hands at her waist firm yet respectful even as they tremble. His lips part hers gently, asking permission Helena readily grants. Her heart rate is increasing in a way that has nothing to do with putting on a convincing act, and when did she wrap her arms around his neck?

It’s far too easy for her to get lost in it all. Surely this technique of his must be sheer luck or simply muscle memory left over from a successful, happy marriage. It is also far more fun than staring at a screen full of numbers. Typically she wouldn’t allow herself to indulge, but this is going to be a key part of a successful plan. Maybe she can allow it, just for a little bit.

Mark makes a satisfied hum, deep in the back of his throat in a way that resonates where their lips are joined. It is enough of an interruption of their steady rhythm to bring Helena back to reality. She pulls back, panting lightly, and finds herself floored by the look he gives her. His eyes are pure adoration, a warm smile playing on his kiss swollen lips. Her breath catches. It’s intoxicating, this gaze that is focused solely on her and yet not really meant for her at all. 

There is a pang of bitter jealousy in her chest combined with an excitement that teeters on panic. A flaring of the same ugly mix of frolic and dread that she first felt watching them kiss on tape. 

“That was….” He trails off, awed. 

Helly nods in agreement and manages a shy smile she hopes comes off as bashful instead of uncomfortable. “We should get back,” she says, partially because it’s true but mostly to escape Mark’s mind melting kisses. 

“I guess,” he replies, noncommittal. He makes no move to release her - nor does she him - and leans in to press another kiss to her lips. 

Helena sighs into it against her will but finds the strength to slide her hands down his chest, applying just enough pressure to push away. “I’m serious,” she insists with a conspiratorial grin, “We wouldn’t want to lose hall pass privileges, would we? Especially not now.” 

“You’re right,” he concedes, regretfully dropping his hands and stepping back. “When did you become the responsible one? Maybe I should be the one calling you boss.”

If only he knew. Helena starts back towards the hallway, “I’m just looking out for our future opportunities. These walks are very important for our mental health.”

Mark follows her happily, trailing her as he tends to do - not unlike a puppy dog. He doesn’t try to initiate contact when he catches up, refrains from taking her hand or putting an arm round her shoulder and for that Helena is grateful. Somehow that would feel too intimate. She’s exhibited more displays of affection today than she has all year.  

— 

Helena can feel Mark’s eyes on her when she heads to the elevator at the end of the day. She can feel them even after she’s left, when she’s taken a different elevator all the way up to her real office on the top floor. She takes up her usual spot by the window and watches Mark’s outie leave the building and walk to his car. 

It’s not a habit she’s proud of, but it also isn’t one she’s willing to break. Mark is the most important piece of the puzzle. Of every refiner down there, his case is crucial. So this is just reconnaissance. Nothing more. Merely the passion and commitment to the company required to be a success. 

Still, she brings hesitant fingers to her lips, remembering. She wonders if he can feel her eyes on him, too. 

Chapter Text

Helly comes to with a start in a glass room. This is only the third time in her short life that she’s ever woken up outside the elevator. It is the very first time she’s woken up with her arms and legs bound to a chair. 

The first thing she notices is that the windows are glass and the actual, tangible real world is out there. It is shrouded in darkness, but she can see the outlines of wooded hills in the distance. It’s the most nature she’s ever been exposed to. 

In front of her a small TV crackles to life. Helly is struck by a sense of Deja vu. You are not a person rings through her head.

Sure enough, her outie is on screen in front of her. She is cold and unforgiving as always, both in demeanor and in speech. She no longer attempts to hide it under pretentious faux-pity, like a bad school teacher. Instead, she is laying down the law as a warden. 

It’s laid out plain and simple for Helly. If she can manage to behave herself, she will be allowed existence. One her outie considers rather comfortable, in fact, with new perks and access to the relationships she’s built. If she does not behave, if she reveals the truth of their identity or blow their cover, then her friends will be punished. And she won’t be around to help them. They will suffer and she will disappear. 

Helly has not had an easy or comfortable existence thus far. She can count the number of genuinely happy moments she has experienced on one hand with fingers to spare. However, this takes the cake. It is one thing to fear for your own existence - that is an instinct Helly is rather good at overcoming. It is an entirely different situation to fear for her friends.

Helena continues on, catching Helly up on the essential information she needs in order not to blow her cover. It’s been five months since overtime. Helena has been in the office as Helly R., living amongst the innies. Her team has been reassembled after convincing Lumon to introduce all sort of reforms. This is only partially true, of course. Helly is informed that in reality their attempt at blowing the whistle was barely a week ago and didn't succeed at all. Any improvements to their daily life is a blessing from Kier bestowed upon them by their generous management. However, Lumon has reached its limit on generosity. Each and every one of those improvements can be reversed ten fold if Helly does not stay in line. There are also certain facts about their outies that each have learned. Helena lists these off sharply and Helly struggles to digest it all. 

By the time Helena is wrapping up, Helly is burning with an anger so intense it brings tears to her eyes. How dare she parade around in Helly’s skin, taking advantage of her friends and their lives? That time belongs to her, it is all that she owns in this world. The tape finally ends before the first frustrated tears finish falling and the world around her fades back to black. 

Then she’s in the elevator, gasping and checking her extremities for restraints.  

The elevator opens and she’s greeted by a brand new oil painting gracing the wall across the way. She exits cautiously, wary of these familiar yet altered surroundings. 

Milchick is there to greet her, standing ominously with his ever present customer service smile off to the side. “Welcome back, Helly R.”

Helly only narrows her eyes at him. She may not be able to get away with causing any disruptions, but she doesn’t have to be nice about it. 

Milchick leads her through the hallways - now comfortingly familiar after the shock of the outside - to the office containing her only three friends in the entire world. Her first instinct is to run to them, hug each of them as tightly as she possibly can. Warn them all of the danger they’re still in, the danger that she herself poses. But that would definitely count as breaking cover. She manages to restrain herself and settle for a slightly manic smile instead. 

She takes a seat at her desk and Milchick leaves them to their refining. Not that Helly is able to focus on the actual work in front of her. She keeps sneaking glances at her friends, trying to decipher their wellbeing and if they suspect that anything is up. Well, more so than usual. Irving does notice the repeated looks eventually, and raises his barrier so she can’t distract him from his own work. The action is so familiarly Irving in its grouchy obedience that it brings a genuine smile to Helly’s face. Dylan, as usual, provides some interesting and mildly entertaining commentary throughout the morning. She tries to banter back, but it’s weak at best. They don’t seem to notice - she tries not to take it to heart. 

It’s easy not to when Mark keeps looking at her like that. Almost every time she glances over, his eyes are already on her. It would be disconcerting if not for the gleam in his eyes and the small smiles that play at his lips, as if she just told a particularly clever joke only he understands. It’s confusing for Helly. This isn’t like the occasional well disguised flirting she was accustomed to. Yet she can’t suppress the natural urge to return those looks with her own, her cheeks going warm and butterflies nervously fluttering in her stomach. 

Around noon she goes to the kitchenette for some water and a few minutes to clear her still reeling mind. She fills a glass at the sink, taking a greedy gulp in the hopes it will offer some solace. The lingering panic has mostly resided into a persistent hum of anxiety - a marked improvement. But she still doesn’t know what to do. It goes against her every instinct to simply follow along with her outie’s nefarious plans, but she can’t figure out another viable option. 

“Hi,” Mark greets from behind her. She startles slightly, turning to face him. He gestures towards the glass of water she’s clutching, “You didn’t bring any pen caps in here, did you?” 

It’s not a great joke, but it’s so adorably Mark that Helly offers a smile anyway. “No, not this time. Just thirsty.” 

He nods, stepping closer. “So, you’re good?”

Helly raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Yeah…. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mark shrugs and comes closer still, until he’s right on the perimeter of her personal space. Helly swallows and places her glass on the counter beside her, crossing her arms to keep from fidgeting. 

“I just felt like I should check, you know. After yesterday.”

What does that mean? For Helly, yesterday was overtime. She’s been told explicitly that Helena has spent time in the office masquerading as Helly for just over a week to ‘stabilize’ the situation, but wasn’t granted much more detail. 

“Oh yeah?” She prompts as vaguely as possible. 

“Yeah. I, uh. I can’t stop thinking about it.” His eyes dart to her lips and he wets his own. The pieces of the puzzle quickly come together. First, she feels the white hot sting of betrayal that Helena would use whatever feelings there are between her and Mark against either of them and he didn’t even notice. Then she’s angry, even jealous, that Helena stole what was obviously a kiss good enough to rival their first if Mark’s reaction was any indicator. Yet underneath it all is a bubbling excitement that is quickly rising to the surface. 

Mark takes another tentative step closer, reaching out hesitantly to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. Helly’s breath catches, but she’s careful not to move lest she break the spell. His head leans down, almost imperceptibly, and Helly’s raises in response. Nervous eyes search hers for something - permission, maybe? She gives the smallest of nods and Mark gathers the last of his confidence to press his lips to hers. 

Kissing Mark outside the elevators had felt like an explosion. A quick burst of relief, a thrill that left her full of trembling, powerful anticipation. Being kissed by Mark was something else altogether. He was gentle where she was forceful, soft where she was rough. He was effortless in the rhythm he drew her into in a way that almost felt practiced. It was all consuming, the languid pressure of his lips against hers, the thumb that swiped across her cheekbone, his hand settled at her waist. Helly wonders how he learned to kiss like this as she clumsily matches his movements. 

He pulls back too soon, pressing his forehead against hers. His breath rushes across her damp lips and she shudders. 

“You are really good at that,” she whispers. 

“Really? Thanks,” he says earnestly, sounding quite proud of himself. 

“This is the part when you tell me I’m also really good at it.”

“Eh, you’re alright,” he teases.

Helly giggles and shakes her head, “Shut up.”

“Happily,” he replies simply, leaning back in to kiss her once more. 

It still make her heart stutter in her chest, but she’s able to stay more aware this time. Her hands, pressed against his chest, slide down until she can slip them around his sides to wrap her arms around him. They press against his back, through the thin material of his dress shirt, urging him closer. He abides, deepening the kiss as he leans into her. She might as well be drowning in him the way their small world seems to melt away. Everything is Mark, Mark, Mark. 

“Mark!” 

The two separate suddenly, Mark spinning to face their intruder and coworker, “Dylan!”

Helly just groans, annoyed to have what has easily been the highlight of her entire day - if not her entire existence - cut short. 

“Ew, guys, what the fuck? We eat in here,” Dylan complains as he passes to the vending machine.

“Okay, chill out, it was just kissing,” Helly shoots back. “We can be adults about this.”

“Not when you two start making out like teenagers in front of the only sink. What’s next, dry humping at the cubicles?” Mark sputters, but Dylan continues before her can adequately protest, “I’m gonna have to enter with my hand over my eyes every morning.” 

Helly laughs, “Cut it out. You’d be so lucky to catch a glimpse.” She catches Mark’s eye and he returns her smile, despite the blush that’s spread across his cheeks. 

“Disgusting. I’m telling Irv,” he retrieves his fruit leather and retreats to their desks. 

Helly follows, the lingering anxiety from earlier thoroughly put at ease between Mark’s kisses and this familiar banter. She scoffs, “You’re gonna tattle to dad?”

“What is it?” Irving pipes in, attention drawn to all the commotion. 

“It’s nothing,” Mark starts.

“Mark and Helly were sucking face in the kitchen!” Dylan practically yells over him. 

Irving, much to Mark and Helly’s surprise, simply smiles wistfully at the two of them before returning his focus to his computer. “How sweet. Leave them be, Dylan.”

“What? That’s it?” Dylan complains.

“What would you have me do, forcibly separate them? Request a transfer? Have Milchick follow them around?”

“I was kind of at least hoping for a lecture about the sanctity of the office and propriety and respecting Kier. Something.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. Even if I didn’t like it, fraternization is expressly permitted in the updated handbook.” 

“Really?” Helly asks, going to her drawer to pull out the new handbook. She thought that this would have been made strictly off limits to her as punishment for her disobedience.

“God, look at them. So excited,” Dylan says with some disgust. 

“What’s your problem, man?” Helly asks, just about reaching her limit on friendly banter. 

“My problem is that the kitchenette has to be a safe space to rehydrate and bulk up. If you have to canoodle, do it somewhere else.”

“Or what?” Helly challenges, suddenly itching for more of a fight. She’s sick and tired of people telling her what she can’t do. 

“I think that’s fair, Dylan,” Mark pipes up before Helly can actually start a real fight. “We’re sorry. Right?” He turns to Helly, brows raised and urging her to back him up.

She hesitates, arms crossed. She makes Mark plead with his eyes a moment longer before inevitably giving in. “Yes, fine, we’re sorry.” 

“Great, then we can all move onto actually working. Quotas to meet, people, pineapple bobbing parties to win,” Irving says, voice dropping with sarcasm. 

Helly quirks an eyebrow, “What the hell is pineapple bobbing?” 

“Hopefully, we’ll all find out,” Irving replies, tone that of someone ending the conversation. 

Dylan and Mark follow Irving’s lead, the instinct to be a good employee still far stronger in them than her own ever has been. She returns to her numbers with a sigh.

The final hours of the day pass uneventfully and Helly is surprised at how well she is able to focus on her work, though a considerable amount of time is still spent doodling on sticky notes and trying to figure out how she can keep her friends safe and also get them all the hell out of here. The refining is a more successful endeavor, which isn’t saying much. 

At the end of the day, Dylan is first to take his leave. Irving follows, but not without first glancing back at Mark and Helly. He’s a bit misty eyed when he tells them both that he is sincerely happy for them. Helly is touched, particularly considering what Irving has been through with Burt. 

“Everyone’s going to be really weird about this, aren’t they?” Mark says, still watching the doorway Irving left through.

“I guess so,” Helly smirks at him, “I’m definitely going to be weird about it.” 

Mark turns to her, confused but amused smile on his face, “How are you going to be weird about it?” 

“Oh, I’ll start doing all sorts of crazy stuff,” she rises from her desk, flipping her computer off and walking over to him, promptly plopping herself astride his lap. Her arms settle around his shoulders and his settle around her waist without skipping a beat, as if on instinct. 

Mark looks up at her, eyes sparkling and smile growing, “This is definitely pretty crazy. Dylan would have a conniption.”

“Fuck Dylan,” is all she says before finally kissing him again. 

She’s going to get hooked on this. She isn’t sure why anyone would ever bother working when they could spend all day kissing instead. She never wants go up that stupid elevator, not when she could be getting lost in Mark’s lips, her hands in his hair, held in his warm embrace.

It could have been an hour or five minutes when Mark regretfully pulls away - his grip on her tightening as if he’d rather do anything else - to murmur, “We do have to go eventually.” 

Helly bites her lip, shaking her head slightly, “I mean, do we? What if we just... Stayed.”

“What, like, have a sleepover in the break room?” 

“Why not? Sounds good to me,” she kisses him again, but he only lets it last for a moment.

“We’d get caught eventually,” Mark rationalizes, though he sounds regretful to do so. “Our outies have lives out there, someone would notice we never left.”

People would definitely notice if Helena Eagen didn’t come home. The thought sobers her and she begins to worry that somehow this is all playing right into Helena’s hand. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Helly concedes with a sigh. 

Mark gives her a soft, sad smile and kisses her again anyway. It tastes a little like hope. “It’s alright. We’ll be back before we know it.” 

For the first time that fact doesn’t fill Helly with dread. She just hopes that he’s right and it is in fact herself and not her outie who walks out of that elevator in the morning. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Mark prompts, gently ushering her off his lap. 

“What a gentleman,” Helly teases. 

He gestures to the door with a flourish and a proud grin, “M’lady.” Helly laughs as she passes, he’s such a dork. “Too much?” 

“Maybe a little,” she agrees with her own grin, “But I didn’t mind it.” 

He seems to gleam under her meager praise. The sight is so endearingly Mark that she reaches over to take his hand, giving it a tight squeeze and holding on as they make their way through the familiar maze of hallways. 

They linger outside the elevator, not saying much with words but smiling happily at each other. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Helly says hopefully, breaking the silence. “Or, you know. In, like, five minutes.”

Mark huffs a laugh, “Yeah. I’ll see you in five minutes.” 

Helly tugs him closer by the hand and gives him a long, lingering kiss, silently pleading with the universe to allow her to exist tomorrow. Then she turns and with a final squeeze of his hand retreats to the elevator. 

She watches him as she waits for the doors to close and he raises his hand in a wave. The action is tinged by melancholy despite the smile on his face. She returns the gesture solemnly as the doors close between them. 

—

Helena can feel him on her lips. 

Well, not literally. But they’re slightly swollen and tingling in a way that is fresh in her mind. It’s the first thing she notices when she comes to in the elevator and it distracts her on the entire walk back to her office. It leaves her conflicted even as her body seems to hum happily. The board may have gotten what it wants; Helly R. appeasing Mark S. in a way that will keep them both compliant and malleable, but Helena is adjusting to the concept of her innie receiving so much affection. It was strange enough to learn it was happening at all, but after experiencing it firsthand and now experiencing the after effects it has become even more befuddling. 

The most important thing is that Helly didn’t blow their cover. Luckily, the innie seems to be smart enough to play along. Helena is relieved. While she didn’t find it overtly taxing to pretend to be Helly, it was strangely enjoyable in a way that was becoming too overwhelming. Sue her, but she needs a break. After all, that is what severance is meant to provide and she should be allowed to reap those benefits herself. 

She ruminates on this as she dutifully watches Mark Scout walk through the parking lot to his car, her fingers twiddling her bottom lip. It takes a tremendous strength of will for her not to let her mind wander about the earlier actions of their innies. Instead, she wonders if his lips feel the ghost of hers in return or if the pre-existing knowledge of the relationship is causing some sort of psychosomatic response. 

Mark’s car leaves the parking lot and Helena finally pulls herself away, turning to refocus her mind on other, more important matters. Let Helly R. deal with these messy emotions she clearly loves so much. Helena Eagen has bigger fish to fry. 

Chapter Text

Helly wakes up the next day. And the next. And the one after that, too. At first she can barely believe it, testing the waters cautiously - throwing out sly references to the last day in her timeline to be absolutely sure Helena isn’t stealing days in between. 

It takes a week for her to start believing Helena is going to leave her alone, more or less. An entire 40 hours of the monotonous numbers, the easy banter, the kisses she stole every chance she got. Kisses that were rapidly evolving into something else entirely.

When Helly first kissed Mark, mostly on impulse, she had a crush. He was an attractive enough man and one of the very few she knew. She tried to blame it on the proximity at first, but as it became clear they may truly not be coming back it seemed silly to try and lie to herself. She liked him because he was funny and kind, earnest and hard working, surprisingly thoughtful and always brave. He had stood in the line of fire to help her, protect her, literally save her life even if she was making his hell. But with their mission at the front of her mind and the fire of rebellion fully stoked inside her, it was easy enough to push those feelings aside to be fully examined later. 

Well, later had arrived and it seemed all she could do was think about it. Think about him. His stupid hair that was overdue for a cut, his funny nose and the way way his chin sticks out, the slight and ever present tremble in his hands, his downturned brown eyes crinkling as he laughs or looking at her as if she is the answer, all the little smiles he offers, the way those smiles taste like his outie’s apparent drinking problem in the mornings but sweet coffee in the afternoons. 

Her days practically revolve around their poorly disguised ‘mental health’ walks to the break room where they can have some semblance of privacy. The room that had once terrified them all became a safe haven to her. There, where she could bask in Mark’s company and undivided attention, it was easier to forget the constant threat looming over their heads. There they could speak freely, most often about small, meaningless things lest either of them risk sinking into the tragedy that was a severed life. It was also there that they traded kisses that were becoming familiar, though no less exhilarating. Kisses that had led to a cautious exploration of nervous hands over clothed bodies. And while it had still remained very innocent thus far, it left Helly’s blood boiling.

She knew she was missing out on something bigger - an experience her body would surely know but that has been stolen from her mind. This fact only frustrated her further. This body was hers, not only Helena’s. She lived in it, too, thus deserved access to every last function it offers. And she wanted access to them. Badly.

Patience was not a word anyone would use to describe Helly, not even herself, and it was a concept she preferred to toss to the side. Why should she wait for anything when any day her evil outie could decide to snuff out her very existence? Yet still she was uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of pushing her and Mark’s relationship further. She waisted an entire day debating how to approach the subject. Should they talk about it first? Or can she just go for it? Will he even want to? He’s been almost irritatingly respectful so far. It seems like he’d be happy to kiss and hold hands forever. It’s sweet, but it’s not what Helly needs. She fails to iron the details out before having to leave for the day, but still she settles it in her mind. Tomorrow she will do something about this, even if she doesn’t know exactly what. Winging it has gotten her pretty far in the past. 

Helly is feeling lucky that morning. She beats Irving and Dylan to their cubicles, finding Mark sitting alone at his desk and granting her the rare opportunity to stride over and greet him with a kiss first thing in the morning. He somehow manages to taste like toothpaste and a brewery, but its a combination she’s begun to find comforting. She’d like to tease him about it, but acknowledging his outtie’s dead/Lumon kidnapped wife induced depression and alcoholism is something she tries to avoid whenever possible.

“That’s a nice way to start the day,” he comments when she pulls away, smiling up at her from his desk chair. 

“It’s going to get a whole let better,” Helly promises cryptically as she retreats to her own desk before Irving - or worse, Dylan - joins them. 

“What is that supposed to mean? And what is that face for?”

“You’ll see,” she sing songs, practically beaming at him. “It’s a surprise.”

“What’s a surprise?” Dylan asks as he enters.

“It’s a secret surprise. And it’s not for you.”

“Oh, let me guess, it’s for Mark.”

“Maybe it’s for me.”

“Don’t be gross.”

Helly scoffs, “I am not being gross. It could be anything! Maybe I’m just, I don’t know. Cutting my hair off!”

Dylan and Mark heads both whip from their screens to hers, eyes wide. 

“Is that a good idea right now?” Mark asks.

“Yeah, I think if we’re going to rock the boat it should be for something a little more important than hair,” Dylan adds. 

“Guys. Chill. I’m not going to cut my hair,” she says, though now that she has said it, she kind of likes the idea. Pre-overtime she wouldn’t have hesitated to follow the impulse, but she has a lot more to lose now. 

They both seem to almost sigh in relief and with Irving’s arrival all talk of surprises is dropped for the time being. Helly largely ignores her work and instead listens to Dylan and Irving discuss the new painting near the elevators and what it might mean for the upteenth time. She doodles on sticky notes as they do so. She has half a drawer full of her favorites now, half gibberish and half genuine attempts at puzzling out her thoughts. Eventually Mark takes a bathroom break and Helly takes the opportunity to start the plan she has half formed in her head. 

She stands and leans over Irving and Dylan’s side of the cubicles, dropping her voice to speak to them, “I need your help.”

“What’s up?” Dylan asks.

“It’s about the surprise.”

“There’s a surprise?” Irving asks.

“Yeah, she was going on about it this morning. I think it’s for Mark.”

“Obviously it’s for Mark,” Helly replies.

“Well, I find that very sweet,” Irving chimes in.

She thinks he might change his mind if she knew exactly what her surprise entailed. “Thanks. So you’ll help me?”

“Depends how,” Dylan says suspiciously.

“I’m going to take Mark on a walk thirty minutes before the day ends and we’re not going to come back. So I just need you to cover for us if anyone comes poking around. Can you do that?”

Dylan makes a face but he shrugs and nods at the same time Irving promises he’ll go above and beyond the call of duty with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Thank you guys, seriously. I owe you one.”

“Damn right. And I will be collecting.”

“I expect nothing less, Dylan,” Helly says fondly as she sits back in her seat. 

She spends the rest of the afternoon anxiously watching the clock. At 4:30 on the dot she throws a crumpled up sticky note at Mark. It hits him directly on the side of the head before falling onto his lap. He turns to find her leaning her chin on her hand, smiling at him. He raises an eyebrow and uncrumples the note. 

He huffs a quiet laugh before rolling his chair towards her and whispering, “You know, there are ways to ask me on a walk without throwing things at me?”

“Yeah, but they’re not as fun. At least not the ones I can do with company,” she cocks her head towards Irving and Dylan, who she is sure could still hear them if they were at all interested in listing in. Mark laughs again, cheeks coloring slightly. Helly raises her eyebrows, “Is that a no?”

“No, it’s a yes.”

“Good,” she grins and rises from her desk. “See you later, kids,” she tells Dylan and Irving with a wink as they exit into the hallway. As soon as they’re out of sight she reaches to take Mark’s hand.

“Is this supposed to be the surprise?” He asks, “Because we do this every day.” 

“You’ll see,” is as all she says, quickly moving on. Typically she makes the walk to and from the break room last as long as she possibly can, but today she keeps her pace brisk. If Mark notices he very politely doesn’t mention it.

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” she asks suddenly.

“Uh… This feels like a trick question.”

Helly knocks their shoulders together, “Seriously. If I do a good job she can’t be that mad. It’s just hair. I kind of like the idea of it being short. And I should get a say. It’s my body, too.”

“That is technically true,” Mark agrees. “I like your hair. I think it would be pretty short, if you wanted it that way.” He smiles down at her and Helly can’t help but preen just a little. “You know, you have the only red hair I’ve ever seen.”

Helly smiles, pleased, “Me, too.”

She was lying a little bit before, the hair question was a sort of test, though it was less about her actual hair and more about his thoughts on the bodily autonomy of innies. Either way, he passed with flying colors.

As soon as Helly has finished tugging Mark through the break room doors she practically pounces on him, sealing her lips to his and walking him back until she has him pressed against the wall. 

“Whoa,” he chuckles between her fervent kisses, “You’re eager today.”

“Yes,” she confirms succinctly so she can get back to kissing him as hard as she can, one of the hands pressed firmly against his chest sliding down his stomach until her fingertips can creep under the waistband of his slacks. 

“Whoa,” he says a little more forcefully this time, hand grabbing her wrist to halt her progress. “Um, is this the surprise?”

“Duh,” she says, wiggling her fingers and making his hips jump. “Now let me go so you can enjoy it.” 

To her annoyance he doesn’t comply, instead gulping loudly and staring down at her with wide eyes. “Are you sure?” He asks. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

The anxiety rises again and with it the frustration that her guns blazing half cocked plan isn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Kind of, yeah,” he nods. He loosens his grip on her wrist and she removes her hand, trying not to feel stupid and rejected. It helps that he keeps his arm around her waist, holding her close as he breathes a heavy sigh.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he swears, “Because I do want to, obviously. You’re beautiful, I’d be an idiot not to want you.”

“I want you, too,” Helly replies with a smile, hoping to appease the apprehension she can still see in his eyes.

The corner of his lips twitch and he almost smiles back, “I just... Feel kind of weird about it.”

“Why? It’s like I was saying, these are our bodies, too. We should have a say in how we use them.”

“I agree, I do, but at the same time-“ he sighs again, looking down as he tries to sort his thoughts out. “He’s up there mourning. And I’m down here with you.”

“So what, just because he’s miserable you have to be, too?”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say-“

“Good, because that’s stupid. He chose this job to escape all of that, right? So let yourself escape, Mark. If you want me and I want you then nothing should be able to stop us from having each other.” She knows she’s practically begging, is sure she looks just as desperate as she feels. 

Mark doesn’t answer immediately as he digests her words. It feels like minutes but can’t be more than a few seconds before he’s leaning down to kiss her gently, far more measured than she had been kissing him before. Helly’s heart rate speeds up once more and not only because she fears he’s about to shut her entire poorly concocted plan down for good.

“Okay,” he whispers against her lips. She immediately breaks into a smile and surges forward to kiss him again. He retreats slightly, just barely dodging her and chuckling, “But lets slow down, okay? I know there’s a time crunch but we can still enjoy it.” 

“Less of a time crunch than usual. Dylan and Irv are keeping an eye out.”

Mark raises his eyebrows, “You told them about this?”

“Not in so many words. Now shut up and kiss me, please.”

Mark obliges happily, kissing her slow and sweet as he so often does. Helly can still feel the simmering impatience, the pressing need for moremoremore, but she tries to let him set the pace. To Mark’s credit, he does not leave her wanting. As he kisses her languidly, warm hands slide down her back until they rest on her ass, squeezing lightly and pulling her closer. She aches where their hips meet and Helly sighs against him, taking the opportunity to press her chest against his, craving the friction. 

His lips travel down her jaw and neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When he tugs the neckline of her sweater (and god, she hopes he stretches it out, hopes he ruins Helena’s boring, expensive clothes) and sucks at the juncture where neck becomes shoulder, Helly hums in appreciation. Her hand tangles in his hair, holding him close, while the other settles at the knot of his tie, tugging it loose enough to pop the first two buttons on his shirt. Her fingers sneak under the thin, crisp fabric and settle on his collar bone. Every newly exposed inch of him is warm to the touch, seemingly electrified where their skin meets. Careful fingers trace up his neck, to his jaw, until she’s drawing his lips back to hers. 

His hand slides up to her waist, making its way under the hem of her sweater to rest hot and heavy on her ribs. His thumb traces the underside of her bra as he kisses her deeper, more insistently.

“Touch me,” Helly murmurs against his lips when he hesitates too long for her liking. 

Mark obliges, palming her through her bra and squeezing gently. Helly releases a breathy moan at the sensation, but it only serves to wind her up further. 

“More. Please,” she asks, knocking their forehead together. 

He finds the edge of her bra, pulling the cup down until a pert nipple can be swiped by his thumb. Helly gasps, hand covering his over the sweater to hold it even closer. Mark squeezes her tighter and it’s so, so good and still not nearly enough. 

“Take it off,” she demands more than requests.

He pulls back just enough to look at her, a bit dazed. She quirks an eyebrow and he nods, tugging at the hem of her sweater. She raises her arms to help and it’s quickly discarded. When she sees Mark’s face she breaks out in a satisfied smirk. His eyes trail over her chest, one breast spilling out of its restraints thanks to his ministrations. Helly has never wished she had a camera before now. She settles for memorizing the hunger in his expression. 

She’d be happy to let him ogle longer, but the office air is cool on her newly exposed flesh so she pulls him close again, seeking his warmth. His arms come back around her, hands sliding up her back. He must feel the goosebumps there, “Are you cold?”

“A little,” she leans up to press a kiss against his lips, “It’s fine. Just stay close.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, returning her kiss with renewed fervor. Helly’s hands return to his shirt, making quick work of the rest of his buttons so her hands can trail greedily across his chest, down his sides. She wraps her arms around him, under the layers of shirt and jacket and presses herself flush against him, enjoying the way their skin slides together. Mark nips at her lips, hips careening into hers. She can feel him hard against her stomach and moans into his mouth, trying to wriggle herself impossibly closer. 

Mark gasps and groans at her movements before spinning them around so that Helly is the one pinned against the wall. Helly laughs at the surprise, thrilled at this change of pace and the initiative Mark is showing. His lips return to her neck, one hand at her waist and the other covering her breast. She arches into his touch, tilts her head to accommodate his lips. Then his hand goes to the hem of her skirt, rucking it up as he parts her legs with his knee until-

“Oh!” Helly moans, head falling back as she presses down onto his thigh. That feels incredible, better than anything has ever felt in her life.

“Good?” She hears his voice muffled against her neck.

“Really fucking good, fuck,” Helly pants, needy hips rocking. 

She feels more than hears his responding chuckle. He applies more pressure and Helly moans louder this time, pushing the boundaries on what could get them caught. Mark kisses down her shoulder, pushing one bra strap out of his way until it slips down her arm and repeating the process on the other side. Helly helps him pull the cups down until the bra hangs limply around her waist. He immediately pulls back to admire her. He strokes his thumbs over pebbled pink nipples  almost reverently. Helly jolts, hips pushing that much harder against his thigh. His eyes find hers when he repeats the motion, studying her reaction this time. 

“Mark,” she insists, voice strained, not even sure what she’s asking for except that he keep going, to cause more of these pleasurable jolts up her spine and down ever limb. 

He seems to understand, because he’s leaning down to wrap his lips around one nipple. She gasps, her hand flying to the back of his head to keep him there, his tongue sliding over her. She feels his other hand making its way up one pantyhose covered thigh to the juncture between her legs. He pauses momentarily and Helly whines, hips tilted towards his hand. He obliges, cupping her through the stockings and running his fingers up the gusset. 

Her jaw drops open. The direct pressure is so much better. Even as Helly’s body screams at her for more, she’s surprised to find that there really is more to have. Every time Mark touches her the ache is briefly satisfied only to return stronger. Her hips grind onto his fingers, tilting until he finds the spot that makes her moan loudest - though she is doing her best to keep her voice at a relatively acceptable volume. 

His hand retreats briefly and she groans in frustration until he snakes it under the elastic waistband of her pantyhose. She practically holds her breath as his fingers approach her center. They groan in unison when he makes contacts. She is so wet for him, has been for most of the day, and it’s simple for his fingers to slip over her clit. Her hips buck as he explores her folds, tracing the lips, dipping into her opening to collect the wetness there, dragging it back to circle her clit. Helly’s hand grips the back of his head where he very dutifully pays both breasts equal attention. Cautiously his fingers probe at her entrance, middle finger sliding into her. It’s different, but still good, and she hums her appreciation. Slowly he adds another and she savors the unfamiliar stretch of it. He pumps them in and out, and it’s nice, but then he flexes his fingers inside her, stroking, and Helly has to literally bite back a guttural moan. Her hips begin rocking into his hand in time with his fingers and she uses her grip in his hair to pulls his lips back to hers, wanting to bite his lips instead of her own. Mark moans back when she takes his bottom lip between her teeth, choosing that moment to press his thumb back to her clit. Helly cries out, thankful Mark’s mouth is there to muffle it. 

“Helly,” he whispers against her lips as she pants, “Can I try something?” 

She nods fervently, “You can literally do anything you want.” If it’s going to make her feel this good she would be crazy to deny him. 

Except that he’s pulling away, fingers slipping out of her. Helly makes a disappointed sound and opens her eyes just in time to watch Mark sink to his knees in front of her. He looks absolutely wrecked already, hair mussed from her handiwork, lips swollen and red, eyes dark and gleaming. 

“Okay?” He asks again. Helly nods, in awe herself now.

Mark goes to pull her pantyhose down when she surprises herself “Rip them.”

Mark blinks up at her, not sure he heard her correctly. She isn’t sure she heard herself correctly, either. Her already heated cheeks warm further. 

“Rip them?”

She nods and watches the cogs turning in his brain before he decides to follow her directions. He grasps the fabric at the crease of each thigh, pulling sharply. The thin pantyhose shreds easily and the sound of it ripping fills the room. Helly’s heart skips a beat and he looks up to her for approval. 

“That was really fucking hot,” she whispers, chest heaving. 

Mark huffs an amused laugh, looking proud of himself. He takes ahold of her ankle, tugging until she lifts her foot and allows him to hook her knee over his shoulder. Her breath catches at the sight of him between her legs. He leans up and kisses her through soaked panties. Helly sighs and runs her fingers through his hair. He hums against her and the vibrations send tingles up her body so she repeats the action, scraping her nails against his scalp. He groans this time and it feels even better. 

He reaches up to pull her panties to the side, tentatively sliding his tongue along her slit. Helly lets out a low, breathy moan in response. His lips close around her clit, tongue flicking experimentally and her head knocks back against the wall with a thump, eyes fluttering closed. He sucks and she moans too loudly, even for the relative solitude of the break room, so she has to cover her mouth to keep any more at bay as he continues. She feels his fingers probe her entrance again, two of them sliding home and combined with his mouth Helly feels like she’s flying and plummeting all at once. Something is certainly building rapidly within her, the pleasure growing with every stroke of his tongue and thrust of his fingers. It keeps growing until her world explodes in a split second. 

Helly cries out, her hand gripping Mark’s hair, the other scrabbling for purchase on the wall as her knees tremble and shake, nearly giving out on her. Luckily Mark notices before they get the chance, his hands stabilizing her at the waist as he stands back up, holding her against him. Her head lols onto his shoulder as she gasps for breath, the high slowly receding until she can speak again. 

“Holy shit,” she says eloquently, voice rough, “That was fucking incredible.”

“You’re telling me.”

Helly giggles breathlessly and straightens up enough to catch his eye. He’s panting along with her, his eyes sparkling and his mouth glistening. She surges forward to kiss him because she doesn’t have the words to adequately thank him otherwise. She can taste herself there and is shocked to find that even after an orgasm - because that must be what that was - so intense, she still aches for him. 

She scrapes her nails down his chest, following the original path that started all of this, until she can snake her hand under his pants. She surpasses his underwear, wrapping her fingers around the soft flesh tenting his slacks. Mark hisses against her mouth and she gives a slow stroke that makes his brows furrow and causes a deep groan in the back of his throat that she can see him trying to suppress. 

“Mark,” she coos sweetly, as seductively as she can, “I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes open and he stares at her with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I have literally never been more sure of anything in my life,” she gives him a squeeze for emphasis that makes his breath catch. “There’s one problem.”

She can practically see the light dim in his eyes, “No condoms.”

“Fuck condoms,” she says, she couldn’t care less about whatever birth control her outie might prefer she use. It’s not like she actually has access to any of it anyway and that is not going to stop her now. It’s her loosened muscles and weak knees that are the problem. “I don’t think I can do this part standing up.” 

“Oh, uh, of course,” he stammers, looking around them for a suitable surface. “We could-“

“Sit,” she instructs, pushing him towards the closest of the many chairs in the room. He lets her steer him willingly and when he collapses onto it she follows, straddling him. 

Helly reaches down to undo his pants and he helps her push them down his hips. She pulls his briefs down, letting his erection spring free. Helly has exactly zero firsthand knowledge to go by but she thinks it looks nice, neither too big or too small, standing to her attention. She gives him a couple experimental pumps that have his head rolling back. His hands fly to her waist, holding her tightly. After a good long moment spent studying him, Helly lines herself up. Mark helps hold her panties to the side, rolling his hips so that the head of his cock brushes through her folds first, making her bite her lip as she tried to concentrate. Then carefully, slowly, she sinks down onto him. 

Mark groans and Helly takes in a deep, shuddering breath. It’s overwhelming feeling so full. His fingers had been a delicious stretch, but this was something else altogether. She felt almost too tight, the slightest burn accompanying the pleasure. Mark bucks his hips experimentally, driving even deeper, and Helly has to lay both hands flat on his chest to stop him. 

“Wait,” she grunts, eyes closed in concentration.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice obviously strained with pleasure but also worry. 

Helly nods, “I just think I need a minute.” It must have been a while since her outtie had done this. She shouldn’t be surprised, maybe if Helena were getting laid she’d be less of a cunt. 

Mark’s hands roam up and down her sides, “Take deep breaths. Relax.” She does as she’s told and she can feel her muscles relaxing around him. “Here,” he says and reaches down to press a thumb to her clit. 

Helly gasps and she clenches down on him, hips grinding down automatically. Mark moans, his own hips jumping slightly as his thumb continues rubbing her. 

“Better?” he asks.

Helly nods, “Yes. Fuck.” 

She leans forward, using her hands at his chest as leverage to raise her hips slightly only to bring them back down. They moan together and Helly repeats the motion. 

“You feel incredible,” Mark whispers, seemingly unable to decide if he’d rather watch her face or the spot where they’re now joined. 

Helly raises her hips more this time, nearly letting him slip out of her before sliding all the way back down. The burn is barely perceptible now underneath the spikes of pleasure. 

“Can I move?” Mark asks, voice tight with restraint. 

“Please.”

His hips thrust up and his hand at her hips help her meet his rhythm. She watches his face contort in their shared pleasure and she thinks that he is beautiful at her mercy like this. She wants him to feel just as good as he had made her, wants him to receive that gift for the first time from her body. Logically she knows it isn’t really the first time, definitely not for him and surely not for her either, but it also is in all the ways that matter most. 

“Helly,” Mark moans her name and she’s never heard it sound better. 

She leans forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him to her, needing him closer. The movement dislodges his hand from between them but she doesn’t mind, the pleasant slip and slide of him within her now providing more than enough sensation for Helly to find this thoroughly enjoyable. His hand flies to her breast, kneading it in his palm. She moans and arches into his touch, amplifying the sweet sensation. Yet somehow still it isn’t close enough. 

Helly arches into him, grinding down every time their hips meet, laying sloppy kisses to his lips that he struggles to return through the haze of pleasure. Both arms wrap around her in return, hands roaming her back, reaching down to squeeze her hips and ass, encouraging them to move even faster, plunge even deeper. 

She feels his hips start to lose their careful rhythm and stutter beneath her. She wonders if that means he’s close. She isn’t, but she could care less with her first mind blowing orgasm under her belt. “Is that good, boss?” She asks in a low voice, keeping up the pace when he falters, “Do you like the way I fuck you?” 

“Yes. Yes, fuck, Helly,” he replies, voice strained. 

She grins and presses kisses down his jaw and neck. She pauses right beneath his ear to ask, “Are you going to come for me?”

“Fuck,” is his hissed reply. 

“It’s okay. I want you to. Come inside me, Mark,” she requests of him. She wants to carry a piece of him inside her when they’re forced apart after this. She wants it to be undeniable to Helena exactly what it is they did in here, the joy they were able to derive in this twisted prison. 

“Helly-“ he grunts out, burying his head in her shoulder as his hips stutter his release. 

She feels a warmth spreading inside her as he groans and his hips gradually still. They both sit panting, wrapped in each other’s arms. Helly runs her fingers through his now damp hair as his breath returns to normal.

“This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten.” 

Helly huffs a laugh, “It better be.” 

Mark pulls back to look at her, stars in his eyes, “I’m being serious. I had no idea it was like that.” 

“Me, neither,” she says, shrugging a shoulder, “But I’m really happy we found out. Together.” 

Mark, at a loss for words, settles for nodding adamantly and kissing her softly. “Why does anyone even work? Everyone should be doing this all the time.”

“Which is probably why we weren’t allowed to do it.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped us forever.”

She laughs at his very true sentiment and he jumps underneath her. 

“I, um, I should probably get out of you now. Before things get uncomfortable.” 

“Aw, so soon?”

“Trust me, I’d rather stay right here.” 

Helly presses their foreheads together and sighs sadly. She knows he’s right, she wouldn’t be able to stay on his lap forever even with the freedom of time on their side. Slowly she lifts her hips, hissing along with him when he slips out of her. She sits up straight and looks down at him. His hair is all over the place, his lips red and swollen, tears in his eyes- Wait.

“Are you okay?” She asks, cupping his cheek.

“Of course I’m okay.”

Helly tilts her head, “You’re crying, Mark.”

“I am?” His brow furrows and he wipes at his eye, surprised when he finds tears there. “Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” she shakes her head, “It’s fine. Maybe I’m sorry?” 

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He sniffles and Helly wipes his tears away with her thumb, “I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

“Okay. That’s okay.” Helly hopes it is, at least. She leans forward to kiss him soundly, pulling him into a tight hug, pressing light kisses to his shoulder. 

“I think maybe it was just a lot, I guess.” 

“Good a lot, I hope.”

“Very, very good,” he swears adamantly and she believes him. 

“I wish we could stay here forever,” she whispers.

“Me, too.” He pulls away just enough to catch her eye. She’s relieved to see there are no more tears falling from his. “Who knows? Maybe one day we will.”

“Yeah,” Helly’s answering smile is a melancholy one, “Maybe.” 

She knows where this is heading now, their time surely up, so she kisses him again to try and stretch out every last second. It’s sweet and slow, Mark’s usual preference, and for once Helly is content to enjoy it for what it is instead of chasing more. 

“We must look insane,” she says conspiratorially when they part. They’re both in various states of undress, Mark with his tie loose around his neck, shirt and jacket wide open and pants haphazardly shoved down his thighs. Helly with her bra pushed down but skirt rucked up, pantyhose ripped around her hips. She smiles at the thought of it, how downright indecent they’ve been on Lumon property. 

“I think you look gorgeous,” Mark replies, maybe even impossibly sweeter now that she’s fucked his brains out. 

Helly rolls her eyes and finally forces herself to get off of his lap, scanning the room for her discarded sweater, “You already got in my pants, you know.”

“I’ve gotta make sure I get the chance to get back in there again,” he watches her with a content smile, tucking himself back into his pants and re-buttoning his crumpled shirt. 

“You don’t have to worry about that. I plan on being a repeat customer,” Helly fixes her bra and pulls on her sweater. The pantyhose she simply rips the rest of the way off, briefly removing her heels to pull them off of her legs. She bundles them up and leaves them in the trash besides the water cooler. 

By the time she turns around Mark has mostly put himself back together, though he’s foregone his tie and left his few top buttons undone. It’s a good look on him. Still, the state of his hair makes it very clear what activities they had gotten up to. 

“Come here,” she approaches him with an amused grin, running her hands through his hair to try and mold it back into its usual shape. It does so surprisingly easily, “Pretty amazing how you can move your hair and then it just stays there.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he replies with a chuckle. He takes her hand and pulls her in for a chaste kiss, “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“No,” she sighs and glances at the clock on the wall, “But it’s quarter past five. If we don’t leave now, they’ll send someone looking.” 

Mark nods but doesn’t comment anymore on their unfortunate situation. Helly doesn’t either. It seems fruitless to do now when she’d rather spend their last minutes together enjoying the afterglow as best they can. 

They manage to stretch the walk to the elevator to ten whole minutes, strolling more leisurely than they’ve ever risked before, his arm around her shoulder. She thinks this might be what it’s like to get walked home after a proper date, if your home was an elevator that turned you into your date’s evil boss he doesn’t know about. 

They pause outside the elevator, stretching every second out as always.

“Thanks for the surprise.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head at the double entendre. Helly moves towards the elevator, holding his hand until the last possible second. 

“Goodnight, Mark.”

“Goodnight. I’ll see you in five minutes.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “See you in five minutes.”

—

The moment Helena comes to, she knows that something is off. 

It isn’t just the kiss swollen lips that she has become accustomed to. She looks down and notices her legs are bare of her pantyhose. Next she registers the hollow ache inside her, the sensation of something sticky and uncomfortable in her underwear. Alarm bells go off, but in the locker room with Judd the security guard is not the place to investigate further. 

She fumbles with her locker and speed walks to her office, practically breaking into a jog when she gets close. Slamming the door behind her she beelines to the adjoining bathroom, pulling her underwear down to investigate with her heartbeat in her ears. 

She screams. 

Who does that little slut think she is that she can take Helena’s body and do whatever the hell she wants with it? It shouldn’t be so shocking, especially after the bitch attempted to cut off her fingers and take her life, but Helena never in a million years anticipated that her innie would wind up having sex at the office.

Helena hasn’t even had sex at the office. Helena hasn’t even had sex! 

Only now she has, surely with Mark Scout, and neither of them would ever be able to remember it. 

Helena cleans herself up quickly with shaking hands. The panties are swiftly disposed of. She spares a quick glance in the mirror, her face twisting in distaste when she notices the suspiciously mouth shaped bruise blooming at the crook of her neck. How fucking childish.

She turns away scowling, disgust broiling in her stomach, and stalks angrily to the window. It’s easy for her to spot Mark now. He always parks in roughly the same spot, always wears the same giant winter coat, even walks the same path. 

Does he know what their innies have gotten up to this time? Or is she the only one lucky enough to be left with these unpleasant reminders? How would he feel if he were filled in on what he was getting up to when he’s supposed to be working?

Helena fumes as she stands there, arms crossed, watching him cross the parking lot. Who even was he to take this from her? To see her like that? He was just another severed employee toiling away for the company she would one day run. Not particularly special save for his proximity to the Cold Harbor case and that didn’t come close to lifting him to her level. She was an Eagan, the standards were very high - leagues above an alcoholic working class widower.  

Somehow all of that is overshadowed by the knowledge that she would never even get to know how it was - What it felt like, if it was good or bad, slow and meaningful, or quick and messy. It was her very first, something that should have belonged to her and her alone. And Helly had stolen it. 

Her cheeks burn with embarrassment, tears burning behind her eyes. Yes, she was 30 now, but she still thought she had time. Eventually, in between the constant grind of being the perfect corporate heiress, surely someone would come along who would be worth it. 

Instead, she gets this. As if she was some idiot college girl who blacked out at a frat party. 

Helly would pay for this, Helena decides. Let’s see how she feels when the tables are turned. 

Chapter Text

Helena does not return to the severed floor the next day and neither does Helly. Helena is, not for the first time, tempted to never step foot there again. But she has made a commitment to her company. There is an expectation to uphold now and the board has made themselves clear: Mark S. is to complete Cold Harbor. If getting him to do that means handing over Helly, they are willing to sacrifice Helena’s free will to do so. 

That doesn’t mean she can’t still fake a sick day or two. Being out of the office to calm down was essential to getting through this entire ordeal in one piece. 

There are nuisances to deal with first, like taking Lumon branded Plan B and putting herself on the pill immediately. She tries to practice covering the dark bruise on her neck but gives up in a fit of frustration, settling for avoiding her reflection and donning turtlenecks. 

She stays at her home and tries not to sit too still for too long in between calls related to her actual job, lest she think think about what they did. It makes her skin crawl, stomach ache, and mind race in a way that makes her feel dangerously off balance. She can’t change what’s happened, so it’s best not to dwell. Instead, she focuses on what to do about it. 

She realizes quickly and sourly that she can’t stop it from happening again. Helly has been promised to Mark, not only by Helly herself but by the board. She can’t go in there and shut it down even if she wanted to and if it was an effective way of keeping Mark under control she begrudgingly agreed it was worth it. It seems she has two options: Allow Helly to get away with it and continue living her little work life and sleeping with Mark S. Or Helena could do it for her. 

Neither option was perfect, but there was only one that punished Helly R. She would be going back in time out. 

On the third day since the incident, Helena finally returns to work. She goes over the tempers and principles like a mantra on her way into the office. It helps to keep her calm and provides a well needed reminder of the ultimate goal of this whole endeavor. She just has to stay level headed about this. Well balanced. 

She doesn’t take an extra deep breath as she enters the elevator and her fingers definitely don’t shake noticeably enough that she has to clench them into fists as she walks to MDR. 

She’s the last one in this morning and any hope she had of entering quietly is immediately quashed. 

“Helly!” Dylan exclaims and immediately the other two men whip around to see her. 

Mark stands and she fears for a moment that he’s going to run to her. Luckily he manages to restrain himself, but he still looks antsy. 

“Hey guys,” she greets as she crosses over to them, Mark’s eyes shooting through her like lasers. 

“How are you feeling?” Irving prompts, “You were out for two days. A cold, apparently.” 

She settles at her desk and only then does Mark sit back down, still watching her intently. “I’m fine now,” she tells them with a shrug. “Hope you didn’t miss me too much.” 

“I missed you the normal amount,” Dylan starts, “But Mark would not shut up. It was all where do you think Helly is, do you think she’s okay, what if she doesn’t come ba-“

“Dylan!” Mark cuts him off with strained, forced laughter, “He’s kidding. I also missed you the normal amount.” He flashes her a self conscious smile that, as much as she does not want to admit it, looks really adorable. Especially when paired with the blush on his cheeks. 

Helena nods and smiles back, praying it doesn’t look as awkward as she feels, “Right. Super funny, Dylan. Your outie must be a comedian.” 

“My outie is definitely too cool for that,” he insists, “Plus, he’s got mouths to feed. Do comedians even make any money?” 

Helena shrugs, “How am I supposed to know?”

“I don’t think their purpose is to make money,” Irving chimes in. “Their purpose is to provide laughter. It’s an art, really.” 

Dylan snarks back to Irving and their conversation fades into the background as Helena brings up her current file. She fails to focus on it for at least 15 minutes, distractedly searching the screen with her eyes and trying to ignore the worried glances Mark S. won’t stop shooting her way. 

Being in the same room as him again is cloying, his presence all consuming in a way that makes her skin itch. Her eyes periodically flicker to him, watching him, unable to ignore the fact that his hands touched her intimately. 

Helena practically knows everything there is to know about this man, more than he even knows about himself, and yet the knowledge he now keeps about her hangs threateningly over her head like an anvil. Knowledge she doesn’t even know about herself. The thought makes her stomach flip and she grips the edge of her desk, eyes closing. She takes a few deep breaths to center herself. Stay balanced, she thinks to herself. Stay balanced.

It helps, but when she opens her eyes again Mark is watching her with a frown.

Finally, begrudgingly, she meets his eye and raises her eyebrows.

You okay? He mouths, brows drawn in concern. 

Helly sighs and nods, offering him a weak smile. She adds a thumbs up for good measure, but he doesn’t seem to be buying it. 

Maybe she should’ve taken another day. 

She stands suddenly, “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Irving asks, a dutiful boss even with his view of Lumon sullied. 

“Bathroom. Is that allowed?” She tries to make it sound like playful sarcasm, but the edge slips through. 

Irving frowns but nods his head, “Of course.”

“Great,” Helena says dryly before taking her leave.

She enters the bathroom in a huff, taking a moment to just press her back against the door. Her head falls back with a thump and she allows herself one singular groan of frustration. 

She stalks to the sink and splashes cold water on her face, staring herself down in the mirror. Keep it together, Helena. Keep the balance. This is bigger than you.

She just needs a couple minutes of solitude to gather herself without the presence of the innies. Then she’ll go back out there and smile at Mark S. and bat her eyelashes and if she’s lucky delay any more displays of affection for another day. If she can avoid being alone with him it shouldn’t be a problem. She knows she’ll have to engage, eventually. That doesn’t mean she can’t delay it as long as possible.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door and Helena freezes. Maybe she imagined it. That hope is quashed on the next round of knocks. 

She sighs and goes to open the door before whoever it is bursts in. She remembers very well that Helly tried to kill herself not so long ago, it would be better not to scare them too badly. 

Mark S. stands before her, looking sheepish and worried. “Hey,” he greets, standing up a little straighter. “Are you okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She bites, “Is it a crime to go to the bathroom?”

Mark’s eyes widen, taken off guard. He blinks at her. “No, but it is concerning when you’re in there for twenty minutes.”

Shit, Helena should’ve timed herself better. She knows the company policy about bathroom usage. She shakes her head, “Sorry. I lost track of time. I’m just exhausted, I guess.”

“Must have been some cold,” he says. Helena shrugs. “If you’re still not feeling well we could call Mr. Milchick, have you sent home.”

Helena shakes her head. The last thing she wants to see is that smug bastard’s sickly sweet face, particularly in a setting where she isn’t acting as his boss. “No, I’ll be fine. Just needed a couple minutes.”

Mark nods, “Okay. Can I come in?”

There isn’t a good way to send him on his way now without raising more suspicion so she nods and steps back into the bathroom, leaning against the counter of sinks. Mark follows closely, looking her up and down for signs that anything might be off. 

“I was worried about you,” he starts as he approaches her. He sounds so dejected when he says it that Helena can’t help but feel some sympathy for the poor man. “I was sure it had to do with what we did. That maybe you wouldn’t be allowed back,” his face twists with something like guilt and he reaches out to take her hand in both of his. Helena lets him, finding the way his larger hands envelope hers a comforting sensation.

Helena shakes her head, even though he has hit the nail directly on the head. “Well, it must not be. I am here. She chose to come back. Probably just bad timing for a cold, that’s all.”

“You think?” He asks her, some hope sneaking back into his voice. 

Helena nods and offers a sympathetic smile,

“So then, you really are okay? With everything?”

No, is the true answer. But that’s not what Helly would say, so Helena smiles at him and nods. “Yes. Now stop worrying.” 

Mark finally breaks into a small smile, his eyes softening at the edges as he looks down at her. “I’ll try.”

“That was a demand, not a request,” she teases and his eyes light up.

He huffs a laugh, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Much better,” she praises, satisfied and relieved.

Mark tugs her closer by the hand and for a moment Helena panics, worried that he’s going to kiss her. Instead she finds herself wrapped in his arms, held in his warm embrace. She only hesitates for a split second before returning it, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. She thought having to touch him again would be uncomfortable, that the sheer closeness would suffocate her, but instead she finds that her breath comes easier. It’s been so long since anyone has held her. She’s actually not sure anyone has ever held her so securely, as if she were something precious. Certainly not since she was a child. It lingers, his hand rubbing up and down her back comfortingly. She finds herself relaxing into the embrace, sighing. 

“I missed you,” he whispers.

“It was only two days,” she replies, feeling a brief pang of guilt at the sorrow in his voice. 

“Two days too long. It felt like forever,” he pauses, stroking a hand through her hair. “I’m jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“The best night of my life was only a couple hours ago for you.” 

Helena’s heart skips a beat, “Best night of your life, huh?” She thinks she would’ve liked to actually be there for it. 

“Easily.”

His fingers find her jaw, tilting her chin towards him so she can meet his eyes. Her breath stutters on the inhale. There is a heat besides the adoration in his gaze, an intense yearning that makes Helena’s insides clench and her cheeks warm.

Helena’s eyes flutter closed easily when their lips slot together. It’s barely there, just a slight pressure, but it send electricity shooting down to her toes. He holds her that much tighter, hand slipping back into her hair. His tongue darts out to wet her lips and she shivers, can feel his responding smile against her lips as he continues to kiss her leisurely.

Somehow, despite dedicating so much of her days thinking about the kiss she’d seen and the one she experienced, it catches her by surprise just how good it feels. She wants more of this. She wants to be closer. She just wants. The thought startles her enough to make her pull away, a feeble attempt at a distraction on her tongue to stop this before it becomes too much. 

“We don’t have time for this,” she says with an almost remorseful sigh, thinking that if it weren’t true than maybe she could be allowed to indulge a bit. But it was true. By now it must have been at least half an hour since she initially fled MDR. 

“Yeah,” Mark replies mournfully, “Probably not.”

But he makes no move to step away, instead pushing back a lock of her hair, fingertips brushing over her cheekbone and behind her ear. His eyes maintain contact in a way that freezes her in place, making her toes curl and her cheeks flush. He leans forward to kiss her again, pressing one to her lips and another to her forehead. 

“Okay,” he steps back, re-taking her hand. “Are you ready?” 

It’s a tone she isn’t used to, one that’s gently encouraging but open. She thinks if she told him no, he’d listen. He’d want to stay and help her. 

She nods, squeezing his hand. He doesn’t release hers until they get back to their desk. 

“Are you alright, Helly?” Irving inquires when she sits at her desk, his voice laced with genuine concern. 

“Yeah,” she offers a smile, “I’m much better now.” 

And it’s true. The skin crawling anxiety has been replaced by a warmer, tingly feeling. She’s amazed at how much easier it is to focus, though she still finds herself seeking out Mark’s gaze fairly often. 

He offers to walk her to the elevator at the end of the day. It’s unnecessary, but it is sweet. As is the kiss he presses to her lips before she leaves. 

“See you in five minutes,” he says with a smile, like it’s some kind of inside joke. Helena supposes it might be. She also supposes that it’s true for him. What does a phrase like good night or see you tomorrow mean to someone who never experiences sleep? 

“See you in five minutes,” she returns.

Only it won’t be five minutes for Helena. She has additional hours of executive work to complete after this. She will allow herself a thirty minute break, just enough to watch him return to his car and scarf down some dinner, but then the real work begins. 

She tries to shake the giddiness lingering from his presence. It was helpful when she was refining but far too distracting when sitting in meetings. Instead, she tries to find the anger and spite she had felt for him the past few days, but it doesn’t come. Mark S. is too infuriatingly sweet to stay angry at. Besides, she places far more blame on Helly’s head. This was her fault. Luckily, that anger still remains and she uses it to balance herself until she can complete her night’s work. 

The next day is much the same with less of the dramatics. Helena arrives at the office, banters easily with Dylan and Irving, and allows Mark to whisk her away on a brief walk to shower her with kisses. It’s actually fun getting to be Helly. There is a freedom to her words and actions that Helena hasn’t ever had access to. She’s able to speak her mind, engaging in conversations and jokes she is sure her father would disapprove of. And her friends show genuine care and concern for her. How could Helly not see her existence here as the gift that it is? It may all be meaningless outside of this officd, but it feels so much easier than what the outside world had to offer. If only her innie could behave herself and enjoy it reasonably.

After work, as she watches Mark leave, she finds herself smiling absentmindedly at him. As soon as she notices she wipes the smile off her face and turns away, eyes squeezed shut. She has to focus. This is no time to get distracted by a man. Particularly one she can never truly have. 

That is how her days as Helly continue, enjoying her hours of unprecedented, joyful freedom and then spending her nights trying to forget how wonderful they felt. It’s a whiplash she is struggling to find balance between, but she has faith she’ll find it in time. She just has to follow Kier’s teachings and try to stay measured, neatly divide her emotions into two halves, accessible to her only when she wants them. 

This is easier said than done. 

During the day she can keep herself adequately distracted when necessary, but in her sleep the two halves start to blur. She’s haunted by visions of Mark; in the break room, at his desk, in her office, even in her home. He takes her into his arms, touches her in ways she knows have happened but cannot remember. Her father’s muffled voice admonishes her all the while in the background.

They leave her exhausted and stressed, torn by her feelings and her duty. Unfortunately, her current favorite distraction is part of the problem. That doesn’t stop her from pursuing it whenever the opportunity presents itself. 

She could get used to this, she finds herself thinking one afternoon as she gets lost in his touch. And that is a scary thought, because she can’t get used to this. Helena Eagan does not belong here. This is Helly’s world. She needs to pack up the physical attraction, the longing, and box it away so she can get through this unscathed.

Yet the very next day she accompanies Mark on one of their walks and ends up back in his arms, making out like horny teenagers. It’s been nearly two weeks since she returned to the severed floor as herself and every time they collide like this it gets harder to stop.

It’s not the first time she’s felt him hard, poking insistently at her stomach. But it is the first time she takes the risk to acknowledge it. She reaches down, cupping him through his slacks. Mark’s breath catches and he leans into her as she rubs him through the fabric. 

How far does she take it? How far feels safe? 

She decides to start with something she’s at least done before. She undoes the top button of his slacks, lowers his zipper, and drops to her knees in front of him. 

Mark looks down at her with wide eyes, his jaw dropping open. “Helly-“

“What?” She asks, looking up at him with raised brows. She continues to stroke him through his briefs and watches him struggle to string words into a sentence.

“You don’t have to-“

“Do you want to?”

He laughs in disbelief, “Of course I want to.”

“Then let me,” she says simply, pulling him free of his underwear before he gets a chance to respond. 

She wastes no time taking him into her mouth. The moan he releases is guttural, as if she’s punched him in the stomach. She’d give a self satisfied grin if her mouth wasn’t busy. It’s been a long time since she’s done this, but she remembers what to do well enough, keeping her teeth covered and licking at the underside of his cock, hollowing her cheeks as she pulls away from him. 

Mark’s making the most pathetic sounds above her, his hands clenching into fists at his side. She takes one, placing it on her head and glancing up at him through her eyelashes. He catches her eye, panting, and strokes through her hair. It’s nice, but it’s not what she intended.

Helly pops off of him, “No,” she pushes her hair out of her face, “Hold it back,” she orders. 

Mark nods emphatically, doing as he’s told. He’s always so good at following her orders. She wishes more of her employees were such good listeners. She takes him again, watching him watch her until it becomes too much and his eyes flutter closed, head knocking back against the wall. 

“Helly,” he moans, voice wrecked. He’s vocal the way a girl might be and she wonders if he just isn’t aware of the gender standards surrounding this. She’s happy he doesn’t, enjoying the sounds she can wring from him. Each one seems to shoot straight down to her core. She squeezes her thighs together, trying to relieve the pressure a bit. 

His hips are tense, shuddering as he restrains from thrusting into her mouth. She knows he’s about to come when she feels his hand try to pull her off him. She resists, hand covering the one in her hair firmly, using it to take him as deeply as she can. She swallows around him and it send him over the edge. He shoots down her throat, groaning as he does so. Helena doesn’t pull off until he’s finished. She swallows, the taste salty and bitter in her mouth. It’s kind of gross, but expected, so she refrains from making a face. 

She looks up at him, catching her breath. His chest heaves as he stares down at her, starstruck. 

“Something on my face?” Helena jokes.

He huffs a disbelieved laugh before sliding down to join her on the floor, taking her face in his hands and kissing her soundly. Her heart flutters in her chest at the sheer tenderness of it. One of his hands drift down to her knee, sliding up her thigh and under her skirt. Helena’s brow furrows and her heart races in her chest. It inches up further and she pulls away with a small gasp. Mark doesn’t skip a beat, pressing his lips to her jaw. She suddenly wishes she had figured out how to cover the remainder of the love bite on her neck so she didn’t have to wear this stupid turtleneck. 

His fingers brush the edge of her panties and the ache she’d been resisting throbs relentlessly. Helena glances at the clock, not sure if shes grateful or resentful of the time she reads. 

“We don’t have time,” she breathes. 

“I can be fast,” her murmurs against her skin, his thumb brushing over her center and Helena barely bites back the desperate moan that tries to leave her throat. “Please.”

She knows this is a bad idea. None of this is balanced or measured in the least. But it’s been so long since she’s been touched like this and she can’t remember it ever feeling quite so good. 

Helena takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods her head. She turns to catch his lips again, arms crawling around his neck. Mark practically devours her, kissing her with renewed intensity, a man on a mission. 

He pulls back suddenly and her eyes pop open to watch him in confusion. He’s pulling his jacket off quickly, shaking it out and reaching behind her to lay it on the floor

“Here,” he explains, hands at her back helping her to lie down. 

Helena blushes furiously, trying to cover that he impressed her with sarcasm, “What a gentleman.”

“It’s not much,” he laments, leaning over her on his forearm, the other hand sliding down her side, “I wish I could give you a bed.”

Something about that sentiment makes Helena’s heart squeeze uncomfortably. He sounds so sad. “This is wonderful,” she promises earnestly, wanting to comfort him. 

He doesn’t answer, simply kisses her again as his hand returns to the hem of her skirt, pushing it up until he reaches the waistband of her pantyhose. He tugs and Helena helps him push them down her hips, easily slipping out of her heels so he can pull them down and off her legs. He returns to her lips, hand settling low on her hip, following the leg of her panties as they run down the crease of her thigh. 

When his fingers slide over the damp fabric to rub against her she moans into his mouth. He takes it for the encouragement it is and doesn’t make her wait, pushing the fabric aside to stroke her properly. Helena’s embarrassed by how wet she already is just from sucking him off, but Mark hums against her lips, clearly pleased. 

His fingers circle her clit, making her back arch and her fingers clutch at his shirt. It’s taking more and more concentration for her to kiss him properly, lips sloppily attempting to return his affection as she begins to pant. Mark notices and kisses down her jaw instead, lips finding the lobe of her ear when his access to her neck is blocked by thick fabric. Helena moans - she didn’t even know she liked that - and her hips move of their own volition. 

Suddenly, Mark is sinking lower down her body. Her mind is distracted enough for her not to understand where he’s going until she opens her eyes, raising up on her elbows to see him settling between her legs. He watches himself touch her, gaze intense and dark. His eyes flicker up to hers and she gulps. He presses his cheek against her thigh, turning to kiss it without breaking eye contact. Helena can hear her pulse pounding in her ears as he continues kissing up further until he disappears beneath her skirt. 

When she feels his tongue slide against her she collapses onto her back, moaning, hands flying to the back of his head. She isn’t sure if she wants to pull him off or hold him closer, mind splintering as he sucks her clit into his mouth, his fingers probing her opening. Her hips rock into him as his fingers enter her, eliciting a moan of pure relief. 

This Helena has done before, a couple of rather unsatisfactory times, until she decided it simply must not be for her. Mark is swiftly proving her wrong. He is good at this. Too good for an innie who never had sex until mere weeks prior. Probably even too good for the general male population. 

But she can’t dwell on that thought when he is quite literally eating her alive, sending jolts up her spine that make her muscles jump and twitch. His hand crawls up her stomach, reaching for one clothed breast and squeezing. Her hand moves to cover it, her fingers sliding between his, encouraging him to hold her tighter. His fingers crook inside her just right and she cries out, gasping for air as every muscle begins to tighten and quiver. 

She snaps like a wire, flinging her head back as her thighs shake around his head. His fingers continue to fuck her intently, drawing her orgasm out until she’s using the grip in his hair to pull him off of her. 

“Okayokayokay,” Helena says all on one breath.  “Holy shit.”

Mark’s face reappears above her. He grins down at her, self satisfied in a way that manages to avoid looking smug. 

“You’re way too good at that,” she says as she catches her breath, shaking her head in disbelief. 

Mark strokes his hand down her side, squeezing her waist appreciatively, “I’m just lucky you have nothing to compare it to.”

If only he knew. Helly smiles and shakes her head again, “No, it’s not that.” 

Mark shrugs a shoulder as best he can while propping himself over her. “Maybe I just know you.”

She hums, finally feeling as though she can control her arms well enough to wrap them lazily around his neck and tug him down to her. “Maybe,” she whispers, knowing damn well he doesn’t know her at all. 

Mark kisses her softly, the aftertaste of her still on his tongue. “We should’ve done that first.”

Helena’s brow furrows, “Why?”

“Because I’d really like to fuck you now.”

Helena can feel the pulsing ache return in response to his words. She realizes suddenly that she would actually let him fuck her, right here on the floor. 

“We really don’t have time for that,” she says mournfully, though secretly relieved that it’s true. Besides, if he could actually go again right now it would be too unbelievable. He can’t be some sort of sex machine. 

“I know,” he replies, disappointment clear on his face. 

“Next time,” she says before she can fully register the thought, let alone the words. 

It brings the smile back to his face. “Yeah, next time.”

Mark helps her sit up, finding her pantyhose and passing them to her. They put themselves back together as quickly as they can, only narrowly avoiding falling back into the hypnosis of kissing each other as they do.

They return to their desks regretfully and with every minute that ticks by, a lingering unease replaces the content afterglow. She tries to immerse herself in the numbers on her screen but fails miserably. Her mind is racing about what she just did. About Mark; Frustratingly sweet, impossibly good in bed Mark. He catches her watching her and smiles warmly, a secret only they share passing between them wordlessly. Helena’s heart thumps painfully, dread and warmth crawling down her back in equal measure. She smiles back anyway.

She lets him kiss her outside the elevator before they leave as usual, but this time when he says that he’ll see her in five minutes she can’t bring herself to say it back. She won’t see him in five minutes. In five minutes she will be Helena Eagan and he will be Mark Scout and they will be strangers. 

That is the hardest night by far. Even worse than when Helly had first given their body to him. She can’t get him out of her head, how he responded to her touch, how his fingers and hands played her like an instrument, the soft adoration in his eyes as he gazed down at her. It distracts her during her evening meetings, haunting her all the way home. She shouldn’t want this, not the way she does - like it’s an all consuming need. As she lies in bed restlessly that night she finds herself replaying the day’s events in her mind, wanting more despite her best attempts to satisfy the craving herself. 

At some point in the night she convinces herself that this was just an itch she needs to scratch. Hard. As soon as she’s able to experience it firsthand she’ll be satisfied. It can’t be Mark that she wants, just the sex itself. 

She pulls him away near the end of the day, tugging him into the bathroom closer to MDR rather than going all the way to the break room. Mark catches on quickly, welcoming every advance with equal fervor. Clearly she wasn’t the only one left wanting after their previous encounter. At least for Mark it hadn’t kept him up all night. 

She ends up sitting on the counter of sinks, her legs wrapped around him as they kiss. Clothing is quickly tossed and shoved aside in an effort to get closer. When he finally enters her it is nothing at all how she expected. It is so much better. She nearly sobs at the relief of it, easily getting lost in the bliss of it all; His touch, at times gentle and others strong and sure, caressing every inch of flesh he can get to, determined to bring her pleasure. His heated gaze on her, watching her as if she’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. His lips at her neck, on her breast. His voice, low and strained and whispering how good she feels, how beautiful she is.

Afterwards, once their muscles and bones are loose from their respective orgasms, he hugs her close, peppering her shoulder with kisses. They remain connected and she can actually feel him slowly softening inside of her. How novel. She has never felt like this in her life. She has never been closer to another person in her life. She wishes with everything inside of her that she could live suspended in this moment of quiet peace forever. 

Helly doesn’t deserve this, but Helena does. She was the one who had to grow up in this body, too gangly and pale and ginger and then later meticulously keeping it trim, molding it into the woman she had to be. Always chasing the ideal, breaking and bending herself into the shape of the perfect future CEO. Every uncomfortable, insecure day of it is ingrained in Helena’s mind. If anyone should get to experience this relief it is her. What did Helly do to deserve this when Helena always worked so hard? 

Mark pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together. Helena’s eyes open to meet his and is horrified to find tears on his cheeks. She reaches up to wipe them away, “Why are you crying?”

He shakes his head with a shrug, “I don’t know.”

Helena, for a split second, thinks that she might know. But the thought comes and goes quickly. It should be wholly impossible for him to even subconsciously be aware of the late Mrs. Scout. Something ugly twists in her gut, so she kisses him in an attempt to chase it away. It does help, until he pulls away.

Mark looks at her, gaze intense, eyes searching hers for something. “I think I love you.”

Just like that, the spell breaks. Helena’s jaw drops, but she doesn’t respond. She has no words. 

“No, I know I love you,” her reaffirms, voice sure. 

Helena’s stomach sinks. He can’t possibly love her. His world is the size of a pea, his existence shrunk down to that of a 40 hour work week. He knows nothing of the real world or love - the dedication it takes to succeed, the sacrifice required to build something real. 

Mark Scout knows. And he let it break him. But Mark S. is sheltered in the halls of her family business. Love isn’t meant to exist here, not like this. 

Besides, even if he did truly mean his words, they weren’t for her. They were for Helly. Mark knows nothing of Helena Eagan. If he really knew her…

“You don’t have to say it back,” he whispers and she realizes she’s been silent for too long. “I just needed to say it.”

Guilt rises hot and ugly in her throat and she snuffs it out by slotting her lips against his. She doesn’t want to hurt him, doesn’t want to see sweet Mark heartbroken, but she can’t say it back. She hopes against all hope that this will be enough.

“Okay?” She asks when they part, willing him to understand. 

After a moment he nods, “Okay.”

Helena kisses him again because he still seems sad and she feels a bit like she just kicked a puppy.

“Are you mad at me?” She asks sheepishly, voice small. 

“No, I get it,” he responds graciously, “You still like me, though, right?”

Helena finds a disbelieving laugh bubbling out of her, “Yes, Mark. I really fucking like you.”

And she does. Too much. 

Mark seems to have recovered, but Helena finds she has stumbled from one predicament headfirst into another. The guilt gnaws at her gut, an uneasiness she can’t squash with any of the usual rationalizations.

“Tell me again tomorrow,” she orders him outside the elevator. 

“What?”

“That you love me. Tell me in five minutes,” she offers him a sad smile. “I might say it back.” 

He furrows his eyebrows but nods anyway. “Okay. In five minutes.” 

She nods, stepping into the elevator, “Five minutes.” 

That evening she watches him cross the parking lot, her forehead pressed to the cool glass of the window, his words repeating in an endless loop in her head. She mouths them silently to herself. I love you. 

I love you. 

Chapter Text

Helly bursts out of the elevator, practically speed walking to the office with a belly full of butterflies and a pep in her step. She’s still riding the high of the previous day. The memories are fresh in her mind, replaying as she approaches MDR. 

She’s the last one to arrive, but it doesn’t stop her eyes form zeroing in on Mark as soon as she enters the room. Usually she tries to keep the displays of affection and flirting away from the cubicles - at least when Irving and Dylan are present - but this morning she could not care less. 

“Good morning,” she says cheerily to the entire room, her hand settling on Mark’s shoulder as she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. 

He turns to her, eyes wide with surprise and blushing faintly. His responding smile is tentative and a little confused, “Good morning.”

“You’re in a weirdly good mood,” Dylan pipes in. “Do you know something we don’t?”

Yes, Helly is tempted to reply. But that little (big) secret has nothing to do with her mood. “No. What, is it illegal to be happy?” She regretfully removes herself from Mark’s side and sits at her desk, still smiling as she does so. 

“I’ll have to check the handbook,” Irving replies with an amused smirk. 

“You do that and get back to me,” she jokes back. 

Dylan and Irving return to their work, losing interest when it seems Helly has no more new information to offer up. But Mark keeps looking at her, eyebrows furrowed in thought even as he smiles at her. 

“What?” She asks him, laughing lightly. “Something on my face?”

For some reason this makes Mark blush. He clears his throat, “No. Just nice to see you feeling better.”

Now it’s Helly’s turn to furrow her brows in confusion. It seems pretty obvious to her that she felt amazing yesterday. Maybe a bit antsy and certainly over eager, but definitely very happy. 

“What do you mean?” She asks cautiously, a nasty suspicion beginning to dawn on her. 

“I mean, you were great yesterday. Really great. You’re always great.” Mark rolls his desk chair closer to the divider between them, lowering his voice, “But you seemed a little, I don’t know… Sad.”

“I’m always sad to leave you,” she replies simply, matching his volume. 

Mark inflates a bit at that, but the concern doesn’t leave his face. Still, he drops it for now, rolling back to his computer. But his words and the reactions of her friends leave her off kilter, the excited buzz swiftly fading away. She wouldn’t have, Helly thinks to herself. Would she? 

Maybe. For everything she does know about her outie, there is still plenty about her that leaves Helly baffled and wondering how they could share a body. What would Helena have gotten from pretending to be Helly R. again? Why would she willingly entrap herself here? Except, to someone who could leave intact at the end of the day, it probably wasn’t much of a trap. Especially since she also happens to own said trap.

She wishes she could ask more about the previous day to confirm or deny the fear in her mind, but she can’t without giving herself away. Instead she scans her desk and immediately notices the things that are off: Her sticky notes are missing, her pens are held orderly in a mug instead of scattered beside her keyboard. Helly certainly didn’t move those things and her friends were smarter than to mess with her stuff. Her heart sinks into her stomach. 

Helena has stolen her time again. 

But how much of it? How long has she been snuffed out while Helena prances around in her body doing god knows what? She can feel her breathing start to speed as the realization settles on her shoulders heavily. She tries to take deep breaths, soothe the panic creeping up her spine, but it doesn’t work and instead she nearly chokes on air, barely suppressing a coughing fit.

Helly stands, as calmly and inconspicuously as possible, and escapes into the kitchenette. She makes a beeline for the sink, grabbing a glass. By now her hands are shaking, too, as she gulps down the greedy breaths she wanted to hide from the guys. She moves to turn the sink on and the glass slips from her hand. Helly jumps with a gasp, the sound of it shattering in the sink only making the panic worse. She grips the counter with white knuckles, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head.

“Helly?” She hears a muffled voice behind her.

She opens her mouth to respond, but it takes a moment for her choked, trembling voice to work again, “I-I’m fine. My hand just slipped. I’m fine,” she insists desperately. 

“Hey,” the voice says softer now, closer. Gentle hands find her shoulders, “Take a deep breath.”

“I’m fucking trying,” she bites out, gasping. 

The hands turn her until she’s facing him, “Like this. With me.” Mark takes a deliberately slow, deep breath in, holds it momentarily, and then releases it just as slowly. Helly struggles to match him, trying to focus on the way his tie rises and falls with his chest, the way his hands hold securely onto her biceps. After a few rounds of this it becomes easier and Mark patiently breathes with her until she’s almost back to normal, though she still feels shaky and raw.

“Are you going to get mad if I ask if you’re okay?” He asks cautiously, voice low. 

She shakes her head, gaze refocusing on him. “No. I think I’m okay. Sorry, I don’t- I don’t know what that was.” She’s mortified when tears spring to her eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, voice kind as he pulls her into a hug. She buries her face in his neck, squeezing her eyes shut. The tears leak out anyway. “It was a panic attack,” he explains, hand rubbing her back, “I used to get them sometimes when I first got here.”

Helly sniffles, fingers clutching at his jacket, “Who taught you to do that? The breathing thing?”

“Mr. Milchick, actually.”

Helly snorts a laugh, “No way.”

“Yes way.” He pulls back, head inclined down to catch her eye. He cups her cheek, brushing away the tears there. “Is this because of what I said yesterday?”

It’s a horrible reminder of why exactly Helly had started panicking. She has no idea what he’s talking about. She tries to focus on her breath again, even as the sting of tears behind her eye strengthens. Clearly, to Mark and everyone else, it was as if Helly had never left. Her outtie had sat at her desk, laughed at their jokes, probably stood just like this in Mark’s arms and not a single one of them noticed. Anger burns her throat. She wants to scream, yell at them for being so gullible, accuse them of not caring for her at all. It takes everything she has to hold back, remembering that it’s for the best that they didn’t catch on to Helena’s presence. It kept them all safe. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that Helena is who she is. It was not them who created Helly, placing her in this hellish situation. She does not want any of them to suffer on her behalf, not if she can help it. 

No one can atone for my actions but me.

“I mean,” Mark continues nervously, “I know you told me to tell you again today, but honestly that doesn’t seem like a great idea now.”

Helly’s eyes search his for a long beat. She’s scared to know what he has to say. But she needs to know. “Tell me.”

Mark gulps, searching her eyes right back. “I love you,” he says, voice small and apprehensive. 

Helly’s heart soars and shatters simultaneously. He loves her. And he told Helena first. “I love you, too,” she whispers back anyways, because it’s true. 

He looks shocked for a split second before a smile spreads across his lips. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers, “Really?”

Helly chuckles wetly, “Yeah, really.” 

It’s then that she hears hushed voices behind them, just out of sight of the kitchenette. 

“You do it.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you’re the boss now!”

There’s a heaved sigh and then a knock on the wall, “Are you alright in there, kids?”

Helly’s heart swells painfully at the carefully concealed concern in Irving’s voice. 

“Well, we’re decent. You don’t have to hide,” Mark tells them.

Irving and Dylan sheepishly poke into the kitchenette to join them. Helly turns out to face them, Mark keeping an arm securely around her. 

“What happened?” Dylan asks, his voice also concerned and lacking the usual sarcasm. 

“Panic attack,” Mark answers for her, “Dropped a glass in the sink. But we’re alright now.”

“Did you do the breathing?” Dylan asks.

“Yeah, we did the breathing.” 

Dylan nods sagely, as if the breathing was something sacred. 

“Are you okay, my dear?” Irving asks, reaching a hand out to pat her on the arm. 

She shrugs a noncommittal shoulder. “‘M Better.”

Irving’s eyes glance to Mark’s and something unsaid passes between them quickly. “Mark S.,” he starts, “Maybe you should accompany Helly to the break room. It seems as though she could use a breather.”

Mark nods and Helly releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Go on,” Irving encourages, stepping out of their way, “We’ll clean up here.”

“Thank you,” Helly says, “We won’t be too long.”

“Take your time,” he says in return, offering a kind and knowing smile. She manages a weak smile in return. 

They’re uncharacteristically quiet on the walk to the break room. Mark keeps his arm around her and she leans into him, trying to focus on his steady presence instead of her tedious and fragile existence. When they arrive, she snakes her arms back around him and holds him close. She sighs heavily. Things were always better here where it was just the two of them. She finds herself wondering if he came here unknowingly with Helena, stealing kisses on company time just the same. She wonders if he touched her outie with the same intent and care that he had touched her with so very recently in her memory. Helly had been so happy this morning, practically floating on air - Why had Helena taken that from her? What in the world could she gain from this? 

“You’re thinking really loudly,” Mark says, though her makes no move to release her from his hold. “You want to talk about it?”

Helly shakes her head. The truth is she does want to talk about it, but she can’t risk it. She has no idea what lengths Helena will go to. She counts herself lucky that they share a body, otherwise who knows what the woman might inflict on her. Helly can’t imagine what she might do to Mark. It’s up to her to protect him now, protect all of them for as long as she possibly can. For now, that means doing as Helena instructed and lying to them, no matter how much she hates it.

There is one other option she can think of that might keep them safe from Helena, but she has failed at that once before. It was made very clear to her that failing a second time wasn’t an option. 

She pulls back to look at him, studying the lines beneath his eyes and the arch of his brows and the jut of his chin. It strikes her how this could so easily be the very last day she sees him. Any moment could be the last one she ever gets to live, her body going on without her. 

“I love you,” she whispers, needing to say it again for herself, unprompted. She loves him so much. She’d do anything for him - even lie, even go along with the plan of a woman she despises with every fiber of her being. All to keep him safe. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers back easily. 

She knows he means it, but she doesn’t think he understands the gravity of her words. How could he? She’s not allowed to tell him. So she opts for showing him instead, leaning up to kiss him.

Helly pours everything into the kiss, every ounce of her frustration and fear and sorrow. She tries to make it taste like an apology he wouldn’t understand even if she were allowed to vocalize it. His lips respond to hers readily, happy to stoke the fire beginning to burn inside her.

She pushes him down onto one of the low chairs around the room, straddling his lap. The position not dissimilar to the one they’d been in previously - merely a day prior for Helly. She has no idea how long ago for Mark. She’s not sure she wants to know. 

What she does know is that when she purposefully grinds her hips down so that her center brushes against his groin, Mark makes a sound that sends sparks shooting down her spine. She knows that he’ll groan if she scratches his fingers against his scalp and exactly what his heartbeat feels like against her lips. 

Her kisses grow hungrier, rougher, and Mark makes no move to slow her down. He must know that she needs this distraction. Needs him. His hands seem to burn as they rove over her arms, her back, her sides, her thighs. She grinds against him again with more intent and can feel him hardening beneath her. 

Helly reaches for his belt and half expects him to encourage her to slow down, but instead he just watches her with hungry eyes. She makes quick work of it and Mark slides her skirt up until he can tug at her pantyhose, trying to pull them down until Helly’s hands cover his.

“Rip them,” she encourages, repeating her prior request.

Mark doesn’t hesitate this time. He tears the thin fabric at the seam and the harsh sound of it send a thrill up Helly’s spine. The destruction feels good. Right. She’d destroy more of Helena’s things if she could, but for now having Mark destroy her pantyhose will have to be enough. 

His fingers find her easily and she moans. He seems to know exactly where to touch her to get her going, pulling off an even better performance than the first. Helly knows it must be because he’s had practice doing this to her. 

His fingers are no longer enough. She needs to be connected to him, to feel him inside of her, to establish somehow that he does not belong to Helena, but to Helly. She reaches down to take him in her hand and guides him to her entrance, moaning with him as he slides inside of her. It is somehow impossibly better this time than it was the first. Helly sets a punishing pace above him, almost manic in the search to drown out everything else, to lose herself in the feel of him. 

Mark doesn’t seem to mind, kissing every inch of her he can reach, lips gliding and teeth scraping against her skin. She wants him to devour her whole, would go happily. 

She can feel her release starting to build and uses one hand in his hair to bring their lips together sloppily.

“You’re mine,” she whispers roughly against his lips. His hands seem to clutch her tighter at the words, but it’s not enough. “Say it. Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” he obeys emphatically, voice strained. “I love you.”

Helly clenches around him, moaning. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

She comes around him with a cry. It’s ripped from her almost violently and is so all consuming she almost fails to notice that he follows right after her. 

Helly collapses against him, panting with her cheek pressed against his shoulder. His arms remain heavy and warm around her. She’s breathing him in when she hears a sniffle and feels one of his hands reach up. She turns to watch as his hand wipes at glistening eyes even as he smiles down at her. She doesn’t comment on it this time, simply reaches her own hand up to wipe a few errant tears away, kissing the salty tracks they left behind. 

“Do you feel any better?” He asks hopefully.

Helly nods. “That was way better than the breathing.” Mark chuckles. 

They don’t speak for a while after that, simply holding each other, Mark’s hand carding absentmindedly through Helly’s hair. Yet despite the calm of the moment, the reality of their situation continues to plague Helly’s thoughts.

“I’m not always me,” she whispers like a secret.

“None of us are,” he replies, misunderstanding her true meaning but fully understanding the sentiment. 

She closes her eyes, “I wish we could-“

“I know,” he cuts her off, as if he can’t bear to hear her daydream about what they could have out there. “Me, too.”

Eventually they have to return to MDR. Helly is still sad, shaken, but she is functional. She clings to Mark’s presence like a balm, comforts herself by trading familiar if unusually tempered barbs with Dylan, listens to Irving wax on about Lumon artwork and office supplies.

At the end of the day she stands in front of the elevator as if it is a guillotine, its metal doors threatening to cut her in half. 

“I don’t want to go,” she states, staring the doors down. 

“I know,” Mark says besides her. 

“We could just stay.”

Mark snickers and Helly turns to him sharply, “What’s so funny?”

He smiles at her, “You used to beg anyone who would listen to get you out of here.”

Helly finds herself smiling back, “Yeah, well. Things change, I guess.”

Mark nods before continuing, “We could hang around until Mr. Milchick comes and kicks us out.”

“Has that ever happened before? What would he even do?”

“Not sure. Maybe make us do rock paper scissors to see who goes up first.”

Helly laughs and shakes her head. She should go now, before Milchick does show up and she gets the both of them in trouble.

She turns and kisses him soundly, seriously, trying to make it count just in case it’s the last kiss she gets for a while. Or ever. 

When she pulls away and walks toward the elevator he stays close, hand a steadying force at her waist when she calls it down. 

As she waits for those doors to close on her she says it again. “I love you.”

The doors close before he gets to say it back

Chapter Text

Helena permits herself to see Mark for twenty minutes each day. Ten minutes for him to enter the building in the morning and another ten for him to return to his car in the evening. She knows she sees him much more often than that, but those are not memories she gets to keep. It’s for the best. The memories she does retain are still too distracting on their own. She can’t risk accruing even more. 

But it doesn’t stop her from wondering. 

She has a fairly good idea of what the two of them get up to down there. More often than not she exits the elevator late, stockings inexplicably missing and the ghost of him inside of her, all the muscles in her body suspiciously relaxed and occasionally sore. She finds mouth shaped bruises on her thighs and breasts and can’t help pressing her fingers into them, savoring the ache. 

Helly certainly isn’t wasting any time now that she’s been let back out. It doesn’t fill Helena with the same dread and malice it had originally. Besides, she couldn’t stop them even if she wanted to. And she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to take Helly from Mark S., not because she keeps him complacent enough to complete his work and distracted from the true nature of their job, but because she makes him happy. At the same time, she burns with jealousy lying alone in bed every night. She wishes it were her. She wants it to be her. It should be her.

It could be her. It would be simple to slip back into Helly’s shoes. She ruminates on it for days, resisting the temptation. It’s too dangerous to allow herself to get any more entangled in the melodrama of innies, but no less enticing. She can’t trust herself to indulge responsibly, knows any promises about just one more day wouldn’t be kept. 

She caves anyway, returning to the severed floor alert and with an anxious buzz in her stomach. Being back is both a relief and a thrill. It’s surprisingly easy falling back into this rhythm with Helly’s friends, basking in the warmth of familiar camaraderie that was always out of reach for Helena Eagan. 

It’s impossible not to fall back into Mark’s arms, not that Helena resists. His naive devotion and genuine sincerity is too novel, melting something buried deep within her. Her initial instinct is to dismiss him as weak for all the love he offers, a symptom of the inherently childish nature of innies. But instead she finds him melting something buried deep inside her. It’s almost painful at times to be so intimate with him, his words and actions piercing through to long forgotten parts of her. But it’s the kind of pain one might experience when they start a new workout routine, strengthening and shaping her into something different. New. It exhilarates and terrifies her and she can’t make herself quit it. 

It’s also fun. Helena doesn’t think she has ever smiled and laughed as much as she does when she is with him. Pure frolic, her father would admonish whenever she exhibited a little too much joy growing up. It was best to stay balanced, experience reasonable joy in carefully measured doses. But pretending to be Helly felt so much better than any tempered, Kier approved cheer ever did. 

Helena is thinking of this as Mark kisses down her body, the button up she had worn that day already wide open. She watches him hungrily, smiling wide and running her hands through his hair. Then he does something that shocks her, taking her pantyhose in his hands and ripping it apart suddenly. She gasps, looking down at him with wide eyes. She was not expecting that, but it sends a thrilling, electric burst of anticipation through her.  

“Sorry,” Mark apologizes with a small frown at her reaction, hands still gripping the gossamer fabric. “Should I have waited for you to tell me to? Is that part of the whole thing?”

Helena bursts out laughing. So that’s why she kept returning from work without her pantyhose. Helly was having Mark destroy them. 

“What’s so funny?” Mark asks, brow furrowed but smile amused.  

She shakes her head, still giggling, “Nothing. I appreciate the initiative, that’s all.” She runs her fingers through his hair once more and he leans into the touch, grinning proudly. 

After, when they are both sticky and panting as they cling to each other, he says it again. “I love you.”

She’s been carefully dodging returning the words, but something about the simplicity of this moment, the pure joy she finds in being Helly, makes it easy to breathe back, “I love you, too.”

She thinks she might even mean it. It’s an exhilarating and terrifying realization, one she attempts to temper with logical rationalizations. None of this was real, not in any way that mattered, it was merely playing pretend. Furthermore, maybe she did truly love Mark… But in the way one might love a pet. He might be funny and kind and clever and she may be starting to invest too much in his wellbeing, but at the end of the day he will be a transient presence in her life. He has to be. Still there is a faint voice in the back of her mind whispering that there was no way to rationalize the warmth she felt in his presence or the way he inhabited her thoughts. 

There was one way, Helena thinks to herself as she watches Mark walk to his car after work. 

Before she can think better of it, Helena is rushing from the building. She stays back, out of sight while keeping him in hers. By now she is so accustomed to searching out his jacket and car that it is easy to spot him after hopping into her own, more modern Lumon made vehicle. She trails behind him as he drives out of the parking lot, heart beating loudly in her ears.

Helena isn’t sure exactly what she expects of this. But if she can manage to simulate running into the real Mark Scout organically, maybe she can put these childish delusions to rest once and for all. It’s a Friday night, neither of them have anywhere to be in the morning. Helena hopes he doesn’t return straight home where she’ll have no way to reach him. She’s hoping for a grocery store or something similar when he turns into the parking lot of a small, dingy dive bar. 

Helena passes it first, not wanting to give herself away by turning into the lot right after him. She makes a U-turn down the road, returning just in time to watch the back of Mark’s head disappear into the bar. 

Helena knows that Mark Scout is an alcoholic, so while the indulgence is not a surprise the location certainly is. Based on his file and the well documented depression his wife’s death left him in, Helena guessed he drank alone more often than not. Could he be meeting someone? 

She sits in her car, watching through the window as he takes a seat at the bar. Five minutes pass, then ten, then fifteen, but no one ever shows up to join him. He sits there, shoulders hunched as he makes his way through his first drink of the night all on his own. It’s pitiful. 

Helena leaves her car when she sees the bartender refill his drink. Her feet seem to move of her own volition, bringing her to him as they always do. She takes the seat besides him, even though they are two of at most ten people in the entire bar. 

He turns to look at her as she sits, eyebrows raised at her intrusion. She meets his eye and gives him a small smile that isn’t returned. It strikes her immediately how much heavier he seems out here. From his posture, to the way his hair flops over his forehead, to the dull look in his eyes. He is so unlike her Mark S. 

“Do I know you?” He asks her when she holds eye contact instead of looking away as most polite company would. 

It makes her heart twist in a funny way. He doesn’t recognize her. Of course not. Mark Scout only ever saw Helena Eagan briefly when he almost ran her over after her first day on the severed floor. He isn’t a follower of Kier who keeps up with the Eagans and would recognize her for her family. It is truly incredible that she saw him mere hours ago and yet his gaze upon her is that of a stranger, cautiously suspicious of her unusual presence. 

“Not yet,” she starts, “I’m Helly.” 

He blinks at her when she doesn’t look away, waiting. He takes a beat before replying, somewhat stilted, “Mark.”

Just then the bartender interrupts, asking if he can get something for Helena to drink. She nods to Mark, “I’ll have what he’s having.” 

The bartender slides a short glass in front of her and Helena takes it, holding it out to Mark. “Cheers.”

Mark hesitates for a moment before clinking their glasses together. He doesn’t repeat her cheers, but takes a long sip of his drink all the same. Helena does, as well, managing only a small wince and clearing of her throat as it goes down with a burn.

“Not a fan?” He asks her.

“It’s fine,” she lies. Helena wasn’t much of a drinker at all, substances such as alcohol and even caffeine were closely monitored in the Eagan family in the name of balance. When she did indulge, it was typically with some sort of wine or fancy cocktail. To Helena, liquor such as this seemed to have only one intended purpose and it was not socialization but dissociation. She decides to lean into that, taking another sip that goes down slightly easier. “It’ll do the trick.”

Mark cracks the smallest of wry smiles, nodding his head in understanding. “What brings you here?”

“Long day at work,” she replies, semi-truthfully this time. “Need to blow off some steam. You?”

Mark looks down at the amber liquid remaining in his glass, swirling it around. “My wife died three years ago today.”

Stupid, she admonishes herself mentally. How could she not realize that was today? 

Helena recovers quickly, using every ounce of PR media training she’s ever received. “I’m sorry.”

Mark nods, knocking back the last of his drink and gesturing for the bartender to refill it once more. “Me, too.”

Grief weighs on him like a blanket, plain as day for anyone to see. Even his voice is a little deeper, a little sadder. It breaks her heart to witness and it strikes her suddenly how being severed is purely an escape for Mark Scout, a way to turn his brain off. And it works. Mark S. is happier, lighter, maybe even better. It seems like proof to Helena that severance serves a purpose, that it’s not all bad no matter what the nay sayers believe. Nonetheless, it tugs painfully on her heartstrings to see a version of the man she has grown to care so much about suffering from such a bone-deep sadness. 

“What was she like?” Helena asks him, genuinely wondering. Gemma was long gone by the time Helena came into the picture, she has only ever met Ms. Casey.

Mark closes his eyes, taking a long deep breath through is nose. He takes a sip of his newly refilled glass. When he opens his eyes there’s a gleam to them and Helena can’t tell if it’s from the drinks or the sorrow. 

“She was extraordinary,” he starts. “Beautiful. Smart. She was a teacher, a really good one. The kind that had students tracking her down years later just to thank her. And she was funny without meaning to be. She was kind, even if she wasn’t always nice,“ there is the ghost of a smile on his face now, though his voice conveys a depth of sorrow. Helena is enraptured. This was love. Real love.

Mark continues, “She loved animals and children, but in small doses. She spoke five languages. She hated desserts, but loved ice cream. She was… She was too good for me.”

Helena knows all about the car crash that killed Gemma Scout, how Mark miraculously and narrowly escaped with his life. He doesn’t need to verbalize his next thought for Helena to read it all over his guilty expression. It should have been him.

She feels a new pang of guilt that she doesn’t expect, a different flavor to the ones she is already accustomed to. Before her is a man that clearly isn’t ready to move on, and yet she is sleeping with him in break rooms and bathrooms during work hours when he cannot protest. And even then she is lying to the Mark S. she has spent so many days with. This is a man who is mourning a woman Helena knows to still be alive. This is a man who Helena’s family, her company, Helena herself continue to manipulate. For the greater good, she reminds herself. For honor and legacy and a brighter future. These reminders don’t comfort her the way they usually do. 

She takes a long drink from her glass, savoring the burn now. “She sounds special,” Helena tells him, only partially succeeding in keeping the emotion from her voice.

Mark nods down at his glass, “She was.”

Helena taps her fingers against the bar, studying his profile. She wants to comfort him. She wants to reach out and take his hand or stroke his cheek. Those are not options right now, so she settles for words. “What do you think she would say if she were here now?”

Mark thinks for a moment, sad smile growing on his face, “First, she’d probably tell me to stop moping.”

“Seems like a big ask,” Helena quips, tone serious.

Mark huffs a laugh at this, surprising himself with it. “Yeah.”

“Kind of rude, actually,” Helly continues, encouraged by the hint of a smile on his lips. “No ‘Hey honey, hope you’re doing well, love you.’ Just straight to business.”

Mark smirks in earnest now, though she can see him trying to fight it. “She could be like that, sometimes.”

Helena smiles softly, “Sounds like a woman after my own heart.”

Silence settles briefly between them as they nurse their drinks, Helena ordering a second round for herself. She struggles to find something new to say, to find a reason to drag this out further, when Mark takes care of it for her. 

“How about you? Married?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little strange for me to come chat you up if I was married?”

Mark raises a brow at that, “That’s not an answer.”

Helena shakes her head, “No.”

“Boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

She shakes her head and Mark looks surprised.

“Is that shocking?” She asks, smiling in amusement at his face and raising her eyebrows. 

“Well, yeah, kind of.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you look like that,” he gestures to her loosely with his his drink in hand. 

Mark is definitely drunk now. In fact, Helena thinks he might be drunk nearly all of the time he spends away from Lumon. It’s fascinating to watch him like this, loosened up in a way that borders on sloppy. She shouldn’t find it attractive, but she does. She’s starting to think there’s nothing he could do that would change the draw she feels toward him.

“Thanks, I guess,” she smirks back at him, shaking her head.

“You’re welcome,” he takes another sip of his drink, head tilting as he studies her, “So, why not?”

“You mean why am I single?” He nods and she laughs, “Isn’t that kind of a rude question to ask a lady.”

“Yeah, that’s me and Gemma. Two rude peas in a pod.”

The callback startles a laugh out out of her. He still matches her word for word. She wonders if this chemistry always would have come naturally to them, or if it’s merely a subliminal reflection of their innies.

Helena takes a deep breath, considering what lie she should tell. Instead she opens her mouth and the truth spills out. “I help run my family’s business. It’s a big deal for us. Lots of expectations. Not much free time. I guess it just never seemed very important, finding somebody. There was never anyone worth it.”

Mark considers that for a moment, watching her, “There will be one day.”

Helena has to look away, index finger circling the rim of her glass. She thinks there might be already. That was the problem. She shrugs. 

He takes it for disbelief and pushes on, “There will be. You’re beautiful. And young. You have all the time in the world.” 

Helena wasn’t quite sure she could believe her ears. Was he… Flirting with her? She finds herself just tipsy enough to convince herself that he is. The attraction distracts from the lingering guilt. It’s magnetic. If she were more sober she’d never admit it to herself, but Mark’s outie remains endearing. Kind, if rougher around the edges. Funny and smart. Thoughtful. 

“You can’t possibly know that,” she states.

“I can, actually, I have some exper-“

Helena is cutting him off with a kiss before she can process her actions. The shock of it fades quickly for both of them and he is kissing her back in a hesitant way that is wholly unfamiliar to her. But he doesn’t stop, lips moving against hers, his hand reaching out to brush her arm. 

“Do you live near here?” She asks him when she pulls away, a little breathless. 

Mark looks at her, appearing somewhat shell shocked. He nods. 

She knows that she shouldn’t ask, it’s not fair to either of them. Any of them. But Helena is nothing if not selfish. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He hesitates this time, but nods again. Helena nods back, mind made up. She stands, donning her coat and taking out her wallet to leave a wad of cash on the bar. It’s probably too much - she doesn’t really know how much drinks at bars cost - but it must be enough to cover their tab plus a generous tip while getting them out of there immediately.

Mark stares at her with his own wallet in hand, surprised once again. “You don’t have to do that-“

“I want to.” She knows exactly how much he makes at Lumon. It is a good salary, her company pays their severed employees well for their work. But it pays her a lot better. “Let me.”

Mark nods dumbly, putting his wallet away. Helena takes his hand, practically dragging him out of the bar. Unable to stop herself, she pushes him against her car, leaning up to kiss him again. He responds more enthusiastically this time. She pulls her keys from her pocket, pressing the button to unlock the car. 

The sound of the car unlocking behind him seems to startle Mark out of a haze and he pulls away from her. “We should take a cab.”

“It’s self driving,” she explains simply, reaching beside him to open the passenger door, gesturing with her head for him to hop in. 

Mark hesitates for a moment, studying her with something almost like suspicion in his eyes. Helena knows this look well - that of a stranger trying to figure out if she really is rich and how she got to be that way. Still, Mark doesn’t protest, instead climbing into the passenger seat dutifully. 

Helena hops into the driver’s seat, fingers flying across the large touch screen that takes up the dashboard. She sets it to self-driving and brings up the GPS. 

“Put in your address.”

Mark does as he’s told with unusually still hands. If he notices the Lumon logo, he doesn’t mention it. So far they’ve managed to avoid any and all discussion of work - miraculous for any Lumon town but especially Kier. Helena particularly doesn’t want that to change now because she knows that this Mark has his own suspicions about Lumon. She’s come too far and wants this too badly to risk playing her hand now. 

Strictly speaking, self-driving mode still requires a human driver behind the wheel paying attention to the road. Helena almost entirely ignores that once they’re out of the parking lot, leaning over the center console to kiss him again. He really didn’t live far, barely five minutes away, close enough that he could have walked from the bar if he needed to. The brief drive passes in the blink of an eye between the haze of the alcohol and the slide of their lips. They part just long enough to get to his front door, Mark struggling with his house keys as she presses distracting kisses down his neck. He manages to get it open and she follows his lead, stumbling with him through his dark home and to the bedroom. They are both so wound up from the drink and the drive that their clothes are shed quickly and easily as they go, left in piles on the his hardwood floors. 

It occurs to Helena that for all they’ve done together, she has never seen Mark fully undressed. Nor has she ever fully undressed around him. She takes the opportunity to take him in, marveling briefly at the sight. She sees him do the same to her with hungry, heavy lidded eyes. He cannot appreciate the gravity of the situation as she can, but his gaze roaming over her still sends a thrill up her spine. She pulls him back to her, falling back with him onto his bed. Another first. 

Sleeping with Mark Scout is as different from sleeping with Mark S. as it is the same. Mark S. is loud and enthusiastic, eager to please in a way his outie isn’t. Instead, Mark Scout veers into a sloppy desperation, using her body as a means for his own pleasure, suppressing the sounds she knows he wants to make the way a man typically would. Mark S. is good at what he does - muscle memory truly is a remarkable thing - and many of Mark Scout’s moves are achingly similar. She wonders if he can tell that the intimacy is almost too natural, if it frightens him like it always does her. But Mark S. knows her body in a way that Mark Scout doesn’t. He doesn’t know to mouth at her ear lobe or lift her leg at just the right angle. And while it is still good, Helena finds herself missing those familiar quirks.

This isn’t new to him out here. Out here, she isn’t the only woman whose body he has ever touched or seen. Out here she is most certainly not the only woman on his mind. He slips up, whispers Gemma into the darkness. She loses herself in him anyways, trying to revel in the knowledge that out here this is purely physical the way it always should have been. It stings anyway, so instead she lets herself get lost in a different fantasy, one where she is Mrs. Scout and this was just an average night spent in bed with her husband. 

It lasts longer than it usually does, Mark fucking her into his mattress even after she’s finished around him. Helena doesn’t know whether this is due to the alcohol or the freedom of time they typically don’t have, but she isn’t complaining. When he does come with a grunt inside her, he doesn’t collapse into her embrace. Instead, he rolls off of her, onto his back. Helena catches her breath, staring up at his ceiling. She doesn’t know how much time passes as she lays there, unsure what to say. 

She turns her head, expecting to find him staring at the ceiling with tears in his eyes as there always are in the aftermath. But there are no tears. In fact, his eyes aren’t open at all. His bare chest rises and falls steadily and it is clear that he is asleep. 

Helena is grateful that there would be no cuddling or pillow talk. She fears that if Mark Scout held her tenderly and whispered sweet nothings into her ear she may never be able to leave. Since that is not the case, Helena gets up slowly, still feeling the effects of the alcohol even as they slowly beginning to fade. 

She gets up to retrieve her clothing from the floor, redressing quickly and quietly. She turns to look at him when she’s done, studying his sleeping form. He look younger like this. Mark S. would probably look exactly the same if he were allowed to sleep. She approaches slowly, pulling the covers pooled around his waist over him.

That’s when it sinks in that she’s in his home. Unable to help herself, she snoops around this space that is entirely Mark’s. It’s messy and dark and depressing. There is alcohol in the fridge and cabinets, frozen dinners in the freezer, and blank spaces on the wall where pictures once hung. She finds a picture of Gemma in a drawer, taped together as if someone had ripped it up. Seeing the familiar woman with so much life in her eyes breaks her heart. Then she finds the wedding picture, buried even deeper. She has never seen either version of Mark so free, face alight with unbridled joy, unburdened by dead wives and innies and outies and Lumon and Helena herself. 

The guilt returns stronger than it’s ever been, practically choking her. This is wrong. What she’s done is wrong. The realization hits her like a ton of bricks, bringing tears to her eyes. One drop falls onto the picture, obscuring Gemma’s face. She wipes the glass with her sleeve quickly and shoves it back into the drawer, shutting it swiftly and possibly too loudly. 

Helena flees his home, practically running to her car with blood rushing between her ears. Her vision is blurred by sobs she can barely hold back as she’s driven home, at once thankful for her self-driving car and cursing the company name it bears and all the pain they have caused in the name of a ‘greater good’.

The tears don’t stop even as she returns to her too big, too empty home, paid for with money she doesn’t deserve - not if it was built on the backs of people unlucky enough to meet an early end and the crushing grief left behind them. She couldn’t pretend for one more second that the prose of her ancestor were more important than the wrongs she witnessed and ignored and rationalized for so long. But what could she possibly do about it now?

Maybe she can help the innies live better lives. Real perks that provide some fulfillment - a courtyard that is actually outside, genuine entertainment, shops, imitation communities. But no, none of it would work. She has listened to too many of Dylan and Irving’s conversations about the futility of perks and their pressing curiosity about their lives. They would always, at best, be supervised children playing house. 

She doesn’t know what to do. She has to do something. She owes too much. She knows too much. But her head is filled with Lumon propaganda and after so long being ignorant and her own action’s tonight, she can no longer trust her judgement. 

But maybe she can trust someone else’s. 

She grabs a remote from a drawer in her office and sets up her phone to record, sitting in front of it as tears continue to stream down her face.

“I was wrong,” she starts. “I think you’re more of a person than I ever was.” She takes a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Helly.”

“Help them.” 

Chapter Text

When Helly comes to, she isn’t in the elevator. Immediately she panics, hands clenching into fists and head whipping around wildly to take in her surroundings. First she notices that this isn’t the same room as last time. There are still windows lining the wall, only the darkness of night visible on the other side with no sign of the roadways or distant hills she had seen before. The room is still modern, but much more lived in. There are stacks of paperwork on a desk next to an open laptop, books in the bookshelf, a plush white rug on the floor beneath her feet. 

That’s when she realizes her legs aren’t bound this time. Neither are her arms. She sits up from the chair and two black rectangles fall from her lap to the floor with a thud. Helly picks them up, the screen on the larger one flaring to life and making her squint. A phone. It recognizes her face and the screen unlocks automatically, revealing a play button. Helly cautiously taps it. 

The video starts, Helena coming into the frame and sitting in the same chair Helly sat in just a moment ago. There are tears streaming down her cheeks and a deep frown on her face. Helly brings her fingers to her face, able to feel the tacky residue of the same tears still there. 

“I was wrong,” Helena starts. “I think you’re more of a person than I ever was.” She takes a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Helly.”

“Help them,” she pleads. “I can’t do it. I can’t trust my judgement. I’m not good enough, but I think you are. You have always been strong and you have always knows that Lumon was bullshit. And, being me, you’re very smart,” Helena cracks a wry smile despite her tears, but it fades quickly.

“You’re in my home. Our home, I suppose. You should have everything you need here. Everything I have to give you.” 

The Helena on the small screen pauses, looking around her and fidgeting with something small in her hands. “I guess that’s it. Time to hand over the reigns… Just one piece of advice, Helly. Stay away from our Father. For your own sake. Good luck.”

The video ends, leaving Helly to gape down at in in shock and confusion. She looks back up at her surroundings, at the office that must be hers. She places the phone and the other, smaller rectangle with all the buttons on the desk. 

Slowly, reality dawns on her. If what Helena said is true then Helly is free. She can barely believe it. What she’s demanded since the very first day of her existence has finally been delivered. It sends a rush of excitement and anxiety through her and even those are overshadowed by the triumph of winning. 

But this freedom wasn’t simply granted to her out of the goodness of Helena’s heart. No, something was seriously wrong and Helena wanted Helly to fix it for her. At first it pisses her off that Helena expects Helly to take on the entirety of this mess. Helly never asked to exist or become a Lumon corporate slave or share her body with a bitchy heiress. But she remembers Helena’s words about Helly being better and is surprised how good it feels to have her right to exist validated by herself. Finally. 

Helly doesn’t know where to start, her mind racing. She could think of hundreds of things wrong with Lumon and the hell that had made up the bulk of her existence. Where to even start?

She needs help. She does not have enough context of the outside world to navigate this alone. And unlike her first days at Lumon, Helly has woken up entirely alone. There is no one here to provide instructions or answer her questions. She has to be smart about this - and she is smart. Anyone who Helena was close to wouldn’t be helpful here, their loyalties surely still lying with Lumon. The problem is that Helly only really knows four other people in the entire world. But out here they won’t know her. 

Helly leaves the office, walking carefully into a long hallway with doorways on one side and a railing on the other. When she peers over the railing, she can see a large room with a gigantic couch and television. It’s decorated in the same soft, modern minimalism as the office was. She creeps her way down the hallway, peering cautiously into rooms as she passed by. Being in such a new environment borderlines on sensory overload and she fights to stay calm as she explores. 

There is a light already on in the room at the very end of the hall nearest the stairs. She peaks through the gap in the door, making sure the room is empty before she enters. It must be her room because it looks much more lived in than the previous two bedrooms she came across. It’s predominantly white and modern like the rest of the home, but the bedding is crumpled and a dress lays on top of the vanity as if it’s been flung there. She even spots the heels she wears nearly every day at work next to the closet. 

She goes to the closet, finding more clothes than any one person could possibly need. There seemed to be a section dedicated to Helly’s clothing and she sneers at the boring, constricting clothing in blues and greens and the occasional yellow that Helena dresses her in. Even the black button up and jeans she wears now feel too crisp and tight. Most of the clothing hanging around her seems to follow the trend of corporate hell chic or skew far too fancy. It isn’t until she starts opening drawers that she finds anything that peaks her interest. These fabrics feel way better, soft and plush in her grasp. She decides to change just out of the novelty of getting to choose. She picks out a pair of soft, wide legged pants with an elastic waistband and a loose, chunky sweater. She finds a pair of sneakers, immediately slipping them on with a sigh. Why would that bitch wear such uncomfortable clothing all the time when they could feel like this instead? 

Helly continues exploring her new environment, finding the gigantic marble and stainless steel kitchen. She opens the huge fridge and encounters a larger and more diverse selection of food than she’s ever encountered before with awe. As she sorts through it all she finds a tub of chocolate ice cream and a spoon and digs in. The first spoonful is heavenly - Lumon was wasting their time on melon parties and egg bars, ice cream is where it’s at. 

While she eats, she debates her options. She has to go get help and there are really only three viable options. She lists what she knows about everyone’s outies, which isn’t much. Dylan is a husband with children. Having a family makes him a poor choice - the desire to protect them and avoid any problems could override any need he felt to help Helly. Irving is an insomniac painter who might already be suspicious of Lumon. That could be a good option, unless it turns out he’s a crazy conspiracist instead of a trustworthy revolutionary. She knew innie Irving’s tendency to mythologize and fall into cult like behavior and though he had overcome that in many ways it still worried her that his outie might share those inclinations. 

Then there was Mark. But this wasn’t her Mark, and that made her hesitate. She knew that Mark’s outie knew some of what was going on because his innie was able to make contact with his sister. He probably knew about Ms. Casey and that the innies weren’t happy down there. But he almost certainly didn’t know about Helly and she had no idea what he had done with any of the information he did have. All she knew is that everyday, without fail, he returned to Lumon. It was still risky, but maybe the least risky option. Odds were best that he would be helpful. And damn it all but she was curious about him. What would he be like? Would she recognize him? Would he recognize her, somehow in someway? 

Helly finds car keys next to the front door under a note in her own handwriting. It just says Mark with an address. It seems Helena had already gone through the same train of thought on her own.

Helly rushes outside quickly - briefly returning to hunt down a heavy coat when she’s hit in the face with a wall of freezing night air - and hops in the car. It’s very futuristic in design and unlike anything else she’s ever encountered, with a touch screen that briefly throws Helly for a loop. She successfully managed to enter Mark’s address and lets the GPS lead her to him. 

Being outside is terrifying. The world is huge, bigger than any room she’s ever inhabited, and overwhelming even in the dark. She wishes she could focus on the excitement - this is what she’s wanted since the very first day of her existence. But with an evil corporation breathing down her neck and a cryptic mission from her evil outie, it’s difficult to embrace the thrill of freedom. 

When she finally pulls up outside his house she hesitates, the apprehension overpowering the eager curiosity. What if he refuses to help? What if he’s different? What if he was never really on their side at all? Besides, she’s now noticing that it’s three in the morning, he might just be mad that she woke him up. 

But Helly knows deep down that Mark is a good person in a way she isn’t. In a way that must transcend severance. If anyone will help her, it’s him. So she exits the car with a deep breath and builds up the confidence to knock on his front door. It’s too soft at first, so she does it again louder and waits. The anxiety creeps in as the seconds tick by and she knocks again, more frantically this time. A light turns on in the upstairs window and she gasps. She can hear footsteps coming downstairs and double checks the number on the house as she waits in suspense. The door opens. 

Mark blinks at her, confused and squinting through sleepy eyes. He’s wearing a t-shirt and long flannel pajama pants. His hair flops over his forehead. The five o’clock shadow he occasionally sports has grown into scruff. She’s never seen him like this and it takes her breath away. 

“Helly?”

Now she may never breathe again. “You remember me?” She practically whispers, eyes widening and hope soaring inside her. Maybe his outie woke himself up, too, maybe-

“Well, yeah, I wasn’t that drunk.”

What? 

She freezes, “What?”

Mark blinks at her, “Um, is there a reason you’re here? Did you leave something yesterday?”

“I was here?”

“Uh, yeah. Are you okay?”

Helly’s mouth is open but she says nothing as she attempts to process this information. Helena must have been here at Mark’s outie’s house outside of work hours. 

“What did we do? When I was here?”

Mark’s eyebrows furrow but he blushes slightly and Helly knows immediately what they did. It leaves her feeling strangely cold. 

“Oh,” is all she says.

“Seriously, are you okay?”

Helly hesitates as she meets his eyes. They’re concerned, more alert than before though still tired, only not in a way that speaks of sleepiness but of a heavy, ever present weight. Still, they are genuine in a way that is undeniably Mark. She once thought he was good at pretending to care about people, but even out here he doesn’t pretend. He just cares.

When she doesn’t answer quickly enough he continues, “If this is about what we did the other night, I-I’m sorry I guess but I thought we were both on the same page. You did sneak out in the middle of the night.” 

Helly shakes her head, “No, it’s not that.” Learning what Helena has done is a shock - one she’s experiencing conflicting emotions about - but not the reason she’s here. “That’s not how I know you.” 

Mark blinks at her, taking her in with some suspicion now. 

“Can I come in? It’s freezing out here,” she continues before he can come up with a reply, risking a small smile at him. 

He steps aside and ushers her into his home. A dim table lamp illuminates the entryway and Helly looks around greedily at the new environment that is Mark’s home. This is the space he occupies every night when they’re apart, the space he gets to control and exist freely in. And it’s… Kind of sad. Dim and messy. Empty despite clearly being lived in. Yet still it feels warmer than Helena Eagan’s expensive, pristine home. 

“Do you want to sit down?” He asks, gesturing to the couch and very kindly not acknowledging her rude staring. 

Helly nods and sits. Mark joins her, a respectable distance away. It strikes her suddenly that the two of them have never been alone like this before. At least, not while she’s herself.  

“Do I know you from work?” Mark breaks the silence. 

Her head whips to him. “That was a good guess.”

He shrugs, “Kind of the only thing that makes sense given the circumstances. Besides, it’s not the first time this has happened to me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, uh, there was this guy. Petey.”

“You met Petey?” Helly leans forward, excited by this information. Maybe he can help them. 

Mark nods, “Did you know him?”

She shakes her head, “No, he was before me. I took his job, actually. But you guys talk about him all the time, I can’t believe he found you! How did he find you?”

“He, uh, reintegrated.”

Helly’s breath catches. Reintegrated? “As in his innie and his outie-“

“Merged. Yeah.”

Helly didn’t even know that was possible. Did Helena know? If she did, then why wake Helly up instead of just putting them back together again? Not that she enjoyed the idea of permanently sharing a head and body with the woman who tormented her. 

“So he could help us?” Helly asks. 

Mark winces and Helly’s face falls. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Marks nods, though he seems sorry to do so. “I don’t know if Lumon got him or if it was the reintegration itself, but...”.               

That’s a scary thought, that even if she or any of her friends wanted to reintegrate, the stress on their minds would kill them. If her own outie’s family and company didn’t kill them first.  

“If you aren’t reintegrated, how are you here?” 

“My outie turned over the keys.”

He raises his eyebrows, “We can do that?”

Helly shrugs, “She has a bit more…. Leverage.”

Mark shakes his head, waiting for more explanation.

Helly looks down at her lap, pursing her lips and bracing herself. She’s wanted to tell him for ages now who she really was, for weeks at least - it was more difficult to track time now that it was split with Helena. For the first time she has the ability to be honest without imposing an immediate risk. Yet still she’s scared of how he’ll react, if he’ll trust her, if he’ll feel betrayed. Even though he isn’t her Mark, he should feel betrayed. She’s been tricking him intimately, apparently even here in the outside world. 

“Her name is Helena Eagan.” She confesses quietly, eyes flickering back to his, weighing his reaction.

She sees the instant the pieces come together. His eyes widen and he shifts, making the same face he always does when puzzling something out. “As in the Eagan family.”

“As in the heir.”

“Holy shit.”

Helly finds herself barking a short, humorless laugh, “Yeah, that was my reaction, too.”

Mark studies her with furrowed brows, “So then… Why…?” He struggles to settle on one questions to ask. Helly doesn’t blame him. Even she has a hard time understanding. 

“I don’t know. Some sort of sick PR stunt, I think. I don’t know what’s changed, but I woke up in her house tonight with a tape of her telling me to ‘help them’, which I think means us. But I can’t do that on my own,” she thinks her voice might be verging on desperate, the overwhelming nature of her situation settling anxiously on her shoulders. “I don’t even know anyone. I can’t trust anyone in Helena’s life. But I know you down there, and I have always been able to trust you.” 

Mark doesn’t answer, rubbing an exhausted hand down his face. Eventually he nods and she breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” she breathes sincerely.

“So… What do you need?”

Helly blinks at him. She doesn’t even know where to start. The relief has tempered the adrenaline that carried her here and her brain doesn’t want to cooperate with her regarding the jumble of issues that need to be tackled regarding the great evil that is Lumon and the hell that is her life. Her eyes flicker to Mark’s kitchen. 

“Do you have any food?”

He wasn’t expecting that. “Um, maybe?” He gets up and she follows.

“Maybe? This is a house. Don’t houses have food?”

“Typically,” he says as he opens his fridge. 

Helly peers around him, still endlessly curious about all the newness. His fridge is nearly empty except for a few eggs, some pre-sliced cheese, and a six pack of beer. It’s a sharp contrast to Helena Eagen’s overflowing pantry. Mark mumbles and cracks open the freezer instead. There’s a bit more in here, a couple of frozen meals and a bright box Helly immediately zeroes in on. 

“Are those popsicles?”

“Yeah. I think my sister brought them over last time I was sick. Do you want me to warm you up one of the-“

“I’ve never had a popsicle before.”

Mark blinks at the strange excitement he can hear in her voice, “Do you want-“

“Yes,” she reaches to take the box, immediately pulling out an orange one and ripping it open. She doesn’t hesitate before sucking it into her mouth and practically moaning at the flavor - sweet and cold and a little sour. Like the melons at work, except way better. 

When she’s done savoring her first taste she realizes Mark is staring at her. She realizes how suggestive this might be and remembers suddenly that this Mark has slept with her, too, even if she can’t remember it. She wonders if they did the act this imitates together or if she’s projecting her own hopes onto his gaze. Maybe he just thinks she’s weird for reacting this way to a stupid popsicle.  

“Is that all you want?” Mark asks, eyes flickering down to her lips around the ice pop. 

Helly gulps and nods, handing the box back to him wordlessly. She turns to sit at his kitchen table, watching him. He turns to a cabinet and pulls out a glass and a bottle of liquor. She watches him pour himself a shallow glass thoughtfully. She doesn’t particularly blame him for needing a drink right now - this whole situation is a lot. But she also remembers the sight of the fridge, nearly bare except for a six pack, the way his hands tremble all day at work, the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue first thing in the mornings. 

“I’ve never seen you in anything besides a suit before,” she says instead of acknowledging the drink. 

“Forgive me for not being dressed for visitors at four in the morning,” he says with a familiar if particularly dry sarcasm.

She smiles apologetically, “Sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night. You’ll be tired at work tomorrow.” Helly regrets saying it immediately. She does not want to think about work tomorrow or how that is going to work. If she can even go back. If she should. 

“It’s Saturday. Well, Sunday actually.”

“Oh,” she’s relieved. That was good forethought on Helena’s part. “That’s good.” 

Mark nods. He glances down at his glass and back to Helly, “You ever had whiskey before?”

Helly shakes her head. 

“You want some?”

She thinks for a moment before nodding. All these new things and experiences are still exciting. She doesn’t approve of this drinking thing he’s doing, but eating new things has been the best part of existing out here so far. Maybe drinking would be the same. Maybe Mark was actually onto something.

He pours a second glass and places it in front of her, sitting across from her. Helly sniffs the liquid before taking a gulp and sputtering. 

“Oh my god that’s disgusting,” she complains as Mark chuckles. She takes a big bite of the popsicle to cleanse her palate and winds up with a persistent ache in her head. “Agh!” She groans, pressing a hand to her forehead, “Ugh.”

“Brain freeze,” she hears Mark inform her too jovially.

“Shut up,” she admonishes as the headache fades away, “That was horrible. Are you trying to kill me?” 

“There would be a lot more efficient ways to kill you.”

“I’m not so easily killed. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Helly smiles as she says it, but when she reopens her eyes Mark looks worried again. “Sorry. Inside joke.” 

He doesn’t look convinced. “Are you serious?”

Helly sighs, “It’s a long story.”

Mark is quiet, waiting for her to go on.

“…I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

He nods, “Okay.”

Helly finishes her popsicle and Mark his drink. Helly takes another slow sip of her own drink, managing a slightly more dignified grimace before yawning. 

“Do you want to crash here?”

“I guess so.” Helly fiddles with the wooden stick remaining in her hands. “I’ve never slept before.”

“Give it a shot. The couch is pretty comfortable.” 

The couch. Of course. Helly turns to examine it. It was comfortable to sit on, more comfortable than anything at the office. It wasn’t a bed, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, even if they had shared a bed before and been far more intimate than merely sleeping entails, it wasn’t as themselves. For all intents and purposes, the Mark and Helly sitting at this table are strangers. 

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out. You’d be surprised how far muscle memory will get you.” 

Mark gives her a smile that just manages to be reassuring despite the lingering sadness that seems to color every move he takes. 

He gingerly takes her popsicle stick and unfinished glass of whiskey. Helly turns and retreats to the living room, catching a glimpse of him downing the remnants of the liquor before dropping the glasses in the sink. Her heart squeezes painfully. Mark had told them about the way his wife’s death affected his outtie. It had been easier to put aside when her Mark was in front of her. Facing this Mark made it impossible to ignore the crushing grief emanating from him. She wanted to comfort him somehow, the way she would if they were in the office by squeezing his hand or wrapping him in her arms.

He offers her a warm blanket which Helly takes with thanks, standing stiffly in front of him. It suddenly feels especially awkward, which is saying something for all the tension she’s experienced tonight. 

Mark heaves a sigh, “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” He offers a smile now, warm in a familiar way though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Figure… Something out.”

Helly nods and smiles shakily back, “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Mark hesitates a moment longer, “Alright.” He turns to leave.

“Goodnight, Mark,” she tells him, stretching this out just a few seconds longer.

He freezes momentarily, looking back at her. “Goodnight, Helly.” And then he’s gone.

Falling asleep is hard. Helly isn’t sure if that’s always true for her or if it’s the state of her entire reality shifting underneath her that’s causing it. It is too surreal, being here on the outside on Mark’s outie’s couch as he sleeps upstairs. She’s never been so free. She’s also never been so alone. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and overwhelming and thankfully also exhausting enough that she eventually drifts asleep thinking about it all.

And she dreams. 

When she comes to with a gasp there are still blurry flashes of them in her mind, quickly fading. The familiar walls of Lumon. Mark, flashing between the version she knows and this new stranger. A voice like the one from the break room, clearer this time, still rings in her ears.

“Whoa, you okay?”

She turns and there’s Mark, standing in the entrance to the kitchen. The new one, looking much the same as he did last night. Helly takes a deep breath and nods, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes. The space is bright now with sunlight. Real, actual sunlight. She can hear birds chirping, a car passes the house, one of the neighbors must have wind chimes. It’s amazing. 

“Sorry,” Helly replies, distracted and still catching her breath. “I’m fine. Just not used to dreaming.” She gives her head a little shake and goes to one of the windows, suddenly needing to get a glimpse of the real world in broad daylight. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen. The snow shimmers and the trees sway in the wind. The sky is blue with drifting clouds and the sunlight is warm, even through the window. A squirrel scurries across the telephone wires and a bird passes quickly overhead. It’s beautiful.

“Um, good morning.” Mark adds from behind her. 

“Good morning,” she replies automatically, turning to face him again. The sight of him in front of her, ruffled with sleep in his robe, reminds her where she is and suddenly she is very awake.

“Do you want a coffee?” He says, gesturing with his own.

“Not really,” Helly says as she join him in the kitchen. She opens his freezer and steal another popsicle, leaning against the counter and ripping it open.

“Is that all you’re gonna eat?”

She shrugs, “They’re good. You can’t judge me. I see the flask in your pocket.”

Mark directs a wry smile to his feet but has the sense to look somewhat shamed. He brushes the comment off, “Why popsicles?”

“We don’t have frozen stuff down there. Or sugar. And its really good. I ate a whole pint of ice cream before coming here yesterday.”

Mark eyes her warily, “You need to eat something besides frozen dessert at some point.”

She makes a face, “Maybe. Or maybe I shouldn’t and just get really fat. It’d serve her right.

Mark raises his eyebrows, “Isn’t she helping you?”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Old habits. 

“Does everyone hate their outie this way?” 

Helly shakes her head, “I’m a unique case. The other guys are mostly curious. But none of us are supposed to think about it.”

Mark nods and she lets him digest that, thinking quietly to himself as she devours her popsicle. She finishes it and reaches for a second. 

“Okay, no more.” He grabs the treat and box from her, quickly stashing them away despite her protests. He pulls out the last of his eggs, “We’re having real breakfast.”

“But my popsicle!”

“They’ll be there later.”

“I can make my own decisions, you know.” She insists, voice hard, “I am not a child. We are not fucking children.” 

“…I know that,” he answers her cautiously. “I’m sorry.” He adds with a sigh, “I’m just trying to help.”

Helly softens. “I know.” She cracks a small wry smile, “It’s just, eggs are kind of the one thing Lumon does really well. Not sure you can measure up to the highly coveted egg bar.”

Mark’s outie, thankfully, is just as willing to banter with her as his counterpart. He returns her amused smile as he gets to work cracking eggs. “What the hell is an egg bar?”

“It’s a perk. A highly coveted one, as Dylan likes to say. Usually that doesn’t mean much because he says it about the finger traps, too, but the eggs are actually pretty good.”

“Perks, huh?”

“Yeah, get them for being good little worker bees and reaching quota milestones,” she says with exaggerated, sickeningly sweet cheer in her voice. 

“Like a pizza party at school.”

“Hmm, never had a pizza party. There is a waffle party, though. Very exclusive.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’m not.” 

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” 

“Oh yeah. We might be imprisoned against our will but at least we get silly caricatures drawn of us and music dance experiences.”

Mark is silent at that and the smile falls from Helly’s face.

“Imprisoned is a strong word, isn’t it?” He says, keeping his eyes on the pan in front of him. 

Helly’s ears ring for a moment, stunned to hear him contradict what is an irrefutable fact. “It’s what we are.”

“We choose every day to go back there-“

“We don’t choose anything,” she cuts him off, voice low and angry, “You choose. But we can’t leave of our own free will. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. I left four times my first day and she turned around and stuffed me right back in. I submitted resignation requests. I hung myself.”

Mark turns to her, startled. She looks back at him with cold eyes. He should know exactly what it’s like for them down there. If Helly’s Mark had to find her in that elevator, this Mark should have to live with the knowledge, too. It’s not fair for him to stand there and act as if there is any gray to be found in her situation all to appease his own guilt for choosing to become severed. 

He looks back at the pan of scrambled eggs, looking adequately shamed. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“Will you accept a plate of apology eggs as penance?”

Helly smirks, tying not to let that amuse her but failing. She nods.

He gestures her towards the same small table they sat at last night while reaching for the cupboards. Helly sits and he slides a plate of eggs in front of her. Her stomach growls at the sight and she digs in. They’re good eggs. Not Lumon egg bar good, but they do the trick.

“Would you tell me about working there? I asked Petey, but he was pretty confused at the time-”

“When you first get there, you wake up lying on a table.”

Mark looks like he’s trying to figure out if she’s joking, lips unable to decide if he should smile or frown. “Really?”

She nods, swallowing a bit of egg. “Yep. And then an intercom starts grilling you about who you are, where you’re from, what the color of your mother’s eyes were.” She frowns, “Trying to make sure nothing bled through the procedure.” She twiddles with her fork, glancing up at him, “You asked me those questions. First, voice I ever heard.”

Mark frowns. “Sorry about that.”

Helly smirks, remembering that first encounter. “I was so scared. I thought you kidnapped me, or that I’d been grown for food, or worse. I threw the intercom at you.”

Mark’s brow furrows and he reaches up to touch his forehead. Helly sits up straighter. “You remember that?”

He shakes his head, “No, but you hit me in the forehead, right? I had that stupid blue bandaid.”

Helly nods, “Yeah, that was me. Kind of hated you at first.”

“Good aim. I got a free gift card to Pip’s Bar and Grill for that one.”

“You’re welcome.”

They eat quietly for a moment, before he prompts her to continue, “What happens after the table?”

“Then you get to work,” she shrugs. “Do what you’re told, or else. That’s what it’s like down there. And eventually you start to buy it, become complacent. Irving practically worshipped Kier when I first started. Dylan was obsessed with the stupid perks. And you were just thrilled to be a good employee, going on about how the work is mysterious and important,” she does her imitation of him, smiling fondly to herself. 

“Is it? Mysterious and important? What do we even do?”

“We sort scary numbers.”

“…What?”

“Yeah. You look at the numbers and some of them make you feel things and you move them around. That’s literally all we know about it. Everyone has their theories, but no one knows for sure. It could be anything. All I know is that the numbers are scary - which I know sounds fucking crazy but they are - and we refine them. So the work is mysterious, I guess but it’s not important. It’s just something we do because we have to. The only thing we actually have down there is each other, and that can be taken at any time. Without warning. And you’ll never know why they’re gone or where they went. They’re basically dead. Mark doesn’t even know about Petey,” she grips her fork tightly, “I’ll have to tell him.”

“I’m sorry, Helly.”

Helly sighs, unable to summon her earlier anger toward Mark’s outie, “It’s not your fault, really. It’s probably my outie’s.” 

“I don’t know. You don’t seem so bad.”

“You don’t know me, Mark.”

“Well, I kind of do.” 

She shakes her head, “She’s not me.”

“We’ll, she didn’t seem so bad, either.” Mark purses his lips, “Why do you think she came and found me?”

“I don’t know. Ever since overtime, when we woke ourselves up out here, she’s been stealing time from me. Going into the office pretending to be me. I’m not sure if she’s spying or trying to keep us in line or both. Or worse. But apparently she’s given up.”

Mark nods, “Um, why do you think that she, uh, slept with me then?”

Helly sighs. She could lie now and say she didn’t know, that it doesn’t make sense. But she’s sick and tired of lying to Mark, any version of him. “It probably wasn’t the first time… Definitely not the first time.” 

“Oh?” He takes that in, sitting up a little straighter. “So down there, we...”

Helly nods. 

“After my innie woke up outside the office, Mr. Milchick came by. Tried to convince me to stay. He said that I was happy down there. That I found love.” He runs a hand through his hair, “So that’s true?”

“Yeah.” Helly picks at her thumb, “How do you feel about that?”

“Which part? Having a girlfriend I didn’t know about or her secretly hunting me down to have her way with me?”

His dry sarcasm is familiar but it still stings, a mixture of shame and guilt and righteous anger rushing through her. “I’m sorry about what she did, but I can’t apologize for clinging to some sort of happiness down there. I have a right to that and so does he.”

“No, I get it. Trust me.” He stares down intently at his coffee mug. She wonders if it’s spiked. “I was married. She died.”

“I know.”

“He said, actually, my innie when he was up here that um. She’s alive.” 

Helly nods. “Ms. Casey.”

His head snaps up, eyes finding hers, “Is that what they call her?”

“Is it not her name?”

He shakes his head. “No its… it’s Gemma. So you know her? You’ve seen her?” Mark seems more alert than he has since she showed up on his doorstep, a look in his eyes that she recognizes. Love. If there was any doubt in her mind who was haunting him out here, it is swiftly put to rest. 

Helly nods. “Yes. But it’s been a long time. She was let go or something. We don’t really know. But we have been looking for her, I promise. All of us.”

Mark looks slightly crestfallen but he nods, “So he still cares.”

“Mark, you couldn’t stop caring about people if you tried. Of course you still care, even if you can’t remember her. It’s just what you do,” she can’t help but smile at him. In some ways it is so clear that it is the same Mark in front of her, just one who has been altered by tragedy. “You’re a good guy.” He gives her a small smile and Helly reaches out to cover his hand with hers instinctually, “We’ll find her. If she can be found then we will find her.” He returns her smile, squeezing her hand. 

Helly doesn’t know what that would mean for her place in Mark’s life - has often tried not to examine the possible outcomes of any of this, scared to hope for any one impossible outcome when it was so much more likely that this would all end horribly. But she finds she doesn’t really care. The depression emanating from this Mark is unacceptable to her. She wants to help him, even more so than she did before. It was bigger than Ms. Casey being a fellow innie, now. Clearly she had been loved by Mark’s outie, probably even more than his innie loved her. They deserved to be together if at all possible. Even if it meant Helly didn’t get to keep him. 

Chapter Text

“So,” Mark says, “Where do we start?”

”Great question,” Helly replies, drawing a blank. 

First on the docket is finding Ms. Casey. They’ll both go into the office tomorrow and recommence their search once Helly has caught the innies up. He walks her through the process of entering the building, getting to the severed floor, switching things out at her locker, and heading down in the elevator.

“Helena left me her laptop and her phone. Her house is huge. If we tear it apart we’re bound to find something useful, right?” Helly offers, relieved when he agrees to meet her there after work to go through it. She really doesn’t want to tackle deciphering her outie’s life on her own. 

”I think I still have Petey’s phone, I can try to call Reghabi,” Mark offers, promising that she’s pretty badass and hellbent on ending severance once and for all.

Helly is wary about Reghabi - someone who must have previously been involved closely with Lumon if they’re able to manage reintegrating innies and outies. Besides, she doesn’t want her and her friends to just reintegrate and disappear, folded into their outie’s lives like after thoughts. She wanted to be herself. 

They quickly realize there isn’t much they can plan for without more information. Then Helly’s stomach growls loudly, serving to both embarrass her and get both of their minds off the task ahead. 

“Uh, sorry I have basically no food- I could order some pizza? I know it’s nothing special-“

”Mark, I have literally never even had pizza before. I eat the same five pre-packaged salads on rotation and weird snacks at things called egg parties. Pizza sounds incredible.”

”Oh,” Mark’s visibly flustered and a little disturbed by that, as though he had never pondered the repercussions of a life without pizza before. “Ok. Pizza then.”

Helly eats greedily, wondering why they weren’t allowed to have food this good, as she watches football on his TV. The sport itself is kind of boring, and she doesn’t know the rules, but at least it’s fun to watch the players tackle each other. Cohabitating with Mark’s outie is still kind of awkward. Even despite how clearly he’s still mourning his wife, how obvious it is that he still thinks about her with an almost singular focus, Helly still can’t help but feel that same familiar draw to him. It takes a concerted effort to keep her eyes on the TV when they’d much rather keep drifting to him.

While Mark calls his sister upstairs, Helly snoops around and finds a picture of Mark and Gemma on their wedding day, buried in the bottom of a drawer. It’s jarring, seeing Ms. Casey with so much life in her eyes, and Helly has never seen Mark look so lighthearted either. It tugs at her heart, particularly the knowledge that her own bloodline was responsible for his situation. No matter how much she cared about Mark - or maybe because of how much she cared - Helly knew she would have to step aside if they’re able to get Ms. Casey back. When they’re able to get her back. She would not be selfish. Mark and his wife deserved good things. Helly and Helena did not. After all, she thinks bitterly, no one can atone for her actions but herself.

Still, Helly almost asks if she can stay another night. Having him with her is like having a comfort blanket, even if he isn’t her Mark. But pride and the necessity of being prepared for work stops her. She bids him farewell at his front door, resisting the urge to make contact. It feels wrong not not to at least hug him, but she can’t. He doesn’t belong to her, and she can’t impose herself anymore than she already is. 

Helly returns to Helena’s big empty home. She’s tempted to eat another pint of ice cream, but can’t find one, so she settles for picking at different types of fruits and cheese. There is still an exhilaration to choosing, but the buzz doesn’t last long. She’s exhausted. She needs to sleep. 

She retreats to the room she found the night before, changes out of her work clothes on autopilot, and collapses into bed. Falling asleep isn’t any easier tonight. Even though it’s a real bed and one her body should be accustomed to, it still feels so much stranger than being on Mark’s couch. She trusts Mark. She does not trust Helena. Yet here she is in the heart of the lion’s den. In the dead woman’s bed. Because that’s what Helena was now, right? It sure felt that way, when you were gone. Put on pause and buried in their brain. Ceasing to exist.

Helly still doesn’t understand why Helena would do this. She had been dedicated enough to her family and company, so much so that even attempting to murder them both hadn’t convinced her to stop. She had threatened to torture both Helly and her friends. Everything she knew about Helena pointed to a heartless, conniving, corporate shell of a human being. But, that wasn’t what she saw in that video. In the video, Helena was full of remorse. Ashamed, even. About how she treated the innies? Her role at Lumon? But what happened that could have possibly changed her so radically? Helly can’t figure it out. She was struggling to figure any of this out. The tasks seem insurmountable; find Ms. Casey, take down Lumon, free her friends. Would it have killed her outie to leave some better instructions? Any context at all?

Eventually, she falls into a brief and fitful sleep. She dreams of the subdued Ms. Casey she knew, in contrast with the Gemma in photographs who seemed so vibrant. She can hear Mark out there somewhere, but can’t find him. It sounds like he’s crying. 

— 

Helly is buzzing with nerves by the time she rolls into the Lumon parking lot. It’s strange seeing the place she has spent nearly every moment of her existence in from the outside. The building is ominous; every breath she takes as she enters feels oppressive. She’s careful to follow each step of Mark’s instructions closely, though she does worry that there might be a different entrance protocol for an Eagan. Luckily, that doesn’t seem to be the case, and no one offers her a second glance as she enters the locker room and faces down the elevators. They’re just as scary from up here. Helly takes a deep breath and enters. When the doors close her eyes squeeze shut, scared that she might be triggered back into Helena. But the familiar fading to black and slight ringing in her ears never comes. When the elevator beeps again and she opens her eyes, a familiar painting hangs on the wall in front of her. She steps out cautiously. 

It’s like she never left, yet everything feels different now. She tries not to speed walk to MDR but fails, swinging around the corner into the room as nerves broil uncomfortably in her stomach. There they are, her boys, the same as always. Dylan is sitting dutifully at his desk, Irving at the copier, and Mark is exiting the kitchenette with a coffee in hand. The sight brings a particular comfort, especially after all the newness over the past day. 

Mark sees her first, offering a welcoming smile, lighter now than he seemed when she last saw him only so many hours ago. There is an unmistakable affection in his eyes that has been missing from his outie’s gaze. The warmth that surges through her nearly brings tears to her eyes. She can’t help it: before she has a chance to sit at her desk, or even get out a proper greeting, she’s wrapping Mark in a tight hug. He returns it tightly with one arm, the other holding his mug away from them to prevent any spills. Helly couldn’t care less if he dropped the whole thing. 

“Hey, hey, you alright?”

Helly doesn’t answer. She didn’t plan on starting the day this way. In fact, she had planned on keeping it cool until she could bring them all somewhere more discreet.

“Yeah, what’s up? You have a crazy weekend or something?” Dylan pipes up, trying to de-escalate with a joke.

Helly takes a deep breath and pulls away from Mark, “Yes, actually.”

Dylan starts to laugh, but the look on Helly’s face cuts it short. “Wait, really ?” He whisper shouts.

Helly nods, avoiding their eyes, and sits at her desk. Mark and Irving join, both looking at her in concern. They all lower their dividers and lean in, waiting for her to explain herself. She takes a long look at each of them, knowing that nothing will ever be the same after this. They may very well decide they hate her. She wouldn’t blame them. Nonetheless, she takes the leap. 

“I woke up. Outside.” 

“Seriously?” Dylan asks, “How? Who?”

“My outie did it.” 

They all stare at her, dumbfounded. She isn’t surprised, they know better than anyone exactly how callous her outie is. Exactly what she has put Helly through. And yet they still don’t even know the half of it. She tries to enjoy these last few moments where they trust her implicitly as their friend, before they begin to distrust her because of who she really is. 

“Why would she do that?” Mark asks. 

“I’m not sure, exactly. Didn’t leave great instructions. Change of heart I guess?” She shrugs and chews on her thumb, anxiously. “She left me a tape. Told me to ‘help them’, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Maybe she means us,” Irving chimes in 

Helly shrugs. It sure seemed that way, but she still had a hard time believing there wasn’t an ulterior motive. “I don’t know. I still don’t trust her. She could be up to something.”

“Well, did you learn anything else about her?” Mark asks.

“A whole weekend, surely you must have.” Irving adds. 

“It wasn’t a whole weekend. Just yesterday, really,” she deflects. 

“Still! C’mon, don’t hold back. We won’t judge you if your outies’s a total loser,” Dylan chides.

If only it was that. Helly can’t meet their eyes, heart pounding. “My name isn’t Helly R. It’s Helena…. Eagan,” she just manages to choke the word out.

A hush falls upon them. For a long moment it’s as though the entire office freezes. And then it explodes. 

“What the fuck?” Dylan exclaims in shock. 

“Eagan? Sweet Kier,” Irving seems aghast, but there is a hint of that look he used to get whenever he would wax poetic about Kier and the Eagans and Lumon’s legacy. Something like reverence.

“No seriously, what the fuck!” Dylan repeats, more intently. 

Helly risks a glance at a still quiet Mark. He’s looking at her in pure bewilderment, eyes wide with shock, clearly trying and failing to digest the information.

“No shit she wouldn’t let you resign,” Dylan continues before she can say anything, his mind moving a mile a minute as always, “She’s literally the boss.”

“You must have access to all sorts of information. Helly,” Irving adds thoughtfully, growing excited. “This is huge.”

“I guess,” Helly concedes. She hasn’t learned much yet. She feels silly now for running straight to Mark’s outie instead of searching Helena’s home herself. But it will be better to tackle that beast with him instead of on her own.

“What did you do?” Dylan asks. “Were you in your boring apartment?”

Helly furrows her brow, “Boring apartment?”

“Yeah, you said it was boring when we got back from OTC.” 

One of Helena’s lies, then. Her cheeks burn. The urge to cover with another lie is strong. She doesn’t want to admit to any of this. To what her outie has been doing to them all this time. How Helly allowed it. 

“I didn’t say that,” she tells them. 

They look at her blankly. 

“It wasn’t me,” she insists. “Helena, she’s been… Pretending to be me.”

Dylan and Irving look at eachother, then back at Helly. She spares a brief glance at Mark. He looks devastated. Betrayed. She looks away quickly, a sharp pang resonating through her chest. She’s glad when Dylan and Irving continue.

“We knew it. You have been acting weird as shit, dude,” Dylan starts. 

Irving nods sagely, “Though, neither of us guessed correctly. I thought you were merely disappointed by our lack of progress.”

“I thought you were pregnant.”

“Dylan!” Mark interjects as Helly drops her head in her hands with a mortified groan. 

“Well,” Irving intercedes before things can get out of hand, “If you didn’t learn anything about Helena, what did you do?”

“I ate pizza.” Helly lifts her head out of her hands. “And ice cream.” 

“That does sound awesome,” Dylan admits.

“I also saw Mark,” she adds quickly. 

“How?” This Mark asks her, leaning forward. 

She struggles to meet his eye. “Helena had his address.” 

“She probably has all our addresses,” Irving muses helpfully. Helly shrugs and doesn’t correct him.

“What’s Mark’s outie like?” Dylan asks curiously.

“He’s…” Helly thinks of Mark’s obvious grief. The drinking. How only the shadow of their Mark manages to shine through. “Nice,” she says instead, “He said he’ll help. He knows someone who can help. She used to work for Lumon and she does this thing called reintegration where she puts you and your outie back together.”

“That’s impossible,” Irving scoffs.

“It’s not. Mark saw it himself with Petey.”

“Petey reintegrated? He’s out there?” Mark perks back up and Helly’s mood sinks further.

“He did. He found you out there, but there were complications…” she watches the realization set in, her own brows drawn in concern, “He didn’t make it.”  

Mark is quiet. Dylan and Irving are, too, as they consider that. Helly partially knows what they’re thinking - that if reintegration could kill both versions of them for good, it might not be worth it. But Petey was also their friend for years. He was the one who gave Mark his orientation. If Helly’s experience taught her anything, the person who ushered you into the world in Lumon that way - who helped you find balance on your own two legs like a newborn calf - always held a special place in your heart.

“I’m sorry,” she continues. “But we might not have to do that. Maybe she can help us some other way. We’re going to make contact with her, see what she knows, and go through Helena’s house too.I’ll let you know what we find. But in here, we have to find Ms. Casey.”

“We tried,” Dylan reminds her, “The flyers, remember? No leads. She probably isn’t here anymore.”  

“Well then we'll try again!” Helly insists, “We keep trying. We can’t just abandon her… she’s one of us. There has to be something we missed. And-” 

She almost tells them about Gemma, just then; about how clear it is that Mark’s outie needs his wife back desperately, what being without her has done to him, how the slim hope of finding her again is probably the only reason he’s agreed to help them in the first place. But she stops herself short just in time. “We just need to find her, okay? And then we can take down Lumon and get ourselves the fuck out of this place.”

“Just like that, huh,” Dylan quips sarcastically, as if Helly isn’t fully aware that it’s a tall order. 

“Yes,” she grits out, “Just like that.”

“In that case,” Irving says, taking out his sketchbook, “There’s something I should probably let you all know about.” 

He shows them his sketch of a door down a long, dark hallway, and explains how he had seen his outie obsessively painting it over and over again. Felicia from O&D called it the Exports Hall. Thanks to Irving, they at least have a lead to go off of. It’s decided that he’ll go with Dylan to investigate further, see if they can at least nail down its location for their map. Helly makes them promise to find the hallway only, not to go down there. They have no idea what Lumon is doing to people here and if Irving and Dylan get themselves disappeared, too, it will all have been for nothing. Mark and Helly agree to watch out for them, cover in case anyone comes by and go looking for them if they aren’t back by three.                          

Awkwardness settles over them once they’re alone. It’s been a long time since Helly has felt so uncomfortable around Mark, and that was a very different type of uncomfortable from the cloying shame and anxious fear that’s settled over her now. It’s obvious that he’s just as uneasy as she is, and that he isn’t getting any real work done either. He just sits there, eyes drilling holes into his screen of numbers with furrowed brows and tense shoulders. She needs to know what he’s thinking about all this. Helly keeps opening her mouth only to shut it again, second guessing every question that comes to her mind. Are you mad at me? Do you hate me? Do you still trust me?  

Mark stands up suddenly, and she startles, watching him. He clears his throat as he excuses himself, stalking quickly into the hallway. Helly only hesitates for a moment before she’s on her feet and following him. She sees him disappear into the bathroom and doesn’t bother to knock before entering herself.

“Mark-“

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” He bursts out, “Weeks, Helly! And she has been- We have been…” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“Helena would have snuffed me out ages ago if I did, and then she would have tortured all of you for it,” she tries to explain. “But I wanted to tell you, I swear.”

“Oh, great, you wanted to,” Mark replies bitterly, sarcastically, and it settles in Helly’s stomach like poison.

She bristles, spitting back, “Well, it’s not like you even noticed.”

“Excuse me?”

“You went along with it, too! Kissing her, telling her that you love her!” Helly didn’t realize how angry she still was about those stolen moments, how much hurt she carried that Mark hadn’t been able to tell when she wasn’t herself. “Even Dylan and Irving realized that something was off!”

“That’s not fair,” Mark retorts, stricken, “You were quieter sometimes, but you were still you.”

“Except that I literally wasn’t.”

“But you were! She is you, Helly.”

Helly scowls and approaches him quickly, getting in his face and barely resisting the urge to push him as hard as she can, “Take it back.”

“No!” He stands his ground, not letting her intimidate him the way she once could, “That’s what’s making this so confusing. Every moment we’ve been together has been good - amazing, actually - apparently whether you were you or her.”

Helly turns her head, not wanting to hear him praise Helena, but he takes her face between his hands and refuses to let her drop his gaze. He’s still on edge, eyebrows drawn as he tries to convince her,  “That couldn’t have all been fake. I can’t believe that.”

“She’s a good liar, then.”

“But she’s helping you now, right? She told you to help us.”

Helly doesn’t answer. She still doesn’t know if the situation Helena has placed her in can really count as helping. 

“So maybe,” Mark continues, voice softening, “Maybe she’s not as evil as we thought.” He sounds subtly hopeful. It reminds Helly of Stockholm Syndrome. Or maybe just denial. Or maybe he’s right, a voice whispers in her head. 

“Then why are you mad at me?”

“I’m just… Frustrated,” he sighs, “I wish I knew. I should have figured it out. I should have helped you.” 

“I didn’t really want you to figure it out,” she admits quietly, taking one of his lapels and clutching it in her hand, “She could’ve hurt you.”

Mark purses his lips, thumb stroking her cheekbone. If he disagreed, he was biting his tongue about it. “What was it like with my outie?”

“You’re not so different,” she says, “You’re still Mark.”

“Did he like you?”

Helly’s heart twists in her chest. “I guess. He’s really- He’s not ready for something like that.”

Mark frowns, “Yeah, I figured. Devon made it pretty clear that he isn’t doing well.”

She doesn’t have a good answer for him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. I had you in my home with access to a real bed and I didn’t even do anything about it,” he jokes.

“It isn’t like that out there,” Helly says, though she can’t help smiling at the thought. She’d had similar ones, sleeping on the couch a floor below him. “You really love her.”

Mark shakes his head, bringing their foreheads together, “I love you.”

The words break her heart. She knows they’re true, or that he at least thinks they are. “It’s not the same.”

“I don’t care,” he insists, “I love you.”

She bites her lips, “Even though I’m an Eagan.”

“I’ll admit that part is a little weird,” he huffs a laugh that she can’t help but return, because all of this is weird. “But yes. I do.”

She thinks that will change. The more they discover about Helena and about what her company has been up to, about Ms. Casey and Gemma, the more she will lose him. It’s just a matter of time now, surely. But she can still enjoy this in the meantime, before it’s lost to her, can’t she? 

Helly leans up on her toes to press a kiss against his lips. It is soft, tentative, but Mark quickly turns it into something intense and desperate. He turns them until she’s pinned against the counter, his hands roaming down her sides and up her back. She savors his attention, how right it feels to be with him this way. She had missed it yesterday, every cell in her body calling out for it and being denied.

He lifts her onto the counter behind them and her legs wrap dutifully around his hips, pulling them closer together. Mark slides his hands up her thighs and under her skirt. Since she was able to dress for herself, there was no pantyhose blocking his access to her. His thumbs hook around the waistband of her panties, tugging them down. They don’t typically bother with that - undressing isn’t very accessible when technically anyone could find you at any moment - but this time she lets him indulge. She’ll give him anything he wants, anything she has to give, for as long as he wants it. 

Her underwear discarded, Helly reaches to make quick work of his belt. She reaches a hand around him and watches his face contort in pleasure. He looks pained and relieved at her touch, releasing a low moan. But he takes her wrist, gently stopping her. 

“Not now,” he instructs, voice serious but kind. “I want you.”

He doesn’t need to tell her twice. She wraps her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his jaw, letting him push into her. Helly practically sobs at the feel of him, her fingers grabbing at the material of his jacket. His hands take hold of her hips to leverage himself deeper, beginning a pace that is punishing but no less sweet.

“I missed you,” she practically whines between breaths. 

“I was right there,” he responds, sounding so sure. 

But he wasn’t there, not really, not like this. Helly doesn’t want to say these things, so instead she kisses him. Surrounds herself with Mark, his familiar taste and scent, the feel of him around her, inside of her, the sound of their breath mingling and his moans against her lips. She wishes she could keep this. But now more than ever it seems as though every kiss might be the last one. So she savors and memorizes every second of it, losing herself in him completely. 

Afterwards Mark has tears in his eyes. He always cries and she’s long since learned to stop asking why. This time she doesn’t need to ask why. This time she cries, too.

Eventually they put themselves back together and return to their post. Mark stays close and she can tell he’s trying to improve the mood, but there is still a layer of melancholy over them. Things are changing, and changing fast. Dylan and Irving return with eyes on the Exports Hall, having added its location to their map. It’s a good thing, but it still fills Helly with dread. She traces the new path over and over with a pen, ingraining it in her memory to transfer to their copy on the outside.

Dylan and Irving wish her good luck on their way out. She promises that she’ll update everyone tomorrow. Mark walks with her like he always does, the both of them quieter than usual. 

“I guess I really will see you in five minutes,” he says, acknowledging their strange situation. 

“More like thirty. Unless you’re late.” 

Mark smiles at her, “I’ll try not to be.”

Helly smiles back, but she doesn’t feel it meet her eyes. She tilts her head, watching him longer than necessary, taking in every detail of his face and enjoying how he looks when he knows her - the soft edges around his eyes, the small smile that’s only for her. Then she nods decisively, stepping back and into the elevator as it arrives. 

The doors start to close, but Mark reaches a hand out to block them and comes in after her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her soundly. Helly has a sense of deja vu, the similarities to their first kiss not lost on her. She can’t find it in herself to pull away, even if it means the elevator doors won’t close and she’ll be stuck in here forever. But they can’t get lost in each other again now, not when they have business to attend to. Mark pulls away, regretfully, and steps back into the office where he must stay even as his body leaves.

“I’ll see you soon,” he swears. 

Helly nods, wishing it were true. “See you soon.”

Chapter Text

Seeing Mark’s outie is already weird. Seeing him in the same suit he’d worn only hours earlier was chilling. If it weren’t for the slump to his shoulders and the way his hair is already beginning to flop over his forehead, she would think Mark S. was standing right in front of her. But the smile he offers her in greeting is casual - not the one he reserves for her. It’s a reminder that’s as necessary as it is painful. 

“Hey.” Helly steps aside, inviting him in. She tries (and fails) not to dwell on the knowledge that mere hours ago her hands were fisted in the fabric of the same jacket, down those same pants. At least she’d had the common courtesy to change. But with no memory of the encounter, she supposed he wouldn’t know to do so. At least he wasn’t late. 

“Wow,” Mark says, looking around. “Nice place.”

Helly scowls as she looks around distastefully. To her, it mostly felt big and overtly fancy in its modern minimalism, somehow managing to seem cold and hollow despite its luxury.  “I guess,” she acknowledges. “Um, are you hungry?” 

Mark seems surprised by the question, and Helly briefly panics. Is that not what you do when you have guests over? Helly hasn’t ever hosted someone before, but there is some barely-there knowledge in her mind that food is an important part of it. But he nods and lets her lead him into the kitchen, what she thinks may easily be her favorite room in the entire place. Mark continues looking around, clearly impressed, as she opens the fridge. 

He laughs, coming to join her and examining the bounty in front of them. “Okay, I’m officially embarrassed you saw my house.”

“Don’t be,” she says, “I think I like yours better. Besides, I don’t actually know what to do with all of this.”

“I didn’t expect you to cook for me, Helly.”

“Well I need to eat, too.”

“We could just make sandwiches. Have you ever had a sandwich?”

“I had an egg salad sandwich once.”

Mark wrinkles his nose, “At the egg bar?”

Helly laughs, “Yeah, at the egg bar.” 

“I don’t know if it’ll top the egg bar, but you’ve got everything you need,” he starts pulling ingredients from the fridge, “And anyone can make a sandwich.”

Helly lets him show her and follows his lead. He’s a good teacher, always has been -  even back when she wasn’t interested in listening. It feels good to do something simple like this with him. A word pops into her head: Domestic. It leaves her feeling fuzzy and a bit off kilter, making it a little harder to focus on what he’s trying to show her. But she manages well enough, at least up until she takes the first bite of food that she actually made for herself. She lets out an involuntary hum of appreciation at that. It might just be her sense of pride, but it tastes pretty good. 

“I think I like sandwiches,” she says, with an air of finality to it. “Not as much as pizza or ice cream, though.”

“This is better for you than pizza or ice cream,” Mark informs her unhelpfully with an amused smile. 

“Fuck that,” Helly scoffs. “I’m pretty sure having your psyche split in two isn’t good for you either, but here we are.”

She winces after the fact, remembering that unlike her who had no choice, the Mark in front of her signed up for this. But he seems thoughtful, not mad, weighing her comment with a nod as if to say she might have a good point. If he does disagree, he doesn’t say so. 

They finish their sandwiches quietly and quickly after that. Helly collects their plates and drops them in the sink. While her back is turned she hears a confused sound. She turns back just in time to see Mark pulling a scrap of fabric from his jacket pocket. A scrap of fabric she immediately recognizes just a moment before he puts the pieces together himself, his eyebrows raising and jaw dropping open.

Helly blushes bright red, “Oh my god.”

She and Mark S. had spent ages looking for her panties earlier. She thought he’d flung them into oblivion in the bathroom at work… that was certainly what he’d led her to believe, at least. Eventually they had given up the search, much to Helly’s annoyance, and she had settled for maneuvering herself carefully throughout the rest of the day and changing as soon as she returned to Helena’s. But Mark S. - that absolute sneak - must have been lying to her.

“Are these yours?” He asks, surprised but not upset despite the fact that the hand still holding her panties is pointing a somewhat accusatory finger at her. 

“Oh my god,” she repeats, head dropping into her hands. “Yes,” she admits, voice muffled, “I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t do that.”

Mark considers that for a beat, brow furrowed, “So what, I’m… pranking myself now?”

“I guess?” She shrugs, raising her head to gauge his reaction.

Mark blinks down at the fabric in his hand, then glances back at Helly. “So, you guys. Today?” 

“…Yes,” she answers, managing to sound both ashamed and petulant, not particularly interested in being on the receiving end of a lecture about this. 

Mark nods slowly, “Okay.” 

“Is it?” She asks suspiciously. 

“Well, I can’t stop you guys.”

“Do you want to? Stop it?”

Mark thinks for a moment before slowly shaking his head, “That doesn’t seem fair. At least one of me should get to be happy, right?” 

Helly’s heart squeezes. She likes to think that her Mark is happy these days. Besides their freedom, it’s all Helly really wants. 

“You could be happy, too, you know.” With me, she doesn’t say. But the offer is clear. 

Mark gives her a grim smile and shakes his head, “Not yet.”

Helly nods, understanding. She knew it was a long shot. “Would you tell me about her?”

The smile turns sad, but his eyes look at her curiously, “She asked me that too, you know. Helena.” 

Helly’s blood runs ice cold, “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It felt good to talk about her, actually.”

“Then I’m… glad?”  

“Yeah,” he sighs, “You shouldn’t- Don’t feel bad about it, okay?”

Helly isn’t sure if he means about Helena, or Gemma, or what she does with him at work that he can’t currently remember. But she doesn’t want to be a problem, and she doesn’t think she wants to keep talking about this either, so she relents and nods.

“Do you want these back?” he asks, his smile taking on a teasing tilt as he holds the panties back out towards her. The blush returns to her cheeks, and she snatches it back from him without letting the brush of their fingers linger, shoving it deep in her pocket with a sheepish smile. 

“So,” he continues, with Helly grateful for the chance to change the subject, “Where should we start?”

“Her office,” she says, leading him up the grand glass staircase to the room where she woke up. She shows him the desk with the silver laptop and the rectangular phone, along with the strange remote she’d been holding. 

Mark takes it upon himself to remove his jacket as she sits at the desk, proceeding to roll up his sleeves. Helly tries not to watch him too closely as he does this, distracting herself by opening up the laptop only to be met with the same locked screen she found the first time she risked opening it.

“That’s a problem,” she points at the screen. “I don’t know the password.”

Mark raises an eyebrow at her, “Your fingerprint.”

Helly looks at him, confused, “What about it?”

“That’s the password. There-“ he leans over her, pointing to a small black sensor in the corner of the keyboard. “You press it.” 

Helly presses it with her index finger quickly, but nothing happens. The login window shakes, rejecting the attempt.

“Not like that,” he takes her index finger and presses it flat and firmly on the sensor, “You have to hold it.” 

Helly holds her breath at the sheer proximity, knowing that this is not her Mark and she is not allowed to be so affected by his mere presence. But she enjoys it anyway, the flesh of her hand tingling where he touches her, the warmth of his scent just creeping in. It’s over as quickly as it began and his retreat leaves her cold. She registers the login window dissolving into the desktop. She finally releases the breath, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, looking around and spotting a chair off to the side near the bookshelf. He grabs it, pulling it over to sit besides her. 

The layout is confusing for Helly who is only familiar with the simple interfaces of MDR. Her finger on the trackpad moves the mouse around the screen, trying to decipher the names and icons she sees and not recognizing any of them. 

“Here,” Mark takes pity on her, pulling the laptop a little closer to him and replacing her finger on the trackpad with his own. He’s much quicker than she is, opening up Helena’s email right away. “Why don’t you check out the phone?”

Helly accepts the task readily, having already learned that she can unlock it with her face. There are notifications for a small number of calls and texts she’s missed over the past day, all from Natalie and someone called Mr. Drummond. She continues ignoring them as she has been, not even knowing where she would start when it came to impersonating Helena to those who know her. Instead she swipes around, clicking on the few apps at random as Mark scrolls through emails.

Helena seems to have an app to organize every aspect of her life. She has one that tracks calories, another exercise, her sleep, her vitals, even her monthly cycle. Helly doesn’t understand why anyone would need to keep such a close track of all that. They certainly don’t provide her any useful information. There is a to-do list filled with mundane things like dry cleaning and meal planning. All the photos she finds are from corporate events and galas, the most recent showing Helena in a dress that Helly recognizes very well. To top it all off, there are barely any texts or contacts at all, and the ones she does have are all Lumon related. Nothing interestingly Lumon related, though.

Helly groans, tossing the phone onto the desk. “Dylan was right,” she complains, “My outie’s a total loser.”

Mark raises an eyebrow at her, “Nothing interesting?”

“Nothing,” she sighs heavily. 

“I guess it makes sense that she wouldn’t have sensitive information on her phone,” he rationalizes, eyes returning to the laptop.

Helly leans forward, watching him scroll through email after email. “Do you have anything?”

Mark shakes his head, “I can’t tell, it’s all in this weird overly formal corporate speech. There’s a lot of references to something called Cold Harbor-“

“That’s your file,” Helly sits up straighter, “At work. That’s the file you’re refining right now.”

Mark turns to her, brow furrowed, “It seems to be important that I finish it.”

“All our files are supposed to be important.”

“What’s the name of yours?”

“Birch Hill.”

“Haven’t seen that one come up.”

Helly frowns. Why would Mark’s file be more important than the rest? “You did set a record, apparently, right after you got there. Finished a file really quickly. They gave you this little light up glass cube of your face for it and everything. Maybe you’re just really good at refining?”

“Maybe.” Mark sounds unconvinced, continuing to scroll.

“Does that say gala?” She stops him, pointing at one of the emails. It’s dated about a month ago. Mark opens it and Helly reads quickly, leaning closer to the screen. It’s all about the recovery after Helena’s “unfortunate outburst”. 

“What’s all this about?”

“That was me,” she says, anger simmering in her stomach as she reads about the efforts they went to collect footage from the press, control and redirect the narrative, throwing Helena’s reputation under the bus instead of allowing the truth to escape. “That was the night we woke up. I was at this party about how great severance is. So great the CEO’s own daughter would do it.” 

That night had been horrible and she’d never had a chance to fully process it. Discovering that she was an Eagan, meeting her strange father, facing the complete history of her existence boiled down to palatable corporate propaganda. “I refused to go along with the speech they had planned. Plead our case to the crowd instead, but obviously it doesn’t matter because they’ve just swept it right under the rug.” A cold chill runs down her spine and she crosses her arms. “All for nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Mark insists, “They seem pretty shaken in these emails, even through the formalities. And the people who were there won’t forget it, even if they can’t publish it.” Helly shrugs, unconvinced, so he continues. “Lots of people already don’t trust Lumon. There’s this whole group that protests severance. And Petey’s daughter is in this band - I went to see them once after he died. You know what their hit song is called? The one the crowd went crazy for?” 

Helly shakes her head, rolling her eyes, “I don’t know songs, Mark.”

“It’s called ‘Fuck You Lumon’,” he answers, ignoring her snark. 

Helly smirks. If that’s what concerts entailed, she thinks she’d like them. Like a music dance experience but better. “Okay, that does sound pretty cool.”

“Yeah, it was great. The whole place was shouting it,” he smiles back at her, recalling the moment fondly. 

“I wish I could have seen that,” she tells him, smile softening. “Thanks for telling me about it.”

“It’s no problem,” he waves her off. “We can’t have you thinking the good fight isn’t worth it now.” He returns to Helena’s emails, a comfortable silence falling over them. But it lasts only a moment before he finds something else. “Huh,” he starts, opening the email up, “She sent something to herself the same night as the gala.”

Mark double clicks the attachment and a video pops up. He presses play. There’s Helly and Mark S., standing in front of the elevator at work. She can hear her own voice, tinny through the speakers. Do you think we’re about to meet our spouses? Her cheeks burn and she wants to look away but she can’t, entranced as she watches them banter. She knows every second of this, has replayed it in her head a million times. It’s one of her only memories with Mark untainted by Helena’s presence - until now. 

Helly watches herself enter the elevator, only to burst back out and pull him into a kiss. It was hard and dry and fast, but it had been perfect. Finally, Helly has to look away. She notes that Mark doesn’t, eyes focused on the screen. Good luck boss, she says on screen. Then the video ends. 

She can feel his eyes on her and he clears his throat. “So that was the first time then, huh?”

Helly nods, turning to him but not quite meeting his eye. “It was kind of spur of the moment. Last hurrah, you know.”

“‘In case we don’t come back,’” he repeats her words. “Why does Helena have that?”

Helly shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe she was studying my mannerisms to impersonate me better.”

“This is the only video,” he counters, already scrolling to see if he can find any more. “There would be more if it was that.”

“I don’t know, Mark,” she says again, exasperated. He turns to her, looking at her intently. She can tell he wants to say something and is holding it back. “What? Spit it out.”

“What if she, I don’t know. Likes me.”

Helly scoffs. Now he sounds like Mark S., second guessing her outie’s confirmed status as heartless bitch.

“What? She came and found me, out here, and asked me to take her home. Apparently she spent weeks in there with my innie-“

“Mark. What do you want me to say? She’s a psychopath. Maybe she got, like, a little obsessed or something-”

“She didn’t seem like a psychopath, Helly,” he says calmly. “And you aren’t a psychopath.”

“Well, we’re not the same.” 

“Don’t blow up at me for saying this,” he starts cautiously, “But you’re not that different. I mean, you’re definitely louder. Maybe a little more relaxed.”

“Listen,” Helly starts, pretending she didn’t hear him, really not wanting to have this conversation with two different Marks in one day. “I’m sorry she found you, okay? I’m sorry that nothing is sacred down there, and that she decided to take it out on you.”

“I’m not asking you to apologize. In fact, I kind of wish you’d stop doing that,” he says, sounding annoyed himself now. “There’s nothing to forgive. I chose to sleep with you. Or her, I guess. And it feels really weird to have someone you hooked up with say sorry about it so many times.”

Helly opens her mouth to apologize again but just catches herself. Mark notices and his lips turn up just a bit, eyes gleaming. “Whatever,” she says instead, fighting the butterflies he can create with just a look. “It doesn’t matter why Helena did any of this, anyway,” she continues. “What matters is finding something that helps us find Gemma, right?”

Mark freezes, expression fading back into the sadness he defaults to out here. As his expression shutters to her, his focus returns to the screen with a renewed sense of determination. She hates to upset him, but the reminder directs him back to the hunt for answers, just as she hoped it would. He lets the topic of Helena and the complicated relationship between the two - four? - of them drop for now. Helly distracts herself by going through a stack of papers on the desk. The top two sheets go over the severance procedure, followed by pages of legalese she must have signed before surgery. She continues idly flipping through the rest of the stack for completeness’ sake, expecting the rest of the paperwork to be similarly useless, until she spots an unassuming-looking manila folder with a title that makes her breath catch. She grabs it, reading the words again just to make sure she’s not wrong. Cold Harbor.

“Mark,” she says, slapping it down in front of him.

He reads it once before looking up at her in shock, almost as if wordlessly asking permission. Helly nods to the file, gesturing for him to open it up. With trembling hands, he does so - and as soon as he does, they both reel back at the contents, stunned, feeling as though all the air had been instantly sucked out of the room. On the very first page, a picture of Gemma is paper clipped to the corner. She looks different here than the way Helly remembers her: her expression is blank, her appearance sterile and devoid of any personality. She watches Mark reach out carefully, almost reverently, his fingers tracing over the photograph he’s never seen before. 

“She really is still alive,” he whispers like he can’t quite believe it. Helly glances at his face, not surprised to see tears in his eyes. He sniffs suddenly, roughly wiping his eyes before flipping through the file. There are no more photos, but there are many different graphs and diagrams and what appears to be a log of updates. “What does all this even mean? And why- why is she my file?”

Helly doesn’t have an answer for him, trying to take in the information on the pages as he flips through. Most of it is gibberish to her, though some things vaguely resemble vital signs. “Wait,” she points to five boxes, “These look like the buckets we sort the numbers into.” She reads their labels, “Almost labeled the same, too.” It’s not much information, but it is something. Why were they the same? Why did Mark’s file have a picture of Gemma in it? Did all their files correspond to people? What were they doing to them?

“I should call Reghabi,” Mark says, dropping the file and reaching for his jacket to retrieve Petey’s burner phone. 

Mark’s conversation fades into the background as Helly continues to stare at the file in front of her. The file that was in her home, on her desk, that appeared to contain proof that Gemma was some sort of human experiment. She feels sick to her stomach, knuckles white as she grips the edge of the desk. This is her fault. She did this. At the very least, her family did, and part of her knows all about it - the information buried somewhere in her head. She could have helped plan it, for all she knows. 

“Okay,” Mark says, shaking Helly from her reverie of self-hatred, “She’s on her way.”

“Mark-“ she starts, to apologize again no doubt, but her protests are cut off by the doorbell. 

Both their heads whip to the doorway.

“Um, that was fast,” Helly notes.

“…I don’t think that’s Reghabi.”

The doorbell rings again.

Chapter Text

Mark and Helly stare at the door as the person on the other side bangs on it relentlessly, apparently displeased with how long it’s taking them to creep downstairs. Helly’s heart is in her throat, imagining all sorts of horrible possibilities. It’s Milchick - or maybe someone scarier she isn’t even aware of yet - come to drag her kicking and screaming back into that office and lock her there for good. Or maybe it's Helena’s strange father, here to free his daughter from Helly’s mind, burying her in her outie once and for all. She even considers that it might be the police, come to retrieve stolen property - because at the end of the day, that’s what she is, isn’t she? Lumon property. Perhaps more so than any of them.

“I think you have to open the door,” Mark whispers beside her.

She shoots him a glare, “Why me? You do it.”

“Don’t you think it makes more sense to whoever is out there that Helena Eagan opens the door to her own house?”

Helly admittedly hadn’t thought of that. It was easy to forget this was a space she was meant to occupy, one that technically belongs to her. She takes a deep breath and glances at Mark one more time for reassurance. He offers a supportive nod, but seems uneasy himself.

Helly bites the bullet with a deep breath. She steps forward, opening the door prepared to do her best attempt at a Helena Eagan impression.

“Where is my brother?!” The angry woman on the doorstep accosts her immediately. 

Helly blinks at her in surprise, reeling back slightly as she approaches and tries to peer into the house. She looks at the woman closer, recognizing familiar features reflected there. The eye color is wrong, but it’s remarkable how similar they look otherwise. She doesn’t get a chance to comment on this or answer the woman’s question. 

“Devon?” Mark comes up behind her, opening the door wider to reveal himself. Devon immediately heaves a sigh of relief, only to give him an exasperated glare. “What are you doing here?” He asks.

“Me?” Devon scoffs a laugh, “What are you doing here? Why did you send me that freaky ass text?”

“Um-“ Helly starts, but the siblings don’t give her a chance to cut in.

“What freaky text?”

Devon gives him an unimpressed look and unlocks her phone, holding it up to him. Helly leans closer to make out what it reads - Just in case: followed by Helena’s address. 

Helly grimaces, “That is a really freaky text, Mark.”

“Thank you!” Devon offers, briefly acknowledging Helly again. “And then you don’t answer any of my calls afterward!”

Mark reaches for his phone, face falling when he sees the number of notifications he’s missed from Devon. “Shit.”

“Yeah, Mark. Shit. What are you doing here? And who is this?” She turns to Helly, eyeing her up and down. 

“Uh, I’m Helly.”

“She’s from work,” Mark adds.

Devon considers her even more suspiciously, eyes narrowing. “How exactly is she from work?”

“He’s my boss, actually,” Helly answers for him.

Devon stills, expression losing some of its edge, “You’re severed?”

Helly nods, stepping to the side, “If you come in, I can explain.” She trusts Devon implicitly. She helped Mark S. during the OTC. She was literally the only sympathetic person on the outside any of them had ever met. Helly knew that the bone deep kindness that exists in Mark must be present in his sister, as well. 

Devon enters, looking around at the impressive home. “Is this your house?”

“It’s my outie’s house.”

“Real nice for a severed salary.”

“That’s not what paid for it,” Helly was getting really sick of having to explain this. “ I am Helly, but my outie’s name is Helena Eagan.”

Devon’s eyes widen in a way she has come to expect from the name drop. 

“But I want to take Lumon down,” Helly continues quickly, before Devon gets the wrong idea. “I’m here to help him,” she swears seriously, knowing that Devon’s only real concern is Mark’s safety and wellbeing. Helly felt much the same. 

Devon seems to take her at her word. She is still tense and afraid, but nods resolutely anyways, “Okay. So what’s going on?”

“They have Gemma,” Mark finally speaks up.

Devon raises her eyebrows, “So now you believe that?”

“Helly’s seen her. And we have proof. Just, wait here,” Mark says, practically running off to retrieve their findings. 

Helly watches him leave until he’s out of sight, then turns to face Devon who is already regarding her with interest. Helly allows herself to be examined, hoping she can be deemed worthy by this person who is so important to Mark. 

“You know his innie?” Devon asks.

“Yeah. We’re friends,” she simplifies, offering an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry we scared you. He called you when I was with him yesterday… I thought you knew.”

“It’s okay,” Devon sighs, returning the smile with an exhausted one of her own and a sigh, “He’s really not great at telling me things.”

Before Helly can reply, they hear Mark returning, laptop, file, phone, and remote in hand. He drops them all on the kitchen island nearby, swiftly opening the folder and removing the picture of Gemma. He all but shoves it in Devon’s face. 

“Look,” he sounds a little breathless from the sheer possibility of it all. “We have seen every picture of her. But I’ve never seen this.”

She takes the picture, brows drawn and mouth falling open. It’s clear to Helly that Mark is not the only person who held Gemma dear. “You have no idea how bad I want to say I told you so right now,” Devon whispers. 

“We could find her,” Mark pushes on, his body holding a manic, dreadful excitement that Helly doesn’t recognize. 

“Okay,” Devon nods, “How?”

“There’s a whole file. This woman is coming over to check it out. You remember the business man?”

“Buddy, you’re gonna have to narrow that one down for me a little.”

“Right, uh, the guy who you thought might be breaking into your house, or just wandering from the bar-”

“In my backyard?”

“Yeah. He was one of my coworkers too. This woman helped him. She can help us.”

“Okay,” Devon says again, slowly absorbing the information. “She’s coming right now?” Mark nods and she heaves a sigh, “Jesus Christ, Mark. I can’t leave you alone for a second.”

“This is good, Devon. We could get her back,” the hope in his voice is desperate and Devon crumbles in the face of it. 

She gives him a warm, sad smile and squeezes his arm. “Yeah, we could.”

Watching the siblings together leaves Helly uncomfortable. This was deeply personal - it was family - and although she has no experience with that, it’s clear that this moment is not for her. She’s genuinely happy that Mark has Devon - both for his own sake, and so that it won’t fall solely on Helly to support him through this revelation. But watching them interact with that easy, loving rapport built over a lifetime together, she can’t help but feel jealous too. It would be a dream to have a sister out here who loved her no matter what and wanted nothing more than to support her. Instead, Helena is an only child with a father she has explicitly been warned away from - the one piece of advice she had been given. She turns to distract herself, or maybe walk away and give them a moment, when she’s literally saved by the bell.

“That’s gotta be Reghabi,” Mark springs to the front door, quickly ushering a gruff looking woman with calculating eyes into the house. She doesn’t look around curiously as Mark and Devon had, her eyes instead focused on Helly as they approach. Mark begins making introductions, “This is my sister, Devon, and this-”

“Helena fucking Eagan.”

Helly bristles at the dry, almost amused tone of Reghabi’s voice. “It’s Helly, actually.”

“You’re the innie?” She smirks when Helly nods, “Of course you are.” 

Helly’s brow furrows, but she can’t enquire what exactly Reghabi means by that before Mark interjects by trying to pass her the folder, “Here. This is what we have on Gemma.”

“I don’t need to see it,” she pushes the folder away simply. 

Mark freezes, then he scoffs, “You knew? And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“We were interrupted last time, in case you don’t remember.”

Mark stares her down for a moment before acquiescing unhappily,  “Then tell me now.”

Reghabi nods simply, sounding both exasperated and regretful to have to do so, “Gemma is dead, Mark.”

Mark looks so stricken by that, Helly is prompted to cut in, “But I saw her.”

“You certainly saw her body.” 

“I don’t understand,” Devon says carefully. 

“Severed employees aren’t the end goal for Lumon. It’s just the start. What they really want are blank slates. Opportunities to create the perfectly balanced mind in Kier’s image. The data refinement process helps them do that. And it works much better when it’s by someone familiar with the brain involved.” The words settle in Helly’s stomach like a stone. They’ve been refining people all this time. She recalls when she completed her first file and feels nauseous at the memory of their celebration. Mark seems to be handling it even worse, hands trembling despite being clenched in fists. Reghabi continues, “After two years of this, she won’t be the same Gemma you remember.” 

Mark looks absolutely crushed. Helly’s first instinct is to go to him, but Devon is already there to lay a supportive hand on his shoulder. Instead, Helly gulps down the horror and speaks up, “We still need to help her. Even if she isn’t the same, she’s still alive down there. She’s still a person. And yeah, she’s maybe kind of weird now, but she was also kind. She doesn’t deserve to be locked up down there.”

Mark looks at her, surprised, but quickly recovers and nods his head in agreement. Helly nods back, the tiniest spark of hope in his eyes leaving her even more determined. “So how do we do that?” She asks Reghabi. 

“I don’t know. No one has been recovered successfully before. But we could have a shot,” she turns to Mark, “If you reintegrate.”

“Yes,” Mark doesn’t hesitate, “Whatever it takes.” 

Helly goes cold. “Now?” She finds herself asking, alarmed. 

”Yeah,” Devon cuts in, “Maybe we should slow down and really think about this before turning my brother’s brain into Jello. Is it even safe?”

“It’s the safest it’s ever been,” Reghabi answers, which Helly knows based on Mark’s recount of Petey’s experience doesn’t count for much. “We shouldn’t wait. If Gemma’s file expires before Mark can complete it, they’ll wipe her and start the process from square one. It will be much more difficult to recover her then.”

“But-“ Helly flounders, mind racing for any way she could stop this. At least delay it. She was supposed to have more time. “We need to at least ask him first!”

“Ask who, Helly?” Devon asks gently, as if talking to a child. 

“Mark S.,” Helly clarifies, “He’s a person, too. He has a right to exist. He shouldn’t be folded into someone else without any warning.” Helly is looking between everyone a bit desperately, breath coming too fast. This isn’t even an argument she wins at the office amongst her fellow innies, these outies will never understand. 

But Devon looks at Helly with concern, slowly nodding her head. “Okay... That’s fair, right?” She looks to Mark and Reghabi, but neither responds. “So we talk to Mark S. first.”

“How?” Mark asks. 

“There must be a way to wake him up here. Helena managed it with me.”

“Did she?” Reghabi asks curiously, “What did you have on you when you woke up?” 

“Just this,” Helly grabs the remote and Helena’s phone from the kitchen island, handing them both over to Reghabi.

Reghabi ignores the phone but turns the remote over in her hand, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, this will work.” She pockets it and turns to Mark, “Come help me with my equipment,” she orders, immediately taking charge of the situation. “This place have a basement?” She asks Helly, who actually doesn’t know and simply shrugs. Reghabi sighs, “Living room will have to do. At least there are no neighbors.” Reghabi exits the house, Mark trailing eagerly behind her. 

Helly practically collapses into a stool at the island, trying desperately to stop herself from spiraling. She knew this was a possibility, but it has come so much sooner than she expected. Her heart pounds as she considers that this day with Mark was possibly her last one ever. She can see him so clearly, kissing her inside that elevator - what would now most likely be their last. How he watched the elevator take her away with a promise that he would see her soon. She feels tears burn in her eyes and drops her head into her hands, trying to utilize the breathing technique he had taught her to calm down. 

“Are you okay?” Devon asks cautiously from beside her. 

Helly nods without lifting her head, lying. “I’m fine. It’s just a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Devon says sincerely. 

Helly shrugs. It’s not Devon’s fault that her brother decided to sever himself and that she fell head over heels in love with his innie. 

“Do you think he’d say no to the reintegration?” She asks Helly, misunderstanding her worry.

Helly shakes her head, “He’ll agree.” She already knows this. He is too kind, too helpful, too caring not to help his outie on his quest to find his wife. He isn’t selfish like Helly, who can only think about what she’s about to lose. 

Reghabi and Mark return with armfuls of equipment and wires. Helly sniffles and wipes her eyes quickly as they re-enter. Mark doesn’t notice, his focus solely on getting everything done as quickly as possible. But Reghabi regards her with something like pity and it makes shame burn in her stomach. Helly watches them set up all sorts of gadgets and gizmos, moving the furniture around to make room for a chair with a strange stand in front of it. Devon helps Mark sit there, hovering over him.

“Do you have salt?” Reghabi asks Helly. She nods, turning to retrieve it with Reghabi on her heels.

“He’ll still be there, you know,” Reghabi tells her unprompted as she opens a cupboard. Helly freezes, hand mid-reach for the box of salt. She’d suddenly like nothing better than to throw it against the wall and maybe punch this woman in the face for good measure. Reghabi doesn’t understand - He won’t still be there. Not the way he is now. His mind will be consumed with the overwhelming love he holds for his wife and Helly will truly be alone. Instead of yelling this, Helly places the salt on the counter more firmly than necessary. Reghabi takes the hint with a wary, knowing look and returns to her set up.

Mark sits in the center of the living room, his forehead resting against a stand and wires attached to him with electrodes. He seems eager to get this done and a little impatient with the process. Reghabi decides Devon should be the one to tell Mark about reintegration as she’s the only outie present he would recognize and both versions of him implicitly trust her. Helly stands to the side just out of sight, tense and with her arms crossed. 

“Okay Mark,” Reghabi grabs the remote, now hooked up to her other gadgets. Helly doesn’t understand anything about this process, but she’s not feeling particularly curious about it. ”Let’s say hi to Mark S. We’ll see you in a minute.” 

Reghabi presses a button and Mark’s eyes seem to roll back in his head for a moment before they close briefly, fluttering back open and blinking rapidly. Helly has never seen the transition from outie to innie from the outside before. It makes a shiver run down her spine.

“Devon?” He asks and Helly’s breath catches, his voice sounding so much more like her Mark.

“Hi, Mark,” Devon greets sweetly from her seat in front of him, giving him a motherly smile.

“What’s happening?” He continues, trying to get his bearings. He brings a hand to his forehead, fingers going to the wires attached there. 

Devon takes his hand, stopping him before he can tug any electrodes off. “You’re with friends. We woke you up because we have to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, trying to look around, “Where’s Helly?”

Helly had hoped that in the heat of the moment Mark would somehow forget she was awake out here, too. She was happy to pass along explanation duties to Devon, even if it means she’s a coward. Helly is confident she wouldn’t be able to get through it with the same grace as Mark’s sister. But now Devon’s eyes are flickering to her expectantly. Helly comes around to stand beside her, heart in her throat. 

“Hi,” Mark greets immediately, smiling at her so sweetly that Helly can’t help returning it. 

“Hey,” she returns, unable to disguise the sadness from her voice. His smile falters some and he looks back to Devon.

“What do you need me for?”

“We just want to talk,” Devon starts. “Helly told you about reintegration, right?”

Mark’s face falls. He nods somberly. “He wants to do it?”

Devon nods, “Yes. We’ve learned a lot about Gemma,” Mark’s eyes widen and flicker to Helly. Devon notices, but she only pauses for a moment, “If he reintegrates, he’ll be able to help us save her.”

Mark nods, understanding, but his eyes remain on Helly. They look pained, but resigned, and Helly knows he’s made his decision. He would never choose anything else. “Okay,” he agrees to Devon, but his gaze never leaves Helly’s. She can’t bring herself to break the eye contact, eating up every last second he looks at her like this. 

Devon looks between them, brows drawn as realization dawns on her. She stands, offering the chair to Helly. Helly is surprised by the gesture and hesitates before settling carefully in front of Mark S. He reaches out, taking her hand.

“Are you okay?” Helly asks, no idea what could be running through his mind right now. She knows how she would feel if it were her in the hot seat, but the Mark S. she knows tends not to spiral as severely as she does. 

“Are you okay?” He returns. 

Helly shrugs a shoulder, “It’s the right thing to do. It’s what you want.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

Helly doesn’t particularly want to discuss this with company present - maybe if it were Irving and Dylan, but certainly not Mark’s sister and a strange scientist who seems to know her outie. However, it feels very much like Mark S. is about to die, even if she knows that technically isn’t true. She owes him the truth in what are his last moments before everything changes. 

She drops her voice down to a whisper, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers back, but it sounds less confident than his affirmations earlier in the day.

Helly tilts her head and purses her lips, trying very hard to stop them from shaking as her eyes begin to burn. Mark cups her cheek and she has to close her eyes at the feeling, tears spilling down her cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumb, drawing her closer to press their foreheads together. There is so much she’d like to say. To thank him for. His was the first voice she ever heard, the one who introduced her to the world, to her own name. Helly doesn’t know who she would be without Mark S. She isn’t ready to find out who she is without him. There aren’t words that can encapsulate all these feelings, not in the time they have left, so she tries to make sure he can hear them in the words she does have. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he returns, stressing every word so that the meaning is clear. Right now, at this moment, he loves her. Only her. Helly will need to subsist on that fact for as long as she can. “Kiss me,” he asks her, “You know. Just in case.”

Helly laughs wetly and does as he asks, forgetting momentarily that they have an audience and letting herself have this, memorizing the slide of his lips, the soft press of them. When she pulls away sniffling, Mark is smiling her smile at her. “Usually I’m the one crying.”

Helly cracks a smile, “Shut up.”

Mark smiles back, “Yes, boss.”

Reghabi clears her throat and Devon pipes in gently, “Are you ready, Mark?”

Mark takes a deep breath, “Yes.” He keeps his eyes on Helly, “I’ll see you in five minutes?”

Helly nods, not trusting her voice, and squeezes Mark’s hand as tightly as she can as Reghabi presses another button on the remote. Mark’s eyes flutter closed, his hand falling limp in her grasp. She releases it, standing and moving back off to the side, wiping her eyes as she goes. She expects Devon to return to the seat in front of her brother, but instead she comes to Helly’s side. Her face is surprisingly devastated, eyes filled with a heartbreaking understanding.

“Helly…” she trails off, placing a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. Helly shakes her head, shrugging her off, but Devon remains anyway. “Are we sure this is necessary?” She asks Reghabi. 

“The only way to get to Gemma is from the severed floor. If you want this done right - if he wants to see her again - he needs access to all his memories when he’s down there.”

“I want to see my wife,” Mark’s outie responds, resolute. “Are we ready?” Helly tries to ignore the way her heart cracks in her chest. 

“Yes,” Reghabi replies. 

She starts pouring salt on one of her gadgets and tuning what looks like an old radio on another, studying all sorts of screens with undulating waves. For all Reghabi’s repeated promises that she can do this safely, the entire procedure seems rather amateurish. At one point she mutters curses to herself, at another she bangs the side of one of her machines. Then she starts asking Mark questions. Helly is disturbed by them, so similar and at times exactly the same as those asked at Lumon orientation. At first his answers are clear, but he slowly becomes befuddled by them, answering slowly. At one point, he mentions quarters instead of months in a voice that is all Mark S. Then suddenly the wavelengths on the screen align and Mark gasps, sitting up straight until the wires tug at his forehead before collapsing back against the stand just as quickly. 

“Oh my god!” Devon exclaims, reaching for him.

“Don’t!” Reghabi stops her, “He’s okay. Just give him a minute.”

Surely enough he stirs, groaning, eyes opening groggily and seemingly unable to focus on anything. “Did it work?” He slurs.

“Do you know where you are, Mark?” Reghabi asks him.

“I’m- I’m-“ he winces, hand going to his head, “MDR,” he grunts out.

“No,” Reghabi corrects, “You’re in Helly’s house.”

“Helly has a house?” He asks, sounding confused and a little loopy. 

“What’s my name?” Reghabi continues instead of answering his question. 

“Asal Reghabi,” he answers without skipping a beat, despite Mark S. not knowing that information. 

“It worked,” she states. “Congratulations.”

“Is he okay?” Devon asks nervously, approaching as Reghabi starts removing electrodes from Mark’s head.

“He will be. This is normal. It’s a big adjustment. He’ll need to take it easy for a day or two. No strenuous activity, absolutely no drinking. Ibuprofen as needed for pain. Monitor him, don’t let him wander off.” 

Devon nods, taking this all in as she rubs a disoriented Mark’s back. She helps him to his feet once all the wires are removed and he sways slightly, using her to help balance himself. Helly watches closely, concerned by the entire process. 

“What’s next?” She asks Reghabi, needing something else to focus on.

“I need to see what else I can find on Gemma.”

“What can I do?” 

“Call out of work. Stay with him,” she jabs her thumb at Mark, “I’m better at this, but it’s still not a fun recovery. He’s going to need help and I need Helena Eagan out of my way.”

“I’m not Helena,” she insists firmly, angrily. “How do you even know her?”

Reghabi looks at Helly knowingly, smirk growing on her face. “I don’t really know her. But I know the little girl she used to be.”

Helly furrows her brow at that and opens her mouth to ask more, but Mark’s voice interrupts them.

“Where’d Helly go?” He sounds scared. Helly turns to him, surprised, and Devon is already pointing her out. 

“She’s right there, Mark.”

He sighs in relief, only to look at Devon in confusion, “How did you get into the office?”

Devon gives him a worried smile, rubbing his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, buddy.” She turns back to Helly, “I’m going to take him home with me. He should be somewhere familiar.”

Helly nods, it was a good idea. But she couldn’t bear the thought of being far from him, particularly not in his current state. “Um, could- You can say no, obviously, but do you think maybe I could come? I don’t have to stay, but-“

“Of course you’re coming, Helly,” Devon answers as she steers Mark to the front door. Something warm pulses with relief in Helly’s chest and she follows them quickly, only looking back at Reghabi once she realizes that she’s abandoning the scientist in her house. 

“I got this. It’ll be like I was never even here,” Reghabi promises. “I’ll be in touch.”

Helly feels someone grab her hand and finds Mark looking at her, expression vulnerable and confused. “Where are we going?”

Helly’s breath stutters, “We’re just going on a walk to your sister’s,” she tells him, now helping to steer him out of the house and towards Devon’s car. 

“You think my outie has a sister?” He asks hopefully. Devon huffs a laugh and hauls open the back door, gently pushing him into the backseat. But when his hand leaves Helly’s he starts to panic. He reaches back out for her, “Don’t go.”

Helly takes his hand quickly, squeezing tightly, making him the same promise he gave her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

Helly doesn’t have any experience with toddlers, but she imagines sitting with Mark in the backseat comes pretty close to wrangling one. He’s terribly confused, off kilter, eyes coming in and out of focus as he looks out the window. Every two minutes he asks where they’re going and they take turns reminding him in soothing tones that they’re going to his sister’s house. Sometimes he remembers he has a sister and nods absentmindedly, others it leaves him confused. At one point he jumps as if he’s been slapped. Then he looks down at himself and tries to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“No, Mark!” Helly raises her voice, letting some of the worry she’s been keeping in check thus far slip out. She reaches out to grab his free hand. He fights her for a moment, then he looks up and catches her eye. The fight drains from him, and Helly sighs, relieved. He’s stronger than he looks - if he really wanted to do something, there would only be so much she could do to stop him. 

“What did he do?” Devon asks from the driver’s seat, alarmed. 

“He went for the buckle,” Helly explains, placing both his hands firmly in his lap and covering them with one of her own. 

Devon and Helly exchange similarly worried glances in the rear view mirror and she feels the car drive that much faster. “We’re almost there, Mark,” Devon promises, tone serious but also comforting, “You just have to stay put for ten more minutes.”

“Where are we going?” Mark asks again, dazed. 

“We’re going to my house,” Devon starts the familiar refrain.

“Who are you?”

“That’s your sister,” Helly tells him, “Do you know her name?”

Mark squints through the darkness in the car at Devon, only illuminated every few seconds by a passing streetlight. “Devon,” he almost whispers.

Devon glances over her shoulder to flash him a brief but encouraging smile, “Yeah, I’m Devon. Really good, Mark.” 

Mark smiles back, looking surprisingly lucid for a moment before his face falls blank and distant once more. 

“What’s your name?” Helly prompts, hoping to bring some of that lucidity back.

“Mark…” he thinks about it momentarily, “Scout. Mark Scout?”

Helly finds Devon’s eyes in the mirror, suddenly realizing that she didn’t even know if that was true. Devon seems to pick up on her panic and answers, “You got it. You’re Mark Scout.” Mark doesn’t answer, drifting away again. “Do you know her name?” Devon asks, referring to Helly.

Mark turns to look at her, brow furrowing. His eyes trace over her features carefully as he tries to puzzle her out, “Gemma?”

Helly’s heart has done a lot of breaking tonight, but it cracks that much more at his answer. 

“No, Mark,” Devon says sadly. “That’s Helly.”

“Oh,” he frowns, continuing to look at Helly, who probably isn’t hiding the worry or devastation from her face very well. “Where’s Gemma?”

“We’re gonna find her, bud,” Devon promises sympathetically. 

Mark blinks at Helly, his frown deepening, “But-“ he flounders, mouth flapping uselessly as he struggles to find his words. 

He looks so distraught that a new pang of worry shoots through her. The drive to comfort him is overwhelming, so she squeezes his hands and places the other on his back, rubbing soothing circles. “It’s okay, Mark.” And it’s not really okay, but it also has to be. Mark nods at that, seemingly taking her words to heart, though he still examines her with a puzzling combination of soft recognition and confused distance. But he doesn’t try to unbuckle again or otherwise leave his seat until they finally arrive, so Helly takes it as a win. 

They wrangle Mark into Devon’s home similarly to how they got him out of Helena’s, each of them on one side working to keep him balanced and moving. It’s slow going, but they get him through the door and into relative safety. Devon’s voice drops to a whisper as they maneuver him through the hallways, leading him to a room with three beds. They sit Mark on the biggest one against the wall and he slumps against the headboard, exhaustion taking its toll. Helly doesn’t blame him - it’s well after midnight, and they have had a very long and tumultuous day. She takes a moment to look around in confusion at the three beds in the room, especially the race car bed in the center. 

“Don’t ask,” Devon says when Helly turns to do just that. “I’m going to grab something of Ricken’s to change him into, be right back.”

Helly looks down at Mark, half expecting him to be passed out already, only to find him looking at her shockingly alert through heavy lidded eyes. 

“Helly,” he starts, reaching out and taking her wrist, causing her to step closer to the bed.

The recognition makes her breath catch, “Yes?”

“There’s a bed.”

Helly’s cheeks warm and she looks over her shoulder just to make sure Devon wasn’t still in the room to hear that. “Now’s not a good time, Mark.”

He pouts up at her, tugging her closer, “We never have time,” he laments.

“Yeah, I know,” Helly agrees with a sigh, “We’ll find some later, okay?” She doesn’t mean it. It wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of whatever bits of Mark S. are leaking through, but she still wants to provide some comfort.

Mark doesn’t answer, but he intertwines their fingers and presses the back of her hand to his lips, then to his cheek. He holds it there, leaning into it and closing his eyes. He appears pained, so she runs her free hand through his hair. 

“Does it hurt?” She asks. He nods slowly and she continues the action, gently pressing her fingers against his scalp. 

Devon returns with clothes as well as a glass of water and an ibuprofen. She doesn’t blink twice at the way Mark has gravitated toward Helly, all business as she sticks the pill in his free hand. Mark knocks it back while Devon helps him hold the glass of water, despite his best efforts to spill it all over himself. 

“There wasn’t a secret message on that, was there?” He asks groggily and it startles a laugh from Helly.

“No,” she promises, ”You’re safe for now.”

Devon raises her eyebrows at the inside joke but doesn’t ask any further questions. Instead, she begins pulling Mark’s jacket sleeves off his arms. He doesn’t fight her, but his movements are slow and heavy, so it still takes some effort. Then she swiftly removes his tie. Helly looks back to the exit, wondering if maybe she should give him some privacy. 

“Helly,” Devon prompts in a no nonsense voice, “I imagine you’ve seen this before, yes?” Helly hesitates before nodding sheepishly, “Okay, then I need you to put on your big girl panties and help me here.” 

She does as instructed, practiced fingers going to undo the buttons of his shirt as Devon pulls off his shoes. Mark opens his eyes long enough to register some of what’s happening and settles a hand on Helly’s waist, squeezing suggestively. 

“ Mark ,” she hisses, batting his hand away, “Stop it.” She admonishes him firmly, and he whines unhappily but still drops his hand before Devon notices anything. 

Before long, Helly is tugging his arms through the sleeves of a linen shirt unlike one she’s ever seen before. It has wide sleeves and a wraparound front that she struggles to close. Devon takes pity on her and takes over, wrapping the front ends over and tying it shut, while Helly cinches the draw cord tightly on the loose and much too big matching bottoms. She can’t help but smirk to herself as she looks him over - Mark almost looks like some sort of monk in this get up. A very sleepy one, who immediately flops back against the headboard when they finally release him. Devon pulls the covers up and over him as Helly moves towards the race car bed, exhausted herself, but his hand reaches out to grab her once more.

“Stay,” he breathes sadly.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be on the bed right next to you.”

“Stay,” he repeats it more adamantly, sounding too pathetic for Helly to even attempt denying him again. 

She settles on the edge of the bed cautiously, but Mark pulls her closer, shifting himself until he’s leaned up against her side, head resting on her chest. 

Helly sits stiffly, looking at Devon guiltily. She asks nervously, “Wouldn’t you rather your sister sit with you?”

Mark wrinkles his nose, “Ew.”

Devon chuckles at that. “Fine by me,” she offers Helly a tired smile that seems genuine. She pulls a rocking chair from the corner of the room to the end of his bed. She tosses the blanket over the back to Helly and grabs the one from the race car bed for herself before settling in.

Mark seems to drift off instantly, his breath coming steadily although his eyebrows remain furrowed, twitching occasionally. Helly wraps an arm around him slowly, hand rubbing up and down his arm. The two women sit there for a while, watching him sleep intently as if it will somehow reveal what is going on inside his rattled head. As if their watch alone can keep him safe.

“Did he know?” Devon breaks the silence, “The outie?”

Helly hesitates. She’s never told anyone about their situation before, never had to explain it out loud. She doesn’t want to. She wants to keep it for herself. But she also wants Devon to trust her. She needs Devon to know that she isn’t here to hide secrets and scheme the way her outie would. So she nods, “Eventually.”

“Sounds complicated.”

Helly cracks a wry smile, “It is.” Four people is a lot to fit in a relationship, and the addition of Gemma makes them six. It’s a race for companionship that she knows she can never win… she’d lost before it had even begun. It’s a near constant whiplash that leaves her unsteady. “But it can also be simple,” she amends, thinking of the natural draw, of how right it always feels to be in his orbit, how at the core of it all is her desire for him to be happy. 

Devon nods, considering that. “I think I know what you mean,” she says, “It’s not the same, obviously, but my husband has been many different versions of himself. And no matter how he changes, he’s still my person.”

Helly’s heart aches. She thinks that sounds really nice. She also doesn’t think that’s what’s happening between her and Mark. There will be no house in the woods with weird three-bed bedrooms for them. “You don’t have to worry about me, by the way,” she swears. “I know that I’m not… I know Gemma is the priority. I respect that.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Devon tilts her head, “Why?”

Helly’s brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

Devon gives her a knowing look, “Not everyone would be so adamant about helping their boyfriend find his wife.”

“She’s one of us. She’s an innie,” is Helly’s first nervous answer, the one she’s so used to giving. After a beat she adds, “And I know it’s not the same. The way he loves her, it’s different… bigger.” Helly sighs, “I found their wedding picture at his house. I have never seen him happy like that.”

Devon’s smile is fond and full of melancholy, as if remembering the picture herself, “He also looked very young.”

Helly shrugs the shoulder Mark isn’t leaning on. Of course he was younger. That’s how time works. She isn’t sure what that has to do with anything.

“I just think maybe you don’t need to be so worried about it,” Devon continues, gaze dropping to Mark sleeping even more soundly now against Helly’s chest. “I’ve seen my brother in love before.”

Helly looks down at him, too, heart squeezing painfully in her chest. Not enough, she thinks to herself, but doesn’t say. “He’s lucky to have you,” she tells Devon instead. She doesn’t look convinced, so Helly continues, “He talks about you down there. And Ricken. He was so proud that the author of The You You Are is his brother-in-law. And his niece, Eleanor, right?” 

Devon perks up, surprised but clearly flattered that they made such an impression on Mark’s innie. “He barely even knew us for an hour.”

“An hour is a lot when you only exist for eight hours a day,” Helly says simply, recalling how much different time already felt with only a few full days under her belt. “We’d all talk about what we wanted our outies to be like out here. The lives we hoped we had. Do you know what Mark said he wanted?”

“A mansion?” Devon guesses. “Or maybe a whole villa with a yacht in the Italian countryside? That sounds more like him.”

Helly shakes her head, smiling warmly at the memory. Her feelings for Mark had already been clear at the time, but that moment was one that cemented it. “Things he cares about,” she looks back to Devon, “And he does.”

Devon smiles and wipes at her eyes, “Thanks, Helly.”

“Yeah, of course,” she returns. 

“What did you want? You know, down there,” Devon asks her.

Helly thinks for a moment. By that point she had lost all hope for her outie. “For her to drop dead.”

Devon doesn’t betray any horror or judgement, saying sincerely, “Well, I’m really glad she didn’t.”

Helly laughs lightly, “Thanks.”

Devon yawns and lets her eyes shut, “Now try to sleep. If he’s going to be this difficult tomorrow then I need you well rested.” 

Helly chuckles at her joke but doesn’t listen immediately, instead watching the Scout siblings thoughtfully. As welcoming as Devon has been, she still feels like some sort of intruder trying to leech off the comfort the two of them have spent a lifetime crafting. Eventually, the warm weight of Mark next to her combined with the fading adrenaline of a very long and tumultuous day catches up to her, and she drifts off. 

—

Helly wakes up with a gasp. She can’t remember any dreams, but her heart races a little too fast in her chest. The rocking chair Devon sat in last night is now empty. She takes a deep breath and looks down, finding that she and Mark hardly moved throughout the night, although he has slipped lower down her chest. It strikes her that this is the first time they’ve ever slept together - just slept. Helly allows herself to hold him a little closer for a moment, closing her eyes and forgetting about their predicament. It’s weirdly easy to pretend they’re just sleeping in on a normal day off, as though “day off” and “normal” could ever be part of the same sentence for the two of them. When she finally rises, Helly makes sure he’s settled comfortably on the pillows, disturbing him as little as possible before she sneaks off to hunt down Devon’s bathroom. She looks around greedily as she goes, stretching her neck until it cracks painfully. Devon’s warm wooden home might be the most beautiful space she’s ever been in, she thinks, marveling at the quiet comfort of it all.

Helly spares a glance in the mirror as she goes, stopping momentarily to inspect herself. The reflection isn’t one she’s used to. She looks exhausted, with mascara smudged under her eyes and her hair untamed and frizzy. Now she looks nothing like poised, perfect, proper Helena Eagan. The fact makes her grin at herself in the mirror.

When she finds the kitchen, Devon is already in there on the phone. “He’s so sorry he can’t make it today. Yes, Seth. I’ll let him know. Thanks.” She hangs up and turns to Helly with a smile, “Hey. Is he still sleeping?”

Helly nods, “Yeah. I can go back in with him in a minute.”

Devon waves her off, “He’ll be okay for a while. Do you want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” she replies, sitting at the kitchen island. “Was that Lumon on the phone?”

Devon nods, “Mmhm. Decided to go with the severe stomach virus cover up. You should probably do the same, it makes sense there’d be two people out with the same thing, less suspicious.”

“Who did you call?” 

“Seth,” Devon says simply, but Helly looks at her with a blank expression so she elaborates, “Milchick?”

“Oh, Mr. Milchick,” Helly retrieves Helena’s phone, his was one of the few contacts she had. It has a pretty low battery now, but it will get her through one call. Thankfully there are no new notifications, but the existing missed calls and texts remain. The ones from Mr. Drummond are vague, mostly just promising that he would be in contact soon. The ones from Natalie seem innocuous enough, updates about upcoming events. That strikes a whole new fear in Helly, that she might have to attend more events and masquerade properly as Helena this time. She pushes that out of her mind and navigates to the contacts, hesitantly pressing the call button and bringing the device to her ear.

“Make sure you sound sick,” Devon whispers as it rings. 

The phone picks up with a click, “Good morning, Ms. Eagan,” Mr. Milchick’s familiar phony voice rings through the phone, sending a wave of fresh anxiety through her, “What can I do for you this morning?”

“I-I’m uh,” she started, trying to lower her voice some and sound exhausted. Devon gives her two thumbs up, so she must be on the right track. “I’m very sick today. Stomach virus. I won’t be able to come into work.”

“Oh, what a shame,” he laments with faux sympathy. “I’m sure your innie will be sad to miss the day.”

Helly bristles at that, not enjoying the way he refers to her as if she’s Helena’s child or a pet. “Yes, so unfortunate,” she says, hiding her anger under the fake sick voice. 

“Let us know when you’re feeling better. Get well soon, Ms. Eagan.”

The call ends and she places the phone down with a sigh that verges on a growl. Devon slides the coffee in front of Helly with a sympathetic smile. “Thanks,” Helly says, spooning too much sugar into it. 

“Good morning!” Says a new voice from behind her. Helly turns and comes face to face with the cover of her friends’ favorite book with a baby in his arms. “You must be Helena-“

“Helly,” Devon corrects.

“Helly! How magnificent to host new friends,” Ricken exclaims jovially. 

Helly smirks, wide eyed at this man’s peculiarity. “Uh, thanks. You must be Ricken.”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” Ricken says proudly, passing the baby to his wife, “I know Mark’s workie greatly enjoyed my latest publication. Inspired him, expanded his horizons and all that. It has been so empowering to hear how it caused such a tremendous wave of enlightenment - and in such a new and intriguing environment, no less! I take it you’re familiar with the book as well, then?”

Helly continues smiling in bemusement at this guy. “Um, not too much, actually. But they speak very highly of it. I like the quotes.” 

“In that case-“ Ricken walks to a cabinet in the hallway nearby, opening one of the drawers and pulling out one of what appears to be at least ten copies of The You You Are. He hands it to Helly with a flourish, “I will bestow one upon you, my dear, as a token of my gratitude for your friendship with our dear, troubled Mark.”

Helly glances at Devon, who is looking on in equal parts amusement and exasperation. Helly takes the book, “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” he claps his hand. “Now, where is the good man? I would love to meet his workie again.” 

She snickers at the word ‘workie’ as Devon begins to explain, “It’s a little more complicated than that.” 

Helly sips from her coffee and watches in amusement as she tries to explain that he isn’t just his innie or his outie at the moment. If he continues to behave anything like last night, then he’s a confusing, jumbled mess of them both. Ricken clearly isn’t entirely following, but he also isn’t one to let that diminish his chipper mood. 

“I know just what he needs,” he says, pulling ingredients from the fridge, “There is a healing omelette made with sea moss that does wonders for the brain.”

Helly has no idea what sea moss is, but she thinks if she asks she might be inviting a lecture she isn’t prepared to receive, so she stays quiet. 

There’s a loud thump down the hall that draws all their eyes. “I think he’s up,” Devon moves towards the hall, “I’ll get him. Can you hold her?” Devon holds the baby in her arms towards Helly, who looks to Ricken expectantly - surely he’d be a better option to carry their own baby - but he’s busy with a hot pan at the stove. 

“Um, I don’t know-“

“Here,” she thrusts Eleanor forward. Helly wraps her arms around her as carefully as she can, and Devon arranges her hands, one on the baby’s bum and another at the back of her head, “Just support her like that and hold on tight. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, how tight?” Helly calls after Devon. 

“Just like that is fine, Helly,” Ricken says helpfully, peaking back at her, “It’s practically instinctual. Holding a baby is one of the most natural things a human being can do.”

Helly lets that wash over her. She’s never even seen a baby before. She must have been one, once, but her entire world consisted exclusively of adults and a single teenage girl. She blinks down at the baby, and a pair of big blue eyes blinks curiously back up at her. Eleanor is impossibly small and vulnerable, barely even wriggling in her arms, and yet she seems like the largest thing Helly has ever met. 

“Hi Eleanor,” Helly greets softly. Eleanor doesn’t answer, of course, but her head flops forward onto Helly’s shoulder. Helly breathes in deep, something warm and powdery hitting her nose. “Wow,” she breathes.

“I know,” Ricken agrees. Helly had nearly forgotten he was there, “Baby. Best scent in the known universe.” 

Mark shuffles into the room with Devon hot on his heels. He’s rubbing his eyes groggily, hair mussed with sleep and still dressed in the monk outfit. He freezes when he sees Helly, recognition registering on his face. He straightens up like he’s been shocked, and seems to almost smile at her. His eyes flicker to the baby in her arms and he hesitates, brow furrowing in confusion instead, his eyes growing distant. When he looks back up at her, it’s with suspicion. 

“Good morning, Mark!” Ricken greets heartily, “You’re just in time for your sea moss omelette.”

Mark wrinkles his nose in confusion at that, going to sit as far from Helly as possible on the opposite end of the island. “Surely that’s for fish, not people.”

“Some might say that our world is the biggest fishbowl there is, and that we are all different fish swimming about blithely inside,” Ricken beams. Seeing Mark’s unamused reaction, he sighs and continues, “Okay, just… try the omelette, Mark. It is very good for brain health. And collagen!” He slides a plate in front of Mark happily, “Can I get you some coffee to go with it? We use special beans from a Peruvian monastery,” he informs. “It’s very good, just ask Helly.”

Helly nods. It is pretty good coffee, not that she can taste it much under the amount of sugar she adds. Mark shoots a brief glance at Helly, then snarks bitterly to Ricken, “What, do they whisper secrets to the beans?”

“No,” Ricken informs, turning to the coffee maker, “They whisper wishes.”

Mark gives Devon a long winded look that she returns with her own amused apologetic one, and Helly can’t help but chuckle. But Mark turns to her with a scowl on his face, making the laughter dry up in her throat. It lasts only a moment before he turns his attention to the omelette in front of him, but it shakes her. Neither Mark has ever looked at her with disdain before. 

Ricken slides her own plate in front of her, taking the baby from her arms. She blinks at him, still recovering. “Oh. Thanks,” she says belatedly, digging into a surprisingly good if slightly salty sea moss omelette. 

Ricken and Devon converse over their plates about whatever married people talk about in the mornings. Helly isn’t really paying attention, letting them fade into the background. All the while, she watches Mark with her own suspicion, but mostly concern. How did he go from the man she fell asleep next to last night - overly affectionate, clinging to her side, begging her to stay - to this suspicious, angry man? What in his memories is triggering that reaction to her? Was it something Helena did, maybe? She can’t figure it out, but she’s definitely been staring too long, because suddenly Mark is meeting her eyes with a glower.

“What?” he asks her across the table, voice accusatory. Devon and Ricken fall quiet.

Helly straightens in her seat, her own annoyance and anger flaring at his rude behavior whether he’s recovering from experimental brain surgery or not. “You okay?” She asks.

“I’m fine ,” he spits back, rising from his chair suddenly and going to the cupboards, “Where the hell is my- Devon,” he turns, accusatory, “Where’d you put it? This isn’t funny.”

“Mark,” Devon starts carefully, voice measured, “There’s no alcohol here. You’re not allowed to drink today. You’re recovering.”

Mark barks a short, twisted laugh. His eyes shine and there’s a manic look in them. “You can’t do this. I don’t need you to come to my apartment talking about recovery-“

“Mark,” Devon says again, voice stronger this time, “We’re not in your apartment. You haven’t lived in that apartment for years. We’re in my house.”

Mark looks around, confused, “Wh-What are you talking about?”

“What’s her name?” Devon holds the baby up.

“…Eleanor,” he answers, deflating slightly but still tense. 

“And who is she?”

“My niece. Your daughter.”

“Good. What’s her name?” She points at Helly. He turns to her, eyes flickering with recognition.

“Helly.”

“And how do you know Helly?”

“I met her…” Mark has to think about that one, clearly digging through his mind for the correct answer, “At a bar.”

Devon opens up her mouth to correct him, but Helly interrupts, “That’s right, Mark,” she tells him, because that is the first time Mark Scout met this face. “We met at a bar.” 

Devon raises an eyebrow at Helly, but doesn’t continue that line of questioning. “Where are you now? Take a look around.”

Mark does as he’s told, realization slowly dawning on him. “We’re at your house.”

“There you go,” Devon smiles at him, “Welcome back.”

Mark shakes his head, fingers going to his temple, “Yeah… I need a minute.” He goes off down the hall and they hear a door slam. 

“Bathroom,” Devon says to Ricken. “Get some ibuprofen and stand outside the door. If you hear anything weird we’re going in.”

Ricken stands, obeying to his wife, “Do we consider crying to be weird?”

“Crying is allowed,” she clarifies. Ricken and nods and goes off to his new post outside the bathroom.

“How did you know to do that thing with the questions?” Helly asks.

“I used to work in child psychology,” she explains. “Asking questions about your surroundings can be a good grounding technique.”

Helly thanks the universe that Devon was here to help them with this. 

“So, a bar, huh?” Devon asks. 

Maybe Helly was too thankful too quickly. “That’s where he met Helena for the first time.”

Devon raises her eyebrows, “They met?”

Helly just nods, unwilling to continue and unable to admit what Helena did next. “You seemed to know where he thought he was,” Helly deflects. 

“Mhm,” Devon hums, “He and Gemma lived in an apartment near the university. I spent a lot of very difficult days with him there.”

If Mark had been transported to the weeks right after his wife’s death, it was no wonder he had been so tense and angry. She looked down at her half empty plate, but her appetite was gone. She stood to clear it, a poor distraction from the discomfort brought on by the fact that there isn’t anything more she could do to help now. She isn’t the woman he wants around. All she can do is wait nearby on the off chance he starts asking for her again. Helly looks towards the glass doors across the living room and the patio beyond it. 

“Um, would you mind if I get some fresh air?” She asks Devon.

“Of course. I think we’ll be able to manage him,” Devon offers with a sympathetic smile.

Helly just barely manages a smile in return. She grabs her new book from Ricken off the island, throwing on her coat and shoes before stepping into the cold winter air. It’s like a brisk but welcoming slap to the face, and Helly finds it helps her breathe a little easier, distracting from the broken man inside who she can’t help. It’s also beautiful, the snow kissed woods glistening in the sunlight, the sky clear and blue and endless. Helly marvels at the sight, watching a few small birds hop around in the trees. She leans with her forearms against the back railing and looks down at the book in front of her. She’s never really read a book before, and she’d rather do anything to avoid going back in the house right now, so she cracks it open. 

Before she’s even finished the first chapter, Helly has to admit: she gets why Mark S. is so into this. She finds herself laughing almost immediately, the tone Ricken speaks in so clear in his writing and just as ridiculous. And yet it still comes off painfully earnest, and he does manage to make some good points. Ones that she had considered herself as she toiled away on the severed floor, trapped and commodified for someone who didn’t even consider her a person. 

Just when her fingers are getting too cold to continue flipping the pages, Devon’s voice rings out from behind her. “If you’re not careful, you’ll actually get sick,” she says, coming to stand next to Helly at the railing. “Oh, are you reading the book?” Devon points to it, voice surprised and pleased. 

“Yeah,” she smiles, “I get why Mark and Dylan like it so much.”

“I still can’t believe Mark loves Ricken’s book. Dying for him to remember that one.” Helly laughs, shaking her head. Devon continues, “Is Dylan one of your coworkers?”

Helly nods, thinking of her friend and wondering what he and Irving did at work today, what they thought of her and Mark’s mysterious absence and claim of illness. She didn’t like leaving them down there alone. “Yeah. Him and Irving. They’re really good guys.” Helly looks around at the beautiful day unfolding around her, struck as she occasionally is at the feeling of freedom and the beauty of the world that had been kept from her. “They deserve to be up here.”

“We’ll get them,” Devon says more confidently than Helly feels, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

Helly smiles, appreciating the comfort. “How is he?”

“He’s lying down now. Headache,” Devon sighs, “He’s confused. It’s distressing for him.” She pauses, “I’m sorry you had to see him like that. It really had nothing to do with you.”

“It’s okay,” Helly replies easily, smirking to herself, “If you knew half the shit I put him through when I first started, you wouldn’t feel so bad.”

Devon laughs, “Oh yeah? I might want to hear about that.”

“It’s not all funny,” Helly warns.

“No, but I bet it’s important,” Devon turns to her, “Seriously, it’s freezing out here. Let’s go, I’ll make us hot chocolate.”

“I’ve never had hot chocolate,” Helly tells her with an excited smile. If it was anything like chocolate ice cream, she was really going to like it.

“Oh my god, seriously?” Devon exclaims, “It’s the best. I have to make my own because we don’t eat processed foods, but you can’t go wrong with cocoa, milk, and sugar. Oh, and just a little bit of cinnamon.”

Helly is happy to watch Devon concoct their drinks, following along as if she might make it for herself on her own stove top one day. She’s easy to talk to, funny and quick but also a good listener. She seems interested in what Helly has to say and in her opinions, without judgement, despite her brief existence and severed status. Part of it, Helly is sure, is that it is just so nice to talk to another woman. She didn’t even know she was missing that type of connection before now, but she didn’t want to go back to life without it.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Helly starts as Devon pours the hot chocolate into four mugs. “It’s really nice here.”

“Of course, Helly,” she hands her a mug, “Thank you for being here.” 

She takes a sip of the hot beverage, “Holy shit,” she whispers in awe.

”I know, right?” Devon laughs, retrieving the other two mugs to pass to Mark and Ricken.

Helly avoids Mark for the rest of the day, though she promises herself that if he wants to see her she’ll put her discomfort aside and be there. But he never asks, preferring to be on his own or with his sister. She spends time watching Eleanor nap, and then engaging in something called “tummy time” on the living room floor as Ricken explains the intricacies of the newborn psyche and how one’s self is already being developed. Between the cuteness and the constant stream of near nonsensical chatter, Helly is able to adequately distract herself. She knows if she was needed - if she could help in any way - that Devon would retrieve her. All she can do is wait.

But later that night, when Helly lays in the race car bed, there are no more distractions left. All she can think about is what’s going on in the head of the man across from her. She turns her head and sees him, back turned to her a mere three feet away, but those three feet might as well be an ocean. She is consumed by who she will be met with tomorrow - this standoffish guy who doesn’t want to be anywhere near her? Or the one who clings to her very presence? Maybe neither? Both? 

“Mark?” She whispers into the night, but he doesn’t stir. She’s not sure if he’s sleeping or pretending to. “Goodnight, Mark,” she whispers anyway, hoping that the Mark who cares can hear her.

Chapter Text

Helly is up and out of the room with three beds (that she still has received no explanation for) before Mark rises. She sits with Devon and Ricken again, sipping coffee with them and making faces at Eleanor. It’s remarkably easy, even after so little time, to share space with Devon and her family. Helly wishes more and more that Devon were her sister, that this comfort belonged to her. But she knows she’s just a visitor. She wonders what Helena might have been like if she had something like this in her life. 

Just as Ricken pardons himself, Mark finally joins them. She holds her breath as he enters, but he seems lighter than he did the day before, standing a little straighter. 

“Good morning,” Devon greets him. But Mark catches Helly’s eye, just then, and any reply he might have given his sister vanishes from his lips. 

To Helly’s surprise, he sits next to her instead of staying as far away as possible. He looks at her with something soft and a little nervous in his eyes. He offers a shy smile that reminds her of the ones from the office, back before overtime and Helena and Gemma. It’s the sort of look that always made Helly’s heart pick up a bit, that got her thinking maybe, maybe, maybe . But at the current moment, she can’t trust this look. Still, she returns the smile cautiously. Mark doesn’t say anything, just continues to look at her. Devon and Helly exchange a worried glance.

“How are you feeling?” Helly prompts. 

“Uh,” Mark chuckles, “Yeah. Scared of getting caught.”

Helly’s eyebrows furrow, “We won’t get caught,” she reassures him, more confidently than she feels. 

Mark nods and looks away in contemplation, eyes unfocused. “What if we’re all assholes out there?” He jokes, turning back to her.

Now Helly remembers this. Sitting with him in the kitchenette, enjoying a few minutes of time away from everyone else, un-subtle flirting and nervous half confessions. Mark laughs again, as if Helly responded with a joke about her outie, but she hasn’t said anything at all. 

“Mark-“

“You know, I just hope it turns out I have things I care about,” he nods seriously, looking back at her, “Like for real.” It’s just like her memory of this moment, except instead of a suit he’s in Ricken’s weird pajamas, his hair ruffled from sleep and falling over his forehead. It’s an uncanny imitation, and yet Helly can’t bring herself to break the moment, instead staring at him with her mouth half open and her eyebrows drawn. She knows exactly what she said next; she’s even tempted to say it, to let herself live in that moment one more time. But that couldn’t be helpful to Mark right now, and it would only be cruel to herself. 

“Mark-“ she tries again, but he continues.

“You’re easy to pretend to care about,” he says shyly, gaze intense and adoring and unsure. 

She can’t take this reminder of tender beginnings, not when it feels so much like false hope. She flips the original script, reaching out and taking hold of his hand, and he looks down at it in surprise.  She squeezes as hard as she can. “Mark, we’re not in the office,” she says firmly and slowly.

He looks at her confused, smiling like she might be going crazy. “Um, yeah we are.”

“Then who’s that?” She points to Devon, who is watching them sadly as she holds Eleanor close. 

Mark blinks rapidly, “Devon? What are you…” He trails off, voice subtly lowering to the one she more typically associates with Mark’s outie as he comes back to the present moment. He looks at Helly with clear eyes, then down at the hand she’s holding between them. He pulls it from her grasp quickly, and Helly stifles a flinch as best she can. She clears her throat and brings her hand back to her lap, covering it with her own, and tries to rub his lingering touch from it. “You back?”

Mark nods but won’t look at her, clearly uncomfortable, “Yeah.”

Helly nods back quietly. She stands, grabbing her book and mug, “I’ll just give you some space.”

She retreats from the kitchen quickly, and neither sibling makes any move to stop her. She takes deep breaths, trying to subdue the sting of his rejection, the sight of his hand pulling from hers playing over and over again in her head. She doesn’t want to be angry about it, but she is. It hurts to be treated like an unwelcome intrusion after everything she has been through with him. Mark’s outie had never behaved towards her this way, so why would he when combined with her Mark? She assumed she would lose the love and care she’s grown accustomed to, but never thought that she would gain disdain and animosity in return. And she can’t figure out why . He seems to tolerate Devon’s company, but Helly has suddenly become a problem. An unwelcome intrusion. Is that what she is now? An inconvenience? Maybe she always had been. Maybe at best, she was only ever a projection of his lovesick subconscious reaching out for a connection that belonged to someone else. 

Helly turns into a room that had been described to her as the study, hoping to escape to someplace no one else would need to be, only to stop short when she finds Ricken already seated at the large desk. It startles her enough to shake her out of her spiral. He’s hunched over at a large desk, writing with a long feather instead of a pen. Helly has never seen anything like it. 

“Helly!” Ricken greets. “Wonderful to see you again, my dear. What can I do for you?”

“What’s that?” Helly asks instead of returning his greeting, pointedly eyeing the feather in his hand.

“Ah, my quill? It’s an ancient writing utensil. I collected this feather myself on Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in the Americas. It was bestowed upon me by a great purple eagle, and hand crafted into this quill by a local villager.”

Helly blinks, “Why not just use a pen?”

“And lose the opportunity to imbue my words with such strength, perseverance, and freedom? Perish the thought,” he explains, as though it was obvious. 

She thought that sounded pretty ridiculous and probably wasn’t true, but she glances down at the book she’s already almost half-way through, and figures Ricken can get away with his eccentricities. 

“I was going to read this in here, actually,” she tells him. He visibly perks up and Helly continues quickly before he can get a word in, “But only if it can be quiet in here.” 

Ricken gives her a broad smile and a wink, then mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key before returning to his writing. 

Helly settles on the armchair by the window. She’s distracted for a few minutes by the still remarkable view of the woods and the sound of Ricken’s quill scratching against paper in the background. But without fail, the issue of Mark’s recent behavior toward her returns to mind, so she opens up her book. It sucks her right back in. She rolls her eyes at his flowery prose less and less, and finds herself nodding along more and more. Learning about his life is fascinating, especially to someone with so little personal history. And based on Ricken’s book, his life was not always easy. Helly finds herself glancing at the strange man as he works at his desk, wondering how he maintains his enthusiasm and optimism. Devon had mentioned that he wasn’t always like this. Helly wonders what changed, and whether Devon might tell her if she asked. 

Particularly interesting is reading about the people in his life who she now knows, the name changes easy enough to decipher. She reaches a chapter that has Helly practically burying her nose in the book, as Ricken recounts a time that Mark - name changed very unsubtly to Flip - was needlessly cruel to Ricken after Gemma’s death. It’s a more severe version of the episode she witnessed the previous morning in the kitchen. He is mean and violent, lashing out just because he is in pain and needs everyone around him to feel it too. Ricken can be annoying, sure, but he doesn’t seem to deserve that. Especially since she can tell that Ricken really loved Gemma. He describes her with such care, recounting her kind and compassionate nature, the depth of friendship she offered. And Mark had tried to ruin that for him. Helly got the sense that Mark could be a bulldozer when he wanted to be, tearing down anything in his path. 

It reminds her of herself, how little regard she gave to anything that got in her way when she first arrived at Lumon. Even herself. She’s torn between disappointment that Mark is susceptible to such ugly emotions and loving him all the more for it. Despite her acceptance of him, she realizes with a sense of dread that if they are to fail - if Gemma were to be lost to them for good this time - that Mark could easily slip back into the man described in Ricken’s book. Only this time, his choice to reintegrate would deprive him of the only coping mechanism that ever helped him improve. 

She finishes the book and lets it settle on her lap, staring off into space for a few minutes as she digests it. She feels both hollow and brimming with new thoughts and ideas. Many of them, unsurprisingly, about Mark. He had read so much about himself in these pages without having any idea at all. The words of a man he had treated so poorly touched him deeply enough to change the very foundation of his world. She wishes she had read it earlier, back when she could have talked to Mark S. about it on one of their walks.  

“Wow,” Helly breathes eventually and Ricken spins around with incredible speed. He looks at her expectantly, “That was really good,” Helly adds. He nods his head vigorously, prompting her to continue, “I’ve never read a book before.” Ricken’s jaw drops and he mimes his mind being blown. “Um, you can speak now.”

“Which part spoke to you the most?” He burst out, “I know it must be devastatingly hard to choose, so do forgive me for asking, but do you recall any one insight or turn of phrase in particular that helped to shine a brighter light upon the core of your being? If not for yourself, one that you think resonated especially strongly with Mark and his fellow workies?”

“Oh, um,” she sits up a little straighter, not expecting the sudden barrage of questions, “I liked hearing about your life. Your family. I’ve never really experienced that sort of thing before. Having a family, I mean. And everything you said about work… I must have thought those things a million times down there. What was that one line, something about existence versus nonexistence-“

“‘The quality of existence is greater than that of our nonexistence.’” Ricken recites from memory for her.

“Yeah, that one. I like that one. Especially since all of us innies… uh, workies…”, she explains for Ricken with a slight grin she can’t quite hold back, “we spend half our time not existing at all,” she says with a shrug, looking back down at the book thoughtfully. 

“Well, Helly, I am deeply honored to hear you speak so highly of my work.”

Helly looks back at him, smiling. She holds it out to him, “Would you sign it?”

Ricken looks at her, his eyes twinkling and mouth agape as if he can’t believe his ears. Quickly he recovers and reaches for the book, “I would be honored! Is that Helly with two L’s, or one…”

“Two,” she answers, watching him sign it swiftly. Helly reads the signature when he returns it: To my #1 fan, our dear Helly. Always be You! Love, Ricken Hale . She smiles down at the signature, “Mark and Dylan will be so jealous.”

Ricken opens his mouth, surely to discuss his brilliant work some more, when they’re interrupted by Devon. She has Petey’s burner phone to her ear. “It’s Reghabi.”

Helly stands up immediately, “Is everything okay?”

Devon nods and holds the phone out, “She wants to speak to you.”

Helly takes the phone eagerly and Reghabi greets her, “Hello, Helly.”

She doesn’t return the formalities, “What’s happening?”

“You’re going back to work tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Helly nods, “Well, okay for me. Mark probably needs more time-“

“No, Mark is going in, too.”

“Uh, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s still confused.”

“It’ll be good for him. Being on the severed floor will help his mind finish reintegrating safely. And if either of you are out any longer, Lumon will start getting suspicious.”

“If you’re sure, I guess,” she relents, not quite managing to keep the nervousness out of her voice. “What do you need us to do in there?”

“Nothing. I’m taking care of it. Lay low and act normally. But be careful, Helly. Lumon is dangerous, even to their own. That includes Eagans.” Helly gulps, thinking of the missed notifications on Helena’s now dead phone. “You’re too valuable to risk losing. Having the heir to the throne on our side could be the lynchpin that makes this whole thing work. So don’t cause any trouble. Got it?”

“Jeez,” Helly mutters, “Fine. But when are we going to do something,” she asks, not a fan of waiting around.

“I told you, I’m taking care of it. You have to trust me on this. I’ll have updates for you this weekend - all you have to do for now is make it through the week. Can you manage that?”

“Fine,” she begrudgingly agrees, “I can do that.”

“Good,” Reghabi states. And then the line cuts off. 

Helly holds the phone out, staring at it. “I think she hung up on me.”

“She really is a joy, isn’t she?” Devon says sarcastically. 

“An absolute delight,” Helly commiserates, handing the phone back to her. “If we’re going back to work, I should probably get back to Helena’s.” 

Devon nods, “Of course. Ricken can give you a ride. You don’t have to worry about Mark - I’ll take care of him, as long as he needs. Reghabi did have some good advice. And he is already doing better, you know, even with all the weirdness this morning.”

“That’s good, at least,” Helly says with a heavy sigh. She’s conflicted about leaving. Devon and Ricken and their baby are like nothing she has ever been around before, and it is beautiful. Almost as amazing as the view of the sky, or the snow on the ground. But she isn’t sure she wants to be around Mark anymore. Dodging him while anxiously waiting to be needed is a horrible feeling. Devon will do a better job than she can, anyway. Helena’s cold empty house just might feel a little less suffocating, or at the very least a more familiar and bearable form of suffocation.  

“Um, thank you guys for having me,” Helly says, looking between them “Really, I- It just. It means a lot.” It’s not enough, but the Hale’s smile at her warmly and she thinks they sort of understand what she’s trying to say. “And I promise I’ll watch out for Mark at work tomorrow.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Devon says kindly, “Just a normal day at the office, right?” She turns to leave the study, Helly and Ricken following.

Helly gathers her things - just her coat, shoes, and now a book - before taking a seat on their front porch, waiting for Ricken to get ready to drive her back. She hears someone approaching and turns, expecting Ricken with his car keys, but instead finding Mark. He’s standing near the front door with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He looks more normal now, dressed in jeans and a sweater. It’s a good look on him. He also looks present, thankfully, but sheepish. He clears his throat awkwardly, before sinking down onto the bench next to her, barely an arm’s width away. 

“Hi,” Helly says.

“Hey,” Mark returns. He stares down at his lap for a long moment before glancing at her quickly. He notices the book on her lap and smirks. “Are you seriously reading that?”

“Finished it,” Helly corrects. “I really liked it. You did, too.”

Mark grimaces, “Yeah, I’m starting to remember that…” Helly smirks, but doesn’t reply. Mark continues when it’s clear she’s not in the mood to banter about Ricken or the differences between Mark’s innie and outie. “Devon said that I should come talk to you. That this has been, um, upsetting for you.”

Helly rolls her eyes at the meddling and the way he so easily folds under his sister’s instructions. “It’s been upsetting for everyone,” she counters. 

“Yeah, but it’s different. With you.”

She shrugs. She’s not really sure what he wants her to tell him. It sucks, but here she is, not about to make it his problem on top of everything else. 

Quiet lingers between them until Mark apologizes softly, “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Helly shrugs again, thinking of all the things Helena could have been up to that she doesn’t know about. For all she knows this is exactly what she deserves. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault, right? Can’t help yourself.” Except that it was only her who seemed to be getting such an extreme response. “Except, why me?” She asks before she can stop herself.

Mark turns to look at her intently. The moment drags on, his eyes quickly tracing over her features, gaze coming in and out of focus. For a moment Helly worries that he’s slipping from reality again, but right as she’s about to start asking him questions on their identities and surroundings he opens his mouth to answer.

“There’s a lot going on up here,” he taps his temple, “About you.”

“Oh,” Helly says dumbly.

“Yeah. You… Flicker more than the rest.”

“Flicker?”

Mark nods, “You’ll be you, here, and then in the office, at that bar, my house- All at once. It’s discombobulating.” 

Helly frowns. That definitely doesn’t sound fun. “Sorry for, uh, discombobulating you.”

“It’s not your fault. And Reghabi said it would get better. Devon asked.”

“And work should help,” she contributes hopefully, remembering Reghabi’s words. 

“I hope so,” he sighs. “And I’ll try harder,” he adds, determined.

Helly smiles and bumps their shoulders, “Don’t hurt yourself. You’re no good if your brain is dripping out of your ears.”

He chuckles and looks into her eyes a little too softly and a little too long.

“Yeah…” Helly trails off, getting lost in his eyes.

Ricken joins them on the porch then, keys in hand. Both Mark and Helly stand from the bench a little too quickly. Devon steps forward to wrap Helly in a tight hug. Helly isn’t expecting it - has only ever really hugged Mark S. - but it’s nice. So nice, in fact, that Helly finds herself sinking into it. Devon doesn’t seem to mind, squeezing her tighter and letting it linger before pulling back and promising to be in touch. She settles for waving at Mark, but he surprises her and pulls her into a hug, too. It’s shorter than the one from Devon, and tentative in a way it typically wouldn’t be, but it’s something. It’s trying. Helly savors every millisecond of it.

-

Helly practically speeds to Lumon the next morning - or at least goes as fast as her  fancy electric car lets her before It starts beeping incessantly about the speed limit. She technically isn’t supposed to get to the office before the manager, but she’s hoping the Eagan of it all will allow for some leeway. It seems to work well enough, no one questioning her early arrival. It isn’t long until Helly is sitting in the armchairs outside the elevator, staring daggers at that stupid oil painting that is obviously meant to be her and her friends being spared by her great-great-great-grandfather. 

She hears the elevator ding and turns, anxiously waiting to see which one of her friends arrives first. Irving steps through the elevator doors and gasps with a smile when he eyes her.

“Helly!” He steps towards her, “Are you alright? It’s been two days, no you or Mark-“

“I’m okay. We’re both okay,” she promises, “I’ll explain everything when everyone gets here. Okay?”

“…Fine. But if everyone isn’t here in,” he checks his watch, “Thirty minutes, I’ll be coming back for that explanation.”

“Deal,” Helly agrees easily. He walks away just as the elevator dings again. Dylan steps out this time.

“Helly!” He exclaims and Helly sighs, gearing up to have the same conversation twice. She gives him the spiel she gave Irving, promising to tell him everything as soon as Mark gets here. Thankfully, he leaves without a fight - not even a playful one. Helly must look pretty rough to have gotten away with that. 

She waits, pacing outside the elevator and alternating staring at her watch and the clock on the wall. She has no idea what kind of Mark will be stepping outside of those elevators today. She doesn’t know where he thinks he’ll be, or what he’ll remember, or what he’ll think of her. But she tries to be prepared for coaching him through the worst if she needs to. He did it for her, leading her through existing here in the very first days of life as she knows it. Returning the favor should be no problem. Except that should be here by now, she thinks anxiously, and wonders if Devon ran into any trouble. 

Finally, the elevator dings. Helly freezes, holding her breath until they open and Mark comes walking out. He looks like her Mark, dressed in a suit with his hair pushed back and his face freshly shaven. She approaches him quickly, studying the look in his eyes. He seems alert, but he’s blinking a little too fast. 

“What’s your name?” she asks him immediately. 

He hesitates, surprised by her frantic question, “Mark S.” He answers.

“Your real name?” She prompts again.

He freezes for a beat and she can see him realize he knows the answer to that. “Mark Scout.”

“What’s my name? The real one?”

“…Helena Eagan.”

“Your sister’s name?”

“Devon Hale.” Helly opens her mouth to ask another but Mark cuts her off, “I know where I am, okay? I know who I am.”

Helly isn’t quite convinced yet - the way he holds himself now and the tone of his voice skews more Mark S. than Mark Scout. “What happened two days ago?”

“I reintegrated,” he whispers.

Helly nods, “Okay. I believe you.”

“Thanks?”

“Come on,” Helly says, getting right back to business. 

She leads them to MDR, resisting the urge to take his hand as they go. She settles for looking back at him often, watching him closely for any sign of trouble, the memory of a uselessly disoriented Mark fresh in her mind. When they reach the familiar doorway to MDR, Helly strides in with purpose and sits down at her cubicle. Mark does the same, wishing their coworkers good morning, but they can only weakly reply before Helly is interrupting them.

She leans toward the center, voice dropping low. “Okay,” she starts, not willing to skip a beat, “Mark reintegrated.”

Dylan and Irving’s jaws drop and Helly puts a finger to her lips before they start freaking out. “You have got to be cool about this,” she orders strictly, “We have to be low key for a while, okay?” She waits until they both nod to continue. “It was a spur of the moment thing, otherwise we would’ve told you. We got more information on Ms. Casey and someone on the outside is helping us find her. Then she can help all of us.” Dylan and Irving nod slowly, appearing a bit dazed themselves as they take in that information.

“But you seem like our Mark” Dylan says, looking at him carefully. “Shouldn’t you be, like, different or something?”

Mark answers thoughtfully, “I still feel like Mark S. Only I sort of… Felt the shift in the elevator. I can remember it. And I can remember lots of other things, if I think about it. I have flashes of the last few days, but it’s like I didn’t really live them. Like they belong to someone else.”

Dylan and Irving look disturbed and intrigued in equal measure. 

“Are you okay, Mark?” Irving asks him, concerned.

Mark thinks for a moment, seeming to take stock of himself, “I think so.”

“He’s a lot better every day,” Helly says, an accurate affirmation she’s been clinging to.

“Good. It would really suck if you went insane,” Dylan states. “Then we’d never meet quota.”

“About that,” Helly starts. “We can’t stop working entirely, but we should probably slow down.”

“What? Why?” Dylan asks, shaking his head as if nothing sounded more ridiculous.

“The files are people.”

Irving and Dylan stare at her, dumbfounded once more, before they both speak up at once.

“What do you mean they’re people?” Irving splutters, nearly drowned out by Dylan’s “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t explain it, exactly, they just are. And when we refine them we’re doing something to them. Balancing their tempers or something.” Helly glances at Mark, “One of them is Ms. Casey.” 

Mark looks down uncomfortably, but isn’t surprised or confused by the information, which serves as a comfort to Helly. It seems he really does have access to his entire mind and all the information inside. Dylan and Irving, however, are staring at their computers in horror. 

“I know,” Helly says, “But it should only be a few more days.” As long as Reghabi has something actionable for them this weekend, it would be fine. None of them are far enough in their files to risk completing one in the next three days. 

Dylan and Irving don’t answer, just continue looking at their monitors. They stiffly sit back, trying to look like they’re going to do work, though she knows they’ll have just as much trouble sorting as she will. 

“You know what sucks about this?” Dylan pipes up.

“You can boil it down to just one thing?” Helly asks.

“I really liked refining,” Dylan answers seriously. “I’m good at it.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan,” Helly says with a sigh. She means it, too. Existence on the severed floor is often dull, the work a mind numbing time suck that aids in pushing through the long monotonous seconds of the day. 

“Not your fault,” Dylan says morosely.

Except Helly thinks it might be. Probably is. Not that she says this aloud, unwilling to push her friends away. 

“We’ll just have to bide our time in other ways,” Irving adds, “Keep distracted.”

They nod in agreement, but no one seems to have any particular ideas on how to achieve that. 

“Hey, tell us about outside,” Dylan pipes up eventually, “If you don’t live in a boring apartment where do you live?”

“Big, ugly house,” Helly answers simply.

“It’s not ugly,” Mark clarifies, and she’s shocked to hear him speak up after being quiet for so long. “Just… Minimalist.”

Helly scoffs, but Dylan cuts in, “Is that where you guys were the past two days?” 

Mark shakes his head, “We were only there to look around. And for the reintegration, I think. And then we went to my sister’s, but it’s a little fuzzy after that…”

“Yeah,” Helly’s voice sounds way too disappointed, so she tries to cover by turning it into a joke. She smirks, turning to Dylan, “You should have seen him. We had to take care of him like a baby.” To her surprise, Mark seems to enjoy the teasing, smiling self-consciously and hiding a laugh. 

“You met Mark’s sister?” Irving asks, interested.

“Yeah. She’s really cool,” Helly smiles. Devon was a saving grace the last few days. 

“Is she hot?” Dylan asks.

Mark scoffs, affronted, just as Helly says, “Yes.”

Dylan bursts out laughing at Mark’s shocked face. Even Irving chuckles.  

“But- She has a baby,” Mark protests. 

Helly laughs, too, at the weakest argument she’s ever heard, “So? Doesn’t Dylan’s wife have like four?”

“Three, I think,” Dylan corrects, “But yeah, Mark, don’t talk shit about my wife, dude.”

“I wasn’t-“ Mark sighs, shaking his head and giving up with an exasperated smile. 

It almost feels like normal, the four of them at their desks bantering casually and trading barbs. The best moments of her life have consisted of hidden moments like these, minutes stolen from the corporate clock. She thinks it might be the closest to something like home she’s ever felt, her own imitation of Devon’s family unit. It fills Helly with a warm, nostalgic feeling that helps her pretend to work well enough without spiraling. 

Mark, however, seems to slowly be slipping. It takes a while, but Helly notices that he’s zoning out, sitting practically frozen at his desk for minutes at a time before he snaps out of it. He keeps reaching for something that isn’t there, only to stare at his empty hand in confusion. Dylan doesn’t notice, but she catches Irving watching Mark with the same concern she is. 

“Hey, Mark?” she prompts. He doesn’t answer, so she stands and goes to his side, placing a cautious hand on his shoulder, “Hey.” He startles slightly and looks up at her, eyes blinking rapidly until his vision seems to clear and concentrates on her.

“Sorry,” he apologizes softly, dazed.

“It’s okay,” she rubs his shoulder, “Why don’t we go for a walk? Take a couple minutes?” She doesn’t know for sure if a change of scenery will help, but it seems that sitting in this one spot for too long isn’t working out. 

Mark nods and she wordlessly leads him to the break room. It’s different than it usually would be. Helly keeps her hands to herself and Mark maintains the same distance, the quiet more awkward than comfortable. He settles heavily onto one of the low chairs upon arrival, sighing heavily and dropping his head into his hands.

Helly pulls a chair up next to him, sitting carefully and staring at him intently. “Where are you?” She asks.

“Break room,” he grunts out. 

“Who am I?”

“Helly.”

“Who are you?”

“Mark Scout,” he lifts his head to look at her, clearly exasperated. “You don’t have to do that. I’m aware. Things just start to slip, sometimes.”

“Okay,” Helly says, though she’s not convinced, “How can I help?”

Mark’s gaze shifts almost indiscernibly, intensifying just so, and it makes Helly’s cheeks warm. “Can’t we just be here?”

Her hands fidget in her lap as she considers that. She doesn’t really have a choice, she can’t leave him here alone. So she nods, while privately thinking that just being with Mark sounds like a bad idea, even if it also feels like a very good one. In fact, that’s probably why it’s so bad. 

Mark relaxes a bit at that, sighing and slumping his shoulders. He looks at her. Almost the same as he would have before, his gaze intense and loving, though more inquisitive this time. It makes Helly’s heart begin to race, but she doesn’t look away. 

He reaches out cautiously and covers one of the hands fidgeting in her lap. “Is this okay?”

It’s better than okay. Helly flips her hand to hold his properly, nodding, “Yeah, this is okay.” Just this, she promises herself. Nothing more. 

Except Mark starts leaning closer to her, eyes on her lips, and the sight successfully shuts her brain off until he’s finally kissing her again. She kisses him back, squeezing his hand. It’s achingly sweet, absolutely perfect, and deeply wrong. Mark doesn’t really want this, certainly not the Mark she spent the last two days with, the one her Mark is slowly becoming. Whatever he feels towards her now is just an echo, a comforting distraction for his jumbled brain. To indulge in that now will only hurt more later when they leave this place and he shies away from her touch. 

She pulls back suddenly, shaking her head, “We shouldn’t.”

Mark looks surprised and disappointed, but the distress on her face must be clear because he simply nods and squeezes her hand again. “Can we still sit here?”

Helly nods, offering a small, sad smile, “That we can do.” 

They stay there until Mark decides he can handle going back to their desks and the rest of the day passes without any major issues. Mark is still quieter than usual and a little spacy, but the vibe is off for all four of them, so it’s only noticeable to Helly who watches him like a hawk. 

The next day is similar. The four of them sit tensely waiting out the clock, trying to work as little as possible without getting in trouble or going insane with boredom. Helly fields more questions from Dylan and Irving as best she can, frustrated that she doesn’t have more information to give, especially since she is sure that Helena would have the answers to some of their questions. But she can answer questions about what the reintegration process was like, Mark admitting that he can only remember it in fragments himseld. He looks at her sympathetically as she recounts it as accurately and emotionlessly as possible. She wonders if he remembers their tearful goodbye, if he can see through her careful facade to the heartbreak she still feels. 

The way Mark looks at her continues to be a problem. He looks at her like himself again, gaze lingering comfortably, taking her in as if he’s more concerned about her well being than their grand plan to save his wife. It makes it difficult when she still has to take him for a walk, later, after he gets stuck staring down at the copier without moving for a solid two minutes. But when they arrive at the break room it is Mark who asks in a worried voice if she’s okay. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Helly promises, barely keeping the annoyance out of her voice. This show of concern is not going to make anything easier for her. But she attempts a soothing smile, “I’m fine. You’re the one with the jumbled brains.” 

“Helly, I’m serious.”

“I am, too. I’ll be fine.” 

“But you aren’t fine now.”

Helly doesn’t answer, which seems to be an answer enough for Mark. He looks at her sadly, brows drawn, and reaches out to cup her cheek, stroke his thumb along her cheekbone. She doesn’t mean to, but she leans into his touch anyways. 

This time she forgets to stop him when he kisses her, instead sliding her lips steadily against his, letting him deepen it. His hand slides to the nape of her neck and into her hair to hold her close, making her shiver. It’s too easy to slip back into this, and Helly hates herself for every second she can’t make herself stop. But when Mark hums against her lips and his other hand settles on her knee, she’s finally able to pull back.

“Mark,” she sighs despondently, shaking her head. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but he withdraws his hands and lips and keeps them to himself for the rest of the day. 

Helly doesn’t get to see Mark after work these days. Presumably he is going back to Devon’s for monitoring, but despite having her number, Helly is too scared to call. She doesn’t want to find out that the Mark who is leaving the office hates her for what he does with her when they’re there. If Helly was needed, Devon would call her. So she tries to distract herself, spending all this newfound free time tearing through Helena’s closet and eating all her food, telling herself she just has to make it through one more day at the office before Reghabi will tell them what to do next. Once Helly has something to do it will be better, surely. It’s the waiting on top of everything else that’s making this hell.

On the third day, Mark wanders off while she’s in the kitchenette. She barely manages not to panic and finds him in the bathroom, staring blankly at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t turn to her when she enters, so she approaches carefully until his eyes catch hers in the mirror. 

Helly doesn’t need to ask if he’s okay, simply raises her eyebrows at him. He shakes his head and lets it hang, eyes squeezing shut. She risks placing a comforting hand on his back, between his shoulder blades. He surprises her by reaching out, hooking his arm around her waist and pulling her close, head buried in her shoulder before she can properly return the embrace. But she does, hugging him tightly. If he needs this from her, she is happy to give it, deriving her own comfort by his presence in her arms. 

Then she feels something suspiciously like lips on the side of her neck. Alarm bells go off, but surely it must have been her imagination. But no, there they are again, soft kisses against her skin that send electricity down her spine and leaves her skin tingling. 

“Mark,” she tries to warn, but her voice is too breathless for it to have its intended impact. He takes it as encouragement, holding her closer, sucking softly at her pulse point. 

“Mark,” she repeats firmer and it succeeds in getting him to stop. But he doesn’t pull away far, just enough to catch her eyes. 

“What, Helly?” He asks, frustrated.

“We shouldn’t-“

“Why not?”

Helly has a million answers for him. Because she wants it too much, because it will slip through her fingers like dust and it will hurt, because asking herself every time if it will be the last is it’s own type of torture. “Because you don’t really want this,” she says instead. 

“But I do,” he insists, “I want you. I love you.”

She can’t hear these things again, not when they aren’t true. “You might think-“

“I know. What the hell happened to innie autonomy, huh? We have a right to our feelings. Why should the Mark Scout part of me get to twist that and take it away?”

She doesn’t have a good answer for him. He’s right, she knows he is, and he knows it too. It’s the same argument she had in her own head countless times when Helena was stealing time from her. 

“I don’t want to take advantage,” she murmurs, a last ditch effort to stop them. 

“You’re really, really not,” he swears, laughing lightly at the ridiculousness of her suggestion. He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, searching her eyes, “Do you want this?” 

Helly hesitates, then nods pathetically. She really, really wants it. 

When he kisses her she doesn’t stop him, letting herself fall into him. It’s still a bad idea that will surely hurt later, but right now it is a comfort she’s no longer willing to deny either of them. They fall together easily, kisses messy and verging on desperate. She savors the feel of it, his hands roaming her body hungrily, hers undoing his shirt and seeking out warm flesh. He touches her with a renewed effort to hold and please and touch. Helly has no doubt he’s considering that it could be the last time the same as she is. 

She scrambles onto the counter, lips barely leaving his, before wrapping her legs around him. She’d like to stay wrapped around him like this forever, keeping him all for her. Mine rings through her head. She’s tempted to make him say it again, that he belongs to her, like she sometimes used to. But it’s never been less true. She may belong to him, but he was branded by another woman a long time ago. 

He slides home with a sigh of relief from both of them. It will never stop amazing Helly how right it feels to have him inside of her and after the week they’ve had it’s like a balm. She sobs his name like it’s a prayer and he whispers hers like a secret. She can tell he’s trying to keep it slow, to savor this properly, but there is too much need to keep them from devolving into desperation. 

Afterwards, when they are both exhausted and Mark cries like he always does, she wipes his tears away and kisses the trails left behind. When he looks back up at her, his eyes are pained, conflicted, but still so full of love. She simply nods her head at him, pressing her forehead against his. They don’t need to say it; they both already know.

Chapter Text

Helly is guilty. She doesn’t think she has ever felt so guilty. It gnaws at her as she drives to Mark Scout’s home that Friday night, crawling up her back as she resigns herself to facing him after what they did only hours earlier. Yes, it was his idea and yes, he had sworn to her that she wasn’t taking advantage, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was. He had just been through an experimental procedure that left him often disoriented. She now knows firsthand the grief he holds for his wife, that all-consuming dedication he has to her. It was one thing when they were two innies with no firsthand knowledge of their outies lived experiences, but her Mark was already starting to combine with his outie. Soon the love he holds for Gemma will be so overwhelming he will be drowning in it, and that knowledge makes Helly feel like the other woman. She is the other woman.

She can't stop herself from imagining all the horrible ways Mark might react, each less appealing than the last: him awkwardly trying to ignore what they did together, regarding her scornfully for her lack of self control, pitying her for being so desperate. But Devon had left her a voicemail telling her that Reghabi would meet them at Mark’s home that evening, so, here she was. Staring at his front door for five minutes like it might bite her if she knocks. 

She takes a deep breath and finally raises her fist, only for the door to open and her knuckles to make contact with Mark’s chest instead. She jumps back, holding the hand that brushed him to her chest like it’s been burned. 

“Sorry,” Helly says nervously.

“It’s alright,” he raises his eyebrows and she just stares at him, unsure what to say. His gaze isn’t the same intensely adoring one it was earlier at the office, but it isn’t the distant one she feared, either. It’s sad, like how Mark's outie always was, but there’s a warm twinkle there that’s new. “So, are you going to stand out here forever?” He says it with an amused smirk, and it reminds her that she is standing there in the cold staring at him like an idiot. 

Helly looks away quickly and nods, entering his home and immediately looking around for Devon. Without that buffer, she almost feels like the house doesn’t have solid ground for her to walk on, her anxieties making her more and more unsure how she’ll manage to be normal about any of this. 

“Where’s Devon?”

“She can’t make it. Eleanor’s sick.”

Her head snaps to him, “What? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, babies get sick sometimes.” He regards her carefully. “Are you okay? You seem… on edge.” 

 “Yeah, no. I’m fine,” she says, clearly still on edge.

Mark eyes her suspiciously, something like concern flashing in his eyes briefly before he moves to the kitchen. Helly only hesitates a moment before following him. He leans against the counter and immediately reaches for a glass tumbler. 

Her brows furrow, “Hey, you’re not supposed to be drinking that.”

“Calm down, boss,” he snarks, “It’s just water.”

Helly narrows his eyes, not believing him. 

Mark holds the glass out for her to take, “Here.”

Helly takes it, sniffing suspiciously. It doesn’t smell like alcohol. She takes a cautious sip, and sure enough, it’s just water. She hands it back to him, “Why?”

Mark looks down at the glass. “Kept grabbing for it. Less confusing if there’s something to grab.” Helly thinks of Mark sitting at his desk, his hand reaching for things that aren’t there, and worry squeezes her heart. The pity must be evident in her face, because Mark sighs heavily, “I’m fine, Helly. Really.”

Helly bites her tongue. She knows that he might be fine physically, but “fine” is still a major oversimplification of his state of being. She’s witnessed herself over the past few days how quickly he could tumble back into a world that wasn’t in front of him.

“You could take off your coat, if you want,” he says, an obvious attempt to change the subject. She does remove it, draping it over the back of one of his chairs. Mark hums thoughtfully, and when she looks up, she catches him staring at her legs. 

Helly looks down at the soft, loose pants she found to wear, “What?”

“You dress so differently than you do at the office.”

“Well, yeah,” she crosses her arms, wondering if that’s a good thing or not. “So do you.”

Mark scoffs, laughing lightly, “I’m not going to wear a suit in my house.”

“Well, I’m not going to wear skirts and heels outside the office. They suck,” she wrinkles her nose, thinking about how they both restrict her movements and pinch her skin, leaving indents that take forever to fade at the end of the day. 

“I like the skirts,” Mark starts with a smile, “They’re-“ He cuts himself off abruptly, reaching out for another sip of water, and Helly raises her eyebrows.

“They’re what?” She asks, curiosity getting the better of her. “Tell me.”

Mark blushes and scratches his back, “I was going to say convenient.”

Helly blushes, too. He definitely remembers what they get up to at the office now. 

“Listen, Mark, I’m so-“ Helly starts, but Mark’s cell phone rings.

“Hold on, it’s Devon,” he answers, “Hey-“

Helly tries to follow along by listening to Mark’s half of the conversation, but she’s too distracted. Of all the Marks she expected to encounter tonight, a flirtatious and snarky version wasn’t one of them. If he did remember everything, he didn’t seem upset about it. At least not anymore. She didn’t want it to give her undue hope. This improvement was good for whatever friendship Helly would be able to salvage from this mess later. It didn’t mean he would choose her over his wife. 

“Reghabi canceled,” Mark says as he hangs up the phone, annoyed. “Something came up, I guess. She’ll see us in the morning.”

“Oh.” Helly looked at her feet, pursing her lips, the air suddenly awkward again. If Reghabi isn’t coming now, there’s no reason for her to hang around, even if she wants to.

“Well, I can go.” She says.

“Would you want to stay?” Mark asks at the same time.

Helly can’t quite believe her ears. She stares back at Mark dumbly, searching for any sign that he asked out of mere politeness rather than in earnest. But he looks back at her patiently, even nervously, as he awaits her answer. 

It must be a practical consideration, then, she tells herself. Surely it's just because having her stay over tonight will make things more convenient when Reghabi comes by tomorrow. She stayed over before, the night she first showed up, and that was totally normal. Friendly. It doesn’t have to mean anything. She nods and Mark visibly relaxes, offering her a smile. 

“Um, did you eat? Devon actually made me put real food in the fridge when she dropped me off.”

“Good thing someone did,” Helly teases.

“I would’ve got to it eventually,” he defends weakly.

“Sure,” she smirks.

“I’m only one person.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, do you… want something? Or are you just going to keep making fun of me?” he says with a smile.

“I ate already. But thanks.” She pauses, cocking her head. “Actually,” she goes to his fridge and grabs the box of popsicles.

Mark laughs, “Seriously?”

She shrugs, sucking the popsicle into her mouth. It seems to short circuit Mark’s brain. He stares at her lips for a long moment, eyes glazing over. Helly releases it with a pop and raises her eyebrows, not sure if he’s still with her. But the action seems to bring him back to the present, eyes snapping to hers. The hunger in his gaze catches her off guard. But he clears his throat and it's gone in an instant. 

“Well, I still have to eat real food,” he says, pulling a frozen meal out of his freezer. She sits at his table, her mind replaying his face as she licks her popsicle, until he joins her.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I ran into Natalie on the way out of Lumon today.”

“Am I supposed to know who Natalie is?”

“She’s my outie’s personal assistant, I think. She was at the gala the night we overtimed. I’ve been dodging her.”

“And how did that go?”

“Okay, I think? I tried to be all proper and cold, and she seemed to buy it. But she asked me about something called Project Innie that I’m apparently working on.”

“What the hell is that?” 

“No idea. Was hoping maybe Reghabi would, but now I’ll have to wait,” she wrinkles her nose.

“I seem to remember you not being very good at that.”

Helly grins sheepishly. She’s not sure which instance he’s remembering, but there are plenty to choose from. “Not my strong suit, no. But I’m getting better at finding distractions to help pass the time, at least.”

“Yeah?” Mark raises an eyebrow and leans forward, a little too interested in her answer. “Like what?”

“I went through Helena’s entire closet this week. You would not believe how much clothing she has. Why would anyone need all that?”

Mark shrugs. “Some women do it for fun, I think.”

“Well it’s stupid. And most of it was uncomfortable and boring anyway. But now I have three giant piles of clothes.”

“Wait, why are they in piles?”

“Because it felt better when I was throwing them around.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head, “You know, there are these places out here where you go and just wreck shit. Break stuff. Throw cups and smash old TVs.”

“Why?” Helly asks, bemused. 

“For fun. I think you’d like it. Get out some of those destructive tendencies.”

“Hey, I’m not that destructive,” she protests.

Mark raises his eyebrows at her and starts listing off, “You threw a speaker at my head, smashed the window to the stairwell, nearly cut off your fingers, destroyed Dylan’s finger traps that one time, sticky notes as projectiles, the whole tights thi-“

“Okay! Okay, fine,” she caves. “It does sound pretty fun.” Mark grins, satisfied with his win and looking cockier than Mark S. usually manages to. It makes her stomach do a weird little flip and she has to look away, but she’s not going to give into him that easily, “And they’re called pantyhose, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Ms. Eagan for offending your delicate heiress sensibilities,” he says with fake propriety.

Helly’s jaw drops.“Hey!”, she huffs, with a barely suppressed laugh. She flicks her popsicle stick towards him across the table, and he only just dodges it with a laugh of his own. “ I am not an heiress. I have a job.”

“Yeah, but you’re not exactly employee of the month,” he counters playfully.

“Excuse me,” she scoffs, ”Pretty sure you’re not supposed to say that, boss.”

“Actually, you’re my boss.”

Helly rolls her eyes, “Not really.”

“I don’t know. I can think of a couple different ways you are,” he says, his gaze taking on the same hungry tint from before. 

Helly blushes. She knows what he’s talking about. Why does he keep bringing that up? Does he want to talk about it? Is he just trying to make her more comfortable? Or maybe this is normal for two people who are friends but have also known each other intimately? It’s not like Helly has any prior experience to compare this situation to. She isn’t sure what to say about it, or if she even should. Mark lets the moment pass, too, neither of them brave enough to push it any farther.

“Do you want to watch something, maybe?” Mark asks when his frozen dinner has been finished. “It’s way too early to sleep.”

Helly glances at the clock. Only eight, definitely too early to turn in. “Watch what?” She asks, following him to his living room. 

“I don’t know. Whatever’s on?” He settles on the couch and turns on his TV, flicking through channels. 

Helly sits beside him carefully. He’s closer than he sat last time they were here, but she’s still careful not to make contact. Something about this entire situation feels dangerous. Her instincts are to get close, but she is trying very hard to guard herself here. 

“Oh, here,” Mark settles on something. “This one’s about an office. It’s funny.”

“Why would anyone want to watch a TV show about an office?”

“There are lots of shows about offices.”

Helly doesn’t understand this. Her entire life was spent in an office; she knows very well already just how much they suck. Wasn’t TV meant to distract? Offer an escape? But as it plays, she finds herself laughing along. It is funny, even if some of the stuff the characters do is too weird even for Lumon. 

“This is nothing like our office,” she comments.

“I dunno, the Mammalians were pretty out there.”

Helly laughs and lets the show draw her in. This was nice, sitting here with Mark and chuckling at stupid jokes on TV. Maybe she should start utilizing this as a distraction more often when it’s just her in Helena’s horrible house. As one episode flows into another, she finds herself sinking closer to him. Or maybe he’s leaning closer to her. All she knows is that his arm is across the back of the couch, practically over her shoulders, and their sides are nearly flush together. It would take nothing for Helly to rest her head on his shoulder, or turn her head just so and-

The temptation becomes too much. The only two options she has left are either to flee or to act on them. Using her last shred of self-control, she forces herself to stand up abruptly. “I should probably get cleaned up,” she says, trying her best to sound normal and friendly and not like the sudden lack of contact is making her regret everything already.

“Um, yeah,” he stands with her, adorably awkward, “Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?”

That’s different. He didn’t offer that last time. Helly accepts hesitantly, and follows him to his bedroom to retrieve a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. She doesn’t cross the threshold, instead waiting awkwardly in the hallway. When he passes her the clothes, their hands brush and eyes lock. His gaze darkens again and she manages to stutter a thank you before practically fleeing into the bathroom, overwhelmed. But the bathroom doesn’t really help. It’s weird changing into his clothes. They’re soft, well worn, and too big on her. They smell like him, and she spends an embarrassing few seconds with her nose buried in the collar. Maybe she won’t get to share a bed with him tonight - or ever - but it’ll almost feel like it this way.

When she returns to the couch, Mark’s already set out a blanket and a pillow for her. Instead of leaving her to her rest the way she expects, he lingers next to it, looking at her. The air is awkward again, tense in a way Helly doesn’t know how to combat.

Helly clears her throat, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he replies distractedly, still looking. 

She looks back, heart beating in her ears. This is a familiar game, one they’ve played before, and it can go on for a long time if neither of them make a move to stop it. “What’s up?” She asks, trying to keep her voice neutral. 

“I don’t really want to go to bed,” he admits, walking closer to her,

“Oh,” Helly frowns, biting the inside of her cheek, not sure what to do with that.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Mark continues, eyebrows drawn and voice verging on desperate. Helly’s jaw drops and her breath stutters. Oh. “It’s driving me crazy, Helly.”

Helly’s heart is really racing now. “Sorry?”

Mark looks like he can’t decide if he wants to groan or laugh, so he settles for taking her by the shoulders and pulling her into a searing kiss. Helly gasps against his lips and he takes the opportunity to deepen it. Helly responds enthusiastically, practically on instinct. Her arms go around his neck to hold him closer, the shape of him unexpected yet achingly familiar against her. She had this only hours ago, and yet it feels like she’s having her first drink of water after wandering the desert for forty years. The relief is palpable, but somehow that only drives the anticipation further.

He pushes her back onto the couch and she accepts his weight happily, using her arms and legs to pull him closer. He plants a trail of tender kisses down her neck, one hand sliding up her hip and under the t-shirt he let her borrow. His touch leaves a hot trail up her side, over her ribs. She wants more, craves his touch, but it strikes her suddenly how different this is - on his outie’s couch, in his clothes, well past work hours. Did he even know what he was doing?

“Which Mark is this?” Helly breathes.

“Does it matter?” He answers between kisses.

She wants to say no, but she can’t. Mark S. might still love her, but Mark Scout definitely does not. He has been hot and cold and clear on his priorities. She is not in Mark S.’s world right now: she is in Mark Scout's house, and the ghost of Gemma is as present as it has ever been. And that’s fine! Okay, not fine exactly - it hurts, and it’s awful, but it’s at least something she understands and has come to accept. That doesn’t mean she has to accept these scraps of affection while she’s still deemed suitable for… what, exactly? A substitute connection? A convenient creature comfort?

“Yes, it does,” she whispers adamantly, pained.

Mark’s lips leave her skin and he pulls back to look at her, “You know what I thought,” he starts, “when I saw Helena enter that bar?”

Helly’s breath catches. That’s as much an answer as any. 

“I thought that you were way too pretty to be in a place like that,” his fingers grazing her cheekbone, tracing her jaw, “And then you sat next to me, and I thought I must be the luckiest asshole in the world. And I didn’t forget, but it got quieter. And I was grateful,” he breathes the words into her, brushing his lips against hers once more. 

“Is that all this is?” She asks, voice too vulnerable, “A thank-you?”

“No,” he says emphatically, frustrated. “I can’t… I can’t tell you what you mean to me, Helly, but maybe I can show you,” he knocks their foreheads together, “I want to.”

Helly’s heart pounds in her chest. It’s not everything, but it is enough. She’s important to him. She’s helping him, and it has not gone unnoticed. This isn’t some cruel trick, even if it’s still shadowed by certain doom. That’s enough to convince her that maybe this isn’t just acceptable, it’s necessary. 

Her decision made, she crashes their lips back together, pulling him closer. Her hands clutch at his sweater, tugging at it uselessly until he finally pulls it off. Her hands immediately push up the t-shirt he wears underneath, grumbling about layers and making Mark laugh as he obediently lets her remove it. 

He leans down to press kisses to her exposed stomach, trailing them up her body as his hand crawls under the fabric pooling around her ribs to squeeze her breasts. Helly moans in appreciation, arching into his touch and drawing her fingers through his hair. His teeth scrape against sensitive skin and her grip in his hair tightens. He groans against her - like he always does - and she grins in satisfaction. It’s still the same. It’s still them. Even if it never has been quite like this before. Except, she realizes, for him it has been.

“Is this where you fucked Helena?” She asks, needing to know. He doesn’t seem to hear her, or just doesn’t want to answer, so she lifts him off her by his hair, “Mark.”

“No,” he answers, dazed and breathing heavily. 

“I’m sorry,” she raises her eyebrows, “Did Helena get the bed and you were about to fuck me on the couch?”

Mark blinks at her, quickly realizing the error of his ways. He sits up, dragging her with him and kissing her fiercely. “I’m sorry. How could you ever forgive me?”

“I can think of a couple ways,” she grins.

Mark kisses her smile until she’s giggling. He pulls her off the couch and spins her around, using his hands at her waist to steer her up the stairs. She manages to keep them on track when the wandering hands and kisses against her shoulder distract from their path. She’s excited, giddy almost at the idea of doing this with him properly in a real bed and impatient as always to get on with it. 

Helly wastes no time pushing him onto the bed and straddling his lap, pulling his t-shirt over her head. His eyes trail down her body hungrily, hands following their path. She feels powerful positioned over him like this, knowing that he loves it. He sucks a pink nipple into his mouth and she’s moaning for him again, grinding onto his lap in a way that makes his hips buck and jolt against her. It’s not enough, the friction increasing her desperation. She pushes Mark flat against the mattress, fingers making quick work of his jeans. She takes him in her hand, stroking firmly and watching his face contort in pleasure. She wants him now , except she still has these stupid sweatpants on.  

Helly groans, using her free hand to shove down the waistband, “You were right about the skirts.”

“What?” Mark asks, brows furrowed as he tries to follow her words.

“Your stupid fucking sweatpants, Mark,” she complains, eventually just rolling off of him onto her back to kick them off. 

Without her hand on him, Mark’s brain seems to catch up and he’s back over her in a second. “They’re not stupid,” he finishes pulling them off her legs, “I like how you look in them.” His hands slide up her calf and under her knee, and he bends forward to press his mouth against her hip bone. “You look different,” he says into her skin, “Than you do in my memories.”

“Is that good?” She asks, well aware of her hair that's been wavier, unable to figure out what combination of products Helena would use, her face adorned with less makeup. She likes it, but it didn’t occur to her until now to stop and wonder if he liked it. If he even noticed. 

“You’re always good,” he says softly, breath tickling as he crawls back up her body.

Mark takes a moment to look down at her, brushing her hair back, tracing her features with his eyes. It is so good to be seen by him that Helly feels like her heart might explode if she doesn’t do something about it. She draws him down to her, licking into his mouth and helping him kick his jeans and briefs off until all that separates them are her panties. It feels incredible to feel so much of him against her all at once, no constricting workwear keeping them apart. She is furious that Helena got to have this before she did. It drives her to pull his hips to her, rutting slick fabric up his length. Mark bites back a groan, but Helly lets hers ring out at the contact. He reaches down, pushing her panties out of the way.

“Rip them”, Helly whispers.

Mark huffs a laugh, “This again?”

Helly smirks and nods eagerly, looking up at him with wide, excited eyes. Mark does as he's told, sitting up and straddling her legs. He takes a moment to let his eyes rake down her body before taking the fabric between his fists, pulling until it tears. Helly feels that same thrill run down her spine and she shivers as he tosses the scraps aside. 

“Destructive tendencies,” Mark murmurs with a teasing smirk, but his eyes are dark and hungry, and she knows he likes it too. 

Her knees draw up to wrap around his hips, her hand reaching for him again. Mark falls back into her and she lines him up. When he enters her she gasps a moan, hands sliding up his back as he begins to thrust. It feels amazing, as toe curlingly sweet as it always is. But it still isn’t enough, she needs more.

“Faster,” she orders breathily.

Mark chuckles, pace steady and unchanging, “You’re so impatient.”  

“Please,” she begs, hips rocking up to meet his. 

A strangled groan leaves him and his hips snap to hers suddenly, making her cry out. She makes no move to temper it, for once in her life not worried about some administrative drone or coworker walking in on them. Her nails scrape down his back, one hand moving to touch herself, chasing the high she knows he can give her. Her head rolls back and Mark kisses down her neck, licking and sucking until Helly is sure that she’ll bruise, but she doesn’t care. She wants to be marked by him in some concrete way, to look in the mirror and know that this was real. Mark sucks a nipple into his mouth, and between his tongue and his cock and her fingers, Helly comes with his name on her lips. 

Mark fucks her through it, dragging it out, only slowing down when she whines pathetically and her fingers dig into the flesh of his hips. Her body jolts with aftershocks, and her skin tingles wherever she touches him. She slides a hand up his back, over his shoulders, caressing his neck and running her fingers through the hair at his nape. He shivers at the contact, and the sight brings a lazy smile to Helly’s lips.

“Come for me, Mark,” she requests sweetly, rolling her hips to meet his again. 

He moans and his pace picks back up, almost too much for her in her current state but so good all the same. She leans up to press kisses to his throat, teeth brushing against his Adam apple. His hips stutter, and he spills into her with a grunt.

Helly allows them both to catch their breath, quietly marveling that this actually happened. “This is so much better on a bed,” Helly says, and Mark laughs. 

“Sorry it took me so long to get you in here,” he whispers sincerely despite his teasing tone.

“You’re forgiven,” she whispers back, a goofy smile spreading on her lips.

As they lay catching their breath, he flips them to better hold her in his arms. It’s like she belongs there. Indeed, it's the only place Helly has ever felt like she truly belonged. His fingers draw circles against her bicep, and she can feel his heartbeat against her palm. She watches him, taking note that for once, this Mark isn’t crying. His cheeks are still flushed with exertion, hair sticking out at all angles, and he looks content. A sudden burst of affection blooms in her chest at the sheer domesticity of it all.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Helly starts, “But… I love you. No matter what.”

Mark looks down at her, brows furrowing.

“I don’t mean to ruin the moment or whatever,” she adds, bracing herself for his reaction, “I just had to say it.”

Mark looks at her with understanding and pain, and she thinks, maybe, maybe, maybe that he just can’t express whatever love he has left for her. But he kisses her so sweetly that she can feel the affection and care and for now, that’s enough. It’s almost perfect.

She falls asleep in his arms that night, and it is the best she’s ever slept.

Chapter Text

Helly wakes with a gasp, but not her own. The grip around her waist is tight, and someone is whining low and distressed in her ear. Mark. The events of the previous night return to her quickly, but with Mark tense and trembling against her back the lingering satisfaction evaporates before she has the chance to bask in it. 

“Mark,” she tries to turn in his grasp, struggling against his hold but managing with some difficulty to face him. His brows are furrowed, a grimace across his lips, but he’s still asleep. She’s slightly relieved that it must be a nightmare and not a reintegration induced hallucination. Still, Helly worries and tries to gently shake him from his bad dream. “Mark,” she repeats, shaking a little harder. 

His eyes fly open, panicked, and his breath catches in his throat. 

“Hey, breathe,” she encourages, rubbing his arm. 

Mark nods, still wide-eyed, and heaves a shaky breath. Helly breathes with him, purposefully slow like he taught her. He follows along and the frightened distance in his eyes starts to fade away. Helly settles her hand against his neck, smoothing her thumb against his jaw - scruffier now than it was last night. She can still feel his heart racing, and she struggles not to let her frown deepen. 

He finally loosens his hold around her waist to lay a hand on her cheek, eyes softening as they trace her features, “Gemma.”

Helly freezes and Mark notices his mistake immediately. He looks disappointed for a horrible second, then devastated, worried, ashamed. “Helly-“

“It’s okay,” she interrupts him. It’s not. But she gets it. She shouldn’t be surprised. Despite their night together, their reality had not actually changed. Still, her heart clenches painfully, only more so when Mark shakes his head mournfully, eyes shining.

“It’s not,” he replies adamantly. He shakes his head, breath hitching as he pulls her close and buries his head in her shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

Helly feels a painful pang through her chest as she rubs his back, smoothing her fingers through his bed head, “It’s okay, Mark,” she says sincerely. She doesn’t want to see him hurt over things he can’t control. Even if they hurt her. She feels hot tears hit her neck and doesn’t mention them, just whispers that it’s okay until he finally stops trembling. Even then she holds him, letting his breathing return to normal and his muscles relax under her hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats against her neck, sniffling pitifully. 

“It’s okay,” she assures him once more. He lifts his head, red eyes meeting hers with a pointed look that makes it clear he doesn’t believe her. “I’m not lying. I said no matter what, remember? This falls into that. Besides, you can’t control it.” This seems to only make him look sadder. Helly sighs, “I was her for a second, wasn’t I?”

Mark’s eyes are pleading when he nods his head. “It’s not- It’s just sometimes. Usually when you flicker you’re you, but sometimes…”

Helly wonders how often it really is. She wonders if it happens at the office, or while he’s kissing her, or when they make love. “That must be hard,” she tells him softly.

“It’s confusing,” he whispers back, “Having you both up there.”

“That makes sense,” Helly says, nonjudgmental. It probably always would have been that to some degree. Even in a world outside the walls of Lumon where they somehow met as themselves, his late wife would always be on his mind. “She’s been part of your life for a long time, right?”

Mark nods, “Yeah. A long time,” he cracks a small, sad smile. “We met in college.”

Helly’s eyes widen slightly. She isn’t actually sure of Mark’s age, but that must have been at least twenty years ago. Longer than she’d imagined. “It makes sense, then,” she says, hoping some sort of logic might be comforting, “That’s a lot longer than you’ve known me.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he says.

Helly gives him a look. It’s nice of him to try and comfort her, but he didn’t have to lie. “It’s been like. Two months.”

“I’m serious. The innie memories, it’s like they stretch out through my whole life,” his hand glides up and down her back and now when he searches her face she knows he’s really seeing her. “Feels like I’ve known you for years.”

Helly warms under his gaze, his gentle touch. “Well, I’ve known you my whole life.”

Mark cracks a smile, pressing her forehead to hers, “It’s not a competition.”

“But if it was, I’d win,” she replies with a smirk.

Mark doesn’t argue, but he does laugh and push forward to kiss her softly. Helly welcomes it, returning the same light pressure. This was more how she hoped they would wake up: entwined in each other’s arms, exchanging lazy kisses that slowly grow longer and more intense with each pass. His hand slides up her side, skimming the side of her breast, and Helly is thrilled that they’re already undressed. Mark brushes his thumb against her nipple, slipping his thigh between her legs and Helly sighs, arching against him. 

“Are you sure?” She asks, needing to appease the voice in the back of her head that this is too soon after such an emotional moment, about his wife no less. 

Mark nods, pulling her closer by the hip until she can feel him pressing hot and hard against her stomach. “Really sure,” he breathes, hand slipping under her thigh and hooking it high over his hip. 

Helly’s hand glides down his back, very unsubtly squeezing his ass and pulling him closer. He huffs a laugh and she smiles triumphantly, mischievously. She tilts her hips forward and gasps as he slides between her legs where she’s already slick. They watch each other, studying each small smile and hitched breath. Helly reaches down, altering the angle just so until he’s sliding into her. She bites her lip, enjoying the slow stretch. Mark kisses her again as he starts to move, lifting her leg higher over his hips, his fingers digging into soft flesh. It’s slow but no less passionate, and for once, Helly finds she enjoys being suspended in this pleasure instead of chasing more. Maybe it wasn’t that she was impatient - maybe they’d just never had time before. Now, she finally didn’t feel the need to rush, instead happily taking her time reveling in each sensation. The slide of his lips and tongue, the scratch of his facial hair, his muscles flexing under her fingers, the sound of soft moans intermingling between them all complimenting the building pleasure. 

Despite her best efforts not to, Helly still ends up clutching him tighter, rolling her hips harder and faster as she gets closer to her release. She whines his name, burying her face in his shoulder. Mark reaches between them, fingers finding her clit and making her hips stutter. She bites down on his shoulder with a groan and he moans in return. She realizes through the haze that he really liked that, so she presses kisses to the crook of his neck that barely stifle the sounds she’s making. Her teeth graze his pulse and then she bites again. Mark cries out, his hips stuttering. His fingers thread through her hair and pull her off him.

“You need to stop that,” he says breathily, “Or I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” Helly smiles, looking at him through hooded eyes, “I want you to come for me.”

He groans at that, eyes fluttering shut and hips stuttering once more. “Fuck, Helly-“

She returns her lips to his neck, teeth grazing over the bruise she already started, her own release now coming second to how much fun she was having working him up. She loved seeing him this way, lost in her, totally at her mercy. So she bites down again. Mark moans her name as he comes inside of her, the rhythm of his hips slowly faltering until he stills, panting. She presses a final few kisses before removing her lips from his neck to watch him come down, fingers twisting through the hair at the nape of his neck. She smiles at him proudly, looking very much like the cat who killed the canary. 

“You didn’t come,” Mark laments between deep breaths. 

“That’s okay,” she says, “I wanted you to come.”

Mark just shakes his head and rolls her onto her back, kissing her neck now in retaliation. “Unacceptable,” he murmurs against her skin, slowly kissing down the column of her throat, between the valley of her breasts, down to the swell of her stomach. 

When his mouth finds her Helly moans, still so sensitive and so close. She watches him hungrily, fingers pushing his hair away from his forehead and scratching against his scalp. It’s filthy, the sight of him licking the fruits of their union out of her, the sounds it makes, and Helly doesn’t think she has ever been more turned on in her life. He sucks at her clit and her head rolls back.

“There,” she moans, “Don’t stop.”

Mark listens - he’s always so good at listening - and it takes moments for her to come against his lips. Her hips shudder and jump but he holds them down, not pulling off of her until they’ve calmed and her moans taper off into breathy whimpers. He kisses back up her stomach as she recovers, laying his head against her chest and settling over her like some sort of human weighted blanket. Helly hums and wraps her arms around him, raking her fingers through his hair as he sighs happily. 

She is content. She’s never been content like this before. Helly thinks this is what they were trying to keep from them, down there in that sterile, claustrophobic office. If Helena had her way, that’s all she would have ever known - the endless monotony - missing out completely on the simple joys of life, like lazy Saturday morning sex in a real bed with the man she loved. She opens her mouth to say as much, to share her musings, when the doorbell rings. Mark pushes himself up slightly, peering towards his bedroom door. 

“That’s not Reghabi, is it?” Helly asks. Surely it was too early for that. 

“Not sure,” he regretfully rolls off of her with a groan, reaching for his phone. “Oh shit,” he says just as the doorbell rings again, “It’s Devon.” Mark groans and leans down to kiss Helly, “I’ll go get her. Want to get cleaned up and meet us down there?”

Helly nods and Mark gives her a smile and another firm kiss before throwing something on and rushing to go retrieve his sister. Helly gets up, wincing at the stickiness drying between her thighs and deciding a quick shower is definitely in order. She grabs the shirt and sweats that had barely been worn last night on her way to the bathroom. She can hear voices from the top of the stairs and can’t help but pausing to listen.

“Oooh, is that a hickey?” Devon hisses.

“What? No! It’s not a- Stop!”

“She slept upstairs?” Devon is asking, voice teasing and knowing.

“Yeah, okay, just… don’t make a big thing out of it? Please?”

She hears Devon scoff and decides she doesn’t want to hear anymore, slinking back to the bathroom and hopping into Mark’s shower. She spends the five minutes it takes to clean up rationalizing. Facing Devon now won’t be any different than facing her before, she tells herself firmly. Nothing about her and Mark’s relationship - whatever label that might be - has functionally changed. Devon had been sympathetic to Helly’s plight before, so surely she wouldn’t start judging her now. Except that maybe Devon thought Helly was better than this, more noble in her intentions to help Mark find his wife. And she is! But they’re entitled to continue their physical relationship in the meantime, as consenting adults, if they so choose. It wasn’t really cheating. Even if it also kind of was. 

Once she’s redressed and her hair is mostly dry, she joins Mark and Devon downstairs, wishing them a good morning with a smile and zeroing in on the baby strapped to Devon’s chest. 

“How’s Miss Eleanor?” she asks, leaning down to greet the baby at eye level. Helly plasters on a big goofy smile, one that had succeeded in getting tiny baby smiles in return back when they were at Devon’s. But Eleanor doesn’t seem interested in Helly’s funny faces today. 

“She’s doing a lot better than she was,” Devon says, smoothing a hand over Eleanor’s wispy hair. “The only reason she’s with me is so we can go to the pediatrician after this.”

Helly frowns, brushing her finger against Eleanor’s tiny knuckles. The baby snags her index finger, squeezing tightly in her fist. She hears a throat clear and turns to find Mark looking at her with a strange, thoughtful expression. 

“Do you want eggs?” He asks her, “They’ll be ready in a minute.” Helly nods with a smile and Mark returns it before turning back to the kitchen. 

This time Devon clears her throat. Helly straightens up, her finger still in Eleanor’s fist. Devon raises an eyebrow, smirking at her, “Stayed the night, huh?”

Helly flushes, not expecting her to come right out with it, “I stayed the night last time, too.” Devon narrows her eyes, but the smile on her face is good natured and teasing, so Helly rolls her eyes and lets a soft, lopsided smile come over her face. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure it’s not,” Devon says, “I mean, I haven’t seen him look like that in years, but okay, not a big deal.”

“What do you mean?” Helly asks, her curiosity piqued.

“You know,” Devon gestures to her eyes, “That staring thing he just did?”

“Oh,” Helly does know. Mark tends to do that a lot. Though she must admit that face was a new one. “That.”

Devon laughs, scoffing, “Yeah, that.”

Helly shrugs, unsure what Devon wants to hear. A defense? A confirmation? “Is that… okay with you?” She ends up asking.

Devon tilts her head, smile tempered and brows drawn slightly, “All I want is for him to be happy, Helly. And from where I’m standing, it seems like you’re doing a pretty good job of that so far.”

Helly nods, blushing. She wants that, too, and hearing that kind of approval from Devon meant so much more to her than she’d care to admit. 

“Are you guys going to come eat?” Mark’s voice comes from the kitchen, “Or is she too busy grilling you?”

“Hey!” Devon protests, turning to the kitchen, “I wasn’t grilling anyone, thank you very much. I’ve also already eaten, because unlike some people, I’m an adult who gets up at a reasonable hour on a Saturday morning.”

“Hey, cut us some slack,” Mark retorts, sliding two plates of eggs with toast onto the table, “We’ve had a long week.”

Devon scoffs. “You’re not the one who had to take care of both her sick brother and her sick baby.”

Helly points her fork at Mark, “She’s got you there.”

“Yeah, no, I just had an experimental brain procedure done that completely warped my sense of self, time, and reality. No big deal.”

“Exactly,” Devon says with a triumphant smile. “You do seem better, though. How are you feeling?”

“I’m better.” Mark answers, but at Helly’s pointed look he continues, “Mostly. Better every day.”

“I guess that’s good. I was really worried she fried your brain for good at first.” 

“It was pretty bad.”

“Wow, thanks guys.”

Devon and Helly just laugh and once again Helly is struck by how easy it is to be with this little family, how good it feels to be surrounded by them and the easy banter that continues as they eat. Just as they’re finishing up, there’s a knock at the door. Mark shoves the last of his eggs in his mouth before going to get it. Helly and Devon clear the plates and join Mark in the living room, Reghabi looking around as unamused as ever. 

“So,” Reghabi starts, skipping the pleasantries, “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Uh… The good?” Mark answers.

“Okay. Good news, Irving B. reintegrated last night.”

Mark and Helly’s jaws drop, wide eyes meeting each other. “What?” Helly asks. “What do you mean Irving reintegrated?”

“I mean I reintegrated him,” Reghabi answers.

“Wow, Irv,” Mark murmured, amazed.

“Is he okay?” Helly asks.

“He’s fine. He’s being taken care of. His outie has been part of the resistance for a while. It was only a matter of time, but this is the perfect opportunity. Which brings me to my second piece of good news: we know where Gemma is.”

Devon and Mark release long breaths of relief simultaneously, smiling at each other. There’s a hope in Mark’s eyes that reminds her of Mark S’s earnestness. Helly’s heart squeezes in her chest. She smiles wistfully, too, thinking how good it is to see him like this, even if she can’t really be a part of that happiness 

“Okay, then what’s the bad news?” Devon asks.

“We need Helena Eagan to get to her.”

The room falls silent as they take that in. She can feel all of their eyes on her. Helly furrows her eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because she has access. She’s been there before, so it won’t raise any red flags.”

Helly does not want to contemplate why her outie spent time in the place Gemma was being held. She nods grimly anyway, trying to focus on the plan instead of a past she can’t remember, “Well, I can pretend-“ 

“No. This will be too delicate to hinge on a performance. We need all of the information. The real deal.”

Helly flounders momentarily, brows furrowed. “I-I don’t want to go away again,” she stammers, voice small. If she let Helena wake up, who said she’d ever let Helly back out again? “And she clearly doesn’t want to be here, she left,” Helly adds, “What makes you think she would even help with this?”

“I don’t know if she would. The stranglehold her family has over her is strong. But I know you would.”

It finally clicks and Helly stops breathing. She looks at Devon and Mark, both looking at her expectantly, unsure. “You want me to reintegrate.”

Reghabi nods.

Helly’s heart drops into her stomach. Her palms break into a sweat. “No,” she says adamantly, “I don’t want to be her.”

“I understand that,” Reghabi says simply, offering no other alternative. 

Helly falls back onto the couch, dropping her head in her hands and trying to breathe deeply. They can’t ask her to do this. She hates Helena. She is the woman who trapped her in a hell of her own making. She’s the woman who stole her time, her love, and twisted it all. She’s the woman who was so dedicated to the cult of Lumon that she willingly split herself in half. The last thing Helly wants is to share a brain with her for the rest of her life. It’s bad enough they already share a body. Helena had chosen to give up control and essentially die; Helly thought she should stay dead. 

She feels a hand touch her back and jolts, but it stays there, rubbing in soothing circles. She hears Devon’s voice, “There must be something else we can do.”

“There isn’t,” is Reghabis blunt answer.

“If you needed her, then why did we bother doing all that to my brother?” Devon replies angrily. 

“I really hoped we wouldn’t have to do this. But we’ve hit a wall.” 

“Stupid fucking idea,” Devon mutters under her breath.

“Do you think it was a bad idea, Mark? Did you prefer being split in two?” Reghabi asks, but Mark just glares at her, not answering. “That’s what I thought.”

“I can’t do this,” Helly murmurs to herself, shaking her head in her hands. It’ll be like dying. It’ll be worse than dying. She’d quicker offer up the breath in her lungs and the beat of her heart than cohabitate with her tormentor for the rest of her life.

“Helly,” Reghabi’s voice sounds closer, “I didn’t want this either. I don’t want to deal with Helena anymore than you do, trust me on that. But with your influence, she can be helpful. You could save Gemma.”

Helly looks up at Reghabi, “How do you even know Helena?”

“I worked for Lumon when she was a child,” Reghabi explains, neutral in a carefully measured way, “and I was friends with her mother. She was a mentor to me.”

This is the first Helly has heard about a mother. Her mother, she supposed, though that felt abstract and impossible. 

“Didn’t know I had a mother,” Helly replies, curious about her history despite it all.

“Not surprised. Jame did a good job wiping away any trace of her. Easier to take credit for her work that way.”

“Her work?”

Reghabi nods, “She was a loyal follower of Kier. She came up with the idea of severance. A person unburdened by employment and an employee unburdened by personhood.”

Helly stares down at her hands, trembling now. “What happened to her?”

Reghabi sighs, “She became a problem, and they solved that problem.” Helly squeezes her eyes shut and doesn’t answer. “Helly, this is your chance to make up for all of that. Everything. Help us save Gemma, help us stop Lumon, and it will all have been worth it.”

It’s too much. It’s the weight of the entire world laid on her shoulders. A burden inherited from people she doesn’t even know. Helly stands, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry but I-I’m not. I won’t.” She turns and runs from the room, down a hallway and straight out through the back door. The cold air is a welcome slap to the face, and she swallows a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

Reintegration had never been on the table for her. Either she stopped existing, successfully killed them both, or continued on as herself. Helly R. Not Helena Eagan. Certainly not both of them, so diametrically opposed in every possible way. Helly balls her hands in fists. God, she wishes she had something to hit right now. Or maybe something to throw. She feels a hand on her shoulder and spins, fist raised and ready to swing.

“Whoa,” Mark catches her wrist in his hand, slowly lowering it between them, “I’m not here to fight.”

Unfortunately for Mark, Helly is itching for one. She pulls her hand from his grasp, “I can’t do it, Mark,” she immediately starts pleading her case. “I won’t be me anymore.”

The look he gives her is awful. Worried, disappointed, even a little patronizing. “It’s not that bad.”

Helly scoffs. “I saw you this week.”

“It’s gotten a lot better-“

“Sure, for you. You’re still… Mark. I am going to become this horrible, psychotic bitch who has spent my entire existence torturing me!”

Mark looks around a little nervously now that she’s yelling. “Helly,” he reaches for her hand. She doesn’t pull away but she does regard him suspiciously. “You aren’t going to become a horrible, psychotic bitch.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” Helly rolls her eyes and tries to pull her hand away but he holds it tighter, refusing to let her go, “I’ve met her. And she’s not like that.”

“She was lying to you,” Helly spits, “Tricking you for weeks . You should hate her just as much as I do. More.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Helly,” he says, exasperated and achingly earnest, “I don’t hate her. She’s you.”

“She’s not-!”

“She is. You came from her. You were always inside of her. Whoever she became because of all her baggage… it won’t change who you are, because you were already this way. Stubborn and impatient and brave and funny and good.”

Helly feels tears burning behind her eyes and looks down, shaking her head. “Just ask me.”

“Helly-“

“You obviously want me to do it, so ask. Don’t be a fucking coward about it.”

Mark looks hurt. He purses his lips, gathering his thoughts. “Fine. Will you reintegrate?”

It stings to hear. She is not enough as she is. She is not the person they need and she cannot provide the answers they seek. She is incomplete, only half a person. Whatever fragile identity she has shakily constructed for herself is not worth protecting. Her one, horrible purpose is to somehow temper a great evil by compromising the very essence of who she is. She wants to scream at Mark, tell him no. This is his problem. He’ll just have to figure it out some other way. 

“Please,” he says, practically a whisper. 

Her heart breaks. She loves him. This will always take precedent, the way Gemma so clearly does for him. She studies his features, lips trembling, knowing that Mark could be happy this way. Safe. He has everything to lose - a real family, a good life. Helly doesn’t have those things. Helly only has Mark. And if she says no now, she won’t have him either. There is no situation where she wins here. There probably never has been. 

“Fine,” she whispers and the relief on his face is like a knife through her heart. “But you have to ask Helena.”

“What?”

“I’m not doing this without telling her. I’m not waking up to someone in my head who didn’t want to be there. The first time I did that to myself, this is where we ended up. I’m not doing it again.”

“Okay. Okay, fine, we’ll talk to her first.”

Helly nods, decisively, but no less angry. The tears she’s been holding back spill and Mark reaches for her again, stepping closer. She shoves him back, hard, and he looks shocked. “No,” she spits, wiping at her eyes, “Fuck you, Mark.”

He looks at her hesitantly, alarmed, and full of so much pity. She has to look away, the tears falling releasing a tidal wave behind them. She drops her head into her hands, stifling the sobs she can’t bite back, shivering at the force of them and the cold biting through the thin t-shirt she wears. His t-shirt. The thought only makes her cry harder. His arms come around her again and she doesn’t have it in her to fight him this time. She hates him, only she could never really hate him. She really hates herself.

Chapter Text

Helena wakes with a shuddering breath, eyes blinking away tears as she tries to focus on her surroundings. Where is she? Why is she? She shouldn’t be here, wherever the hell she is. She shouldn’t be at all. But she is in this place, sitting in a chair and leaning her forehead against something. It’s dim and grimy and there are tools on the wall - some sort of torture chamber? Helly couldn’t have messed up that badly, right? 

She moves to stand, but a firm hand on her shoulder keeps her down. She tries to shake it off and feels something tug at her forehead. She reaches up to find wires stuck there and immediately tries to rip them off.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts gently as a hand takes hers, stopping her from removing the sticky electrodes. 

Helly turns her head towards the voice. Mark. She frowns. Probably not a torture chamber then. Or maybe it still was, though it would be strange for them to hurt Helly’s body to get to Helena. Well, maybe not that strange… it’s something she might do herself, if she were them. It’s what Lumon would do, at least. She turns around, looking for anything else that could help her figure out what the hell is going on, when her eyes settle on a familiar face. Her eyes narrow. Leaning closer to torture chamber again. 

“You,” she spits, voice full of vitriol.

“Hello, Helena.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Reghabi cracks a small, rueful smile, “I knew I wasn’t gonna like this.”

“So what? You disappear for years and then you…? Kidnap me? Are you insane?”

“You are here of your own free will,” Reghabi says calmly, “We just need to talk to you.”

Helena scoffs, sneering at the woman she was once so fond of. She thinks back to a time when she would visit the office with her parents or nannies, supposedly to learn all about the company she would one day run. Most people treated her well, of course, as the daughter of the man in charge. But almost everyone there was too busy to be bothered by a child - even her parents. Especially her parents. Helena was expected to be calm, quiet, discreet in her existence. As long as she remained practically invisible and gracious, she would be permitted some sort of engagement. Eventually. Usually an explanation of policy or theory or marketing, always connected to the revolutionary prose of Kier. 

Reghabi was different. She was the only one in that stark, soulless office who treated Helena like she was an actual person, like she was someone worth paying attention to. She would ask Helena questions, tell her stupid jokes, even occasionally sneak her candies. Helena didn’t get much of that anywhere else. She was an only child with no one to play with. All the other girls were well aware of her status as an Eagan and either kept their distance or went overboard trying to kiss up to her. Genuine interactions were few and far between and she clung to them like a life raft.

The job of being an Eagan extended far beyond the office, of course. Whenever Lumon would host a gala, Helena was squeezed into some uncomfortable, extravagant, usually puffy dress and paraded around to a bunch of stuffy, tipsy business people. But she could at least always look forward to spending a couple minutes off to the side with Reghabi while her parents socialized. The older woman would let Helena whisper complaints about her dress and commiserate with her over the dull guests. 

Even back then, there weren’t many times Helena ever felt like she could relax. Sometimes with her mother, if father wasn’t around, and sometimes with Reghabi. But then her mother died and Reghabi disappeared. She heard rumors of excommunication, betrayal, psychosis… none of it ever adequately explained to a ten year old why she hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. She wasn’t even at the funeral. 

Helena glares at Reghabi with the kind of hurt only a child clings to. It rises up inside her like bile, bitter and old. “Why the hell would I talk to you about anything?” 

Reghabi sighs, “When your mother disappeared-“

“She died, Asal,” Helena asserts angrily. “I’m not a child anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed. Don’t you dare spout conspiracy theories at me and expect me to believe them.” Helena has heard every one over the years, no matter how hard she tried to avoid the whispers. 

“They aren’t conspiracies.”

Helena lets out a slightly manic laugh. “Oh, they aren’t! Well, thank Kier you came back around to tell me how the world works, then. Go on, hit me with yours. Is it the lizard people? The cloning? Maybe the murder one? Or, I know, brainwashing-“

“Helena,” Reghabi interrupts sternly, yet sympathetic. “Your mother changed her mind about severance. She wanted to pull back. Jame couldn’t have that.”

Helena squeezes her eyes shut tight, and resists the urge to cover her ears with her hands for good measure. She didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to believe it could be true. But after everything she’s seen and heard over the years, it’s hard not to wonder if maybe…

“I don’t know what he did with her. Haven’t been able to find a trace in years. But I couldn’t risk sticking around and letting it happen to me.”

Helena shakes her head, stays silent. She can’t acknowledge these lies. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you needed to tell me?” Helena grits out, “Because I’d like to switch back now.”

“About that,” Reghabi says. “We’d like you to reintegrate.”

“Reintegration isn’t possible,” she replies automatically, even though she knows it’s a lie. After the OTC was initiated by the innies, ruining both her gala and her reputation, Cobel had shown her some files proving the existence of a reintegrated severance chip. Peter Kilmer’s. He had a bootleg job done, and it had killed him in the end, but he was definitely reintegrated before he died. 

“Sure is. Ask Mark.”

Helena turns to Mark, having nearly forgotten he was there. He watches her with an expression she can’t decipher, some mixture of suspicion and concern. 

“You reintegrated?” she asks, heart in her throat. He nods and Helena’s stomach twists, thinking of Peter Kilmer’s file, how he collapsed disoriented outside of a gas station. “Why would you do that? It’ll kill you.”

“It won’t,” Reghabi states, “We get better at them every time.”

“It’s true. I’m fine. Not dropping dead anytime soon,” Mark confirms, offering a smile that’s meant to be comforting. He does seem fine. 

But if Mark reintegrated, then he knows everything. Surely Helly told him what she had been up to. She isn’t sure which part is more humiliating; the exposure to her lies, her behavior under the guise of Helly, or her behavior as herself when she sought him out. Shame burns in her stomach and she has to look away from him. 

“Why do you need me? She should be enough.” She’s better, Helena assures herself, although she must have messed something up given that she was awake and having this conversation at all. 

“Because we found Gemma Scout,” Reghabi explains, “And we need your help to get her out.”

Helena’s eyes close again, shoulders slumping. She doesn’t need to be told where Gemma Scout is. “You don’t need me for that. Send Helly.”

“And when she runs into someone who expects her to recognize them? When she asks the wrong question? It’s too dangerous, Helena. If something goes wrong down there, we could risk you both disappearing.” 

Helena wants to say that isn’t true, but she can’t. She doesn’t have to imagine just how dire the consequences could be. She can see her father’s angry face clearly in her mind’s eye, the sound of his disappointment spoken venomously in a scratchy whisper. I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands. 

“Fine. Let me do it and then switch us back.”

“No,” Reghabi says bluntly, tone final.

“Why not?” Helena grits out between her teeth, quickly losing whatever patience she had with this guessing game. 

“I don’t trust you.”

It stings, but Reghabi is right. Helena doesn’t even trust herself. It’s exactly why she passed this entire mess off to Helly in the first place. Helly’s instinct for good was strong and unsullied. Helena’s, on the other hand, had been damaged beyond recognition a long time ago. Her mind is muddled by tempers and principles and parables, the casual cruelty of being an Eagan, and a lifetime of following in Kier’s footsteps. 

“You don’t want to do this,” she tells them all seriously, a final attempt at changing their minds, “She won’t be enough to fix me.”

“She’ll have to be,” Reghabi says. 

Helena turns to Mark, another attempt to sway them on her tongue, “I will ruin her.”

Mark looks heartbroken by the statement, yet he shakes his head like he doesn’t believe her. He crouches down in front of her, “No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she shakes her head, “You don’t know me.”

His eyes search hers, determined and thoughtful as he weighs his next words. She’s sure he must be desperate for this, for any way to convince her to go retrieve his wife from Lumon. But he doesn’t know what he’s asking. A lifetime of ingrained issues is not what they need from her, and it is all she has to give. 

“I do know you. You’re Helly. You’ve always been Helly.”

Helena shakes her head. She had buried the part of her that was Helly a long time ago, so far back she can hardly remember her. It would be all too easy to bury her again. 

Marks continues before she can protest, adding earnestly, “And I’d like to get to know Helena, better, too.”

He won’t want to, an ugly voice whispers in her head. No one ever wants to. Helena looks down at the grubby concrete floor. “She won’t be the same, you know.”

“I told you, you’re already-“

“No, I mean Gemma. She’ll never be the same again.” It’s a last ditch effort to end this. It is cruel, a low blow, but she is cruel. And it’s true, Helena knows this for a fact, and maybe it will unsettle him enough to shut the whole thing down. 

But of course, because Mark Scout is so obnoxiously kind, he just fixes her with a forlorn smile. “She’ll still be safe.”

Helena’s heart squeezes uncomfortably in her chest. She’s running out of excuses. “You don’t want this.”

“Why did you do this?” He asks her suddenly, gaze intense, but Helena doesn’t make a move to answer. “Seeking me out, even outside the office. Putting Helly in charge. Why?”

Helena purses her lips, looking away and blushing. She’s never said it as herself before - only while pretending to be Helly, with all the plausible deniability that entailed and even then only once. I love you. Even if it’s true, she can’t bring herself to say it.

“I like you way too much, Mark Scout,” she whispers, in as much of an admission as she can muster. 

He smiles at her, something in his sad eyes twinkling, “Then will you trust me?”

She doesn’t trust him. He will hurt her somehow. She has been sure of it from the beginning, even if she couldn’t stop the collision from happening. But despite every rational thought in her head, she wants to make him happy. She owes it to him, after all. He’s the only one in recent memory who’s managed to give her any small scraps of happiness for herself.

“No,” she tells him, his face drooping slightly before she continues, “But I’ll do it anyway.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and offers a supportive smile, but Helena is far too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay him any mind. She tries to shove all of them down, box her emotions up in the back of her brain so she doesn’t have to dwell on what she’s doing. If it all goes wrong, as she’s so sure it will, she can always take a page from Helly’s book and kill them both. 

Reghabi instructs her to lean her forehead against the stand in front of her as she begins fiddling with things Helena can’t see. Mark is standing out of sight now, and she can’t tell whether that makes her feel disappointed or relieved. Reghabi instructs her to relax as best she can, and then she begins asking questions.

“Who am I?”

“Asal Reghabi.”

“Where are we?”

Helena looks around, “I have absolutely no idea.”

“My basement.”

“Thank you, Mark, but no more interruptions,” Reghabi clears her throat before continuing. “What was your mothers name?”

Helena hesitates. She can’t remember the last time she said that name out loud. “Marilyn Eagan.”

“What was her eye color?”

“Green,” she answers quickly. She could see them in her mind, just the same as her own.

“Did you love her?”

“Yes,” Helena says, trying to ignore the discomfort crawling up her back at the memory of it. 

“Name a dam.”

“Hoover.”

“What does MDR stand for?”

“Macrodata refinement,” Helena answers easily, furrowing her eyebrows. These are easy questions. What good were they if she could answer them all as Helena and not as Helly?

“What is something for which you feel shame?”

Everything. Where does she even start? Her role at Lumon, as an Eagan, in perpetuating severance? Her part in what has happened to Gemma Scout and so many others? Maybe her treatment of her own self, or of Mark? Her feelings for him? Other things, older things, daydreams of running away, zoning out in classes, losing at swim meets-

“Shame,” Reghabi repeats, spurring her on.

“I got my friend kicked out of ballet,” she says, an old memory that is less mortifying to admit to in present company but cuts no less deep.

“Why?”

“…She was prettier than me. Skinnier.” Helena remembers the jealousy, the desperation to prove herself at any cost. “She kept getting the solos.”

“Where were you born?” 

“K…“ she trails off, her brow furrowing. It was on the tip of her tongue, but now she’s not sure.

“What month is it?”

“I… I don’t-“

“What is your first memory?”

Flashes of a grand living room interspersed with that of a board room, the dark wood of a table against her cheek-

“Tell me.”

Confusion. Fear. A voice asking who she is. Who is she? Where is she? She’s never seen this room, with its padded gray walls and suspicious crackling speaker. There’s a door. A way out. She blinks and suddenly the door is gone. Now she’s in what appears to be a basement, her eyebrows furrow and the fear spikes. What’s happening to her? 

“Shall we begin with question one?” The voice from the intercom asks.

“I’m not taking your survey,” she replies, not even thinking. She can’t take a survey, she has to get out of this place. 

Helly stands, but there’s something connected to her head that’s tugging her back. She rips it off, moving to flee as she does so. Hands are holding her back but she swings wildly, making contact, shoving them off and going for a gray, padded door. No, it’s an emergency exit with a window to freedom. Or was it a dimly lit concrete stairwell? She’s almost there when something hooks her around the waist, holding her back. She kicks and struggles, but they’re too strong and pull her back. Her arm catches on broken glass and she yells out as they fall to the ground. She struggles to sit up with a groan, checking her arm but finding no bleeding. She looks at it from all angles, confused.

“Helly?”

She turns and there’s Mark. She knows him instantly. Would know him anywhere. His hair askew and his disappointed face bathed in red light. Then flashing pink and blue across a small smile. Sleepy confusion as she stands on his doorstep. Contorting in pleasure as she lays under him. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus.

“Where- Where are we?” She asks, panting.

“You’re in my house,” Mark answers, gentle hands helping her stand. “You’re safe, okay?”

In his house. That’s right. She found him at the bar, she tricked him into taking her home, and she may be safe but he is not. Not with her. Her eyes snap open and she scrambles back from his grasp, looking down. In her hands is a wedding photo, with a woman she has only seen with dead eyes smiling happily. She sees that same woman from across the office, watching her closely and taking notes. She sees her lying on a slab, her eyes shut, her vitals steadily beeping. Helena did that. She did that. 

Tears spill down her cheeks. She can’t be here. She can’t be near him. She needs to get away, and then she can figure this out. There must be some way to fix it. No, impossible, she can’t fix anything. Everything she touches crumbles. Her father knows, no matter how hard she tries she’s never quite right. Fetid moppet, he hisses at her after the gala and in the backyard and over the dinner table and she can never do enough. She is never enough. 

But Helly is. Helly is loved. She is brave and loud, untouched by legacy or expectation. Helena is spoiled, Eagan cruelty running through her blood like poison. Even if Helly could atone for the harm caused, Helena does not deserve to be redeemed. She will give Helly what she needs, just enough to placate them, enough for her to do something about it, a fresh start. Helly wants freedom, then she can have it. Helena doesn’t want it anymore. She is tired of trying so hard only to always get it wrong. Taking herself out of the picture is the only way to get it right. To get what she still selfishly wants. It’ll still be her body, after all, experiencing it. She just won’t get to know about it. All she needs is the remote. She checks her pockets, but there’s nothing. She looks down at her hand in confusion.

Where’s the extension cord? It was right there, a moment ago. She had it when she grabbed the trash can, but now that’s gone, too. She needs that for her entire plan. Her outie can’t get away with shoving her down here like a slave. If she can’t live a life, neither of them can. She is a person, and this is how she’ll prove it. She looks around. There, a scissor, Lumon blue, right on that table. Messier than she’d hoped, but it would still work. It would still make a statement. She grabs for it, bringing it to her wrist. Bright red blood blooms beneath the blades of the scissors as she presses them down hard with grim satisfaction, but before she can cut herself any further, a hand grabs her wrists hard. The scissor clatters to the floor, and she tries vainly to twist herself free. Arms around her now, squeezing tight, restricting her movements. She flails, trying desperately to get away. They can’t stop her. This is her last chance. They can’t-

Something sharp jabs her neck and she cries out, but at once things start to slow down. She’s so tired. She’s never slept before. She wonders if Mark’s couch will be as comfortable as a real bed. 

“Why did you do that?” Someone is asking her, voice choked. She thinks she’s on the ground now, but the world has gone hazy. She feels a warm hand on her cheek and she leans into it subconsciously.

“Helly,” Mark’s face comes into focus. “What did you give her?” He’s asking someone else, voice panicked. She’s not sure who. Maybe Mr. Graner. He’s looking at her again, eyes gleaming and brows drawn. She wants to comfort him, but her limbs feel like lead. 

“Mark,” she whispers, and then the world fades to black.

Chapter Text

Helly wakes up with a groan, her head throbbing and mind hazy. She rubs her forehead, eyes barely squinting open. There’s a bandage on her wrist, just visible in the dim light, and she thinks she’s laying in a bed. It’s at least soft, a relief as she shifts and discovers other aches in her body. What happened? 

“Hey,” a soft voice says off to her side. Helly turns her head to find Mark sitting next to her, back against the headboard and looking down at her in concern. “What’s your name?”

“Helly,” she croaks back to him.

“Good,” he gives her a small, encouraging smile, “What’s my name?”

“Mark.”

“Do you know where you are?”

Helly groggily looks around her surroundings, trying not to move her head too fast. “Your bedroom.” 

She looks back at him above her and gets a flash of a different Mark, his eyes slightly red and his smiling mouth panting against hers on this same mattress. There’s a sharp pain in her head and she presses her palm against her forehead, gritting her teeth.

“Here,” Mark says, sitting her up and handing her a pill and a glass of water, helping her keep the glass steady as she happily downs whatever it is. 

“What the fuck happened?” She asks, distracted once more by the bandage on her wrist. 

Helly turns to look at him and gasps - there’s a fresh bruise on his cheekbone, the one that had been turned away from her before. She reaches out a hand to gently stroke the purpling flesh, and Mark leans into her touch, his hand coming up to cover hers. He holds them both against his cheek with a quiet tenderness in his eyes. He looks sad, guilty even. Helly furrows her eyebrows as her last memories slowly come trickling back. Oh yeah. She reintegrated. She didn’t take it very well. 

“I did this?” She asks more as a statement than as a question.

Mark nods, “You got a lucky shot.”

Helly blanches. She remembers a struggle, but she doesn’t remember hitting him. She moves to retreat her hand, disgusted with herself, but he holds it tighter to keep it in place. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her, thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “It was my fault for trying to grab you. I should know better by now.”

Mark tries out a disarming smile to try to make light of the situation, but Helly doesn’t see the humour in it at all. When Mark was reintegrating, he had hurt her feelings, sure, but he had never actually physically hurt her. He was right about her destructive tendencies, she thinks ruefully. Her first impulse has always been to fight, to destroy. It’s something Helena has never been allowed to do… which might explain why she’s so desperate for it. 

Helena has always hidden behind expensive clothing, carefully trained expressions, and sentences structured after Kier’s own. Her voice was to be strong and clear but never raised. Her movements must be clean and subtle, graceful and poised. If she can control herself, she will escape the wrath of her father. Maybe even make him proud. Helly has never had to contend with these expectations. It shouldn’t have surprised Helena that her innie was so proficient at raising hell, it was her own long suppressed frustrations that caused it. 

“Where are you going?” Mark asks, squeezing her hand. 

Helly’s eyes refocus on him, blinking quickly and gulping. “I’m here.”

“Good,” he presses a kiss to her palm and another next to the bandage on her wrist. “Why did you do this?” He asks softly against her skin.

It’s a blur, but there seemed like a lot of good reasons at the time. Helena and Helly were in pretty firm agreement at that moment. Helena needed to atone for her wrongdoings, needed to disappear. Helly needed to prove a point, to take control, to free herself. Her outie left her no choice. Suddenly there’s not enough air in the room, like there’s an extension cord around her neck. She gasps, free hand flying to her neck, but there’s nothing there. 

“Helly,” her eyes return to Mark’s. He looks scared. Graner is pushing him into the elevator. 

“Is she okay?” the Mark in the elevator asks. Then his hands are on her shoulders, face suddenly much closer. “Are you okay?”

Helly nods, trying to calm her breathing down. It’s not entirely working. She didn’t mean to break the glass. Her hands were shaking in the kitchenette. She was running in the hallways, slipping on a discarded toy. Helena! Her father shouted at her, wrenching her by the wrist, grip bruising. 

“Hey, take a deep breath,” Mark says, his fluorescent lit face blurring through tears. 

“I’m fucking trying,” she bites out, gasping. 

“Breathe with me,” he says, taking a deliberately slow breath. 

Mark seems to flicker, one moment in a suit and tie and the next in a jumper with his hair flopping forward.  She follows along with both of them, taking deep breaths. He gently thumbs her tears away, and while they don’t stop, the panic eventually begins to subside. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Mark says, the one in the jumper. He seems to be sticking around, at least for the time being. She supposes that means he’s the real one. 

Helly shakes her head. She wants to tell him, but she doesn’t know where to start. And the answers are upsetting, to say the least. Flashes of malice and claustrophobic dread as far back as childhood, a persistent woe driving desperate actions ever since. I have an idea , she’s telling her father in his office at Lumon. It’s a big day, she’s finally stepping into her role at the company. He looks at her proudly. This is her chance. Splendidly done, Helena-

“Helly,” Mark again, in front of her, looking at her with increasing concern. “Where are we?”

“Your bedroom,” she whispers. He nods and the correct answer seems to calm him a bit. “It’s really bad up here,” she confesses. “In my head.”

“I know it’s confusing-“

“No, it’s bad.” She isn’t sure how else to explain how heavily the weight of Helena’s past keeps bearing down on her, making even the air feel oppressively thick whenever she tries to take another breath. Not just Helena’s - it’s her own past now too, she begrudgingly admits to herself, slowly coming back to her in horrible waves of clarity. Her hands are shaking, she realizes. She doesn’t know why, or how long ago they started.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells her sincerely, brushing her hair back.

Helly wants to resist his touch, even though it is the only thing that feels good. Maybe especially because of that. “I deserve it,” she mutters. 

“No. You don’t deserve this,” he comforts.

Helly looks away, shaking her head. “You’re right… I probably deserve worse. You have no idea, Mark.”

“Then tell me.”

She sees Gemma in front of her. Just one in a row of many. All of them stare ahead unblinkingly, perfect blank slates, ready to dedicate themselves to industry. Their numbers flash before her eyes, shaking menacingly, making her feel afraid. Helly can’t say anything, her guilt eating through any residual satisfaction. 

“I don’t care what it is,” Mark asserts when she hesitates to answer him. But she knows it’s impossible for that to be true, and when she catches the light in his eyes dimming almost imperceptibly, she thinks that he knows it too. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, at a loss for what else to say.

Her brow furrows. She doesn’t want his apology, even if she deserved it. An apology is nothing. An apology can be repeated thousands of times and still be false. Mark isn’t sorry - he wanted this. Hot, ugly anger crawls up her throat.

“You don’t get to be sorry now,” Helena says, tone low and angry. “I warned you. We both warned you.”

He looks stricken by that, even guiltier than before, “Helly-“

She pulls out of his grasp, wincing at the ache the motion sends through her head. Mark notices, moves to touch her again. 

“Don’t,” she dodges him, batting his hand away. 

The glare she shoots him must be a good one, because his eyes widen in surprise and his hand retreats back sharply as if stung. He searches her face, eyes narrowing as he processes the past few minutes. He is alarmed now, hurt along with worried. Good. She wants him to hurt. She wants him to know who she really is without the barrier of severance tempering her. Maybe now he’ll stop offering so many undeserved gentle touches that sting more than soothe. If he won’t leave her alone on his own, she’s going to have to force his hand.

“You didn’t have to say yes,” he murmurs, almost too quiet for her to hear him. 

She scoffs. The nerve on him. “Of course I had to say yes, Mark.”

Mark shakes his head, his own voice raising slightly, “No, you di-“

Helena cuts him off with a shocked, bitter laugh. “Are you stupid, or do you really not know?” Mark doesn’t answer her, leveling her with a glare of his own, so she continues. “You are all I have, Mark. All of it. I don’t have friends. I don’t have family. No one has ever loved me before you. I am in no position to deny you anything.”

“What? No, that- that can’t be true,” he says, anger morphing into reluctant defiance. 

“Well it is. Before you, there was nothing. Only industry. I dedicated my entire life, every step of it, to following Kier, because of course that’s what I was supposed to do. And I was patient. I knew one day I would make a sensible match that would serve the bigger picture. But then you came along instead,” Helena sneers, closing her eyes. She sees him walking to his car after work. Entering again in the morning. The same routine, days on end, watching him, unable to get him out of her head like he’s some sort of cancer. “I didn’t get it. You’re not even special. Not particularly attractive. An alcoholic. A widower. Why did she keep wasting all that time with you?” She looks toward him, her gaze cool and judgemental as if expecting an answer. 

She hoped he’d look angrier, shocked and appalled. He is angry, taken off guard, but he mostly looks resigned. 

“Nothing to say to that?” She prompts.

Mark gives a small shake of his head, “You’re just being mean.”

“I am mean,” she corrects him. 

It was the one of the few things she was permitted to be. Insults were like currency to an Eagan, offered out freely and simply as fact. She was young when she realized she could leverage it further, hurt people before they could hurt her. It was satisfying. Consistent. Powerful. But Mark isn’t taking the bait, his gaze taking on a pitying tinge. She doesn’t quite know what to do with pity.

Helly looks away, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them tight. “Why don’t you just fuck off, Mark.”

She hears him make no move to leave, and risks a glance in his direction. He’s looking down at his lap quietly, lips pursed. 

“Go,” she says again, like she’s shooing him away.

“I can’t,” he mutters.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you tried to kill yourself,” he levels her with his gaze, distressed and exhausted.

“I won’t do it again,” she grumbles.

“Maybe you won’t now, but what about when you forget where you are? When you think you’re back in that elevator?”

Helly doesn’t have an answer for him. If she’s being totally honest, she might not even need to hallucinate the elevator to get to that point. 

“I have spent the last five hours thinking of every single way you could hurt yourself here. I am not leaving you alone.”

Helena doesn’t answer. She doesn’t like being babysat. She had a lot of nannies. An endless rotation of them, all followers of Kier, all distant and always watching, reporting back. Suddenly the room around her is no longer Mark’s, but the one she grew up in. Pale blue walls, white wood furniture, shelves lined with porcelain dolls she isn’t allowed to play with and children’s books of Kier’s parables. It’s lonely here. Too quiet. Her nanny sits across the room, knitting and making sure Helena doesn’t have too much fun. Frolic must be carefully contained. Then she morphs into Ms. Casey, watching her across the office and scribbling in a notepad. 

“Did you get all that?” She asks her, but Ms. Casey doesn’t reply. She flickers, her black sweater and white collar shifting to a sterile hospital gown, bob pulled back into a short pony, face stony and expressionless. A sharp pain stabs through Helly’s head and she winces, squeezing her eyes shut. She holds her head, breathing deeply, intentionally. 

“Hey,” Mark’s voice again, his hand on her shoulder. “Does it still hurt?” Helly grits her teeth and nods sharply. His hand rubs soothing circles on her back. “I shouldn’t give you anything else until you eat.”

“No,” Helena hisses emphatically, her stomach twisting and anxiety crawling up her spine at the very idea. She can’t eat, not with the ballet recital coming up. Not when she’s already hit her calories for the day. Not when she has a dress to squeeze into for the gala next month. 

Mark heaves a sigh but doesn’t fight her on it. “Then please try to rest. It will help.”

“What do you know?” She mutters unhelpfully, and even with her eyes closed she can feel the look he gives her. Of course he knows. He went through this himself not even a week ago. 

His arm goes around her shoulder, gently pulling her to him. She rests her head on his shoulder, his sweater soft under her cheek. She doesn’t want to accept this comfort, but she is still exhausted, whether that’s from whatever tranquilizer they gave her earlier, from reintegration sickness itself, or both. It’s comfortable here in his arms, and warmth manages to creep back into her heart despite her best efforts to ward it away. She turns into him, relaxing into his hold, letting him card his fingers through her hair. It helps. She remembers lying just like this in Devon’s house, their roles switched. 

“Go to sleep, Helly,” he whispers, and Helly finds herself listening.

“You should go,” she whispers against him, half a plea and half a warning. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swears. 

Helly can’t decide if she’s pleased or disappointed by the answer. She drifts off in his arms anyways. 

Chapter Text

“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world. None may atone for my actions but me, and only in me shall their stain live on. I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands. All I can be is sorry, and that is all that I am.”

Helly recites the words as earnestly as she can manage in the dark room, her voice choked. The words lit on the transparent screen in front of her blur slightly with unshed tears. She can still see them when she closes her eyes, the image burned into her retinas. Even if she couldn’t, she would still be able to recite them by heart. She’s been doing this so long already.

“I’m afraid you still don’t mean it,” Milchick says, shrouded in darkness. “That’s 563 now. Again, please.” 

The voice of an angry man is muffled through the door. It’s unfamiliar to her, yet it cuts so deeply, filling her with dread. The same voice rings out, clearer but still with a strange quality to it. Almost as if it were strained or layered. 

“92. Again.”

Helena is sniveling, tears running down her cheeks and onto the piece of paper she holds in front of her. She sounds out the words as best she can, but she’s said them so many times now that it’s getting easier. When she messes up, he raps her knuckles with a ruler and she has to start again, and that attempt doesn’t even count. She doesn’t think this is fair. It’s not her fault she didn’t see the toys on the floor and tripped. It’s not her fault that she fell into the cabinet and broke the vase that toppled off. She stammers through the sentence, sniffling, and blinks up at her father hopefully. He looks down his nose at her disdainfully. He seems giant to her. The biggest person in the whole world. She waits to be deemed sincere. She waits for forgiveness. 

“237,” her father replies from behind his desk. They always do this here in his study, all dark chestnut and rich Lumon blues. “Again.”

“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world,” Helena begins again practically emotionlessly, the words seared into her mind. She has had to say them more often now as her grades begin to slip, as her teacher recommends that she step away from ballet, as she pathetically struggles to make the podium at swim meets. Things have been difficult since her mother died, but she feels uncomfortable even letting herself think that, as though the excuse could mean anything at all. She is an Eagan. Excellence in all things is expected of her - more than that, required of her. Her life demands total dedication. To slip up the way she has been is unacceptable. Shameful. 

But she had heard about the party the other girls in her class were throwing that night by the lake. She wasn’t invited, but she thought that maybe if it was late enough, no one would notice her sneak in. Now she’ll never know. Instead, she ended up sitting here in front of her father yet again, malice broiling thickly in her stomach and burning behind her eyes. 

“…All I can be is sorry, and that is all that I am.” Helena finishes, looking at her father expectantly. She knows that wasn’t the one. Her tone was flat, barely containing her fury. She needs to sound sincere, regretful, earnest. But she’s not. She waits anyway. Interrupting would make things worse.

Her father regards her with a cold, calm wrath that never fails to strike fear into her, no matter how old she gets. Luckily, she has at least gotten better at controlling her physical responses to it. He raps her already bruised knuckles and she winces. It’s bad this time. It will sting in the pool tomorrow. But she can’t help the attitude that bleeds into her words, the frustration too great to hold back. Maybe after another hundred raps the sting will motivate her otherwise, but right now, it still feels almost like a relief. 

“Again.” Milchick says, but Helly is hesitating. 

The angry voice behind the door is different, changing. Still a man’s voice, but distressed in a different way, pained and desperate as though they need her help. She wants to help them. She wants to stand, but she can’t, has to keep her hands spread in front of her. Has to remain docile. 

“Again,” Milchick says again, her father’s voice coming from his mouth.

Helly’s attention snaps forward as she recites them, staring into the bathroom mirror. Helena Eagan’s made up face and expensive dress stare back at her, her mouth and Helena’s moving in tangent. All I can be is sorry-

“Again!” He demands and Helly winces, the ruler making contact with her knuckles.

“Helly!”

She wakes with a gasp, the words still on her tongue, falling from her lips. 

“Hey,” Mark hovers over her, brushing back sticky bangs. He looks alarmed, searching her eyes. He swims in her vision as she pants, the words still ringing in her ears. “You’re not there anymore, okay? You don’t have to say it.”

Helena feels like she’s choking on them, those words, and she presses her trembling lips together to try to hold them back.  She inhales sharply through her nose and closes her eyes. But she can still see them there, lit in front of her on a transparent screen. Instead she opens her eyes, focusing on Mark’s face. Breathing with him. His hair is messy with sleep, sticking up in the back and flopping forward in the front. She’s always thought that looked cute on him, remembering with some fondness the first time she saw it like this, out on his doorstep in the middle of the night either a few days or a lifetime ago. She wants to reach out, run her fingers through his hair, but her muscles are still so tense, her hands shaking. She manages to grab his forearm, her fingers digging into his flesh with quiet desperation. Mark shushes her softly, his own expression still worried but calmer than it had been. He continues stroking her hair, swiping away errant tears, giving her the time to catch her breath and come back to herself. 

“Where are you?” He asks her gently.

“Y-Your bedroom,” she replies, voice still wavering.

Mark nods, “Good job.” He places his hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing circles into her skin. “Are you okay now?”

Helly opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out, breath hitching as fresh tears fill her eyes instead. 

Mark looks so, so sad. “C’mere.” He pulls her to him, rolling onto his back, holding her close as her shoulders begin to shake. Helly buries her face in his chest, muffling the sobs she can’t suppress. He rubs her back, her arms, waiting patiently for her cries to begin to subside. 

“You’re not there anymore,” he promises her, “You’re not in the break room.”

Helly shakes her head, sniffling. “It wasn’t just there.” 

Mark’s hand at her back slows slightly as he digests that. “Where were you?”

She wants to tell him. She doesn’t think she can exist being the only person who knows the weight of those words, the sheer breadth of time they have haunted her. 

“My father’s study. In the house that I grew up in.” Helena closes her eyes and she can see it, the imposing wooden desk, the Lumon blue carpet and curtains. “My whole life. I’ve been saying it my whole life.”

She can’t see his face, but his silence speaks words. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs eventually. “You didn’t deserve that.”

For once Helena agrees. “I was just a child…” she laments. She feels like a child now, crying in his arms. Small and weak. Pathetic. 

Mark’s arms tighten around her as she feels a soft kiss pressed to the top of her head. Her hand on his chest grips the fabric of the t-shirt he wears. She doesn’t know when he changed, doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep. It doesn’t matter much, not with her nightmare still settling in her bones. It’s strange to remember this. The part of her that is Helly reels at the knowledge that those same words, that demeaning humiliation ritual, has been a part of her life for as long as Helena could remember. For Helena, it is shameful that she allowed herself to fall victim to them again in adulthood. Shocking that she had to relive that experience so many more times without even knowing the weight of it. She wonders what her total count would be now, including at least another 1,072 from Helly. 

“You’re thinking really loudly,” Mark whispers. 

“Yeah, well,” she whispers back with a sniffle, though the tears have largely stopped, “Lots to think about.”

“You should try not to,” he encourages, hand petting the hair on her head as if he can calm the thoughts himself. 

“Sure, easy,” Helena deadpans, though the effect is marred by the tears in her voice. “You’re the expert on great ways to deal with trauma after all.”

Mark's movements pause and she freezes, wincing. That was too mean. But he just sighs and ignores her jab, asking, “Are you hungry?”

Not just hungry, but starving, she realizes. A bolt of anxiety shoots through her at the thought. “It’s too early,” she protests instead.

“Not that early. Only seven.” 

Helly groans internally. She does have to eat eventually. She has to face this. Also, her head is beginning to ache again, and Mark made it clear that she can’t have any more pills until she gets some food in her stomach.

“Fine,” she begrudgingly agrees, but makes no move to leave.

He seems to sense her hesitance and nestles in to stay with her a bit longer, wordlessly continuing to hold her tight, and a rush of gratefulness washes over her. His stable and comforting presence is the only thing making reality at all bearable for her right now. It’s better here, like this, even if it still isn’t good. But then her stomach grumbles almost comically loudly, and the moment is officially broken. 

They rise to go downstairs and Mark follows her closely, watching her every move. It leaves her nervous, her skin bristling with old anxieties and fears of failure. Part of her wants to confront him, ask what his problem is, so that maybe he’ll stop staring at her like she’s some kind of lab experiment; another part just feels guilty for worrying him so badly. She tries to school her glower into a frown, and begrudgingly lets him follow. Right up until he nearly follows her into the bathroom.

“What the hell, Mark?” she asks with a glare, putting a hand on his chest to stop him. “Nu-uh. No way. Line drawn. Drawing it right now.”

Mark’s lips flatten into a thin line. He looks past her into the bathroom behind. She can see his eyes taking in every little thing she could use to hurt herself. To be fair, there are probably a lot of them.

“You can stay outside,” she concedes guiltily, “Just one minute and I’ll be right out. If you say something and I don’t answer, then you can burst right in and save the day, okay?”

Mark pauses a beat, regarding her with some suspicion before nodding. He steps back and leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the door like a guard dog. Helly rolls her eyes but can’t quite fight the small fond smile. She takes less than a minute, and when she gets out, Mark is still watching the door anxiously as if he didn’t move a muscle. 

“Ta-da,” she deadpans. “Managed not to kill myself.” He looks saddened by the joke but cracks a small smile nonetheless. He returns to her side, his hand finding a familiar place at the small of her back as he steers her downstairs. 

As she sits at the kitchen table, the space around her shifts between her current location and the kitchenette at work, Mark making coffee instead of eggs. He watches her in both visions - even more than he usually did at the office, which was already a lot. Helly tries to ignore it, but the only other thing on her mind is a poor distraction.

It lingers, the threat that the simple act of eating has suddenly become. Helly loves food. At the office, eating was always something relatively enjoyable, if boring and repetitive. A good way to break up the day. Something to do. On the outside, it was a downright joy. Always new and exciting and delicious. But Helena, it turns out, has lots of very old and very complicated feelings about eating - or rather, about not eating. It doesn’t particularly make sense to Helly, but now it’s in her head, too. She could sense that something had already been done to temper it, keep it in check, but it was difficult to hold onto that when so many memories were swinging so viciously through her head. Helly is frustrated by the very existence of the problem. How could Helena take even this from her? 

Mark places a plate in front of her and she stares at it. She has had this same exact meal from him twice already. A third practically makes it routine. Yet it fills her with dread. If she takes her fork and pokes at it strategically, the other girls in the cafeteria probably won’t notice that she takes half as many bites as she should. It usually works, easy enough when she was largely avoided. Mark Scout, however, is impervious to this tactic. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks worriedly. “Is it your head? I can call Reghabi.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she clarifies. 

Helly’s head does hurt, but it’s not that. Helena doesn’t want to tell him this shameful secret she has kept all her life. She remembers one horrible day when her guidance counselor contacted her father regarding their concerns. She got through the compunction statement in record time that day… her shame was already a constant companion by then.

She blinks at Mark, and suddenly he’s sitting across from her in MDR’s kitchenette wearing a suit and tie. She has just tried and failed to hang herself. 

“If you want to focus on looking for happy numbers for a while, that’s fine,” he explains seriously, and she can’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness. Mark looks around to make sure no one is watching them before leaning closer to offer a genuine moment of interaction, whispering, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Talking about it is the last thing Helly wants to do. She doesn’t even really know Mark, even if he does seem benign and well intentioned. But for some reason she can’t explain, a much deeper part of her is certain that she does know him, somehow - that she can trust him, that he is safe, safer than anyone else she has ever known - and all of a sudden, she wants to tell him everything.

It topples out before she can fully process that she’s saying it, before she has the chance to talk herself out of it again. “I think I have an eating disorder.”

Helly regrets it immediately. Everything seems to go still, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in her words. Then he nods, once, looking down and pursing his lips. It’s obvious he’s out of his depth with this. Helly doesn’t blame him. She is, too. He looks back up at her, his gaze intense and clearly scraping his worried brain for the right words to say. Eventually he just gives her another little nod. “Okay.”

Okay . Helena cracks a small smile. Not bad. Her father had hollered, spat threatening insults, frozen her out. She could work with okay . “It’s funny, actually.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows, “Um.”

“She’s such a stereotype, I mean. You know what started it?” 

Mark hesitates, shakes his head. 

“Ballet.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, “You mentioned that, yesterday. Can’t really see you as a ballerina.”

Helena scoffs, “Hey, I’m very graceful, thank you very much.”

“Figured you’d be more into something like, I dunno, wrestling? Maybe rugby.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Swim team, actually. Still got the blue ribbons to prove it.”

Mark nods thoughtfully at that. Helly cocks her head, “Did you ever do any of that? I never thought to wonder, before.”

“What, sports?”

“Yeah. Probably not. Let me guess, you were a total nerd.”

Mark smirks at her and shrugs, “How’d you know?”

“I don’t think many history professors play on the football team,” she snarks. Mark shrugs again, a bit sheepish this time. “It’s okay. I bet you were a cute nerd.”

“Oh please, you would’ve been way out of my league. A ballerina on the swim team?”

“Not really. I was more like the weird daughter of the cult leader.”

Mark’s cell phone rings upstairs and he swears under his breath, looking at the clock on the wall. 

“It’s probably Devon. I’ll be right back, okay? Right back.” He looks at her pointedly, as if ordering her not to try anything funny. Helly raises her hands in surrender as he jogs off.

But as soon as she finds herself alone in the kitchen, her doubts begin to creep in, quietly for one brief moment before flooring her with just how unimaginably loud and bleak they become. She shouldn’t be here, her thoughts whisper to her. Not in this spot, the spot that rightfully belongs to a woman she- 

The room begins to spin, and Helly stands up sharply in response, reeling as she stumbles over to the counter. She doesn’t want to think about Gemma or Ms. Casey or any of the other things she can see that Helena knows. Things Helena did. Helena doesn’t want to think about them either, but the thoughts always seem to find her anyway. It was impossible to distract herself on her own, with no easy banter to rely on and with Helena’s intrusive presence in her mind. Mark had been her anchor, and even though he’d only stepped away for a moment, apparently that was all it took for her to completely lose herself adrift. Some distant part of her feels more than a little embarrassed about that.

Helena grips the edge of the countertop, standing in the kitchenette one second and back in Mark’s kitchen the next. There is one thing he has here that could prove a good distraction. Her hand reaches for the cabinets, looking around and blinking as they switch from Lumon white to warm brown. Sure enough, she finds the glass bottle of brown liquor she was looking for. She takes it out, staring at the label thoughtfully. 

This is one thing besides killing themselves that both Helly and Helena could agree on. Helly had never been allowed to drink, not more than the couple sips she had that one night with Mark. She was angry now that she wouldn’t get to experience it unencumbered by Helena’s psyche - it probably would’ve been more fun that way. But Helena had never been allowed to partake either. Not beyond a few measly drinks on special occasions, anyway. Temperance was one of the nine core principles, after all: it would be unbecoming for her to risk losing her composure. The other girls at school would never risk sneaking off with her to share their stolen drinks in secret locations. The trouble they’d get into if caught with her far too large to risk. In fact, the night she got tipsy at the bar with Mark may have been the drunkest Helena had ever been. So now, standing here with Mark’s whiskey, she doesn’t hesitate to try the one thing that both halves of her can agree on. They’d really like to get drunk. Maybe it would numb it all out for a while. Seemed to work well enough for Mark.

Right as she’s bringing the bottle to her lips, Mark rushes back into the kitchen. 

“Hey!” He snatches the bottle from her hand, “You can’t drink, Helly.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Helly replies angrily, trying to snatch it back. She isn’t a child. She can make her own decisions. “You drink all the time.”

“First of all,” Mark scolds her angrily, “ I’m not even drinking right now. Second of all, that’s because it messes with reintegration. Reghabi’s rule, not mine.”

It reminds Helly of his tone when he walked in on her in the bathroom and caught her trying to write a message on her arms. She can see him in front of her now as he was then, the same disciplinary expression on his face, the same stern tone. She had been so annoyed with him, but at the same time, it was kinda cute. Even then she knew he wasn’t a threat to her - not like that, at least. This time, she thinks there’s actually something kind of hot about it. 

Regardless, she’s pissed that her attempt has been thwarted. She offers him a petulant, narrow-eyed silence in retaliation. Mark caps the bottle and stashes it on top of the cabinets, out of her reach. Well, if she really wanted it she could climb for it, but she’s not that desperate. Not yet, at least.

“Why do you want that shit, anyway?”

“Seemed like a good distraction,” she shrugs, lamely. “I have to stop thinking.”

Mark’s eyes grow heavy with understanding and commiseration, as he lets the silence stretch and drape softly between them. It’s not a comfortable silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable, either. It’s one where the most important things to say floated between them, silently understood and waiting to be spoken aloud. After a few long heartbeats, his hands begin to fidget by his sides. “You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is. Talking to Devon helped me.”

She can tell him things. He’s proven that twice over this morning. But not everything. There is still at least one thing that she really, really can’t tell him. So Helly just shakes her head, and he frowns at her, looking away in a failed effort to spare her the disappointment in his eyes. 

“What did Devon want?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Oh, uh. She’s going to stop by your place and get some of your things. She’ll be by later to drop them off,” he explains. 

Helly nods, vaguely remembering that decision being made as she prepared for reintegration. She’s happy Devon had to take Eleanor to the doctor that afternoon. She wouldn’t have wanted the woman or her baby to be present for that. Not that she particularly wants either of them present now, either. 

She looks back up at Mark. He’s watching her, his hip leaning against the counter and his arms crossed. She blinks, and he’s smiling at her from across the office during the music dance experience. Again, and he’s looking at her nervously in the new and improved break room, asking Helena if they can talk about their kiss. He stands silently, watching Helly as the elevators close. Her hand reaches out to stop them. Helena moves forward swiftly, taking a page from Helly’s book. Her hand closes around his lapel and she pulls him in for a kiss. 

Mark hesitates for just a moment until he’s kissing her back. It’s just the same as it always is, the warmth that spreads through her, the subtle ache between her legs. Her grip on the fabric at his chest tightens, but it’s too soft for a lapel, the material feeling thin and cottony between her fingers. She pulls back slightly in confusion, blinking up at him. Why is Mark S. so scruffy all of a sudden? 

Reality finally comes back to her. She’s in Mark’s kitchen. Not at Lumon.

“What was that?” Mark asks her patiently, confused but not unhappy, his hands sliding up and down her sides. She thinks it’s meant to be comforting, but all it does is stoke the fire inside her that she hadn’t meant to light in the first place. 

Maybe her brain is trying to do her a favor, give her this one thing Helly and Helena both enjoy. And she was looking for a way to take her mind off things, after all. She gives in to the impulse and slides her hands up his chest, settling on his shoulders.

“A distraction,” she whispers, moving to kiss his lips again. He responds, his hands at her hips giving an appreciative squeeze and pulling her closer. Her hands move back down his chest, over his stomach, her fingers inching under the waistband of his flannel pants. 

“ Whoa ,” he grabs her wrist gently, wary of the bandage there. 

Helly pulls back. They’re back at the office again, Mark slowing her down. The sting of rejection shoots through her. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that,” he’s saying slowly, softly, “Your mind is all over the place.”

Helly’s brow furrows, “Not about this.” She will always want him, whether she is Helly or Helena. Even if she’s angry, or guilty, or knows she doesn’t deserve it. “I want you,” she whispers like a prayer, her lips tentatively brushing his, nervous and self-conscious but still daring to hope. She can hear him swallow as her hand crawls lower, over the bulge slowly hardening in his pants. 

“Helly…” Mark sighs, and it’s the last thing she wants to hear - she knows that sigh - it’s the same one she gave him all last week at work. Letting him down gently. 

Helly practically growls, retracting her hand in frustration and leaning heavily against the counter. She squeezes her thighs together, frustrated that she got herself worked up only to be rejected. Not that she should be surprised. This is what Helena wanted when she lashed out at him. Better for him to push her away now before she can make the mistake of getting even more attached, before the inevitable sting of rejection becomes too impossible for her to bear. But Helly doesn’t want that. She still wants him to stay. She still wants him to comfort her. To choose her. 

Mark is watching her sadly, regretfully, but still a little hungry. His eyes trace down her body like he really wishes he could take her up on her offer. She knows the feeling. Part of her is happy he’s getting to see what it’s like after the torture that was three days of rejecting his advances. Her eyes trail down his body to where he’s still half hard in his pants. She looks back up at him pointedly from under her lashes. Slowly her hand crawls down her own stomach and under the sweatpants she wears. She watches his eyes widen as he watches, and a small, satisfied smile begins to grow on her face.

“What are you doing?” Marks breathes. It’s a stupid question. He can very clearly see what she’s doing.

“If you’re not going to do anything about it, I’ll have to distract myself,” she replies lightly, letting her mouth fall open as she rubs circles over herself. 

She never had much chance to do this, neither as Helly nor as Helena: one was stuck in a draconian office, the other stuck under the thumb of Kier’s prudish principles. Her hands feel okay, better than nothing, but the whole exercise serves to stoke her flames even further instead of granting her anything close to the release she craves. Mark’s eyes on her don’t help. Or maybe they really do help. She watches him lick his lips, eyes moving back and forth from the movement of her hand in her pants to the pleasure dancing across her face. She’s putting it on, just a little bit. Just enough to get him to cave. She can see it in his eyes the instant he does. 

Mark steps forward, crowding into her. One hand wraps around her, drawing her close, while the other reaches into her borrowed sweats with an almost maddening urgency. He bats her hand out of the way, replacing her fingers with his own, as though they belonged there all along. 

Helly’s head lolls back with a satisfied sigh, her hips automatically careening towards him. His fingers glide over her easily, with purpose, knowing by now exactly what she likes. What she needs. His lips find her neck, pressing sweet kisses down her throat. Helly moans low, one hand gripping the edge of the counter and the other scrabbling for purchase on his shoulder. His fingers circle her entrance and she whines, biting her lip as her hips chase him. He takes mercy on her, sliding his fingers into her and bending them just so, stroking hard. 

His name falls from her lips on a moan. Her fingers slip into his hair, pulling his lips back to her. She needs to taste him, yearns to be connected in any way he’ll have her. His tongue moves against hers in concert with his fingers, the pressure building within her. Her moans disappear into his mouth and he swallows them readily, panting along with her. She tightens her grip in his hair just to hear him groan, her teeth tugging on his lip as he does so. He picks up speed and she can hear how wet he has her already. 

Helly’s hips move on their own, grinding down against him and bucking as each increasing wave of pleasure hits her, until finally - blissfully - he pushes her off the edge. She cries out, every muscle tightening deliciously and relaxing all at once, her forehead pressed against his shoulder and her knees going weak. His hand retreats, and he holds her steadily around her waist, keeping her propped up between him and the counter as she pants to catch her breath. Mark presses kisses against her forehead as she comes back to herself. She can feel him pressed hard against her stomach. Mark isn’t drawing attention to himself, but it’s there, and Helly doesn’t want to be done yet. She wants to keep living in this ecstasy for as long as she can. 

Helly grabs his hand decisively, pulling him into the living room. He only looks a little confused, but lets her drag him anyway, pushing him onto his couch. She looks down at him and sees his proud face smiling up at her the first time he made her come, his mouth and chin shining because of her. She blinks and sees him staring up at her in adoration, thrilled about every one of these stolen moments with her at the office. Without preamble, she moves to lift her skirt. Only she isn’t wearing a skirt. She looks down at herself in confusion for a moment, sweatpants materializing on her legs. 

“You okay?” she hears him ask. 

Helly simply nods and pushes the sweats and her underwear down, leaving her in nothing but his oversized t-shirt.

“You’re flickering,” Mark says wearily, like he’s going to try shutting her down again even as his hands settle on her hips, “We should stop.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she practically hisses, settling more fully on top of him, brushing herself against the bulge in his pants. “You know,” she continues thoughtfully, hand sliding down his chest and under his t-shirt, “I’ve never been with anyone else this way.” She pushes the fabric of his shirt up and Mark obediently lets her remove it.

When his face is visible again he’s clearly confused, not quite believing her. “Really?”

Helly nods, grinding down on him slowly, purposefully, making him grit his teeth and moan. 

“Really,” she leans forward, hands on his shoulders, “Told you my outie was a loser.”

Mark huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“She was so mad when she first found out,” she tells him with a smile, remembering the fury, the jealousy.

Mark’s brow furrows, too consumed by the press of her to focus on forming an answer. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Don’t worry,” she grinds against him a little harder and his head rolls back with a low moan, “She got over it once she got a taste for herself.” 

Helly leans down to kiss him, reaching to push his pants and underwear down. He springs free and she wastes no time, taking him in her hand and guiding him into her. She bites her lip, whining at the stretch. She’s still sensitive from the first orgasm he gave her, and it makes her feel impossibly good, every nerve ending alight and aching for more. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she grinds against him. The bed has been great, but riding his lap like this in a state of haphazard undress feels so familiar that her heart aches. 

Mark’s hand grabs the flesh of her ass, encouraging her to slide up and down his length in longer, deeper strokes. His other hand slips under the front of her shirt, squeezing her breast and rubbing his thumb over her nipple, pinching it until she gasps into his mouth. She arches into his touch, her nails scraping against his scalp. On the next slide of their lips, she takes his between her teeth and tugs until he groans, hips stuttering. 

She pulls back, just enough to look at him, to watch the furrow of his brow and the way his mouth falls open in bliss. Her eyes catch on the bruise again. Her hand cups his cheek, thumb smoothing over the flesh. A pang of guilt mingles with the pleasure at that, but not strongly enough to stop her or even slow her down. Some part of her that must be well and truly sick thinks that it actually looks good on him, especially with the scruff on his jaw rapidly morphing into a beard, his hair tousled by her fingers. 

“Helly,” he breathes her name like it’s something sacred and her heart skips a beat, every press of him inside her making her feel that much more complete. 

“Say it again,” she orders, the movement of her hips on his hastening, the pressure building once more, 

“Helly,” he moans and she comes around him with a cry. 

It’s stronger than the first, her ears ringing with it, her legs shaking and her arms drawing him close as her muscles tense. The feeling of her fluttering around him sends him over the edge too, and he grunts as he comes inside her, eyes squeezed shut, holding her close as his hips finally stutter to a stop. 

They pant together, Helly running her fingers through his hair and pressing soft kisses to his injured cheek and to his forehead, right over the spot where she once clocked him with a speaker. His hands smooth up and down her back, humming contentedly. 

She tilts her head as she examines him, “You don’t cry anymore.” 

Mark shrugs lazily, “To be fair, only my innie did that.”

Helly furrows her brow at that, trying to puzzle it out, “Why?”

“I have no idea,” he tells her earnestly. She strokes her fingers over his bruise again. “How’s it look?”

“Kinda hot, actually. Very rugged.”

Mark chuckles, “Is that why you keep throwing things at my head? Some sort of kink?”

Helly gives a lopsided grin, shaking her head, “Nah. Just a happy accident.”

Except it’s not really a happy accident. She still feels terrible for hurting him again. She continues smoothing her fingers over his cheekbone, his face flickering underneath her between that of a clean shaven, wide eyed Mark S. and the singular Mark that sits below her now. They look at her the same way, she realizes all at once with a gasp. The Mark that loved her, and the one who has been sticking so loyally by her side, no matter what she says or does. The realization has her heart skipping a beat and her fingers stilling on his cheek. 

He deserves to know everything. He should have the facts. He’s earned the truth, even if it results in him hating her. That will be her cross to bear. None may atone for my actions but me, and only in me shall their stain live on.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks her, hand coming up to cup her cheek, “You’re thinking really loudly again.”

“I have to tell you something,” she confesses in a whisper. 

“Anything,” he tells her easily, as if it’s true. 

She hesitates, frozen by his adoring gaze. “I don’t think I can look at you while I say it.”

Mark frowns but nods, wrapping her in his arms and shifting them both until they’re laying on their sides. “Turn around,” he encourages. Helly does so, turning in his arms so her back is flush against his front. He keeps a strong arm around her waist, his mouth pressed to her shoulder. “Okay?”

Helena nods and takes a deep breath. She can do this. She just has to say it. Spit it out. She takes a deep breath and takes the metaphorical leap of faith, though it feels more like a metaphorical hop into a shark tank. 

“It was my idea,” she whispers shakily, her voice thin, straining with the shame she’s carried for so many years. 

Mark pauses behind her, “I don’t….”

“When I first started at Lumon, right after I graduated, I came in with this grand idea to shake things up. Increase productivity. Prove myself.” Mark is silent, patiently waiting for her to go on, “And my idea was that the- The subjects we refine… it might go faster if the refiners had known them. Before. And I was right.”

She lets it settle over him, the knowledge that Helena was the reason he was ever approached after Lumon acquired whatever was left of Gemma. She was the reason he got stuck in this horrible situation. She had known all along that his wife and the family members of dozens of other people were alive yet permanently altered, turning them into shells of their former selves. Donated to science, they said. Helena no longer considers it a scientific endeavor to forcibly resurrect these people to serve Kier, to treat them as unquestioning tools instead of as individuals, as people who had loved deeply and who were deeply loved in turn. It is inhumane and cruel - it always has been - and she somehow managed to make things even worse by victimizing whatever loved ones they had left. Mark never would ended up severed if it hadn’t been for her desperate freshman attempt at gaining daddy’s approval.

Mark is still behind her. Quiet. She tries to be patient, but as the seconds tick by the anxiety ratchets up. 

“Please say something,” she whispers shakily, trying to resist the burn behind her eyes at the creeping rejection she’s sure will come any second. 

But the rejection doesn’t come. Mark tightens his arm around her middle instead. “No matter what, right?”

“What?” Her brows furrow,

“I will care about you no matter what,” he tells her, voice so soft and kind it brings the tears forward.

She can’t believe her ears. She doesn’t know what she has done to deserve a man like Mark Scout. She’s fairly certain she still doesn’t. “That’s my line,” she sniffles, attempting brevity.

“I’m borrowing it,” she feels him say with a kiss pressed to her shoulder. “I still don’t know much about what Helena has been through. What you have been through. But it sounds to me like the things you did before you were severed weren’t really you.”

Helly shakes her head, “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he insists, “Our innies are better versions of ourselves. They don’t have all the…” he pauses, searching for the right words, “all the shit in their heads that makes us assholes.” Despite herself, Helena cracks a smile at that, “Do you think there aren’t things I’ve done in the past two years that I’m not proud of? Things Mark S. never would have done.”

Helly shakes her head. The sheer scale of her actions alone… “It’s different.” 

“I don’t care,” he insists, “I don’t care about who you were. I care about who you are now.”

“I don’t know who I am now.”

“I think you get to choose.”

Could it really be that simple? She considers it, the idea that as long as she does her best to make up for it all now… could that really be enough to atone? To be forgiven for all the harm she has caused this world? Caused Mark?

Helly spins back around in his arms, pressing her forehead against his and wiping away her tears. “Thank you. I don’t deserve that.”

“I think I’ll be deciding what you deserve from now on, because you have a pretty fucked up scale,” he smirks. Her smile broadens a bit more at his teasing, the Helly in her able to acknowledge the truth in his words. He leans forward, pressing a comforting kiss to her lips, “No matter what. Okay?”

It’s not I love you, but it might mean more. That even if Gemma were to be recovered, Helly won’t be tossed to the wayside like an old toy. Maybe she would still be able to find some sort of place here, whether it was with him or not. She nods, pressing her forehead against his. 

“No matter what.”

Chapter Text

Helly doesn’t get much time to dream that night. The alarm blaring at four am sharp wakes them both up. She wants to throw it across the room for waking her from the best sleep she had managed in days. Mark doesn't seem happy about it either, holding her tighter and grumbling. But it's a big day. Possibly the most important Monday morning of their lives. Today they were freeing Gemma - Ms. Casey or whoever she was now - and getting what they need to take Lumon down. 

The reality of what they’re about to do settles in around them, and they get ready quietly, still waking up. It feels odd to brush her teeth next to him, to watch him shave while she makes herself up into Helena Eagan. It leaves something fond and warm and overwhelming in her, something that has her smiling softly at him anytime she catches his eye. At the same time it‘s nerve wracking in an exciting way, the way she sometimes felt when first developing a silly little crush on him. Both times she developed a crush on him. 

She watches him become Mark S., putting on the suit she is so familiar with as she changes into the clothes Devon brought her. She wants to go over and help him, button up his shirt and tighten his tie, brush his hair back into place. But she fears that if she does, she’ll get sidetracked and never want to leave. So she settles for watching him, noting with some satisfaction that he watches her right back. She risks winking at him as she rolls her pantyhose on, enjoying the blush it leaves on his cheeks.

Somehow they manage to restrain themselves and be responsible. He makes them coffee in the kitchen and a slice of toast each. Helena is happy they don’t have time for more. They pause at the front door once their coats have been shrugged on, looking at each other, the anticipation that their calm morning had temporarily set aside finally coming to a head. She can tell he’s nervous - about what exactly, she isn’t sure, but there is plenty to be nervous about. 

“Ready, boss?” She asks him.

He smiles at her, amused by the nickname. “As I’ll ever be.” He reaches to take her hand, “We’re gonna be okay today.”

Helly doesn’t know if it’s a question or an affirmation, but she nods and squeezes his hand. They will be okay. She’s come too far not to be okay now. She gives him a comforting smile, “Yeah. We’ll be okay.”

He pulls her in for a kiss, firm and sweet like a promise. Helly lets it linger as long as she can, clinging to this comfort as long as it’s available to her. But it’s all too soon that they have to part. 

They take their respective cars and drive to a set of actual coordinates in latitude and longitude relayed by Reghabi through Devon. By five, they arrive in a derelict out of use commuter parking lot off the highway, hidden from sight by overgrown woods. It’s late enough in winter and early enough in the morning that it’s especially cold and still mostly dark, dawn only just beginning to creep in. When they arrive, Reghabi is already there, waiting for them with crossed arms. 

“Good morning,” she greets as they get out of their cars. “I told you to stagger your arrivals.”

Mark looks to Helly, “Wha- Is five minutes not enough?”

“No.”

Helena narrows her eyes at Reghabi and huffs, not answering. She leans against her car, crossing her arms against the cold and against this woman from her past. She hasn’t seen Reghabi since her initial reintegration. Helena assumes she stitched up her wrist, gave Mark all the instructions she had to give, and then ran right back off to do god knows what. Helly hadn’t trusted Reghabi completely, was wary of her capabilities and demeanor, but desperate for the help Reghabi could offer even if she didn’t always like the way she provided it. Combined with Helena’s deep-seated feelings of betrayal and hurt, she wasn’t very interested in swapping pleasantries with the woman. 

Reghabi isn’t shaken by Helena’s glare. “How are you feeling?”

Helena shrugs, “Not gonna try to kill myself. Know we’re in a shitty parking lot.” Know you fucking suck , Helly wants to add childishly. 

“Great,” Reghabi replies, tone dry. “It should be even better when you’re on the severed floor.”

“Great,” Helly responds with fake, sarcastic cheer. 

Mark wisely chooses not to acknowledge the obvious tension, “Who else are we waiting on?”

“Three more. Devon, Irving, Gretchen.”

“Who’s Gretchen?”

Reghabi sighs, “Are we going to play twenty questions now, or can you be patient until everyone actually arrives?”

Mark backs off, eyebrows raised in awkward surrender. It only pisses Helena off further that Reghabi thinks she can speak to them like they’re children. The woman flickers, and suddenly she’s Ms. Cobel, then Milchick. Her fists clench and malice surges inside her. She tries to recite the principles to calm herself on instinct, but that only makes her angrier. Mark, always watching, notices that something is off. 

He comes to stand beside her, leaning against the car, “You okay?”

Helly nods, but can’t quite look away from Reghabi. Reghabi, on the other hand, is pointedly ignoring Helly and watching the entrance to the parking lot instead.

“Hey,” he reaches over, places a hand at the crook of her elbow, right over hers, “Who am I?”

“That’s a bad question,” she answers. “I always know who you are.” 

She looks up at him and catches his eye. He’s giving her that little smile that’s just for her, pleased with her answer. She can’t help but slowly smile back, the warmth he always incites inside her washing the malice away. She takes a deep breath and knocks their shoulders together. 

The first unfamiliar car drives in, pulling their focus. They both tense, regarding it suspiciously until Irving steps out.

“Irv!” She practically speed walks over to him, Mark not far behind. She knows it’s only been two days since she last saw him, but it feels like it’s been weeks. He is a sight for sore eyes, something familiar to both Helly and Helena. She nearly runs up and hugs him but manages to hold back, giving him a wide grin instead. 

“Hi kids,” he greets, returning her smile. “What’s for dinner?”

“You’re still doing that? I thought reintegration would have made you funnier.” Mark shoots back easily.  

Helly chuckles, looking between them both and feeling lighter than she has since becoming one person. “At least we know the answer now.”

“Oh ha ha,” Irving snarks. “Speaking of, how are you both doing? It’s quite the shock to the system, isn’t it?” He asks sincerely, a bit excited, offering Helly a smile. 

For a moment he flickers. She sees him through the cracks in the dividers, sitting diagonally from her on her very first day of existence. He offers her the same smile now, outside the walls of Lumon, his eyes wide and kind and knowing. 

“Mark’s basically normal now,” Helly starts, “And I’m... I’ll be okay.” She doesn’t know if it’s true, but it feels possible to hope for. At least at the moment. 

Irv hums thoughtfully, “How’d he get that then?” He gestures to the bruise on Mark's cheek and Helly flushes. “Another errant speaker?”

Helly groans sheepishly at the ground as Mark answers, looking down at her in amusement, “Something like that.”

Irving laughs, delighted, giving her a good natured thump on the arm, “Alright, Helly.”

“Hip hip,” she finishes for him.

Another car comes rolling in and they hear Reghabi complain about staggering times and not being able to follow directions. Devon steps out and joins the circle Irving, Mark, and Helly have created.

“Good morning,” she greets, only sounding kind of exhausted.

Devon’s eyes land on Helly, looking at her the same way she did the night before that had Helly scurrying off to the bedroom for solitude. A mixture of concern, understanding, and pity that left her uncomfortable. Helly had appreciated Devon’s easy affection and care, but it left Helena feeling off balance, not sure if she can trust it and not liking how it feels to have her weaknesses so evident. It was bad enough that Mark knew about them.

“Hey,” Mark answers, gesturing to Irv, “This is Irving. He’s our coworker.”

“I’m Devon,” she greets, accepting the strong handshake Irving offers. “His sister.”

“Wonderful to meet you, Devon. Congratulations on the child.”

Devon glances at Mark, surprised, “Thank you. He really talks about us down there, huh?”

“Of course I do.” Mark says as if it should be obvious. 

Devon smiles appreciatively, touched. Helly sees the second that Devon notices Reghabi. Her smile fades, calling out, “So, is there a reason we all have to be here at the ass crack of dawn?”

“I wasn’t about to say all of this over the phone or in a text,” Reghabi answers. “Now is the only time we have.”

Another car rolls into the parking lot and Reghabi groans, shaking her head. An unfamiliar woman exits in what appears to be a security guard uniform and Reghabi barely waits for the car door to close before berating them all, “I told you all to stagger fifteen minutes. Not five.”

“Don’t look at me,” Irving clarifies, making Helly snicker.  He is the only one who staggered fifteen minutes correctly. It reminds her of when he felt the need to make it clear he didn’t approve of mapping the severed floor. She wonders if that’s a trait from the innie she knows or something that has always been a part of Irving.

Reghabi glares at him. “We need to be perfect today. Precise. Careful. Which means we have to follow instructions.” 

They’re all silent, Devon and the new woman nodding despite being obviously put off by Reghabi’s strict demeanor.

“This is Gretchen,” Reghabi starts again, “She’s Dylan G.’s wife.”

“Really?” Irving says jovially, perking up. “How lovely to meet you.”

“Yes, this is all just lovely,” Reghabi cuts off any further pleasantries and delays. “We couldn’t get Dylan’s outie to reintegrate. We’re working on it, but it shouldn’t be a problem. His innie will still be willing to cooperate. Luckily, Gretchen is a security guard at Lumon. She usually works the night shift on a different floor, but the uniform will get her a lot of pull.”

“Okay,” Mark starts, “So what’s the plan?”

“You’re going in like it’s a normal work day. Before noon, Irving will escort Helly to the Exports elevator. Mark and Dylan will keep watch, deflect suspicion if any arises. Helly will meet Gretchen for backup on the Exports floor at lunch. There will be about an hour where the floor is nearly empty. They will get Gemma and get her out through the stairwell. Devon will be waiting in the parking lot.”

“And where will you be?” Helena asks, voice cold. 

Reghabi stares her down, “I cannot get close to Lumon.”

Helly scoffs, “Of course not.”

“I have done all the legwork for this. Years of it,” Reghabi says, voice finally taking on the angry tinge Helly has been looking for. “You have no idea, Helena.”

Helena doesn’t really care. She doesn’t answer, simply smiles in satisfaction at the woman she was finally able to crack.

Reghabi huffs and shakes her head as if clearing it, moving on. “I will reconvene with Devon and Gemma afterwards, assess her status and go from there.” She looks around slowly, taking in each of their faces, “This could be the evidence we need to get Lumon in serious trouble. If we succeed, we could see Lumon shut down for good. So don’t fuck it up.”

No one nods or verbalizes their agreement, but they don’t need to. The silence speaks volumes. 

Reghabi checks her watch. “You all know what you need to do?” She takes in their sporadic nods, no one speaks up to ask any questions. “Great.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Devon asks, “That was, like, five minutes.” She’s clearly frustrated that she came all this way for such a brief meeting.

“That’s it,” Reghabi confirms, not apologetic at all. “I’ll see you all after.” She turns to leave without so much as a goodbye.

“You’re just leaving?” Helena bursts out, almost laughing at how predictable it is as she follows the woman to her car. 

“I have work to do,” Reghabi opens her car door, climbing in. “Good luck, Helena.” It’s the most Helly gets before Reghabi slams her car door and pulls out of the lot. 

Helena stares after her, somewhat dumbfounded and feeling very much like a child.

“Okay,” Devon breaks the silence, “Well, it was great meeting you guys, but I’m going home.” She turns and gives Mark a tight hug, “I love you. It’ll go great today.” It looks like Mark replies, but Helly can’t quite make it out. 

Gretchen catches her eye and gives a small, nervous smile. Helly returns it and the other woman takes it as encouragement to approach.

“So,” Gretchen starts, “Helena Eagan.”

Helly’s stomach flips. “Apparently so.”

“We met once, you know.”

Helly’s stomach sinks further as she racks her brain for any trace of that interaction. She’s certainly aware of Dylan’s wife, so much as she is mentioned in his file and as a Lumon employee, but she has no memory of a prior meeting.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” Gretchen says kindly, “I can’t imagine how many security guards you meet.”

“I’m sorry,” Helena replies sincerely anyway. “Was I nice?”

“You weren’t not nice. You seemed… Uncomfortable, maybe.”

“Nice way of saying stuck up and stuffy.”

Gretchen laughs a little, surprised, “You said it, not me.”

Helly smiles at Gretchen more genuinely. “Dylan is a great guy, you know. We all really love him.”

“Yeah, he is. And I do, too.”

“So, thank you for helping us. And him.”

“It’s my pleasure. We’ll get this done.”

Helly nods affirmatively, “Listen, if anyone gives you any trouble today, tell them Helena Eagan has you working on Project Innie. That they can take it up with the Board if they don’t like it.”

“Um, okay,” Gretchen raises her eyebrows, “What’s Project Innie?”

“Nothing,” Helena smirks, “Just some bullshit I made up to keep them off my back.”

Gretchen’s eyes widen but she giggles, “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Helly smiles, pleased that Dylan’s wife seems to have some of his sense of humor. He would have a cool wife. She can’t wait to tell him. 

“I’m gonna go see my kids before I have to head back to the office. Have to do the trade off with my mom after Dylan leaves for work,” Gretchen says as she retrieves her keys. “But I’ll see you later. We’ve totally got this, you guys.”

Gretchen wishes Irving and Mark farewell, and then it’s just three out of four refiners standing in an abandoned parking lot in the outside world. Helly looks at Irving and Mark, feeling a little giddy at the unreality of the situation. She joins them, looking between them in their winter jackets, cheeks red, air puffing in the cold air like smoke. They flicker briefly, Lumon white walls surrounding them and green carpet beneath their feet, but they are the same people in both places. Steady presences. Her friends. She is so unbelievably glad that she met them.

“Look at us,” Helly muses, her smile going lopsided, “Wouldn’t it be great if we could just go to a diner and get a cup of coffee right now?” She imagines a time where they could be seeing each other because they wanted to, not because they were trapped together in an office or preparing for a dangerous heist against her family company. Helena’s never really had friends to do that with before. It sounds fun.

“Why can’t we?” Mark indulges her.

“It would be suspicious if our outies were seen together before work hours,” Irving explains gently, looking at Helly with understanding.

She sighs. “Of course.”

“Maybe one day,” Mark adds. “Maybe soon.” He smiles at Helly and it perks her back up.

“Maybe,” Irving concedes, “It would be a long time coming.”

“Yeah, how’d you get into all this, Irv?” Mark asks him.

“I believe Lumon took my father near the end of his life,” Irving states matter of factly. “Nearly twenty years ago now.”

Helena freezes. She remembers sitting in front of her father. He is showing her a chip, flashing green and blue. It sits on its little dish twinkling up at her. She looks up at him in wonder and he smiles down at her, explaining how it works. She tells him she loves it. That it’s pretty. She would tell him anything to keep him kind like this. Anything.

“Helly?” Irving asks her and she snaps back to the parking lot. They’re both staring at her with patient concern. Mark’s hand is at her back steadying her.

“Sorry,” she says quickly, less for spacing out and more for the actions of her family. For all the pain they have inflicted on not only Irv and Mark, but on countless of people just like them. “I’m so sorry, Irv.”

“It’s okay,” he offers a smile. “You can buy me a coffee after this, how about that?”

She laughs. She would buy him every coffee he ever wanted for the rest of his life. “Deal.”

Irving looks at them both, something unspoken passing between the three of them before he pats them both on the shoulder. “I’ll see you out there.” 

Irving hops into his car and speeds off, leaving only Mark and Helly. They don’t say anything and Helly isn’t sure who moves first, but his arms wind up around her as she leans into him. They don’t speak, both lost in their own heads. Helena is nervous, but she is also resigned. She will do what she has to do today. She will atone. Whatever comes next will come. But Mark stands stiffly, his thoughts louder than hers. She thinks she knows what’s on his mind, but she asks anyway.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Mark sighs, hesitating only a moment before responding, “Only a penny?”

“Fine,” she chuckles, “A thousand dollars for your thoughts. I’m pretty sure I can afford it.”

He makes a small sound, like maybe he almost laughed, but he doesn’t relax in her arms. She lets him think, waiting patiently, happy to draw out every last minute here with him.

“I know… I know everyone keeps saying she won’t be the same,” Mark begins softly, sadly, confirming her suspicions. “I remember seeing her. Ms. Casey. I know she’s different. But I keep thinking that maybe…” he trails off, but she knows what he means. Maybe the old Gemma, the real one, is trapped inside there somewhere. That she could be brought back somehow.

Helena is quiet. She knows this isn’t possible, and she can’t lie to him anymore, even if it's only through comforting platitudes. Instead, she holds him a little tighter. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

“I don’t understand why,” he shakes his head, voice mournful.

“I could tell you,” she offers. She doesn’t know if it will help, and she does know it will hurt her to relay the information, but she will endure and give it if he asks. She feels him nod, and continues carefully, taking her time to search for the right words. “It’s not like us. She’s not split in two. There is no innie and outie. There was no… There was no Gemma left, so there is no other half. She is only one person. Whoever she is now.”

Mark squeezes her tighter now and his voice is choked when he finally responds. “Thank you for telling me.”

Helly pulls back from him, sees the tears and wipes them away with her thumbs. He presses his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. No matter what happens today, even if they successfully break Gemma out, Mark’s wife will still be gone. This will still hurt him. There is nothing Helly can do to stop that. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, feeling like she could spend the rest of her life apologizing to him.

“I know,” he tells her, sniffling, “We’re still gonna save her.”

“Yeah,” she gives him a small supportive smile, “We’re gonna save her.”

They stand there as Mark’s tears dry up, foreheads pressed together and arms wrapped around each other. She wants to comfort him, but she doesn’t feel like she’s allowed to kiss him right now. Something about it wouldn’t be fair. She wishes he would kiss her, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. So she stands there with him in her arms, her nose and cheeks burning in the cold until it’s been way too long. They part regretfully and head to work.

__

Mark described the elevator post reintegration as a sort of parallel shift instead of a complete switch. But Helly doesn’t feel all that different. She wonders if it's because of how many manual switches she put herself through outside the office, or the times she overrode it to be here. Whatever the case, she is relieved not to be thrown further into confusion. Helly and Helena both need to be at the top of their game today, and so far, it seems that the hallucinations and the ache in her head are both more manageable than they were.

She’s the last one to walk into MDR. Mark and Irving have already begun catching Dylan up at the cubicles, made clear when she sits and he turns to whisper furiously, “You reintegrated!”

“Thanks for waiting up, guys,” she deadpans to Mark and Irving. 

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m meeting an Eagan.”

Helly shoots Dylan a glare, “You already met an Eagan. A whole lot of times.”

“Well, not knowingly. You’re like royalty, dude. The princess of Lumon.”

Helly wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t remember it being much like a fairytale. Maybe if it were one of those Grimm ones. “We met your wife today,” Helly says, changing the subject.

“I know,” Dylan’s smile changes. He looks shy, giddy, happy in a way she’s never seen him. “Is she hot? These guys won’t tell me.”

Helly raises her eyebrows, delighted and not entirely surprised by the question, “Absolutely she’s hot. And she seems kind. And funny. Really cool.”

Dylan smiles proudly, “I knew it. And she’s gonna help save the day because she’s a total badass, too.”

“Totally,” Helly agrees happily. “We just need to make it through the morning without dying of boredom.”

“Yeah, try not to go crazy and throw anything at anyone.”

Irving chuckles at Dylan’s jab and Helly turns to Mark, “You told them I threw something at you?”

“I’m letting them draw their own conclusions,” he defends himself, attention turning towards his monitor as if any of them are going to do any real work that day. 

Helly rolls her eyes but can’t suppress the smile that spreads across her face. This is so nice, joking and bantering and existing together, just the four of them in this room. The only thing Helly had ever known. The closest thing to friendship and family Helena ever had. It will be gone after today. There was no way any of them would be allowed to step foot anywhere near Lumon again. She lets herself look around the office space, taking it all in as if she could ever forget this place she has hated so furiously and yet learned to associate with home. 

A little before noon Helly escapes to the kitchenette for a glass of water, taking in this space too. She gets flashes of memories: her near panic attack at the sink, sitting with Mark during the pre-waffle party brunch, getting caught kissing him by Dylan. She’s standing there, spacing out and smiling nostalgically to herself, when Irving finds her. 

“How are you holding up?” He asks, getting a glass of water for himself.

“Okay,” Helly says, mostly truthfully.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Helly nods, remembering that Irving is going through his own reintegration. His own reconciliation of the self. “Did you ever find Burt?” She ends up asking him.

Irving’s smile saddens as he nods. Helly doesn’t need any more information to know what he means. She knows how it feels to wind up the other woman. She reaches out to lay a comforting hand on his arm.

“You could request a hug, if you’d like,” Helly jokes, hoping he does.

Irving doesn’t answer, simply wraps her in a hug. Helly squeezes him right back, the nerves in her stomach just a little calmer. She wonders privately what it would have been like to have someone more like Irving for a father.

“Are you ready?” He asks her, pulling back but keeping his hands on her shoulders. She nods and he gives her a wide grin, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. “Let’s do this.”

They walk back into the main office, Irving announcing loudly that Helly is going to escort him to O&D. To both of their surprise, Mark stands suddenly. He’s been nervous and quiet all morning, understandably on edge, but now his eyes look almost panicked. 

“I’ll come,” he says quickly.

Irving and Helly blink at Mark, then glance at each other. 

“That wasn’t the plan, Mark,” Helly whispers.

“I don’t care what the plan is,” Mark whispers back vehemently, “It’s safer if there’s more of us. More eyes to keep watch.”

It’s a thin excuse, but neither Irving nor Helly see the point in arguing and upsetting him further. “You got this Dylan?” She asks.

Dylan nods, “I got this.”

“Okay,” she turns back to the door, leaving MDR for the last time, “Let’s go.”

Helena has never been to Exports from the severed floor before, so Irving’s map and guidance is essential. They’re quiet as they move through the hallways, even though they’re as empty as they always are. Mark walks beside Helly, not close enough to touch but close enough that she can feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. She tries to stay focused on the objective instead of worrying about him freaking out. He’ll keep it together, he wants this even more than she does. 

Eventually they stop in front of an unremarkable-looking door, made all the more remarkable by what they know lies behind it. Helena pulls her keycard from her pocket, retrieved from her office on the top floor before she entered the severed floor this morning. It opens to a long dark hallway, and they all freeze at the ominous sight, the red arrow above the elevator at the end of the hall a haunting beacon. Irving leads the way, Helly following close behind and Mark bringing up the rear. They move slowly, as if something could jump out at them any second. If anyone were to come up the elevator now, they would certainly be caught, and no amount of excuses or explanations would do them any good. When they reach the end of the uncomfortably familiar hallway, Helly takes a deep breath. One more swipe of the keycard and she’ll be on her way. 

She turns to look at her friends, giving them a brave smile, “Let’s see what’s for dinner,” she says, stealing Irving’s line.

Irving gives her a proud smile, clapping her shoulder, “You’ve got this, Helly.”

She nods. She can do this. She can get this right. 

Mark isn’t smiling, nor is he offering her words of advice or well wishes. His brows are drawn and his face distraught. He reaches for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Please be careful,” he says, “Don’t disappear.”

“I won’t disappear,” she promises. “I won’t mess this up.”

“Just be safe,” he pleads. He cups her cheek, eyes searching hers. “Thank you.”

Helly leans into his touch. She knows this may really be it. Even if Gemma isn’t who she once was, she will still wear the face of his dead wife. Mark will want to see what he can salvage of their relationship, and she can’t see why Gemma wouldn’t want that. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want this? 

“Anytime,” Helly breathes back easily. Anything , she wants to tell him. I’d do anything for you. 

She gathers every scrap of confidence she can muster and straightens up, moving to turn back towards the elevator. His hand on her bicep stops her and she’s pulled back to him, his lips colliding with hers. The kiss is hard, desperate, full of all the words he cannot say. When he pulls back his eyes are shining. Helly wants to say something, but all she has left is that she loves him, and he already knows. 

“See you in five minutes?” Mark asks quietly.

A laugh bubbles out of Helly and she nods, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. Five minutes.”

She steps back and calls the elevator, dutifully stepping in when it arrives. Irving gives her a sad, knowing smile, but she can’t tear her eyes from Mark. He flickers, standing in front of her dumbstruck after she kissed him for the first time, across the parking lot from her office window, confused and tired in his doorway. She gives him the brightest smile she can manage, one he only weakly returns as the elevator doors close between them.

He’s never felt farther away.

__

Helly meets Gretchen near the elevators. No one gave her any trouble, believing that she’s covering a sick coworker’s shift. It’s a relief to find the Exports floor quieter than Helly has seen it before. But she knew getting in wasn’t the problem. Escaping with Gemma would be. They walk quickly down a white hallway similar to those on the severed floor. She is sure to be every bit Helena Eagan instead of Helly R. in her demeanor. She strides, shoulders back, head held high, and expression carefully neutral. After walking down winding hallways Helena scans them into a door simply labeled Dormitory. Inside is another long white hallway that leads to a dead end, at least a dozen doors with small windows lining it. Helena moves forward, knowing exactly which one belongs to Gemma despite the lack of labels on the cells. Another swipe of a keycard and the door swings open.

Gemma lays on a hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of machines, wires attached to her head and an IV in the crook of her arm. Helena knew exactly what to expect, has stood in this exact spot before, but this time she stops short. Last time she was here, she was only Helena Eagan. She had yet to meet Mark Scout as herself or spend any time as refiner Helly R. It was easy then to detach and rationalize what was being done to these subjects in the name of Kier. These bodies were files to her and nothing more. But now, after getting to know the innies and reintegrating with her own, she cannot help but look at the woman in front of her and see the smiling bride she once was. It’s horrifying what they have done to her, the reality of it broiling ugly in her stomach. She gulps.

“Are you okay?” Gretchen prompts her. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Helly nods, shaking herself out if it. She’s not fine, but Gretchen is right. Lunch won’t last forever. Helly checks her watch. It’s already been almost ten minutes since she exited the elevator. She stops focusing on Gemma and looks around at the machinery. She’s only ever witnessed this before, not done it firsthand, but she thinks she can manage it. Helly turns to one of the machines, pressing buttons in an order she can only just remember. After a moment the heart rate monitor beeps a little faster and the woman on the hospital bed opens her eyes. 

“Hey,” Helly greets, voice soft, “Good morning. Do you know who you are?”

Gemma blinks at her groggily, clearly thinking hard. She opens her mouth, hesitates a second longer. “Casey?”

That’s close enough for Helly. Good enough for now.

“Well, hi Casey. I’m Helly and this is my friend Gretchen and we’re here to rescue you.”

“Rescue?” She repeats, still confused. 

Helly nods, “We’re friends, okay? I’ve met you before. And there are more of your friends waiting for you when we get out of here. But we need you to trust us. We have to be fast.”

Casey nods lazily, obediently, starting to sit up and only wobbling slightly as she does so. While Gretchen keeps watch, Helly gets to work plucking electrodes off Casey’s forehead and chest and removing the pulse oximeter from her finger. She opens a nearby drawer for a bandage before pulling the IV out as quickly and carefully as she can.

Helly and Gretchen work together to get Gemma’s feet under her. She’s wobbly, but becoming more sure of herself as the seconds pass. Gretchen helps her into some slip-on sneakers and sweatpants they find in another drawer, so they at least don’t have to drag her around in nothing but a hospital gown. As they exit the dormitories, Helly checks her watch again. Twenty minutes until lunch ends. They’re cutting it too close.

They move Gemma as quickly as they can, and she does gain stability as they go, but it’s slower than it took Gretchen and Helly to get to the Dorms on their own. Helly tries to stay calm, peeking at Gretchen who seems to be handling the stress better than she is. Gretchen really is pretty badass, with her calm demeanor and practiced composure. Helly tries to leech some of her strength and follow her lead. She is so relieved to have her here, maybe even more for the emotional support than the physical. She never could have done this alone. 

It’s almost fine. They get so, so close, just a turn away from the elevator, when they hear footsteps ahead of them. 

“…pulse just dropped to nothing. I’m checking it out now,” they hear an approaching voice say.

Gretchen and Helly share a panicked glance. Helly straightens up, letting go of Casey’s arm and clearing her throat. “Follow my lead.”

An unfamiliar Lumon employee walks around a corner, wearing a lab coat and holding a clipboard. Some sort of scientist most likely. He stops short when he sees the three women, blinking in confusion and stammering nervously. “Ah, Ms. Eagan! I- I wasn’t made aware of your visit.”

“We’ve had a last minute issue come up,” she replies coolly. 

The scientist furrows his brow, looking from Helena to Gretchen and Casey. “An issue you need Cold Harbor for?”

Helena swears inside her head. Only some of the scientists on this floor work with the Refined subjects. It was very bad luck that he recognized Casey so quickly. She nods once, “If you have a problem, you’re more than welcome to take it up with the Board. But this is a serious matter, I doubt they would take kindly to you interrupting them.”

The scientist gulps, clearly frightened by that concept. But he hesitates, fingers fidgeting by his side. “…I’m sorry, Ms. Eagan, but I really have to check.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out something that looks like a beeper. Her firsts clench by her sides.

Helena locks eyes with Gretchen, tries to communicate her plans non-verbally. The other woman does look frightened now. Helena looks back at the scientist and whispers, “Run.”

“What?” Gretchen whispers back, alarmed.

“Run!” Helly orders, and then she lunges forward to punch the scientist directly in the face. 

He staggers back and Gretchen doesn’t wait to run off, practically dragging Casey along with her. An alarm goes off and the hallway lights flash red. The scientist looks at her in fear, holding his clipboard in front of him like a shield. He doesn’t need to worry. Helena hears the ding of the elevator around the corner and knows she has accomplished her goal. All Gretchen needs to do is get Gemma to the stairwell and get out of there. With any luck, Irving and Mark will still be waiting to help. 

Guards come from around the corner behind them, surrounding her. Mr. Drummond emerges from the center of them, leveling her with a chilly look. Helena raises her hands slowly in surrender.

“Helly R.” Mr. Drummond greets. 

Helena smirks. They don’t have a clue. “Helena Eagan, actually,” she corrects.

Mr. Drummond’s eyes widen slightly. He whispers to one of the guards next to him who further relays the information through a walkie talkie. Another steps forward, roughly taking her wrists and securing them behind her back. His grip is bruising, especially painful over the stitches on her wrist. Helly winces as they push her forward, past the elevator to the severed floor and to the one she is more familiar with. The one that will bring her straight to the executive offices. 

Helena doesn't need them to push her along this route. She knows it by heart. Isn’t even a little surprised when she’s shoved through the doors of her father’s office. He’s waiting for her, sitting at his desk, his expression one of cold disappointment. It’s a face she expects, the one he almost always wears when dealing with her. The guards push her down into the chair in front of his desk. She flexes her aching wrists once they’re finally free, shooting the guard a glare before focusing her attention on her father. 

“What has gotten into you?” He hisses, voice low with barely contained malice. “All this for a man? An innie?”

Helena fights the flush crawling up her neck, the old shame that rises with it. “What we’re doing is wrong,” she insists quietly.

Jame scoffs, reeling back. “I have had my suspicions about you, Helena. Perhaps I should have acted upon them sooner. Taken care of you.”

Helena narrows her eyes at him, “Like you took care of my mother?”

Jame’s eyes widen. But he recovers quickly, fury tripling. “I would have made it work this time.”

Her heart breaks in her chest. The fury burns in her throat. So it was true. He did something to her. Experimented, or brainwashed, or just straight up murdered.

“In fact, I will make it work this time. Rebuild your mind in Kier’s image,” he says slowly, almost emotionlessly. But his mouth contorts into a snarl when he continues. “You do not get to follow flights of fancy like this, you ignorant child,” he spits at her. “You are the heir . It is your destiny to encompass Lumon. Mind, body, and soul.”

Helena knows this all too well. For her entire life, she’s been hearing tales of how beautiful their Revolving will be. She has always known that one day she would be expected to take every last Lumon CEO into her own mind, acting as the all knowing Board to continue Kier’s legacy. She always feared it, even if it was meant to be a great honor. Her father was different after his Revolving. She had only been a child and wasn’t allowed in, but it frightened her how his demeanor and voice suddenly changed. Helly had no intention of ever allowing that to happen to her. One crazy Eagan in her mind was more than enough.

“Then you will be balanced. Perfected.”

The torture that was having your mind wiped and rebuilt was one Helena couldn’t say she didn’t deserve, not after how many people she helped do just that to. But it is a punishment she cannot accept when doled from her father’s hand. She may deserve punishment, but not from him. 

“Worry not,” Jame says with a deep sigh, “We will fix this. We will correct the course. But first,” he leans back in his chair, looking at her expectantly, not needing to finish the sentence for Helena to understand.

He’s waiting for her to apologize. Her ears ring as the words flash through her mind. He is really expecting her, after everything, to sit here and grovel hundreds of times until he deems her forgivable. Worthy. Jame flickers in front of her, a version of him nearly twenty years younger shouting at a child and rapping her knuckles until they bleed. He remembers this, too. She is sure of it. He’s proud of it, even. It had so successfully killed any rebellion that hid within her. But Jame is making the same mistake Helena did. That part of her wasn’t dead, just dormant. Waiting to be woken up on a boardroom table.

Helly glances down at the desk between them, breathing steadily. Jame waits, expecting her to cave and begin the practiced speech. Her eyes land on a letter opener. Lumon blue, with the logo and everything. Her fingers twitch. If she’s fast, no one will be able to stop her. If she’s fast, Lumon and the entire board will die all at once.

“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world,” Helly begins, voice low with a calm anger. She hopes her friends will forgive her. She hopes they’ll understand that they’re all better off this way. She thinks of her promise to Mark not to disappear. Well, this is the only way to guarantee she doesn’t.

“None may atone for my actions but me, and only in me shall their stain live on.” This would be the ultimate atonement. The only way to ensure it all ends for good without putting anyone else in harm’s way. She has to believe her friends made it out, that the distraction she caused bought them enough time to escape. After this, they won’t have to worry about Lumon anymore. They will be safe.

“I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands.” Surely they’ll imprison her for this. It’s the least she deserves. But she will still be more free than she ever has been. She’ll still be herself . 

“All I can be is sorry, and that is all that I am.” She glances up at her father, this horrible man who now looks so pleased by her subservience.

Jame smiles wickedly and the silence stretches between them. “One,” he says, “Agai-“

Helly lunges forward across the desk, the chair falling backwards. She snatches the letter opener from the desk, and with a visceral cry, plunges it as hard as she can into the side of his neck. She watches with sick satisfaction as blood pours from the wound, flowing hot and horrible over her hand, his shocked face gasping for air.

There is yelling and a loud bang and a sharp pain in her abdomen. Her ears ring and she pulls back, hands clutching her stomach. Something disturbingly thick and warm leaking through her fingers. But she doesn’t look down, doesn’t dare look away from the blood spilling from her father’s neck or the fading light in his eyes, dying. Every last CEO of Lumon with him. 

There is a commotion around her - she thinks she might be falling - but she can’t focus on it, her vision swiftly going dark and blurry around the edges. Perhaps this was her purpose all along. Her friends will be free and safe, Mark will be free to rebuild a life with Casey, and Helena will finally be able to rest. 

Helly smiles triumphantly and then everything goes black.

Chapter Text

The first thing Helly notices is an obnoxious beeping. The second is that her stomach is killing her. She groans, trying to blink open her eyes. 

“Helly?” Mark asks, his voice nervous but hopeful.

She turns her head, squinting at him. He looks like a mess, especially scruffy with his eyes red and exhausted. Helly’s brow furrows as she slowly looks around. She’s lying in a hospital bed. There’s a heart monitor beside her that must be the source of the steady beeping. She remembers Casey on the bed in the Dormitory, not in a dissimilar position. For an instant she fears that might be where she is, somehow taken to the Dormitories herself. But then why would Mark be here? They would never let her see him after what she’s done. Also, there’s sunlight filtering around them through the window. That’s impossible below Lumon. She shifts and her stomach aches in protest. With a pained grunt she tries to move her hands, but one catches. Confused, she turns to investigate the problem. Oh. She’s handcuffed to the bed. That’s probably fair.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks again, his voice more concerned this time. 

Helly tears her eyes away from the cuff on her wrist and back to him. She can’t quite believe he’s really here. For that matter, she can’t believe she’s really here either. “Did everyone get out?” She croaks, her voice creaky with disuse.

Mark nods, and she breathes a sigh of relief. It worked, thank Kie- no, thanks to her friends. So why doesn’t Mark look happier? She thought he’d be overjoyed. In fact, why is he with her at all? He has a recently recovered wife’s bedside to sit by now. 

“How is she?” Helly asks.

Mark looks down, pursing his lips. “She’s safe. Healthy…”

“But she’s not the same,” she finishes the thought for him.

“No,” Mark shakes his head sadly, fingers fidgeting in his lap, “She wants to be called Casey, now.”

Helly could understand Casey’s inclination to distance herself from the nebulous person she used to be. But she’s sad that it hurts Mark. She wishes she could have given him the fairytale ending he deserves. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes softly, sincerely. 

Mark looks up at her, stricken, fresh tears in eyes that have clearly done plenty of crying recently. He takes her hand on the bed, the one nearest to him, squeezing tightly. “I thought you were dead ,” he chokes out. “Everything fell apart so quickly. You weren’t with Gretchen when she came up, then once we got out, all these cops and ambulances were there but we couldn’t find you. And when they brought you out you were- just covered in blood-“ he has to stop, his breath catching in his throat, “I couldn’t believe it was happening again.”

Helly’s heart breaks. She hates to see him like this, hates even more that it’s her own fault. She squeezes his hand back as tightly as she can, which isn’t quite as tight as it would normally be. “Well, I didn’t try to kill myself this time. And I’m not dead. Yaaaay,” she cheers weakly, attempting to lighten the mood.

Mark chuckles wetly, wiping away his tears. But he still looks afraid, eyes tracing over her anxiously as if she might disappear if he looks away. She didn't imagine this when she attacked her father and clutched her bleeding stomach and the world faded to black. She figured he’d be sad for a while, sure, but he would move on. Build something new with whoever Casey turns out to be. She never expected to see him rattled like this, and the pang of guilt for hurting him is a familiar one.

Helly gives him a small, short lived smile before asking her next question. “What happened?”

Mark‘s face looks like it might crumple again, but he manages to answer her, “They shot you.”

Helly nods slowly. That makes sense. She figured as much at the time, but she was pretty distracted and the memory is a blur. What remains in crisp focus in her mind is her father’s face, his hand clasped to his bleeding neck. She whispers hesitantly, scared of the answer, “Did I kill him?”

Mark hesitates but gives her a single, small nod. Helly heaves a sigh of relief, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as tears prickle behind them. It wasn’t all for nothing. She did it. Jame, Baird, Myrtle, Kier himself all finally gone for good. Even if they lock her up for this, she will never have to serve Lumon. She will never have her ancestors shoved inside her brain. She’ll still be herself.

Helly waits for his follow up questions. The why. But they don’t come. Mark patiently rubs his thumb over her knuckles as she lets a few tears escape through the corner of her eyes. They are tears of relief. Later there will be time to mourn the father she should have had, all the wasted potential. For now, she breathes slowly and deeply until the tears slow to a stop. Then she opens her eyes and turns back to Mark, who’s still watching her sadly.

“Why are you here?” She asks him, genuinely confused by his presence. 

Mark seems surprised by that, brow furrowing, “Why- Where else would I be?”

Helly tries to say it as politely as possible, but it’s impossible to keep the sorrow from her voice, “With your wife, Mark.”

He winces and Helly regrets asking. She is about to tell him that it’s fine, forget about it, she doesn’t have to know when he replies slowly, “I haven’t had a wife in a long time.” He looks at her, determination in his eyes, “I think it’s past time I start accepting that.” The words obviously pain him to say, but he does his best to offer her a smile anyway. 

Helly’s eyes widen. She can’t believe her ears. Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying? Surely not. “I-I thought… I figured you would try, at least, to- To be. With her.”

Mark purses his lips, gives a small shake of his head. “I did talk to her,” he takes a deep breath as he thinks. It takes a moment for him to continue, and despite her impatience to understand how this could be happening, she stays silent. “She doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know who she is. It’s… weird, I guess.”

Helly nods along with him, giving that statement room to breathe. She knows how it feels to look at someone who you love, who has loved you, and for them not to recognize you at all. It’s not exactly the same, but she remembers well how it felt to be around Mark’s outie in the beginning. He was the person she knew her entire life, loved and trusted more than anyone else, yet he was wary of her. Confused by her presence. Held her at arm’s length. Worse, even, is that she couldn’t even be angry about it because she understood. She still loved him. But at least he had been so similar to Mark S. It must be even worse for Mark - in comparison, Casey must feel like a complete stranger wearing Gemma’s face.

“I’m happy she’s safe. I can’t thank you enough, Helly, for saving her. But she’s not… And I’m…” He struggles to find the words, obviously still coming to terms with all of this himself. “I don’t think it would be fair to either of us - to my memory of Gemma - to try and make Casey fill her shoes.” 

Helly blinks, taking that in. She supposes that it makes sense, but she has trouble wrapping her head around someone being handed Mark Scout on a silver platter and not being interested. Surely if Mark wanted to try, Casey would accept him.

“So, were you hoping I could fill her shoes instead?” She volleys it through her shock like a joke, but really she’s asking if he means it. If he really wants her, the maniac who just murdered her father and has been having a prolonged mental breakdown ever since reintegrating. If he’s even ready for a relationship himself. 

“No,” he says emphatically, taking her hand in both of his, “I just want you to be you.”

She’s suddenly very happy she’s in a hospital, because her heart nearly bursts in her chest. She feels herself blush, knows that the smile growing on her face is shy and dopey. The heart rate monitor picks up just slightly, and she watches Mark’s eyes flicker to the machine, eyebrows raised.

“Is that because you’re happy, or because you have to find a nice way to turn me down.”

A laugh bubbles out of her - which hurts, but the pain is overshadowed by the sheer joy. “You know it’s the first one.”

Mark smiles through shining eyes and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. She releases her hold on his hand to cup his cheek, smoothing her thumb over his cheekbone. Despite his smile, he still looks exhausted physically and emotionally. His facial hair prickles her palm and there are bags under his eyes, but he has never looked more beautiful to her. After all this time, all of him is finally hers. But as she traces his familiar features, she notices the bruise on his cheek has yellowed considerably. 

Helly eyebrows furrow as she asks, “How long has it been?”

“Two days,” he tells her, “They had to do surgery. You lost a lot of blood.”

“Is that why everything hurts?” She half jokes, shifting uncomfortably. The longer she’s awake, the harder it is to ignore, even with happy endorphins flooding her system at Mark’s acceptance of her.

Mark’s face drops, immediately looking worried again, “You’re in pain?”

“Well, yeah, Mark. I got shot,” she snarks.

“Here,” he reaches for something by the side of the bed, passing it to her, “Press the button for painkillers.” 

Helly takes it, pressing the button as instructed. It’s not instantaneous, but after a couple seconds she feels the pain dull and her thoughts grow heavier. She sighs, sinking back into the hospital bed. “That’s good shit.”

Mark laughs and takes her hand again, “Better?”

She gives his hand a weak squeeze and nods loosely. He settles a bit at that. She is happy right now, whether due to the drugs or his presence. They fall back into watching each other in comfortable silence. Helly tries to reach for him with her other hand, wanting to be closer still, but is stopped by the cuff on her wrist. She had forgotten about that already. Helly groans, rattling the stupid thing briefly. 

“What’s the deal with this?” She asks him.

“Well,” he starts, grimacing. “You’re kind of under arrest.”

“Kind of?” She raises an eyebrow. Now that she apparently has Mark, the idea of prison is becoming much more unappealing. 

“Okay, you are under arrest. They’ve been keeping a cop stationed outside the door. But Devon knows some really good lawyers, and you did what you had to do. It was heroic. They’ll see that.”

Helly isn’t convinced, “I stabbed my dad in the neck, Mark.”

Mark grimaces, “Maybe don’t put it like that when they talk to you.”

Helly smirks, about to quip back when there’s a knock on the door. A doctor enters, wearing a white lab coat and holding a clipboard. Helly is reminded briefly of the scientist she punched. She should find out what happened to him. 

“Hello, Ms. Eagan. I’m Dr. Yang,” the doctor greets, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was shot.”

“That sounds about right,” Dr. Yang answers. “Looks like you found the painkillers, though?” She gestures to the button lying beside Helly. She nods and the doctor continues, “Good. There are some things I’d like to discuss with you now that you’re awake. Are you feeling up to that?”

“Sure,” Helly replies, but the doctor hesitates, looking at Mark pointedly who in turn looks to Helly. “Oh, he can stay. Anything you have to say he can hear.”

Dr. Yang turns to Mark for confirmation that he’d like to say. “Whatever she says,” he tells the doctor, “She’s the boss.” Helly rolls her eyes fondly and barely resists the urge to quip back.

“Well, if you’re certain,” the doctor looks down at her clipboard, “As you said earlier, you were shot. We had to perform surgery to remove the bullet and any fragments. You needed a number of blood transfusions, as well. It all went remarkably well, all things considered. However, something came up in your blood work that we want to discuss with you.” The doctor looks at Helly, face carefully neutral, “Were you aware that you were pregnant?”

Helly’s jaw drops. Pregnant? But she was on the- No. Realization dawns on her quickly. Helena was on the pill. But Helly hadn’t taken it even once. How stupid. How childish. They were right there in the medicine cabinet, all she had to do was look, that idiot -

“Wait, did you say ‘were’?” Mark asks from beside her. She turns to him, her own mind still reeling. He sits straighter, stiff, his brows furrowed as he looks to Dr. Yang for answers. 

“Yes. Unfortunately, the trauma did terminate the pregnancy.”

Helly releases a sigh of relief. She never intended to become pregnant. The last thing she needed right now was a baby. To saddle Mark with a baby. In fact, based on her entire family history it was probably best if Helly never had any babies. She turns to Mark, expecting to find him similarly relieved, but is puzzled to find him frowning thoughtfully. 

“Um,” Helly starts, turning back to Dr. Yang and gulping, “Okay. Is that it?”

“Not quite. While surgery did go well, there was unfortunately too much damage to your right ovary and fallopian tube. They had to be removed.”

“Oh,” Helly blinks, “What does that mean?”

“You should still be able to conceive, but your fertility will most likely be affected. I can leave you with a referral to a great OBGYN to help navigate this.”

Helly nods absentmindedly. She isn’t sure how she feels about any of that. Fertility issues would have been a problem back when she was Helena Eagan, someone who would one day need to produce an heir of her own, but she wasn’t chained to that legacy anymore. Helly R. of course never had the option available to her at all, but she wasn’t just an innie anymore either. Now, she had to consider for herself whether or not she even wanted children; for the first time in her life, what she wanted in that regard actually mattered. It certainly wasn’t anything her and Mark had ever discussed before. Oh, god. They would definitely have to now.

“Um,” Helly starts, “Is that it?”

Dr. Yang nods, “For now. We have to keep you another day at least for observation. We have some psychologists we’d like you to speak to. I believe the officers outside will want a word, as well.”

“I’m not talking to them without a lawyer,” she responds automatically, this exact phrase having been drilled into Helena’s head her entire life. 

Dr. Yang smiles, “Smart. I’d expect nothing less. If you have any follow up questions or any issues at all, feel free to call for the nurse. It was nice to properly meet you, Helena.”

“Helly,” she corrects.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Helly.” 

The doctor leaves, and Mark and Helly are left in shocked silence. His hand is still in hers, but she can’t bring herself to look at him, her mind still mulling over the word pregnant like a car crash she can’t look away from. She hears Mark take a breath to begin speaking and panics, cutting him off before he can begin.

“I am so sorry,” she says quickly, “I was on the pill, but Helly forgot to take it. Or didn’t know to take it. God, I should’ve left better instructions. Why didn’t I leave better instructions? Or just, Jesus Christ, I could’ve thought to look in the medicine cabinet without needing instructions in the first place, they’re right there . So stupid, careless-“

“Helly,” he says firmly enough that her mouth snaps shut. She risks looking at him, but he doesn’t look angry. He does look kind of panicked. “It’s okay. I mean- I’m okay. I can’t tell you that you’re okay. Or that it's okay. If it's not. But I’m okay. Unless you’re not okay. Are you okay?”

Helly purses her lips as she listens to his nervous rambles. “Do you want to take a deep breath?”

Mark sighs and does just that, taking a moment before trying again. “I should’ve been more careful, too. I shouldn’t have just assumed you were taking care of it.”

“Well, I was ,” she says, “Our innies weren’t thinking about it at all when it started.”

“ We ,” Mark emphasizes, “Thought it was our outie’s problem.”

Helly smirks, remembering that well. She huffs a disbelieving laugh, “So stupid.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees, clearly fighting back his own small smile at the memory, “Pretty stupid.”

Helly squeezes his hand and sighs. “I never really thought about it. When I was growing up, it was just something I’d eventually have to do. A function. So it’s… It’s fine. I’m okay. Really.”

Mark nods, searching her eyes and apparently finding her to be sincere. He seems to relax a little bit, thumb stroking her hand again. “It’s okay if you’re not. If you want to, I don’t know. Talk about it. I know it gets, um, difficult.”

“You do?” She asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he looks at the ground, a bit uncomfortably, “We tried. For a while. Me and Gemma,” he clarifies, as if Helly didn’t immediately know who he meant. “It didn’t really work, but we were still happy, so we just sort of let it be. Made the most of what we had.”

She wants to ask more questions. If he regrets it now, if he wishes they had tried harder or even adopted, if he still wants kids - apparently he did once, at least with Gemma. But this topic seems delicate, especially with everything surrounding Casey now, and she doesn’t want to dig up even more painful history. Still, she can’t help thinking about what Mark would be like as a dad. He would be everything her father wasn’t. He would be patient and kind and loving. He would accept his children as they are. He would never hurt them. Her stomach does a thrilling flip in her stomach at the idea. 

“Thank you for telling me,” she says. “Maybe we can talk about it more later. I think I’d like that. But it's kind of a bummer right now, right? On top of, like, all the other awful things.”

“Kind of,” he agrees. “Later. Though that is the same thought process that got us here.”

”Yeah, well, everyone is fully in charge of their entire brains now so we should be able to handle it.”

“Otherwise we really are just so, so dumb,” he says sarcastically, smirking at her.

Helly laughs and then groans, letting her head fall back on the pillow as a jolt of pain shoots through her, “Ugh, laughing sucks. Don’t be funny.”

“I’m sorry,” he says sadly, but when she squints an eye open at him he’s smiling at her fondly.

“You’re forgiven,” she replies softly, returning his smile and getting lost in brown eyes for a long moment. “The doctor saying that might be the most awkward thing I’ve ever been through in my life.”

Mark laughs, “Really? I can definitely think of a few things worse than that.” 

“That’s impressive. I’d like to hear some of those.”

“We should probably wait until you can laugh again.”

Helly suppresses a giggle at that and nods, “Yeah, probably a good idea.” She continues looking at him, a soft lopsided smile on her face. “I can’t believe that didn’t scare you off.”

He scoffs, “You thought I’d be cool with murder but not a baby?”

She shrugs, “Kinda.”

“Helly,” he leans toward her, serious now, and Helly wishes she wasn’t literally chained to this bed and could lean back. “I said no matter what, and I meant it.”

It is still such a foreign concept to her, that he could see past everything she’s done to deserve the situation she finds herself in now. No family, no company, no purpose. Looking down the barrel of a murder trial, surely, not to mention whatever they stick her with for her role at Lumon. Helly wouldn’t call herself a catch, but for whatever reason, he seems to want her anyways. He’s staying with her anyways.

“Are you sure?” She can’t help but ask. She wants to tell him he can’t take it back, if he says this now, if he makes her believe him. 

“I’m sure,” he brings her knuckles back to his lips, “I love you.”

Helly’s breath catches and tears burn her eyes, once more. She’d like to blame it on exhaustion, or the drugs, or the pain. But she knows it's just the depth of her feelings for him. The shock of their validation.

“I love you, too,” she whispers shakily, even though he already knows. 

Tears fall, but with one hand cuffed to the bed and the other in Mark’s hand, she can’t wipe them away. He notices her predicament and reaches out to gently swipe at them for her, stroking her cheek and brushing her hair behind her ear. She leans into his touch, wishing more than anything she could be closer to him. 

“I wish you could sit with me,” she laments.

“I am sitting with you.”

“No, with me, with me. On the bed.”

“Oh,” Mark frowns, eyes examining the too small hospital bed, growing worried as he traces over the IV in her arm and the spot she’s sure she’d find bandages if she looked. He looks at her, brows drawn, “That’s probably a bad idea.”

Helly frowns, almost pouting. Then she has a realization and her pout morphs into a mischievous smile, “You could still kiss me, though.” Mark eyes her abdomen again, eyebrows drawn. “Come on. One kiss. It’s not going to break me in half. I promise.” 

She looks at Mark through her eyelashes, making her eyes as big and fluttery as she possibly can. She can see the moment it works, apprehension replaced by a glint in his eye and a small smile before he’s standing, cupping her cheeks, leaning over the bed, and finally kissing her. It’s soft, slow, his touch gentler than she’s ever felt it, as if she might actually be made of glass. She wants more - always wants more - but it’s also perfect. The complete opposite of that desperate final kiss outside the Exports elevator. She’s happy they have this now, a sweeter memory that’s no less impactful. However, because she is still a fundamentally impatient person, she leans up in an attempt to deepen the kiss, reaching out with her one free hand to grab his sweater in her fist, tugging him just a bit closer. For a moment he abides before remembering where they are and pulling back.

“We said one kiss,” he breathes.

“That was one kiss,” she replies cheekily.

“One normal kiss.”

“Felt pretty normal to me.”

Mark huffs a laugh and shakes his head, “You’re going to be the most insufferable patient ever, aren’t you?”

“Hmm,” Helly smiles, “It depends how much you fight me on it.”

“We’re not doing anything that might hurt you,” he says, pulling out the no-nonsense boss voice that Helly just thinks is cute. Her responding smile makes it evident that she doesn’t buy it, so he doubles down, “I’m serious. Nothing risky.”

“Okay, okay,” she pulls on his sweater, “Just one more, though.”

Mark scoffs at her fondly. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He gives her another small smile, his eyes full of so much care and concern and tenderness and gratitude that it makes her heart want to burst all over again, as his lips return to hers pliant and willing. She manages to sneak her tongue in his mouth for just a moment before he’s pumping the brakes and pulling away once more. He presses a kiss to her forehead and sits back down before she can protest again, taking her hand back in his, “That’ll tide you over.”

“Barely,” she smirks at him and he rolls his eyes but smiles back. 

“We can’t be too careful,” he continues. “I can’t lose you, Helly. I can’t go through that again.”

The sentiment makes her heart swell. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promises. Though she feels guilty for scaring him so thoroughly, she can’t help continuing, “But it is just a kiss.”

”That’s how it starts.”

She grins at him, knowing he’s right. “Can you say it again?” She asks, voice small, embarrassed to ask but unable to stop herself.

Mark smiles at her indulgently, “I love you.” He says it easily and the butterflies in her stomach flutter happily.

“One more time?”

“I love you, Helly.”

She closes her eyes briefly, just to sit with the words in her mind. When she opens them back up, his eyes are still on her, appearing lighter than they did not that long ago. Helly would be happy to sit here with him for the rest of the day, the two of them sitting in comfortable silence together, but his phone rings in his pocket.

“Hold on, it’s Devon.” He answers and winces, immediately being berated loudly enough that Helly can hear it from her bed. She fails to suppress an amused smile. Mark barely manages to get a word in edgewise, Devon hardly stopping to take a breath. The yelling from the phone abruptly stops and Mark blinks at her. “Um, so she’s on her way.”

“What, here? Now?” She asks, surprised.

“Yep. And I am apparently in very big trouble for not answering the group chat.”

”There’s a group chat?”

”Yeah, for updates,” he says, scrolling through his phone, “They’re all worried about you.”

”Really?”

”Yes, really,” he looks at her as if it should be obvious, “You’re their friend.”

Helly hums, considering that. Friends care, it’s what friends do. She knows this objectively, has felt her own concern for them, but having it reflected back at that scale is new. It leaves her feeling warm and a little nervous, like she won’t be able to live up to so much affection or will somehow mess it up. 

“Okay, Irv is coming, too,” he sighs, “And Gretchen. I’m sorry, I’m trying to tell them you only just woke up-“

”No, it’s fine,” she cuts him off, suddenly eager to see them. “No Dylan?” 

“Not today. We convinced him to reintegrate when we all got out. Probably still kinda loopy.”

She’s disappointed Dylan won’t be able to come, but proud of him for reintegrating. She’s excited to meet who he is now. “Good for him.”

Mark smiles at her, opens his mouth to say more when Devon comes reeling into the room with a large bouquet of strange looking flowers in a vase.

”Helly!” Devon practically yells, placing the vase on the table beside the hospital bed and throwing her arms around her neck. She grunts a bit, the force of it sending an achy jolt through her. Nonetheless, Helly returns the hug with her free arm after the briefest hesitation. 

“Dev! Be careful,” Mark is scolding from his seat, but neither woman acknowledges him.

Devon pulls back, her hands on Helly’s shoulders and tears in her eyes, “Don’t ever get shot again.”

Helly is taken back by the show of emotion, blinking at her in surprise. She flounders for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, no, definitely not planning on doing that again.”

”Good,” Devon gives her a once over, ”You scared the hell out of us. I had to get out of there with Casey, but it was awful waiting for news. Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m alive.”

”That’s a good start,” Devon smiles at her reassuringly. “The flowers are from Ricken, by the way. He wanted to deliver them himself, but somebody has to watch Eleanor.”

Helly looks at the strange flowers in the vase. They look almost like daisies, except their petals are thick and fuzzy. “Um, what are they?”

”Edelweiss. You know, like the song? He feels it's very important you know they hail from the French Alps and symbolize strength, healing, and resilience,” she says with a fond roll of her eyes.

Helly smiles at the bouquet, touched by the effort and meaning. “Thank him for me.”

”I will,” she perches at the edge of her bed and catches sight of the handcuff, sneering at it, “Ugh. Ridiculous. I already called my lawyer friend, we’ll get you out of that in no time.”

”Thanks for that. I don’t think the Eagan lawyers are going to be jumping at the opportunity to defend me on this one.”

”Fuck them,” Devon says, not skipping a beat. “You’re a hero, Helly. Casey won’t shut up about it. She’ll be the first one on the stand telling everyone how you saved her life at your own expense.”

Helly raises her eyebrows, turning to Mark for confirmation. He shrugs, so she turns back to Devon, “Really?”

Devon nods, “She wanted to come too, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many people right away.”

”Wow… I- I mean, I’m just happy she’s okay,” Helly says the words, still feeling stunned at the recognition.

”She will be, thanks to you,” Devon lays a hand on her shin, squeezing appreciatively. Helly has to fight back the tears that threaten to spring once more. 

Helly can’t imagine how Casey feels, suddenly thrust into the world. Well, maybe she can kind of understand. But there is no protective bubble of Lumon to help her out here. There must be a million things someone needs when they’re starting a new life and Helly can’t help but feel responsible for Casey still. “If she- If she needs anything. I mean, a place to stay or clothes or, I don’t know, a phone or something. I can help. I have more money than I know what to do with.”

Devon pats her leg with a smile, “Well, she seems pretty comfortable in the race car bed right now, but I’m sure she’d hear your offer out.”

Helly nods, smiling back at her, not sure what to do with the nervous happiness Devon’s easy affection incites in her. She has known this woman for little more than a week and already she’s being treated almost like family. Helly feels tears building back up and just manages to fight them back, laughing in disbelief at the entire situation instead.

Irving arrives soon after. His familiar face is just as much a relief as when she first saw him at Reghabi’s predawn meeting. His approach is much gentler than Devon’s, debating whether or not to hug her before deciding to pat her fondly on the head. Helly giggles, but it is nice, and Irving smiles down at her warmly. 

“How’s it going, kid?” Irving asks, smiling down at her warmly.

“Really, really good actually,” Helly replies happily. 

“Good. Don’t scare us like that ever again,” he says seriously despite his smile.

Helly almost rolls her eyes, but the fear in Irving’s restrains her. She doesn’t know how many times she’s going to have to promise that she wasn’t trying to get shot and doesn't intend on repeating the experience anytime soon, but she does it anyway. If the reassurance makes her friends feel any better, it’s the least she can do.

Gretchen arrives with a handmade card from her kids and well wishes from Dylan. Helly is overjoyed to see her, happy that the sight of her running for freedom with Casey isn’t the last memory she has of her. 

Gretchen takes Helly’s hand, squeezing it tight, “What you did was really brave and really stupid.”

”I know,” Helly concedes.

”But thank you for doing it. I don’t know how else we were getting out of that one. I’ve tried to think about what else we could’ve done, but-“

”It worked out the way it was meant to,” Helly says, not wanting Gretchen to bother herself with what ifs. Not when Helly doesn’t regret any of it, not for a second. “How’s Dylan?”

Gretchen steps back and begins catching them up on Dylan’s reintegration. It all sounds familiar to Helly now, hallucinations and flashbacks and confusion. Irving, Devon, and Mark all begin offering up their best advice. Helly looks at the people around her, people who have chosen to be with her not out of duty to Kier or Lumon or the Eagan name, but because they like her. They chose her.

The tears she’s been struggling against finally become too much to fight and she has to swipe at her eyes quickly while they chat so no one notices and starts fussing. Mark, of course, notices anyway. He raises concerned eyebrows at her but she just shakes her head, smiling. There’s no need to worry. Although Helly has little to no experience with them, she knows that these are the good kind of tears. Mark offers her his hand anyway, and she takes it gladly. Despite all the unknowns that remain, despite the new predicament she finds herself in, Helly has never been so happy.

Chapter Text

WOE

Helly has to be in the hospital for more than a week recovering and on psych hold while the police decide if they’re going to arrest her. Devon comes through with a lawyer - a plump, no nonsense older woman with a gaggle of assistants who swiftly step in to help Helly deal with the mess that results when one murders their father. The first thing they do is get her out of handcuffs. Then she has to tell her story over and over to lawyers and doctors and psychiatrists and finally the police, as well. 

It’s a long story. Complicated and painful to retell. The parts of her that are Helena don’t want these things out in the open, and she finds the mortifying ordeal of being known to be a miserable one. But every ounce of Helly R. is amazed that anyone is willing to listen to her at all, and so despite herself, she can’t help but keep divulging more and more horrible truths. 

The doctors and lawyers and even the officers listen without pity as she recounts years of what they accurately label as abuse. It is difficult to accept that what her father did to her constitutes as such: her first instinct is still to defend him, to defend the family name at all costs, instead of facing the reality that deep down she already knows to be true. But in time, and with gentle encouragement, she is finally able to admit all the ways in which being an Eagan has twisted her into something ugly and wrong. The realization sparks a new righteous anger in her, one that she taps into whenever she needs to overpower the conflicting denial of her situation and shame in her part of it at all.

The doctors bring in a team of various specialists who offer her words of advice, diagnoses, mood stabilizers, paper printouts full of the very best grounding techniques and methods to cope with her suicidal ideation and eating disorders. And not only that, but they are able to coordinate with her legal team too. Insanity, they call it. Self defense. Thanks to them, the police will not be dragging her out of here in cuffs as soon as she’s cleared for release. They will, however, be slapping an ankle monitor on her and placing her on house arrest. 

At first, this doesn’t sound much better to Helly. Being stuck all alone in a house that doesn’t feel like it belongs to her seems like more of the same old hell she’s been living in. But under the guise of her delicate mental state and the value of having someone present to keep an eye on her, her lawyers were able to get her restricted to Mark’s home instead of her own. The news comes as a massive relief, and she is only somewhat surprised to learn it was Mark’s idea to begin with. 

It bothers her that she isn’t always part of those conversations. The loss of control reminds her too much of her role as a corporate pawn. But her injury and the pain medicine have her sleeping more often than not, and of course these things can’t wait. So she rests, and they discuss her options for her, and then they present them to her like she’s a child. She has to remind herself that she trusts these people, they have her best interest at heart, and that they would listen if she were to say no. Still, Helly has never been good at being kept in a box, and Helena has been in one for far too long. She knows that gives her a tendency to be short and frustrating, even with people who don’t deserve it.

As frustrating as the logistics are, there are blissful moments of reprieve. Her friends visit often, and Mark is there as soon as visiting hours start to the time they end. Despite her complaints, he isn’t allowed to stay for all the talking and appointments, and is pulled from her side more often than not. But he is never alone. Irving or Devon and sometimes even Ricken is with them. 

Casey accompanies Devon once, entering Helly’s hospital room looking more alert and alive than Helly has ever seen her. There is still something measured about her, cautious and subdued in a way that seems slightly unnatural. But her eyes widen with something like excitement when she first sees Helly. She approaches quickly, leaning down and wrapping her thin, gentle arms around Helly’s frame. 

Helly isn’t quite sure what to do with this reaction. It’s still strange that Casey - someone Helly has wronged so thoroughly - is interested in seeing Helly at all, let alone greeting her with a hug. Nonetheless, she returns the embrace tentatively, glancing at Mark who seems rather tense and surprised himself. Devon suppresses a laugh, coaxing her brother into leaving with her and giving the two women some space. After Mark reluctantly steps out, Casey takes his seat. She looks at Helly, her smile warm and her eyes crinkling just slightly at the edges. Even pale and drawn from years without sun, she is undeniably beautiful. 

“Thank you,” Casey says gently, in the calming tone she’d come to expect from the woman she knew as Ms. Casey.

“Really,” Helly starts, chuckling wryly to herself. “Don’t thank me.”

Casey tilts her head, frowning slightly. “You saved me.”

Helly shakes her head. “Not just me. And I- I-“ Helly swallows nervously, stalling. None may atone for my actions but me rings through her head. “I put you there,” she admits, heart in her throat. “It’s my fault you were there. I am so sorry.”

Casey stares at her for a long moment, face neutral and eyes unblinking. Helly squirms anxiously under her gaze. “Devon told me it was complicated,” she states evenly. “But you saved me. So I forgive you.”

Helly blinks. “Just like that?”

Casey thinks for another moment before nodding succinctly, smiling once more. “Just like that.”

Helly can’t stop the disbelieving laugh that slips out of her. She doesn’t feel worthy of this woman’s forgiveness. Helly can’t shake the sense that she has stolen so much from Casey - her life, her husband, her future. However, she does feel something almost like relief, like the smallest weight has been lifted from her shoulders. A sense that, despite everything, maybe things will work out for the best anyway. Casey follows Helly’s lead and laughs too, though she doesn’t seem to completely understand why. 

“Thank you,” Helly says earnestly. “And for… with Mark- I know that, um… I know it must be…” She flounders, sighing, unsure how to address the biggest elephant in the room. But Casey doesn’t seem uncomfortable, waiting patiently as Helly clumsily tries to find the right words. “I feel like I stole him from you,” she finally admits in a quiet whisper.

“He isn’t mine to steal,” Casey replies simply, without hesitation.

Helly shakes her head, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. Casey has no idea. If anyone held ownership over Mark, it was Casey and the woman she used to be. If Casey were to wake up tomorrow with all of Gemma’s memories, Helly is confident that Mark would realize the error of his ways and rush straight back to her side. 

“You were his wife,” Helly protests gently. “You could be again, if you wanted.”

Casey nods, accepting these statements as fact easily. Surely Devon must have told her as much before, maybe even Mark himself. “But I’m not his wife,” Casey answers. “I don’t know if that’s who I want to be. I’d like to find out who I am, instead of trying to be someone I’m not.”

Helly still can’t imagine turning down Mark, but she knows all too well what that feels like. “I can understand that. I spent… a long time being someone I didn’t like. Someone I didn’t really want to be.” 

“Then you get it,” Casey smiles at her once more, emanating warmth and kindness. “I need to discover myself. Apparently, we both do.”

Helly nods her agreement, returning the smile. “And if I can help… I already told Devon, anything you need. Money, clothes, a car, an apartment even-”

“I would like to be friends,” Casey interrupts her. “I think that would be a good start.”

Helly blinks at her, mouth hanging open. “Well,” she says belatedly, once she’s recovered from the shock of that statement. “I’m in no position to be turning down friendships.”

“Good,” Casey says, pleased. 

The conversation turns to what Casey has been up to since regaining her freedom. How amazing she finds the world, the sky and the fresh air, the food and the people. Helly can relate, her own first experiences of the world beyond Lumon still fresh in her mind. Despite the weight of their history and the lingering guilt Helly still feels, she finds it surprisingly easy to talk to Casey who is open and honest and kind, stating things simply and observationally and always as fact. Her laugh is high and light when Helly makes a bad joke, and it feels like a feather in her cap.

Helly understands why Mark is so drawn to her, and the more time they spend chatting, the more sure she is that any differences between Casey and Gemma can’t possibly be enough to have destroyed their bond completely. When Mark returns with Devon, she watches the two of them closely. Casey doesn’t seem to pay him any particular mind, but it’s clear that Mark is overtly aware of Casey’s presence. He seems to almost orbit her, always staying at the opposite end of the room as if repelled by magnetic forces. He spends most of the time carefully avoiding looking at her, until his gaze catches and seems to get stuck, a mix of quiet grief and confusion written plainly on his face. He holds himself awkwardly and stiffly, engaging in the wider conversation only when explicitly spoken to. It’s as though he doesn’t take a single deep breath until Devon and Casey eventually take their leave, at which point he practically deflates at Helly’s bedside. 

Helly wants to ask, is dying to know what is going on inside his head. Part of her can’t shake the feeling that it’s Casey he would prefer to be with, if only she would have him. And it stings, even if it feels deserved, even if accepting second best was something Helly had come to terms with. But she doesn’t want to ruin what little time they have to spend together with even more heavy conversations about dead wives and her own insecurities. These little moments between them are a reprieve that still feels delicate and not entirely real. 

Still, she probes gently, “You okay?” 

Mark simply holds her hand and brushes the hair from her forehead. “I’m okay. It’s just… it’s mushy.” Helly raises her eyebrows and he sighs, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles as he searches for the right words. “There’s no handbook for this. She still… she still looks like her. Even though I know she isn’t.”

She nods somberly, “But you wish she was.”

“Well, yes, but also no? And not like you’re thinking.”

Helly raises an eyebrow at him, blinking at his explanation that cleared up nothing.

Mark sighs heavily. “It makes me sad. The entire situation is just… it’s really fucking sad.”

She nods, pursing her lips. “You know, you don’t have to be here. If you need more time-”

“No, Helly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here.” He says it firmly, cupping her cheek to make sure she looks at him as he continues. “I’m happy with you. More than happy. I love you.”

It doesn’t completely put her worries at ease, but it helps to hear it directly from his lips. It helps even more to see the truth of his words in action. He’s reluctant to leave her at all, growing anxious and cagey near the end of each day. Ultimately he’s ushered out after hours by patient nurses who find him and his constant, doting presence nearly as sweet as she does. 

The nights apart still sting, stretching out and passing slowly. The reintegration sickness seems to have stopped, but the nightmares haven’t gone anywhere. She barely gets any sleep at all these days with the endless wake up calls to poke and prod and check on her in obnoxiously even intervals. But she finds time to dream anyways. 

She runs down infinitely winding white hallways, lost and alone. The sound of her father’s voice, demeaning and angry, chases her just out of sight. Her high heels bite painfully into her flesh with every step she takes. Her neck catches on extension cords until she chokes. Blood oozes down from the ceilings until she’s coated in it, hot and sticky, all she can see or feel or taste. Mark always finds her in the end, but he is clean. Untouched. He looks at her with disappointment, and her guilt cuts so much sharper than his anger ever could. He turns his back. He leaves. She wakes up alone, anxious and hollow, until he comes walking back into her hospital room with a hot coffee and a kiss.

When she’s finally cleared to leave, clunky black ankle monitor firmly in place, she’s met by a bombardment of press awaiting her. Sure enough, they’re swarming the hospital exit, shouting questions that overlap until they’re unintelligible. She catches snippets asking about her father, about Lumon, about the future of the company and the crimes they’ve committed, the state of the severance program. It’s so overwhelming that even Helena’s intricate media training fails to kick in, as she stares dumbstruck at the throng of reporters all clamoring for their next headline. Luckily, Mark and her lawyer manage to whisk her away from the crowd, ushering her into a car that pulls away smoothly without too much fuss. 

The experience leaves her shaken. That was more fervor than she had ever been met with as a corporate heiress, and she has absolutely no interest in it. If it were up to Helly, she would never be seen as a public figure ever again. Unfortunately, it seems that might be an impossible goal for the time being. She knows she’ll have to face them sooner or later. She owes it to both the public and the government - hell, to the entire global community - to speak the full truth about Lumon one day. She’ll have to tell them what she did and why. More importantly, she’ll need to tell them how she plans to make amends… which means she’ll need to figure out how anyone could possibly make amends for all the unthinkable and innumerable wrongs Lumon has committed over the years. It’s an overwhelming responsibility. For now, she tries to forget about it all for a while, and lets Mark drive her home in grateful silence.

Thankfully, there is no crowd waiting for her at Mark’s. She enters his home on slow, shaky legs. He hovers behind her, his hand at her back as he cautiously ushers her up the stairs and directly back into his bed. She lowers herself into it gently, even though she’d much rather collapse. Even just the brief car ride and short walk has left her exhausted and sore. But it’s so nice to be back in Mark’s bed without the monotonous beeping and antiseptic hospital smell around her. She lays on her back, her eyes closed and breath measured, feeling like she may actually be able to rest for the first time in days. She feels the mattress dip beside her, and she cracks an eye open, turning her head to find Mark settling in next to her. 

He lays on his side, head propped up on his hand, and offers her a soft smile belying his worried brows. His eyes trace down her body, but it’s not the sort of gaze that has her heating up. He hasn’t looked at her with that kind of intensity since she woke up at the hospital. It’s not as though there isn’t love in his eyes anymore, but it’s a different sort of love than she’s used to. Now, he looks at her almost as if having her in sight is the only thing keeping her alive. 

“How do you feel?” he asks gently. “Can I get you anything?”

Helly’s heart swells with affection. She is used to having things done for her by people whose job it is to do so - drivers, chefs, gardeners, assistants. She is decidedly not used to being taken care of by someone who does it simply because they want to. 

“Tired,” she answers honestly. He frowns in response, and she decides quickly she can’t have that. So she sticks out her bottom lip, pouting lightly, blinking owlishly at him. “Lonely.”

Mark raises his eyebrows. “Lonely?”

She nods. “Yeah. You’re all the way over there, I’m all the way over here…” She fakes a shiver, “Whoa, did it just get colder? However will I stay warm?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Mark gives in with a smile, familiar with the over the top guilt trip routine she’s mastered over the past week. It never worked to get her much more than a smile or even a laugh in the hospital, but to her absolute delight he shifts closer and onto his back, extending his arm. “C’mon.”

Helly barely resists the urge to squeal and is wholly unable to suppress her grin as she gently rolls onto her uninjured side, resting her head on his shoulder with a content sigh. His arm wraps around her shoulder, with his hand resting delicately on her arm. She can tell he’s touching her more carefully than usual, mindful of her still healing body. His touch is lighter than it would otherwise be, and he lays especially still even as she melts into him. She settles a hand over his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he breathes, the beat of his heart steady against her palm. She has so missed being close to him. Call her greedy, but holding his hand and stealing quick kisses simply hasn’t been enough. 

“I missed this,” she whispers, watching her index finger trace circles against his chest. 

“Mhm, you made that pretty clear.” Helly scoffs and pinches his nipple through his t-shirt. “Hey!” He jolts and laughs, placing his hand over hers to keep her from doing it again. “I’m kidding,” he squeezes her hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss there before returning them to his chest. “I missed it, too.”

Helly smiles, her eyes falling shut again despite her best efforts. She makes a small, discontent noise, wrinkling her nose. “I’m going to fall asleep again,” she complains. 

“Sleep,” he encourages.

“We just got here.”

Mark chuckles, his chest vibrating under her. “Are you trying to escape already?”

“No,” Helly chides with a smile, nudging his leg with her ankle monitor. “I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”

“Sure you can,” he says. “Between the hours of 6 am and 8 pm.”

“No way,” she protests. “Not if it’s going to be a circus out there.”

“Okay,” Mark says, thinking that over. “Well, we could just become recluses.”

She laughs lightly. “Yeah. Total agoraphobes.”

“Sounds fun,” he says wistfully, as if he might actually mean it.

Helly kind of means it, too. Her best memories are of MDR, of being together with him and Irving and Dylan nearly one hundred percent of the time. But this isn’t the office anymore. It’s the real world. “We’d get bored eventually,” she muses. “Or try to kill each other.”

“I don’t know. Only one of us has a history of that.”

She laughs, “Wow, okay. We’re feeling very bold.”

“Well, I do get the feeling I could take you right now. If I needed to.”

“Only because I’m sleepy,” she says through a yawn as if the hole in her side wasn’t an issue, as if he would ever even pretend to try and hurt her. “In two hours, you’re on.”

“It’s a date.” He agrees, hand rubbing up and down her arm. “Now sleep.”

Helly sighs but can’t protest much, already feeling her limbs relaxing and her mind drifting. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“Shh,” he hushes, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

MALICE

He proves it over and over again over the coming days and weeks, caring for her in a way that passes into doting territory. Helly would like to say it’s been over the top, but she really does need the help. Turns out that recovering from invasive surgery after a gunshot wound is a slow, painful, and frustrating process. 

Helly’s physicality has always been a part of her. Motion was the one thing she could always control: through the controlled, graceful movements of a ballerina, by piercing through the water of a swimming pool, by gliding down the hallways of her family’s empire, even when stomping and fighting her way through the severed floor. Now she can’t lift things, or walk for too long, or lay on her stomach, or - for a while - even sit up on her own. She hates feeling so weak and useless, but Mark never lets her overextend herself. He barely even lets her extend herself. 

He spends practically all of every day with her, sitting by her side as they read through his library and watch trash TV. He brings her a steady stream of ice packs and meals, helps her change her bandages and brush her hair and get dressed. It’s horribly embarrassing for her to be so reliant on him, but he does it all graciously, even when she’s a bad patient. When she does try and resist his help, he gives her the most anxious, pathetic look, and it inevitably makes her cave to his every annoyingly helpful whim. 

Despite the embarrassment, it also fills her with a warmth that settles deep inside of her, making her finally realize that what they have together is real. His actions prove it to her over and over again, in a way that his words before now never could. He isn’t going to leave her, and no one is going to try to take him away. He probably wouldn’t even leave if she tried to force his hand. She gets to keep him, because he wants to be kept. So for the most part, she tries not to complain (much), and focuses on enjoying his singular attention. 

The most challenging aspect by far is showering. It was always one of Helena’s very few safe spaces, somewhere she could truly be alone. No businessmen watching her for every little mistake, no nannies to hover over her shoulder and report back to father, just herself: stripped down, vulnerable, very briefly free. Helly had felt similarly when she first showered on the outside, reveling in the privacy and the comforting rush of water over her skin. But for now, her injuries are still too raw to do it alone without unnecessary strain. Twisting and stretching to clean herself while protecting both her bandages and the ankle monitor is too much for her. So, despite her mortification, Mark helps her with that too.

Gentle hands help her replace her dressing, taping plastic over it to keep it dry, holding her steady as she steps into the shower. She was so insecure the first time they did this, scared to have his eyes on her like this. The slowly healing wound and forming scar is long and jagged, the result of frantically performed invasive surgery that prioritized saving her life over keeping her pretty. The part of her that was always so concerned with her appearance recoils at the sight of it. Another part of her is proud to bear a permanent mark gained due to her own actions, a constant reminder of a choice that she can be proud of. Mark, of course, doesn’t look at her any differently for it. She knows he doesn’t think she’s ugly now, even if she sometimes does. Sometimes she catches his gaze lingering there, going distant and sad. But there is never disgust in his eyes, only ever love and concern.

There’s a routine to this now. She sits in the dry tub, Mark kneeling beside it as he washes her hair and slowly glides a washcloth over her back. The entire process has become familiar and comforting over time, and his touch remains electric no matter how decidedly unsexy she feels. He is so incredibly gentle, always infuriatingly gentle these days, but it stirs something deep inside her all the same. So as he stretches to swipe the wash cloth across her shoulder blades, head nearing hers, she leans up and brushes her lips against his. He returns the kiss softly, chastely, the same way he’s responded to almost all the kisses she’s stolen or that he’s bestowed upon her since she woke up in the hospital. She’s convinced him to open up to her a couple times, pressing deep languid kisses against her mouth and sliding his tongue against hers, but he never lets it go any further. Instead he slows them to a stop, sometimes insisting that he’s tired, other times simply looking at her with so much fear that she takes pity on him and stops her advances.

Helly has tried to be understanding. Not long after she was first discharged, she’d had the chance to catch up one-on-one with Devon, and had shared a few minor frustrations about Mark’s constant cautious hovering. Devon, in turn, had kindly but bluntly recounted what it was like on the day she was shot. All hell had broken loose. There was a constant stream of unsevered employees evacuating while the authorities flooded the place in droves, alarms blaring both inside and out all the while. Her friends had fled the building amidst the chaos, pushing Casey into the back of Devon’s car, but Mark had steadfastly refused to leave without Helly. After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, bodies began leaving the building on stretchers. The first one was clearly already dead, covered in a sheet and hidden from view. The next was furiously being worked on by a team of paramedics. Mark had only managed to glimpse a few flashes of red blood and orange hair through the chaos. 

Apparently, after their supposedly fatal accident, Mark had at least been allowed to go with Gemma in the ambulance. But they wouldn’t let him in with Helly. She didn’t know he had even tried. 

It was a heartbreakingly enlightening conversation. It struck her afterwards that Mark’s recent fearful doting wasn’t just about Helly - not really. She had inadvertently reopened some deeply personal old wounds left by Gemma’s accident, one that Mark had witnessed, experienced, and barely escaped from himself. Half of that trauma had already resurfaced with Casey’s complicated return, and forcing Mark to relive the other half through Helly’s own near miss must have made things a hundred times worse. 

It isn’t something either of them could fix overnight, or maybe ever. But despite that, Helly knows she can’t keep floating through his house like a ghost. She needs him to know that she is still solid and real. She needs to know that he still wants her the way she is. She needs to feel good again.

So the next time she kisses him, she doesn’t let him pull back when he usually would. She slides a hand into his hair, holding him close to her and parting his lips, deepening the kiss. Helly hasn’t had this in weeks. She is naked in his home, under his hands, and so in love. Mark may be scared, but she isn’t. Her tongue slides against his, and she can pinpoint the second his desire for her overrules the fear, when he maybe even forgets for a moment why he was hesitant at all. He cups her cheek, angling her head just so as he licks into her mouth. Helly catches his hand in hers, leading it down over her clavicle, between her breasts, even lower still until he halts her progression. His palm splays gently above her belly button, a safe distance away from the plastic covered bandages. 

Mark pulls away from her lips, glancing away from her. “It’s too soon.”

Helly shakes her head firmly. She knows he’s technically right - strictly speaking, she still has weeks of intense recovery ahead of her, check ups and follow ups and physical therapists to contend with before she’s anywhere near back to normal - but right now, none of that feels like it matters.

“Please,” she asks him, her voice soft and verging on desperate. “I need this. We need this.”

He hesitates still, his eyes searching hers, but through the concern she sees a hunger that has been absent for a long time. For a moment she thinks common sense might win out, that his fear is stronger than the draw between them. But then he whispers, voice wavering, “...You have to tell me if it hurts.”

She nods immediately, willing to agree to almost anything at this point, excitement throbbing where she’s already bare and aching for him. He gives her a small smile before kissing her once more, his hand falling from her stomach to her thigh, fingers stroking inward toward her center. He brushes over her, so gently that it tickles and sends shivers up her spine. His other arm comes around her shoulders, encouraging her to lean back against the tub and granting him better access. She goes willingly, her body pliant in his arms, trusting him completely. 

His fingers dip to gather the wetness that's gathered at her entrance, the pads of his fingers dragging deliciously up over her clit, pressing just hard enough to have her sighing in relief against his lips. They move in firm, lazy circles over her, his lips molding against hers just the same. The pleasure is immediate, a warmth building inside her belly that she has craved, that bites through all the lingering pain. It has been so long that it wouldn’t take much to get her there quickly, she can tell, if only he would speed up. She kisses him a little harder, trying to encourage him wordlessly, her hips rolling instinctively in a way that sends a painful ache through her abdomen. Her breath hitches and Mark notices, his fingers slowing down to a near stop.

“Please don’t stop,” Helly pleads, hand moving to clutch his forearm, keeping him from retreating. 

But he doesn’t retreat, just shushes her gently. “I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers maintain this new steady, consistent pace. She makes a small, impatient whine in her throat. “Relax,” he whispers. “Just let it happen.”

She does her best to listen to his instructions, feeling the slick slide of his fingers send shocks of pleasure down each limb and up her spine, leaning into the sensation instead of chasing more. She moans softly against his lips, breath quickening despite her attempts to keep it under control. Whenever her hips disobey and jump, an uncomfortable stab of pain radiates through her from the incision on her abdomen, and Mark slows back down again. His pace is torturous and yet so gratifying, and she basks in the pleasure washing over her like a heavy, comfortable blanket. His fingers finally slip inside her, curling so sweetly that she moans louder, her head tilting back against the tiled wall. 

When she manages to reopen her eyes, she sees him looking down her body. His eyes catch where his fingers disappear into her but also flicker up to the bandage just above her hip. His brows are beginning to crease, and she can see his concern starting to seep back in through the lust. She brings her palm to his cheek, turning his gaze back to her before his thoughts can spiral any further. Her hand slides to the nape of his neck, tugging him close enough to kiss him, humming her appreciation against his lips. 

“You’re so good, Mark,” she whispers, and his breath catches in his throat as his thumb presses down harder against her clit. Helly’s teeth graze Mark’s lip, and he moans low against her now, as if she is the one working him over. “You make me feel so good,” she compliments again, and there it is, the slight and barely restrained increase in speed that she needs. He’s still being careful, she can tell, but the urge to bring her to a limp, quivering mess is no less enticing to him than it is to her. 

Her orgasm builds at an achingly slow pace, sitting just on the horizon, rising in her chest and up her throat for what feels like an eternity. Mark continues to draw it out as Helly praises him, slowing down whenever her hips betray her. Her voice goes embarrassingly high and needy, his name on her breath like a prayer as her climax grows nearer. Finally it hits her: not snapping violently like a rubber band, but washing over her like a gentle wave. Her muscles tighten for one beautiful moment, the pleasure overpowering the painful protests of her mending flesh, and the pang is more than worth the relaxed puddle she becomes. She presses her cheek against his bicep as her chest heaves with deep breaths, riding out the feeling as far as it will carry her. 

Mark leans in, pressing his lips to her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her lips as his fingers slow to a stop. Helly blinks up at him adoringly, tracing his features with her eyes, enjoying the calm mirrored back at her. But there is still hunger there, lingering in his gaze. She moves to sit up, and he automatically supports her as she does. When she reaches her arm over the side, palming him where he’s straining against his sweatpants, his eyebrows raise. 

“Yes?” He asks, voice already breathless. 

Helly nods, smiling contently up at him. “Yes.” She snakes her fingers under his waistband, craning her neck until he gets the idea and kisses her. “I love you,” she murmurs against his lips. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

Mark nods, his eyes intense and dazed. They flutter closed as her fingers wrap around him, testing his weight in her hand and stroking his length. He releases a long shuddering breath, one hand gripping the edge of the tub and the other flexing on her shoulder. His face twists in pleasure and Helly smiles, satisfied. She’s tempted to play the same game he did, to make him wait for it, to punish him for the light thrust of his hips. But there will be time for that later. Now she wants to give him a reward, to watch him fall apart in her hands. 

She twists her wrist, squeezing tighter at the tip of him as he slips through her grasp. His breath comes harsh and uneven, but he’s quieter than he usually is. His brow furrows in what looks almost like frustration, as if she’s teasing him instead of doing exactly what she knows he likes. His forehead knocks against hers and his hands slips from her shoulder down to her breast, squeezing appreciatively. Helly hums happily, taking it as encouragement and increasing her pace. 

“That’s it, Mark,” she encourages him softly. “You’re so good for me.”

He practically growls in response, his head tilting forward to kiss her with none of the restrained delicacy from earlier, the press of his lips hard and desperate. His hips pick up speed in an unfamiliar way, jerky and searching, but she matches his pace. He groans, low in his throat, and suddenly his hand is on her wrist, pulling her hand off of him. His lips leave hers suddenly. When her eyes blink open he’s already tucking himself away, still panting with his brow furrowed. She tilts her head, eyes wide and confused. Did he finish and she just... missed it? She tries to meet his eye, but he avoids her. There’s a long awkward beat as Helly tries to figure out what’s happening.

“Mark,” she starts slowly, but he ignores her and reaches to turn the detachable shower head back on, drowning out her voice. He retrieves the washcloth to quickly and efficiently wash the semi dried soap from her back wordlessly, glancing it between her legs for good measure. 

“Mark,” she tries again when the water is turned off, voice a little firmer this time. “What just happened?”

He sighs, hands going under her arms to help her stand. She considers refusing, but lets him guide her to her feet, studying his face even if he refuses to look at hers. She takes in the frustrated crease between his brow, the worried purse to his lips. He wraps a towel around her and she holds it closed with her hands, the terry cloth feeling very much like a shield. 

As he turns to grab her bathrobe she asks tentatively, “Did I do something?” 

His head whips toward her. He looks stricken. “No, it’s not-“ He cuts himself off, lips flattening into a thin line before shaking his head. 

“Okay...” she starts. “Well, it’s something. Something just happened.”

Mark scoffs quietly to himself and Helly’s eyebrows raise in something like a challenge. “Nothing happened.”

Helly’s turn to scoff now. “It obviously wasn’t nothing-“

“It was literally nothing,” he stresses, voice tense. “That’s the problem.” 

His eyes flicker to hers and there’s something pleading there, begging her not to make him explain any further. It has her pausing just long enough for his eyes to flicker away once more as he wraps the bathrobe around her. Helly doesn’t press immediately, the cogs in her brain turning. He takes her hands, helping her step out of the tub as she turns his words over in her mind. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing- Oh. 

Okay. Well, that wasn’t completely unheard of. Helly knew erectile dysfunction was something people dealt with, she’s just never experienced it before. She didn’t understand why it was happening, but she wanted to. And she certainly didn’t want him to be too embarrassed to tell her about it. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? Unless it was because of her. Maybe she was too different now. Maybe her fragility, the new ways in which her body was broken, was too much for him. Maybe he doesn’t even really find her attractive anymore. Maybe the accident has turned her into something to take care of and nurture without ever indulging in. 

Even if it is her fault, she wants to know. She wants to help him now before this becomes an unbridgeable gap between them.

Mark tries to pull his hands away, but she won’t let him, holding on tight. “Hey,” she says kindly, her eyes searching for his. “I think we should talk about it.”

He shakes his head, breaking free of her grasp, stating plainly, “I would really rather not.” 

He turns on his heels and stalks out of the bathroom, Helly quick on his heels as he walks to his bedroom. (She knows it’s technically her bedroom now too, but it’s still hard for her to think about it that way.) She stands in the doorway, watching him cross to the dresser to open one of the drawers that has become hers. He rifles through it, pulling out yet another pair of soft pajamas for her to change into. They seem to be all she wears these days. His back remains tense, and his obvious discomfort makes it impossible for Helly to even imagine dropping this right now. She hovers behind him, concerned, but his insistence on ignoring her has it shifting into annoyance. She was so blissed out from finally having his hands on her again, but with this abrupt vibe shift that he refuses to elaborate on, that high has all but melted away altogether. 

“Hey,” she says softly as she approaches him, laying a hand on his shoulder, “Did you not want to? Because it’s fine, you could have told me.”

“It’s not that,” he grits out.

“Okay," she allows, "Then what is it, Mark?"

He huffs a sharp breath from his nose, shrugging her hand off his shoulder and reestablishing some distance between them. He sits on the bed, eyes downcast as he guiltily avoids her gaze. He stares down at the clothing still clutched in his white knuckled grip. "I'm not good at talking about this stuff."

Helly doesn't quite buy that. Though the more painful hopes and dreams of living a life outside together remained unsaid, Mark S. had always been so willing to open his heart to her. Mark Scout, however, didn't seem to be in the habit of talking about his feelings at all. They had a few brief discussions at the hospital, but that was weeks ago now, and they practically had to be forced out of them both through the encouragement of Helly’s therapists.. They managed some stilted conversations regarding the things Helly had to reveal about her childhood, about how Mark was coping with all the changes in his life and how badly he wanted a drink, about who they wanted to become. It was all just the tip of the iceberg, yet neither had the courage to bring any of it up once settled in the safe confines of Mark’s home. Despite everything they’d been through together, it was still too scary to be so vulnerable, each of them afraid that revealing too much would finally push the other away.

It's not that Helly didn't want to talk… it was just so much easier to focus on the good stuff. She didn't want to keep recounting any more horrors or dwelling on their misfortune for any longer than she had to. It was bad enough that she was forced to do so weekly on the phone with a court appointed therapist. But by leaning so heavily on the easy comfort she's built with Mark, they’ve both allowed too many important things to go unsaid for too long. 

"I'm not good at talking about it either." Helly says honestly. She might have been, once, but she shouldered a few decades less baggage back then. She sits gingerly beside him, leaving the smallest gap between them, so they aren't quite touching but he can still feel her warmth beside him. 

Mark holds his hand out on his thigh, palm up. It’s an invitation Helly gladly takes, laying her palm on top of his and intertwining their fingers. He watches the way they slot together, a beat passing between them. "I just want to be with you."

"Me, too." She replies. "But... are you?" He turns to her, confused and stricken. Her heart clenches painfully, so she continues on quickly. "I mean, obviously you have been. You’ve been amazing, Mark, more than I-" She stops short, knowing that he doesn't like it when she goes on about what she does or doesn’t deserve. "I'm so grateful for you," she says instead, offering a smile. "That you're taking care of me." 

"I like taking care of you."

"I know," she soothes. He has been nothing but enthusiastic about whatever help he can provide, despite his clear anxiety and the overbearing way it could sometimes manifest. "But sometimes it feels like you spend all your time up here." She reaches forward and taps him on the forehead, his eyes crossing adorably to watch her do so. 

Mark frowns, his eyes dropping back to hers as her fingers move to brush his hair back, refusing to let him hide behind the overgrown fringe. "You're in your head, too," he counters.

Helly sighs. It's incendiary and defensive, but she knows he's right. She has been quick to put on a brave face and a smile for him, to endure the still settling tension of her present and quash her own fears for their future. All her own doubts about herself, about him, the ever lingering thought that it shouldn't be her went unsaid. That she's only here as a burden, a poor imitation of what he really wants. She only ever dwells on it all in her brief moments alone and in awkward conversations with her therapist. She has nightmares about him leaving her behind, deeming her not enough, unfixable, broken and wrong. Mark, the real Mark, is always there to comfort her when she wakes up trembling and in tears. But she never tells him why. She has to show unwavering faith in what they have together to prove she believes in it. If she were to let onto that seed of doubt, the whole thing could fall apart just as it did when Helena finally began to question the life she'd been indoctrinated into. Her father and Lumon and MDR and the entire facade that was her life had come crumbling down around her. Even if it was for the better, she fears she could somehow make it happen again for the worst.

"Well, clearly we both need to get out of our own heads, then," she admits. "It's hurting us."

He tenses beside her, but doesn't respond right away. Maybe he disagrees with her, or at least doesn't want to admit out loud that she's right. He takes a deep breath, the fingers on his free hand worrying the fabric of his pants. Helly lets him think, hoping that he'll come around if she's patient and doesn't push too hard. It’s a method her therapist utilizes with her sometimes, and to her chagrin, it does tend to work. So she waits, even if it’s killing her not to know, driving her thoughts even deeper down an ugly spiral of not enough and too broken . But his grip remains firm in hers, his presence steady. Minutes of thick silence pass until Helly is sure he's never going to respond. The whole time, she’s scared she's pushed too far and asked for too much. She’s trying to think up a way to let him off the hook without implying they won't have to deal with this eventually when finally her patience is rewarded.

Mark speaks softly beside her, so softly at first she thinks it might just be wishful thinking. "I just can't get it out of my head. You… you keep dying." Helly's breath hitches and she opens her mouth to respond, but he cuts her off. "Hanging in the elevator. When you reintegrated, with the scissors. You were shot, Helly.”

She squeezes his hand, not exactly sure what to say. “But I didn’t-”

“Fine, almost dying, but it's still horrible. Every time-” his voice cracks and he has to stop and collect himself, taking a deep breath. “Every time, I think, not again. How can this be happening, again."  

She already knew this was part of the issue - his anxious hovering combined with Devon’s clarification made it fairly obvious - but to hear him say it so plainly breaks her heart. "It won't happen again," she promises.

He turns to look at her now, distressed, his voice teetering on anger. "You don't know that."

"I don't plan on doing anything even remotely dangerous anytime soo-"

"Helly. They could put you in prison."

Her mouth snaps shut. 

She doesn't dwell on that often. It might be a leftover sense of privilege from her upbringing combined with the weight her last name always held, but she hasn't been overly concerned with that outcome. In fact, the thought has barely crossed her mind at all. Horror creeps in as it dawns on her what imprisonment would mean for the both of them. The loneliness. The isolation. They could have her in prison right now if they really wanted to. But she isn't. She's at home with Mark, sitting on their bed, safe and loved. It is by far the most comfortable cage she's ever been placed in. One she’s being allowed to stay in. 

While she's avoided the public or any news coverage, her team of lawyers - nearly doubled in size already - informed her that things have been going surprisingly well. Public sympathy is largely in her favor. It seems there are many people out there all too happy to see Lumon and the cult of Kier taken down, and by an Eagan no less. Even the authorities were amenable as long as she offered information on her father and Lumon, which she was a little conflicted but mostly happy to do. Between her list of diagnoses and her continued cooperation with the larger investigation, the odds of long-term imprisonment were low enough to all but dismiss outright. 

This is the first time Mark has ever acknowledged that Helly being taken away for her crimes was a genuine concern to him. It wasn't impossible, but it certainly didn't feel likely. Now, she’s forced to imagine what it would be like for him if she was suddenly torn away for who knew how long. Years. Decades, even. The weight of that threat hanging over him. If it were her in his shoes she wouldn’t cope much better. She can imagine the ever present dread, the fear that it could all slip away no matter what she does, no matter how happy they are. To have him but be kept from truly being with him. She swallows hard, trying to shake the fear off before he can see it. 

"It's not going to happen." She assures him, "I have the best lawyers money can buy. And even if it did, I wouldn't just disappear."

"Gemma did," he whispers, the name ringing around the room hollowly. "Gemma disappeared."

And there it is. The eternal elephant in the room.

She tries to keep the waver from her voice as she answers him carefully. "I'm not Gemma."

"I know." He answers with a rough sigh. "But it's the same feeling. It's the same." His voice chokes up again and he looks away, eyes glassy. She rubs her thumb against his knuckles and waits for him to collect himself enough to continue. "I couldn't save her." It’s said like a shameful admission, something that has haunted him until it became part of who he is. "I just had to sit back and- and watch as she-" 

He can’t say it, can't recount that he had watched as Gemma burned to death, trapped in their vehicle. He doesn't have to because Helly already knows. She read it all years ago in an impersonal manila folder, barely giving it a passing sympathetic thought. These things happen , she justified to herself at the time. Now the guilt surges. It pains her to face what he has been through, to see the tears welling up in his eyes at the memory, to face firsthand the layers of grief that are impossible to temper with any technicalities. The knowledge that Gemma’s physical death had ultimately been forged should have been a comfort, but of course it wasn’t. Not when Gemma Scout really is still gone. Certainly not for Helly, who knows that Gemma was imprisoned for years, just as Mark now fears will happen to Helly. Her heart breaks for the pain and fear he’s been carrying alone for far too long, that she is now the one to reopen old wounds.

"And I wasn't there to save you," he continues, shaking his head mournfully, "I was useless ." 

"Mark..." Helly says softly, trying to keep her voice kind despite how utterly ridiculous the statement seems to her. "You have saved me. Twice. At least. More than that, probably." 

"Not this time,” he retorts with wry anger. “I should have insisted on coming. I should have forced my way into that elevator with you."

Helly blinks at him, surprised that he’s hung up on that detail. She has no idea what he thinks he could have done to help against every Lumon goon in the immediate vicinity. If anything, his presence would have made the situation much more difficult for her to contend with.

"I'm happy you weren't there," she tells him honestly, her heart racing at the thought of all the different ways he could have distracted her or been hurt himself. 

"I could have helped."

"Mark, no. You don't… you don’t know what they would have done to you just to punish me." 

Mark turns to her, a tear shaking itself loose at her blunt words and the implication behind them. She can see his mind putting the pieces together, realizing the indisputable fact that nothing had been sacred to Helena. Everything in her life was just another tool they could and would use against her, and he would’ve been the ultimate goldmine of leverage. She wills him to realize that the best thing he could have done is exactly what he chose to do: deprive them of that chance. She reaches up, swiping the tear away with her thumb before it can trickle down his face and offering a small smile. 

"And hey, I think I proved I'm pretty capable of saving myself, right?” She smiles at him, just a bit, trying to soften the blow of truth behind her words before it can make things worse instead of better.

"Proved you're pretty capable of getting yourself into trouble," he grumbles, failing to suppress his own watery smile.

"Yeah, but you always knew that," she jokes. He breathes a laugh and her smile grows. Her fingers slide to his shoulder, taking comfort in the anxious but consistent thrum of his pulse under her hand. She squeezes in a way that’s meant to be comforting, but she thinks she might feel his heart speed up anyways. “Thank you for telling me. When you leave me alone to figure it out myself, some crazy things start going on up here.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrow, the worry seeping back in. It makes her feel guilty again, like she shouldn’t be burdening him with her own hang-ups. But he was brave enough to share with her, so the least she can do is uphold her end of the bargain and share back. 

“Like what?” He asks her. 

Helly shrugs a shoulder, “Like, maybe it’s my fault. That I’m not someone else. That it’s too obvious now that I’m…. broken. In a decidedly unsexy way.”

“Hey, no, of course it’s not that. I think you’re really sexy.” He says it so earnestly she can’t help but crack a smile. 

“I know. But sometimes it can be kind of hard to remember.” 

He frowns, cups her cheek, traces her cheekbone with his thumb. “I never want you to feel that way, Helly.”

"I don’t all the time,” she reassures him. “And this helps a lot. The whole talking thing. Even if it’s, like, the last thing I actually want to do.” She wrinkles her nose and it gets a small smile out of him. She continues, determined to keep this from becoming all about her. “I know you hate the talking even more than I do, and as much as I wish I could just read your mind I can’t. So how can I help you?"

"You do help. It's better when I focus on you. When I can be helpful."

She’s noticed. The doting, the watchful eye, the constant and unwavering support. It’s been nice and she has needed it, but suddenly it clicks that maybe it was just as much for him as it was for her. The caretaking functioned not just as an anxious trauma response, but as a reliable comfort that eased his mind. She’d never before considered that by allowing him to take care of her she’d also been enabling him to take care of himself. Any form of caring Helena received growing up was performed out of duty, and more importantly, a hefty salary. It never occurred to her that the act of caring itself could be a joy instead of a burden. But that was before Mark, before she understood how good it felt to take care of someone you love. 

"You're very good at that," she compliments and he preens just slightly, a small smile spreading across her lips before she continues. "But it can't be about me all the time. I want it to be about you, too." She says pointedly, eyes searching his. "So, how do I help you be present with me?"

Mark shrugs, "I don't know." He leans closer to her, head dipping as he admits quietly, shamefully, "I wish we could be together properly. It’s so much easier to get out of my head when I’m wrapped up in you."

“Oh, so now you’re insulting my handjob skills?”

He splutters, “No. You’re, uh, very good at handjobs.” Helly giggles and Mark continues quickly, trying to cover his tracks. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. Or ask for too much, especially when you’re hurt. Honestly, it doesn’t feel like I should be asking anything of you at all these days.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. And I miss it too, you know.”

It's so much easier to feel close when you are close. It’s hard not to be present when you're so completely wrapped up in each other's bodies. She's thought about it endlessly, missed it dearly, craved it every single day. Getting a taste just now still wasn't enough. But he couldn't lay on top of her, nor could she lay on her stomach. Her muscles still ache, and her range of motion is still limited. But there was one idea she's been rolling around in her head that could maybe work. Before this conversation, she didn't think he'd be willing to attempt it. 

"I know something we could try," Helly says, her thumb brushing against his collarbone where it peeks out past the neckline of his t-shirt. “If it helps you get out of your head.”

He immediately begins to protest, voice worried and guilty. "We don't have to-" 

"I want to," she insists, squeezing his hand and pressing closer to him.

There's the slightest shift behind his eyes at the contact, at the firm press of her fingers into the skin of his shoulder. He asks cautiously, voice tight and anxious yet lowered with a recognizable need that verges on desperation, "But how?"

"Like how we sleep," she explains, her voice low. "I could lay on my good side, you could lay down behind me..." She trails off, hoping the implication is clear. She looks at him eagerly, watching him think it over, the fire slowly rekindling in his eyes. 

"Only if we're careful."

Helly nods quickly, trying not to seem overeager and failing, "Of course."

"I'm serious," he says firmly, voice still strained with emotion. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." Her hand slides up his neck, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. She watches the action thoughtfully, her nail lightly scraping his scruff. "It helped, actually. Before. When you made me come, everything else melted away for a while."

She watches Mark swallow, his throat bobbing. His eyes flicker down to her lips, then lower, where her sternum peeks out from under her robe. 

"Really?" He asks hopefully, leaning even closer, until his breath fans out against her lips. 

Helly nods, "Yes." 

His lips brush hers and she presses into them only for him to pull back just slightly to prompt in a low voice, "You want me to do it again?"

"Yes," she pulls their hands into her lap, tugging him closer to her, "Please."

He kisses her again, more firm but no less sweet, tongue reverently tracing the seam of her lips. He drops her hand to reach underneath the plush collar of her robe, pushing the fabric off her shoulders. She tugs her arms out easily, letting the fabric fall to the bed behind her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, his other hand resting heavy and warm on her thigh. She wraps her arms around his neck and goes willingly when he gently lowers her back onto the mattress. His body twists to keep his lips on hers, hovering over her while his hand slides over her breasts, gingerly over her abdomen, resting on her hip. He pulls back to look at her, his eyes trailing down her body as though he’s seeing it for the first time. As if he wasn't making her come around his fingers not long ago at all. Helly feels like she might be glowing. 

"Your turn," she says with a smile, tugging at the front of his t-shirt. He readily complies, sitting up briefly to lift the shirt over his head and quickly kick off both his pants and underwear. She can see him half hard already and she smiles appreciatively, hopeful anticipation throbbing between her legs.

Mark reclines next to her, propping himself with one arm until his head and shoulders are hovering above her, and brings his other hand up to cradle her head. His lips return to hers and the kiss is as gentle as his hands on her body, soft and searching. Part of her would be happy to lay here and kiss him forever, letting his hands wander over her skin, but she has waited weeks for this. She doesn't want to wait any longer. She shifts her thighs open suggestively, hips tilting toward him as much as she can manage. He takes the invitation, his fingers sliding between her legs where she's not sure she ever stopped being wet for him. Her breath shudders at his touch, and he smiles down at her. 

"Are you ready?" he asks, his fingers continuing to glide through her folds.

Helly nods, not trusting her voice. His hand moves from between her legs to her hip, helping her turn away from him and onto her good side. She mourns the loss of contact for only a moment until she feels him pressed behind her. He slots behind her perfectly, one arm sliding under her neck, his chest warm at her back, his thighs tucked neatly beneath hers. His lips press against her shoulder as his hand slides over her rib cage, taking her breast in his palm and squeezing. She can feel him hard against her ass and arches her back just slightly, pressing him closer. He responds in kind with a hitched breath, grinding against her in small, controlled thrusts of his hips. 

Her own want builds between her legs as he uses her body for his own pleasure. She tries to focus on the sweet ache of anticipation, the electric sparks that shoot down to her core as his fingers tweak her nipple. This is about him as much as it is about them, and she is the one who has already been gifted an orgasm today. Even still, she can't stop the needy way she whines his name as the ache becomes overwhelming. She hears his chuckle in her ear and wishes she could see the corresponding smile, taste it with her lips and tongue. 

He reaches down between their bodies and she can feel him adjust his angle, sliding himself between her thighs instead. His shaft slips between her lips, the tip bumping against her clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She moans, her hips wriggling at the sensation. Her muscles ache lightly, protesting the movement, so she does her best to stay still and let him lazily slide against her, coating himself in her wetness. She takes deep, greedy breaths in an attempt to keep herself still despite the shocks of pleasure every brush of him sends up her spine. Her hand moves to cover his where it grips her hip, her fingers slotting between his grasp and squeezing, needing something to hold onto and unable to get her arms around him like this.

"Mark," she moans, squeezing her thighs tighter and wringing a choked gasp from him. "I want you inside me."

His hips stutter at the words and he presses a promising kiss to her shoulder. His hand slides lower, taking hers with it. She feels his fingers settle over her ass cheek, spreading her open. "Hold this for me," he whispers and she listens obediently as if it were an order, keeping herself spread as he reaches between them once more. 

Mark pushes into her slowly, the both of them holding their breath at the sensation. She's tighter like this, and the difference isn't lost on either of them. He takes his time filling her up, whether due to the resistance or because he's reveling in the new-old sensation as much as she is. When he does finally bottom out, it’s with a sigh that stretches into a moan, one that Helly immediately echoes. He pauses there for a moment to enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by her. Helly grins, content, squeezing herself around him and gasping at the pleasure that bites through her painful, protesting muscles. She could stay like this forever, full to the brim with him, connected so thoroughly to the man she loves. 

The arm under her neck hooks around her, embracing her, his hand settling on her shoulder and uses her as leverage as he pulls out ever so slightly before rocking back into her. Her hands reach up to grip his forearm, and the whine that slips from her lips is needy and desperate. Despite his responding groan in her ear, he doesn't pick up his pace. He continues the same slow push and pull, each lazy drag of him inside of her at this angle delectable. His free hand kneads her breast, able to cover the whole thing with one warm palm. 

She wishes he could reach between her legs, to at least give her that extra bit of friction if he won't slam into her the way she loves so much, but the angle is all wrong and the resulting pressure on her wound would be too much. She presses her thighs together instead, her muscles tensing rhythmically and her clit pulsing with every squeeze. She can tell how much Mark likes it, too. She hears the way his breath picks up in her ear, hears all the small noises he can't suppress as her walls clench around him. Her hips press back against his ever so slightly, jumping when an especially sharp wave of sensation hits her, and any responding pain is quickly overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure. She wonders how long they could do this if they maintain this pace. She wouldn't mind going for hours with him, their bodies connected as one, lazily writhing against each other. 

His lips brush against her shoulder, the back of her neck, his nose buried in her hair. She closes her eyes and envisions his face, the way his lips must be wet and open, panting against her neck, his eyes heavily lidded and hazy with bliss. The one problem with this position is that she cannot engulf herself in him the same way he can with her. She wants to feel his weight surrounding her, wants her arms wrapped around him. She reaches back, scrambling to hold whatever part of him she can reach. Her fingertips press into the soft flesh of his side, feeling him shake with barely contained control. He's trying so hard, all for her, and something about this small act of restraint makes her heart soar. 

"Are you with me?" She asks him. She hears his responding hum of affirmation, but she wants more. If she can't see him she at least needs to hear him. "Answer me, Mark."

"Yes," he manages, voice low and rough. "Fuck, Helly. I'm with you."

She smiles, satisfaction blooming in her chest. "You're so fucking good, Mark. The way you feel inside of me…” she breaks off in a whine, “It's everything." Mark moans, but again it's not enough. "Please, talk to me," she practically begs. "Let me hear you."

"Helly," he chokes out and she can hear his brain struggling to catch up, to fight through the sensation to form words. "I love you," he grunts out. "I fucking love you. I've missed this so much."

Helly smiles at his words, so sweet and making every thrust of his hips that much better. "And do you love fucking me?"

"I fucking love fucking you," he replies, speaking so seriously that she can't help but huff out a laugh that stretches into a moan. "But I love making love to you even more," he continues, punctuating the statement by reaching forward and brushing his lips against the shell of her ear. 

Helly shivers. She can feel her heart beating loudly in her chest, in her ears, between her legs, around his cock. Once, she might have said she preferred fucking him, hard and fast and all-consuming. But this gentle heaven has her heart clenching painfully, her body feeling loose and light for once despite her injuries. She realizes suddenly that she's going to come again this way, fucked slowly open by this man who loves her. 

"I love it all," she replies, voice high and breathy, "I love you." 

He presses into her that much harder, holding himself there and groaning low, completely encased in her heat. 

"Please don't stop," she begs with a gasp, nails biting into his skin, "Please."

"I'm close," he murmurs against her, a warning.

"Me, too," she says truthfully, the pressure in her stomach and tension in her muscles building again, aided by her earlier orgasm. "Come with me."

He relents, pulling out slowly. But when he pushes back into her it's just a little quicker, rougher, his grip on her tightening. Her hips begin to move on their own, meeting his and jerking of their own volition. She's so close that the pain of her movements and his more forceful thrusts barely registers in her mind. The only words either of them can utter are each other's names, their shared love, how good the other feels. 

Mark tumbles over the edge before she does. He holds her tight, pressed flush to her back, his nose buried in her hair as he moans her name. The sound alone has her coming around him with a sob, her release and his warming her from deep inside. It washes over her aching body, dissolving any lingering doubt that this is where they're both meant to be. 

It leaves her loose, slack and buzzing in his arms as a slew of tiny aftershocks shudder through her. Small aches follow in their wake, but she can’t focus on them through the afterglow. She feels him nuzzle against the nape of her neck, peppering soft kisses across her shoulder. She shivers in response, humming happily and bending down to press her lips against the soft skin of his forearm. She's already thinking about next time: The way his arms would hold her tighter, restraining her, bending her back into him as her teeth press into his flesh. She can't resist trying it now, just a bit, letting her teeth scrape against him in a nip. 

Mark jolts and holds her closer, chuckling, "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"What, can't keep up?" Helly quips innocently, effortlessly. She considers calling him an old man just to rile him up, but before she gets the chance, he props himself up on one elbow and kisses her again soundly. She sighs against his lips and lets him roll her onto her back. He hisses as he slips out of her, and she makes a dissatisfied sound at the aching loss of him, squeezing herself around nothing. 

"You could at least let me catch my breath," he says with an indulgent smile, still breathing just as heavily as she is. 

Helly giggles, practically giddy, and she is reminded suddenly of the very first time they did this what feels like forever ago. Just Mark S. and Helly R., hiding out in the break room because they couldn’t get enough of each other. Only now, she has something she didn't have back then - the luxury of time. Even if this does feel like an echo of their first, she can be certain it won't be their last, not for a very long while. This time, she has the freedom to lay here for as long as she wants, kissing him and smiling with him and staring into his warm brown eyes. 

"You know," he whispers after a while, his eyes shining a little brighter and growing damp. She's surprised to see tears there, she thought he was past that now. But she very politely doesn't mention them, simply lays a comforting hand on his cheek as he continues, "I used to think that even if I couldn't give you a real life, at least I could give you this." 

Her heart clenches. "Best perk ever," she tries to joke. He rewards her with a light laugh, blinking his tears away before they get a chance to fall. "It was a real life, even then," she adds, her smile softening. "It always felt real with you."

"Yeah," he says thoughtfully, hand stroking through her hair. He watches the soft and freshly washed strands curl around his fingers. "But I'm happy I get to give you both now."

"Like couponing."

Mark smiles, nodding, "Laundry."

She grins, feeling light and silly and happy. She never would have believed when she had first hinted towards these fantasies of domesticity that she would actually get the chance to live them. "Grocery shopping."

"Someone's gotta wash the dishes."

"Get the car inspected."

"What would you know about that?" He smirks down at her, "I don't believe you've ever been inside a DMV in your life."

She rolls her eyes even though he's right. "I'll learn. Have to carry my weight around here."

"I think you're doing alright."

"I don't do anything," she laments.

"You will. You're healing." His eyes trace down her body, worry slipping back into his gaze as he eyes her bandages. "That really didn't hurt?"

"Did it sound like it hurt?"

"Seriously," he insists despite the amused quirk of his lips.

Helly takes a moment to check in with her still buzzing body. She does ache, but in the way she always does these days. It's more pronounced than usual around her abdomen, where the contraction of her muscles around sensitive, healing flesh have left her feeling like she'd had a good workout. But mostly she feels relaxed and happy. Even the ache isn't an unpleasant one. It's one she chose, a reminder she's happy to hold onto.

She decides to gloss over that internal monologue, so as not to worry him and erase any chance of this happening again soon. Instead of dwelling on any pain she focuses on the pleasant hum beneath her skin. "Seriously, Mark. I feel good," she tells him truthfully. "You make me feel good."

The worry leaves his eyes, replaced with something like relief mixed with satisfaction. His fingers stroke the side of her face, and she lets the silence stretch out between them as she imagines all the perfect mundanity she has to look forward to. A lifetime's worth of chores and errands stretching out before her, every single day filled to the brim with their love. Maybe even a family one day. She searches his eyes, wondering if he's thinking the same thing, but she can’t bring herself to break their comfortable bubble with any more big serious discussions. At least not tonight. And besides, there's no rush. They’ll have plenty of time to work all that out in the future.

Mark leans in to kiss her again, and she can taste their potential for a future on his lips. One that, against all odds, she’ll get to determine for herself. 

DREAD

As the weeks go by and fade into months, Helly heals. She throws herself into physical therapy, getting her body back in working order as quickly as she can. But healing isn't linear, and of course her issues don't disappear overnight. The weekly appointments with her therapist also get harder before they get easier. She’s finally starting to unpack her eating disorders, her childhood trauma, her anxiety and suicidal ideation and everything else that surrounds them. There’s a whole lifetime’s worth of Lumon propaganda to deconstruct and Kier teachings to unlearn. It’s exhausting, vulnerable, and mortifying - a truly horrible experience - but it helps. For the first time in her life, she is taking charge of her own narrative in a way that she never really believed she could. On her better days, it’s more liberating than it is a burden. 

Mark is in treatment too, fully committed to sobriety and finally dealing with the grief that he’d left to gather dust on the shelf for far too long. He reconnects with a few of his old coworkers from his days as a professor at the University, friends that he valued but let fall to the wayside after Gemma’s death. She can tell the process is difficult for him, as much so as her own journey has been. But as the days go by he gains a clarity behind his eyes that she hasn’t seen since he was just Mark S.

At the behest of his grief counselor, Mark very slowly begins emptying the basement of all Gemma’s old belongings. He offers them all to Casey first, but she’s much more interested in amassing her own eclectic collection, things that feel like her own instead of someone else’s. Sometimes Helly helps him go through it all, but most of the time he prefers to work alone. When he returns upstairs with red-rimmed eyes, she holds him close, not pressing unless he feels like speaking. Usually he just lets her hold him, wordlessly sinking into her embrace for as long as he needs. Other times, he tells her about Gemma: what she was actually like, who she was, how he thinks they would have gotten along. She still feels some of that horrible guilt, the shameful jealousy tinged with pure sorrow that she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to let go of entirely. But she also finds that she enjoys knowing. With each new story he tells, it gets easier for her to separate her own feelings about Gemma from what Gemma clearly meant to Mark. 

Despite feeling like she’s known Mark for almost her entire life, it’s amazing how much she still has to learn about him. They talk about everything, both things they experienced together and apart. Helly finds that the mortifying ordeal of being known is much less scary when it’s with him. Mark S. and Helly R. didn’t know these things to share them and being able to do so now feels like a luxury and privilege. In a way, they’re rediscovering themselves as they discover each other. They make games of it, sharing more than just the sad stories, laughing over awkward teenage memories and cushioning the blow of more difficult ones. Helly loves every tidbit she learns about him. She loves that he used to chaperone Devon’s trips to the mall, even though it was embarrassing to be seen with his little sister. She loves that he worked an extra job throughout college to afford the shittiest car at the dealership. She loves that he finds small dogs annoying and thinks only old men should wear cardigans. She loves that he hates movies about World War I, but watches them anyway just to point out the inaccuracies. 

He slips up, sometimes, but so does she. He’ll reach for a glass of whiskey he knows he shouldn’t have, closing back in on himself and brooding. She’ll skip lunch and lash out with casual cruelty. But they always come back together before long. More often than not, it still feels like it's just the two of them against the world. Just Mark and Helly against any villainous adversary that steps in front of them, even if it’s sometimes themselves. It feels like no one else could ever possibly understand her the way that Mark does. So forgiveness comes easily, and ends more often than not in bed. 

Helly’s therapist is happy that she has an active sex life, but she also slings around words like ‘trauma bonded’ and ‘codependent’. Helly has a hard time refuting them… she and Mark hardly spend any time apart these days. When they do have to be away from one another, they get worried and anxious, texting each other more often than they should and counting down the seconds until they reunite. Their family and friends are patient with them, but if the annoyed yet good natured goading is anything to go by, Mark and Helly's behavior has slowly been driving them insane. 

But Helly doesn't particularly want to change. Mark S. and Helly R. spent every waking hour together; hell, every member of MDR spent more time together than they did apart. Helena, having spent the bulk of her life achingly lonely, preferred it that way. Mark, too, had been spending so much time swallowed up by loneliness and grief that he doesn’t want to change their status quo either. Codependent or not, they need each other right now. 

When they wake up from nightmares, or when Helly panics, or when Mark is having a particularly hard time resisting the numbing pull of a bottle, they cling to each other and it helps. Helly hasn't tried to kill herself. There's a 60 day chip sitting proudly on the dresser. Who cares that they're codependent if it’s working? If it helps? So what if the world feels darker when he isn't in the room, or if he starts to panic whenever he goes too long without hearing from her? It's worth it for the comfort. The solidarity. They're a team, and they are trying, together, to find some sort of equilibrium in a world that still feels so new to them both. 

She’s just Helly now, unless she’s talking to the press or in court. Not that she has to do either very often these days now that her case is officially closed. She’s on probation with court mandated therapy, and she had to pay a hefty fine, but it could have been a lot worse. She's actually considered a hero amongst certain groups like the WMC. Even the devout followers of Kier are divided between those who find Helly a disgraceful traitor and those who consider her actions a necessary course correction back onto the true path of Kier. Despite everything that’s happened, the latter group stubbornly persists in their belief that Helly has a wider scheme to return as CEO when the time is right, and that she’ll one day bring the company back to its roots like a good daughter of Kier - a notion that anyone who knows her of course finds utterly laughable. But Helly doesn't care about any of that. She wants to leave every reference to her ancestors behind her, to find a path ahead that is all her own and untainted by the Eagan legacy. 

Being happily unemployed doesn't leave them with as much free time as one might think, even after the legal battle ends and Helly becomes capable of pulling her own weight. The time they do have is most often spent with their family and friends, a small community of people all their own. They meet Dylan's small army of children and join him and Irving for monthly dinners. They join Devon and Ricken and sweet baby Eleanor for lazy afternoons at the Scout-Hale residence and excursions to the park. Mark still gets that strange look in his eyes when he sees Helly pushing Eleanor on the swing, or reading her a baby book that the little girl is still too young to understand. They haven't talked about it yet, but Helly thinks about it more and more often. What it would be like to raise a kid with Mark's eyes, a child who wasn't weighed down by the Eagan name. It might even help her make amends with the wrongs of her own childhood, to turn that pain into a new purpose, a force for good. 

Casey is around, too, more often than not. She did eventually take Helly up on her offer to set her up in her own apartment close to the city, somewhere she can explore and discover herself at her own pace. According to Devon, Casey couldn't be more different than Gemma. Casey was quiet, but not shy. Watchful, thoughtful, a very good listener who could deliver blunt thoughts and opinions with a surprising warmth. She likes leather jackets and buzzing her hair, getting tattoos and piercings. She does love to read, but has no interest in Russian literature, instead opting for thrillers and psychological horrors. It’s been easier than Helly expected to separate the woman she's come to know from the Mrs. Scout she never met, although it's of course much harder for Devon and especially for Mark.

Mark still has trouble being around Casey, especially when Helly is there too. This becomes more awkward when it becomes clear that Casey and Helly actually like each other. Helly doesn't have many friends, but she'd consider Casey to be one of them. There's a strange understanding between the two, a shared curiosity about the world, a shared knowledge of what it means to choose who you are when your past stops feeling like a part of who you want to be. But when Mark is there with them, he's always tense, unsure where to look or how to stand or what to say. He never wants to talk about it, either. Helly hopes he's at least discussing it with his grief counselor, or even at AA meetings or with his sponsor. At first she tries to poke fun at their strange situation, hoping it will help diffuse some of the tension, but she can tell it only makes him feel worse and so she quickly learns to stop.

He apologizes for it out of the blue one day. They've just arrived home from lunch at Devon and Ricken's. Helly opens the door to leave once they're parked in the driveway, but realizes Mark makes no move to do the same. Instead he sits there, eyes downcast and fingers fidgeting in his lap. 

"You okay?" Helly asks carefully. She can tell there’s something on his mind, and he's gotten a lot better at talking about the hard stuff, but she knows he still struggles to start the conversation.

It was a good dinner - normal, for them, even if slightly more tense with Casey's last minute addition. Devon pulled Helly aside to apologize for the intrusion before they left, explaining that Casey had been nearby and she didn’t know how to tell her she couldn’t come. But Helly assured her it was all okay. She liked Casey, enjoyed her company and conversation, and even Mark wasn't nearly as bad as he was at first. Sure, he still avoided Casey, was quieter and more subdued than he'd be otherwise, but he was at least capable of making polite conversation and getting through dinner without having a breakdown. After all, Casey was family now. She couldn't be avoided, nor would it be right to even try. Mark has done a lot of work to be okay, and they all had to trust him to handle himself as best he could and to speak up if there was a problem. Helly supposes that’s what he is trying to do now.

Mark winces, his brows furrowing and lips pursing. "I'm sorry if I was weird tonight."

Helly blinks at him, pausing for only a moment before closing the car door and settling back into the passenger seat. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize."

"No, I do." He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, still staring at the steering wheel. "I just wish that I could be... normal around her. But it's..."

"I get it, Mark."

He turns to her, ignoring her words completely, worry and guilt in his eyes. "It's not about you. You know that, right? I'm happy with you. I love you. I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Yeah." Helly offers him a comforting smile, reaching over to take his fidgeting fingers in hers, "I know."

"It's just weird. To look at her and recognize her and not have it be her." He's quietly frustrated by the end of the sentence. "Sometimes I think it would've been easier if she was just a normal ex-wife," he says, like it's a secret. Something shameful. "Like, if we'd just gotten divorced, like a normal couple. Or if she'd just-" He stops himself short, but Helly knows what he means. If she'd just stayed dead, like she was supposed to be. There's a beat of silence where Mark's face crumples, and he somehow looks even guiltier, his eyes becoming big and glossy and his eyebrows drawn.

"You don't mean that," she says, matching his hushed volume. They were all happy to have Casey with them, even if the entire situation was strange. She was a gift that wasn't supposed to exist, but a gift nonetheless. 

"No, I don't." He sighs and squeezes her hand and looks away again. "I'm still sorry that you have to deal with this."

"Mark, seriously, it's okay." She promises him. He starts to make a face, one that tells her he disagrees, so she continues on. "I do get it, you know. I remember how disorienting it was to be around you when you were just your outie and I was just my innie. It's confusing. There were all these feelings for someone who isn't really there."

He squeezes her hand, looking at her apologetically but clearly unconvinced. "That's not the same. I was still there."

Helly shrugs. "Kind of. You looked like you, but you didn't know me. You didn't love me. I mean, if you hadn't ended up reintegrating... I don't see how it ever would have worked out between us." She states it plainly, having considered it for so long and coming to accept her conclusion.

Mark gives the slightest shake of his head, looking at her intently now, his voice low and serious. "I would've come around."

"I don't know, Mark..." She says, remembering the grief he carried with him like a security blanket back then. "You know I would have done anything to bring her back to you. I never could have stopped loving you, but I accepted that you couldn't always be my Mark. You were someone else. You belonged to someone else… And if you had wanted to try with Casey, I would have understood. I would have pathetically accepted just being around you in whatever way you allowed.” She smirks at this, joking to try and soften it. But it doesn't land, Mark’s brow only furrowing deeper. She switches gears, bites her lip and tells him honestly how she’s reconciled it in her mind. “At the end of the day, I was just the lucky one who got to reintegrate."

There's a long pause. Mark looks away from her, staring out the windshield at their garage as he mulls her words over. She gives him the time, watches as his brows move as if he's having a silent debate with himself. He can't outright deny it all. Neither of them will ever know for sure what would have happened in a world without reintegration, or one in which Gemma somehow survived as herself. She has thought about this for a long time now. It's about time he does, too. And besides, if there is one thing she has learned in therapy, it's that their convoluted pasts shouldn't hinder their futures even if it does inform them.

"I'm still sorry," he says eventually, looking back at her with heartbreak in his eyes.

"Okay," she squeezes his hand, "I forgive you."

Mark sighs, not quite appeased, but squeezes her hand back anyways. "As long as you know it's not your fault. For any of it. It’s not because of you.” He takes her hand in both of his, looking into her eyes earnestly. “And I don't want it bothering me to bother you. The what ifs, they don’t really matter, anyways. What ifs aren’t real. This is real.” He brings the back of her hand to his lips, fingers pressed into her palm and circling around her wrist. “Something good - something amazing - did still come from everything,” he continues as Helly’s heart swells in her chest, “And I never want you to doubt that for a second. I am happy with you, Helly. It doesn't change what I had with Gemma, but it's more than I ever expected to have again.” He whispers his next words against her knuckles, “I don't know what I'd do without you."

Helly isn't unused to kind words from Mark, casual compliments and words of affection and annoying little pet names she pretends to hate. But he's never spelled this out for her before. His words don’t come as a surprise, but it's different to hear them out loud. To know for certain that he feels it, too. Tears well in her eyes and she’s rendered utterly speechless. All she can do is lean over the center console and kiss him, pouring every overwhelming emotion she feels for him into it. 

"I love you," she says in the space between them, the only way she knows to tell him that it’s all okay. She understands. She accepts him anyway.

He answers by pressing his lips to hers, softly, sweetly, pressure that's barely there. It doesn't stay that way for long, his hand slipping into her hair to draw her closer. Helly would be happy to kiss him like this all night, except that they're literal feet from a warm house and a soft bed. It might have been the many, many times they had to make do at the office, but sex in their car doesn't sound very enticing to her. 

"Come on," she pulls back, ignoring his disgruntled noise of protest. "I'll race you to the bed."

Mark breaks out into a grin, already taking his keys from the ignition and opening the car door. "You're on."

FROLIC

It takes some time, but gradually, Mark's home becomes their home. In a way, it helps that Mark had kept it so sterile and impersonal throughout the two years he lived there alone. It's easy for them to choose their own pictures to hang on the walls, their own knick knacks to scatter around, transforming the place from a barren house into a proper home. Their bookshelves become full to bursting, the wide array of books Helly keeps picking up at yard sales and antique shops slotting in neatly next to Mark's biographies and historical fiction. Her eclectic new wardrobe finds a home beside his in drawers and closets that had long sat empty. Their toothbrushes sit beside one another next to the sink, the bathroom now home to all the products pilfered from Helena’s old house. 

They talk about relocating sometimes, finding a place completely untouched by Lumon. But the process of moving isn’t very enticing after so recently packing up and selling Helena's giant, impersonal home, so they decide to stay put for now. But Helly doesn't mind. She's grown attached to this house. Besides, there's something poetic about taking another Lumon-branded aspect of their lives and breathing new life into it, making it something new and uniquely her own. It brings Helly a sense of pride that she can triumph over them again like this, even if only in a small way.

Devon is the one who brings up the idea of a housewarming party. Mark initially rolls his eyes, dismissing it as a silly frivolity that only Devon and Ricken would actually enjoy. Helly agrees with him at first, since practically all the parties she has ever attended were completely miserable. But the idea lodges itself in her mind, and over time, she can't help but mull it over. Maybe they were becoming a little isolated in their safe little bubble. Maybe it would be nice to do something formal to reintroduce the new versions of themselves to their community, to gather the people they know and trust around them in the home they've built for themselves. 

It doesn’t have to look anything like the parties she’d so loathed in the past, either. She envisions herself and Mark hosting something more personal, like their regular dinners with Dylan and Irv or Devon and Ricken but combined. The concept of having everyone she loves around her in one room is a compelling one. It reminds her of how satisfying it felt to just be Helly R. sitting in her cubicle, with the only three people in the world she cared about by her side. 

Despite Mark’s initial reluctance, it doesn't take much convincing for him to come around. It turns out he’s willing to do almost anything she suggests, a power she is trying very hard to wield responsibly. So, they pick a date a few weeks away, send out e-vites, and get to planning. 

They spend a weekend following printed recipes in an attempt to make their own hors d'oeuvres; meatballs and stuffed peppers and teeny tiny sandwiches, even deviled eggs as a throwback to one of their happier memories at the office. Unfortunately, neither of them are particularly skilled in the kitchen. Helly has almost zero experience at all, and Mark is rusty at best. Their experimentation - while fun in its own way - results in some delicious but very ugly morsels, and leaves their kitchen in total disarray. Needless to say, in the end, they opt for catering.

When the big day finally rolls around, they take their time getting ready, nerves humming just under the surface for them both. After the past few months of relative isolation, neither of them are accustomed to crowds anymore. Yet somehow, between the two of them, almost fifteen people will filter into their safe space that evening. A negligible number for some, but one that now feels intimidating to both of them. But even if they don’t feel entirely ready to host so many guests, at least their home looks the part: the entire place has already been made spotless, the catered food unpacked from their tin chafing trays onto nicer serving dishes, and an array of beverages have been arranged as artfully as possible beside their cheese board. 

Still, Helly paces anxious laps around the living room, tweaking the placement of throw pillows and straightening picture frames that are already perfect. No matter how many times Mark assures her that they could have gotten away with grocery store snacks and ready-made fare, she can't quite shake that leftover feeling from her heiress days that tonight is a performance she has to ace. Helly deflects each of Mark’s attempted reassurances  insisting that this is just a housewarming, not a Super Bowl Party with a scoff. She knows he’s probably right, but that doesn’t do much to quell Helena’s ingrained need for utter perfection at all times. 

Mark comes up behind her as she fusses yet again with the napkins, sliding his arms around her waist and gently swaying her to the music that plays lightly in the background. The jazz playlist was all him, along with the high quality portable speaker he labored over purchasing exclusively for this event. 

"The napkins look absolutely gorgeous," he compliments, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "But I definitely think if you keep straightening them they'll look even better."

"Shut up," she scolds with a smile, covering his hands with her own. He chuckles against her skin and she sighs, relaxing just slightly back into him. 

"Everything's perfect," he continues, sensing the lingering tension under her skin and ignoring her disgruntled reply. "I mean it, Helly. The food smells amazing, we have more drinks than anyone could ever finish, and the place looks like it's come straight out of a magazine. And…" he adds as his hands slide down her sides, over the button-up knit dress that clings to her curves and edges. "The hostess cleans up pretty well too, if I do say so myself."

Helly grins at his corny compliment, turning in his embrace to drape her arms around his shoulders. Her eyes run over him appreciatively, "Yeah, well, the host does a pretty okay job, too." 

She runs a hand over the lapel of his brown corduroy jacket and straightens his tie, a too-expensive silk number she bought that matches her dress. The fingers of her opposite hand run through the freshly cropped hair at the nape of his neck, and she thinks - not for the first time - just how handsome he is like this. He looks lighter than he used to, his eyes a little brighter. She could never get tired of looking at him. She tilts her head to the side, admiring him as he admires her, her smile growing lopsided as she does so. 

"Aren't you happy I made us get haircuts?" She asks cockily.

Mark rolls his eyes, remembering the series of events as she does. Just over a week ago, he had walked in on Helly in the bathroom, a pair of scissors in her hand and locks of orange hair littering the tiled floor. She'd been giddy with the change, practically manic as Mark regarded her with shocked caution. Despite her excitement, she had done an unmistakably uneven, amateurish job that Mark hadn't been able to correct on his own. When they arrived at the hair salon, the hairdresser took one look at Mark and practically sat him down in the chair herself. An hour later, he was looking shocked in the mirror at a man he used to be, and Helly was beaming at the red waves just grazing her shoulders. 

"I didn't realize you hated my hair so much," he teases.

"I did not!", she protests. "In fact, I kind of miss the flicky bits at the back. They were great for holding onto."

"I could always grow a mullet."

She laughs, tugging him a little closer by his tie. "Okay. I'll get one too. We can have matching mullets."

"Very sexy." Mark smiles, and her eyes catch on the point of his canines as he closes the space between them, pressing his lips against hers before she has the chance to quip back. 

Kissing Mark is always a nice distraction, always makes every other thought in her head fade into the background beneath the more pressing concern of getting as close to him as possible. It seems to have a similar effect on him, and now is no different. He maneuvers her until she's pressed against the wall, his hands roaming over her body as if they don't have to be prepared for guests arriving any minute. The kiss grows heated as his tongue slips into her mouth, his teeth nipping at her lips, and Helly barely finds the self control necessary to stop them from getting carried away. She pulls away, a steadying hand pressed flat against his chest, trying to get her breath back under control.

"People are going to start arriving any second," she reminds him.

Mark groans, leaning forward again to kiss her neck. "Is it too late to cancel?"

Helly laughs and tugs him off her by his hair. But Mark enjoys having his hair pulled, and his hips press harder into hers in response to the stimulation. She bites her lip, suppressing her own groan at the contact. She shoots him a warning glare, but it crumples when she gets a good look at him. She bursts out laughing, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as she recovers.

"What?" Mark asks, bemused and a little disturbed that she's suddenly laughing at him. 

"You have a little something on your face," she explains, pulling back and grabbing one of her perfectly straightened napkins to wipe her lipstick off his chin. His lips are still slightly swollen from her ministrations, but it will have to do for now. 

"Well, you do, too."

She groans, out of annoyance now instead of arousal, removing herself from his hold and maneuvering around him. "Great, now I have to fix myself."

"I think you look beautiful!" He calls mirthfully as she retreats to their bathroom to reapply her lipstick before people start arriving. 

Sure enough, just as Helly's finished fixing her makeup and taming her hair, the doorbell rings. By the time she rejoins Mark in their living room, Devon and Ricken are passing their jackets to Mark. Helly greets them both with wide smiles, immediately zeroing in on Eleanor and taking her from Devon. She bestows the smiley baby with a kiss on one chubby cheek, making funny faces that leave her giggling. It's amazing to Helly just how much Eleanor has grown over the past six months, developing a little personality and babbling happily if nonsensically at anyone who will listen. She still retains some of that sweet baby smell, and Helly can't help but press her nose against the brunette curls on top of her head. Ricken catches her in the act, and gives her a conspiratorial wink. 

"Holy shit, you two have outdone yourselves!" Devon compliments as she surveys their home. "I almost don't recognize the place. This has to be some heiress skill coming through, no way could Mark pull this off."

“Come on,” Mark insists, “I have some skills.”

“I guess you just forgot them for a couple years then,” Devon retorts back. 

For a second he looks like he might protest, but all Mark can do is purse his lips and admit defeat, returning Devon’s proud smile with a chagrined one.

"He did help," Helly insists, and Mark’s smile turns to her, his hand gravitating to the small of her back as he presses a kiss to her cheek in thanks. Before he gets a chance to respond, the doorbell rings a second time, and Helly passes Eleanor to Mark before turning to greet the next round of guests. 

Before long, there are more people in their home than Helly has ever seen. In fact, this is more people in one space than Helly R. ever saw in her entire life. At the same time, it's barely a fraction of the guests Helena would expect at any Lumon gala, fundraiser, or holiday party. It was strange that neither the wild excitement or the crippling fear struck her. Instead, she felt strangely at peace. It was a feeling that had become more common over the months, but never failed to surprise her anyways. 

As a housewarming gift, Irving brought them a small painting that Helly can't wait to hang up. It’s an original work of his: mostly white texture on canvas, but with splashes of color popping up randomly throughout, barely peeking through the thick coat of white paint that dominates the rest of the canvas. It makes Helly feel hopeful. The two of them have grown even closer over the past few months, bonding through a shared love of art that neither Helly nor Helena was ever allowed to pursue. It turns out Irving could relate, having been discouraged from that path himself. Together it has become a kind of therapy.

She catches up with Dylan and Irving over snacks, regaling them with tales of the good old days while watching the three George children playing with Radar. They are all so much like her friend, but there is something uniquely Gretchen about each and every one of them. 

Helly can see Devon and Gretchen conversing over wine with two women Helly met in group therapy. Jacqueline and Caitlin have been kind to Helly, two more senior members of the group that took her under their wings once she began opening up in sessions. They both knew what it was like to be from troubled homes, to struggle with autonomy their entire lives. Caitlin even understood the difficulties of deconstructing, having fallen into a different cult-like pseudo-religion out west before moving to Kier. Despite the camaraderie the three had built, and the occasional happy hours attended after particularly difficult meetings, Helly had never invited them to her home before. It was exciting to have her new friends meet the people she considers family. 

She scans the room, searching Mark out as always. He's already watching her when she spots him. He stands with some old professor friends he's reconnected with, currently being spoken at by an animated Ricken. They seem amused by Ricken's ramblings rather than annoyed, which Helly takes as a win, even as Mark tilts his head towards them with a fond roll of his eyes. She can't suppress her sideways grin or the slight shake of her head in admonishment. He’s been kinder to Ricken than he was before reintegration, but not even half as starry eyed as Mark S. ever was. Instead, they’ve become something like friends who still get on each other’s nerves, partially on purpose. Based on what she’s learned from watching Mark and Devon interact, Helly is pretty sure that’s what brothers are for. She mouths at him from across the room to ‘be nice’, and is answered with a non-committal smirk and a shrug. Then he's walking towards her. 

Helly excuses herself, and her friends give her an array of understanding if teasing glances as she leaves to meet Mark in the middle. He reaches out to take her hand, squeezing it and pulling her a little bit closer than strictly appropriate. Helly doesn't care. She's tempted to kiss him in the middle of the room, all their guests be damned. But the civilized part of her, the one that still feels protective of this thing between them, resists the urge and settles for squeezing his hand back. She gives him a dopey smile that he returns, mushy and disgusting enough to make anyone watching roll their eyes. 

"Are you having fun?" He asks her, his eyebrows only furrowed with worry for a second. He thankfully doesn't hover like he once did, trusting that she'll be alright on her own, and that she'll let him know if she isn't. He's still attentive, more so than necessary, but Helly knows it helps him and lets herself enjoy the attention.

Helly nods. "Are you?"

Mark nods back. "I'm going to have to tell Devon she was right. You know how much I hate doing that."

"And yet it happens so often," Helly snarks. This time, Mark does cave, dropping a kiss to her forehead as he huffs a laugh. 

Even without the verbal confirmation, it’s been easy for her to tell how much he's been enjoying himself tonight. Their typical separation anxiety hasn't been so bad, the two of them floating around the party individually and confidently. Maybe it was just because they were safe on home turf, or that everyone present was a certified safe individual. Either way, seeing how well he’s been doing makes her so proud. He was even doing well around Casey. Helly had surreptitiously watched Casey introduce her new girlfriend to Mark earlier on. He had smiled politely, naturally, without stiffening up and excusing himself as soon as possible. She knows the weight isn't gone from him, but it’s lighter than it was only a few weeks ago, and he has worked hard to get here. 

Mark glances towards Casey now, who’s sitting on the couch between her girlfriend and June Kilmer. Mark had reconnected with Petey's daughter not long after their great escape. He missed his old friend, and had to grieve him again once aware of the full weight of their relationship. June had been happy to learn about a side of her dad she had never been able to see, and to get to know someone who did. Helly likes June’s blunt, no-nonsense attitude. The younger woman keeps inviting the two of them to see her band play. They promise they’ll take her up on it eventually, as soon as events so huge stop feeling so intimidating. Helly has never been to a concert - at least, not aside from seeing the beautiful but admittedly tame Kier Philharmonic Orchestra once or twice - but she does want to go. She wants to dance and yell and lose herself in something, wants to do it with Mark by her side. Tonight feels like a good first step toward that. 

"What do you think's going on there?" Mark asks Helly as Casey drapes an arm along the back of their couch, just over June's shoulders. The girlfriend - maybe it's Nico, but that might have been the previous one - laughs too loudly at something June says. 

Helly smirks. "I think those two will be taking June home tonight."

Mark laughs in disbelief and raises his eyebrows. "Wow... I'm going to need a couple minutes to process that one."

"They're all grown adults. Besides, these girls seem to be very happy with Casey."

"No, yeah, good for them," he starts, "I'll just try to ignore that it's my ex-wife's body and my dead best friend's daughter." 

Helly worries he might be starting to spiral, but when she looks away from the women and sees the smirk on his face, she snorts. "Maybe best not to think about it."

"Yeah, maybe." He agrees with her easily, as they often do when it comes to the complicated tapestry that has become their lives. 

The doorbell rings and Helly raises her eyebrows, glancing at it somewhat suspiciously. "I thought everyone was here already..." She looks up at Mark, but he doesn't seem very concerned or surprised.

"Guess we missed one," he says simply, releasing her hand. "You should go get it."

"Okay..." Helly raises an eyebrow but goes to open the door anyway, unsure what exactly Mark has cooked up for her. 

She expected a surprise, but not one quite as surprising as Reghabi standing on their doorstep with an obnoxiously large bouquet in one hand and a manila envelope in the other. 

"Happy housewarming," she greets stiltedly, holding out the bouquet. Helly hesitates, blinking at Reghabi dumbly for a moment before taking the multicolored bundle of flowers. 

"...Thank you. Um, what are you-"

"Mark invited me."

Helly nods. "Yeah, I gathered that." 

She has been talking to Mark more about her childhood lately, opening up a lot more about her history with Reghabi in particular. Most of her lingering resentment has faded in the months since she last saw the older woman. Over time, Helena's bitterness and hurt has been tempered by gratefulness at the scientist's indisposable assistance and admiration for her fight against Lumon. Now that the most negative emotions have faded, she’s forced to contend with grief that everything fell apart the way it did. After all that, Helly is primarily left with regret that one of her few positive relationships from childhood now seemed so out of reach. 

As big as those regrets were, her fears were still bigger; she's been scared to reach out and make the leap of first contact. What if Reghabi still wasn't interested, or worse, if she had never really been interested in Helena at all? Maybe it had all been about Lumon first, and now the two women didn't even have that. 

Helly can't believe that Reghabi is standing here now, making first contact on her own. Well, almost on her own. Helly isn't quite sure whether or not to be mad at Mark for springing this on her.

"Um," Helly continues after an awkward beat of silence. "Do you want to come in?"

"I can't."

"Oh..." Helly tries not to feel that old disappointment, and almost succeeds.

"It's not that I don't want to," Reghabi rushes out. "I'm sure the two of you have built a lovely home. I'm just... out of practice at this type of thing."

Helly feels her initial disappointment at the rejection fade away, and she quirks her mouth into a sardonic smirk. "Yeah, I know what you mean. They were never much fun, were they?" 

"No. Not particularly." Reghabi agrees. 

She thinks back to the Lumon galas they both used to attend. Every horribly party she had to disassociate through, dressed to the nines in uncomfortable poofy dresses she hates, standing alone and ignored on the sidelines. They were even worse when she became a surly teenager, having to perform etiquette and ignore the leers of old men all without the respite of Reghabi's company. Not that they got any better once she was an adult, either, despite having finally perfected the poise worthy of an Eagan. Each one still left her drained, hollowed out, and miserable. 

Helly suddenly realizes that Reghabi probably hated those parties just as much. Maybe she felt just as stifled as Helena did back then, too. Helly never thought about what it might have been like for Reghabi, assuming that everyone else was honest in their dedication to Lumon and Kier. But maybe Reghabi had always been lying the way Helly was forced to. Reghabi was so young back then - even younger than Helly is now - and always trailing in the shadow of Helly’s parents. For Reghabi to have left and dedicated her life to resisting Lumon, she couldn’t have been enjoying herself. The only difference between them is that Helena had laid down and tried to accept her fate while Reghabi took back control and did something about it. Despite their newfound freedom, parties made Reghabi even more uncomfortable than they did Helly. 

"But this party is different," Helly says hopefully. "And we would like to have you. It could be just like old times." She thinks of the stolen moments of levity when she could stick to Reghabi’s side, joking and laughing as quietly as possible. They wouldn’t have to hide it anymore.

Reghabi offers a small, sad smile but shakes her head. "It wouldn't be anything like old times at all." 

Helly's smile flattens, but she nods nonetheless. She understands what Reghabi is trying to say. The old times are well and truly gone, the good included with all the bad. They are finally free from Lumon, but the women they’ve become aren’t so easily untethered. There are decades of baggage between the both of them. Reghabi would never be that bright-eyed young scientist again, and Helly would never be that innocent little girl. 

Despite the disappointment and rejection, she understands. "Maybe next time?" she offers sincerely. When Reghabi is ready, Helly will still be here.

"Maybe next time," Reghabi agrees, and Helly believes her. Just then Reghabi remembers the other item she brought to Helly's door, looking down at the manila envelope and hesitantly offering it to her. "I also brought this."

Helly takes the unmarked envelope, her eyebrows furrowed. "Um, thanks?"

"It's everything I have on your mother."

Helly's eyes snap back to Reghabi, her mouth dropping open in wordless shock. 

"It's not much. I could never get anywhere with it. But if you ever want to know, if you want to find out more... you should have it. Even if you don't do anything with it at all."

Helly feels tears burn behind her eyes and barely manages to keep them from falling as she reaches forward, pulling Reghabi into an awkward hug. Her hands are full with the folder and bouquet, and Reghabi pats her back stiffly, but it feels good despite the awkwardness. It feels like healing. 

"Thank you," Helly says sincerely when she pulls back. "And- and I'm sorry. For blaming you."

Reghabi just shrugs. "It’s fine. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"You did plenty, Asal. More than enough." She means every word of it. Reghabi's presence in her life had been a positive one, a bright spot even if it ultimately ended. That sad little Eagan girl had never been her responsibility, but she looked out for her anyway. She always tried. Helly can appreciate that now.

Reghabi just nods, her smile still small but a little less sad. "I should get going."

Holly returns the sad smile with one of her own. "Thanks for dropping by.”

She watches Reghabi turn and cross the lawn to her car. She doesn't turn back inside until the car is out of sight. When she does return to the party, door shutting behind her and staring down at the envelope in her hand, Mark is ready to receive her.

"So," he takes the flowers from her without having to be asked, placing the flowers to the side and a hand on her arm, "am I in trouble?"

Helly shakes her head, still preoccupied with the file. She's dying to look. She never wants to see it again. It's the only thing related to her mother she's received in over a decade, and it's burning in her grasp. She takes a deep breath and opens a drawer on the entryway table, putting the folder inside and shutting it away. It would be safe there until Helly could deal with it properly. 

"Hey, you okay?"

Helly turns and throws her arms around him, holding him tight. 

"Hey," Mark's voice is softer now. He rubs up and down her back, "I'm sorry. I should've told you. This was stupid."

"Yes, you should've told me," she agrees, pulling back just enough to catch his eye, "But thank you anyway."

Mark cracks a smile and Helly leans up to kiss him, completely forgetting about the crowd around them. Mark seems to do the same, sinking into her.

"Ugh, disgusting," Dylan complains suddenly from beside them, making Mark jump and separating their lips. "They just can't help themselves."

"Come now, Dylan," Irv says with a grin, slapping a firm hand on Mark's shoulder. "We should let them enjoy themselves. It's their night."

"I really thought I was through having to see this shit when I stopped spending my whole life with you two." Mark and Helly smile sheepishly, amused by Dylan's familiar antics. "And you," Dylan adds, turning to Irv, "are never on my side with this shit!"

"What can I say?" Irv shrugs, "I love love. Sue me."

"Yeah, maybe I will. Your lawyers are free now, right Helly?"

Helly laughs, extricating herself from Mark's arms but leaning into his side. He doesn't go far either, keeps his arm around her waist despite the light blush high on his cheeks. He’s a stabilizing force grounding her in the present with him. 

"I'm not sure this case is high profile enough for them."

Dylan scoffs. "Okay, as one of the main participants in the Great Innie Rebellion, I dispute that." 

"Yes, yes, Dylan, we're all very important." Irv rolls his eyes good naturedly. "He was just walking me out," Irv says as he reaches to grab Radar's leash from the hooks beside the door. "It's past somebody's bedtime," he gestures to the old dog, sitting happily and wagging his tail lazily. 

Helly grins and reaches down to scratch Radar's head. "I don't know, he looks like a pretty spry old dog to me. Are you sure it's Radar that's getting tired?"

"I have no idea what you're insinuating, Helly," Irv replies seriously with a wink. "But tonight has been wonderful. Truly a joy. I'm very proud to see what you two have built here."

Helly's heart swells at his words, and she wonders if this is what it’s like to have something like a father be proud of her. She can feel his approval washing over the cracks in her heart, inflaming old wounds while bringing her some peace at the same time. The knowledge that she should have had this earlier aches like a bruise, but the certainty that she has it now is still more than she ever thought she would find. 

"I'm happy you enjoyed yourself," Helly replies truthfully, moving forward to wrap Irving in a hug. Radar squeezes between them, not very happy that the head scratching has suddenly stopped. Helly laughs, reaching down to continue scratching the dog as Irving clips on his leash. She turns to Mark with a smile, "Maybe we should get a dog."

Mark raises his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully. "Maybe a cat?"

"Deal," Helly agrees as she stands up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

"We should probably go, too," Dylan says, looking at where Gretchen has begun wrangling children across the room. "We have real bedtimes to stick to."

Helly pouts. "Both of you are leaving at the same time?"

"I know, I know, your party will suck without the cool kids. Unfortunately, some of us have real adult responsibilities." 

Helly rolls her eyes, knowing very well this is another jab at her unemployed status. "Tomorrow is Sunday. You don't go to the door factory on Sunday."

"No, I have to be a dad on Sunday. Much more fun. Also more work."

The rest of their guests trickle out slowly, offering well-wishes and compliments in their wake. June does indeed seem to leave with Casey and Nico, although they attempt an unconvincing five minute delay in their exits. Helly promises to have Jaqueline and Caitlin over more often, and Mark's professor friends tell them genuinely how happy they are to see Mark thriving again. They're the type of compliments that she knows he doesn't take well, the kind that make him face how bad things had become after Gemma's accident and leave him second guessing himself. But this time, he stands tall besides her, wearing a quiet pride that he’s worked hard to earn. She thinks it suits him well. 

Once Devon and Ricken finally leave, a sleeping Eleanor strapped to Ricken's back and a bag of leftovers in Devon's hands, it’s just the two of them once more. She kicks her heels off and he tosses his jacket aside before they collapse onto the couch. They're both exhausted, but not in the hollow way Helly is more familiar with. She feels satisfied. Full to the brim. She sighs happily, leaning her head onto Mark's shoulder just as his arm comes up to wrap around her.  

"We nailed that." Mark says, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yeah," Helly says with a grin, "We did."

She feels him kiss the top of her head and she snuggles closer into her side, thinking of their success. Finally, after 31 long years of life, Helly feels at home. This is her house. Her people. Her man by her side. But despite the exhaustion and contentment, the room does feel emptier without their friends and family inside it. 

"You know what I wish sometimes?" She asks Mark.

"What's that?"

"That we were all roommates. Or neighbors. Like in that show Friends or something. Then Irv and Dylan and everyone else could just stop by whenever they wanted. They could always be around."

Mark hums, considering that. "I guess that'd be nice. It’d be a bit harder to do this, though."

"Do wha-" She's cut off by Mark's lips on hers, his body suddenly pushing her back onto the couch. Her arms wrap around him instinctively, and she giggles against his lips as his hands trail down her sides, tickling her lightly. 

"You make a good point," Helly acknowledges, her breath already coming heavy as he pulls back, brushing his fingers against her cheekbones through her hair. 

"I do tend to do that, don’t I?" he says, his eyes lit up.

"Hmm, sometimes," she allows, her hands fisting in his shirt. 

Mark drops another kiss to her lips, still intent but softer this time. He presses his forehead against hers, brown eyes shining as they meet green. "I love you so much."

Helly tugs him closer, smiling bashfully as her heart still skips a beat at his words even after hearing them so many times. "I love you, too."

"Thank you," he continues, forehead pressing against hers, "for giving me this."

Helly shakes her head. "I should be the one thanking you."

"How about we thank each other, upstairs, for the rest of the night?"

She laughs, nodding as he leans down to kiss her smile. "Okay. But five more minutes on the couch, first?"

Mark doesn't need to be asked twice, his fingers going to the buttons at the front of her dress and getting to work undoing them. He looks up at her, love shining brightly in his eyes and an unburdened smile on his lips. "Whatever you say, boss."