Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Lobby door closing. Please stand clear. Lobby door closing. Please stand clear.”

Helena turned at the sound of the robotic voice over the intercom, just in time to see the glass door she’d walked through slide shut behind her. She couldn’t help but sigh as she heard it lock into place and watched the elevator descend to usher in more guests. Oh well. No going back now.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go on a space cruise. Truth be told, she was long overdue for a vacation, and the further away she could get from Kier, the better. But this wasn’t a vacation. Not a real one, at least. Not only would she be working the whole time, she was also bound to become a spectacle for every last passenger aboard the ship: the Eagan heiress whose portrait hung in every room and after whom the entire ship was named. She’d never be able to get away from the attention. Two minutes in, and Helena was already certain this would be a waking nightmare. The Board had somehow managed to take everything she hated about Kier and place it all in an enclosed space from which she couldn’t escape until the ship returned to Earth in three weeks.

The Board had only given her ten days to prepare, even though the voyage itself had been planned for months. They knew there was no chance of her saying no.

There was once a time, so long ago Helena could barely remember, when she would have put up a fight before going along with the Board. She would have refused to go, would have stood her ground when they told her she was acting counter to the Nine Principles. She would have held her own even if Father demanded she undergo an obligement session. But that version of her was long gone now, dead and buried alongside any hope she had of a future outside Lumon. 

Helena forced her face into its typical empty, stoic stare as she crossed through the lobby. She pretended not to see the heads turning as she passed the other guests. Apparently the silk scarf around her head and dark sunglasses obscuring her face weren’t enough to fully disguise herself. She heard people turn to each other and whisper as she crossed the room, but she didn’t acknowledge them. Helena knew from experience that giving crowds any kind of attention would only encourage further humiliation.

Helena’s life was not her own. It was the Board’s, it was Lumon’s, and it was Father’s. It was also the public’s. Since the age of two she had been paraded around at ribbon cutting ceremonies and interviews and debates, a shield for her father to hide behind. He used to tell her that she’d be the face of Lumon one day. And now, three decades and countless tv spots, interviews, and galas later, the Board and Father decided that she had exhausted all usefulness to them on Earth. Helena was the face of Lumon now — but only if she was two hundred million miles away from it.

“Checking in?”

The voice pulled Helena from her thoughts. She turned to find a man standing in front of her, his back straight and smiling dutifully. He wore a navy cardigan, the Lumon teardrop logo embroidered over his heart. Beneath was a white dress shirt buttoned all the way to the top, coordinating with white slacks that were ironed within an inch of their life. His neatly parted short hair and shiny black loafers topped off the perfect image of a severed Lumon employee. 

“Do you need help checking in?” he asked again.

Helena shook her head. “Someone else in my party is handling it.”

Natalie had already flown ahead to the front desk to take care of details like that. According to Lumon, Helena couldn’t even be trusted to check into a room on her own. It was humiliating. An entire ship christened with her name and yet she was still forced to live by Lumon’s laws. 

Something about the man before her held Helena’s attention, despite everything in her brain telling her to keep moving and leave the lobby and all its prying eyes behind. “Aren’t you a little old for a bellhop?” she asked before she could stop herself. Though the sharp outfit created a juvenile appearance, the few silver hairs that gleamed under the harsh fluorescence of the lobby told her that he had to be pushing fifty.  

Luckily, the man didn’t seem offended by her brazenness. He simply pointed to the name tag pinned on his chest. “I’m actually the activities director. I’m just helping out down here for check-in day, trying to familiarize myself amongst the guests.”

“Ah, I see,” she said, reading the title on his tag and the name above it. “Mark S.”

A bright grin lit up his face when she said his name. It was almost startling. It had been years since she’d seen a genuine smile like that, even longer since she’d worn one. The cool corporate smiles she’d been surrounded with didn’t hold a candle to Mark’s. It even reached his eyes in a way that put his delicate crows feet on full display. 

She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t just a little charming — that is, if an innie could even channel such a quality. 

“So,” Mark continued, “You said someone else is checking in for you? Is that a husband or boyfriend? Or a partner of any kind, I wouldn’t want to assume…” he trailed off with a nervous laugh under his breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’ve been told I ask too many personal questions. I’m under strict orders not to pry.”

“Natalie, she‘s my—” The word assistant caught in her throat. Admitting to having one would just create unwanted attention. All she wanted was to blend in. This was a Public Relations trip, not meant to be fun, but perhaps she could try to trick herself into feeling some type of normalcy at least. 

“She's a friend,” she finished. Friend wasn’t too far of a stretch. Technically, Natalie was a friend. Maybe not hers, but someone’s. Probably. 

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind of friend? Like a friend you’re dating?”

She bit her bottom lip to stifle her laugh. So much for not prying. She was sure Seth would have a field day with this kind of disobedience, but Mark was too cute to tattle on. For once she didn’t mind the attention. 

“No, not that kind of friend. We work together. Work friends. She’ll probably be off doing her own thing most of the time. I doubt I’ll even see her very often.”

Her heart rate sped up as Mark’s smile grew impossibly wider. 

“It’s almost like a solo trip then? Fun.” He tipped back on his heels. “Are you… looking for company?”

A group of confused guests walked by, clearly looking for some customer service. But Mark didn’t seem to notice. His eyes never left her. 

Good. She never did like sharing. 

“Is this your way of luring me down to one of those singles mixers with guys who deal KierCoin in their moms’ basements?” she asked. 

Her joke was rewarded with a bright laugh that shifted his face into an easy smile she liked even more than the last. 

“No, nothing like that. But there are plenty of things to do here. All sorts of performances to attend. Art classes, dinner theater, educational stargazing, bowling, karaoke, swimming, goat yoga—”

“Are you trying to ask me out?” she asked, astonished. He must have really not recognized her if he was being so forward. 

He spluttered adorably, “No, I just — This is my ship. I know my way around. Trust me, I know the best places.”

She peered at him over her sunglasses, eyebrows arched. “This is your ship?”

“I've only been here a week, but she already feels like home. The S.S. Helena.” He said the name dreamily.

Helena winced slightly, her throat suddenly dry. He’d only been working here for a week? That meant she was essentially flirting with a one week old man. She cleared her throat. “How do you like her?”

“The Helena? She’s great. Huge upgrade from the Myrtle Motel I was working at before. That place was a dump.”

She felt some of the tension leave her at that. He was a transfer, then. More than a week old. 

“High praise.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still work.” He gave a shrug. 

She knew that feeling all too well. Even work in gilded offices like hers was still work.

“Actually,” Mark continued. “The Helena’s namesake is boarding today.”

“Is that so?” she asked, smirking despite herself. She knew she should tell him, of course, but it just seemed too good to be true that he didn’t know who she was.

“Helena Eagan. Daughter of Lumon CEO Jame Eagan, the man who designed this ship. The man who invented all commercial space travel at all, actually. We’ve been preparing for her arrival all week.” Mark stood a little straighter. “Do you like celebrities? I could introduce you.”

“I don’t know if such an esteemed guest would appreciate her own activities director pimping her out like that.”

“No, you’re right,” he agreed, deflating slightly. “Ms. Eagan probably wouldn’t like it. But maybe she’d take pity on me when she saw how woefully out of my league you are.”

Her heart hammered at the assessment. She was used to being thought of highly purely for her family name. So for Mark to think of her, seemingly a nobody, in any context approaching romance left her feeling off kilter and surprisingly warm.  

“Maybe Ms. Eagan would want you for herself.”

She watched the breath catch in his throat before he covered it with a light, nervous chuckle, his cheeks flushing. It was an addictive sight. She wanted to see just how red he could get.

“So, can I give you a tour? Maybe show you the bar?” he asked with an apprehensive smile. For all his verve, there was quite the self-conscious air underneath. 

“I’ll call down with my room number,” she said, smoothly.

“Perfect.” He grinned wide again, showing off a pair of sharp canines that gave her bad ideas. “I’ll make sure we don’t run into Helena. We can’t have you getting jealous.”

Normally, she’d contest a bold accusation such as that. But this time it seemed rather a fair assessment. 

She nodded. “So generous.”

“Just part of my job,” he said with a wink that made her cheeks heat despite the sheer corniness. 

A response was beginning to form on Helena’s lips when an older woman appeared beside her, looking frenzied and upset. “Excuse me,” she said as she approached Mark. “I can’t find my room number. Can you help?”

Mark blinked at the woman for a second before he straightened up and gave her a bright customer service smile. “Of course. Right this way,” he said, directing the woman back toward the concierge desk. As he walked away, he turned over his shoulder to gesture holding a phone to his ear while mouthing “Call me!” 

It was juvenile. Fanciful. Cliché. Practically dripping with frolic. Everything she usually denied herself. 

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

Helena lingered in the lobby for a moment longer, watching Mark talk with the woman. There was something so endearingly boyish about him, so eager to please, that she was smiling before she could stop herself. As she made her way past the lobby to find Natalie, she began to think that this trip might be more enjoyable than she originally anticipated. 

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

Mark was exhausted by the time he made his way down to the employee cafeteria after his first shift. He knew from his days at the motel that customers were often draining, but he hadn’t taken into account the fact that The Helena had a much different clientele than the Myrtle Motel. He was used to dealing with gruff truck drivers looking for a cheap place to spend the night, teenagers running away from home, young travelers on impromptu road trips. He had gotten his fair share of odd and frustrating requests, but nothing that made his head hurt quite the way these wealthy passengers aboard The Helena did. After today, all Mark wanted was to never field another passive aggressive demand again. Unfortunately, he knew this was only the beginning.

There was one passenger he couldn’t wait to see again, though — the pretty redhead with the impossibly sharp cheekbones and beautiful eyes. He was still kicking himself for not getting her name. He hoped she was serious when she said she’d call down with her room number. The thought of being able to see where she spends her nights aboard the ship, even if only for a moment, made Mark feel pleasantly lightheaded in a way he’d never felt before.

Mark filled his tray and made his way to the table where Petey and Dylan were already sitting, voices lowered as they chatted conspiratorially. He only met them a week ago when they first started preparing The Helena for her journey, but already they had fallen into a comfortable friendship. They looked up as Mark approached. 

“Hey, man,” Dylan said as Mark slid into the cafeteria bench beside him. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Mark said dryly.  “Been a long day.”

“Regretting signing up for guest greeting duty yet?” Petey asked with a smirk.

Mark glared back at him. “No,” he said. “Besides, it’s over now. I’m sure things will calm down once the trip really gets going.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz one thing rich people famously do is chill out,” Dylan said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, I’ll be shocked if we make it through the first night without at least one middle aged couple getting way too drunk and needing to be escorted to the med bay.”

Mark sighed as he took a bite of his lukewarm mashed potatoes. “At least we get warm food here,” he said. “Well, warm-ish. Better than the egg salad sandwiches from the motel vending machine, I can tell you that.”

Petey shook his head. “We need to get your outie to transfer you somewhere else, man,” he said. 

“You think I haven’t tried?”

An awkward silence fell over the table. Mark didn’t like thinking about those tumultuous first few weeks at the motel, when he submitted resignation request after resignation request only to be met with rejection from his outie. He’d moved on to transfer requests eventually, but all of those had been ignored. Even this journey on The Helena would only be temporary, a few short weeks away from civilization before he’d be taken back to the motel again. Mark took another bite of potatoes, trying to push the thought from his mind. As he looked up, he noticed Petey and Dylan sharing a knowing look.

“What?” Mark asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Petey said. “We’re just wondering if now’s a good time to rub in the fact that we saw the heiress herself on the way to her room today.”

“You’re kidding.”

Petey grinned wide. “Nope,” he said. “She walked right past us while we were getting some supplies for the bar. Didn’t give us a second glance, but still…” his voice trailed off in favor of a low whistle. “Those paintings don’t do her justice.”

“Way hotter in real life, dude,” Dylan agreed. “Shame you missed her.”

Mark sighed. “So while I was listening to Mrs. Holloway complain about how her shower doesn’t get hot enough, you two were ogling a pretty Eagan?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Great,” Mark said, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “I’m so happy for you.”

Dylan clapped a hand against his back. “Hey, cheer up,” he said. “Look on the bright side. Maybe one day you’ll get to hear Helena complain about her shower instead.”

“Looking forward to it.”

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

The lobby still thrummed with an animated energy as Mark took his place behind the concierge desk for his evening shift.

Captain Irving B. had warned him that embarkation day would be busy, but nothing could have prepared him for this level of chaos. It was more people than he’d ever seen in his entire life all put together. Here! On one ship! In space! If he thought about it too hard it made him dizzy.

Of the thirty available rooms at the Myrtle Motel, the most that had ever been occupied at once were ten. The only time Mark had ever switched on the first word in the No Vacancy sign had been an experiment, just to see if it worked. It didn’t. 

That life was a far cry from his new one on the S.S. Helena. The ship was state-of-the-art and built to accommodate over a thousand. It wasn't quite at full capacity for its maiden voyage, but still.

Talk about jumping off the deep end.

After an hour of the phone ringing off the hook, Mr. Milchick, the employee manager and lead customer service associate, pulled Mark aside for a word. 

Milchick flashed his perfectly white teeth in an uncanny grin. “How’s my star activities director!?”

I’m your only activities director, Mark thought. But aloud he said only, “Fine, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m splendid, Mark. Thank you for asking! That crew at the Myrtle Motel really taught you some beautiful manners. I’m sure the guests here are overjoyed to have someone as polite as you to help smooth out their vacations.”

“Right,” Mark said, warily. 

The only things they’d taught him over at the motel were the best ways to kill a cockroach and how to stay clear of the break room. But sure, give them credit for his subpar manners, Mark wouldn’t protest it. That was the first rule for staying out of the break room, after all.

“I have a new order for you to comply with, Mark. I’d like you to stay clear of Ms. Eagan.”

Mark nodded, obediently. He hadn’t even been able to glimpse the heiress earlier when she’d apparently walked right by him. How hard could it be to keep leaving her alone?

“We need to give our more revered guests a break from prying eyes,” Milchick continued. “Ms. Eagan will get enough ogling from the other passengers. She doesn’t need it from her own employees. Only speak to her if spoken to. It’s very simple. My employees should be seen, not heard, Mark. That’s how we impress the Board and secure some world class perks for all of the S.S. Helena’s hard working innies!”

Christ. The motel had been rough around the edges but at least the bosses were mostly hands off. Milchick’s condescending micro-management was going to take some getting used to.

“Oh! What’s that I hear?” Milchick cupped a hand next to his ear. “The phone! Someone is calling down to our lobby for some of your stupendous customer service! I’ll leave you to it.”

Mark waited until Milchick was out of earshot before he answered the phone.

“Front desk, this is Mark S. speaking. How can I be of service this evening?”

A woman’s voice answered on the other end of the line. “I’m wondering when tomorrow's singles mixer starts?”

“I’m sorry, miss. This isn’t that kind of cruise. There won’t be any singles mixers on board during this voyage.”

The woman on the phone snickered. “How else am I supposed to meet my KierCoin dealing boyfriend?”

Mark’s heart fluttered. “Oh! It’s you! My mystery girl. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

There was a sharp intake of breath through the line. Then she spoke softly, almost a whisper. “I have too.”

He could feel his face flushing at the confession. His heart was pounding. His lips turned up into the goofiest of smiles. 

One of the bellhops walking by gave him a confused look. Mark flushed deeper and turned around, the cord of the landline wrapping around his torso as he faced the wall. Hanging across from him was a portrait of the stern face of Jame Eagan. Gross. He looked down at his feet and tried to conjure his mystery girl’s sharp features and vibrant red hair in his mind’s eye instead.

“I’m so glad you called. I’ve felt like such a fool for not asking your name.”

“I think that’s something you’re going to have to earn. Are you up for the challenge?”

“Definitely.”

“Good. Tonight. 8:00 PM. Room 988. I want your best tour guide sent up to my room.”

“I’ll let him know,” Mark said through a chuckle. “Damn. He’s not available. Could you make do with me instead? I know where they keep the good champagne.”

His mystery girl’s laugh was his new favorite sound. A low, breathy chuckle sent over the crackly wire just for him. 

The hustle and bustle of the full lobby behind him fell away as he spoke with her. She joked about other silly activities he could put on. He told her about his new friends aboard the ship, their roles, their quirks. She aptly dodged any of the personal questions Mark threw her way, teasing that he’d just have to knock on her door tonight and ask her to her face. 

“I wish I was talking to you to your face right now,” Mark said, accidentally making eye contact with that horrible portrait of Jame Eagan again. 

He grimaced and looked away. The portrait of Kier Eagan to Jame’s left was just as unsavory. He averted his eyes in the opposite direction until they landed on a third Eagan portrait.

His breath caught. His eyes bulged. The phone dropped out of his hand, swinging on the wire and knocking into the concierge desk with a thwack. 

One beat. Two. He stared at the portrait. 

A distant sound by his feet.

The phone call was still in progress. “Mark? Are you there? Mark?”

He scrambled to pick up the receiver. 

“Mark? Did I lose you?”

“No, no. I’m not lost.” A lie. He was completely and totally lost. “I’m right here.”

“It was nice talking with you, Mark. I have to go meet up with Natalie for… some girl time. I’m looking forward to our tour. Don’t forget the champagne.”

They said their goodbyes. 

His heart beat erratically as he continued to stare at the portrait. The sharp features set in a cool expression. The vibrant red hair pulled back into a slick bun. She was cold. Commanding. Gorgeous. 

She was Helena Eagan. The Lumon heiress. The CEO’s daughter. The namesake of this very ship. 

She was also, against all odds, Mark’s mystery girl. 

He scrubbed a hand down his face. 

“Fuck.”

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

The dinner Natalie ordered for Helena sat untouched on the silver platter wheeled to her suite by a busboy. 

A generous slice of quiche Lorraine. French green beans with garlic and lemon zest, sans slivered almonds. A small side salad garnished with a Dijon vinaigrette. 

All abandoned and getting colder by the second.  

She tried to ignore the way her stomach growled as she passed by the tray again. But the faint smell of smoky bacon and Swiss cheese wafting up to her had her stopping in her tracks. She backtracked. Stood in front of the tray. Hovered her hand over the lid. Imagined how the quiche’s buttery crust would flake apart delicately in her mouth. How the rich egg custard would contrast so nicely with the tart, acidic salad.  

Her stomach gave another growl. It broke her of the trance. She replaced her hand by her side and moved on through the large space, the click of her heels echoing through the wide rooms.

The Captain’s Suite was grand. Far too grand for a single person. 

A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceilings of the expansive living area. Three couches. Two love seats. A full bar. Down the hall was a dining room complete with fine bone china accentuated with striking miniatures of Kier’s most memorable trials. The bathroom was as large as the dining room and the jacuzzi was the size of the dining table. But the bedroom was the worst. Crisp, white percale sheets tucked into a plush king sized bed elevated in the middle of the room. The most startling reminder of them all that this suite, this whole trip, was meant to be shared. And that Helena had no one to share it with.

She could already picture herself curled into a ball at the mattress’s edge, trying to pretend she was anywhere else. She had actually considered calling down for a cot so she could sleep in the dining room. Then at least the Kier plates could keep her company. 

But real company would be arriving soon. Mark. The only innie who must have been severed from basic observational skills, as the fact that she was an Eagan seemed to have slipped miraculously over his head. 

For a few hours she could play at not being lonely. Not being herself. She could pretend that this man, this innie, could fill that gnawing hunger deep inside her. The one that never went away, even when she gorged herself on meals much richer than the one she left untouched.

She sat down at the vanity in the bedroom’s walk-in closet, opening the drawers and sifting through the items that had all been carefully unpacked for her. More powder for her forehead. Some blush to warm up her cheeks. A fine line of charcoal above her lash line. A sweep of mascara.

The woman in the vanity’s mirror stared back at her. It took effort to move the hard line of her lips into the semblance of a smile. Her reflection was gorgeous, but in a placid way. Cold. Tranquil. Dull. The same emotionless smile that bore into her from the portraits that hung in almost every room of the ship.

She went in heavier with the blush. 

The results didn’t change. 

She reached for a compact, bringing it close to meticulously inspect every centimeter of her face. She used to have light behind her eyes. A fire. Her lips were always dancing with jest. Her cheeks round with a secret smile. She used to be… someone. Not this untethered facade. Now she felt less like a person and more like a lifeless Lumon doll, taken out of its box only to be dressed up and put to work when she was summoned. 

Is this how the innies felt? How Mark felt?

Her eyes closed tight at the disturbing thought. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Took a few deep breaths. Tried to push that thought away and concentrate on her failing appearance.

Maybe lipgloss would help. 

She was choosing between two when the door bell rang. Shit. Pink gloss? Or coral? The bell sounded again. She hurried to the entryway, so far from the bedroom, still clutching both glosses and the compact.

When she opened the door, Mark was standing straight in the same neat, Lumon outfit from earlier. It seemed odd that he hadn’t changed, but perhaps the innies weren't permitted any leisure clothes. How depressing that he had to live his entire life in nautical business casual. Maybe if this date went well she could haul him to the boutique downstairs and play dress up, making sure to charge everything to her own room. Then at least she’d feel less overdressed in her crisp white dress and matching slingback heels that looked far too formal beside his standard issue uniform. She pulled her shrug a little tighter around her shoulders, trying not to feel self conscious about it. 

“Are you the tour guide I rang for?” 

There was an anxious look in his eyes, like he didn’t recognize her. Or worse, that he did. But it faded into that same easy smile when she spoke. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“At your service.”

An idea flashed in her mind. There was no one else in the hall. She took her chance.

“Actually, I could use some service. Hold this for me?”

Helena flipped open the compact and held it between them. Mark looked somewhat lost but took it from her nonetheless.

“Just… there. Perfect,” she said, adjusting his hands so she could see her lips in the mirror’s reflection. Then she held up the glosses, one in each hand. “Pink or coral?”

“I— What?”

“Which lip gloss should I wear on our tour?”

“Oh. Uh. The… orange?”

“Coral. Good choice.”

She leaned in close to the compact’s mirror, just inches from Mark’s face, and delicately swiped the gloss across her lips. She could see his eyes go wide in her peripheral vision, watching intently as she rubbed in the gloss. 

“There,” she said as she finished, taking back the compact. “How’s that?”

“You look…” Mark nearly sighed as he took in her appearance. “Perfect. Stunning. Just—”

“Alright, alright. Save something for the tour,” she said, laughing softly before turning around to give him room to enter her space. 

Mark followed her into the suite, rolling a cart with a bucket of ice holding a bottle of champagne next to a vase of flowers. His eyes roamed the suite as he entered, going wide at the size and luxury. 

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath. “Real windows. I don’t even have a porthole.” The sound of the door shutting behind them startled him out of his awe and he cleared his throat, straightening back up. “I’m really honored to be your tour guide for the evening, Ms. Eagan.”

Her head snapped to him. “What?”

“Or, um, it is supposed to be this evening, right? I didn’t get the date wrong?”

“No, not that. You called me Ms. Eagan.”

“Fuck. I mean, uh, shoot. Am I not supposed to call you that? Do you prefer Helena? My boss told me not to talk to you at all so he didn’t really prep me for what to call you when I do talk to you which is exactly what I’m not supposed to do, me in particular because—”

“Mark,” she said sharply, cutting him off. “It’s not that. I’m just…” Surprised that he figured it out? Disappointed that she had to start acting like an Eagan in front of him? Completely gutted that she couldn’t pretend to be someone else for the night? “I’d prefer if you called me Helena.”

“Yeah, a hundred percent, I can do that.”

“Go on.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s hear it then.”

“Oh. Okay. I brought you some flowers… Helena.”

“Very good,” she said. Then, leaning down to sniff the flowers, “Very, very good.”

These flowers were leagues beyond the ones Seth brought her earlier. The traditional Lumon bouquet of garish white roses seemed to stare at her wherever she was within the suite. Pristine and uncannily perfect. The bouquet Mark offered her had character. Deep purple irises with delicate pieces of baby blue hydrangea throughout. Vivid colors, interesting textures, an alluring smell. A feast for the senses.

“I wasn't sure if you preferred Vueve Clicquot or Moët & Chandon, so I brought both.”

“I like your initiative.”

“Thank you, Ms. E— I mean, Helena. Thank you, Helena.”

“Please relax, Mark.” She reached out to give his bicep a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re on the clock.” 

“Sorry, sorry, I promise I’ll get it together,” he apologized profusely. “It’s just that, well, I’m sort of always on the clock? So I don’t really know how to, uh, not be.”

Helena didn’t want to examine the pity that statement incurred, particularly because she could relate. How rare it was for her to relax or truly cut loose. She was always watched by someone, ready to report back any unbecoming behaviors to her Father. Mark helped her feel otherwise this morning; maybe she could help him, too. 

She reached for the champagne bottle, expertly opening it with a loud pop that had Mark startling. Barely suppressing a smile, she poured them each a generous amount into the crystal flutes. Helena handed him his drink, their fingers brushing and coloring his cheeks a pretty pink.

“No one’s ever served me like this before,” he said, awestruck, looking between Helena and the bubbling beverage. “But, well, I’m not supposed to drink.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What, is that an all innie rule?”

“No, just some of us.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

Mark shrugged. “Lots of things aren’t fair.”

Helena nodded. Wasn’t that the truth. “Well, if you want to, I’m not telling anyone.”

He looked down at the drink in his hand, contemplating for a moment before meeting her eye with a small conspiratorial smile. “Okay.”

She returned his smile, lightly clinking their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Mark echoed her, his eyes following her movements as she took a delicate sip from her glass. He mirrored her, drinking from his own glass, making a small delighted sound as the fizzy imbibement hit his tongue. 

“Hey, that’s really good!”

Helena laughed lightly at his reaction, almost childlike in nature, and took a heartier sip from her glass. “It is the finest money can buy.”

“Even on Earth?”

She smirked. “Yes, even on Earth.”

Mark looked down at his glass in fascination, eyes following the path of the bubbles up to the surface. There it was again, that innocence that endeared him so completely to her. Helena smiled to herself as she took another sip. She tried to imagine, briefly, what it would be like to taste champagne for the first time again. To drink with her mind unburdened by memories of sneaking an extra glass during endless galas and stifling dinners. The idea sounded so appealing she nearly envied Mark. Her next sip tasted somehow sweeter than the ones that preceded it.

Mark drank the rest of his champagne too fast, and his eagerness once again caused Helena’s heart to beat a little bit faster. He downed his last few drops quickly and set his glass down. “Wow, that was —” Mark was cut off by a sudden hiccup. His eyes widened in horror and he clapped a hand against his mouth. “I, uh, sorry. I don’t know what that was.”

Helena smirked as she finished off her own glass. “What, you’ve never hiccuped before?”

Mark cocked his head to the side, brows furrowed. “Hiccuped?”

Oh god. He actually hadn’t ever hiccuped before, had he? “Um, don’t worry about it,” Helena said. “It’s just something that happens when you drink sometimes. Not a big deal.”

“Oh, okay.”

“But enough with that.” Helena straightened up and cleared her throat, looking up at him expectantly. “I was promised a tour.”

Mark smiled. “That you were,” he said. He turned toward the door to her suite and opened it, holding it open and gesturing for her to walk out. “After you, Ms.—” Helena looked at him sternly, one eyebrow raised. Mark quickly shook his head and laughed nervously. “Helena. Sorry. After you, Helena.”

Helena smiled. She patted his arm as she walked past him into the hall. “Good boy.”

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

Whether it was the effects of the drink or Mark’s presence, Helena felt strangely at ease letting Mark lead her through the corridors. His casual conversation made the stark white hallways and green carpets feel so alive. Much more so than they had on the way to her room, when Natalie and her wide, mechanical smile were the only company Helena had. Mark’s smile wasn’t fake or cold. It was honest, flashing whenever she cracked a joke or he caught sight of something he was excited to show her. Sharp canines half peaked out whenever he grinned wide enough and she found them much more interesting than the ship around her. Although, she had to admit, Mark was a pretty good tour guide. 

His voice carried bright and cheery as he took her down the elevator to the central Atrium, cracking dumb jokes about the size of it while informing her about all the different functions the space served. Despite her pessimistic feelings about this entire space cruise endeavor, the sheer scale of the Atrium was impressive. It was such a wide open space, encapsulating all five of the artfully curved upper decks. 

She had to admit it was striking to see the glittering expanse of space on just the other side of the giant viewport. Space travel wasn’t uncommon these days, but it was only just opening up to the hospitality sector. Since Helena was neither a scientist nor an engineer, there hadn’t been any reason for her to leave the planet until recently. 

But she didn’t have any time to dwell on the wonders of outer space. Mark kept moving and Helena kept up eagerly. He led her through each deck, pointing out the amenities on each one as they worked their way up. There were routes to the Gymnasium in the lower decks, complete with a weight room and exercise equipment, a turf field that could be used for all sorts of sports, and even a dance studio. The Arboretum wasn’t far from the Atrium itself, an entire space dedicated to trees and plants from all over the world, a taste of Earth one hundred million miles from home. 

“The Arboretum’s nice. It’s almost like being outside,” he told her as they passed by a tall, humidity fogged glass door. “At least, that’s what they tell me.”

Her heart twisted painfully at his words. For as much as Mark knew about the inner workings of this ship, he knew almost nothing about the world beyond it. All he had to live on was hearsay and bastardized retellings of what the natural world of Earth was like. The Arboretum was beautiful, but it failed to encompass the true feelings of being outside. The scope of the sky, the warmth of the sun, the quiet flutter of a bird’s wings, the soft touch of the wind, the cool shade of a tree’s leaves. 

It seemed unjust for something as fundamental as a tree to be foreign to a person. But it was the job description his outie consented to. Would this version of Mark make the same decision? The forlorn edge to his voice as he spoke about the space told her he wouldn’t. 

A heartbreaking thought. She pushed it from her mind and continued to trail beside him through the sweeping corridors. 

Up the looping staircase to Deck Two they went. A selection of elaborate dining experiences spanned the deck, from authentic Japanese Omokase to French fine dining. Where the deck opened up to the atrium was a sunken bar complete with a small stage for dinner theater and musical performances. The carpets here were red, the lighting low and golden. Mark paused to wave at the busy bartender, a silver-haired innie he greeted as Petey. His eyes lingered on Helena with something like surprise. Thankfully, Mark continued the tour before Petey could ask any questions or the attention of any of his inebriated customers could fall on her. 

Deck Three was home to the pool and ice rink.

“Not that I know how to ice skate,” he said. “I’ll be learning how along with all of you when those classes start up.”

“I know how to ice skate,” she said matter-of-factly. 

“Maybe you can teach me then.”

Helena saw a flash of it; him wobbling on his skates like a newborn deer while she held his hips, trying to keep him steady on his feet. His hand clutching hers so tightly that when he inevitably fell she would go down with him, sprawling on top of him. Giggling together at the ridiculousness of it all. Her cheeks burned and the vision disappeared as quickly as it arrived. 

“Maybe. Do you need to be taught how to swim, too?” Now that was really something to look forward to. She was a decent ice skater, but the water would always be where she felt most comfortable.

“That I know, muscle memory and all. Pretty sure they wouldn’t let me teach those classes otherwise.” 

Helena found herself disappointed that there would be no teaching Mark to float on his back, but grateful not to be assaulted by another ridiculous daydream. As fun as indulging in this thing with him was, she didn’t want to get too far ahead of herself. 

“How am I doing so far?” Mark asked as he led her past the array of swimming pools and jacuzzis. “Should I put in the transfer request for tour guide?”

“I’d certainly recommend you. Though I’d rather keep your services for myself.”

Mark chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re letting a lame cruise ship activities director take you out. Is the dating pool on Earth really that barren? Or do you have a screw loose?”

The laugh that bubbled up surprised her. ”You really know how to charm a date.”

“Well, I just want to know what’s wrong with you so I can take you down to the medical bay when you start talking to pool floats or something crazy.”

“Those floats shaped like ducks are awfully chatty.”

They continued to laugh together as he led her to Deck Four. It was home to the spa, attended to by a fellow innie he referred to as Lorne, as well as her small herd of goats. 

Helena scoffed. “Goats. Of course.”

“They help with the yoga. And provide organic milk for all the fancy products.” He scratched the back of his head. “Even the travel size soaps at the Motel are all goat milk.”

“Yeah, well, that’s on Kier and his whole goat thing,” she said begrudgingly.

“Goat thing, huh? Does that mean you grew up around a bunch of kids?”

She rolled her eyes fondly at the bad pun. She would have died for any pet when she was little, even a goat. “Goats are animals with purpose. Jobs to do. They aren’t suitable pets.”

“Don’t let Lorne hear you say that,” he said softly, ushering her farther from the spa entrance and looking over his shoulder as though his crewmate were to emerge at any second. “They really are like her kids.”

“I’ll keep my unsavory goat comments to myself. Wouldn’t want my eyebrows waxed off.”

Finally, they arrived back on Deck Five. Along with the route to Helena’s penthouse suite, it was also home to the Bridge. 

“The Bridge is where everything happens,” Mark explained. “It’s the sole point of navigation. Speed, direction, power, gravitational pull. You name it and Captain B. and his crew control it all from here. It’s the beating heart of the S.S. Hel— Well. You know...” 

“The S.S. Me?” she asked, cheekily.

“Exactly.” Mark pressed a small button beside the heavy door and spoke into a speaker on the wall. “This is Mark S. Employee code: 08-927. Requesting permission to enter the Bridge with one guest.”

Instantly, a man’s voice crackled over the speaker. “You know the handbook rules, Mark. Guests are not permitted on my Bridge. Access denied.”

Mark’s face went pink. “I’m so sorry,” he said to Helena. “I really wanted to show you the view from there. But there’s a spot on the—”

“Here,” Helena soothed, “Let me try.” Mark nodded and she turned to the speaker, pressing the button. “Good evening, Captain. I commend your dedication to the handbook, the grandfather would be proud. However, I’m hoping you can make an exception for me, Helena Eagan—”

A loud buzz filled the hall. Mark and Helena stood back as the door swung suddenly open. The crew inside the Bridge all stood facing the pair, hats removed and held over their hearts. 

“Wow,” Mark said under his breath. “I could get used to this kind of treatment.”

The tallest crew member stepped forward. “Captain Irving B. at your service, Ms. Eagan.”

Helena strode into the room, Mark on her heels, and extended a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain B.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I’m terribly sorry about that mix up just now.” The captain turned to set Mark with a glare. ”If our humble activities director had simply thought to specify who his illustrious guest was, I would have never denied you access.”

Mark lowered his head, staring shamefully at his shoes.

She couldn’t help feeling defensive over him already. “Mark’s been taking wonderful care of me this evening, Captain. I think I would have lost myself on this ship if it wasn’t for him. He’s an asset to the crew. You’re lucky to have him.” 

“Of course, Ms. Eagan,” Irving agreed. “Mark is well admired here.”

Before Helena could respond, a low voice hollered down the hall. “Bro! Irv! You are NOT going to believe who Petey saw with fucking MARK, of all people— Oh. Shit.” The man stopped suddenly when he made eye contact with Helena at the Bridge’s doorway. “Helena Eagan. Um, wow. Hello.” The man stared at her and blinked rapidly. 

Irving sighed. Mark shook his head. But Helena only laughed. Usually she wouldn’t condone this kind of unbecoming treatment and blatant gawking. But her evening with Mark had freed her spirits, loosened her up, and she didn’t feel inclined to scold this man as she might typically.  

Dylan smiled and laughed along, the tension breaking easily from there. 

Irving ordered his crew back to work as he took Helena around the Bridge. The sea of flashing buttons and whirring lights were hypnotizing. She could only nod and pretend to comprehend all the commands the captain was explaining, but Mark seemed to follow perfectly. 

“Maybe this should be your transfer request,” she suggested to Mark after Irving had taken Dylan aside to discuss a mechanical question. 

“A transfer to the Bridge?”

“Why not captain?”

“Me? A captain?” Mark looked positively astonished. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t have any idea how to fly this ship."

“You seem to have a pretty good idea to me.” She bumped her shoulder into his as they walked to the far side of the Bridge, then stopped in her tracks as they approached a wide wall of windows. “Wow.”

It was a similar view to the one by the controls, but without the constant flashing of bright lights or the crew’s frantic energy, it was much easier to enjoy. Thousands, millions, of bright stars cascaded over the dark, velvet sky. It was startling how big it all was. Helena had never seen anything like it.

“This is one of my favorite spots on the ship,” Mark said, so softly it was almost a whisper. “Everything else fades when I’m looking out from here. It’s the only place my mind can feel truly quiet.” 

“I know what you mean,” she whispered back, eyes sweeping across the endless expanse. “My life is hardly ever quiet. And even when it is, it’s not peaceful like this.” The back of his hand brushed hers and she took her chance, slipping her palm in his and giving it a slight squeeze. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He squeezed back. “Of course. Honestly, the view is even better now that I’m sharing it with you.”

Captain B. and his crew extended a warm farewell as they left the Bridge. Dylan walked them as far as the service elevator before taking it down back to the belly of the ship. Mark and Helena continued on through the winding hallways to the guest quarters, though it wasn’t until Helena's door came into sight that she became aware that the tour was truly coming to a close.

“So,” Mark said with a sad little shrug. “I guess this is it.”

“I guess so.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mark.”

The disappointment on his face was obvious, and she was sure she wore a similar expression. How had the night passed so fast? She thought this faux vacation would entail nothing but excruciatingly long days passed in either work or boredom. But now the time was slipping through her fingers like sand. She didn’t want it to end. 

She unlocked her door with a code typed into the keypad and pushed it open. But before she walked inside, she whipped around to face him again.

“Don’t employees in your position usually require a tip after providing a service like this?” she asked, her voice breathy and rushed. 

Mark looked at her, startled. “Oh, god, Helena, I did this because I wanted to. I couldn’t take your money.”

“This tip doesn’t involve money.”

Mark furrowed his brows, but Helena didn’t leave him in confusion for long. She stepped closer and moved her face towards his. His breath was hot on her lips as she ghosted hers over his. But she didn’t indulge him with a kiss on the lips. Instead, when his eyes fluttered shut, she moved just out of reach to press her lips lightly to his cheek. She heard Mark’s sharp intake of breath in her ear. When she pulled back, he watched her with wide eyes. She was delighted that he seemed too taken with her to return her quiet “Sleep well” with anything more than a nod and a wave. 

Helena closed the door, her heart fluttering in her chest. She crossed into the living area and flopped herself down on one of the couches. An excited, girlish giggle bubbled up and fell from her lips. It was so unlike her, but she couldn’t help it. She did it again. And again. Her laughter echoed in the huge suite. 

She reached for the room’s phone and dialed her assistant’s room number. 

“Natalie, it’s Helena. I want a comprehensive list of an innie’s schedule, the activities director. His name is Mark S. I want to know every activity he hosts. Each break he takes. Every meeting he’s called for. His room number, locker number, the combination. And I want it on my desk bright and early, before my swim.”

“Of course, Helena. I’ll have it prepared.” Natalie said over the phone. “Are boiled eggs still acceptable for tomorrow’s breakfast?”

Helena's stomach turned at the thought of such a desolate meal to start her morning. “Make it eggs benedict.”

“Noted.”

“And one more thing,” Helena said, voice hushed like she was telling a secret. “I want a hot fudge sundae sent to my room. Immediately.” Another small giggle escaped her, she couldn’t believe she was doing this. “And you know what, Nat? Throw in a side of cookies as well.”

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

Mark was still buzzing with the memory of Helena’s lips on his cheek by the time his first activity began the next day. Aquatic Calisthenics & Vigor was sure to be a breeze, basically Simon Says with a small audience of wealthy older women. 

He certainly didn’t expect to see Helena herself standing front and center when he entered the pool. He practically did a double take, eyes widening at the sight of her. Suddenly, his Lumon-issued board shorts and t-shirt felt far too revealing. Clearing his throat, Mark began class anyway, hoping she didn’t notice his awkwardness. 

But that was impossible, because he just got worse from there. He went through the instructions automatically, the class structure thoroughly memorized, distracted by Helena’s presence the whole time. Her navy swimsuit clung to every svelte curve, twisting and stretching and moving so gracefully as she imitated his movements. Mark tried not to stare, but he was pretty sure she caught him ogling once or twice, to his complete mortification. 

At least he could escape her when the older women needed help with their positioning or balance. He could escape into the small crowd, tweaking their forms and keeping Helena out of his eyeline. 

“Excuse me.”

Mark turned sharply. “Helena! Um, how can I help you?”

Helena smiled at him innocently, but her eyes were knowing. “Could you help me with this one?”

“I’m sure you don’t need my help,” Mark rushed out, his heartbeat picking up at the idea of touching her right now. “Your form is impeccable.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure about this one.”

Her arms lifted out of the water and her torso twisted as her hand went to meet her knee. She was right — her form was off. She was under-rotating and letting her arms droop. 

“Almost, here…”

Mark moved behind her, one hand gently tilting up her elbow and the other awkwardly hovering around her waist before settling delicately. He encouraged her to twist more fully, blushing furiously at how warm her skin felt even through the wet spandex. 

Softly, she asked, “How am I doing?” 

“You’ve got it,” he almost whispered back, eyes trying and failing not to settle on the sharp jut of her collarbone, the pale skin disappearing below the curved neck of her swimsuit, the way he could almost peer right down it —

There was a sudden tightening in his shorts that coincided with a throbbing ache between his legs. He cleared his throat and stepped back, getting more distance between them before he did something stupid like pull her closer in the middle of Aquatic Calisthenics. 

“Great job, class!” Mark tried to disguise the lingering squeak of his voice. “Why don’t we transition into laps to cool down! Everyone just do the best they can, let’s see what you’ve got. Don’t worry if it takes you a minute to get the hang of it.”

Helena gave him a sharp smile as if she somehow knew what he was hiding beneath the water. But if she did, she chose not to mention it. Instead she chose a lane and began her laps. Mark breathed a sigh of relief, using the opportunity to readjust himself with a hiss while the class had their heads underwater. He just needed a moment to calm himself down, get his heart beating at a normal pace again. Except he wasn’t going to be able to accomplish that with Helena swimming like that.

Her body moved through the water like it was made to do so, sharp shoulders flashing as toned arms sliced cleanly into the water. She swam quickly and efficiently, like some sort of fish, or maybe even a mermaid. Mark found himself watching her even as the rest of the students wrapped up a few meager laps and took their leave to continue their days. Helena was too hypnotizing to offer any of the others more than a perfunctory, “Good job, hope I see you at the next one!”

An agonizing twenty five laps later, Helena came to a stop in front of him. She popped out of the water, pushing her wet bangs back. His hand clenched, itching to follow the movement with his own. 

“Good job,” he croaked, voice just a note too high. “Hope I see you at the next one?”

Helena narrowed her eyes and flicked some water at him. He recoiled lightly, the corner of his lips tugging upward at the playful motion. “I think I’ve earned more than your canned activities director lines.”

“I’ve never seen anyone swim like that before,” he admitted before he could stop himself. “You’re incredible. You must be a professional. You should be teaching this class, not me.”

She shrugged a shoulder, but Mark could tell she was preening slightly. “Just a hobby.”

Helena turned to leave the pool and Mark wanted very badly to follow her, except that the swelling below his waistband had yet to go down and he absolutely could not risk her bearing witness to it. The sight of her exiting the pool, water dripping down her long legs, wasn’t helping in the slightest. 

“You coming?” She asked, turning back with a raised eyebrow. 

“Um, in a minute. Just gotta wrap up around here first.” He gestured around the pool as if it would help grant legitimacy to the lie. 

Helena raised an eyebrow but allowed, offering a wave before making for the dressing rooms. 

Mark recited the Nine Principles in his head, determinedly resisting staring at her ass as he did so.  

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

His feelings around Helena only got worse.

Mark was aware that erections were normal, but the rate at which they were happening to him could not be. They happened when he helped her with her form at bowling, his hands on her skin and their hips too close together. Or when his hands hovered over hers in pottery class as she bit her lip in concentration. Or when she arched her back just so during yoga and one of Lorne’s baby goats hopped on, causing her to let out a light giggle more beautiful than anything he’d ever heard before. 

Not to mention the thoughts that would haunt him outside of class. He spent every waking second hoping and fearing that he would run into her. Every time he saw a passenger with red hair, his heart skipped. When he heard the soft click of heeled sandals behind him, he’d freeze, wondering if she was about to appear at his side. If anyone mentioned her name, no matter how casually, he had to fight to hide his smile. And whenever there was a slow moment during one of his activities, or a shift at the concierge desk, or a late dinner at the employee cafeteria with Petey and Dylan, he found his mind drifting to her. What she would look like with her hair down. What she might have enjoyed back on Earth. What her perfume smelled like. What he could say to make her laugh.

One night, only a few days into this overly sensitive hell, he sat with Dylan at the bar as Petey finished his late night shift. The restaurant was quiet at this hour and there was enough privacy for Mark to attempt asking about his predicament.

“So,” he began as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Theoretically, do you think someone could have, say, six to ten erections a day safely?”

Dylan and Petey both stopped what they were doing, staring at Mark incredulously. 

“Just asking for a friend,” Mark continued quickly. “Like, what do you think he could, um, do about that?”

“Dude. We’re your only friends.”

Petey snickered at Dylan’s comment, but Mark scoffed. 

“Not true. I could have tons of friends. There are lots more people on this ship now.” 

“Sure, we believe you, buddy.” 

Mark wasn’t stupid. He could tell Petey didn’t mean it. He crossed his arms with a harumph. “Forget it. I’ll just tell my friend he has to suffer.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Petey comforted more seriously as Dylan rolled his eyes. “There must be a reason it’s happening so often. Did he meet someone?”

“Did he try touching it?” Dylan asked bluntly.

“No,” Mark insisted a little too adamantly.

“There’s your friend’s problem. He’s all pent up. He’s gotta jerk off. Beat his meat. Bust a nut. Choke the chicken.”

“Pull the pud,” Petey continued, “Strangle the snake.”

“Okay! Okay, I get it. I’ll tell my friend to try… Masturbating.”

“How has this guy not done that before? He’s not literally a week old.” Dylan probed further, to Mark’s displeasure.

“Maybe he never really felt the urge before.” Mark insisted, defensive. “Maybe things used to just be too boring and miserable all the time.”

“Well, tell your friend good luck.” Petey said with some finality. “And let us know how it goes.” He winked.

Mark’s cheeks burned. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered with the act anymore, Dylan and Petey obviously knew they were talking about Mark himself. Mercifully, they dropped the subject for the time being.

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

Mark couldn’t get his friends’ words out of his head any more than he could stop thinking about Helena. The boner between his legs as he laid down to sleep wasn’t going away anytime soon and for once he wasn’t reciting the principles to suppress it. Instead he let it tent his Lumon-issued pajama pants, hands fisted at his sides in barely contained restraint. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do, even if he’d never done it before. It wasn’t even that he was scared, even though he kind of was — as if Kier himself would strike him down for being so turned on by his progeny. It wasn’t even that Dylan was snoring in the bunk below him. No, it was Helena’s own portrait on the wall, hanging below the sign reading S.S. Helena. Her namesake. It felt like somehow she would know and it was simply too disrespectful. She didn’t ask to be thought of this way, even if she did occasionally flirt with him. She didn’t look so gorgeous intentionally to torment him, or excel at everything she did just to impress a lowly innie, or wear fine fabrics in the hopes they’d shimmer through his brain hours later. 

But with his friends’ encouragement and his increasing desperation, Mark couldn’t resist any longer. This was a want, a need, that demanded to be dealt with. Hesitantly he brought his hand to his dick, wrapping his fingers around it through the fabric. He hissed sharply and had to cover his mouth to stifle any further sounds. His fingers squeezed, causing his hips to jut into the air. Frantically he shoved his hand under his pants, biting the heel of his palm when he squeezed around naked flesh. He was hot to the touch, hard and pulsing in his fist. Slowly he stroked up to the top, gasping as his palm slipped over his leaking tip, dragging the wetness back down. 

Nothing had ever felt like this before. There were hints of it when his inconvenient hard-ons popped up, when readjusting felt a little too good or the fabric shifted against him just right. But he had no idea giving in would be like this. Mark felt too hot all over, sweat already beading on his forehead as he stroked his length. 

Somehow, through the haze of pleasure, his mind still managed to conjure images of her. Helena’s hair, slicked back tight in a shiny red bun or hanging loose and brushing her bare shoulders. He caught a whiff of it once, when he leaned over her to help with the clay pot she was throwing. She smelled like something expensive and sweet with an undercurrent of chlorine and clay. The skin of her hand had been so soft when he reached to help her, sneaking touches when he didn’t have to, when he knew he shouldn’t. She’d caught his eye and he’d been lost in green for a solid minute, catching flecks of gold. She’d smiled at him, pink lips stretching over perfectly straight teeth.

Were her lips as soft as her hands? How would they feel under his fingertips? Against his own lips? Around his —

Mark groaned and his hand stuttered its pace, gripping tightly at the base of his cock. He didn’t know what that was — he’d never thought of anything like that in his life. Abstractedly he knew it was possible, but he didn’t dwell on it. Innies weren’t supposed to think about this stuff. They weren't supposed to want things like this and they certainly weren’t supposed to have them. 

But he couldn’t stop now. His dick twitched, demanding attention, and Mark was helpless. He started moving again and his mind went right back to Helena. She was so beautiful. Her face found him in every painted portrait throughout the ship, stoic and cold like an ancient statue, a work of art. So different from the way she looked at him during activities, eyes full of mirth and intrigue, her lips in a lopsided smirk. Always so competitive and startlingly intense. 

Especially in the water. Helena was the most graceful thing he’d ever seen, every muscle moving with perfect precision. She was small, but she was strong. A force to be reckoned with. He could see it in her arms and legs, the flat plane of her stomach. Despite the modesty of her one piece, the swimsuit hugged every inch of her. The high cut leg clung to the ample swell of her hips. Cinched into the sharp dip of her waist that fit so perfectly under his palm. She’d been so warm. When he looked down he could practically see all the way down her swimsuit. He caught himself admiring the way the light reflected off the top of her breasts, pool water still dripping down the valley between them. 

What would it have been like if she hadn’t been wearing the swimsuit? If his fingers had gripped the bare skin of her hip, pulling back until her ass hit the tent in his shorts? Would she smile at him, all knowing? Or gasp and blush the way she sometimes did when he complimented her? He could fold her over the edge of the pool, press between her ass and slide himself between her legs. Despite his lack of experience he knew she’d be burning hot, soaking wet and not because of the water, tighter than his fist could ever dream of being.

That didn’t stop him now. Each new image that assaulted his mind had him thrusting harder into his hand. Fire licked under his skin as he imagined it were Helena’s smaller, softer hand instead, maybe still covered in clay and working him over like he’s one of her pots. Or her pussy sliding over him as her back arched like it did during yoga. Flash after flash of want pulsed through him, desire like he’d never known flexing the muscles in his thighs as he desperately repressed the sounds he was dying to make. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. He was her employee. She was his boss. Not like Milchick or Cobel, more like Kier himself. The heiress, CEO-in-waiting, namesake of the very ship he lived on. This was disgraceful. Wrong. But it just felt so fucking good. 

Mark’s head turned to the side as his arm pumped furiously, his lip bit firmly between his teeth. His eyes cracked open and caught on the portrait gracing the wall across from his bunk. One of three in a row: Kier Eagan, Jame Eagan, and Helena herself. The eyes of the painting seemed to watch him with omnipotence. The curve of her mouth seemed unimpressed and challenging. Pathetic, it seemed to say to him in her voice, low and husky. At the same time he could practically hear her whisper a dare. Do it. Come for me.

A good employee as always, Mark did as he was told. He spilled over his fist with a silent cry. His muscles flexed and pulsed with every thick spurt that landed on his t-shirt. Electric pleasure shot through his limbs until he was left lying loose and pliant, panting harshly. That was the best thing in the entire world. He wasn’t sure how he went so long without it. He was even less sure how he was ever going to go without it again.

He laid there, body and brain effectively liquified for a long minute. It wasn’t until his heartbeat somewhat returned to normal and Dylan’s still steady snores began to register in his ears that the clarity sunk in, filling him with regret and guilt. How was he going to face her in activities tomorrow knowing what he did? The things he’d thought of her? 

He’d never given sex much thought before, didn’t even know he had all of that hidden in the recesses of his brain. And now he’d brought himself to orgasm thinking about how her breasts might bounce, what colors her nipples might be, if they’d be the same shade as her —

Mark shot up in bed, his head swimming with the sudden movement and heart beating too fast for all the wrong reasons. He hurried down the ladder from his bunk, grateful Dylan was such a heavy sleeper. First he removed the evidence, wiping himself clean and changing into a clear pair of pajamas. Next time he’d have to remember how messy this was. He winced at the thought, guilt surging at the idea of giving into that feeling again. Was it worth it, such a brief high, if he felt this awful afterwards? 

He needed some fresh air. A little time to clear his head. He hurried away from his cabin, the scene of the crime, shoving the evidence of his soiled pajamas into the washer on his way. The Atrium could be a good place to gather his thoughts, with its giant observation window making up most of the starboard wall. It was as close to fresh air as anyone could get around here.

Mark navigated the winding white hallways to the upper decks as fast as possible. The severed quarters were in the bowels of the ship, so this still took a solid twenty minutes of near panic where he tried to avoid thinking of Helena and what he’d done. It was impossible to escape her, even for a second; her name or face popped up around every corner. 

Finally, he arrived at the Atrium. The wide open space made him heave a sigh of relief. It was against handbook rules to be in guest quarters without a uniform, but he was sure to be the only one here at this time of night. Mark allowed himself to slow down, strolling out to the center of the green carpet and looking out at the great expanse of space. He felt his fists unclench and he could breathe a little easier. 

He felt small out here, admiring distant suns with their own little worlds. He often felt small, insignificant and unimportant. But that was the bad kind of small — this was a calming kind. The kind where it didn’t matter how little control he had over his own life or what troubles plagued his mind. The universe was so much bigger than him. He didn’t matter. And that was okay. It was a weight off his shoulders. 

This Helena problem would pass. Three more weeks on this ship and then he’d be back at the Myrtle Motel, killing cockroaches on his lunch breaks and dealing exclusively with truckers, Janitor Larry, and Manager Moe. He never felt any urges like the ones he gave into earlier tonight when he worked at the motel. Sure, he was also miserable and bored, but after six weeks he’d started to get used to it. Or he had at least accepted that there would be no escape, not unless his outie took a different job.

Waking up on the S.S. Helena had felt like the closest thing an innie could get to a miracle. He would always be caged, but at least this one was interesting and beautiful. He’d take a gilded cage over a rusty one any day. It wasn’t just that the ship was nicer and cleaner, everything was better. From the breadth of experiences to have, to the company of his fellow crewmates, and the improved egg salad sandwiches in the cafeteria. He even felt better physically, starting his days less fatigued and without the usual headache and irritability. 

Mark couldn’t let these feelings about Helena ruin this experience for him. He could still enjoy this reprieve from the motel, he just had to keep a level head around the CEO’s daughter. The one who could surely make it so he never works (or lives) again. 

“Good lord,” Mark sighed under his breath, swiping a hand down his face. 

Someone cleared their throat behind him and Mark spun around quickly, worried he’d been caught by Mr. Milchick. 

If only. This was much worse. 

Helena stood at the bannister of the balcony above him, like she’d heard his thoughts and walked straight out of one of her portraits. Except unlike the portraits, she was wearing long silk pants and a matching tank top, both such a light blue they were almost white. It made the orange of her hair pop, lying loose around the coordinating sheer robe falling over her shoulders. It was tied tightly around her waist, the very same one he’d imagined grabbing not so long ago, and Mark blushed as he averted his eyes to stare at the carpeted ground. He felt the idiotic impulse to do something stupid like bow, or maybe drop to his knees in contrition. 

“Ms. Eagan! I mean, Helena! Sorry, I didn’t think anyone else would be here. I know employees aren’t meant to be above deck outside of uniform—”

Her chuckle drifted down to him and he glanced back up at her as she waved off his concern. “I don’t care about that.”

“Oh,” he said, standing a little straighter. “Well, thanks. Don’t tell Mr. Milchick.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not a tattle.” She smiled before she continued, hesitantly, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat. Yes, he minded, but also… he really didn’t. If his life wasn’t on the line, he’d be begging for a chance with her.

Not that he could decline, either way. 

“Of course. I’d be honored.” 

He forced himself to face the viewport instead of watching Helena descend the stairs to join him, as painful as it was to do so. It was like he could feel her drawing near, ultra-sensitive to her very presence. When she finally joined his side, she stood close. The edge of her robe brushed the hairs on his arms. His hands clenched into fists and he stuffed them in his pockets. Before this evening he would’ve pushed his luck, gotten a little closer, but he was too guilty to do anything like that at the moment.

“I haven’t made it to stargazing, yet.”

“We could do it now, if you wanted.”

“Really? I thought it was one of the activities you didn’t run.”

“I don’t. Irving — uh, Captain B. runs it. But I’m almost always in attendance. I’ve probably picked up a thing or two.”

“Sure,” she said, voice a little lighter and teasing. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Mark cleared his throat, spine straightening as he slipped into Activities Director mode. “You see that bright star near the center,” he pointed, “It almost looks red. That one’s Betelgeuse. It’s a supergiant, more than one thousand times bigger than the Earth’s sun.”

“Wow. It must be hot in that solar system.”

“Probably. They must have great sunscreen.” Helena chuckled at his lame joke and Mark continued on, bolstered by her reaction. “And that cloud of dust to the right of it, kind of like a sideways disk with a bright light in the center of it? That’s the Andromeda Galaxy, our neighbor. The closest one to the Milky Way. In about 4.5 billion years, we’ll collide and form an entirely new galaxy.” 

“That one?” She asked, pointing.

“No,” Mark shook his head, leaning a little closer so his pointed finger aligned with her eyesight. “There.”

“Wow,” she whispered. “You know, you’re pretty good at this. Could give Captain B. a run for his money.”

“C’mon, you haven’t even been to his version yet.”

“I don’t need to, now. I’m getting a private session.”

Mark blushed, suddenly increasingly aware of how close they’ve become. He cleared his throat sheepishly, taking a cautious step away from her. “Thanks.”

They fell into silence, watching the stars together, and though her presence still had Mark feeling somewhat on edge, it was also nice to have her company. He risked a quick glance at her profile, illuminated by the dimmed lights of the Atrium’s nighttime setting, hundreds of thousands of twinkling stars reflected in her eyes. His heart skipped a beat in his chest and he looked down before he got caught staring. Instead he focused on her fingers clutching her robe tight in front of her, fingers fidgeting with the sheer fabric.

“Are you cold? That doesn’t look very warm.” He wished he’d thought to at least wear his cardigan. Mark had a tendency to run hot, but that would’ve been the perfect excuse to offer it to her.

Helena shrugged. “A little.” 

“Maybe we should go back,” Mark said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. “I wouldn’t want you to freeze out here.”

“Oh.” Helena sat up. A wavy strand of hair fell over her forehead and Mark was suddenly overcome with the urge to brush it behind her ear. She beat him to it before he had the chance. “I guess you’re right. It’s getting late anyway.”

Mark turned and started up the stairs and through the Atrium, Helena close behind. When they reached the hallway, she paused. “Mark?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind walking me to my room?”

Mark’s mind briefly short-circuited before he managed a smile and a nod. “Of course.”

They continued down the hallway together, making their way toward the Captain’s Suite. Mark’s heartbeat was once again embarrassingly fast, thrumming through his ears and nearly drowning out the sound of their footsteps. He thought he had been nervously giddy on the way to Helena’s room the last time he was there, but this time it was so much more intense. The thrill of being so close to her, the promise of leading her toward the room where she slept, the quiet privacy of night…it was enough to make his head spin.

As they turned the corner toward her room, Helena slipped her hand into his and gave it a small squeeze. Mark’s breath caught in his throat as he squeezed back. He guiltily relished the way her hand felt in his as they approached her door. Her touch was so gentle, her skin so soft. Even softer than he imagined it would be when he —

The humiliation came surging back with full force and Mark dropped Helena’s hand without warning, shoving his hands in his pockets. She stopped in her tracks beside him. “Mark? What’s wrong?”

His thoughts were already getting away from him and oh, God, it was happening again. He turned away from her, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath as he mentally repeated the Nine Principles once, twice, three times. 

“Mark?”

Finally, blessedly, he was in control enough to face her. He cleared his throat and attempted a smile. “Uh…sorry,” he said. “I just kinda zoned out for a minute there.”

Helena stepped closer, looking up at him with concern. “Are you alright?”

Unfortunately, the close proximity to her was doing nothing to help his predicament, and he had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from embarrassing himself. “I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. “Like you said, it’s just, um, getting late.”

Helena nodded, looking suddenly apologetic. “I shouldn’t have kept you up for so long,” she said. They continued walking as she talked. “I’m sure you have to get up early tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“What? No, please, I enjoyed every moment,” Mark said. “Seriously. It was an honor to introduce you to the stars. Even if I’ll never be as good as Captain B.”

They stopped in front of her door. Helena grinned as she turned to face him, leaning casually against the wall. “Well, I politely disagree on that last part,” she said. “But maybe I’ll catch one of his sessions one day. Just to heckle him.”

Mark imagined a flustered Irving struggling to maintain his composure in front of the Eagan heiress and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Oh, I think I can cover your ticket.” Helena looked up to meet his gaze. “Assuming you’d want to join me again, that is.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

Helena took a step closer to him, her eyes never leaving his face. She smiled. Mark held his breath. She was so close to him, he could nearly feel the warmth of her skin. And her eyes…

Mark suddenly felt the inexplicable and unfamiliar urge to lean down, eliminate the distance between them, and cover her lips with his. He shifted closer, nearly brought his hand up to touch her, but stopped. No — he couldn’t. She was Helena Eagan, and he was just an innie. He couldn’t possibly be so forward.

But then Helena shifted ever so slightly closer to him and his breath caught in his throat. Maybe she wanted him to kiss her after all? Or maybe she wanted to kiss him herself? Yes, that could be it — leave him another “tip” like she had last time. He tried to calm his breathing as he leaned in closer. He could only hope she’d go for his lips instead of his cheek this time when she —

Suddenly, the floor lurched beneath them with a force so powerful and abrupt, Mark was falling backwards before he could catch himself. Helena reached out for him as she careened forward, her balance lost as well, and in an instant they were both tumbling down to the floor together. The impact forced the breath from Mark’s lungs as he landed hard on his back. Helena yelped as she fell against his chest.

Mark blinked up at the ceiling, head throbbing, heart pounding. He barely had time to register what just happened or the fact that Helena was now sprawled on top of him before flashing red lights flooded the hall and the sound of a shrill alarm pierced the air.

“Alert. This is an emergency. Alert. This is an emergency.”