Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dr Carmilla was as clever as she was cruel. It was something that was somewhat of a given when presented with the people she’d chosen to install a mechanism in. None of them could be described fully ‘good’, some may have started out that way, or, at the very least been filled with idealism rather than rage or gasoline but it was telling that the one mechanism with a possibility for sustained and predictable good deeds had an easily accessible switch to stop that sort of nonsense.

So, it was highly likely that the good Doctor had planned for a contingency that she may be destroyed by her own creations. She worked hard to train them and instil an impossibility of them taking negative action against her but it never hurt to be thorough. It might also be that she had a sick sense of humour but when presented with the evidence it was probably both.

The mechanisms were immortal yes, their mechanisms seemingly enhancing and encouraging their mortal, wilder impulses or interests to the point of chaotic or calculated lunacy but the rest of their traits remained human. They still needed to sleep, they didn’t need to eat per se in that they couldn’t actually starve to death or die of thirst but they’d be pretty grumpy if they’d not eaten in a few weeks.

It had fascinated Carmilla, the way many of their worst traits were exacerbated post installation, without the worry of fatal consequences Ashes, Jonny and Tim’s propensity for violence increased exponentially, although, the doctor suspected the latter was still fuelled by some sort of grief or mourning rather than any sort of sheer euphoric thrill of it. He’d be an interesting case study at least. Ivy furthered her research interests choosing to create a library in one of the larger store rooms on Aurora and spend most of her time there, reading or organising, some habits seemed to be bone deep, The drumbot was easily managed, although given an option it preferred the gentler of its two settings. With Nastya she would need further study, she interested her but she didn’t have as much of a control line knowledge to access the impact of the mechanisation process, only the original royal records which did little to outline Nastya’s personality, the only thing of note now was that she spent and inordinate amount of time at the core of the ship conducting ‘repairs’. Oh well she could continue her experimentations.

Needless to say, putting a group of violent, armed and immortal reprobates together was bound to cause conflict and research-rich antagonism for centuries. So what Doctor Carmilla made sure to do was install something in each of them that would cause maximum discord.

She made them all need each other.

She made them capable of loneliness and the need for physical contact, in short, she made them all have a bone-deep and inevitable susceptibility to being touch-starved. It had been worked into each and every one of them that they needed positive contact from each other on pain of, well, pain, and the continuing functionality of their mechanism.

She’d effectively installed a ‘hug or die’ failsafe in them.

She’d come up with the idea when noticing that when Jonny had first come round with his new heart replacing the old organic broken one that had given out. He had scrambled desperately, panicked and half delirious with pain, disorientation and after effects of the minimal anesthetic till he managed to catch hold of her hand that was reaching to stop him tearing at his new un-asked for addition. On grabbing it he relaxed a little, clinging hard only to mumble ‘hurts’ in a small voice before passing out again. She had enjoyed that look of terror on his face, that absolute moment of vulnerability that reduced the previously mortal arrogant, murdering, brazen gun-toting hellion into a frightened young man, barely more than twenty and seeking, needing comfort from someone, anyone even if they were the one to inflict this on him

Carmilla knew what he was supposed to have been like normally, she'd heard enough stories from the miserable town she'd found his fresh corpse in knew that even to mention this once he’d recovered would probably result in him trying to shoot her and the idea solidified. It would be a different kind of agony she could inflict.  She would ensure all of her creations, the roguish, most violent, most destructive she could find and unleash on the universe would be each beholden to the others after her of course, that they would be forced to share their vulnerabilities, and be reduced to admitting they were not as impervious as they could proclaim to be. Some sort of check and balance. Carmilla loved manipulating situations, of course it was her goal to have them all need her enough to not even want to think of trying to break any programming that prevented them from killing her but to need each other when none of them would want to? That would be delicious.

They were hers to control after all.

It was possible that Doctor Carmilla, in a rather twisted way, wanted her legacy to stay together, a warped family of siblings wreaking chaos across the cosmos as a group. For maximum efficiency of course, they did play better as a band all together after all. Or it could be that she just wanted to make sure if they were immortal she would make sure she supplied at least one, mortifying way for them to suffer.

It was easy work to add the coding to a still-unconscious Jonny and became a standard practice all of those who followed.

Interestingly as she worked to expand her little menagerie Dr Carmilla noticed something else.They all shared a trait despite the wildly differing backgrounds. For all their murder and mayhem every single one of them had their own moral code. Even Ashes and Jonny had a line or two they would not cross and that carried over to their immortal rampages. None of them would ever force themselves on anything, living, inanimate or in-between. Oh they’d murder as soon as look at you, or not even that sometimes. They’d destroy entire cities, burn the land and boil the seas but no one would lay a non-consensual finger.

It fascinated her since it was something that never stopped her.

She was also especially interested by the moments of what could be described as care, or defiance. Unsurprisingly it was Jonny who challenged her the most, she knew how to control him of course but it was amusing to see him try to be wily, trying to distract her attention on to him in an attempt to detract whatever she’d had in mind to do to upgrade or tinker with the others. At first she thought it was jealously, He was always angry, distraught even when she added another to the collection. Jonny never did share well even if it was for unpleasantness but after a while she realised he’d developed some sort of twisted sense of protecting the others from her. She certainly enjoyed the terror in his eyes that he tried to hide, fear he tried to cover with a swagger whenever she called him to her lab. At first she liked to see how far she could push, what she could convince him to endure as a good first mate in the stead of the rest of the crew whilst still actually inflicting her intended plans on the others.

 It was a most entertaining game.

As it was she didn’t have anywhere near as long to enjoy the chaos and results her creations brought as she’d hoped. Some of her programming was not as watertight as she’d intended.

It turned out that whilst they couldn’t harm her, they could certainly talk to each other and coordinate between themselves. So when Tim ‘accidentally’ let off one of his homemade hand cannons that caused Jonny to ‘accidentally’ flinched at the noise bump into Dr Carmilla at the exact right angle as he passed her in the corridor to have her trip over a box of flammable cylinders that had ‘accidentally’ been left in the way of the airlock entrance whose inner doors had ‘accidentally’ been left open by an engineering glitch for her to sprawl into just as there was an ‘accidental’ piloting malfunction that tipped Aurora sending Jonny sprawling spectacularly to fall against the control panel closing both the inner doors and opening the outer. It had worked out better than Ivy’s projected 37% success rate.

Carmilla could see Jonny’s face against airlock window his usual crude hand gestures in full display and managed the twisted satisfaction at seeing the relief in his face. She had to hand it to them as the cold of space bit into the last of her thoughts, freezing them into eternal inertia they had found a loop hole this time but others were far harder to find and would now be set in motion.

***

It was Tim who noticed first.

The slow itching of his skin, skin didn't feel quite right against his clothes. That he full stop didn't feel right but he couldn't work out why. He busied himself in the armoury to distract himself, cannibalising and carbonising till he'd created another monstrosity of firepower. Normally, Tim stuck to his tried and tested favourites, easily transportable with devastating effect. He needed something bigger, the not-rightness was clearly that he hadn't blown anything up recently, or, well, he'd not blown anything really big up recently. Next time they landed he took his new triple-barreled hand canon for a spin. The effect was glorious, the flames of destruction danced in his eyes as he drank in sounds of panic and the smell of cordite. He fired shot after shot until the kickback finally wore him down and dislocated his shoulder. The pain was good distraction, it helped prolong the feeling of euphoria that was beginning to recede again. The itch was back, it hadn't really left, gnawing just on the edge of his awareness, enough to bother him. Enough to make things feel wrong. 

He drew up plans to build a quadruple-barreled version. 

As he worked he found himself wishing Bertie were there to bounce ideas off, wanting to hear to mocking of his voice as he teased Tim for another wild construction project. Something seized painfully in his chest. He tried not to think of Bertie, even after everything, all the destruction and chaos and revelry it still tore at him. He missed him. Missed him terribly. He wanted to feel his hand in his again, he wanted to hear him laugh again, to be with him. 

The itching grew worse as he longed for that easy, comfortable companionship. 

He tried to ignore it, carried on building but it was starting to feel hollow. 

He decided to be angry about it. The first person he saw after making this decision was Jonny whom he punched squarely in the face. 

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR YOU BASTARD?!  Tim didn't actually get a chance to answer before being knocked to the floor by a furious first mate who did not need an excuse to have a sans-bar brawl with anyone. Half an hour later, a death each, a pair of broken goggles and a torn waistcoat both were left panting, covered in their own and each other’s blood. 

"So," Jonny spat out another tooth even as he could feel the replacement growing in the soon to be filled socket. He reached into his damaged waistcoat to fish out a crumpled pack of cigarettes annoyed he'd have to break out his needle and thread again, (his mother had been a tailor after all and whilst she never sewed him shit she made sure he could sew for himself) he lit the cigarette before taking a drag, "care to explain what the fuck that was all about?"

Tim considered explaining the growing hollow feeling in his chest, the way his skin practically ached, the fact that he was missing, not just Bertie but his whole squadron, the casual camaraderie. He didn't even like them all that much at the time but now he was longing for them. Even Jonny who’d he served with for a while before he knew just how much he couldn’t die. He’d had a grudging respect that had grown into an odd fondness for the wild bastard who thrived on the carnage of the tunnels, it made it slightly less daunting when you had the luckiest lunatic alongside you who was willing to charge into enemy fire ahead of everyone else.

It had taken Tim way too long to realise that Jonny was simply not-dying rather than being lucky. He’d made a point of killing Jonny once for every member of the battalion he could remember the name of once reality dawned after his own resurrection. When he was still filled with rage and hate relating to what happened directing it all towards the one person who he felt had betrayed the whole situation treating the war as a game. It took him a while to start moving past that, Jonny took the whole murdering spree exactly as another game and thoroughly enjoyed himself in retaliating. Tim was deeply unimpressed to find that he still apparently had a fondness for Jonny along with the rest of the crew though he had no idea why. It was another thing that was bothering him on top of the fact he was worried it was his mechanism failing, that he might be slowly falling back into mortality. 

But as stated, this was Jonny and Tim couldn't get the words out, if he got laughed at right now he might actually explode and not in a good moon-destroying way. No. He'd deal with it himself. 

He fixed a level glare at the first mate then shrugged, got to his feet and said, "Experiment" before stalking off down the corridor. 

Jonny glared at Tim's retreating form, "Wanker!" he yelled before shooting Tim in the back then stomped off to dig out his repair kit. 

It was another month before Tim noticed his eyes beginning to lose their laser sharp (and targeting upgrades it had to admitted) vision and he really started to worry.

Jonny started to notice how reluctantly people got near him, like less than three feet didn't happen unless they were actively fighting him. At first he thought it was because he was clearly intimidating and that was good, he was the Captain after all people should be scared of him, if you were in charge you had the power and you called the shots. But after a few months it began to bother him. It wasn't like he was repellent to be near, okay, well, he could be, he was, most of the time, but he wasn't a plague carrier. And he didn't smell. At least, he, like all the mechs did actually keep on top of personal hygiene. It would be a pretty stupid design flaw if their mechanisms were affected by water. They all made use of the shower units included in their cabins since they ended up covered in blood so often, it was one of the unspoken rules-gore that has been on you for more than 24 hours is unacceptable.

After another month he accidentally caught sight of Nastya stroking one of Aurora's panels and his guts twisted, not in an 'ew' way as was customary (he avoided those two and their alone time as often and as fastidiously as he could.) but in a way that could only be described as 'longing'. The second he identified the feeling he threw himself down another corridor and promptly shot himself in the head. 

He came to feeling marginally better but his skin was still crawling. He'd wanted that sort of affection. He'd wanted to be the panel in that moment. The ripple of horror that went through him was one of pure disgust. If he'd stopped to analyse his feelings he might have realised that it wasn't that he'd somehow found either Nastya or Aurora attractive but that it was the touch he'd wanted, just simple affection. As it was he blew his brains out again just to be sure and downed 3 bottles of whiskey. 

Jonny D’ville was not a man who was used to dealing with emotions, normally he would shoot them till they went away. But he just couldn’t shake the feeling that was growing in him. That he was missing something. Something important. Every day it ached that little bit more. He had no idea what was wrong or what was happening.

Jonny dealt with it the only way he knew how. Rage, pure destructive rage.

When he felt his heart begin to beat arhythmically every once in a while he really began to panic, flashes of memories of Dr Carmilla, leering over him, scalpel poised, sadistic grin on her face. His nightmares increased and so did the ferocity of his temper.

Ashes found their thoughts drifting back to Malone. Back to the Orphan house before they burned it to the ground. Back when they were small, smaller than when Smooth Mickey found them.

They were collectively the unloved, the guttersnipes and ratlets. They fought each other for food, attention and the rare affection from the disinterested staff who were charged to make sure they made it to double digits. But at night, sometimes at night when it was cold, or the rain worked its way through the old uncared for roof they'd all made a truce, a midnight alliance to stave off the bigger threat of elements, storm and shadow. The older ones knew of the real dangers of the world whilst the younger still feared the dark and the thunder of a remorseless sky. They banded together, huddled for warmth and protection, a mass of small bodies, nesting as best they could. Ashes, to their horror, found themselves feeling wistful. 

Several city wide fires had been a welcome distraction but they still had that pull, that ghosting of small hands gripping and clutching. They determined to learn how to control flames in their hand, relishing the burn, the brightness and raw, cleansing heat to scourge the lingering want to feel that contact again. 

They woke from a nightmare where Micky had patted their eleven year old head and told them 'good job' and they'd filled with a better glow than the finest moonshine could offer. There had never been anything between the two, whilst Micky was a scheming criminal happy to set up his protégé’s murder he'd never once laid an unsavoury hand on Ashes, not that Ashes would have let him of course, but he'd never touched them like that. Never tried.

He really had been an uncle, a fucked up twisted one who sent them on missions to burn and destroy before their twelfth birthday but he'd remembered stuff like said birthday, and cared in his own way like an actual guardian. Before they turned 15 they still had a curfew, and before they struck out on their own at 18 to have a place of their own there had always been somewhere safe to sleep and food to eat. Mickey might have taught them more about explosives and the finer grades of gasoline but he'd been there, checking in, giving praise or critiques, making them feel a part of something. Until he murdered them of course. But still, the Lucky Sevens had been a big messed up, murderous family but whilst they were younger Ashes had felt like they had been cared about. There was always someone to ruffle their hair, bump shoulders with or high five if things had gone well, they'd even hugged and been hugged on occasion. That memory made Ashes miss a breath which sent a stab of panic through them. Anything that fucked with their breathing was a panic but they got a grip of themselves. Ashes had no idea what the ever-loving fuck was going on but they were going to ignore it until burned like everything else that bothered them. 

It took them another two months to realise that their crew on the Aurora was the same sort of set up as the Sevens. But missing something crucial. 

Nastya had been shielded mostly from this due to her continuing romance with Aurora. Born into the aristocracy, she wasn’t used to physical touch, and certainly not shows of affection. But there was still something wrong, something missing. She spoke about it to Aurora, trying to explain the strange ache she felt. Aurora took this to mean that she was not enough to satisfy Nastya and the engineer quickly dropped the conversation in favour of offering sincere platitudes instead. She continued to harbour the strange growing hollow in her core once or twice she thought she might have recognised it, like all things linked to her childhood she was quick to bury it at the back of her mind and continue as though she was not affected. Instead she spent more time with Aurora attempting to fill her soul with the love of her starship. 

The unfamiliar yearn continued nonetheless, pulling up half forgotten buried memories instead. That in the first few months of her being on board, she had spent quite a lot of time with Jonny and Ashes, hiding, commiserating, comforting but as time had worn on, they all got harder, colder and more caught up in their own survival. They’d eventually made a plan to deal with her, worked it out with the newer additions, Jonny insisting that he be the one to do the face to face delivery of the plan. Stating he owed her more than anyone else. And that he should have done it years ago. Nastya didn’t like the fleeting look of self-recrimination that appeared alongside the fury.

She remembered how he sat, years ago, a rare arm around her as she shook, promising he wouldn’t let her be hurt anymore. Nastya stopped mid-repair thinking hard, it might be a wistful imagination but she thought she might not have been in pain quite as often after that. It was certainly something to ponder on as she began to work once again. After a few months more memories began to surface, it took a while to realise she missed the closeness of the others, they hadn’t touched all that much but she could remember being wrapped in Ashes arms once or twice and feeling safe, being soothed as Jonny sang softly as she sat next to him, head on his shoulder, wrapped in a half-hug. It was the closeness, the safety that seemed to be missing now. Something needed to be done.

Drumbot felt it most acutely, his heart the only thing organic but it was enough to fill the rest of him. Cold limbs of unforgiving brass felt empty. He began to feel as lost and as lonely as he had when he was out amongst the stars, the rest of the crew rarely came to see him whilst he was piloting and he was finding, even with all their violence and chaos, he missed them. His hands were empty, remembered all the things they’d been filled with, how they’d helped, how they could be gentle when he wanted them to be. He missed how things used to feel. He could still feel now of course but it wasn’t the same. Not as soft. He missed that with every fibre of his remaining soul. He wanted to feel, he wanted those friendly touches that spoke of trust and casual intimacy. He wanted the feel of friendship. But the others rarely came to him and the more he sought them out, especially in the recent months the more reserved and violent they’d become. He felt his own heart start to harden, start to chill to guard against the encroaching entropy that was slowly engulfing him, it was only him after all, no one else felt like this so why even bring it up? It would only likely get him disassembled. Again.

Ivy unused to contact, preferring books to people. She was one of the last to notice, to realise. Content with books and occasional visits from curious Octokittens. As it was when she noticed something was off, she felt she should know the feeling but couldn’t remember it. In the end it took her six months of research to deduce that what was wrong was that she was lonely. Ivy was slightly less inclined towards violence than her crewmates but that didn't mean she didn't partake, they hadn't stopped on a planet for a while though and the others rarely stopped by the library. She was content, or so she thought, but the nagging in the back of her mind, the word repeating and repeating over and over, lonely, lonely, Lonely.

Raphaella was satisfied with her science and her experiments, being made a mechanism after the good doctor’s unfortunate incident should have excluded both Marius and herself from the failsafe. As it was Carmilla had ensured any new mechanism created would have the technology engrained in the synthetic membranes. There was no escaping it, like there was no escaping that the actual casings of each mechanism was metal. If you were a mechanism on the starship Aurora you had the same coding as everyone else. Raphaella's joining of the mechanisms was shrouded in mystery. She had made her way on board, full of science and skill and determination to know more. She was running out of time and missing a vital part of herself that had been broken from her but had seen the crew of this ship murder and die and come back from it whilst barely breaking stride so she had made her way on board, made her way to the Lab everyone clearly avoided, managed not to die from the multiple traps (though there had been a few close calls) and experimented. She hadn't anything to lose, no family or friends to miss her, she had flown out of the jaw of death without even the merest string of saliva clinging to her.

But she was isolated.

 Long, long ago, if she really thought about it there might have been parents, a lab that felt cosy and with matching workbenches with a much smaller one nestled between them. They were fractals and refractions of light against the myriad of memories. But something pulled on her, something deep. More memories seemed to surface, she was interested at first, keen to investigate what stimulus might have cause such a reaction but after a while it began to hurt. Her science stopped satisfying her quite as much and she found herself wishing the others would visit her lab more. Indeed, she even began to venture out of it to seek out the others on a pretence of investigation. It didn’t seem to do much to help, every time she sound someone their hosiltiy and volatility had increased on the last time, she tried to fill the growing hole in her with a study into the escalating violence amongst the crew.

Marius had always been pretty bombastic and social so it hit him almost as hard as Tim but then again, Marius was the most tactile of the group, throwing an easy arm over a shoulder, nudging someone good naturedly. Sometimes it earned a smile but more often a bullet through his head. It didn't stop him. Marius had never disclosed exactly from where he had come or what circumstances led to him having a mechanised arm. But despite whatever Jonny said he was a doctor, just not a legally recognised one. Apparently you had to actually graduate for it to count. Who knew? Well Marius had chopped and changed his fields of study so much he felt that he knew pretty much everything he needed to know in the broad field of medicine. It was just a good job that he spent his days causing injuries rather than trying to heal them. Marius realised fairly quickly what the problem was, he was missing people, missing human, mortal or immortal contact. Problem was, how to articulate that. The crew were a collective that did not touch readily or easily. Marius had learned pretty quickly that any physical contact, especially affection would be met with hostility ranging from a confused, “why are you touching my shoulder? Please stop.” To, “keep your fucking hands to yourself asshole!” Once Ashes set him on fire when he clapped them on the shoulder and Jonny had, on a memorable occasion, leapt like scalded cat when Marius had come up behind him in an attempt hug him before shooting him in the face. Tim he could get away with a little more but he had to be in the right mood and those days were becoming few and far between.

The crew known as the mechanisms had always had what could termed as ‘lively banter’ between all the crewmates, it could also be termed as bickering that escalated into gleefully casual violence on a very regular basis but in the aftermath of Dr Carmilla's accident and the hidden programming that was not being remedied began to take affect things began to escalate somewhat.

A group of immortal space pirates with the loosest grasp of morals, a group of inveterate criminals with little concept of consequences and a group of young vagabonds who'd never really learned communication beyond the various dialects of violence were not best equipped to voice the wrongness, the growing emptiness they felt.

Emotions were messy and complicated and something all of them tried to avoid at the best of times.  They didn’t understand what was happening so instead they let their tempers do the talking. Pranks became far more viciously destructive, mealtimes went from boisterously rowdy but still filled with good-natured banter and minimal murder to an actual riot more often than not with no one surviving without a least one bullet through them. Tim began responding to upset with grenades whilst Brian flipped to ends justify means. Jonny's already unstable temper went nuclear, even multiple shots to the head not stopping his volcanic tirades, whilst Nastya accepted no teasing whatsoever, killing anyone who made a comment about Aurora, even if it was a genuine maintenance question. She retreated into the depths of the ship, avoiding the others like the plague.  Raphaella became colder, harsher, more vicious in her experiments, like she was trying to science away her problems. Marius ended up reaching for his gun more often than his violin, though on one memorable occasion tried to slit Tim's throat with his bow when he'd endured one explosion too many to practice against. Even the Toy Soldier started trying to avoid the others, making sad noises whenever it witnessed the increasingly aggressive behavior which got it thrown out of the airlock multiple times and not just by Jonny. Although he was finding it more infuriating by the day.

Barely provoked the first mate had punched it square in the face repeatedly for several minutes regardless of the damage it was doing to his knuckles until it had shrieked and cried “Please Stop Doing That! I Don’t Like It!"

Jonny was so shocked he actually stopped, dumbfounded as he watched it march away as fast as its wooden legs would carry it. Something uneasy that might have been guilt began to curl in his belly. Sure he'd shot the thing enough times but it had never responded like that before. But then, when had he punched it like that? Or ever? He felt the words of apology form on his lips before he swallowed them down. It was a weird creepy thing that deserved all it got. Anger was a much safer emotion so he let that flood his belly instead, swinging round and punching the metal wall instead. The white hot agony of his hand finally breaking was a far better thing to focus on than any concern he might feel for the Toy Soldier or worry over his escalating behaviour, that the wrongness kept building and he had no idea how to fix it. 

Ashes would burn someone soon as look at them whilst Ivy, confused and angry at not understanding what was happening to her began to swing between holing up in the library for days on end fervently researching or lashing out at the slightest provocation. It was when she stabbed Marius through his better eye with her flute over a silly squabble over keys during the only band practice they’d assembled to in weeks they as a collective began to realise something was fundamentally wrong.

But they had no idea what or more importantly, what to do about it. Instead of speaking as a group all stalked off to their own spaces, each angry with the others and secretly scared they were breaking down, breaking apart and disintegrating.

***

A few days later Tim found himself needing some cordite for his latest trials, unfortunately Ashes was right in front of it taking some sort of inventory. He was far too tired for bullshit, deciding to ignore them instead of shooting, reaching over to try and get to the cupboard without even trying to shoot them.

“Do you have to be stood this close to me?” Huffed Ashes already reaching for their lighter.

“Yes. Yes I do actually.” snapped Tim, “And what’s more…” he was spoiling for another fight before dawning realisation hit him like a particularly eldritch train. “Shit.” Stood right next to Ashes he didn’t want to fight, he wanted to throw himself at them like an octokitten and cling on with all his might.

Ashes turned to face the master at arms, a surprised look on their face, “You too?” They kept their face in check and controlled the urge to pull Tim to them, he would fit against them well and had long, strong arms to hug with. They fought the need to muss his wild hair.

“Yeah, like I, like I need to be near you, all of you. And not to murder either.” The admission looked like it was being pulled forcefully from him. 

“Huh. I thought I was just going space crazy. Is this why I've been so angry?”

“Wait, is this a thing? Like an actual, there may be a problem thing?”

Yes thought Ashes, this makes perfect sense, it fits in with all the shit everyone has been pulling for months, this might actually be something that is fixable without fire. “Dunno,” they said aloud, “let’s see, I mean, everyone has been on a hair trigger, maybe it’s linked, we best go ask the others.”

The pair set off, heading to sickbay first since Marius tended to be the more willing to talk unprompted of them all.

“Hey, von Raum.”

“What?” He asked guardedly, no one ever came to sick bay, the crew rarely got actually sick, if they did they usually killed themselves to reset back to healthy. So this was clearly another attempted raid on his supplies. He’d just washed this shirt too, it was already covered in blood from the last mech who’d come a-callin’.

They were doing a pretty shit job of it by announcing themselves though.

“Have you…” Tim trailed off not sure how to phrase it.

“What?” he began to look annoyed, beginning to reach for his gun “If you’re looking for any more ballista medical alcohol Jonny’s cleared me out.”

“No, uh, how dead is he right now?”

“Well given the amount of distilled chemical pathogens I added, very. He’ll be reconstructed in about 4 hours though.”

Tim looked over to Ashes, “we’ll find Jonny last.”

They rolled their eyes, “As if that wasn’t the plan already. Anyway, melting Jonny aside, have you been getting weird feelings about wanting to spend more time with the rest of us?”

The relief on his face said it all.

“You mean this is a thing? I thought I just coming down with a case of some sort of brain parasite.” Or, you know feeling so goddamn human I could die forever, which he kept to himself, they didn’t need to know just how not-okay he was feeling. He couldn’t stand any more teasing right now.

“Verdict’s still out but that’s three of us so far.”

“All getting worried when you don’t see everyone for a while and missing being near to people?”

“That’s the one.”

“Fuck.” So this wasn’t just him. That was more relieving than he cared to acknowledge, they really needed to set up a thing where they talked more like actual people. Yeah, and he could invent a way for Jonny to manage his anger in a healthy way too. Sure.

“Tell us about it.”

They left Marius to finish clearing up medbay still grumbling about murdering, drunken space pirates.

It was something positive to go on though. This might be a whole crew thing and if it was they maybe they could fix it. The next stop was Raphaella’s lab, hoping she’d be interested enough in a potential investigation to leave off the scalpels for the time being.

The science officer tried to look only fascinated as the pair explain their theory, rather than thrilled that she was being visited, “and you think this is something affecting us all?” 

“Looks that way, it'd be weird if it just hit you, me, Ashes and Marius.” 

“What control have you used?” 

“Like in an experiment?”

Raphaella huffed, wings ruffling unimpressed “of course.” 

“Um,” Tim cast about for an explanation

“I burned three cities to the ground and I don't feel any better for it.” 

She raised her eyebrows, “I see. Quite serious then.” 

“Yup.” 

“I have a proposal. May I take your hand?”

Tim was immediately suspicious, “What are you going to do with it?”

“Hold it.” 

“Will it stay attached to me?”

“This time.” 

“Fine.” 

The science officer took Tim's proffered hand as if she were trying to shake it. 

“How intriguing.” 

“What?” 

“I am feeling marginally better. How about you?”

“Er, yes actually, now you mention it. I do.” 

“This seems to have the beginnings of positive correlation. I shall conduct a few more experiments to see if I can replicate the results. Ashes,” 

“Fine, fine.” They offered their hand too. 

“Exactly the same. I will see if I can uncover the reasoning why. Go and see if the others are as effected.”

In short, they were.

Brian found himself switching between both his settings, uncomfortable in both either angry or lonely and deeply unhappy whichever option he chose. He wanted to feel, he wanted to be with people, he missed feeling as he used to and the ache in him was getting worse by the day. No one wanted to be around him so that was out. He’d considered stabbing himself in the heart just to make it stop but he knew that wouldn’t work. He by turns either tried to seek out the others or spent hours on his kits smashing and crashing through half forms rifts of rage and destruction. He couldn’t even keep the beats he wanted. In MJE he was scared he’d push everyone further away in EJM he wanted everyone the fuck away from him reminding him of what he’d lost. It was tearing his sanity apart. Some days he felt like just wrenching all his blots out one by one just to feel something else.

“Drumbot.” Ashes greeted, it was wise at the moment to check which setting he was on, the violence he could perpetuate when on EJM at the moment was unpredictable and more than a little scary, even for an immortal.

“Ashes, how nice to see you, what brings you to the bridge?”

“Oh good you’re not in complete asshole mode.”

“I could arrange that.” His hand started to raise to his neck..

“No, honestly, this is fine.” cut in Tim. He was determined to make it through talking to everyone without dying or having to murder anyone else today, he wanted this issue fixed and fixed NOW.

“We’re here to ask if you’ve been feeling weird,”

“Weird? Weird how?”

“Like you’re lonely. Like you need to be around people and the more you’re not the more insane you go and you just want to make things better but you don’t know how so it’s much easier to just destroy everything?”

“Well that was eloquent.”

“I, um.”

“That was less eloquent.”

“Fuck you Ashes.”

Ashes smirked in a way that promised an inferno but controlled themselves enough to say, “Tim’s right though, this is something that affecting Tim and I, and Raph and Marius. If it’s bothering you too then it’s probably all of us.”

“Am I the benchmark?” It was asked lightly but there was a danger there. Brian at the moment could take things the wrong way violently and he’d always been touchy about not being included in things or somehow seen as less because of the sheer volume of mechanisation he’d endured.

Tim and Ashes shared a look, neither of them did talking well.

Ashes narrowed their eyes, “we’re asking you because you’re part of the crew as much as the rest of us.”

“But…?”

“But you’re the one who is either going to be the least or most affected, you’re the one who cares the most Brian. Especially in MJE, Raph thinks this is a thing about us all needing to be around each other and if we’re not then whatever this thing that’s happening to us makes us crazy.”

“And you have to admit, things are getting bad here.”

Brian considered. That at least was true, let alone his own emotions getting wildly out of hand it seemed to be the same for everyone else too. He’d noticed the upswing in general violence and aggressive nature of everyone on board but he’d been too wrapped up in his own concern to connect the dots.

“Yes, that’s a fair assessment.” Actually now he was paying attention he realised his right hand was clenching and unclenching. He didn’t know if it wanted to grab them both and pull then in for a hug or start punching. This was worrying now that he was aware.

“Hmm…”

“So, you know what we are talking about?”

“Yes, now that you’ve laid it out it explains quite a lot. So what’s causing it?”

“Don’t know, Raph is seeing what she can figure out.”

“It sounds like something Carmilla-related.”

Ashes froze.

“What?”

“It makes sense, Jonny kicked her out of the airlock a while ago.”

“We all helped with that.”

“Yes we did, but if this is all linked then it would make sense that she’s behind it. Something to affect us all.”

“It can’t be.”

“No, you don’t want it to be.”

“There’s other things—”

“I hope so.”

“Well, Raph is on the case, going to ask Ivy and Nastya too see if they’re being affected.”

“And Jonny?”

“Drank a fuck-load of Marius’ home brew.”

“I see.”

“He should be intact again later on.”

No one felt like they needed to mention he was obviously being affected given all the evidence that had been presented thus far. It was going to be convincing him of fuckery was going to be the hard sell.

“Brian, don’t, don’t mention the Carmilla thing. We don’t know for certain and no one needs—”

Brian softened, seeing the genuine fear in Ashes’ eyes. Tim, lucky bastard wasn’t around her for long but it was enough to make him worried at least. Ashes had endured for far longer. He reached out unthinkingly but was surprised when they took his hand, giving it a squeeze. He didn’t want to let go, he forced himself to but it looked for a moment just as hard for Ashes. This theory clearly had some merit. “Whatever it is, at least we know it’s something that everyone is getting in on.”

“Hurrah for suffering solidarity?”

“I’ll break out the bunting.”

“Right, let’s find Ivy.” Tim didn’t really know what to do with all of this obvious emotion. He wanted to throw his arms around both of them but had no idea how that would actually be received. He didn’t think he’d be able to let go or deal with being shot by the pair of them as a rejection. The sooner they got a consensus they could make a plan and then fix things.

“Let me know what you find out.”

“Will do.”

***

At least finding Ivy was easy, she was where she usually was, reading in the library she’d built in one of the larger stores of the Aurora.

“Ivy? We come in peace, you free to talk?”

The archivist didn’t look up, “What about?”

“About what’s been going on.”

“You mean the 87% increase in hostility amongst the crew?” Focus still fixed on the tome in her hands, though her gun was next to her.

“Yes that.”

“Go on.”

“Well how are you feeling? Violent?” Ivy continued to read. “Lonely?”

Ivy’s eyes snapped up to them.

“So that’s a yes.”

“I’ve only recently reached this conclusion. How did you know?”

“Because we feel it too.”

“What? Just you?”

“No, so far we’ve spoken to everyone but you, Nastya and Jonny but it’s pretty likely they’re all affected too.”

“You sound like it’s a malaise.”

“We think it might be.”

“And you think this is linked to the animosity on board?”

“Yeah, like, we all need to be around each other but we’re not and it’s pissing us off to the fucking nth degree.”

“Huh.” She paused, running over the new information presented, “I hadn’t made that connection, my research explained concepts of ‘skin hunger’ and the detrimental effects of being ‘touch-starved’ but all of it related to mortal humanity and the need for social contact. We are not mortal nor do we have much in the way of humanity.”

“But we’re not feral,” Tim paused considering his crewmates, “well,” he conceded, “most of us aren’t feral. There’s still some social coding in us for this to be a possibility.”

“What’s this about being touch-starved?” Ashes looked like they were trying their hardest to look nonchalant.

“Exactly as it sounds, the sense of needing to be touched by others, to have positive physical contact with others of the same species.”

“And without it?”

“The mental health and wellbeing of sufferers decline.” Ivy’s positronic brain suddenly made the connection. “How are your mechanisms functioning?”

Tim froze, heart speeding up in fear, “Er, I’d not, not thought all that much, thought it was a glitch but—”

“Spit it out Tim.”

“My focus is failing, right now I know you’re wearing a skirt made of fabric but I can’t see the weave.” It was a struggle to admit, especially given their reactions.

The others stared at him horror.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“How about you?” Ivy turned to Ashes.

“Been coughing a bit, not much but, getting worse, ain’t good.” Ashes admitted reluctantly.

“Ivy?”

“I’ve been reading this book for a day, I can recall 67% of what I have progressed through.” She answered quietly.

“Right.”

“Well shit.”

“Quite.”

“So we are decidedly fucked then?”

“Not necessarily, there is a possibility that dealing with this concept of skin hunger may ease the problem.”

“Feeding skin?” This was sounding decidedly uncomfortable. A myriad of images flashed through Tim’s mind, each one worse than the other. One look at Ashes face said they were having similar thoughts.

“I will continue my research and see if I can discover a cure.”

“Okay, well, we’ll be braced for horror.”

“Probably best.”

“Great.” Ivy snapped the book in her hands shut before heading into the deeper recesses of the library to see what else she could find.

Both Tim and Ashes left Ivy to it, both feeling far more horrified than either had expected to be. It hadn’t occurred to either of them that they might have to do something that drastic to fix the issue.

Neither decided to talk about the implications as they headed off in an attempt to find Nastya.

To his relief Tim spotted a familiar figure marching along in the distance and leapt for the distraction it provided. Then he stopped and really looked. It might his eyes continuing to fault on him but he thought it didn’t look quite as chipper as it usually did.

He nudged Ashes, savouring the contact before pointing down the corridor, “What about the Toy Soldier? Should we ask it? It’s not, well, it doesn’t have the same set up as we do but—”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s on the ship so it might be being affected anyways.”

They caught up to it quickly, “Erm, hi TS, we’ve got a question for you.”

“Tim! How Nice It Is To See You And Ashes!”

“Yeah um, nice to see you too, er, we were wondering—”

“We wanted to ask if you’ve been feeling any different recently?” Ashes got the point. It was always better to be direct with it.

“Different?”

“Like how you feel about the rest of the crew maybe?”

“Yes.”

The two shared a look, well that was unexpected “Oh. Um, okay, how?”

“All Of You Chaps Are So Angry All The Time Now. We Don’t Even Sing Anymore. I Don’t Like It When Everyone Is Cross At Everyone All The Time. Why Is Everyone So Cross? I Like It When We Play Together But These Games Aren’t Nice. Can We Play Nicely Again Please?”

SHIT. If the Toy Soldier was actually, properly affected by this too then that had to be bad right? Really bad. Tim didn’t think it could get upset but here he was being proven wrong. He actually felt sorry for it.

“Um, well, we think we might know what might be happening.”

“Oh Jolly Good. Are You Going To Fix It?”

“I honestly hope so TS. I hope so.”

“Good-O!”

“Yeah. Um, we’ll let you know. In the meantime, stay away from Jonny at all costs okay? Play hide and seek and Jonny is most definitely it.”

“Righty Ho! Will Do. Pip Pip!”

It took well over an hour to find Nastya, ensconced deep in the depths of Aurora. If Tim had taken Ashes’ hand after 45 minutes of looking, well neither of them said anything. It was just enough of a balm to keep him focused on the task at hand and not consider seriously murdering them for absentmindedly humming. Things were getting weirder by the hour and his skin was starting to itch intensely.

Finally, they came across Nastya working on a section Aurora’s panelling.

“Hi Nastya”

“I’m busy.”

“Can see that”

“Well?”

“It’s important.”

“Don’t care.”

“You will.”

“Why?”

“It affects you”

“I don’t—”

“And it will effect Aurora long term.”

“What?” The engineer was suddenly giving them all her attention.

Bingo.

“Explain.”

“We’re all suffering from something called touch-starvation ‘cording to Ivy. Feels like you want to be near the rest of us but it’s hard because it’s us and we don’t do touching much so you stay away and it’s makes you worse, makes everything hurt an’ feel wrong and makes you just want to kill everything but that don’t solve nothing either. Getting close?”

“You may have a point.” She conceded, “Is this affecting the others?”

“Yeah we’re pretty sure it’s everyone, even the Toy Soldier knows something’s up.”

“Hmm…”

“I’ve felt something wrong for a while, but it’s been hard to pin point.”

“And it’s just getting worse? A bit more terrible every day? And you feel like you want to tear off your skin or punch through someone or cling to them and never let go but nothing you try to avoid that helps.”

“Indeed.”

“And it’s making your mechanism not run right. My lungs aren’t catching breath the way they are supposed to, Tim’s vision is blurring and Ivy’s recall is fucking up.”

Tim’s eyes may be fritzing but he could still read a face, Nastya looked awkward. With a gentleness he rarely used, “how are you holding up? Is your blood flowing right?”

“I thought I was just tired.” Tim was suddenly reminded of how young Nastya was when she was mechanised, Jonny had told him once when they were both drunk off some particularly interesting moonshine. He wasn’t all that much older to be fair and neither was Jonny. But still, in that moment she looked her nineteen physical years. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her it was alright. He didn’t. She’d probably stab him and Aurora would make him suffer for upsetting her.

“So, is there a cure now there is some sort of name for it?”

“I mean, physical contact makes the most sense.”

Nastya considered. “That does make sense, my instincts have been demanding I seek you all out for contact with greater and greater insistence however, I am concerned why we are being compelled. None of us previously have sought such physical reassurances before.”

“No, but maybe we just forgot how to. Ain’t there’s a manual for something like what we are.”

“No, no there isn’t, or at least, not one we’d be able to find.”

Ashes and Nastya shared a look.

Tim, feeling uncomfortable and wishing he could blow something up without pissing off Aurora tried to deflect.

“Has Aurora noticed anything?”

“Other than the fact that you and the rest of the crew are becoming dangerously reckless with her wellbeing with your regular violent outbursts?”

Shit.

“Maybe?”

Nastya huffed. “Yes, you’re all more destructive, there is clearly something wrong though she doesn’t know what’s causing it.”

“Fuck.”

“I will go and consult with Ivy and Raphaella, there may be some more avenues to explore. Have you spoken to the rest of the crew?”

“Only Jonny’s left.”

“I see.” Nasyta paused, “It’s highly likely he is also being affected if his recent behaviour is anything to go by.”

“Yeah we figured that.”

“He feels more than he shows.” With that Nastya hoisted herself up into the vents.

“That went well?”

“Better than I was expecting if I’m honest.”

“Yeah.”

“So, plan for Jonny. Talk at him. Shoot him if he’s a dick, talk some more?”

“Sounds good.” The pair headed out to find the first mate, hands re-clasped as they wound out of the service corridors.

***

When they did eventually find a reconstituted Jonny he was not best pleased.

“What do you two want?” He growled, intending to cover up the sudden warmth that had filled him by their appearance at his door. It was weird, he didn't like it when he didn't understand what was happening. Violence and singing and whiskey was fine. It was simple. Now he was apparently feeling things without being consulted first and it was starting to really piss him off.

Ashes was unsympathetic. “This is why you don’t steal from Marius.”

“That wanker! I only took—”

“All of his current batch you idiot and you’re as subtle as a rose red. Of course he poisoned it.”

“Bastard, I’ll—!”

“Later, right now, got a question.”

“What?”

Tim had got this down by now and it was Jonny so long descriptions when not involving violence or violent stories where wasted on him. “Do you feel like you need to hug or be hugged by the entire crew else you’ll actually die?”

The fact that Jonny’s eyes widened to comic proportions rather than throwing back his head laughing wildly or shooting either of them said it all.

Ashes sighed, “That’s all of us then.”

“All of us what?”

“All of us feeling like this.”

It was impressive that the word ‘this’ could mean so much, that it could encompass all the feelings Jonny currently had swirling through him with absolutely no idea how to verbally express. The fact that he loved Ashes’ scent, the combination of a 100 different fires burning on a thousand worlds, that it instilled a sense of right and good and home, reminding him of genuinely brilliant times he’d had with the crew, wreaking destruction and chaos across the universe and, very occasionally, sitting round a camp fire peacefully on a backwater planet drinking whiskey none of them could pronounce. That Tim’s utter joy whenever he’d built and tried out a new weapon was something that could light up his whole being, had done even when he’d been mortal. That Raphaella’s hair is beautiful and he wants to comb his fingers carefully through the spun gold and trace the outline of Nastya’s elegant digits with his own because she plays the violin so beautifully. That he wants to find out if Marius gives as good a hug as Jonny suspects he does, that he wants to sit next to Ivy and listen to her read aloud. He wants to learn to drum in-time with Brian, get the perfect rhythm where their mis-matched hearts can beat along with the melody and sing of their adventures across the stars. He even thinks he might be able to tolerate the Toy Soldier. Sometimes.

That the crew feels like family, a murderous, chaotic family that he actually cares about. Each and every one of these feelings has appeared out of nowhere, he knows they're genuinely from him but since he'd never let himself even consider thinking of acknowledging such sentiment he is decidedly freaked out. And angry. He shares nothing of what is flashing through his brain.

What he actually said was, “If by ‘this’ you mean not wanting to murder everyone as much as usual then yes, I suppose so. What are we going to do about it?”

“Call a meeting on the bridge first mate and we can discuss it together.”

He flipped them both the bird but did dig out his hand-held mic he had hooked up to the internal comms for just such occasions when they needed to gather or he really wanted to piss someone off.

**********************************************************************************************

The problem was, as had been made abundantly clear was that the mechanisms were not skilled, or even vaguely competent at sharing actual feelings. Shooting things was far easier. But everyone, even the Toy Soldier knew something was horrendously wrong and getting worse.

Which is why, when Jonny’s voice crackled over the tannoy demanding everyone assemble in the canteen in ten minutes or get shot in the face everyone actually turned up. Albeit looking confused, annoyed or murderous. Some were all three.

Nastya took one look at the room and decided to take charge since she at least had some sort of idea of what voicing softer feelings was supposed to sound like.

“So it seems after consulting with the whole crew we have all been succumbing to some sort of programming, forcing us to seek out positive physical contact from each other and becoming increasingly irrational and violent the longer we resist.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Tim as if Nastya was stating the obvious, “but do you three worked out where it comes from?”

Ivy cut in, “There’s a 99.9% chance this is a form of programming installed by Doctor Carmilla as a way of controlling us to a certain extent.”

Jonny cursed loudly and gratuitously, whilst Nastya paled and Ashes lit a new cigarette taking a deep, deep drag on it. Brian looked resigned.

Ivy continued decided to remain stoic and take refuge in the facts rather than be ruffled by the interruption, “Given the variables presented, this is coding which will continue to act as a degenerative force on our moods, well-being and actual mechanisms. To the point, that if the current data remains consistent gives us roughly another month before we cease to function even at a basic operational level.”

“What a fucking bitch. She couldn’t just fucking die and leave us the fuck alone, needed to leave one last punch to the fucking chest!” Jonny snarled with a venom they’d rarely seen from him. The fury in him, even from what he’d shown recently was honestly concerning. Whatever they needed to do to fix it they needed to do it fast for all their sakes. Jonny maybe the most volatile but he was only a marker of what would likely happen to the rest of them if this deterioration was allowed to continue. 

“Okay, well,” Marius tried for a little levity, he knew mentioning the Doctor near the older (or should that be original? The baron was certain he was physically older than Jonny, Nastya and Ashes) mechs was dangerous move, it was the nearest he’d seen any of them look to actually scared, “she was a mad scientist, no offence Raph, so it stands to reason she’d find another way to fuck us over, there’s nothing we can do about this right now so the important question is—”

“What do we do about it?”

“Maybe we can fix our mechanisms? Find and get rid of whatever coding she installed? We can check in the Doc’s Lab, to be—”

“NO!” Jonny all but roared,

“It would add useful information—”

Jonny fired his pistol into ceiling. “NO. No one is going near there. Fuck knows what else she’s left to fuck us over with AI fuckers or otherwise. Something worse than this most likely and something we will trigger if we go snooping around in there. This started a few months ago for most of us. If Ivy is right and fuck it she usually is, then we’ve got a month left. This feels like another one of her goddamn schemes. Set some sort of timer to trigger this in us that is going to be pointless to try stop at the source now that it is actually fucking working.

In a rare moment of the collective Mechanisms actually listening to one of Jonny’s outbursts, it did, after all, actually make sense. And Carmilla probably would have set more traps and tricks to fuck them over, as Raphaella and Marius had discovered to their detriment. That Jonny looked scared under his fury, that there was the faintest tremor running through him, well they decided not to comment. He’d had to deal with the doctor the longest and for once, he’d a get a pass.

“Well, given that a Lab investigation is off the cards I think we should just do what our instincts are telling us, I for one am sick of feeling like this and if it's as simple as being close to you lot then we do it. Raph’s already proved there’s no negative consequences if we are close to each other”

“Other than the likelihood of being murdered.”

“Shut up Tim.” 

“It's not just close, it's physically close so we—”

“I am not—!” Jonny had paled at what that implied, he had absolutely no interest in having any sex with any of the crew full stop and non-negotiable. The mere thought of it began to churn in his stomach, this was his family. It would be just like Carmilla to stick the knife in and twist like this, his fists were already beginning to close as the bile rose.

“You didn't let me finish, physical intimacy is not always about sex, there does not need to be any sexual element to this what so ever.”

There was more than one sigh of relief from the assembled circle,

“We do need to have contact though so we should hug.” Summarised Tim, very aware of how on fire his skin like, like he was crawling with burning ants at the close proximity of all of the crew.

Jonny had recovered enough to feel like he should object on principle, the idea of giving in to Carmilla’s plan made his skin crawl even if it would save what remained of his sanity. “Hug?! What sort of bollocks is this?”

“The sort of bollocks that means I am going to blow you up into next week if you don't shut the fuck up. Anyway, we need to see if this works, I'll go first if someone wants to join me?” 

“Go on then,” Marius stepped forward, keen to get the ball rolling at least. Hopefully this would work. Both of them not willing to show nervous and just plan hungry they were. In what looked like the start of the most uncomfortable hug in the history of galaxy Tim and Marius wrapped their arms around each other, it took about three seconds for the effect to be obvious-both of them practically melted into each other.

The smirks at the awkwardness of the pair faded as they sank into one another. The others began to itch with jealously despite trying to hide it.

“I, er, I don't want to let go. I feel a bit better but, well, it's not, not enough.”

“Yeah, me too, it’s good, it helps but I feel like there’s something missing, like there’s not enough people here.”

“Fascinating.” 

“By my calculations we have a 97% chance of solving our current problem by up to eight times as fast if we all comply together.” 

“Like a massive group hug?”

Jonny made an involuntary noise of absolute horror. The level of vulnerability that implied was something every instinct inside him screamed to run from.

“Nah,” Ashes was unperturbed, “it's going to have to be more than, back on Malone in the orphanage we called it puddlin’, when you all cuddle in close at night to share body heat, makes you feel like you're not alone.” Ashes raised their eyes daring anyone to challenge them. 

“Actually that makes more sense, our bodies would be more relaxed, more surface area covered. By comparing the points at which everyone started to struggle we have at least a decade of this to catch up on, our batteries are rather flat and given how badly it has affected us all I am not willing to prolong the experiment to its obvious conclusion.” 

“There you have it,” declared Marius, “if Raphaella says enough is enough on the science front then you know it's bad.” 

“We should do this in the core chamber, I don't want Aurora to miss out on this.” Nastya's tone brooked no arguing, she looked torn between wanting desperately to join the plan and feeling like she was betraying her love. 

“Fine, we meet in the core in the 30 mins, take off everything sharp or it will be taken off you and bring something to make it more comfortable.” Ordered Raphaella.

“How about a crate of whiskey?” 

She flashed him a dangerous smile, “Whatever works for you.” 

***

 A group of eight very awkward people and one delighted Toy Soldier stood around a haphazard dumped pile of pillows and blankets snatched off beds as they headed down to the smallish, heavily bulkheaded room at the centre of the star ship, the closest space Nastya had insisted to Aurora's heart if she had one. All of them looked like they had a hasty shower or at least a wash and all of them managed to look like uncomfortable pupils on school photo day. 

“Boots off.” 

“What?” 

“If we're going to be in some sort of pile together I do not want to be kicked, intentionally or unintentionally, by anyone.” 

“That's reasonable.” 

“Ugh. Fine.” 

Swiftly a pile of boots were thrown to the periphery of the room revealing a range of wildly patterned mismatched coloured socks and stockings. 

Nobody made another move. 

“Well fuck this.” Jonny swigged hard from his open whiskey bottle, unwilling to start this, god help him, snuggle party. Even if he really wanted to.

“Hey, that's not a bad idea, pass that around.” 

“Get your own!”

“Come on Jonny, you’ve got two more bottles right there that won’t dissolve anyone.”

Jonny considered both shooting Marius and telling them all to fuck off before leaving but damned by all the gods he just couldn’t bring himself to. The ache in him, like it must be for the others had now increased to an unignorable screaming yearn. He wanted this, wanted them, and it pissed him off like nothing had before.

“Fine.” He threw one bottle to the baron who annoyingly caught it deftly, he tossed the other to Ashes who was giving him the ‘stop being a complete asshole for five goddamn minutes’ stare.

Whiskey was passed around and swiftly consumed. Jonny wished he had mixed gasoline in it.

“How should we?”

“I…”

“Maybe if…”

“What about…?”

All ideas trailed off uncomfortably.

Tim groaned, “it should not be this hard to—”

“I propose we dance.” Stated Ivy with as much surety as she always managed.

“What?”

“WHAT?!”

“From existing data available, social situations can allow a degree of accepted platonic intimacy by engaging in dance based activities. Something that can be partaken in by a group, this allows for close of proximity of others and acceptable levels of touching for even those not comfortable with such engagement.”

“Are you suggesting that we—?”

“Got any better ideas?”

“Nope!” And with that Jonny seized Tim and started hurtling round the room in what could best be described as a vengeful waltz just as Marius began to sing ‘Drunk Space Pirate’ the rest of them joined in almost immediately, Ivy offering a hand to Brian. Marius gave Raphaella a courtly bow, with only a roll of her eyes she took his proffered hand leapt into the fray, the Toy Solider happily clapping a rhythm and singing out to its full capacity.

Ashes sighed, looking over to Nastya and cocking an eyebrow.

The engineer nodded curtly.

Soon all of them were singing, spinning and cavorting around the room. Ivy had been right, it was the start of friendly contact they could all manage. Initially the dancing had been aggressive as anything they’d ever done together but after a few verses they started to hold one another more gently, gripping more tightly, holding more closely as they held their acapella space ceilidh. They swapped partners easily, all dancing with each other till the Toy Solider increased the tempo, the rest of the mechs instinctively speeding up until someone lost their footing, the tight space and close contact working like a domino affect to pull them all own into a tangled pile of limbs and shouts of surprise on the middle of the floor.

At first they just lay where they fell with whomever they had been dancing with last too winded and stunned by their impromptu party to move.

“Hey, good thinking to dump the soft stuff down first.”

“This is why we let Ivy plan things.”

“Now what?”

“Get comfy?”

“And?”

“Like I know—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Ashes had run out of patience, “you lot are useless, right, Raphaella move your wings back, Brian shift sideways so you’re not on Marius’ arm, Jonny gun away, Tim shift closer to Ivy, there’s a gap. TS we’re playing a game, be as quiet and still as you can on the floor with us till we all get up. Right. Good?”

“You didn’t say please.”

“D’Ville I swear to God.”

Jonny cackled but did concede enough to toss his gun aside, safety on, using the moment to cast a look over the group, he could actually see it start to work fully, the awkward, uncomfortableness was beginning to melt into what could only be described as relieved satisfaction. The others settled against one another with minimal argument, moving unconsciously to get into more comfortable positions. Jonny felt himself sinking back against the pile, pressing gently against Ashes, Ivy against his back and could still feel Tim shifting closer to her to put a tentative arm over her waist reaching to brush Jonny’s shoulder. Somewhere to the side he could hear Raphaella sigh and Nastya mumble something whilst Marius grinned audibly and Brian’s heart beat could be heard slow and steady and sure. The first mate took a moment to soak in the sounds of his crew, for once and maybe the only time quietly, genuinely contented.

No matter how much they would all deny it afterwards, it had, for all of them, felt like home. 

Hilariously, it was Jonny that fell asleep first. Actually relaxed, not worried for once about watching his back and his stories currently told he sank into sense of satisfaction, the wildness and rage in him quieted, replaced with the knowledge that he and the rest of the crew were safe and together like they were supposed to be.

Tim thought this would be painful, reminding him too much of Bertie but for the first time, it didn't twist his chest to think of him, instead reminded him of the better times they had together, before the war and even when they'd been stuck in their foxholes, keeping each other sane. The softer memories of Bertie, mixed with the good times he shared with the crew now he began to fade into happy oblivion, the ache and itch of the last few months finally eased. 

Ashes felt their chest ease for the first time in a long time, everyone was safe, everyone was here, together. Killers, thieves, liars and vagabonds. This murderous family, who shot each other to say hello were here to stay, they’d always be a part of it, bound by fortunes, loyalty borne of shared experience and, even though they never said it, love.

Nastya sighed, it was peaceful and calm, the bodies of her crew, her friends breathed easily around her. She soaked in the warmth from everyone, and took satisfaction in that fact that she was surrounded by her love, that Aurora could be part of this moment. It was everything else that she needed, the glow of warmth, filling up every part of her, pushing out all the cold that had been seeping into her piece by piece. Now she could rest, she could be a peace and let the warmth flow.

Ivy was content, pleased her research had yielded positive results, collaborating with Raphaella and Nastya to pool their results and interpretation had been satisfying. It had been wonderful. The archivist hoped that there would be more opportunity to collaborate in future, they could create some brilliant things maybe not for those who planets they visited but brilliant nonetheless. Once this round of healing was complete she was going to ensure there were ways they could work together again. It was good to have companionship when you needed it.

Brian felt a relief that nearly rendered him speechless, he could feel it all, the peace, the rest, the trust of everyone in the pile, all breathing, all present, just being together. Knowing that he was a part of it, a fundamental part of this unlikely bond that needed them all to be here for this to work banished his roiling thoughts of being unwanted, of being perceived as only useful rather than needed. His heart beat powerfully, strong and sure that his crew was with him, and they’d continue in the stars together, even if they had to murder each other from time to time.

Raphaella smiled as she allowed sleep to draw her gently under, deeply satisfied her methodology complimented Ivy’s research and Nastya’s observations so well. They’d have to collaborate more often after this, there was so much potential. But right now she was glad to have contributed to solving the issue, she could feel the peace settling on her as much as her crewmates, they’d all desperately needed this resolution. It was funny thought Raphaella, she’d thought as she sank into slumber she’d been an only child once upon a time, but as it turned out she didn’t mind being a sister to so many, especially to those she knew she could kill if they got too much.

Marius was more contented than he’d been in a while all that rage and misery and not-rightness and melted away, settling like a heavy blanket the sense of completeness, of rightness was intoxicating. He knew he’d been late to the party but he was glad he’d joined the crew, they were all fascinating in their own way and were decidedly now bonded because what’s a little murder between family? He’d never quite fitted in anywhere as well as he did on the Aurora, or at least, he couldn’t remember doing so, this felt like home.

Toy Soldier was thrilled all its friends were playing together nicely again, this was a very quiet game though. It liked listening to the breathing of the others, they reminded it that they were playing too it was a big quiet game together. It liked being with its friends. It was going to play with them as long as it could.

Aurora took a moment to view her crew, she couldn’t help the resentment at her Nastya curled and cuddled up against the others, reminded starkly of the limitations of her reach to her love. But. But she couldn't object to the reaction it had drawn from all of them, they all looked at peace as they slept, every one  of the crew looking truly rested for the first time in a long time, the usual wildness, rage and chaos stilled for a moment. They'd all been unsettled and growing in upset over the past months, Nastya included. Their mechanisms had even started to slow. Now they looked at peace. They looked, well, from her limited understanding of such things, young. Innocent even which was amusing in and of itself. Marius' face was buried into Raphaella's shoulder, arm around her middle one of her wings curled around his back. Brian was cuddled around behind the pair of them, Nastya up against him and tangled in Raphella’s legs her back to Ashes who'd reached out in their sleep and pulled Jonny closer to them, his head pillowed on their shoulder, managing to look as though he'd tried to reach as many of them as possible as he slept, one arm under Ashes, the other reaching back across Ivy and settling on Tim's sleeve, both legs trying to entwine with different owners as though he were unconsciously trying to ensure everyone were present. The Toy Soldier laid down near the heads of Ashes, Jonny, Ivy and Tim, and tucked themselves neatly against them. Ivy was curled against Tim's chest, pressed flush against Jonny's back. Tim had one arm over Ivy, that was also being gripped by Jonny, his other being used as a pillow by Ivy, the tips of his fingers brushing Ashes shoulder. 

They looked contented, happy even. Piled up, resembling the octokittens when they slept, all cuddled up close together recharging their collective batteries. 

They all awoke together over twelve hours later, all having moved in their sleep to tangle even more comfortably together, everyone touching, all in contact with each other. No one was sure of what to say, they'd shared a vulnerability between them that never been offered to anyone before in mortal or immortal lives. There was a strange, platonic intimacy to wake up together. Everyone had a split second to decide how to react, eight pairs of eyes met, silent agreement made to not comment about anything, or anyone's position when awaking. A quiet order was given to the Toy Soldier not to comment either. It obeyed eagerly, just happy everyone was friends again.

Following on from this there was an unusual peace that descended on the Aurora. The months of discontent, frayed nerves and sheer panic were soothed for the moment.

They opted to land, to enjoy a drunken campfire since, as Jonny had pointed out with a remarkably straight face, it had been a while since they all enjoyed taking the piss out of a scrubby backwater.

No one, for once, argued.

They spent a surprisingly non-violent evening for once, singing and playing some of their favourite tales, a few dancing to the pieces that needed fewer instruments as the triple sunset faded to gold, then amber then a deep magenta.

Wordlessly they settled down together, backs to the Aurora, fire in front of them. Things to skewer and roast ready to cook as they sat shoulder to shoulder, the whiskey started flowing, shared stories and jokes, reminiscences of their adventures. The laughter poured as easily as the alcohol and lasted long into the deathless night.

In the months and years that followed, the Mechanisms most of the time were their usual, violent, destructive and raucous rowdy selves causing chaos and leaving stories and debris in their wake could also, on occasion be found having quieter moments. Sometimes when things were just itching the wrong way for someone, they might be found in the company of another. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Raphaella to be found in the library, head in Ivy’s lap whilst the archivist read aloud and gently twisted strands of golden hair between her fingers nor Tim and Marius sat strumming and sawing in a companionable melody, complimenting quietly. On occasion Nastya could be found sat with Brian talking about the vastness of space and on rarer occasions Jonny could be found pressed back to back against Ashes the pair of them contented, playing with fire and softly working on a new harmonica tune. Something had softened in all of them, not too much but enough to breathe.

For Jonny in particular it felt like something in his chest that had had a diamond-hard hold on him was beginning to loosen, the dam of emotions he kept locked up until they exploded in messy chaos now had the beginnings of construction that would eventually turn into an controllable outlet channel.

Nastya, Jonny and Ashes spent a little more time together, mostly silent but reminding each other they’d all survived to enjoy better times. Tim and Jonny found themselves talking about the war some nights, Jonny listening as Tim talked about Bertie before they’d signed up. Ivy sat up against Brian reading, sometimes aloud to him and sometimes just in companionable silence. The three women of the Aurora began to collaborate more often, much to the woe of any planet they landed on.

All of them sought each other at different times, each one of them preferred a different grounding depending on who they’d sought, sometimes music, sometimes talking and sometimes just closeness. It had become an unspoken rule, if one of them came to another with a particular look the other wasn’t allowed to mock or murder. Nightmares became less frequent. It probably helped that there was now little objection to sharing a bunk every so often to ward off such night terrors

As it was, the large puddle as Ashes called it no longer became quite as utterly essential. It didn’t stop it happening with a reliable frequency nonetheless. If asked, the reasonings varied from, ‘essential bio mechanical maintenance’, ‘a long term experiment’ and ‘fuck off! It means we won’t die die and that’s all.’

Dr Carmilla’s plan, created and implemented for whatever nefarious reason hadn’t worked in the manner she’d clearly hoped, at least, not in the long term. The crew of the Aurora continued their wildly violent story-collecting and renditioning adventures through space and time, and if they happened to be a little closer, a little more balanced, well, no one was going to comment.