Archive of Our Own

It starts with a not so innocent question.

Elliot and Chance usually hang around the main cabin late at night, long after everyone's retired to bed. Elliot cleans up the kitchen and sometimes (always) the rest of the area, even if it's not his obligation, and Chance keeps him company. They talk, though most of the time it's gossip. Elliot would never admit that. However, he would admit that he looks forward to those evenings every day, keeping him going from round to round, meal to meal. It's a levity they need, that Chance is willing to offer. Elliot can never make fun of Chance's eccentricities when it's one of the few bright spots in this place, except in front of Chance himself.

Today is no different; Chance leans over a table, shuffling one of his many decks and whistling. This one is navy blue, with tattered edges. It contrasts nicely with Chance's black gloves, flicking over the cards quickly with a practiced chaos. Elliot sweeps the floor. It's suspiciously quiet.

He should've known Chance would say something.

"You think Guest and Double-O are dating?"

"What?" Elliot's jaw drops. He almost drops his broom as well. Chance keeps shuffling, faking disinterest, a smile on their face.

"You think–" They try to repeat for Elliot's listening displeasure, and the worker quickly cuts him off.

"God, I hope not." Elliot rubs his temple with one hand. The other grips his broom, tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Guest... and 007n7. 007n7, of all people. The ex-hacker turned father turned suicide victim. He doesn't want to speculate. Elliot's seen his fair share of workplace drama, but that was between bored and horny teenagers over the summer with nothing better to do. Guest and 007n7 are in their thirties, with children. Elliot's no teenager either. Jury's out for Chance— kidding. Chance owns a casino, so he must be an adult, even if he acts immature at times. They're aware of the harshness and cruelty of the world, more than Elliot is, even if they're around the same age.

The point is, they both are in no position to theorize on such nonsense. They do it anyway, because if there's one thing they have in common with teenagers, it's limitless boredom.

"It kinda makes sense, no?"

"Kinda...? I didn't think n7 would ever get with anyone, but I guess if I had to pick, Guest makes sense..." Elliot muses.

"I would've bet that he'd get with you. Or Noli," Chance calls out from the table. Their hand rests near their chin, looking contemplative. The words are too loud for Elliot's liking. It's in the dead of night, with nobody around, but still.

"Me? That's funny." The image makes Elliot's face warm. The gambler snickers.

"Hey, the enemies to lovers goes hard."

"Are you kidding? You can't reduce real relationships to-to tropes."

"Tropes reflect real life."

"No they don't. Have you ever seen an enemies to lovers actually work out?" Elliot has seen his fair amount of failed love stories, including such arguments. He's also seen what kind of 'passion' arises from such relationships, all a series of workplace violations that resulted in many firings, more than Elliot had the stomach for. Teenagers. He wasn't like that when he was younger, but he was also tortured by a certain pair of hackers at that age.

"Eh..." Chance hesitates for a minuscule moment, a flicker behind their indecipherable shades. Their hands stutter mid shuffle, then move in a flurry of motion to compensate. They frown and shrug. If Elliot wasn't so close to them, he wouldn't have noticed their break in character. "Whatever, you think they're a thing?"

Elliot gives in and decides to give Chance's theories some serious thought. He always gives in when it comes to Chance's inane ideas, even when they're a bit invasive or inane.

Guest and 007n7 are friends. The survivors had questioned Guest's choice of company before, but Guest always insisted that 007n7 had changed, and that he was a fine enough friend. Better than fine, actually, thank you very much. It's not Elliot's business if Guest doesn't listen. If 007n7 really is different, then Guest can spend as much time with him as he wants. He's a grown man, 007n7's a grown man, who cares what they do.

But if he really questioned it, then he supposes it could be suspicious. After every round, Guest goes straight to 007n7's cabin, to do God-knows-what. They're always the first to comfort each other. Guest drags 007n7 to meals, to sit next to him and whisper things that make Guest cackle louder than anyone else.

You could call them really good friends, brought together by less than ideal circumstances, if you were normal.

Chance is not normal.

Considering this, Elliot concedes.

"...Maybe."

"Maybe?" Chance looks up, raising his eyebrows and grinning.

"They're... awfully close."

"Awfully? They're practically all over each other!" The gambler throws his hands up, dramatizing what Elliot believes is a perfectly normal relationship.

"I wouldn't say that. Do they spend time with anyone else?"

Chance and Elliot awkwardly stare at each other. Obviously not. At least, for 007n7. Even if no one's scared of him (except for Noob, on occasion), nobody really likes him either. Chance does, and Guest does, but nobody else hangs out with 007n7 out of their own free will. Elliot doesn't. Why would he? Why would anyone? 007n7's never around, and it's easy to forget he exists when he's not there. It's a terrible thing to think, but it's true for a majority of the survivors. 007n7 must cling to Guest then, feeling he has no one else to go to. And whose fault is that?

Isolation is a horrible thing. Elliot knows that the other survivors' presences in his life are a big motivator. 007n7 doesn't have that without Guest.

While Elliot thinks through his guilt, whether his behavior is justified or not, Chance is thinking about the other half of the relationship. Specifically, the history of the soldier.

"Wait, isn't Guest married?"

"Oh shit, is he?"

"He has a kid."

"n7 has a kid too, and God knows he's not married."

"Yeah, but, but, listen: Guest wears a ring, right?" Chance taps at his right ring finger, right above the knuckle, where Guest's theoretical wedding band would lie. "Besides, he mentioned her once, I think. Something flowery, like Rose? Lily? Give me another flower name-" Chance snaps his fingers in a bid to jolt his memory.

"Hyacinth?" Elliot's mind has not yet processed the implications.

"Nah, too long-"

"There's no way they're together then." It finally clicked. Elliot turns away, curiosity extinguished.

"I dunno..."

"What do you mean 'I dunno'... we're speculating over whether a married man is unfaithful! There's no way Guest would cheat, he's the most respectable man I know!" Elliot yells passionately and spins to face his friend. Chance rolls his eyes, but Elliot is dead serious.

He's always looked up to Guest. Guest was sort of a father figure to him, or something else of that nature. Reminds him of his own dad, back home, if he was around more. The man throws himself into protecting others in the rounds, and gives anyone a helping hand out of the rounds. He aspires to be as kind and brave as Guest. He would defend that man by the skin of his teeth.

"Does he see it like that...?"

"Does he... what?" Elliot shifts uncomfortably. He doesn't even know what that's supposed to mean. Does he see it like that? Huh? The wind is taken out of Elliot's sails, righteous and incredulous anger blown out. Confusion, and a mounting sense of horror, seems to take its place. Elliot chooses not to acknowledge it.

He watches Chance, attempting to read them, and fails miserably. Is Chance genuinely curious and unaware, or does he already know? Is there a point behind this pursuit? It doesn't matter, but Elliot sort of wishes Chance was more forthright about their intentions. He knows Chance can be a bit self-serving at times, but they have a good heart. A good friend, at least. More compassionate when it comes to 007n7 then Elliot can find it in himself to be.

"I think we should just ask," Elliot breathes out, attempting to be sensible, like he should have been from the start.

"Yeah, maybe it's an open relationship? I wouldn't jump to cheating."

"I wouldn't jump to them being together in the first place."

"Hey, if I'm wrong, I'll eat crow." Chance shrugs, with as much confidence and bravado as he does before every wager.

The image makes Elliot laugh despite himself sputtering, "We don't have crow, and I'm not gonna figure out how to cook one."

"Fine. I'll do your chores." He's gonna find some crow.

"Sure you will. You won't even wake up on time, and you've never picked up a broom in your life."

"Watch me. This place is gonna be squeaky clean by the time I'm done."

Elliot scoffs, a fond smile stretching on his face.

"Deal."

Chance has a very well formulated master plan to get Guest to open up: he will treat the soldier to a drink. Once Guest is drunk, Chance will ask some very well worded and thought out questions, intent on discovering the truth behind the soldier's amorous connection with 007n7.

Underhanded? ...Yeah. Sure. Call it what you like. Sometimes underhanded methods are necessary. It's not like he's coercing Guest to say anything, it's just that people tend to have looser lips when they're happy and drunk, or sad and drunk, or even angry and drunk. Chance has seen all three and the shades in between, and has learned a lot about many people that way. It's his go-to method to get someone to be vulnerable. Here though, he's never taken that risk one-on-one, for no particular reason. Sure he drinks, but it's a group activity, and he doesn't indulge much. Dying in front of someone over and over again is enough of a bonding experience, he guesses.

(They know why. Chance isn't interested in getting himself drunk, thank you very much. Not that it's not enjoyable, it's very fun to turn off your brain for a little and see what happens, but it's too risky, even for them. Even now. Vulnerability isn't Chance's style anymore. He's been burned too many times. He thanks Lady Luck every day for his abnormally high tolerance. He curses himself for challenging a certain man to a drinking challenge.)

He prays that Guest is a lightweight. He seems like too much of a goody-two-shoes to drink, but he also didn't seem like the type to cheat on his goddamn wife, so who knows!

It's not hard to find Guest. He likes loitering around the lobby after rounds, talking to everyone. Guest is always the first to comfort someone after a bad round, motivate them to keep going, or congratulate on a job well done. He makes it seem effortless too, leaving no room for doubt, appearing unshakable and trustworthy. The team would not be in such high spirits without him. He deserves his flowers for that. Chance tries his hardest to cheer up the other survivors, and it works, mostly. Some find them annoying. Some don't appreciate his gambling, because Chance could stop easily in their minds. Not like it's an addiction or anything, or that it's hurting anyone, except it kind of is, but who it's really hurting is Chance himself.

Chance doesn't allow himself to reflect on such comparisons, but the thoughts come anyway, as he wonders about Guest. Guest seems so perfect. His only flaws are things like being too selfless, or results of trauma. There must be some kind of catch.

They flip their coin, scanning the lobby for the classic Guest blue. He finds Guest in the kitchen, munching on a protein bar of all things. It's not even the chocolate ones. Gross.

"Hey man, how you doing?" Chance comes from behind. Guest jumps, and the gambler laughs. Guest's hearing is very poor thanks to the grenade, horrible for a soldier who's supposed to be always on guard, but funny for Chance to exploit. All good fun, obviously.

"Oh, hey Chance! Good to see you, man." Guest smiles at them and extends their hand. Chance enthusiastically claps them together, hearing the clap boom throughout the kitchen. Their hearing isn't the best either, he can thank his faulty gun for that, so neither register their volume much. That's why Chance made sure to seek out Guest when he was alone.

"Yeah! You're always running around, I'm always running around, we gotta catch up," Chance proposes, even though there can't be anything new that Guest doesn't know.

Luckily, Guest doesn't point this out. "Sure, I'm free."

Win! Lady Luck really is smiling down on Chance today.

"Why don't we just hang out, talk, have a drink or two… just have some good ol' fun between two sentinels!"

"You know I can't handle my alcohol, Chance," Guest laughs.

"I'll make you something light, come on. Just relax."

"I don't know if I should..."

"It'll do you good, I promise. Drinking is good! Raises spirits, helps you loosen up… Doctors used to prescribe it, even." Chance pats Guest on the back with a thump. "And you're so, uh, tense. Like you got a stick up your ass all the time."

"I don't think I'm that strict! You're acting like I'm a drill sergeant."

"True, that's Builder actually, bad analogy." Chance grins when Guest chuckles behind his hand, an admittance he would never make if he wasn't halfway convinced. "You're more like... it's like you're expecting something horrible to happen all the time. On edge, that's the term."

The implications of trauma and war go unsaid. Trench warfare and all that, he thinks. Chance knows nothing about it. He had no stake in either side back then. Even if there was another war, they would probably dodge the draft anyway. Their parents wouldn't allow it, even if they're a decent shot. Why is he thinking about this? They're never going to see them again. Chance tries to prevent his smile from falling.

"Well... Seven always tells me I need to relax more..." Guest scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.

Seven, huh? Unique nickname. Suspicious.

"Then take his word for it!

"Sure. But I trust you, Chance. Don't prove me wrong," Guest warns with a grin, a joking kind of threat, and Chance is hit with a brief sense of guilt.

Chance doesn't take much time in preparing something alcoholic enough to get Guest tipsy, but nothing to turn him off completely. Working in a casino taught him how to bartend, even though they never did it for long. Too boring for them, being outside of the action, though he has met a variety of people there. It's just a bit too sad for their liking, anyway.

They come back to Guest, and sit down and watch. Of course, they fill the silence with casual conversation: how are you, how are the rounds going, why do you think Shedletsky is missing his swings, casual stuff. Chance thinks Shedletsky's trolling, or just too rusty for his ego to handle. Guest thinks that Shedletsky needs glasses.

Guest is also starting to fall victim to the alcohol. His posture starts to hunch, distinct from the pencil-straight position the military had beat into him. His grip on the shot glass goes slack, sometimes accidentally slamming it on the table. The soldier flinches from the sound every time, even though he made the sound. Surprisingly, his words don't slur, though that might be because he's only tipsy rather than outright drunk. They're becoming more honest anyway, which is what the gambler is looking for. Chance's own demeanor doesn't change, only laughing and smiling and giving no indication of what they're planning.

Once enough time passes, Chance decides to drop the bomb. Blow up the grenade, if you will.

"So. You and Double-O-Seven, eh?" They lean their head on their palm, staring into Guest's unfocused and dilated dark pupils.

"What?"

"Didn't expect that. Didn't think you swung that way, actually. Usually I can clock that kind of stuff..." Or they're out of practice. Chance thought Guest was their 'token straight', so there was no need for any gaydar usage. He can admit when he is wrong.

"I what?"

"You know." Chance flicks his hand.

Guest stares at him.

"I'm not a swinger."

"Not that, why was that your first thought? I mean... being with a man."

Guest quiets. He looks down at his drink. The soldier's hands tremble as he stares into it, into his reflection. Chance looks away to take another sip. Too vulnerable too soon, and they haven't even brought up the cheating part. Still, he's not going to wipe out yet, noticing how Guest's jaw loosens.

"In the military that… that, uh, wasn't discussed. I don't think they- we? Were allowed to enlist, actually."

"Ah. Don't show, don't tell, huh."

"Yeah. And I was with a woman, so I never really explored, I guess. I didn't think I would ever feel that way. I mean, why-why would I?"

Was. Chance keeps that in his back pocket.

"Tends to be the case, especially for your type, the repressed type." Chance leans in and wiggles their eyebrows, probing for more. Perhaps he was in a crumbling relationship. Perhaps he never really liked women. Or this is all a stretch, and he's betting on nothing.

"Okay, not repressed—"

"Sure. But you never saw that as an option?"

Guest shakes his head, rigid in motion.

"I see. Well, 007 seems nice enough," Chance pulls back and shifts the topic, watching Guest's shoulder's slump. An obvious tell. "You treat him right?"

"Of course."

"Good, good. Didn't expect anything less." You never know. It's always the people you least expect, or Chance was just oblivious before.

Guest frowns, but doesn't say anything else. He's still reeling from the question, Chance guesses. The soldier is easy to read, with how his brows furrow and his muscles tighten. He looks more weathered that way. Usually, Guest has this endless optimism and drive that makes him feel different. Not youthful, but untouchable, and not in the way the admins are. More in a reliable way, where Chance could not believe someone had so much goodness in their heart. Like the statue that they must have in Guest's honor, perfect and heroic and a great role model, wow! The perfect, blameless martyr. It was too good to be true.

The gambler decides to take a different angle.

"Do you, like, go on dates or something? Has this been going on for a while? " Chance's hands gesture, attempting to coax something else from Guest. "How does dating work here, anyway? You can't really take him out to dinner, y'know. You'd have to get Elliot to cater."

The mental image of a very uncomfortable Elliot being forced to play waiter and chef for 007n7 and Guest makes Chance chuckle.

"Maybe…" Guest drums his fingers on the wood, eyes looking far away. "We haven't had the time to do that stuff yet. After our previous relationships, we thought it best that we take it slow."

There we go. Interestingly, Guest seems to see his future with 007n7 as an inevitability, concrete with room to explore. Without death weighing on them, what is there to worry about besides a breakup? The 'our' is fascinating too, perhaps a Noli reference? It's too many avenues to explore, but Chance will ponder this eventually when he's bored.

Chance pretends to remember something, trusting their acting skills as they jolt and point in faux surprise.

"Oh, that's right! Aren't you married?"

As Chance expected, Guest tightens all over again. In fact, he winces at Chance's excited tone. Ironic, that he came to relax, only for Chance to harden him up all over again, which sounds more malicious than it is, they swear. It's only a little deception.

"Was married."

"Oh. I'm so sorry." Chance leans in conspiratorially, his face a facsimile of sympathy, "Divorce? She dead?"

"No— none of those things." Guest flinches at the thought.

"Then what happened? if you wanna tell me."

"We're here," Guest whispers.

"Oh." So technically they're still bound.

"I told her 'till death do us part. I am dead."

"...You really think that?" Chance's voice warbles despite himself. It disgusts him.

"Think what? That I'm dead? I blew myself up, Chance, I don't think you can come back from that." He sounds almost angry, at the situation more than at his conversation partner. Guest points to himself, right where his grenade scar is, under layers of protective uniform. Chance recoils slightly. He knows about scars very well; they have a nasty looking one between his ribs, right over his heart, where iTrapped stabbed them.

"No. That we're not coming back."

"We... I... I'm not. Because I'm dead." Guest doesn't answer directly. Chance can only wonder if he means only himself, or if he's just hiding a truth from them.

Chance doesn't want to mention that he's dead too.

Nobody knows how Chance met his fate except for Lady Luck, the perpetrator, and Chance himself. Chance intends to keep that secret. It's not something anyone else should know, lest they use it against him.

Not that they think the survivors would do that. But, they thought that once about someone else; look where it got him.

A stretch of silence ensues, something rare for Chance. Guest sighs.

"Being with him makes things bearable. I think I can survive here, with him, and I know he feels the same. I want to be there for him. No one else will."

No one else will, huh.

He's not wrong. Chance almost forgot about the other side of the equation: the ex-hacker himself. If his mental state is entirely dependent on Guest, then he's doing worse than Chance thought.

"Is Double O’ Seven okay with this whole..." Chance gestures aimlessly. How can he really describe this clusterfuck of a situation? "...thing?"

"No." Guest looks to the side. This is the most regret Chance has seen the soldier show all night, and it's about 007n7's feelings, not the life he's left behind.

"No?"

"...He feels guilty. I don't... I can't reassure him completely."

"Obviously he feels guilty, you're a married man! You made him the other woman! Man! Whatever!" They can't hide their disbelief anymore. How set is this man on his mortality? It's almost infuriating, if Chance wasn't hyperaware of his situation. Surely, if they weren't stuck in this hell, he wouldn't say such things.

"Was a married man." The soldier is quiet, but resolute. He must have done all the crying alone, or in 007n7's arms.

"Was— you've really given up, haven't you."

"..." Guest looks down, eyes sad, ashamed yet unrepentant, honest as always.

"Telamon, okay." Chance is pale — not even he can hide his shock. Just because the odds are slim, Guest is folding. Granted, they are very, very, very slim odds. It's a big blow to their morale, that Guest 1337, The Last Guest, a war hero, has given up on escape. That does make sense though, that the soldier accepts their circumstances, and tries to make the best of it, but what if he's wrong? They don't know how long it's been since they've been trapped here, have they become that detached? Chance would rather not think about that. He prided himself on his worldliness, but being an heir already made them different from the rest. A "vapid rich playboy", according to the tabloids, and a certain someone. (They're not even a boy, nor are they vapid.) If they do go home, they'd be even more different from the world.

"Is that all you want to know?"

"Yeah, yeah. None of my business, huh?" Chance runs a hand through their hair. "Just– fuck. I… I'm sorry." The gambler isn't sorry about the questioning, but he's sorry that Guest is in this situation at all. No mortal should be facing potential immortality in a genuine, bona fide purgatory.

"Hey, if there's anything bothering you, you can tell me." Guest turns to him, caring as always, even while intoxicated and being questioned. He doesn't accept the apology. He doesn't think he deserves it, Chance thinks, staring at the soldier's poor posture and downcast expression.

Chance almost wants to spill, but thinks better of it. can't show your cards to your opponent. He wonders when he started thinking of Guest as his opponent.

"It's fine. Don't worry your head 'bout it, soldier boy. You've got enough on your plate."

"Alright, but don't be a stranger, okay Chance?"

And there's the Guest Chance knows. The Guest he's relied on, the one that Elliot idolizes. Chance knows that Guest is a virtuous man, and they shouldn't be surprised that he isn't perfect. Nobody is; Chance knows this well. It's what they've been repeating to themselves this entire conversation, but it doesn't mean they hoped that they were right. Guest's hand rests on chance's shoulder, and they can't help but notice the lack of shine on his ring finger.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. And everything you do."

Chance smiles. Guest doesn't question it.

Chance knew he wouldn't.

Let it be known that Chance is nosy. He's not ashamed; that's just who they are. They like to know things, and there's fuck-all else to do in eternal hell. There's nothing wrong with using his stellar networking skills to answer his inquiries.

Of course, their findings are used best to inform others, i.e. gossip. He can keep secrets, usually because of his line of work, but he's a sharer at heart, to the point of oversharing. Even with such a heavy topic. Keeping people's secrets range from boring to crucial, and Chance is not above letting something slip for the fun of it.

It seemed funny at the time; speculating on relationships is always fun, the art of who is dating who, who is interested in who, and this seemed like that. Of course, because nothing can be normal in the realm of the forsaken, this became something out of a Telenovela.

But Chance can't just let this die. He doesn't want to eat crow.

It's also weighing on them more than Chance would like. Surely, it can't be that miserable of a situation. There can be something funny about it.

So he asks around, just some feelers.

His results are less than stellar:

"Don't think anything of it. He's just bein' nice, god knows we need that, him specifically." That was Builderman — obviously, who else has that accent — doing his way of politely calling the whole thing stupid and pointless. The southern, corporate way of dismissing things.

Shedletsky, who was somehow simultaneously both more and less invested than Chance thought, called it "funny if true" and mused about "second chances" or something. He doesn't try to understand the guy.

Dusekkar did not dignify Chance with a response.

Two Time was more gracious, insisting that "The Spawn blesses some with companionship, and I cannot think of anyone who deserves it more than those two." They seemed a bit melancholic when saying that, for some kind of longing. Another victim of heartbreak, Chance believes. Clocked.

Taph laughs, or pretends too, but is actually useful: she remembered that they "were at the docks together". This would be more helpful, if they weren't always at the docks together, but Chance grins and promises to treat Taph to their first shot of liquor (something about 'demolitionists shouldn't be drunk on the job' kept them from trying it before, which Chance thinks is stupid, because surely demolitionists have off days? What kind of operation is Builderman running?).

Noob does not like gossiping, paranoid that someone will hear, but they also have some moral misgiving about it. Finds it mean. That doesn't mean that Chance didn't get something from them. "Wh-Well, I think it's nice! I guess. If it's true. I don't know anything about it though, sorry. You might know more than me! I think." Which yeah, Noob is right to assume that, but still.

It's nothing substantial, mostly just the rest giving their opinions on the idea of a relationship, rather than concrete proof of one. Chance bemoans this to Elliot on another late night.

"Nobody's telling us anything," he complains, quiet enough to not echo, but loud enough to ring in Elliot's ear. They lean over a table once again, shuffling the same dark blue deck from earlier. He stares at the back of a card, frowning. It's not ice blue, bordering more on night sky blue, or something navy.

"Probably because they don't know anything, Chance."

"Yeah but, what else are we supposed to do?"

"..."

"..."

"...You do it."

"What? Why me? He's literally scared of me, you know him better!" Elliot yelps, less angry and more fearful at the implied suggestion.

"You think I can handle asking him if he's a homewrecker or not? You'd be kinder than what I could do. He'd like, fall apart."

"Ugh. After all he's done...?

Chance raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face. He can see the gears turning behind those blue eyes, and Chance knows they won. It's nice to be the manipulator rather than be manipulated, even if Elliot is very much aware of said manipulation.

A couple seconds later, and Elliot's already untying his apron.

"Should I just go now?"

"I mean... if you wanna, while you still feel like it. He's probably still awake, that man has eye bags so deep, I swear he looks like fuckin', Nosferatu or something. Edward Cullen. Malnourished. Sad. Dead."

"Who is, what?" Elliot mutters under his breath, "But I don't feel like it."

"But you're going."

"I… I'm going. I'm going. Oh God, why do I let you—"

"You're going."

"Fuck, I'm going. Okay." Elliot covers his face with his hands, letting them slide down in complete disbelief at his lack of will. Chance can't help but laugh. "007n7's cabin is the one in the woods, right?"

"Yeah. Be careful, you never know what could happen."

"What, ghosts? Vampires?"

"Don't manifest it. It's gonna happen."

So Elliot starts to walk off, slowly and unwillingly. Practically begging for Chance to call out to him.

"Wait." Chance sticks his hand out, like the worker is a long-lost lover from a romcom. They're star-crossed lovers in an airport, or Elliot is walking out the door and out of Chance's life—

"Oh my God, what!" Elliot laughs, too willing to be amused to be annoyed at the disruptions. He'd take anything to avoid thinking about what he's about to do, who he's about to talk to, how he feels about that, more questions that feel harder than the death rounds.

"I have something for you. Pick a card." The gambler flays out their deck, hiding their expression.

"Any card?"

"Any card."

Elliot runs his fingers through the sea of blue-backed cards, selecting one and flipping it over. Two of hearts. Two hearts that beat as one? he muses.

"Put it back, I'm gonna guess your card, watch."

"Let me see you try." Elliot doesn't doubt Chance at all, but it's fun to play along with their fantasies and games.

Chance shuffles the deck with his regular flare and finesse. It's still gorgeous to watch, even though Elliot has seen it in his peripheral many times. The cards almost blend into a single entity, flowing according to Chance's will, like a wave. Chance can control the sea of cards, like a god. Their shades add to the effect, giving them an untouchable demeanor, betraying no emotion but pleasure.

And it's over. Elliot is faced with the fan of blue. Chance flicks it like one, and Elliot can imagine them batting their eyelashes.

Answering the unsaid demand, the worker takes a card.

Two of hearts. Two hearts that beat as one?

He puts it back quickly, disconcerted by the coincidental symbolism, and all of a sudden too eager to get his job over with. The latter, something he never thought he'd feel.

"Wait, let me think…" Chance moves his body and arms, exaggerating his motions as he pretends to conjure something. "Is… this your card?"

With a flick of his hand, he picks out the same exact card, two red hearts staring back at Elliot.

"How did you…"

"Magic. Keep it, it's good luck."

"Cause I'll need it…" Elliot mumbles, but smiles as he slides it into his pocket.

He feels a nick on the edge.

Oh, so that's how.

Magic, his ass.

Truthfully, Elliot has no idea where 007n7's cabin is.

He knows it's in the woods, but what does that even mean? The woods stretch on forever, and there's no path taking him there. There was no need to make one. 007n7 knows the way, so why would it need to be indicated?

God, thinking about it, they've really neglected 007n7. He never complained, so how would they know? No wonder he's so desperate to date a married man.

Elliot shakes off his complicated emotions, but they don't go away, expounding his guilt and shame. Every footstep feels heavy. Luckily, there's a few footprints imprinted on the dirt, marked by a line of crushed grass. Combat boots. Elliot's gonna be sick.

If the lack of a path was bad, then the state of 007n7's cabin is even worse. Elliot hasn't seen it since his tour, and he didn't stay for long once he learned whose cabin it was. Looking back, his anger towards 007n7 felt a bit immature. Deserved? Yes. But he could have gone about it in a different way. Maybe then he wouldn't be so scared now to face him. Elliot's haunted by memories of an 007n7 in the past, mocking and sadistic and careless, the dead 007n7 he saw on the news, and the one now, who is a ghost of his former self. He hates them all, for a variety of reasons that he wishes he could have untangled earlier. It feels impossible to do now.

The cabin is wooden, like everyone else's, but is very much on its last legs. The thing looks like it's on a slant, the wood looks old and slightly rotten, there's holes in the roof, and overall it looks worse for wear. Elliot wonders why Builderman hasn't taken a look at it yet. Surely, this is drastic enough to warrant at least some repair. 007n7 can share with Guest or something.

The idea makes the worker's face flush for indiscernible reasons.

Speaking of Guest, why hasn't he brought it up to Builderman. The answer must lie in 007n7, which concerns Elliot even more. 007n7 does not want to ask for help. Why, Elliot can guess, but he does not know, and that worries him more than it should.

He can only ruminate on these concerns for so long. With Elliot's luck, 007n7's going to leave the cabin now and face a very stressed out Elliot, and Elliot would snap or something and mess it up.

Elliot slaps his face, attempting to snap out of his spiral. Ironically, he channels his inner Guest; he gives himself a pep talk.

"Okay, Elliot, you can do this. It's just a simple question. You can be nice. You are nice. It's just like… apologizing for a ruined order! Yeah. You've faced worse. You've had the cops called on you because you refused to give a refund. You've survived death. You've literally been skewered alive. You can do this, you're golden." He is not golden. One step on the creaky stairs, and he almost slips because the rail is loose. He's shocked 007n7 hasn't slipped a disc yet.

He takes a breath.

He knocks on the door.

…

No response. Elliot immediately spins around, not willing to wait, when he hears something.

"Guest? The door is open, you don't have to knock, silly," a voice giggles. It has a raspy tone, a bit deep, belonging to someone Elliot really wishes wasn't there. Elliot didn't even know he could giggle. He sounds happy, happier than he's been since he was forsaken.

This is awkward. Elliot becomes even more nervous, if that was even possible. His hands sweat. He feels for Chance's card in his pocket, hoping that their confidence transfers through it.

"It's me. Elliot. Can I come in?"

"Elliot? Oh, fuck—" 007n7 curses. A cacophony of disconcerting noises can be heard from the room. "Uh, you can come in."

Elliot opens the door and is face to face with 007n7. His dad-blue color is covered by a terrifyingly familiar black jacket, decked out with c00lgui-red accents. He can even spot horns on the man's head. How is that even possible? Did he just not notice them? Elliot finds that he cannot stare longer, his stomach churning.

Instead, Elliot looks around at the sad state of 007n7's room. There's almost nothing there; the room is barren, sans the furniture and a conspicuous pile of laundry, haphazardly thrown in a corner next to a pile of… wood? The same structural issues from the outside are visible on the inside, though 007n7 had tried his best to cover up any holes and keep himself warm. One of the lamps has a busted light bulb, while the other flickers sporadically. 007n7 had lit a candle, like an old person, on a nightstand. With shock, Elliot realizes that his bed is simply a mattress on the floor, presumably because the bed frame had broken, based on the broken wood in the corner. Holy fuck, he thinks. He needed to bring this up to Builderman yesterday. If Builderman would even help.

"...Nice place."

"Sure," 007n7 sneers. The hacker quickly suppresses his derision, turning to Elliot with an eerie blankness. "Do you need something?"

"Ah-um, I was just gonna ask you something. Couple of questions!" Elliot rushes out his explanation. "And no, Builderman did not set me up for this. It's just for my curiosity."

007n7 does not laugh. Instead, he looks around and attempts and fails to make eye contact with Elliot, but when he does, his gaze is fearful and defensive and condemning all at once. His hands reach for his covered arms and clench tightly, in a way that looks painful. It all makes Elliot sweat.

He doesn't seem to know how to react. Neither does Elliot.

Elliot doesn't know how to transition into any difficult topic. His social skills were only useful for likability, not for deep conversation. The latter wasn't really needed for working the register, and he was never a manager, where tact was required to do a good job.

"So, you and Guest."

"..." No response from 007n7, again, but his expression marginally shifts, from shock to skepticism to nothing at all. His eyes widen, then narrow, something unfamiliar. Elliot's face falls, but he schools it back to an impassive stare. Just curious, just concerned, exactly how Chance told him to be.

"Are you a thing? Is this a QPR, or something?

"Um, no. We're together. I think," the hacker mutters, frustrated that he has to admit anything.

"You think?"

"Um- I hope. We do all of that couple stuff, confessed to each other-" 007n7 allows his lips to turn up a tad, face less red from embarrassment and more from the memory. It's a true joy, one that Elliot has never seen on 007n7's face. Not the thrill from ruining people's lives and giving them irreversible trauma. It must have been there when 007n7 was with c00lkidd, but Elliot wasn't there to witness it. It most certainly wasn't there before.

Elliot's never been in a serious relationship. There was no time for that type of connection, between his job and his family. What little experience he did have could never invoke whatever warm feelings 007n7 has, just from a thought.

He's a little bit jealous. Not that 007n7 doesn't deserve such comfort, especially after that, (okay, Elliot doesn't know if he deserves it, so to speak) but Elliot wonders if he led his life differently, that he could've opened up to someone like that. Or maybe he's just thinking about it because of the missed opportunity.

"So you're dating."

"Yop."

"But his... baggage..." Is there a right way to say 'oh yeah your boyfriend has a wife and daughter at home' with some degree of decorum? Elliot thinks his words through. "Is that..."

"... All right with me?" 007n7 sighs, eyes already looking misty. "No. But what can I do? He's all I have now."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"...Do I have to explain it? My son, my best friend, I've lost them all, and it was my fault. Now I'm here." 007n7 looks away to blink back tears. His arms hold himself tightly. "I deserve this hell."

"You literally don't. Nobody does." Elliot crosses his arms, trying to make his words as soft as possible for the hacker's sake, remembering his countless hours in customer service. Thinking about Builder Brothers only reminds him of what happened at Builder Brothers, making it harder to temper his frustration.

"Sure. I know you wouldn't mind if I was stuck here," 007n7 scoffs. His voice is bitter, enough to send Elliot over the edge.

"No, I wouldn't!" How could 007n7 think of Elliot like that? That he would be so cruel? He wants to cry. "Nobody deserves this! Nobody deserves eternal damnation!"

007n7 shrinks into himself, and Elliot flinches. Guilt quickly catches up to him, embarrassed that he lost control. He's supposed to be calm, it's just when 007n7 is involved, his emotions flare in a bad way. Too many feelings he should've buried.

"Sorry."

"No, I understand."

"N-No, I, uh, whatever. Let's just pretend that didn't happen."

"Lets." 007n7's shoulders slump, relieved.

"Actually, wait." Elliot holds his hand out, and 007n7 looks momentarily betrayed, like a deer in headlights, as he's put back under observation. "Why do you think you deserve this?"

007n7 gives him a deadpan look.

"Stupid question. I mean why do you think you have to settle like this?"

"I don't think I'm settling with Guest."

"No, I mean doing things that make you feel miserable."

"I don't follow." A scowl makes its home on 007n7's face.

"Okay, just tell me what is up with this. How do you feel. What's the rationale, 'cause I don't get it, but I'm willing to give you grace."

At this question, 007n7's protests seem to fall away. He chews the inside of his cheek, fiddles with his sleeves, feet tapping irregularly. He constantly looks like he's on the verge of saying something, but rethinks his words and shoves them back down. Elliot starts to unconsciously mimic 007n7's nervous movements, trying not to stare and utterly failing.

Elliot can barely hear 007n7 when he does speak, tone reduced to a mere whisper.

"I-I'm a terrible person, but he says it's okay, that we're just doing what we can to survive, and he's the best person I know so... I don't know."

Shit. Elliot's mouth goes dry, because Guest was also the best person he knew, too. Whether he still is or not, Elliot doesn't know.

Not many people can be considered completely 'good' here, with varying degrees of severity. Not many can be considered 'bad' either, but nobody's squeaky clean. The admins are still admins, with all of the bloodshed that comes with it. Two Time is Elliot's friend, but he can tell that they feel guilt over something horrible they've done. Taph may or may not have killed people accidentally. Guest may be a cheater. Chance is a casino owner, technically making money off of other people's addictions, even if they have one themselves. 007n7's crimes are up there in severity, but seeing him like this was never what Elliot wanted.

If they're 'doing what they can' to survive, Elliot has to wonder. Is the situation so dire that 007n7 and Guest felt like they had no other choice? Could they not suppress their feelings any longer? Elliot has no clue how any of that works, and he really doesn't want to, but he still kind of wants to know how someone can lose hope like that.

He looks down at the floor, ignoring his nerves, voice embarrassingly meek and quiet.

"Do you think... we can go back?"

It doesn't take long for 007n7 to answer. "Maybe you can. Not me. Even if I did go back, things won't be the same, will they?" 007n7 laughs slightly. His hands shake. "God knows I can't take care of a kid now, I can barely take care of myself! And we don't know how much time passed..."

Elliot pauses, because privately, he's held those same fears as well. Could he return to his normal routine like nothing happened? Would Builder Brothers' even exist anymore when he comes back? It's so odd to hear his feelings verbalized.

"So what you're saying is maybe?"

"I guess. I mean, it'd be a miracle. I-I chose to leave this life, in a pretty final way, y'know?"

Elliot does know. He remembers newscasts claiming that a notorious hacker had chosen to die, and that the world was better without him. He threw up afterwards. He called out of work for the first time in years, it made him so sick to hear.

"I don't know how that could all be... reversed. But you..." 007n7 looks at him, expression warm and reverent. Elliot feels queasy.

"Uh, I don't know about that. I don't... I don't know how I got here. Maybe I'm dead, maybe I'm not."

"I see. I wouldn't lose hope then, Elliot."

"You shouldn't either." Elliot crosses his arms, and before 007n7 can retort with some self-pitying or snide comment, he continues, "Even though our circumstances are different, and you might be sleeping with a married man–"

"You can't just— sleeping?" 007n7's face grows hot.

"–You should still have hope."

007n7 stays silent for a moment. Elliot tries not to stare. The man's still, not fidgeting like usual, not trembling. Elliot's about to excuse himself when 007n7 finally says something.

"Thanks, Elliot." He sounds like he's about to cry again. It's too tender of a tone for the worker to accept, especially from him.

"Don't thank me. I still don't know how to feel about you and Guest."

"I figured that would be the case..." 007n7 clasps his hands together and sighs, resigned rather than nervous.

"You did?"

"I wanted our relationship to be a secret because of Guest's... y'know... and also my reputation. I'm not going to drag him down with me... and I don't want people to hate me even more if they see me with him."

Elliot's heart sinks even further, somehow. It's hard to hear how low 007n7 thinks of himself, that he can't even be seen around people. Like he'd taint them just with his presence. Clearly, it's doing him more harm than good.

"People don't hate you, n7."

"It was an exaggeration, but my point still stands."

"I get what you mean," Elliot says, unable to muster anything else. "B-But still. I can't say I don't care about what you did, but I still don't want you to live so, uh, miserably. I mean, look at your state of living. Nobody deserves that. I mean it. And the rest do too."

007n7 stares down at him. Elliot can see his reflection in the hacker's pink glasses, one of the few details that carried over from his past outfit. The hacker's expression is eerily blank, and Elliot thinks he doesn't believe him. It's like something has fallen away. Was 007n7's demeanor a facade? Surely he feels guilty, it was practically radiating off of him, but was his self-hatred a farce, or just his meekness?

"I... Okay. Have a good night, Elliot. I'll keep it in mind, I swear." And there's the 007n7 Elliot is familiar with, ashamed of whatever just occurred as he backs away. "And thank you again for the interrogation. I appreciate it."

The sarcasm still stays, apparently. Elliot takes it as an out, and scurries away without a look back.

Chance waits for Elliot on the couch upstairs. Not their normal location, but he figured that Elliot wouldn't be up to doing work for once. It took Elliot some time to find him, and in that time, Chance had flipped their coin a grand total of one hundred and forty six times. Among those flips, one hundred and seven of them were heads. Roughly low seventies. Not bad. Lady Luck must be smiling down at them, a good omen for the conversation ahead.

When Elliot finally does find him, Chance gets straight to business.

"So?"

"It's so bad. Oh my God, it's so bad."

Chance looks at Elliot, smirk fading as they notice the sweat on his brow, the way his eyes widen, the slight trembling in his hands.

"Have you been to his cabin? I thought the place was gonna fall apart, I swear to God. I looked at him, and he had the same coat from back then, when he was a wanted criminal, but he had horns? How the hell can someone suddenly grow horns!" Elliot pauses, face flushed red, and Chance thinks he's done. But he's not. Elliot's arms stretch out to preemptively stop any interruption. "And then! And then, he literally thinks that we all hate him and want him to be miserable and shit! He actually fucking hates himself!"

"No shit," Chance interjects, unnerved. Since when has Elliot sworn so much? They know that they've been a bad influence on the pizza boy's language, but seriously. He tries to laugh it off, but Elliot does not budge.

"No Chance, you don't understand. How did I not…" Elliot's face falls into his hands for a moment, but then he springs up, remembering something else. "And like, the whole Guest thing is making him feel even worse, because apparently Guest is telling him that it's normal and okay and fine but n7 here thinks it might be a problem and that he's a horrible person for going with it, but he doesn't know what to think because Guest is ohhh so better than him and we all hate him and–"

"Woah, slow down. Take a breather, man. Jeez." The gambler pats Elliot's back. Elliot pauses, then takes a couple breaths, in and out. In and out. He looks away, embarrassed at his emotional display.

"Sorry. Went into neon time mode there. My bad."

"Neon time?"

Elliot freezes. He looks down at his hands and sighs, trying to ground himself.

"D-Don't. It's a thing."

"Ahhhh, a thing. Okay." Chance nods slowly. Elliot's eye twitches, but he sighs and lets it go, knowing Chance won't.

"But like, what I thought was weird was that Guest was telling 7n7 that it was okay? It was kind of like… coercion? I don't know, it felt weird."

"Takes two to tango."

"No, that's not…"

"You're makin' it out to seem like Guest is the bad guy here. Double O's a grown ass man who can make his own decisions, even if they're kinda weird."

"I mean, Guest is the cheater."

"But like, what if he's just being real, man."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I don't know, let me play devil's advocate for a bit, okay! I'm trying to take all the perspectives into account, man." His index finger makes a loop in the air, face deadly serious. Chance can't write off Guest's point of view entirely, even if it's uncharacteristically pessimistic. Perhaps it's better not to get his hopes up for any escape, who knows? Nobody does. Hope is always a risk, and Chance's job is to determine if it's a feasible one. "I mean, what if she moves on? It's not like the world won't stop spinning' for us."

"You think they already gave up?" Elliot's face scrunches. "Like, would my dad and sister have stopped looking by now?"

"Nah. I mean, it depends. My parents are probably still looking, I think. Well, they're not doing the looking, they've probably got a big fat reward lined up for my nonexistent savior, or some public plea..." Chance rubs his hands, trying to paint a convincing picture for Elliot. In actuality, they have no idea. They hope their parents care enough to look for him. He wasn't on the best terms with them in his final years, but maybe losing their only child superseded the bitterness that lingered between them. Chance would kill to see them again. Well, maybe not kill. iTrapped killed them for the sake of his better, closer friends, and Chance is nothing like iTrapped.

The options for Guest's widow are more broad. Since Guest is presumably confirmed KIA, that means she has to move on. Maybe she will marry someone for stability, or run a foundation in his name. Maybe she's done that already. They don't know how long it's been since they've been forsaken. Dusekkar came later, claiming that it's been a couple of months since Builderman and Shedletsky disappeared, but that's if they come from the same 'timeline' or whatever. Time dilation or something. Chance wasn't there for the conversation, and if he was, they probably wouldn't have picked up on Dusekkar's metaphysic musings. His rhymes took a while to decipher, even for Chance.

"...If they've given up, should we? Do you think there's no hope?" Chance shifts uncomfortably, unable to keep his question under wraps for long.

"Should we…" Elliot believed that they shouldn't. That's what the worker told 007n7, and he genuinely believed it, but the more he thinks about it, the more he worries.

Elliot is not thinking about timelines or Guest's widow, but about his family. A girl with white hair, in black and white. A man in a suit with a jolly mustache, and the demeanor to match. The pizza place that he sees at home. A girl, donning a red uniform, grinning while she works the register. A woman with pink hair in a ponytail and a sunny smile behind a counter at the shop next door. Customers, coming in and out. Children. Adults. Toddlers. Teenagers. Grandparents and their grandchildren. Everybody likes pizza. Elliot would see all kinds of demographics, all united to enjoy a slice of Builder Brothers' finest. His finest. It's why he gave up his soul, his time, his future, for the sake of those satisfied smiles.

Those he'll never see again.

He did everything for that little pizza place. For the people there. And for what? To end up here?

Elliot cannot keep himself from crying. The dam breaks.

"I don't know! I thought that it would happen eventually, like the admins come up with something or The Spectre gets bored, but no! I'm never going home! We're never going home!"

Chance starts to panic internally, relieved that their shades are still on. They touch Elliot's arm carefully, lowering their voice.

"Hey, you don't know that. The admins could be figuring out something."

"That's bullshit Chance, and you know it! We're never gonna…I'll never see Mia, or Dad, or Lulu, or Daisy-"

"Daisy?"

"What?" The worker asks, but Chance does not listen, amid their frenzy.

"That's her name!" They wildly point at nothing, shouting like they've just had a grand revelation over a single name.

"Name of who?"

"Guest's wife."

Elliot freezes. "Daisy…" Elliot says it slowly. Giving a name to Guest's wife makes her feel more like an actual person, rather than a nebulous connection. Daisy, like the flower, white and pure. A woman raising a child alone, with a real personality and real emotions and real grief. A woman visiting a grave, with her love's name reduced to an epitaph.

"Crazy coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah, that's wild…" Elliot cannot pretend to sound amused. "She — the Daisy back home, at my home, I mean — works at the Pet Shop nearby. Bright pink hair, sweetest girl I know." The distraction calms Elliot down, but his freckled cheeks are still wet with tears. "I'm never gonna go back. No more twelve hour shifts, ha."

"No more overworking, or annoying customers."

"No more nice customers either."

"No more rise and grind for you."

"Acting like this isn't rise and grind too."

"Well…" The gambler looks around and shrugs. "Yeah… but you got me. And the rest."

"I do…" Elliot's eyes are glassy.

"You know what Guest always says?"

"Chance, I really don't want to hear what he has to say–"

"We're all in this together. We should try to be strong, always be strong." Chance pumps his fist, mimicking Guest's movements and cadence. He can recall many times where Guest would round them all together, and talk. Not in the army commander, yelling and berating and making people piss their pants type of way, but still strong and brave. Elliot remembers too. "Yeah, it's corny as hell at the moment, like why are we in a circle, is this a sports team?"

"Yeah, but it's sweet."

"And it's true."

Elliot goes quiet, a hesitant smile on his face, but still unsure.

The gambler weighs their options. He takes a breath. He flips a coin.

Heads.

If Lady Luck wills it, they might as well.

Chance takes off his shades, his gloved hands trembling. The ones no one has seen him without.

Their eyes are an off-putting gold, too bright, too irritating of a color. Blinding. Very attention seeking, begging for someone to stare at them and be blinded. It meant good luck, he used to joke, when he wasn't ashamed of them and hypervigilant of others. iTrapped stole another thing from him. That man does nothing but take and take and take, even now. iTrapped will not take this.

Elliot has never seen Chance's eyes before. They're luminescent, a brighter gold than any coin they can flip. Beautiful. The type described in books as spellbinding, hypnotizing, as if they were painted. Perfectly fitting for Chance. But, Elliot can understand why Chance wouldn't want to show them. Eyes are the windows of the soul, and as a gambler, Chance cannot afford to 'show his hand', or whatever analogy he uses. Chance has never been one to show vulnerability either. Elliot sniffs, his own blue eyes becoming wet with tears.

They both let the moment rest. No words are needed. Chance doesn't think he could stomach saying anything. Elliot knows his voice will crack, and then he'd end up a sobbing mess all over again. Neither of them pegged themselves as crybabies, or particularly emotional, but now, they're too fragile to risk it.

Eventually, the moment passes. Both of their breathing levels out, and Chance is getting bored.

"Well, this wasn't as fun as I thought," the gambler confesses, crossing their arms and sitting back on the couch with a faint thump.

"You thought someone potentially cheating was fun?" Elliot sputters, side-eyeing Chance with not a small amount of ire.

"I mean..."

Elliot gives him a look.

"Be for real."

"Hey, hey, don't look at me like that!"

"You should be ashamed!"

"And you were right there with me, El. Nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, what else is there to do?"

The worker looks down. There is nothing to do. That's why 007n7 and Guest got together in the first place. They've exhausted all of their options for entertainment, for coping. They've bet on everything under the fake sky, tried all kinds of hobbies and challenges, warmed up to everyone except the obvious. Even Elliot has grown bored of the routine, and his life was a revolving door of work to home for years.

This is the real torture, Elliot thinks. At least for him. He doesn't have the connections that 007n7 does to the killers, or the shame from being with the other survivors. He can't pretend that he has it the worst, but everyone has it pretty bad.

"Well, we found out, we regretted it, we got things to chew on. Win win!"

"Because that's a win to you?"

"Yeah. A win." Chance raises his arms over his head, but lowers them a second later. "I'm gonna have to figure out how to sweep."

"But you won?"

"Not gonna lie, this feels more like a loss. Pyrrhic victory and all that."

"Fancy phrase."

"I know. I'm so well read. But like, maybe some change will do me good?"

"I'll teach you. Don't want you hurting yourself."

"What, like the broom is gonna blow up on me? Can you imagine?"

"I don't want to imagine that, Chance, because now I'm half expecting you to find a way to spontaneously combust the one broom here. I wouldn't put it past you."

"Wow... is that a complement? Admiring my resourcefulness in these trying times?"

"No."

"Wooowwww…" they draw out, "So compassionate."

Elliot snorts. He's kind of shocked that Chance can change his mood so quickly, but then again, it is Chance.

He can kind of understand Guest, maybe. It's the people here that keep Elliot from breaking down constantly. If Guest has found his solace in 007n7, he cannot blame him.

That's a lie. He can blame him, a little. A lot. Nobody said he wasn't allowed to have friends, but kissing and loving and whatever else he does while having a wife is still something Elliot cannot condone. He cannot condemn it entirely, though.

It's not his business. He doesn't know anything about relationships, or cheating, or Guest's psyche. He can only hope for the best. For all of them, 007n7 and Guest and Chance and everyone else, and even himself.

"...Do you think I can find crow somewhere?"

"Are you still on that?" Elliot giggles, and Chance grins back. Their eyes sparkle more when they smile, their lower eyelids rising in mirth.

"I mean, I've always wondered, like everyone says it, but has anyone ever followed up on their word?"

"Chance, you…" Elliot's words dissolve into laughter. His fears still linger, but when he's with Chance, they can joke and forget.

The rest of the night passes like that, after they had cried out their woes together.

Elliot's going to be fine. Chance is going to be fine too.

They'll survive, as best as they can, like it or not.

BREAK

007n7 is laying in his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling. His hair is damp from a shower, and he's swaddled in his shark onesie and an absurd amount of blankets. Yet, he's not comfortable. In the silence, his mind wanders.

He thinks over the conversation with Elliot. It's the only thing he can think about right now. Is it wrong to have hope? It would take a miracle for him to be free. Can he dream of the impossible? Oh, how he wishes to be with his son again and see that smile that made life worth living, to pack his lunch and walk him to the bus stop, to tuck him in bed after a long day. He feels like a part of him is missing without c00lkidd, and the motivation to try.

But if he's stuck here, he can keep Guest in his life.

The door to his cabin opens, letting in a rush of cold air. 007n7 doesn't mind, because he knows who opened it.

"Hey..."

"Guest."

Guest crawls next to 007n7, curling up to him as 007n7 wraps his arms around him. The soldier relaxes in 007n7's hold, resting his face on 007n7's chest. Guest is normally so high strung; it's an honor that 007n7 is the only one Guest feels comfortable around. His posture is no longer tense, and his mind doesn't run through worse case scenarios, not if 007n7 will have any say about it. It's nice to be wanted. To comfort someone else. To be someone's heaven in hell.

It's been a couple days since they've been able to do this; sneaking away to another's cabin is harder than 007n7 had thought, especially since he's as good as furniture in the survivors' eyes.

"I talked to Chance the other day," Guest says, looking up to tell 007n7 about the happenings in his life. It's domestic. The kind 007n7 isn't used to, but Guest had lived. In another reality, they would be discussing work and budgets and schedules and silly incidents along the way, benign aspects of a life shared.

"Did you?"

"He figured out about us," Guest murmurs, hesitant.

"Ah." 007n7 should be more surprised, or panicked. This was what he feared — that Chance, notorious gossip, would find out about his relationship and expose them. Elliot's earlier confrontation tempers this, preventing his mind from running in all directions through all kinds of horrible scenarios. "So did Elliot, actually."

"He did? Is that a coincidence?"

007n7 snorts, "Obviously not. You know how they are." They laugh together, and 007n7's heart beats faster in joy. He doesn't want to ruin the moment. He opens his stupid mouth anyways. "But... what Elliot said got me thinking."

He's been thinking about many things. It's easy to forget the circumstances of their relationship, like how they got together and why Guest is available, when they're together. Everything's easier that way. But when he does remember, it fills him with mixed emotions, because a part of him feels guilty, but another part doesn't care. He wants Guest for himself, and he feels horrible for it. 007n7 wants to belong to Guest, and Guest to belong to him, and to live intertwined forever, because they can't live without each other anymore. He knows that Guest cannot fix his inner turmoil, so he decides against sharing that particular train of thought.

Guest looks up at 007n7, a concerned expression on his rugged face. 007n7 places a hand on his cheek to comfort him, and savors when he leans into it. His thumb traces over a discolored scar. He feels the bumpy skin, one of the many healed wounds adorning Guest's perfect body.

"Maybe there is hope for a life out of here," he admits. Guest's eyes widen.

"You think that?"

"No," 007n7 lies, "Elliot thinks so."

"I'd hope for him, and the others..." Guest yawns, "But, about me."

"About us." 007n7 refuses to let Guest feel alone in his fate. Even if Guest is the martyr, and 007n7's the villain, they're both here, so what is the difference? If Guest isn't free, then neither is 007n7. Someone so good should not have a worse fate than someone like him.

"Us..." Guest trails off.

This silence isn't comfortable. Guest dislikes the thought of 007n7 resigning himself to this life, in some kind of odd double-standard. Always playing the hero. 007n7 hates that Guest has turned himself into the perfect sacrifice. There's no reason to martyr himself here like that, when everyone does it at some point for someone else. The amount of times 007n7 has thrown himself in front of a fatal blow are too numerous to count. The amount of times Guest has done the same has to be at least ten times that. It's not like The Spectre would let them go if Guest asked nicely, or if he killed himself for It as sacrifice, so why does Guest act like he can control their situation?

007n7 shifts to be side to side with Guest, facing him directly. His eyes are dark pools of guilt and sadness, like a sad puppy.

007n7 offers a smile, more genuine than fake, even with the war in his mind.

"Hey. Even if we're stuck here forever, I wouldn't mind, if I can be here with you," 007n7 finally confesses. His throat feels like sandpaper, his words nothing more than a whisper. His head hurts. 007n7's words are unconfident, not because he doesn't mean what he's saying, but because it feels like a betrayal: to Daisy, to c00lkidd, to the survivors who hope for escape. It's a betrayal he's made thousands of times, and will do again and again.

Forever is such an unfathomable thing to promise to someone. It's synonymous with eternity, something that supersedes life and death. 007n7 wonders if Guest promised Daisy forever, or simply promised what he could give: his life.

007n7's life is nothing compared to Guest's. He would give it up in a heartbeat for him.

"I wouldn't either," Guest murmurs back after a moment, "Love you."

He still looks sad. A deep kind of misery, an emptiness that you have to look for, in his eyes, in his wrinkles, settling into his bones. 007n7 had failed to comfort him. He can't do anything right, even for the man he loves.

Guest's hands grasp 007n7's cheeks as if 007n7 would disappear. His touch is firm, but careful enough to not pinch, only caress and comfort. Guest already knows what 007n7 is thinking, of course he does. He's perfect like that. So caring, so intentional. 007n7 just wishes he could do a better job in comforting. It feels like he's giving Guest more things to fret over.

"Yeah." I love you too goes unsaid. 007n7 always struggled with those words in a romantic context. When it came to c00lkidd, the father found it as easy as breathing. But now, he speaks with his actions, too scared to say what he really means out loud. It feels too real to handle. He fears that those he loves never understood how much 007n7 really cared for them because of it. Guest knows this, and doesn't admonish him for it. He's content to go at 007n7's pace, more understanding than he really should be. 007n7 hasn't felt such comfort in years, gave up on it even, but was it worth the price? He presses a kiss to Guest's lips, savoring the warmth and how his doubts melt away.

The euphoria doesn't last. Guest drifts off in 007n7's embrace, his partner's hands carding through his cropped blue strands. He only sleeps well in 007n7's arms, the comfort keeping his insomnia at bay, even in less than stellar conditions. He's only really at peace when he's with 007n7, or when he's dead. Maybe right now, he's both.

007n7 frowns slightly next to Guest's sleeping face. His hand still plays with Guest's hair in a bid to calm himself.

He doesn't fall asleep.