Archive of Our Own

Purple isn't exactly sure precisely at which point their life went to hell. If someone had asked them a year ago, or even two weeks ago they would have said it was the day Red signed the NDA, or maybe the Polus Reactor Meltdown that preceded. Injured without healthcare or future job prospects, it had certainly felt like rock bottom at the time. This past week has proved that when you think those kinds of things the universe conspires to show you just how bad it can really get, over and over again. Someone dies, the crew dies, Red dies. The ship gains a perpetual scent of death. Purple thinks they're going to be next but instead they end up as a killer alien's…they don't want to put a word to it. Green likes them. Understatement, Green is obsessed with them. Getting their matching mark makes Purple thinks that maybe they did die and this is their punishment for failing to save anyone.

They make the mistake of thinking this is as bad as it can get. Again.

The thing wearing Red's skin clears their throat, "Is this better?"

"Eh, close enough," Green dismisses, not even giving them another glance.

"Good! How do I sound to you Purps?"

Purple doesn't say anything. They can't take their eyes off the new imposter, not because they want to look at them but because about half an hour ago they had been trying to kill them. The imposter stands at the exact right angle to hide the slowly healing hole in the stolen body's head, the effect minimized by the bits of brain matter still on the floor shining under cold light.

When it's clear they won't get a response out of Purple, they turn to Green, "So, what am I even supposed to do here?"

"Whatever you want, just don't get in the way,"

"I could pilot the ship!"

Green raises a brow, "I've already the course. You don't need to do anything,"

"Oh, uh, okay. Then as captain I will go supervise that course," the imposter pauses, "Um, also. Can I get my arm back?"

"Don't push your luck," Green snorts, "You're lucky to still be alive,"

"Right, I'll, uh, go now,"

Once the imposter is out of sight, Green turns to Purple and smiles.

"We've had a pretty exciting day, you must be pretty tired right now. How's the mark treating you?"

Purple's hand ghosted over their aching side.

"Feels like shit,"

"But no heat or fever?"

"…no,"

Green claps their hands, "Then lets go get something to eat so you have the energy to heal. After that, we can go to bed,"

Purple shuts their eyes for a moment. Going to sleep after all this seems impossible. They walk or rather limp about half way to cafeteria before getting scooped up and carried the rest of the way. As per usual, Purple scans the ground and rooms for any remaining salt. Pointless, it's pointless. Green ejected all of it out the trash chute hours ago. Still they imagine pressing a thumb against the limb holding them and it hissing and hurting like a hot iron on vulnerable flesh.

"Hope you don't mind that the stew won't have any salt,"

Purple barks out a short laugh, "Hilarious,"

It indeed does not have any salt. Lots of tomato, pesto and little wheat flour dumplings, but no salt. It taste like it could have come from nowhere but the Skeld. Even though Purple shows pretty much the opposite of enjoyment for it, Green eats their reaction up. Sadist.

"What the hell are we even going to do at Polus?" Purple asks.

"Oh don't be like that. Just because there was that one meltdown doesn't mean it's lifeless,"

"Sure,"

"Well, it doesn't have crewmate settlements, but that's just 'cause it isn't profitable. Speaking of reactor meltdowns, I never got to hear the whole story about yours,"

Purple scoffs, "Yeah, no. We're not doing this,"

That seems to get Green just a bit before they recover.

"I guess I did dip in the middle of you telling me, didn't I?"

The image of Cyan slumped over, upper face mutilated beyond recognition, flashes into Purple's mind. If they hadn't reached out, if they'd just left Cyan alone—no. Most everyone on the ship didn't have a strong connection to Purple. It wouldn't have mattered.

"I think I want to go to bed now,"

"Alright, let's get ready then?"

"I can get ready on my own,"

"Really? Lift your hands above your head without causing yourself pain,"

Purple scowls, "Fuck you,"

Green just shrugs and smiles. At the very least they let Purple walk to Security by themself. Changing is another matter.

"…quit staring,"

"Hmm. Just checking the bandages are still in place,"

Having to get helped into their pajamas is one thing, but it's a distinct and new torment to be changed by the person who made it impossible for Purple to do it on their own. Being undressed like this by Green, especially as vulnerable as they are right now, is horribly violating and shameful. Purple had never been this exposed to anyone outside of their immediate family and that was back when they were just a child. They wait for the touches to linger, for Green to lean in, but by some great mercy, despite Green's whole everything about Purple their touch is purely perfunctory.

"You can go now," Purple says once changed.

"Oh, don't you remember? I said after dinner we can go to bed,"

That's how Purple ends up at the crew quarters of the Skeld, held against Green's side. As head of security they had a cot in their office for quick emergency responses, so the only time they ever got to see the bunks was during their tour. Even then, there had been people flitting in and out grabbing belongings or decorating their meager parcel of personal space. Now it's empty.

"Normally I'd say 'I know it's not as fancy as having all of the Security Office to yourself' but seeing as we're the only ones on the ship now I guess that makes this space our room now,"

Green pushes two bunk beds together—Cyan and Black's beside Green's and Orange's. The blankets are the same standard issue as the one Purple has, which is to say they're ratty and thin. Green takes the left side, which means Purple is forced to turn to face them due to the mark on their right.

"Goodnight," Green says.

Purple doesn't say anything. They just close their eyes and shut the world out. They don't sleep, not until long long after Green falls asleep, once they manage to convince themself that they are alone.

Morning brings with it a few new mortifying experiences, but a key one is Purple having to argue for a shower alone—

"Don't get the dressing wet!"

"I know,"

"And don't take off the waterproof cover!"

"I know, I've showered with wound dressings before,"

"You have? Oh was it after the reactor meltdown?"

"…"

—but hey, at least they won that argument. There isn't anything to be done about getting their dressing replaced.

"Okay, looks like the stitches are holding up well. It should look pretty good once it's done healing,"

"I would hardly call it stitching," Purple says through gritted teeth.

"Well duh, we ran out silly. In my opinion though the pink goo is working even better!"

A shower in the area around a wound isn't sufficient for keeping it clean. Green's method isn't exactly what Purple would call comfortable but well, the saline wasn't on board anymore, so intensely boiled then cooled tap water will have to do. Against any healthy thinking, it helps to look at the massive scarring on Green's side while bearing the pain of cleaning. It doesn't stop how much being this exposed makes them want to squirm out of their own skin, but it is still satisfying to know that Purple did that.

"Aaaand done," Green says after replacing the dressing, "Next is breakfast,"

"Oh boy, more saltless stew,"

"Oh don't be like that, I can make something other than stew,"

What gets made is in fact saltless flatbread, a cursed dish significantly worse than saltless stew. At least they get some coffee to choke it down. Purple thinks that's the end of it until Green breaks out their next torment.

"Hey, I'll feed you—"

"No,"

"I thought you were tired of my 'saltless stew',"

"I can feed myself fine,"

"Come ooon, just a little ity–bitty bite?" Green holds the grape up, "It's fresh, we're lucky MIRA let us have it, come on,"

Fresh fruit after saltless flatbread sounds like heaven right now.

"No,"

"Okay but what about the fact that you've only got so long? If you don't eat it sooner or later it'll go bad,"

Purple leans further back, "You can't be serious. I can just eat it myself,"

Green pulls the plate of grapes further out of reach, "Just one?"

Are they serious? Is this the only way Purple is going to get it, the only fresh fruit on board and possibly for the rest of their life? Purple glances away, jaw clenched.

"…I get to have more on my own after this one,"

"Deal,"

Green holds it out just far enough that Purple needs to lean in. Sighing and cursing their weakness, Purple gets close, opens their mouth and—

A crash from the kitchen breaks the moment. Both of them look towards it, Purple in relief and Green in annoyance.

"What are you doing, you idiot?" Green calls.

The imposter scrambles to their feet, leaning against the spice shelves.

"Just making myself breakfast. Independently, like a capable captain,"

Green narrows their gaze, "Wait until we're done with our meal,"

"But… I'm hungry and—"

The imposter breaks into a coughing fit, eyes watering to an unusual degree.

"I'm—," they cough again, "I think I breathed something—,"

"I said get out,"

They yelp and run out of the cafeteria, coughing all the while. Green sighs and looks back only to see Purple snacking on the grapes like popcorn.

They snicker, "Alright, you can have those ones,"

Purple didn't expect the imposter to keep Red's cinnamon allergy. Just another thing they stole, along with everything else. They should be fine with a small exposure like that, but the imposter probably didn't know that yet. Though, the coughing echoing down the halls is awfully strong. Was the allergy always that bad?

"Be sure to brush your teeth,"

"Seriously? You're micromanaging that too?"

"No, just today. Today I'm returning the favour for the burn you gave on my neck,"

Believe it or not but that doesn't exactly make Purple eager to brush their teeth, which is why Green needs to shove them into the bathroom with promises that 'it won't be painful or bad'. They also say that what they have planned might lead to them breaking their teeth if they don't brush their teeth.

"What the hell are you planning to do that won't hurt but can make my teeth crumble if not done right?"

"They might break in the long term, I meant,"

Being that the Skeld's supply budget could best be described as hopes and dreams, there isn't exactly a wealth of nonessential equipment even in medbay. That includes minimal dentistry tooling.

"Was Blue even trained as a dentist?" Green wonders, holding up one of the tools.

"I doubt it matters to MIRA,"

"Well either way these are to our benefit,"

Purple eyes the dental curette, "If Blue didn't know how to use them you definitely don't,"

"Eh, I just need them to scrape off only a bit of the hardened plaque, the stem cells will do the rest,"

"The what,"

Purple isn't given an answer. The last time Green paid back something Purple gave them it had been painful both in delivery and subsequent treatment. At least then they had an idea of what Green was going to do with the original 'gift' as a basis, but this time was a complete mystery. After washing their hands and putting on gloves, Green uses a tentacle to gently but firmly push Purple into the cot.

"Remember, the tool's made of metal. If you bite, you chip a tooth,"

It's the sort of setup one fears as a child when going to a dentist appointment. You are kept down and a person in power sticks random sharp looking tools into your mouth and you have no idea what they are doing, if it will hurt Purple didn't even know to miss the precision of a professional dental hygienist—they had been too busy missing not having dental insurance at all ever since getting blacklisted. If Green notices Purple clawing into their limb, they don't show it.

Whether on purpose or not, Green keeps poking the curette into their gums every time they scrape plaque away from the base of each tooth, slowly tinting their mouth with the taste of pennies. Purple glances around in search of a distraction. They freeze when they see a pair of pliers on the tool tray. Green wouldn't. If they wanted to, they'd have done it by now. No pointing in cleaning teeth you plan on pulling.

After an interminable time scratching each tooth, Green pulls back. Without any preamble they pick up the pliers, stick it into their mouth and rip out a premolar with a grunt.

"Wha—,"

"Stem cells, remember?"

Green crushes the tooth with the pliers over a small plate. Purple crawls back a bit before being dragged back.

"I–I thought you said you wouldn't infect me,"

"Pfft, this? This won't kill you,"

Green leans in, "Now open up,"

Purple does not.

"Unless you want me to add a more conventional mark?"

Their right side aches plaintively. They relent.

The powdered tooth is applied at each scraped point like dabs of paint. At first Purple doesn't feel anything, but once Green reaches their upper jaw the roots of their teeth start to itch. When they get to the upper canines Purple wishes they had accepted taken the offer of a scar. It doesn't hurt, but they almost wish it did. Green has to hold their jaw as they squirm.

"I'm almost done, just a minute,"

A minute is too long, is what Purple wants to say but can't. Perception drags it out into five as the itch spreads to their upper jaw. Then a thick wad of cotton is shoved between their teeth. They bite down a moment after Green removes the tool and their fingers. It helps, but only a touch.

"Now we just wait half an hour,"

Half an hour?!

"Maybe a bit longer. What does it feel like by the way?"

Purple just groans in lieu of a response. They don't even know what this is supposed to do and they already hate it. With their arms now free they claw at their face for about five seconds before Green pulls their hands away.

"Hmm. I'll see if I can find some painkillers,"

"It doesn't hurt," Purple manages to grit out.

Green clicks a tongue, "Maybe there's some numbing agent around here?"

There is not in fact anything to numb this particular form of suffering. The best thing Purple has is to bite on fabric. Personal tormentor that they are, Green starts combing a hand through Purple's hair which does nothing to help. As a garnish for it all, the thing that isn't Red knocks on the doorframe.

"Uh hey, I mean—," they clear their throat, "Hey, crew. Hate to interrupt whatever…"

Green gives them an unamused look. Purple glares at them with the fury of a thousand suns.

"…this is, you two are doing, um… together. But as captain of the Skeld it is my duty to inform you that we are going to entering a small period of turbulence as we navigate around some asteroids,"

"And you haven't thought to use the ship's asteroid clearing weapons because…?"

"Well, yeah, of course! As soon as I find the manual for them! They're automatic, right?"

Green pinches the bridge of their nose, "Even I got a small training session on those. If you can't remember then I'll show you,"

"Pfft, I don't know if that's necessary, I'm the captain and you're the intern so—"

Green cuts them off by grabbing them by their still intact arm.

"This is what I get for destroying the brain matter of your host body…"

And then Purple is finally alone. It's a shame they're in too much of a sensory nightmare to enjoy it. A very large part of them wants to root out the points of entry for the alien cells but at this point it is both too late and would probably only make things worse. Not to mention Green took all the dentistry tools with them. Instead they bury their face into the bed and count backwards from one hundred and oh god the roots of their teeth are squirming. Biting makes it worse now, and it almost feels like the floor is starting to tilt.

Keen to at least work off the energy, Purple scrambles off the bed and out of medbay, side injury be damned. They don't have any destination in mind, just an approximate path to pace. Cafeteria, admin, stora—nope. Shields, cafeteria, medbay, reactor, repeat. Stars weaving back and forth in the cafeteria window as the Skeld makes an evasive maneuver. Purple digs their nails into their palm and tries not to think about the last time it moved like this. They manage it up until they make it to security. Just a peak on cameras, just one.

What they see isn't comforting. The imposter is glancing back and forth between the manual and the front window making adjustments to the heading, missing arm replaced with a more alien looking limb. Green is on the weapons system destroying asteroids, glancing over their shoulder at the camera. They do a double take as they presumably notice the camera's activity light. After pausing to shoot another asteroid, Green points emphatically away from the camera towards either navigation or shields.

Purple takes off, stumbling as the ship makes another rough turn. They see the problem as soon as they reach shields. Namely, it has no power, not even lights. Large technical issues like rooms losing electricity would normally be the domain of the ship's engineer, but the Skeld's engineer was dead as was the imposter parasite that had briefly attempted to replace them. Purple would just have to figure this out on their own.

If this was anything like having to fix cameras then this room would at least have a panel detailing very basic diagnostics. If they’re lucky it just might tell them what’s wrong with shields and that problem will be something they can fix. Purple turns on their flashlight to search the port side wall and finds the panel. They pop it open and—

What. There’s literally no power being routed to shields. None at all. All of it is going to weapons, even though those have an upper limit to what they’ll accept so most of it is just being rerouted to elsewhere in the ship. Purple routes the excess back into shields, including the power normally reserved for lighting. The rain of impacts ceases and the flight trajectory starts to stabilize as the shield redirects space dust and debris.

What in the world was that? they wonder. If they didn’t know better they’d almost think it was sabotage, weirdly lazy sabotage. Purple heads to navigation where both Green and the imposter can be heard.

“When you say turbulence that should mean there’s going to be some bumpy flying not that we are about to die."

"It was, I don't know what changed!"

"Whatever. It's fine. Purple fixed whatever was wrong with the shields,"

Purple turns the corner to find that everything in navigation is as it should be for the most part. The captain's manual was tossed in the far corner and the cockpit seat has a few claw marks, but there's no sign of anymore trouble than that. Green spots them and smiles.

"Speak of the devil,"

"What happened?" Purple asks, still scratching at their jaw.

"That's what I'd like to know. I had to clear dozens of asteroids a tenth the size as we normally need to, the ship flagged them as likely to cause a breach. Something must have gone wrong with the shields,"

The imposter stiffens, "I uh think I'm going to go check on those shields, actually. Just in case,"

"Wait, hang on—"

But they're already heading out of the room. Huh, wait. Did the imposter set the shields like that? Purple should probably mentioned what they're thinking, but Green has almost zero limits and would almost certainly kill the imposter where they stand. Purple doesn't know why that bothers them, that thing tried to kill them just yesterday and they keep trying to pretend to be Red even though everyone knows they aren't. Yet the thought of pointing a finger to sic Green on them puts a bad taste in Purple's mouth. The imposter's existence is a blight in Purple's life but they're still…

"I think I'm gonna go back to medbay," Purple says.

"Oh, alright. I need to stay here to fix our course. Take care of yourself,"

Just to be sure they aren’t immediately making a mistake, Purple stops by shields. Everything is as they left it, even the lights. The imposter themself is nowhere to be seen. Maybe they’re reading too much into it, but it seems that rather than any intentional sabotage it had been an honest if very dangerous mistake. The imposter had routed the power to weapons thinking it was more valuable there, not realizing the danger and futility of such an action. If they had wanted the ship to collide with something and decompress, they definitely wouldn’t have let Green and Purple know trouble was coming.

Purple’s teeth twinge as they look back up—a distinct, punishing sensation they didn’t know was possible. Screw the proper application or if it will even work, they’re taking an aspirin or something better. They open the door prepared to raid the medicine cabinet of its goods only to find someone else tearing it open.

“Stupid—there has to be something here,”

Purple clears their throat, “Do you think that you—“

The imposter screams and jumps back, dropping an armful of assorted medicine.

“Oh hey! Didn’t see you there!” the imposter squeaks.

“Um, yeah. You left the lights off.

"Yes, well, best we save some power! The lights from the monitors is more than enough for some light reorganizing!"

Saying that, the imposter leans against the counter and knocks a box of tissues to the floor.

"…sure. What are you even doing here?"

"Can't a captain do a quick check of the ship's inventory?”

Purple glances down at the mess, “Seems the inventory is more disorganized now than it was before,”

“I—well, you need to take things apart before reordering them, you know,”

The imposter starts putting the spilled medicine onto the counter. If they’re trying evoke pity, which it doesn’t seem like they are, it’s working somehow, both in the genuinely sorrowful way and the way one pities a particularly unpleasant person who  is unaware that they act unpleasantly. Purple sighs and bends down to help.

“What were you actually trying to find?”

The imposter frowns, “Just stuff,”

“Is that why you fled from navigation like there was fire at your heels?”

“No! I did come here with a purpose,”

Purple pockets a bottle of aspirin, “I don’t blame you. Green’s scary enough when they’re happy,”

“Hah yeah, but I mean they never seem to be happy when I’m—wait, you didn’t tell—," the imposter's back begins to sprout limbs, "If you said anything about shields they’ll—I really didn't know—“

“Jesus calm down! I didn’t tell them shit,” Purple says, hands raised, "I don't think they know anything about the diverted power. Besides it was an honest mistake, right?"

“…oh. Thanks,” the imposter shrinks back down, batting away their own tentacles, “Stupid things, go away. Um, heh, I didn't mean for them to come out, sorry you had to see that,"

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,”

“Yeah but I mean it’s still kind of, you know, ugly?”

Purple raises a brow, “So what? It’s what you look like,”

The imposter shifts on their feet, avoiding eye contact by stacking the medicine back into the cabinet.

“Soooo, about what I was looking for,”

“Mhmm?”

“I’m looking for um, stem cells,”

“Stem cells? Where did you get the idea that you’d find them here?”

“When you and Green were in here I heard them mention something about it,”

Purple gives them a nasty look, “You were eavesdropping,”

“I didn’t mean—I didn’t want to, but you guys were taking forever and I really wanted to check if there was something that could use to fix my arm,”

Purple pauses their work, “But you replaced it,”

“It’s not the same,”

“…yeah, I suppose that's true,” Purple rubs their jaw, “I'm sorry. When Green mentioned stem cells, they were talking about their own,”

“Like, the ones from their crewmate body or…?”

“They didn’t say but I don’t think so,”

The imposter sighs, “Fantastic. Not that they’d give it to me. Scary when they’re happy, terrifying when they’re angry,“ they slam a bottle down, “Why? It doesn’t matter what I do, every second we’re in the same room it feels like they're wishing I'd just…disappear,”

Under the dim light of the scanner monitor, the imposter's frustrated expression almost seems to soften into despair.

Thmp–thmp–THMP. Green draws nearer, rushing through the vents towards their frightened prey, no more competition to take it away.

'When finally, finally nothing was in my way…!'

Unseen by either of them a naive hatchling makes a home in the corpse of the late captain, the object of Green's intense jealousy, oblivious to the game it has just become a part of.

“It…it might be because—“

“Was it because I tried to kill you?” the imposter cuts in, “I said I was sorry! I didn’t remember at the time but now I do! We’re friends, we’ve been friends since we were interns and I can still be that!” they smile just like Red did, “I just need the right thing to make me look the part, right Purps?”

'Anybody who heard that story about me and Purple as interns would know that I was wrong.'

“I–I mean, I tried seeing if I could at least use something from one of the crew, but it’s a bit hard to work with something doused in salt, but I can try again! If Green doesn’t toss them out that is,”

“I need to go. Something from the engines might have been hit from before,”

“Oh, uh, sure, of course. I’ll just finish organizing and then we can…”

Purple is already out the door before the imposter finishes their thought. They told the truth technically. They do in fact go to the starboard engine, which may or may not have been damaged. That’s not why they go there, of course. It’s the point of the ship which is as far as one can get from both Green and the imposter at the moment, at least without having to go back into storage. Far in the corner is a nice nook between the wall and the engine, private and made of nice hard materials which won’t get that damaged when Purple punches them.

That bastard, that sick bastard. Who do they think they are? Purple strikes the wall again. It’s pretty damn obvious who the imposter thinks they are, or rather who they want to be, but the fucking audacity they have to even try. Purple knows what they are, the imposter knows that they know, and yet they think they can replace Red? And for a moment there Purple almost—they actually tried to bond with the imposter! What is wrong with them?

One more strike to metal draws out blood. They stop hitting, but their breathing only grows more out of control. It’s fortunate that the engine room is so loud. Even with the vent right in front of Purple, their sobs won’t reach anyone on the ship.

If there is one thing which the imposter has done reasonably well in their mimicry of Red it would be their persistence. When Purple is done crying their eyes out they find that the imposter had in fact been waiting outside the engine room for them—

"So did you find anything wrong with the engine?"

"…no."

—so they push past and locks themself in Security. If this thing wants to keep looking like Red so badly it won't even let a few tentacles out they probably wouldn't want to let Purple see them come out of a vent. That proves to be correct when the imposter decides to wait for Purple to come out. It would almost be easier if they were more creepy about it, staring into the camera and such. Instead what they do is at first wait a few minutes outside the office, take their leave back to medbay, peak down the hall every fifteen minutes or so, once walk down the hall and glance at the door, perform an inspection of both engines and then finally with their head down leave for the bow of the ship. They still glance at the cameras with a hopeful expression every once in a while.

It should be fine to leave now, but Purple doesn't feel like leaving. They watch the near–vacant ship from cameras, absently rubbing their arms against the cold air conditioning. Green is pulling the tables in cafeteria around for some reason. The imposter is moping in navigation. Storage is…it takes Purple some time to build up the courage to look there. They didn't need to have worried. When they look at the feed, there isn't the same carnage as before. The boxes of eggs are still knocked over but there are no more bodies. Looks like the imposter isn't going to get the replacement arm they wanted. Good.

Eventually Green finishes messing around in cafeteria and dives down into the vents. Purple gets a sense as to their destination and turns to look at the vent in their office. A few short shuffles and bumps and soon Green is folding themself out of the vent.

"Hey there Purps!"

"Oh joy you're here,"

"What's with hanging out in the dark all alone? I thought you said you were going to medbay?"

Purple shakes the bottle of aspirin, "I did,"

Not that it worked. At least the itching finally wore off.

Green flicks the light switch, scrutinizing it as the lights fail to come on.

“I’m thinking maybe sitting alone in a dark office might not be so good for you. Come on, I’ve got something in mind to keep us occupied,”

They get tugged along to cafeteria where they can now notice what they missed. The camera was situated on the starboard wall and looked across the room so the out, obscuring the precise distance and position of things in the outward direction. With a closer perspective, Purple can see that the tables had been moved such that they cleared a small area of floor space. On one of them was a Cyan’s old speaker next to one of the crew mate’s phones, Brown’s phone it seems.

“I figured we could do with some exercise, and the party after Orange’s ejection provided the perfect inspiration,”

“What, we’re going to get high and party?”

“Nah, I figured I’d save White’s stash for later. This is a lot more low–key,"

Green picks up Brown’s phone, unlocks it (how they got the passkey Purple has no idea) and selects something. Music starts playing from the speaker, something classical sounding with a slow but steady rhythm.

“Do you know how to dance?”

Ah. Hmm. Is this better than decomposing in security, health–wise? Probably. Do they want to?

“Can we just…not?”

“Come on, I feel bad about leaving you alone in medbay while you were suffering,”

Green tugs Purple by the hand to the centre of the cleared space. They resist. Right now Purple isn’t in the mood to entertain much of anything.

“If you don’t know how, I can show you,”

“I know how to dance just fine,”

They take both hands, “Then why aren’t you?”

Purple narrows their eyes then pulls Green stumbling forward. Instead of taking offense, they just smile and tug Purple in return like it's some sort of play fight.

"Would you just cut it out?" Purple growls.

Green snickers, "You started it,"

Purple shoves Green a few steps back, even though they should be more than strong enough to resist. Pushing them around like this is—Purple won't dare say they like it but for a moment they can pretend that they're truly capable of pushing Green around. They take one step forward, then another until they have them trapped against a wall—

"Hah! I got you,"

"Sooo did you have a plan for what to do next or…?"

"Well, I mean I got you to…"

—only to realize that it might better be described as pinned. Purple lets go and jumps back as Green bursts into laughter.

"Don't be like that," Green chuckles, "We were having fun,"

"I didn't mean—I just wanted to—,"

"Win?"

Somehow that makes Purple blush even harder.

"Here," Green holds out a hand, "Why don't we try again, without fighting this time?"

Purple eyes them sceptically. Green is asking for their active participation, not to just hang around. They could just leave, go back to Security. Green can come through the vent all they like and Purple just won't budge. With the door closed they could also keep out the imposter. The imposter who won't stop checking on them, who won't stop looking at them for a sign of approval, that they've properly replaced Red. Purple glances to the doorway leading to navigation. Are they still looking to the camera, waiting for it's light to come on?

…screw it. Hanging out with Green was just barely better than having to deal with the imposter in Red's body. At least Green was unambiguous. They don't pretend to be anything than what they already are anymore.

The two of them start again. Finding each other's rhythm isn't easy; Purple is prone to stepping on Green's toes and Green is prone to pulling them along a little too suddenly. Song after song and mistake after mistake, they get better at reading each other's movements.

"Just where did you even get the idea to do this?" Purple asks.

"Nowhere in particular. I just found the speaker and thought it'd be fun,"

They scoff, "I don't think I'll ever understand how your mind works. And anyway I wouldn't exactly call this fun,"

"Would you be participating if you didn't?"

"It's better than the alternative,"

"Which is?"

Purple looks away, "Look, it's just, the imp—the other imposter, they probably won't come bother me if you're in the room. I'm sick of them following me around like a lost puppy, like they're trying to…"

"It's not the same, is it?"

Purple flinches as the words hit true.

Green continues, "They still talk the way they used to, sometimes, but they say the wrong things. Or they say the right things but they say it wrong,"

"…they try too hard. They try at all, actually,"

"To pretend,"

Purple nods.

"They're aware you already know what they are," Green notes.

"I know. I don't get why they even bother,"

"You see now why I need you alive?"

Purple chuckles, "Or both of us dead?"

"Yes, exactly. You get it,"

They frown, disgusted. They were being ironic.

"You really think we'd go the same place?"

"Even if we didn't, I'd find you somehow,"

"Hmm. Well then to answer your question from before, no. I don't believe in an afterlife. I think it's just incomprehensible nothingness when we die."

"Really?"

Purple narrows their eyes. This is a familiar reaction they get from people when they say they're secular person, that they don't look like somebody who would be non–religious just because—

Green smiles, "Well if that's the case then at least we would be going to the same place,"

Oh right. The person they're talking to is utterly insane and would stalk Purple to the end of the universe, and that's whom they decided to dance with today. Oh God, what have they gotten themself into?

"Does is…" go the other way too? Purple doesn't ask. If you know you'll die, will you take me with you too?

"Does it what?"

"No," they shake their head, "I know the answer. There's no point in asking,"

"Then it seems we understand each other fine, even if you say otherwise,"

At least there I won’t have to actually be with you. Neither of us will exist, they don’t say. It rings a little too hollow to feel quite true.

“See you say shit like 'going to the same place when we die' like you could possibly know what happens after, that’s why I can’t understand you,” Purple says instead.

“That’s okay. Sometimes I don’t understand you either,”

That gives them pause, “What do you mean?”

“Especially during that last battle. It made sense from a survival standpoint to ally yourself with Red, but you two seemed to get over your animosity in like, what, an hour after you wouldn’t stop tearing into each other all week?”

“We didn’t… it’s complicated,”

Green scoffs, “I’ll say. At first I didn’t completely get why you gave so much of your attention to them if you hated them so much. I mean, why didn't you just ignore them?"

Purple sighs, "I tried, but Red is… was hard to ignore,"

"You didn't ignore them, you avoided them. There's a difference," Green refutes, "You couldn't stop looking at them in a way because you didn't want to. It was confusing for a while, but then as I was working my way through the crew I sorta got it. Most everyone was insignificant so I never thought about them. I still don’t get why Red specifically meant something to you, but I can see that something about them must have earned your attention,”

“You really dipped right as I started talking about it back in Oxygen huh?”

“I didn’t want to. I had to go kill Cyan,”

“Yeah you ‘had’ to, didn’t you?”

“I know, I’m sorry. It was your first time opening up to me, the first time you ever really talked to me. But we have time now for you to tell me. How did you get over whatever incident with Red so quickly?”

“I didn’t. It wasn’t that long ago that I was living on the brink of eviction, then they were oh–so–graciously saving me, so in–my–face about the whole captain thing all week, never admitting that things were going to hell—!” Purple stops and takes a breath, “But in the end they admitted to being in the wrong all those years ago, and that was…significant,"

“But what was it that they did? You mentioned a reactor but I've never heard of one going as badly as you implied. The closest I can think of is the Polus Reactor.”

Purple doesn’t say anything. Green mistimes their step a bit.

“Wait, that’s your reactor incident?” Green whistles in amazement, “I always heard it was because of a freak earthquake,”

“It was cost cutting measures that did it in,"

"And?"

Now it's Purple turn to briefly trip up.

"Come on, after all that?" Green presses, "Please?"

"…We were the only ones there when it went hot, but Red decided to stay silent about what happened. They got a promotion to captain and I was blacklisted and left to rot after that,”

“Oh. And then they just hired you out of nowhere—okay, yeah," Green replies, "The meltdown was years ago though, and you were only recently hired. So you were just alone for all that—,"

"You don't need to rub it in,"

"I'm not I promise! Actually, I'm surprised you weren't more mutinous. Some of my cousins returned from Polus after the meltdown and they were…“

They stop. In response, Purple sets their feet in place, halting the dance.

“Hey. I just spilled my guts to you after you asked, and now you decide you’re too good to do the same?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” they trail off.

Purple lunges forward, pushing Green back again.

“I gave you something and now you give something back. That’s how this works, right?”

Uncertainty, real uncertainty is a novel look on Green’s face, maybe there’s a little bit of fear too. When they acted as a crew mate it was all shuffling feet and stammering. Purple drinks in the real thing, the freezing up and cornered look in their eye.

“Well?” Purple presses.

“It’s…not the same,”

They take a step forward.

“Yes it is. You were about to say something personal after I told you something personal,”

“But it’s not though, that’s the problem,”

Green’s heels knock against the wall.

“How is discussing your cousins who are refugees from the same disaster I also went through not personal?”

“I just said, because it’s not the same, I’m the same as the parasite in Red’s body, I’m an imposter,”

Huh, right. How could Purple have forgotten that?

“You were infected alive, weren’t you though?”

“…I remember being different, different from how I am now,” Green admits.

Purple turns the confession around in their mind. It makes sense given how the imposter mimicking Red failed to be them. It just never occurred to Purple much that the same applied to Green. This Green is the only one they have ever truly known.

“Was that enough?” Green asks quietly.

For a moment Purple doesn’t understand until they remembered what they’d been trying to get.

“Yes. You didn’t talk as much as I did, but it was—,”

“—significant,” Green says with them.

They start to tremble. For a moment, Purple thinks they’re going to laugh, then it looks like they’re going to cry. A small pit forms in Purple’s stomach. Despite everything they feel guilt start to rise, but it gets snuffed out as Green pulls them into an embrace.

“Gosh. That was…that was really something, Purps,” they laugh, breathy, “I hope you show me that again,”

They did it again. They did what Green wanted. The first time had felt like setting off a trap, but this time they knew better. But it had felt good to hurt Green, to expose a nerve and sink their teeth in—

Purple reels away at the sudden burst of pain and pressure in their jaws. The taste of pennies floods their mouth along with hard pieces that scrape against their teeth. They reflexively spit and hack it all out, intrusions and all. There on the floor plain to see is blood, spit and teeth, twenty–eight of them.

“Wha…what the fu…”

Purple's face is pulled back up. Green pulls back the corner of their mouth and gasps.

"Oh wow… They look even better than I thought,"

Jerking back, Purple puts some distance between themself and Green. Their teeth—their teeth. They feel wrong, the same yet different, now warped versions of what they ought to be. The canines are too long, incisors too sharp and molars too jagged.

"This is…" Purple carefully works the sounds around the new shapes, "This is what you had planned?"

"Cool, right? Now we match!" Green says, grinning.

"But you said—When I asked about if you'd infect…!"

Green had said 'It won't kill you'. That was all they said.

"…what else is going to happen to me?"

"Oh, well I guess that'll be up on you. I wanted this one to be a fun surprise but now that the cat's out of the bag I don't see why you can't pick the next one. All it depends on is the size of the next thing you give me,"

Purple gets drawn back into the embrace. The gap they had burned into Green's neck presses against their chin, it's gruesome void fitting around them ever so slightly. They could make something worse if they wanted to right now. Green just gave them the tools to do so. Purple takes a shaky breath. No, no they can't. No matter how badly they want to pay Green back for everything they've done.

"It's okay, Purps,"

"…huh?"

"I know you're thinking about it,"

Purple swallows, "About what?"

"Hurting me,"

They flinch and try to pull back. Green's grip keeps them locked in place.

"This all must be pretty frightening, all these changes,"

"Damn it…" Purple hisses, fighting to control their shaking breath.

"It's okay. It'll be okay,"

Green hugs them tighter, leaning their head against Purple's. The skin behind their ear sizzles as the tears on Purple's cheek are pressed in. Purple stiffens but the tears keep falling, growing the new mark.

"I hate you. I hate you,"

"I know,"

Purple leans forward to cry into Green's shoulder, gripping their back to keep them in place. They dig two punctures, a horribly deep gouge at the base of the Green's neck, just next to the first one, and a milder void under the fabric of the sweater. All the while Green rubs their back, promises of the next gift whispered under their breath until Purple has no more tears to give.

There is going to be a short grace period until Purple's next gift, according to Green. How gracious, to be given time to recover the minerals lost to growing a new set of teeth and to think of what body part to have irrevocably changed next. They even let Purple sleep in as they leave to maintain the Skeld.

"You're cooking lunch though," Green winks.

Purple grunts in lieu of a response. If they had their way they wouldn't get up at all. Instead they get up two hours later and shuffle to the kitchen. On the shutter counter there is already a bowl of porridge with a note: "Here's breakfast, Purps!—If you aren't Purple and you eat this you lose your tongue." They don't bother reheating it. It tastes hollow, as always.

There's still a few hours until noon, so Purple takes their time exploring the kitchen. There's still a range of seasonings available—cinnamon, cardamom, minced garlic and more. The onions could also be quite useful, but none of this will make a meal. There's flour, but the thought of more saltless bread makes Purple shiver. Well, there is always more stew, but surely Purple can come up with something else. They rifle through the pantry. Can of tomatoes, can of tomatoes, all purpose flour, strong flour, bulgur wheat—

Wait, bulgur wheat? Since when did they keep bulgur wheat? Purple pulls the bag out and unfurls the top. It's been ground fine. They glance at the spice shelf again. Cinnamon, cardamom, black pepper, ground cumin seeds, coriander and a tiny tin of all spice. Almost all the right spices. Throwing open the freezer, Purple rustles through the ground meat. Beef, not quite. Pork, um, hmm. Yeah, nooo, not for this. Yes, lamb. All the absolute basics, here. They yank the flours out of the pantry and shout in triumph as they hold a can of chickpeas aloft. Then it's back into the cold to root around for one precious tub of yogurt. All the absolute basics for it to be good, here. Minus the salt, of course.

Purple gathers their ingredients on the counter. They chop the onions and mix the spices as the lamb defrosts. They would have liked to add cloves but frankly the lack of salt will be the most acute omission. Purple puts the wheat to soak with some water in a tupperware where it waits as Purple cooks the onion and lamb. Once it's done cooking, Purple spreads the lamb and onion mix onto a tray to cool.

They rescue the food processor from under the table and then realize that they have to wait for both the wheat to soak and the lamb to cool before making the dough. Instead they grab the chickpeas, a clove of garlic, olive oil, a lemon and then nothing because they forgot about the tahini. A search of the kitchen only yields sesame seeds. That's fine, that's what a food processor is for. After pulsing the seeds into paste, Purple adds olive oil, lemon, garlic and chickpeas and blends it all into hummus. Some mixing in of the yogurt and a bit more lemon, and the dip is ready. By now the wheat should be ready for use. Some mixing with the baharat and blending with some raw lamb and onion and the raw dough is ready for shaping.

It turns out that one's ability to form any dumpling shaped objects generally depends on how much practice one has had—Purple's helped their parent make kibbeh since they were a kid—and how recently one has last done it—Purple hasn't made any since moving out. Still, both the recipe and the motions are well ingrained into their mind so they only need to patch up a few unfortunate early prototypes.

Purple quickly checks the time. 11:24am. If they're quick they can make the batch early and have some for themself. With a whole ship's worth of cooking oil being now spent on only three people, there's more than enough for frying at least this one dish. After some waiting, careful tracking with a thermometer and a timer, then fanning with a sheet of paper, Purple has a batch of kibbeh all to themself perched on the shutter counter. Should they be eating in the kitchen? No. Do they care? No, the kitchen is their domain right now, what they say goes.

They dip one, bring it up for a bite, then stop. It doesn't smell quite right without the cloves. The sesame seeds weren't perfectly blended, there's still a lot of surviving seeds in the sauce. There's no salt. Purple shakes their head. No, this is theirs, however imperfect. They bite into it and—

It's home, warm and soft. In the rush of visiting family, Purple forgot to add cloves to the mix, so the food tastes a little different. It was a little stressful—most of the extended family doesn't talk to Purple's parent, Iris, but one of their siblings and their spouse still keeps in touch. As such, Iris had been trying to make this visit as perfectly as possible. Still, rich earthy tones of homemade cooking waft by and soften the stress into simple busyness.

The kids certainly don't feel the pressure. Purple's younger sibling Lavender is messing around in the living room with the visiting cousins, pretending the floor is lava. The parents of those cousins are too busy levering a too–large suitcase through the door to stop one of their children from perching on the tippy–top of the couch a proclaiming themself ruler of the house. Iris is running out of the kitchen, arms outstretched in anticipation of the child's fall, but they needn't have worried. The child switches from an unsteady two–footed stance to a limpet strong four–limbed grip in anticipation of another child attempting a coup. They are secure in their throne, more than fine in a position even an adult would struggle to remove them from. Everything is fine, even as someone sneaks around Purple in an attempt to grab one of the kibbeh. They playfully swat the hand away, expecting to hear Lavender whine—

"Ow, I just wanted a taste," the imposter yelps.

Purple flinches as the illusion breaks. However pitiful the creature is, they glare at the imposter with as much vitriol as they can manage for ruining their reminiscence. The imposter flinches back in turn.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just, uh, smelled something good from the kitchen and I wanted to see what it—," they clear their throat, "You made this?"

Purple raises a brow, "You see anyone else in here?"

"No, but—which is actually pretty unsafe, working alone that is. Good thing the captain is here to supervise,"

"Right, and steal food while your at it,"

"Hey, you were eating in here too! Isn't that unhygienic?"

Purple scoffs, "Whatever, there's barely anyone on this ship. Can you alien imposters even get sick from a little kitchen mismanagement?"

"Well, uh, I don't know, maybe? Though speaking of kitchen mismanagement…"

The imposter points to the cinnamon on the shelf, "What is that still doing there?"

"The…cinnamon?"

"Yes, it's a hazard,"

"In general?" Purple asks.

"Didn't you see how it made me hack my lungs out yesterday? I spent half an hour chugging water trying to fix it,"

"Okay yeah but—,"

"Right? So I was thinking since I'm here I might as well take care of this clear health hazard,"

The imposter dons a pair of oven gloves from a hook on the oven and carefully grabs the cinnamon jar.

"Wait what are you doing?"

"I'm getting rid of it," the imposter answers.

"What, no, I need that!"

The imposter pauses, "Why? Are you looking to kill me or Green with it?"

"No, you just breathed it in when you messed around in the kitchen! That's not how you consume cinnamon dumbass, and anyway the reason it was so bad for you was because you have an—"

"We got rid of the salt already and you were fine with it, cinnamon isn't even used in cooking! What are we gonna do, bake cinnamon rolls with what little sugar we have?"

'I didn't know cinnamon could be put in savory food,' Red wonders, looking at Purple's plate.

'Not that I would consider what you usually eat at home to be properly seasoned,' Purple notes, scanning the drinks menu again.

'Hey, I'm not that bad! I'll have you know I sneaked a few packets of salsa from taco night at the office, I can expand my pallet more,'

Red takes a quick safety sniff of their own kibbeh. After a moment of scrutiny, they take a bite.

'Oh. My gosh,'

Purple narrows their eyes, 'They didn't mess up the order did they?'

'No, even if they did I'd still eat it all,' Red sighs, content.

'Red, no,'

'Red, yes. My allergy is mild and my body strong. I can take it,'

Purple sighs, 'Please don't. You don't even keep an epipen,'

'Well, it's fine. There's no cinnamon in this,' Red takes another bite and sighs, 'Just how are we eating so well on so little money today?'

Purple can't help but smile, feeling warm and fuzzy to see Red enjoying it, however cliche.

'I'll be sure to take you here again sometime,'

Purple grabs the jar, "We're keeping it,"

The imposter jerks the jar back, "No we're not,"

The two of them pause for a moment and then immediately start a tug of war. Purple's feet drag on the floor against the imposter's inhuman strength. Bracing a foot against the door, Purple manages to halt the imposter's progression and pry it free.

"…you realize you don't have anywhere to go now, right?" the imposter says, panting.

Still, Purple backs up past the stove, aiming for the freezer. The imposter lunges toward the jar. Purple swings it away and tries to weave past them only to get grabbed around the middle and shoved hard against the oven. Purple's wounded side explodes in pain. They gasp, losing grip of the jar. The imposter snatches it away and turns to bolt for the door. Fighting the shock of impact, Purple snags their sleeve, getting pulled forward and freeing their glove. The imposter holds the jar against their far side and attempts to shove Purple off with their free hand. Purple grabs their shoulder and twists around to reach for the jar. They get halted by hand shoving their face away. Something pulls and snaps in their side. In an instant Purple knows in a second they'll be on the floor. They do the only action that's they can manage in under that time limit. They bite.

"Ow—holy shit what the fuck is wrong with—oh fuck,"

The imposter missteps and trips. The jar falls, bounces once and then pops open, spilling cinnamon as it goes. Purple hits the ground with a pained grunt, marked side on fire, mouth filled with off–tasting iron. Thin clouds of spice puff into suspended clouds. The imposter jerks back to their feet in alarm and dives out of the kitchen as if the room was full of mustard gas.

"Ow, ow, owww," the imposter whines, shucking off the other glove to hold their bitten hand, "Since when did you have fangs?"

Purple groans, unmoving on the cold hard floor. They almost certainly broke several stitches. The mark had been made to be superficial, that is, it didn't go any deeper than skin and fat. That didn't make it safe to reopen. Already spots of blood are appearing on Purple's uniform.

"You happy now?" the imposter asks, "Now neither of us have what we want,"

"Fine by me," Purple wheezes.

It's not fine actually. There's only a quarter of the original cinnamon remaining in the jar. Purple is seriously considering putting the floor cinnamon back into the jar, because where the fuck are they going to get any on fucking Polus? They just wanted this one thing, just one thing for themself.

The imposter glares from outside the kitchen, "You are the worst crewmate ever, did you know that?"

"Like I'm trying to be?"

"One, you disobeyed the captain. Two, you attacked your captain. Three, you are deliberately keeping dangerous goods aboard. See, three infractions," they holdup three fingers, "Three is a pattern, this is mutiny,"

"Oh, come on," Purple spits, "You and I both know you aren't the captain,"

"Excuse me?"

"All this bullshit posturing about being captain of this ship yet you always do what Green tells you to do,"

"Because they're a giant killer alien—they ripped my damn arm off!"

"So you admit it. Green can always give you another reality check to the skull to make it clear again that they are in charge, not you,"

"Okay fine, but I still pilot this ship!"

Purple laughs bitterly, "Straight into danger. You turned off the shields and nearly got us all killed,"

"That—you said it was an honest mistake,"

"Sure, but it sure does put into question how fit you are for the role of 'captain',"

The imposter's face twitches into the same hurt and irate expression Red wore in Oxygen after Purple had slipped up and wished for their death. How utterly infuriating.

"You are so—you really do nothing but undermine my authority huh? Ever since this trip started—"

"Correction. I undermined Red's authority. You didn't have any to begin with,"

"You—argh!" the imposter musses up their hair, "First you talked to me normally in medbay, we make some progress but then you suddenly start ignoring me, now you won't stop insulting me. You really are so fucking mean!"

"Mean? Hah! You think I'm just doing this just to be mean?"

"I didn't do anything though! I'm trying so hard to be your friend, to be who you want me to be—!"

"I don't want you to be anything! You trying is the problem! Stop pretending to be them because you never will be! Never the captain, never my friend, never Red!"

The imposter opens their mouth but says nothing. They slump into one of the cafeteria seats, energy suddenly drained. Purple clicks their tongue in contempt. They start gathering up pinches of cinnamon piles and putting them into the jar, avoiding the bottom most layers touching the floor.

"…never?"

"Never," Purple confirms.

The imposter's seat screeches back. If this had been at the beginning of the trip, Purple probably wouldn't have thought much of the sound of approaching footsteps. Now though it makes their hairs stand up on end. They look up to see the imposter walking towards them, gaze locked firmly on Purple. Purple bolts for the door. The imposter sprints to match, closing the meager gap needed for escape. At the last second, Purple switches to closing the door and locks it. They slam the shutters immediately after just in time, blocking the imposter's reaching hand.

"You know I can just kick either of these down, right?"

Purple doesn't respond. They are keenly aware they only have a few seconds. The kitchen's carving knife is the best thing they have for sheer damage, the peel is better for providing distance. Not that it matters when your opponent has a built in arsenal of spears.

"I can do that without even shape–shifting,"

The door creaks under the imposter's strength. A desperate, frantic idea arises.

"The only thing you've managed well. Never going into the vents, limiting your shape. You actually look human,"

The creaking pauses.

"We can agree on that at least. But you don't really like 'human' do you?"

Purple scoops up a handful of cinnamon from the floor, "What do you mean?"

"You only have eyes for Green. We're both these inhuman things, but you like them fine,"

They stuff a cloth with the spice, "As if,"

"Then why do you spend so much time with them? I saw you two in cafeteria together yesterday. You never even danced like that with Red. And whatever was up with the grapes, then that kinky shit in medbay—what even are you two?"

Grab a spare apron and the oil and turn on the stove for a moment. No explosion. Thank God, there wasn't enough powder in the air for that.

"That's because they're obsessed with me. I can't deny them anymore than you can,"

"Then just stay around me! I know I wasn't safe to be around before—,"

Wet the knife and dip it in cinnamon.

"You aren't safe to me right now!"

The imposter stays silent for a moment.

"I–I'm not going to hurt you, Purps. I wasn't trying to hurt you, I promise,"

They're lying. Purple can hear their claws scraping against the door.

"But I need to get into that room. No more running away, just us,"

One last pinch of cinnamon, mixed carefully in a bowl with some water to make a paste, then applied to the teeth. Shut off the lights, and wait.

A harsh blow bows the door out. Another kick briefly creates a gap of light. Then, it finally gives as a still human–shaped imposter rushes in, claws out.

A lot happens in the next few seconds. A lit apron string touches the rest of the oil soaked apron, setting it alight as it gets tossed low, prompting them to block it by putting their hands low. They look down just long enough to not notice the ball of cloth flying at their face. It explodes into a burst of asphyxiating spice right as a knife plunges into their gut. Their attacker evades frantic claw swipes, ducks behind them and delivers one last blow, a bite to the back of the neck.

Purple releases as soon as the poison is delivered. They fail to keep a grip on the knife, only managing to remove it and let it fall. They need to run. It won't matter if the imposter has a knife, they already have all the blades they need built in. Purple glances briefly over their shoulder as they exit the cafeteria. The imposter is still bowed over their injury. They keep running, through administration, storage, then to electrical.

"Green!" Purple shouts, marked side now fully red, "Help, the other imposter's attacking—!"

Green is already running around the switchboard, half transformed, "In the vents?"

"I don't know. We were in the cafeteria. I stabbed them in the gut and ran,"

Purple gets scooped up as gently as Green can manage but they still make them yelp as the motion pulls at the opening wound. Green looks around frantically, eyes lingering on the vents. There's no place on the ship safe, all of it is accessible to an imposter.

"Come out you coward!" Green shouts.

The both of them listen for an approach. There isn't so much as a whisper from the halls or vents.

"They're afraid of you," Purple informs, "They might not ever come out where you are,"

"Good. But we can't let them wander the ship free like this. I never should've left them alive, I…"

Green eyes the blood sluggishly escaping Purple's side, "I'm so sorry,"

Purple looks away, "Let's just focus on finding them. You'd have to chase them down with me in tow either way, better we take care of them now before they think to sabotage something,"

Green grimaces, "I'd rather patch you up first, you're bleeding quite—"

Then they straighten and turn their head to cafeteria.

"What?" Purple asks.

"Um. We might not have to worry, actually?" Green wonders, "Did you somehow stab them with something salty?"

"No, I coated the knife in cinnamon because they're allergic,"

"Ah. That explains it,"

Purple scowls, "Can you just tell me what you noticed?"

"They're dying,"

Green walks the two of them to cafeteria, now at ease.

"Imposters can communicate at low frequencies. Nothing super complex, just things like a hello or a call for help. You might be able to hear or speak it one day."

"Can't they just be lying?"

"No. It's too instinctual. You can't mimic what you don't feel. I imagine it would be especially difficult to fake a death rattle."

Indeed as they enter the cafeteria, Purple can see the imposter collapsed not far from where they last saw them. One hand was held against the stab wound, the other held over their throat. Their skin was flushed and littered with hives. Rattling wheezes whistle past their swollen lips, repeatedly broken by wet chokes.

"One of my neighbours had a pretty severe allergy to bees," Green notes, "I saw them get like this once,"

"Had…"Purple murmurs, unable to look away.

"Oh, no. They survived. They had an epipen and the doctor was in town. They're just, you know, not my neighbour anymore, or at all really,"

"Red might have had…"

"What?"

"…nothing,"

Green puts Purple down. Adrenaline spent, Purple collapses into a chair, wheezing. Whistling, Green strolls over to the dying imposter, tilting their head and humming at the bite mark. The thready breathing gets drowned out by chokes. Even that action starts to seize up as Green drags the imposter to the trash chute at a leisurely pace, trailing blood behind. They haul the now unbreathing twitching body into the chute. With a press of a button and the pull of a lever, it's gone.

"Good thing they were so allergic. I wonder if the captain was this bad or if it was something that happened after infection,"

Purple says nothing.

"Come on, I'll take you to get those stitches redone,"

They get picked up, head falling against Green's shoulder as they start to get a little dizzy.

"You really did a number on them,"

"Hmm,"

"Honestly, that was cool, that was so, so cool. I really wish the cameras recorded. I would have loved to see you kill them,"

"But you were the one who…"

They trail off. Disposal doesn't count. Purple killed them.

They get laid down on a cot. There's the sound of a cabinet opening and then the tap running for a minute. Then their blood stained dressings are getting removed, making them hiss.

"Hmm. Okay, looks like the organic stitching held up completely. Good thing we're gonna use those to replace the broken ones, okay?"

"Organic…"Purple huffs.

"Try to stay still,"

Purple grips the edge of the bed as Green sews them back up. It's easier to focus on the pain than to think about what just happened, that now Purple is fully alone on the Skeld with Green.

"How did you do it?"

Purple keeps their gaze on the ceiling, "I already told you,"

"Come on, give me a few more details than that. How did you even manage to get so close?"

"…I threw a flaming apron at them to make them look at something else. Then I threw a handful of cinnamon in their face and stabbed them with the knife. I wasn't expecting them to go into anaphylaxis,"

"And the bite?"

Purple turns their head away. They can still taste spice and iron in their mouth,

"I coated my teeth with cinnamon. I was…I was trying to be careful, in case the cinnamon on the knife just ended up on their skin,"

"That's so cool," Green sighs, "Which one was that one, the one on their neck or their hand?"

"When did—oh. We got into a short scuffle before they actually tried to kill me,"

"How come?"

"They were trying to throw the cinnamon away,"

"Huh. Were you already planning to kill them?"

"No. I just…I needed it,"

Green chuckles, "Enough to kill?"

"No! I just wanted it for—it was just a stupid fight at first, basically roughhousing. The cinnamon spilled, they fled outside and we argued. I said something that set them off and that's when they tried to kill me. I locked the door while I got ready and struck when they kicked down the door,"

"If they'd been human it would have been complete overkill. How did you even manage to get around their tentacles without getting even a scratch?"

"They want…they really wanted to look human, before. They never vented. They kept looking for ways to make their arm look human again. I told them they did a good job, so they stayed that way as they entered,"

Green pauses their work, then barks out a laugh.

"Wow, you're better at killing than I thought! You thought up of all that on the fly?"

Purple doesn't say anything. Green returns to stitching, humming all the while. Once their done, they clean up and replace the dressing.

"So, have you thought about what you want for your next gift?"

"…no,"

"Well then I guess I'll just have to pick,"

Purple turns back to look at Green, "Right now?"

"Hmm, well I was thinking tomorrow morning, after you've had a couple meals and a good night's rest."

Green returns to the sink to wash their hands. Purple eyes those hands with their short claw, not yet shifted into their more deadly form.

"…will I be able to shape–shift one day?"

"Good question. Almost certainly, though some stuff will probably stay as is if they're done early, like your teeth,"

Purple looks at their own hands. They're stained everywhere with either cinnamon, blood or a disgusting mix of the two. It all feels filthy. Hidden away from it all is some wheat under their nails. How easy would it be to shape dough with claws? Purple takes as deep a breath as their wound will allow. Under the antiseptic and ever–present bleach, the scent of their cooking is still in the air; all spice, coriander, cumin, black pepper, cardamom. Cinnamon. The smell of home. Purple breathes it in, but all they can see is a thing wearing Red's skin writhing on the floor, dying.

"I think I know what I want, actually,"

Green perks up, "Really?"

Purple holds up their hands in indication.

"Claws?" Green asks.

Purple nods.

"You might not be able to shape–shift them if you get them so early,"

"That's fine,"

Green grins, "I promise to make them nice and sharp,"

Lunch is cold after being left on the counter. Purple nevertheless tries to savour every bite. The bitter allergen and blood in their mouth still taints everything. Memories of entrapment, anaphylaxis and death washes over and drowns out the faces of Iris and Lavender. Altogether it's a bittersweet flavour that only grows more acrid. They enjoy every last bit of of the meal's flavour, hoping and knowing that they will never taste it ever again.