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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, FIDDLEFORD HADRON MCGUCKET. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 011.23.581.321 * teslacoils has joined 011.23.581.321 >> teslacoils has posted an AUDIO MESSAGE. If you wish to listen, type LISTEN01. <teslacoils> Lab hours are 10 AM to 6 PM Mon-Wed, 7 PM to 3 AM Thur-Fri, special appointments available. <teslacoils> I am no longer associated with the Fourth God. <teslacoils**> But I will answer any questions you might have about him with the honest truth.

<teslacoils> - main username
<novus> <ordo> <seclorum> <fulcrum> - anonymous usernames
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pixel image by CJ

Pythonmelon
voice work by Penny

knittinggiantbeanies

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[He watches the look on Fiddleford's face attentively. Marco may have been tired of looking at that file, but he wouldn't have sent it over if he knew there was anything terribly wrong with it.

Which may, indeed, make the lapses in his work somewhat concerning.

A missing bracket here and there. That happens. Code and comments getting a tiny bit mixed up. Maybe because of the missing brackets? Punctuation goes missing sometimes, whoops. Comments...

derailing.

There's no better word for it. Functional comments turn conversational, functional and conversational comments turn ever so slightly frightening. One ends abruptly before the next line of code. Another turns into two lines of a sentence that seems to have no point to it, nothing but a misplaced digression about souls and holding on to them.]

... Is there a problem?

Your, uh. [Ohhhh boy.] Your code's just fine.

I'm just havin' a hard time with parsin' your comments is all.

[There. That's a good way to put it. It's neutral, not confrontational, not accusatory. It conceals exactly how worried he actually is at seeing something so disturbing and disjointed.]

[He doesn't like the sound of that.]

What's wrong with the comments? [The question is posed as he reopens the file to have a look, but it barely even sounds like a question. In fact, it almost seems like a frustrated sigh, more of a "what's wrong this time."

So he has a look, and as he scrolls, his frustration becomes increasingly evident in his face. There's some worry too there, no doubt, but mostly?

Mostly he feels like if he could ball the laptop up like scrap paper and throw it into a garbage bin, he would.]

Me too. [Marco pinches the bridge of his nose. He remembers writing these, sure, but he also remembers them making sense at the time. Wasn't that comment over there supposed to be about how the exact values might still need tweaking? What happened to that? Why are the phrases "fragile balance" and "keep away from abyss" here?] No, no, hold on, I might... I might be able to...

You know.

[He says it with the careful, measured tone of someone weighing their words very carefully. He wants this to come across the right way, but it's a delicate subject to broach at all even with all they've been through together.]

If you're... havin' trouble, you can talk to me. You know you can.

Trou-- [Even before he cuts himself off, it's a quiet sound, accompanied by him clenching his hand and avoiding Fiddleford's eyes.

Trouble. Is anything wrong, Light had asked; oh so maybe it's neurological, Marco had offered in relief because neurological trouble might just be preferable to the other option; call me if you notice anything, Light had said; you'll be allowed to work from home if]

Do you think I need counseling?

[The question may seem sudden, fired off as if by impulse.]

[That's not entirely where he expected Marco's train of thought to go, or at least, that's not where he expected it to go so quickly.]

No! No.

[It's a kneejerk reaction more so than it is an answer that he's put any actual thought into. Counseling seems so serious, so final. It's an admission of a real issue instead of just a little problem that can be talked through over a cup of coffee. His first instinct is to deflect away from something with such a serious and negative connotation to it. It's not that bad. It can't be that bad. He never had counseling and he... he was... fine. He was fine.]

I just think if somethin's botherin' you you shouldn't have to deal with it on your own, that's all.

You think something's bothering me? You think that's what makes this happen?

[If Marco ever remembers this conversation years later, he might very well find it curious, in hindsight, how he seemed to be telling Fiddleford not to fool himself while stubbornly denying the problem to everyone, including, well, himself.]

It must be her. [It sounds almost like a mumble, as if he's not sure whether he wants Fiddleford to hear it or not.] She must be-- She already is messing with my head, putting those thoughts in and... and... everything she does. The Fourth God is doing His best, I know, but...

Well I just thought --

[He remembers, with a sickening lurch, the images he'd seen in that enchanted mirror months ago. Help me. Even with his memories coming back at a faster pace now there are still some things he can't recall, some things he can't explain. It's not so different.]

I used to do somethin' like that, when it ... when it was real bad. Right after... it's not important. What I mean is, I thought it might be somethin' similar. It could be Her. It sure is Her fault you're feelin' so out of sorts in the first place.

... What... are you talking about? [Marco didn't see those images when he met Fiddleford in the maze; if he had, he may very well be more alarmed right now.]

But-- [He holds a hand up.] But I think it has to be her, yes. She's changed so much about us, and... [The hand points as he stares Fiddleford dead in the eye.] We've done so much for Him. She would have every reason to scramble our thoughts.

My thoughts are always a little scrambled. I can't... I can't blame that on Her.

[It pains him to say it, because normally he'd staunchly pretend it wasn't an issue, but he's past that point with Marco. Around Marco, he can be a little more honest and a little more vulnerable. He does not, however, answer the question. What are you talking about? Nothing. Nothing. It's fine. Nevermind it.]

But if it's somethin' new for you, who knows. It could be some kind of petty revenge for goin' against Her. That's the sort of thing She'd do.

New... [Marco hesitates, glancing away. He isn't sure HOW new Fiddleford means, nor is he terribly sure about any of this conversation at all, really, but if he has to be completely honest...]

Light noticed it too, a few months ago. The director.

Months ago?

[He could -- should -- tell Marco he ought to have confided in someone then. It's just that that would make him a big ol' hypocrite and he couldn't stand having it pointed out.]

So it's somethin' serious, no matter what's causin' it. It won't go away on its own.

[His fingers curl under the palm of his hand. Something feels so terribly wrong about this. He isn't sure in what way; all he knows is that his discomfort is building up so harshly that he almost wants to spring to his feet and run away.]

Well, what am I supposed to--

[No. Wrong angle. Backtrack.]

It's... It's not even that bad. Maybe I'm just tired, these things happen when you're tired.

[This time it's Fiddleford's turn to move closer and put his hand over Marco's, not content to just talk to him from across the workshop. Words aren't working as well as he might hope so he's going to see if physical comfort might get better results.

He knows 'I'm just tired' is bullshit. Being tired would get you a lost bracket, some typos, nothing like this. He doesn't have the heart to say it.]

Maybe that's all it is. Maybe you're right.

[He offers Marco a weak sort of smile.]

You don't look like you're convinced.

[But god, seeing that look on Fiddleford's face breaks his heart. He doesn't think this alone will remedy it, but he does his best to offer a faint smile of his own, even though he is definitely not feeling it.

It doesn't take long for him to break eye contact and look at Fiddleford's hand instead.]

[Well, Marco, don't say he didn't give you an out.]

I'm not, not entirely. I'm just worried is all.

[He reaches out and puts his other arm around Marco's shoulders, pulling him into a cautious hug. The relationship growing between them is still so new for him, but the urge to comfort someone he cares for wins out over uncertainty. Besides, he knows for a fact that Marco likes having him close. This hug won't be unwelcome.]

[The hug is just as welcome as Fiddleford guessed it would be, but Marco still hesitates to wrap his arms around him. Before long, though, he has an arm around Fiddleford's shoulders too; then, he rests his chin on the other shoulder.]

You would be able to tell if there was anything seriously wrong with me.

[It's not a question.]

[This is good. Comfortable. He'd be perfectly content to just stay like this for hours if he could.]

I just... Marco, if I showed you my notebook right about now, you'd see the dang thing covered in eyes and it's because I've been drawin' them every chance I get since I saw what was in that portal.

[Did he tell Marco about that? He must have. He was so out of sorts for so long after, though... did it slip his mind? He can't remember... but he remembers rereading his notes and seeing eyes he doesn't remember drawing, the beginnings of that fractal mouth of teeth, like drawing the image for Rohan got it stuck in his hand and now it's drawing it as much as it can in hopes of getting it out.]

This sort of thing comes from somethin' serious. It doesn't mean there's somethin' wrong with you but it sure as hell means somethin's wrong.

[Marco hesitates to act on his immediate instinct - what if now isn't the right time? They've been going slowly, but they've been going, but now they're talking about this and

What the hell, he goes ahead and plants a quick kiss on Fiddleford's neck. Then he resumes resting his head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath before he speaks.]

So what are we supposed to do about it?

[The kiss doesn't seem to bother him, which is promising. He takes a sharp breath in but that's it: surprise, not displeasure. The tips of his ears go a little bit red.]

I... I don't know.

[He presses his cheek against Marco's hair.]

Doesn't stop me wantin' to fix it.

[Marco makes a sound. It's a strange thing, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh and a sob.]

I don't know how you'd do that at all.

'Least it's not just you. It's me too. You're not alone. You tell me when I'm drawin' eyes on things, I'll tell you when your code gets hinky. If we can't fix it we can... contain it, I reckon's the word.

[That has to be something, right? They can keep tabs on it. They can learn to spot it, to head it off.]

... Yeah. [He makes an effort to put just a little bit more energy into that word. He wants to believe it.] W-We can manage. Together.

Mmhm.

[He turns his head and presses a small kiss to Marco's cheek just beneath the arm of his glasses. This is... good. This is okay. They can make this work.]

Feelin' better?

[He takes a deep breath at the touch of Fiddleford's lips, a smile finding its way into his eyes. Looking at Fiddleford McGucket, and being close to him like this...]

... Yes. I am, actually.

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so fun story i didn't realize this parallel until i started writing this tag

ah,,

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