The Spaces Between
Lumon Industries falls after Helly R. speaks the truth about the company's treatment of Severed employees. All chips are removed and Mark copes the only way he knows how. This proves difficult, sharing a body with his innie and a brain fighting reintegration.
Age regressor Mark fanfic! (cross-posted on my ao3 account, here)
Chapter 1: New Beginnings
Word count: 1845
Mark Scout had an idea of what his life would be like after working at Lumon. He dared to hope that his time at the company would ease the pain of losing Gemma enough to return to the university. Maybe he would lecture on the Battle of the Somme again, and cut loose his grief by returning to a past far beyond that of his own. History could be an escape once he no longer pondered his own and spent time wishing the brake pedal had been pressed a fraction of a second earlier. Smoke and rubble would belong on paper rather than the recesses of his severed mind.
What Mark Scout didn’t hope post-Lumon life would be: the searing pain of new memories bursting from his eyelids into brilliant, white light – an endless labyrinth of walls and numbers, fear and wonder. And it certainly didn’t take place at his sister’s house, with the shrill cries of an infant ringing in his ears and Ricken, of all people, holding a cold compress to his forehead. The worst part about it? He found that he craved the attention from Ricken, a tender touch and attention to his pain. His innie had to be here too.
Devon’s voice sounded muffled and far away, as if water filled Mark’s ears and flowed into the torrential waters in his mind. “He was fine two hours ago. Is it reintegration sickness?”
“I think so. His spirit feels split.” Ricken’s voice boomed, almost drowning out the end of Devon’s question. Mark winced, and found himself being softly shushed by his brother-in-law. His mind lit up, his brother-in-law!
Mark opened his eyes when the baby – Eleanor – shrieked. But, his eyes felt wet. Could babies make you cry? No, no, that’s idiotic. I was a baby once. Yes, you were.
Another wave of pain surged through Mark, and he found that he was speaking every word aloud and crying much like Eleanor. Devon passed Eleanor to Ricken, swooped in on Mark, sitting next to him on the race car bed and turning the compress over so it was cooler on his forehead. Eleanor’s cries faded as Ricken took her out of the room.
“S’better,” Mark murmured, his speech slurred, breaths choppy. He closed his eyes again and felt Devon gently dabbing away his tears with a tissue. More still fell anyway. Did he cry at Lumon? Another memory passed his vision, one of Petey’s hands clapping him on the shoulder, offering him a tissue as the door to the break room slammed shut behind him and he was enveloped in white again. “Dev,” Mark gasped.
“I’m right here, Mark. I got you.” She replied, somber and empathetic, her heart being pulled in three directions at once. One, for her Mark, another for the sweet innie she was just getting to know, and the last for the Mark in between – the one who always seemed to be suffering ever since he was cut free from his chip.
Devon knew what was coming next. She felt she gained a mother’s intuition even before Eleanor was conceived, one that was gifted to her by her darling firstborn from eternity so she would know just how to help her brother when he couldn’t voice his unending grief.
Mark felt horribly desperate, like he was scrabbling for something he couldn’t see. And yet, the pain of two lives in his mind dissipated with one word, almost like the elevator at Lumon had carried him up to reality. “Devvie!” He uttered, eyes fluttering open reaching towards his sister with a hand to make any sort of contact.
There it was. Devon recognized her Mark, and the innocent place he retreated to when it was all too much. She pulled the compress from his forehead, clasped his hand in hers and wiped the dampness from his face. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Was that a bad one?”
“Hurt. And – my innie. I remembered.” Mark sniffled, his eyes hazy and his throat sore from crying. He sat up in his bed, Devon’s hand moving to his back to run her fingers up and down it soothingly. “Don’t like him.”
“You don’t mean that, honey. I know it’s painful when your memories mix with your Innie’s, but he feels it too.” Devon offered the statement in return, smiling softly at Mark’s childish speech.
“Don’t like him.” Mark repeated, this time with a scowl, brow furrowing with nothing but contempt.
“Well,” Devon pushed Mark’s hair out of his eyes, “He likes you.”
“Don’t care.”
“Okay, bud.” Devon breathily chuckled, more out of relief than anything else, but it earned her an even fiercer look from Mark. She liked him like this – bratty and quick witted, sure, but also willing to speak his feelings much more than when he didn’t feel young.
“Where’s Ellie?” Mark then asked, perking up at the thought of the baby, tears and pain dissolving into curiosity and alertness.
“Rick took her on a little walk around the house. Do you wanna go find her?” Devon offered, standing up and holding out her hand for Mark to take. His eyes danced from her hand to her face and back again, as if hesitant to fully accept the dynamic. His hand clasped hers anyways.
Unsteady on his feet, Mark swayed as he got up from his bed, frowning. “Ugh,” He groaned, an uncomfortable, dejected noise.
“I know. We’ll get you some hot tea too, it’ll help.” Devon steadied him with her other hand on his shoulder, and gently coaxed Mark into following her to the kitchen.
Ricken stood in the kitchen, rocking Eleanor in his arms and shushing her gently. The lighting was dim, warm and inviting, easy on Mark’s subsiding headache and tired eyes.
Mark looked like he wanted to say something to Ricken as his sister pulled him into the kitchen, but he kept his mouth closed and his eyes wide as he looked at Eleanor, who was calm and quiet. He found it harder to talk in front of Ricken when he was in this regressed state, uncertain with a whisper of embarrassment that he never told Devon about. Those feelings were much too big for him anyways – the point of a return to childhood was getting away from them.
“Feeling better, Mark?” Ricken asked in a hushed tone, expression worried as he rocked Eleanor back and forth.
Mark gave a single nod, but kept looking at Eleanor, even as Devon let go of his hand to put the kettle on to boil. “Umm,” He started, “D-did I wake her up?”
Ricken and Devon shared a look, and Ricken said, “No, of course not – well, yes.”
“Can I hold her?”
The couple shared another look, and Ricken shook his head. “I’m sorry, little guy, but I just got her settled. You feel bad about waking her up, right?”
Mark pouted, and nodded again. He didn’t like the guilt that was creeping into his stomach and turning his insides around. He hated causing trouble for Devon and the baby, and didn’t particularly enjoy all the aspects of the whole depending on someone else shtick that Devon had been very insistent on ever since he showed up on their doorstep in the middle of the night with his car in the bushes.
“Well, I know how you can make it better.” Ricken continued, tone lilting.
That made Mark’s pout fade and his nodding more enthusiastic. He could do something to help.
“Why don’t you go and find her pacifier? The one with the wooden handle?” As soon as Ricken asked, Mark set off to the living room, looking under the couch and flipping around cushions.
“You’re good with him.” Devon remarked with a wistful grin, pouring a mug of tea for Mark.
“Well, it is purely instinctual. But… His face is plastered with emotion when he’s like this. Little Mark needs unassuming coddling. Coddling without it being obvious.” Ricken replied, as if it was as simple as making the mug of tea that was sitting on the counter, steam trailing upwards and disappearing.
“But,” Devon chewed on her lower lip anxiously, watching Mark determinedly march past the kitchen and back to his and Eleanor’s room in search of the pacifier. “What if he fully reintegrates, and this doesn’t work anymore? When he’s young like this, it’s – Rick, you know as well as I do that this is the most content we’ve seen him since Gemma.”
“I know. But he needs time before we start theorizing. It’s been a month since the chip was removed, Dev. We’ve met innie Mark, what, five times? Six? They don’t switch often.” Ricken brushed Devon’s worries aside, moving toward some kind of inner peace that Devon couldn’t see herself finding.
Still, Ricken had a point, especially when Mark came around the corner, a rare and true smile on his face. Victoriously, he put the pacifier on the kitchen counter and watched joyously as Ricken coaxed it into Eleanor’s mouth, which made her little eyelids close sleepily.
Mark lingered by the counter, hands resting on its edge as he watched Eleanor settle. Devon studied him. The way his shoulders weren’t drawn so tight, the way his mouth didn’t immediately press into that exhausted, unreadable line. He was so much younger like this, even if she knew it was temporary. Maybe that was the part that scared her most.
“Good job, Mark,” she said, pushing the mug of tea towards him and his eyes flicked toward her, startled, as if he hadn’t expected praise. Somehow, it made his head thrum. He carefully picked up the mug and took a sip, the warmth soothing his throat.
Ricken hummed in approval. “Yes, quite. A man of action.”
Mark shrugged, but there was satisfaction behind his expression, burning brightly in his usually dim eyes. His fingers tapped against the ceramic mug, lightly dinging in the quiet of the kitchen.
“She’s okay?”
“She’s okay,” Ricken confirmed. “Because of you.”
Mark’s embarrassment spiked, and he attempted to hide behind his mug. Devon laughed softly, truly this time, and even moreso when Mark squeaked out, “Bedtime?”
The family headed back to Eleanor and Mark’s room, Devon pulling back the covers on the race car bed for Mark to climb into. Ricken gently placed Eleanor in her crib, removing the pacifier and pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead before joining the siblings.
Devon and Ricken both kneeled next to Mark’s bed, Devon pulling the blankets up to his shoulders but not quite to his chin – Mark had quipped one night that he didn’t like feeling suffocated when Devon tucked him in too tight.
“I’ll be back later to come check on you and Eleanor. Feeling alright, honey?” Devon asked one last time, gaze soft as her motherly instincts guided her words.
Mark answered with a sleepy “uh-huh,” eyes heavy and body succumbing to sleep, exhausted and safe with his family.
Devon leaned down and pressed a kiss to Mark’s forehead, loving her brother the same way she did her daughter. For now, it was enough