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Mark pulled into his driveway, already missing the warm presence of his sister. The dead wife conspiracy talk aside, she was all he had left. Ricken was a lost cause, and Mrs. Selvig, or Cobel, whoever the fuck she was, turned out to be some baby-snatching stalker. He sighed, already getting ready for another night of getting drunk on his couch watching some shitty reality show. Turning off the ignition, he opened his car door, and looked straight into his own eyes, standing across from him on neatly paved stone.
Both men jumped at the eye contact, looking spooked. Neither moved or spoke for a minute, until Mark finally found his words.
“Who’re you supposed to be? Is this a Lumon thing? Did Milchick send you?”
The other man blinked, then tried unsuccessfully to force a corporate smile, gesturing at the house behind him. “Yes? No? Sorry, I just woke up in this house…” He trailed off, looking Mark up and down. “Are you… my outie?”
Outie. If Mark was the man’s outie, then the man was..
“What the fuck,” Mark said flatly.
The innie flinched a little at the tone. “I didn’t know this was possible,” he said, gesturing between them. “But I guess if the OTC is possible, then so is this?” He fiddled with his ID card, which Mark noticed was the solid colored one, and glanced around. Probably looking for Mr. Milchick to show up any minute.
“You’re my innie,” Mark stated. “You’re my innie and I’m looking at you right now.” He looked at the house whose doorstep the man was standing on, and had to place his face in his hands. Of course he had to materialize inside Mrs. Selvig’s house. What had she been doing? Summoning him??
“Yep. Crazy, right?” He laughed, and the sound of it grated on Mark’s ears. He knew that sound. The I’m-losing-my-shit-but-trying-so-hard-not-to-let-anyone-else-see-it laugh. It was his own, of course. He is you, you idiot, a suspiciously Gemma-like voice in his head said, but Mark ignored it. “Your sister told me Cobel was your neighbor. Is that your house?” Mark looked up to see the innie pointing at his own house, noting the use of ‘your sister’ and not ‘our sister’, and nodded. The innie hesitated.
“What is it?” Mark knew he was being too harsh, that he was taking his confusion out on the innie, but couldn’t find it in himself to care. What did the innie know, anyway? He was happy down there, on the severed floor. Working all day, knowing nothing about Mark’s pain. Falling in love.
It was unreasonable for Mark to expect his innie to stay loyal to Gemma, given he didn’t remember her, but some part of him still saw it as a betrayal. And if Devon was right? If Gemma was alive? If she was who his innie fell for, again? Mark pushed that out of his mind. Gemma was dead. She was gone. He knew that better than anyone. He had dealt with that grief for years, had broken apart into pieces and never was able to put himself back together.
The innie’s smile faltered, and traces of hurt trickled in. His shoulders slumped. “I just.. I’ve never been inside a house before.” Much less my own, was implied but unsaid. Mark heard it anyway. He sighed.
“Alright,” he said. “Come with me. We can talk about whatever this is inside.”
The innie beamed at him.
-
Mark S. followed his outie through the house as he gave him a short tour. None of it felt familiar, as in bringing up memories of living here, but Mark didn’t expect it to. It felt familiar in the sense that of course he would have arranged the living room so, of course there were no paintings or other decorations on the walls, of course it would look like this. Despite having no frame of reference as to what a house should look like on the inside, it still felt like his. Or rather, his outie’s, who he was beginning to see had a slightly different personality than he did.
Mark Scout, as Mark learned his full name was, was closed off and snappy. His eyes bore a depth of grief in them that Mark had never seen in the office restroom mirrors, hair limp and shoulders slumped. But he was also kind, offering for Mark to stay in his house for however long he wanted to, until they figured this out, without Mark even thinking of asking.
Was this the man who Gemma had fallen for? The soft, kind, history professor on the inside?
“Would you like a beer?” Mark Scout asked, and Mark shrugged.
“I’ve never had one.”
Mark Scout blinked at him, then tossed the can. “Try it.”
He caught it, opening it the way he would open a soda can. Mark took a sip, then started coughing. “What?” He shuddered.
His outie chuckled, but it wasn’t mean. “Welcome to the real world.” Mark frowned at the can. It tasted horrible. Was this what outies really drank regularly?
“What do you like to eat? Down there?”
“We usually get snacks from the vending machine. Two a day. And if we do really well we have a waffle party.”
Mark Scout raised an eyebrow as he closed the door to the refrigerator, gesturing for them to go upstairs. “A waffle party? Is that where all of the raises they’ve promised me are ending up?”
Mark didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t.
Upstairs, Mark Scout handed Mark a pair of his pajamas to wear, and Mark changed in the bathroom. The cloth was much softer than the dress shirt and slacks Mark was used to, and it felt amazing.
His outie knocked on the door, a quick two-beat press of knuckles. “Hey, uh, it occurred to me that you’ve probably never had a shower before. So if you want to do that actually, then go ahead.”
A shower. Mark looked towards the bundle of curtains at the back of the bathroom. His heart pounded with excitement. A real shower, with real water and real soap.
“Oh, and uh, if you want to brush your teeth you can do that too. You can just use my toothbrush, I guess. Since we’re the same person.”
Mark frowned at that. Were they? Everything he’d seen of Mark Scout had suggested the opposite. Maybe there were some parts of Mark Scout in him, but Mark felt different. Felt like his own person, a unique branch growing out of the tree that was Mark Scout with his own little ecosystem. But he wasn’t going to argue now.
-
Mark hovered outside of the bathroom door. His initial suspicion and confusion had worn off pretty quickly, and he had just started to feel sad.
His innie- Mark S, he reminded himself, he had a name- hadn’t known about half of the stuff he had in his fridge. He didn’t know how to drive, didn’t know when his birthday was, had walked right past the black and white lump of dried clay displayed on the shelf next to the TV that vaguely looked like a Snoopy figure, an inside joke between him and Devon when they were children. He wandered around the house with wide, excited eyes, eager to experience his outie’s life for the first time.
It was a bit like watching a child stumble their way through the world, and the thought had brought a wave of horror to Mark. When he accepted being severed, he had only thought of himself, that it would take away the pain and grief and guilt for a few hours each day. That he could finally work and earn an income without breaking into tears halfway through a lecture, without seeing concerned students trailing into his office hours every day. That he could keep himself alive without actually putting in the effort to do so. Sure, he’d considered what it would mean for his innie, but he hadn’t thought of that man as an actual person, only an extension of himself. His innie would be happy, Mark thought, and not drown in his memories like Mark. At the time, that felt like the biggest gift he could give his innie.
But now, seeing Mark S, he knew it was a mistake. He had doomed his innie to a life of work without pleasure, hadn’t considered that he was creating a whole new person just to deal with his grief (and unsuccessfully at that last part too). Could he even go back to being an innie after seeing all of this? The luxuries that Mark could live with, when he had to deal with waffle parties being his greatest reward? Could Mark even willingly send him back?
And that was assuming they figured out how to send him back in the first place.
“Mark?” The bathroom door opened a crack, and Mark S peeked out hesitantly. Mark hurried over to him.
“Is something wrong?”
“I.. How do you use the shower?” Oh. Mark sighed, then hurried to reassure Mark S when his eyes widened at Mark’s possible displeasure.
“That wasn’t for you,” he said, walking into the bathroom. “I was just.. thinking. And showers are confusing for everyone, don’t worry. I lose my mind whenever I’m staying at a hotel.” He rotated the knob once, and water started flowing from the shower head. “This turns it on. If you turn it to the left that’s hot water, and if you keep it on the right that’s cold water.”
“Thanks,” Mark S said. He was covered in Mark’s towel, hugging it close to his chest, but from what Mark could see, physically, they were the same. Mark held back a shudder.
“I’ll be setting up your bed in the basement, so holler if you need anything,” Mark called out as he left, shutting the door behind him. He made it to the basement before he dropped to his knees. Mentally, Mark S was only two years old. He had always known, logically, of course, but now…
Oh my God, Mark thought.
-
The shower had been heavenly. Mark didn’t know what the correct amount of time to spend under the water was, so he tried to clean himself as fast as he could. He covered himself with the body lotion on the counter, which also felt great. He then brushed his teeth and even used Mark Scout’s mouthwash, wincing as he followed the directions on the bottle to hold the liquid in his mouth for thirty seconds. He had then given himself two minutes to explore Mark Scout’s bedroom, where to his disappointment, he found very little personal items, and made his way downstairs to the basement.
Now, he tucked himself into the sheets on the couch as Mark Scout watched, and just.. lay there. He couldn’t help but fidget, and Mark Scout frowned.
“What’s wrong? Would you prefer the bed?” He shifted. “I suppose it won’t be that awkward if we share the bed, it would be like sharing it with my twin…”
“Uh, no, I was just wondering, how do I go to sleep?”
Something flashed on Mark Scout’s face. Despair. “You’ve never slept?” He then barked a laugh, but it sounded self-deprecating. “Of course you haven’t slept. I’ve been doing that for you.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Mark.”
“Hey,” Mark tried to console him. “It’s not that bad, it’s nice starting a new day of work feeling well rested.”
“But you never actually got that rest.”
Mark swallowed. Mark Scout was right, of course, but he had never resented that fact. He was an innie. His job was to work. Mark Scout slept for him, so he could go to work with a clear head and serve Kier the best he could. He thought of Ricken’s book. His brother-in-law, he marveled, not for the first time. Ricken would’ve said it was unfair. That the opportunity he was getting now, was the life he should have been living all along. Helly would’ve agreed with that, too. But what could an innie do about it?
He smiled up at Mark Scout. “I’ll get to experience it now.”
Mark Scout looked like he was coming to a decision, then nodded. “Now. Yes. And for the rest of your life.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re not going back, Mark,” Mark Scout said, mouth set in a thin line. “You’re your own person. Not just an innie. If you want to go back, then I want it to be on your terms.” He nodded to himself, once again, as Mark digested all that. Something that felt like hope, started rising inside him. His outie was going to help him.
“I’m gonna do what Petey wanted,” Mark Scout muttered to himself, but Mark heard him, head whipping up at those words.
“Petey??” He gasped. “You saw Petey K?”
“Yeah. He saw me, more like.” He gestured to the bed. “He slept in that spot, actually.”
Petey. Petey was alive, had been here.
“They told me he was retired.”
Mark Scout shook his head. “It was more complicated than that. But he couldn’t tell me much. The reintegration process fucked with his head, and he kept..” He trailed off as he noticed Mark hanging on to every word he was saying. He winced as he continued. “He kept.. losing his mind, man. I don’t know what to tell you. Hallucinating things. You guys, I think. Coworkers. Said something about an Irving and a Dylan.”
A tear rolled down Mark’s face, and he silently marveled at the fact that he was capable of crying. Mark Scout seemed to feel the same astonishment. “He remembered us?”
“Yeah, he did. He loved you guys a lot. He wanted to fight for you all.”
“Wanted to?”
Mark Scout paused, as if debating whether to say it or not. A cold feeling settled in Mark’s stomach. “What happened to him?”
“He died, Mark. From reintegration sickness, uh, just the process of reintegration.”
There was silence in the basement for a few minutes.
Mark could sense Mark Scout reaching a hand out, probably for comfort, from where his face was buried into his legs. Then felt the hand make contact with his shoulder. He sobbed.
The hand stilled in shock at the sound, but when Mark kept going, kept crying with a grief he never knew he held, Mark Scout’s grip tightened.
“I’m… sorry, man.” He sounded similarly choked up.
“Were..” Mark struggled to get the words out. “Were you there for him? When he.. died?”
Mark Scout was silent, and Mark’s heart sank.
Fuck. Petey died. His best friend was dead. Petey didn’t even have the comfort of Mark being there for him.
-
Fuck.
Mark S was hurting. Was.. Petey the one Mr. Milchick had been referencing? Had he fallen for Petey? Mark didn’t want to ask and make it worse for Mark S right now, but it would make sense, the way Petey had come to Mark for comfort first. And what had Mark done? He’d ignored Petey until now. Hadn’t even looked further into Petey’s claims of employee abuse at Lumon. It had taken his own innie to show up for Mark to realize Mark S was a person. An individual. A human being who was being abused even if he didn’t realize it.
He shook his head. He would fix this.
“We’ll figure it out,” he told Mark S. “Like I said, you’re not going back. I’m going to help you finish what Petey started, and we’ll find out the truth of what you guys are doing at Lumon.”
Mark S lifted his head, and Mark felt a stab of guilt at the hope he saw in Mark S’s eyes, an easy trust that he didn’t deserve, as well as the same grief he never wanted Mark S to experience.
He leaned in, surprising both of them by pulling Mark S into a hug. After a beat, he hugged back just as strongly, melting into the embrace.
“I’ll fix this,” Mark vowed. No matter what.