A surge flows through your stomach, followed by a sticky heat bulging up your throat. The vomit leaps from your lips, splattering across the orangey deck. Your vision is blurred and erratic as you turn your head, observing the state of the Leviathan. The explosion has laid waste to the side of the hull, revealing a massive hole. Loose electrical components spark and writhe as the smoke dissolves into the barely awakening sky. You grunt as a powerful migraine pokes your brain, but you still pull yourself to your feet. Wreckage has concealed your body, but you are able to slide out from underneath a busted gun case. You amble to the side of the ship and gaze over the handrail.

Soldiers run amok, hysterical at the sight of the damaged rig and the bewildered humans. Many are coated in blood. Medics are darting every which way, deciding who they should tend to first. You move your mouth, entertaining the idea of calling out for help. A coppery taste extends across your tongue as your lips crack.

"Livia?" you whimper, trying to spot her. "Damien?"

You turn to the staircase, your mind still cloudy and befuddled. Your feet move with unease as you pad to the staircase. Your sweaty palms wrap around the rail, and you ease yourself down to the lower levels. Each movement sends a flurry of agony through your forehead, piercing your eyeballs, tugging at the occipital nerve. A small stream of vomit starts to dribble across your jacket.

Delirium.

Your mind blanks, and you find yourself sifting through the crowd, mingling with the chaos. The voices rush around you, filled with wails and misery and rage. Who would let this happen? Whatdidhappen?

Livia's face morphs before you. She talks but nothing comes out. Can she speak louder?

"I can't hear you," you whisper.

She fades away. The ocean rolls around across the beach. The stench of gasoline wipes past you. More faces appear. They speak again but nothing registers. Pressure falls against your shoulders, and you give in. Your rear hits the sand, and their heads continue to float around. They pull open your eyes, waggling their fingers here and there. You ignore the movement, still fixated on finding Livia again. Focus starts to return.

"Don," you mutter.

"What?" someone says.

"Where's Don? He fell off."

Livia floats by, her form ghostly and random. "We're still looking." Livia turns around. Her eyes widen. Someone talks to her. She rushes off.

Damien takes her place. He smiles and rubs your shoulder. "Are you feeling sleepy?"

You shake your head.

"Good. Just talk to me if you can."

"Don fell off. He went after someone. He jumped the ship."

"Yeah. We, uh, we found him."

"Don?"

"No, Robbie. Robbie's dead."

"Dead? But Don saved him."

"He did. He didn't die from impact. We'll talk when you feel better."

Your temple tightens, and you place a finger at the origin of the pain. "What do you mean?"

"We'll talk later."

"No, Damien. What happened?"

A medic pushes him away. He fades into the crowd. You grab onto the medic close to you. Your fingers grab her thick, dark hair and the collar of her shirt. She looks to you, her gaze still soft even with the aggressive grip.

"I need to get up," you state.

"I can't let you go, Y/N. You have a concussion."

"But I'm Advisor. I need to go."

"Everything is being taken care of. We need you to rest."

You shake your head, furious. Everyone needs you to help, not sit here. You try to get up, but a hefty hand shoves you back into the sand. The medic angrily stares up at Scarr as she looms over you, her brightly colored hair whipping in the salty wind, contrasting with the ebony sky.

"Sit thefuckdown, Y/N," she barks. Her expression remains creased with disgust and concern. She angles her head towards her left as the Machinist warps into view. They exchange a few soft words before Scarr marches off.

The Machinist crouches before you. She brushes some of your hair away from your face, the thick leather of her gloves sliding across your oily, sweaty forehead. "Feel like shit?"

"Yeah."

"I bet. How's your memory?"

"Alright."

"What did Don do?"

"Robbie tried to jump off the side of the ship. He was scared. Don jumped after him to protect him during the fall. Then I got knocked out. What happened to Robbie? Damien says he's dead. Why is he dead?" Your words slightly slur as your grasp for the right words. The medic frowns a bit as your communication grows weak.

"We don't know. Medics found his body, but he's, uh. We're not sure. They think he was murdered."

"Murdered?!" You try to stand again, but the Machinist forces you down. A burst of tears explodes from their ducts. "The fuck do you mean murdered?! Where's Don?"

"Y/N, we don't know. H-His throat was cut open. Nothing else was wrong." The Machinist looks into the blurred crowd of mania. She waves to someone, and Livia appears. "He was the only casualty. Lots of injuries, but nothing that can't be fixed. Livia, make sure he gets to the medical quarters."

. . .

You stare up at the ceiling, counting the screwheads jutting from the sheet metal for the umpteenth time. A terrific migraine has settled upon your temples about thirty minutes ago, and keeping yourself steady is the only way to stave off the pain. Pain killer stock is low. The counting keeps the boredom at bay. The delirium has abandoned you, leaving you free to interact with the aftermath of the minor concussion.

Livia sits close by, bobbing her head as she listens to music. A strong backing beat supports a metallic feminine voice, screaming about a woman she desires to be with. Livia side eyes your steadily moving gaze. "How are you feeling?"

"No," is all you can mutter.

Livia approaches the bed, her long hair fading around her face. She removes her earbuds. Her expression is solemn and dreary. She stands over you, and your flick your eyes to meet her face. "Are you fucking Don?"

Your heart explodes, trampling deep in your chest. The heartrate monitor watching over your vitals starts to shriek louder and faster. You soften your stare, feigning confusion. "Can this wait?"

Livia's eyebrows furrow, and her lips sculpt themselves into a gentle sneer. "It's a yes or no."

"Livia. No."

Livia pushes a chunk of her hair behind an ear. "Then why were you with Don at five o'clock in the morning?"

"We were discussing plans. He had some ideas and wanted to discuss."

"That early? Couldn't that have waited, too?"

"He's weird. He didn't want to wait."

Livia whips around and snags the pull out chair. Its legs shred across the ground, emitting an ungodly scream through the air. You wince as the sound irritates your brain. Livia flops down in it, her left arm crossed over the back and her stance lax.

"You think you're so fucking smart, don't you?" Livia lowers her brow, deep shadows crossing over her strong facial features. Footsteps rocket around outside, fading as soon as they arrived. There are voices shouting about new additions to the medical quarters. She crosses her legs. "I've worked with Don for the past decade, and I can tell you that he keeps strict boundaries between his personal time and time working. He applies the same rules to anyone that he works with. Unless it is an emergency, he never discusses mission details with anyone after he retires for the night. It has been the same, every day, for years.

"And I have never seen him wearing less than his full body uniform in front of anyone, at any hour. Only time I have seen him with less clothes is after he engages his nitro. But even then, after the chemical leaves him, he immediately dresses himself right when he can."

You push yourself up, your shoulder blades crushing your pillows against the wall as you sit up. You tighten your expression as a wave of agony rockets through you. "He was just wearing his pants and his undershirt. What does that even mean?"

"He was pulling on that damn shirt as he was leaving his room with you. I was on the deck. He has never, ever been shirtless around anyone. And a professional meeting about a mission while shirtless at five in the morning? Again, are you hooking up with him?"

You shake your head, a flood of heat passing through your spine. "Why does this matter?"

Livia's nose wrinkles, and her lips quiver. Her fingers run across her socks. "You've avoiding the question, so I know it is yes. Don't fucking spew your bullshit with me. And it matters because you got a promotion because you were playing around in his pants. Damien and I have been trying to move beyond 'grunt overseer' for years. And hereyouare, Don's personal fuckingadvisor, because you make him cum." Livia swipes her eyes with a forearm. "We all promised to stay together, didn't we? Move up together? Fight together. Be together."

Your hands grow clammy, and you pull them out from underneath the thin blankets decorating the slightly uncomfortable mattress. You admire the screwheads again before tugging your focus back down to Livia. She hangs her head, her hair caressing over her face like wisteria. "I wasn't promoted because I was having sex with Don. The Machinist was proud of my work at the Rig, so when Don said he needed a general, The Machinist said I would be a good fit for him. Afterwards, we, um, found that there was an attraction."

Livia remains quiet, just her soft, jittery breaths filling the room. A couple glassy tears patter against her pants. "So you're his Advisor and his fuck puppet?"

You scowl and nibble on your bottom lip. "I'm not hisfuck puppet. Work comes first. Livia..." You tentatively grab onto the frayed hem of the blanket, the knitted strings unfurling like a blossom. "It's more than just advising. He...I don't really know how to put this into words. I also don't know how much I can tell you. But you and Damien are my best friends, right?"

Livia remains sealed away under her curtain.

"You two are. You matter to me more than Don. But the Machinist and Scarr appointed me because...something is going on with Don. He's...changing. They want who he used to be back. You know what he was like, right?"

She nods.

"They want me to help him. Get himself back. They chose me because...just because they thought I...I don't know. My personality. That's why I am Advisor. We just took a liking to each other more than we thought we would."

"I just want to know you aren't being..." Livia lifts her head, daring herself to say the word. Her eyebags have grown swollen from the ambient crying that just dispensed.

"I'm not being assaulted. And if I was, you would be the first to know so you can kill him."

Livia nods, relieved. "Is he kind to you?"

"Very. He's still there. It's the nitro. We all know it is. He wants to escape it, too, but it is difficult. I'm...I'm here to support him. And maybe being intimate with him will help. We have to trust each other, even in complete vulnerability. Livia, I will never leave you and Damien. That is a promise. No amount of sex or desire could keep me from loving you two."