Chapter Text
When it sees Daisy, it can't breathe.
It knows who she is—she shares its curly, blond hair, and she shares its face, but at the same time it doesn't know.
Her mouth moves, and, as she speaks, the flames it made die down around the other girl. The one it doesn't remember. The one that remembers it.
It tries to say something to Remington, who has been making incredibly unhelpful commentary this entire time, but for the first time ever, its words fail it.
The girl that it somehow both remembers and doesn't remember talks.
"Mark," she says. It's the name the other girl was calling it—not its name.
Not its name. Its name is HP—Honorary Perfectionist—; its name isn't Mark Noxx. Mark was the part of it that it locked away for safety. Mark was scared; Mark was hurt—HP wasn't scared; HP wasn't hurt. HP wanted revenge, and revenge it got.
"It's me, Daisy." It sounds like she's begging with the way her voice wavers.
It can't stop the panic or the way it loses control. Its breaths come out in sharp gasps as tiny flames begin to flicker to life wherever it looks.
"I'm sorry." Its voice doesn't sound right. It sounds too high and too soft. It sounds too much like Mark.
She steps closer, a shaking hand reaching out to HP. A shaking hand reaching out to Mark.
"Mark," she whispers as tears begin to form. "It's Daisy."
It scrambles out another apology. It doesn't know why it's apologising, nor does it know who's apologising—a familiar, yet too strong, fogginess blurs everything until it doesn't know if it's HP or Mark. Either way, it's sure Mark is speaking.
Daisy grabs his hands, flinching a bit at the unexpected coldness. A tear falls down her cheek, but she tries to smile. A reassurance to Mark. Mark wants to wipe the tear from her face. HP doesn't let him.
"Say my name, Mark. Please," she pleads while another tear falls, "please say my name."
Mark tries. Again, HP doesn't let him.
"It's not safe," it tells him.
Dr Rupert Morello had taken Daisy and Mark in in 2013. Daisy was ten; Mark was twelve.
It was supposed to be a week, and they were supposed to have contact with their parents, but soon a week turned into a month, and a month turned into seven years. Their mom stopped answering calls after the first month; their dad never answered calls.
Morello had explained everything to them both in a soft voice. His hand rested on Mark's shoulder, and he felt special.
Daisy was a six. Six voices, and a perfect soul six times over. Morello had given her a necklace with a blue gem that made her head quiet for the first time. It took her ten minutes to get it on. Mark asked if she needed help, and Morello told him to not help. He said she'd get it eventually as he watched her face redden from embarrassment and frustration.
Mark was a special case. An eleven. Eleven voices, and a perfect soul eleven times over. Morello had given him the same necklace he gave Daisy—the one that made her head quiet for the first time—and he'd helped him fasten it. His cold hands stayed on his neck for a bit too long despite Mark insisting he could do it himself.
One late evening, Morello had told Mark to come to his office. He told him to lock the door behind him.
His office had cream-coloured walls, a hardwood floor and Morello's desk, scattered with papers and books, in the middle with two chairs in front and one chair—Morello's chair—behind. It smelt of cigarettes and reminded Mark of when he got sent to the principal's office for getting in a fight with the girl that made pig noises at Daisy and called her fat in sixth grade.
He told Mark to lock the door behind him and take a seat. He ashhed his cigarette in an empty cup as Mark sat across from him. He stared at Mark with a calculating glint in his eye.
He called him special. He told him about his hypothesis.
Mark didn't understand that word. He didn't understand any of what Morello was doing. All that he understood is that Morello thought he was special. He used that word a lot. He also called Mark mature, but not nearly as much.
The first time Mark created a spark was the first time he heard HP.
He started wearing his necklace all day after hearing HP, but it wouldn't quiet down. He was used to voices that didn't just repeat one word or contribute to his number, but they were never as loud as HP.
HP "protected" Mark. It fought back against Morello when he'd get too forceful or rough, which would make Morello andMark mad.
Morello wanted Mark to listen. Mark wanted Morello to keep thinking he was special and mature. HP wanted to hurt Morello so he'd stop hurting Mark.
Mark was decently sure he wasn't hurting at all.
And then Mark stopped being Mark most of the time—he'd come back to burns, arguments, and, one time, an incredibly scared Daisy.
Day by day, Mark lost more control. Day by day, Morello got meaner and stricter. Day by day, HP got stronger.
One day, everything stopped. The end of Mark's control (and the start of HP's control) was a room full of smoke and Jay yelling.
For just a moment, Mark had full clarity. He was knelt over Morello in a position that felt all too familiar from their training, where he'd gotten Mark to try and fight. A blood-stained knife was clutched in a now burnt and bony hand that used to be his, and, for the first time ever, fear was written across Morello's face.
Jay, Daisy, and the tall girl he didn't know were all yelling. He didn't know what they were saying, but the short moment he'd paused was enough for the tall girl and Daisy to pull him off.
A whisper of "I'm sorry, Daze" bubbled up before he lost control again.
When HP gained more clarity, it hissed. The hands on it reminded it of what Morello had done and of what it needed to do to make sure Morello never hurt anyone else.
It shoves Remington and Daisy and scratches until they have no choice to let go. It hears Daisy yelp, and it feels nothing. It hears Mark get louder, insisting that it should stop and help Daisy or get out.
Like always, it doesn't listen.
Remington grimaces. "So, I guess grabbing him is a no go?" She laughs awkwardly, an attempt to lighten the mood.
Jay glares. Daisy, for once, raises her voice.
"God—Remy, can't you take anything seriously?" Her voice wavers as she fights to hold back tears. "Mark's lost his mind, and he's trying to kill Morello; Morello tried to kill Mark and you too—I'm so fucking confused, and scared, and angry, and you're just—" She can't finish her tangent before she starts sobbing.
With a look of guilt and embarrassment creeping onto her face, Remington nods. "Sorry, uh—sorry, I was… just trying to lighten the mood."
Jay scoffs, the first noise they'd made in quite a while. "You're fucking stupid."
HP had never cried after hurting anyone, but there it was, sitting on the very same couch that Morello had sat with Mark, whispering in his ear. His breath smelt of cigarettes and a bit of whisky, and HP doesn't want to remember what happened.
Daisy was sat next to it, cleaning its bloodied knuckles while trying not to cry.
Morello was gone. Not dead to HP's dismay—Jay was much stronger than their 5'2 frame and fully able to pull it off him—but he was gone.
Maybe Mark was getting stronger again, or maybe it was too exhausted to react, but it didn't flinch when Daisy touched its hand.
"This'll sting. I'm really sorry—for everything, but also for this," Daisy mumbles—mainly to herself—as she rubs a cotton pad coated in antiseptic over HP's probably broken knuckles.
Morello had run away. Kind of. He couldn't really run, but HP was too frozen to do anything as it watched. It wanted to run after him and finish him off, but between Jay's vice grip on him, Jay taking its knife, and it being completely frozen, he got away.
As he ran, Remington yelled after him. It couldn't hear what she said over the ringing in its ears, but it was sure it heard her call him a predator.
HP didn't flinch at the stinging in its already painful and swollen knuckles. Maybe because of the fog in its brain, maybe because it was too tired to fight back.
"God, Mark…" Daisy sighs, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. "What did he do to you?"
It doesn't respond. Mark doesn't want to tell her; HP couldn't talk even if it wanted to.
For once, Mark wins.
HP had always thought that hurting Morello would feel good—freeing, even. It never thought it would cry or completely shut down.
Its head was full of a thick fog that might've been Mark's fault or the fact it had seen Morello for the first time in seven years' fault. It was crying. It was hurt.
It hears sniffling and feels a sudden weight on its shoulder and realises Daisy has buried her head in its shoulder and is now crying. It flinches slightly.
Mark puts a hand in her hair, as if he's petting her, and HP doesn't fight him off. This makes her cry more.
Through her sobs, Daisy finally speaks. "I'm sorry, Mark. I should've noticed, and I should've talked to you, and I should've come to you when you were crying and—" Her sobs interrupt her speech, and she grips Mark/HP like he/it was about to "die" again.
"I love you, Mark, and I'm— God— I should've noticed— It was my fault— It should've been me—" is what Mark/HP can make out through her sobs.
Wrapping his arms around her, Mark shakes his head. "Daze…" He whispers, the thick fog in his brain making it too much to say much, but he holds her as tight as he can.
This just makes her sob more. She grips him hard enough it hurts, but he suppresses the flinch that rises.
"I'm sorry." Daisy repeats again, and again, and again.
Mark shushes her. "I'm okay, Daze."
He's not between the lack of recollection of the past seven years and the state of him, but Daisy doesn't need to know that.
Daisy knows, but she chooses not to correct him.