Darlington is trying to focus in the staff room. His floor would be a better place to find some quiet since he is the only resident assistant on the floor, but here he is, in the staff room all the same. Hover, his room is marked with bad decisions. The glasses on his desk, his clothes on his floor, and his unmade bed as he rushed out.

"It's not the end of the world," Hadley's voice crackles from the other end of the floor.

Darlington doesn't even quite have the words to answer. While he always had empathy for Tempest, her predicament is making his stomach uneasy. Everything is terrible. Since they are out of WiFi, they are not video calling, and so Hadley cannot see the remarkable glare Darlington holds for him.

"You've got to take charge," Hadley points out. "Burns is going to shit with panic. You got any people like that on your team?"

"Too many to name," Darlington says, although they aren't too many to count. Tempest and Galilee, really, are the two that come to mind. He doesn't want to talk about Tempest to Hadley. Galilee perhaps though, but if he remembers last night at all, she seemed fine enough.

"Well, pick one, and work your Darlington leadership magic," Hadley's voice says. In the basement, his voice is fuzzier. "Listen, my parents are calling. They are trying to figure out if I'll be home for Christmas. I think they are already planning a lawsuit. People in my Hall are getting antsy."

"Good luck," Darlington says, and in a way that is entirely unlike Darlington, he hangs up before Hadley can say goodbye. They'll chat tomorrow when Darlington will absolutely force himself to stop being miserable. There are people to save.

On the whiteboard, someone wrote a phrase.

Press F to pay respects to the WiFi

It must be Jerry. Darlington isn't feeling quite like a leader. Actually, he isn't feeling quite much. All he really can do is mourn. So, he approaches the whiteboard. Jerry's quote is in black. Darlington goes to the package with the rainbow of whiteboard markers and takes out the red one.

F

~~~

"Okay, we'll have to cut the string longer," Marcellus points.

Callie is the perfect partner for this activity, he thinks. She's got steady hands and a good eye. He never thought an art major would be so good at making a Rube Goldberg machine with the limited items in the supply closet. The planning stage is still going well. The pair hope to have it done by Christmas.

"I wish we had a Christmas tree," Callie says. "Contraband rules are stupid."

"Agreed," Marcellus says. It isn't the fake trees that are contraband, but rather the Christmas lights.

While Marcellus has been trying to make the machine theoretically work, Callie is trying to substitute the items for Christmas-themed things. She isn't sure that everyone celebrates Christmas, but she is sure that people won't deny her the luxury of a nice thing when they are all trapped in here. So far, she is trying to incorporate as many ornaments as possible. They had a bunch in the closet, for making something for the group.

Benedict walks in with a plate of food. They are, after all, in the staff lounge. He sits down on the couch. The idea of eating more pancakes is not pleasant, but he'd rather savour the good stuff when he needs it. Already, supplies are dwindling.

"Hey, do you think it would be stupid if I put paper on the dominos to make them look like wrapped gifts?" Callie asks, ignoring Benedict.

Marcellus shrugs, "might interfere with the movement."

"What are you working on?" Benedict peers over.

"Rube Goldberg machine," Marcellus offers. "It's pretty cool. Callie's idea."

Benedict nods, "do you guys have a screwdriver?"

"We won't need one," Callie says. "We've mostly got cardboard and paper."

"Unrelated," Benedict offers.

"Course," Marcellus looks up at him. "Let me know when you need them and I'll get them for you."

While she doesn't look up, Callie does smirk. Benedict, the incessantly perfect, the more arrogant than Darlington, seems to have some sort of mystery up his sleeve. Never had she thought someone like him would ask for help. Yet here he is. She wouldn't have spoken to him at all if Marcellus hadn't seemed keen to engage.

"I'm planning to sneak us out into the snow later," Benedict says.

Callie stops her jaw from dropping. She narrows her eyes as she peers at his face. He seems unbothered by her gaze.

"Wicked," Marcellus smiles.

"Seems dangerous," Callie muses.

"Yeah, well, take it up with Galilee," Benedict offers.

Marcellus taps Callie's shoulder, pulling her out of the moment. He begins to run over a change to the machine's plan. Callie pretends to pay attention, but she is thinking about Galilee. She never breaks any rules. It's strange. Even stranger is Galilee and Benedict conspiring on a secret plan together.

On the couch, Benedict watches them. He is so anxious. Sneaking out in a snowstorm is a shitty idea. He shouldn't do it. Yet, here he is, planning his escape into the snow. Nobody will get far, since it isn't very deep. He'll have to tell people to wear multiple layers, but no matter.

Things could be far worse.

~~~

"Elodie, is this really ethical?" Maverick asks, swallowing.

"The law exists to oppress those on the bottom," Elodie smiles. "Crime is socially constructed."

All the same, Maverick feels bad about breaking into a student's room, even if Elodie reassures him that she has had permission before to go in when the student's gone. They have a master key for a reason, she reassured him.

"All the same," Maverick peers around the hallway, looking for any sign of anyone else. "Does Benedict know?"

Elodie jingles the keys in her hand, causing Maverick's head to spin wildly, looking for Benedict.

"Relax, he's probably still reading next to Galilee, or something," Elodie shrugs. "We'll hear the elevator ding. He's not going to walk up five flights of stairs."

She jams the key into the keyhole and twists. Maverick shoves his hands in his pockets. The Unit likes to fire people for much smaller offences. Yet, it's for Moonie, and Moonie is having a bad day as it is. People like Moonie shouldn't ever feel sad. He couldn't stand that more than he can't stand that they seem angry at him.

"USB," Elodie offers, holding her hand up.

Maverick hands Elodie the USB. She turns her back to him, plugging it into the student's printer and beginning to set up the printing process. Some professors still want paper copies of assignments. Since it costs money to print on campus, Elodie often lets herself in to use the printer.

"It's so bullshit that we're probably stuck huh?" Elodie says.

The thought hadn't even really registered with Maverick. Tomorrow is Twyla's birthday, and he swore on Polly that he would be home to see her. Though normally well-behaved, Twyla's been a bit difficult lately. Her friends went to some father-daughter dance.

"Like, I'm going to lose it," Elodie thinks of how small their Christmas dinner table is every year.

The holiday has always been rotten for her family. It was infrequent that her mother was around, and one year, on Christmas, after three years of wondering where her mother had finally gone, Elodie found out she was dead. From then, her father had tried to make things up for her every year, trying to get her a better gift to forget the terrible one she found on the family computer when she was thirteen.

At sixteen, Elodie was trying to bake cookies for Santa, whom neither she nor her brothers believed in anymore. They ran out of milk. Her father went to get some, without any money in his bank. Now, there will be ten more years until he joins them at the table again.

It's only her twin, and their guardian, who now has a partner and child of their own.

"Yeah," Maverick nods.

"It's just all ridiculous," Elodie points out. "People are being weird too."

"Huh," Maverick nods his head. She is right. Everyone is being strange.

"Darlington most of all," Elodie shrugs, tapping the printer's small screen. "Drunk off his ass, huh? The last time he was that drunk, he came on to me again. Lucky I managed to scrape by."

"Did he come on to you last night?" Maverick looks over at her.

"Nah," Elodie says. "I can't imagine spending Christmas with him though. Wish he'd just leave me alone."

"He's mad you slept with him last year during training and you never called back."

The printer begins to go. Elodie turns around to look at Maverick. She puts her hands on her hips.

"Well, I just forgot," Elodie shrugs. "I don't know why he expected it."

Maverick knows he's barely talking to Elodie. At least, she's talking at him, and he is doing his best to listen, but all he can think about is Moonie. God, is this what the people in Hallmark movies are supposed to feel like? Moonie is a sitcom girl. A romantic movie woman. There is no room for the love interest to be angry, and yet here he is, his skin itching and his face red. Elodie is talking at him, and when he responds, he's talking to Moonie.

"You just... you always ghost people," Maverick says. "You know, people actually like you. Are you aware of that? Do you know what you mean to people? You shut them out, and I don't even think you do it intentionally. Elodie, when was the last time you asked a question about my life?"

"You volunteer information..."

"Because you don't ask!" Maverick tries not to shout. "You know, I always thought you were pretty, but I didn't want to ruin our friendship. Like one even exists! Honestly, I don't know if you care about me at all."

"Maverick, I..." Elodie's voice is dry, like the desert, and the words perish on their way trying to cross it.

"You know what, fuck this. You want a Christmas without Darlington, who got wasted because you spiked his drink, and who only wanted to see you last year after you guys had sex and in response, you've bullied him? Fine then. Spend it alone. I'll be with him Christmas morning."

Maverick storms out of the room. The printer is still going. Elodie stares, her breath shaking and her hands. In their years of friendship, she has never seen Maverick angry, least of all angry with her. She fucked up, big time.

~~~

Tempest knows it is bad to sit still for long. She has been doing rounds of the building. However superfluous that might be. She has done them three times now, starting at the top of the building and snaking her way down. The masters are in the safe, so she isn't properly checking lounges, but she is peering into bathrooms, the laundry room, and the like. Then, she starts over again.

When she reaches the top floor, she notices Jerry, in the hallway. He has a big thick sweater on, almost the size of a winter coat in its bulk, and he has three books stacked next to him. One is in his hands, whose pages he flips through.

He looks up at Tempest. He was hoping to run into Galilee, who is also an English major. Tempest will do though.

"You're in psychology?" he asks.

She looks down at him, scanning the spines. They are poetry collections. Tempest nods.

"Why do people accept the way others treat them?" his eyes meet hers.

Tempest swallows. She sits down on the ground opposite him, crossing her legs in her lap. She peers to look at the poem in the book. Jerry passes it to her. He watches the way her fingers trace the letters. She is shaking a bit.

The poem isn't about people. At least, not that Tempest can tell. It's about winter and the forest, and roads untraveled.

"I don't know," Tempest shrugs. "I've heard people say we accept the treatment we think we deserve."

"Galilee lets people be mean to her all the time," Jerry says. "I hear in through the walls. Her students write mean things on her door."

Instinctively, Tempest looks toward Galilee's door. She cannot see it.

"I took down her whiteboard," Jerry shrugs. "She thinks it was stolen."

"Oh," Tempest says. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Jerry looks at Tempest, "I didn't think anyone would care. They all treat me like I'm creepy. They treat Darlington cruelly, even though he just wants to help. Even you are treated unfairly."

"Pardon?" Tempest asks. Nobody tends to pay her much mind. Those that do, like Elodie, Maverick, and Darlington, are often nothing short of kind.

Jerry gets up. He offers Tempest his hand, to lift her off the ground. She takes it. Then, he takes out his keys and pushes them into the lounge on his side of the floor. Tempest follows him, only stopping when both their noses are nearly pressed against the wide windows.

Jerry taps his finger on the glass. She knows where he is pointing. Last month, when she told Mal she was pregnant, he told her to have an abortion. She couldn't, and so he left. Her lungs still ache from the way she cried, for three days straight. Her knees hurt from how she got down to beg him, holding his arm, and in trying to pull away, he had dragged her on the concrete.

"I understand," Jerry says. "I wear big sweaters to hide too."

Tempest looks over at Jerry. He seems much more gentle up close.

"Thanks," is all she can manage.

~~~

Since Moonie has yet to come out of their room, Ro finds herself knocking on their door. Benedict had mentioned Maverick's visit, and how dejected he looked when he left. Rejection from Moonie is not something which would bother Ro in the slightest. She knocks again, harder.

"Miana!" Ro bangs on the door.

Finally, Moonie answers the door. They are on the other side, still in the pajamas that Maverick had first seen them in. Ro looks Moonie up and down.

"You look like shit," Ro says.

Moonie puts a hand on their forehead. They have a headache, and they know it's not from a hangover, but dehydration and hunger. Maybe even their headache is from wallowing. After the events of last night and this morning, Moonie doesn't have it in them to care. A headache is the least of their worries.

After massaging their temples, Moonie looks at Ro, "what?"

The plan Ro had, involving knocking on the door until Moonie answered, wasn't any deeper than that. There hasn't been much to it, and so now, Ro doesn't know what to say.

"Get dressed," Ro crosses her arms over her chest. "We are all stuck here, and we are all sad about it, but there's no use pouting."

"Right," Moonie forces the words. "That's fair. I suppose you learned that lesson from spreading your misery to the rest of us over the last two days."

Ro would be angrier if that were something typical of Moonie. Even though they flash a smile, Moonie's aggressive kindness, nearly malicious kindness at times, never is quite so sour.

"I did learn my lesson," Ro agrees. "All it did was make others resentful of me. I know you don't care if you piss me off, but what about Maverick? Does he deserve to be shut out so much?"

Moonie's face beats red. Ro is certain she is going to scream. Instead, Moonie slams the door in her face.

Ro begins to walk away, grumbling about Moonie's nastiness. The hallways of Pearcher House are thin though. Sobs are hard to hide, especially when they are earth-shattering.

On the other side of the door, Moonie has crumbled into the ground. They cannot stand and can barely breathe. It hurts so deeply. Their body is heavy, nearly bloated from all the tears filling up their face and the sadness in their arms. It's too much to even think about. Moonie messed up. They messed up Maverick in the process, which is far worse.

It is impossible not to know Moonie when they throw every social event. The Moonie who shares a floor with Ro would not want to be left alone to cry. Ro, however, seems to be making the situation worse. So, Ro begins to move away, hoping to find someone. Preferably Maverick. Maybe Callie.

~~~

With Benedict gone from the kitchen, Galilee resumes cleaning dishes. The water here is warmer than usual. Her hands burn as she scrubs at the sticky remanence of syrup on her plate. She supposes that with fewer people in the building, there is more hot water.

Her parents keep calling her. They want her to use data to video chat with them. They'll pay for the extra, they reassure her. The LarFam miss her, they say. The LarFam needs to know how she is doing, according to her parents. She hears an absence in their statement. The LarFam needs to know. Not them.

Apparently, there is some online petition to get a helicopter to rescue her. It's doing pretty good numbers. Galilee hasn't read it. She is almost certain that it doesn't mention the others trapped with her, let alone those trapped across campus.

Galilee brought down a wine glass from upstairs. It has no stem to it, but the cup is nice enough. It's her favourite glass, though difficult to clean.

The water is so hot.

Last night, on Maverick's shoulders, she thought about how conditional it was. If she hadn't beat Callie at flip cup, Maverick wouldn't have hoisted her. Perhaps, she would have gone unnoticed. The only people who notice her do so when she does something for them. She is a genius when she tells Maverick what gift to give his sister. People talk to her when she is taking their pictures at a staff party.

The rim of the glass is a bit too tight, especially with a sponge. It requires a steady hand.

Her skin is surely going to peel from the warmth of the water.

Things are good in and of themselves, she is sure. People matter. Nasty notes on her door are in some ways not as bad as the blind eye of her peers. After all, it is a pleasure to be noticed. Galilee feels a blush of shame. How can she let people treat her like that, just so that she can be treated at all?

The glass smashes. Her beating heart hesitates.

She lifts her hand, blood trickling down from it. There is so much. Fluids don't usually bother Galilee. She's taken care of enough dirty diapers and scraped knees for a lifetime. It's already trickling down her wrist.

Her knees give out beneath her. Her eyes shut.

~~~~~

Oop. I like this chapter. Actually, I think it has great bad vibes. Only a little devastating, remember? At least, only a little for now.

In all the fights, whose sides are you on? I love how complicated it all is. I hope to see you all soon!