Maverick was right. The air was good.

They ate a cold pasta lunch, and now they are doing pancakes for dinner. No one seems to mind. Their mouths are bitter, no matter how many times the two that puked gargle mouthwash and brush their teeth. Darlington grabs the batteries for the walkie. One is supposed to stay in the office so anyone can access it. The other, they agreed, should go to Galilee. Both she and Jerry weren't exposed to the fumes at all, and unlike Jerry, she could not sleep through the sounds of an apocalypse.

He's in the office though, holding the one Galilee is going to take in his hand. The other is up on the shelf with the dry erase markers. Elodie peeks inside the doorway. He looks at her, flush rising in his cheeks.

"Take it," she tells her. "I won't say anything. Galilee won't either."

Darlington nods and sneaks out of the room.

Inside the office, Elodie goes to the whiteboard. She stares at every F. For some strange reason, be it that she tries to avoid the office as much as she can, or something else, she hasn't written her own F. There are nine, but Jerry wrote the first sentence. She can tell which one belongs to everyone. It becomes a sort of game. The bubble letter is Moonie, the music note is Benedict, the one that is barely legible is Marcellus. Only one even gives her pause. The morse code. By process of elimination, it's Maverick. Her hands hover over it, not wanting to smudge it.

What would she even write? How would people know it is her? Most days, she doesn't know who she is.

Unlike the others, Elodie doesn't feel like she can pay respects. How Ro manages it is confusing. She has been angry for so long, even if she hadn't realized it. Her family's coffin is buried in a shallow grave. There isn't enough room to hold the depths of her sorrow, so she has held it inside her all this time. How could she pay respects to anything when it has been taken so unfairly?

Maybe paying respects wouldn't lower you into a state of defeatism. Maybe a refusal to pay respects is what keeps you there.

Elodie writes an F. It is unremarkable. It is remarkable to her.

The door opens and she puts the marker down hastily, barely even capping it. Maverick turns and looks at her. He doesn't say anything to her. There are too many questions whose answers he doesn't want to know.

If it was a galaxy between him and Moonie when they hadn't spoken to each other for a few days, this is all of time itself and the expanding universe which separates Maverick and Elodie.

She looks at him, at the Maverick she misses, and the one it looks like he's become.

"I'm so sorry," she says. "You were right, Mav. I've been a bad friend."

Maverick drops his first aid kit. He runs up and barrels into Elodie, hugging her so tightly against his chest. She feels his squeeze and returns it, holding on to him as tightly as she can manage. Elodie breathes in, deeply. She hadn't realized how good a breath could feel, even one in this basement, restricted in his arms.

He lets go, smiling at her.

"I was more upset because I thought you didn't realize," Maverick admits. He shakes his head, "well, even if you didn't then, now you do."

She nods. She puts an arm around him, herding them out of the office, "so, you're going to have to tell me all about the past few days. You've clearly been over the Moon."

Maverick laughs.

~~~

Galilee finds Callie in the study room. She's always in there, doing art, and this evening is no exception. With a window cracked open behind her, Callie paints. The knuckles on her hands are stiff from the cold air but she doesn't want it closed. At least the air isn't stale. Besides, it might not help her paint anyway. All she's managed on her canvas is to colour the grey and black shades of the tunnel.

At night, when it is extremely dim, your colour vision goes. In a class Callie took last year, they were given an assignment where they had to go outside at night, in an area without lights and only guided by the moon. The cones in your eyes that see colour cannot respond in those dim conditions. They had to paint what they saw, in a sort of black-and-white world. Callie has synesthesia, so the activity was a challenge for her. She sees only in colour.

There was nothing but grey down in that tunnel.

"Hey," Galilee manages.

Callie looks up at her, offering a sad smile. Maybe it's the tunnel, maybe it's not, but she doesn't feel like panicking in the same way that she did before. Galilee sits down opposite Callie, looking down at the painting.

"You have synesthesia, right?" Galilee asks.

Callie furrows her brow, "sorry?"

"You and Moonie talked about it before a meeting once," Galilee says. "I don't think you noticed I was there."

The conversation is familiar to Callie. She talked with Moonie about the colours she saw in them. It's the kind of magical thing Moonie likes. The kind of thing she thinks Maverick sees in her. There Callie is again. A background character. Someone who furthers their plots, but is still waiting for her inciting incident. Even if one smashed into her, Callie doesn't think she'd heed it's call.

"Yeah, I do," Callie braces for the question everybody asks. "It's colour-related, not smell or anything else."

She doesn't think Galilee is the type to outwardly show that she's upset being a cool brown. Most people expect exciting colours. People are rarely, if ever, satisfied with Callie's answer. Galilee's different. After all, Galilee wears a lot of mute colours. Mostly pastels, pinks and blues. Today though, since coming out of the tunnels, Galilee has changed into a deep green sweater.

"What colour are you?" Galilee asks.

Callie pulls away from her paints. Galilee watches the way she moves. She is beautiful in her art, in the way she dresses, but even in the way she glides. Even in the way, Callie's lips twitch slightly, her brows knot together tightly. Callie is beautiful in every way she tries and every way she doesn't.

"I don't know," Callie looks down at her hands. "I'm always here. I suppose I've never looked."

Galilee peers at Callie. She finds herself swallowing, trying to straighten.

"I think your gold. At least, an orangey yellow. You know, like a black-eyed susan. They grow all over the place here. You're the colour of a lot of wildflowers, I think."

Galilee leans back a bit. Across from her, Callie looks at her colour palette. She doesn't have the colour Galilee is describing, but she knows it. A golden colour.

The best time for photography is golden hour.

"You're pretty strong," Galilee says. "You know, growing in adverse conditions. Beautiful even if you don't feel loved. I look for metaphors when I probably shouldn't be. It's an English major thing."

When Callie doesn't interrupt her, Galilee continues.

"You know,' Galilee takes in a deep breath, "I don't... it isn't something I usually tell people, but my parents are family vloggers. Everything about me is online. You can look up quizzes about my life. Being filmed makes me feel like the opposite of a wildflower. Too loved, too seen. Beautiful in a forced and uncomfortable way. Being behind the lens gives me something back at least. It brings my days up."

"You are beautiful in a candid way," Callie finally says.

Galilee, head tilted down, looks up at Callie. For the oldest sister, Galilee has never felt smaller.

Digging into her art bag, Callie pulls out her sketchbook. Hands, Galilee's, drawn a few times. Her hands are around books, around her camera, on the walkie from when she had it in their meeting early today. There aren't any of Galilee's face, not that it isn't beautiful, but Callie was practicing fingers. You can tell something about Galilee in the way she moves, in the way she thinks, even if that can't exactly be caught on camera for all to see.

"I'm not just saying the candid thing," Callie sighs. "I've thought it before."

Callie isn't even looking at the sketches, but at Galilee. She wishes she could draw Galilee right now. The way the tips of her fingers brush against the drawings, the pads not applying pressure. The way her hair is covering half of one hand since Galilee has twisted her while staring at the sketches.

"I need a reference. Something still," Callie continues. "You are able to take photos that I couldn't dream of taking. I know I haven't seen them, but they are dynamic, right?"

Galilee stops and looks up at Callie.

"This is a Callie support party, not a Gally support party," Galilee smiles. "Our names sound similar, so I understand the confusion."

She passes back the sketchbook. Callie takes it, wrapping her hands around it tightly.

~~~

Moonie and Ro are still hanging out in Moonie's lounge. Ro would leave for her lounge, but it is just down the hallway and this one already has busted windows. Both of them are bundled tightly since the cold air is getting in. It was warm this morning. Jack Frost is playing tricks on them. It still isn't snowing, at the very least.

"You know," Moonie begins.

They haven't spoken to Ro in a few hours. Not since dinner, which they ate here. Moonie is feeling fine, was the entire time and still is despite Maverick's fears. Moonie's lucky. They aren't the star you wish upon but they are located closest to the stars anyway. Ro is still toughing it out, and Moonie feels it's only fair to stay.

"You know what?" Ro asks, tilting her head to look at Moonie.

Moonie nods, "I bet I could start an online fundraiser to get back the ticket money. It might even go viral, since I bet this storm is big news. It would be terrible publicity for the Unit too, so revenge."

"Aren't you too much sunshine and rainbows to do something so sneaky?" Ro asks.

Moonie shakes their head smiling. Their face feels raw from the window blowing in the window. Moonie is quite the opposite of the sun. That's Maverick. Besides, in snowstorms, the light is blinding. During orientation week, the resident assistants tell their students to buy sunglasses for the winter, especially the students coming from down south or abroad. Ro probably knows this better than Moonie. The sun has set now, but when they first got up, the lounge was blindingly bright.

"I mean, I'm not going to make a pipe bomb for you like Jerry," Moonie smirks.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ro asks, not as snappy as she was expecting.

She swallows. The cold has already beat her cheeks red, so there is no worry about a blush creeping up.

"Nothing!" Moonie says quickly.

Although, Moonie is more than inclined to play matchmaker. They raise an eyebrow a bit. Ro rolls her eyes in response.

"You're lucky Darlington is the resident nuisance," Ro says dryly. "You're walking a thin line, Saintin."

Moonie laughs. Ro tries to hide her smile inside her winter coat. Maybe the fiery rivalry between the RAs on the first floor will be no more. Maybe, if it does persist, it will be different. Tolerable. At the very least, Moonie's sweetness and charms could be a weapon Ro can use to her advantage. Ro isn't much but a shield.

"You aren't as bad as you want people to think, you know," Moonie looks at the ceiling instead of Ro, in case Ro's about to get really angry.

Ro nods, "and you aren't as good. It's more likable anyway. Nobody likes perfect."

~~~

On the top floor, Jerry is setting up the console on his desk. It doesn't actually take that long, but Jerry is taking every sweet second of his own time to avoid the chaos behind him.

"You know, being an engineer doesn't give you a monopoly on blanket fort design," Benedict's voice is pointed.

Marcellus shrugs, "it should."

Jerry doesn't mind their bickering. He's made popcorn for the two of them, and he's playing music he knows they like from their band practices while he sets up the console. It should soothe them, but they're probably still tense from the tunnel situation. As long as none of them blows a gasket before the game, he doesn't care. The four of them are going to play a soccer game, the one Jerry bought because he wanted to play it with Marcellus. Now he feels like they have an actual chance of doing it.

Besides, racing games didn't seem like Benedict's forte. They played on the first day they were trapped here, and that was just as much a disaster as the tunnels. So long as they manage to get everything together without Benedict exploding, Jerry thinks they will be fine.

"Okay, okay, looks good," Marcellus says, backing away.

It does. They've hung a blanket to cover most of the ceiling and the back wall. They plan to sit together on Jerry's bed and play together. It'll be a challenge since the game won't be as fun with three players. Even numbers are best. Regardless, Marcellus actually can't wait.

"It's still Christmas Eve, huh?" Benedict sighs.

Benedict looks out the window. Maybe it's not a board game, but he is doing it. Maybe he is like his Dad. Maybe he will be a good teacher one day.

"Crazy ass day," Marcellus agrees.

He's been trying to give the others space, but he wants to check in on them. He'll play some mean game with his speaker on Callie tonight. She's painting right now, probably. He doesn't know where Elodie is, but the last he saw her she was barely conscious and needed space to breathe. Marcellus plops down on the bed.

Benedict notices Jerry's first aid kit tucked on a shelf.

"You've been helping with Galilee's hand, haven't you?" Benedict asks.

He has noticed it. Something Benedict's always good at is watching. Every so often, the bandage has been changed. He thought maybe it was Maverick helping her out, and Benedict knows he isn't as good at being likable as Maverick. He never talked to Galilee about helping her. Maybe it's strange because, before all of this, he found her at her worst grating since her try-hard behaviour earned her so much praise. At best, he found her meek, fading into the background. Now though, it's been hard not to notice her.

He couldn't talk to her about it though, since she chose someone else as a confidant. It seems odd that the person would be Jerry though.

Jerry boots the remotes, looking over at Benedict.

"Yeah," he says. "Galilee doesn't put up enough fight on her own."

Benedict furrows his brow.

"Fuck after today though," Marcellus exhales, shaking his head. "Man, Ben, without you who knows what would've happened to the other group down there."

Benedict nods. To avoid asphyxiation like the others, he tied his scarf too tight, and with the pushing and heaving of moving as quickly as possible, he nearly asphyxiated himself in an entirely different way. It wasn't just him though. They were trying, even when their bodies weren't, and even when they didn't want to work anymore.

"It was kind of badass of everyone," Jerry agrees. "Some sort of action-adventure"

Benedict and Jerry sit down on the bed.

"I think I'm good with just video games for now," Benedict smiles to himself.

There is a knock at the door. Jerry yells for whomever it is to come in.

On the other side of the door is Darlington. Dishevelled Darlington, changed into new clothes but looking just as exhausted.

"Sorry," he says. "Downstairs, I heard you guys talking about playing. Can I join?"

It's easier with four, but it would be so much harder since Darlington and Marcellus cannot stop bickering. Benedict sits in silence. He hopes Jerry doesn't speak, since Jerry always puts his foot in his mouth no matter how much flexibility it takes.

"Yeah, come on," Marcellus scooches over slightly, so there is just enough room for Darlington to join them. "You can be on my team."

Darlington smiles.

Benedict and Jerry look at each other and shrug.

~~~

No one cleaned up the mess from their morning party, and Tempest decides to do it. She throws out the gingerbread. The garbage bags she stuffs into the student lounge. They haven't been using it and certain things are going to start to smell. The bins are out back and she isn't risking a trek through the snow for some gingerbread.

Most of everything else she'll keep. It's Christmas tomorrow. Maybe some people will like it. There are going to be big feelings, and she's not ever quite ready to deal with them. Darlington is going to be in shambles tomorrow if no one has found Hadley. She knows he's going to swipe the radio off of Galilee. She knows she can't stop him either.

That's something, isn't it? Maybe she should hate that. She was the one clinging to her ex, begging him to stay. Jerry saw it from six floors up. Darlington is doing that to her, begging to help her. He isn't used to being refused. It's not just because he is incredibly handsome either, or charming, or kind even if a bit judgmental. It's because Darlington is great at what he does.

He's too good at offering to be the one to save Tempest. She sits down in the middle of cleaning, her head in her hands. He's too good at almost proposing.

Tempest gives herself a minute. It's quiet in here. Part of her wants to put on some music and just dance like they did this morning. She misses Elodie, and Galilee, and Maverick, and Moonie. She even misses her parents. Tempest doesn't know how she would tell them what's happening but at least she knows she could tell them she's pregnant, shame and all.

Getting up. Tempest does it, pulling herself upright. She breathes in and out, and then in again. She can do it. Tempest can do anything.

The lights go out. She hears shouting down here, from people in the other rooms.

The staff lounge is lit up by the fireworks on the ceiling, still glowing in the dark.

"Fuck," Tempest swears, for the first time in her life.

~~~~~

This is brutal, for sure for sure. In all the best ways, and also in all the worst. I'm hoping to have this done, if not completely published, by the end of the month!

Do you have a favourite moment from everything so far?