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English
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Published:
2025-03-14
Updated:
2025-03-24
Words:
2,716
Chapters:
2/?
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Kudos:
33
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Another Way To Get To Know You

Summary:

He no longer feels the pull of the tides or the silvery tingle of moonlight on his skin. For eight hours a day he doesn’t even know what the sky looks like. His clothes fit a little differently when it’s the full moon, and maybe his teeth feel a little sharper around the edges, but even that could be his imagination. So it’s pure force of habit that makes him lock himself in his basement once a month with only a bottle of scotch and his mate’s ghost for company, and Mark sits in the middle of the floor and howls.

 

Mark Scout takes a severed job in order to escape the pain of losing his mate. And things still aren’t good, but they’re fine. He’s fine. Until one day his innie’s pack-father is replaced by a mysterious woman, and his outie is approached by a man claiming to know him from the severed floor…

Notes:

He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man - Samuel Johnson

We’re not monsters, Mark. Not real ones - Peter Kilmer

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Mark doesn’t change any more.

Changing had been the best, once upon a time. He and Gemma would drive out to the edge of the wilderness, and then hike until it had swallowed them whole. And then, once they were safely beyond the reach of forest rangers and mountain rescue teams, they would take their clothes off and turn their faces to the full moon and change. They would hunt until their bellies were filled with raw bloody meat; they would fuck under the stars. They would lie in each other's arms discussing the latest New York Times crossword until they were ready to go again.

He no longer feels the pull of the tides or the silvery tingle of moonlight on his skin. For eight hours a day he doesn’t even know what the sky looks like. His clothes fit a little differently when it’s the full moon, and maybe his teeth feel a little sharper around the edges, but even that could be his imagination. So it’s pure force of habit that makes him lock himself in his basement once a month with only a bottle of scotch and his mate’s ghost for company, and Mark sits in the middle of the floor and howls.

Being in rut is no fun without his mate, not at his age; he hasn’t got the energy or the motivation to drive to the singles bar in the next big city and show a few humans a night to remember. So when he realises the severance chip has suppressed that as well, he tells himself that it’s a good thing. He doesn’t want anyone except Gemma.

He doesn’t know it, of course, but at work he’s a simpler creature in a lot of ways. Rut is easier to ignore when there’s a thick concrete ceiling between him and the sky above. And with his pack-brothers he’s never lonely. The office is sterile and smells of plastic and the lights are always too bright, but as they arrive the warmth of their bodies and their distinctive odours fill the air, and Mark is glad. Dylan threatens to rip his throat out, but that’s just Dylan, and Mark puts him back in his place with easy banter. Irving arrives next, with his sad bloodhound eyes, and they bicker back and forth; it’s playful and good natured. Irv is the veteran of the group; and he can’t resist pointing that out, harking back to the old days. But Mark is the deputy department chief, with Petey apparently out for the day.

I’m in charge.

The others settle easily into their familiar routine. Their pack is comfortable and well established, and they hardly ever fight.

Only it turns out Petey isn’t just out for the day, and Mark feels like his legs might give way beneath him. Ms Cobel doesn’t really give him time to think. Mark gets a battlefield promotion and a handshake (he declines to be scratched behind the ear; he thinks she was being sarcastic anyway), and then it’s on to his next task. His first orientation event. His first time as a pack-father.

The woman gets a perfect score, and so he’s soon sitting across the table from Helly R, ready to initiate her into the subtleties of Macrodata Refinement. She’s pretty, he thinks, with striking hair, big eyes, a warm sarcastic mouth. She’s human, so all he gets from her scent are the broad strokes, rage and fear, the lingering undercurrent of sadness that seems to trail everyone who comes down here. He’s taken aback when she asks if she’s livestock. There’s plenty to eat down here already, he tells her, but she doesn’t seem too reassured.

He’s really taken aback when she attacks him with the speaker box. It’s not something he would have expected of a human; and she’s strong, whipping it at him so hard it breaks the skin on his forehead. It hurts, and he respects it. If she wants to leave that badly then it’s his job to let her.

Training a new colleague is tiring at the best of times, and Helly doesn’t make it easy. And yet, he realises, he likes her. She’s interesting. He’s proud of his promotion, and miserable over Petey, and he’s exhausted by the time he steps into the elevator.

He’s exhausted when he steps out of it too, although of course he doesn’t know why. Mark thinks it’s a bad sign to be tired after a head injury, even a stupid one caused by an overhead projector. He’s so tired he almost hits a coworker with his car. He wants nothing more than to head home and crawl into bed with a strong drink - just one, he always promises himself - but he’s got plans.

It's coming up to the anniversary, and for some reason Devon thinks he might want to be around other people. He can’t think of anything he’d like less, but he owes Devon. She’s got his back, a protective sister through and through, even though he can tell she’s worried about the severance procedure, about him. And worried about her cub. She and Ricken had the tests done, and it’s gonna come out just like Uncle Mark. He doesn’t know what Devon expects him to do about it anyway. All she needs is a good strong lock on the kids door once a month until she’s old enough to get control of it by herself. (Because it’s not like Mark was ever the best at that either. He remembers the empty kennel, the neighbor kids crying, the shame he felt when he found the scraps of bloody fur on his pajamas.) Severed or unsevered, he’d make a shitty uncle either way.

And it’s given Ricken another way to get under his skin, at his stupid non-food-based dinner party. Debating the politics of severance like he isnt right there at the table, like it isn’t his life and working out for him just fine. And then that comment about there not really being no food, as long as there were people around. Mark doesn’t know whether to be more offended at the implication he’s not people, or at the suggestion he could turn on the rest of the guests. There’s absolutely no reason for an adult werewolf to eat a human; and Mark can personally think of only one or two times in his life he’s looked at someone and found himself thinking unbidden that they might taste good. Ricken is definitely not one of them. If he were to rip Ricken’s head off it would be through sheer irritation, not hunger. And if he was just a little bit drunker he’d tell him that to his face.

He’s so drunk, in fact, that he manages to fall asleep in the stupid race car bed. And the next morning he can’t tell what’s pain from sleeping in a kids bed and what’s the hangover. He almost forgets to tell Devon about the man he saw in her yard; so hungry after the lack-of-dinner party that he needs to head straight to Pip’s.

“Hey kids, what’s for dinner?”

It’s the man from the yard.

“I’m sorry, you don’t get that reference.”

“Are you following me?”

“It wasn’t hard. You smell just the same up here.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Mark recognises what he is, of course. He knows he’s let his own grooming slide a little since what happened, but this guy’s clothes and his hair are unwashed, and Mark can smell sickness, madness, desperation. He feels his hackles rise beneath his shirt, and he bares his teeth at the man in what, between two humans, would merely look like an uncomfortable grin.

We are not the same. Get the fuck away from me.

But the other man keeps talking, and for some reason Mark lets him.

“My name is Petey. I’m from work.”

Petey ends up giving him a birthday card with an address on it. Mark intends to put it in the recycling, but he gets distracted by Mrs Selvig blocking his path, with her ever-present scarf and her weird sing-song voice and the train of conversation that it’s almost impossible to follow. And so he’s still got it when he gets into the house; but that doesn’t explain why he held onto it all the way home in the first place.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Are you hungry? Are you sick? Are you begging for a break? - Radiohead

Well, boss. I guess this is the part where I should tell you to go to hell. Except you’re already here. - Helly R

Chapter Text

I am aware that this alteration is comprehensive, and irreversible.

I make these statements freely.

It's ironic, Helena thinks. She’s probably one of the only people to say those words for whom it’s really true. Most severed workers are under some sort of compulsion, even if they don’t recognise it in themselves. Lumon’s hands are entirely clean, of course. If there’s a cohort of people who, for whatever reason, can’t function adequately in society without effectively lobotomising themselves, then the compassionate thing to do is to hold out a lifeline. And all they’re asking them to do is to say the magic words before they’ll let them grab it.

But not everyone sees it that way, which is why she, Helena, is stepping up. She’s helping her company, helping her family, showing the world they have nothing to hide. So she lets the thrall walk her through the procedure, escort her to the clinic to have her chip installed, then lead her to the elevator. They pause on the way, in a private office where she can feed. She notes with approval the way he’s chosen a high-necked sweater to hide his scars. Seth is cheerful and obedient, a true believer. The best kind, her father always says. So she indulges him when he fawns over the painting of the Sire that hangs in the atrium, dominating the entrance hall. As if she didn’t hear every morning about what Kier Eagan ate for breakfast.

And when her innie has trouble grasping the concept of staying on the severed floor, he’s patient with her, inviting her to go right back in. That’s the thing about being an Eagan. If your family makes something that the world needs badly enough, then they’ll invite you in wherever you want to go.

The day must pass without incident, because it’s only a moment later that she emerges from the elevator to be greeted by Seth bearing a bouquet of white orchids. Helena has been familiar with the severance procedure since childhood, of course; but she still finds herself taken aback by how clean the cut is. She doesn’t even feel as though she’s lost time.

It's exhilarating and a little frightening, and she’s still thinking about it walking through the parking lot. She doesn’t notice the car careening towards her until the last minute, the driver managing to brake just in time. It’s probably a drooler, she thinks, then chides herself for using the kind of vocabulary that would embarrass her family in the media. Lumon has several werewolves, as they prefer to be called, among their severed employees. It’s just that they tend to be worse drivers; they’re not used to having to use their eyes rather than their noses to figure out what’s in front of them. But they’re generally very hard working; grateful for the procedure. Severance helps them tame their tempers.

The man in the car waves sheepishly, and Helena watches him go.

Helly flinches - it’s so bright. The decor is bland to the point where it becomes overwhelming. The temperature is somehow simultaneously too warm and too cold. And when Mark tells her there’s no respite she wants to scream.

He offers her coffee, but there’s something wrong with the food. It’s boring, but there’s more to it than that. It leaves her feeling empty. Her three coworkers tear into theirs with great enthusiasm, bickering over lunch the way they always seem to. Who’s the best refiner, who’s the strongest. Back to the work she doesn’t understand, and Mark won’t stop hanging behind her, always there in the corner of her eye, trying to be helpful and kind and welcoming. There’s the clicking of the track wheels and the hum of the electronics, and Mark's pulse in her ear; and it must be the air conditioning or something but she’s always thirsty. By the end of the day she wants to throw up; and a moment later it starts all over again.

Helly tries to escape using the elevator. Mark takes her punishment upon his own head. Before he goes he looks at her like he’s being sent off to war; making a huge deal out of being chewed out by his supervisor. In the break room, no less. He’s so dramatic, no matter how hard he tries to be earnest. Suppressing his emotions so that he can be a good little rule follower, even when they’re written in the lines of his body, radiating out of his every pore. He’s so strange. The others are easier to read; Dylan likes perks, Irving likes Kier. Mark likes to pretend he’s happy, even though he’s so clearly sad.

Helly cuts herself on the glass of the emergency exit, trying to break free. She’s almost forgotten what red looks like, trapped in this great white-walled crypt. The sight and the smell of it makes her mouth water. It must be the adrenaline. Then it’s her turn in the break room; hours upon hours and she’s so thirsty. The session ends, and then it begins again, right where they left off. She’d be crying by the end of it, she thinks, but her body is too dry to produce tears. She understands now why Mark is so keen to follow the rules, and it makes her fucking despise him for being so fucking insincere. He’s trying so hard to be friendly, and she could really use a friend; but he’d be willing to deny she meant anything at all, the moment Milchick told him to. Just like he did with Petey. She needles him about it and he gets angry, all the while insisting that he’s not.

“You’re more loyal to this place than to your friend.”

“I’m loyal to how it felt around here before you showed up.”

She’d almost feel sorry for him, if she wasn’t so fucking furious. At him, at the break room, at herself for letting them get to her. So she sticks the knife in again.

“You mean when Petey was here?”

“Yeah, because there was balance. We could have fun and work without the whole goddamn department imploding.”

“The work is bullshit.

“The work is mysterious and important!” At least he’s angry now. “And we deal with the uncertainty it brings us in the way that Kier would’ve wanted. Together, as a pack.”

“Oh.”

A lot of things suddenly make sense, as Mark stares at her over the desk divider with his wide eyes and his thick hair, his pointy little canine teeth. It explains a lot, she thinks vaguely, part of her almost resentful of the fact that she now understands a small part of her time in hell a little better. The way they’re far too excited for a group of grown men about playing with a red rubber ball. The way they all go to the bathroom one after the other. The territorial reactions when Optics and Design appeared in their department.

“You’re a pack pack.”

“Yeah. It’s actually been a few quarters since we saw a human innie. The four of us were… of course,” he reminds himself, standing up straight and nodding in a way that's almost ridiculously formal, “you’re still welcome to be part of the pack too.”

“I could not - with a razor to my throat - be less interested in being part of your pack.” She doesn’t wait to see whether he looks hurt or not.

She opens her eyes and it’s a new day at work. Her outie has denied her resignation request. Her outie has denied her resignation request. I am a person, you are not.

Helly wraps the extension cord around her neck and kicks the trash can out from under her feet. Her throat is crushed and her head swells with pressure; and even as her lungs scream out for air she is surprised and very disappointed to realise that she can’t die.

Notes:

With massive thanks to CBlue, Charalampidisgruber, and the brain trust - you know who you are.

The title is from Wolf Like Me by TV On The Radio. It’s the anthem for this fic.

A bit of a different one from me, please leave a comment and let me know what you think!