When Skip first "moved in", he had tried his best to suppress Norman completely.
That's the way cerebro slugs work, after all. Suppress the host, access their memories, initiate full takeover. Norman Takamori was a tough son of a bitch, though, and resisted enough that Skip, even as one of the strongest slugs in his house, struggled to access his memories.
It caused him problems for a while. He barely knew who he was supposed to be, for the first few malton units— he was such a pitiful impersonation of Norman that the crew caught on almost immediately, plus he almost blew it with Gust Weatherall. He had caused a strong emotional reaction in Skipper, almost strong enough to weaken his resolve enough to succumb to Skip getting past his walls.
He didn't, though.
Norman Takamori is an asshole, from what Skip knows. He’s been drip-fed enough snippets of the past to know that the man would do anything to further his own goals. The way the crew talks about him, the way he treated them— Skip can’t imagine anyone treating these people so badly. They’re his family, and he loves them.
Norman Takamori is a coward with authority issues. Too stubborn to listen to orders, too craven to disobey, and he takes that out on the people unlucky enough to have to answer to him.
Skip hates him for what he's done to his friends.
That's how he ends up standing in front of the dusty bathroom mirror, battered and bleeding but alive, reaching for the place in his mind where he hopes the Skipper can hear him.
Hey man. I think I figured you out. I’m sorry that your life was what it was, and I’m sorry that I’m in control of your body. But I think I can do a lot better with it than you were doing.
Norman Takamori is a bad guy.
He knows it, now, surrounded by the bright lights of after. It's so easy to see that it's difficult to think he ever thought he was doing the right thing.
Ever since they got that plate out of his head, he feels like he can finally think straight.
Everything is different now. Of course it is, he was slugged for what felt like cycles. It feels almost strange, being back in control of his own body after all this time. He wasn't particularly aware; it mostly felt like being asleep, or underwater, everything moving in blurry slow motion. The only concrete memory he has is of him, the slug, looking at him in the mirror and telling him he could do better with Norman's body than he could.
Worst of all, he was right.
They're rebuilding after the ram; a ram that was his idea, that tore their ship to smithereens. The crew are doing better than ever, even if they are sad that Riva is gone. They have a captain, and it's not him.
The slug is in his head. He knows; he let it back in. After everything that's happened, he didn't know what else to do, and this seemed like the one last way he could be helpful to his crew. To say sorry. To finally sacrifice himself for a worthy cause.
Except that didn't happen, and now he's still here, perfectly normal, except he can feel the slug in his brain, poking around the edges of his thoughts. If he scratches the back of his neck he can feel the place it's attached to his brainstem. He knows the slug is there, but he still has control; like they've agreed to share or something.
Norman has never been very good at sharing, but he was also apparently not very good at being an okay guy, so he's trying to adapt.
He's not great at being adaptable, either.
He feels the slug do that thing again; tugging on his thoughts like it's trying to get his attention.
The first time he hears it, he nearly has a heart attack.
Norman?
"Slug?" He says, out loud, and it's lucky that he's alone on the bridge because he must sound crazy.
There's silence for a little while, before the voice speaks again. It's Skip.
"Skip?"
That's my name. Not slug. Skip.
Norman tenses up, on instinct, and feels the part of him that despises being spoken to without the proper level of respect for a captain telling him to yell, to put this slug in his goddamn place.
He's not really the captain anymore, though; Skip is. He lost everything by being a coward and an asshole and now his crew has everything and more, and that was all with Skip as their captain.
"Skip." He says, quietly. "I'm sorry."
Skip seems to soften at that; Whatever fight he was bracing for passes, and Norman can feel him relax, the soft calm radiating from him making Norman feel, for the first time in a long time, safe.
You never struck me as the type of guy to say sorry.
Norman nods. "You're right. I'm— I'm trying. I'm trying to change."
There's another long moment of silence, and Norman starts to feel the same tugging on his thoughts that he felt before, though this time it doesn't feel nosy, it just feels like presence. Sharing a space. It's almost nice, the sudden, foreign feeling of not being alone.
I understand that.
He thinks about the other slugs, about a dynasty and a great egg and other things he doesn’t even almost understand. “That slug, that you— uh, stomped.”
Yeah?
“He was the king?”
Skip hesitates. Yeah, something like that.
Norman nods, considering. “So now that he’s gone, what does that mean for the slugs?”
There are cerebro slugs all over the galaxy. A lot of them are good, I hear. He can feel how upset Skip is, potent sadness clear in his every word, emotion flowing through them like water down a river. King Prilbus and the House of Frangus, they were— outliers.
“King Prilbus?” Norman says, mostly out of confusion.
Skip answers anyway. Of the Mentaphagian Dynasty, yeah.
He thinks through what Skip told him, trying to understand. A lot happened that day, with Weatherall and UFTP and the Fang of Frangus that he still doesn't really understand, but hes trying. “Why’d he need you so bad?”
Royal genes, apparently. They couldn't do it without the son of the king. Skip says, resentment obvious in his voice. It didn't make a lot of sense, to be honest.
“That was your father?”
Yeah. Sorry, I thought everyone knew that.
Norman furrows his eyebrows. “Does that mean— Does that make you the king?”
King of nothing. Skip laughs in his head, short and bitter. But yeah, I guess. Technically. Not that it matters.
Norman nods, slowly. It's hard for him to imagine being handed a title like king and not caring, but Skip’s people are gone. He can't imagine what that's like, but he thinks it might feel something similar to watching hundreds of corpses fall to the ground, motionless and bloodsoaked and full of fragments of familiar faces. “I'm sorry all this happened to you.”
Thanks. Skip says, and Norman can feel how surprised he is. I'm sorry all this happened to you, too.
The quiet of the bridge is echoing around them, and Norman lets himself relax. For the first time in a long time, he thinks maybe things might take a turn for the better.
Symbiosis with Norman ends up being easier than Skip expected.
There's a pretty steep learning curve at the start when it comes to sharing a bodycraft with the host. He's never done anything like it before, and when they're not in the heat of battle Norman is reluctant to let go of control. Skip doesn't want to push him too hard, since he's not sure Norman isn't going to change his mind and pluck him out with tweezers, so he keeps quiet, and tries to pry at Norman's thoughts to interpret what he's thinking.
Norman doesn't like that. Skip can feel it, even when he's trying not to, the way he flinches when he feels Skip trying to see what he's thinking. Skip's seen most of his worst memories already— there's nothing for him to hide, but he still resists, like he doesn't want Skip looking too deep.
He supposes that makes sense. He can give him space, if it makes things easier.
Communication is difficult, early on. They both have moments of forgetting they share a bodycraft with someone else, and it's an adjustment to have to factor in Norman to the decisions he makes. It's an adjustment, but it's one he puts in an effort to make, even if it seems like Norman isn't willing to meet him halfway.
Overall it's not so different, really. He still gets to fly the ship, he still gets to hang out with his friends, and if he has to tolerate sharing with Norman, then so be it.
Symbiosis is difficult.
Norman had assumed it would be sort of like flying as part of a fleet; working as a piece of a whole, separate but together.
It's not.
It's more like having a weird roommate you struggle to relate to. He's not sure how to talk to him, literally or figuratively; it takes him a while to figure out that he can talk inside his head, like Skip does sometimes. Even then, he still tends to just say his thoughts out loud. He's pretty sure Skip can see through his eyes; ever since they agreed on symbiosis or whatever, one of his eyes has been normal and the other has turned bright green. It's... jarring, to say the least, when he catches his reflection in the mirror and notices the green eye staring back at him.
But the crew are happy, and the ship is doing great, and he might still be an outsider but Skip isn't. He's one of them, in a way that Norman never was and still isn't, but things are unequivocally better for having Skip around.
Maybe it would've been better if I'd just let him fuckin' take me over again . The memories of Gust Weatherall flood into his mind, dark and cloudy and horrifying. They always said I'm only good for takin' orders.
He feels a push at the edge of his thoughts, enough to drag his attention away from the image of Gust and hundred and headless corpses.
Norman. Skip says, and Norman forgot he could do that. Are you okay?
"Can you—" He cuts himself off, and tries to focus on the voice in his head. Can you hear what I'm thinking?
Skip hesitates enough that Norman can tell the answer is yes.
Only sometimes, he says, only when you think it loudly.
I don't know how to think less loudly, he thinks, for lack of anything better to say.
He feels the push again, at the edge of his worst thoughts, like Skip is trying to physically push them away. It makes him feel better, in a weird sort of way.
You don't have to. He takes a deep breath, and feels Skip reach out inside his head, asking permission. Look, we're a team now, like it or not. We need to work together. I know you hate me, and I know you don't want me in your head, and I'm sorry. But I'm trying.
I don't hate you, Norman thinks, before he can stop himself, before he even realizes it's true, and he can tell Skip heard it from the wave of emotion he can feel radiating off him. Surprised, and joyful, like Norman's opinion might mean something to him. Huh. I'm not good with letting people in.
You don't have to be. You just have to try.
He closes his eyes, and he reaches out to meet Skip where he felt him before, and he tries.
There's a point of connection, and it sparks like electricity when he reaches it; he can feel Skip's presence in his body, running through his nervous system, and it's too much but Norman can't bring himself to stop it. It settles, after what feels like marbecs, into a dull warm hum, like he can feel his blood fizzing in his bloodstream.
He closes his eyes. That was insane.
Yeah. I guess that's symbiosis.
He nods, or maybe Skip does. It doesn't matter. Maybe I can do something other than just follow orders after all.
Skip smiles. If it's any consolation, you were never very good at taking orders.
Coming from anyone else, under any other circumstances, that would've pissed Norman off, but Skip is in his head and he can see what he's been through and he feels so wired and exhausted that he can't help but laugh.
He’s loading up a plate with eggs and half listening to Sidney tell everyone about how she taught Aurora her new trick, when he starts to feel Norman go dark. It’s become fairly easy for Skip now, after sharing a mind for a little while, to tell when Norman is losing himself in the darkness of his own thoughts. He gets quiet, and then Skip starts to feel the despair, sizzling like static and getting louder and darker. He reaches out, and tries to quiet the static, overlay it with something else like smothering a flame.
He’s not sure if it works. Norman never talks about it, and Skip doesn’t ask.
Norman? Skip asks, searching for him in the darkness.
He answers straight away. I’m starvin’. Hurry up with that breakfast.
I am, he says, shooting Lucienne a grateful look as he leaves the egg bar. You’ve never cared that much about breakfast before.
Norman shrugs, in a way that makes Skip almost drop his towering plate of eggs, and when they both laugh it comes out as a strangled, garbled sound that makes them laugh more.
The crew look up from their table when they hear them come over. Sid is in the middle of feeding Aurora half a turtle, and she smiles at Skip as he moves to sit down.
“Mornin’ Skip!” She says, smiling wide.
Skip smiles back, loud enough that everyone can hear. “Good morning everybody!”
Sid beams. “Do you wanna see Aurora’s new trick?”
“Right on!” Skip shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth as he watches Sid toss the turtle in the air.
“Okay, Aurora! Missile!”
Skip watches in awe as Aurora leaps straight up into the air and grabs the turtle between her teeth. As she hits the ground, Sidney starts clapping.
“Who’s a good girl? It's you!” Sidney coos, scratching her behind the ears.
Norman scoffs. That dog is insane.
Be nice, Skip warns, eating another bite of his eggs. Sid loves Aurora.
There’s a hint of that darkness again, the static that sometimes dwells in Norman’s thoughts, but it's gone almost as soon as Skip feels it. At least the eggs are halfway decent.
I'm glad we got those chef's tools, Skip smiles, there are so many ways to eat eggs that I would never even have thought of.
He shovels eggs into his mouth and watches Sid give Aurora another turtle, clapping and cooing when she watches her dismember it. They all sit at the same table to eat breakfast, even if they don't really talk; Margaret is eating and emailing and on phone simultaneously, somehow, Zortch watching quietly over her shoulder like they sometimes do. Gunnie is sat directly in front of Skip, poking at his second helping of omelettes on the table in front of him.
Skip taps his ankle with his boot.
"You enjoying your eggs, Gunnie?"
"Hm?" Gunnie looks up, meeting Skips eyes, and shrugs. "Oh, yeah, Skip, they're fine."
Skip smiles. "Good. You gotta eat a balanced breakfast to get your energy up."
"I— Okay?"
"Do you wanna go outside later and toss the ball around?" He’d bought an old Amercadian football from Plug a couple of malton units ago, after he saw an old movie with a happy looking father and son throwing it around.
Gunnie narrows his eyes. "Skip, we're in space."
He shrugs. "Okay."
"I'll play catch with you, Skip!” Sid yells. “Can Aurora play, too?"
Gunnie chuckles. "I think it was actually more of a father-son thing, right, Skip?"
Skip just shrugs again. "Okay."
"That's okay, Gunnie. If you want some quality time with Skip you just have to say." Sid smiles, wide and genuine, and Gunnie grins back at her.
“Thanks, Sid. You and Aurora can play with us if you want. We don't have to go outside to toss a ball around, right?”
“Yeah!” Syx yells, elbowing Nyne next to him. “Right on! We can do it in the corridor by the gunner pods!”
Nyne grins. “Right on! Let’s do it!”
“Hey, everyone.”
They all turn as Lucienne approaches the table, mixing bowl in hands, whisking away at whatever style of eggs she's currently cooking up. She’s taken to being a chef like a duck to water; she seems way happier than Skip ever saw her before, and the eggs are starting to be even better than the Princeps’ old recipes.
The crew smile at her, and Sidney waves. “Lucienne! Do you wanna see Aurora’s new trick?”
She grins, setting down her mixing bowl. “Sure!”
She really shouldn’t let those sit, Norman says, and Skip laughs, watching as Aurora repeats her trick from earlier.
“That’s great, Sid!” She smiles, and gets back to stirring. She looks around the table, and Skip can’t help but notice the way her eyes linger on Margaret, watching her tap away at her keyboard, wrapped up in whatever she was doing.
Lucienne blinks and shakes her head. “So! How’s everyone's breakfast?”
“It’s great, really good eggs.” Skip smiles, taking another bite. “Skipper says he really likes them.”
Everyone goes silent as soon as Skip mentions Norman.
The crew aren't sure if they trust Norman.
Skip can tell. They're his people, and he loves them, but they are also incredibly easy to read and terrible at hiding things.
Norman knows it too, Skip thinks. He never really talks when the others are around, instead lets Skip do the communicating. Skip doesn't mind it— he loves his crew and savors any opportunity to be around them, but he doesn't want Norman to feel like he can't interact with them.
Sid scoots over to him, lowering her voice. "So, like, can Captain Norman hear me?"
Skip feels Norman roll his eyes. "Yes, Sidney, I can hear you."
She squeals in surprise and backs up, putting space between them. "I'm sorry Captain! I didn't think you could, uh—"
“The old Skip can actually hear us?” Syx laughs from his place across the table. “I thought it was a one at a time type of thing.”
“We share now.” Skip answers, smiling. “We can both be here at the same time, since we started doing the whole symbiosis thing.”
“Oh, uh, right on.” Barry says, eyes shifting over to look at Nyne. “Old Skip and new Skip at the same time. Pretty wild.”
Norman sighs. “Don’t call me Skip, Barry, it’s Skipper. We literally have a crewmate called Skip now.”
Barry just grins. “Right on, Skipper. Just a little Barry razzing now that you're back on the team.”
“Yeah!” Sid smiles. “It’s great that you're one of us now, Skipper! You might’ve been a terrible boss, but so far you have been a perfectly tolerable colleague.”
“On a trial basis.” Margaret chimes in, without even looking up from her laptop.
“Yeah,” Gunnie says, poking him in the chest across the table, “You're on probation.”
The crew laughs, and Skip smiles loud enough that it makes the crew laugh again, and this is more than he’d ever hoped he could have.
It’s nice that you’re talking to the crew, Skip smiles, finishing up his plate of eggs.
Norman hesitates, and Skip can tell that he doesn’t feel like a member of the Wurst yet. Yeah, they're your crew, I'm trying to make an effort.
Skip shakes his head. They're your crew too, Norm.
All I'm good for is ruinin’ a good thing. I don't want to do that here.
He frowns, thinking. That’s not true. You’ve changed. You’re changing.
Norman is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, he sounds sorry. I was an asshole to this crew. The least I can do for them now is let them be happy.
They are happy, Skip insists, they want you to be a part of it.
They want you to be a part of it, Norman murmurs, an emotion Skip can’t understand filling their brain. I want you to be a part of it. They deserve that. I’m just happy to still be here.
"Norman..." Skip whispers, voice wavering. He's not sure what else to say. He's not sure there are words for the depth of the feeling he's trying to convey.
Norman bristles, like he's trying to put on the mask of the brave Americadian space captain, but Skip is in his head, and he hears that when Norman says, "Don't mention it," what he actually means is I couldn't have done any of it without you.
They dock the ship for the night and they're sitting on their bunk, getting ready to sleep. Margaret lives in Norman's old quarters now, which is fine— he built that place up when he was compensating for hating his life, and now that he's on the path to doing better, he feels less inclined to bury himself in Margaret's money.
Skip is fluttering around the edges of his consciousness, like he sometimes does— like he wants to give Norman space, but doesn't want to leave him alone, which he appreciates. Norman doesn't want him to be left alone either. He's had cycles and cycles of space. He doesn't want to be alone anymore.
Skip eases over to him, like he always does when he senses a downturn in Norman. Everything okay?
"Everything's fine."
He feels a push at the darkness creeping over him, pressure where Norman felt the loneliness before. Skip's trying to see into the dark. Not prying, just asking. What are you thinking about, Norm?
He sighs. "Before."
Before?
Yeah, he answers inside their head. It's... a lot.
He can feel Skip agree, warm and comforting, and he feels the darkness start to melt away, little by little. He’s always doing that; helping Norman escape the traps set in his own head, just by being there. He has his own demons, Skipper knows. His own past haunts him just as much as Norman’s does. Skip’s better at hiding it than him, especially around the rest of the crew, but they share a mind. Norman can feel what Skip goes through when he’s quiet; he carries so much, Norman just hopes he helps Skip the same way Skip helps him.
Skip finds him again, dragging him out of his thoughts. The past is complicated and mostly bad, but at least it’s over.
Norman hums. "Did you have a name, before all this?"
Of course I did, Skip answers, chirpy as ever. It's an ancestral name of my house. My father would always get upset when I didn't go by it.
"You don't like it?"
It's not necessarily that I don't like it, he starts after a moment of silence, it just reminds me of House Frangus. My father and his men were the only ones who would call me by it.
Norman can tell that Skip doesn't like talking about his father, and, having been there for their big fight, he can see why. It seems like Skip wasn't very loved growing up.
Norman thinks of Riva, of their true name, of how clearly they loved it but didn't feel able to use it. How he told them not to use it, to pick a normal name while they were aboard his crew.
He feels like an asshole, not for the first time.
He can tell Skip feels it, senses the change in his headspace as it happens, and he feels Skip reach out to let him know he's there. Norman appreciates it, as always. Being stuck in his own head is a lot easier when it's with Skip.
"What is it?" He says, finding Skip's consciousness in his mind and latching onto it. "You don't have to tell me, if, uh— if it reminds you too much of that."
No, it's okay, Skip says, and Norman feels him push back against him in his mind, the feeling of them coming together empowering him. My father was the worst, but I don't want him to have that hold over me anymore.
Norman opens his mouth to object, probably to parrot something he heard from Marge about healing being complicated or something, but he feels that Skip has more he wants to say, so he lets him.
My cerebro slug name is Valdrinor, he says, soft and quiet, after a martron of silence. Well, technically, it's Prince Valdrinor of House Frangus, but that's more of a title.
Norman hums. "It's nice," he says, and then, quieter, in his head, it's beautiful.
Thanks! Skip smiles out loud, audibly, and Norman can feel the way he lights up at the compliment. It means wisdom and nobility. I just wish my father didn't pick it.
Norman smiles, nodding. "Valdrinor," he mumbles, just to see if he can say it right, and he feels a powerful wave of something from Skip. It doesn't feel angry, which is still what Norman expects to feel every time he senses a strong emotion, but it's difficult to place.
It’s not bad, though.
The body makes an awkward, strangled noise; that happens sometimes when he and Skip both try to say something at the same time. He lets himself fall back, giving Skip the room to speak out loud.
"I, uh—" Skip starts, then swallows loudly, and Norman thinks he's never felt Skip be so sheepish. "I like when you say it."
Norman smiles, and he can hear Skip smile too, and he tries to send some waves of positive emotion to Skip the way he had done before. He chooses not to think about why he felt himself light up with his own wave of emotion when Skip told him he liked the way he said his name, when he felt that wave from him that was filled with a powerful sense of something Norman couldn't place.
He feels it in his stomach, the feeling of churning like a cement mixer when he thinks about making Skip smile. He feels his heart speed up, enough that he can feel it drumming in his ears.
He wonders if Skip can feel it, too.
Skip has never cared much for names. To him, it had always seemed sort of redundant; the only people he knew who cared about that sort of thing were his father and the other House Frangus supporters who insisted their name held value.
Skip never wanted any of that. He never cared about bloodlines or dynasties. He adopted a new name as soon as he could (one that he knew his father would hate), and he knows now, with all the other cerebro slugs gone, that he never has to be Prince Valdrinor of the House of Frangus again.
To him, his name has always meant hate; his father hated him, and always had, for not being the perfect little prince he'd always wanted in a son. It represented everything Skip was trying to leave behind.
It's a prince's name, and he always hated being a prince.
When Norman says it, he feels different.
He's never felt someone say his name with anything but malice, as far back as he can remember. He's always been a disappointment to his father, to his house, and he's never told anyone else his name before.
Norman says his name with something dangerously close to love in his voice, a soft awe that Skip has never heard anyone direct at him before. He knows he's having a ridiculous reaction, emanating emotions powerful enough that Riva can probably feel them all the way back on their homeworld.
He thinks of Riva, and their Aguatunisian name. Maybe it's okay to have more than one name.
They're stuck in a chase, the kind they tend to avoid with their class of vessel; an in-atmosphere shootout against a batch of Brigade tigers. Norman always gets skittish when they have to fight the brigade, so Skip's doing most of the heavy lifting, dodging and weaving as best they can in such a huge craft. Norman tries to direct him, telling him the brigade fighter strategies he knows haven't changed in the years since he's been gone.
They're doing well; they're holding their own, and the gunners are hitting their shots like crazy, and Gunnie and Margaret are working in the reactor room, and Skip's making turns Norman didn't even know this vessel was capable of making.
Skip is a much better pilot than Norman has ever been. He's known it for a while, ever since he became present enough in his body to be able to watch Skip fly, and he knows it now, with startling clarity, watching him drive in a way Norman would never even try.
He's always been the jealous type; even back in his days at the brigade academy, his fellow cadet knew the easiest way to ruffle his feathers was to tell him that some new recruit was a much better flyer than him. It always worked, until Norman would beat them, like he always would, because he takes pride in being the best.
But this isn't the brigade, anymore, and he's not the best flyer.
The Norman Takamori of the Amercadian Space Brigade would be mortified, but Norman Takamori of the Wurst is impressed. It's hard not to be, watching Skip dodge and weave in a ship three times the size of most of their opponents. He's smiling, and chatting away on the gunner channel, and Norman thinks that this isn't so bad, this life, with this slug. He could be happy like this, in a life made up of these moments.
Sid says something over the channel and Skip laughs, soft and sweet and so Skip that for a moment Norman forgets where they are and what they're doing. All he can think about is Skip, and his killer instincts, and his kind eyes that are somehow so different to his own, and how he's always willing to listen even when Norman is pretty sure he doesn't deserve it.
Skip is so fucking good and competent and fun to be around, and he makes Norman better, and he can't believe he's found someone like that even after everything.
Skip laughs again, and Norman smiles, and feels his heart start to flip over in his chest.
Oh, fuck.
Norman has a fucking crush.
On a slug.
God help him.
It's easy for Skip to forget sometimes that he's known Norman way longer than Norman has known him.
He couldn't speak to him, and he couldn't access most of his memories, but he's been getting to know Norman Takamori for probably nargons now, whereas Norman didn't really meet him until after the Fang of Frangus.
Skip might've had his reservations about Norman, before, when he was fighting against the metal bolt stuck in his brain, but things are different now. He'd trust Norman with his life, and he'd trust Norman with his crew.
Which is all fine. It's great that Norman is doing better, that he's working on himself and trying to be better than he was. He's doing such a good job. That's part of the problem.
Skip can watch Norman do something kind, he can watch him pat Gunnie on the shoulder and tell him he's doing a good job, watch him drink Sid's metallic coffee and compliment her for hitting her shots. He can see the change in Norman, and the way he treats his crew, and his attitude towards other people, and it makes Skip feel something, deep in the pit of his stomach.
It's not like anything he's felt before. It's not the same gentle fondness he feels for the rest of his friends, and it's a far cry from the animosity he used to feel towards Norman before he really knew him.
It's different, but it's not bad. It's warm, and light, and makes his heart beat faster and his face heat up. Norman must think they're sick, though he hasn't said anything.
It's love, he thinks, maybe. Romantic love. He's never experienced it before, but he's heard a lot about it. He didn't know cerebro slugs could experience it. It always seemed like a human experience, though he doesn't know that many other non-humans other than Zortch and Sid, and he's never asked them about it.
It's difficult to know how Norman would react to something like this. He's come a long way since their symbiosis, but Skip knows that he's straight, whatever that means. If Norman knew that Skip had these feelings for him, he would almost definitely want him to leave his brain. It was a hard enough sell agreeing on sharing the bodycraft in the first place; if Norman knew that Skip had fallen in love with him, their relationship would never recover. Skip can't let that happen. His relationship with Norman is deeply important to him, but more than that, the fate of the Wurst lies in the balance. This ship only runs because they work together; Skip doesn't want to find out what would happen if they fell apart.
Having a thing for the slug that lives in your brain ends up being pretty complicated, Norman finds.
It's almost impossible that Skip hasn't noticed. Every time Skip does something impressive, or shares some part of himself with Norman, or gives Norman a compliment in the soft, sweet voice he always uses inside their head, his heart starts beating faster and his palms start sweating and his face heats up in a way that Skip must feel.
So, it's complicated. Norman doesn't want to ruin what is easily the best relationship of his life, and doesn't want to drive away seemingly the only person that cares about him. It's nonsensical to throw away something as good as what they have for the sake of something unimaginable . Norman doesn't even know how it could work. He doesn't even know if the slugs feel romantic attraction.
All he knows is that he loves Skip. He doesn't want to lose him.
It's supposed to be an easy job, a SmashnGrab taken on a whim while they're stuck on a rec station waiting for some repairs to finish up.
It's far from the most complicated job they've taken. Twenty thousand credits to steal a key card from an upper level station guard. A high payout for something they could do in their sleep.
It isn't until they get caught sneaking around that Skip realizes the guards they're stuck in a shootout against are shooting with cold blasters.
He doesn't panic, because he's used to the heat of battle at this point, but when Sid takes a bad hit and Skip rushes over to medpack her without even thinking, he only gets halfway done before a blast of ice nails him right in the back of the head.
He feels himself ripped away from Norman's brainstem, and then all he can feel is cold.
Skip is halfway through Sidney's medpack when Norman feels the blast hit him.
He doesn't think much of it; it's a bad hit, sure, but he's taken worse in his time as a proldier. He's hurt, but he's fine, until a few ribecs later when he feels a searing, frosty pain strike his brain and run all the way down his spine. He drops the medpack, gripping his head with both hands, and he can feel Sidney fussing over him but he can't see and there's something trying to rip out his brain —
He sneezes, harder than he's ever felt himself sneeze, and feels something rip out of his nose and hit the ground beneath him with a sickening thud.
The pain stops almost immediately.
He reaches for Skip on instinct, feeling for his presence in their mind to make sure he's okay, and when he comes up empty the panic sets in.
"Skipper!" Sidney shouts, shaking him by the shoulders. "Are you okay?"
He puts a hand up to his nose, watching as it comes back bloody. Skip. He's gone. Norman would be able to feel him if he was still in there, his presence like a blanket of snow over his own consciousness. Symbiosis. He feels empty now that it's been stripped away.
"Skip?" He shouts, because he can barely hear anything, and his head feels like he's underwater.
Sidney nods, opening her palm so Norman can see.
She's holding Skip in her hand. He's tiny and frozen and unmoving in a way that Norman hates, and he suddenly feels sick.
"Is he—" He cuts himself off, unable to say the words.
She furrows her eyebrows, looking panicked. "I don't know. Let me run a vitals scan."
Norman slams his first into the wall they're ducking behind. He feels the fury and fear clawing its way up his throat and taking root in his brain, and he doesn't have Skip there to hold his hand and tell him it's okay. "Can we medpack him?"
"He's too small!" Sidney's cybernetic eye is doing something, changing from red to blue to green like she's getting some kind of data feedback. "If we try medpack, we could squish him."
That thought is even worse than whatever Norman was already thinking, so he shakes his head, trying to focus. He can't afford to get distracted with Skip's life on the line.
Sidney closes her hand around Skip, and waits, breathing deeply. "He's paralyzed. He needs to rest."
"We gotta get him back to the ship." Norman readies his pistol, turning to try and spot the guard who hit him with the cold blaster.
He sees him easily. Cold blasters are distinctive, and he stands out among a sea of guards with standard issue pistols.
Sidney is by his side, assault cannon at the ready, cradling Skip close to her chest. Norman knows this crew would do just about anything to save Skip. It makes him feel better about breaking formation with her to jetpack over to the lone asshole with the cold blaster and hit him square between the eyes with a crystal dagger.
After taking care of that, they make a beeline for where the ship is docked, and hot exit their way into FTL.
When Skip wakes up, he's out of body.
It's the first thing he notices. He can feel the presence of life forms around him, can sense through the vibrations in the air around him that they're probably talking.
He tries to move, to shuffle himself along whatever surface he's on, but he's small in this form, and slow, and he can't tell how far he makes it before he's too exhausted to keep going.
Skip! The voice comes through loud and clear, even in this form. Gosh, I'm glad you're awake. Skipper's been worried sick.
He's drowsy from waking up. He feels the same sort of disoriented he felt after they first found him, frozen in those egg crates.
Even knocked out, he'd know that voice anywhere. Zortch?
He feels something warm and alive make contact with him, and his instinct to seek out life propels him forward onto the surface.
Yeah, buddy! Zortch lifts him, and he settles into the curve of their hand. You had a pretty rough time out there. Are you okay?
Skip thinks back, digging through his memories as best he can. He can't remember if he's okay or not. What happened?
You took a lot of cold damage . Zortch says. You should really still be resting. It was pretty hard on you. It looked— it looked bad, for a while there.
He tries to reach for Norman, even though he knows it's futile— he can sense life around him, but in this state he wouldn't be able to tell him from any other life form. Is Norman here?
Not in this room right now. Just me and Barry— and you, obviously.
Okay , He says, I should get back to Skipper.
He can feel Zortch start to move. Yeah, probably. He's been going crazy without you.
Skip is genuinely surprised by that. He always figured Norman tolerated him, but would be happy to have a free head for a little while. Really?
Yeah. Zortch hesitates, sighing. I don't know what you guys have going on, but clearly it's something.
If Skip had his body, he'd gulp. Something?
I didn't know Skipper before, but I get the feeling that you've really helped him. These last few malton units have been hell for him without you. I can literally feel it, and boy do I wish I couldn't.
Oh. Yeah. I guess. Skip mulls it over, thinking. Norman does seem better than he was before, but he'd attributed that to the lack of metal in his skull and the success of the ship. He didn't think it was anything to do with him. He's— it's complicated.
Zortch pauses for a long moment, considering. Do you love him?
I don't know that I know what that means.
Sure you do, Skip. They send him a wave of emotion, of love— a feeling of warmth and joy and belonging. It feels like home. It feels like Norman Takamori. Only you can know.
I mean— I love all my friends. My crew .
There's a long pause before they speak again. Just not the same way you love him. Right?
Skip sends his own emotion back, the feeling he gets when Norman pilots the ship or listens to him patiently or tells him stories he knows Skip already knows. Love. Right.
He loves you, Skip. I don't know how, or why, but he's miserable without you. Zortch sighs, deep enough that Skip can feel it through their mindlink. I'm not sure any of us can understand the bond you two have, but it's a strong one.
That'll happen, I guess. Sharing a brain.
No. The answer comes so quick and so sure that Skip has no choice but to believe them. This is more than just chance and proximity, Skip. What you have is more than just a shared body. You fit together. Symbiosis.
Symbiosis. Skip says, soft and quiet. He turns it over in his mind a few times, wondering. Putting pieces together. I love him.
He can feel Zortch smile, even through the psychic link. Yeah, I know. Let's go find him.
They've been docked on-world for a few malton units until Skip recovers, but Norman stuck Gunnie in the pilot's seat and told him to be ready for a hot exit if need be.
He's on edge, waiting for Skip to wake up. The cynical part of him is festering in the darkness of his mind, telling him that Skip isn't going to wake up, and without Skip's soothing presence in his mind it's so hard to push back against the terror of his own brain.
He tries, though. He has to believe that Skip is going to be okay. He has to ignore the part of him that whispers that he's not lucky enough to have something as good as what he has with Skip, that he doesn't deserve it, because life isn't about deserving. If it was, then Skip wouldn't be knocked out in the medbay right now. Out of anyone Norman's ever met, Skip deserves the universe and more.
He's spent every moment since they came out of FTL in the medbay watching over Skip. It was only after two malton units that he was forced out by Sidney and Margaret, telling him that he needs to sleep if he wants to be in any condition for Skip when he wakes up.
He pushed down the angry part of himself that wanted to snap at them that he's fine, and who the hell were they to tell him what to do, but he still has the memory of Skip's voice in his head telling him that he has the capacity to be better, so he begrudgingly listens. None of this crew would let anything bad happen to Skip. He's as safe with them as he is anywhere in the universe. So, he swallows his pride and slumps off to the gunner's bunks to stay as close to the medbay as possible.
Norman can't sleep. He doesn't even know how long he's been awake for, he's exhausted and he feels like shit and all he can think about is Skip. Skip's laugh and his noisy smile and the way he never gives up even when things seem impossible.
"Can't sleep?"
He recognizes Barry's voice easily, but when he opens his eyes to respond, it's not the Barry he's expecting.
Barry Nyne is an official member of the crew now, but he still mostly keeps to himself. He'll hang out with Barry almost constantly, and he spends time with Sidney, but he tends to keep his distance from the rest of the crew. Norman has never really spoken to him. It always seemed like Skip made him uncomfortable, so they let him keep his distance.
He's here now, though, leaning in the doorway in sweatpants and a tank top.
"Got a lot on my mind." He says, even though it's not really true. There's only one thing on his mind right now, and that's Skip.
Barry nods, and takes a step into the room. "I've been there, man."
Norman watches Barry move over to a bunk on the other side of the room. He sits down on it, carefully, leaning back against the wall.
"So," Barry starts, "how come you're crashing in here?"
"I didn't want to be too far from the medbay. In case anything happened."
He nods, frowning. "Why?"
Norman shrugs, but he knows he's visibly torn up about it. "Skip could've died out there."
"Yeah." Barry nods, eyes still narrowed like he's trying to figure Norman out. "Cold damage is bad for slugs."
Norman sighs. “It's my fault. I should've been more careful.”
“Can I ask you something?” Barry says in a rush, like he wants to get it out before he changes his mind. Norman nods. “How does it feel? Being slugged?”
He frowns. “How did it feel for you?”
“Like I was being held hostage in a shipping crate. Cramped and dark and like I couldn't breathe. You do that shit by choice?"
Norman shakes his head. “It's not like that with Skip.”
“It's not?”
“No.” He shrugs, sitting up. “It's like— it's like that feeling that you get when someone you love walks into the room. It feels like not being alone.”
Barry frowns. Norman has never been good at knowing what other people were thinking, and even now after Skip helped him develop his emotional intelligence he can't do it. He watches Barry as he thinks through whatever thoughts are going through his head, his eyes unfocused and his eyebrows furrowed. Barry isn't a child, he's almost forty, Norman is pretty sure, but sat on his bunk with pain on his face he looks so young that something in Norman tells him to help. A voice that seems to sound a lot like Skip, and he thinks of the way Skip is with Gunnie, so kind and gentle and fatherly, but no. Skip's not here right now, and this is him, his own desire to reach out and help someone in need, and, well—
That is so much scarier.
He’s not good at this the way Skip is. He’d always wanted kids of his own someday; spent years telling himself that it wasn't the right time or he hadn't met the right person, and now it’s too late. It’s probably for the best, though. He doesn't know how to be paternal. He doesn't have the programming.
But Barry is looking so lost and there's no one else here but him.
He pulls himself to his feet and, before he can tell himself that it's a ridiculous move, walks over to Barry’s bunk and sits down next to him. Barry looks shocked; Barry Syx has probably told him all about Norman, how terrible he was to the crew, but Barry doesn't move away.
“Barry—” He starts, struggling to find the words. He’s never done this before. His own father was a far cry from anything resembling comforting, and he’s still new to navigating being nice . “I know that what happened to you was bad, and if you want to talk about it—”
“I don't wanna talk about it, man.”
Norman hesitates, then slowly puts his hand on Barry’s shoulder. Barry flinches, but doesn’t shrug it off. “Look, up until recently I never talked about my shit. Ever. Trust me, it didn't help."
Barry swallows. When he speaks again, it's barely a whisper. "I don't like to think about it. It was like a nightmare that never stopped. I never wanted to hurt anybody. Barry's are built for doing good, and— I, uh—"
Norman pat's him on the shoulder, awkwardly. He feels out of place here, doing this, especially without Skip, but he follows the twinge in his chest that's telling him to help.
"It wasn't your fault, Barry." He says, trying to think of anything to say that could help him feel better. He thinks about Skip, and what he would say. Just be there for him. "You didn't have a choice. You were being controlled."
He swipes at his eyes with his hand. He's not crying, but he looks like he might, and Norman bets he's using all of his strength to keep his voice from wavering. "They're gone, they're all gone and it's because of me, and I don't wanna bring it up to Barry because I don't wanna remind him that they're gone and I'm the reason and—"
"That wasn't you." He says, rubbing circles into Barry's back. "That was the slug."
"It was still me. It was my hands." He wipes his eyes again, and this time his hand comes away wet with tears. "They looked into my eyes as I pulled the trigger. I remember it, Cap. I remember it like it was all me. He fucking left the memories in to— to fuck with me. I can see Barry One begging me not to do it. I—"
He’s fully crying, tears streaming down his face and into his hands, and Norman follows an instinct he didn't know he had and pulls him into a hug. “He took advantage of you, Barry. He was a really bad guy and he used you, and there wasn't anything you could’ve done.”
“It’s not fair.” He chokes between sobs, clinging to Norman like a lifeline. “They didn’t deserve it, why did I have to—”
“I know, Barry,” he whispers, running his hand through his hair. It’s short, barely grown from where he shaved it off to get rid of the shocking pink the slug forced on him, but he feels Barry start to calm down, sobs dying down until he’s just sniffling. “You should talk to Barry. He loves you. He’d want you to tell him that you still feel like crap about it.”
"I don't wanna talk to Barry. I don't wanna talk about it, I don't wanna think about it, I just want to move on." He mumbles, face pressed into Norman’s shoulder. He can feel the tears soaking into his shirt, even as Barry’s breathing evens out. "Barry is my brother. I love him more than anyone else in the world. But he doesn't get it. Not really.”
Norman nods. “I get it, Barry. It fucking sucks.”
Barry laughs, watery and short and ending in an almost sob. “Yeah. It really fucking sucks.”
They stay like that for a while, Norman listening to the even sounds of Barry's deep breaths. It's the closest Norman has felt with a person that doesn't live inside his head for years . He never really got clones; back in Kansas they tell you that clones are built to be cannon fodder, that they’re all the same and they're all made to be meat shields for the true spacers of Amercadia. Barry Syx always struck him as stupid enough that he never felt much of drive to try and challenge what he was told, so he never tried to speak to him, and he never tried to listen.
Aside from the identical faces, it's hard to believe that Nyne and Syx are supposed to be the same. It’s hard to think that Norman ever could have thought like that, before, when he has such a deeply wounded person in his arms now.
All you can do is be better than you were, Skip's voice echoes around the walls of his mind, and he holds Barry tighter.
“He believed I could've done it." Barry whispers, and Norman can’t tell if he's trying to talk to him or himself. “He really thought it was me.”
Norman thinks of the brigade, of his face plastered on wanted screens, of twelve dead nuns and we demand the immediate surrender of traitor Norman Takamori. “I know how it feels.”
"I never wanted to hurt anybody, especially not my family. I miss them so much."
He nods, and stokes Barry’s hair again. “These people love you, Barry. They know now that you would never do that.”
“They love you too, you know.” He says, after a long pause. “Not just Skip, man. I know you think they only keep you around because of the slug, and that might’ve been true at first, but you’re makin’ amends, Cap. People respect that.”
“Uh— Thanks, Barry.”
He smiles. “I mean it, dude. I never knew you before, but I know you now, and you're pretty cool.”
The door to the room swings open, and Zortch is standing in the doorway, smiling wide.
“Hey, Skipper. I’ve got someone who wants to talk to you!”
Skip feels the transfer when it happens, feels the pull deep within himself that drives him to connect with a brainstem, and he follows the instinct, settling into the familiar feeling of being connected to a bodycraft again. He knows immediately that it's Norman; feels the unabashed emotional relief that washes over him once Norman can feel his presence in their mind again, and he quickly adjusts, stopping short of full takeover so he can settle in.
It's a difficult adjustment, after being frozen. He can't connect to all the systems he wants to, and when he tries to give Zortch a thumbs up in thanks, he almost hits himself in the face.
He's just happy to be back.
"Okay, I'll leave you boys to it." Zortch giggles, and shoots a pointed look behind themselves as they leave.
Norman sits them on the bed, and Skip reaches out, desperate and not even trying to hide it, and Norm meets him halfway, with a crushing wave of emotion so strong it nearly knocks Skip off the brainstem.
I've been so fucking worried about you, Skip, Norman says, and Skip feels like he can't breathe all of a sudden and he can't tell which one of them the feeling is coming from. It doesn't really matter.
It's alright, he says, I'm okay. You can't get rid of me that easily.
Norman laughs, out loud, teary and relieved and so him that Skip can barely keep himself from unleashing every feeling he's ever had for this incredible man.
Valdrinor, Norman says, and it's all far too much. I thought I'd lost you.
I love you, Skip says, because it feels like the only thing that matters.
Norman doesn't say it, but he doesn't have to, because Skip can feel the sparks echoing through his whole body from the weight of their emotions. He's so exhausted, both in his slug body and through Norman, but they're together again, now, and that means everything is going to be okay.
When was the last time you slept? Skip asks, and feels Norman smile.
Let's do it, Norman moves over to the bunks and Skip is beyond thankful for being able to lie down. I'm beat.
They close their eyes, and Skip feels wrapped up in the feeling of being in love.
Norman wakes up feeling like he's had the best sleep of his life, and it takes him a second to remember why.
He can feel Skip's thoughts nestled amongst his own; he's still asleep, at least for now, and Norman isn't inclined to wake him up. He needs his rest, and it's been a long few malton units for both of them. He touches the base of his skull just to check that last night wasn't a dream that he's still having, but he can feel Skip's body, right at the top of his neck where he belongs.
It's been an emotional whirlwind since the last malton unit. He thinks he remembers Skip saying I love you through the haze of emotion, and he'd been too wrapped up in the feeling to really think about what that meant.
Skip loves a lot. He loves his friends, he loves his crew, he loves piloting this ship. They've come a long way since Skip first reached out to Norman, beaten to hell and staring into the shitty bathroom mirror; he hated him then, saw him as selfish and entitled and spiteful. He was right, too. Norman was all of those things, attempting to bury his lifetime of failure and shame under a facade of angry competence.
Things have been different since he let Skip back in by choice. He's trying to be better, and Skip has helped him.
He loves him. Skip said I love you and all Norman could do was hold back the part of him that desperately wanted to say I've never felt anything in my life like the way I feel when you're happy. Skip loves him, but Skip loves a lot, and Norman doesn't think Skip loves him the way he wants him to. The way he loves Skip.
He feels a familiar pressure against the edges of the creeping darkness in his head, and smiles.
What's wrong, Norm? Skip says, quiet and sleepy. Bad dream?
Norman smiles. No, actually. It was pretty good.
Skip brightens at that, and Norman can feel him radiating contentment. Right on.
There's a long moment where they just enjoy the quiet of the morning, basking in each other's emotions like it was sunlight streaming through a window, warm and bright.
When Skip speaks again, it's quieter. I think we should talk about... everything.
Yeah? Norman tries not to seem disappointed, because he knows what Skip is going to say. He knows that he's made their connection into something it isn't.
Yeah. Skip answers, and then he clears his throat. "The cerebro slugs— I mean, the house of Frangus— they don't— I mean, they didn't —"
He takes a deep breath, and Norman reaches out to his consciousness, trying to meet him halfway. Skip gets frustrated, talking about his family, his people. It's hard for him, the same way it's hard for Norman to talk about the Brigade. He gets it.
He closes his eyes, and wraps his arms around himself. Take your time, Valdrinor.
When Skip speaks again, it's inside his head. Growing up, my culture didn't have much of a sense of important relationships. Romantic or otherwise.
Norman is trying to be there for Skip, but he instinctively tenses up at the mention of romantic relationships. Skip bringing it up so casually feels sort of gauche, but Norman loves him, so he stills the voice in his mind and tries to push the physical awkwardness he feels away.
He feels a wave of emotion from Skip. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel weird. I just wanted to tell you.
Norman nods. "I can understand that."
There's a long pause before Skip says anything else. Norman reaches for him again, offering comfort. I wasn't raised to know how to do this.
He freezes. "This?"
Norman feels his body take a deep breath, and his eyes close tight. There's tension running through him, and he breathes deeply, reaching for Skip in his mind, soothing him.
It's okay, he says, hoping Skip can feel him, Skip, it's okay.
Norm, he whispers, reaching out and meeting him, I care a lot about you. I don't know that I understand it, but I know what I feel.
Skip shows him, sends him waves of the depth of his feelings for him, and it's so powerful that Norman would've been knocked off his feet if he was standing. He can feel tears leaking out of his eyes and leaving tracks down his face, but he focuses on Skip, on feeling the wave of emotion and sending back comfort and acceptance and love.
I don't know how to do it, Skip says, I don't know what we would be, but I know that I love you. More than anything.
“We can figure it out.” Norman nods, wrapping his arms around himself. “We don't have to be anything.” He closes his eyes, and whispers in his head, we already are.
We can figure it out, Skip repeats, happiness radiating off him in waves. A romantic relationship. We can do it.
“Yeah.” Norman answers, smiling. He thinks of the other slugs, millions of slugs in millions of hosts. There has to be a way. “How do the slugs do it?"
He can feel Skip frown, before he opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find the words.
"I don't actually know." He says after a while. "My father always told me we had to do the unhatchening to produce new slugs, but it seems like that was just a lie, so— I have no idea. I can't remember ever knowing a cerebro slug with a romantic partner."
“What about physical attraction? Do you feel that?” Norman sighs, rubbing his forehead. Skip is worth anything that he could go through, and he would do anything for him, but that doesn't make this any less complicated. “Do you have, uh— Do brain slugs have sexualities?”
Cerebro slugs don't have gender, at least not the way humans do. Skip frowns, thinking. Cerebro slugs are all the same. They just take on the identity of whoever they inhabit.
Norman nods, trying to understand. “So you just have the same stuff that I do?”
“I think—” Skip cuts himself off, furrowing his eyebrows. When he finishes, it's inside their head. I think I'm... different.
Different? Norman thinks of the other slugs, of Skip’s father and the memories Skip shared of before he found a host. Yeah, he believes that Skip is different.
I don't know. I don't know if I understand it. But—
Norman pushes, trying his best to send Skip the warmth that he needs. It’s okay, Valdrinor, my love.
He feels a wave of the same powerful emotion he got the first time he called him Valdrinor, earthy and sweet and warm like cinnamon. His body takes a deep breath, before Skip opens his mouth to speak. Whispered and hesitant, like a prayer. “In every bodycraft I've been in, you’ve always been beautiful to me.”
It’s almost too much, hearing that out loud, and he can feel Skip’s anxiety all the way down his spine. He does the only thing he can think of and retreats deep into his mind, pulls Skip as close as he can and unloads onto him every iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou he’s never said.
They don't need to make sense because he knows in his heart that this is what they were meant to be; two hearts, one body, living and loving together.
Symbiosis.
This is so great. Skip grins, and Norm can hear it, and when his heart beats faster he knows that it’s him and Skip together. What do we do now?
Anything, he says with a smile. Whatever you want. We have all the time in the world, my love.