Title: easier to ask forgiveness than permission
Fandom: Control
Rating: PG13
Length: 5,248
Content notes: Coarse language, marital infidelity
Author notes: Zachariah Trench/Casper Darling
Summary: Trench and Darling end up manning overnight observations. This always happens.





"... I said I'd be back early tonight."

"Yeah?" Darling didn't look at Trench as he spoke, pressing the buttons on the upright machine in front of him in sequence; one screen flashed red, as a response. He gave that display a withering expression before turning to flash a quick smile in Trench's direction. "Bad luck. That's always the way, though, isn't it? Probably easier just to never think oh, I need to do that, but I'll be done in plenty of time--... never works out." He pressed the buttons along with the rhythm of his speech, "Ne-ver-works-out." (Another red screen.)

"Hm."

Darling punched in a different sequence, this time rewarded with a green screen displaying lines and lines of information. Sequestered far down in the depths of Research, Trench had been watching Darling deal with the current situation for at least an hour up to that point, giving his own input in the moments where he could. Earlier in the day, that room had been full of Research colleagues working to iron things out but as time had worn on, those with other commitments had left, quickly followed by those who had strictly no intention of staying beyond the end of their shift. It wasn't important for them all to be there, but it was, seemingly, important for someone to at least be there - and so Darling continued, content to be the last one out of the building just so long as it meant completing that task.

The couch had been dragged in earlier, brought over from a breakroom 'just in case anybody feels like pulling an all-nighter', carried across by two junior researchers who were adamant that their physical efforts should be adequate assurance that they would definitely not be pulling the all-nighter in question. It lay slightly dilapidated in a way that had people often wonder if it had simply been discovered alongside the Oldest House itself from the outset - certainly, it had been a long time since anybody had last brought up the concept of refurbishment to the higher-ups with the budget and motivation to make such things happen. As such, Trench sat sprawled into the corner against the too-soft uneven cushions - jacket removed hours ago and folded over the couch's top edge, tie loosened to allow the top buttons of his shirt to be undone - rocking an unlit cigarette between two fingers as he continued to watch Darling's progress.

For his own part, Darling was mostly preoccupied with entering information into the system, but would turn, on occasion, to see Trench there in that largely unmoving position, as he had been for most of the evening once the other researchers had filed out. Long silences would be punctuated by disconnected comments, but Darling's concentration left little room for conversation. On that particular statement, however, he seemed to relent; dropping his shoulders in relaxation, he turned around fully to address Trench directly.

"Look, it's fine. If you've got to go, then go. I don't mind! It's really not anything too taxing, just a process that requires a little oversight. It could be left to its own devices all night, strictly speaking, but the number of times we've tried that and come to it in the morning to find it halted due to some error that happened ten minutes after everybody left it alone... we can't take any chances this time, but it's not actually that difficult." (Once again, a red screen, accompanied by the low buzz of an error noise.) "Oh--... well, it can be difficult when it wants to be. Can't you?" He turned back around to resume his actions.

"No, no. I was part of the team that made the discovery, so I should see it through to the end."

"That's very magnanimous of you."

"And if you hadn't noticed, the rest of them all fucked off first chance they got, so I don't have much of a choice."

"I keep telling you, you don't have to stay...! I don't mind things like this. But you, you've got--... someone waiting for you, so..."

"She'll be--... asleep by now. It's too late, already. It's been too late for hours." Trench drifted one hand across his face, suddenly caught out by that line of thought. "... We had a talk the other night, Kate and I. She gets it, she really does, that this is one of those jobs you just can't predict, where you're never out the door at the time you think you're gonna be, but--... she just felt that I should--... where possible, if possible, I should be--... 'making more of an effort'."

"... Sounds difficult."

"I get where she's coming from, of course I do - and I'm trying! Sometimes I just don't think she understands how hard I am trying. But I get it, I really do. And I know she gets it, she gets it more than anyone, it's just--... you know?"

(Another error message. Another red screen.) "Yeah."

"Every time I think I'm gonna be out on time, there's some fucking--... starting to think Northmoor purposefully waits in the fucking lobby for me just so I can have the hope of getting away on time dashed with him and his fucking bullshit. Could say whatever's on his mind with the dawn fuckin' chorus but no, it's gotta be last thing. Always fucking looking down his nose at me about one thing or another." Trench shuffled against the couch to lean forward, jabbing one finger forward as emphasis. "It's a fucking power play, that's what it is. Thinking his time's more important than mine."

"Well, he is the Director, after all." Darling gave a short, sharp sigh. "Zach, just go...! I treasure every moment of your company but if it's going to cause some sort of marital rift, I'd rather you be putting out your own fires if there's a choice in the matter."

"Didn't I already tell you? It's too late for that. She'll have--... she'll have waited up, I know what she's like. I just can't stand--... I'm meant to be--... like I said, she gets it. She knows. And I said, you know? I fucking--... I mean, I didn't say 'I promise' but I basically promised. 'Cause it's nearly the weekend... and then there's all this and those guys fucking off and--" (Darling had glanced at Trench again, without a word.) "And if you tell me one more time that I can go already, I swear to god, Darling--..."

"I'm just saying."

Trench fell back against the couch cushions, head leant back in defeat. "Going back now would be worse than not going back at all. Trying to go back all quiet, sneaking the key in the lock like I could pretend I'd been back hours ago and maybe she's asleep and wouldn't notice--... she'd notice, though. Sneaking into the house, sneaking into bed... I should be better than that. She's right. She's always right. I should be making more of an effort. Especially now we're thinking about--" Belatedly, it seemed to hit Trench that he was mostly talking to the back of Darling's head; he watched for a few moments as further numbers were entered into the system. "Sorry. Didn't mean to unload on you."

"No, no." (Darling knew that Trench was likely expecting some manner of reassurance; none came.)

"Sorry."

"Just not my area of expertise, that's all. If you think you should go, then go. If you want to stay, then stay. It's entirely up to you. I'll be here regardless, doing data entry past midnight because nobody else wanted the fucking job."

"... Sorry." Trench picked himself up from the couch, going over to where Darling stood at the machine. It stood taller than the both of them, a series of screens stacked vertically to one side, each showing a different pattern or readout. Darling tended to an array of buttons, separated off into various sections, referring back to listed sequences on printed sheets of paper in his hand; abruptly, Trench stood in close and took hold of those, looking the information over. "It's just putting numbers in, right? Even I can do that."

Darling hesitated, surprised to no longer be holding his papers and to find Trench suddenly stood beside him. "Oh, well, it's--... it's not quite--... I mean--... yes, alright." He leant over, finger to the paper, indicating to a column of numbers. "Just these ones left, really - then the processing starts. Then, it's just keeping an eye on things until it finishes...! You enter them in here."

"These buttons here?" Leaning one arm up against a blank part of panelling, Trench looked to where Darling was indicating.

"That's right." Darling watched closely as Trench followed his instruction. "... And if you make a mistake, it's this button here."

"That button there?" (Trench followed Darling's indication with his own finger.)

"... Right."

There was silence, again, as Trench took up the duty of entering in the numbers. The two of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder as he did so, attention fully taken by the information on the paper as he slowly pressed each key, slowed both by the task being unfamiliar and the determination not to make any mistakes. Darling knew that he could enter them in far quicker himself - he'd spent half the evening doing so, after all - but he held his tongue, gaze going from the paper to the keypad to, briefly, Trench's focused expression.

"There--... there we go. Yes. Good."

"Pretty depressing if I couldn't do this much." Trench continued to input numbers as he spoke. "Besides, I couldn't leave you alone."

That statement, said casually, caught Darling off-guard. "... What's that?"

"What were you gonna do, stay here alone overnight?"

"I'm fully capable of taking care of myself, Zach. I've got the couch, I've got--... well, the couch. What more could I want?"

"And if there was a building shift in the middle of the night, then what?"

"Oh, come on - when's the last time Research even had one of those?"

"Hey, I'm being serious, here. Buddy system, right? Never a good idea to do anything alone in this place."

Darling gently brought one hand up to rest against Trench's shoulder, pointing between the held paper and a particular output screen with his other hand, as if making sure. "And if there was a building shift with the two of us here... then what? Then we're both in trouble." (That hand remained, simply resting there due to their proximity. A gesture so entirely commonplace that Trench had no reaction to it in the slightest.)

"Well, I'd--... do something."

"Glad to know you've got it all planned out. Very reassuring."

"That's what I'm here for."

Once more, a comfortable silence fell; to think about it, Darling knew that there could have been any number of questions he could have asked in response to that - but why are you here, Zach? However, he knew, too, that he was unlikely to get a straight answer for any of them. Was it too late for him to go home? Perhaps. Perhaps there were all sorts of unspoken rules about what time you were expected to come home by and what to do if you arrived late and how to navigate that as a couple, once married - to Darling, it all sounded more exhausting than anything. (Certainly, Trench seemed exhausted by it, sometimes.)

Deciding not to mention any of this, Darling remained silent, his hand still in place. He would lean in, on occasion, to double-check a particular number--... and Trench would glance at him, finger on the keypad without pressing it, waiting for the smallest smile and nod as confirmation, that he was doing the right thing--

"And-- that's it!" Darling patted Trench's shoulder (with slightly too much enthusiasm) and took a step back away from him on the final string of numbers having been entered in. "That's the last of them. Thank you for taking me over the finish line. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, yeah. So... now what?"

"Like I said, it's mostly just keeping an eye on it, now." Looking the different screens up and down, Darling took the papers back, once again checking - just to be sure. "If any of these screens turn red, that's bad. Thankfully, it's quite straightforward like that. It'll keep going through the night, processing all of this - sometimes it gets stuck, and you've got to get it going again... by which I mean, that's my duty, to resume it if that happens. We just need to keep checking it, that's all." He walked back over to the couch, stretching out his arms as he did so. "God, I've been staring at numbers all day. I'll be dreaming about them, next."

"Do you want me to--... they don't turn the coffee machines off at night, do they? I'll go get us something to drink."

Darling threw himself unceremoniously down against the couch, leant against the armrest, putting the papers to one side and keeping an eye on the machine's monitors. "I'll need all the help I can get staying awake. You're going to the breakroom down the corridor, right? Second cupboard from the right, top shelf, there should be a container at the back with a biohazard sticker on it. Bring me what's inside, if it's still there."

"Sounds ominous. Okay, will do."

Seemingly pleased to have been given a task beyond the endless numbers, Trench left the room. Darling watched him go, and continued to watch the space at the door for a few moments afterwards, hearing his step recede along the outer corridor; the breakroom wasn't too far away, and he wouldn't be long. Closing his eyes, Darling thought back over the events of that day; once more, again, checking his mental recollection of events, just to be sure - or as sure as one could be - that they seemed to be... coincidence?

The fact that nobody else had really wanted to do this was true. Whether or not it was completely vital that he took care of it was more nebulous, but somebody did have to, and that appeared to just have been the way the cards fell. And Trench, admirably, was never one to shirk a duty - if things needed done, Trench would do them, or make sure that they got done. That was just how he was, how he'd always been. Darling watched the monitors on the other side of the room, their output scrolling up the screen as his mind wandered. That's why Northmoor does that, it's obvious. You do see that, don't you? Even if you dislike him as a person, you still respect him as the Director. He knows that, and he knows you can't refuse that, and so--

Darling tapped his fingers restlessly against the couch, coming back to that one question, over and over again. Why are you here, Zach?

You know what happens when we're here like this. You know how it always seems to turn out.

...You know what happens. You're always here when it does, after all.

Sometimes, events just worked themselves out in certain ways. He'd seen the other research colleagues as they'd gone; he'd heard the arguments, the excuses, the justifications, had felt the frustration of trying to make peace with their priorities - there would be people who refused to stay a moment longer past their shift time, and that just had to be dealt with. Other people had different priorities, even if, to Darling, it seemed ridiculous that they wouldn't want to stay and make sure the process completed because who wants to have to stay another fucking night if this one fails, just because nobody gave a shit?!... But, other people had other priorities. Darling knew that. (He could hear Trench's footstep, returning back through the corridor.) He didn't pretend to understand it, but he knew it.

Trench walked back into the room, navigating the door between the two mugs of coffee held in each hand and another item under one arm; he let the door close behind him as he approached the couch and held out one mug. "Your coffee order, Darling."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

The only response to that was something that might have been a breath of amusement; Darling watched Trench carefully as he put his coffee down on the nearest console surface in reach and sat back down on the other side of the couch. No reaction. (Trench had hated those jokes, at first. A withering stare, a 'Really? C'mon.' It had started as harmless teasing - and that was what it still was, surely? There had just been something about Trench's reactions, back then, that made little comments like that irresistible. Somewhere along the line he'd relented, he'd softened. Never quite going there himself, but leaving himself wide open, letting Darling react as he would and letting those comments pass with, perhaps, a fond smile for our little joke--...)

"So, you gonna tell me who's been smuggling whiskey into the staff breakroom?" Trench held up the retrieved item by the neck, pointing the bottle towards Darling in an accusatory fashion. "Pretty sure there are workplace rules against things like this. Do you want to tell HR, or should I?"

"Lucky we found it after hours, then. We're adults, Zach...! Grown adults who can choose to drink alcohol in their own time. If that time happens to be spent in the office, well... it's a free country, isn't it? I might have shared it out if anybody had bothered to stay, but, here we are..."

That did cause a laugh. "You, sharing it out? Yeah, okay."

"What? Those who volunteered for the overnight shift deserve something nice for their efforts. Don't you think?"

"Very convenient." Trench set the bottle down on the couch cushion between them. "I'm not disagreeing, don't get me wrong, but it is very convenient, you have to admit."

"You make it sound like I engineered this on purpose."

"Didn't you?"

Darling took a sip of his coffee, turning his eyes back towards the monitors. You were there, though. You saw them all leave. You tried to convince some of them yourself, even. This would have been easier with more of us, if we could have taken it in shifts, but--. The buck got passed. That's all it is. "You make me sound like some kind of mastermind manipulator."

"Aren't you?" Trench spoke with increasing incredulity; Darling looked back towards him, catching his eye; he failed to hold his affected shock for long before breaking into a laugh, one that Darling couldn't help but join in with.

There's nothing... wrong with this, is there? Late-night drinks. Laughter with friends. (The bottle sat between them like a temptation.)

"You flatter me. So, I don't suppose there were any whiskey glasses under the sink, or anything?"

"Oh--... I didn't look." Trench reached up and over to his own coffee, taking a deep drink from it. "Coffee mugs okay? Or I can go back and try to find something, if you want. A beaker, or something. That's the sort of thing you have around here, isn't it?"

"God, I wouldn't trust any of those to drink out of. No, no, the mugs are fine. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"There's a couple you come to know to avoid." Darling took another drink, swirling the liquid around and wondering whether he should bother to finish the coffee before starting on the alcohol. "Don't worry about it." Having come to a decision, Darling set his coffee aside and undid the top of the whiskey, drinking straight from the bottle, instead.

"Whoa--! Well, I guess that's one solution."

Darling offered the bottle across. "Yeah?"

Seemingly weighing up the same choices, Trench took some more of his coffee, paused to consider, and then drained the rest of the mug before holding it out in Darling's direction. "Thought you were meant to be trying to stay awake."

"A little doesn't hurt."

"As long as it's a little. You'll be getting a reputation otherwise."

"Yeah, well. They should have thought about that before leaving all this for me to deal with."

"Not sure I follow the logic, but sure." Trench waggled the empty mug. "Hey."

Darling took the mug. "Just a little, right?"

"Right."

The colour of the mug's interior made it slightly difficult to judge, but Darling was careful as he poured; just a little. Less than if we had been able to pour it into proper glasses. Just a touch, to loosen us up. It's Friday night, after all. Enough to cover the bottom of the mug, and then slightly more. (Drinking to get drunk was easy, but this required precision--.) "... Had it there for a while, honestly. Just for times like this. They seem to have me pinned as the all-nighter guy, and so, here I am. Pulling another all-nighter. Hope nobody's looking for me during the weekend shift because I am out first thing in the morning."

"You really gotta start putting your foot down one of these days. Be like those guys from earlier, just walk out without a backward glance. Fuck 'em."

Darling sighed. "I know. I don't mind doing the work, though...! I honestly don't mind. It's just, once everybody else has you down as the guy who does the work, people start finding a lot of work for you to do. ...And if I'm doing it, I know that I don't have to deal with any of their lazy mistakes." He took another drink from his coffee, looking at how much of it remained in the mug. "I don't know what some of them are thinking half the time, I really don't."

"They're thinking you'll fix things up for them."

"... Mm. If it's a genuine mistake, I don't mind, I really don't! Mistakes happen, and we can work to correct them together, to avoid them in the future. It's just--... it's just when it's--..."

"You don't want them taking advantage."

Another sigh. "Anyway, I'll say something to them when you say something to Northmoor. How about that?"

"Jesus." Trench drank from his mug. (Again, Darling watched him hawkishly, trying to tell if he'd emptied it fully or not.)

"... You don't want to go back to her with whiskey breath, do you? Turning up first thing like you've been out all night drinking... never looks good." (The implications and potential consequences seemed to filter through to Trench's expression; looking troubled, he put the mug aside, instead pulling out the cigarette he'd been toying with for the past little while and lighting it up.) "... No smoking in here, by the way."

"Says the guy with the whiskey bottle."

"We're just breaking all the rules, aren't we?"

"Doesn't matter if nobody's watching."

"I don't think that's how rules work, but okay."

They fell to silence once more, somewhat more contemplative, this time. Finishing his coffee, Darling considered the whiskey bottle, but found himself watching Trench; he seemed to be looking at nothing in particular while taking deep drags from the cigarette, caught squarely by his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair, distracted, reminded.

"I--... sorry. I know you don't--... I--..."

"Go on."

"I just--... I never wanted to be that guy, you know? The fuckin'--... oh, can't switch off, can't let it go, can't prioritise... back late at night, gone in the early morning, buried in work, neglecting what's important..."

Darling poured himself some of the whiskey, being far less precise than he had been for Trench's mug. "I can't help but think that you went into the wrong line of work entirely if you didn't want to be 'that guy'. I might go so far as saying that all of your career choices up to this point seem to be the type that tend to encourage that guy to thrive. Not to say it's inevitable, just that it might be quite some tide you're fighting, that's all."

"You always think you're gonna be the exception, don't you? No, I'll be the one who manages the perfect balance. I'll make the right choices, I'll know what I'm doing... I'll be the model husband. I won't let her down. I won't disappoint her. How hard is it to just--... do the right thing by her?!"

Taking a slow sip of the whiskey, Darling shrugged lightly. "Maybe it would be more interesting if you were having an affair. If it's that difficult."

"What? God, I don't know where I'd find the time." Picking up the mug again, Trench smiled into it, taking that comment as another tease. "You never were good with relationship advice."

"No. And yet, you still seem to keep coming to me with all your problems."

Trench sighed, tapping cigarette ash to the floor. "They're not--... problems. It's just--..."

"Just...?" Pushing himself up and away from the couch, Darling turned to stand in front of Trench. "Blame me."

"Huh--...?"

"Everyone knows it, right? That you're here with me. Ask anybody who was here earlier, they'd all say the same thing. I could tell her myself, if you wanted."

That suggestion seemed to set a note of panic in Trench's eyes. "No--... no. You don't have to do that."

Darling approached the couch once more. "You keep saying it, over and over, about how understanding she is. That she gets it. So tell her that you were doing me a favour - that I had to tend to an important overnight process, and that it wasn't something I could do safely by myself. Nobody else stepped up to the plate, and so you did, gallantly. ...Which I do appreciate, by the way. No-one else I'd rather be trapped by a building shift with."

Trench gazed up at Darling from his seated position, his expression pained. "There's too much I can't tell her. Too much about all of this she can't know, she can never know. And she knows how confidential everything is... she'd ask, 'How was work today, honey?' and I could barely fucking tell her. ...She laughs about it now. 'I know you won't be able to tell me, but--.' Or, I mean--... she did laugh about it, for a while. She doesn't--... really ask so much, these days. When I keep giving the same answer over and over, why bother, right?"

"There's nothing I said there that you couldn't tell her. ...Except for the building shifts, I suppose. Still, that's easily brushed over." Darling put one hand to the couch's armrest, leaning in close. "None of it's a lie. You're telling the truth, so what's the issue?... If it feels like making excuses, like I said - let me tell her. I'll back you up. I'll be your alibi."

"Please--... don't..."

"Yeah... never were keen on the thought of me meeting her, were you? I wonder why." (Trench didn't have an answer.) "Hey... Zach? Close your eyes a moment." (He did so, without question.) "That Casper Darling, such a bad influence... keeping you out late, plying you with alcohol... terrible, really. If I was her, I wouldn't let me keep you up either."

Without waiting for a response, Darling climbed onto the couch, legs spread over Trench's own to straddle his lap. "... And it's late, and you're drunk, and you've already disappointed her. With every best intention, you've still gone back on your word." He placed one hand over Trench's closed eyes. "Blame me for everything. None of this is your fault...! Nothing that happened here tonight is your fault." Darling's voice dropped to a whisper as he leant down close, then, to Trench's lips. "Nothing that happens here tonight is your fault. ...I coerced you. I took advantage. I'm the worst." The tone in his voice and the way he moved his hips, certain and definite, lay diametrically opposed to his words.

"... Darling..."

"Ssh, ssh. You don't need to say anything. Just--... just lie back, and relax. Deal with the difficult things in the morning." The kiss that Darling gave there was practically chaste - softly pressing their lips together while waiting for any indication of Trench taking this as just another tease and pushing him away, passing it off with a laugh, like it was a joke - or a curt word, stop joking around, because he wasn't in the mood--... but he leant up and into the kiss, responding to it, encouragement that Darling didn't know if he should feel guilty about accepting.

He diverted his attention instead to pressing his fingers to Trench's shoulder and then down, along his arm, to the hand that just about held on to the last remnants of his cigarette. Darling took it from him (there was no resistance) and inhaled deeply from it, staring down at the way Trench lay still beneath him (pinned down over his lap, Darling's hand still over his eyes--) before leaning over to stub the cigarette out against one of the metal countertop surfaces nearby. His hand then went to the loosened tie at Trench's neck, softly pulling it free.

"Is this one of the ties I bought you? Good to see them enter the daily rotation." (There was no reply; Darling didn't expect one.) He then took the tie in both hands, pressing the length of it over Trench's still-closed eyes, bringing it around to the back of his head and tying a simple knot - enough to keep it in place, enough to keep his eyes covered. You don't need to look at me. You don't even need to think of me. Whatever it takes.

"... I knew it would suit you. Just brings out a little--... something. Oh--..."

Darling startled at the feeling of Trench's hands at his waist, pulling him close, keeping him close--... he hated the way one simple movement could render him breathless, but then he was being pulled into another kiss, and he'd been watching Trench so intently for the whole evening, testing his reactions and judging his responses and second-guessing until the guesses ran out - and perhaps that had all been enough, and Trench was kissing him, and perhaps it was safe - finally safe - to fall into the bliss of not having to think about anything. Morning would come when morning came, excuses neatly worked out and kept in the back pocket for when they were needed.

The glow of the monitors behind them bathed them both in red light, uselessly printing error messages to their screens. And that would be dealt with, eventually - but there was space in that moment to look at Trench, to really look at him, protected from his gaze and under no scrutiny. Witnessed only by the Oldest House itself. And the House itself could choose to object; Darling knew that much, taking its stillness and past-midnight silence as benevolent permission.

There was no excuse for this. Darling was tired of excuses. But then-- Trench's hand was at his jawline, stroking up to rest fingers behind his neck, gentle and tender. Another form of permission. Almost as if, in that moment, this could be something real.

"The worst thing is, she won't ask." Darling remembered Trench telling him that, once. "She'll just look at me, like--..." He hadn't been able to finish his sentence. Darling hadn't pushed him to elaborate.

(Still, despite everything, Darling gave Trench every excuse. Handed each one to him individually, to be used in case of emergency. Rational, plausible, there. Just in case.)