For a solid month, Faustite had forgotten about the fanciful little half of a pen that he'd abandoned to his subspace. Shortly after he and his boy cleaned out the closet, an exercise in distracting himself from the worries of the mission to come, he had to run the very thing that caused him so many sleepless days. The preparations were grueling, the briefing stressful, the explorations so filled with tense waiting that he could think of nothing but breaking out of the tube that confined him. While the others were split into groups and sent deeper into the building, Faustite was stuck playing engine for the entire structure. He wished he could've been there. Could've been around the teams, watched how they worked together, seen more than just the confined feeds relayed back to him on the tablet.

With all that stress, he hadn't been thinking about that trinket found in the closet. And it didn't get any better from there.

Following the second mission into the Scar, Faustite had a project on his hands. He had a group of people who knew far more about technology than him who did the brunt of the work managing the crucible, with him pitching in from the side regarding youma nature and some suppositions on what to do with weapons. They'd not accomplished Galvorn's exact vision, but Faustite hadn't intended to — it was better for the Negaverse if they could augment the weapons they already had.

Then there was the debrief. The unveiling of these new skills — tempering youma and fusing youma into their weapons. There were questions afterward from people like Chalcanthite.

Then he'd gotten sick. Then he got sicker. Albite noticed it, thought it might've been an illness. Faustite took that to anyone he could: Taenite, Leifite, Bloodstone. Then Axinite. Then there came all the tests.

Medical wanted to run a slew of tests, most of which he didn't — and didn't want to — understand. Most of them were exhausting, or imposed strange restrictions on what he could do, or took from him until he needed rest to restore himself. It was still early in the battery, from what he understood, since he kept melting their equipment and they continually had to innovate if they wanted blood out of him or scans of his insides.

During that time, Faustite tried to take time off. Tried to lay low. Tried to stick to the house with his husbands, or sleep, or focus on light duties like report reviews or energy and starseed submissions. Occasionally he headed topside when he wanted energy of his own, when he didn't want to worry any of his husbands by asking them to nose up some energy for him. They didn't need to fret over something they couldn't control.

But there came a time when he was too tired to do even that. Wandering the rooftops felt like too much, that day, and energy was more easily tasked to any idle Captain or Lieutenant found in the Citadel. None of them had asked why he told them to go get him some energy orbs, which was advantageous in itself.

It was then that he remembered the half of a pen existed. He had liked its design, but had done nothing with it. With little else to do but sleep, he took it to the Mauvian headquarters contained in the Dark Kingdom. While he detested most of the two-timing furballs that worked in there, he found it far better than to ask that cumstain of a mangy furbag, Tama, to do anything with it. That nasty cat would more likely sabotage him than help him after their last fight.

And if the Queen came asking him about it, he'd just as soon grab Tama and shove his scampy a** into Faustite's grate. All while explaining to the Queen how much of a hateful little nuisance the cat had been.

But, he supposed he had Tama to thank for something. As one of the unknown cats reluctantly accepted his request to energize the strange little trinket, he realized that the only reason he was able to bring the project to them was because he was running on low-grade rage, courtesy of Tama and his virulent little mouth. If he hadn't been pissed off about that cat, he'd likely be in bed by now.

So Faustite sat on a bench outside the headquarters. Waited. Watched and rewatched the feeds from the mission into the Scar. Messaged Albite that he wanted to spend time with him tonight. Coughed. Coughed again. Had enough of a coughing fit in the hall that, by the time that Captain returned with the energy orbs he wanted, she was looking perturbed and asking him if he was alright. Eager to dismiss the concern and the Captain, Faustite reminded her that his well-being was none of her business and sent her off.

Once she was gone, he used the orbs for himself. Felt a little better.

He laid across the bench, electing to get some work done. Edits were grueling, but worthwhile if it meant a report being submitted by one of his subordinates looked better than the rest. Then there was the matter of sending it back to his subordinate over the tablet network, and once Faustite encountered a loading bar, he rested the tablet against his chest. His arm was getting tired.

Next thing he knew, a Mauvian was standing on his chest and meowing in his face. Once he woke, the cat spat the half of a pen onto his vest, then leapt down with an assumptive you're welcome. Faustite sat up, dropping his tablet on the ground, and looked at the pen thing itself. The intricate damask patterning now glowed faintly, almost imperceptibly, but… What came next? Could they build another half? How would he make it useful? Faustite didn't know.

But he supposed it would keep him occupied to find out.