No Reason - SCP Foundation

"It's just a coincidence, don't worry about it!"

No Reason

Jay Everwood, despite their predilections for the sun and seashore of a warmer climate, found themselves once again shivering, as the chill of early, early, Canadian winter — better known to the rest of the world as 'fall' — had frozen their hand and toes, despite their best efforts.

You try putting on a glove with one hand.

Jay shook their head as they began to thaw; at least when they'd made the trek up to Site-43 in the past, it was for a better reason. This time, they were here just in case their expertise was needed for a consultation. Apparently Dr. Wettle had fallen down a hole, again, and the rest of Section Chairs were split on if it was caused by VKTM, or because of, well, you know, Wettle.

So that was why Jay found themselves wandering the echoing halls of Site-43, meandering their way back towards Ilse; if they were stuck here waiting, Jay figured they might as well have enjoyable company.

Unfortunately for their plans, however, somebody else was also on the hunt for company; and Jay just so happened to be in the wrong place, at the right time. A hand shot out of a room, grabbing Jay by the collar, and dragging them into a dark, cramped office, slamming and locking the door behind them.

"I'm glad you got my messages, Jay. Thanks for coming."

Heather watched impatiently, her mind screaming at her to keep talking, as Jay Everwood slowly emotionally progressed from stunned. to scared, to confused, and finally, to annoyed.

"Heather, what the hell are you doing in here?" Jay stammered out, glaring at the woman.

Remember, they're not Lillian, so I can't just—

"Jay, didn't you get my messages? I asked you to give me a call, I was just as shocked to see you here. I don't know what's going on, and I need to talk to somebody about this." Heather said in a tizzy, any attempts at maintaining a calm demeanor having been thrown to the wind.

"Your messa— Heather, you sent me a text message that said "U up? call me". Why would I fly to Site-43, based on that text message?" Jay looked back at her incredulously, as it finally hit Heather, the obvious answer finally found through the chaos that was her mind right now.

"Shit. You're here for something else, of course. Did Ilse get another PhD?" Heather asked, a blush burning on her cheeks.

"No, I'm here because wee Willie Wettle fell down a well." Jay said, the alliteration having been too good to resist. "In case they say it's VKTM, they wanted me here in case—"

"In case Lillian was busy. Yeah, that's fair…" Heather replied, her mind having gone back towards her girlfriend, the person she couldn't burden with her problem — Lillian was the one who was already overwhelmed and overburdened, juggling project after project with practiced duplicitous ease.

She doesn't show it, but she can't keep going like this forever. I just… I can't add more to her plate. Heather had only just started to recognize the subtle signs when Lillian was overwhelmed; she had been seeing those signs more and more ever since the incredibly-persistent breach, having taken place just over a month ago. Heather couldn't give her something else to worry about, not right now anyways.

"You said that you wanted my help? Why me and not Lillian?"

Of course they had to ask. Heather thought, mentally groaning.

Of course I was going to ask, Heather. Jay thought as they watched with immense vindication that their instincts were right. She doesn't want to bother Lillian. Are they still okay? How should I try and broach th—

"Because you're involved in this, Jay — both of us, actually."

Now, that surprised Everwood. Sure, Heather was intentionally avoiding the loaded part of their question, but they would file it away for later. How am I involved? They thought, the question hanging in their mind as the finally looked around and assessed the room.

Jay Everwood wouldn't have believed it if they hadn't seen it themselves, but there was a funny little quirk to Site-43. Most Sites facilities predominantly consisted of containment chambers, large labs and testing facilities, armories, some conference rooms, and assorted 'perks', like gender-neutral bathrooms or a cafeteria — Site-43 was disproportionately archives, and offices. There were so many empty offices throughout 43, there was a joke where, if you work at Site-43, you have 3 offices: your work office, where you work; your home office, where you sleep; and your home, home office, also know as your dormitory.

This was one of those forgotten office rooms; full of dated furniture, all covered with a plush blanket of dust covering their surfaces — the room was lit only by the glow of a terminal that looked like it was begging for technological euthanasia, and a single lightbulb that was still working overhead. Scatted on top of any flat surface they could see, as well as covering boards and walls were page after page of documentation files on other anomalies, hand-scrawled notes lining the margins in a chaotic dance of a mind at unrest. All in all, it looked like Heather had finally snapped.

"You doing okay, Heather?", Jay asked, "Should I go get Lillia—"

"No." Heather snapped, cutting them off, before realizing what she had done a second later, an apologetic look appearing across her face. "Sorry, I just… I can't explain it, okay? But it involves the two of us."

"What is it?" Jay asked, a niggling doubt floating just on the edge of their periphery. In their time at the Foundation, they had seen great Researchers destroyed by hyper-fixating on a non-existent anomaly, as well as brilliant minds who were told something was 'just a false corollary' — as they say in non-pompous English, 'It's just a coincidence, don't worry about it!'

The trouble was in determining which was happening to Heather. I'm not going to let her share those fates, Jay thought, their resolve having hardened. Heather had been searching through her poorly indexed piles of printouts that entire time, and only now found the document that she had been looking for. She triumphantly held it aloft, and practically shoved it in Jay's face.

Item #: SCP-335

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-335 is to be kept in a secure location to prevent tampering.

"Why am I looking at some old anomaly's documentation, for an object that isn't even stored here, or related to anything we do?" Jay said looking down at Heather with a confused look.

Jay was right, of course, even Heather agreed. "That's the weird part, right? It's just… so unlike the standards they have for us now. It has theories, it barely describes the containment, hell, I was expecting to see a five meter by five meter by five met—"

"Heather." Jay said, cutting off her rant before Heather really got going. "Focus."

It's not my fault I have a lot of opinions, have you met me? Plus, I didn't even mention the forma— Heather thought, having to cut herself off mentally as well. Heather, focus. You can rant about documentation standards another day, for now you need to help Jay understand.

"Right, sorry. Okay, so, yes, you're right. This is a file for an anomaly that, to my knowledge, neither of us has ever worked on, interacted with, sneezed at, fuck — I checked just to make sure, and neither of us had ever accessed the file before I found it the first time."

"Should I ask how you even found it?" Jay asked, knowing Heather well enough at this point to know the answer was 'probably not'.

Heather decided to answer them anyways.

"You know how people doomscroll on social media?"

Jay nodded in reply.

"My version is scrolling the Foundation's database. Don't worry about it. Anyways—" Heather started, as she grabbed hold of another page, extending it to Jay. It has to be something. What are the odds?

"Heather, why am I looking at a list of names?"

Geez, Jay has a lot of questions today. Heather thought, … I guess that's on me, again, for not giving the context.

"So SCP-335 is those disks, blah blah blah, they have the whole internet on them, whatever — the important part is that there are 150 individual disks, with a given name and index number written on the sides." Heather leaned over, and pointed to the only pair of lines that mattered right now.

040: "Xavier"

041: "Parson"

042: "Heather"

043: "Jay"

044: "Kelly"

045: "Oscar"

"I'm sorry?" Jay practically jumped in surprise as they noticed the two names in the middle. "Did you edit this? Did somebody else set this up for us to fi—"

"Doubt it." Heather said, having considered that 3 days ago. "I checked each edit history version, from the current, all the way back to the initial paper documentation that was filed. I even found the right supplementary storage site, requisitioned evidence from the right number, and managed to check the photographs that we took on discovery, showing that disk 42 has always been named 'Heather', and disk 43 has always been named 'Jay'."

"I mean, it is unlikely, but… Heather, could this be a false correlation?" Heather shook her head.

"Do you want the math?" Jay shook their head. Nobody ever wants the math, Heather thought, at least satisfied in the knowledge that she had done the math. It's on that whiteboar— no, it's on this pag— or… well, somewhere. Whatever. I did the math.

"Okay, well — the summary is that the only chance isn't just the odds of our names being side by side in the list, in fact, that's almost the smallest part in all of this?" Heather was taking off, having kept all of this within herself for the past few days, and now, with a captive audience, couldn't slow down. "There's also the fact that your name is on the 43rd disk, and we both ended up at 43, even partially, plus you have to factor in the odds of them using those specific names, which we have to estimate since we don't know where the creator was living a—"

Jay Everwood prided themselves on having seen basically everything that can happen in your time at the Foundation, and were rarely caught off guard.

This is just too weird though. They thought, staring at the document, Heather's ramblings droning on in the background. For all intents and purposes, this should be just a coincidence. Sure, fate was a thing, at least, something quantifiable if you knew what you were doing, but never to this extent. Unless something else was responsible, some sort of probabilistic entity, or maybe even an infovore or cognitohazardous entity? Jay thought, their mind racing.

"—ven ignoring the odds on the specific circumstances that led to the Foundation finding the anomaly in the first place, you still have to deal with the biggest factor. Why those two names? Why those spellings specifically? It could have been a name in any language, but it just so happened to be our names?"

It's worse.

"It's not just that, Heather." Jay said, a persistent small level of terror setting in. "You missed the biggest factor."

"I did?" Heather asked, looking like a deer in the headlights. "But I cross-referenced all of the available information we had on the anomal—"

"But it's not only about the anomaly. What about us?"

Fuck. They're right. Heather realized, as the scope of the problem swelled.

"You're right. I didn't even consider the odds of us having these names, the odds of us both working here…" Heather trailed off, as she tried to do some mental math. It wasn't looking good.

"I don't think this is fate though — nor an infovore, nor a probabilistic anomaly." Jay said, the hint of fear having been replaced with a satisfied grin. "It's impossible for it to just be chance."

"What do you mean?" Heather asked. But, weren't we just talking about all the reasons wh—

"I can agree with you, that the odds of our names being side by side on a given anomaly is incredibly strange, and seems highly improbable — and that's because it is. But I don't think something has been influencing our luck, or adjusting reality such that Jay and Heather are always written on the disks, that we always work at the Foundation, and we meet and end up here, in this room, in Site-43, just for their own strange mysterious anomalous reasons, if it would even have a rational explanation."

Jay sat down on the floor, and invited Heather to come sit beside them.

"I think you forgot that we're transgender."

"What?" Heather was rarely unable to follow a train of thought, but Jay's comment had hit her like an unexpected express subway; she was scrambling to keep up.

"Jay, I know we're transgender. I talk about it like… daily." She said, cracking a joke to buy her a bit more time to figure it out firs—

"It's impossible for it to have been fate or just probability, because we have free will."

Jay is the master of non-sequiturs today, Heather thought as she was cast in the opposite of her typical role. Fuck. I don't want to be the affable but confused sidekick!

"I'll admit it. Fine. I'm lost, will you explain it to me?" Heather asked, through gritted teeth.

Jay just smiled at their friend, and continued on as if Heather hadn't, for the first time in recent history, admitted that she didn't know something. "Neither of us was born with our names; we chose them."

"Oh my god." Heather said, dumbfounded. I… I did forget I was trans. Huh.

"You get it now?" Jay asked, clearly pleased with themselves.

"Because we made the choices to pick our names, either I can say that I picked my name for myself, as the true part of who I am and who I want to be…" Heather began, trailing off as she finally connected all of the pieces.

"Or you can say that this is all because of an anomaly, and that your transition and name choice was never your decision." Jay finished the thought, the resolution hanging in the air before the two gathered researchers.

Sometimes, it really is just a coincidence.

The low din of a busy bar was a welcome change from the cramped offices on Site, but Jay Everwood was still on call, in case they decided to finally get Dr. Wettle out of the well. Heather had scampered off to the bar, in search of drinks, despite Jay's protestations.

At least we're out of that room, I think Heather was sleeping in there.

After poking the final hole in Heather's theory, she had quickly began to apologize, embarrassed that they had dragged Jay into this and made it their problem; Jay recognized an anxiety spiral when they saw one, and knew that their friend needed something else. Somebody to talk to.

Ergo, the bar.

Heather returned to the high top, two rocks glasses in hand, anticipating Jay's puzzled look. "Canchancharas." She said, with a note of pride.

"They knew how to make them here?" Jay asked in disbelief.

"No, but they're pretty good at following orders."

The pair laughed as the absurdity of the day finally caught up to them.

"Sorry about all that, by the way." Heather began. "I know I just got worked up over nothing, I should have realize—"

"Heather, don't do that. I'm glad you reached out to me, you can always ask for help." Jay said, and they meant it. "You're my friend. Having me on your side is just part of the package."

Heather chuckled.

"Yeah, I just… sorry, I feel like I made this whole mess out of a stupid theory and, normally, I never get past the stupid idea phase because—" Heather stopped abruptly, and took a drink from her glass.

"Because Lillian would have told you it was stupid before you spiraled on it?" Jay asked, filling in the blanks.

"Yeah." Heather looked away, her heels suddenly the most interesting fixture in the room. "It's fine."

"I mean, it's clearly not." Jay remarked. "Are you two okay still? Like you're still dati—"

"Of course we are." Heather replied, jumping in. "Like she could do better than me." She continued, false bravado creeping in.

"What is it then? Clearly, there's something bothering you." Jay asked, reaching their hand across the table. "You can tell me anything, and I'll keep it a secret, I swear."

Heather trusted them.

"I'm worried about Lillian. I can see how stressed she is, and I just… I wish I could do something more to help her, you know? But she won't ever ask for help, and I already try to take what I can off of her workload in M&C, but… Jay, I don't know what to do." Heather spilled her guts, as the unease of having finally vocalized a thought settling over her.

Heather felt empty. Absent, even.

"Can you do anything?" Jay asked, radiating sympathy. "It sounds like a really hard situation, regardless."

"No. And that's the worst part. That's always the fucking problem, isn't it?" Heather laughed morosely. "It's just like the fucking breach. I know she's struggling, and I know that I'm probably just overly worried about her, but—"

"But you wish that there was anything you could do, just to change that?" Jay offered, knowing exactly what Heather was trying to say.

"Yeah. That."

"So you didn't tell Lillian about a potential threat to your existence, because you didn't want her to worry about you?"

"Well when you put it like that," Heather answered in chagrin, "Yeah, I hear it. It was stupid."

"No shit." Everwood said, as they took a triumphant drink of their cocktail, finding it surprisingly passable. "If you died and she found out afterwards, she would fucking kill you."

The contradiction hung in the air between them, until both doctors broke out into laughter.

"Yeah, she would find a way to bring me back, just to kill me again." Heather smiled. "Thanks for this Jay, for… for all of this. I'm glad you're my friend."

Jay didn't even give a moments hesitation before answering, reaching out and squeezing Heather's hand. "I'm lucky to have you as a friend, and proud to be listed beside you. Plus, Ilse said I should keep making friends, so I guess I can call you a friend, right?"

"Obviously. Our partners always know what's best — especially those two."

As their complacent chatter began to be drowned out by the ever-present crowd, pool balls clacking and the cornucopia of overlapping music, both Heather Garrison and Jay Everwood were happy.

Whatever led them to this moment in their lives didn't matter — they were just glad they were here, now, with a true friend.

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