Xaviers!

Will nodded.

"It's not like we don't like being needed, though. That's not all our insecurities. We like it when people's lives are enriched by what we do, in ways big and small.

There just aren't enough hours in the day to do it all."

"It's just easy to abuse. Very easy." she says, swallowing past a bit of a lump of guilt in her throat.

"So, okay. This is a thing that can happen to a Will, and it's a natural outgrowth of the fact that you're this odd little string of pearls across several universes."

"But is it a thing that should happen to a Will?"

"Well, what is the alternative?

The Morrigan is something that could happen to a Sam. And it is strange, and frightening. But you still would not like it if we cut that bit out of you; it's just something you need to learn to control.

We're not sure....we're not sure that neutering us is the way to go, here. We still think Miriam's plan of...quiet might be best. If we're capable of it, at any rate."

"I'm just trying to think it through, you know?"

"Like yes it's a thing that can happen to you, but it's also a kind of hyperspecific set of things that bring it on."

"But they did. Now we have to figure out where to go from here and we can't just split him apart, you saw how that went before."

"I think what Sam is asking is...are we natural, or is this a problem that's happened to us?

Like, is this a natural endstate, or something that needs to be fixed?"

"We certainly can't ignore the possibility that Legion didn't stumble into this on his own."

"Faultline seemed like she was... thorough, from what you're saying."

"Faultline was a scientist. And she, erm, was definitely very thorough with Legion.

...You don't suppose she deliberately caused it, do you? Stretched and pulled and twisted and shaped until she had her own little army, willing to do anything for her? She was a biologist, not a physicist, but if dimensional whatzits can cause this..."

"I mean, Miriam's right. I suppose it doesn't matter after the fact."

"We're definitely not doing the giant tank of you thing."

"We wouldn't think either of you would be the type to set up a cage like that," Will nodded.

"It'd need to be capable of... self-dispensing."

"But still accessible to others," Will added. "We fear that if we're just allowed to disappear into ourself, we may never emerge again. Some forced outward mobility would be...appreciated."

"Hence why you were thinking about a mirror?"

"The mirror was Miriam's idea. We believe, confidentially, that she was tired of not reflecting as a vampire."

"Look it matched the sea of tranquility and so what if I want a sentient mirror that actually works for me so I can put on eyeliner without stabbing myself in the cornea."

"Of course, if you have any thoughts yourself, Sam, we're all ears."

"So something out of the way, but inviting so people would want to visit?"

"Being 'in the way ' isn't a concern of ours," Will said, with a sheepish grin. "It is, perhaps, our natural state. And we would rather not be forgotten about in some dusty storeroom or subbasement. Natalie may be fine living in a cave with a box of scraps; we suspect we would not.

Otherwise, yes, we believe you have the general idea. "

"Still, being something that people can seek out or avoid as the urge strikes seems like it would remove some of the questions, aye?"

"What about a garden trellis? Like Miriam makes it, and it doesn't contain you, but it does provide... a canvas for you to express yourself?"

Will thought about this a moment, walking across the room.

"If you would prefer us not to be in your room, something like that might well work. The advantage of something like the mirror is in space and functionality, but there are benefits to whatever we feel is best. "

"She's just concerned this is the beginning of the gothification of our dorm room."

"No, no, that ship has sailed."

"Style could be negotiated. But...

We mean, if you mind, we will be elsewhere. If not, our last roommates were a robot and an alien. We would not mind being close to ones we care about, albeit out of the way. "

"What I'm getting here is you really want to spend your downtime in our room. You're allowed to ask for that, you know."

"Then that is what we are asking. If you don't mind, that is. We want to leave everyone comfortable; it's our... deepest felt goal. "

"You couldn't ask for a more polite piece of furniture. As far as I'm concerned this isn't even a question."

"...then let's teach you how to be a mirror."

"Right. Ok. Let's do this, " Will said, as the room around them started taking itself apart.

"We were apparently a little too much for Miriam to control by herself, springing free from the frame like a snake from a can of nuts. We do not know what the astral equivalent of elbow grease is "

"Stronger metaphors than 'prank can', mostly."

"Not all of us can lord over death or weaponize tragedy,' Will smiled, as a pile of clay grew in the center of the room. "Some of us have to resort to the novelty shop."

"I'm ready to bolster it as needed, Miriam."

"Well, then. Let's get this started, unless we want to pause and reflect some more,' Will said, stepping into her own massive pile of clay, and sinking beneath the surface. "We trust and believe in the both of you."

"I'm still not sure how I'll make it stick, but maybe Sam'll be able to glean something." she says as she sits down next to the pile of clay and folds her legs underneath her to get comfortable.

Once again, Miriam found it possible to calm Will's raging thoughts, imposing stillness from the outside. It was even harder still than earlier that same day -- Will's mind apparently building in on itself at exponential rates -- but, once again, she could slowly work Will's mental state towards her end goal; the cool, reflective surface beginning to appear once again.

To Sam, it was like...putting a shade in front of Will's spark. The difference between looking at a bare bulb, bright enough to hurt one's eyes, and one in a fixture -- still burning as bright, just diffused and directed; the light shaped and put to where it would be of the most use.

Sam casts her flock around the emerging frame, feeling for conflicts and weak spots, ready to step in if Will starts to push through in any given place.

It's harder to find the kind of tranquility on Miriam's end as well. She's shaken up and the pristine surface keeps erupting with spikes that take effort to smooth out again. There's some relief in having help. Not just as a safety net but the feeling of not doing this alone and to Miriam that counts for a lot. She watched a friend slip away but this time she wasn't left abandoned and alone. Maybe things can be different, maybe having friends - real friends - doesn't have to make you hurt.

The quiet left behind by Miriam smoothing out the jagged outbursts of emotional turmoil is different this time. The imperfections of letting her idea of stillness, the quiet of absence and loss, permeate it is replaced by Will's trust and Sam's support. Everything suddenly becomes... easier. A knotted tension lifts and forced rigidness softens into peace of mind. Relief and comfort. And for the first time ever she looks at the flock of Sam's mind and she understands why Will would worship a Goddess of Death.

Even with newfound peace of mind, it's a difficult task, trying to form a frame around Will, to contain and support him. The clay, even still, wanted to flow and expand -- unbound, unchecked, it had taken over this entire room, after all, and threatened to expand out to the rest of the lighthouse if it hadn't kept itself busy hawking burgers and running nightclubs. Unchecked, unguided, it could take over everything -- even Tosh had found that out, as giving the Willputer more RAM just created more Willputers.

But this time, Miriam was on firmer footing herself. Will's Goddess was here, after all -- and her friend. Her friends. Plural. Miriam Bell had more than one friend -- who'd've believed it? That gave her a core of strength to tap into when forming the frame -- no longer was it threatening to crumble or snap under the tension. It wasn't easy; far from it, but it seemed more manageable of a task now than it had just a short while ago.

It wouldn't necessarily take The Morrigan to notice conflicts in the growing construct -- the clay seeping out from the seams in the mirror here, shying away from the edges there. But it might well take a tutelary goddess to interpret the signs -- a fear, not necessarily of change, but of the unknown. This was a major step, and a frightening one. When Will had tumbled through the black hole, his entire life had changed -- but that was the whims of fate. When Sam had opened the box in his head, his entire life had changed -- but that was the whims of a God. This was, at least in part, by choice, which meant the consequences, for good or for ill, would rest on his shoulders. Adopting and accepting the parts of him that were...transdimensional? Transformitive? Transgressive, even? ... was worrisome. Fears that this newfound relationship would be transitory; that being transfixed in the mirror would translate into being transplanted elsewhere; out of sight, out of mind. It wasn't an issue of not wanting it; it was a worry about the world once he had accepted it.

"You'd think by now you'd know we don't want to shove you in the closet, Will." Sam reassures as she directs the flock to help the shapeshifter flow into the spots needed.

Consoling, reassuring -- and, when necessary, biting and tugging -- the flock stretched and pulled the clay, pressing it hard against the frame, helping Will take the proper shape, holding the tension there to keep it within the newfound structure.

All Miriam needed to do now was finish binding it, and her future as a carpenter would be well on its way.