Sunlight bakes the asphalt of the loading dock; not actual sunlight, but the aftereffect of some fight dozens of miles away: a ball of plasma the size of a football field swirling against the horizon. What was sweeping, well-styled brown hair this morning now lays heavy atop Avery's head in thick, wet strips all dripping with sweat. One eye stinging from a well-aimed drop, she wipes the back of her hand across her forehead and jabs a thumb at the pulsing sphere of fiery orange. "What's holding them up on getting rid of that?"

Tamika hefts another nondescript wooden crate — and herself — across the gap between the box truck and the aquarium's loading dock. "Not sure. Radio hasn't cut to news in a bit, so something must be holding them up."

"This is miserable."

Tamika drops her crate on top of identical ones stacked just inside the open overhead door. "Then quit slacking. The sooner we get these inside, the sooner we can both get out of the heat."

Avery sucks in burning air and jumps over to the truck. The metal walls of the enclosed space radiate stuffy, humid heat. She yanks a crate off a dwindling stack and jumps back onto the concrete of the dock. "Can we not let this stuff wait out here until that dies down?"

Tamika upends a bottle of water into her mouth until the liquid rushes over her chin and splashes onto her tank top, leaving dark splotches of indigo against the fabric's lighter, sapphire-like shade. She gulps the mouthful of water down. "Ah! — Nope. Much longer in this heat and all the food will spoil; they aren't packed in enough ice for something like this."

The putrid smell permeating the loading dock tells Avery as much. Her back aches, her hands hurt, and she'll probably collapse from the heat soon, but she crosses the threshold and slides her crate on top of the others. I can do it. Two more months and I'll be done.

Larry bobs out from his hiding spot inside the pipe-cleaner-like green leaves of a java moss plant, his eyes swirling with pulsating purple flame and some semblance of strain. Or his puffy self just makes it look that way. Avery glares at the white-spotted puffer fish through polarized sunglasses. "Still not going to work, little guy."

The flames disappear from his eyes and he whips back around and plunges mouth-first into his java moss. Some feeling turns Avery's glare into more of a pensive grimace. An odd pinch in her gut. Doesn't Larry usually stay out until he gets his food? She tweezes a piece of chopped-squid off the plate she brought and drops it in his tank. Within moments of the tiny splash, Larry dashes out and sucks it up.

See how slow he was to get that? He's going to die. You should tell Tamika.

Familiar tendrils of compulsion petrify her, trapping a breath inside her chest, but just barely. She exhales and trudges past Larry's tank with a mumble. "That ones getting more annoy than anything."

Past the well-lit, many-windowed tank maintenance area and through the door to one of the aquarium's many utility hallways, it gets way too dark. Oh: sunglasses. Avery slips them off and threads one of the frame's arms through a belt loop.

Tamika sits scrunched over the lunchroom table, studying a paper-set grid of blank spaces and numbers. She taps a pencil against off-kilter, pursing lips. "Where the heck is the nine in this row?"

Annoyance plucks a chord of clashing tones in Avery's mind. Working her way through a salad, she covers her kale-filled mouth with a hand. "Are you actually asking me this time?"

Another tap of the pencil against Tamika's lips. "No."

Avery grinds the kale between her teeth. "Of course."

A steady clatter comes from the hallway, like a shopping buggy with a bad wheel. Tamika collapses forward, head in arms upon the tabletop. She straightens up with a sigh. "Gah— just let her do her thing."

"What do you mean —"

One of the janitor's carts lurches into the lunchroom's doorway, though much different than the usual janitor carts that Avery sees parked around the aquarium. No mop bucket, no broom, no cleaning chemicals. Just a jittering set of tea cups, tea pots, and tiny plates set atop. Valerie's head peeks from around the door frame, her cotton-candy-like threads of grey hair gathered in a loose bun. "I'm not interrupting you girls, am I? I just thought we could have a cup of tea while we wait for the heat to die down."

You'll get fired if you stay, leave.

The impulse comes without fanfare — without announcement. Avery shoots to her feet. Chair legs scrape against the tile floor in a metallic scutter. Shivers vibrate up her spine and set the hairs of her neck on end with an odd, cold numbness. Wait, no. Don't run out: sit with it.

Hints of lavender and roasted green tea waft over from the cart. Which judders to a halt near the table along with Valarie, her eyes wide with fright. "Oh goodness. Are you alright, dear?"

Digging nails into her palm, Avery eases back down into her seat. "Y-yeah, just surprised. I didn't hear you coming."

Tamika raises an eyebrow in Avery's direction, but she dismisses it with a tick of her head and scratches a number into an empty spot on her grid. "Keep the prying questions to yourself and I don't mind, Val."

Valarie fills all three clear, glass teacups to an inch below their brims with a dirty-green drink. "So, Avery. Is Tamika treating you well? Learning a lot?"

Avery's chest constricts; knuckles go white around the handle of her fork. Her mind screams at her to leap back to her feet and get far away.

Why? Does she even care if she gets fired?

"Yeah. She's great." Avery says.

In turn, Valerie slides a separate saucer in front of Avery and Tamika, making sure to place a third in front of the last empty seat. "Humph. Well, if you say so."

Tamika locks eyes with Avery and she winks before glancing back to her grid of numbers. "She just did, didn't you hear? You should say that a bit louder for her, Avery."

The absurdity of it all hits Avery in that moment: struggling for every fake, calm breath amid debilitating compulsions; stuck between two coworkers exchanging gentle snarks. Two coworkers for a job she's not even sure she wants in the first place. A job that, at the thought of quitting, pierces her heart with a numbing, icy fear. Fear of disappointing them, fear of making mistakes she doesn't know she's making, fear of time being its unceasing, always-forward-thinking self.

It's not some wild realization. Just a reminder. Still enough of a bother to break the compulsion and replace it with existential dread, though. Maybe the tea will be good.

Tamika swings through a set of double doors and strides onto the maintenance catwalk of the aquarium's largest tank. "Hey, Avery. Can you come with me for a minute?"

The words float within the fog of Avery's mind, lost among swirling thoughts. Thoughts about what Sophia is doing right now, if the newest season of Survivor starts tonight, or if Sophia would want to watch it with her. Avery takes a bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, dangling her legs over the side of the catwalk.

Tamika lets her feet fall a bit harder: each step causes a clang of the catwalk's metal to skip along the water. She lurches to a halt half a foot away. "Avery."

Avery's hands clench, her spine shivers and jerks. Her whole body seemingly tries to run from own name spoken so close, but gets tangled in the railing. Peanut butter and jelly ooze out from between the loaves, staining and stickying her hands. She takes a breath. "S-sorry. Was stuck in my head. What's up?"

Something's wrong. Tamika wears an odd expression: gaunt and pensive, but somehow soft all at once. "Can you come with me?" She says.

Told you, you're getting fired. Start apologizing and maybe they'll forgive you.

With a slow exhale, the compulsion's pressure dissolves, fleeing Avery's body like an exorcised ghost. Just another meeting. Nothing to worry about. She goes to lift herself up by the railing, but the sandwich. "Oh! Okay, just— let me just put this here..." Avery lays the sandwich on the catwalk's metal lattice and wipes the excess jam and peanut butter on her casual-Friday-decreed jeans.

Tamika whips around and takes off. "Alright, let's go."

Avery scrambles to her feet to follow. The pair rush through utility hallways and weave through aquarium-goers checking out educational posters or a fish that caught their eye. They finally stop their frantic journey at the door of the maintenance area for a set of tanks: Avery's tanks.

Possibilities run through Avery's mind, but nothing sticks. Why here? She stares into Tamika's still pensive face. "I thought we were doing a meeting or something, what are we doing here?"

Tamika pushes the door open and steps out of the way. "I think it's best you see yourself, I'm not good at talking about this kind of thing. Just know it's not your fault. It's common when anyone loses a partner, even humans: stress or something I guess. I'll stop rambling."

"Not my fault? What —" Then Avery's mind catches up to Tamika's words. Cold, quaking panic shoots through her heart and down to the soles of her feet. She sprints through the open door toward Larry's tank. "Oh shit, oh shit no."

A small green blob speckled with white bobs along at the waterline. Eyes unblinking; upside down.