"Alright," I tell you two, tapping the couch arm like it's an official gavel. This is where Ted decides he's going to 'fix' his career situation…"
Bryce winces. "Which is adorable, because Ted fixing things is like a golden retriever trying to repair a microwave."
"And," I add, "it's also where Lily realizes her 'message' plan might cost Ted his job if we don't do damage control—fast."
---
Season 2, Episode 7
Damage Control
2006 — Morning, My Apartment
The morning after Lily's little baseball adventure, I woke up to two texts and a voicemail.
That's how you know your day is going to be terrible: the universe doesn't even wait until you're conscious before it starts throwing objects.
The first text was from Lily:
Lily: We need to talk. Today. I'm serious.
The second text was from Ted:
Ted: Hammond is losing his mind. Call me ASAP.
And the voicemail—of course—was Marshall.
His voice sounded too cheerful, which meant he was either lying or on the brink of crying.
"Hey, Nox! Uh, quick question. Is it weird if I… never want to be alone again? Haha. Kidding. Mostly. Call me."
I stared at my ceiling for a solid five seconds, letting my soul re-enter my body like it was reluctantly clocking in.
Bryce rolled over beside me, hair a mess, eyes half-open.
"You're doing the dead stare," she murmured.
"Three crises before breakfast," I said.
Bryce blinked slowly. "One of them is Marshall, right?"
"Yes."
"And one is Ted's boss still being a human foghorn?"
"Yes."
She sighed. "And Lily committed another felony."
"Attempted felony," I corrected. "We retrieved the ego-orb. Nobody went to jail."
Bryce sat up, blanket sliding off her shoulder.
"Yet," she said.
I grabbed my phone, thumb hovering.
If I called Ted first, I'd be doing triage. If I called Lily first, I'd be preventing a second crime.
I chose prevention.
I dialed Lily.
She answered on the first ring, breathless, like she'd been waiting with the phone in her hand.
"Nox."
"Lily," I said. "Tell me the baseball is back."
A pause.
My heart sank.
"Nox…"
I sat up so fast my pillow hit the floor. "Lily. Tell me right now."
"It's not back yet," she said quickly, then rushed to explain. "But it will be. I was going to do it last night, but Marshall called, and then Ted texted, and then—"
"Lily," I cut in, voice sharp, "that's not an explanation, that's a slideshow of excuses."
Bryce leaned in, listening, expression flat.
"I know," Lily whispered. "I know. I just—Hammond was going to call the police. I needed the perfect moment."
"Perfect moments don't exist," I said. "Only less catastrophic ones."
"I have a plan," Lily insisted.
Bryce mouthed to me: Oh no.
I closed my eyes. "What plan?"
Lily lowered her voice like she was confessing to murder.
"I'm going to put it back… with a note."
I opened my eyes.
"No."
"Yes," Lily said, stubborn. "He needs to know someone took it on purpose. That it wasn't a mistake. That someone saw him."
"Lily," I said, "you do not leave a calling card. This isn't Oceans Eleven. This is an architectural firm where they will blame Ted again because Ted is shaped like blame."
"I'm not trying to frame Ted," she snapped.
"You already did," I said. "Not intentionally. But functionally."
Silence crackled on the line.
Then Lily's voice went small. "He didn't deserve it."
"No," I said, softer. "He didn't."
Bryce took the phone from my hand gently and spoke into it with calm authority.
"Lily," she said, "we're meeting you. Now. Where are you?"
Lily hesitated, then answered.
"Outside Ted's office," she admitted. "I came early."
Bryce closed her eyes like she was praying for patience.
"Stay there," Bryce said. "Don't go in. Don't do anything heroic. We're coming."
---
2006 — Ted's Office Building, Lobby
The lobby was all glass and clean lines, the kind of place that smelled like expensive air conditioning.
Lily stood near the entrance with a tote bag clutched against her side like it contained contraband.
Which, to be fair, it did.
She looked cute—bright outfit, hair up—but her eyes were anxious.
She saw us and exhaled.
"Okay," I said immediately, "show me the tote."
Lily hugged it closer. "Nox."
"Show. Me. The tote."
She sighed and opened it just enough for me to see the clear display case inside.
The baseball was in there too, wrapped in a scarf like it was a kidnapped celebrity.
I swallowed.
Bryce stepped closer, voice low. "You were going to walk into the office with that?"
"I was going to be careful," Lily whispered.
"That's what people say before they get arrested," I replied.
Lily's jaw clenched. "I just wanted him to learn."
"He will," I said. "But not at Ted's expense."
I glanced toward the elevator bank.
"We're putting it back," I said. "No note. No message. Clean return."
Lily's eyes flashed. "Then he wins."
Bryce shook her head gently. "No. You win by protecting Ted and still holding Hammond accountable in a way that doesn't blow up your life."
Lily stared at Bryce like she wanted to argue… and couldn't.
Because Bryce was right in that irritatingly reasonable way.
"Fine," Lily muttered. "No note."
"Good," I said. "Now the question is: how do we get that back into Hammond's office without anyone seeing you?"
Lily's eyes darted around the lobby.
"I could—"
"No," Bryce and I said in unison.
Lily sighed, offended.
I looked at Bryce. "You're famous."
Bryce stared. "Don't."
"It's a lobby," I said. "People notice you. That's useful."
Bryce's eyes narrowed. "You're suggesting I create a distraction."
"I'm suggesting," I said, "you be Bryce Dallas Howard in public for ninety seconds."
Bryce pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I hate you," she muttered affectionately.
"I know."
Bryce turned to Lily. "Give me the tote."
Lily handed it over reluctantly.
Bryce held it like it was a purse and not a felony case file.
"Okay," Bryce said, thinking fast. "Nox, you go with Lily to find Ted. If anyone asks, you're with me. Lily, you do not leave my side unless I tell you."
Lily nodded, chastened.
We moved as a unit toward the elevators—until the lobby doors opened and Ted stepped in.
He looked like he hadn't slept. His tie was crooked. His expression was tight with stress.
He saw us and froze.
"Why are you here?" he hissed, hurrying over. His eyes flicked to Lily, then to me, then to Bryce like this was a nightmare crossover event.
Lily gave him a guilty smile. "Hi."
Ted's eyes widened. "Oh my God. Lily, please tell me you didn't—"
"Not now," I cut in. "Ted, listen. We're fixing it."
Ted grabbed my arm, voice shaking. "My boss is insane today. He's talking about security cameras. He's threatening police. He asked if I have 'criminal associates.'"
I looked at Lily. Lily looked at the floor.
Ted followed my gaze and went pale.
"You did," he whispered. "You actually did."
Lily's eyes filled. "I was trying to help."
Ted's voice cracked with panic and hurt. "By stealing from my boss?"
"He's a monster," Lily snapped, then softened quickly. "But… yes. I know. I know it was wrong. That's why we're here."
Ted stared at her like he didn't know whether to be furious or grateful or terrified.
"I could get fired," he said quietly.
I leaned in. "You won't," I said. "Not if we do this right. But you have to help us."
Ted blinked. "Help you… how?"
Bryce stepped forward, calm, steady, carrying the tote like it wasn't full of evidence.
"We're returning something," she said simply. "Quietly. Cleanly. We need access."
Ted's eyes widened. "No. No, no, no. I can't be involved."
"You already are," I said bluntly. "He's blaming you anyway. The only way out is to make the baseball reappear with zero drama."
Ted swallowed hard.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay. But if we get caught—"
"We won't," Bryce said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "Trust me."
Ted didn't look like he trusted anyone, including oxygen.
But he nodded.
"Fine," he said. "I'll get you into the back hallway. There's a service route to Hammond's office."
Lily stared at Ted, eyes soft. "Ted… I'm sorry."
Ted didn't answer.
Not because he didn't care.
Because he was busy trying not to drown.
---
2006 — Service Hallway, Minutes Later
The service hallway smelled like paper and cleaning chemicals. No windows. No warmth. Just fluorescent light and the quiet hum of HVAC.
Ted moved like he knew the building's veins.
"Okay," he whispered, stopping at a corner. "Hammond's office is right there. The door is usually open because he likes being heard. But right now he's in a meeting."
Bryce handed me the tote. I opened it carefully.
The display case felt heavier than it should've. Like guilt had mass.
Lily hovered close, breathing shallow, hands clenched.
"If he sees it's me," she whispered, "I'm dead."
"He won't," I said.
Ted looked at me like I was insane. "How are you so calm?"
"I'm not calm," I whispered back. "I'm just committing to the lie."
Bryce leaned in. "Nox," she murmured, "no jokes."
I nodded once, then stepped forward.
The door to Hammond's office was cracked.
Voices inside. Hammond's booming laugh. Someone else saying, "Of course, Mr. Druthers."
I waited for a beat—timing.
Then I slid in like a shadow, moving fast.
Hammond's office was larger than it deserved to be. Clean desk. Architectural awards on the wall. That shelf.
Empty spot where the baseball belonged.
I crossed the room, placed the display case back exactly where it had been, adjusted it so it sat perfectly square.
For one sick second, I felt like I was resetting reality.
Then Hammond's laugh rose behind me—closer.
Too close.
I froze.
Footsteps turned toward the office.
The door opened wider.
Light shifted.
And I had exactly one second to decide whether I was about to become an accessory to Lily Aldrin's crimes… or an idiot who gets Ted fired.
I moved.
Fast.
Back out through the crack, pulling the door nearly shut behind me.
I collided with Ted in the hallway.
Ted grabbed my shoulders, eyes wild. "Did you—"
"Done," I whispered.
Lily exhaled like she'd been stabbed and the knife finally came out.
Bryce's gaze stayed locked on the door.
We stood there, silent, listening.
A beat.
Two.
Then—
Hammond's voice exploded from inside.
"MY BASEBALL!"
Ted flinched.
Lily's eyes widened.
Bryce closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose like she was already tired.
Hammond's voice continued, triumphant now.
"SEE? I TOLD YOU IT WOULD TURN UP. THE UNIVERSE RESPECTS GREATNESS."
Ted whispered, horrified, "He thinks the universe returned it to him."
I whispered back, "Let him. That's the cleanest outcome."
Lily's mouth twitched—half relief, half rage.
Bryce leaned close to Lily's ear. "Now we leave. Quietly. Before he decides to check cameras."
Lily nodded.
Ted swallowed. "I can't believe that worked."
I patted his shoulder. "It didn't work. It barely failed successfully."
Ted stared. "That's not a phrase."
"It is now."
We started moving down the hallway, fast but not running.
Lily walked beside Ted, guilt radiating off her.
"Ted," she whispered, "I really am sorry."
Ted didn't look at her. His voice came out tight.
"I know you were trying to protect me," he said. "But you can't… you can't do that again."
Lily's eyes shone. "I won't."
Ted finally looked at her, exhausted.
"I'm serious," he said. "Because if you do, you won't just hurt Hammond. You'll hurt me."
That stopped her.
Lily nodded, swallowing hard. "Okay."
And for the first time since she got back from San Francisco, I saw it in her face:
She wasn't just angry at the world.
She was scared of what she might become when she felt powerless.
---
2006 — Outside the Building
We spilled back into the daylight like we'd escaped a crime scene.
Lily exhaled shakily.
Ted leaned against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed.
Bryce crossed her arms and stared at Lily.
Lily braced herself. "I know. I know I messed up."
Bryce's voice stayed calm, but it had teeth.
"You don't get to play vigilante when other people's lives are attached," she said.
Lily flinched, tears rising.
"I just—when I see a bully—" Lily whispered.
"I know," Bryce said, softer now. "But you have to learn the difference between justice and impulse."
Lily nodded, wiping her eyes quickly.
I looked at Ted. "You okay?"
Ted laughed once, bitter. "No. But I'm employed."
I nodded. "That's progress."
Ted looked at Lily again, voice quieter.
"If you want to help me," he said, "just… be my friend. Don't be my avenger."
Lily's face crumpled.
"I can do that," she whispered.
And then her phone buzzed.
Lily glanced down—then her expression changed.
Not anger.
Not guilt.
Something else.
She looked up at me, eyes wide.
"Nox," she said softly, "it's Marshall."
My stomach dropped. "What about him?"
Lily swallowed.
"He… he went back to Kara and Greg's," she said. "And he's asking if it's okay if he… stays there tonight."
The air went cold.
Because that wasn't "hanging out."
That was crossing a line.
And suddenly, the baseball didn't matter anymore.
Because the real crisis was about to start.
" I tell you two, voice lower now. "This is where we put out one fire at Ted's office… and realize the bigger fire is upstairs in Marshall's apartment."
Bryce's jaw tightens. "Not the baseball. The quiet."
---
2006 — Outside Ted's Building, Sunlight That Feels Like a Lie
Ted was still pressed against the wall like his bones needed backup.
Lily stood a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, looking like she'd just been told she wasn't allowed to be Lily Aldrin anymore—which, honestly, might've been the first time anyone had said it out loud.
Bryce was the only one who looked normal. Not relaxed. Just… steady. Like if the city cracked in half, she'd calmly ask which side needed coffee.
Then Lily's phone buzzed again.
She looked down, and her whole face shifted.
Not anger.
Not guilt.
Something worse.
Fear.
"It's Marshall," she said softly.
My stomach sank. "What about him?"
Lily swallowed. "He's at Kara and Greg's."
I stared. "Again?"
She nodded, eyes wide. "He says he… he doesn't want to go home. He asked if it's okay if he stays there tonight."
Ted opened his eyes like he'd just been slapped. "Stay there? Like… sleep there?"
Bryce's voice was quiet but sharp. "That's not visiting."
Lily looked at me like she wanted permission and punishment at the same time.
"He's not cheating," she blurted, immediately. "It's not like that."
"I know," I said. "This is worse."
Ted blinked. "How is that worse?"
I didn't answer him right away, because Ted still thought love problems came with clean labels.
Bryce did.
"It means he's starting to treat someone else's home like his emotional oxygen tank," she said. "And that doesn't end cleanly."
Lily's eyes glassed over. "I didn't mean for that to happen."
I exhaled through my nose. "You didn't cause it. But we're going to deal with it."
Ted looked helpless. "What do we do?"
I glanced at him—still pale, still wrung out.
"You go upstairs," I said. "You act like you didn't just survive a felony-speedrun. You keep your head down and stay employed."
Ted's mouth opened.
"No debate," I added. "You've done enough hero work for one week."
He swallowed hard and nodded.
Then I turned to Lily.
"You text Marshall," I said. "Tell him: don't leave. We're coming."
Lily's fingers flew over the screen. She hit send and looked up at me like she expected lightning to strike.
Bryce slipped her hand into mine.
"Let's go," she said.
---
2006 — On the Walk, City Noise and Ugly Truths
New York was loud in the way it always was—cars, people, sirens in the distance like the city's heartbeat had a drumline.
I walked fast. Not because I was in a hurry.
Because if I slowed down, I'd start thinking about what "staying there" really meant.
Bryce kept pace beside me, coat pulled tight, eyes forward.
"You're angry," she said.
"I'm terrified," I corrected.
She nodded like that made sense.
"Marshall's not built for loneliness," she said. "He's built for partnership."
"Yeah," I said. "And he's trying to replace partnership with… proximity to a functioning couple."
Bryce's voice stayed practical. "It makes sense. It's also a problem."
I flexed my hand like I could shake the tension out of my fingers.
"He's going to feel embarrassed," I muttered.
Bryce glanced at me. "So don't embarrass him."
I shot her a look. "I wasn't going to."
"Yes you were," she said, flatly.
I opened my mouth, then shut it.
Because… yeah. I was.
Humor was my first instinct. It always was. I used it to defuse bombs and dodge feelings.
But Marshall didn't need defusing.
He needed anchoring.
"Fine," I said. "No jokes."
Bryce smiled slightly. "You can joke later. When he's safe."
"Deal," I muttered, like I wasn't already regretting the deal.
---
2006 — Kara & Greg's Apartment, Warm Light and Bad Timing
Their door had the same stupid chalkboard.
"Welcome! Life is better barefoot."
I hated it a little more than last time.
Kara opened the door before we even knocked, like she'd been listening for footsteps.
Her smile was still warm, but her eyes were cautious now—the look of someone who realized they'd accidentally adopted a stray emotional golden retriever.
"Hi," she said quietly. "He's… in here."
We stepped inside.
And immediately, I felt it: the difference.
Their apartment wasn't just tidy. It was settled.
The air felt softer. The lighting was warm. A candle burned on the counter like they had time to be people.
Marshall was on their couch.
Shoes off.
Feet tucked under him.
Holding a mug like it was a life raft.
He looked up when he saw us and tried to smile.
It didn't stick.
"Oh," he said. "Hey."
Greg stood near the kitchen, arms crossed, not unfriendly—just alert. Like he was prepared to help, but not prepared to become part of a crisis he didn't sign up for.
Bryce was the first to speak.
"Marshall," she said gently, "talk to us."
Marshall's eyes flicked to Kara and Greg, then back to us.
"I'm fine," he said automatically.
I inhaled slowly.
No jokes.
No sharpness.
Just truth.
"Marshall," I said, "you asked Lily if you could stay here tonight. That's not fine."
His jaw tightened, defensive and ashamed at the same time.
"It's just one night," he insisted. "The apartment is… it's too quiet."
Kara's face softened, but she stayed quiet—smart enough not to step on our friendship dynamics.
Greg shifted his weight, gaze dropping like he didn't want to watch this.
Bryce sat down on the edge of the armchair across from Marshall so she wouldn't tower over him.
"Tell me what happened," she said. "Not the edited version. The real version."
Marshall swallowed.
"I went home," he admitted, voice low. "I tried to be normal. I tried to make dinner. And then I… I reached for Lily's mug. The one with the paint smear on it. And I realized I've been keeping it exactly where she left it like… like it's a shrine."
His eyes shone.
"I stood in the kitchen and I could hear the refrigerator humming and the pipes and my own breathing and it felt like my whole life was holding its breath waiting for her to come back."
He laughed once, broken.
"So I came downstairs. I ran into Kara and Greg. And it was warm in here. It was… human."
He looked at Kara, then Greg, ashamed.
"And I didn't want to leave."
Silence settled.
Not the sharp kind.
The honest kind.
Kara finally spoke, carefully.
"We like having you here," she said. "You're easy to be around."
Marshall's face brightened for half a second, then fell again.
"But," Greg added gently, "you also look like you're trying to crawl inside our relationship like it's a sleeping bag."
Marshall flinched.
Kara shot Greg a look—too blunt—but she didn't disagree.
Greg sighed, softer. "Sorry. That sounded harsh. I just… I want to be honest."
Marshall stared down into his mug like it could forgive him.
"I know," he whispered. "I know it's weird."
"It's not weird," Bryce said. "It's a coping strategy."
Marshall looked up, hopeful.
"And it's not sustainable," she finished.
Hope slipped off his face.
I leaned forward, keeping my voice calm.
"Marshall," I said, "you don't get to move into someone else's peace because yours is painful right now."
His lips trembled. "I'm not moving in."
"You're trying to," I said, and hated how true it sounded out loud.
Marshall's voice rose, panicked.
"I just don't want to be alone!"
There it was.
The raw nerve.
And suddenly the room felt smaller.
Bryce nodded slowly, eyes kind.
"I know," she said. "But listen to me: if you make 'not alone' your only goal, you'll accept anything that keeps the quiet away—even if it hurts you later."
Marshall's eyes flicked to Kara and Greg again, guilt deepening.
Kara stepped closer and crouched slightly, so she was eye-level.
"Marshall," she said softly, "we didn't invite you here to make you feel worse. But… Greg's right about one thing. You need your own ground again."
Marshall nodded, blinking fast.
Greg's voice stayed steady.
"We can be friends," he said. "We can have dinner. We can hang out. But we can't become… your substitute home."
Marshall's shoulders sagged like he'd been carrying himself upright by force.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to—"
"Stop apologizing," I cut in, not harsh—firm. "You didn't do something evil. You did something desperate."
Marshall looked at me.
"And desperate is where bad habits start," I continued. "Not because you're weak. Because you're hurting."
He swallowed. "So what do I do?"
Bryce answered first, practical as always.
"You don't stay here tonight," she said. "But you also don't go home alone."
Marshall blinked. "Then where do I go?"
I nodded once, decision made.
"My place," I said.
Marshall's eyes widened. "Nox—"
"No arguments," I said. "You can crash on my couch. You can watch stupid TV. You can talk. You can sit in silence with a human nearby. Whatever you need."
Kara exhaled like she'd been holding tension too.
Greg nodded, relieved. "That sounds… better."
Marshall looked torn.
Because the truth was: my apartment wasn't as warm as Kara and Greg's.
My apartment was sleek, expensive, and filled with devices that worked perfectly and feelings that didn't.
But it was familiar.
And familiar matters when you're shaking.
Marshall nodded slowly.
"Okay," he whispered.
Then he looked at Kara and Greg, voice earnest.
"Thank you," he said. "Really. I'm sorry if I… made it weird."
Kara smiled, warm again. "You didn't ruin anything. You're just human."
Greg gave a small nod. "And dumplings are still on the table. Just… in normal amounts."
That got the tiniest laugh out of Marshall.
Barely.
But it existed.
---
2006 — On the Way Out, The Quiet Deal
In the hallway outside, Marshall put his shoes on slowly like he was gearing up for battle.
Bryce stood close, not touching him, but present—her version of support.
I watched him stare at the chalkboard on the door like it was mocking him.
Life is better barefoot.
Life is better when your person is home.
Marshall's voice came out rough. "I hate that I'm like this."
I kept my voice steady.
"You're like this because you love her," I said. "That's not shameful. What you do with it is what matters."
He nodded, swallowing hard.
Bryce added softly, "And tonight, you don't have to be brave. You just have to get through it without making choices you'll regret."
Marshall looked at her, eyes wet.
"You're really good at this," he whispered.
Bryce gave him a small smile. "I'm good at not panicking. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
Marshall nodded like that helped.
We started down the stairs.
Halfway down, Marshall's phone buzzed.
He froze, like his body expected it to be Lily.
He looked.
It wasn't.
It was Lily's name… but the message wasn't what he wanted:
Lily: I'm proud of you for not being alone. I love you. I'm sorry it's hard.
Marshall's throat worked.
He typed back with shaking thumbs:
Marshall: I love you too. I miss you. I'm trying.
He hit send.
And then he just stood there on the landing, eyes closed, breathing like every inhale hurt.
I didn't rush him.
Bryce didn't rush him either.
Sometimes the most respectful thing you can do for someone in pain is let them have a moment without trying to fix it.
Marshall finally opened his eyes.
"Okay," he said, voice thin. "Let's go."
---
2006 — My Apartment, Later That Night
My apartment lights were too bright, so I dimmed them.
I tossed Marshall a spare hoodie because comfort is comfort, even if it's borrowed from a billionaire's closet.
He sat on my couch like it might collapse under sadness.
Bryce moved around the kitchen quietly, making tea like it was an old ritual.
Marshall held the mug when she gave it to him and stared into it.
"I feel like I'm failing," he admitted.
"No," Bryce said immediately. "You're adjusting."
He laughed once. "It feels like failing."
"That's because you're used to love being easy," I said. "This is the first time love has asked you to be patient."
Marshall's eyes flicked up. "You think it's patience?"
"It's patience," I said. "And trust. And letting Lily become herself without making it mean she's leaving you."
Marshall's jaw tightened. "But what if she is?"
The question landed like a rock.
Bryce didn't flinch.
"Then it will hurt," she said honestly. "And you will survive. But we don't borrow grief from the future. We handle today."
Marshall nodded slowly, trying to breathe around the fear.
He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.
"I just want her home," he whispered.
I looked at Bryce.
Bryce looked at me.
And in that look was the shared truth neither of us said out loud:
Wanting doesn't make it happen faster.
But it does make the waiting sharper.
Marshall's breathing evened out, little by little.
Not peaceful.
Just… less jagged.
I sat down on the other end of the couch, not too close, not too far.
Outside, the city kept moving—sirens in the distance, cars whispering on wet pavement, the world refusing to pause just because one good man missed his girl.
And for the first time since Lily left, Marshall wasn't alone with the quiet.
Not because Kara and Greg saved him.
Because we did what friends are supposed to do:
We showed up.
Even when it was messy.
Even when it wasn't fun.
Even when it didn't fix anything—yet.