Chapter Text
"Sooo…" Pokke drawled, twirling a finger through her curls. "Your mom mentioned that you had a bunch of pets as a kid; that's cool. I had a dog, but he died a few years back. Cute thing, though!"
Tachyon's dull eyes met hers for a brief moment before darting away, returning to their place on the floor as she walked. Her every step was light, calculated, as if she were trying not to disturb the area.
"Pets is not the word I'd use to describe it," she murmured. "I had lab rats for my experiments, and at one point, a snake I found in the garden, but Flight nearly had a heart attack when he made his way into her chambers. I was forced to relinquish him back to the wild after that!"
Pokke pursed her lips but kept them firmly shut.
"Oh, and Cat!" Tachyon laughed after a moment of silence.
"Cat? As in, you had a cat, or-"
Tachyon shook her head, the brunette hair swishing as it caressed her shoulders.
"No, his name was Cat. He didn't live long enough to get an actual name, so I just called him Cat."
"Oh… sorry." Pokke rubbed the back of her neck, her skin prickling in the cool, dusty air of the gallery. "It sucks when they die. Like, I know that it's the circle of life, and all that, but still."
"It really wasn't that big of a deal," Tachyon shrugged. "Animals die, just as you and I will. No point being upset at the natural order."
"Well, yeah, I know that they die, but you can still be upset, y'know? Like when my dog died, I sobbed for days before I snapped out of it. And yeah, I was a kid, but I think I'd sob just as hard today."
"Really, Pokke-kun, are you that emotional? No, actually, I know you're that emotional, but I never pegged you as a crybaby!" Tachyon ran a hand over her upper arms, pressing lightly into the skin until soreness bloomed. She could feel the small bruises beginning to form in the shape of Pokke's grip. "Tell me, what did it feel like to experience such grief over just a mere dog?" Tachyon teased with a grin. "Granted, I prefer to work within the physiological realm, but any report from my prized guinea pig should prove useful in one way or another."
"Figure it out yourself, dude!" Pokke snapped as she gnashed her teeth, glaring at Tachyon. "Your cat died, too, so what did it feel like for you? You don't need me to tell you. Just, like, reach deep into your heart, or something,"
Tachyon hummed, her fingers tapping out an inconsistent rhythm on her arm. "You know, this occurred back when I was very young. I wasn't quite as… mature as I am now, one could argue." She mused. "There may be a photo of him somewhere in here, if you're curious,"
Pokke perked up, her ears standing straight atop her head.
Noting the sudden change in attitude, Tachyon smirked. "Ever impatient today, are we?"
Pokke huffed, following the other girl further into the labyrinthine gallery. They turned a dizzying number of corners and walked countless corridors before finally settling in front of a small framed collection of polaroids.
"It will be a bad photo if it is here. Flight took it back when we were younger, during her photography phase." Tachyon warned. With that, her peripheral vision caught a smear of furry black in a shadowy corner of the wall. "Here!"
The pair kneeled to look at the cluster of photos at eye level. Nearly all the photos were blurry and off-center, and Pokke could see some with fingers poking in at the edges. Most of the photos in the cluster were of various flowers found in the garden of the estate, and a few even featured a gap-toothed, younger version of Flight as she turned the camera on herself.
It made Pokke's heart strangely warm; she could clearly feel the innocence and childlike joy radiating from each photo, even the ones of random bits of nature.
Tachyon bent down further, knees grazing the floor as she pointed to a photo of a small, curled-up black kitten. He was wrapped around himself, paws tucked under his body. A small, disembodied hand hovered over his head.
"See, Cat!" She said, gesturing towards the photo, her voice lilting. Pokke would've sworn she heard a small tinge of pride seeping into the declaration.
"That is a cat," Pokke remarked. "So, what, he was your pet?"
"No, no, far from it! He was just a stray that wandered around the property. Normally, the maids would chase him off, but he always came back because I would sneak him leftover bits of dissected rat."
"Oh…"
"And then he died!" Tachyon giggled.
Pokke let out a little gasp, the blood draining from her face. "Did you–"
"Not from anything I did, I assure you!" Tachyon rushed to defend herself. "Natural causes. The maids had just cleaned the fountain and had not yet drained the chemicals, and he drank from it. Just a stupid cat, and a stupid way to die."
Her gaze lowered back to the floor, away from the photograph.
Don't you understand?
Tachyon watched helplessly from inside the manor's infirmary as the cat sipped from the fountain.
It's chlorinated! It will hurt you!
And just for a moment, as if Cat had read her mind, he looked up. His little yellow eyes darted about in the brush before meeting hers through the clear glass of the windows separating them. They stared at each other for a few seconds until the doctor tweaked Tachyon's ankle. It exploded in pain, and she yelped before slamming a hand back over her mouth.
Despite her pleas, Cat sipped, because he did not understand, even if she wanted to believe otherwise- he was just a cat, and she was just a girl. A girl stuck in physical therapy, a girl whose ankle ached as the doctor pushed and pulled at it in the name of 'help', as the maid gossiped about how annoying Flight was when she thought Tachyon couldn't hear.
She watched Cat from behind the window, sipping away, lapping the water up with abandon. He did not know, and she could not tell him. What was worse, the fact that he was bound to die from his ignorance, or the fact that she was powerless to stop it?
The next day, Tachyon found Cat in his makeshift bed, lying still. It was a couch cushion that her mother didn't like and had subsequently thrown out. She had taken it out into the garden for Cat to sleep on. What a load of good that did for him now.
She poked him with her finger. Nothing. She gingerly petted his sleek, dark fur. He did not stretch into her hand, mew at the touch, the way he used to. He was curled up, his little paws tucked into his stomach. His muscles were taut, and try as she might, she could not get him to warm up in her hands despite the summer sun beating down. He was cold, and Tachyon knew he was dead.
Tachyon was keenly aware of death, even at 10. She was the child bride of science; she knew of Laika, of monkeys in cages, and of humans who died from neglect. But she was also aware of those who believed in something beyond death; that they hoped, fruitlessly so, that there would be something waiting for them after the great equalizer. She did not think they were stupid, just uninformed– there was nothing after death, much as she wished there was. There was life, and then there was nothing.
There was a burning sensation behind Tachyon's eyes, forcing her to squeeze them shut until it faded. Horribly, she found herself imagining Cat as he used to be. Only this time, he was inside her lab, with Tachyon dangling a piece of twine above his head, slowly guiding him away from the rows of glass beakers and flasks. Away from science, towards the comfort of her own body.
She shook her head, willing the image to go away. There was nothing after death. There was no such thing as a soul. She'd say it a million times until her emotions finally caught up with her brain, if she had to.
But still, even as she tried to rationalize with herself, Tachyon could not bring herself to look away from his body. Her eyes scanned the ground and then the sky for any flicker, any change in the scenery that would prove that the little cat's soul was flying away. He was pure, he was innocent, he was sound— and yet, here his body lay, cold and still. There was no flicker of light or falling leaf, no stirring wind in the trees that may have been his departing soul. There she sat, and there he lay.
It was then, Tachyon decided, that souls and ghosts were not real either. Because if they were, she would see it. And if she saw it, only then was it real.
"...he was a good cat," Tachyon murmured.
Pokke's mouth opened, then shut.
"I'm sure he was," she finally whispered, the words falling slowly from her mouth into the thick, stale air.
"Do you ever think about parallel universes?" Tachyon suddenly asked, her red eyes still glued to the floor.
"Wait, what?" Pokke's head swiveled away from the small photo so fast her neck ached. "Like, what about them? Do I think they exist? Cuz' probably, but I dunno the science behind it."
"Of course they exist, quantum physics has all but proven it already," she said with a smirk. It disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. "But do you ever think deeper about them? For example, is anything about your life up to you, if just one small action from someone else can change it?"
She took a breath.
"I could've fixed him, you know." Tachyon's fingers curled up deeper into the sleeves of Pokke's jacket. "I saw him drinking from the fountain. I could've stopped him."
"Why didn't you, then?"
"Extenuating circumstances." Her stare turned towards her ankle, still draped in dark blue satin.
Pokke pursed her lips. "Then you couldn't have actually stopped him, could you? If it wasn't an active decision, why torture yourself with the 'what ifs' of it all? Time keeps moving, right?"
Pokke playfully nudged Tachyon's arm, their elbows meeting for just a moment before Pokke abruptly braced herself on her knees and pushed herself up. Tachyon looked up as Pokke's warm presence left her side. Crimson meeting gold, once again.
Pokke smiled, a meager attempt at comfort. "Show me one more thing, alright? Then I'm done interrogating you, I promise." She even made a show of crossing her heart as she said it.
Tachyon continued to stare, her striped pupils blank as they bored into Pokke's. If she didn't know any better, Pocket would think Tachyon was merely looking at her own reflection.
"You're a baffling creature, Pokke-kun."
Pokke shrugged. "I try my best," She reached a hand out once more, letting it dangle in the air.
This time, Tachyon took it without argument.
Once she was stable on her feet, Tachyon gestured around loosely to the gallery. "Choose one, then. We can just wander until something catches your eye."
"What about you? Do you want to see anything in particular?" Pokke asked.
"As I said before, I have no interest in the machinations of my ancestors."
"There has to be something you want to show me,"
"I truly don't know how many times I can say it before it resonates with you that I do not care for anything in this place. If I can help it, I'll stay in my lab when I'm forced to return to my family's estate," Tachyon huffed. "It's better for everyone involved if we all keep it that way."
Pokke shrugged. "Fine, then. Have it your way. Let's go…" She glanced around the maze of corridors and corners. "That way." She pointed to the left, down yet another darkened hallway.
"That's just a hallway of old bust portraits. You want to see that?"
"Sure, why not? I like it up here, anyway. The quiet is growing on me."
Much to Pokke's glee, portraits of the Agnes family lined the long hallway, with the current generation at the back. Each one pictured an individual bust of a family member, beginning with Pokke's assumption that one of Tachyon's great-grandmothers was among them and extending down to Flora, Flight, and Tachyon.
Pokke jogged further into the hallway, leaving Tachyon behind as she took in the portraits. She was silent as Pokke walked the length of it, stopping at the end and gazing back.
"I was 14, there." Tachyon's voice came from behind Pokke, slowly coming closer.
Her portrait was simple: just Tachyon from the shoulders up, against a dark grey background. Her clothes were simple and drab, unbecoming of the rich bitch Pocket knew her as. If she was wearing any makeup, Pokke couldn't tell.
Pokke examined it, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing, as if discerning her thoughts from behind the paint.
"This looks…" she began.
Tachyon shook her head, her smooth hair flowing with the movement. "Let me show you another one."
"Just… just give me a second." Pocket continued to examine the photograph, turning her head this way and that as if to drink in all the angles. "This is you… But it's not you."
"Pokke-kun, are you drunk? Of course it's me–"
"No, no, it's not. This 'you' is so sad-looking. You look practically sick. Your eyes are all sunken in, and your hair is so… flat."
Tachyon wrinkled her nose. "Is this your idea of a compliment?"
"Of course not!!" Pocket cried, her eyes still trained on the painted Tachyon before her. "...but it's not an insult either. This just doesn't look like you.
"The Tachyon I see is glowing from the inside out. Your eyes are scary, and your stare kinda weirds me out, but they're beautiful in their own way. I feel like I could look at them and look into your brain and understand nothing, and I want to do that, because then you'll explain your thoughts to me. But this," Pocket waved a hand at the portrait. "There's nothing behind there, at least nothing I can see. Your thoughts are locked up. And that's sad, cause the world deserves to hear them!"
Tachyon made a small gurgling noise, like the air she was trying to exhale turned against her and caught in her throat. She turned away, hiding her face behind a sweep of chestnut hair.
"Please- please excuse me for a second."
"Whoa, hey! I didn't mean to offend you!" Pokke called after her, watching as the figure turned and ambled away.
Tachyon hurried down the hall, pushing her body into a corner as Pokke jogged after her. She slid down the wall once again, curling in on herself. She buried her hands in her hair and tugged, pulling it in front of her face to shadow her expression.
Pokke stared down at Tachyon's curled-up body. She mumbled something, the sounds consumed by the fabric of the jacket and the oppressive atmosphere of the gallery. Pokke nudged her with her foot, prompting Tachyon to swat at her boot like a cat with its toy.
"What was that?" Pokke asked.
"I hate this place," Tachyon hissed, the words coming out of her like water from a faucet. The venom dripped from her mouth, pooling at their feet, soaking into Pokke's boots, and darkening the hem of Tachyon's dress. "I hate it," she said, louder this time, her eyes narrowing as she stared down the hallway, looking at her portrait.
Though her words were vitriolic, Pokke couldn't help but hear the undercurrent of child-like sadness underneath it. I hate it. She said it like it would justify everything she put Pokke through last year; a final illustration of her spastic mania and depression, built into her genetics.
She said it as if it explained why she was doomed from the start.
Maybe the words did explain everything, but justified nothing. And maybe, despite all efforts to convince her otherwise, Pokke didn't care. The truths could all exist at the same time.
"I hate it too." Pokke declared, still standing over the brunette. "I hate your mom. I hate that your sister couldn't even be bothered to show up, and that you still did anyway. Your dad is freaky, and your mom's invitees are even worse. And the Grand Hall is loud as hell, and I can't hear myself think in there."
Tachyon continued tugging at her hair, leaning deeper into the crook of her arm, and covering her mouth with the fabric as she did so.
"I think this place sucks, Tachyon. I think everything here, every single photo and trophy and person fucking sucks." Pocket hissed.
"I told you that you didn't have to come," Tachyon whispered, a meek sound unlike her usual booming, haughty voice.
"But I came anyway, so who cares? This place sucks so hard, but I'd rather have it suck with you than know you're dealing with it by yourself."
As if she had said nothing of note at all, Tachyon widened her eyes and plastered a smile back onto her face, leaning her head back against the wall, "I don't think I will ever understand how your brain functions, Jungle Bucket."
"So stop thinking about it, then! Just like, exist with me for a bit. Let's ditch this place and get food somewhere else and hitch a ride back to Tracen. Please, Tachyon, let's leave."
Pokke cursed internally as her voice cracked on the please. It was like the gallery was slowly taking bites out of her psyche, chomping away at both of their composures as the heavy air pressed into her bones.
"This is the last time I'm doing this for you, okay? C'mon." Pokke extended her hand, waving it in front of Tachyon's face.
She stared at it dangling in the air, but kept herself planted firmly in the corner. "If you want to go so badly, you should-"
"I want to leave with you." Pokke interrupted. "I'm not goin' anywhere without you."
"Carry me. If you're truly serious, that is," The words slipped out quickly, and even Tachyon seemed surprised when the phrase hit the air between them.
Pokke quirked an eyebrow, shifting her weight between her feet. "Fuckin' princess, are you? Fine, then."
"No, no, Pokke-kun, I was merely joking. There's no need to–" Tachyon shrieked as Pokke wrapped her arms under her, plucking her from the ground like a cat and hoisting her up. She gingerly scooped Tachyon's legs into her arms, converting the hold into a princess carry.
Tachyon wrapped her arms around Pokke's head, nails digging into the nape of her neck. "I was joking, I was joking! Pokke-kun!”
"Nah, you said it, so you got it. That's what you said it was like for you as a kid, right? I'm just continuing the pattern," Pocket teased, slowly making her way back towards the exit with Tachyon still wriggling in her arms. "Ow, let go of my hair! How do we get out of here?"
Resigning herself to her fate, Tachyon stopped squirming and settled into Pokke's hold, relaxing her tight grip on her curls. "Just keep going straight; there are multiple exits. We're bound to find one eventually." She murmured, tucking her head down and resting it on the curve of Pokke's collarbones.
Just like Tachyon said, Pokke spotted an unmarked door down a length of hallway. "Okay, your ride ends here," she said, placing Tachyon's legs on the ground, letting Her smooth out her dress with a few pats and get settled. Opening the door, Pokke walked through and waited on the other side, peering back at Tachyon, who was staring intently at the floor instead.
Tachyon took a few delicate steps before pitching forward, catching herself on the doorframe with a splayed hand. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, her chest inflating and deflating with a controlled breath. Raising her left leg in the air, she gripped the frame with her hand before finally taking a step forward. As soon as the weight was transferred to her left leg, she stumbled again, her face contorting with pain before quickly reverting to its controlled, empty stare.
"Okay, ride's back on." Pokke gestured with her head to her back, leaning down and letting Tachyon clamber on without so much as a tease.
Tachyon begrudgingly climbed onto Pokke's back, wrapping her arms around the other girl's shoulders and leaning forward as Pocket stood up and began to walk down the staircase into the darkness.
"You wanna explain to me what that was about?" Pokke asked, after a long, uncomfortable silence.
"Not particularly."
"Alright."
Tachyon sighed, the wisp of air tickling the back of Pokke's neck. "Tonight was just a particular set of variables that did not mesh well with my constitution." She pouted. "Damn stilettos. Torturous inventions, those things."
"You're in stilettos?!" Pokke stopped in her tracks. "Are you serious? I've been dragging you around this whole time, and you didn't say a word! I never would've forced you to walk around with me if I'd known!" Pokke groaned. "Why didn't you take them off?"
"It provided an extra data point to be examined later. Par for the course, and one I accounted for earlier. Though the addition of the gallery provided that accounting a moot point–"
Pocket scoffed. "You ran an experiment on yourself, for what? How long can you stand in heels for? What type of answer are you looking to gain from that?"
"How long I can tolerate heels for. The etymology matters, in this case."
"Okay, fine. You tested how long you can tolerate heels for. You win."
Pocket felt Tachyon's grip around her shoulders grow slightly tighter.
"Why are you doing this?"
Pocket cocks her head, causing her hair to spill over Tachyon's arm. "Doing what? Carrying you? I can put you down if you want–"
"You should hate me."
Pocket stopped in her tracks.
"Why should I hate you?"
"You know why," Tachyon stated, her voice lacking her usual inflections.
"Tell it to me anyway."
Tachyon sighed, the warmth of her breath curling along the back of Pokke's neck. "I tortured you for the past year and then disappeared. Left you with nothing but the thought of me. And then you swoop back into my life, when you have no reason to, and now you're carrying me down a flight of stairs. I would hate me."
A deep-rooted, icy feeling gripped Pokke's heart. The one she'd felt the whole night, slowly and methodically creeping its way in until it took its chance to take over. It was the same feeling that haunted her in her dreams, the one that forced her to accept Tachyon's invitation.
"I've never hated you."
Pocket felt Tachyon take a sharp inhale.
"You're just, you, y'know? You couldn't help it. Yeah, you made me feel like shit for a while, and yeah, you aren't the easiest person to hang around sometimes, but I've never hated you. I don't think I have it in me to hate you." Pocket knelt, letting Tachyon slip off her back and settle herself on the stairs.
Tachyon heaved as she sat on the steps, her red eyes nearly glowing in the dark stairwell. She stared up at Pokke, running her tongue over her lips as her fingers drummed her thigh.
Kneeling in front of Tachyon, Pokke reached under the swaths of blue satin, searching blindly. "Is this about your injury, or something? Cause I promise I don't care. You've been in heels all night, I'm not surprised you're sore."
"What do you think you're doing?" Tachyon yelped, kicking her feet up and just narrowly missing Pocket's jaw.
"Stop wriggling around! I'm grabbing your heels!" Yanking Tachyon's right ankle to the side, Pocket undid the clasp on the side of the heel and tugged the damned thing off, throwing it down the stairwell.
"This is not efficient in the slightest," Tachyon scowled, watching as Pokke pulled off her left one with little kicking.
"Screw efficiency. You can't walk in them, so why have 'em?"
"I can't walk without them right now, either," Tachyon muttered, quiet enough that Pokke had to strain to hear it.
Pokke shook her head, her curls shaking up bits of settled dust on the stairwell. "Doesn't matter. I'll carry you until we can get back to Tracen, if I have to."
"Seems like an awfully heavy expenditure of energy for little reward."
"Whatever."
Tachyon quieted for a moment, staring off past Pokke's shoulder into the darkness.
"Why are you so insistent that I run with you?" She finally murmured.
"Why wouldn't I be? We're rivals. That's like, the whole point,"
Tachyon pulled the jacket's sleeves further over her hands. "You have Cafe and Dantsu to run with."
"I want to run with you."
"It always comes back to me, doesn't it?" Tachyon ruefully smiled. "What is it that you find yourself so enamored by? I don't believe I can offer you anything you can't get elsewhere, unless you're looking for an individualized drug or medicine."
"I don't know, man. It's just you. It's always been you." Pokke joined Tachyon on the steps, shoulders brushing against each other in the tight corridor.
"I won't be able to run with you for much longer."
Pokke knitted her brows. "Your Classic season is done, but you still have all the Senior races to compete in. That's where I'm challenging you next." Pokke paused. "Right?"
Tachyon bit her lip, a rare sight of hesitancy.
"Right, Tachyon?"
"The process of elimination is a fickle one, dear Jungle Bucket."
"The fuck does that mean?"
"... It seems as though time continues marching on, in all its hideous glory. Tachyon gripped her sleeves harder. "My mother and I are far more similar than either of us would've hoped for."
"Your mom?"
Tachyon's eyes flitted to her foot, just barely peeking out from under the dress.
"Oh. Oh, shit. Really? I knew you were injured, but was it that bad that you'll end up with a cane like her?"
"My body, if I continue to chase my limits, will end up far worse. I've seen the scans and run the tests. But still, still," Tachyon's voice shook. "I desire to see it with my own two eyes. To see the limits met, my potential shattered beneath my own two legs. Pokke-kun, I need it! With all of my being, I want to see those limits breached!"
Tachyon's red eyes grew manic, shaking as she stared off into the darkness of the stairwell. "Plan A will end up with me back in the hospital. I can't bring myself to complete Plan B." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Where do I go from here? It's all ruined. I'm ruined. I was ruined from birth."
"You aren't ruined." Pokke scoffed. "Don't be overdramatic. Sure, you can be if you go back to racing without training properly, but you have me and Cafe and Dantsu to keep you on track. And then you just run."
Tachyon's eyes met Pocket's golden ones once again.
"Even if your body meets its limit, you run until you reach that point. And I'll be there. No more haunting each other, or that weird isolating shit you did last year. And I won't leave you again, either. We'll just run. Cause what do we have left if we don't?"
"What happens when there comes the day I can no longer run? Or walk? Or stand?"
"Then you can't run. But you can keep going forward anyway." Pokke shrugged, the movement shaking both their shoulders. "I will be, at least. And I want you there too."
Tachyon turned her head so their noses were practically touching.
"You're one of the only things I can never quite understand." Pokke could feel the wisp of Tachyon's breath grace her jaw.
Pocket stayed silent, holding eye contact a mere few centimeters away. She could smell the faint remnants of Tachyon's perfume, but underneath that, the unmistakable scent of Tachyon. Black tea, formaldehyde, bleach, sugar.
Her own breathing stilled, leaning in closer just enough for Tachyon's bangs to brush her forehead.
"We should get going," Tachyon whispered.
"Probably."
The pair sat there, neither one moving. The minutes ticked past them, merely breathing in each other's space.
That is, until Tachyon abruptly turned her head away, her hair slashing across Pokke's face.
"Carry me, Jungle Bucket," Tachyon demanded, her face pressed towards the wall. Even in the darkness, Pocket could see the faint smatterings of splotchy blush creep over her cheeks.
"Wh-" Pokke blinked as the moment broke. "Okay, okay, fine." The corners of Tachyon's mouth perked up as Pokke got to her feet.
Spinning around, Pokke gestured once again to her back. Tachyon climbed back on, practically throwing her body weight over and letting the muscular girl carry her down the stairs again. She wrapped her arms around Pokke's neck, fiddling with the chain of her prism necklace as she walked.
“Thank you, Pokke-kun.” Tachyon whispered, so quiet that Pokke's ears twitched at the small exhalation more than the actual sound.
Pocket smiled, her lopsided grin invisible to Tachyon as she stared straight ahead, continuing to walk. "Anytime."