Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rachel had continued to needle her about that murderer, whom she insistently referred to as Zack. In an effort to get her to calm down, and hopefully help her recovery along, she'd arranged a meeting between Rachel and "Zack". She would be present at all times, as would be a prision guard.

She'd told Rachel about this, of course, but all she got in response was a simple "okay". She was beginning to worry about her patient. She was hardly showing any progress so far, and seemed to be utterly unaffected by and numb to nearly everything. Of course, living through such traumatic events could do that to a person; she was very well aware that she needed an extrsordinary amount of patience with Rachel. Which she had, but that didn't stop her from worrying about the girl.

When the day of the first visit comes, Dr. Yang, still expecting Rachel to show some sort of emotion, is surprised to see Rachel's calm demeanor.

"We don't have to go if you don't feel up to it, you know?" she asks gently, wanting to make sure Rachel understands it's her choice (and maybe hoping to finally get some sort of reaction from her).

Rachel stops for a moment, and looks up at her, expression set in her usual dead-doll stare. She nods slowly, and Dr. Yang sighs internally. So they are going, then.

The prision looks less well protected than she imagined, given the type of criminals they keep there, but Rachel doesn't seem much concerned with it, walking ahead of her for once instead of trailing behind.

They get a few weird looks when they state their reason for being here, but Rachel doesn't seem to notice.

They are instructed to keep anything sharp away from Foster, and to please place their belongings in this box, so it can be scanned while they go through the metal detector.

They are led to a visitor's room. It's not very big. There is a wooden table, two equally wodden chairs (that don't seem very comfortable, Dr. Yang notes with some concern. She doesn't want Rachel uncomfortable in a situation such as this). Isaac Foster is already sitting on one of them, garish orange uniform contrasting startlingly with the white bandages around his body. He doesn't look up when they enter, or when Rachel sits down in front of him.

Rachel seems content to let the silence stretch between them.

Dr. Yang continues to examine the room. There is a window a ways to her right, while a uniformed guard sits diagonally opposite her. He nods at her in greeting when he notices her staring.

Rachel breathes out forcefully through her nose.

Foster doesn't react.

"Zack," she says, voice flat.

His head shoots up. He stares at her, swallows thickly.

"Hi," he says, voice strained.

"I'm okay," Rachel says, and it seems to loosen something up in him - he rolls his eyes. Hard.

"I can see that, you brat!" he snaps.

Rachel smiles. Foster stares at her for a minute, perplexed. Then he leans forward. The guard tenses. Wasn't there something on the news about facial expressions setting him off? Dr. Yang shivers. He can't hurt her, she reminds herself. Has to do so multiple times.

"Ray," he says, slowly. Draws the word out. The Doctor feels herself tense even further. All Rachel does is blink back at him. No sign of intimidation to be found. Dr. Yang is impressed by her patient, truly.

"Ray," Foster says again, "did you get worse?" He sounds so incredulous, she would be affronted if she knew for certain what he was talking about. The only thing that comes to mind is Rachel's mental health, and while she's not so great on that front, she also hasn't gotten any worse, so what does he mean.

"You know I ain't gonna do you any favours if your face is this fucking boring again, so you better start practicing," Foster says. Commands, really. Rachel nods, and even without seeing her face, Dr. Yang can tell that she is determined to practice whatever Zack is talking about.

He changes the topic.

"I'm on death row, did you know?"

Rachel looks uo from the table. She makes no sound at all, but Dr. Yang still gets the impression of disappointment. Sadness, too, maybe. She can never really tell with Rachel.

Foster must see something else, or more, because he rolls his eyes again.

"Stop worrying," he says shortly. "If I can't think of anything, you can."

What is that supposed to mean? Dr. Yang is fairly certain the questionmarks are visible on her face, so she wipes her expression clean of anything and settles it into something neutral.

Rachel nods. Asks: "Electric chair?" in a dull sort of voice. She and Foster hold eye contact for long enough that it makes Dr. Yang uncomfortable. Then Foster leans back in his seat and giggles.

"Oh," he gasps, slumping forward with shaking shoulders, "I'd like to see them try. That thing was, like, some one-of-a-kind sort of shit. How're they gonna top that? No, I think it'll be... oh what'd they call it... something to do with execution. Drugs, I think." Rachel thinks for a moment.

"Wat if you get vitamins?" Rachel's voice is perfectly level, no emotion behind it whatsoever. Dr. Yang imagines that her eyes look the way they usually do when she employs that tone of voice.

Internally, she frowns. Why would Rachel ask a question like that? Not that she usually asks any sort of question, so Dr. Yang is just as astounded by that fact alone as she is by the content of the question. To her further surprise, Isaac Foster snorts. "Gotta get working on your jokes, that was shit" he mutters. There is silence for a few minutes, but it's not awkward. Dr. Yang takes a few seconds to think about their behaviour. She had been aware that Foster had asked after Rachel, since that had been made public during an interview with an investigating officer, just as Rachel had asked after him. She had thought Rachel to be worried about her own safety. But observing the two of them being civil, and, dare she think it, halfway to affectionate with each other lead her to the conclusion that she might have to rethink that assumption of hers.

That evening, she watches Rachel, who is staring at her reflection in the floor length mirror of her room, attempting to do something with her face. She watches as Rachel makes this part of her routine, staring at herself every night before bed.

Their visits to Foster continue, and finally Rachel seems to be getting better.

And then comes the day where Foster cracks another of his horrible jokes about corpses and death, and he looks at Rachel and freezes.

He stares at her for a few long seconds, the sudden silence stretching endlessly. He shoots up from his seat. So does the guard. Dr. Yang shrinks back. Foster rounds the table, yanks Rachel out of the chair, grips her shoulders; his eyes roam over her face.

"Back to your seat!" growls the guard, but Foster doesn't listen. Instead, he pulls Rachel ito a bone crushing hug. Her patient stands there, frozen. They've turned in such a way that Dr. Yang can see Rachel's face, and what she sees makes her blood boil just a little.

Rachel's eyes are blown wide open, while her arms hang limply at her side. Dr. Yang understands. She wouldn't want to hug a murderer either, especially not one who murdered her own parents. But between one breath and the next, Rachel goes limp in his arms, while her own come up loosely around his sides to lightly pat him on the back. The guard's left hand twitches towards his gun. Foster must see, because he mutters something in Rachel's ear and returns to his seat. The second he does so, her expression closes off completely, like she has pulled the curtains to her bedroom window closed.

"We gotta work on your hugs, too," Foster remarks casually. Rachel shoots around to face him.

Foster sighs dramatically.

"No, you brat, I'm tryin' to turn ya into an actual human! Pretty sure wet cabbages can give better hugs than that one, what the fuck."

Dr. Yang stares, astonished. She had never seen anything even hinting at an emotion in her patient's face, yet Foster is able to read her like an open book. Teach me your ways, thinks Dr. Yang, and immediately shakes herself out of it. She is a professional therapist; she will get Rachel to talk to her eventually.

Rachel stands motionless for another second, and then walks over to Foster's chair, pulls at his arm so that he's almost falling off of it, only still sitting because he is leaning against her, and wraps her arms around his neck.

It is Foster's turn to stare helplessly at nothing, his arms hanging at his sides like wet spaghetti. She pulls him closer. He recovers remarkably faster than Rachel, and wraps an arm tighltly around her torso.

"Who'd've thought you're actually okay at this," Foster says, his voice quiet. Dr. Yang must be imagining the teasing lilt to his voice, just as she imagines Rachel's huff as she pulls him closer still.

They stay like that for a while, the guard apparently too stunned to react.

"Ray," Foster croaks eventually, "my back's gonna break if you keep this up." Rachel releases him immediately, takes half a step back and dimples at him. She has never even so much as lifted the corners of her mouth before - where did the dimples come from?

Foster waves his hand in front of her face, seemingly unimpressed.

"Shoo," he says sternly, and Rachel, back to being an earnest little doll without any sort of expression at all, returns to her seat.

"Not bad," comments Foster, and, once again, Dr. Yang is horribly confused. This seems to become an ongoing theme for her, watching the two interact and not understanding a thing.

How is it that she can have such a clear understanding of Rachel in everything elese (Rachel had scoffed when she had read that while rummaging through Dr. Yang's desk drawers in the middle of the night - that's what you get for not installing cameras), but be so utterly clueless when it comes to her interactions with Isaac Foster?

Dr. Yang is lost in her thoughts for the rest of the visit, head only clearing when they are back on the hospital premises.

Chapter Text

The next time they visit, Foster's bandages are loose and partly ripped, showing scarred and tender skin in some places.

Dr. Yang stands in the doorway a second longer than might be appropriate. She hadn't ever given much thought to Foster's bandages, had thought them little more than accessories. Evidently, they are not that.

Rachel, who comes in after her, doesn't react at all, besides frowning lightly.

She strides over to take a seat opposite Foster, and begins searching through her black messenger bag. After a while, she produces white badages, and slides them over to him without a word. He begins rewrapping himself. 

"What happened?" 

Foster scoffs, and, after having replaced his damaged bandages, reaches over to ruffle Rachel's hair. The prison guard makes a noise of protest, but Foster retracts his hand before the guard can do much more than that. 

"Gave as good as I got, don't you worry," he says, and Rachel nods.

"You should still be careful. I won't be there to stitch you up if something happens this time." Is she imagining things or does Rachel actually sound concerned?

Foster smirks in response. 

"Don't plan on gutting myself again, promise. 'Sides, if something happens, they've got medicine. And that goddamn cockroach," a dark shadow passes over his face and Dr. Yang is terribly afraid for a short moment, "ain't around, so he can't make my life any more difficult either."

Rachel nods again. Dr. Yang is sure they've started talking in some sort of code.

"Danny was weird," Rachel states solemnly, as if that isn't utterly unrelated to the topic at hand. (It isn't, but why would Rachel tell her therapist anything? Her last one tried to kill her. At least Dr. Yang hasn't said anything about her eyes so far.) 

"Thank fuck he ain't coming back from that last one," mutters Foster. "That weird-ass priest showed up and shot him with a fucking crossbow, ya know?"

Rachel shakes her head.

"Happened after he shot you, that bastard." Foster seems honestly enraged that someone harmed her, and if he weren't a murderer himself, Dr. Yang might find it heartwarming. As it is, she thinks it strange.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and leans forward when he speaks, so Rachel can still hear him despite his lowered voice. Dr. Yang doesn't understand a word. But she sees Rachel relax, tension she hadn't even realized her patient had had draining out of her at once.

"I know," she answers quietly, peacefully. "I'll think of something if you can't." A soft echo of the words he said to her on her first visit. Dr. Yang perks up, recalling that she'd wondered about the words and had meant to ask Rachel about them. But she'd forgotten.

"You'll have to, probably. You're the brains of this whole operation."

Rachel pauses. Then: "You have that from a movie."

He hums shortly.

The guard lights a cigarette. Or attempts to, rather. The second the lighter clicks open, Rachel whips her head around to stare at him. Dr. Yang has never seen her patient's eyes look this cold. Rachel looks like she would kill the guard if only she had a weapon. Her hand twitches; Foster puts his bandaged one on hers, and clasps his fingers around her wrist.

"They're saying that I murdered your parents," He says after a moment.

Rachel starts, whips back around to face him, and Dr. Yang tenses up. Didn't they instruct him not to say anything about that? Does he not have the sense not to mention that? What if this sets Rachel back? 

"That's not right," her patient whispers, distressed. The hand resting under his tightens into a fist. Foster sighs. "I told them it wasn't me, Ray. Not about to take credit for something I didn't do. Really can't-"

"Stand liars," Rachel chimes in. "I know."

"Let me finish my senteces, you fucking brat," he growls, but seems more fondly exasperated than honestly angered.

"But I mean," Foster starts again, "they were stitched together and you were alive next to 'em, yeah?" He looks at her questioningly, and Rachel hums in the affirmative. Dr. Yang is contemplating if they should just leave and not come back. If he keeps this up, she might just do it.

"None of those assholes survived me." He sounds almost proud of it and god, she wants to vomit. Why did she ever think that coming here would be a good idea?

"They have all the evidence for it, too. And I ain't great with needles, either. Where the fuck do they pull this shit from?!" His voice has risen, and he slams his hand on the table. Dr. Yang flinches, the guard shoots up from his seat, but Rachel... doesn't react at all. 

"Zack," she says, picturesque and tranquil.

Foster slumps. "'M sorry," he mutters, so quiet Dr. Yang almost can't hear it. She can't help but raise an eyebrow, incredulous. Now he's apologizing for murdering her parents? For making her an orphan?

Rachel just gives a minuscule shake of her head. 

Good, Dr. Yang can't help but think viciously, why should you forgive him? It's not very professional of her, she knows, but she can't help it. What he's done... it's unspeakably cruel.

Still, Foster relaxes in his chair. Dr. Yang doesn't understand him. At all.

"I nicked a thing from your floor when we left," he says, and oh, Dr. Yang's curiosity is peaked. What on earth is he talking about?

Rachel straightens in her chair, and Foster must see something in her face (how does he do that?), because he waves a hand, like he's waving away her concerns. "Don't worry, it's an actual stuffed one. Not sure what it's supposed to be, 's so fucking ugly, I swear." Rachel nods, head tilted thoughtfully. 

"Nini," she says. Dr. Yang smiles fondly. What an adorable name. Foster though, Foster snorts. Violently.

"What kind of shitty name is that?"

Dr. Yang flinches internally. It's not a very good idea to ridicule an unstable girl like Rachel on the topic of something she clearly holds dear. To borrow one of Foster's expressions, it's an incredibly dumb fucking idea.

Rachel only shrugs. 

"It fits." Is all she offers on the subject.

Foster makes a dubious sound, his expression amused. He reaches out again to ruffle her hair.

This time the guard reacts.

"Hey!" He shouts, "No touching!"

"Oh, but it's fine if she does it? Bullshit." His voice is flat, a twinge of annoyance coming through. Rachel glares over his shoulder at the guard.

Dr. Yang stands up and claps her hands. "Alright!" She calls, faux-cheerfully, "time is up, I think. We can come back next week, Rachel, what do you say to that?"

Foster mutters something about "patronising" and "fucking kill her", which makes her stomach twist uncomfortably as cold showers run down her back, but she decides to pretend she didn't hear anything. 

Rachel reaches across the table and brushes her hand against Foster's bandaged one, then slips off the chair to follow her out the door, an air of quiet satisfaction settling around her.

Chapter Text

A few days later, Rachel comes to her, asking for fabric.

Dr. Yang is surprised, to say the least. It's the first time her patient has expressed any sort of wish for anything. She contemplates the request for a bit.

"Do you want to make something?" She asks, smiling encouragingly at Rachel, who nods at the ground. Dr. Yang supposes there's not much sense in asking what Rachel wants to make. But she's seen her skill with a needle before. She's sure it will be amazing, whatever it is.

She should say no, special treatment is unprofessional, after all, but... it's the first time Rachel has asked for anything. If she says no now, Rachel might never reach out in this way again.

"What sort of fabric would you like, hm?"

"A lot." Says Rachel to the ground. Then: "The type doesn't... matter." It seems difficult for her to get the words out, but it's not very surprising, considering Rachel doesn't talk much. Dr. Yang has gotten much practice at waiting her patients out. The girl looks up through her lashes. "Some colours?" she asks quietly, as though raising her voice will be a guarantee for her to be denied. Dr. Yang can't help but smile. Her patient really is adorable sometimes.

So she heads out on a day she has no therapy sessions scheduled, and buys a most likely ridiculous amount of fabric and thread, in case Rachel will run out.

When she presents the mountain of fabric to Rachel, the girl doesn't quite smile, but there is a soft expression of general happiness on her face.

Rachel sets to sewing immediately, and continues to do so to such a degree that Dr. Yang begins to worry she has made a mistake; that she shouldn’t have indulged her patient after all. Rachel is obsessive in her work. She frequently forgets to eat and has to almost be dragged to therapy, where she sits still but restless, evident in the way she doesn't hear what Dr. Yang is saying most of the time, and in the way her eyes roam around the room unseeing, without pause, never settling on any one thing for more than two seconds at most. She works until her fingers bleed and then some. Dr. Yang is about to ban Rachel from further sewing projects when she finishes her first project and her obsesessiveness dials back from 100 to maybe 55. 

The next therapy session, Rachel proudly presents the stuffed animal she has sewn. Dr. Yang almost spits out her water. The animal itself looks horrendous. It seems to be a cross between a dog, a cow, and a frog. The needlework itself is excellent, of course, which is the only part of her thoughts that Dr. Yang expresses. Rachel smiles, even though her eyes remain dead, and tells her that she has named it Dondon, a companion for Nini. 

Rachel has missed her last visit with Isaac Foster, and Dr. Yang hopes that she has forgotten and moved on. Maybe sewing will serve her as a coping mechanism.

This does not seem to be the case after all. 

She comes to Dr. Yang with a backpack slung over her shoulder (Where did the messenger bag go? Did she make that backpack herself?), Dondon in her arm, and says she wants to visit Zack. Dr. Yang is a little disappointed, but he will be dead tomorrow and maybe then Rachel can find peace. 

So she agrees.

They stand in front of the prision, Rachel with a deathgrip on Dondon, lips pursed and looking altogether as if she is walking into battle. Dr. Yang smiles. Of course she is scared, the poor girl. But so brave, facing that monster week after week. They enter. The policemen try to take Rachel's things away when the metal detector beeps, but Rachel shrinks back, her arm around the stuffed animal and the hand on the strap of the backpack both tighten so much Rachel's knuckles turn white, and Dr. Yang whispers to them that Rachel sewed these things herself, and there are most likely just needles still in them, and they leave her be. Rachel's lips tighten in an attempted smile. Dr. Yang smiles back.

They enter the isolated visitor's room and Rachel places Dondon under the window and sets her backpack down next to her chair before sitting opposite Foster. "That's one ugly motherfucker," is what Foster starts with. Privately, Dr. Yang agrees; but still she frowns at his forwardness. No thoughts spared to another persons feelings. Typical for this type of monster, she supposes, but still.

Rachel stares solemnly back at him. "His name is Dondon," she says, voice quiet but grave.

Foster blinks. Then he throws his head back and laughs. Long and hard. 

"Explosive temper?" He asks, mirth dancing in his eyes, and wow, that is the most complicated set of words Dr. Yang has ever heard him say. (She could have sworn she's seen Rachel smirk from where she is sitting, but the expression is gone the next second, and so she shakes it off, and ignores the shiver of dread the expression has sent down her spine.)

"Anything that sets him off?" Foster is still silently giggling.

Rachel looks at the hybrid animal sitting innocently on the floor. She primly folds her hands over her stomach.

"He has to be handled very gently," she answers seriously. Foster raises an eyebrow at her. Watches the animal contemplaitingly. Looks back at Rachel.

"Well," he says finally, and in a sudden but oddly fluid move, throws the table they are sitting at against the wall. In the same breath he pulls Rachel down, out of the chair and to the ground, where he wraps an arm around her protectively. 

The guard only has time to splutter incredulously - that table was bolted to the floor - and Dr. Yang is frozen in shock, staring at the pair crouching in the middle of the room. Then the wall explodes, debris flying everywhere.

Dr. Yang is blown off the bench and onto cold, concrete floor by the force of the explosion. Her ears are ringing; she can't see. At first, she thinks it's because of the dust that must be flying around, but then she tries blinking, only to find that her eyes are closed and she can't open them. Can't move any part of her body, in fact. Her hands are wet. Why are they wet? They were dry a second ago. What happened? Where is Rachel? Is she okay?

She hears a low, distant voice, but it gets overshadowed by the shouting she can hear as though underwater, and the sounds of hurried footsteps. Dr. Yang blacks out.