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She doesn't know where it went wrong. It should have gone smoothly, pulled off without a hitch; it nearly was. Four ciphers down and not a single injury made it too easy to hope. Ada supposes that was her first mistake. Complacency is a luxury that none here can afford.
Although it happens in front of her, she hears it more than sees it, the harsh sound that's somewhere between a scream and a cry, and it's only afterwards that her eyes trace the arc of red on white, blood going drip-drip over the snow. It's ironic that out of all of them, the doctor would be the one to take a hit. (Or perhaps not so much so, Ada thinks with grim cynicism.)
"Go," Emily hisses through clenched teeth stained crimson, but Ada realizes that she's rooted to the ground and a pair of burning eyes is lifting, lifting to stake her where she stands. The Photographer is displeased with the results of this match; he moves with baleful deliberation as he draws his weapon. A hand closing around Ada's wrist and yanking her back one and then two steps is all that saves her from an unsightly fate, and she's left to watch as Desaulniers turns back to Emily with knuckles tight around the hilt of his sword. Nair pulls her back around the corner before she can see him bring it down.
"What was that about," Nair says afterwards once they're back in the safety of the manor, savage as one of her poise can be. "You could have cost us the win. Even Dyer told you to leave."
Ada balks at being spoken to so curtly, insult made worse with the knowledge that Nair is absolutely correct. "I would have left," she says stiffly.
Nair gives her one last, long glance before turning away. "Yes. I'm sure you would have," she tosses over her shoulder. Pauses a minute before she goes too far and calls back once more: "She's in her room, if you didn't know."
Ada does know, having caught a brief glimpse of blue and white limping down the hall ahead of the rest of them, but hearing it from someone else prods her to reflect on it deeper. She crosses her arms and lets herself think. When Helena, the last member of their team, rises quietly to exit the lobby, Ada finds herself following, steps slow but rapidly picking up in pace.
As she emerges into the main hall, she brushes back strands of her wild brown hair till they stick up just behind her ears, pushing past Gilman and Zelle, who’ve just returned from a game of their own; usually she would offer a word of greeting and perhaps a quick post-match checkup, but now, she has more pressing matters to tend to. Her heels click sharply against the manor floor as she swerves the corner into the hallway that holds the female survivors' rooms. Ada knows the distance to Emily's door by heart, knows the exact number of footsteps and the exact time it takes to arrive there. She has spent far too many nights wandering this very corridor, to and fro, always hesitating before that bronze nameplate as if it is her own headstone.
Now, though, she pushes it open with no hesitation, crushing all troubles under the swift palm of professionalism, and pauses in the doorway only to straighten her dress. It's torn and dusty, she realizes with a flicker of dismay; she really should have changed directly after the match, but now it's too late, especially with the way Emily instantly lifts her head with a sort of scramble and a bitten-off gasp from where she's sitting on the bed as soon as she sees Ada.
Ada is surprised by the sudden reaction. She peers a bit closer, but any suspicions she may have are instantly quenched by the sight of the fluids staining Emily's plain uniform purple and red. She hustles into the room, hands half outstretched in what she knows is a comforting gesture; still, Emily recoils. "What are you doing here?" the doctor rasps.
Ada frowns at the preposterous question. "Must you really ask?" She tilts her head down in a pointed gesture, brows angled, telling herself that this is nothing ordinary, a medical assessment between peers. "Let me see. Does it hurt much?"
Ada is a psychologist, accustomed to dealing with mental rather than physical matters; however, she does possess basic medical training and knows how to clean and dress wounds. While Emily may be a more experienced practitioner, Ada is well aware it can be difficult to treat one’s own wounds. A part of her knows she's also being selfish, capitalizing on this opportunity, but she ignores that little voice, sliding in beside Emily instead, though she’s sure to leave some space between them.
"Yes, I must indeed ask," Emily says dryly, "particularly seeing as it isn't even deep. No cause for worry. I was just about to fix myself up."
The implication is clear: let me be. Ada debates with herself for a moment as to whether she should listen or not. Stubbornness wins out.
"You must be tired." Her eyes flick over the dark bags under Emily's eyes and the hollows of her cheeks; she could laugh at herself, at the lingering uncertainty behind each word. "You don't need to do it all yourself, you know. That does no one any good at all."
"I'm fine," Emily heaves out through gritted teeth, attempting to simultaneously shoo Ada away and undo her shawl with slightly shaking hands.
"You are not fine." Ada easily dodges the doctor's flailing fingers and catches them in her own, lowering them. She is sure that she can see fear in Emily's eyes, and it puzzles her; surely it isn't her that the doctor is afraid of? They may only be recently beginning to settle the old bad terms between them, but she has never attempted to harm the doctor. She glances behind her, but no shapes linger in the hallway. "Let me help you."
"I can help myself.” Emily manages to slip free of Ada's grasp. “Honestly, just go-"
"Lydia, damn it. Just let me help!" The name drops past Ada's lips without her even meaning for it to. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment; then Emily seems to deflate, sharp shoulders settling low.
"... If you insist," the doctor says at last, voice low and barely audible. "Go on, then.”
Ada exhales, rising to sweep across the room with this newfound permission and pausing in front of the cabinets. She finds the gauze and disinfectant where she would expect them, on the bottom and to the front; by the time she's turned around, Emily has her shirt unbuttoned, but her back is resolutely facing Ada. Ada settles back down, placing the supplies on the creaking mattress beside them. "Alright. Just turn around," she prompts, reaching for Emily's shoulder.
"You-" Emily begins, but Ada has already turned her around so that they're facing each other. The psychologist nearly flinches at the sight of the gash in Emily's side, but really, she’s seen far worse. Her hands scramble to clean and bandage. It's been a while since she dredged these old skills up, but it seems she still remembers what to do; the wound is dressed and wrapped in only a few minutes. It truly isn't as deep as it initially appeared, certainly not fatal, and Ada strips off her gloves with a sigh of relief as she sits back to survey her work.
There are more bruises across Emily’s ribs, but there isn’t much that Ada can do for those; rest and a cold compress are the best remedy. Still, her brow pulls close as she casts a quick glance over the rapidly purpling patches. It’s a quick glance, barely a flicker of cautious eyes- but something stops her in her tracks, a faint glimmer unlike the rest of the contusage that draws her attention. Only then does she realize what Emily has been trying to hide from her as her eyes move fully up from the wound. For a moment, she's surprised, eyes drawing over the edges of skin stretched over ribs, the hints of pale lines that are almost silver and shine like little rivers, but she masks it well; there's no change in her expression at all, not once the entire time, as she asks, "How does that feel?"
"You..." Emily mutters, repeats, rubbing at her wrist a bit sheepishly. "Better," she admits in a louder voice. "... Thank you."
"No need." Ada shakes her head. Her sharp eyes lift further to scour Emily's features once more, beaten silver on hard steel. "You didn't need to be afraid for something like that."
Emily laughs hoarsely like it’s punched out of her gut, turning away to button her shirt up again slowly. "And why shouldn't I have been?"
The words are biting, but they carry some truth behind them. Ada knows only too well. In an impulsive moment, she reaches out and lays a hand over Emily's wrist. Emily freezes, fingers wavering over the buttons of her blouse at the slight touch.
"I know," Ada says tightly, after a moment too long of silence. It isn't an answer; it seems entirely unrelated, yet Emily's shoulders seem to slump forwards. Ada watches as the shadows ripple down her collarbones into the hollow of her ribcage, shining dark across the planes of her chest. Her profile is sharp and defined against the dark wall of the room. Her hair is slipping out of its meticulous bun, loose curls hanging down the sides of her neck; Ada represses the urge to reach out and tuck them back in.
"Know... what?" Emily ventures to speak at last, and the illusion of a molten statuette cast is banished. Ada shakes her head once to herself and releases Emily's hand, pretending not to see the way the doctor's fingers flex ever so slightly after the receding warmth. It does ever ache to pretend so.
"How it is," she offers, drawing her knees up a bit more. The skirt of her dress puffs out on the side and brushes up against Emily's legs, slightly scraped from the match earlier. She hopes that Emily will not believe she's only inventing a story to empathize with her.
Emily raises a thin-plucked brow, but, thankfully, does not look as dubious. "You don't say?" Her eyes slide downwards to where the expensive looking fabric of Ada's skirt, ruined as it is, seems to mold to the creases of her plain skirt. She straightens it out over her thighs, tugging the frayed hem in a sort of nervous motion. Ada has never seen her like this before. It's endearing in one way, quite nearly frightening in another.
Ada pauses for a moment to gather her own thoughts; articulate as she is, as she's always needed to be, the right words escape her for some moments. But Emily is nothing if not patient, sitting quietly as she waits, and at last, Ada clears her throat, opening her mouth to speak again.
"I fear that I've never felt myself to be much of... well. Not much of a woman," she admits. "But neither much of a man, mind you... Perhaps something in between would fit more, if there were such a word."
It's true, something that has haunted her since she was young; it's also something she has put aside for years, refusing to confront it, barely acknowledging it. Everything is easier that way, safer that way. Sometimes, on lonely nights, the thoughts invaded her mind, filling her with doubt, with fear, with dread; often they still do. There have come moments where she feared she would be driven mad, slowly losing control over one of the most important aspects of her life. It should not matter, and yet it did, it does, so much that it hurts.
Away from the world as she once knew it, in this manor that seems to defy the laws of the universe, Ada finds that there is much more solace in entertaining such ideas. Many here are similar, in certain ways; it is not like the structured ways of the asylum, rigid and unyielding. It is with a small flicker of plainly undeniable shame that Ada realizes what courage this must have required of Emily.
Emily lifts her shoulders in a sort of half shrug, snapping her shawl closed again. It lays heavy over her torso. Ada wonders if it is one and the same from the days of her prime, or simply an imitation. "Why must there be a word for it?"
She turns to face Ada and smiles a small, tired smile- but a real smile nonetheless. Ada believes it may be the first time she's seen that smile in years. "You're the same person, either way."
"... I suppose you're right." Ada huffs a bit, tilting her head to the side. She meant only to offer comfort to Emily, but it seems the doctor has decided to reciprocate. Strange that this should be how months of built-up tension should end. "It only seems odd that I can't make up my mind."
"Odd to whom?" Emily shakes her head. "Not to me, certainly. Not to many others as well, I'd say." She tucks her hands back into her lap, lowering her head. Ada is reminded of the many days and nights spent watching her work in such a position, hovering over sickly children and trembling elders, always so distantly present- so coldly warm- so wrongly right. She wonders how it went wrong.
"I suppose," Ada repeats, echoes herself, and finds that this, too, is an echo of years gone by. "Either way, it's too late for me now, I'd say." She attempts to brush it all off with a laugh and a wave of her hand. She knows Emily sees through it. It is meant to fool only herself, not the doctor, and yet still, she cannot succeed at even that. Ada has seen many patients who suffer from sorts of delusions- fears that they are imagining their own conditions, that they are gathering attention to themselves for no good reason. She clutches her hands together, feels the bones of her fingers, and wonders once more; this time, the concern is when she began to neglect her own health.
Emily scoffs, and this is more of what Ada knows, the wall between them that has never quite been broken. Even now, though, it is crumbling, trembling, on the threshold. Ada fears what will break through from the other side. "You know that isn't true. It isn't too late until-" She cuts herself off abruptly.
Ada knows what she meant to say.
Funny how none of them really know when that might be.
"Best to take advantage of our situation now, then?" she suggests, and is rewarded with another wry twitch of thin lips.
"Perhaps." Emily hesitates. "Is there... anything you would like for me to do? To help you?"
"Help me?" Ada is confused for a moment. "I'm not injured. And as for the rest-"
"I don't mean that." Emily takes a breath. "You can tell that I’ve undergone… operations, of sorts.” She pulls the corner of her shirt to the side until the metallic light spills over her skin once more. The scarring isn’t as obvious now, not when Ada doesn’t focus as much. “Of course, I didn’t do them myself. A colleague was the one to help me.”
Her lips thin into a straight line of pale coral. Ada wonders who, exactly, this “colleague” was, but it’s clear that Emily doesn’t care to elaborate on that topic. “I’ll spare you the details,” she says instead, “but if you ever wanted something like that-”
Ada is rendered silent as the meaning of Emily's words strike her over the back of her head. She glances down at herself only momentarily. She has never felt at odds with herself; to her, her features are not inherently feminine, not masculine. They are her; she prefers to keep them that way.
Still, though, she feels her breath catch at the back of her throat, now knowing Emily would take the time and effort to help her with something so meaningless, yet so meaningful. "No," she says, and takes satisfaction in how steady her voice is. "No, but... thank you."
"No need." Emily echoes Ada's own words from earlier, seeming flustered herself as she sits up a bit straighter at the edge of the bed. "It's all a part of my job."
Ada knows it isn't, not really, but she's willing to believe that for both of their sakes. She rakes a hand through her tangle of dark brown curls; then, before she can change her mind, she speaks again. "Emily?" The name still feels strange upon her tongue. She turns a narrow side-eyed glance upon the doctor, gauging her reaction.
"Hm?" Emily glances over, reaching up to her own hair as well to push the loose strands of her bun back into place. It's a sort of unconscious mirror of Ada's movements. Ada does her best to ignore that.
Their eyes connect; it’s only for a split second, but it’s enough to make Ada lose the thin train of thought that she’s managed to maintain. “Nothing,” she says, with almost enough conviction to make herself believe it. She rises from the bed, turns on her heel. “You should rest.” There is still more left unsaid. What exactly that is, perhaps, remains to be seen.
She makes it to the edge of the room, hand hovering over the doorknob, before- “Ada?”
Hearing her name on a tongue that makes it seem more elegant than it is sends an uncomfortable feeling up Ada’s back. She wonders, then, if Emily has spoken it even once, during all their time at the manor, and finds that she doesn’t have the answer to that. It’s enough to convince her; she goes still. “Yes?” Even her lips barely budge.
“Why did you wait at the gate?”
Ada turns. Emily sits, alone, small against the white of the mattress and walls. She looks tired, but her shoulders don’t carry the same burden that once seemed to carve flesh from bones.
“I don’t know,” she says. She pauses. Then she repeats it louder, faltering at the realization. “I don’t know.”
Ada is grateful that Emily knows when not to push. There come no more questions, no curiously lingering gazes. Instead, she nods. “I thought you might say that.”
And despite herself, Ada wrinkles her nose. “Should I be offended?”
“Not particularly, unless you’d like to be.” Emily leans back against the pillow propped at the headboard and watches her through half-closed eyes. Ada looks back, and something unspoken passes between them.
She goes out into the hall and shuts the door quietly behind her. The hall is just as empty as it was before. Ada can hear distant lobby doors slam shut, signifying the start of a new game for the next batch of unlucky souls. For her, though, the day is complete; the match with Emily was her last. Complete, but never over; occasionally a blessing, too often a curse. Today, perhaps, was something else entirely. Ada finds that despite the ache in her bones, the invariable
exhaustion tugging at her body, she recalls at long last what it’s like to breathe easy, even if for but a fleeting moment in time.