Work Text:
Today, you’re sitting the exam to become a forensic detective.
It’s only the most important day of your life and yet, when you woke up this morning, there was no excitement, no anxiety, no nervousness. You didn’t want to move. It’s not that you were tired– you had fallen asleep effortlessly and slept the whole night through– but you simply didn’t want to get out of bed. Still, you powered through. You untangled yourself from the blankets and hauled yourself out of bed. You got ready, mechanically and soullessly performing all your menial morning tasks.
It’s the most important day in your life.
Now, you’re dragging your feet to the tram station and staring at your revision sheets without reading anything. Empty isn’t how you thought you would feel today. You think that you ought to feel stressed. But you don’t. You’re calm, bored, and disembodied. You don’t even feel the slightest rush of panic when you realize your exam notification might not be in your bag. You’d almost feel relieved.
If you’re honest, you don’t want to go through with the exam. You’re not tired, but you could go home and sleep all day. You don’t want to sit in a room full of strangers who are better, who work harder, who want and deserve that spot more than you. Candidates who are stressed. Candidates who are excited. Candidates who couldn’t sleep last night. Candidates who are actually reading their revision sheets. Candidates who are full of hope and potential.
You wonder why you’re even here. What your motivation is. If there is any.
You take a deep breath. You force a deep breath. Maybe it’s just your nerves. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Maybe your brain is just trying to protect you from the overwhelming stress you’re under because you can’t fail. Maybe once you get to the exam hall, you’ll feel the sweet, sweet stress finally getting to you, and with it much craved adrenaline. You’d like to feel something, anything right now.
Maybe. That would be nice.
When your stop is announced, you stand up slowly and shuffle out of the cab without a care in the world. There is no adrenaline running in your veins right now. Sometimes, you doubt there’s anything at all.
Some candidates come out of cars, others arrive on bikes. Some are huddled together, quizzing each other as if cramming until the very last second could make a difference, others are staring into the distance and listening to music in silence. You look down at your own revision sheet and stuff it in your bag. It will be crumpled. You hardly care. Some are hugging their family, others are alone.
You walk past the candidates. You came alone. And that doesn’t hurt you. No, that doesn’t hurt you. But it does. For the first time today, for the first time in weeks maybe, you’re feeling something. Your heart is being squeezed by a strong, very strong hand. Lana has always been here. First day at school– any school– teacher-parents meetings, school festivals. Even when she was busy, she would make time.
You try, as much as possible, not to think about how you haven’t visited your sister in prison since you came back from Europe. You try, as much as possible, to forget about Lana being in prison because she protected you. You try, as much as possible, to forget about Lana. Today has nothing to do with Lana or the ruins you found when you flew back home. It’s about you. It’s about everything you ever wanted. The most important day of your life.
You shut out the thoughts.
You’re early, most candidates are still outside, but you prefer to get in first. You can’t stand to be outside with the crowd. Maybe sitting at your desk will make you realize this is real.
You enter the exam premise and open your bag. The exam notification nags you. You didn’t forget it. Too bad. You hand it over, along with your ID. Your eyes linger on your name before you take your attention elsewhere, to the obligatory expressionless ID picture you had to take. As you stare, your eyes play tricks on you because instead of yourself, it’s her you see. Lana. Lana from after the incident. Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye. Cold. Cutting. Harsh.
You and she have never looked quite alike; the resemblance was never striking; but there is something in your lifeless stare that reminds you of her. Of the worst version of your sister. Maybe you’re also the worst version of yourself right now. You wonder if there was ever a good version of yourself.
You’re handed a pen and you take it. You sign whatever you’re asked to sign before heading to the exam room, to your designated seat. It’s so simple for now. You only do what you’re told. Easy. You don’t have to think. Your head is blank anyway and you realize it’s the clearest sign that something is wrong. Your head never used to be that blank. There were always thoughts buzzing around, experiments you wanted to make, scientific theories you wanted to prove. But today, there’s a whole lot of nothing.
You compare the number on your exam premise to the small labels on the desks and find your seat. You hate how little time that takes you.
You stare at your number and let out a huff. 519. For a second, you see something else. Two letters, one number. Enough to destroy so many lives.
You shut out the thoughts.
The process to become a forensic detective starts with a written examination testing basic knowledge. If you manage good enough grades from the written examination, you get to advance to the next step. Every year, about a quarter of the candidates make it to the next rounds. It’s known to be a very difficult exam (Lana used to tell you how difficult it was; to this day, you don’t know if she exaggerated so you would work harder at school or if she told the truth).
But this is what you’ve always wanted, right? Science is your passion. Being a forensic detective is what you’ve always wanted to be. You can’t fail, it’s what you were born to be. Forensic Detective Skye, solving crimes with the power of science!
Detective Skye. The name echoes in your mind and you can’t help but feel strange. Dizzy. Like you’re not where you’re supposed to be. You hear voices, from the past, from far away.
Detective Skye, I lost the autopsy report!
Detective Skye, there’s a defense attorney on the crime scene again…
Detective Skye, what do we do?
You sit.
It’s a small desk. You only have a pen. It’s a multiple-choice questionnaire. If you don’t know, you’ll simply pick an answer at random. You realize that one chance out of six is a worse probability than you advancing to the next stage.
It’s the most important day in your life.
It’s the day that will change everything.
But if it’s the most important day in your life, then why? Why does it feel like a chore? Why does it feel like you could walk out of the room and never regret it? You know you would regret it. You know it. You know you should. And yet.
You stand up. You don’t even take the pen with you. You grab your bag and calmly make for the door.
You don’t even feel like you’re making a decision. It’s not a statement. Part of you feels like you’re walking out to prove yourself that you can still panic, that you can still feel the stakes. That you still care.
But you don’t panic. (Why?)
You don’t care. (You should)
No one stops you. (She would have stopped you)
Nothing happens. (She would have stopped you, dragged you back to the exam room, apologized profusely on your behalf)
(You would have stood there, ashamed but glad, so glad she's here by your side, strong and determined)
(She would have smiled at you, she wouldn't have been mad, she would have said go get it, this is what you've always wanted, today is the most important day in your life)
And you would have believed her.
You shut out the thoughts.