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“Here it is.” Agent Three gestured towards the inside of her apartment's living room. Cautiously, Eight walked in, laying her eyes on every single piece of furniture.
It was a simple place. Although, in comparison to where she lived, it was a wonderful blessing. The living room was on the right side, with a green couch that faced a TV. To the left was a kitchen area, with a small island and a dining table with two seats. Eight squinted, wondering if Agent Three would often have visitors coming over to sit on one of them.
“It's not Off the Chain's mansion or whatever they’re called. But it’s home.” Agent Three said as she walked past her. She took her green jacket off, placing it on the hook by the door. She held her hand out towards Eight. “Your jacket?”
“Oh, right.” Eight took off her heels and the puffy white jacket Pearl had insisted on lending her. In the meanwhile, her eyes were focused on the kitchen sink. It was empty, with not even a speck of water on it.
Agent Three placed the borrowed jacket properly on the next hook over. Eight couldn’t help but notice that she was focused entirely on making sure it stayed there. She was even straightening out the sleeves. That’s a lot of effort for a jacket that wasn’t hers.
“Hungry?” Agent Three walked over to the kitchen. She opened up the fridge and knelt down, looking inside of its contents. Eight followed a short distance, stopping by the couch. She peaked her head out, trying to see if she could spy any of the contents within. She could only see bits of small containers of take out and tupperware.
It didn’t seem like Agent Three was waiting for a response, but after the events of today, it would make sense to believe that both of them were starving. Eight watched as Agent Three stood up and closed the door.
“Hmm. How about I go out and get something from a food cart?” She asked again. This time, she turned towards Eight for confirmation. “There’s this food cart at Inkopolis Square that has these amazing sandwiches. Fried shrimp in bread rolls.”
Eight opened her mouth, not sure how to respond. It was certainly an option, and it had been so long since she had anything that weren’t the crackers from her rations.
“I would love that.” Eight admitted. “Are you going to be out long, though?”
Agent Three’s face froze, as if processing what she said.
“Why?” She finally asked, her tone slightly sharp. “It’s like 10 minutes away, here and back.”
Eight stepped back a bit. Agent Three looked down at her feet before she continued.
“I’ll be quick.” She reverted to a softer tone. “The remote for the TV is right there on the couch. Bathroom is down the hall, to the left.”
Eight bit her lip slightly, unsure of how to think about being treated like a child.
“You don’t want me to go with you?” She asked, watching as Agent Three went to grab her jacket.
Agent Three looked back. “It’s been a long day. Don't you want some rest?”
Eight looked at Agent Three’s face. Her injuries from ‘that’ battle were covered up by an eyepatch. There was some insistence from Off The Hook and Cuttlefish for her to properly see a hospital, but she just laughed it off, like it didn't bother her.
"I wish for you to get some rest too, Agent Three." Eight said, sternly.
There was a moment of silence between the two of them. It lasted far too long for Eight’s liking, but she really didn’t know what else to follow it up with. Agent Three was putting on her jacket now, facing away.
“I’ll be fine.” She said, her tone not at all reassuring. “I would like you to rest though, for my peace of mind.”
It was hard to know if Agent Three was being genuine. She still really couldn't believe she laughed off losing an eye like that. Eight slumped her shoulders, too tired to argue.
“Okay, be careful.”
“Don’t worry.”
Agent Three opened the door and walked out, closing it gently behind her. Eight looked around, her eyes glaring at TV. Her reflection on the darkened screen stared back. Down in the Metro, besides from the train’s window, she never really had the chance to reflect on how she looked. There was that very nice drawing Marina made of her, but that was the closest she got.
Without thinking, she started walking of f. Down the hall, and to the left. She passed by 3 closed doors along the way. One of them must be for Three's room. The other was…what could it be?
No, don't look. Find the bathroom.
Well, she didn't know which one was the bathroom, did she? There were two doors on the left side. If she opened a door and there was no toilet on the other side, it wasn't her fault, was it? It was a 50/50 chance. What could this other one be? What does her “hero” have?
She swung the door open. A lone porcelain toilet greeted her. The seat was down, at least.
With a sigh, she walked down towards the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. It was a scarier sight than she'd like to admit. Her face had two scars from ‘that’ fight. One on her right eye, and one on her left cheek. Agent Three certainly knew how to throw a punch. The bleeding had stopped, but it didn't erase the pain. Not helping matters was the heavy bags under her eyes.
She looked around the bathroom again. There were no make up products or anything of the sort. Made sense. Agent Three always seemed to go all natural. Even though Inkling society was seemingly focused on fashion, she at least seemed to put that aside on the battlefield.
But Eight herself always wanted to try to be so pretty . She had always looked at the magazines she found in the Metro. The freedom of expression of the Inklings allured her. It was like the song of rebellion she heard, all those ages ago, but in a colorful but minimalistic fashion.
That's not even accounting for their fresh poses!. The inklings in those magazines would pull off graceful and full of youth poses. Jumping in the air. Crossing their arms. Leaning against the walls. Looking off in different directions. It was all so cool . She loved the poses that were simple, but still bursting with personality, whether it be from the way a model would smile or stare down at the camera.
She posed in front of the mirror- left hand on her hip, slightly shifting her weight to her right, and lifting her head up.
She looked down at the mirror like it was the camera and smiled.
Then she put on a neutral expression.
Then she smiled again.
Nothing was working. The scars stood out more than anything else.
She elected to just wash her hands instead. She even splashed some water on her face for extra measure. The soap smelled nice.
It would have to do.
Ka-click
The door was unlocked. That felt fast. Or was Eight just in here for far too long, posing and trying to be pretty for a girl she isn’t sure what to think about. What did Agent Three think of her? She was buying food, so that’s a good sign, right?
She ran out of the bathroom before the door could open and plop herself nearby the couch. There were a few more seconds of the other lock opening up, letting Eight relax her muscles.
The door opened, and Agent Three came back, carrying a plastic bag. She walked over towards the dining table and set the bags onto it. Her footsteps echoed throughout the hall. She took off her boots casually and placed them aside, right next to Eight's heels. It was like she didn't even notice she was there.
“Here you go.” Agent Three said. She pulled out one chair, then walked over to pull out the other. She stood there awkwardly, as if wondering if she should offer it to Eight, before sitting down in it.
Eight stood up and walked over to the free chair. The smell from the food was absolutely alluring- the shrimp smells slightly salty. The bread smelled sweet, and the sausage gave off a seasoned aroma.
As Eight sat down, Agent Three opened the plastic and pulled out a brown bag that was laid horizontally. She unwrapped it, showcasing the four sandwiches she had bought. Two of them were the bread rolls with fried shrimp in them, whilst the other was two pieces of fried shrimp that was attached to cooked sausage.
“And I got us this.”
She pulled out from a smaller brown bag two black cups with golden lids.
“Soda. Dr. Kelp.”
Eight blinked at her as she set the cups down. Without any prompting, Agent Three continued.
“I don’t usually eat this stuff at all. It has a weird ticket system instead of money, so I don't really have a lot of them. Not to mention I much prefer to eat at Inkopolis Plaza, but no one really goes there anymore. But it’s all very good. I can give you some if you want, just in case.”
During this small ramble, Three had avoided Eight’s gaze while organizing her soda and pulling two sandwiches towards herself.
“You talk a lot.” Eight said, resting her hand on her lap. “I didn't expect that.”
Agent Three had pushed two sandwiches to her now. She looked directly at her face, frowning.
“You don't remember?” She asked, her voice slightly sadder.
Remember what?
“No, I just…” Eight bit her lip. Would Agent Three even understand what it was like to lose memories like she had? “It’s unexpected. That's all. I didn’t expect that side of you.”
Agent Three shrugged and took her sandwich. “Makes sense. I guess the briefing file you guys had on me years ago wouldn’t mention that.”
Eight opened her mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. Right. They were enemies before. And if she thought back a little bit, there certainly was a briefing file about Agent Three that she had received, with the express purpose of battling her.
It must be the tiredness. Everyone sounds so much sharper to Eight when they’re tired.
Eight herself had been so tired she didn't even realize her stomach was growling too. She reached forward and took a bite of the bread with the shrimp in it. The warm taste filled her mouth, drawing a smile out from her.
She was in the middle of her food when she noticed Agent Three was looking at her.
“Different from your rations, huh?” She asked. Eight couldn't tell if she was joking. She almost had a smirk, but she didn't know if it was from the food or not.
Eight rolled her shoulders and closed her eyes. Vivid images flashed by, but nothing concrete. She remembered opening a round can. Broken crackers. Small amounts of chocolate. Coffee and sugar packets.
“Very different. Very not shit.” She concluded, taking another bite. She tried not to stare back when Agent Three's smirk turned into a full smile.
“Yeah. I feel you. Captain Cuttlefish put a lot of beans in ours. Potatoes too.” She took a sip of her drink. “But it was a good source of energy for the Octo Valley, when going through missions.”
She let that last word hang for a while. Her smile faded.
Eight felt her smile fade too. She tried not to take it personally.
“You know.” Agent Three put her sandwich down. “I still don't know much about you. The Captain knows you longer than I have at this point.”
Eight forced a smile out, for her sake. She might as well ease Agent Three in slowly to the truth.
“Admittedly, It is hard to remember most of what we did.” She said, “Or of my own life.”
“Oh. Sorry that happened.” Agent Three looked away, only slightly glancing back. “At least you're out of there now. Maybe you can go to therapy or something for those memories.”
She grabbed her sandwich, stopping before she took a bite. “I mean. It’s expensive. But I’m sure you could get help somehow. You know?”
Eight nodded, even if she had little idea on what that could help. And yet, in that regard, she couldn’t help but stare at Agent Three again.
“So…” She started. “Do you get therapy?”
Agent Three paused. “Here and there. I can’t do it consistently. Like I said-it’s expensive. Maybe I should go back though.”
“Maybe we will go together?” Eight asked, leaning forward. “It would be nice to bond with each other. And it doesn’t have to just be therapy too.”
To her dismay, Agent Three shrugged.
“Do you really want to?”
Eight blinked at her, grimacing. “Do you not want to? Was it something I said?”
Agent Three put her sandwich down.
“No. It’s just...Eight, I’m not sure I trust you yet.”
“Oh.”
It was an instant reaction on Eight’s part. She understood why Agent Three said that. But it’s not like she could say anything to defend herself. She could talk about how it wasn’t her fault that she lost her memories of what they did, but how would Three react to that? Would she get more upset?
“Why?” Agent Three asked, her voice quieter. “Do you trust me? I don’t know why you should.”
Eight shook her head.
Why don’t you trust me? I don’t understand.
She pursed her lips together, trying to stay calm. Agent Three pushed a cup of soda towards her.
“Here.” She said, passing along a straw as well. Her hand was shaking slightly.
“Oh no. It’s okay.” Eight nervously laughed. “I think I had my fill of it.”
Agent Three blinked. “So, not hungry anymore?”
“Nope.”
“You can put it in the fridge, and microwave it for later if you want.” Agent Three replied nonchalantly. Eight got up, putting her hands on the table to stabilize herself.
“Where is your bathroom again? I forgot.”
She didn’t.
“Down the hall, to the left.”
She wondered if Agent Three knew she didn’t forget. She just wanted to hear her voice again.
After a moment of hesitation, she walked down the hall, and towards the left, opening the door and closing it shut. Loudly.
She stood by the door still, unsure if she wanted to walk further. Any further and she’d be in front of the mirror, having to confront that unfamiliar image again. She looked at the sink, focusing on a towel that was nearby.
It was a small hand towel with a blue stripe down it. It looked new. Hasn’t been used for a while. A lot of the bathroom didn’t seem used in a while.
Why does she hate me?
No, focus on the towel. She slowly moved forward and touched the towel. Soft and fluffy. Must have been washed recently. Eight never really had that luxury.
How dare she hate me over something I can’t control!
That’s not fair to Agent Three. The towel is about the size of her hand, just a bit bigger. That's how hand towels are. About the size of your hand.
She gently brought her hand up to her face, wiping a small tear away.
I shouldn’t have left home.
The door behind her clicked open. Eight turned around, horrified.
“Hey, I’m-”
The door slammed shut again.
“Sorry!” Agent Three called out from the other side. “Sorry, I just-I was checking in on you. And I got you clothes too, for the night.”
Eight walked up to the door, peering at the handle. Agent Three kept going.
“I haven’t used this place in a while. You probably notice. And despite how incredibly charismatic I am, I don’t get a lot of party guests either. So I don’t usually leave it locked.”
Eight breathed some air out of her nose, recognizing she was trying to tell a joke. She put her hand on the handle, pulling it slightly open. Agent Three was standing there, holding up a purple shirt, balled up in her hand.
Eight pushed the rest of the door open. Agent Three handed over the balled up shirt.
“Sorry if it’s too big for you.” Agent Three said with a sheepish tone.
Eight uncrumpled it her hands and held it in front of herself. It was a shirt with some Octoling letters on it, written with rhinestones. It unlocked a memory-of being a kid and wearing something tacky like this. A light smile crept up on her face as reality gently nudged her back to the present.
“This is cute.” She looked at Agent Three. “You wear this?”
“Yeah. It’s a Cuttlegear original.” She pointed at the faded tag at the back of the shirt, showing a faded squid surrounded by 2 waves, and sitting on top of 2 crossed Bamboozlers. “Very casual. I think that’s Octarian too, on the shirt. What’s it say?”
Eight squinted at the letters. “It doesn’t say anything. It’s nonsense. Uh, maybe…wardrobe?”
“Damn. And I thought I was walking around with a cool shirt that said something amazing.”
Agent Three smiled. Genuinely, this time.
All of those negative emotions Eight felt were washed away-like she never felt them before. But Eight also knew that wouldn’t last long in itself. She wanted so badly to cling onto this-onto Agent Three, to make sure it doesn’t disappear from her sight. Maybe it was bad-but no, it couldn’t be. What’s wrong with loving something that doesn’t hurt people?
Well, Agent Three hurt people. Her people. And her too. So maybe there is something wrong. But she just couldn’t help it as she walked a little bit closer towards Agent Three, wondering if she was really here and if the tests would finally be over.
Agent Three didn’t move at all. She looked down at her still gently.
“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” She finally said. “You, hero of the world, deserve a nice and cozy bed. Mine would do, I hope. We can sort out a proper living situation for you later.”
Eight stopped moving, resisting the urge to argue with her. Agent Three turned around. Eight so badly wanted to reach out to grab onto her arm.
“Eight.” Agent Three started, not facing her. She still had that silly bandage on the back of her head that Cuttlefish put on her. “I do really like you.”
Eight raised an eyebrow. “Even if you don’t trust me?”
Agent Three nodded. “It's not your fault we were on opposite sides. Plus, you saved my life. You saved a world that shunned you. That's gotta mean something, right?”
Eight lifted her head up. She was right.
“Well, I like you too, Agent Three.”
Agent Three glanced back and smiled again as she closed the door. Eight hugged the shirt closer to herself.
But maybe you already knew that.