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The emergency alarm blares overhead. The walls of the facility pulse red as the siren wails, on and on. FORMAT pages in, giving some illegible orders that Rebecca is moving too quickly to parse. She doesn’t need them to know where she’s going. Footsteps clack loudly against the floor as she sprints down the hall. Her heartbeat fills her ears and she has no time to catch her breath. Whirling to a standstill in front of a familiar door, she can just barely hear the commotion from inside. Her stomach drops. There’s no time. Sizing up the door for a moment, she hops back a short distance and charges forward—
She kicks the door wide open, nearly blasting it off its hinges. The sound of a swarm floods her ears. She can barely process the numbing pain radiating up her leg, stricken by what lies before her.
It’s a familiar blur—clouds of dark triangles swirling in the air, freezing the room in a pocket of time. And right in the middle of it all, hunched over on the floor, is her dearest friend. A crumpled body, face down, wearing their signature black suit and white gloves. Rebecca feels sick. There the doctor lay, dying and scared and alone. No one there to keep them safe. All alone. With their BUG having burst, their body should be limp and unmoving, but by some horrible miracle, they’re still alive—writhing and wailing in agony. Alive.
Over the hissing of particles in the air is a cry that sounds for far, far, far too long, followed only by a gurgled gasp for air. She’s sure their lungs are collapsing. Razor sharp spikes stab out of every little place on their body, effortlessly piercing through skin and bone. Their jaw hangs open as rickety, squealing sobs pour out of them, wordlessly begging whoever will listen to make it stop, just make it stop. Make them stop feeling their own soft, squishy insides being pulled apart like freshly baked bread, their delicate skin flaying into stringy ribbons on the floor. Their hands are clamped onto their ribs, arms hugging tight around their middle like they’re desperately trying to keep their own guts from spilling out.
Underneath their squirming body are more spikes, scraping against the ground as they twist and turn. Heaps of dark dust, blood and mucus gather beneath their shredded stomach. Their forehead presses firmly against the floor, just barely keeping their face above a puddle of their own blood and bile. Dark fluid pools from under them, stretching in rivulets across the ground, trickling towards the doorway like it’s reaching for her.
Their whole body convulses as they gag and wretch—with a rackety cough, they hack up another spatter of black blood. Mucus dribbles from their nose and trembling lip and drips onto the floor. Their voice creaks with a frustrated wail as hot tears stream fervently out of their eyes—rather, where their eyes should be. Black thorns stick out in a cluster over the top side of their head, clouding their face in particles.
Rebecca wants to cry. Her fists clench so tightly they tear through her gloves, breaking skin, and she just wants to cry. She wants something, anything to come out—a sound, a voice, a scream, anything at all. but it never does. she just watches, silent. chest tight, throat burning, mouth dry, silent.
She can’t tell if she’s breathing anymore. There’s a deep, stabbing pain in her left side. Her head whips down to see the spike digging into her skin—but there isn’t one. There’s nothing stabbing into her. All that’s there is the gauntlet to her side, blade unsheathed to its maximum length. She never feels her arm move, but she knows why it did—she’s seen it all before, bodies going stiff and limp, crumbling into a storm of sharp particles. The light vanishing from their eyes in a blink. She knows what must be done, before it gets worse. It won’t have to hurt. It’ll be quick. God, please, not like this. Anything but this.
Then, the Doctor seems to finally notice her—their head is raised more attentively off the ground, angled up towards her. With the spikes on their face, she has no idea if they can even see her anymore. Regardless, whatever was left of their resolve melts away the moment they realize she’s there—they cry even harder, like a frightened toddler begging to be awoken from a bad dream. They weakly thrust one of their arms from underneath them, stretching a hand out for her. The pristine white fabric of their glove is ruined and torn, palm soaked in their own blood.
“Rebeccaaa-haaa…!”
They scream her name with a sob, limply throwing their body towards her. They try as hard as they can with what little scrap of strength they have to call for her, the one who should have protected them. The one who couldn’t do enough when it mattered.
“Help meee…!!”
While dragging themself towards her, they tense and shrivel into themself again. Their legs jerk out as their entire body violently spasms and squirms, hunkering down as their muscles pulse and more spikes burst, ripping them apart—
“DOCTOR!!”
Rebecca’s voice tears out of her as she lurches forward. Eyes wide and chest heaving, she bolts upright in bed, crumpling her weighted blanket in her lap. Her throat is raw and rough and she wheezes with every breath. A stabbing pain pulses through her left side. Rebecca’s gaze flits about as the numbing adrenaline begins to dissolve and her eyes adjust to what’s around her. The room is dark. Not the office, her bedroom. Her safe and comfortable bedroom. But it doesn’t feel like that at all—it feels tight, suffocating, wrong. There’s something wrong. Where’s the doctor? …Safe at the facility, of course. But, what if they’re not? What if that was a vision, a warning for her to go over there now, right now, before that happens! …But it’s not like she can now. It’s too dark. She can’t see and it hurts to breathe. Once she regains feeling in her arms, Rebecca places a sweating, shivering hand against her chest—her heartbeat hammers a mile a minute and her palm is stinging. It comes back to her in flashes—the sight of broken entrails, the smell of blood and rot. Her head spins and her stomach churns and she fears she might vomit.
Trembling like a newborn fawn, Rebecca kneads her clammy hands into her blanket and wills her breathing to slow. A breath in, then out. In, then out. In, then out… it’s all instinctual, from a time she’d all but forgotten. A time she thought she’d never return to. And yet, she’s right back there again—awake before the sun, alone in the dark, alone with her memories. She wishes the doctor were here. If Doctor was here, they’d put all her fears to rest, gently coax her back to earth with a sweet word or maybe a joke, or even just by fussing about their paperwork. They could comfort her just by being safe and alive, being here. Oh, she wishes they were here.
Slowly, Rebecca twists to carefully bring their legs over the edge of their bed. They set the blanket aside as they prod around for their slippers, shivering all the while. Every breath they take is pained and heavy and sends another aching pulse through their ribs. Once they’re found, Rebeca slips into the fluffy footwear and pushes themself up to a stand. They sway a bit as they do, barely regaining their footing as they sluggishly amble to the bathroom. They flick the light switch on and lean over the sink, gripping its sides. They spit in it, hoping to ease their nausea, and wince as their hand flares up in pain from pressing harder against the porcelain. They jerk their hand bank and turn it over. Small, crescent-shaped cuts bear tiny beads of blood on their palm.
With the adrenaline from her dream fading more by the minute, Rebecca can finally process how much her whole body aches. Lifting up her hooded sleep-cloak, Rebecca sees the red beginnings of a bruise, no bigger than her fist, blossomed on her upper ribcage. Shes stunned for a moment; surely she would remember sustaining an injury like that, and there’s rarely anyone who can match the HOTFIX captain’s strength. But this was far from the first time she’s woken up with bruises. She eyes her reflection for a long moment before sighing shakily. Switching on the tap, she holds her hand under the warm water, gathering soap from the dispenser in the other. The cuts are small enough that they don’t need any disinfectant, which she’s grateful for, as the burning sting would no doubt plunge her further back into a time she thought she’d long escaped from. When memories of mercy-killings plagued her sleep every night, the shrieks of BUG-holders pleading for their lives, her mother’s rage over the telephone, venomous words of blame hissing through the static crackles of the receiver. She switches the water off and looks at her hands. She’s shaking again. Through the pain in her palm, she white-knuckles the sink and leans over it.
“Why is this… I thought that couldn’t… that wouldn’t happen again…”
Rebecca asks aloud, through heavy breaths. There’s no one around to answer them. Only Doctor would know why, but they didn’t even seem to remember that time when asked about it. Rebecca remembers. No matter how many years pass, no matter how foreign it feels in their mind, Rebecca still remembers. They feel about ten years younger—weak and alone and ready to give up. Except, they can’t give up. Not anymore. Someone needs them now. A lot of someones, to be precise—a whole team of people with history and lives, who’ve slipped through their fingers when they just weren’t fast enough. An irreplaceable Mindhacker who was moments away from death, just some days ago. They think back to that day, when everything began to change—
For a few seconds, Rebecca’s body barely felt like her own. Numb on adrenaline, she flung herself over the broken window and narrowly deflected a stream of particles surging at the doctor. Just by a second, she saved their life. Their eyes met for just a moment. Doctor’s face doesn’t move much—their eyes are always focused, always looking at something more important. Their resting mouth is a thin line and their polite smiles never reach their cheeks. But in those fleeting seconds, after the glass pane protecting them shattered into a million pieces, they looked almost like a stranger. Dazed, wide-eyed, confused. Unsure and afraid. Their mouth hung open in shock. She could only stay long enough to urge them to flee, hoping they’d be made their escape by the time her blade plunged into soft flesh. She remembers ducking to avoid the spray of blood from the reformation target’s neck. It didn’t matter how many times she’d seen it already, it still made her nauseous, and she was grateful that Doctor wouldn’t have to see it at all. Except, by the time the clean-up crew had arrived, she looked back through the shattered window to see the Mindhacker’s limp body being carried to the infirmary. Right from where she’d left them.
The doctor was safe. She’d done what she needed to do.
But she knew, by the haunted look in their eyes afterward, those moments where they’d freeze up and stare ahead at nothing, that she was too late. She knew they were lying, when they smiled at her and enthusiastically promised that they’re ready to go back to work. It was a lie she’d told countless times herself—a hand-waved “I’m okay, don’t worry”, a politeness that smothered the truth for convenience. The bags under Doctor’s eyes grew darker each day afterward. Their voice shook just a little more and they trailed behind her just a little slower. Something was broken deep inside them that day, and there’s nothing she can do to mend it. All she can do now is wait; wait for them to find the courage to say what’s on their mind, for whatever will happen afterward, for as long as it takes. Even if that day never comes, even if she’ll never know for sure what it is that troubles them, Rebecca knows she will still be waiting. When they inevitably crack and collapse under the pressure, when it’s just too much and they need someone to fall back on, she will be there with open arms. Just like they were for her.
Her hands are warm and no longer aching. The soap smells of vanilla and lavender. It’s calming. Rebecca traces a faded scar along her knuckles—a thin line from accidentally nicking her hand with her blade in a panic. It took forever to get the bleeding to stop, but eventually, it did. It’s all but invisible now, and it doesn’t hurt anymore, but she still knows where to find it. She creaks open the bathroom mirror and finds a small bottle of painkillers in the pantry. Popping a pill into the palm of her hand, she closes the cabinet and turns to leave. As she hobbles through her room with half-closed eyes, she turn on the light. Her alarm hasn’t gone off yet, but she senses it’s about an hour or two before she has to leave for work. Her muscles ache and her eyes yearn for sleep, but she knows she won’t be getting any more rest tonight. All she wants now is for her body to stop hurting, to lay down underneath her soft blankets for just a moment longer. As she procures a glass of cold water from the kitchen, she sits down on her bed and considers calling in sick, still reeling from the vivid images of her dream. Swallowing the capsule with a swig of water, she figures that she ought to go into work today, now more than ever. There’s a deep dread in the pit of her stomach that she knows will only dissipate once she sees Doctor alive and well.
Taking another sip from their glass, Rebecca sets it aside on their bedside table and reaches for their alarm clock—it’s rectangular with an LED screen and a circular knob for changing its settings. Turning the knob until it clicks, the clock surges to life with the fizzling hiss of radio static. After a moment, two voices begin to sound through the noise—the first has a deeper pitch and they roll their R’s with the gurgled accent of fish-folk. The second is more chipper and it often cracks, wheezing like whistling birdsong. Rebecca’s heard this broadcast a few times before, when they’ve awoken before their alarm after unrestful sleep. The two speakers host an hour-long show where they discuss a featured flower of the week. It always reminds her of her dear friend. The hosts back-and-forth with a few quips before getting to the main showcase; some kind of lily that comes in beautiful reds, whites, and yellows. Their voices quickly melt into nothing but background noise, but Rebecca is thankful to have their company nonetheless.
With a sigh, Rebecca carefully angles herself to lie down on her side. She listens to the radio drone on and on, waiting for her medicine to work. Her arms feel awkward and she’s suddenly desperate for something to hold. Reaching for her pillow, she brings it in front of her. It’s soft and warm and familiar. In a sleep-depraved bout of wild imagination, she dares to dream what it might be like to hold the Doctor like this. She imagines herself squeezing the Mindhacker’s fragile body gently against her own, feeling them in full. She imagines their chest pressing against her own and feeling their heartbeat, their soft pulses of life. She’s overcome with an insatiable ache that slips out of her mouth in a meek, trembling voice;
“Oh… Doctor…”
Rebecca hugs it close, suffocatingly close, pressing it flush against her body. Pushing her palms deep into the pillow, she squeezes it impossibly closer, like she’s trying to memorize every fold before it’s ripped away and torn to shreds. Her muscles burn from how tightly they’re tensed and she relaxes, letting out a deep, shaky sigh. A hot tear slips from her eye and trickles down her cheek before melting into the fabric. Wrapping her arms protectively around it, she holds the pillow firmly, yet carefully. One hand gently rubs up and down the top of it, as if to soothe the inanimate object. An image of Doctor flashes in her mind—tear-soaked and bloody and scared. She snuggles the pillow, breathing in, and imagines she’s keeping them safe. She imagines that she could rescue them, could keep them safe and happy and by her side for the rest of time. That they could hold her too, when it’s all too much and she can’t do the protecting for the both of them anymore.
Rebecca wills themself to stay awake. In an hour or so, they’ll be able to see their friend in person and confirm their safety and everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. The dull ache in their muscles fades away without them noticing. They half-listen to the rest of the showcase, soothed by talks of fancy flowers. They put a pin in their memory to ask Doctor about the ones these hosts are discussing. They lie still as they wait for it to change to the 5AM broadcast.
~▼~
The kettle squeals to life as the water inside reaches a boil. It whittles to a whimper as Rebecca takes it by the handle and lifts it off the burner, setting it to the side. Next to her, absently swishing a daffodil in a small glass jug, is the Doctor. They’re alive and well, if a little bored, judging from the flat expression on their face. Rebecca remembers having to steel her relief once she saw them that morning, holding back a sigh and everything else she wanted to say—she wanted to thank them a hundred times over for being alive, wanted to wrap them up in a hug that never ended and beg them to stay forever. She’s not sure why such things crossed her mind, even if just for a moment, as the last thing she wants is to force the Doctor to behave any certain way. And yet, sometimes, there are moments where her chest aches just a little more and she wishes she could care just a little less.
“I’ve made some tea,” she says, ignoring the thoughts at the back of her mind. “Would you like any?”
They look to her for a moment before going back to their flower. “No, thank you,” Doctor declines, politely. They often do, but she likes to ask anyway.
Rebecca reaches for the break room pantry and takes out a small cup and a dish. The plate is decorated with a floral print that encircles the edge. She feels adrift outside of her body as she automatically pours the hot water into her cup and steeps a tea bag in it. Steam billows up from the cup into her face. It smells of lavender. She places the cup onto the dish and carries it over to the island table, trying not think of anything else as she sits down on a stool.
“Actually, I have something really important to ask you, Captain,” Doctor pipes up after switching the tap off. “Please think carefully about it, because the answer determines everything…” They speak slowly in their formal business voice, sounding deathly serious. They watch the daffodil drift about in its fresh pool of water before proposing their big question. “Which would look cuter on a scarf; pink tulips or white daisies?”
They turn around, expecting to see her hand perched on her chin in that charming way whenever she’s in deep thought. Instead, her back is turned and she seems incredibly focused on her tea. Which is odd, given how she doesn’t move to drink it at all.
“Captain?” They call to her. No response. Doctor leans to the side, hoping to steal a glance at her face, but she still doesn’t move. They set aside the daffodil and turn to look at her in full.
“Captaiinnn~” They sing-song, slowly walking towards her. Still nothing.
“Beccaaa~!” Not even her nickname gets a reaction. Now poised in prime position behind her, Doctor slowly brings their hands up and over her head, moving to cup them over her eyes when—
“Doctor-!!”
She sucks in a gasp through her teeth and defensively jerks her arm up. Doctor flinches and yanks their hands back.
“Please, don’t scare me like that…!” She pleads without a ounce of humor. Her voice shamefully softens near the end and she looks down bashfully.
“I’m sorry,” Doctor quickly apologizes. “You seem worried, so I wanted to distract you from whatever you’re thinking about.”
She’s a bit stunned by their apology. The Doctor wasn’t the type to admit their faults, even if they were obvious, so there must be something very wrong here. The earnestness in their voice makes her uneasy—they’ve already found her out. There’s no hiding her anxiety anymore.
“Ah… I appreciate that,” she thanks them. “I… I’m sorry for snapping. I’m not upset with you, I’m just… worried, I suppose.”
“Can you talk about it?” Doctor asks, moving to pull up a stool beside her. They sit down, back straight and hands neatly folded in their lap, with the same practiced poise they use for the Mindhacker’s chair in the Debug Room. For a moment, Rebecca feels intimidated, like she’s a reformation target about to be interrogated. Except, it’s just the two of them in the break room, having a chat over an untouched cup of tea. The only thing she has to be afraid of is how much of her guts she’s going to spill.
“…I think so. Could you spare a moment?” She asks, a bit rhetorically.
“Of course,” Doctor nods. “I’d like to hear it.”
Rebecca’s not sure why she’s surprised. After all, it’s a Mindhacker’s job to do just that. Swallowing her shame, she begins;
“Last night, I… had a nightmare. About you.”
“Oh,” Doctor says, tilting their head. “Am I really that scary?”
“No, no. Not like that,” Rebecca clarifies with a short laugh between her words. She just couldn’t stay depressed near them, could she? The slight reprieve drifts away as soon as it arrives, giving way to dread as images from the night before flicker in her mind.
“It was… you were in danger. A lot of danger. Something terrible happened—you were hurt. You were in so much pain, you kept crying for help, crying for me, and I just…watched. Unmoving. I didn’t even respond to you. I just… stood there. Watching as you… as you were….” Her voice dies off in a pained whimper, as if the very words wounded her to say.
“Rebecca…” Doctor’s breathless voice is full of an indescribable emotion that wracks her to the core. She can’t tell what she hears in it—shock, perhaps, at the thought of being abandoned? She knew they were afraid of that. She knew. Why did she put that thought in their head? She’s selfish, so terribly selfish. She clutches the porcelain plate tighter, carefully enough to not break it.
“Doctor… I don’t want to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, how you should think, what you should care about. But, you’re my dear friend. You… mean more to me than I know how to express.”
She pauses for a long moment, catching herself before she can say anything more sentimental. Her throat burns as the most selfish thoughts she’s ever had threaten to come flooding out of her mouth; stay with me, please, stay with me forever. She swallows them and continues.
“Things are changing so quickly nowadays. The air is tense. It won’t be long until The Hero is found, I’m sure. And… and when they are…” she pauses again, afraid to continue. She feels as if she might choke if she has to smother her words any longer. “Doctor, may I… Could I be selfish, just this once?” She asks, unable to bear the ache.
“Of course,” they readily agree, leaning closer.
“I only want to ask you… Please, no matter what happens just…. Come back. Come back from it, alive. Whatever you have to do, just survive.”
It’s quiet after her plea. The soft rattling of her cup clinking against the plate fills the air. Doctor eyes the ripples in her tea from her trembling hands. They’re silent for a long moment as they turn her words over like a precious treasure in their head. Rebecca wants to disappear, wants to stuff all of her words back into her mouth and hide away forever. Every second agonizingly ticks away as neither of them say anything, until finally—
“I will,” Doctor promises. “I’ll be careful.”
Rebecca releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. It doesn’t stop the trembling, but she’s no longer struggling to breathe, and her chest hurts just a little less.
“…Thank you,” she whispers. Carefully, Doctor removes themself from their seat and stands upright. Rebecca looks up as they step closer to her.
“It’s not a scarf, but perhaps this will do.” With that, Doctor meticulously brings their arms around her neck, weaving under her shoulder armor. They hum contemplatively. “It’s tricky to hug you with these heavy things on,” they comment. Rebecca laughs.
“Yes, that’s the worst part about them,” she agrees with a smile. Her voice is weak and she’s ever so tired, but right then, a pleasant warmth spreads through her.
She sets her tea on the table to free up her hands. Her arms wrap around Doctor’s back as far as her armor allows her. She pulls them forward and squeezes their body closer to her own, like she’ll be able to feel their heat through her steel and leather. She presses her cheek to their shoulder. They’re soft, warm, familiar. Leaning her head into the crook of their neck, she takes a deep, quivering breath, and sighs. She listens to their steady breathing, right next to her ear, and wills her own to stop shaking. She presses her palm to the small of their back and brings them impossibly closer. Doctor wonders if they’re imagining the small, pained noise she makes as she hugs them tighter.
It’s not the most comfortable hold, as Doctor can hardly feel themself breathe in her arms, but they find they don’t want to break out of it either. Doctor maneuvers their arms back and reaches to cup the sides of Rebecca’s face. Ever-so-slightly, they angle her head up as they gently stroke her cheek with their gloved thumb.
“Perhaps this is easier,” they say, before leaning down to press a featherlight kiss atop her forehead. Rebecca hums contentedly.
She has a joke about how uncharacteristically affectionate they’re being, but she saves it. She has no clue what inspired them to act this way, nor does it really matter—she’ll treasure it for as long as she can.
“You’re a good friend, Doctor. Thank you,” she says, voice low, leaning into their hand. There’s a small smile on the Mindhacker’s face—their smiles never reach their eyes, never stretch their face too much to be impolite, but something about this one is different. It makes her feel special.
“Well, of course,” Doctor replies, gently dropping their hand. Rebecca slowly loosens her hold and allows them to step away, no longer afraid that they might disappear. “I owe you my life, after all,” they say, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “This is the least I can do.”