Work Text:
The Cost of Surviving
Greta Hofmann had never seriously considered the possibility of an afterlife. The very concept was simply unprovable and unknowable. A complete waste of time to consider when she had real questions with actual answers to find. Little more than philosophical drivel, suitable only to those long-winded scholars who enjoy hearing themselves pontificate for hours on end.
Even in Viena, as she lay dying on the cold hard ground. Staring down the barrel of her inevitable fate she refused to cling to the hollow comforts of an afterlife. As her body burned and every artery, capillary and vain tore itself apart she struggled to think past the pain she knew one thing for sure.
The Mission was a failure.
Heinrich was dead taking all he knew with him. Shot in cold blood by his own ally. There was no more time, no second chance. The only thing left to do was to get Marcus to safety. The girl should be fine; she had a good head on her shoulders and shared Greta’s drive for knowledge. But Marcus was an anarchist through and through, prone to getting lost in her own emotion and with the storm sickness sinking in there was no guarantee what she would do.
There was little more Greta could do as she bled out than beg. Not a higher power for her own salvation but for Marcus to follow one last order. Get to the shelter, take Kakania with her.
There was no peace as she felt her consciousness slip away, only the heart wrenching sounds of Marcus’s sobs. Silly girl.
Greta died the way she lived, striving for a future she would never know.
That should have been the end of it. A sudden fade to black. The curtain fall. The end of her act. She never actually expected to see the light or that it would be so bright. It was so, so bright. Painfully bright. A thousand burning suns seared through her head and she squinted against the merciless onslaught. Her eye lids offered no protection. Desperately she tried to turn but her body refused her command. An incessant beeping drummed through her ears. Under the beep was a high-pitched hum.
“Shhh, Be still.” A voice cut through the onslaught. Male, deep and painfully familiar.
‘Papa?’ She tried, but her jaw, like the rest of her body refused to cooperate. A pathetic Murmur squeezed through a dry throat. Her muscles tight and unyielding, diaphragm hitching around a single breath.
There was instant relief as a solid object fell over her eyes, distantly she recognized it as a hand. The palm was rough with calluses. “You’re not allowed to leave yet.”
She was so tired, too tired to fight. Too tired to find anymore answers. With nothing else to do she drifted away to the familiar scent of coffee, whiskey, mint and tobacco.
-∞-
The next time Greta opened her eyes, she was met with a sea of cream. Ignoring the burning pain of her muscles she rolled onto her side to find more cream. Her brain lagged, struggling to make sense of the world. There was something on her face, light and soft, smelling distinctively of the ocean and trees. Clumsy fingers twitched at her side, lacking the strength to move.
“So, you’ve awakened.” Greta looked towards the voice, every movement a struggle, a fight against herself. The owner of the voice took pity on the agent removing the veil of cream fabric covering her head. Brightness illuminated the world causing Greta to squint as her eyes adjusted. the blurred outline of her visitor slowly started to manifest. Long dark hair, slight frame, and glowing red eyes?
Adrenaline spiked through her system at those eyes, a deeply buried instinct screamed ‘predator’. Greta gritted her teeth, shaking her head despite the ache, stomping down on the irrational thought. Her heart raced as her vision slowly cleared the rational part of her brain finally winning out providing her with a name.
“Semmelweis?” the words came out as a croak, sound like gravel in her throat. Her visitor merely smiled.
“I Hope you don’t mind.” Semmelweis held up a bar of chocolate with a bite taken out of the corner. “It’s been piling up so I’ve taken it upon myself to help,” she took another bite with a *snap*. “Clean up.”
The investigator pushed herself up, quietly accepting the other woman’s help as the pillows were arranged to help her sit up. Now in a better position she could fully take in the sterile white of the LaPlace Rehabilitation Center. The Room wasn’t large, designed for a singular occupant and enough room for an attending physician to move. In one corner sat a table covered with what must have been classified as a mountain of flowers. bouquets of all colours and species. Some wrapped up with ribbon, others with cards and vases. At the base of the mountain of flowers stood a pile of gifts. From the distance she could make out bags and boxes of candies and more books than she had ever read in her life. There was no clock in the room but looking out the window confirmed it was night. To her right Semmelweis slouched in a cheap plastic chair.
Greta took comfort in Semmelweis’s presence. She was one of the few people that Greta was close enough to consider a real friend rather than a mere coworker. She was different though. Her usual pale complexion was absolutely pallid, a long prominent canine tooth peeked out of a tight-lipped smile, and once amber eyes were now an inhuman shade of red.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Perhaps not the most important question but the first one to cross her mind.
Semmelweis chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “You don’t think it suits me?” A hand encased in an arm length white opera glove picked up the edge of her black cloak, revealing the scarlet lining on the inside. Greta had only seen the other woman ware anything other than her investigator uniform a handful of times but never would have expected her to own something with so much frill and lacing. Her dress was a rich dark green, her skirt was lined with a deep red ruffle. On her head sat a black hat that matched her cloak, slanted forward ever so slightly to obscure her left eye.
“You look like you’re ready for a funeral.”
“Well, it was close.” Semmelweis gave her a tired smile. Her shoulder sagged under an unseen weight. “If that bullet hit you a little more to the left, there wouldn’t have been a funeral, you would have been nothing more than another name for the wall.”
Greta averted her eyes, uncomfortable with such open and unguarded emotions directed at her. She stared at her lap finding the cream fabric that had covered her head earlier. Her hands had wrapped around it unconsciously, finger weaving through the loose knitted yarn. Marcus’s Scarf. Under that draped across her legs was a large black jacket with noticeable staining that was easily recognizable as belonging to her brother. The gabardine fabric of the jacket was rough compared to the fibers of the scarf, still she found herself rubbing her fingertips in repetitive circles taking comfort in weight of it.
Her arms were a mess, bruises tracked up and down their length in a clear map of her circulatory system. An IV was inserted in her right forearm. A white hospital band around her wrist. To her left a heart monitor beeped, the incessant chirping wearing her already frayed nerves thin. If she had any real strength left, she would have hurled the damn unit out the window. Her skin crawled at the various sensors attached to her head and chest.
“How did I end up here?”
“How?” Semmelweis tone was disbelief, like Greta had asked the stupidest question imaginable. “It was that little apprentice of yours. How on earth did you manage to find someone as stubborn as you?”
“Marcus; But how? She’s has little more than basic first aid training.” Semmelweis shrugged, calmly munching away on her stolen chocolate.
“From my understanding she managed to convince that fraud of a psychiatrist, Kakania to help,” Semmelweis pulled a face, drawing out each syllable of the name, her distaste palpable. It was rare for her friend to display such open contempt. It was easy to forget sometime that the other woman was still a teenager. “It turned out she had some real medical training. The two of them managed to keep from bleeding out long enough to drag your ass to the Storm Shelter.”
“I told her run.” Greta shook her head, the muscles in her neck objecting.
“She did, she just took you with her.”
Greta sighed, slumping down into the bed. Every part of her body screamed in discomfort. What she wouldn’t give for a long hot bath and her own bed.
She idly wondered what era they washed up in now, but she refrained from asking.
“I will say, I was impressed.”
Greta opened one eye to her friend, raising a singular eyebrow to prompt her on. What was there to be impressed with? The mission was an unequitable failure. She had been too slow, they had lost their only lead, and she was only alive now because Marcus took an unwise risk.
“That girl of yours, she had much more determination than I would have given her credit for. I honestly thought she was far too timid to be an investigator. She’s painfully shy, prone to indecision, and easily overwhelmed.”
Irritation churned in Greta’s gut. A burning fire in her chest demanded she protect Marcus even if the assessment was accurate. She set her jaw, biting down on the sensation.
“I never would have guessed she would run back into the storm by herself.”
“SHE WHAT?!”
*Beep Beep Beep*
The traitorous heart monitor broadcasted Greta’s spiking pulse. Her voice cracked.
She couldn’t have.
Her chest tightened, breathing rapidly becoming a nigh impossible task.
Surely Semmelweis was just messing with her. Marcus was too smart to risk her life for no good reason.
Her head spun, refusing to consider for a second the girl could actually be gone. Someone at the shelter would have had the sense to stop her.
“Would you calm down.” A set of arms wrapped around her waist.
When had Greta jumped to her feet?
Vertigo ravaged her senses. Nausea swelling from deep in her gut. Acid from her empty stomach burned her esophagus. Legs gave out under her own weight. The only thing keeping her from dissolving into a puddle on the linoleum floor was Semmelweis. The other woman showed no sign of strain as Greta unceremoniously flopped in her grip.
Semmelweis picked her up as if the taller woman weighed nothing. In her right mind Greta would have fought. She was far too old to be picked up like this. Instead of yelling, she found herself burrowing her face into Semmelweis’s hair. The scent of wood, pepper and leather washed over her. She closed her eyes. Just for a second.
-∞-
Greta dreams of a deer.
It’s a massive beast standing easily at 2 meters tall. A doe judging from its clear lack of antlers. She was midnight blue with a rich cream underbelly. On closer inspection she could see stars twinkling in her coat. Gold eyes regarded with equal interest. On some level Greta knew she was looking in a mirror.
-∞-
It was early morning when Greta woke. Soft diffused light streams into the room through sheer curtains. For the first time in days her body didn’t ache. She was floating in a cozy warm comfort, too tired to move but not quite able to fall asleep.
Somewhere in the room someone shuffled papers, quietly muttering to themself just under their breath. Occasionally the scratching of a pen and an exasperated groan. The person was familiar, a comfortable presence though Greta couldn’t quite rouse herself enough to open her eyes and check.
A door opened with a creak, bringing with it the smell of coffee.
“How’s the Patient?” A deep gruff voice, scratchy from sleep filled the room.
“Oh,” the writer perked up, her pen clicking softly on the table. “Good morning Mr. Hofmann. Still sleeping, but I was told she was awake yesterday.”
“We’ve been through this Marcus. Just call me Enigma.” Steam hit her face. A hot cup of coffee waved under her nose, just out of reach. The smell was intoxicating. If Greta had the energy, she would have snapped it up in an instant.
“R-right. Sorry Mr. Enigma.”
The steaming cloud of hot coffee disappeared as Adler walked over to Marcus’s makeshift work spot. The pile of gifts had been pushed to one corner, some ending up on the floor so the young investigator could set up her portable writing desk. Multiple letters, loosely sorted into three piles, occupied the majority of her set up.
“Here.” Adler placed the coffee down on a random letter, paying no mind to the sloshing contents.
“Thank you. But you really don’t have to.”
“No point in it going to waste.” She was waved off as he threw a handful of cream and sugar packets from his pocket onto the table. “Trust me, after two weeks without coffee, she’ll be onery when she’s finally up.”
It was honestly amazing how just a couple of words from her brother could still annoy her this much even as adults. If Greta had been able to move, she would have thrown a pillow at his head.
Adler Picked up one of the piles of letter, lazily skimming over the signatures. “I thought you already rejected Dr. Simmons offer.”
“I did,” Marcus pushed back from the table with a groan, her chair screeching as the metal legs scraped across the linoleum. The young investigator took a sip of her black coffee, face immediately scrunching up at the bitterness. Stubbornly she took another sip before reluctantly reaching for the packets of sugar. “This is the third offer. She’s now trying to sell me on her research.”
“Are you interested?”
Marcus hummed, stirring a packet of sugar into her drink as she organized her thoughts.
“It is……. Interesting, but I don’t think I completely understand what she’s talking about.” She held the hot drink in her hands, feeling the heat seep into her pals and stared into the dark liquid as if it held all her answers. “What does she mean by digital consciousness? I don’t see how I can be any help to her project.”
“No help?” Adler snorted in disbelief. “With that arcane skill of yours it was only a matter of time before LaPlace would be fighting over you.” He crumpled Dr. Simmons’ letter, throwing it in the trash. Marcus looked like she was about to complain. Instead, her shoulders sagged in relief, like just a little of the weight she had been carrying had lifted.
Adler tossed a second letter without bothering to skim the body of the text. “You do not want to work with the Collector. You’re more likely to end up his test subject than a researcher.”
A third letter for the bin. “Dr. Banff works with the Collector. How they are still getting funding is beyond me.”
“I thought their work was interesting,” Marcus argued. With her coffee finally just to her liking she took a deep sip of her drink, enjoying the kick of caffeine. “Using the storm to track down endangered and extinct species for preservation could be useful. Apparently, they already have a tasmanian tiger.”
“LaPlace has several other teams doing the same research. Those two can’t keep another coworker around for more than a month with all their bickering and willingness to test on themselves and anyone unlucky enough to get in their way.” A fourth and a fifth letter ended up in the trash without a comment.
“Didn’t you already accept a placement on Team Timekeeper, why are you still worrying about all this?” He gestured to the plethora of letters.
Marcus lowered her head, avoiding eye contact under the preface of concentration on her drink. Silence stretched between them as the young girl struggled to find her words.
The air in the room shifted, the scent changed from familiar and cozy to sour. Greta felt her gut twist. Her senses screamed that Marcus was in distress. The hazy of pain killers started to lift.
Adler after a couple beats pulled out a chair and sat down. Tension faded from the young woman now that they were on the same level.
“You do know, you do not owe them your time, right?”
Marcus nodded, still not quite able to lift her head yet. “It feels rude to reject them without at least reading their proposal.”
Adler sighed picking up a letter from the second pile. This bunch seemed to be from Zeno. It was smaller than the LaPlace pile and if he were a beating man, he would guess the third stack of letters was from St Pavlov. Opening the first Zeno letter he skimmed the text. An invitation to join the Xeno Intelligence Force. The next one was infantry, after that navy and even the air force.
Adler looked at the small woman hiding in a jacket way too large for her tiny frame and a mane of hair so thick she could just about disappear in it. He tried to imagine her holding rifle. A good gust of wind would probably be enough to knock her off her feet, the kick back of a rifle would send her flying. “What do you want to do?”
Marcus finally lifted her head, looking up to the ceiling. The room was dimly lit as she had shut off the fluorescent lights herself. They were much too bright and buzzed far too loudly for her to be able to stomach them long term.
“I only became an investigator to begin with because of Madam Hofmann.” Words spoken barely above echoed through the hospital room.
He looked towards his sister lying in the bed, his heart clenching at the sight. Not once had he allowed himself to consider she could actually be in real danger. It was a foolish thought. They lived in uncertain times, and her job placed her in the middle of dangerous situations constantly. Still, they are each other’s only family; all they had left in the world after losing their parents. In many ways she was still the impossibly strong big sister in his head. Someone big and strong as a mountain. The idea that she is just flesh and bones and could be taken out like a mere mortal shook him to his core.
Greta may be his only family but sitting in this hospital room with Marcus he was forced to confront the fact that he was no longer Greta’s only family.
Then he noticed it. A twitch so small it could easily be dismissed as a trick of the light. Gretas finger moved.
“Greta?”
He moved to her bedside, grabbing her hand. It was almost imperceivable, but he was sure he felt her squeeze back.
“Come on you stubborn goat.” Greta’s brow furrowed in response.
“Mr. Enigma?” Marcus hovered close by. Unsure of the situation she kept as out of the way as possible.
“Get you lazy ass up or I’ll tell everyone every embarrassing thing you have ever done.” The squeeze tightened, a warning hint of fingernails pressing into his palm.
“We should let her rest”
“If you let her rest she will sleep through a fire alarm.” This time her whole arm moved. An irate groan filled the room.
“Oh, you remember that do you? Marcus did you know we once lost Greta during a fire alarm at school because she had skipped her maths class to nap?” He dodged the swing of an arm. Her movements were sluggish, lacking any real strength.
“Madam Hofmann!” Marcus froze. Torn between her desire to be closer or calling a doctor.
“They tore apart the whole school looking for her. She was considered a missing person for a few good hours. Mom was completely beside herself. Turned out she broke into an unused classroom and had made herself a private little nook in the back.”
A gold eye creaked open, hitting her brother with a glare intense enough to burn a hole through brick. “Brat.”
The word just caused Adler to smirk. “Coffee?” He offered his own half drank cup.
She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t the best damn cup of coffee she ever had. Even if she had to sip it through a straw while a sobbing Marcus clung to her waist.
-∞-
It took a whole month for Greta to be walking under her own power again. Physiotherapy was much slower than she would have liked and she still found herself reliant on a cane for the time being. Annoying but manageable. What she was having a hard time with was the lingering effects of the picrasma poison.
All her senses were constantly overwhelmed. Everything smelled so strongly. She could smell people coming from a distance, food she use to enjoy lingered in the air long after eating. Sounds she never noticed before now dominated her day-to-day life. She could hear the buzz of electricity in walls, the slap of people’s lips as they talked. Clothes used to be just a normal thing she never thought about too much, now a tag touching her nape or an oddly placed seam caused her skin to crawl.
LaPlace wanted to keep her longer to study the effects. A scientist theorized there was a possibility she could develop an arcane skill of her own. Greta shivered at the thought. Luckily for her Adler was the new head of LaPlace and he was not about to let anyone treat his sister as a lab rat. She was proud. Adler had always had the capability. However, his new position meant he had less time to spend with his sister.
Marcus was a lot busier herself now that she had officially started working with the Timekeeper. Greta saw her talking more and more with piers her own age. She was making friends and settling into her new position. Still, she tried to spend as much time with her mentor as possible. Always swinging around with a new story and a trinket. Every time her smile was a little brighter and her shoulders held a little higher. She was growing into a fine woman.
Semmelweis had also found herself on team Timekeeper. She was also apparently a vampire now.
Vertin certainly had an eclectic mix of humans, arcanist and others living in that suitcase of hers. She would have to visit someday and put a face to some of the names she’d been hearing.
No one was willing to put Greta in the field while she was still healing. She was offered a desk job for the time being but even then, she got only a couple of files a day to sort. The lack of work was starting to drive her crazy.
“Sorry.” A jogger threw over his shoulder when he passed a little too close.
Greta paid him no mind. It was a lovely day outside at 18̊ C with a light covering of clouds. The park was sparsely populated with most people at work or school. She could walk as slowly as she liked and had ample benches for when her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
She sat in the shadow of a large oak tree, thumbing through a book Marcus had lent her. Something about visceral realism. To her it was just a book of poems. Nothing about it stirred her soul any which way but she would not return the book without reading a couple of the passages Marcus had booked marked.
“Maybe we should pick a smaller target.” Her ears perked up picking up the tail end of a conversation. The voice was light, sounding like a child.
“The smaller ones are unpredictable; this one is perfect. Just follow my lead.” The reply came from an older woman. Peaking above the pages of her book Greta scanned the surroundings area. An elderly couple walked hand in hand completely oblivious to the world around them. A group of teenagers skipping school shared a pack of cigarettes. They shoved a larger boy, playfully ribbing him when he coughed after trying to smoke. An absolutely exhausted woman pushing a pram.
Greta nearly jumped out of her skin when something brushed up against her leg.
“Huh?” looking down she comes face to face with a furry little face. A small brown tabby with a raggedy coat looked up at her with large green eyes. She eyed the creature uneasily. Animals didn’t normally approach her.
The cat opened it mouth letting out a smug “Hello,” instead of the expected meow.
“Hi.” She replied out of sheer politeness. Her head raced at the surreal experience. Surely a cat can’t be talking to her. It had to be some sort of arcanist trick. The cat took her reply as an invitation, jumping up into her lap. Purring loudly, knocking the book out of her grasp and rubbing its face into her hands.
“See honey, this one is safe.”
“Mom.” Another cat, this one comparatively tiny peaked its head out of a bush. Black fur with big blue eyes.
“She has food in her bag.” The tabby cat bunted her head under Greta’s chin. “Come closer, humans love kittens.”
The kitten hesitantly padded out, clearly unsure. “O-ok.”
Up above a Robin chirped “Get Lost!”
Was she still asleep?
“Faster! Faster!” Barked a dog, dragging its struggling out of shape owner behind it.
“Hey girls, Check out these feathers.”
Perhaps she was in hell.