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Rebecca walks into their bedroom without a sound, a neat set of laundry in one arm with a glove box perched atop it. She carefully pushes the door open so the hinges don’t creak and sets the folded clothes near the foot of the mattress. Next to the pile, she sits down, turning to see where her spouse still lay.
The mound of blankets in their bed is lifelessly still. Even when Rebecca places her hand on top of it and slowly rubs back and forth like lazy waves lapping at a beachfront, they don’t say a thing. She wonders if they’ve fallen asleep again. She wouldn’t blame them if they did.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispers, leaning close so they can hear her better, just in case they’re still awake. “I picked some clothes from your laundry if you wanted to change. Your gloves, too. All of them are clean now.”
Nothing. Silence. The only thing that cuts through the quiet is the distant ticks of the clock in the hallway. Rebecca’s hand stills.
“Doctor?” She asks, leaning even closer to search for their face.
Just above the covers they're swaddled in, the top half of Doctor’s head pokes out, stiff on its side. Their eyes are barely open, a distant, foggy look in them like they’re staring a thousand yards ahead at something Rebecca can’t see. The bags under their eyes are dark violet.
“Can you hear me?” She asks again. Doctor closes their eyes and mumbles something nearly inaudible. Something Rebecca is only able to parse because she's close enough to hear it and has heard it many times before.
“…It’s okay,” she assures. “I promise, you don’t have to apologize for this.”
Doctor’s eyes are half-lidded, empty and dead. They’re barely awake, barely aware, until Rebecca’s gentle voice buzzes in their ear again;
“Would you like me to help you get changed?”
It takes another eternity, or maybe just a moment, before they can respond. They nod. As if they would shatter if she moved too quickly, Rebecca slowly peels their covers back and slips her warm hands beneath their arms. Their centre of gravity shifts and sways and they realize they’re no longer lying down, they’re sat upright like a doll on display, dressed in crumpled, sweat-damp pyjamas. Their eyes fall shut again.
Doctor feels her working around them. Rebecca nudges their arms, one after the other, asking that they lift them up. They do, and she carefully undoes the buttons on their blouse—of course, it would be easier if she just yanked it off with one swift motion, but she goes slowly, just for them. She slows herself down for Doctor, because that’s all they made her do nowadays. She does the same with their pants and undergarments, and Doctor can’t help but think of how pathetic this all is.
To go from the most revered Mindhacker on the planet, the most talented, most brilliant hero of humanity, FORMAT‘s gleaming pride and joy, to a useless, blubbering infant that needed to be changed out of their own goddamn clothes by someone else. Doctor wishes they were a flower, a tiny one growing through the cracks of the plywood floor, so they could shrivel up and die quietly right there.
“Doctor?”
Doctor blinks back to the present, aloft then awake, like a dandelion puff adrift on a breeze before smashing straight into concrete ground.
Their body is wrapped in the warm velvets of freshly washed plaid pyjamas. Pale yellow, because they told Rebecca that was their favourite colour. They didn’t actually know what their favourite was—they still don’t, frankly—they just picked the first colour that came to mind when she asked; the yellow petals of a big, beautiful flower.
Doctor looks down. The beginnings of a headache bloom between their eyes.
They didn’t notice the box in their lap or the pair of white cotton gloves placed carefully in their half-open hands. Their hands—God, their disgusting, spidery hands. The sight of the naked skin there makes them want to vomit.
“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, stupidly, because she knows they’re not. She just wants them to talk. Or blink. Or do something. Anything at all to prove that there’s still a semblance of life in their body.
She’s standing in front of them. They don’t look up. Doctor stares, long and hard, at the two pieces of satin fabric in their hands. They’re vaguely aware of the warmth of her palm on their shoulder.
“You don’t have to wear your gloves if you don’t want to,” Rebecca says, so gentle, so sweet, and so very wrong.
“I have to,” Doctor snaps, as curtly as they can with their dried, scratchy throat. “If I don’t then I… I feel like I’m leaving her behind.”
They slip the gloves neatly onto their hands, just as they’ve done a thousand times before. The fabric fits snugly around their wrists, almost too snugly, like it could cut off the oxygen there if it were just a little tighter. Maybe it should. They deserve it, after all. A worthless double-crossing ex-Mindhacker like them shouldn’t have such practiced, perfect hands.
Doctor only notices they’ve drifted away again after they feel the mattress give gently under Rebecca’s weight right next to them.
“Leaving her behind?” She parrots, quietly, as if she spoke any louder Doctor would scamper off like a frightened deer.
The warmth of Rebecca’s body by their side makes them shudder. Words begin to leave Doctor’s lips before they have a second to question if it’s a smart idea. Yet another thing they’ve gotten sloppier at since they left.
“If I try to enjoy the life I have now, without her, I’ll betray all the hard work she’s done to raise me these last twenty years. I can’t do that… I can’t… I can’t abandon her…”
Doctor swallows, and it only makes their throat hurt more. Their shoulders slouch as they curl in on themself.
“This morning, I awoke, wondering when she would call for me. Even now, I feel like I’m still waiting to hear her voice. I keep forgetting…”
Doctor closes their eyes. Hot tears slip down their cheeks.
“My life’s purpose,” they continue. “My very reason for living was to help her. All I did was to make her happy, make her proud… she was….” Their voice crackles and breaks the longer they go on. They curl to hide their face. “When I was a child, no one wanted me. She told me, they all thought I was worthless. Every adult I cared for never cared for me at all. But, FORMAT... She saw my worth, my talents.”
The more they speak, the more they shiver, until they’re all but trembling like a scared, wounded animal.
“She saw me, and chose me. She—she wanted me, Rebecca. She loved me, loved me!” They squeal, like the more they say it, the more it might come true again. “Oh, she loved me…! And then, I just… when she needed me the most…!”
Rebecca pulls them close, carefully rubbing their shoulder as she says; “You miss FORMAT a lot, don’t you?”
Something breaks in them. Doctor’s face pinches and a sob tears past their lips. They nod.
“I do,” they weep. “Terribly, I do…”
Rebecca breathes out, slow and somber, and leans her head against theirs.
“It’s… not easy, when someone who raised you, nurtured you, protected you your whole life, decides one day that they just… don’t want you anymore,” she says, softly. “It may not be precisely what you’re feeling, but… I’ve been there before.”
Doctor whimpers and gasps as they shrink in tighter on themself. Their tears drip down onto their gloves, dotting the delicate silk.
“I know… I know I should be happier here, I know,” they blubber, weak and quiet, lip quivering. “I should be happy she can’t hurt me anymore. But, I’m not… My chest hurts. It hurts, Rebecca. It hurts, it hurts…!”
“Oh, sweetheart…” Rebecca croons, drawing them in for a hug.
She holds Doctor steady as they bawl. They cry for FORMAT, cry for their mother. They cry, and cry, and cry. They don’t turn their head up and wail to the sky, don’t let the world see their ugliness. They still desperately try to keep up appearances, even though no one is watching anymore. No one is watching. Nobody cares. They sob and sniffle as quietly as possible, smothering themself in her hold.
Doctor retreats into Rebecca’s chest like they have the right to, like they’re allowed to cower away from everything they’ve done. They cling to the hem of her hood like they deserve it, like they can just soak up as much of her comfort and kindness as they need without a care in the world.
FORMAT did everything she could to nurture the lost, useless child Doctor once was. All she did was shelter them, guide them, keep them safe and fed and happy—and they have the audacity, the nerve, to act like she hurt them.
They have the gall to cry and beg for a break, for her to just stop and listen to them for once. Where the hell did they learn such unruly manners, anyway? Oh, of course—their BUG. If it weren’t for their terrible BUG, they could have been better. If it weren’t for just one teensy tiny catastrophic failure in their core personality.
Maybe if they just stayed a little longer, FORMAT would‘ve changed, too. Maybe if they pushed through their pain, they could have saved her, made her proud. Maybe if they were better, everything would be fine again. Maybe, maybe, maybe. They’ll never know now.
Now, they are rotten—a dirty, maligned impression of the great Mindhacker that once was. The genius Mindhacker, who stood tall and beautiful and beloved, unblemished and unbothered, was gone. A flower infected with fungal rot turns pruney and brown and ugly. Useless and terrible and so, so ugly.
What an awful child, they are. What a greedy, selfish, terrible child.
When Doctor pulls away from Rebecca, they still don’t feel like they’ve cried nearly enough. The weight in their chest still aches, still crushes the air out of their lungs. They’re only reminded of the rhythm of breathing by feeling Rebeca’s chest rise and fall against their ear.
They bring up their hand to knuckle their tears. “I hate crying,” they snivel. “It’s disgusting.”
“Don’t I know it,” Rebecca muses. She rubs their back, loving and slow. Undeservedly kind. “Would you like to lie back down?” She asks. Doctor nods, nudging her chin with the top of their head.
Doctor closes their eyes and feels their body shift again. She gingerly takes the box off of their lap and they hear her set it on the bedside table. Rebecca’s sturdy arm wraps tenderly around them while the other brings the covers over their shoulders again. On their sides, the two face each other. Doctor dodges Rebecca’s eyes to instead stare at her collarbone.
They wince when they see the sticky dark stain they’ve left on her hood. “Shit, I’m sorry,” they hiss. “I’ve made such a mess...”
Rebecca shakes her head, tucking a wisp of Doctor’s hair behind their ear. “You needed to cry,” she says, simply. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t mind a little snot. I’ll just wash my hood again later.”
The comfortable warmth that normally settles in Doctor’s chest at her words all but burns now. It aches. It hurts. It’s completely undeserved; her devotion, her care, her trust. They don’t deserve it. They don’t deserve her.
“…Rebecca,” they begin, “I don’t say this nearly enough—thank you. I’m, really glad I have you in my life…” More pathetic drivel spews past Doctor’s lips, because they know there’s no point in trying to salvage their dignity anymore. They’ve already humiliated themself in front of her enough, and they’ll just do it again. Again and again, they’ll spill their guts for her, let her see their ugliest self.
“I’m happy you found me,” they continue, “And.. I’m sorry I never told you that before. I’m sorry I haven’t cared for you like you’ve cared for me. I’m sorry I’m so difficult to take care of…”
They wipe their eyes with the back of their wrist and breathe a short laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know why you still bother. I’m not a Mindhacker anymore, I have nothing to offer you…” Their voice sinks to a timid whisper. “I’m afraid you’re just wasting your time.”
Rebecca’s heart breaks all over again and she fears she might cry herself. It takes every ounce of strength in her hardened, trained body to not wrap them up tight in her arms and kiss all of their woes away.
“Doctor,” she says, moving her hand to the back of their head. “No amount of time I’ve spent with you has ever been a waste. I want to help you. Whether or not you’re a brilliant Mindhacker, more than anything, you’re my dear friend. My partner. My precious companion.” With her other hand, she finds theirs. She draws it up to her mouth and kisses the flats of their fingers. “You mean more to me than words can say.”
Doctor’s eyes well up with fresh tears. They can’t look at her anymore. They just can’t.
“I don’t understand,” they whimper, ducking under her chin once more. “I just don’t understand…”
“You don’t have to,” she promises, and Doctor wants to believe her. They really, truly do. “I’m here for you because I want to be. That’s all there is to it.”
When they cry again, Doctor is quiet, merely sniffling and gasping as they’ve no strength left for anything else. Rebecca’s hand combs through their hair, unkempt and unrefined as it was, nevertheless treating it with kindness that they didn’t deserve. Doctor wonders why they were allowed to live, why they got comfortable bedsheets and loving touches while poor FORMAT was left behind to be dismantled. They wonder what Rebecca could ever see in such an ugly thing like them.
“Do you want some water?” Rebecca asks, thumbing away the last of their tears.
Now that they feel back in their own body, Doctor realizes their arms have instinctively tucked over their chest, like they’re expecting something to be there, which it is not.
“I want to know where that doll went,” they say, casting a lazy glance over their shoulder. Rebecca’s eyes follow theirs and she lifts the covers where they’ve clumped up the most. Her arm reaches over Doctor’s body to retrieve her quarry, and from the pillowy blankets she pulls out the plump, white shape of a little stuffed Min-chan doll.
The rosy-cheeked face of the Mindhack facility no longer reminded them of sterile halls and strict schedules—now, it was merely a doll. Something plush and small and harmless that Doctor occasionally liked to cuddle at night.
“I’m right here!” Rebecca cheers, pitching her voice up in an impression of what the thing may sound like if it could talk. She plops it onto Doctor’s side and bobs its head in time with her words.
“Hello,” they greet the doll, voice croaky and sore. “I didn’t know you could talk.”
“Indeed, I can!” It declares, staring at them with its small smile and dopey, plus-shaped eyes. “Hello, there! You sound very sad. May I give you a hug?”
Doctor scoffs, a grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. “Sure,” they comply.
Rebecca presses the round little clown-thing right up against Doctor’s neck. Its nubby arms do little to actually simulate a hug, yet Doctor appreciates the effort nonetheless.
“You know,” Doctor muses, “you sound exactly like my partner, Rebecca.”
Min-chan tilts its head. “Rebecca? Who’s that? What are they like?”
Doctor places a hand to their chin as they carefully consider just how to perfectly describe their beloved best friend.
“Hmm… well… they’re very silly,” is what Doctor starts with. “They’re bad at lying and even worse at telling jokes. They’re also not very good at putting on voices for cartoon dolls.”
“Ooh, I see!” Min-chan nods diligently. “Hold on, let me ask for them.”
Rebecca brings her other hand up to the doll’s face, fist clenched with the pointer and pinky up to make it look like a crude phone. She makes a few mechanical beep-boops with her mouth as it punches in a number on her knuckles before holding the makeshift hand-phone up to its head.
Doctor watches the little scene play out on top of them with an amused grin. The tears tracks on their cheeks have all but dried.
Min-chan nods a few times before it pipes up again; “It turns out they also asked for you just now. Here!”
Doctor leans close to listen to the voice on the hand-phone.
“Hello,” Rebecca says—the real Rebecca, no silly up-pitches of her voice this time. She talks flatly and business-like. “My little friend here has informed me of the things you’ve recently said about me. I’m afraid I have no choice but to enact my swift and merciless revenge upon you.”
After politely informing her beloved partner of their impending demise, she promptly tosses aside the blankets and slides up Doctor’s sleep clothes with her hand, exposing their middle. Their eyes widen.
“Wait, no!” They cry. “Have mercy!”
“It’s too late. You’ve invoked my wrath. Now, suffer.”
Before Doctor can prepare for the oncoming attack, Rebecca draws in a breath, ducks down and blows a raspberry into their bare side. Doctor squeals and paws for her hood, squeezing what little cloth they’re able to grab as tight as they can. Rebecca can’t help but beam when she looks up to see the earnest grin on her giggling partner’s face—which all but fades when the landline phone begins to ring.
“Sorry,” she says, looking to the hallway. “One second.”
She pushes herself off of them, sets the doll down and walks to the machine mounted on the wall. Doctor wraps their arms around Min-chan as they eavesdrop on the call.
“Hello? Ah, yes, I’m still at home. Sorry. I’m taking care of my spouse, they’re feeling unwell. I called earlier to tell you as much. …Yes. All right. I apologize for not telling you sooner, but it’s urgent that I…” She then goes quiet. Doctor sits up to watch her. At her side, just slightly, they see her fist clench.
“….Yes, okay,” she says, nodding. “Understood. I’ll call you back in a moment. Thank you.”
Rebecca plants the phone back in place and makes her way back to their bed, signing as she sits down next to Doctor.
“They said if I don’t arrive in the next hour, I’ll get a strike. Two more, and I’ll get fired,” she says, unable to hide her ire. “We need the money, but… I don’t want to leave you alone….” She places a hand on her other arm, dejectedly looking at the laminated wood floor. Doctor takes her in for a moment, breathes a laugh at her somber slouch, and sets their hand atop her own.
“It’s okay,” they say, thumbing small circles into her knuckles. “You should go.”
Rebecca looks to them, back straight. “Are you absolutely sure, Doctor…?”
Doctor gives her a smile—a genuine, nearly invisible little smile. “I’ll be fine by myself. I promise.”
Rebecca nods, a warmth spreading through her chest like the blooming petals of a flower in the sun. She lifts Doctor’s hand to kiss it. “I’ll be home as soon as I can,” she says, kissing the lids of one of their eyes—“I love you,”—then the other—“I’m proud of you,”—the bridge of their nose—“I’m a call away if you need me.”
With their eyes still closed, Doctor feels her rest her forehead against theirs. They find it funny how someone who’s apparently in such a rush is still finding a way to stay close to them. After a few more blissful seconds of savouring their touch, Rebecca finds the strength to pull away and returns to the phone. She dials up the number and gets a reply after only one ring.
“Hello,” she says. “Yes, I’ll be coming in now. My spouse told me they’ll be fine on their own.”
Rebecca looks over her shoulder and gives a questioning thumbs-up. Doctor affirms with one of their own. She nods, turning back to the phone.
“Thank you. All right, I’ll be there soon. See you.”
When she hooks the phone back onto the receiver, she gives Doctor another look. They scoff with a grin.
“Get out of here, you,” they order, dismissively waving their hand like she’s a needy dog that needs to be shooed. They hear her laugh as she disappears down the hall, followed by the distant creak of the front door opening and closing. Afterwards, they’ll soon hear the purr of her bike revving to life from the garage before puttering down the road. And after that, they’re alone.
Doctor wonders what they should do now. They look to the foot of the bed and see the neat stack of folded laundry Rebecca retrieved for them earlier. It’s slumped a little from her sitting next to it, but otherwise she’s done all the work putting it together already. Doctor sets Min-chan aside on their pillow and scoots closer, leaning forward to get started on re-folding the clothes.
They’re not sure what they want to do with their life now. Without FORMAT, without their esteemed title, it all sounds kind of aimless. For now, they’ll start with putting away this laundry. Maybe they’ll write something later. Or, maybe they’ll just go back to sleep. They have those choices now. For now, they’ll just start with this laundry.
The pre-determined life they once had is long gone now. It still hurts. It’s still scary and sad and impossibly overwhelming to remember. They’re not sure when or how or if it will ever stop hurting. But, they’ll figure something out. With Rebecca by their side, they’ll figure something out.
They place a dress-shirt on their lap and carefully fold the sleeves over the chest until it’s neat enough to fit on the shelf.