Archive of Our Own

There are precious few things that Agnes Tachyon truly, deeply cares about.

That is, only a handful of interests make it through the initial phases of experimentation. There are constants, of course- like the physiology of umamusume- but that is a topic that had held her attention for more than a decade. It takes time for something to become fixed in Agnes Tachyon's life, longer still for her to acknowledge it as a constant. Thus, many things get tossed aside as temporary variables, soon to be defined and discarded. So, when Jungle Pocket interrupted her work one Winter evening, the researcher didn't think much of it. If all went according to her plans, Jungle Pocket wouldn't see any further involvement in Tachyon's life. 

If only science was ever straightforward. 

She still took weekly X-rays of her legs and feet, tracking their declining condition. Always on Friday evenings, always after a week of walking around Tracen, of standing in her lab for hours at a time. It had become a constant. 

Midnight came around quickly, and Tachyon stared at the week's scan on her laptop screen. The bright white light of the OLED display shot straight through to her occipital lobe, burning the black and white contrasts into her brain. Nothing new, nothing better. She opened a document containing two years of logs and scrolled down to the bottom. Insert date, insert image, insert description of scan, insert circumstances. No emotion or feeling to it. 

Perhaps, if she took images biweekly, she could start analyzing the effects of ionizing radiation on umamusume. 

She slowly shut the laptop, letting the array of bright magenta and cyan bags hanging from a nearby infusion stand illuminate the small space. Tachyon considered the visual for a moment and concluded that a chemiluminescent yellow was also necessary. She knew what chemicals she had on hand, and what she could borrow from Tracen's downstairs teaching laboratories.

She flipped the overhead lights on, and the ceiling vents simultaneously whirred to life. If she were to conduct any chemistry, she would do so with the lights on and with proper room ventilation. Every other safety protocol can be broken, so long as you follow the big ones. With a new project to focus on, she opened an old lab notebook to find what she used before, working out what she’d need now, and began fervently searching for appropriate glassware. Unbeknownst to the scientist, a late-night runner practicing on the track had been alerted to her activities at the flick of the light switch.

 ~~~

Jungle Pocket had a good Friday.

She'd gotten a B- on her essay about the role of umamusume in ancient cultures, which brought her grade in history up from a C- to a regular C (Passing! Hell yeah!) And after class, she took a trip to the arcade with Dantsu, where they got to play DDR for an hour straight. Then she and Fuji made carrot hamburger steaks for dinner, and Pokke almost burnt the meal, but she caught it before they charred to a crisp! All in all, it was such a good Friday that she was struggling to fall asleep in the aftermath.

She stared at the ceiling, tried counting down from one-hundred, even listened to some rain sounds, but nothing helped. She just needed one more thing to tire herself out. A conversation, maybe? Glancing to her right, she saw Top Road already fast asleep. Pocket sighed. She knew there was only one thing that would work. Slipping out from under her blankets, she threw on a jacket over her pajamas and carefully slid into her slippers, grabbing her running shoes before carefully leaving the room and locking it behind her. She hurried downstairs, tossed her slippers into her shoe locker, and started for the doors, but was cut just short of freedom when a familiar voice softly called from behind her.

"And where are you off to?"

Pokke’s shoulders deflated as she pivoted. "Fuji?"

Her senior stood at the entrance to the left corridor, dressed in a gray night gown and a charcoal cardigan. Her arms were crossed, but her lean against the wall and her soft expression eased any tension that was in the air. Fuji smiled to herself and shook her head, relaxing her posture as she shifted her weight off the entryway to move closer to her junior. "Sneaking out, hm? It's after curfew, you know," she reminded.

Pokke sighed. "I just- I've got so much energy still in me after today and I couldn't fall asleep, so I thought I'd run it off," she gestured vaguely in the direction of the door. "C'mon, I know you know what I'm saying. Please, Fuji, let it slide? Just this once."

Fuji inhaled and relaxed her eyelids, feigning deliberation. "Hmm. Okay. I'll let it go, just this once," she joked, a sisterly smile slipping through her theatrics. "So, I'd better not catch you next time, capisce?"

Jungle Pocket grinned. "Got it. Thanks, Fuji!!" She pivoted once more and hurriedly raced for the doors, eager to start her run. Before she could leave, though, Fuji reminded her of the most important part of sneaking out: getting back in.

"Here," she took a pencil out of her cardigan pocket and handed it to Pokke. "Put it between one of the doors and the metal beam in the middle of the frame. Then one door won't fully close, so the auto-lock mechanism won't trigger. Be safe, okay?" 

Pocket blinked. "Damn, you must've snuck out a lot before you became dorm leader," she remarked. 

Fuji giggled, "Every uma has her secrets."

With that, Pokke was off to the races. 

The air was cool on her legs as she jogged to the track. Tracen was so lively during the day, it almost felt strange to see the place so dark and deserted. Crossing campus was a lot easier when there weren’t a bunch of students running around, though. Once she made it out to the track, her legs just kept running. One lap turned into two, going as fast or as slow as she pleased. 

Freestyle. 

Some kind of bitter nostalgia came over her as that thought slipped in, inspiring yet another lap. 

It felt good. Not running to practice, but just to feel the wind and smell the turf that had been kicked up during the day. She didn’t even care about her form, or how inefficient her exertion was- she was doing it to exhaust herself, after all. She used to try and run like this all the time, but Nabe would scold her over and over again.

“If you cross that line too often or go too far, you risk a bad injury.”

The line. It’s what divides potential and longevity. Trainers know when to push their trainees slightly beyond it, risking just enough discomfort to force their growth. Yet, in that moment, Jungle Pocket didn’t care about any lines- she just wanted to see how far she could go.

Her steps were heavy, but her body was so, so light. 

Halfway through her fourth go-round, a light on the third floor of the academy flicked on. 

Pokke quickly came to a stop, bracing her upper body on her knees to catch her breath. The wind blew, cutting harshly into her ears. The world felt louder. Even weirder than that, she didn’t feel too tired either, just a little winded from the sprint. So much for exhausting herself. She glanced back up to the bright window on the side of the academy.

It was far from where she was, but familiar faint colors of pink and blue glowed from within the room. Tachyon's lab? 

Curiosity piqued and energy renewed, Jungle Pocket shook off the run and left the track.

She jogged up to the side doors of the academy, looking for some kind of propping mechanism, like the one Fuji just taught her. She tried three entrances until she found it; a small stick resting between the door and its frame. Slipping off her shoes, she made her way inside, resetting the stick to its original place. On her way to the main stairwell, Pokke dropped by her locker and slipped on her school shoes. 

Maybe she looked a little stupid. PJ's, jacket, and uniform loafers… but she didn't really give a shit about looking good right now, just satiating her curiosity. As she climbed the staircase to the third floor, muscle memory took over, auto-routing her to Tachyon's.

As she approached the makeshift lab, Pokke heard the clinking of glass and some sort of vacuum. Was she cleaning? Tachyon never cleaned. She reached for the sliding door and began to pull it open, forgetting that it was abnormal for her to be there at such a time. Part of her assumed an odd-ball like Tachyon would expect the unexpected. Pocket stepped into the room and observed her friend working away, cleaning glassware in a small sink. The vacuum sound was coming from some sort of funnel and flask apparatus hooked up to an orange rubber hose that connected to the ceiling. 

"Please tell me you're not cooking drugs or something," Pokke called out, only partially joking.

Tachyon flinched, dropping the glassware she was holding as she let out a startled sound before turning to face the intruder. When it was just Jungle Pocket standing there, her face softened from jarred to slightly less shaken. "Ah! Jungle Pocket,” she sighed, bringing a hand over her heart. “My, you have a talent for inducing tachycardia." 

Pokke blinked and raised an eyebrow. "Tachy-cardia? Seriously?" 

Tachyon's face shifted once more, this time from shaken to slightly amused. Her arm dropped from her chest as she relaxed. "It's a prefix, Pokke-kun. Tachy-, meaning swift, or fast. The word tachycardia describes an abnormally fast heart rate,” she explained, hands waving as she meandered over to her lab bench to turn the vacuum apparatus off.

Pocket groaned. "So your name basically means Agnes Fast-thing? Ugh, that's so fucked." She rubbed her face with both of her hands and took a step. "D'you mind if I come in?"

Tachyon laughed, "I always appreciate the company of my guinea pigs! But do shut the door behind you," she requested, turning back to the sink and noticing the shattered bits of the beaker she'd been cleaning. "Hm. Pokke? Before you come too far in, do grab the cardboard box labeled 'glass disposal' and bring it here for me."

Pocket sporadically looked around before finding the box, carrying it over and setting it next to Tachyon. "What broke?"

"A 500 milliliter beaker. A shame. It's quite a hassle to get these things up here without anyone noticing their absence," Tachyon rolled up the sleeves of her lab coat and reached in to procure the largest shards. Pokke watched on, eyes lingering on the scientist's now exposed forearms.

Tachyon pulled the largest shard out and placed it in the bin, pushing her hair out of her eyes, only to have it fall right back into place. She huffed and turned to face her guest, an analytical expression sweeping across her features. Pokke looked into her eyes for a moment.

"What're you staring at-?"

She was cut off when Tachyon reached over and pulled one of three hair clips out of her hair. Pokke stuttered and made multiple confused gestures, but the researcher simply pushed her hair out of her eyes once more, this time pinning it back with the stolen clip. 

"Many thanks, assistant," Tachyon remarked, unfazed by Pocket's display of confusion. Before she could resume her clean-up, though, her "assistant" spoke up.

"Woah, woah- you don't just get to take my stuff off me like it's yours, okay? I'm not your mannequin, Tachyon. That clip is mine," she reprimanded. 

Tachyon glanced up once to acknowledge Pokke's statement before continuing her task. 

"I see. Would you like it back then?"

Pocket's forehead was now wrought with many wrinkles. Every conversation they have, it feels like her understanding of Tachyon only gets worse. Where in her path of logic did she make the assumption that it was okay to take something right off of someone without asking? Where does her audacity even come from? Why doesn't she wear her hair out of her face more often?

"Nah, just... just give it back later," she stammered, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. "Ask next time."

And why did she feel compelled to say that?!

Tachyon smiled, pleased with that response. "Yes," she quickly glanced up at the girl beside her. "Next time."

Pocket felt her face get hot. Like it does when she's angry, but she's not angry, she's just... really confused. When did she get promoted to assistant?

"-ah!" 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar shrill noise and Tachyon quickly retracting her right hand from the sink to hold it with her left.

"You good?"

The scientist exhaled, marginally shaken by a sudden sharp stimulus. "Of course. Just a small cut to my thenar eminence, that's all."

Tachyon turned to locate the drawer with her first-aid kit, granting Pokke a better view of the scene. Upon further inspection, the sink still had two large shards in it, one of which had a noticeable red hue across its longest edge. "Shit. You sure it's small?" 

The researcher didn't answer, she was too focused on how she was going to open the drawer without getting blood anywhere. 

"Mm. Pokke-kun, do you see the towel on the countertop to your right? Be a good assistant and bring it here," she remarked.

Pocket grabbed the towel and brought it to Tachyon, who reached out for it with her uninjured, but slightly bloodied left hand. The wound was exposed for enough time that both girls could get a good look at it. A gash about two centimeters long sitting just under Tachyon's thumb, still bleeding. Tachyon dabbed the wound with the towel to absorb some of the blood, but the second she started to really observe it, the bleeding would obstruct her view once more.

"That's... no good," Tachyon sighed. Unable to get a good look, she resigned to keeping pressure on the cut. "I missed the portion covered by thicker skin– quite unfortunate."

Worry swept across Pokke. "Did you hit something important?"

Tachyon laughed slightly before attempting to wiggle her thumb. "No, no. See? Everything still has color, and I’m still able to feel it. I wouldn’t be concerned that I hit my radial artery, more so that I may have injured one of my pollicis muscles."

With that, Pocket started to truly worry. She hurried over to Tachyon's desk setup and pulled the rolling chair over. "Sit."

"You needn’t order me around like a dog, Bucket-kun," Tachyon retorted, taking a seat and bringing her knees to her chest. Pocket opened the drawer to find a first aid kit stocked with bandaids and a suture kit. Setting the kit aside for the time being, Pokke knelt down, gesturing for her rival's hand so she could look at the injury and glancing at the sitting position Tachyon adopted.

"Is that not wildly uncomfortable?" She pulled the towel off and began looking at the wound, bringing Tachyon's wrist closer to her face to get a better look at the edges. Pretty clean cut for a glass shard. Tachyon was lucky, clean cuts always heal better.

"Pain eventually makes the posture a bit of a chore to hold."

"Yeah, I get it– that's what I feel like for maybe a day or so after some really hard training but..." her attention drifted upwards to Tachyon, absentmindedly cradling her injured hand. "d'you always feel like that?"

Tachyon shifted once more. "...I sit in the way that is most comfortable."

Jungle Pocket watched her contort. "The most comfortable? Or the least painful?" she offhandedly remarked.

The researcher went quiet for a moment.

"What exactly are you doing, Pokke?"

Pocket blinked back to her current situation. Of her holding Tachyon's hand.

"Oh, uh, shit, my bad," she fumbled around, trying to continue observing the wound.

The silence went on for a moment or two, just long enough for some embarrassment to color the pair's cheeks.

"Normally I would stitch myself after incurring a wound, but I can't do it one handed, especially not with my left hand," Tachyon mused, sighing deeply afterwards. “Ah, how bothersome.”

Pokke’s heart sank. It sucked seeing her so dejected. "I watched a ton of people get stitches during my time freestyling. Maybe I could try-"

"As much as I hate to stifle the growth of my favorite lab assistant, I will not let you do stitches on my dominant hand."

"No, yeah. Fair."

Pocket pressed the now bloodied towel into Tachyon's hand, and the injured umamusume's ears drooped slightly.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Ah, no. I’m just devoting too much energy to this. Grab some gauze from the first aid kit." She adjusted in the chair, letting her legs unfold and placing her feet on the ground. 

Stirred by the sudden change in pace, Pocket quickly unwrapped a small pad of gauze from the kit. Tachyon reached over with her left hand and grabbed a short bandage wrap.

“Now, if you’ll hold it in place over the wound,” she manipulated Pokke’s hands gently as she helped position the dressing. Her fingers were cold, but her skin was soft. “...there. Good.”

The small offering of praise buzzed through Jungle Pocket, and the feeling was externalized by a small wag of her tail. Tachyon didn’t notice, too busy unrolling the bandage to catch that data. A good thing, really. If she’d noticed, she would’ve plastered Pokke in electrodes and praised her for hours on end, just to see how it affected her.

Now that she was thinking about it, though, the idea doesn’t sound too bad.

“Pokke.”

“Wh- huh?”

“The bandage. Hold that end in place under my hand so that I may wrap it around the gauze.”

“...Got it.”

Their arms twisted around, bumping into each other as Tachyon attempted to wrap her hand. Pokke finished by safety-pinning the bandage before pulling back to fully get Tachyon within her view.

The researcher sat with her ankles crossed, analyzing the handiwork of the wrap as she flexed her fingers. Her thin eyebrows were exposed enough to betray her frustration with the injury, but the expression quickly dissolved as her eyes grew wider and flicked to a nearby lab table.

With a firm stamp of her right foot into the floorboards, Tachyon propelled her rolling chair over to the work station as she’d done many times before. The force was calculated and practiced to perfection, but the action was rather immature regardless. This was the umamusume all of Japan had raved about- the Phantom Triple Crown- and she was rolling around her lab in an ergonomic chair. Pokke couldn’t hold her giggle back.

Tachyon gracefully lifted herself out of the chair to examine the contents of a plastic funnel sitting atop a side arm flask, smiling at the bright orange solid that was left within. “Has something amused you, Pokke-kun?” she inquired, neglecting to glance back as she reached for a metal scoop.

“Nah, it’s nothing, I swear.”

“...I see.”

Seemingly unbothered by Pokke’s lack of response, Tachyon prodded at the powder and slowly scooped it into a small vial. She shook it around slightly to uncover any potential contaminants, relieved to see the compound was orange all throughout. “Pokke, come here. I require your steady hands for this next part.”

Weird way to phrase it, but whatever. “What exactly are you making?” 

“A yellow chemiluminescent solution to add to my array,” she flapped her hand in the direction of the infusion stand near her desk. “Alas, my better hand is burdened by bandages, so this experiment will take much longer than usual from here on out. I figure it would be most opportune to make it a teaching moment,” she offered the vial to Pokke. “This is rubrene. It’s the molecule responsible for the color you see when you crack a yellow glowstick.”

She hesitated to take the vial. “What, are you gonna make me drink it or something? Make me into a glowstick for an experiment?” she asked, partially joking, partially putting up a defense mechanism.

Tachyon laughed loudly.

“As much as I’d love to see that scenario unfold, it is not my objective tonight. This reaction requires concentrated hydrogen peroxide, which would digest your tissues quite easily,” she cooly responded. “Your physical wellbeing must be maintained if you are to continue acting as my guinea pig.”

The contradiction hit Pokke harder than she expected it to. “Hold up– I thought I got promoted to assistant?”

A smile crept across Tachyon’s face as she narrowed the gap between them.

“Prove to me that you’re worthy of that title, Bucket,” she provoked, extending the vial once more.

She couldn’t really say no to a challenge from her rival.

So much for getting back to the dorm at a reasonable time. “Damn, you really are the best button pusher at the academy- y’know that?” She snatched the compound from Tachyon’s grasp before asking, “...What now?”

The scientist’s smile softened. “I’ll collect the other necessary materials. In the meantime, I’d like for you to weigh out 800 milligrams of that solid using the balance,” she pointed to the small table balance nearby. “Alert me when you’re finished.”

With that, Tachyon stepped back and began hurrying around the small space, collecting some large glass jars with colorful caps and setting them down at the station across from where Pokke was standing.

“How should I do this?”

Tachyon didn’t stop her quick collection. “The weigh boats.”

“I don’t see any boats.”

She stopped to look at Pokke. “The plastic squares next to the balance. Set one atop the surface and press the button that says ‘Zero’.”

“Ohhh. Thanks.”

“800 milligrams.” Tachyon reminded, returning to her perusal of chemicals.

“Got it!”

She scooped a pile of the powder onto the weighboat and waited for the numbers to cease their fluctuation. 0.623.

…

“I don’t think we’ve got 800 milligrams in this thing. I just scooped like half of it out and it was only 0.6.”

“Grams.”

“What?”

“The balance is in grams. You weighed out 0.6 grams. That’s 600 milligrams. You’ll be finished when the scale reads 0.8.”

“Gotcha.”

Tachyon poked her head around the corner to make eye contact.

“Do you see a bottle labeled sodium acetate on the shelf in front of you? That’s the last reagent we need.”

Luckily, it was the first bottle Pokke’s eyes landed on when she looked up. “Yeah,” She pulled it down off the shelf. “Right here.”

“Wonderful. Do bring it to me once you’re finished weighing out the rubrene.”

Moments later, the two girls were standing side by side with an array of glassware, bottles, bags, and powders laid out before them.

Without a word, Tachyon began measuring out liquids in small cylinders, periodically bending over to be eye-level with the surface. Once finished, she grabbed the IV bag and propped it open.

“Hold.”

Pokke obeyed, silently holding the bag open while Tachyon poured a small amount of liquid into it, followed by the rubrene.

“Now agitate it.”

Pokke quirked an eyebrow.

“Mix the contents of the bag.”

She closed the bag and shook it slightly.

“Insufficient.”

She shook it harder, sloshing the mixture around as it slapped against the plastic walls of the bag.

“Better.” She praised, reaching her hand out to take the bag. “Go turn out the lights.”

As she trudged over to the light switch, Pokke wondered if this was the life of a lab assistant, and– if it was– she honestly preferred the attention she got as a guinea pig. 

The lab plunged into darkness, lit only by the blue and pink solutions Tachyon made previously. 

“What made you want another one? It’s bright enough in here already,” Pokke asked, crossing back over to the work station.

Tachyon was there weighing out another solid, carefully analyzing the faint glow of the balance’s screen. “I initially made the blue one for myself. Cafe prefers to leave the lab immersed in darkness to ensure her friend feels comfortable. I still have yet to find any proof of her existence, but it’s easiest to let her do as she pleases. Our deal is that the overhead light stays off while she is around, but natural light from the windows is fine,” she tossed the solid into the bag and began mixing its contents together. “Winters quickly became an issue, however. The sun would set and Cafe would linger for an additional hour or two, but her gyroscope lamp does a poor job of illuminating my workspace. With some persuasion, we compromised on some luminescent solutions scattered about, just to provide some additional light.”

“And the pink?”

“Dantsu-kun started visiting more often, and I told her the same story I just recited to you. Cafe requested that I make a pink solution for her. She offered a day or two of training data in return for the favor, so I happily obliged.”

The solution, now completely homogenous, was ready for the final step. Tachyon hung the bag on the nearby infusion stand, briskly returned to the workstation one last time to grab a graduated cylinder before turning back to the display, beckoning Pokke to her side.

“Watch.”

She poured the liquid from the cylinder into the bag, and it began emanating a vibrant golden hue. Once it was closed, Tachyon took a step back to stand next to Pokke, who was leaning against the edge of her desk.

It was beautiful. All three subtractive primary colors swirled around the room, drenching them both in a kaleidoscopic canopy.

“So, why the yellow?” Pokke asked, softly.

Tachyon giggled. “If both Cafe and Dantsu had themselves represented in the space, it seemed only natural that you should be, too.”

Jungle Pocket studied Tachyon– glowing, like she always did, just now in a more literal sense. Cool and unbothered by every little thing– a total façade. No one cared more about the small moments than she did. That was where Tachyon always was. It’s where Pokke always came back to.

Two minutes. That was how quickly she’d changed Pokke’s life. Kicking dirt in her face and walking away like it all meant nothing. Even now, the memory still sends her into high gear, agitated excitement coursing through her at the thought. The idea of seeing Tachyon’s face instead of her back was enough to send her heart into a mess of syncope. Like pre-race jitters, but the present moment was so far removed from competition. They were just standing in Tachyon’s lab, long after midnight, staring up at a candy-colored creation of chemistry. It was quiet enough in the space for her to hear the pulse in her ears. Quiet enough to hear Tachyon’s breathing. To hear the shift of the fabric as her chest rose and fell. She turned her head further, wanting to get a better look, and watched as Tachyon’s ear flicked once at the sudden noise from the motion.

Curious, the scientist barely tilted her head back and to the right, just enough to observe her assistant’s expression, causing some small pieces of her hair to shift. For once, her face could be seen in its entirety, not partially obscured by overgrown bangs. 

Pocket didn’t really react. She was just sorta entranced by the freckles she could finally see. She stared, counting the many small flecks dusted across Tachyon’s cheeks. 

She didn’t mean to say it, but it kinda just tumbled out of her…

“You look really nice in the light.”

Tachyon felt the slightest sting of heat rising in her cheeks. “Is that so? I didn’t realize you thought of me that way.”

Jungle Pocket was being handed a chance to back out, to say something completely platonic before she had the chance to ruin everything by speaking without thinking first. “I think a lot of things about you, actually.” 

The researcher watched her friend’s shoulders pulled closer to her torso, betraying a discomfort that wasn’t present in her words or tone. It was quite fascinating to see the ever-brazen umamusume so… secretly undone. A hint she’d just barely been clued into. Quite adorable, really.

Mm. Adorable is subjective. She shouldn’t inject that kind of favoritism into her data collection.

Perhaps this would make for a good personal thesis. An extended observation of Jungle Pocket’s devotion to keeping that secret. Interesting, sure, but there was another topic that fascinated her more. It would require intervention, though, and observers shouldn’t impose.

…

Why would she care about “shouldn’t”? She never had before. Some reactions need a catalyst before they can proceed. Just a push…

“While I’d be very interested in that line of conversation, I feel the need to ask… is there something wrong, Pokke?” she inquired, tactically probing the beast. “You seem flustered.”

Pocket chewed the inside of her cheek, choosing suddenly to stuff her hands into her jacket. “Just didn’t expect to find myself here, I guess.” It wasn’t cool, per se, but it was smoother than whatever she was doing before. She’d take any inch of composure she could get at this point, be it genuine or fake.

“Yes, it was quite a surprise on my end as well,” Tachyon smiled, running her fingers over the bandage.

Staring at her… rival? Friend? What even was Tachyon to her at that point? Rivals are someone you look forward to competing against, not people you look for when you walk into a room. Regardless, there wasn’t a normal level of guilt in Jungle Pocket’s heart for what had transpired. “I’m sorry.”

“My, Pokke, what for? I should’ve paid more attention to the glass. I am not so careless that this was inevitable. I suppose…” she shifted her weight, leaning her right hip downwards and causing her to lean toward her friend. “...my guard was just down.” 

Tachyon paused. She had a thought. One that wasn’t tailored to get a reaction. It was debatable whether it was necessary to speak aloud. She reasoned that experimentation required spontaneity at times, so it should be okay. 

“You have a tendency to affect me in that way.”

The sentiment lingered for a second. Tachyon was used to saying things no one could understand. She would explain endlessly without expectation of anyone’s comprehension. Only now was she beginning to realize the vast difference between someone not understanding and them misunderstanding. The quiet began gnawing at her gray matter.

Pokke scuffed a shoe on the floorboards. “Doesn’t seem like it on the turf.”

Large labcoat sleeves crossed over each other as Tachyon folded her hands in her lap. “I am not myself on the track. More of a symbol, really. Standing for something bigger than oneself.” She shook her head. “In academia, people are known by names that are, first and foremost, linked to their research. ‘Agnes Tachyon’ is one such title. I’m not entirely known, but my speed is world renowned. At some point in time, I represented the peak of umamusume. People associated my name with the limit I chase so fervently,” she crossed her arms, shifting her weight further onto her right leg. “And now I’m… well… I’m certain you can see it.” Tachyon steadied.

Jungle Pocket tried understanding, but it really pissed her off to hear Tachyon talk like she was completely and utterly alone. 

“See what? Jeez, you really think you’re untouchable, huh?” Pokke turned herself, now fully facing Tachyon. “Sure, you’re fast.” She scoffed, “Like really fast. But if any reporter spent the day with you, they’d realize you’re just…” she turned away as her face warped, trying to think of any way to say it aside from the way it came to her, but new words never arrived. “I dunno, you’re just Tachyon. And if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think of your speed first thing when I hear your name– not anymore, at least.” 

“I think of how childish and infuriating you can be, and how you’re still stupidly easy to forgive.” She glanced back at her rival, leaning her weight on the counter. 

“Yeah- you’re magnetic on the track- but I want to know you, not just your feats. So stop talking like you’re a ghost or something, it’s gettin’ on my nerves.”

The scientist stared at the floor, taking in each word, deciding if she should dissect them or just listen. 

…

It’s interesting. In her memories of the races she competed in, behind the nostalgic numbness, she could hear the announcers shouting into their microphones:

Agnes- Agnes- Agnes-

Had she ever been just Tachyon? 

The Agnes crown name was heavy on her head. It fell down from her grandmother to her mother and then to her and her sister. Lady, Flora, Flight, Tachyon- To many individuals, they were known as “Agnes.” It’s what those who barely knew them would cheer after they triumphantly crossed a finish line. It’s the same pain that ceaselessly radiated throughout her legs each and every time she ran.

“Tachyon!”

It had been such a sunny day. The statistically perfect day for her last run.

The turf was a brilliant green. Blades of trimmed grass billowed through the air in the aftermath of the greatest display of actualized potential the Nakayama racecourse had ever bore witness to.

Pokke stood there, breathing heavily. Fist outstretched. Brutish, kind. The gentlest typhoon, come to wrap around her being and sweep her back out to sea.

In front of a crowd of people, the majority chanting a title so foreign to her. A friend, rival, foe- Someone who knew her well enough to call her by her name.

That day comes back to her so often. And each time it does, she wishes to forget the choice she made. She’d taken every chance to run away, fully aware of the road it led down. Pushing Jungle Pocket away, never knowing if she’d stay gone this time. Months later, always in the same place again. Like clockwork. Tachyon awaited her return, each and every time. Dependable, much like the normal force:

All that pushes will be pushed against.

It’s not supposed to happen this way.

Agnes Tachyon knew that. Plans are made, procedures should be followed.

Jungle Pocket shouldn’t be in her lab tonight, or have helped her dress a wound. A wound that she caused, mind you. No part of that fits into Plan A or Plan B. And yet, here she is. Letting it happen.

Constants are accounted for and worked around. Noise is noise, and should be ignored. Variables are meant to be controlled. No part of her is in control. And she’s letting it happen.

Make a move, Tachyon.

If she wanted to, she would. She’d tell Pokke to leave. Tell her to let go of her hand. To stop staring at her. But here she is. Letting it happen.

And it’s exhilarating. 

Fight or flight like she’s never felt before.

Rapid heart rate, heavier breathing… but the feeling is so far from fear. Fear was never so warm. Fear is always localized in her limbs, curled around her joints, not floating wispily her chest.

Part of her feels the urge to chase the feeling into oblivion, trying to pin down its name. Experimenting until it loses that identity.

And another part of her really, really just wants to let this happen. To be seen by a sunny girl and known by the warmth she provides. 

To stay in the light instead of racing ahead of it.

In a way, it was the simplest decision she’d ever made.

…

“Quite the multitalent, aren’t you? An exquisite racer and exceptionally perceptive on top of that.” She sighed. “I never expected this.”

Pokke straightened herself, getting eye level with Tachyon. “Expected what?”

“You. Any of this. My racing career was meant to proceed without fault. Everything was designed with such precision... I never accounted for someone like you.” She looked to Pocket. “I didn’t think any one individual could be so brash and obtrusive. Here you are, though; proof of concept. Corrupting my life’s work. I believe I understand what you mean by infuriating,” she smiled softly, almost amused by the irony. 

“You broke every single thing I built for myself with that challenging fist of yours. So, I can’t fully figure out why I don’t want you to leave,” her eyes slowly drifted to Jungle Pocket’s outline in her periphery. “Each time I take a step back, you take two forward,” she closed her eyes. Content, troubled, maybe both. “...and I let it happen.”

Pokke’s stomach tumbled around, butterflies and knots forming and disintegrating constantly. She was so grateful that she’d been restless tonight. “Couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.” A headstrong phrase, but she’d been incredibly earnest in her delivery.

“Is that so? Your tenacity knows no bounds, Jungle Pocket.”

Pokke’s face scrunched slightly. “You say that like it was difficult. I keep coming back ‘cause I like you. Simple as that.”

It wasn’t even meant to come out that way, but it was the heaviest thing she’d said that night. Would Tachyon get what she was trying to say? It was up to interpretation. Too vague. Would that be her only chance to say it? What if she thinks she meant it as friends? It sounded friendly enough, but she kinda meant it in the same way that happy couples call their partner their best friend. No, she really shouldn’t be comparing them to a couple-

“There’s a reason I chose you, Pokke.” 

Tachyon was turned just enough for her face to evade perception, arms crossed over her chest. “You have an incredible loyalty to everything you stand for. Strength– I figured that would carry you forth in my absence.” She paused to inhale, feeling the breath reach the bottom of her lungs before continuing. “And yet your force was so great that I could never truly get away. You just keep coming back... I knew it when you charged in here asking me to train with you before the Cup.” A strain crept into her tone. 

“I had no control over who or what I was to you. I was something to someone, and that was irrevocable.”

“Hey,” a stern hand came up to rest on Tachyon’s right shoulder. “Seriously, you don’t have to say something you don’t wanna say.”

A floppy sleeve came up to cover Pokke’s hand. 

“I faced you all with such indifference before,” she maneuvered her hand out of the sleeve, letting the fabric drop to the crook of her elbow, freeing herself to take Pokke’s hand and fully feel her skin against her own. “I thought myself an observer, external to the closed system of you, Dantsu, and Cafe. Why I ever figured I’d be exempt from your persistence, I may never understand.” Disappointment– the kind which can only be felt toward one’s younger self– crossed her face. “Hubris, perhaps. Regardless…” 

She drew in a shaky breath, anxiously exhaling what she felt might be the last of her distance. Her thumb softly drew across Pocket’s palm, reigniting a hopeless yearning both had buried quite some time ago.

“I know firsthand how strong you are, Pokke,” Tachyon turned her head, bringing her eyes to meet her sweet assistant’s. “You broke through to me.”

And, oh, she was beautiful. Even with worry pulling at each of the muscles in her face, Jungle Pocket was the most handsomely beautiful specimen Tachyon had ever set her sights upon. 

Bumps blossomed along her forearms as a tingly feeling spread through the nape of her neck, causing the scientist to shiver slightly at the staticky sensation. She watched Pokke’s lips part ever so slightly, unashamed that she might be caught staring. Her eyes flicked back up, noticing immediately how Jungle Pocket’s pupils were dilated large enough to swallow the gold of her irises. Time seemed to slow, letting Tachyon glimpse the quickest twitch of Pocket’s line of sight down to her lips.

That was proof enough for her to proceed.

Tachyon turned, bringing their hands down from her shoulder. She methodically twisted her wrist to place their palms flush against each other before gently pushing her fingers between Pokke’s, resting her fingertips on the back of Pokke’s hand as she responded in kind.

A cold chill swept across Tachyon as her heart rate quickened, creating a vice in her chest. The typical “dizziness” one would experience in such a situation was only exacerbated by her earlier loss of blood, causing her to sway slightly where she stood. 

Jungle Pocket took a firm step inward as her free hand rose to stall next to Tachyon’s waist, prepared to catch her if she were to fall. “You okay?” she asked. Her low voice curled around Tachyon’s ears, causing them to erratically twitch twice.

She swallowed. “This night has been full of unexpected events. I didn’t think I’d ever say any of this.”

Pocket’s fingers grasped tighter onto Tachyon’s hand as she rubbed her thumb across it, her left hand resting on the counter just beside Tachyon’s hip. She shook her head incredulously. “Y’know,” she smiled. “For the longest time, I really thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“You… are one of the only things I consistently want,” Tachyon admitted, taking a step forward to reduce most of the distance left between them.

Air pinched in Pokke’s lungs. A cocktail of emotions began shaking up in her stomach- joy, attraction, concern, hope… It felt like too much, but she never wanted the feeling to fade. Her eyes darted across Tachyon’s face, taking in her features. Eyes, nose, freckles, lips, eyes again…

It wasn’t the first time they’d been so close. Last time, though, it had been passionate and exciting- a burning hot feeling of competition. She remembered being beyond stoked to run against Tachyon forever. It amazed Pokke how close they’d been back then, faces mere centimeters apart, and she hadn’t even flinched. Now? She was freaking out. Absolutely losing her mind. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to run or if she wanted to break the tension and finally just kiss her-

Everything pulled at her and told her to stop. Spewing the same, “You’ll ruin everything,” sentiment over and over again, until the words lost their meaning and just served to strike fear into her heart. Saying she’d always be just a little too small to live up to the moment.

Tachyon squeezed her hand. Empathetic, soft, and really damn endearing.

Pokke had to ask herself– did she want this? Absolutely. So she’d just have to-

“Go on,” Tachyon whispered. 

Yeah– screw it. The one thing she learned in the last year was to pursue something if any part of her heart wanted to. She’d kept running, but she needed Tachyon, too. There was no way she was walking away from this alone again. 

She stepped in one last time, close enough to brush against Tachyon’s lab coat. The faintest scent of acetone and sterility drifted up from the fabric, cascading through her senses. As the weight lifted from her limbs and her hand floated up to gently cup Tachyon’s cheek, Pokke knew she would chase this high forever.

But she was closing this gap tonight.

She leaned ever-so-slightly forward, angling her head to press her lips against Tachyon’s, and gently exhaling when they found each other. It wasn’t the softest– Tachyon’s lips had previously been bitten till they’d bled, and those rough spots were evident now as they brushed against Pokke’s. None of it even registered. Neither one spared a single shred of thought for anything but her partner in the kiss.

Tachyon freed her intertwined hand to bring it up behind Pokke’s neck and pulled her in deeper. Her balance faltered slightly in the process, and she steadied by shifting more of her weight forward onto her right foot, which was now placed ever so slightly further between Pokke’s legs. She was further balanced by her rival’s now free hand perched on her waist, pulling her further inwards.

Their lips ebbed against each other; overlapping slightly, pulling away, and returning for more. Even with their lung capacities depleted, neither wanted to break the kiss. Some part of it still felt like an illusion, one that would dissolve the second they pulled apart. 

In the end, it was Pokke that broke for air first. She pulled back barely enough to catch her breath, leaning her forehead against Tachyon’s. 

“You’re… much better at that than I anticipated,” Tachyon exhaled, close enough to Pokke for the words to land on her lips.

“You seriously thought I couldn’t kiss? Jeez, Tachy,” Pokke leaned around and pressed her lips to the transition from Tachyon’s jaw to her neck. “I’m hurt.”

Tachyon breathed shakily. Staring up at the ceiling of her lab, she wondered if this was some fume induced dream again. “No, I simply-” Pokke’s ear flicked once and brushed against Tachyon’s, causing her to tense up and completely choke on the end of her sentence. “-hah!”

The sound of a tail swishing drifted up.

“Are you pleased with yourself?” the scientist inquired, reeling from the unfamiliar feeling.

“Yeah,” Pokke smirked, bringing her face back to Tachyon’s. “Yeah, I really am.”

Though she’d never admit it, Agnes Tachyon adored the stupid grin Pokke adopted when something went her way. Their goals were often aligned, after all, even if no one knew of that fact.

Tachyon leaned in without a word, pressing another deep kiss to her assistant’s lips. It was liberating to hear Pokke inhale sharply through her nose so as to not break the kiss again. Devotion to things she wants, per usual.

Pokke’s arms snaked around Tachyon’s torso, holding her tighter than ever before, hands grabbing bundles of the oversized lab coat.

Tachyon pulled away ever-so slightly to quickly ask, “I take it you enjoy this pastime?”

Pokke’s ears folded in on themselves. “Hey…” she whined, leaning further inward to close the gap that had just been created, only for it to be further broadened by Tachyon leaning back.

“My, Pokke– we really must work on your patience,” she chided.

“My patience ain’t the problem here– I waited forever to do this.”

She initiates another quick kiss, broken by Tachyon once again.

“Mm– is that so?”

“Tachyonnn–”

“How long did you wait?”

“Like a year? I dunno-”

“How unsatisfying and vague. I can vividly recall the first time I thought about placing my lips upon yours.”

Jungle Pocket’s tail wagged slightly. “Really? When?”

Tachyon laughed. “Upon our first meeting, I wondered how I may check your lung capacity.”

The tail wagging ceased.

“In a less research-driven context, however, it was shortly after I witnessed your victory at the Japan Cup.”

Jungle Pocket sparked like a flame striker, grabbing her own arms around Tachyon’s waist. “I gotta hear this one.”

Tachyon made a confused expression. “It’s not the most fascinating anecdote, I promise you. I was simply working late one night, synthesizing some medication for one of my juniors, and the solvent I was working with was particularly volatile. It filled the space with its vapors, which I unfortunately inhaled quite a bit of. That, combined with the lack of sleep I’d been getting at the time, made for a particularly… interesting series of hallucinations.” Her eyes grew wider as they slowly drifted toward the floor, trailing off alongside her voice. “I’d offer to let you read the report I recorded about the incident, but I feel quite apprehensive about that, for some odd reason,” she pondered, ears drooping slightly.

Jungle Pocket stifled a laugh, feeling like she’d struck gold. “No freakin’ way– are you embarrassed right now?”

“Of course not! Whatever you did to me in my hallucinations was not under my control.”

“Then why was it me who showed up?”

“As I stated earlier, you’d just won the Japan Cup. Your victory was of a particular interest to me, the response I had to it was nothing short of-”

“The response you had? To me winning?”

“Involuntarily! You’re well aware of our impulse to run when we see others of our kind doing so! I am not exempt from that impulse! I didn’t even need to see you cross the finish line before I ran out of the stadium…”

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

…

“I figured that much was quite obvious.”

“Nah, not really.”

Tachyon narrowed her eyes. “Jungle Pocket.”

Pokke smirked. “Tachy.”

Agnes Tachyon inhaled deeply, something stirred within her from the irritating banter, and at the use of the new nickname.

“Because I was confident that you would win.”

“Because?”

“I said it once tonight already, I will not say it again. Your ego growth may impede my research.”

“C’mon, you’re not foolin’ m-”

If she were asked, Agnes Tachyon would say that irritation got the best of her, and that was why she silenced Jungle Pocket with another kiss. And, if Jungle Pocket were present, she’d call bullshit.

Nobody uses tongue if their only goal is to shut someone up.