veryroundbirdfics | Arknights | Not Even Into Another Eternity, Chapter 3

Rating: Spicy
Chapter: 3/?
Words: 2683
Characters: Doctor (F), Kal'tsit, Amiya, guest star moments with W
Relationships: Doctor/Kal'tsit, Kal'tsit/Theresa, Theresa/Doctor
Summary: Signing on to Babel's mission, the Doctor finds herself returning to a lot of things she thought she'd left behind, and a chance to make something new. If only it wasn't all meant to end in tragedy.

“Absolutely not,” says Kal’tsit.^[1]

You have, however, come prepared. After all, you didn’t do all this work in the last couple months for nothing. “I’ll do it with or without you,” you say, quietly, looking at your hands. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done surgery on myself.”^[2]

After you found those dormant systems in the lower levels, almost like… they’d been waiting for you, all this time, like they’d known you’d return—it took you a while to get your thoughts in order.^[3] For a solid couple hours you were on the side of just taking a hammer to the damn thing.

Eventually you cooled down.^[4] And then you started combing through the system.

It's not her.^[5] Anyway, it'd be ridiculous to believe in ghosts, or anything like that, but—her fingerprints are all over the system. You have to wonder if this is what she meant, in those dimly-remembered last moments—that she'd find you again.

What she'd built was a very sophisticated neural network analysis and assistant program that could take a dizzying array of inputs based on sensory information. It's a masterwork^[6], probably—the kind of thing you could only run on the computers down here or in some specialized research lab in Trimounts.

You think about the war.

You need to be sharper and there’s only so far you can push yourself, unassisted, before you start to break. There are no miracles. There’s only all the advantages you can get. And you've explained all this already and now she's pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Zhanchi," she says, looking deeply tired, "you're proposing linking your already delicate neurology to a largely-untested external system."^[7]

"Because I—I'm sure,^[8]" you say, looking down at your hands, "that it'll be a marked enhancement to how efficiently I can work. The margins are too close for comfort right now, and you know that."

Kal'tsit exhales out her nose. "And I presume you've already found someone to manufacture the bridge device you propose."

You did come prepared. "I've been circumspect about the exact details of the computer system involved, but one of the biomed engineers in medical had thoughts about the circuit design."

She studies you for a long moment, and then huffs. "You're really serious about this," she says, in a deeply skeptical way.^[9] "You must know there's always a chance for something to go wrong with surgery, especially of the kind that involves the brain. That's not a risk we can take."

"That's why I'm asking you. I wouldn't trust anyone else with this, Kal'tsit." You shake your head. "If something seems like it's going wrong, afterward, then you say the word and we'll take it out. But—

"But, for her sake, Kal'tsit, if nothing else."^[10]

For a moment, you have something to be afraid of, in her eyes.^[11] And then it passes; she heaves a deep breath.

"Understand that if it's going to happen with or without my say-so, I would rather you not end up accidentally bleeding to death by your own hand." She meets your eyes, and you have to look away; when she speaks again, her voice is softer. "One wouldn't think you'd known the King of Kazdel for this short time, with that attitude."

You choose your words carefully.^[12] "She seems to have that effect on people. I start thinking… that some things might not be as foolish or vain as I've made them out to be in times past."

“I know," says Kal'tsit, quietly. "I know. Work out what you need to work out, and once you do—if you still haven't been dissuaded by then^[13]—ask me again."

[1] Which you think is unfair. After all, you spent quite some time laying out your well-thought-out argument for this totally reasonable idea you have.↩︎
[2] This is true. It’s not to say you did a good job any of those times, however.
[3] Not uncommon and more often than you’d like, these days.
[4] Longer than usual. You’re pretty good at clamping down on your emotional reactions under normal circumstances.
[5] Of course it's not her. Of course. …probably.
[6] You're not really qualified to say for sure; you know programming, but it's one of those things where you're only good at it insofar as you're a quick study and not because of actual talent or hard work.
[7] You can also hear the unsaid "for idiotic sentimental reasons" in there.
[8] This is a little bit of a lie but it's close enough and you know she's not going to accept anything less than certainty.
[9] This probably has something to do with the fact that you had to actually talk to someone else to accomplish it, which also, admittedly, was a surprise to you.
[10] It's a calculated move that you don't love yourself for making. And yet, here you are making it regardless.
[11] She knows it, too, in that moment—that you're exploiting a weakness of hers. You wonder if you've broken something you'll never quite be able to repair.
[12] Of course, it's not like you thought you were getting anything under the radar there, either—but Kal'tsit's never asked and you've never had to answer.
[13] You both know you won't be.

You're not an ideal candidate for surgery, not least because your reactions to general anesthesia are a little… erratic.^[14] So you settled on localized, which means you can vaguely feel a kind of pressure divorced from sensation as Kal'tsit traces a finger down the back of your neck and then marks a spot.

"There," she says.

The tension of your skin changes—something in your shoulders relaxes, in the way you can imagine your skin parting under the scalpel like a stray thread pulled to unravel you, unspooling from muscle and fat and bone.^[15] You drew up the plan together, and it's a relatively small incision, all told; hardly invasive and kind of thing Babel's doctors do routinely to remove small but troublesome Oripathy lesions for your operators.

Kal'tsit had almost put her foot down again, though, when she saw the state of your neck and chest. She managed to extract more promises out of you to report for check-ups to her and take better care of yourself, even.^[16] She'd only agreed to go ahead after subjecting you to a tissue and nerve damage inspection and begrudgingly admitting that your case had not progressed all that much since the previous time some years ago.

She's saying something, now… oh, any pain? "No, no… not at all." You start to shake your head, then realize you absolutely should not do that thing.

"Good," she murmurs, and plants a hand on the back of your head. "And you're correct. You shouldn't do that. Preparing to connect nerve bridge now."

For once in your life you're not nervous,^[17] even though this is hardly the time or the place most people would find calm. You've already made your decisions; now there's nothing to do but find out if your hypotheses were correct.

A jolt runs down your spine—the application of the medical paste, probably. Which means it's all about to start. It takes about five, four, three, two, one—

Oh.^[18]

When you wrench yourself back to being conscious of the world around you, you're still face against the operating table, seeing the world in the soft blur of your vision without glasses.

And you are also—

In the regular medical bay, watching the doctor with the long white horns patch one of your snipers back together. At the target range, noting immediately each operator's remaining ammunition, the trajectory of each bolt, how much armor each shot could punch through. On the bridge, plotting the time to next destination at twenty-nine hours.

"Stop. Stop, hang on," you say, aloud. "Wait—not you, Kal'tsit." Or rather, you try, but it also comes out slurred due to the sheer number of relaxants you're on right now.^[19] "PRTS… limit data to immediate room."

The world immediately becomes less noisy and overwhelming. Narrowing data cascade. Would you like patient diagnostic data?

"N. No. I think it's, uh. Fffffine now." Or at least, now you can actually think in a straight line. "Um. Good news, I think."

"I admit I'm a little skeptical of your tone, Zhanchi." Still, you can tell she's threading the needle to sew you back up—and are also strangely aware of the precision of the cuts in your skin, and the way it's been carefully pinned back and open to expose muscle and bone and nerves.^[20]

You squint your eyes shut, and try to clear your mind.^[21] "It's working," you say. "It's working. It's just—something I have to get used to."

She makes careful, tidy stitches, tugging gently to pull the skin closed again. And you almost jump out of your skin when she brushes some stray hairs of yours aside with her fingers, skirting across the part of your neck that isn't entirely numb.^[22]

Kal'tsit pauses, cocking her head to one side, shifting weight from one foot to the other. "Ticklish?"

"Y-yes," you lie. "Done?"

"Hm," she says, noncommittal. "I'm keeping you under observation for the rest of the day."

You frown. "I have a meeting at fifteen-hundred."

"Cancel it," she says, flatly, and you can almost hear her ears twitching irritably. "You'll still be loopy, and it still remains to be seen if there will be side effects that take more than five minutes to show up.^[23] I'd rather you not have an aneurysm in the war room."

Pushing yourself up on your hands to get up to a seated position, you shake your head. "Can't. It needs to happen today. I promise I'll come check in later, and I'll tell PRTS to alert you if my biometrics are too far off the baselines."

Your heart rate is well outside the baseline, Dr. Lau.

Oh, now the computer wants to be a critic, too. Of course. You hop down off the table.^[24] "But I really have to get to this."

You grab your coat from its hanger, and before she can really start in on you, you're gone.^[25]

[14] The less said about the last incident, the better. Not that it was interesting, unless you count half your body's systems deciding to throw a really uncomfortable fit.
[15] These kinds of metaphors are perhaps yet another one of the reasons Kal'tsit doesn't think surgery is a good idea for you.
[16] If this were any smaller of an ask, you might think that you were starting to lose out on the bargain.
[17] You're in capable hands, and there's nothing you need to do. It'll probably be at minimum uncomfortable when the device turns on, powered by a minuscule fraction of your brain's electrical output, but it's nice to… turn off for a little while.
[18] There is no end to you and no beginning to the world; you are one and the same. You, a tiny fleck in the sea of information, just one among innumerable many. It's hard to pull yourself away from.
[19] So like, "Stobbb… hage on. Wade. Not you, Kal…" Not your brightest moment.
[20] You lost any squeamishness long ago so, honestly, it's kind of fascinating to look at. If only you could reach out and touch it—although you're not sure you'd feel that way if you weren't on all these drugs.
[21] Generally futile.
[22] At least you can say that you're not as touch-starved as you used to be. It's not as if you lack for intimacy, but there's something… something you can't put a finger on about it being the person you've known the longest in the whole world.
[23] It's sensible. You're not going to do it, though.
[24] You even accomplish this with only a small wobble.
[25] You might have managed to get taken seriously if you didn't narrowly miss running into the door frame on your way out.

Of course Theresa notices near-immediately, lifting your hair away from your neck to gingerly touch the newly-minted surgical scar.^[26] "Not an injury."

It's not a question;^[27] you try to slough the nonsensically-guilty expression off your face to answer. "Experimental connection to Rhodes Island's computer systems. It should provide valuable assistance in combat operations where efficiency is important."

She's clearly trying to puzzle through what she felt—you understand enough about the shape of her Arts that you know she can't read your mind^[28], just your emotions^[29], so you try to project confidence.

First, she puts her hands on your shoulders—and then leans in to enfold her arms around you, face pressed against your hair.^[30]

"I understand," she says, quietly. Her fingers walk across the skin of the back of your neck to trace the scar, and you shiver despite yourself.

You clear your throat. "Er—you do? That is—thank you."

"Mm." Her hand weaves upwards into your hair. "I'm honored, truly, that my cause holds this much of a place in your heart—that you've made it your own."

"That's—well, of course, of course it does, after all—" You pause. "Of course—Kal'tist so rarely asks for anything. It must be important, and furthermore—" Even though she's not looking at your face, you reflexively glance down at your feet. "Furthermore, if in the end this war brings a more peaceful future to Terra…"

Your memory is too good, is your problem.^[31] Too many things that will never dull in your mind's eye.

"…then," you finish. "It's worth anything I can give to it."

"Thank you," she says,^[32] but doesn't let go. "Thank you, Zhanchi. But please—promise me something?"

You frown. "What is it?"

"The time may yet come, that we are called to give that much. But not yet. I need you—to do things only you can do, and to be someone only you can be. So please…"

She pulls back, and smiles down at you, gently.^[33] "Please, take care of yourself for me, when I'm not there."

"Mm," you say, in vague assent.^[34] "But right now, I—"

"Have me here," she says, in the tone of voice that doesn't leave room for argument,^[35] and puts an arm around your shoulders to steer you away from the conference rooms. "So. Now we're resting."

For now—you check PRTS, and… you have a half an hour of flexible time; an hour and a half if you reshuffle meetings.

Silently, you authorize it, and perhaps it's for the best: three hours later, the battle station sirens go off, and that's the last real rest you get for two weeks.

[26] It's the first thing that gives you any pause on the topic of whether you might have any regrets—the frown, the look of concern, the way she looks at you for just a moment like she'd look at a stranger. PRTS registers her expression as wary, 75% confidence; worried, 99% confidence; training data still being collected
[27] Or rather, it's a question insofar as it implies one: "This clearly isn't an injury, so what is it?"
[28] And, for that reason, experience a strange kind of relief in this moment, because—well, she'll have to trust you on this. Right? (PRTS reminds you that Kal'tsit did not trust you on this, despite her lack of emotion-reading Arts.)
[29] Which are usually kind of a tangled mess, so a bit of a challenge even on a good day.
[30] Unexpected; you stand there like a hoofbeast in headlights, unsure what to do. Surely it being a completely rational and objectively good idea doesn't merit this?
[31] Well. One of your problems.
[32] She sounds… sad. Maybe it's just that things are very tense right now in general, but you can't help but feel like you've caused it.
[33]The kind of expression you never quite feel like you deserve.
[34] In theory, you agree it's a good idea due to the fact that the body does require adequate hydration, fuel, and rest; therefore you've had PRTS calculate the exact minimums you need and you're definitely meeting them, so you're definitely doing fine.
[35] For better or for worse, you can never find it in yourself to say no to her.