Flatlines

[Kella]

Beep, hisssssssssss. Beep, hisssssssssssss.

The ventilator and heart monitor kept their faithful vigil. Much more quiet and much less faithful, but just as vigilant, was November, perched at the edge of her seat.

Beep, hissssssssssss. Beep, hisssssssssssss.

Delta was perfectly still, except for his chest, rising and falling in time with the ventilator. Wires and tubes tapped into him like roots from a tree; a central intravenous line by his collarbone, the ventilation tube in his neck, directly connected to the trachea, an oxygen monitor on his finger, slender neurological monitors with broad circular pads on his head and chest, drainage tube in his chest, catheter.

He was stable.

November's mind flicked backwards through the day, a sports caster, sorting through the footage to compile a highlight reel, bits of film snipped and set aside, others allowed to fall to the floor.

"What happened?" the Emergency Room nurse asked, as Echo and November carried Delta's limp form through the doors.

"He was mugged," November answered flatly, shooting Echo a look meant to keep her quiet.

"Why didn't you call an amb--"

"He's bleeding internally," November insisted. Each of Delta's breaths sent a fine mist of blood into the air, and more blood dribbled from mouth and nose. Echo and November were smeared with it.

More Nurses were called with a Gurney, and Delta was swept away, off to Intensive Care. November and Echo briskly followed, until at a set of double-doors, a doctor stopped them. "Only relatives are allowed in the ICU."

"We're his sisters," November insisted.

He looked at them oddly.

"Haven't you ever heard of adoption?" Her sharp tone whipped him back into line, and the gurney swept onward.

Drip. Drip. November watched the clear liquid slip from the bag, and her eyes traced the tube into Delta's vein.

Drip. Drip. November opened her eyes. The faucet was leaking. This was the first noise she heard but not the one that had awakened her. There, low and barely perceptible, a thud. A grunt. A light flicked on in the hall; Echo or Delta had heard the noises too.

November was on her feet and at the door in an instant. "Echo? Delta?"

November inclined her head, eyeing Echo. She looked almost as poor as Delta -- sallow skin, dark circles under her eyes, trembling hands -- but the only trauma she'd endured was the strain of carrying Delta to the hospital.

"He's in critical condition," November said flatly. Echo was hysterical. November ignored her, and instead began to slide Delta onto the medical backboard she'd retrieved from the storage closet.

"Broken ribs, bleeding into his lungs, possible concussion, vertebrae are fine, possible wrist fracture, extensive muscle bruising..." November rattled off to herself. The conclusion was inevitable. It did not satisfy her.

"We need to get him to a hospital."

November could see Echo's distress escalate. She grabbed Echo's chin and forced her eyes into view. "If we do not take him to a hospital, he will die."

November's mind spun and wheeled, articulating plans and actions. Echo helped her lift the board, and they began to move.

They must have interrupted the attacker. It only would have taken a few more blows to bring death. Questions danced through November's mind, pouring over a waterfall, tugged and tangled and pulled in the swirl underneath. She fished them from the pool and hung them to dry, organizing her thoughts.

First, how had the attacker infiltrated the Deliverance's defenses? Remained unheard? It was very trained, very dangerous. But how could something be more trained, more dangerous than the twenty six?

Why had it beaten Delta, instead of a blaster to the head or a knife to the throat? Its goal was to make Delta suffer. Why did it want Delta to suffer?

Why had it gone to Delta first? Delta was special, important. Why was Delta special and important?

How had it found them? Where was it from?

A sound broke November from her thinking, one that grated above the din of beeps and murmurs, hisses and shuffles that filled the Intensive Care Unit.

A sob. It had come from Echo. November surveyed the Assassin without anger or frustration or puzzlement. The challenge of keeping Delta alive had chased those three emotions from her mind. She was somewhere drifting between the immediate mission, figuring out what to do with Delta, and the bigger mission, evading Green Meadows, and her mind was oddly still.

Echo shook, hands in front of her face and wet with tears. November's face was expressionless. She looked back to Delta. There was nothing she could do for him right now. One team member was, in all likelihood, permanently compromised. She looked to Echo. Echo must have experienced a Trauma, but one that was not physical. November surmised it had something to do with the fact that Delta thought Echo was special, and Echo thought Delta was as well.

With Yankee in Limbo, Echo was the only team member November had left. Was there something November could do to ease Echo's wounds? Make Echo an asset again instead of a liability? Thinking of non-physical wounds was foreign to November, but she accepted the plausibility of such things. Without the protection of the Relic, they were open to these kinds of assaults.

November's subconscious, expert as it was at making connections, drew a memory to November's mind -- a memory of a sterile cafeteria, of a woman with many expressions, and of a habit she'd kept for a very long time. Perhaps such a mundane thing could be like an immaterial salve. November had seen it work before.

So she stood, and made her way behind Echo's chair. The woman barely noticed. Echo's hair was a tangled mess. November glanced around, spying the oversized purse of a small woman at the next bed over. A brush poked out. November stole it, and turned back to Echo.

"Hold Still," she said quietly, and then set the brush to Echo's fiery hair. When she was satisfied, she combed her fingers along Echo's scalp, and lifted a few precisely-sided strands. And so she began to braid Echo's hair.

November couldn't know the consequence of this. Couldn't know that around the adrenaline and the dopamine, another hormone had begun to leak. Oxytocin.

[Squee]

Echo couldn’t tell if he looked better… or worse.

Stepping around the corner, a rush a gentle air floated over her cheeks, touching her gently. It brought a smile to her face. It was a nice day. Not too warm, and not too chilly, and appropriate to walk in while she ran the errands Delta didn’t know about. She would not overheat and she would not have frozen fingers. She so did dislike being cold.

She opened her eyes and there was a peculiar lump on the ground. It lay in a collapsed heap and awfully… familiar. Oh heavens no. Echo stepped lightly down the ramp, sideways, a hand resting on her pistol. She swallowed, forcing herself to look around as she approached with caution. The strap that held her pistol was already undone, and her hand was wrapped around the hilt, loosening it from the holster in preparation.

But her heart was in the back of her throat, pulsing slowly. Her steps were slow, light, smooth, and forced. Some piece of her, a sliver, wanted her to turn her back and retreat within the ship. Too afraid to be sure of the crumpled shape. Too afraid that this panic would be confirmed. A larger portion wanted to consume the distance with hungry steps, to know, to maybe be wrong. Echo made herself slow, scared, wanting to deny what she was seeing. Until she finally stood over his body, his shallow breathing, blood bubbling would of his nose and more dribbling from his mouth.

“Delta?” her voice squeaked. No. No. No. She crouched, wide-eyed, touched him gently. “Del-ta?” she choked in the middle of saying his name. Echo swallowed hard against the smell of his blood. Cuts, Bruises. Those fingers were awkward. “Delta!” Her yell did not wake him, and she moved him gently more on his side as she turned around and shrieked for November. The water gathered hot in her eyes and she leaned gently to wipe the blood from his face.

And in place of cuts he had bandages. Casts in a couple of places and he was propped up slightly. Tubes running into his nose and needles disappearing into his arms. The machines blipped synthetic noises and winked bright lights. And it was cold. Very cold.

And she sat gathered in a chair with arms erected on either side of her. Her knees were drawn up to her chest most of the time, and she alternated leaning on the hard arms of the chair. Arms around her knees or hands rubbing up and down her exposed arms. It was cold. Why was it so cold? The first thing she had noticed was the cold.

She hated the cold. It chilled her, made her shiver, made goosebumps appear on her skin. Cold could numb the body. Freeze appendages, severely damaging them, and sometimes requiring removal of its uselessness. There was a way to die in the coldness. So why was this care unit kept cold? When Echo touched Delta’s fingers, they were chilled, and it made her angry. Why was this place kept cold?!

But of course, Echo knew nothing terrible would happen to Delta at this temperature. But it still made her angry. She was cold.

A nurse brought her a blanket when she noticed the goosebumps on Echo’s arms. The same nurse returned often, checking the machines and Delta. She often gave her and November a glance. Sometimes she tried to smile. What was there to smile about? It had made Echo wonder if she enjoyed seeing Delta like this. But when the nurse touched her gently and softly said that she should sleep sometime, Echo could see she was just trying to be nice. She’d shrugged off the nurse’s touch.

Echo felt like she was wallowing. And it was hurting to wallow. She felt she should pull out of it. But a small piece wanted to remain, and that didn’t make much sense to her but it didn’t change the feeling. It could be a lot of work. And would pulling away from these sickeningly depressing feelings mean she didn’t care about Delta? It was far from the truth. And it hurt so much and it didn’t make sense why and it confused her and all these… feelings things getting muddled up and… overwhelming…

Echo choked on her tears and raised her hands to shield her face from November.

November… Echo didn’t want to dwell too much on what November was doing. November was cold. It made her angry. And the red-headed woman shifted slightly as she noticed her companion moving in her peripherals. Her fingers dug into the blanket resting on the back of the chair. She drew it over her shoulder and under her chin. Her body shuddered as she gritted her teeth. She’d cried so much. Puffy and red eyes searched across Delta’s body, for any sign of movement that he was waking.

“Hold still.”

“Huh? OW!” The first stroke of the brush pulled at her tangles and Echo jerked her head away. She didn’t look back at November when she paused. With a small snort and running her hand under her nose, Echo sat back up. “O-okay. Careful. It’s… I haven’t... It’s a mess.”

So… maybe November wasn’t so cold.

“He’s not going to… to wake up, is he? He’s… he’s going… to be here a long time. Isn’t he?”

[Kella]

November waited patiently for Echo to finish her stumbling questions. She drew a strand of hair up from Echo's temple.

"That is correct," she said carefully, inferring that the wrong words could distress Echo further, "Delta's condition necessitates professional care and attention that only a hospital can provide. Though the probability is slim, it is possible that Delta would regain consciousness within the next few days. However, he would still need stabilizing care. It is most likely that the doctor will choose to medically extend his coma in order to give his body more time to heal."

November looked up as she heard the voice of the floor's resident Physician, the man in charge of Delta as well as the rest of the patients on the floor. He mentioned something about patient 37, who November knew to be a pale, sickly Omwati two beds over. Something about hypochondriac tendencies. November turned back to Echo.

"I am not a medical professional, so there is only one thing I can say with certainty. He will not have recovered sufficiently by the time we must move on."

November waited for Echo's reaction, anticipating the necessity of diffusive words or actions.

Habit compelled her eyes to skim around the room, scanning for threats or changes. The Resident was standing in the opposite corner of the room, and she caught him glancing her way. She averted her eyes casually. Something in her subconscious stuck on the word that had been on his lips... 'Suspicious?' November skimmed quickly, finding his reflection on the side of a slick metallic cart, and watching closely. Words emerged from the movement of his lips.

"... don't think those could be the ones? Their behavior doesn't seem that abnormal, but you never know with psychiatric patients..."

"I dunno," November shifted to see the Nurse's reflection, "That one with the green eyes gives me the willies. And those injuries, you really think he was mugged?"

November turned back to Echo. She'd seen enough. Extreme caution would now be necessary. She'd anticipated that they might have to leave suddenly, though the development still displeased her, as less time with Delta meant more time spent consoling Echo. She turned all her attention to Echo, knowing that significant mental exertion would be required to compel Echo to willingly leave the hospital -- especially this soon.

[Squee]

When November confirmed her beliefs, Echo felt her puffy eyes beginning to fill with the salt water. Her entire face felt so raw and strained, that her temples hurt as she scrunched up her face in attempts to deny the tears. She dropped her chin suddenly, and with November having a handful of her hair, her scalp leaped with fire. Echo lifted her head back up with a pained hiss. She wanted to turn around and scream at November, burden the reason for her pain on the blond woman’s shoulders. But it wasn’t November’s fault. It was hers. So she bit her tongue and continued to trust in November’s hands.

The brushing and the braiding were soothing, aside from the earlier incident. Echo was able to relax her face with only a couple of stray tears crawling from her itchy eyes. She carefully lifted up her hand to rub them away with the edge of her index finger. Dropping her eyes downward, seeing nothing but the white sheets on Delta’s bed (white, the color of snow, the color of cold), Echo drew a shuddering breath. She held it to steal herself, feeling to overpowering urge to just cry. When she felt in control again, she emptied her lungs, and with it, the need to cry.

Echo hated November’s words. The red-head knew when she asked her questions, she wasn’t going to enjoy the answer. She wasn’t going to agree with the answer. She knew exactly what November was going to say, and it made her hate the blond more. Echo knew she was right.

Delta had to stay here. Delta might not wake up for a long time, and these people in their pure and crisp white suits (who always brought a chill to the room) would not allow Delta to leave until they thought he was well enough to leave. Just like in Green Meadows when someone received a serious injury. Echo had once found a growth on the bottom of her foot, and it had grown more and more painful as the weeks went by. At a check up, the physicians found the growth and had to cut it out. Only the growth had grown into her foot a lot deeper than they had initially thought. And she had stitches inside and outside her foot. They sped up her recovery as quickly as they could, but she was still disallowed to continue most of her physical activity until her foot had healed up. The following weeks catching up her physical fitness had been excruciating. Poor Delta… He’d always worked hard to maintain his body.

“He will not have recovered sufficiently by the time we must move on."

“What?!” Echo stopped herself from turning around. November’s hands were still tugging at her red locks. But anger and surprise made the word bolt from her, heavy and emotional. “No! We can’t do that!”

Leave Delta? She couldn’t abandon Delta! Maybe November could, but there was no way Echo could. No way. She wouldn’t. Delta never left her behind. Trying to recount the times he hadn’t left Echo’s mind bare of memories except from the one on Ylesia. Delta hadn’t just decided to leave her in slavers’ hands. He hadn’t allowed her to become a shell-less thing, devoid of all coherent thought and cognitive ability. Had November tried convincing Delta to forget her? Echo flushed with anger, gripping the arms of her chair as she ground her teeth against each other. Maybe November was hateful after all. Maybe there was a mistake in trusting the woman.

November finished with her hair and Echo whipped around, blanket falling on her lap and tumbling onto the clean floors (which were oddly a sandy color in this white room). “No,” Echo said firmly, her breath hissing lightly with unseen fire. Were that she could breathe fire, Echo would have smoke rolling between her lips with each word. “You never had a partner, November. All along, you were solitary. Alone. Defended yourself. I had Delta. We’ve been together. We’ve never left each other’s side. We found each other… We found each other on Dxun, when we were separated. I remember that, November. I remember that. We are together. He would not leave me. He has not left me. I will not leave him.”

Perhaps she should have kept her voice down, Echo realized just after she’d spoken. But she was angry. Angry at November. Angry at her ideas. Angry at the hospital people. Angry at the person who did this to Delta. Angry Delta had left to run those errands. And while she was angry, Echo felt invincible.

[Kella]

“What?!” November felt Echo's head begin to turn, but she stopped. “No! We can’t do that!”

Echo's reaction was expected, but instead of being frustrated with the woman, November was actually rather pleased -- it seemed her braiding was compelling Echo to control herself, which could open up many possibilities for re-stabilizing Echo in the future. Unfortunately, November could not keep braiding Echo's hair forever, and as soon as she tied off the braid, Echo spun around.

“No,” Echo said, her voice saturated with emotion, “You never had a partner, November. All along, you were solitary. Alone. Defended yourself. I had Delta. We’ve been together. We’ve never left each other’s side. We found each other… We found each other on Dxun, when we were separated. I remember that, November. I remember that. We are together."

Echo's voice was rising too high. November glanced around the room, and several pairs of eyes shied from her gaze -- especially that of the Resident. Their remaining time had just become significantly shorter.

"He would not leave me. He has not left me. I will not leave him.”


November's brow furrowed. "I have not always been solitary. Much of my time has been spent as part of a team, working with other scientists, learning with and from them." But what about the rest of the time? The time she didn't remember? Had she really worked alone then? And why did the thought of Echo's words being true, of November having always worked alone, prick November with dissatisfaction?

November suddenly realized she'd forgotten the point, and she paused for effect, finding a way to tie that back in to her persuasion.

"I have been self-sufficient, yes, but solitary, no. And that is why I can tell you, Echo," Logical or emotional appeal? November saw Echo's furrowed brow, her taut lips, her trembling shoulders. Emotional, then.

"Delta would not want you to stay. Echo, if we stay here much longer, they will find us. Those feelings, those emotions that you're experiencing, they do not want you to have those. Those special..." November swallowed, fighting back a pang of jealousy, "sensations you have around Delta, they will take that away. They made us forget things, Echo." November bent down slightly, and looked Echo square in the eye, "And if they get you, then they will make it so that you forget everything about Delta. He will cease to exist in your mind."

November was acutely aware of the glaring hole in her argument, the fact that Green Meadows would find Delta, and do exactly the same to him. But even that, her mind provided for.

"Echo, if we stay here with Delta, then none of us will remember. There will be nothing left of all we've worked hard to do. Nothing left of what you have with Delta. But if you come with me, Echo, then you will be left. You will remember. And if you remember, then there is a chance that we will be able to find Delta later, and make him remember.

"So, that is your choice. A small chance, or," she glanced at Delta, "No chance at all."

[Squee]

“It is not the same,” she stated stubbornly, and under her breath, as November expressed some sort of empathy. Hardened stone eyes eased into a somewhat gentler expression as Echo looked over at Delta again. She saw his hand and wanted to touch it. She wanted to hold it and gently stroke his wrist. But she was scared it would feel cold.

Just as November’s words continued to be cold. Delta wouldn’t want her here? Bull crap. They’d always been together. Been stronger together. Faced… They had faced a lot together, that was all Echo knew. Every memory she recalled, however, seemed nothing significant, besides Dxun that is. Training programs were nothing but guided simulations with safety restrictions. Nothing special. No real danger. Yet the way Delta had managed himself after rescuing her off of Ylesia… Perhaps that was simply due to the training she remembered. Echo was still convinced, however, that whatever challenges she and Delta had faced, they had overcome, and they conquered together. They were not supposed to divide and go their separate ways. Alone, Echo had been captured. Alone, Delta had nearly succumbed to death. They needed each other.

Echo needed Delta. Or believed she did. What would she do without him? Without this… other half of her? Last time she had been caught. She had to be rescued. Because Delta hadn’t been there, hadn’t had her back as he always did. What would happen to her next time? Who was she going to rely on for help?

And the same for Delta. What if they took him? Who was going to watch over him? Who was going to make sure he did not get seriously hurt? He would be alone. And that made Echo’s heart hurt.

Of course, there was November. But as long as November so cold, Echo could not trust her. Not like she trusted Delta. November could not replace Delta. And she never could.

“It’s not the same,” she whispered again, though sounding more like a kicked little girl this time. She coughed feebly, trying to keep down the aching burn that clogged her throat once more. Leave Delta? So unnerving, so foreign, so unthinkable. She needed his protection, and currently he needed hers. So alien was this thought of saying goodbye, even if just for a little while. Even her bones seemed to tremble with such wrongness about abandoning her partner.

“It’s not right…”

Echo stood, moving closer to Delta’s bed until her thighs were touching the snow-colored mattress.

“It’s not fair.”

Her eyes meandered away from his bruised face, following down his neck, traveling over his shoulder and down his arm until she was seeing that motionless hand. The limp fingers, posed as if locked in place or, worse, frozen. Slowly, Echo lifted her hand from her side, swallowed her fear, and risked touching those fingers.

“Warm…” she breathed, relieved. Her fingers trailed to his wrist, brushing softly up his arm. Easing herself forward, Echo braced herself over Delta on one arm as she stooped and kissed his forehead quickly.

“It’s not right. You didn’t leave me. I shouldn’t be leaving. I’m sorry. But I’ll be back, Delta. I’ll come back. We’ll be partners again. Partners never separate. At least never for long. They always meet back up for the most difficult part of the mission.”

Stepping away from Delta reluctantly, Echo turned her body toward November and angled her eyes forward. If she looked at Delta anymore, she would not leave.

“Better be worth this.”

[Kella]

November let Echo finish her moment... attending to Delta before speaking.

"I was never under the impression that life was under any obligation to be fair," she said, shrugging. It was a gesture that indicated the fact that the matter was of negligible significance to the speaker.

"This is the best option under cost-benefit analysis, so by definition, it will be worth this," she insisted. November surveyed the small area, looking for things worth taking. Unfortunately, this hospital was efficient, and the only readily available resource was a box of rubber gloves, nestled behind a jar of tongue depressors on the beside stand. She stepped over and grabbed a wad of gloves, stuffing them into the pocket of her lab coat, which was still streaked with blood. She'd refused the hospital staff's suggestion to change clothing, and something in the frigidness of her gaze had compelled them not to argue.

While some missions might have been well served by remaining in the hospital and doing some investigating, their current objective demanded they simply get out of the hospital as fast as possible, and with this November was satisfied.

So, November extended a hand to Echo, hoping that the physical connection would help to compel Echo's resolve.

"Come on, Echo," she said, and began to lead her away from Delta, away from the Intensive Care floor, away from the Hospital, and away from the sudden anxious murmurs of a doctor finding patient 39's bedside abandoned.